Endless Dusts

In a post-apocalyptic world, two travelers in the dead mid-west are faced with trouble in old Kansas, but that's not the only problem: one is seeing visions... of a man who may exist outside of dreams

†1: The Flight

 

            Did they see him? Cole’s hands slide over the chalky pillar, steadying his trembling legs. The pressure is building in his chest. He wants to move, to run, but that would mean death if they still pursue him. In the scheme of things, he should have been dead already. What foul humor had sought to trap him this way? They stole on him as it grew too dark for him to see. In the scree below, he had lost his only weapon, a spear he had crafted days before. It mattered not. He would be useless with it. He was only more useless now. He dared not engage the men. Or were they women? Even more so he feared their mounts, whose howls and shrieks seemed to penetrate his bones. He shuddered at the thought of what the beasts might look like, so fearsome were their cries. Surely, they took the form of some hideous deformity as the creatures of the outside world; something so twisted and mutated its flesh would deem incomprehensible as to its originator.

            The mounted creatures, he noted, were human in body, but oh, they were not alike in features. He only chanced to spy one as it raced alongside him, staring perplexedly at him as he ran. It bore no mount and showed no sign of fatigue in keeping up with him while he, exhausted and huffing, could scarce endure the next step. Its black pupils seemed to reflect the moonlight, rings of molten gold outlying them with whites smaller than a normal man’s. The thing’s skin glistened paler than eggshell, with auburn hair that fell over its shoulders and down its back. It wore a masked helmet of metal he had never seen before. Its accoutrements clanked together as it ran, fine beads snapping in its hair as they touched. Of its clothing it wore only a black, stretched fabric, which covered its shoulders and on down to its upper thigh.  Aside from clothing, it also sported metal armor of the helmet’s same material, molded perfectly to its abdomen, lower arms, and shins. It made no move towards emotion or thought, yet it was hard to tell through its faceguard. The only mirror of intelligence rested in its molten eyes.

            Only the beasts on his tail made a show of wrath, their guttural, fiendish squeals only so far behind as to be invisible in the foliage. He didn’t doubt their intentions of tearing into his viscera and strewing them about the wood. They would likely consume him without delay. It was this idea that had driven him on in the first place. Nothing is more frightening than tripping in the dark, waiting for your own death. His only redemption would be to get above them somehow. That redemption lay in the pocket of his belt. His hands shook as he had clasped the grenade. He had been saving this artillery for something dire and had decided that there was nothing more urgent than the present. The escarpment leading from the forest skittered with stones as his feet struggled to dig in. Tripping in the rock, he dropped his spear, causing it to careen behind him. He had scarcely reached the edge when he turned and, with great force, pulled the pin, sending the timed explosive tumbling to the bottom and at the feet of the dogged creatures.

            Cole pushed through the green swards of thick grass at the top of the prominence. A shudder of energy rolled through his body and he could only imagine the carnage, had the creatures been in its wake. Apparently, not all had been silenced. Shrill cries and foreign tongues rolled up the rocky slope and to their quarry. Cole was not learned in their language but he could only assume from the tone of their cries that they were cursing his very existence. With a second surge of adrenaline, he took off once more, always towards higher ground. He trudged uphill until the sound of the creatures dissipated almost entirely. By then, his energy was sapped. He had only enough strength to hide. And here he sat, literally between a rock and a hard place, tucked away behind the great stone pillars of some lost cavern.

            Even the coming of morning was not enough to stir him from his niche. The rising sun only stirred his concerns that his pursuers would be returning their search. He had only two viable options. He could either backtrack in the direction he had come, or feel his way into the darkness of the tunnel behind him. Both would probably find him dead by nightfall. He decided upon the cave whose darkness would at least take him further from his pursuers. He gathered several limbs from nearby trees and rolled them in the thick sap that had proven to be flammable. And, lighting a crude torch, he struck out to find a way out of the venomous valley.

 

†2: The Wasteland and the Wolf

 

            Aerin stared at his companion. He followed the line of her slender spine, up her thin neck, and to her bare scalp, flecked with scars. She had shaved her head and been dressing like a boy since entering the wastes at Aerin’s insistence. It was safer for her that way. She had been his only company since leaving the mountains and the chaos of the cities. They had crossed into the Midwest months ago only to find that the rumors had been devastatingly accurate. The mountains had shielded much of the west from the worst of the attacks, but the detonations had eaten away the Midwest like a flaming locust, consuming everything from the Mississippi river to the Rockies. It was quieter here. Vinn had been complaining of nightmares of late. And worse, darkness seemed to linger in this queer wasteland. The endless dusts swallowed all waning light. During the day, the sun was relentless. At night, the shifting sands and chill were like to drive men mad. He often felt conflicted over their decision to go East. Perhaps they could’ve pulled through in the mountain colonies but, then again, he was fooling himself. They would never let him return. They had seen what he was. He couldn’t hide from them there anymore. They knew. They had spread the word. Even in this world he was still considered a freak.

