Well some of you may remember the story from long ago, but ive added a lot. Most of you probly wont read it seeing as how its 27 pages so far, and still not done. But for those of you that do, critique is welcomed, thanks:
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By Jason Gordy
Journey of a Fallout King
Most humans pass away not much after the age of their late 50s; this is a result of thick clouds of smog that plaques our world named Earth. A smog thicker than any dust storm, blacker than any night, and deadlier than any poison. This ‘smog’ drifts through our peace less land that once used to be full of assortments of colors that seemed to be picked randomly off of the color wheel. But now, our land is full of nothing but a maroon and barren land; no trees, grass, or any sign of human life for that matter. On the surface, no normal man could live past an hour without protective gear, because the ‘smog’ would fry and coat their insides full of the blackest disease known to any man; a disease that would eat up your insides and make you puke the darkest color of red and black until your heart bursts and your veins evaporate into a fine pigment of dust. Therefore, our people must live in fallout shelters dug deep within the rock-hard crust of our world. These fallouts were built years before the sudden disaster causing the ‘smog’. They are protected by two reinforced, air-locked doors made out of the finest metal found on neighboring planets. This will protect our fellow people from the ‘smog’. Oxygen in the fallout is pumped and filtered from the surface of the earth through thousands of miniature tubing, which needless to say, lead to several large filters that separate the pure oxygen from the deadly air. The only ones allowed out of our fallout are sturdy men called “Scavengers”. They are responsible for bringing us shipments of food items and other materials that may be of use to us. I am, unfortunately, a “Scavenger”; and I say unfortunately because I risk losing my life, my family, and my friends to bring them all assortments of unique items that I may collect on the surface. This is of course, a good thing, for’ I am considered a ‘hero’ among the people and my little daughter; who is no older then seven with the biggest star-shot eyes any father could ask for, looks up to me and when I return, gives me the most precious hugs, better than any reward I am given from the ‘government’. The ‘government’ is not really a government at all; nothing like we used to have before this world was cursed. Instead, every member of the fallout is part of a council that has equal share in every argument and decision made.
It is my job to depart this settlement once every week. We leave equipped with (there are many “scavengers” that go in groups) a pocket full of bullets and a heavily modified rifle. We wear thick clothes to prevent the fumes of the atmosphere to contaminate our flesh and big, heavy gas masks. Each “scavenger” group heads out in a sturdy jeep. There is usually four “scavengers” in one group: one mans the mounted machine gun, one drives the jeep, one scopes out the area for any materials or caves, and the last one communicates on the radio to other caravans.
The surface of the planet is very rocky with several tall buildings still remaining. Many of the buildings have several pipes and gigantic metal rods extruding from their sides and all the glass windows have been blown out, from what seems like a heavy explosion. The ground is nothing but a thick coat of clayish-brown dirt that drifts easily in the winds. Many dead trees stand that reveal that there used to be a heavily thick forest and many rocks lay scattered around; though it is unable to tell if they are rocks or space debris. There is no water in sight, only small underground streams to produce our much needed resource.
Now you are probably wondering why there is a need to use heavy machine guns? Well, many of the organisms that did happen to survive the explosions and hazardous air were genetically mutated into another species. An example of this could very well be defined in a simple rabbit. We do not call them rabbits anymore, mostly because ‘rabbit’ sounds too cuddly and soft for what it has evolved into. Their initial skin has been shredded off revealing a very grim and dirty underlying skin; it is very rugged and is very saturated colors of grays, browns, and reds. Their paws have grown claws that seem to curl into its own flesh and its beady eyes seem to breathe flames itself. On the ‘rabbit’s’ back, small spikes have grown outlining the spinal cord. It now stands upright, still hopping as it moves, although it seems to be more of a leaping action instead.
Just like every week, I must go on this dreadful journey into the depths of our land and back, to hopefully, find materials we can ultimately use. This morning started out like any other; the obnoxious “BEE-ooo-BEE-ooo” sound of my Herbard IV, heavy duty, built in radio, alarm clock (though, the radio has no effect anymore). I need the alarm clock to be ‘heavy duty’, otherwise it would have been smashed into nothing but nuts and bolts from the slamming of my fist trying to turn the damned thing off; which is were the irony thrives, its not that the “BEE-ooo” sound is what wakes me up, it is the frequent pounding of my hand to the point where I am no longer tired. After my eyes finally rejoice and open, I proceed to slip into my attire. Common attire down in the fallout is very silky-white windbreakers; they usually consist of one or two more colors ranging from blacks to dark blues. We wear heavy strap on boots; the straps are very thick buckles and the toes of the boots are metal-plated. We wear leather gloves, those too silky-black. Last, but not least, we equip ourselves with our utility belt. The belt consists of a satchel and three small pockets. We usually carry around our pass card (we need this to gain access to many of the levels of the fallout depending on our rank), a walkie-talkie, and a small amount of money. Because I am a rank S, my card allows me to enter all areas of the fallout and grants me access to the outside world.
As I proceed out of my small, simple, yet effective dorm, I head out into the main district. Every person in the fallout is assigned a dorm, and most of them are designed exactly alike; so alike, that you could walk into somebody else’s dorm and not even realize it until they come storming in raising hell! Each dorm is arranged with a small bed that is bolted into the sides of the thick metal walls. There is a miniature toilet and sink in the far left corner and a tiny stove in the opposing side. Each room is lit with several radiant lights that flicker off and on randomly. The dorms are far from any home make-over etiquette, but they serve their purpose.
Outside, the main district bustles with activity; many people scurry by visiting the small stands that display various items. Although this is a fallout, life underground seems to go on just as if the cataclysm had never happened. Oh? Did I not mention the disaster that occurred on our sacred land? It was not but eight years ago…our world was in turmoil; The War of Hemispheres. It was called this; The War of Hemispheres, because it was frankly that, two sides of the world battling it out. However, the war was fought by air, no infantry were initiated. It was a nuclear war; destruction like no other, bombs and nuclear warheads dropping constantly. In fact, it was such a common activity, that people became used to it; death by the hundreds every hour, and people began to not even care about their life. Just as you all know, we humans are constantly striving for power and will not kneel to another until we have obtained it. And just that, we launched Operation Red-night. It was meant to only affect our opposing force, but instead, it caused a cataclysm so deadly, that instead of wiping them out, it in time, completely covered our sun created a deadly ‘smog’, and destroyed our atmosphere. Many of us were afraid this would happen and fled to hidden fallouts built deep within city subway systems. This disaster occurred on July 24th, a day like any other; bombs were exploding and lighting up the night’s sky…and then it happened, a light emitted so great that no sun could compare. It engulfed our sky as if burning up our very world, and in a matter of seconds, peoples’ eyes were burned from their very eye sockets and their flesh melted from their lifeless body. It was indeed, the day hell opened its doors to our world and destroyed mankind as we knew it.
From the main district I find myself venturing along the small metal slabs that lead into the central garden. This is the only place I can find the peace and strength I will need for the hardships I know will come. The central garden, or “the garden of Eden” as some call it, is the only place that we know of to contain plant life. The garden is aligned with several flowers ranging from roses to dandelions, with each emitting their own source of energy and scents that embed the air. Such scents, that they seem to linger in the cold, drifting, moist air of the fallout. Many trees of various sorts are scattered around randomly, and nice blends of grass are planted to fill in the empty spaces. Around the metal paths that align the garden, are several benches. This is where I find my daily source of strength and relaxation. As I sit on these barren benches made of rusted metal, various thoughts waver through my head and send me into a trance that blocks out reality. Thoughts of what I was before this whole incident…I was Michael, Michael Edwards Roberts, or just Mike as many would call me. I was a part-time accountant, you know, the whole tie, dress shirt, slack pants, and constantly answering the annoying phone that seemed to never stop ringing. It wasn’t anything amazing, but it helped me pay the bills and come home to a cozy apartment.
After I manage to pry myself back to reality, I pace slowly to my daughter’s and wife’s dorm. Their dorm is placed on the opposite side of the complex, because they are considered class three citizens, but I still manage to see them daily. Just like everyday, when I turn that final street lamp leading to my family’s dorm, I find my daughter sitting quietly on the front steps. She sits there, her knees pulled up to her chin, sketching imaginary figures into the rusted metal with her outstretched finger. This is life as she knew it, metal upon metal and no knowledge of the outside world. When we entered the fallout, my wife was still gratefully carrying her within and months later, she was born. She is now seven and a half, as she would say proudly with her chin pointed into the air, and she was growing up quickly. She looks at me smiling; revealing a gap were a tooth noticeably escaped her presence, and to my expectation, she comes leaping into my arms grasping me tightly. Her warmth sent chills down my spine…something was different about today; I had a distinct feeling that this would be the last time I would see her. I clasped her tighter, her hair tangled between my fingers. She tried to pry herself from my grip, but I couldn’t help but hold on; if this was the very last time I would see her, I would want to remember this hug to my demise.
