The dust
trailed behind the dirt-smeared footsteps of the boy, not quite yet a man, as
he slipped from the cover of russet boulders, eyes locked on the horizon. His
pack is heavy with the treasures he has plundered from the broken city; two
cans of baked beans, a tin of sardines, three packaged pastries and a fractured
gemstone. He had also found some spare wire that seemed to be in good condition
and he found a weathered crossbow with a snapped string. More importantly, he
had found some cleaning chemicals that his partner listed for him to find. All
in all, it was an amazing hall, yet the growing light worried him. If he was
caught outside the compound now, in a few hours he would most likely be dead.
The boy yanked at his scarf, covering his face as he waded into the fog of
spores that hung over an alleyway. His tattered shoes would have to be either
repaired or scrapped, and he hadn’t come across any replacements in the city.
“We won’t
last if all we can do is steal from ourselves,” the boy said to himself,
muffling his own voice so as to not alert the Hunters.
The red
spotlights of Fort Hope welcomed him, casting familiar shadows to quietly guide
him back towards the tunnels leading in to the walled stronghold. Its’ walls
were nearly fifty feet high and about ten feet thick, though it was admitted
thicker and thinner in some places due to continuous patch jobs and renovations
being done to deal with the increasingly agitated Hunters roaming in the
daybreak. Large pikes were sunk in around the walls for added protection, yet
most were little more than twigs to the enemy that plagued humanity.
The scruffy
lad huddled near some moss and tapped on a rock three times, and whistled a
faint tune. In short order, the iron slab hidden by the moss was removed and
the boy was given entrance inside. “Whaddya get this time, Scrap?” the outpost
man said eagerly as the plate was returned to its former position.
“All sorts
of good stuff, Bat,” the boy replied, tossing him a rusted coin and a paper
clip. “See? As promised.”
The
guardsman grinned. “True your word you is, Scrap! I might even let you out
earlier next time if ya bring me more o’ these sweet beauties.”
“Next
batch’ll cost ya,” the boy said, launching himself onto the railway back
towards civilization.
As the sun
reared its head, the Hunters cried out, realizing how they were robbed of a
meal right underneath their putrid noses. The people of Fort Hope again raised
their hands in prayer, thanking their respective powers for staying the Hunter’s
hands once more. Yet the talk this morning was of the scavengers who returned
and what they had managed to pilfer from the old human city.
When he
reached the end of the line, Scrap was meet with several offers for his haul;
the tailor Hubert was willing to outfit him with a barely worn cloak for a measly
can of beans. Darrel the blacksmith wanted to trade his second best hammer for
two twinkies. Even Sarah the harlot was willing to give him a weeks’ worth of
time in The Silver Spoon for the gem.
Unfortunately,
Scrap couldn’t accept any offers until he visited his partner, Jaz, who was
back at their apartment working on some strange formula. When Scrap told them
the news, they merely swapped to the next scavenger who came by, haggling with
the same chips.
The musty
streets were gathering the usual dirt clod as if to shield them from the
growing fireball that flared its way to the top of the sky. People sought after
Scrap and the others, but were willing to make deals with anyone they came
across. Scrap averted his gaze from the failed scavengers who came back with
broken bones or missing limbs, and those who had family waiting for them. He
focused his mind on other tasks that had to be done and finally allowed his
body to ache from the heavy load he had traversed with back to Hope.
After
crossing Junes Street and taking a right on Barrow, he was back to the quite
part of the fort, where his kind resided. These were the brave, crafty and
desperate souls who ventured outside the walls for a living. “Hey Marsh,” Scrap
called out to another Outlander, “How goes the hunt?”
“Now’s not
the time, Scrap,” the crippled veteran replied absentmindedly as he went over a
clipboard that he clutched tightly. “I ain’t got the numbers I need, boy. I
need me more Runners if I’m to get the flock back by the deadline. Say, you
still need work Scrap? I could use you, or even better Jaz, if she’d stop with
those damned experiments. They’ll run you both dry if you keep at it with those
kinds of results, they will.”
Scrap shock
his head, sending more particles of filth into the polluted air. “I got me a
good bit here Marsh. Maybe you’ll have to cut your losses this season. How’s
that wheelchair working anyways? I’m pretty sure Ozzy could come up with a
better motor if you need one. I’ll even spot you the scrap for it.”
The gruff
man shot the boy a serious stare. “Don’t make such good deals son, else I might
have to take you up on them. Just keep your findings and if I need your help
someday, I give you permission to yank my old ass out of a Hunter’s mouth.”
Both shared
a laugh and each continued on their separate ways. Scrap hoped that Marsh would
reconsider the offer to pay for the upgrade; the old man had practically raised
him and Jaz when they arrived in Fort Hope. Without him, Scrap and Jaz would
most likely be being picked out of Hunter teeth.
