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.

I knock off the grime I can from my jacket and tattered jeans, wiping the goggles from my gas mask, which had been caked in residue. I arm myself, a trusty blade and an antique shotgun, weapons that I always fear I'll have to use. So far, I've made it out of harm's way, without having to do any damage of my own. I let the rustle die down as I hold my ground by an old warehouse. I clear my ears and listen for any incoming alerts. As I start my trek, I kick rocks and debris out of my way. I'm looking for many things today. Supplies run short, from gas to food, and meds to treat the cuts and aches.

These walls, like most, are covered in graffiti from those who had passed through her. From obscenities, to pleas for help. Begging to lesser mortal gods, that resided in the haven of the west. We were as far from that utopia as could be, the grime behind the glamour, outcast from the riches that were claimed. All the promises that slipped through tainted tongues, lies once they reached the surface. I doubt those who sit in Divinity even know of these conditions, if they do, I doubt they care.

I reach what remains of a department store. They called them "Super" many years ago, but now they were reduced to hollowed out beasts, a reminder of the now thrown to the wayside capitalist ideology. I break out what's left of the glass entry way. People have been here, which is no surprise. Clumsy and erratic from what I can tell. My only hope is enough is left behind to ration. I sort through the toppled racking, again the work of man. Pushing and destroying everything in their path. Raiders and looters, angry at the world with all of its devolution. They take it out on each other, as well as these objects, not caring for those who follow. I use what daylight I can as sources, preserving my flashlights for when needed. I catch sight of some cans laying beneath some metal. With the bare pickings, I take a chance on driving a wedge and separating the beams. My jacket catches on the sharp edges, tearing at my zipper and trapping the pocket  I fall back as I pull myself free, but hear the clang against the ground that brings dread to me. I scurry my hands on the floor, riddled with shards of glass and metal, slicing my gloves as I grasp tightly to my belonging that I dare not lose. I hold it in my hands, bleeding through the rips in my worn gloves. A locket, a memory of better times. Copper and bronze, heart shaped, with cracks along the surface, it puts me in a trance just upon a glare.

I have little time to reminisce, as I am brought to my feet at the cries of a child. I tuck my locket into my Jean's, burying it deep as to not lose hold of it again. I cock my gun, turning in circles. What a sight I must be. 10 years ago, I had never even held a gun, much less thought Iwould carry it around like a crutch. My mind races back to the present, I hear the cries grow louder. How can it be that a sound that would once bring joy, now brings heightened defenses? People are cruel in their ways, they use children as decoys, carried sound so they can sneak and attack. I've seen horrors and atrocities I can not bear to relive in these days. I will not have it repeated, nor will I play a victim to this barbaric strategy. I turn the corner, running up janky stairs that barely seems to hold my lanky frame. I look for the high ground, but even then, isn't that what some would expect?

These are the shitty times, not knowing whose lingering, or their intentions, I kick open a door and shut it quickly. I dread being on second levels of these building's. Everyone of them feel like they could give at any moment. The cries have ceased for the moment, but I hear the air beating through the old pipes. I shake my one and only flashlight, tapping the ends, it has made it through hell for me, I just need it to hold out a little more. The darkened room illuminates as the flashlight kicks on. I pause, crippled for the moment, as I see a woman holding her hand over an infant. Her eyes are wide in fear, as she desperately tries to muffle the sound. I ward her hand off, knowing the harm it could bring to the child. I know her fears are not de-escalated by my barrel pointing at her. She moans and groans in pain. Her eyes are pale, with rashes formed across her face. She appears as thin as can be, bones almost protruding from her wrist. Her groans lead me to believe she is a Mute, a commonplace for those exposed to this harsh radiation filled environment. How she birthed this child, for so many unforsaken reasons, baffles me. I'm sure it is a bastard, with it's possible father long gone or long dead. She is much too frail to try and attack, she seems to plea for mercy or help. Mercy, I can offer, help I can not. I have little supplies for myself, much less those who are already damned. I exit the door as her moans bring the infants cries back up. If I was any kind of hero, I'd put them both out of their misery. A once appalling thought, that had became almost a passing quip.

I shrugged my shoulders, and shook the overwhelming feeling of self loathing from my cruel notion. I knew I had little time here left to forage. So many years, ever the bragging charitable one, the "good guy". I almost sickeningly chuckled at my past self, and the fool he was. I pulled my locket out, trying to remind myself of some semblance of what I once lived for. It, however, just reminded me of who I am. No better than any of these monsters, both the deformed and the pillagers that vandalized and murdered. This time I sealed the locket in my last good jacket pocket, zipping it up and keeping it away from my thoughts for the moment. I ran from the department store, wondering if the woman was the only one around here. If she wasn't, the babies call would be like a siren for the frenzied animals that would take whatever they needed from them to get by.

I tried to put that encounter behind me. I fled to a nearby rotted station. These pumps, as I figured, had been seemingly drained. Their safelocks ripped asunder, and raped of their resources. I'd literally have more luck digging for oil then finding a healthy station supply. I toured the inside, much to my surprise, I found some smokes and old still bottled drinks. The smell of what I assume to be rotten bloated dairy products seep through the worn ventilator. It is enough to make you gag, which locked inside the confines of ones mask, is not a pleasant situation. I gather what I found, and seek out any other possible hotspots. As I rummage through the abandonment, I am shaken as I hear the babies cry once again, this time in the open.

I look over to see fellow masked men, but they are dragging the woman who groaned to me through the rocky streets. I see one figure giggling with excitement as he grasps the tiny infant. The woman, now bellowing for what I can only imagine is fear for her and her child's life, in the open air. The men load the baby up into a jacked up sports utility vehicle. I grasp at straws, trying to figure out how to hide from the commotion. I take shelter as try to silence my footing. I peak through cracks in the wall I had merged with, just wanting this to be over. The woman tries to lunge at the vehicle, but her gangly frame is swatted away by the much larger brutes. They drive off, thankfully away from my direction. I let time pass, which once the loud engine dissipates in the distance, only leaves the hollowing sounds of despair. It feels like an eternity as she blares out in speechless tears. I can bare no more as I have seen enough for one day.

I make my way to my starting point, I turn back, the moans still filling the air. I am thankful that my ride still seems in tact, with no lines severed or my pump lock tampered with. What little gas I had must be rationed. I did not fair well today, but I will take my losses as I am still able to seek out what I need, and still have my wits about me. I hit the motor to wake it up, and get the throttle going in gear. I run away from this nightmare into what will surely be another. My mind races like this iron horse I ride on. What could tomorrow bring? will I make it to my shelter before dark? Will my shelter even be there?

Then, in a moment, everything caught up. My eyes widened as I brought my bike to screeching halt. "What had I become." I raised my gun to a mother and child, with blood as the intention, I watched in refuge as bastards drug the infant away. In those moments, never, not even once, thought of risking my life for theirs. I threw my mask off in shame, digging into the smokes i had made haul with, lighting it up feverishly. I cared not for the toxins coursing through my lungs, not the tainted air nor the once damned nicotine. I plopped down, lost in triggered thoughts. Then, I unzipped my pocket, pulling the locket out of the darkness and into the musty light. I opened it, which I rarely do. It's a reminder of better times, which tortures my soul with even the slightest glance. It hit me, in that moment, I didn't care. Not one bit. The animal I had become was forged on the day this locket first fell in panicked motion. It came back like a river flood. If I couldn't be her hero then, why be anyone's...Ever?