             Aerin sighed and looked out across the vast wasteland that stretched before him. This used to be eastern Kansas, but it sure as hell wasn’t a place like home anymore. Nothing seemed to be growing for miles. Of all the things after the war, the bread-basket was one of those that fared the worst. Green pastures had turned into dusty wastes and trembling trees. The bombs had nearly wiped the bread-basket off the map. The shockwaves had travelled nearly unhindered over the plains. It was an impassable fortress of drought and winds. The edges, where they were now, were penetrable enough, if you could avoid the highwaymen and mutations along the way.

                        He tossed and turned in the sand, watched the fire until its last embers began to dissipate. All he could think of in the dim was about the day ahead. They had little food left. If the gas ran out, their chances of making it out of this place were grim. Only death found walkers of the road. And it was usually at the butt of a gun, the claws of an animal, or the bite of a man.

             

            The sun never let them sleep past seven. Not out here; not in the endless dusts. Aerin was glad of that. Sleep was a waste of time in this place. It was always fitful, always frightened. Aerin often awoke more tired than before he’d closed his eyes. The night was dangerous. Too easily were wanderers torn from their groups in the night, hands clasped tight over surprised mouths; Cannibals, mutations, and highwaymen dragging them off to god knew what fate.

            The desert was always cold at night but the heat was already building. Aerin itched at getting back on the road. The longer they waited, the longer death would have to find them. Aerin staggered drowsily to the corner of the gas station’s pavilion to make his morning water when movement in the thin shrubs caught his eye. He froze and backed away, staring at the pitiful creature. It had once been a rabbit, or maybe two; he was not sure. The thing’s face was appalling. Three glassy eyes stared back, matted hair making a crease between two splitting heads. More and more animals were showing up like that; poor, twisted, decaying things. Aerin had always been afraid to ingest them, of absorbing whatever malady had metamorphosed the meal. It’s pink, patchy skin was sickly with the texture of mange. It was not uncommon to lose one’s hair when the rad sickness set in. The body could only absorb so much.

            The splitter wiped at its eyes with a thin paw. It seemed to barely notice Aerin. Thick cataracts were present over the rabbit’s eyes. Aerin waved a hand quickly at it, trying to spook it away, but the creature stayed oblivious. It was blind. Aerin stared at the little creature’s middle, hazy, black eye. If the rabbits were mutating this quickly, were people? That idea alone was enough incentive to get on the move again. There were things in the wastes that had been only nightmares in the mountains. A wanderer here or there would wander into town sharing his grisly bouts of knowledge he had gleaned while traveling the wastes; tall giants with blistering sores, shambling corpses with peeling skin, petrified animals and things that mortal man had not the words to put a name to. It was best not to linger on thoughts of such things.

            Vinn was already gathering her pack when he returned. She glanced at him, expressionless. Dark circles played beneath her eyes. “More nightmares?” She slowly nodded, “The same.” Aerin sat across from her and closed his eyes in the shade, “What was it?” Vinn shrugged, “There was a group of men coming after you. They had guns and said they were going to burn you. You were running but they caught you. They howled at you as you lay there. I couldn’t help you. You just kept bleeding.” Aerin looked into the sand and slid his hands over his face. Vinn had red rimmed eyes as if she might cry at any moment. “I’m not dead. I’m here. No one has killed me yet.” She shrugged, “I know. It was just a dream. But it was awful. They were awful.” Aerin nodded, “Things have always been hard for my kind. Even before the wars. Don’t worry about me.” She nodded and slid her gun into its holster. Aerin hated that she cried for him. She had to be tougher than that out here; didn’t she know that? It gnawed at him to protect her, keep her from the horrors of this place. She was so frail, so human. And he was not. He was her only shield out here. He had to keep her safe. The loneliness would suffocate him elsewise.