The
tattered steps and aging pine wood felt good on Scrap’s worn and blistered
feet. He opened the cardboard flap and, after removing the cloth wrappings from
his shoes and hands, planted himself on the carpet. “Jaz, I’m back,” Scrap
called as he set his pack down and removed the musty striped scarf from his
tanned neck.
“Morning,”
came the reply from deep within the ratted walls. “I’m working right now, but
show me what you got. Did you find any baking soda, cotton balls, normal salt
or even pure gun powder?”
“Not that
lucky, sweetheart,” Scrap said as he kicked off his shoes and shuffled towards
the hallway. “I got the salt and the soda, but I couldn’t find any cotton
balls. I did get some cloth though, does that help?”
Scrap heard
her sigh, and then she said, “That’s alright, I’ll work on getting that later,”
she turned when he entered the room.
“You aren’t
even going to say hi?” Scrap teased as he embraced his partner. “I was out all
night getting all this good stuff. See what I found.”
He allowed
himself a smile as she reached for the pack. He took the opportunity to slip
his other hand around her waist and pull her in close. “I missed you Jaz,” he whispered
as he kissed her soft petal lips.
“I’m glad
your home safe,” she said, returning to their embrace and ran her fingers
through his hair. “You need to wash up, darling.”
“Piss off.
I need my bed back,” he tossed the backpack to the floor and, still kissing
Jaz, fell onto the patchwork quilt covering their cot. “Think you could help me
relax for, say, five to ten minutes?”
Jaz
smirked, leaning up over him and caressing his neck. “Not until you smell nice
again.”
With a groan,
Scrap sat up and removed the cloth wrappings that were once a shirt and pants
and made his way into the moldy shower. He slipped off his socks and underwear,
careful not to mix them up with his hand towel and opened the glass door. “Hey
princess,” Scrap said as his hand hovered over the worn knob, “Did you use all
the hot water for the day?”
“Maybe,”
she giggled, watching him from their bed/work room.
Giving her
a dirty look Scrap yanked the knob and yipped when the frigid liquid sapped the
heat from his skin. “Bastard Stephenson didn’t even fix the damned boiler!”
Scrap cursed as he furiously rubbed himself down with a bar of soap Jaz had
synthesized the week before. “I ain’t trading with him in advance ever again!
Two-nosed snake.”
“It looks
so small,” she observed through the glass.
“I said it
was cold!” Scrap blushed and turned away, vowing to get the heater repaired
before another embarrassment like this would happen.
Yet he
paused when he felt a familiar warmth come up from beside him. “I didn’t hear
you come in,” he said as Jaz snuggled him from behind.
“You’re exhausted,
Scrap. And it’s nearly bedtime for you anyways.”
“If you say
so Jaz,” he kissed her once more. “I’ll go right after this.”
The rays of
light pierced his face, branding him with the reminder of the next sunrise. A
look to the workbench revealed how the day had gone: Jaz had traded a half box
of bullets for a new water filter and more chemicals. Scrap had no idea what
they were for or how chemistry worked in general, but it was important to Jaz
so he tried to at least pay attention to it. He didn’t have her lust for
knowledge though. All Scrap wanted was to be alive each day. He hadn’t thought
much further than that.
She had
left him another list of things to get. First, the chemical compound or element
she needed and then in household supplies that would likely have those things.
Scrap ignored everything expect the items on the list. That’s what he saw in
the city, that’s what he could get, and that is what he understood. “Wish she
would have stayed a bit longer though,” he said to himself. “I keep missing out
on saying goodbye.”
“Not
tonight you won’t,” his partner came out of the bathroom, towel wrapped around
her torso. “I need to make certain you know what to get this time. Are you
paying any attention to me at all?”
“Yeah,
just, uh, little distracted that’s all,” Scrap said honestly. “You uh, gonna
keep that all on?”
“You’re too
easy sweetie,” she let it drop to one side and swung the towel around him and
leaned forward. “I don’t think it’s fair anymore.”
Scrap
tasted her lips once more. “I’ll get whatever you put on that list, swear to
god. Just don’t send me off so quick, please?”
“It’s fast,
genius,” she whispered as they entangled themselves again. “And you’re always
quick. Maybe try and slow down this time, if you can handle it.”
He let her
taunt him; that’s how he usually got laid. “Yep, I’m a fast one alright. And
easy. I love you Jaz, I really do. We should do this more often, seriously.”
“You’re
lucky I’m in the mood,” she panted as they moved into their steady rhythm. “God,
you’re cute.”
“I love
you,” Scrap moaned, trying to hold out a little bit longer. “Gah, sorry.”
Jaz
laughed. “You made it to thirty seconds this time. New record I’d say.”
“Alright,
enough with that,” Scrap held her close, not wanting to leave so soon. “I’m
still ready for more, that was just a warm up. Honest.”
“I think
you’re full of it,” she kissed him, again and again, until he got up. “Need a
moment to deflate?”
“Nah,
morning wood at this hour usually goes unnoticed,” he stroked her chocolate
stream of hair and gazed longingly into her creamy brown eyes. “You gonna be
okay?”
