They came in the early morning. They always did. Inhabitants would keep their distance, watching nervously as the strange figures, hooded with faces obscured, made their way silently through the streets. Mounted atop dark, breathless horses, each pulled a tremendous wagon piled high with objects never to be seen again.
The sight was a familiar one, but lately the Takers were becoming far more brazen. Like starving dogs, they came closer with each pass, gnawing away at the unspoken perimeter that had stood for generations. The Inhabitants knew the day was not long before their own meek possessions would be sought to stave the collapse of the few cities still scattered across the scorching deserts of North America.
The Takers paused amid the blistered ruins of the desolate suburb, sand drifting high through the endless expanse of skeletal houses, picked clean through centuries of systematic looting. Nothing of value remained. As I sat in the dirt before my tent, the Takers turned their gaze on me.
~r