by Peter Okafor
Quickly, Runner grabbed the last axe. The ropes were stretched waist high. He swung his right arm and sent the axe swirling. It cut through the first rope and then slowed down as it hit the second, cutting it halfway as the force was not enough.
“Hold on, Troy. Anytime now,” Runner muttered.
The rope tore away from the second biker’s pull, the knockback forcing the bike forward with such force that it ran into the first biker.
A loud bang followed, and fire rose in the air, scattering pieces of the bikes’ parts everywhere. In the confusion, Runner ran towards Angie. “Come on. We got to go,” he said.
Runner glanced at Pope LongJaw who was recovering from the explosion. He grabbed Angie, and they ran towards a man on a rat bike. Runner quickly bent and picked a handful of sand. As the rider turned to look at them, he threw the sand into the man’s eyes and shoved him off the bike.
“Get on,” Runner said as he mounted it.
He smiled as he saw Troy limping towards the fourth rat bike and helped himself to its empty seat. He signalled his friend with a nod, and with Angie seated behind him, he kicked the rat bike’s engine to a loud roar. The bike surged forward, scattering dust as it moved.
“Get them, you dimwits! Shoot them off those bikes if you must.” Pope LongJaw’s voice grew faint as Runner’s bike put more distance between them.
His heart warmed to see Troy at his side, riding a rat bike. Runner glanced backwards. There, Pope LongJaw’s goons rushed into their trucks armed with hunting rifles.
“They are coming for us,” Angie said as the wind blew her dark hair backwards.
“Someone once told me that all brawn and no wit could make Jack a dead man. To survive the wastelands, a man must keep a sharp mind. I noticed that there is an increased delay in storm sweeps as you go further into the wasteland. Out here, it comes every five hours, and it is due in twenty minutes. I’m sure LongJaw doesn’t know this.”
Runner guided the handle and broke left. He was heading for the Broken Bridge, where he parted ways with Legion and Slim Jim. He felt Angie’s arms tightened around his torso as she maintained a steady position at his back.
The ground of the wasteland was hard earth. The spiked tyres of the rat bike moved with ease through debris and sand. Runner felt comfortable on it, and if not for LongJaw’s goons that wanted his head, it would have been one hell of a ride.
In the distance, he saw the gatehouse that had sheltered his group not far from the Broken Bridge. The storm was coming. He felt the heat on his skin despite being far from it.
“Troy.” Runner glanced at his friend who rode at his side.
He gazed at his wristwatch and turned to face Troy again. With arms stretched forward and hands opened to five fingers, he signalled five minutes to his friend.
Troy nodded and hit the throttle, increasing his speed.
Runner glanced backwards and saw the hunting cars coming at them, but there was something behind. A storm loomed in the distance, like a large wall of an ocean wave. It came with dreadful speed. Some of the hunting cars behind him had abandoned their chase and scattered in all directions, searching for safety.
“Hold tight, Angie,” Runner whispered.
Angie tightened her arms around his torso. The storm was coming faster. Runner squeezed the throttle and surged forward, guiding the bike to scale an inclined building ruin. The bike smashed through a wooden plank covering the doorway and into the gatehouse.
Troy made his way in moments later. Runner dismounted. Quickly, he relieved Angie of her backpack and searched inside. He pulled out a gas mask.
“Come closer.” He beckoned at the little girl.
She came towards him, and he put the gas mask over her face. In the wasteland, your gas mask was your brother, your best friend, and your girlfriend. One never parted with it, and Runner knew this. But Troy didn’t have his. He never went with one when Dope sold him out to Ishmael’s gang.
The storm was coming. There was no time to find any. Runner undid his gas mask from his belt where he had tied it. He stretched his arms towards Troy.
“Take mine,” he said.
Troy refused.
“Take it.” Runner insisted. “I smashed the wooden plank that covers the doorway. There is nothing stopping particles from the storm from getting in here. You need it.”
“What will you do?” Troy asked.
