The Weight Of Living (1/?)

The pale rays of sunlight were fading fast.

Cy dropped her pack, releasing a long breath of air through the filters of her gas mask. Scanning the horizon, she looked around for somewhere to camp for the night.

Hotels weren't easy to come by when World War III had nuked everything. Only post-apocalyptic wastelands remained.

She spotted an outcropping of debris not too far off that she could camp comfortably behind. Shouldering her pack once more, she trudged towards it. Her stomach rumbled, loud in the deserted area. It was nothing uncommon, her being hungry. Her emaciated form showed that, though this amount of undereating was the worst in a long time. Her food supply was running low, with only a single can of soup and a limited number of stale crackers left. She'd been saving them as long as possible; the last time she'd eaten was approaching to three days. Her energy and hope were fading fast, and if she didn't find somewhere or something to raid soon, she would starve to death, which wasn't quite the way she wanted to go at the ripe age of seventeen years.

Walking around to the back of the hunk of building debris, she found a small ledge about four feet in the air that would allow her to curl up with a bit of protection. Clambering up, she stuffed her near-empty rucksack against a chunk of what she thought used to be a doorframe, and leaned against it. She sighed again and pulled off the protective goggles around her eyes, leaving her respirator on. The air was too toxic this far into the city to risk exposing her lungs any more to the air than was already necessary.

She closed her eyes and focused on the sounds of the city around her. There were none.

A bark was heard somewhere far off, only heard because of the surrounding silence. Packs of dogs were not uncommon, and also nonthreatening compared to some creatures created by the nuclear explosions. 'Worms', people called them, though they were anything but-- twelve foot long creatures with numerous eyes, and rows upon rows of teeth; certain animals had fused together to create grotesque creatures; the creations were endless.

But, Helena thought, whatever they've become, they're nowhere near as bad as what the people have become. She wrapped her thin arms around her legs and closed her eyes. We've turned into monsters, stealing for food, killing for territory... History repeats itself, doesn't it?

The quietness of the city bothered her. Normally, she'd never be anywhere near the area, though she'd agreed  on a rendez-vous spot inside the city with her travelling partner and friend, Clough-- or as she often called him, Kerosene. He was out scavenging the city for food, and as their agreed five-day mark was approaching, she'd begun to head towards their meeting place.

She quietly hoped to herself that Clough had found some food, as she drifted off into an uncomfortable sleep.

The distant voices of shouting roused Helena from sleep. She bolted upright, suddenly aware as she pulled two bone-handled daggers out of a knife belt around her waist. Listening carefully, she determined the shouting was going on somewhere not too far off, and from the nature of the shouts, it sounded like a brawl was going down.

Helena smiled grimly to herself. I've always loved a good fight. She grabbed her last can of soup from her pack before slinging it over her shoulders and set out towards the shouts, cutting the top of the can as she walked.

The tomato soup was cold and cloying in her mouth, but she ate it anyway. The empty feeling subsided somewhat, and the dull throbbing coming from her stomach stopped, as if thanking her for the sustenance.

As the shouting got louder, Helena prepared herself to fight. She was hoping that she could grab some food at the end of it. She stored her pack under a pile of dust and broken plexiglass and stretched her arms as she snuck around a corner of a building to where she could hear the sounds of shouting and  scuffling.

Her heart quickened at the sight. It looked like two medium-sized groups had gotten into a territory fight; she counted nine people. With a jolt, she realized that those two groups had caused a great deal of misery for her and Clough in the past; having crossed with them a number of times only to have wound up bested in the scuffle caused. Bags were strewn everywhere in the middle of the area, and fists and weapons were flying as easily as the curses and yells. Helena's instinct kicked in when she saw an open bag containing several cans of soup.

Having the advantage of surprise, as she didn't have the advantage of stealth to sneak in like she would have preferred, she managed to sneak behind three people and slit their throats before she was noticed. She tore off her blood-splashed goggles before jumping into the fray for real.

