Somehow, this didn't bother me anymore. Maybe a little, but not like it did about two years ago. It had to be two years since I had a decent meal, decent clothing, a decent home, and a decent living. Now, all I had was a hunted deer or two for a meal, old clothes I had worn way too much for clothing, an old RV that was barely stable for a home, and stealing supplies from thieves themselves for a living. Of course, I couldn't complain. Compared to others of my kind, I was living the good life.
Right. I smirked at myself as I shuffled inside the vehicle, digging through heaps of various items I had collected over the last six months. Weird corkscrews, a metal chain I often used for traps, and among that mess, was a large Great Dane.
"Get out of there!" I scolded as it scurried away from the pile. It was a good thing this dog could understand my emotions. He knew when to get out of my way, especially right now, while I was particularly angry. Why? I really had no idea.
The thing was, people were careless. Not careless like smoking and drinking to wash away their worries. Not that this wasn't careless, just that it had nothing to do with nicotine and drugs. With every passing year, we decreased what little water supply we already had. I had never known that only about ten percent of water on Earth was actually usable. Scientists wasted their time trying to invent new things, like radiation panels and new versions of stuff they already had and definitely didn't need. Things like "new and improved" phones, game consoles, and computers. In reality, we were all being lied to.
Soon, we were left with nothing. Polluting everything. What more could you expect? Dirtying the world with our new technology, and for what? To end up like this. Most of the human population died out from the inhabitable places and terrible living conditions. An unidentified pollution wiped out the human race, quicker than cancer ever did. It was foolish for everybody to think that advancing technology would be for the good of the human race. Apparently, we were lied to about that too.
Still, there was quite a good amount of us left standing. The remaining people all migrated to Europe, the last standing continent, aside from Africa, but even the Africans moved more towards north to escape the heat. It was a mystery as to why Europe and Africa were able to survive this pollution. It still remained questionable.
Each race that had ever existed - Arabian, Asian, Indian, African, American, Hispanic, Caucasian - the list was endless, merged into one large population, as if Pangea had formed all over again. Here, we created the smallest civilization we could, separated into 5 groups. However, they weren't really known as groups. They were more of a class, if you will.
The first class was known as the Rich class. The name said it all. They had the things they needed, the little bit of water they reused and reused, food to last a lifetime, and from what I had heard, everything. Not only that, but they practically lived like royalty over there in Western Europe. I hardly ever came into contact with them, considering the vast distance between our two classes. I wasn't one to talk when it came to the Rich. I barely even knew who they were, yet, it felt as if they were a threat to everyone, whether you knew them or not.
Then, were the Moderates. They were like the Rich, except they weren't as bad as them. They were slightly worse. The only difference between the classes had to be that the Moderates had a moderately limited supply of all the life necessities, hence the name. Oh, and that the Moderates had slaves. Hear that, Abraham Lincoln? World destruction rebelled against all of our treasured beliefs and drove us to do the unthinkable - relive the past. History always seemed to repeat itself.
Middles were in between the Riches and the lowest class, like you would expect. They lived a fair life, mostly unbothered by the surrounding mayhem around them. I always pictured them as the people who hadn't lost their minds. They were never mentioned among the other classes, because they weren't really all that important. Sure, they did have a few conflicts here and there, but it wasn't ever anything extreme.
Next, were the Poors. They had absolutely no access to the things the Rich and the Moderates had. All the supplies they got were hard to get. Sometimes, it would occur to me that maybe I wasn't in the lowest of the ranks. The Poors were the people without skills like mine to protect themselves. They were basically dumped off in Southeastern Europe, and were left to fend for themselves, even if they couldn't. They weren't weak. They were just scared, unskilled, and above all - unwanted.
Lastly, and definitely least, the Lankies. They were the scavengers in the streets, the ones that nearly starved every day. Most of them were simple people who lived and wandered alone, like me, but others were ruthless savages. These were the people who had been most affected by the pollution's outbreak. Not knowing how to handle this insanity, they decided to let it be their ruler and became insane themselves. Dodgers, which was the name I gave these type of people, were among the Lankies. Dodgers were the ones who lived in camps, guarding forests like their territory. They picked off prey, like the wild animals they were, and I steered clear from them as much as I could. No way was I going to be killed by people like them.
