The Final Outpost

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Lana stirs as the first beams of daylight pierce through the shelter comprised of decades-old rubble. She rubs the grit from her eyelids and reaches for her canteen. A sigh escapes as a disappointing dribble of acrid water finds its way to her parched lips.

Lana dresses quickly, donning a patchwork of carefully sewn together bits of thick fabric. Though shabby, it took years for her to collect enough durable materials to create clothing that would protect her skin from the harsh wind. Her only accessory is a rusted, ancient bauble. A heart-shaped locket, that she tucks underneath her layers of clothing hidden from sight.

She steps into the sunlight, somehow muted and punishing at the same time, and grimaces. An endless expanse of dessert lies before her. She was lucky to find the patch of rubble sticking out of the sand when she finally stopped to rest last night. Her shelter was barely more than a few hunks of plastic she stood up into an A-frame and a couple of ragged blankets, but it helped protect her from the punishing, sandy wind through the night. Her hover-cycle has been nearly buried in sand despite her efforts to shelter it underneath a small, jagged piece of sheet metal. “Time to dig”, she mutters, and begins working to free the cycle from its sand-tomb. She should have started her day earlier. In the sun season, the sandstorms are at their most brutal and with the journey she has ahead of her today, it would have been wise to start in the dark before the sand started to absorb the heat of the day. The sand is already hot to the touch and she pulls on her tattered gloves before shoving piles of sand aside.

Finally freed, she loads her small satchel to the back of her hover-cycle and carefully wipes down the solar panel. Its charge is only at 31%, but during the sun season it should charge even while Lana rides it the great distance she has planned for today. She pulls out a sun-bleached map, grimacing again at the impossible challenge that lies ahead of her. She’s never been so far south; so close to the epicenter of ruins. The hastily drawn circle on the map indicates two things: certain death and her destination. She folds the map and carefully tucks it into a secret pocket inside her jacket’s lapel, mounts her hover-cycle and veers southbound.

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Lana carefully scans the horizon as she skitters across the desert as fast as her hover-cycle can take her. Its been a few hours, and the panic welling up in her chest isn’t unfamiliar. She licks her chapped lips and reminds herself “You’ve been thirstier…its out there”. But as she scans the horizon again, seeing the same bleached landscape of endless sand, she wonders for the hundredth time if this whole thing was a mistake.

Logan definitely thought so. She can still feel his hands squeezing her biceps, shaking her lightly in desperation just three days ago.

“Promise me you won’t go, Lana. It’s a suicide mission. How many times do we have to discuss this? The Cherished land is a fairytale passed down by fools”, he said.

Lana pushes his hands away defiantly, “My grandfather was not a fool. You know I have to try. The locket…”

“The locket doesn’t mean shit! You are not leaving! End of discussion!” His voice rising, furious. He stalked out of their tent that night to walk the path to their small farm, and before he returned, Lana had scrawled a short note and disappeared into the night before he returned.

I have to try. I love you. I’m sorry. -Lana

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They had had this conversation dozens of times, and Logan’s opinion never wavered. Though, neither did Lana’s. Logan was content to continue this small, quiet but punishing life they had together. It was a constant struggle, yes, but Logan counted them blessed that they had each other and for him that was enough.

It was not enough for Lana. As she thinks back through her debates with Logan her hand creeps up to grasp the locket and for a moment she gasps before remembering she has it tucked safely underneath her clothing.

The locket was the sort of thing that might afford them a days-worth of rations at a trading post, but not much more. It was an old thing, passed down from her family for decades. Her grandfather told her that once this type of metal would have fetched a small fortune and was considered precious. She shakes her head at the thought. The land was littered with all manner of metal, shrapnel, hunks of humanity’s creations tossed aside, or blown to pieces in the Reservoir War. To think any metal was ever worth more than the Cherished: water, plants and trees, seems laughable. But still, her grandfather insisted that in those times, mankind’s values were different. They mowed down entire forests, churned up the earth and siphoned ancient oils from its veins, and wasted resources creating weapons that would go on to raze the once lush earth to the cracked, brittle, hopeless shell it was now.

And still, her grandfather was a man of conviction and spoke of his grandparents who were once patrons of this planet. They studied the science of the earth and respected the delicate symbiosis required to maintain harmony with the Cherished. They observed how mankind’s wasteful practices were striking a terrible imbalance that would mean certain extinction if they didn’t change their ways. But they wouldn’t listen. Before long, it was too late. The Cherished dwindled, and soon there were only a handful of reservoirs left on the entire planet. Mankind, desperate and dying, looked to their weapons to seize control of the reservoirs and in a matter of years, minor battles turned to explosive war until there were no more than a handful of people left. What was left of the reservoirs was mostly poisoned from the fallout from mans weapons, and those left were doomed to walk a toxic, feeble earth forever in search of the Cherished. After nearly a century, what was left of earth’s people gathered in tiny outposts positioned nearest to feeble Oases.