A raider converged upon her, swinging a leaden pipe like a club in an attempt to take her legs out from under her. She jumped back before jumping forwards again, slashing at his chest with her knives. The raider's reflexes were slow, most likely due to the weight of his weapon and the exhaustion of the brawl beginning to weigh on him, and Helena was able to tear a shallow gash into his front; cutting through mostly fabric, but a thin layer of crimson covered the edge of one of her knives. She danced away again, almost toying with her opponent. He heard a growl of frustration emerge from behind his gas mask. He loped forwards, raising his pipe and swinging it back and forth, driving her backwards.

Helena glanced back, to make sure she wasn't stumbling her way blindly into the barrel of another raider's gun. In her quick glance around, she counted two other raiders besides herself and her opponent grappling in the corner of her eye. Bodies lay in crumpled and bloody heaps on the ground. She jumped back again as the pipe swung precariously close to her ribs; she could take an educated guess in thinking that one hit from that thing would shatter her bones like glass. With a realization that made her stomach drop, she'd knew she'd jumped too far, and she stumbled, losing her balance momentarily. The raider took the opportunity to swing forwards, just as she did the same with her knives, and the pipe collided with her left hand; resulting in a sharp crack that she heard and felt come from three of her fingers.

The throb of pain distracted her and she gasped, falling over backwards. Before she could get up, however, her enemy was over her, pipe lifted over his head; seconds from coming down on her skull.

This is it, she thought, her silver eyes reflected back to her in the reinforced plastic of the raider's gas mask lenses. This is how I die.

The man jerked forward, and the pipe slid from his hand , almost in slow motion to the teen. She watched as the pipe toppled behind him, clanking on the cracked pavement. She looked at the man, confusion in her eyes before noticing the blade that protruded through his sternum; blood blossoming onto the dusty off-white of his jacket.

The man's body was shucked off the blade and to the side and Helena was finally able to stare up at the person who saved her.

“Kerosene!” She exclaimed, her voice raspy from days of disuse. “God damn, you're a sight for sore eyes.”

“Are you so used to damn-near almost dying you don't even flinch anymore? 'N I thought I told you to stop usin' that shitty nickname.” The voice was gruff but quiet, seasoned with an accent that was musky and slight but hard to place; only knowing it was Irish because of the years she had grown up with him.

He extended his left hand to her, and she accepted it with her right hand, despite how awkward it seemed. They stared at each other for a long moment, and she took in his appearance. He looked dishevelled, from several days out in the open, and dustier than usual. His beloved patchwork black denim jacket was scuffed, and the bandana he kept wrapped around his nose and mouth was tinged with copper, telling her that he'd gotten into a few scuffles. The cuts on his cheeks and hand told her that as well. She looked to his right arm, which held his weapon of choice; a spear with a serrated blade on one end. He wasn't wearing gloves like he normally did, so Helena could clearly see the shimmer of metal of his prosthetic arm. Really, it looked and worked exactly like a normal arm; thanks to technology and science before the fallout, the only faults it had were that it was obviously metal, and that it occasionally malfunctioned and caused Clough a great deal of pain. The bonus that came with it was that it possessed strength that a normal arm could never achieve.

He pointed towards her left hand. She held it up, noticing finally the swelling and odd angles at which her fingers stuck out. “Yeah.... I guess I should leave it up to you next time to deflect the big hunks of metal, huh?”

Clough scoffed and shook his head, pulling his goggles down around his neck and running a hand back through shaggy black hair to get it out of his eyes. He grabbed her wrist with his right hand, the chill of metal a weird sensation against her skin. He bent down to her eye level and brought it up between them. After inspecting it for a few seconds, his eyes moved past her fingers to look into her eyes. Silver met with dark blue and he raised an eyebrow. “The hell made you think that would be a good idea?”