In the Lankies, is where I could be found. I was quite skilled, but it didn't mean I was safe. We were all lusting the type of needs that we were lacking, even in the Rich class. Not only that, but we were all losing that one thing that made us sane: trust. No matter what ground was walked, one could never have faith in another living being. Except for animals. They were chill.
Next thing I knew, I was carefully stepping out of the RV I was growing accustomed to. I needed to get my kill for the next day. So, it was night when I went out hunting. I was slowly learning how to make it out here. Alone. Lankies didn't work together like the other classes did. We had to stick to our instincts and steal from others. Some of them were so desperate, they'd steal from Poors. Those were the Dodgers, of course. I had the dignity to not steal from the people who couldn't get supplies for themselves. That's why I stole from those kind of Lankies. I was pretty much giving them a taste of their own medicine, and not the good kind of medicine that tasted like bubblegum and cherry.
Like I said, I had been learning things. I learned that deer were more active during the night. So, I was off. I was off to get the bit of prey I could for the next day.
Marching through the woods, I held my trusty hand-made bow with a few arrows tucked away in my holster. By my side, was that large Great Dane. I had found him as a pup, a while back. The cutest little pup you could ever have known, but now that I looked at him, he seemed like a vicious man-eating killer. Ok, maybe not a man-eating killer, but he did look pretty tough.
I named him Trevor, after my brother. He had become a Dodger, when he was nineteen. However, he recently got caught and put under custody by Riches. Yes. Caught. That was the main reason why people felt threatened by Riches. They gave themselves the power to lock people up if they lost control.
Our parents were one of the first to die, because of him. It was when they reached the point of no return for us, only to get killed in the end for a reason I still couldn't comprehend. I wasn't there at the time, and I wished there had been something I could've done to prevent it. Living in the past wasn't my sort of pastime, so I tried to forget it. The more I thought about it, the more I realized that leaving my brother alone with them right as we were given the news that the world had gone down into submission probably wasn't a good idea. I didn't like to think it was my fault, but it sure felt like it.
Trevor panted slightly from trotting at my side and he looked up at me with those big brown eyes. "What? Can't take the heat?" I teased. He whimpered and made that face I loved so much. Alright, so I wasn't completely alone out here, but somehow, I almost never counted Trevor as company. He practically hunted and scavenged for himself, so it was almost like he was a Lankie on his own too.
I scouted the area I was in and spotted a doe with her fawn at a distance. I stopped where I was, watching them like a hawk. Trevor stared as well, his ears pricked up on high alert. The rustling leaves above them cast small shadows on their soft brown fur as I watched them. The mother bent down gracefully, plucking off grass from below her. Small daises surrounded her and her fawn, making me almost not want to kill them. For some weird reason, however, animals were doing better than humans in survival.
For some weird reason.
Quickly taking out an arrow from the holder behind me, I targeted for the doe's heart. The string on my bow stretched, making a soft noise I had heard so many times before. Trevor continued to stare at the deer, ready for a quick chase if it was needed. After striking her, I quickly launched another at the fawn before my dog went out to run a marathon. There was no need to make the poor young one suffer through the loss of its mother or make Trevor suffer through the heavy expansion of his lungs.
Mother and daughter both fell with two echoing thuds, leaving indentations in the grass. I made my way over to them both, the fawn lying on top of the doe, as if trying to protect her.
I smiled sadly and crouched beside them as I whispered, "Thank you, brave souls, for giving your life to me, in order for me to survive. I thank you. And I thank the ones who raised and cared for you. May your soul forever wander." Words weren't my biggest strength, but it was the best I could do. I always did this, to give them a form of thanks. I still had my humanity, even if a few select others didn't. I took both of them on my back and went off towards the direction I came from, back to the raggedy RV I called home. Trevor lingered after me, picking off small prey on the way with his nose leaving a soft trail in the ground.