“I will find something else. Just take it.”
Troy grabbed the gas mask from Runner and proceeded to wear it over his face. Runner pulled his grey shirt and placed it on the floor. He drew a knife from the side of his belt and tore his shirt to form a long piece.
He wrapped it over his head like a turban until it covered his nose and forehead. Loud screams outside drew his attention, and he ran to a window. Slowly, he pushed open the rusted bars and peeped.
A man ran foolishly ahead of the storm, even as his comrades were burnt to crisps. The storm was an inch away from the man, but his grey lumber jacket was caught in flames. He was running to reach the gatehouse and was getting close. Runner thought of helping him. Too late, the storm swallowed him whole.
“Close your eyes, Angie,” Runner said. “You don’t need to see any of this.”
It was a dreadful sight. The storm ate the man, burning off his skin as it formed ash particles that drifted away with the wind. With great force, the storm smashed past the gatehouse. It felt like being caught in the belly of a large monster. There was darkness everywhere and frequent hot sparks that looked like the fire from welding metals.
It smelt like ash and also had an odour that made no sense. Runner felt the heat in the room coming in from the open doorway. He put an arm around Angie and pushed her gently to rest on his body. In a few minutes, the dull light of the wasteland grew again, and the storm was gone.
Troy walked outside, and Runner followed, dragging Angie along.
“Pope LongJaw isn’t gonna be happy,” Troy said and then turned to Runner. “He is going dedicate the rest of his miserable existence searching for you.”
“Well, if you follow the facts, they led themselves into the storm. I just acted as the diversion. He is welcome to try, but he won’t find me.” Runner smiled and glanced at the grey sky.
He sank his hand in his pocket and brought out the letter he found in his bow.
“Troy, I need you to do something for me,” Runner started. “What we saw here is only a fraction of Pope LongJaw’s men. He has an entire army of hungry men who are frustrated with their living conditions and have decided to follow the priest. They call themselves the Second Coming.”
Troy took the paper from Runner. “What do you want me to do?”
“Ride back to Rat Town. Find a way to get to Olivia Patterson…”
“Are you crazy?” Troy snarled. “You want me to go back and…and Olivia Patterson? Section 5 will put a bullet in my brain before I get ten paces towards her.”
“Listen, Troy.” Runner seized him by the neck of his jacket. “Pope LongJaw and his militants are not going to stop until they get into MegaCityOne. I, for one, don’t care about the big city, but my aunt’s children, your family, Old Max, Rhiannon’s parents—they are worth every risk we’ve taken so far. This is where we part ways, my friend. It is better this way. You must get that letter to Olivia and tell her it is from me. She would know how to handle this, alright?”
“Okay.” Troy nodded.
Runner noticed the tears welling in Troy’s eyes. It wasn’t easy parting with a childhood friend, knowing that he might never return again. But it was the right thing to do. The dangers they faced were growing worse.
“Take Angie with you,” Runner said.
He sank on one knee before the little girl and brushed her hair with his hand. “I promise, we will see each other again,” he said.
“You cross your heart?” Angie’s voice came as tears streamed down her eyes.
Runner crossed his hand on his chest. “I cross my heart.”
&
nbsp; He stood up and went to get a rat bike. Angie came to him with her backpack and presented it. Runner took it and buckled the straps over his shoulder.
“Thank you,” he whispered and then turned to Troy. “It’s been one hell of an adventure, but this is where my true journey begins, my friends.” Runner kicked the engine to a roar.
He squeezed the throttle and zoomed off shirtless without looking back.
Chapter Nineteen
Prince of Scavengers
Day eight
For a whole day, he rode without a break. He wanted nothing more than for everything to be over. But with every minute, every second that passed, it only became clearer that there might be no freshwater lake, and all the sacrifices had been for nothing.
Every stream he had encountered was dried up; the rivers were contaminated. Whatever happened to destroy the world must have been so devastating that after three decades, water bodies were still undergoing what the scholars from the Citadel of Science called a radioactive decay.
