Odd Collection: Short Stories Vol. 1

Wasteland Encounter

         Varia was struggling to see through the dirt-encrusted goggles strangling her face, due to the raging sandstorm that was tearing at everything in sight (and everything that wasn't in sight because of it). Her companions, Geary and Shell, had joined her in huddling up a
Inside their junky muscle car they had parked underneath a half shattered overpass to take shelter from the howling sands. Everyone's eyes, nose, and mouth remained covered for the duration of the sandstorm by some means, either by a broken respirator for Varia, a relic of the world she once knew, a cloak for Geary, which almost entirely covered everything below his nose, and a bandana for Shell, which was emblazoned with the flag of a civilization that must have really liked bears. They all waited impatiently for the air to calm. They had left their home unattended for a day, and were anxious to get back.

         The roar of an engine echoed across an unending plane of rising and falling dunes. This car they drove, albeit scrapped together, was reliable enough to get them back to their refuge in one piece to reunite with the rest of their tribe. It was in sight now, popping out from behind an outcropping of rock, a sturdy mess of metal cobbled together against the base of a cliff face. Home sweet home... Except for the lack of any sign of their friends, and the presence of a mysterious car parked just in front of the entrance gate. Geary clasped his hands and mumbled something somber that was lost under the motor's growl, and Shell gritted his teeth and tightened his grip around an unbound harpoon as their own vehicle slowed to a halt. Varia remained silent, stopping the engine and making sure her revolver was loaded without so much as a grimace as they all stepped out of the car.

         She noticed a trail of bloody sand by the gate immediately, on that looked like it belonged to a watcher who would normally keep post on a tower on the wall, until they were most likely shot or speared and fell over the railing. Despite the situation, Varia raised her hand, signaling the others to listen, "By the look of the footprints from the car," she pointed, "We're facing one person, but remember, they have stealth and surprise on their side. Be careful."
"One person can't have done all this alone." Geary's voice, muffled by the cloak and the fact that he wasn't speaking very loud to begin with, mirrored the confusion his darting eyes were expressing.
"Not likely, maybe they fought them off." Varia didn't holster her weapon, which told Geary that her positive thoughts were only to make him feel better. He pulled a hand-crafted shotgun from the car and hid it under his billowing cloak, holding it with a slight shake in his hands.
         Shell was practically chewing a hole through the bandanna still draped over his nose and mouth, and his knuckles were getting whiter with every step towards the gate. He finally spit the cloth out and started speaking in a shrill, raspy voice that seemed more appropriately attributed to a goblin than a human being. "Just like the fairyfolk Raiders to attack when we're away, huh? We never get to see any fights from all the errands we have to run!" He raced forward and pushed the gate open with his shoulder, banging on it a couple of times with the harpoon. "Come on, come on, we know you're here! Just come out and get it over with!"
He was given a swift kick to his calf by Varia, who put a finger up to her lips to communicate once again for him to be silent. Shell hunched over and grumbled to himself in response, following her lead.

