Genesis

Dust and debris tumble their way across the new world. Scrapping their way overtop the sandy topsoil of the planet’s crust. Burrowing themselves inside this layer of irradiated dirt are the rodents who survived the initial fallout. Carving out for themselves a semblance of home. A place to lay their heads or to have their children. Crawl spaces for rats sprawl out for miles until they meet the twisting tunnels that have been borne by the large toothed gophers. Even these tunnels span the landscape until meeting the hollow warrens whose walls are filled to their brim with the ever-breeding rabbits; too scared to venture above for nutrition and instead opt to feed on one another before reproducing for next season’s feast.

Floating in the bodies of brackish green water that haven’t yet dried themselves up are the dragons of the old world. Reptilian beasts whose bellows still echo through the stale air. This warding call deters most from tasting the ominously precious water, but not all. The deer, cattle, and pigs must drink to live just as much as the plants must spread their roots to the disgusting puddles. What once caused any living creature to turn up its nose, now passes for essential hydration regardless of its risk to malform the drinker’s body. The only thing more terrifying than sprouting a spare limb or malignant growth, is a dehydrated death.

In such a biome where the terrain and aqua beneath one’s feet is destitute of hope, salvation lies above it all. Where the wind still blows and the clouds still gather. From the depressing floor of the end world landscape there is confidence that the skies offer safety. A place where songbirds still chirp with every rising sun. Where hawks still nest in the peaks of rocky ranges. Where the geese still gather to soar in search of winter homes.

Beneath the ambitions of a home in the sky, above the hazards below the soil, and around the pockets of dangerous tides, wanders a band of survivors. United by only one factor: a will to live.

Their party consists of two wagons crafted of driftwood and sun dried leathers. A pair of emaciated oxen pull the makeshift vehicles. The healthy passengers ride atop one of the wagons whereas the other holds what little supplies they have gathered. Six abnormally large deer-like creatures hold the members of the group that still have enough strength to ride.

One of the children asks, “Should we turn back for them?” She looks back at the sickly families on foot who struggle to keep pace with the caravan.

“We cannot,” her mother grips the child’s hand gingerly, “If they can keep it up, we will see them at next camp.”

The young girl looks at the coughing boy for as long as she can, “Will Henry make it to camp?”

“I do not know,” looking at the blackened skin of the mother being carried by her malnutritioned husband, “I do not know if any of us will make it.”

One of the abnormally sized bucks walks alongside the wagon. The man atop the mount turns to the mother and daughter, “We will make it to next camp, then the camp after that, and the camp after next.”

Mother looks up to him, “Is this what our life has become? Living only for next camp until none of us are left?”

An expression of confidence almost fails to hide his fear, “We will make it to the end of our journey.” He looks forward with a stalwart gaze, “To a new home to rest our heads. You and I will be there to see its glory.”

“I hope you are sincere in what you say,” bringing her daughter's head to her chest, “I do not wish to bury another child.”

No words pass his lips. He nods as a promise to fulfill her faith. A stoic jaw hosts a grizzly stubble of beard. Atop his head is a recently chopped, but still unkempt mane of hair. Broad shoulders hold up the thick canvas cloak which breaks the blustering winds. A thin shirt is covered in stains of blood of men and beasts, the sweat of aching muscles, and the tears of widows who have lost all they held dear. A heart shaped locket rests in the center of his chest. Its brass material gives a soft reflection of the sun’s glow.

A gruff voice hollars from the lead of the caravan, “Trevor!”

Trevor gives a kick to his buck, heading to the lead of the caravan. Riding alongside the leader, “Samuel.”

“Sun’s setting soon. Cats and Dogs will be out tonight too,” Samuel’s black colored cloak is pulled aside by a hand that grips a compass. Looking ahead, “At this pace. We’re not gonna make it.”

“Don’t talk like that. We can make-”

“We’re not gonna make it Trevor.” Removing the compass and chain from his belt, “Take this. You need to head west. When ya hit the river, follow it north. That should get you to Fort Cahlin, if Genesis is still there they might help us.”

“I’m not leaving you here on your own,” Looking back to the caravan, “You need all the strength you can get.”

“So will you,” turning his head slightly to call back, “Candice!”

A tall woman rides up on another buck, “Samuel.” Her cloak is a deep red hue. Beneath it is a shirt with stains to match that of Trevor and Samuel’s. Dreads are pulled into a haphazard tail on the back of her head. Deep brown eyes cut through the tension of the conversation with a razor-like glare. Her chin is softly rounded as the head of a blunt club would be.

“You and Trevor are going on without us. Trevor knows the way.”

“No way we’re leaving you behind,” turning to Trevor, “Is he serious?”

Trevor holds up the compass toward her.

“It’s rained for the last week, Samuel. The Dogs will be hungry tonight,” Candice holds a hand to the rest of the party, “You’ll only have Tanya, Jerry, and Gator left here.”

