Runner scattered the tools on a large table. There were knives, wrenches, screwdrivers, nails, tapes and copper wires. He held the wrench tight and fixed the handle of a knife in-between a small opening at the head, and then tied it in place with a copper wire.
He weighed the weapon on his hand but the head was a bit shaky. Furthermore, he stretched out a tape and wrapped it around the joint of the wrench and knife to ensure its holding strength. Satisfied, he raised his new weapon up, his gaze cast upon it in great admiration.
Now, he was good. His continuous nods proved that.
“Here,” Rhiannon handed a pneumatic nail gun to Troy.
“Hey,” Runner said, “I don’t think we would need that. I mean, come on…”
Rhiannon snatched it away from Troy and bent down to fix it in his bag. “I told you, Runner, there is something out there in the building ruins. I don’t know what exactly, but it won’t hurt being prepared for all possibilities.”
She continued to browse through the bags, “Gas mask, check! Wrist watch, check! Axe, check! Sense pills, missing,” she looked around.
“I don’t have any more stash of Sixth Sense left,” Runner admitted and threw his gaze at Troy.
“Me neither!” Troy responded with his hands wide open.
“Sense pills are the only things that keep the air out there from poisoning our system. You would not last ten minutes without those pills.”
Rhiannon searched her pouch frantically. Runner watched her in keen. She was now officially their guardian angel. It was hard to find someone that would go down the depths of hell to make sure their friends were alright. At least not in Rat town or even the big city itself and even if some kind of research were to be carried out regarding the high rise of peer gangs rocking the city, the result would end in the fact that loyalty has been enslaved.
Folks exchange the little free will they had left for favours.
Everyone wants something from you. Nothing was free, not friendship, not even love. Integrity was dead and so called dignity cast into a fiery pit. To survive the new order of the world meant to shed three quarter of the building morals of humanity.
“Found it,” Rhiannon smiled and Runner returned one too.
She was not like the typical slum dweller, greedy and fraudulent. Together with Troy, the three of them were inseparable and he would not trade that friendship even if a knife was placed on his mother’s neck. Okay, that was treading a bit too far. Good thing he didn’t have a mother anymore.
Runner took the pills from her, “The pills are not even necessary because, I don’t think we would spend more than ten minutes in the wastelands. It is just to get a few scrap metals and that’s all.”
“I’m not stupid, Runner,” Rhiannon said softly, “I didn’t get all this stuff for you guys to pick metals worth five credits. Come over here,” she beckoned at them.
She placed a dusty piece of clothing on the table and opened it fully.
“A map,” Troy said.
“Yes,” she nodded, “see here,” she pointed at the map, “we went around this part of the wasteland during our rounds. It used to be an old factory in a place formerly known as Boston. I heard that after…you know…the big boom! A truck transporting copper coils got hit by one of those storms and now is buried alongside the ruins of the factory. That is where you must go. If you guys are successful, you could find enough copper worth a thousand credit chips.”
Troy jerked suddenly, “a thousand what?”
“Credit chips,” Runner answered. He turned to the girl, “Damn! Rhia, you’ve been holding out on us.”
“All those while, I wasn’t sure it was true until I checked it out today during our rounds.”
Runner bent down and picked up his bag. He wore it on his back and strapped his makeshift axe on a belt buckled around his waist. He adjusted the black gloves he wore on his hand and gazed at his watch again to make sure it was working. Time was the most important asset in the wasteland. Every slum dweller knew this as the first rule of survival when scraphoarding- at least that was what they called looting valuable metals from the wastelands.
The fierce radioactive storm hits at every hour mark, the moment a man forgets this…well, there won’t be much of a corpse to retrieve.
“When we come back, I’m going to buy you dinner in one of them fancy restaurants in the big city,” Troy said, smiling at Rhiannon.
Runner had noticed Troy’s enduring smiles whenever he was with her. Now, that same smile lingered and even his laughter whenever she says things that are not close to funny. Troy had always tormented him with comments of Rhiannon wanting to be more than his friend, but he knew without doubt that Troy’s heart was set upon her.
“Alright, let’s be about it, Troy,” Runner was ready.
Rhiannon drew both boys together and put each arm over their shoulders in a brief embrace. “Careful out there, guys. Don’t worry, Runner, I will watch your aunt’s kids… as usual.”
She opened the locks on a small door and tried to open the door, but it was stuck.
“It’s just rusty. No one comes through this door, not anymore.” Runner slammed his shoulder on it and it opened with a bang.
For a moment they all stood still, hoping that no one heard the sound. Stale air rushed in through the door and it smelt of old dust. Satisfied, Runner stepped through and was closely followed by Troy. He turned around and saw the door shut by Rhiannon.
