"Hello?" My boots shift, scraping across the dusty hardpan.
Maybe it's a dog. Starving, most likely. Nothing out here to eat, not even weeds. Bare as the moon. I wouldn't mind sharing a protein pack or two. The company would be worth it. I'd have someone to talk to, and he'd listen to me, and I wouldn't have to consider the prospect of losing my mind anymore. We'd be in this together, the two of us.
I shake my head. Not thinking clearly. The scientists didn't design doggy jumpsuits, as far as I know. There can't be a dog out here—or any kind of animal. Unprotected under the sun, the poor fur ball wouldn't last a minute before it was charred head to toe. Dog burger.
Yum.
The longer I stand in the silence, the more certain I become that it was just another rock deciding to migrate on its own. Bored with its life halfway up the hill, hoping to start over at a lower altitude. Or maybe it wanted to come with me.
Join the half-crazy human, see what's left of the world!
Deriding my own foolishness, yet unable to stop myself, I clamber up to where the rock landed and retrieve it, hefting it in my hand.
"I shall dub thee...Rocky." I hold it in front of my face shield and turn it over, noting how well it fits into the palm of my glove. I won't be able to touch it, run my fingertips along its smooth edges, not until sundown. Or until I find some shade. "Thou shalt be my pet, Rocky."
I unzip a pocket in my pant leg and drop it inside.
Then I jump out of my skin as another rock—much bigger this time—clatters down the hill, bounding and spiraling toward me. I have to lunge sideways to keep from getting hit by the thing.
"What the—?" My voice sounds like it's coming from someone else.
Rocks tumble toward me from all sides. Innumerable, they roll and leap, catapulting themselves in a sudden avalanche. The ground shifts at my feet. Dust rushes out from under me, sucked by an invisible vacuum.
Earthquake? Shouldn't the ground be shaking?
A basic survival instinct kicks in, and I run. Faster than I've ever run in my life. I leap over the mid-size boulders tumbling across my path. My feet are swift, my boots barely making contact. The ashen world around me melts away as my jumpsuit presses flat against me. I should be gasping, fighting for breath, but I'm not. I'm in good enough shape, but not for a long-distance sprint like this.
I run faster, carried by a strength that's not my own. I look down at my legs, pumping effortlessly in a bizarre blur of speed.
This is incredible!
I glance over my shoulder. The rocks hurtle after me now, skipping across each other as if they too are propelled by some unseen force of nature.
What the hell is going on? Maybe it's all in my head. I've finally lost it.
A sharp pain jabs my calf muscle as a stone slams into it. I stifle a short cry.
Yep. This is really happening.
I leap over another boulder, then across a yawning ditch. My vision is consumed by the eastern mountains. They loom closer, growing as I approach. At the speed I'm running—as insane as it sounds—I'll reach them within minutes.
Thirty kilometers? Forty? How fast am I moving?
A heavy stone hits me as hard as a fastball, square in the back. I cry out, but I can't hear my own voice above the rumble of the avalanche rampaging after me, gaining ground. Have I offended Mother Earth somehow? I've been minding my own business out here, trying to survive one day at a time, leaving her to her beauty sleep, doing my best not to disturb her.
Rocky.
Cursing, I reach into my pocket mid-stride and dump my erstwhile pet into the rushing dust below.
"Take it!" I yell, hoping the stampede will be appeased by my offering.
Rocky hits the ground and bounces back, striking me in the shin. I howl and stagger, losing some of my momentum. Then gravel launches upward from all sides. I run through sheets of dust and sand swirling up from the ground, obscuring my vision. My face shield is instantly caked with the stuff. I should wipe it off so I can see where I'm going, but I can't slow down to do so. I run faster than ever, carried blindly by a superhuman speed I'm unable to fathom.
I don't bother trying to comprehend. It's the only thing keeping me alive right now.
Gravel pings against the reflective polymer of my face shield. Did those scientists design it to withstand an attack like this? Unlikely.
Another rock hits me in the back, followed by another. They're catching up—or I'm slowing down. One good shot to the head, and all of this will be over.
I should have worn that suit with the helmet. Thought it was overkill at the time. As soon as the bunker doors opened, I couldn't get out of there fast enough. Didn't care what was waiting for me on the other side. Couldn't stay another second.
Not with all that mess down there.
The gravel—thicker now—pelts my face shield. It's going to crack—only a matter of time. Then I'll meet my end. I will have survived a nuclear holocaust only to be pulverized by killer rocks.