As I was going back, something was wrong. At least, it felt wrong. When I appeared near the clearing of my RV, I heard angry screams and shouts. To my dismay, a gang of Dodgers had gathered around my so-called home and were trying to get their way in, without breaking the glass. Though, they wouldn't have been able to. I was skilled with making traps and I had prepared well for this. My eyes narrowed slightly as I watched one walk past me and turn a corner around the other side of the RV.
I sat the deer down at the base of a tree and climbed it, up to the highest point I could get to with these old hiking boots. They were all planted on the sides of the RV. That meant the front and the back were free of these bandits. There weren't many of them, only six, but even only six of them posed a great threat. So, I knew I had to be careful. I waited until one of them wandered away from the vehicle, just enough so no one would notice if he, say, vanished.
Lucky contestant number one got too close to the bushes. Game set and done. Hidden traps were set along the lines of the clearing, covered with grass to make them blend in. They were like bear traps, except these were meant to clamp around a human foot instead.
The Dodger widened his eyes in pain and shock, but wasn't able to scream out when he opened his mouth. I had already taken out an arrow and launched it towards his head. I climbed down the tree and grabbed hold of the body, pulling him into the bushes with me. Luring the Dodgers away from the vehicle, using Trevor as a distraction, I would set off the trap closest to them. Most traps automatically shot an arrow towards the intended projectile. Sometimes, however, the trap would be missing the arrow and I would have to shoot it myself.
This simple procedure was repeated four more times until the last guy was left standing. He didn't look very stable either, rather skinny. He looked around again, until he realized that he was the only person there. They started to make a run for it, but before he could get away, I snapped one last arrow that went straight through his heaving chest.
I plopped down out of the tree and grabbed my nighttime kill. I disregarded the human bodies that surrounded me, and ignored the recognizable scent of blood. This was too well-known to me, and it no longer really affected me the way it did at first.
Trevor appeared out of the thick shrubbery surrounding me and ran up to my side. He held a rabbit and a thrush in his jaws, proudly wagging his stubby tail. "Nice work, bud. Is that it for tomorrow?" I asked him, patting his soft head. He barked happily and I smiled in return. He seemed to understand me, and I understood him too.
Sliding a metal rod through the RV door, I opened it gently, just the right way. This was the only way to open it, for if I didn't use the metal rod, a different trap of mine would set off and I would get caught in a stringy net. I made my way over to the back of the vehicle and stuffed the prey into an also, hand-made refrigerator. You just needed a cold, damp, place and that was all it took for the meat not to soil.
I settled into the couch the vehicle provided and Trevor, being the fool he was, climbed up on top of me like he didn't weigh a hundred pounds. "Hey, get off me!" I shrieked, running out of breath. He scrambled off of me and onto the floor beside the couch. I whacked him playfully and he bit me lightly in response.
"You're dead meat tomorrow, Trevor..." I threatened jokingly.
He looked up at me as if to say, "Whatever, tough guy." I chuckled, resting my head against the arm of the couch. As tired as I was, I couldn't help, but peer over at the grey form of the dog I had grown attached to. He noticed me staring at him, and picked up his head from where they were lying on top of his paws.
"G'night." I whispered into the dark. He whimpered, using his own form of communication to say the same.
The next day would be a hard one. Every morning, I only ate a portion of what I hunted the previous night. I preserved my food, unlike most of the people here. This day would be hard because every day out here was hard. No matter if I had food or not. This day in particular, I was running short on arrows. I pulled out the ones I could from dead bodies, but sometimes the animal or person fell onto the arrow and bended it so it was all crooked. Then, I couldn't use it. Here's the thing: arrows were hard to make. It took a while for me to get them so straight and today, I was tired from the scene there was the night before. So, I went out to steal a few arrows from Dodgers.
