My name is Josh Cobalt and i helped in a refugee camps along the border, clothed and fed desperate families, handed out toys to the children. It was humbling too. Shifts in the emergency hospital left me drained and heart-broken. But I was making a real difference. So much more than phone calls and fund-raising letters. Everything changed so fast. I woke to shouting at 3:00 am. Russian soldiers were forcing a hasty evacuation of the refugee camp. It was chaos. People were just sent out into the night. Aid workers were herded onto trucks. I threw on jeans and tshirts and left everything behind. I still don't know what happened to so many of my friends... We rode in the dark, no headlights, along coastal roads for nearly an hour. Every few miles we stopped and the soldiers would shout things in Russian. I couldn't understand much except "over there" and "hurry". Sometimes there were gunshots. The soldiers were attempting to move a couple wrecked cars out of the road when we heard the screaming. Screaming doesn't really describe it. Nothing had ever sent chills up my spine like that. Horrible, inhuman, nightmarish shrieking. The soldiers began shouting and then a symphony of gunfire. I was pulled from the truck and told to run. Before I could take our first steps, I saw them. Twisted, twitchy silhouettes, briefly lit by the muzzle flashes. They moved so fast; tearing into the soldiers with animal ferocity. I ran in fear for my life into the nearest tree line. That was months ago. I've lost count of the days. Since then I have done what I needed to survive. I had to learn how to hunt, I scavenge abandoned towns, hunt where I can find game. I learned to stay clear of other survivors. The things I've seen people do to each other for a pair of cargo pants... I'll admit my faith in humanity is gone. How I long for the rosy glasses I wore when I arrived here. But I don't have time to dwell on philosophy. Its day to day now. Survival is all there is.