Pyre

Eugene knelt down by a broken egress window and shined his flashlight into the dingy basement. The beam cut through the darkness, illuminating a barren, filthy concrete husk of a room. Eugene looked over his shoulder, through his visor, nodded at Amy, then climbed through. He landed in the basement with a thud. Eugene heard a soft scratch and whipped his light around. Two mice, squeaking madly, scurried behind a pile of trashed furniture and rotting books in the corner of the basement. He turned back and watched as Amy limped over and, nursing her left foot, slid through the window.

Eugene tried to support her as she came down, but Amy landed hard on both feet and let out a sharp cry. She collapsed against the wall and slid to the floor, wincing as she caressed her ankle.

“You okay?,” Eugene asked, though he already knew the answer.

“I fucking look okay?” she snapped. This was her first time on the surface. He’d never been this far from the shelter, but Eugene liked to think he had grown accustomed to the danger after dozens of supply scavenges. He’d made a sizeable contribution to the vault stockpile. Never seen anything like this, though. The group had been following the 15 north with low visibility when the road warriors came out of nowhere.. No warning, a total ambush. He saw Tom and Alexis go down instantly. Greg wasn’t so lucky. They heard him calling through the smoke, but they knew they couldn’t stop. Eugene tried not to think about what was happening to Greg. That left just him and Amy.

Eugene’s head perked up. He could hear an engine in the distance.

“We can’t stay here,” he said urgently.

“Well I can’t walk on this, can I?”

“Here, let me see what I can do,” Eugene said. He pulled out a dirty microfiber rag, wiped the layer of soot from his visor and stuffed it back into his pocket, then knelt and slid off his backpack. He undid her boot, extracted a reused elastic bandage from the pack and bound the ankle. Amy inhaled sharply as Eugene slid the boot back on and tied it as tight as he could.

We’re in the shit now, thought Eugene. If they were closer to the shelter, they could have turned back for help. And without the others, they had little chance of killing the thresher. Time was of the essence—they were already the second party and Dr. Burbidge had made it clear that if they didn’t make it back with an air purification unit from the Wolf Creek shelter by the end of the week., everyone down there would be dead. Travelling wounded would just slow him down. Why am I responsible for her anyway?

No. He was right to help her. Maybe there was a way to get around the thresher after all.

The engine drew nearer. Looking through the egress window, Eugene watched as the truck trolled slowly down the street, its stereo blasting raging guitars and harsh, metallic drums. A number of armed scavengers walked beside the truck laughing and shouting over the music. Eugene went back into the bag and pulled out two black plastic cylinders. He handed one to Amy.

“Listen,” he said, “we should change filters. We’re gonna need to cut through the forest.”

“Are you serious?” asked Amy. “That’s suicide.”

“We’d have a better chance than on the road,” Eugene said. “If you have a better idea…”

Amy stared at him for a second and exhaled. She reached up to her respirator and undid the old filter. She replaced the new one and screwed it into place. Eugene did the same.

“Help me up,” Amy said.

⁘ ⁘ ⁘

Eugene and Amy exited into the scorched, barren backyard. The burnt-out skeleton of the home lay between them and the scavs. They gazed through the dense red glow at the flaming tree line that lay on the other side of the neighborhood and glanced at one another. They shared a tacit glance of 1disbelief at what they were about to do. Then, hesitating no longer, they crossed the yard and slid through one of the various holes in the perimeter fence. Eugene led the way, Amy, lagged slightly behind. They passed from one wreckage of a home to another, remaining wary of the headlight-illuminated asphalt just a few feet from them.

Crouched low beside the last burn-out home on the block, Eugene gazed out at the empty distance before them. There was no cover ahead to shield them from detection.

“We’re gonna have to make a break for it,” Eugene whispered to Amy.

“Fuck. They’ll see us,” Amy said.

“The smoke’ll cover us,” he said, not sounding quite convinced. “We just need to cross as quickly as we can.” Amy nodded and steadied herself.

“Okay. We can do this.”

Eugene moved forward, silently stalking through the red haze before them. Amy swallowed the pain in her ankle and kept up pace. They made it almost halfway to the treeline before Eugene heard the scavs’ yell and sound the alarm. Suddenly, the red was permeated by a harsher, white light. The headlights were upon them.

“Run!” shouted Eugene. They charged for the trees as the engine revved to life and began in their direction, bringing hell-music with it. There were three or four loud pops. Eugene and Amy crouched low as bullets whizzed by and struck the dirt near them. Then they kept running. Eugene heard Amy let out a yelp and turned to see her land roughly in the ash. I have to save her, he thought with a cold clarity. For the thresher. We can get past anything but the thresher.

Eugene turned and rushed back to Amy’s side. He hauled her to her feet and threw one of her arms over his shoulder. They dragged themselves towards the trees. The truck was closer now, and Eugene could make out a deepvoice bellowing over speakers, compelling them forwards: “Frantic-tick-tick-tick-tick-tick-tick-tock!” The headlights licked their heels.