I quickly looked around every few minutes. I decided not to bring Trevor with me, in case these Dodgers were prepared for someone else stealing from them. Pretty ironic, huh? I had all the Dodger base camps memorized and the closest one to me was the one near the dried-out river. I knew this place like the palm of my hand and if I needed a quick escape, I would have it. I knew by experience that Dodger camps usually consisted of an even number of females and males in the groups. The dried-out river group had five males and five females. Usually, I would have avoided this group because of the large number they held, but I was desperate for arrows.
Slowly making my way towards the camp, I hid in the deep recesses of the bushes, concealing myself from the Dodgers' view while I waited for them to eventually leave their camp. Of course, not all of them would leave at once, but a few of them would be better than all of them rushing at me in unison.
Soon enough, my anticipated wait was over. A rather boney lady called across the camp, after about twenty minutes of waiting, "We're running out of berries, guys!"
A buff man bellowed, "Then take a hunting party with you to find some!" He sounded rather annoyed, his hardened face matching the clear annoyance being portrayed.
The lady rolled her eyes and called out seven names. "Amelia, William, Derrick, Roderick, Felicia, Hollis, Gerald, let's go!" Figures. She called out three girls and four males. In the group, there would be four of each gender in total, including her. Oddly enough, they always liked to do things that way.
I watched as they began to gather around and leave towards the main entrance. Only one man remained. He seemed pretty young, around twenty-five, perhaps? It would be too bad that he wouldn't be able to survive today without getting through me.
Standing up slowly, as not to alarm him, I was just about to spring up and go after him, when a hand wrapped around my mouth and another held a pocket knife against my neck.
A sudden voice hissed, "Make any attempt to escape, and I'll make sure you never breath again." The squeeze of the person's hand against my mouth tightened, restricting me from talking. The knife they held in the other hand was hidden in the shadows, just as well as I was, and yet, here I was, being threatened for my life.
I nodded shortly in response to their little "warning" and they kicked me, forcing me to stand up. They pressed themselves against me as we walked awkwardly. It was obvious I was taller, but I wasn't the one holding a knife. The young man who had stayed behind while the Dodgers searched for berries was now staring at me and my captivator with widened eyes.
"Who... is that?" He asked, his eyes rounded into small ovals. The person who was holding me threw me to the ground and turned me over to face them. I was honestly surprised. It was a girl, around the same age as me. She looked to be 18, while I was 19. She had wavy and dark auburn hair that ran down to the middle of her back while having mystifyingly blue eyes. She stared at me, just as surprised as I was. She obviously hadn't gotten a chance to look at my face.
"I don't know..." She answered after a while, in a soft and dazed tone. "Who are you?" Her voice changed to a much more demanding sound.
I raised my hands in defense. "I'm just a Lankie, ok? Nothing more, and nothing less."
She challenged, "What less is there?" Her eyes gleamed like two blue diamonds, but they were anything but subtle.
"There's Dodgers, what I call you type of Lankies, who steal from everyone, even each other." I answered with narrowed eyes, a slight irritation flared in them. Who did she think she was, acting like I was the lowest of the low?
She scowled and crushed her foot against my chest, slightly knocking the air out of my lungs. "I said, 'Who are you?' not 'What are you?' Answer my question correctly."
I showed no mercy as I spoke. "Mathias Redwood." I let my name sink in and waited for her reaction.
Her eyes glazed over. What was she thinking about? "A-are you Trevor Redwood's brother?" She stammered, her hands starting to shake lightly at the mention of my name.
I nodded slowly. "He... he was taken under custody about six months ago."
She stepped away from me slightly. "Your brother killed my sister..." An anger seemed to boil inside her as she took out a dagger that hung on her belt. "And now that I've got you here, you're gonna be the one to pay for it..."
She quickly closed the bit of space between us and I dodged her blow easily. Her dagger came back around again, but before it could meet with my flesh, I grabbed the hand that gripped it. I gazed into her blue eyes, where I could see the reflection of my golden and ember eyes.
"Don't blame me for what my brother did. He didn't care when our parents died, either. He was a murderer, but it doesn't mean I am." She narrowed her eyes, where they showed the disbelief of my words.
