How do you survive in the country?

[SteyrShotgun]

Have you ever had something trip you up in life? Not necessarily bad, but something. Perhaps an event or circumstance that just came in a little too quickly and you almost feel your future self scrambling to retain the regular walk of life out in front of you? Certainly, in the brief stint between post-storms and pre-invasion many people we're having trouble adjusting to these new and quite alien environments. You know the gig by now. The big cities try and clean up, perhaps a few countries declare martial law in order to retain some kind of normalcy - but what goes on outside that sphere?

Dawson was down in Cardiff at the time, a coastal town along the South of Wales, somewhere that many people on the planet only either briefly read about or just assumed to be part of England. The American incident that took place was still quite fresh within the minds of people, given it's effects had been quite dire. Storms, alien fauna, portals to other dimensions? Quite frankly, even one of those things on it's own was enough to set her mechanical mind down the theoretical drain. It was nearing the end of the year at this point and instead of attending the usual party or gathering Dawson had decided that her parents and that familiar homely farmhouse was where she wanted to spend some time. Admittedly, all this talk and buzz toyed with her anxiety like a monkey with a yo-yo. So many things to worry about, so many problems to potentially face. It's hard to adjust when your head soaks up information like a sponge.

The transport routes we're closed, forcing Dawson to take her vehicle north. She would've preferred the train, less hassle and travel time as the geography of Wales doesn't allow for short trips. The combination of rolling hills, narrow roads and awkward construction makes the entire area slow to traverse even when you're engine-powered. So, her usual 4-5 hour train ride was a long 8-10 hour ride up. Funny. Despite the warnings, disasters and harsh words by the media - everything seemed relatively normal on the surface... If a bit dreary. Bethesda was her destination, placed just shy of mountains. Small village even by UK standards. Her parents had shacked up with a family friend and were using their cottage as a communal home for a while due to the restrictions being placed, something that was brought up almost instantaneously as she walked through the door. As it turned out, her dad was glad she could make it up so quick - see, they had been busy. The Dawson farmhouse was a long-standing piece of land that mattered too much to be let go so easily. As far as they were concerned, it was still rightfully theirs. No government, no bloody restriction was going to force them to watch it turn to dust. Despite common misconception, the UK isn't entirely devoid of firearms. Many farmers, land owners, country-folk like Dawson and her family still readily armed themselves even before this whole thing took place. So, when Dawson was handed some sporting gear, the answer to their hesitancy to speak over the phone as to exactly what was going on was made quite clear. 30 Hectares, 5 people, enough ammunition stock to give a mammoth lead-poisoning. They had been regularly clearing the spot immediately around the home.

Snowdonia was always historically a quite alien place to be. The mountains, lakes and lack of trees made the whole thing just feel like a giant wasteland. Myth and legend were born here. King Arthur's sword, Excalibur, was taken from one such lake. Things of fantasy and wonder. However, nothing could prepare it for the invasion of new life. Calm spaces, no natural predators, open land - a practical breeding ground. It was already too much for the geography, with Antlions having taken over the slate caves and old mining systems below. Nesting, festering, even their boils and larvae had rocketed out of the ground into sizable masts of hollow tubes. This wasn't home anymore. The Dawson lodge was relatively untouched, considering the circumstances. It was an old spot, painted white with a modern roof that had been put up after the thatched one finally gave in. 3 floors, wide rooms, a staple of farm houses. As with many buildings produced during that time, the year of it's construction had been planted into the stone above the doorway, labeling it as EST 1811. Though it was clear from the marks around the walls, boarded up windows and barbed wire that this place was now far from the childhood nostalgia Dawson so cherished. Reality had set in, on a misty overcast evening of all times.

Living in the country now meant certain danger. Think about it. All these portals and spawns for alien life. What happens when there's nobody around to deal with it? Dawson was watching in real time as the hills, home and heritage she once loved slowly turn into some kind of gigantic stain on the pigs head. The thing that hurt the most was that she was ignorant of it's dying breaths until now. Even at night, when you'd think the darkness would mask such horrific scarring of the Earth, it did nothing. These pods glowed in the dark, oozing some kind of cyan goop that could be seen everywhere. No, the worst part was the wildlife. Tens of glowing orange bulbs, the backs to these gigantic insects, haunting the land like mass jack o' lanterns - Uugh. It got to her so much. Despite never verbally acting on it, it was clear by the look on the faces of both her parents and their friends that this was a losing battle, hanging on to that little slither of hope that perhaps this is all just a really really bad nightmare. Yet, here they sat around the dining table, guns in hand. It wasn't about safety, it was about principle.

------- End of Part 1 -------
Next Time:
The Siege of Dawson Farmhouse.​