Moments later, I relaxed my muscles and let my daughter go. She pranced off into the main district fading away in the crowd of civilians. After regaining my composure, I wiped my shoes, and entered the dorm. My wife stood there, facing the opposite direction, unaware of my very presence; but that was to be expected, she was blind. She was not born with this horrible curse; in fact, she used to have perfect vision, unfortunately, that all changed the day of the cataclysm. I remember it as if it was yesterday…we were sprinting to the subway stairs that led underground, and moments before we reached them, sounds of screams emitted from the city behind us; flames engulfed the skies and rays of disintegrating beams emerged from them, melting anything and everything that entered its path. My wife glanced back, at what would soon be nothing but a memory, and at that very moment, a beam shot through the atmosphere and pierced through her eyes. In seconds, her eyes ruptured in a fiery burst and blood emerged, running out of her eyes as if she was crying. I managed to pull her away and escape down the hollow entry way leading to the subway.
I snuck up behind my beloved wife and quickly wrapped my arms around her; she jumped in both surprise and excitement and quickly turned around returning the favor.
“Ah Michael, thinking your clever sneaking up on a blind and helpless woman like myself!” She replied with several girly giggles that resembled a room of school girls looking at their most admired actor. She gave me a quick peck on my sore lips and then quickly untied her apron and tossed it to the side. “Was Mika waiting for you today hun?”
“As usual, in fact, she took off into the main district a couple of minutes ago.” She glanced into my eyes as if she could see them, and seemed to be looking for something…or perhaps she noticed something different about today as I did earlier. Her smile suddenly turned into a serious and empty expression. “Mike, is everything alright?”
“I am fine, today just seems,” I paused as if I was searching for the correct usage of words “different.” She looked at me again, this time squinting her eyes, “Well dear, have you felt like this before? Maybe it’s just an off day for you?”
“Perhaps…but I have felt this before,” I paused again, not knowing if I should tell her that this was the exact feeling I had the day of the cataclysm, “Its nothing Janette, I’ll be fine.” I kissed her forehead and walked to a nearby chair. I sat down, slumping as if all my life’s troubles had collapsed on me. A soft touch embraced my shoulder “Mike, come back to us today after your mission, ok?”
I gulped, as if swallowing a 50 pound rock. “Yes dear, I promise.” All through my time with Janette, I’ve never broken a promise…and I don’t plan to start anytime soon.
An hour later, after a tube full of grimy-greasy substances that slithered down my throat like a serpent, I had to make my departure towards the Preparations Deck; the area where all scavengers went to fully-equip themselves for the days long journey. I grasped my wife tightly in my arms, and gave her a long and warming kiss on her soft lips.
As I made my way down the fallout streets, movement was busy as usual with people scurrying from point A to point B like tiny ants. I scanned my clearance card, and the door shot open. The Preparations Deck was fairly big, though it seemed crowded when all of the groups gathered to converse the daily routes. In the center of the room laid four metal tables that were tightly mounted to the thick metal slabs that lined the floor. Directly across from the entry point was the Decontamination Bay. The Decontamination Bay was used on exit and reentry; it was required for every scavenger to be decontaminated, scanned, cleaned, sprayed, and decontaminated again. “Better safe then sorry,” the Regulation Officers say, but sometimes I question if they aren’t just doing it for show. What’s next, probing? To the left of the entryway are several steel lockers holding our ammunition, guns, clothing, and any other necessities that we may see fit. To the right of my position was our docking bay where our vehicles were parked.
I sighed relieving me of whatever stress I held inside.
“Ah, Michael! some of us thought you ain’t gunna show up!” He pauses for a moment to grip his stubby cigar and emit a puff of smoke. I couldn’t help but watch the fumes curl and sway slowly in the air, evaporating into nothingness. He taps his cigar against his fingers, and his ashes drift to the floor pulsing orange. “You’re ridin’ wif’ my caravan today n’ I ain’t like that you’re late!” His eyes squint hurriedly as he glares into mine. He started to chuckle and then turned around, continuing his business as if nothing had happened. Now some of you may be wondering why I didn’t speak against his word, well, because that was General Clint. He was a strong brute; big muscles outlined his arms and chest; which was clearly exposed as he stood there without a shirt. A faded and stretched tattoo of a cross was sketched into his right shoulder. Scars were scattered around randomly along his back, as if a tick-tack-toe game was played there. His face was broad, his cheek bones strong. His hair grew long, which hung to his shoulders in a tightly threaded ponytail.
I marched quickly to my rusty locker and cracked it open. I grabbed my machine gun, my ammunition, a small caliber pistol, a combat knife, a walkie-talkie, and other various objects that may be of use. The moments that followed these actions seemed like a blur, the next thing I realized, I was strapped up and in the passengers side of the jeep. There were, as usual, four members of my squad. The driver, a stout black man named Jefferson, General Clint who manned the mounted machine gun, Cole; who kept the communication with the other convoys, and myself. My job was simple; scout the area for any signs of materials or minerals we could forage.
The engine of the jeep stuttered and crackled as it finally came to a roaring start. My heart raced, but why? Something about this day troubled me and I’m sure in the hours to follow I would face that dilemma head on.
The doors of the fallout screamed and began to rumble. Steam emerged from the crevices, and small fragments of dust and rubble were tossed about. Through the loud racket, a booming intercom cut in; at first only static could be heard, then a squeaky voice rang out “All caravans ready…testing…initiated…oxygen levels equalized…” small vents implanted on the ceiling shifted open, and spurts of a misty substance filled the air. I coughed and hacked at the aroma as it entered swiftly into my nostrils and coated my insides “Decontamination completed…all caravans good to go, have a safe journey youthful scavengers!” The intercom squeaked and stuttered as it shut off, leaving a ringing echo in my ears. Clint graciously took one last puff of his cigar and then flicked it over his shoulder; ashes spurt from it as the cigar spun in the air. We grabbed our masks and carefully slipped them on, turning them to lock them in place.
The second row of doors creaked and squealed as they shifted open on their tracks. The jeeps flicked their lights on, revealing a dark subway track fading away into the distant darkness. As the lights flickered and waved, I couldn’t help but notice the small debris fluttering and swirling in the context of the beaming rays of light. My weight shifted as the jeep leaped into first gear, roaring as it exited the safety and comfort of the fallout. I glanced back at the small underground dungeon we emerged from; all that I could ponder was my family. What if this was my first and last broken promise? I gripped my seat belt, watching the small lights in the fallout slowly fade smaller and smaller as our distance grew asunder. The jeep jerks a sharp left, followed by several repeated bumps as we sped up the subway’s stairs. Light was apparent now, beaming in brighter than ever illuminating the room in beams of bright red. We were now out of the fallout, as well as the subway system; we were on the surface of earth. Hell.
“’ere we go boys! ‘ets do this one good eh’?” Clint’s voice booms over the loud racket of the jeeps motor. I pulled a pair of binoculars out from under my seat and inserted them against my eyes. I scanned the surface of earth, only being greeted by several piles of scrap metal and debris. A voice cuts off my focus, “Turn that damned thing off Michael, ain’t no need for em’ now.” Clint protested. I felt a firm hand grip my shoulder “Relax brother, we’ve gone on several trips out here. Just wait until we reach our mark before you worry about using your binoculars.” Jefferson chuckles as he releases his hand from my shoulder and places it back onto the wheel. He was right, this area has been scouted hundreds of times now, no materials would be lying about that hasn’t already been claimed. I slid the binoculars back under my seat and relaxed.
This is what life has become; one moment we are at the climax of our technology, and then the next we are living like cavemen, hiding from the outside world. We entered the remains of the park. I remember this place; shrubs lined the small paved paths as the trees boomed brighter shades of green than a leprechaun could even comprehend. Birds sat in the trees chirping and singing harmonic melodies as civilians passed by tossing pieces of bread across the fields of grass. In fact, long ago I met Janette here. It was a nice Sunday morning and I was taking my dogs for the usual stroll through the park. I remember stopping and watching her throw bread crumbs over the small lake, and the birds swooping from the trees to retrieve it. Every time the birds successfully caught one, she giggled and tossed more fragments of bread over the clear lake that reflected her beauty like a mirror. I walked over next to her and stood nervously, my dogs sat, anxiously waiting to sniff her down. My dogs squirmed and panted as their tongues licked their lips.
“Are you going to just stand there and watch me, or are you going to come up here and give me a hand?” Her voice seemed hopeful and delicate, unfortunately, I wasn’t as calm. I wringed my hands and stepped closer to her presence. She handed me some sliced of soft white-bread and smiled gracefully. “Not much of a talker eh? That’s fine,” she paused, glancing over her shoulder catching a glimpse of me staring at her. Needless to say, I quickly pulled my glare away and stared aimlessly at the swooping birds that clearly resembled a pack of hawks. Her voice cut in “Well my name is Janette, it’s a pleasure to me-” I nervously cut her off “I’m Michael, it’s a pleasure to me-“
“-et you” She replied, finishing off her sentence and mine, followed by a short, but not without emotion, chuckle.
The remainder of the time in the park that day was spent tossing crumbs over that clear lake. No more words were spoken, only the occasional glances and giggles that sent chills down my spine. The following days went just like that, only every proceeding day, more words were spoken. We met at that lake tossing bread for a whole month before I managed to accumulate enough courage to ask her out on a date…I remembered it like it was yesterday. I sat there without a word as the jeep continued to roar on, staring into what once was a spectacular lake, now an empty dried up void. My view was cut off as the jeep hurriedly exited the park’s premise.
Hours passed as our expedition trekked on. Throughout the journey, I continually caught myself randomly staring into the rugged landscape remembering how things used to look. A sudden and friendly slap on my shoulder broke my concentration on the past “Alright guys, stop dreaming and lets get to work, we are coming up to our mark.” Screamed Jefferson over the loud jeep engine. A sudden snort echoed behind me signaling the wake of my fellow partners.