            The pickup coughed to life as he turned the key and Vinn slid in beside him. He ran a hand through his brown hair, “Don’t let the dreams bother you. I’ve been having them too. This place…it’s not a place for good thoughts. Just let it go.” Vinn stared aimlessly out the window, “Did anyone ever find any of you? Before the wars?” Aerin scratched his short beard, “Yes. A few. Never ended well for them.” Vinn looked at him, “What happened to them?” “The governments took them. They were experimented on and beaten, starved. In the old times they’d just call us witches and burn us at the stake. You’ve got to love the religious overtones they added to justify it. There were even trials, but they were always one-sided.” Vinn’s eyes flickered to his face and away, “How did you become one?” Aerin laughed, “Born this way. I’ve always been.” “So you can’t turn other people into one of you?” Aerin’s cleared his throat, “I’ve never tried. I guess others have but I’ve never heard of anyone who was made that way, no. Why? You want to be like me?” Vinn shook her head, “No offense, but no.” He shrugged, “None taken. I’m just glad you let me out of that cell.” He owed her much and more for that. It was surprising to hear her ask such questions. She had been terrified to speak of him since their escape from the mountains. Now, it seemed the mystery had started to trouble her.

            The girl frowned and stared into her lap, “You could’ve just left me you know. Why didn’t you?” Aerin silenced. There was no answer to give. He mouthed words but cut them off. You saved my life. You are kind and gentle and I had no one else in the world. He shrugged, “The road gets lonely. It’s nice to hear another voice, even if it is yours.” She smiled and his stomach fluttered but he forced the feeling away. They had a long way to go. There would be time to come up with a better answer in time.

            Aerin drove carefully, his focused squint fixed on the dusted-over asphalt. In many places, the road had disappeared entirely, making the drive seem as if they were crossing an endless, lifeless sand sea. But this place was far from lifeless. With the windows down, each of them listened in dread for the reverberating call of another engine. With little to nothing edible in these wastes, many had reverted to the unnatural act of cannibalism. With prion-wracked brains turning to sponge, they were unable to be reasoned with. Not to mention the ghouls. Where there were a few, there were always more; hiding in the surrounding hills and slavering like beasts. They never seemed to speak comprehensibly. Whether they still could or not remained a mystery to Aerin. He had never remained close enough to one to find out. Each ghoul seemed different than the last. Some lumbered. Some could sprint. Some were altogether brainless and others were smart enough to make Aerin question their capacity for reason. It was hard to tell the difference but their company was far from a fairytale ending if you ran into more than one. Hell, one was enough to make someone s**t themselves. Rumor was that a single bite or scratch promised radioactive infection instantaneously. The ghouls were just one of their obstacles though.

             He had heard of massive shantytowns constructed from rubble-encrusted cities whose occupants kept other humans as edible slaves. He feared these places above all. Kansas City, ominously near, was said to be one such place. He had been told by various other travelers that it was more horrific for the travelers captured and taken than for those killed on the roads. The last man they had passed, half-starved and nearly out of water, had told them of rabid packs of man-like creatures that had killed his travelling companion in the night. He said they had pulled the man from his car and eaten him alive, their sucking mouths biting his raw flesh, even as he still drew breath. The wanderer had mentioned that their complexion was different; not like the melted, mangled ghouls he’d seen. He’d only survived because he’d had a sufficient amount of ammunition and had taken off on his motorcycle. The visual that ravenous creatures were pulling travelers from their vehicles seemed sufficient reason to dread their lowering fuel levels all the more.

            As they reached another sand-strewn expanse of road, a sudden jolt slammed the car into an almost complete halt. Aerin’s arm shot with pain as it slammed into the steering wheel, the airbag only partially deployed. Collecting himself, he glanced over at Vinn who seemed shaken but unhurt. Aerin’s arm throbbed where the wheel had cracked into it. A bruise was already forming beneath the skin, “Are you ok? Are you hurt?” Vinn rubbed the back of her neck, “Yeah, but what did we hit?” Aerin shook his head, “Only way to find out is to get out.” He nodded as Vinn handed him his shotgun. He checked to make sure it was still loaded and stepped from the vehicle. He doubted the obstruction was organic but he would be ready with a bullet if it was. He could tell immediately that their situation was far worse. The front tires were punctured and slowly leaking air, already flat. The bumper hung loosely downward, hung up on some sort of chain. Kneeling, he could see that it was, in a form, spike strips. The strips were wrapped in several yards of razor wire and chains, covered in sand.