Runner sped through a long line of dead trees. He glanced at them. What a sight they made. The trunks had the colour of red earth. Each stood tall, almost leafless and surrounded by a sinister quietness that he almost lost control of his bike. They were once a conglomerate of different species that formed a massive forest, but now, it looked like they never recovered from a wildfire that swept ages ago, or so it would seem.
No birds to whistle sweet melodies. No squirrels to rustle tree leaves. The only wind that swept came with death. Nature was truly ill.
He rode past the last tree at the forest border and squeezed the throttle to slow his rat bike down. Something was gnawing at his stomach walls. It was the great enemy—hunger. No food or water had touched his tongue for an entire day, but he had to go on.
Runner sank his hands in his pocket and brought out the map each member of his group was given. He placed it on the dashboard of his rat bike and opened the map.
“Where are we now?” he said to himself.
He traced the lines on the map with his index finger, “University of…” he muttered and looked up.
In the distance, he saw a large structure with half its body hidden amongst other smaller structures. On one half of the roof, he could see the bold word UNIVERSITY. But the rest, like every other thing, had washed away with time.
The hot, airless atmosphere began to grow cold with a sudden breeze. It wafted an odious smell towards Runner’s nose. He had grown too familiar with dead bodies that he could tell there was one around. Runner twisted his neck, scanning in all directions with his eyes.
“Found you,” he said with his gaze cast upwards.
It was the body of a middle-aged man. He had hung himself from a rail, and his lifeless feet dangled mid-air. He was in a brown trench coat with a red band around one arm, etched with the symbol S5.
“What brings a ranger of Section 5 to this place of death?” Runner muttered.
Something hung from the man’s neck. Runner moved closer to see. It was a small board with the words DEATH IS SALVATION scribbled in blood.
Runner spat. “I thought rangers are supposed to be tough.”
No one travelled that far from MegaCityOne, not even to loot copper wires. Runner stared at him for a moment. He drew a knife from the side of his belt and cut the ranger loose. The body fell on the ground, raising dust in the air.
“Forgive me,” he said and began to remove the trench coat from the corpse. “I’m pretty sure I need this more than you do.”
He stood up and wore the dead man’s shirt over his naked torso. “At least, there is no blood on it,” he said and then proceeded to wear the trench coat.
Runner gazed at the insignia of Section 5 on his arm and nodded. He always wanted to be one of them, but now he would settle for their outfit. He mounted his bike and continued towards the university.
He guided his bike to move slowly though an abandoned street with empty building ruins that loomed like giant walls at each side. The eeriness was unsettling. There was not a single soul to be seen, not even rats to nibble on leftovers. What was he saying? If there were leftovers, he would fight the rats for a chance to partake and pacify his biting stomach.
For a moment, he thought of lying flat on the floor and pretending to be dead. Maybe one or two greedy vultures might spot him and descend. God knows he would have one of those repulsive creatures for breakfast in a heartbeat if, at all, there were any left in the world.
His rat bike jerked to halt. Something was wrong. Runner kicked the ignition; it jerked forward again, and the engine died.
He slammed his fist on the dashboard. “You couldn’t have chosen a much better time!” he cried.
Runner came down from the bike and squatted beside it. He stretched his arm and reached for a long tube strapped beside the saddle. Slowly, he drew it to stretch out and then stood up. He stood out amongst the towering building ruins. It felt like he was the last man on earth. Well, if he didn’t find fuel for his bike, he would truly be the only man amongst the ruins.
He strode towards one of the several abandoned cars left on the desolate street. If there was one thing he was certain, petrol didn’t expire easily. Most folks were always struck with bewilderment at the amount of fuel still in the tanks of abandoned cars. But as he stood in front of the first car he found, its covers were left open, which reminded him of the other part where most cars had been robbed of theirs by marauders and sojourners like him.