The jeep slowed to a steady crawl. I quickly snatched my binoculars back out from under my seat and began to scout the landscape. We called this the ‘mark’, because it was our assigned destination for foraging. The area was fairly flat with scattered rocks and rotting tree stumps; nothing that hasn’t been seen before. I peered through my binoculars constantly zooming in and out, but nothing of relevance was to be found.
Johnson anxiously shouted “See anything Michael?” I continued to scan vigorously until I was certain there was nothing lying about, and even then I scanned a second time to see if I had mistakenly overlooked something.
“I don’t see anything…no there is nothing here.” I relaxed my grip on the binoculars and laid them down in my lap.
“’ight guys, ‘ets keep it movin’ then.” General Clint sounded stern.
Just as he ordered, the jeep shifted gears hastily, once again leaping into action, jerking me back into my seat. Moments later the jeep shrieked to a halt, tires squealing sending clouds of dust adrift in the air. Before us, laid an enormous bridge that seemed to stretch miles upon miles into the drifting air. Beneath it laid a gigantic canyon, and without a doubt, once was home to a steady flowing river. Ah yes, such a grand river. I remember it, once long ago it pulsed and gleamed in the sun’s rays. It was a beautiful river, flowing under bridges, over rocks, through plants, and ultimately into the ocean. Along the sides of the river many assortment of plants sprouted, ranging from small dandelions to giant trees, each unique in its own way. On New Years Eve, I would take Janette here to witness the annual fire works show that the city held. We would sit, legs dangling off the side of the bridge with only the flowing river below us, staring up into the starry sky as the variations of colors illuminated the nights sky. Now, all that’s left is an empty river bed with unidentifiable objects buried within the dirt.
The bridge used to be a spectacular sight, but now it’s barren and beat down. Cords that once supported the sides of the bridge have now snapped, dangling freely, blowing in the drifting wind. What once was a very well defined silver color had now been stained with an orange tint. Pieces of the road had crumbled, plummeting to the river bed leaving a very bleak sight.
I retrieved my binoculars from the comfort of my lap and continued my job of scouting the area. I focused the binoculars down the bridge, checking it thoroughly. Nothing. Again, the jeep launched forward at a steady pace, jumping the small potholes that lay about. My head banged around frantically as the jeep’s weight shifted from side to side. The pavement cracked from beneath us as we roared on; sounds of rubble breaking off and falling were apparent. I gripped the leather seat, hoping that this bridge would hold; I nearly soiled my pants from all of the tension. I glanced out my peripheral vision noticing small amount of movement down in the river bed. I quickly shift my head and yanked the binoculars up to my eyes hard enough to deliver a black eye. I nervously scanned the terrain, which was not an easy task considering the constant bouncing of the vehicle. Dirt was adrift in the gully; something obviously had been moving, stirring up the foggy air and sending it afloat. My palms were now full of sweat, making the binoculars impossible to handle without it slipping and falling through a hole in the road. So to avoid a dilemma, I tossed them onto the floor of the jeep as I continued to peer out into the cloud of dust that filled the air below.
As the cloud of dust began to settle, nothing could be seen out of the ordinary. Whatever was down there was certainly gone now…hopefully for good. The jeep pounced off of the bridge as we made it to the other side, landing with a thud, followed by dirt and debris launching in the air. I wiped my hands on my pants and tightly grabbed the binoculars on the floor of the jeep, continuing my duty.
We were now cruising in what appears to be the ruins of a small town. Fences lay scattered about; some still standing, some not. We turned the corner, now facing an old warehouse with a large sign screwed above the door, it read: “-me depot” The first few letters were too covered in dirt to be legible. Our jeep came to a smooth stop in front of the entrance to the warehouse.
“’ight guys, ‘istn up!” He paused, cracking his knuckles and neck, “We are gonna go search that warehouse,” He jerks his arm out, followed by a swift point of the finger that was clearly directed towards the warehouse. “We are gonna stay together, that is n’ order!” He hopped heroically out of the back of the jeep, planting both of his feet firmly on the ground. He stands there, dusting his pants off with swift movements of his hands. The rest of the squad, including myself, quickly exited the vehicle and stood by Clint’s side. We checked our guns and held them broadly, ready for anything that might come our way.
Clint went first, followed by the rest of us. We approached the glassless steel framed doors, which once automatically slid open as someone approached. We stepped through, stepping on a thick pile of glass that crunched beneath our feet. The building had a cold eerie feel, as if death was in the air long ago. We flicked our flash lights on the barrel of our guns on, revealing a large selection of materials that lay scattered between the aisles of the display stands. We stepped further into the warehouse, cautiously avoiding the remains of several humans. I no longer freaked out when I witnessed the bones of a deceased; death was just too often witnessed on the day of the cataclysm and in the fallout.
We continued to rummage through the thick layers of debris, picking up useful tools and items and placing them safely in our packs. A shopping cart remains standing in the center of a checkout line with tiny bones sitting in the baby seat, and several larger bones lying at the base of the cart. Without a doubt, it was a mother and her child; what a horrible way to end existence.
We marched on, flipping scraps of debris over to see if anything of value lay hidden. Before us, a blue door with the words “Manager’s Office” stood. I opened it, hearing nothing but the clicking of the door creaking open. It was a small room with only a small wooden desk in the corner, followed by several file cabinets lining the walls. I paced over to the desk and examined its contents. A small pencil holder rolled vigorously on its side, pencils of various lengths were scattered about over a large calendar; the month of July. I searched the drawers, only finding a stapler and some invoices. As I proceeded to step away from the barren desk, something crunched under my feet. I glanced down, noticing a pile of bones and a small picture frame safely cuffed in its hands. I picked up the frame; a family photo featuring a man, a woman, and two children. I tucked the frame back into the safety of the skeleton’s fragile frame and stepped out of the room, closing the door behind me.
General Clint’s voice echoes in the building “’ight guys, I tink we’re done here, ‘ets get a move on.” We evacuated the building through those same metal doors, greeted by our jeep safely sitting before us. We hopped into our vehicle and launched it into a steady pace again. Shutters on a nearby house creaked in the wind, slamming shut with great ferocity. It was getting dark, something I wasn’t fond of.
“Hey General, don’t you think we should be heading back to the fallout?” I paused, and then added “It’s getting dark.”
“Hmm…” He grabbed his chin as if in a deep thought, “’couple more hours n’ it will be time.” Johnson glanced through the corner of his eyes; fear and doubtfulness was apparent. We backtracked down the road leading to “-me depot,” only this time taking a right, now heading towards several over and under passes; a freeway. Cars lay scattered about, some on their sides, some flipped over. We took the I-40, driving slowly. We came to a large bus that was flipped over on its side, blocking the road.
“’hats enough for today boys, ‘ets head home.” Just as Clint ordered, the jeep made a sharp U-turn, retracing our previous path. The bridge was clear in sight now, looking more rugged then before. Johnson took it slow, crawling to a steady slow speed. Cracking and crumbling of the road boomed louder then before. Our jeep, now just barely on the bridge began to shake violently. Dust and rocks launched into the air, followed by a gigantic cloud of dirt swirling around the bridge’s frame. The enormous poles that the ropes once connected to shook, cracking at their base. Rocks rained from above, pelting our heads. I cuffed my arms over my head to prevent brain damage. Railing that lined the bridge broke off with such strength, trembling the ground beneath us. Johnson hastily switched the gear to reverse and promptly “put the pedal to the metal”. More dirt launched airborne, the tires squealed in place; we were stuck in a hole. The cement below us began to crack, sending my heart into a frantic race. I felt like my heart was going to burst through my chest and explode. The large pillars snapped; launching more debris then one could imagine, and smashing into the base of the bridge. Chunks of rocks spewed from beneath us; our jeep’s weight now noticeably shifted to the front as it dangled dangerously in a hole. The scene was now no longer viewable, foggy dirt clouds engulfed us making anything impossible to witness. Only the sounds of smashing and cracking, and the occasional squeal of our jeep could be identified. Moments later the jeep felt as if it was flying; with nothing below us, we plummeted down the side of the gully, skidding along the canyon face. Something large fell from above, striking me in the head; my eyes grew dim, slightly closing. Darkness.
“-n you he-“ A voice cut in, but from where? All I could see was darkness. Again it rang, echoing throughout my body, “Can you he-“ I couldn’t move, “can you hear m-“ The voice faded in and out. “Can you hear me!?” I tried my hardest to mutter out the words “yes,” but nothing happened. My fingers twitched, and I could feel dirt in my hands. “CAN YOU HEAR ME!? General, he seems to be knocked unconscious!”
“YES!” My voice darted out, slicing the silence and launching my heart into a frenzy. My eyes shot open, everything was blurry. I was looking towards the sky, lying on my back in the dirt. Slowly my vision came back to me and I sat up, quickly scanning the area. Piles of cement slabs and metal bars lay about; the jeep crushed beneath. I glanced up, the bridge above now broken in half exposing its metal frame. My head throbbed with unexplainable agony and I felt dizzy. I felt the top of my head with care, feeling a damp bare spot that stung with the touch of my fingers. I jerked my hand down, noticing it was the color of red; blood.