Just then, Eugene and Amy made it past the first few trees. The truck screeched to a halt. A bullet tore into a nearby trunk, spraying shards of shattered wood into Eugene’s shoulder and neck. He grunted in pain but kept moving. They headed deeper and deeper into the glowing red forest, flames licking at their feet. They kept going until they reached a steep canyon on the other side of the thicket. Eugene turned and looked at the distant headlights of the truck. It cast shadows of the approaching scavs into the smoke.

“We have to jump!” Eugene shouted.

“You’re insane!”

“Trust me!” Eugene extended his hand. Amy looked over shoulder and hesitantly grabbed Eugene’s hand. They took a few steps away from the cut bank, then with a running start, launched themselves over the edge.

The force of the water tore them apart. Eugene struggled to keep his head above the dark, murky surface. He saw Amy a little ways off. They reached for one another. From the corner of his eye, through his visor, Eugene only barely caught a glimpse of the large rock before he was dashed against it and knocked unconscious.

⁘ ⁘ ⁘

Eugene woke to a sharp pain in his throat and Amy kneeling over him. He frowned and coughed. He wasn’t wearing his respirator. He grasped his throat in a panic. Where the fuck is it? He looked around and found himself on a bank of the river. Beside him lay his shattered mask. He held it, disbelieving, in his hands, then looked up at Amy. Amy quickly undid her respirator and put it on Eugene. He breathed in deeply and relief flooded his chest.

“What happened?” Eugene asked.

“You would have drowned if I hadn’t pulled your ass out of the water,” Amy replied breathlessly. She sat down beside him and started coughing, too. Eugene looked over at her and handed the mask back. Amy breathed through it.

“Shouldn’t have taken your respirator off.”

“That’s all you can say?” Amy scoffed. “How about a ‘thanks’?”

“Now we both have this shit in our lungs,” Eugene said. “What do you think’ll happen? We’re both fucked.”

“Sure, asshole. Maybe in a few years we’ll be feeling pretty bad. But if I hadn’t, you’d be dead before we got to Wolf Creek.” She handed the respirator over again. “And I can’t finish this alone.”

Eugene breathed through the mask. He looked at Amy intently. “Thank you.”

Once they got their bearings, Eugene realized the river had carried them past their destination and deposited them somewhere halfway between Wolf Creek and Craig. They stayed off main roads and kept up the buddy breathing until, just a few miles away from the Wolf Creek shelter, they came across a gruesome sight.

Eugene and Amy found, lying in a pool of gore and viscera, a body from the waist-down. The upper half lay some 10 feet further down the way, in a mangled heap. It looked as though it had been wrung like a wet towel. The face was beyond recognition, but Eugene noticed a heart-shaped locket, drenched in blood, around its neck.

“That’s Arthur Murphy.” Eugene said emotionlessly. Arthur had set out with the first party. He and Jim Noonan had made the journey last week, when the purifier first started to fail. Jim came back empty-handed and shaken. He said he’d seen a filter at the Wolf Creek shelter but couldn’t get to it. He kept talking about some thing that grabbed Arthur and carried him off. Those like Amy, who had never been above, wouldn’t have recognized a thresher from Jim’s hysterical ravings—but Eugene had experience with them. That was why he volunteered to lead the second party. With 5, they had a chance. With 2?

“What the fuck happened to him?” Amy asked. Eugene knew, of course, but didn’t say. It was almost time. He had to steel himself. Threshers could be tricky. Eugene had once watched from a vantage point as a thresher tore through a fully armed squad without exerting itself. Brute force wasn’t enough.

Not far from the body was a depression, at the center of which lay the entrance to the shelter. Eugene and Amy crouched at the top of the steep, charred hill, peering down into it. Amy took a deep breath from the mask, then handed it to Eugene. He pressed it to his face and inhaled, then looked around at the hazy crater.

“We made it!” Amy smiled. She looked over at Eugene, who scanned the area cautiously. “We did make it, didn’t we?”

Eugene fixed on the bunker. It looked damaged, the door pried open. Eugene knew the thresher was near.

Amy put her hand on the mask and started to descend into the depression. Eugene held the mask tight, however. Amy stopped in her tracks and looked up, confused. Eugene kicked her wounded ankle and yanked the mask back. Amy let out a yell and hit the ground hard. She rolled. He slid the mask on and watched as Amy, hurt, slid into the crater. He lay down.

Amy gasped for air at the bottom of the incline. She climbed, with great effort, to her knees. “What the fuck, Eugene?” she shouted towards the top of the hill. Behind her, Amy heard a shrill shriek and the thudding of heavy footsteps. She slowly turned, struck by awe and terror at the monstrous sight before her.

Eugene lay at the top of the hill, eyes closed, waiting for the screaming to subside. He tried to block it out. She wasn’t a person anymore. Just a tool. The path to the shelter’s survival. He heard the flapping of wings overhead. He opened his eyes to see the thresher carry Amy’s limp body away. He waited until it was a blip in the distance before descending to the bunker.