In a flash of anger, Runner slammed the cover close and strode to the nearest car he could find. Like the first one, the opened covers told him everything he needed to know. He went past three more and then he found a black SUV that looked intact.
He opened the cover and pushed his tube in, but then he realised he had nothing to serve as a container. His gaze strayed to an open building that looked like a garage. It was dark in there, and the silence was unsettling.
Scattered bits of concrete cracked beneath his feet as he took careful steps towards the garage. Runner stopped suddenly. He was discouraged by the stark darkness that cloaked the garage. He walked back to his backpack and took an empty water bottle whose content he had drained a long time ago.
He bent beside the car and used his mouth to suck out the petrol until it flowed freely into his bottle. Something creaked. He gave into his paranoia and turned around to see a young girl standing with a dirty doll in her grip.
Runner used his right hand to wipe his face and then looked again. Was he indeed seeing things clearly? The girl had five limbs. Five limbs. Three arms on her body, two on the right, and a small stunted arm on her left. Her cloths were dirty and her hair grey from…whatever the hell she had been exposed to.
She opened her mouth to smile, and there were only three brown teeth gathered at one end.
Runner felt his fingers wrapping around the hilt of his knife. He wasn’t sure if she was violent like those rabids he encountered at the slaughterhouse. She seemed calm, even with as he reached for his blade. He didn’t know what to make of her, but she did not look like rabids who suffered the effect of experiments on Sense pills.
He went on one knee and stretched an arm towards her. “Hey there, little…creepy…girl. Where is your daddy?” he said.
The girl began to swing her doll. She turned and looked into the dark garage.
A large man jumped out of the darkness, charging towards Runner with a mallet in his hand.
“Oh! Fuck me.” Runner fell down, sitting forcefully with his buttocks pressing upon pieces of broken concrete.
The man’s head was irregularly large with bloodshot eyes, and he limped as he came, which didn’t account for much speed.
Runner found his footing and jumped on top of his bike. He opened the tank and quickly poured the petrol. The man was approaching fast. There was no time. Runner pulled the bottle and pressed it to constrict, pouring the remaining fuel into the deformed man’s eyes to slow him down further.
He hit the bike’s ign
ition, but there was no response. He tried it again, again, and again, and finally, it roared to life. The man was upon him. Runner supported one leg on the ground and used the other to kick the man backwards.
The man fell on the earth. Runner turned to look forward. More and more deformed humans were trooping out of abandoned buildings.
He squeezed the throttle, and the rat bike surged forward, speeding through them. “So long suckers!” he yelled. “You won’t have me for dinner today.”
After a moment, he glanced back and saw that they did not even try to chase him. He wondered why. Perhaps he had intruded their sanctuary. Who knows?
Minutes passed, and his bike strolled into a street that led to the university. He halted the rat bike and turned his head left to gaze at a half standing signboard. It read:
Welcome to the Last House on the Left
He was pretty sure that if he raised the board to stand upright, it would be pointing at the university. Happily, he kicked his engine to start and rode onwards.
As he approached gently with his bike, he observed the sinister vista of abandoned ruins. Something perforated the tyres of his rat bike. The sudden pull flung it to tumble. He landed with his back on half-buried pillar.
“Damn it!” he cursed.
His bike laid metres away with smoke rising from its engine. Runner helped himself up. He took a step forward and felt something soft under his foot. He ignored it, but as he tried to walk away, a rope caught his ankle and dragged him to hang from his feet. His hands dangled in the air, and everything was upside down.
“Mutant! Mutant! We caught a mutant! We caught one!” a voice cried with enthusiasm.
From his inverted view, he saw a young dark-skinned lady leading a group of men towards him. They were armed with knives and axes. They seemed eager to hack their presumed mutant to pieces.
“Wait…wait! I’m no mutant, I swear. I swear it!” Runner screamed.
“Wait,” another voice said.
It sounded familiar, but the owner was hidden amongst the crowd. “His name is Runner, and he is a notorious scrap hoarder.” A girl in a black cloak shoved through the crowd.
