Nick Walker

Survival

What little exposed skin I have chafes from the stinging winds, moving clouds of dust through the silhouettes of wreckage in the distance. I've been searching for weeks, trying to find supplies. I know I'm not alone. I can see the orange lit sky between the gusts. I can almost smell the pollution of death and chemicals. Thankfully, for the most part, my apparatus protects me from the harsh air. I hold onto the handles of my bike, praying it holds on til I find some fuel. People would call me crazy years ago, bragging about their electric models. With so many powerlines down, I guess I'm the one laughing now. The sky clears for a moment, giving way to what remains of what I assume was a small town. I've not been here before, but days and scenes escape me. It's been a lifetime ago, and I try like hell to remember little markers, to keep my mind in check. For no matter how hard I try, this weather pulls you in all directions, sometimes back to where you've already been.