The day black smoke blanketed the county town, my lame leg suddenly became the most reliable support my family had.
While the neighbors fought over the supermarket's last cans, I quietly brought out the old batteries I'd collected while repairing phones.
Only when missiles destroyed the highway entrance did my wife discover the seed stockpile and first-aid manuals I'd hidden behind the attic.
The world had gone mad, but the wilderness survival lessons I'd secretly learned three years ago while serving in the army told me this: real wars never happen on the news.
Today, I'm taking six family members across twelve burning villages to return to the forgotten depths of the Dabie Mountains, where our ancestors once lived.
Because when the whole world is burning, a cripple's battlefield lies beneath every inch of soil.
