Where the Dustwinds Moan

It was 9:37 a.m. when the bombs dropped on November 18th, 2097. It was a Monday. When the dust settled, the living, as they are wont to do, went on living. Camps and tribes formed around river basins. Canned foods became coal and wine. And violence and cunning were the national currency.

57 years have passed...

Along the outskirts of Gulf City sat the camp: a small collection of canvas tents, a stone fire pit in the center and clothes lines hung between the sycamores. Michael Holloway, of not much more than 20 years - though who could say when the calendars had long since burned to ash? - laid against the grand tree, its leafy canopy splintering the midafternoon sun. Dangling from his forefinger and thumb was a heart-shaped locket made of stainless steel that twirled back and forth on it’s chain. He pressed his thumb to the clasp to wedge it open but it was broken and would not budge.

“Stupid thing,” he said through gritted teeth and chucked the locket to the dirt.

“Hey man,” came a voice from behind, “careful with your mother’s locket.” Coming around the tree was Argus, his best friend, with a can of tuna in his hand.

“I know,” said Michael with a sigh, “Elder Feron gave it to me when I was a kid. After the Pops took her. ‘Remember where you came from,’ he told me.”

“Yeah, he said that to me when he gave me my dad’s fork,” said Argus, who then picked up a stone and cracked it on the aluminum top of the can. He wedged his finger into the hole, peeled the top back and removed his silver plated fork from his pocket. He wiped the tarnish off on his sleeve and shoveled a big forkful of tuna into his mouth.

“I just want to see her again, y’know?”

“I know, but still, you should take better care of it.”

Jen poked her head out of her tent and blew her sandy blonde hair from her eyes. “Hey, bozos,” she called, “how many moons have I spent listening to you two argue over that locket?” She crawled out of her tent, pushed herself to her feet and walked over to the two boys. “I’m sure we could find something in the city that will open it.”

“What? And get caught by Snowtops?” Argus shot back.

“Scared?” said Jen, her eyes widening with mischief.

“No, but I’m not stupid either.”

“Oh, come on. The Snowtops only loot during the day when they have the light. If we go at dusk, we can avoid them altogether.”

A silence passed between them. Finally, Michael said, “Okay, we leave at dusk.”

They were packed and ready when the sun dipped below the treeline. Gulf City sat about a mile down at the floor of the valley with the coastline on the opposite side. They made their way down the hill towards the city, careful to mind their step as the slope was steep. The hill was bathed in the deep auburn glow of the remains of the day.

“Finally, we get to do something fun,” said Jen.

“Or dangerous,” replied Argus.

“At least it’s something more than boiling water and eating canned tuna.”

“Well, if something more gets us killed…”

“Stop it, you two,” said Michael. He squinted his eyes at the vision before them. An orange undulating wall crawled up the main road towards them. “Goggles! Now!”

Argus swung the knapsack off and dug through their supplies. Finding the dustglasses, he tossed a pair each to Michael and Jen and then fastened the remaining pair around his head, pressing the lenses in so that the suction stuck. Within minutes, the dustwinds were upon them and the world became rust. They pursed their lips and angled their heads down to prevent sand from blowing up their noses and mouths. The dense particulate cut their forearms as they trudged forward.

As soon as it arrived, it was over. With the storm passed, the deserted central avenue of Gulf City sat before them, the ruins spilling over into the street. It was quiet. The Snowtops had retired for the evening. With haste, the three friends moved down the road, taking advantage of their good fortune. Faded signage indicated the businesses that once were: law offices, a small french bakery, and an assortment of retailers. At the end of the road, a sign that had long since been liberated from its hinges sat crumpled in the dust. Of the letters that were still legible, they spelled out Jeweler.

“There,” cried Argus.

Then, rubble fell to the left of them and they stopped like deer in headlights. “Whoop!” came a lone voice. “Whoop, whoop!,” answered a chorus. Crawling out of the debris came the Snowtops wielding their scavenged weapons of tire irons, lead pipes, and splintered clubs. The leader, for he towered over the rest and was distinctly not starving, angled his crossbow towards them.

“The shiny thing,” he said, noticing the locket that hung from Michael’s neck.

“The shiny thing,” they echoed.

“We wants it. It hands it over,” he commanded, scratching the heavy dandruff from his sunburnt scalp, for which the Snowtops got their name. .

Michael clutched the locket to his breast. The Snowtops approached in a semi-circle towards them as they backed away with great care not to stumble for if they did, the enemy would be quick to pounce. Two scouts ran to position themselves behind them. A flank attack was imminent. Then, Argus stumbled on a broken piece of concrete but managed to break his fall. He reached down and picked up the rock, tossing it over in his hands. Michael looked up at him, whose face was stone-serious. Michael shook his head but he nodded with intent.

“I can buy you time.”

“Argus, don’t do this.”

