Life, as hellish as it already had been, had completely and utterly degenerated.

War, brought on by a bunch of marauders from the South, had arrived in the capital city, despite the government’s protests that all was calm.

Today, though, the war hit home. Literally.

She had gone into the basement to mend her clothes when the earth shook. She went back upstairs to find that the house had been destroyed. Her husband was dead. So were all her children.

She wailed. Every death was a tragedy.

In the heat of the next battle, she had fled a group of interlopers across the city to a previously decimated sector. Ducking in between the ruins of two abandoned buildings, she had found something impossible.

She had found a working Harley-Davidson.

The keys had been stashed inside the rear, riveted pouch, and the helmet was nearby. Praising this miracle, she changed one piece of headgear for another and fled the city.

She was glad she had escaped what was left of Tehran.