Here are the first fourteen lines of a story I wrote.  I am posting it here in response to a challenge by John Michael Greer.  I am only posting the first part so I don't lose any future publishing rights, but I am happy to e-mail the whole story to anyone who is interested.

Bres swung up into the tree where the trail bent.  The young adult was wearing buckskins and moccasins and carried a longbow and quiver at his back.  He bore an obsidian knife on his waist. He had eluded his pursuers so far, but he needed to be sure they were still following him away from the sacred places of the forest, the homes of the spirits of the forest and the places where Bres and his fellow Druids conducted their rituals of healing and maintaining the fertility.  Behind them, deep in the forest and mountains that had been Glacier National Park before the United States government collapsed in 2015 following the end of obtainable oil and the resultant shut down of industry and most businesses, was the town of Abish.  The community of about five thousand people  had remained secret for nearly three decades while they struggled to survive, but recently they had been able to trade with other communities, hauling their goods out of the mountains by mule.  That must have been what lured the robbers here.  In the absence of any major government, those whose parents and grandparents had lived off welfare had turned to stealing from those who were willing to work for a living.