         They walked into the fort only to discover more bloodstains with a lot less bodies than expected. Zero, in fact. Food was scarce in the wasteland, after all. This realization passed slowly across the group, their faces tensing up with suppressed frustration, or in Geary's case, widening in fright. On the bright side, there wasn't a single sign that the attackers were still present, which eased at least some tension. The group split to check for survivors and on their resources before meeting in the center of the armored camp around a big metal saucer, covered by a tarp. Geary made it there first, followed by Varia, whose boots kicked up the red-stained sand as she approached.
"The meat storage is empty." She stated blankly. Neither of them were surprised by this, but Geary's head dropped a little. He nodded after a while and motioned with his shoulder in the direction he came from, "I just checked the garden. They left it all intact." He sighed with the relief that they would have some sort of nourishment that night. "They probably don't know what
any food but meat is... What about the water?" Their eyes turned to the covered circle they stood on either side of. It was the storage tank that held the most essential resource in the world: water.
         Both exchanged glances, Varia silently questioning Geary if he wanted to check it with a squint of her eyes, but he looked like he was going to melt already, so she took the initiative. She raised her side of the tarp with one hand, crouching and peeking into the tank. She sighed, removing the tarp completely so Geary could see. He water was red, only a few shades distilled away from blood. It sat placidly in the middle of the slaughter, and the bandits clearly couldn't handle its purity. They just had to ruin it all. Geary averted his line of sight from the glistening pool, and Varia stared in contempt. "Using our own blood against us..." She started to say something or other before a shout rang out between the metal shacks, then another, and a cry of pain. They both recognized one of the shouts and the cry of pain by their goblin-like outlandishness, and were about to break into a run to identify the second shout before they saw a stranger being flung out of one of the shack doorways to the ground, only to be pinned by fervent Shell.
          Now they jogged over, getting ready to back up Shell if he needed help, but he seemed to be handling it, even with a knife lodged into his arm. Varia pointed her revolver at the stranger's face, communicating for him to stop struggling. He was rugged, ragged, thin, and by his weary eyes, sleep deprived. He was your standard wanderer who had nothing more than a car and some withering internal drive to keep living. He looked to be in his 40s by Varia's estimate, which meant that unlike her two younger companions, he also knew the world before it burned.
"Have a death-wish, friend?" She kept the gun trained on his head while Shell pulled the knife free from his wiry muscle. Geary was immediately bandaging the wound with a first aid kit previously hidden in his cloak.
         As for the stranger, he wasn't that responsive. He simply stared at the three over him like they were monsters
"I found a survivor." Shell's hand pressed down on the stranger's throat so he could focus on a conversation with his cohorts. Geary's ears opened at the remark, "Where are they?" "Well..." Shell chuckled and growled in an overlapping manner, "he was a survivor of the raid, but I found his body with this guy's knife in him in the shack just there," he nodded behind him, "He gave me the knife, of course."
"Who?" Varia's thumb naturally pulled back the hammer on her gun, causing a terrible 'click' that sent the stranger into a panic. Shell wrestled him back to stillness, "Old Greyhair. He was stabbed a whole bunch. This guy must've really been bloodthirsty." All of Varia's fingers began tightening into a fist, including the one on the trigger. This caused the stranger to finally speak up, "WAIT!" His eyes were wild and desperate, which was understandable given the situation, "He attacked me, tried to strangle me!" His voice sounded warped, or at least it did to Geary and Shell, as his accent wasn't native to this land. Varia knew it, though, and was at least satisfied she had some way to identify this stranger, "You shouldn't have come here in the first place, American."
         The American stared at her, as if she had told him that aliens are real. She could tell that he was studying face, that he was making the same realization that she had just a moment ago. He glanced at Geary and Shell, then back at her, silently questioning if either of them were old enough to know the old world too, as the former was covered nearly head to toe and the latter was caked in dirt and honestly looked older than he really was. Varia shook her head left to right as an answer. The American's eyes now lingered on the shack that entombed the now-dead Greyhair. It didn't occur to him that he would've known the old world as well at the time, that this place could've been a refuge if he had introduced himself first. He didn't think he'd find any survivors of the war other than those that went insane and raided the helpless. Varia could practically feel the American's loneliness, either that or some repressed feelings were beginning to surface, but she found that ridiculous.
"There used to be so much life." She let the hand holding her revolver fall to her side, which made both of her companions look nervous
"I remember it." The American replied, still frightened by Shell who had taken Varia's increased calmness as a signal to point the bloody knife at him.
"Do you remember what happened?"
"Don't you?"
She shook her head. "I was in the hospital at the time. In a coma. I still might be." She added the last bit as a joke, although she genuinely hoped she was.
"I was flying Delta, headed back home, when the war finally heated up."
"You crashed?"
He shook his head. "We stayed airborne and landed on a highway later since the airport was a bunch of rubble."
"Dodged a bullet there."
They both paused. Geary and Shell were looking at them both and each other with confusion, as all they were picking up on familiar words but couldn't make out what sounded to them like nonsense.
         "So," Varia continued the conversation, although the crossing of her arms indicated it was about to turn back into an interrogation, "So if you've been able to survive as long as I have, then why are you here, attacking us alone?"
Her companions practically arched their backs, reinforcing her inquiry.
"I thought the fairyfolk had wiped out the camp so I was just checking if there was anything left."
She lunged and gave a swift right hook with the butt of her revolver into his cheekbone. Geary backed up, and even Shell's eyebrows rose. "Why were you here, out in the middle of nowhere, by our camp."
The American's right hand tightened around something in the pocket of his ripped up vest, his left facing palm out in front of his face for fear of another punch. "Look... I scouted this place out before... I didn't know what kind of people you were then, but I've been desperate for resources lately. My own camp's been raided and my family is starving. I thought... Maybe I'd come here and take a chance at asking for help..."
Silence. It was clear Varia was done dwelling on the past at this point. Her eyes centered on his skull in anger.
"You killed our elder."
"He surprised me!"
"That Doesn't excuse it!" She hit him again, in the gut this time. And again. And again. The American winced at each, still holding on to whatever he had in his hand, but at least he was still co-operating, if not reluctantly.
"I didn't come here to hurt anyone!"
         A slam of a creaky metal door drew all of their eyes to the entrance of the camp. The American looked nervous, or more nervous than before. Shell hit Geary on the arm a couple times excitedly, grinning like a fiend at the prospect of a fight breaking out. Geary was less thrilled. Again, the barrel of Varia's revolver was pointed out at the American. "Who is it?"
The American didn't answer
"There weren't any engine noises recently so whoever opened and closed that door has to be from your car, who.. Is.. It?"
Still no answer. The American hastily looked between her and the front gate. Varia pushed the gun into his forehead.
"Who was hiding in your car?!"

         A hand closed around the edge of the gate, pushing it open a little so its owner could slip through. It was a younger fellow, probably the same age as Geary, and his eyes were immediately focused on Varia and the gun she was pressing into the American's face.
"Pa?!"
         Varia's attention was drawn to his appearance, her gun arm changing the direction her gun was aiming to threaten the boy, an act the American widened his eyes at and caused him to reveal the piece of metal he was hiding in his pocket during the confrontation. With a single movement, he stabbed the metal shard into Varia's side, which caused her to double over in pain, her grip on the gun faltering so much as to accidentally unlock the cylinder release as she struggled to hold onto it. "Go, Philp, Get goin'!" The American shot upwards, breaking into the beginning of a run before blood suddenly exploded outwards from his gut, covering the ground in front of him like a sheet on a bed, which he promptly fell onto, his back torn open at its base, putting some organs on display.
         Geary stood, shaking, the smoking barrel of his shotgun sticking out from underneath his cloak. "PAAAAA!" The boy screamed and fell backwards from the gate, out of the trio's sight. All Varia could do was drop her gun and get the shiv out of her as the world went a little fuzzy. Her fingers were being difficult to control enough to remove the thing, so she simply fell onto her back, catching a glimpse of a blurry shape resembling Shell dash across the sands to the gate and hearing the muddied roar of an engine starting up and going into overdrive as it attempted to flee the pursuit of a harpoon wielding madman. Geary dropped his gun as well, quickly rushing to attend to Varia's wounds.
         The American's face stuck out to the left, his eyes beginning to roll backwards into the back of his head. He was able to make out a single image before he died, that of Varia's revolver, and the open cylinders that stared back at him. The corners of his mouth twisted into a tortured smile as his last thought zipped through his mind. 'Empty,' he thought, and died thereafter.