“Let me get that for you Michael.” Cole hastily grabbed a small metal box and pulled out a roll of gauze. “You got lucky man, that rock barely scraped the top of your head,” Cole pushed his glasses up with his pointer-finger, “I think you’ll be alright.” I noticed something was missing off of Cole’s face…his mask! “What happened to your mask Cole!?” I screeched like a high school girl.
“A piece of debris broke off, hitting the nosle of my mask.” He looked uneasy, as if he knew he was going to die in a matter of hours. He then quickly added, “But don’t worry about me, I’m going to be fine.”
I glanced around, noticing Clint chuckle, “Don’t kid you’self, we all know the air out ‘ere eats your insides.” Cole’s head bowed, as if trying to deny the truth of his extinction.
“So how does the situation look General?” I shouted as Cole tightly wrapped the top of my head with gauze.
“Hmm…” He went into his mode of thinking again; fingers to chin, tapping it slightly, “Ain’t lookin’ good…” He paused again, staring into space. “Our radios broken, got too much dirt n’ it I recon, n’ it’s gettin’ dark.”
“What’s our ne-“ Clint rudely interrupted me, “-To find shelter n’ get inside before it’s dark.” He kicks the dirt below him, sending it adrift, and then suddenly swiping at the air with a closed fist. Johnson stood behind Clint, rummaging through the salvaged gear from the wreck. “We have enough supplies to last us a good week…that is counting the three of us.” Johnson glances at Clint, who seemed to have ignored his comment. Clint tightly tied a knot in the end of the gauze and tapped me on the back.
“’ight boys, ‘ets get a move on, the longer we stay ‘ere, the better chance we have of gettin hunted by the animals.” Clint tightened his boots’ straps, and began walking towards the west, closely following the side of the canyon. The rest of us quickly tailed him, guns at the ready position.
The projected shadows of the massive canyon walls shifted, signaling the steady time change; we had been walking for quite some time now, and no sign of a climbable surface. We came to a narrow section; the walls barely six feet apart. Displacements of clay could be seen embedded deep within the earth, resembling an old painting. Small fragile roots lay limp, extruding out the side of the walls; plant life was obviously very dense here. As we scuffled through the narrow walls, something caught my attention. I glanced down near the base of my feet, spotting several small holes; small unknown tracks appear imprinted into the dirt, leading into the holes. I whispered, “Clint, there’s some unusual holes on ground!” He shot a glance down, shining his flashlight into a nearby hole; it was dug deep.
“Hmm…I think we better get movin’.” Clint picked up his pace, now moving at a steady jog. As I was progressing forward, I stepped on something; it squealed and squashed beneath my boot. I glanced back, still steadily moving, seeing the guts and bones of a small rat-like creature. It was hard to identify from the aftermath of my steady heel, but it appeared fairly the same size as a normal rat, but this time it had two tails and no fur, only muscle was exposed.
We reached the end of the narrow path, leading to a building stationed on the side of the cliff. A tall ladder connected from the base of the building, to the floor of the gully. I was exhausted, barely being able to walk, let alone climb a twenty foot ladder. We slowly crawled up the ladder like snails, huffing and puffing. The building could be seen in great detail now; large bricks made up the walls, and a sturdy metal door swung wildly in the wind. We cautiously drug ourselves into the shelter and took a look around. Two tables stood, one tipped over on its side, the other still standing at an odd angle; large electronic equipment stood neatly on top, neighbored by stacks of paper and a cap-less pen. It seemed deserted; no signs of human remains could be seen. Large posters hung on the wall, clearly chewed to pieces by ****roaches. One poster was legible, it read: “1.04 Rock” A picture of a man holding an electric guitar stood in a powerful stance, with the words “All day, everyday!”
“Looks like we are in an old radio station.” Clint secretly smirked, replying “yeah, n’ we are stayin’ ‘ere tonight.” He tossed his backpack under the desk, sitting down in the rotting leather chair. Cole sat by a window, looking out as he coughed vigorously into his hands. Blood appeared in his hands as he wheezed; the smog was clearly eating him up on the inside. Johnson sat against the door, holding his gun snuggly in his arms, hugging it as if it was a teddy bear. I made home against the opposing window that Cole sat at. I watched him as he coughed in pain; his eyes were blood shot, and his skin turned shades of grey.
Before long, I could hear the obnoxious snoring of Clint as he lay comfortably in the reclining leather chair, his feat propped up on top of the desk. It was getting dark, sounds of footsteps and roaring echoed through the cold night air. I glanced out of the window towards the sky. Through the small spaces between the foggy clouds, stars could be seen twinkling peacefully. It had been ages since I had last seen those lonely stars, in fact, the last time I looked at them were on Janette’s and mine anniversary. I went into a daydream, zoning out from the real world; our anniversary came to life. We laid there on a grassy hilltop, overlooking that once lovely lake we first met. It was dark outside, around 11:30 PM I suppose. The wind was calm and cool that night, it gently grazed my face with soothing touches. We laid there, facing towards the night’s sky, Janette’s head resting on my chest. The sounds of crickets chirped, nicely blending in with the sounds of the lakes running water. I grabbed her hand gently, pointing it towards the sky, and began outlining shapes embedded within the stars. The moon glared down on us, illuminating the surrounding area with a gentle glow of blue.
Those were the days; I could never forget them. I sat there for several more hours daydreaming about that heart-warming moment in my life, until my eyes grew heavy, sending me into a much needed sleep.
I woke up the next morning to bright rays shimmering through the window I sat next to. Clint was up, digging through his pack and retrieving a small casing of food. Because we can’t take off our masks out here, they had to be uniquely designed. The front of the mask has a small hole were one end of the tube of food fit nicely, screwing into place. Once the package had been sealed tightly, you just squeeze firmly on the end of the tube, releasing a seal at the end of the casing, and launching it directly into your mouth. It was a rather obnoxious method of doing things, but it had to be done.
Clint jammed the food capsule onto his mask, squeezing tightly as the food pumped into his mouth, eventually leading into his empty stomach. Johnson sat on the edge of the desk, feet dangling wildly as he repeated the same actions as Clint. Cole, lay motionless in the corner, holding his knees to his chest; breathless. Without any movement from Clint, he commented as if he could read my mind, “Don’t worry ‘bout him, he died last night n’ his sleep.” Clint lowered his head and shook it sadly, “He was a good partner.” Johnson rested quietly on the end of the desk; blank stare on his face, obviously bothered by the current situation with Cole.
“You know, Cole was a peaceful guy,” Johnson paused, rubbing his arm gently, “he had a family, three children to be exact; one boy, two girls. His wife died shortly after they arrived at the fallout for ‘unknown reasons’. Hell, not even the doctors could explain why.” He shot me a cold stare, “He was a good man, good father. I wonder what his kids will do without any parents.” He became silent, glancing out the window I sat stationed at.
Clint stood up, pushing the office chair behind him, sending it into a spinning action as if it was a tornado. He strolled over to Cole’s breathless body and began searching his pockets.
“What the hell are you doing Clint!?” Johnson’s voice darted out like a blood-thirsty arrow.
“We are takin’ what we need to survive, hell, he won’t be needin’ it.”
“He’s right Johnson, we won’t make it back if we don’t take his things.” I felt guilty as I calmly added those words. He lowered his head, it was apparent that he thought the same.
After several moments of Clint searching, he replied, “’ight guys, we need to get a move on, we are sittin’ ducks out ‘ere.” I grabbed my things, tossing the backpack over my arms, and equipping my machine gun. Once everyone was ready, Clint led us out of the entry way; holding Cole’s backpack in his left hand.
I have never been outside of the fallout this early in the morning, in fact, no one has ever spent a night out here. But with that said, morning was just as bleak as any other time of day. The general slowly scanned the horizon, making note of various landmarks.
“General, I think it would be easier to trace our path along the gully up here, until we reach the bridge.”
“We don’t have time for that; we would run out of rations.” He grabbed some binoculars from his waist strap, quietly observing a large building in the distance. He pulled the binoculars down from view, latching it to his belt, and began to scuffle forward.
We trekked forward, swerving through alleys and destroyed buildings, narrowing the distance between our position and that distant building. We came to an alley that was overshadowed by two monstrous buildings. I followed closely behind Clint; Johnson in the back. Shhhh, crack, crumble! Rocks rained from above striking the ground around me. I quickly peered up, witnessing a cloud of dirt swirling franticly. Our squad leaped into the shadows, ducking to stay hidden. It was quiet, too quiet, but we remained hidden, staring motionlessly up into the top of the rubble buildings. A shadowy figure could be seen standing there, glaring down at us from above. The dirt slowly began to settle, revealing a humanlike biped. I squinted my eyes, trying to witness the figure in greater detail. It stood there, body wrapped in leather, holding a long spear-like object. It was skinny, with long thin fingers. I couldn’t get a good enough view on the creatures head, but I could clearly see that it had small strands of hair spurting from its head; very scarce amounts.
It stood there, slowly scanning the alleyway, until it was certain there was nothing there, and slowly strolled off into the building, leaving behind a cloud of dust.
We waited for several seconds, before I grew enough courage to whisper, “What the hell was that…thing!” I panicked, gripping my gun.
“I…I don’t know…” Clint’s voice was shaky, terror could be seen in his eyes, “Maybe we should…have followed the gully.”
