Liberation (Remnants of Men)

Chapter 19: Prince of Scavengers

He guided his bike to move slowly though an abandoned street with empty building ruins that loomed like giant walls at each side. The eeriness was unsettling. There was not a single soul to be seen, not even rats to nibble on left overs. What was he saying? If there were left overs, he would fight the rats for a chance to partake and pacify his biting stomach.

For a moment, he thought of lying flat on the floor and pretending to be dead. Maybe one or two greedy vultures might spot him and descend. God knows he would have one of those repulsive creatures for breakfast in a heartbeat, if at all there were any left in the world.

“Ewww!” Runner spat, “well, it will be better than self-cannibalism.”

His Rat bike jerked to halt. Something was wrong. Runner kicked the ignition, it jerked forward again and the engine died.

He slammed his fist on the dash board, “you couldn’t have chosen a much better time,” he cried.

Runner came down from the bike and squatted beside it. He stretched his arm and reached for a long tube strapped beside the saddle. Slowly, he drew it to stretch out and then stood up. Like a dwarf caught in the middle of giants, he stood out amongst the towering building ruins. It felt like he was the last man on earth. Well, if he doesn’t find fuel for his bike, he will truly be the only man amongst the ruins.

He strode towards one of the several abandoned cars left on the desolate street. If there was one thing he was certain, it was that petrol wasn’t susceptible to decay like food. Most folks were always struck with bewilderment at the amount of fuel still in the tanks of abandoned cars. But as he stood in front of the first car he found, the tanks covers were left open, which reminded him of the other part where most cars have been robbed of theirs by marauders and sojourners like him.

In a flash of anger, Runner slammed the cover close and strode to the nearest car he could find. Like the first one, the opened covers told him everything he needed to know. He went past three more and then he found a black S.U.V that looked intact.

He opened the cover and pushed his tube in, but then he realised he had nothing to serve as a container. His gaze strayed to an open building that looked like a garage. It was dark in there and the silence was enough to send shivers down the spine of a grown man.

Scattered bits of concretes cracked beneath his feet as he took gentle steps towards the garage. Runner stopped suddenly, discouraged by the stark darkness that cloaked the garage. He walked back to his backpack and took an empty water bottle whose content he had drained a long time ago.

He bent beside the car and used his mouth to suck out the petrol until it flowed freely into his bottle. Something creaked. He gave into his paranoia and turned around to see a young girl standing with a dirty doll in her grip.

Runner used his right hand to wipe his face, and then looked again. Was he indeed seeing things clearly? The girl had five limbs…five limbs. Three arms on her body, two on the right and one on the left.  Her cloths were dirty and her hair grey from…whatever the hell she has been exposed to.

She opened her mouth to smile and there were only three brown teeth gathered at one end.

Runner felt his fingers wrapping around the hilt of his knife. He wasn’t sure if she was violent like those Rabids he encountered at the slaughterhouse.  She seemed a bit calm, even with him reaching for his blade. He didn’t know what to make of her, but she did not look like Rabids who were possessed by an overdose of Sixth Sense pills.

He went on one knee and stretched an arm towards her, “hey, little…creepy… girl, where is your daddy,” he said.

The girl began to swing her doll. She turned and looked into the dark garage.

A large man jumped out of the darkness, charging towards Runner with a mallet on his hands.

“Oh! F*ck me,” Runner fell backwards, sitting forcefully on the ground as pieces of broken concrete pricked his buttocks.

 The man’s head was irregularly large with bloodshot eyes, and he limped as he came which didn’t account for much speed.

Runner found his footing and jumped on top of his bike. He opened the tank and quickly poured the petrol. The man was approaching fast. There was no time. Runner pulled the bottle and pressed it to constrict, pouring the remaining fuel into the deformed man’s eyes to slow him down further.

He hit the bike’s ignition, but there was no response. He tried it again, again, and again, and finally it roared to life, but the man was upon him. Runner supported one leg on the ground and used the other to kick the man backwards.

The man fell on the earth, but as Runner looked forward, more and more deformed humans were trooping out of abandoned buildings.

He squeezed the throttle and the Rat bike surged forward, speeding through them. “So long suckers!” he yelled, “You won’t have me for dinner today.”

After a moment, he glanced back and saw that they did not even try to chase him. He wondered why. Perhaps he had intruded their sanctuary, who knows.

In a few minutes, his bike rode into a street that led to the university. He halted the Rat bike and turned his head left to gaze at a half standing sign board. It read;

Welcome to the last house on the left.

He was pretty sure that if he raised the board to stand upright, it would be pointing at the university. Happily, he kicked his engine to start and rode onwards.

As he approached gently with his bike, he gazed at the sinister vista of abandoned ruins. Something perforated the tyres of his Rat bike, the sudden pull flinging him off the bike. He landed with his back on a half buried pillar.

“Damn it!” he cursed.

His bike laid metres away, with smoke rising from its engine. Runner helped himself up. He took a step forward and felt something soft under his foot. He ignored it, but as he tried to walk away, a rope caught his ankle and dragged him to hang from his feet. His hands dangled in the air and everything was upside down.

“Mutant, mutant…we caught a mutant, we caught one…” a voice cried in enthusiasm.

From his inverted view, he saw a black lady leading a group of men towards him. They were armed with knives and axes. They seemed eager to hack their presumed mutant to pieces.

“Wait…wait, I’m no mutant, I swear…I swear it,” he heard his own voice screaming as if they weren’t his.

“Wait,” another voice said.

 It sounded familiar, but the owner was hidden amongst the crowd. “His name is, Runner, and he is a notorious scrap-hoarder,” a girl in a black cloak shoved through the crowd.

“Legion, thank the heavens it’s you,” Runner said, “Now, can I have some food?”