The Rust and the Rain
A promise was a promise, even if the person she’d made it to was likely just dust and memory.
That single vow was the engine that drove Lena forward, compelling her to place one boot in front of the other on the slick, treacherous pavement of a dead world. It was why she was out here in this rain-soaked, rundown old town, searching for memories of the past that could help shape her future.
She skillfully moved through debris, listening to the sounds around her. The metal squeaked, the wind blew through damaged buildings, and the eerie silence gave her clues. She stayed dry under her leather coat as she quietly climbed a crumbling wall. This environment felt like home to her, surrounded by rust and rain.
She tried her best to stay hidden not just for materials, but because of crawlers. Only the Idea of it, felt like nightmare.
Crawlers are creatures that have evolved due to an apocalypse mutation, that resets their genes. They mostly moved in groups, attracted by noise and heat, and encountering their nest meant certain death.
“please, still be their” hoping for a positive response.
Her target was in the flooded basement of a once-large municipal building. The concrete structure had windows that looked out like empty eyes.
As she walked down the emergency stairs, the air became dense and the flashlight she was carrying created a clear path through the dark. The light revealed overturned filing cabinets and the bones of an unknown office worker slouched at his desk, looking like he was still waiting for a meeting. Finally, she reached a dry platform and found her treasure - a powerful converter in perfect condition.
“Jackpot” she said with a bright expression on her face.
She got to work with the quiet efficiency of a surgeon, her fingers, though numb with cold, deftly working the connections. The converter was a valuable find, heavy and dense with the promise of light and warmth. It could power her water purifier for a month, maybe more.
As her fingers brushed against the cool, smooth metal, the promise echoed in her mind again, this time bringing a memory with it, sharp and unwelcome.
‘A small, warm hand clutching hers. The smell of woodsmoke and pine needles. A voice, small but fierce, whispering against her hair as sirens wailed in the distance.
“It doesn’t matter what happens, Lena. It doesn’t matter if you’re alone. You just survive. That’s all. Just survive.”.’
The memory was the fuel for her relentless drive, but it was also a ghost that clawed at her with the cold fingers of a deep, profound loneliness. She shook it off, her jaw tight. Loneliness was a luxury. Survival was a necessity.
She struggled, trying to lft the heavy converter on her shoulder . It was awkward and heavy, throwing off her balance and making her movements clumsy.
The rain intensified, turning the world into a slick, grey blur. It was on a wide, open street littered with the husks of rusted-out cars that her luck finally ran out.
A sound. A wet, clicking chitter that was far too close.
Her blood ran cold. She froze, her eyes scanning her surrounding.
There. A flicker of movement behind a skeletal bus stop.
Then another. A pack. At least five of them, their sleek, dark carapaces blending into the wet shadows.
They hadn’t seen her yet, but they would. She can't outrun them, not with this weight.
“Oh shit, now of all time that I didn't bring my rifle”
Her hand went to her belt, fingers closing around a small, cylindrical object. Her last smoke bomb. Precious. Irreplaceable. Using it meant the next run would be infinitely more dangerous, but there would be no next run if she didn't survive this one.
One of the Crawlers scuttled forward, its multifaceted eyes catching the faint glint of her flashlight. It let out a high-pitched shriek, a signal to the pack. The hunt was on.
Lena didn't hesitate. She pulled the pin, threw the bomb with a sharp, practiced motion, and dove behind the crumbling remains of a delivery truck.
The container made a loud hissing sound as it released a dense, unpleasant cloud of grey smoke that spread out and covered the street in a thick fog. The Crawlers shrieked in confusion, their senses overloaded.
It was the opening she needed. Quickly getting up with the heavy converter causing her shoulder pain, she sprinted.
Instead of running along the main road, she navigated through a complex network of narrow passages that she was very familiar with, feeling her heart pounding uncontrollably in her chest. Without pausing, she refused to glance behind her until the sounds of the angry group chasing her were drowned out by the raindrops hitting the ground.
After hours later, soaked, mud-spattered, and extremely exhausted, she was nearing her safety home.
“Finally” she gave a sigh of relief.
“Almost there”
The trees in this area were dense and tall, with ancient leaves forming a thick canopy that provided a refuge from the storm. She had transformed her nearby ranger station into a stronghold after years of work.
Thats when she saw it.
“What the……”
There was a body lying at the bottom of a large, old cedar tree. The figure did not fit in with the rough outline of a rock or the contorted shape of wreckage.
Having spent many years alone, her initial reaction was to run away when she saw the body.
She knew that encountering a body could lead to danger - it might be a trick, or attract dangerous creatures. But, she hesitated. The peacefulness of the surroundings and the way the rain seemed to fall more gently around the body intrigued her, as if the old tree was giving a final, kind blessing.
She cautiously moved closer with her hand on the handle of the knife. There was a man lying face down in the mud. He wore only ripped clothes. His bare back showed muscles and old scars, with a unique tattoo of a broken moon held together by delicate lines that seemed to soak up the faint light.
“ahh… , hello?”
She gently pushed him with the tip of her boot but received no reaction. It seemed like he was dead. She felt bad about it, but she knew it was not her responsibility.
She decided to go, remembering the promise to just keep going. But, when she moved forward, a weak, uneven inhale could be heard over the rain. A barely noticeable cloud of mist appeared in the chilly atmosphere.
Lena's body stiffened, her eyes widening as she gazed at the man in front of her. The unfamiliar tattoo at his back resembled a broken moon, a stark contrast against the turbulent sky.
Despite his injuries and the fact that he was barely conscious, he was somehow still breathing. And in a world defined by death, that was the most dangerous thing of all.
