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King of the World

Walk through the Wasteland

By Stephen A. RoddewigPublished 3 years ago Updated 3 months ago 7 min read
4
King of the World
Photo by pine watt on Unsplash

Now available in print in Apocalyptales: Judgment Day, a collection of stories of the apocalypse.

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***

Only at the end do we truly appreciate the beginning.

I’m not sure which moron said it, but the phrase kept repeating as I walked through the wheat field. Today, the sun hid its face behind the clouds, and a cool breeze ruffled the countless tan stalks all around me. Not so long ago, I would have been grateful for the wind to wick away the sweat beneath my brow, but now I cursed it. The endless rustling it caused made it impossible to listen for anything else moving in this field.

Feral dogs, escaped zoo animals, venomous snakes: anything could be waiting for me among these stalks. Or hunting me. I kept my rifle close as I continued down the unkept rows of wheat. Why had I chosen such a risky path? I couldn’t recall. Seemed that our memories shared the same lifespans as us these days.

“Keep it together, Amy,” I spoke to myself. The sound of my own voice gave some comfort. A reminder that I was still alive.

I looked up, focusing on the red barn and house on the hill. That must be my goal: shelter, supplies, and a change in scenery. After walking through this wasteland of grass and wheat for so many days, I couldn’t decide which I valued more.

By sebastien cordat on Unsplash

My stomach growled, making the decision for me. It spurred me to pick up my pace despite the protests of my feet trapped within their undersized boots. Of course, I had found plenty of corpses, but none with the right size of boots. Or really, any boots. Only ridiculous high heels, loafers, and running shoes. Nobody had appreciated practicality until the second dawn had lit up the night sky. The soles of my own sneakers had crumbled away long ago.

I cursed whatever was left of God in this world when I spotted another corpse, this one shoeless. Had someone else been here before me? Likely, and I bet they had gotten some great work boots off this poor bastard.

I approached the rusting tractor the corpse still sat on, his skin brown and cracking after months beneath the sun and stars. His head was turned toward the farmhouse, and his hand was clutching something. I climbed onto the tractor for a closer look and discovered a heart-shaped locket. It was caught between his chest and the wheel of the tractor with a cage of mummified fingers around it, preventing easy access for looters.

All for the best – I didn’t like robbing the dead. Especially for something as useless as trinkets or, worse, paper money. No need to bring bad karma for no return. I remembered passing a bank in a deserted town and seeing a field of dollars strewn in front of its smashed-out windows. It had provided an odd satisfaction to send a pile of green sheets flying with my foot. We had been slaves to it before. Now it withered away, the same as us.

Only at the end do we truly appreciate the beginning.

Now I kicked the deflated tractor tire, recalling once again that whoever had found the body before me had made off with the true prize. Staring at the bare feet and the rest of the corpse, I paused. Something didn’t seem right about this picture. I had seen plenty of bodies, but most died on the ground or leaning against something. Yet this man had died sitting upright on a tractor. Either he had been shot while in the seat, or he had died instantly from something else.

I didn’t want to think about what would have caused the latter. I followed his eyeless sockets toward the farmhouse. Maybe there was something there that he had wanted to get, something of value.

My stomach burbled again.

“You’re getting spoiled,” I spoke to it, smiling at the thought. I had found a survival kit in an abandoned Tahoe only a few days ago and had been feasting on cans of tuna and fruit ever since. I hadn’t done too bad for myself since the world had gone to Hell. Except for these damn boots, of course.

By Stefano Valicchia on Unsplash

I paused at the end of wheat field, watching for any movement within the house or the barn. But nothing stirred, and the wind had died away to reveal only silence. I hoped that if anyone was home they would at least shout a warning before going for their gun. I’d seen too many people who had died well after the initial chaos. So many wiped away in an instant, and still we were killing each other all across this land. I had no stomach for it anymore.

Only at the end do we truly appreciate the beginning.

I shook my head, trying to clear my head of the stupid phrase. I walked toward the house as the breeze resumed, carrying a new scent. It reminded me of a plane wreck I had slept in one night in the desert. Metallic.

Thankfully no bullets greeted me, and I climbed onto the porch of the house. I still kept my rifle in front of me as I pushed the screen door open. But once again, only silence and dust confronted me.

That was the end of the good news. Cabinet doors lay open, their contents scattered across the floor. Everything that remained behind had been deemed useless by the last visitor, and after a quick survey, I agreed with their conclusions. Boots, food, maybe even bullets: whoever had gotten this score might be the richest man or woman alive these days. King of the world, even.

I shook my head as I found they had turned everything over, even the furniture. What purpose did that serve? Still shaking my head, I stood the table back up and placed a chair beside it. I sat down in this one spot of calm amid the chaos surrounding me.

As my leg muscles breathed a collective sigh of relief, I let myself exhale as well. Scenes like these always made me sad, no matter how many I found. The bodies scattered among the wasteland never struck me the same way. They had died in the same wild world, clawing for life the same as me, but here was a memory of a past time. Of a happier time.

I closed my eyes, trying to remember. But I found nothing. Only memories of towns left to the dust and bodies stripped of everything they owned. Then there was me, scrabbling through the wreckage of this land for enough supplies to buy a few more days of life. It was enough to make me wonder what purpose there was left for me. For any of us. My eyes felt wetter as I closed them again, expecting the same cold silence as before.

But there was something. A buzzing. Maybe it was the lack of noise after so long amid the wind, maybe I was feeling faint from hunger. But if I turned my head, I found the buzzing had a direction to it. Standing despite the renewed aches from my feet, I followed the noise toward a window.

By Kevin Butz on Unsplash

The sun emerged from the clouds, washing the landscape of grass and dust that raced from the hill to the horizon in yellow. The new light instantly drew my eyes toward a spot of complete contrast, a black hole disrupting the flat plains. My stomach roiled. After another moment, I realized it was a crater only a mile or so away. The buzzing was growing louder with every second.

I looked at this massive gash, the scar of something so terrible, so unnatural that even the dirt dared not return. But it couldn’t be. And the damn buzzing, no thought could survive against the pulsing noise of a thousand bees trapped within my skull.

At once, I knew: radiation.

Amid the buzzing, I noticed a new sensation. As if the noise had moved into my nose. The metallic smell from before was overwhelming now. I brought my hand up and felt something warm running between my fingers. I pulled it back. Blood.

Clumps of brown hair fell from my brow, and then the floor rushed up to meet my face.

Only at the end do we truly appreciate the beginning.

Adventure
4

About the Creator

Stephen A. Roddewig

A Bloody Business is now live! More details.

Writing the adventures of Dick Winchester, a modern gangland comedy set just across the river from Washington, D.C.

Proud member of the Horror Writers Association 🐦‍⬛

StephenARoddewig.com

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Comments (2)

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  • Jazzy 3 months ago

    You were right that delayed revel IS next level. Loved this.

  • Powerfully evocative, Stephen.

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