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Porthmadog. He’d skirted around several small villages with largely unpronounceable names and had barely seen anyone in all the time he’d been outdoors. A short while back he’d given a couple of bottles of drink to a family he’d found cowering together in the garden of what remained of their home, clinging onto each other in the shadows of their largest tree. The timbers of their house and the embers of everything they owned were still smouldering, having caught light in the last energy pulse. The parents remained stoically positive for their three children, reassuring them that everything was going to be okay, and that they’d go and find somewhere else to get out of the sun as soon as Mummy and Daddy had got their breath back.
The world otherwise appeared strangely empty for the most
