Barrenlands: An Odyssey (Old Work)

Chapter Sixteen.

1

The engine of the Rovers came to a whine and then a halt, the vehicle now falling silent as the motions of the fans and belts stopped. The electric charge depleted at a faster rate than expected, the trip taking longer than was forecasted. What was initially a close mission had in fact, extended to be an epic. But all was not lost, and the vehicle would slowly charge the batteries contained deep within the engine bay by itself. The driver thumped the steering wheel with his hand, before hoisting himself out by gripping the bar and jumping over the drivers' side door. His boots landing into the soft sand, the man drew out a thin cylinder and thrusted it between his lips. He took a deep drag, and was joined by his comrade with not a moment to spare. Tobacco had long disappeared though it didn't stop them from smoking.

"Sick of this shit," the driver spat, his spittle flying onto the floor in front of him. It damped small spots of the sand, but only for seconds. The sun burned, immediately sucking up the moisture into the atmosphere. "The bitch of a honcho sends us out all this way. For what? Nothing!" Lifting a hand, he slammed it onto the hood of the vehicle; the metal sheeting reverbing in its position and vibrating through his fingertips like a spring. A curtain of dust fell from the vehicle, drifting lazily to the ground.

"It is what it is. They need us as much as we need them. The wastelands, mate. You won't make it out alive without joining with." The twang of an outback accent, quite possibly once belonging to Australians when the world was still young. But since the felling of the nations and the wasteland-inducing pulse, the twangs and slurs of accents had become blurred and neither was an accurate representation of what was. It was just a ghost; a shell of the had-been.

In the backseat behind them, the Engineer felt herself come-to; her eyes opening just a crack of a slit. Her head was throbbing from a numbing headache, and nor was she able to contemplate the situation at hand with scrutiny. However, what she did notice was that she was on the verge of the seat, her body teetering on the edge and close to falling into the foot wells. Through the little that could be seen, she could just make out the corners of a tool-chest and next to it a gun that the driver had tried to pull on her. Tempted by the sweetness that was freedom, the Engineer listened to the ensuing conversation, making sure that they hadn't noticed that she came out of the dazed nap, and twisted her palms. She could feel the rope cut through the gloves and into the soft skin of her wrists, but still she tried to wriggle free.

Pray for me, oh fathers.

And that was when the situation changed, very much against her slim favour. The conversation the men had been engaged in finished, and she found them climbing back into the front seats; the backrests shifting with their movements. The body of the vehicle shook as their weight compressed the suspension underneath the chassis. Suddenly, the driver paused, eyeing off something – a subtle change – that he could spy. It was ever so small but noticeable all the same by a man with hawks' eyes. "Say. Is that the way her hands were when we tied them?"

The other man kneeled on his seat, his head popping up over the headrest. He cocked his head to the side, his raised eyebrows hidden by the dark goggles that covered half of his face. "Not at all. You think she's come to?"

"There may be a chance. You know what to do."

The man kneeing on the seat raised the long weapon once more, red sparks jumping between the prongs at the end. Waiting – letting it come to full power – he raised it with both hands and gave the close-eyed Engineer a prod. A shockwave raced through her body, muscles spasming, and she fell back into darkness; back into a state of unconsciousness. The car now charged, the men keyed the engine into life and carried on their trek.