            Aerin looked out across the horizon. No vehicles were to be seen. Where were they? His mind raced and tossed about images of mangled travelers and medieval brutes. He turned towards Vinn and motioned for her to get out. He rushed her, “Come on. It’s a trap. We have to move.” Aerin slung his M4 over his shoulder and Vinn checked her pistol’s magazine. Aerin listened close for sign of pursuit, “Keep your weapon close. We don’t have enough firepower to stop an army, but it’s better than nothing. Let’s go northeast. If we keep to the road, we’ll be sitting targets. If we go back, they’ll back-track us easily. Let’s go. Now.”

            The sand made walking difficult as they trekked away from the road, ears pricked for the sound of running motors, eyes scanning from one direction to another. Mid-day found them exhausted but still alive. They had walked nearly fifteen miles. Dusk came and went silently. They risked no fire, instead leaning against one another for meager warmth. Aerin could feel Vinn shivering lightly against his back. If they didn’t find shelter by morning they’d drop in the heat. Aerin’s eyes fluttered, eyelashes light as caresses. He fought their closing, even inwardly cursed them, but finally he relinquished his hold and, mercifully, he slept.

            His dreams are green and full of trees. He can hear a man breathing heavily, fearful tremors cracking his voice as he reasons with himself. Dark shapes move in the morning darkness below. The ridge on which the man stands provides no cover, the creatures whistling and making clicks as a pack encircling its prey. The man has something metal in his hands, a black sword whose handle rests at its middle. Aerin hears rocks crashing and tumbling as the man runs further along the uneven terrain. He feels the man’s grip as it squeezes preciously upon the black blade.

            Streaks of gray rush past the man’s body and he falls low, almost to his knees, his left arm catching his fall. He crawls on all fours, keeping his body low as to avoid the incoming missiles which, as they ricochet off the cliff’s face, Aerin can see are arrows. Above the tree line the sun slowly rises, giving light to the shaded cliff face. The man’s blue eyes search for an outlet that might shelter him from the oncoming attack but Aerin can see that there is only bare rock careening downward, the human-shaped creatures already picking their way up towards him. The man turns to run back the way he came. Suddenly he cries out, falling to his knees once more. Aerin feels a heat growing in his own sleeping hide, centered on his upper hip. The man’s eyes squint in pain and his right hand comes up bloodied. A creature shouts out conquest down below, a curved bow raised high.

            Holding his side, the man runs onwards, guided by naught but the urge to survive. His tousled brown hair presses back against his dirty forehead as he runs. His beard is grown in fully. He owns the look of a man depraved, ravaged. As the sun hits the man, he grimaces. His gait slows to a struggling limp. Air billows in and out of him as he breathes. The ridge turns a bit ahead. A path cuts left where the man can seek refuge, if only for a moment. Aerin can see arrows striking past again. The creatures have managed the climb up easily. Edging carefully sideways, he makes his way around the shear corner. Out of sight, he readies himself, stuffing a torn corner of his shirt in the wound on his side through stifled groans. He plants his body and drums his fingers on the blade’s handle.

            The arrows have stopped. The creatures must have guessed at his only hiding place. They gather out of the man’s sight, whispering to one another. One, that must be female, orders the others to arm themselves. They obey, pulling out all manner of black, forged weapons alike to the one carried by their quarry. She makes a sound like the purring of a cat, her syllables rolling almost romantically through the air. The creatures wait as if for a response from their prey. Receiving none, the female creature walks closer, speaking in a more guttural, irritated tone. Aerin sees sunlight glint off her armaments as she paces. Her hair is orange fire, her skin almost as pale as paper. She wears a heavily decorated chest plate, arm bands, and shin guards.

            The bow in her hand is massive, thick cord pulled over streamlined, black metal. The arrows on her back are fledged with bright red feathers. They look to be over a centimeter thick. She holds one in her hand. Her masked helm is brilliantly accoutered with the same red feathers which flow down behind her. The creatures stand this way a moment, unsure of how to proceed around the bend. Finally, the female motions towards one of her companions. The grunt moves forward towards the edge, sword poised. Aerin watches the man dip low, kneeling against the cliff face. In seconds, the creature comes into the man’s view, stunned at the man’s low-lying posture. The man wastes no time. He plunges forward, the blade gouging deep into the creature’s bowels. It shrieks behind its mask, trying to grasp at the man, before being pushed backwards over the precipice. The others speak in hushed tones, disturbed at their comrade’s abrupt plunge. The man takes advantage of their bewilderment, dropping carefully down to a ledge below.