Helena huffed and jerked her wrist back, trying not to wince as the sudden movement sent a painful throb along her hand. “It's not like I tried to, you dolt!” She heard him snickering and that only angered her more. “You're the worst,” She muttered, wandering around the scene of the fight, collecting her pack and searching for her goggles.

A dog trotted up to her then; a dusty white lab, carrying her blood-spattered goggles in her mouth. Helena laughed, the first time in days, as the dog dropped them into her outstretched hand and sauntered over to Clough, barking and wagging her tail. The dog's name was Ilieta, though she answered to 'Pup', and Helena didn't think she could find a better definition for the phrase “a dog is a man's best friend” than Kerosene and her. She followed and listened to him faithfully, and Helena knew that though she may seem sweet at first glance, she knew that the dog was as vicious as any canine bred to fight. She watched them for a moment longer; and as Clough bent down to pick the dog up in a hug, Helena turned away with a small smile and went to examine what had been left behind by the other raiders.

* * *

The woman was curled up on her side on the ground, unmoving. Her back was against them, and her two-tone hair was splayed out on the ground around her. A large, feral-looking domestic cat (Helena recalled they were called Savannah cats) lay beside her protectively, its yellow eyes unblinking as it stared at the pair.

Clough and Helena exchanged an uneasy glance. Today had been the first day they were able to travel anywhere safely; as the past four days had been nothing but vicious dust storms, and the first thing they stumbled upon was an unconscious survivor. Nothing had to be said between the pair; they knew each other well enough that they shared the same suspicions. Trust was needed in the wastelands, and who you trusted just happened to be the very thing that stood between life and death.

Cy was the first to make a move; stepping forwards towards the woman as if to rouse her, when the feline hissed loudly, a rolling grumble erupting from its throat; its eyes fixed on the teen.

She stepped back and the cat's growling quietened slightly, but did not subside altogether. Kerosene waited a moment, then with almost inhuman speed due to his arm, reached out and jabbed the woman in the spine with the blunt end of his spear. A yowl came from the cat as it finally rose, standing over its owner protectively.

“Why the hell would you do that?!” Cy growled, slowly moving her hands to her knife belt on her hips, taking hold of the smooth bone handles of her daggers. Kerosene shrugged, moving the handle of his weapon to tap his dog on the snout, causing her to cease growling.

A soft shhf noise came from the woman, who had started to move. Cy tensed, poised to react in an instant if the need arose. She drummed the fingers on her right hand against her knife; she was unable to do the same with her left hand as her three broken fingers had been taped together. Clough remained indifferent.

The stranger sat up sluggishly, pushing the cat off of her; murmuring something unintelligible. She turned then, slightly, as if to get up, before freezing. She looked up slowly, looking almost startled at the sight of the trio in front of her.

Cy took note of the girl's appearance as they remained in a stalemate. Long locks of hair fell like a waterfall around her, sprawling onto the ground in brunette tresses that faded into blonde. She sported a leather jacket and dark blue jeans. Black and white leg warmers were scrunched up on her calves, and she wore a scuffed pair of Doc Martens. Her face was masked by the same two-piece goggle/respirator set that she herself wore, though the girl's lenses were a pale blue; the nanos of the lenses having shifted colour to match the woman's eye colour; unlike the silver of her own. Helena saw no pack or weapons on the woman; they must have blown away during the storm. Does that mean she's been out here the whole time? She wondered.

They remained motionless in silence for a few more minutes, unmoving, until the woman lifted her right hand. Tattooed upon it was the word 'Hello'. Helena wondered if anything was on her other hand. Helena raised her hand in return, looking carefully at Clough. As always, he remained impassive behind his goggles and bandana.

The woman stood slowly, taking in her surroundings. She lowered her hand finally, letting it rest on her cat. She coughed, and a puff of dust escaped from her lungs.