We sat there, breathing ferociously, paralyzed at the sight we witnessed. What if life could survive out here?
© Copyright 2005 d2king10
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By Jason Gordy
Journey of a Fallout King
Most humans pass away not much after the age of their late 50s; this is a result of thick clouds of smog that plaques our world named Earth. A smog thicker than any dust storm, blacker than any night, and deadlier than any poison. This ‘smog’ drifts through our peace less land that once used to be full of assortments of colors that seemed to be picked randomly off of the color wheel. But now, our land is full of nothing but a maroon and barren land; no trees, grass, or any sign of human life for that matter. On the surface, no normal man could live past an hour without protective gear, because the ‘smog’ would fry and coat their insides full of the blackest disease known to any man; a disease that would eat up your insides and make you puke the darkest color of red and black until your heart bursts and your veins evaporate into a fine pigment of dust. Therefore, our people must live in fallout shelters dug deep within the rock-hard crust of our world. These fallouts were built years before the sudden disaster causing the ‘smog’. They are protected by two reinforced, air-locked doors made out of the finest metal found on neighboring planets. This will protect our fellow people from the ‘smog’. Oxygen in the fallout is pumped and filtered from the surface of the earth through thousands of miniature tubing, which needless to say, lead to several large filters that separate the pure oxygen from the deadly air. The only ones allowed out of our fallout are sturdy men called “Scavengers”. They are responsible for bringing us shipments of food items and other materials that may be of use to us. I am, unfortunately, a “Scavenger”; and I say unfortunately because I risk losing my life, my family, and my friends to bring them all assortments of unique items that I may collect on the surface. This is of course, a good thing, for’ I am considered a ‘hero’ among the people and my little daughter; who is no older then seven with the biggest star-shot eyes any father could ask for, looks up to me and when I return, gives me the most precious hugs, better than any reward I am given from the ‘government’. The ‘government’ is not really a government at all; nothing like we used to have before this world was cursed. Instead, every member of the fallout is part of a council that has equal share in every argument and decision made.
It is my job to depart this settlement once every week. We leave equipped with (there are many “scavengers” that go in groups) a pocket full of bullets and a heavily modified rifle. We wear thick clothes to prevent the fumes of the atmosphere to contaminate our flesh and big, heavy gas masks. Each “scavenger” group heads out in a sturdy jeep. There is usually four “scavengers” in one group: one mans the mounted machine gun, one drives the jeep, one scopes out the area for any materials or caves, and the last one communicates on the radio to other caravans.
The surface of the planet is very rocky with several tall buildings still remaining. Many of the buildings have several pipes and gigantic metal rods extruding from their sides and all the glass windows have been blown out, from what seems like a heavy explosion. The ground is nothing but a thick coat of clayish-brown dirt that drifts easily in the winds. Many dead trees stand that reveal that there used to be a heavily thick forest and many rocks lay scattered around; though it is unable to tell if they are rocks or space debris. There is no water in sight, only small underground streams to produce our much needed resource.
Now you are probably wondering why there is a need to use heavy machine guns? Well, many of the organisms that did happen to survive the explosions and hazardous air were genetically mutated into another species. An example of this could very well be defined in a simple rabbit. We do not call them rabbits anymore, mostly because ‘rabbit’ sounds too cuddly and soft for what it has evolved into. Their initial skin has been shredded off revealing a very grim and dirty underlying skin; it is very rugged and is very saturated colors of grays, browns, and reds. Their paws have grown claws that seem to curl into its own flesh and its beady eyes seem to breathe flames itself. On the ‘rabbit’s’ back, small spikes have grown outlining the spinal cord. It now stands upright, still hopping as it moves, although it seems to be more of a leaping action instead.
Just like every week, I must go on this dreadful journey into the depths of our land and back, to hopefully, find materials we can ultimately use. This morning started out like any other; the obnoxious “BEE-ooo-BEE-ooo” sound of my Herbard IV, heavy duty, built in radio, alarm clock (though, the radio has no effect anymore). I need the alarm clock to be ‘heavy duty’, otherwise it would have been smashed into nothing but nuts and bolts from the slamming of my fist trying to turn the damned thing off; which is were the irony thrives, its not that the “BEE-ooo” sound is what wakes me up, it is the frequent pounding of my hand to the point where I am no longer tired. After my eyes finally rejoice and open, I proceed to slip into my attire. Common attire down in the fallout is very silky-white windbreakers; they usually consist of one or two more colors ranging from blacks to dark blues. We wear heavy strap on boots; the straps are very thick buckles and the toes of the boots are metal-plated. We wear leather gloves, those too silky-black. Last, but not least, we equip ourselves with our utility belt. The belt consists of a satchel and three small pockets. We usually carry around our pass card (we need this to gain access to many of the levels of the fallout depending on our rank), a walkie-talkie, and a small amount of money. Because I am a rank S, my card allows me to enter all areas of the fallout and grants me access to the outside world.
As I proceed out of my small, simple, yet effective dorm, I head out into the main district. Every person in the fallout is assigned a dorm, and most of them are designed exactly alike; so alike, that you could walk into somebody else’s dorm and not even realize it until they come storming in raising hell! Each dorm is arranged with a small bed that is bolted into the sides of the thick metal walls. There is a miniature toilet and sink in the far left corner and a tiny stove in the opposing side. Each room is lit with several radiant lights that flicker off and on randomly. The dorms are far from any home make-over etiquette, but they serve their purpose.
Outside, the main district bustles with activity; many people scurry by visiting the small stands that display various items. Although this is a fallout, life underground seems to go on just as if the cataclysm had never happened. Oh? Did I not mention the disaster that occurred on our sacred land? It was not but eight years ago…our world was in turmoil; The War of Hemispheres. It was called this; The War of Hemispheres, because it was frankly that, two sides of the world battling it out. However, the war was fought by air, no infantry were initiated. It was a nuclear war; destruction like no other, bombs and nuclear warheads dropping constantly. In fact, it was such a common activity, that people became used to it; death by the hundreds every hour, and people began to not even care about their life. Just as you all know, we humans are constantly striving for power and will not kneel to another until we have obtained it. And just that, we launched Operation Red-night. It was meant to only affect our opposing force, but instead, it caused a cataclysm so deadly, that instead of wiping them out, it in time, completely covered our sun created a deadly ‘smog’, and destroyed our atmosphere. Many of us were afraid this would happen and fled to hidden fallouts built deep within city subway systems. This disaster occurred on July 24th, a day like any other; bombs were exploding and lighting up the night’s sky…and then it happened, a light emitted so great that no sun could compare. It engulfed our sky as if burning up our very world, and in a matter of seconds, peoples’ eyes were burned from their very eye sockets and their flesh melted from their lifeless body. It was indeed, the day hell opened its doors to our world and destroyed mankind as we knew it.
From the main district I find myself venturing along the small metal slabs that lead into the central garden. This is the only place I can find the peace and strength I will need for the hardships I know will come. The central garden, or “the garden of Eden” as some call it, is the only place that we know of to contain plant life. The garden is aligned with several flowers ranging from roses to dandelions, with each emitting their own source of energy and scents that embed the air. Such scents, that they seem to linger in the cold, drifting, moist air of the fallout. Many trees of various sorts are scattered around randomly, and nice blends of grass are planted to fill in the empty spaces. Around the metal paths that align the garden, are several benches. This is where I find my daily source of strength and relaxation. As I sit on these barren benches made of rusted metal, various thoughts waver through my head and send me into a trance that blocks out reality. Thoughts of what I was before this whole incident…I was Michael, Michael Edwards Roberts, or just Mike as many would call me. I was a part-time accountant, you know, the whole tie, dress shirt, slack pants, and constantly answering the annoying phone that seemed to never stop ringing. It wasn’t anything amazing, but it helped me pay the bills and come home to a cozy apartment.
After I manage to pry myself back to reality, I pace slowly to my daughter’s and wife’s dorm. Their dorm is placed on the opposite side of the complex, because they are considered class three citizens, but I still manage to see them daily. Just like everyday, when I turn that final street lamp leading to my family’s dorm, I find my daughter sitting quietly on the front steps. She sits there, her knees pulled up to her chin, sketching imaginary figures into the rusted metal with her outstretched finger. This is life as she knew it, metal upon metal and no knowledge of the outside world. When we entered the fallout, my wife was still gratefully carrying her within and months later, she was born. She is now seven and a half, as she would say proudly with her chin pointed into the air, and she was growing up quickly. She looks at me smiling; revealing a gap were a tooth noticeably escaped her presence, and to my expectation, she comes leaping into my arms grasping me tightly. Her warmth sent chills down my spine…something was different about today; I had a distinct feeling that this would be the last time I would see her. I clasped her tighter, her hair tangled between my fingers. She tried to pry herself from my grip, but I couldn’t help but hold on; if this was the very last time I would see her, I would want to remember this hug to my demise.
Moments later, I relaxed my muscles and let my daughter go. She pranced off into the main district fading away in the crowd of civilians. After regaining my composure, I wiped my shoes, and entered the dorm. My wife stood there, facing the opposite direction, unaware of my very presence; but that was to be expected, she was blind. She was not born with this horrible curse; in fact, she used to have perfect vision, unfortunately, that all changed the day of the cataclysm. I remember it as if it was yesterday…we were sprinting to the subway stairs that led underground, and moments before we reached them, sounds of screams emitted from the city behind us; flames engulfed the skies and rays of disintegrating beams emerged from them, melting anything and everything that entered its path. My wife glanced back, at what would soon be nothing but a memory, and at that very moment, a beam shot through the atmosphere and pierced through her eyes. In seconds, her eyes ruptured in a fiery burst and blood emerged, running out of her eyes as if she was crying. I managed to pull her away and escape down the hollow entry way leading to the subway.
