Human life in the wastelands was fragile, delicate beings trying to scrape enough to survive and avoid the terrible dangers that now roamed freely. Tiny settlements of humans staked out small patches of land trying not to attract the attention of the large predator that were now the top of the food chain.
Humans had become an endangered species on the brink of extinction. The world was pushing them there making them the favorite prey. Humans had little in the way of natural defenses, being caught alone in the wilderness meant death.
There were few to be trusted, everyone out to save their own skin. Large scale fighting only brought more death, but with resources scarce it was hard to resist the urge.
Children died of decease, or were eaten by the monsters that roamed the land, not fast enough to escape the hoards. Parents taught them not to scream, just to run, screaming brought more nightmares, bigger nightmares.
The small settlements did everything they could to save them and still survive. Everything about the world was dangerous now. The event was worse than they had anticipated and even seven generations later humanity still stood on the edge of the knife.
Every attempt to take their world back ended in disaster, massive loss of life and supplies. The world they had once ruled had turned on them. Great cities left in ruin, overrun by the un-dead and wilderness. Humanity knew it had once been great, it hadn’t always been this way, they had read it. The books and stories passed down from generation to generation telling the tale of the rise and fall of humanity.
Many wished they could go back to that time, when the world was connected, not scattered to settlements of five or six struggling to survive. Where food was readily available, when the oceans were able to be crossed and not full of hell beasts. When children could sleep safely at night and play outside. They knew there had been warnings about the outcome. Those that had come before ignored them, leaving their world in ruin.