            As he disappears below them, the creatures round the corner, egged on by the defiance of their huntress, and pass into a crevasse leading deeper into the jagged rock. The man holds his breath as they walk above him. He remains still until the sounds of their determined whispers fade into the morning. Aerin can feel the man’s aches as he descends from his ledge. In a short time, he reaches the strange jungle, disappearing into the trees.

            Aerin awakes to a sharp thrust jabbed into his back. “What was that for?” Vinn throws her hand over Aerin’s mouth and hushes him. He whispers, “I heard something, an engine maybe.” A low rumble begins to the south. It travels westward, echoing off the dunes in hushed murmurs. The south dune is high and shelters them a moment. They listen in earnestness that the sounds may fade. Instead, they grow louder. Another joins, and another. It sounds as if an army of vehicles is approaching. Aerin signals Vinn to stand and flips the safety off his M4. They fumble with their backpacks and quickly check to make sure their weapons are fully loaded for a second time.

            The first vehicle, a mutt between a jeep and truck, rears over the dune and passes left, circling them. The men on board are as crossbred as their transport. They yell at them as they pass, laughing and hallooing, goggled and glassed faces dipping up and down as their vehicle bobs. Some growl and make animalistic noises. The other vehicles come next, circling as well, their growing numbers creating a whirlpool of maniacal laughter and cursing. They squeeze the group tighter, forming a blockade of metal between entrapment and escape.

            The situation is in no way avoidable. The men around them know it. They are out-gunned, out-manned, and overpowered. Aerin curses himself and the dream. If he had not passed into such a sleep, perhaps he could have gotten them moving before sunrise. The first vehicle slows and the others follow suit until all are motionlessly grumbling in a tight circle. A man steps from the lead truck, his heavy boots sinking into the sand. He stretches casually and produces a rifle from his floorboard. He grins a toothy smile, eyes dark-rimmed. His short, blond beard is unkempt. Ominous stains cover his pant-legs and sleeves. He wears a blue scarf that shields him from the blowing sand. He holds his rifle to his shoulder and pretend-shoots, barrel aimed at Aerin’s head. His fellows laugh.

            “Hello, good people of the wastes,” He c***s his head, “It’s your pleasure to be introduced to Vignet Garvo, the proud pursuer and masochistic marauder of Missouri. You might be?” Aerin clears his throat, suddenly nervous about being put on the spot by such a man, “We’d rather not say.” Garvo chuckles a bit, eyes fixed on Aerin’s, “Let’s not be rude, good sir. Only trying to make conversation. Not many conversationalist types out here ya know.” A man from a vehicle to the left shouts, “But we can make ‘em talk Garv!” Garvo’s brow creases, “Screams don’t count Axel!” The man sniggers quietly. Aerin can feel Vinn pressed against his back. She’s as rigid as he is. Garvo is nearly within reaching distance of them now. His blond hair is shaggy and covers his ears. He smells like smoke and soiled clothes.

            Aerin stiffens his posture, “What do you want?” Garvo points at Aerin again with his rifle, “What do we want boys?” The others laugh knowingly. They all sound mad. They’re cats playing with trapped rats. Garvo shrugs, “Who knows what they want, the vultures. The real question is: what wants you.” Garvo raises his rifle against his arm, barrel pointed skyward. Aerin’s eyes follow him as the unstable man takes in the both of them. The man pauses at Vinn and stares at the her. The raider leans in close and closes his eyes. He hears the man’s nostrils flaring as he inhales Vinn’s scent. Garvo chuckles and trails a finger down Vinn’s cheek. It takes all of Vinn’s audacity to bear the man’s touch. Before Aerin can speak, the man is looking at him again. “That’s a nice weapon you have there; quite an arsenal-party between you boys. I’m offended I didn’t receive an invitation. But what’s a party without the powder? Little low on ammunition aren’t you?”

            Movement catches in Aerin’s peripheral vision. Men are exiting the trucks, grabbing guns from compartments. He feels them pressing as Garvo steps closer. “Do you know what happens to men like you?” Aerin can see the men drawing, taking aim. He humors the man, “What happens?” Garvo smiles, teeth bared, eyes taking on a crazed glaze, “They learn to serve.” Aerin knows what is coming. There is no resistance. Even with the scarce ammunition between them all, if one bullet was enough to kill each man, there would still be more to fight. They are going to lose everything, maybe even their lives. Garvo laughs, dementedly, his head leaned back comically far, “Ok, let’s get this over with.”

            Aerin sees the butt of Garvo’s gun before he feels it. The blow is hard and precise. He hears struggling sounds, engines rumbling, then nothing.