Samuel doesn’t let his gaze leave the destination ahead of them, “If I don’t send you now, we won’t make it another two days. If the rain holds off, you both ride fast, and we don’t starve out here. We might just make it to Fort Cahlin with a majority of us alive.”

The two riders have no other arguments. Looking at one another, they nod as a united force. They check their water flasks, store some jerky in their packs, and gather any ammo that can be spared. Guided by the compass, the riders head toward the setting sun.

Soon enough they are left with only the soft glow of the moon to guide them. After every hour, Trevor checks their direction. Candice keeps her scope at the ready, checking for predators.

Breaking the silence between them, Trevor, “We should rest soon. Get a few hours of shut eye before the morning comes.”

“Sounds good,” Looking through her rifle’s lens, “100 yards ahead near the tree line, there's a ditch we can take some cover in.”

Dismounting their bucks at the small ditch that will be their shelter for the night. A small crackling fire sits between them for warmth.

Candice holds out a strip of jerky, “Eat. We’ve been riding for hours.”

Accepting the food, “Think we’ll make it?”

“I know we will,” she stares at fire, “I don’t know if everyone else will.”

“Neither do I.”

There is a moment of silence for those that may not make it, but also for those who have already fallen on this journey.

Trevor breaks the silence, “Why did you leave with Samuel?”

“I was looking for something more. Instead of just surviving from one meal to the next, I needed to be a part of something greater. To help those coming after us,” Candice looks up at the star studded skies, “Help us start over… What about you?”

“I really don’t know,” Trevor grips the heart locket, “I guess when you’ve lost everything that mattered, you either roll over and let the world swallow ya…. Or, you find something worth living for again,” the stars stare back down at him, “Something that can really make all the suffering worth it.”

Silence joins the riders once more. The fire is left to burn out. They gather close to one another for warmth. They try their hardest to sleep.

BARK!

A wild dog stands at the top of the ditch. Panting between its alarming BARKS.

The riders scramble to their feet. Without wasting a moment, Candice raises the rifle at it. Trevor rolls away, raising his pistol.

Drool trickles out of its jaw. Faintly behind it, more barking can be heard from the enclosing pack.

BOOM!

Candice fires a round at the wild dog. Its malformed ears twitch at the sound. The bullet wound in its torso hardly causes a flinch as blood runs through its fur.

BARK!

Trevor sprints out of the ditch with his pistol raised.

The dog snaps at him with a vicious growl and barred teeth. Approaching slowly with more growls.

Trevor’s eyes dart around him. More dogs are closing in fast. He lures the beast away from the bucks.

Candice gets out of the ditch. Raising her rifle.

BOOM!

The dog’s back leg goes limp but its focus is fixed on Trevor still.

BARK! BARK!

Candice cuts the bucks free. Mounting hers and heading for Trevor.

Trevor leaps out toward his passing buck.

The dog gives a last pounce on Trevor's leg. Teeth sink tightly into his foot.

Trevor screams in pain at the bite. Training his pistol at the dog being dragged behind the mount.

POP POP POP POP POP

The dog rolls away with several wounds. Its last dying howl is heard as they leave it. More howls and barks echo behind.

“Trevor! You okay?!”

“I’m fine! keep riding!” Giving a kick with his good leg to the buck.

Half an hour passes. Trevor slips off of his buck.

Candice pulls back her mount, “Trevor!”

She jumps off of the buck, sprinting to the downed rider.

The wounds in his foot bleed profusely. His eyes flicker.

“Trevor! C’mon lets get you wrapped up and back on the mount.”

Howling can be heard encroaching from behind them.

Reaching inside his coat, Trevor pulls out the compass. Between death throes, “Keep going. We will make it.”

“Trevor stop talking like that! I’m not leaving you behind.”

He unclips the chain around his neck. The brass heart lands in her palm, “We will make it.”

Gripping the locket and his hand tightly, “We will.”

Candice climbs atop her buck once again. She rides west toward the river. Behind her only the joyful howls of the dogs can be heard.

She opens the locket. Looking back is a photo of Trevor with a wife and young child.

The rider stops for nothing. No more rest will come for her. When she reaches the river, the flooded banks cannot cause her to falter. Packs of dogs give her chase, but she does not give them another meal. The nights get cold, but she can not let the chill take her. There will be no obstacle too great to overcome.

After six days on the road alone, she can see Fort Cahlin.

Massive stone walls stand tall. Above them are rows of watchtowers. Rising high above all else, the great Floating City of Genesis.

Untouched by all but the glory of the sun’s light. Genesis glimmers confidently in the sky, casting a great shadow on the hostile world below. Glistening in a golden aura of its own salvation. A tide of absolute awe washes over her. With all of the haste she has left to give, Candice reaches the gates.

Holding the locket in one hand, “We Made It.”