Since then, whispered folklore of a land protected from the rest of the war were passed on. As the story goes the Cherished Land was supposed to be a secret kept from the rest of the world, where the ancestors who founded it in the years before the war swore themselves to secrecy and formed a sacred pact. They had foreseen that man would destroy themselves and the earth, and so they cultivated a plan, and a place, that could carry on from the ashes. They dedicated themselves to the science of the earth and forged 12 lockets shaped like hearts to solidify their dedication to restoring the beating heart of the planet. The leader of that pact was my grandfather’s great grandfather, Aiden Lorry.

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Lana is snapped back from her memory when a small reflective light catches her eye and she squeezes the hand breaks and slows to a stop. She squints towards the southwest horizon and inhales sharply. That’s got to be it. The Canyon Oasis. She pulls her goggles down and heads towards the reflection at top speed.

For the last month, Lana had been quietly updating her map by scouting nearby outposts for information. She told Logan she was expanding their farming trade to new outposts. In truth, Lana was searching for Wanderers; nomads who hopped from outpost to outpost in search of the rumored Cherished Land. Most believed Wanderers to be out of their minds, driven mad by countless days traveling in the heat and concocting wild stories about clues. Wanderers would trade cartography knowledge and hand-made maps for resources at outposts. Two weeks ago, she met Cillian. Lana was at the apothecary tent having just traded two days-worth of rations for iodine, when she spotted a weathered man at the hydro station. He was passing two rolled scrolls to Kendra and she handed him a jug of water in exchange. Lana scurried over.

“Hey Lana, those chickens laying any eggs this week?” Kendra said, corking another jug of water.

Lana frowned. Her three chickens were skinny at best, and their egg production had been dwindling as of late. “Afraid not, Ken. I’ll let you know as soon as they do.”

“Mmhmm. Be sure you do. I’m not privy to handouts, and you still owe for 3 jugs of water.” Kendra brandishes her meanest face at Lana. Lana stares back silently and then bursts out laughing.

“Kendra, you couldn’t be intimidating if you tried. But I promise, all the eggs we get in the next month are yours,”. Lana smiles. Kendra always took on more of a motherly role to the younger folks at the outpost, but Lana’s smile fades when she remembers that her partner, Darren, was not nearly as kind.

“I mean that Kendra,” Lana adds. “Tell Darren you’ll be eating eggs in no time”.

Kendra just nods and smiles and begins to turn back to bottling the water from the pump.

“Wait….who was that just now? With the scrolls?” Lana presses.

“Oh, just an old Wanderer friend. Hasn’t been around these parts in ages.” Kendra nods towards Cillian who is busy browsing through the other tents.

“Where did he come from?” Lana asks.

“He favors the southwest districts. Says he finds more clues to the location of the Cherished lands in those parts. Waste of time if you ask me.”. Kendra rolls her eyes.

“Right. Well, thanks Kendra. I’ll drop by later this week!” Kendra waves and Lana walks over to the textiles tent where Cillian is leafing through patchwork quilts.

“Cillian…?” His sun-wrinkled eyes peer up at her warily “Hi….I’m Lana. I need to talk to you about the Cherished Lands”.

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Lana slows her hover-cycle to a stop around 200 yards out from the Canyon Oasis. She can see what looks like a guard tower, and dozens of small buildings and tents surrounding the reservoir. Lana cannot believe her eyes. After Cillian described this Oasis, Lana assumed he must be exaggerating. This is the biggest reservoir and community she has ever seen. It makes the lake near her outpost look like a puddle. She notices the reflection that caught her eye. A much larger building than the rest sits near the lake and cycles the water in and out of the reservoir. Cillian told her this building adds chlorine to the water to keep it clean. Topping the expansive lake are millions upon millions of shade balls. The shade balls help to reduce evaporation and keep the water clean by limiting direct sunlight which can boost algae blooms and toxic bromate levels. Lana stares in wonder and suddenly remembers how thirsty she is.

“Here goes nothing…”

She starts to slowly creep towards the entrance with the guard tower but pauses. She spots a few boulders with scattered rocks and prickly weeds and hops of her hover cycle. She kneels by the boulders and unzips her jacket searching for her locket. She grasps it, and spends a moment staring at it. Its oxidized from age, but she can still make out the strange symbols. She gives the locket a quick kiss and wraps it tightly in a piece of shredded blanket from her pack. Then, she stuffs the locket in between two of the boulders and adds a few smaller rocks for camouflage. “That will have to do.” She mutters, and climbs back on the hover cycle, speeding towards Canyon Oasis. If Cillian is right, this is the first landmark on the road to the Cherished Land

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