Now they were truly alone and in the most dreaded part of the small world he has come to know, the Wasteland. He has been in and out of the wasteland more times than he can remember, but this time, he couldn’t shake off a queer feeling that rose bile to his throat.
Maybe it was because he knew to get to the factory Rhiannon had marked on the map meant to go further than the familiar zone of the wasteland he usually tread. One deep breath and he took a step forward.
“Let’s take the pass of Carathon,” he pointed at a broken wall that served an opening within the ruins of a tall building.
He opened his map and studied the markings of ‘O’ that depicted safe paths. Carathon like many other names of passes and paths was named by a slum dweller named Carathon. Poor fellow must have died not long after his discovery. Not many of them survive, well, good thing they risked their lives marking paths and safe zones for others to enjoy.
Runner and Troy continued into the ruins. All around them were scattered remains of vehicles bleached to their chassis by what’s left of nature. The ground was hard, full of broken bricks, bleached bones of unlucky sojourners and scattered useless metals.
“Do you think I have a chance with her?” Troy spoke after a long silence.
“Who?” Runner spared him a glance.
“Who do you think? Dumbass, Rhiannon of course,”
Runner adjusted his bag on his back and turned to him, “I thought you said she was into me,” Runner smiled.
“Yes, but you’re not into her, so I don’t see a reason not to try,” Troy hung his head.
Runner faced towards Troy and continued to walk, but backwards. “I think you have a chance,” he lied with a smile and turned to face his path.
Troy was naïve for asking that question, Runner knew despite how much his friend cared for her, it would be difficult to get her to set aside her fixation on him. That was just the way such things work.
They went through the Pass of Carathon. Runner raised his gaze to the sky, it was unusual for one to do this when there were no stars to watch or moonlight. All that met his gaze was one big mass of grey stretching to ends unknown. It was dark but not dark everywhere, the light was akin to that of a late evening when the last light was about to die. The wasteland was untouched by the artificial lights of MegacityOne and thus clouded by a lingering dusk.
He set his sight on his wrist watch, “11 p.m.,” he muttered, “We must hurry, Troy,” he said to his friend.
“I don’t know why I always feel like I am the last person in the world when I’m out here,” Troy walked to reach him.
They stopped before the ruins of what used to be a supermarket. The doors were all blocked by broken metals and bricks, but he knew exactly where he was going. He squatted behind a wall and pressed his hands on it, felling weak bricks in the process. A large hole revealed itself and he shoved his hand in, pulling a grocery cart from within.
“We can put the coppers in here,” he said.
Troy did not seem to be listening to him. The boy’s eyes and mind were somewhere else.
“Look!” he shouted suddenly, pointing straight.
Runner stood to his feet and joined him.
“Over there,” Troy direct Runner’s gaze, “the factory Rhiannon marked on the map.”
Runner grabbed the cart, readying to speed off to the factory. His sharp ears caught something, a faint rattling among metals and brick. Quickly, he caught Troy by the loose end of his jacket and dragged him down. They hid behind a wall held in solitude by the foundation of a ruined gate house.
“Someone is coming,” Runner whispered.
He peeked from the side and saw a familiar face. “It’s Gunner,” he said to Troy.
“Which Gunner?” Troy seemed curious, “Gunner the loan shark or Gunner the scrap hoarder?”
Runner shook his head, “seeing that we are also looting, it is only fair that it would be Gunner the scrap hoarder.”
“Thank god,” Troy breathed deeply, “I owe Gunner the loan shark a hundred and fifty credit-chips and he vowed to have my head if I don’t pay up.”
“Quiet,” Runner whispered.
He watched as a gang of men surrounded Gunner. At first, there was no movement. Suddenly, one of the men snatched Gunner’s goods and cleared him right from his feet. The boy fell with such a loud thud that Runner could hear it from afar.
They brought out weapons of broken pipes and woods and continued to pound on him. He cried and cried until the cries died down, then they stopped. They looted anything they could find from Gunners body and shouted to their victory.
“Fucking marauders, those are Ishmael’s gang,” Runner spoke woefully.
“We can still help Gunner,” Troy said.
Runner turned to him almost immediately, “are you crazy?” he said, “Look, Troy, I know you’re a good guy and all that, but survival isn’t your thing. Those are the goddamn Man-hunters. The gang only sit around and wait for folks like us to do the looting before coming to beat us to death and steal our shit. Sorry about Gunner, it is a terrible thing that they did to him, but we got to sit here ‘till they go, unless you want to be buried beneath rubbles.”
Runner gazed at his wrist watch again, “Oh my God!” his face puckered to a frown.
“What is it?” Troy shifted closer.
The words could not leave Runners tongue. There was only five minutes to the next sweep of the storm and only one hideout to find shelter. But the problem was that the Man-hunters would also go for the nearest shelter.
Now he was certainly caught between Scylla and Charybdis.