“Jesus.... How long have you been out here?” Helena asked hesitantly, tilting her head. “It's been storming for days.... Clough!” She yelped to him as the woman suddenly slumped forwards, though there was no need, as he had already moved forwards to catch her before she fell. Her cat made no move to interfere, instead seeming instead to walk beside Clough, both keeping its distance as well as staying as close to the girl as possible.

Cy looked at the woman in Kerosene's arms and then looked to him. “Looks like we'll be camping out for a couple more days, huh?” She mumbled. He grunted in response and hitched the woman up over his right shoulder, continuing on the way they were going. “Kerosene!” She called to him confusedly. “Where are you going? We don't know what's out there, you idiot! We can't just keep going with some random unconscious broad!” He only moved forwards, leaving Cy to catch up to him. “What's your motive?” She yelled, and when she was once more ignored, she set a pace to catch up with him, grumbling and muttering the whole time.

***

It had been three days since Helena and Clough had found the unconscious woman, and in that time they had found out little about her. Cy had finally gotten an answer from her friend as to why he found it so necessary to save the stranger.

“She'll owe us one,” He'd muttered quietly, glancing at her to make sure she was out of earshot. “And that can be one hell of a useful thing to have out here.” Cy nodded at the answer, and they'd spoken no more about it.

The woman's alias was Séance and her cat's was Kalb. She never told them her real name, and they never asked after they questioned her the first time. She admitted that she did not, in fact, carry a weapon, to both Cy and Kerosene's disbelief. Cy wasn't sure about much else. The woman kept to herself, often choosing to sit outside and watch the skies, regardless of the hour. She could have also sworn that she caught their new companion talking to thin air on more than one occasion; she would have assumed she was talking to her cat but the feline was busy making friends with Illieta. She kept to herself, seeming more of a tagalong than a group member, and Helena wasn't sure if that was good or bad.

Cy was determined to get to know the woman more; just because she couldn't see a weapon on her didn't mean she wasn't dangerous.

At the first pale rays of sunlight that streamed through the murky grey skies, Helena got up from her post in the deteriorated shack that they had found that night to camp in, and began her morning stretching.

Skipping breakfast as usual, she stepped outside to look for Séance. She could never keep too close of an eye on her. She had passed Clough inside, stepping over him as he slept; he had taken most of the watch that night, so Cy figured she should let him get as much rest as they could before they set out again.

Sitting on a low wall a few yards from their camp, she spotted the woman, sitting with her cat. She wandered  over, making sure to take loud footsteps; she didn't want to scare either of them, and she knew that Séance was timid and easily frightened.

“Mornin',” Cy murmured, sitting cross-legged on the wall next to her. “How long have you been out here?”

“A while,” came the soft reply. She said nothing more, only tilting her head upwards more towards the sky; like a sunflower drinking in sunlight. Some mornings, like this one, you could see the pinks and the yellows of the sunrise behind the desolate grey sky.

The teen nodded towards the horizon. “Pretty, huh?”  She chuckled lowly. “I'd almost forgotten what colours were out here.”

Séance's head fell slightly, and she looked over to where Kalb lay beside her, his tail twitching gently in his sleep. “It's hard to forget what you've never really learned,” she murmured.

Cy tilted her head. “What d'you mean?”

Séance shifted and looked back up at the sky. “I'm... I'm colourblind,” she said finally. “Not just mixing up reds and greens... or blues and yellows... I lack cones, I had tests run in The City as a child.”

A small “oh” escaped from the teen's mouth, and she said nothing. She wasn't quite sure what to say. A few moments of awkward silence passed, before she managed an attempt at something light-hearted. “So, you see what dogs can see?” She joked, a nervous smile playing on her lips behind her respirator.

The woman only shook her head. “Dogs are actually red-green colour blind. Contrary to popular belief, they can see colours. I see shades of grey, since that's what rods do. It's... more of a shark's vision, than anything.”

Helena nodded, not sure of what else to say. “N...neat,” she managed eventually.

