The Queen of Cats

Anamnesis 5- Wasteland

  Out here in the fields
I fight for my meals
I get my back into my living
I don't need to fight
To prove I'm right
I don't need to be forgiven

-Baba O'Riley, The Who

3084, What used to be the Indian Subcontinent

We found another car.

"Betcher' a million pounds I can get this guzzler up and running again." The old man told me.

I frowned at him. "Waste of good gasoline."

"What do you want gasoline for? It's the summer."

The old man stared at me past his sunglasses, his nut brown face sweaty with exertion and flecked with desert sand. His turban was loose and trailed in the air. His broad shoulders were not hunched by the weight of the pack behind him.

He was a short man, but he carried whatever height he had with a strange grace. That's what drew me to him when I first met him. When I was thirteen. In the desert.

My home.

I relented and handed him my pack. "Help yourself. I need a rest anyway."

The old man pried the hood open and sat down in front of the car. A sleek, black, pretty looking thing. I tugged at one of the doors. They wouldn't budge.

The old man handed me his crowbar without even looking up from his work. I snatched it from him, fit it in between the two doors and prised. It gave.

It was dusty inside. A thick layer of fine, soft dust. My favourite kind.

I unhooked a towel from my belt, wrapped my turban around my nose and mouth and beat at the seat till it was clean.

Then, I slept.

I woke up. It was night time. The old man was still tinkering.

I got out, stretched, washed my dick, had a drink of water and went around to look at what the old man was doing.

He was still as I had left him, his head hunched over the complicated machinery, parts scattered all around him.

"Do you have all the parts you need?"

He gave me one of his million dollar smiles. "Of course I do, Baby Boy. I was just waiting for the right car."

I looked at it. "You're right. It is the right car."

"Mm Hmm." he said.

I waited around for a few hours. I read Robinson Crusoe for the 127th time. I fiddled with the old man's ukulele till he told me his ears were bleeding.

It was a hot night. No fire. When the moon clambered up the night sky far enough, I pushed the old man into the back seat and shut the door.

He needed his sleep.

I sat where he was sitting. On his rubber mat, in front of the car. The warmth from his bottom was still there and I felt uncomfortable and fidgety.

A lone hyena came limping by a few hours later. It seemed marginally interested in me. I could have scared it off, but I shot it. I was bored.

I got up after a while and took my jog. Five rounds around the car. A rest. Another five rounds, another rest. And so on.

That's when I saw it. Something small and black and swaying in the distance. I pulled out the old man's home made telescope from his pack and peered at it. A man on a horse.

I sat up then, my revolver comforting and strong in my hands.

I gazed. I waited.

"Ho!" he shouted when he was within earshot.

"Ho yourself! What do you want?"

"A trade." he shouted back.

"What've you got?" I asked him.

"Water! Ground water!"

"Show me!"

A little vial hurtled through the air.

I grabbed it, opened it and took a sip. Good stuff. But I was played before. No reason why it shouldn't happen again.

I looked at the water supply. Not enough.

"What've you got?" he shouted.

"Gasoline."

"Send me a little."

I shot him a vial. He gave me a thumbs up a few minutes later.

I went around to the back and got a couple of bottles of gasoline. I walked, one of my hands still on my gun.

When we got close enough, we both pulled out our guns.

He was in his thirties perhaps. Black hair. Brown eyes.

We traded.

I looked at the water. It was good enough.

He grinned at me. "Thank you, son. God bless."

I nodded and walked backwards, my eyes still fixed on him, my hands still firmly clutching my gun.

"What's your name?" he asked me.

"Baby Boy. What about you?"

"Precious Gift." he told me.

"Till we meet."

He nodded, turned and galloped. He trusted me, for some reason.

I still didn't turn until he was out of sight. Then I ran back.

The old man was out, his hands on his hips, darting around the car like a madman.

"Where's the fucking gasoline, boy?" he shouted.

I looked him dead in the eye.

"I traded it. For this."

I shook the bottles at him.

"You little shit. I was this close to getting this one up and running, you know that?"

I started packing up. "Yeah, yeah. Get whatever parts you want and get some sleep."

He grumbled and he argued and he fought, but he stripped it of all the parts he could fit into his pack and he walked.

I jogged behind him.

We walked in silence for a while.

Then the sun rose and things glistened in the distance and we stopped to stare for a while.

He sidled next to me.

"It's okay. I don't think that was the right car."

"No. I don't either."

We walked.

The desert undulated below us and all around us.

We walked long and hard.

Hiya! I was supposed to do Interlude 4-2 today! But a few plotting changes flipped that around so that it could coincide with a major plot reveal in the in-between. So, a very important Anamnesis series that was initially much farther ahead. 

I hope you enjoyed it! Let me know what you think! Comments are the best so please do write something down below if you have the time. 

See you guys soon!