She sighed
again, head on his chest. “Will you let me come this time?”
The
playfulness left Scrap immediately. He reverted to his survival mode, yet tried
to be gentle about it. “Now Jaz, you’re really bright and special. That’s rare
in Fort Hope. If the Hunters got you, that’d-“
“-be a huge
loss for this shithole, I know,” she shivered, though not from the cold. “Why
do you have to go on these by yourself? I’m perfectly capable of fighting them,
probably better than most of those chauvinistic pigs called the ‘Defense
Battalion’. They’re a joke and everyone knows they’re too big of cowards to go
out there. It’s only scavengers like you that actually face those monsters at
all. And sometimes you don’t come back for a whole day. Did you ever think how
worried I’d be? Andrew’s husband didn’t come back yesterday. I talked to him
about it at the marketplace while you were asleep,” she sniffled, and her voice
grew nasally, hiccupping as she spoke. “I always worry about whether or not you’ll
come back. I want you to feel my hurt, my anguish and my fear.”
She tore
herself away from his arms, snatching her leather jacket and jeans from the
ground. “I’m coming with you, not someday, not next week, I’m coming tonight.
And there isn’t anything you can say to stop me.”
Scrap’s
eyes darkened, and his voice grew softer, yet more commanding. “I never, ever,
fight Hunters. I hide from them. I outrun them, or simply outlast them until
some other idiot comes along trying to kill them. When I catch a glimpse or
even think I see, hear or smell one, I hide. I leave nothing to chance. You’ve
been inside too long to remember, Jaz. That world isn’t a place for someone as
gifted as you. Look at me. I’m expendable. I have no other talent than finding
things in the city and bringing them back here. I’m a dog who can fetch things
and if I die out there, some other hounds will take my place. You are special,
Jaz. You can make something out of these chemicals and stuff that I don’t even
begin to understand. Am I special like you? I am not. No one would care if I
didn’t come back one night. If you don’t bring this up again, I’d be very
grateful.”
Jaz’s eyes
turned slick with tears. She mumbled something that Scrap didn’t quite catch. “I’m
sorry?” he said.
“I said I
care,” she answered. “I’ve always cared. And you’re wrong, Scrap: I do
remember.”
She left
him there, standing half naked to the light that cut across his chest, trying
to burn into his skin. “I’ll be back next morning. We’ll talk then, alright?”
No
response.
“I’m sorry
Jaz, I didn’t mean it that way.”
Still no
answer.
“I’m going
now. Please don’t follow me. I’ve got the list right here, so you can’t use
that against me.”
Nothing.
“We’ll talk
tomorrow, okay?”
“If you’re
not dead.”
Scrap
headed outside, grabbed his red-capped flashlight and braved the calm night
once more. He went left on Barrow, crossed Junes street, and meet up with the
other scavengers at the railway lines. “Oi! Scrap! The Legend returns! How’s
your girl? She give it up again?”
“Shut up,
Ramrod. I’m not in the mood,” Scrap said, observing how the other Outlanders
were preparing for the next train.
“Eh, come
on, you gotta give us something pal,” a scrawny teen badgered him. “I heard
from Ozzy that you worked for Marsh in the past. That all true?”
“Pipe down,
Twitchy,” a large man growled, diverting the attention from Scrap. “The train’s
here.”
“Tickets
please,” the conductor said, holding out his stamp and clipboard for the
scavengers. “Just give me the wavers and off into Wonderland you go. Don’t run
late again, Scrap. I’m not so easily
bribed as my colleagues,” the short man turned his nose up at him, but the wink
at the last minute gave him away.
“I’ll be
sure to be on time,” Scrap replied and handed him his slip. “No need to worry
about me, sir.”
There were
grumblings about who was going to get on this train or the next, but five more
joined Scrap. It was silent for a while. “Are we just going to ignore what
happened to Matt, then?” Scrap said suddenly, surprising even himself.
“Industry
hazard,” the gruff man stated. “We all know that every night we go out.”
“Some of us
take breaks though,” Ramrod piped in. “Duke, we’re worried about Scrap here. He’s
going out for his seventh night in a row, man. Maybe you could tell him to take
the night off, eh?”
Duke turned
to face Ramrod. “He’s down here for a reason. If he cracks, then tough luck.
Matt was a good man. It’s a shame he died, but that’s how life is. You going to
tell him to go back?”
Ramrod
shook his head. “Sorry man, we were just looking out for ya, okay?”
The rest of
the trip was perfectly quiet, save for the squeaking of the rails. Scrap began
clearing his mind as he prepared to enter the World of the Hunters. “Take care
up there, men,” Bat saluted them as the slab was pulled back down, revealing
the crimson spotlights.
Scrap
shuddered as he exited the cart and after exchanging glances with the other Outlanders,
he rushed off into the darkness, praying that he would have the chance to
apologize to Jaz come sunrise.
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