Survival

It was rare to find a source of water this clear so close to the city. Most of the liquid found within the city limits was toxic, contaminated with decades of waste and filth seeping out of the buildings and into anything that spent time there. Nothing thrived within the artificial jungle, other than opportunistic beasts that preyed on the weak and unwary.

Not so different than before.

Ratchet wiped the residual water from his face with a sigh. The sun was sinking below the horizon and the shadows of warped and twisted skyscrapers lay long across the ground, dark, gnarled claws reaching for him, ready to swallow him whole.

Only a fool would travel in the dark and Ratchet was no fool. Shouldering his pack and casting his eye around, he quickly spotted a suitable tree and began his accent. Though his muscles burned and his joints protested he made it to his chosen nook with practiced ease. The familiar motions of setting up his patchwork hammock and harness soothing, despite the looming presence of the city.

Even as night fell and the smothering darkness swallowed the world, he could feel it.

Watching.

Waiting.

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Ratchet was not sure at first what woke him. It was still pitch black, a darkness so encompassing that the difference was non-existent between having your eyes open or shut.

So he used his other senses, straining to hear anything at all.

Not even the wind disturbed the perfect, unnatural silence. No crickets chirped, no mouse nor vole scuttled through the undergrowth.

Even the smallest creature of the forest knew when to stay silent.

And that was when he heard it. Soft footsteps and wet, heavy breathing, oozing out of the darkness, somewhere below him but so perfectly audible it could have been right into his ear.

Ratchet slowed his own breathing, holding as still as he could and staring into the nothingness. He’d done this song and dance before.

All those years ago camping, hunting, exploring with his father, as well as his time spent alone in this abandoned world, made him understand that there were some things you did not mess with. He remembered once camping out in the backcountry, him and his father in their tent, barely breathing as a bear stalked around their campsite. No phones back then to call for help, but he knew that his father would know how to keep them safe.

He smiled softly at the memory as the shuffling and breathing continued below him. Back before he grew up and left to start his own life. Back when they had enough money to escape on trips. Back when there was a society to escape.

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As the sun rose over greenery and twisted metal, Ratchet swiftly packed up his equipment and dropped to the ground, knees complaining, the creature from the night long gone.

The light strengthened, illuminating Ratchet completing his morning routine.

Purifying water from the stream and refilling his flasks as he listened to the birdsong and rustles of life returned, after the deathly quiet of the night.

Eating some of the dried meats and foraged roots, deciding that he had plenty enough to last him for a good while yet.

Recounting the last day and night in his small notebook, its black cover scratched, worn and water damaged, the pencil he was using to write with barely more than a stub.

It was midmorning by the time he set off. Footsteps steadily eating up the distance to the silent monoliths that reflected the sun into jagged knives, driving themselves into his eyes.

The further he travelled the quieter it got, from expensive estates in the outer suburbs, through rows of family houses gaping and empty, to the cramped high-rises and public housing deep within the city. The same eerie silence that pervaded the forest the night before.

His footsteps echoed unnaturally loud through the ruined alleys. No wind here, the skyscrapers forming a cage around the city's dead heart, creating an isolated, alien world of death, memories and silence.

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The factory’s walls were crumbling, supported only by the tall buildings surrounding it. Stepping carefully over debris, Ratchet shined his rarely used flashlight over the rusting machinery within.

Batteries were rare these days.

Even after everything that happened, the very end of civilization, the factory’s blackened brick was all too familiar.

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The sun was low in the sky when Ratchet finally stumbled from the shadows of the silent stone beast.

There was a tight knot of emotion in his chest that he could not name.

He didn't know why he came back.

He did know that he had to get as far away as possible. Now.

He moved as fast as he could over the rotting rubble, as fast as his worn legs could carry him, but the sunset was turning the sky aflame and darkness and silence were closing in around him.

Something Ratchet failed to realize was that night descended quicker in the city. The streets deprived of the safety of the light by their looming jailers of rust.

Out of the deep shadows, there was the rattle of movement on crumbling brick.

Ratchet cut left, making for the gaping maw of what used to be a hotel, hearing nothing but the rasp of his breath, the pounding of his footsteps and the scraping of something large dragging itself over the ruins.

He took the stairs two at a time, the metal wailing and groaning under his weight but he did not hesitate. Five flights up and he finally slowed, darting into the hall and heading for the first open door he found. Wasting no time, he slammed the door leaning back against it and sliding down to sit, wait and listen.

Half an hour of nothing but silence and the slowing of his breath eventually steadied his nerve enough to switch on his light and survey his surroundings.

The hotel room smelled of decay, and mold had crept its way over the walls. Dust swirled in the beam of light with every step, the furniture and bedding collapsed into piles of rot.

Ratchet’s attention is caught by a glint of light shining within the remains of the wardrobe. Clearing away sodden wood revealed a metal safe, worn and rusted, it's door falling open at a simple touch. But the inside was dry, all these years spent protecting the briefcase within.

Curiosity piqued, Ratchet carefully removed the case, flipped the catches and opened the lid.

And as he stared at the contents, he started to chuckle.

And that chuckle turned into a laugh. A laugh so hard he began wheezing for breath.

And that was when the laugh was cut through with a sob.

Bowed over this briefcase, great, heaving sobs bounced off the dead walls and filled the space with the echoing sounds of heartache.

$20,000

The past swirled through Ratchet’s mind, the pain, the suffering, the Factory. Years of his life spent toiling within those walls, day after day slaving away under the massive machines in hot, dangerous conditions just to eat at the end of the day.

It had consumed his life, work, eat, sleep, work, eat, sleep, work, eat, sleep

The factory workers had called him Ratchet, for all the hours he spent working on those colossal machines.

It’s the only name he remembered.

He cried, out of grief for how life changing this briefcase would have been, to the unbreakable loop of sheer survival that his life had been.

But the loop had been broken. Broken along with the very foundations of the world, lost along with uncountable lives.

So as the night wore on, and the dry paper bills fueled the fire that cooked his food and warmed his bones, Ratchet thought not of the past, but of the future

For so long he had done nothing but survive.

But perhaps here in this ruined world, free from the shackles of his past, he can finally start living.