I snuck up behind my beloved wife and quickly wrapped my arms around her; she jumped in both surprise and excitement and quickly turned around returning the favor.
“Ah Michael, thinking your clever sneaking up on a blind and helpless woman like myself!” She replied with several girly giggles that resembled a room of school girls looking at their most admired actor. She gave me a quick peck on my sore lips and then quickly untied her apron and tossed it to the side. “Was Mika waiting for you today hun?”
“As usual, in fact, she took off into the main district a couple of minutes ago.” She glanced into my eyes as if she could see them, and seemed to be looking for something…or perhaps she noticed something different about today as I did earlier. Her smile suddenly turned into a serious and empty expression. “Mike, is everything alright?”
“I am fine, today just seems,” I paused as if I was searching for the correct usage of words “different.” She looked at me again, this time squinting her eyes, “Well dear, have you felt like this before? Maybe it’s just an off day for you?”
“Perhaps…but I have felt this before,” I paused again, not knowing if I should tell her that this was the exact feeling I had the day of the cataclysm, “Its nothing Janette, I’ll be fine.” I kissed her forehead and walked to a nearby chair. I sat down, slumping as if all my life’s troubles had collapsed on me. A soft touch embraced my shoulder “Mike, come back to us today after your mission, ok?”
I gulped, as if swallowing a 50 pound rock. “Yes dear, I promise.” All through my time with Janette, I’ve never broken a promise…and I don’t plan to start anytime soon.
An hour later, after a tube full of grimy-greasy substances that slithered down my throat like a serpent, I had to make my departure towards the Preparations Deck; the area where all scavengers went to fully-equip themselves for the days long journey. I grasped my wife tightly in my arms, and gave her a long and warming kiss on her soft lips.
As I made my way down the fallout streets, movement was busy as usual with people scurrying from point A to point B like tiny ants. I scanned my clearance card, and the door shot open. The Preparations Deck was fairly big, though it seemed crowded when all of the groups gathered to converse the daily routes. In the center of the room laid four metal tables that were tightly mounted to the thick metal slabs that lined the floor. Directly across from the entry point was the Decontamination Bay. The Decontamination Bay was used on exit and reentry; it was required for every scavenger to be decontaminated, scanned, cleaned, sprayed, and decontaminated again. “Better safe then sorry,” the Regulation Officers say, but sometimes I question if they aren’t just doing it for show. What’s next, probing? To the left of the entryway are several steel lockers holding our ammunition, guns, clothing, and any other necessities that we may see fit. To the right of my position was our docking bay where our vehicles were parked.
I sighed relieving me of whatever stress I held inside.
“Ah, Michael! some of us thought you ain’t gunna show up!” He pauses for a moment to grip his stubby cigar and emit a puff of smoke. I couldn’t help but watch the fumes curl and sway slowly in the air, evaporating into nothingness. He taps his cigar against his fingers, and his ashes drift to the floor pulsing orange. “You’re ridin’ wif’ my caravan today n’ I ain’t like that you’re late!” His eyes squint hurriedly as he glares into mine. He started to chuckle and then turned around, continuing his business as if nothing had happened. Now some of you may be wondering why I didn’t speak against his word, well, because that was General Clint. He was a strong brute; big muscles outlined his arms and chest; which was clearly exposed as he stood there without a shirt. A faded and stretched tattoo of a cross was sketched into his right shoulder. Scars were scattered around randomly along his back, as if a tick-tack-toe game was played there. His face was broad, his cheek bones strong. His hair grew long, which hung to his shoulders in a tightly threaded ponytail.
I marched quickly to my rusty locker and cracked it open. I grabbed my machine gun, my ammunition, a small caliber pistol, a combat knife, a walkie-talkie, and other various objects that may be of use. The moments that followed these actions seemed like a blur, the next thing I realized, I was strapped up and in the passengers side of the jeep. There were, as usual, four members of my squad. The driver, a stout black man named Jefferson, General Clint who manned the mounted machine gun, Cole; who kept the communication with the other convoys, and myself. My job was simple; scout the area for any signs of materials or minerals we could forage.
The engine of the jeep stuttered and crackled as it finally came to a roaring start. My heart raced, but why? Something about this day troubled me and I’m sure in the hours to follow I would face that dilemma head on.
The doors of the fallout screamed and began to rumble. Steam emerged from the crevices, and small fragments of dust and rubble were tossed about. Through the loud racket, a booming intercom cut in; at first only static could be heard, then a squeaky voice rang out “All caravans ready…testing…initiated…oxygen levels equalized…” small vents implanted on the ceiling shifted open, and spurts of a misty substance filled the air. I coughed and hacked at the aroma as it entered swiftly into my nostrils and coated my insides “Decontamination completed…all caravans good to go, have a safe journey youthful scavengers!” The intercom squeaked and stuttered as it shut off, leaving a ringing echo in my ears. Clint graciously took one last puff of his cigar and then flicked it over his shoulder; ashes spurt from it as the cigar spun in the air. We grabbed our masks and carefully slipped them on, turning them to lock them in place.
The second row of doors creaked and squealed as they shifted open on their tracks. The jeeps flicked their lights on, revealing a dark subway track fading away into the distant darkness. As the lights flickered and waved, I couldn’t help but notice the small debris fluttering and swirling in the context of the beaming rays of light. My weight shifted as the jeep leaped into first gear, roaring as it exited the safety and comfort of the fallout. I glanced back at the small underground dungeon we emerged from; all that I could ponder was my family. What if this was my first and last broken promise? I gripped my seat belt, watching the small lights in the fallout slowly fade smaller and smaller as our distance grew asunder. The jeep jerks a sharp left, followed by several repeated bumps as we sped up the subway’s stairs. Light was apparent now, beaming in brighter than ever illuminating the room in beams of bright red. We were now out of the fallout, as well as the subway system; we were on the surface of earth. Hell.
“’ere we go boys! ‘ets do this one good eh’?” Clint’s voice booms over the loud racket of the jeeps motor. I pulled a pair of binoculars out from under my seat and inserted them against my eyes. I scanned the surface of earth, only being greeted by several piles of scrap metal and debris. A voice cuts off my focus, “Turn that damned thing off Michael, ain’t no need for em’ now.” Clint protested. I felt a firm hand grip my shoulder “Relax brother, we’ve gone on several trips out here. Just wait until we reach our mark before you worry about using your binoculars.” Jefferson chuckles as he releases his hand from my shoulder and places it back onto the wheel. He was right, this area has been scouted hundreds of times now, no materials would be lying about that hasn’t already been claimed. I slid the binoculars back under my seat and relaxed.
This is what life has become; one moment we are at the climax of our technology, and then the next we are living like cavemen, hiding from the outside world. We entered the remains of the park. I remember this place; shrubs lined the small paved paths as the trees boomed brighter shades of green than a leprechaun could even comprehend. Birds sat in the trees chirping and singing harmonic melodies as civilians passed by tossing pieces of bread across the fields of grass. In fact, long ago I met Janette here. It was a nice Sunday morning and I was taking my dogs for the usual stroll through the park. I remember stopping and watching her throw bread crumbs over the small lake, and the birds swooping from the trees to retrieve it. Every time the birds successfully caught one, she giggled and tossed more fragments of bread over the clear lake that reflected her beauty like a mirror. I walked over next to her and stood nervously, my dogs sat, anxiously waiting to sniff her down. My dogs squirmed and panted as their tongues licked their lips.
“Are you going to just stand there and watch me, or are you going to come up here and give me a hand?” Her voice seemed hopeful and delicate, unfortunately, I wasn’t as calm. I wringed my hands and stepped closer to her presence. She handed me some sliced of soft white-bread and smiled gracefully. “Not much of a talker eh? That’s fine,” she paused, glancing over her shoulder catching a glimpse of me staring at her. Needless to say, I quickly pulled my glare away and stared aimlessly at the swooping birds that clearly resembled a pack of hawks. Her voice cut in “Well my name is Janette, it’s a pleasure to me-” I nervously cut her off “I’m Michael, it’s a pleasure to me-“
“-et you” She replied, finishing off her sentence and mine, followed by a short, but not without emotion, chuckle.
The remainder of the time in the park that day was spent tossing crumbs over that clear lake. No more words were spoken, only the occasional glances and giggles that sent chills down my spine. The following days went just like that, only every proceeding day, more words were spoken. We met at that lake tossing bread for a whole month before I managed to accumulate enough courage to ask her out on a date…I remembered it like it was yesterday. I sat there without a word as the jeep continued to roar on, staring into what once was a spectacular lake, now an empty dried up void. My view was cut off as the jeep hurriedly exited the park’s premise.
Hours passed as our expedition trekked on. Throughout the journey, I continually caught myself randomly staring into the rugged landscape remembering how things used to look. A sudden and friendly slap on my shoulder broke my concentration on the past “Alright guys, stop dreaming and lets get to work, we are coming up to our mark.” Screamed Jefferson over the loud jeep engine. A sudden snort echoed behind me signaling the wake of my fellow partners.