Then, Argus wound his arm back and flung the stone at the looters. It tumbled through the air as if in slow motion and hit the leader square in the nose. He screamed and fell back, dropping his crossbow and holding his shattered septum, the blood cascading over his fingers. The three turned and ran, the two scouts charging from either side. The first approached from the right and grabbed Jen by the elbow, attempting to wrestle her down. Michael rushed and felled him with the broadside of his shoulder. He grabbed Jen’s hand and ran, the blood pounding in his ears. The second coming from the left threw a tackle towards Argus, who noticed, and dipped and flipped him onto his back in one fluid motion. The rest of the gang charged in a frenzy but they had a head start of a good twenty feet. Escape was certain but then, the leader levied his crossbow at Argus and fired. A scream. A tumble. Argus was shot through the calf, hot blood sprinkling the sand.

“Argus,” Michael screamed, “get up.”

“Go,” Argus shouted back. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his father’s silver fork and held it high in the air.

“The shiny thing,” the Snowtops screamed in delirium. “We wants it.” Jen grabbed Michael’s arm and he, wiping the tears on his sleeve, turned away from his friend. The Snowtops descended upon Argus with cackles and jeers, carrying him back to their home in the ruins.

Michael and Jen ran with all their might. Fire burned in their legs but they pushed on until the laughing and whooping died away.

“We have to go back for him.”

“No, we push on.”

“We can’t just leave him.”

“What can we do, Jen? Against all of them? We’ll get caught just like him. No, we push on. We find the jewelry store and get what we came for. In the morning, we come back with a hunting party.”

“He’ll be dead in the morning!”

“We find the jeweler. End of discussion.” He trudged forward, his heavy feet sinking in the sand and she, rolling her eyes from their tears, followed after.

The streets were quiet again. Michael and Jen hurried to find their way back to Central Avenue but all roads looked the same. After all, gray is gray in the ruined world. After twisting and turning through a tapestry of blown-out buildings, Jen caught Michael on the wrist and pointed down. Red droplets. Blood. The Snowtop leader? Argus? Who could say? But, to great relief, they found their way back to where they started. Looking up the road, Michael saw the discarded sign lying in the dust. Jeweler. He grabbed Jen’s wrist and ran for the building. Inside, they scavenged for something of use. There had to be something. A knife. Anything. Digging through the splintered remains of a wooden desk, Michael found a small multitool with a chipped burgundy handle. He held it up for Jen to see who sighed relief. He unfolded the tool past the knife, corkscrew, and pliers and found a small flathead screwdriver.

“Open it,” said Jen.

A light sparkled in his eyes, as he wedged the screwdriver between the sides and, finding the clasp pin, pried it open. He stared at the picture inside for a long time. The light in his eyes dimmed and went out. He dropped the locket to the dusty floor. With furrowed brow, Jen picked it up and looked at the picture.

“Oh, Michael.”

“It’s not her. It was never hers,” he whispered, wiping away the tears, “Feron lied to me.” He closed the locket and swallowed bitter daggers that cut on the way down and lodged in his chest.

A moment passed, then Jen said, “I’m sorry you’re hurting,” and placed a hand on his shoulder.

“This is the only family I ever had,” he replied, “or thought I had.”

“That’s not true,” said Jen, “we’re your family. Argus and I. And right now a member of your family has been taken by those Snowtops creeps. So you can either sit here and feel sorry for yourself or you can get up and do something about it.”

He wiped his tears away and said, “You’re right. Let’s go.”

The fires burned in the depths of the ruined stripmall, glowing like a mountain forge. As they descended the broken escalator, they could hear voices coming from the basement floor. The Snowtops were celebrating their victory, small as it was.

“We are the metal! Sons of the metal! We have the flame! We have the shine!” they chanted and stomped. The leader held the silver plated fork aloft and the crowd cheered with frenzy.

Michael and Jen made their way to the basement and ducked behind a concrete pillar just outside of the mosh pit. Resting against an overturned table sat Argus, bound and gagged. As the crowd turned violent amongst itself, Michael rushed to Argus, careful not to make noise. He held his pointer finger to his mouth when Argus saw him. He pulled out the multitool and flipped to the knife and sawed. The rope frayed and snapped, falling to the ground. Argus removed the gag and the two rushed back to Jen near the escalator, careful not to be seen.

At the top of the escalator, they broke out into a dash at full speed. “Gone, gone! Escaped,” came echoes from below. They ran all the way down the road before they stopped to catch their breath.

“You came back for me,” said Argus.

“Of course I did, Argus. You’re my brother.”

“What about the locket?”

“It was never hers,” said Michael, “doesn’t matter. You’re what matters.” He placed a hand on his shoulder and smiled. They both did.

Jen wrapped her arms around them and said, “Come on, boys. Let’s go home.” They left that place and returned to camp.