They faded into silence once more. After a few minutes, The brunette turned to her. She took a deep breath, like she was amassing the courage to say something outrageous.  “The thing is, though... is I can see colours. Just.... Just not like you'd expect.” She removed her goggles and respirator then, and Helena saw a fire burning bright in her cerulean eyes.

Cy's eyes narrowed behind her mask. “The hell're you on about, lady?”

The woman shrunk back slightly at Helena's sudden brashness. She took a halting breath. Her voice was hesitant, as if unsure how much to say. When she spoke, her words were halting , as if contemplating regret; as if she was carefully formulating each letter that rolled off her tongue.  “I can see auras,” she said. Her voice was strong, as if daring to be challenged, though the teen couldn't help but hear the slight quake in her voice. “I know you don't believe me.... I can see it. Around you, your unease and disbelief shift-- it's-it's like it radiates, like body heat.” She went quiet then, and Cy sat next to her for a number of minutes, unsettled and unsure of what to believe. She knew that pollution before the fallout wasn't uncommon; long exposure to it had it's side effects, like her own eyes, once grey, now turned a shimmery silver. Or Clough, who had had an accident in his pre-teen years, where direct exposure to the potent radiation had caused him to lose his arm.

But was it really possible to see emotions?

She hopped off the wall, the muscles in her legs protesting as she'd been sitting too long. Séance didn't seem to notice. She headed into the shack to tell Clough about her conversation, and immediately noticed that he wasn't where he previously was, sprawled out on the floor using Pup as a pillow. She opened her mouth to call out to him when she felt something wrap around the upper part of her neck, cutting off her call. She wheezed a cough, jerking her hands to her waist to grab her knives as her mind whipped into high alert. She wasn't able to grasp her knives, however, as her hands were roughly pinned to her back, and she felt the tight press of zip-ties binding her wrists together.

She turned her head and felt the prickles of a rope pulling tighter and restricting her airway even more. She spun around, her skin screaming in protest as she felt the coarse cord burn her skin. She brought her knee up, a most useful tactic she'd learned early on. Play dirty, because no fight is ever fair. She heard a grunt and saw a dark shape fall to the ground. Another raider had his back to her, muscled and carrying a rifle. Her heart leapt to her throat as she saw what he knelt next to. As if the unmistakable muss of black hair wasn't enough to identify him, the bandana pulled down around Clough's mouth to reveal dark stubble just seemed wrong; he was always wearing it.  Ilieta was nowhere to be seen in the shack, though she heard her barking and yelping not too far off.

“Clough!” She yelled, a fit of coughing following his name as she struggled to get her breath back.

The raider stood and turned upon her, and Helena struggled to both catch her breath and snap the zip-ties around her wrists. She heard a groan from under her, and looked down in time to see the raider she'd floored kick out at her legs. She stepped back, but not fast enough, and his boot collided with her calf, sending her to the floor with a painful clatter as she landed on the hilt of one of her knives; hitting her head off the floor as she couldn't stop her fall. Stars swam in her vision, blinding her momentarily.

When they finally faded, the burly raider stood over her, rifle in hand. He had a crazed look in his eye, one she'd seen on only a handful of enemies.

These weren't ordinary raiders bullying for supplies and a their cans of food.

They were their food.

She looked to Kerosene, and saw the unmistakable rise and fall of his chest. Relief coursed through her veins. He's safe, she thought. She could still hear Pup, barking wildly still. The relief was short-lived though, as she remembered.

Her head shot up, and she made eye contact with the man, who held the rifle like a club. She looked outside, to where Séance and Kalb had been sitting, just out of their vision. The direction in which Ilieta was barking, warning. She looked to the man again, and swelled her chest with air. His eyes dared her, his grip tightening on the gun.

They locked eyes, predator and prey, for a terrifying moment. Then she screamed.

The butt of the rifle came down on her temple as the last pleading letters of Séance's name fell from her lips.