"I don't believe you. You were about to kill Chester, the guy standing over there." She pointed towards the young man, who looked quite terrified.
I shook my head slowly. "I don't consider that as a murder anymore. I used to, but that was before the Earth went into shambles. That was before everyone learned to kill for survival. That was before... before I became one of the lowest ranking people in the world."
The look in her eyes softened only slightly and she released the dagger, letting it fall to the ground. Her change in mood shocked me. She could easily change emotions when she wanted to, it seemed. "You're right... I'm sorry. I guess I hadn't gotten-" She started, but I quickly stopped her.
"Don't be. I would have done the same." I answered, letting my hand fall back to my side. Her hand followed after mine and she continued to stare at me.
"Why are you here, then, if it's not to kill random Dodgers?" She asked, a hint of sarcasm behind her question.
"I needed arrows... for hunting and defense..." I admitted.
She chuckled lightly. "Why didn't you just ask?" She beckoned me to follow her and led me to a large tent. She left Chester to keep watch over the camp, though I didn't really recommend it. It wasn't like she was going to pay any mind to my recommendations, so I didn't say anything.
The tent was large on the outside, but rather small on the inside. Various items were scattered around, including old swords and hatchets, lots of crafting supplies, and traveling items gathered into small piles. This must have been their storage tent. Most of the supplies looked new, while others were a rusted red-orange.
"See if you can find those arrows. It's a mess in here and it'd be a miracle if you could find what you're looking for." She said with a humorous tone.
I raised an eyebrow at her. "Why are you helping me? I almost invaded this camp."
"That's why," She replied. "If you can attack this camp, it means you can hurt us and I really don't want vital enemies in these living conditions. Might as well have an ally."
I shrugged. "Fair enough." After what felt like hours of scavenging in the tent, I finally found the few arrows they had, stored in the corner of the stuffed area. I grabbed half of them and placed them in the carrier on my back. Like I said, these things were hard to make and nobody had time for that.
As I was about to leave, along with the girl, something occurred to me. "Umm.. you never really told me your name."
Her blue eyes shifted towards me and she smirked. "Angeli. Not Anne-jelly. Anne-gel-ee. I hate it when people call me Anne-jelly."
"Anne-gel-ee, not Anne-jelly. Got it." I gave her a geeky smile and she chuckled.
"Whatever, Mathias." I stopped walking for a while. I had completely forgotten I had told her my name. And somehow, she actually called me by it. It wasn't the usual snarky, "Lankie" or "Low-Life" It was just the name my parents had given to me. I liked that.
We continued walking until we reached the middle of the campsite, where Chester still stood. He looked at me warily and I rolled my eyes, showing that I wasn't being aggressive.
"If you keep this little encounter a secret, I promise I won't kill you." I said jokingly. He seemed to get the message, because he smiled slightly and nodded a response. Just as he did, shouts erupted from the camp main entrance. Angeli looked at me with a worried face and I quickly dashed towards where I had first entered the camp, through the bushes, but not before giving a word of thanks to them.
Behind me, a voice called, "Chester! Any trouble while we were gone?" I smirked as I heard it. I imagined Chester shaking his head timidly and the person only patting his head, like he did something good and was being rewarded like a dog.
When I approached where the RV was, Trevor raced up to me, his long tongue lolling out while he panted heavily. "You've been running, boy?"
He whimpered and looked behind him nervously. I followed the direction of his gaze and there, where my RV once stood, was nothing but the scraps of what it used to be, before someone tore it apart. I had, but only one guess as to who it was. The Dried River Dodgers. That was the camp I had just "visited."
My hands clasped onto my bow while I marched to the pile of rubbish and metal. They were looking for berries, right? I should have known. I had a real good supply of berries, stored along with the rest of my untouched food.
On top of the pile was a small card that might've been white at some point, but was now a smoky brown. Inside it, read, "Thanks for the food. Or should I say, thanks for not being home so you could stop us? We owe you one."