The jeep slowed to a steady crawl. I quickly snatched my binoculars back out from under my seat and began to scout the landscape. We called this the ‘mark’, because it was our assigned destination for foraging. The area was fairly flat with scattered rocks and rotting tree stumps; nothing that hasn’t been seen before. I peered through my binoculars constantly zooming in and out, but nothing of relevance was to be found.
Johnson anxiously shouted “See anything Michael?” I continued to scan vigorously until I was certain there was nothing lying about, and even then I scanned a second time to see if I had mistakenly overlooked something.
“I don’t see anything…no there is nothing here.” I relaxed my grip on the binoculars and laid them down in my lap.
“’ight guys, ‘ets keep it movin’ then.” General Clint sounded stern.
Just as he ordered, the jeep shifted gears hastily, once again leaping into action, jerking me back into my seat. Moments later the jeep shrieked to a halt, tires squealing sending clouds of dust adrift in the air. Before us, laid an enormous bridge that seemed to stretch miles upon miles into the drifting air. Beneath it laid a gigantic canyon, and without a doubt, once was home to a steady flowing river. Ah yes, such a grand river. I remember it, once long ago it pulsed and gleamed in the sun’s rays. It was a beautiful river, flowing under bridges, over rocks, through plants, and ultimately into the ocean. Along the sides of the river many assortment of plants sprouted, ranging from small dandelions to giant trees, each unique in its own way. On New Years Eve, I would take Janette here to witness the annual fire works show that the city held. We would sit, legs dangling off the side of the bridge with only the flowing river below us, staring up into the starry sky as the variations of colors illuminated the nights sky. Now, all that’s left is an empty river bed with unidentifiable objects buried within the dirt.
The bridge used to be a spectacular sight, but now it’s barren and beat down. Cords that once supported the sides of the bridge have now snapped, dangling freely, blowing in the drifting wind. What once was a very well defined silver color had now been stained with an orange tint. Pieces of the road had crumbled, plummeting to the river bed leaving a very bleak sight.
I retrieved my binoculars from the comfort of my lap and continued my job of scouting the area. I focused the binoculars down the bridge, checking it thoroughly. Nothing. Again, the jeep launched forward at a steady pace, jumping the small potholes that lay about. My head banged around frantically as the jeep’s weight shifted from side to side. The pavement cracked from beneath us as we roared on; sounds of rubble breaking off and falling were apparent. I gripped the leather seat, hoping that this bridge would hold; I nearly soiled my pants from all of the tension. I glanced out my peripheral vision noticing small amount of movement down in the river bed. I quickly shift my head and yanked the binoculars up to my eyes hard enough to deliver a black eye. I nervously scanned the terrain, which was not an easy task considering the constant bouncing of the vehicle. Dirt was adrift in the gully; something obviously had been moving, stirring up the foggy air and sending it afloat. My palms were now full of sweat, making the binoculars impossible to handle without it slipping and falling through a hole in the road. So to avoid a dilemma, I tossed them onto the floor of the jeep as I continued to peer out into the cloud of dust that filled the air below.
As the cloud of dust began to settle, nothing could be seen out of the ordinary. Whatever was down there was certainly gone now…hopefully for good. The jeep pounced off of the bridge as we made it to the other side, landing with a thud, followed by dirt and debris launching in the air. I wiped my hands on my pants and tightly grabbed the binoculars on the floor of the jeep, continuing my duty.
We were now cruising in what appears to be the ruins of a small town. Fences lay scattered about; some still standing, some not. We turned the corner, now facing an old warehouse with a large sign screwed above the door, it read: “-me depot” The first few letters were too covered in dirt to be legible. Our jeep came to a smooth stop in front of the entrance to the warehouse.
“’ight guys, ‘istn up!” He paused, cracking his knuckles and neck, “We are gonna go search that warehouse,” He jerks his arm out, followed by a swift point of the finger that was clearly directed towards the warehouse. “We are gonna stay together, that is n’ order!” He hopped heroically out of the back of the jeep, planting both of his feet firmly on the ground. He stands there, dusting his pants off with swift movements of his hands. The rest of the squad, including myself, quickly exited the vehicle and stood by Clint’s side. We checked our guns and held them broadly, ready for anything that might come our way.
Clint went first, followed by the rest of us. We approached the glassless steel framed doors, which once automatically slid open as someone approached. We stepped through, stepping on a thick pile of glass that crunched beneath our feet. The building had a cold eerie feel, as if death was in the air long ago. We flicked our flash lights on the barrel of our guns on, revealing a large selection of materials that lay scattered between the aisles of the display stands. We stepped further into the warehouse, cautiously avoiding the remains of several humans. I no longer freaked out when I witnessed the bones of a deceased; death was just too often witnessed on the day of the cataclysm and in the fallout.
We continued to rummage through the thick layers of debris, picking up useful tools and items and placing them safely in our packs. A shopping cart remains standing in the center of a checkout line with tiny bones sitting in the baby seat, and several larger bones lying at the base of the cart. Without a doubt, it was a mother and her child; what a horrible way to end existence.
We marched on, flipping scraps of debris over to see if anything of value lay hidden. Before us, a blue door with the words “Manager’s Office” stood. I opened it, hearing nothing but the clicking of the door creaking open. It was a small room with only a small wooden desk in the corner, followed by several file cabinets lining the walls. I paced over to the desk and examined its contents. A small pencil holder rolled vigorously on its side, pencils of various lengths were scattered about over a large calendar; the month of July. I searched the drawers, only finding a stapler and some invoices. As I proceeded to step away from the barren desk, something crunched under my feet. I glanced down, noticing a pile of bones and a small picture frame safely cuffed in its hands. I picked up the frame; a family photo featuring a man, a woman, and two children. I tucked the frame back into the safety of the skeleton’s fragile frame and stepped out of the room, closing the door behind me.
General Clint’s voice echoes in the building “’ight guys, I tink we’re done here, ‘ets get a move on.” We evacuated the building through those same metal doors, greeted by our jeep safely sitting before us. We hopped into our vehicle and launched it into a steady pace again. Shutters on a nearby house creaked in the wind, slamming shut with great ferocity. It was getting dark, something I wasn’t fond of.
“Hey General, don’t you think we should be heading back to the fallout?” I paused, and then added “It’s getting dark.”
“Hmm…” He grabbed his chin as if in a deep thought, “’couple more hours n’ it will be time.” Johnson glanced through the corner of his eyes; fear and doubtfulness was apparent. We backtracked down the road leading to “-me depot,” only this time taking a right, now heading towards several over and under passes; a freeway. Cars lay scattered about, some on their sides, some flipped over. We took the I-40, driving slowly. We came to a large bus that was flipped over on its side, blocking the road.
“’hats enough for today boys, ‘ets head home.” Just as Clint ordered, the jeep made a sharp U-turn, retracing our previous path. The bridge was clear in sight now, looking more rugged then before. Johnson took it slow, crawling to a steady slow speed. Cracking and crumbling of the road boomed louder then before. Our jeep, now just barely on the bridge began to shake violently. Dust and rocks launched into the air, followed by a gigantic cloud of dirt swirling around the bridge’s frame. The enormous poles that the ropes once connected to shook, cracking at their base. Rocks rained from above, pelting our heads. I cuffed my arms over my head to prevent brain damage. Railing that lined the bridge broke off with such strength, trembling the ground beneath us. Johnson hastily switched the gear to reverse and promptly “put the pedal to the metal”. More dirt launched airborne, the tires squealed in place; we were stuck in a hole. The cement below us began to crack, sending my heart into a frantic race. I felt like my heart was going to burst through my chest and explode. The large pillars snapped; launching more debris then one could imagine, and smashing into the base of the bridge. Chunks of rocks spewed from beneath us; our jeep’s weight now noticeably shifted to the front as it dangled dangerously in a hole. The scene was now no longer viewable, foggy dirt clouds engulfed us making anything impossible to witness. Only the sounds of smashing and cracking, and the occasional squeal of our jeep could be identified. Moments later the jeep felt as if it was flying; with nothing below us, we plummeted down the side of the gully, skidding along the canyon face. Something large fell from above, striking me in the head; my eyes grew dim, slightly closing. Darkness.
“-n you he-“ A voice cut in, but from where? All I could see was darkness. Again it rang, echoing throughout my body, “Can you he-“ I couldn’t move, “can you hear m-“ The voice faded in and out. “Can you hear me!?” I tried my hardest to mutter out the words “yes,” but nothing happened. My fingers twitched, and I could feel dirt in my hands. “CAN YOU HEAR ME!? General, he seems to be knocked unconscious!”
“YES!” My voice darted out, slicing the silence and launching my heart into a frenzy. My eyes shot open, everything was blurry. I was looking towards the sky, lying on my back in the dirt. Slowly my vision came back to me and I sat up, quickly scanning the area. Piles of cement slabs and metal bars lay about; the jeep crushed beneath. I glanced up, the bridge above now broken in half exposing its metal frame. My head throbbed with unexplainable agony and I felt dizzy. I felt the top of my head with care, feeling a damp bare spot that stung with the touch of my fingers. I jerked my hand down, noticing it was the color of red; blood.
“Let me get that for you Michael.” Cole hastily grabbed a small metal box and pulled out a roll of gauze. “You got lucky man, that rock barely scraped the top of your head,” Cole pushed his glasses up with his pointer-finger, “I think you’ll be alright.” I noticed something was missing off of Cole’s face…his mask! “What happened to your mask Cole!?” I screeched like a high school girl.
“A piece of debris broke off, hitting the nosle of my mask.” He looked uneasy, as if he knew he was going to die in a matter of hours. He then quickly added, “But don’t worry about me, I’m going to be fine.”
I glanced around, noticing Clint chuckle, “Don’t kid you’self, we all know the air out ‘ere eats your insides.” Cole’s head bowed, as if trying to deny the truth of his extinction.
“So how does the situation look General?” I shouted as Cole tightly wrapped the top of my head with gauze.
“Hmm…” He went into his mode of thinking again; fingers to chin, tapping it slightly, “Ain’t lookin’ good…” He paused again, staring into space. “Our radios broken, got too much dirt n’ it I recon, n’ it’s gettin’ dark.”
“What’s our ne-“ Clint rudely interrupted me, “-To find shelter n’ get inside before it’s dark.” He kicks the dirt below him, sending it adrift, and then suddenly swiping at the air with a closed fist. Johnson stood behind Clint, rummaging through the salvaged gear from the wreck. “We have enough supplies to last us a good week…that is counting the three of us.” Johnson glances at Clint, who seemed to have ignored his comment. Clint tightly tied a knot in the end of the gauze and tapped me on the back.
“’ight boys, ‘ets get a move on, the longer we stay ‘ere, the better chance we have of gettin hunted by the animals.” Clint tightened his boots’ straps, and began walking towards the west, closely following the side of the canyon. The rest of us quickly tailed him, guns at the ready position.
The projected shadows of the massive canyon walls shifted, signaling the steady time change; we had been walking for quite some time now, and no sign of a climbable surface. We came to a narrow section; the walls barely six feet apart. Displacements of clay could be seen embedded deep within the earth, resembling an old painting. Small fragile roots lay limp, extruding out the side of the walls; plant life was obviously very dense here. As we scuffled through the narrow walls, something caught my attention. I glanced down near the base of my feet, spotting several small holes; small unknown tracks appear imprinted into the dirt, leading into the holes. I whispered, “Clint, there’s some unusual holes on ground!” He shot a glance down, shining his flashlight into a nearby hole; it was dug deep.
“Hmm…I think we better get movin’.” Clint picked up his pace, now moving at a steady jog. As I was progressing forward, I stepped on something; it squealed and squashed beneath my boot. I glanced back, still steadily moving, seeing the guts and bones of a small rat-like creature. It was hard to identify from the aftermath of my steady heel, but it appeared fairly the same size as a normal rat, but this time it had two tails and no fur, only muscle was exposed.
We reached the end of the narrow path, leading to a building stationed on the side of the cliff. A tall ladder connected from the base of the building, to the floor of the gully. I was exhausted, barely being able to walk, let alone climb a twenty foot ladder. We slowly crawled up the ladder like snails, huffing and puffing. The building could be seen in great detail now; large bricks made up the walls, and a sturdy metal door swung wildly in the wind. We cautiously drug ourselves into the shelter and took a look around. Two tables stood, one tipped over on its side, the other still standing at an odd angle; large electronic equipment stood neatly on top, neighbored by stacks of paper and a cap-less pen. It seemed deserted; no signs of human remains could be seen. Large posters hung on the wall, clearly chewed to pieces by ****roaches. One poster was legible, it read: “1.04 Rock” A picture of a man holding an electric guitar stood in a powerful stance, with the words “All day, everyday!”
“Looks like we are in an old radio station.” Clint secretly smirked, replying “yeah, n’ we are stayin’ ‘ere tonight.” He tossed his backpack under the desk, sitting down in the rotting leather chair. Cole sat by a window, looking out as he coughed vigorously into his hands. Blood appeared in his hands as he wheezed; the smog was clearly eating him up on the inside. Johnson sat against the door, holding his gun snuggly in his arms, hugging it as if it was a teddy bear. I made home against the opposing window that Cole sat at. I watched him as he coughed in pain; his eyes were blood shot, and his skin turned shades of grey.
Before long, I could hear the obnoxious snoring of Clint as he lay comfortably in the reclining leather chair, his feat propped up on top of the desk. It was getting dark, sounds of footsteps and roaring echoed through the cold night air. I glanced out of the window towards the sky. Through the small spaces between the foggy clouds, stars could be seen twinkling peacefully. It had been ages since I had last seen those lonely stars, in fact, the last time I looked at them were on Janette’s and mine anniversary. I went into a daydream, zoning out from the real world; our anniversary came to life. We laid there on a grassy hilltop, overlooking that once lovely lake we first met. It was dark outside, around 11:30 PM I suppose. The wind was calm and cool that night, it gently grazed my face with soothing touches. We laid there, facing towards the night’s sky, Janette’s head resting on my chest. The sounds of crickets chirped, nicely blending in with the sounds of the lakes running water. I grabbed her hand gently, pointing it towards the sky, and began outlining shapes embedded within the stars. The moon glared down on us, illuminating the surrounding area with a gentle glow of blue.
Those were the days; I could never forget them. I sat there for several more hours daydreaming about that heart-warming moment in my life, until my eyes grew heavy, sending me into a much needed sleep.
I woke up the next morning to bright rays shimmering through the window I sat next to. Clint was up, digging through his pack and retrieving a small casing of food. Because we can’t take off our masks out here, they had to be uniquely designed. The front of the mask has a small hole were one end of the tube of food fit nicely, screwing into place. Once the package had been sealed tightly, you just squeeze firmly on the end of the tube, releasing a seal at the end of the casing, and launching it directly into your mouth. It was a rather obnoxious method of doing things, but it had to be done.
Clint jammed the food capsule onto his mask, squeezing tightly as the food pumped into his mouth, eventually leading into his empty stomach. Johnson sat on the edge of the desk, feet dangling wildly as he repeated the same actions as Clint. Cole, lay motionless in the corner, holding his knees to his chest; breathless. Without any movement from Clint, he commented as if he could read my mind, “Don’t worry ‘bout him, he died last night n’ his sleep.” Clint lowered his head and shook it sadly, “He was a good partner.” Johnson rested quietly on the end of the desk; blank stare on his face, obviously bothered by the current situation with Cole.
“You know, Cole was a peaceful guy,” Johnson paused, rubbing his arm gently, “he had a family, three children to be exact; one boy, two girls. His wife died shortly after they arrived at the fallout for ‘unknown reasons’. Hell, not even the doctors could explain why.” He shot me a cold stare, “He was a good man, good father. I wonder what his kids will do without any parents.” He became silent, glancing out the window I sat stationed at.
Clint stood up, pushing the office chair behind him, sending it into a spinning action as if it was a tornado. He strolled over to Cole’s breathless body and began searching his pockets.
“What the hell are you doing Clint!?” Johnson’s voice darted out like a blood-thirsty arrow.
“We are takin’ what we need to survive, hell, he won’t be needin’ it.”
“He’s right Johnson, we won’t make it back if we don’t take his things.” I felt guilty as I calmly added those words. He lowered his head, it was apparent that he thought the same.
After several moments of Clint searching, he replied, “’ight guys, we need to get a move on, we are sittin’ ducks out ‘ere.” I grabbed my things, tossing the backpack over my arms, and equipping my machine gun. Once everyone was ready, Clint led us out of the entry way; holding Cole’s backpack in his left hand.
I have never been outside of the fallout this early in the morning, in fact, no one has ever spent a night out here. But with that said, morning was just as bleak as any other time of day. The general slowly scanned the horizon, making note of various landmarks.
“General, I think it would be easier to trace our path along the gully up here, until we reach the bridge.”
“We don’t have time for that; we would run out of rations.” He grabbed some binoculars from his waist strap, quietly observing a large building in the distance. He pulled the binoculars down from view, latching it to his belt, and began to scuffle forward.
We trekked forward, swerving through alleys and destroyed buildings, narrowing the distance between our position and that distant building. We came to an alley that was overshadowed by two monstrous buildings. I followed closely behind Clint; Johnson in the back. Shhhh, crack, crumble! Rocks rained from above striking the ground around me. I quickly peered up, witnessing a cloud of dirt swirling franticly. Our squad leaped into the shadows, ducking to stay hidden. It was quiet, too quiet, but we remained hidden, staring motionlessly up into the top of the rubble buildings. A shadowy figure could be seen standing there, glaring down at us from above. The dirt slowly began to settle, revealing a humanlike biped. I squinted my eyes, trying to witness the figure in greater detail. It stood there, body wrapped in leather, holding a long spear-like object. It was skinny, with long thin fingers. I couldn’t get a good enough view on the creatures head, but I could clearly see that it had small strands of hair spurting from its head; very scarce amounts.
It stood there, slowly scanning the alleyway, until it was certain there was nothing there, and slowly strolled off into the building, leaving behind a cloud of dust.
We waited for several seconds, before I grew enough courage to whisper, “What the hell was that…thing!” I panicked, gripping my gun.
“I…I don’t know…” Clint’s voice was shaky, terror could be seen in his eyes, “Maybe we should…have followed the gully.”
We sat there, breathing ferociously, paralyzed at the sight we witnessed. What if life could survive out here?
© Copyright 2005 d2king10
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