Some kind of sedimentary mutation? There have to be all kinds of side effects the government scientists never could have foreseen. You don't nuke a planet and expect everything to stay the same—or ever be the same again. And with all those toxins and bioweapons released during the early stages of the war, maybe there was a bizarre chemical reaction, and the rocks and dust became sentient in some kind of freak molecular interaction.
Ridiculous maybe, but didn't the ancient Hebrews believe we all originally came from dust?
Tears trickle down my cheeks, an involuntary response to the pain as one rock after another slams into my back.
Didn't stoning also originate with the ancient Hebrews?
My legs keep running, but I've dissociated myself from them. They're connected through bones, ligaments, and muscles to my back, which is racked with pain right now. I want to be as far away from this insane situation as possible. I want to hover above it and watch from the outside-in.
I've always wanted to fly…
The sudden silence is peaceful but deafening in contrast to a moment ago. The gravel around me has hit the ground and now lies still. The rocks and boulders have done the same. I imagine the sand and dust clearing, wafting away slowly, settling. I stand swaying in the breeze. My breath is steady and unlabored, as though I haven't just run over thirty kilometers in a matter of minutes. I can't see a thing—other than the crack in my face shield from my brow to my chin. Blindly, I wipe at it with my gloves, succeeding only in smearing the dust around the imbedded gravel.
Eventually I see light. Shapes.
I catch my breath. I've reached the foot of the mountains—my sleeping giants. They're even more massive up close. It would have taken me all day to travel this far. Can't quite believe my eyes. It's like a weird dream, not possible, yet there they are, and here I am.
I wipe the remaining layer of dust from my face shield.
You're not alone.
Stumbling backward in surprise, I stare at the human form on the north ridge. He stands twenty meters above me, as high as a five or six-story building, and wears loose sand-colored garments unlike my standard-issue jumpsuit. Every centimeter of his skin is covered, but instead of a hood and tinted face shield, he wears strips of the cloth wrapped around his head, leaving room only for black goggles over his eyes.
I raise my hand as hope swells within me. I wave, giddy like an idiot.
"Hello, friend," I call. Can he hear me?
A gust of wind ripples his outer garment as his goggles seem to study me. His gloved hands remain firmly planted on his hips.
"Hello?" Heart racing, I struggle to unlatch my face shield, opening it just enough to be sure I'm heard. My hood will provide enough protection from the sun at this angle. "Hello!" I take an unfiltered breath of the dry, dusty air. It smells like an old ash tray filled to the brim. "Good to see you!" I can't contain the smile taking over my face. "It's been so long. Started thinking I was the only one out here..."
My awkward laugh echoes, fadin
g until silence reclaims the moment. My smile dims. As still as a statue, the figure watches me. I try to quell the uneasiness clenching at my stomach. It's only natural that the first meeting between two members of the human race after the end of the world might be a little strange. Particularly so if this person assumed he was the last living survivor. I never truly believed that to be the case, but I suppose if you've resigned yourself to that fact, it might come as a shock to see another homo sapiens running around.
Or maybe it was the running itself. That was pretty weird, I have to admit, along with the attack from Mother Earth. This guy's probably just wondering what kind of freak I am.
Or how I might taste. That would really stink. The first person I meet after All-Clear turns out to be a freaking cannibal! Is that why he's regarding me so carefully? Sizing up his next meal?
"Do you have a name?" The feeling in the pit of my stomach is turning cold and heavy. "I'm Milton, from Sector 43. I—we got out a few months ago." I'm making an effort at congeniality here, but if I'm dealing with a cannibal, I don't want it to be common knowledge that I'm traveling alone. "Where-uh... Where are you from?" I take a few steps back, hoping I still have the strength to run for my life if I need to.
The figure launches himself from the ridge and seems to hang in mid-air for a moment before landing on all-fours before me.
"Holy—!" I gasp, nearly tripping over my feet. To jump from such a height and land with ease—he can't be human. Not a normal human, anyway.
The figure stands facing me, arms down at his sides. "You said you were alone," he says in the even cadence of a young woman's voice.
So he's really a she. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad getting eaten by a female cannibal. Even so, I keep my distance.
"So you can speak." I attempt another smile. My mouth is the only part of me visible beneath my open face shield. Will the size of my teeth determine dominance?
"First you said you were the only one out here. But just now, you said we got out. So which is it?" Her head cocks slightly to one side. "Are you alone, or are there others with you?"
Judging by my reflection in her goggles, I can tell why she's being cautious—if she isn't a cannibal, that is. I look like a freak, a filthy survivalist who gnaws on bones in his spare time.
Maybe she thinks I'm a cannibal.
I really need to think about something else.
"I am. Alone, I mean. Not a..." For some reason, I go with the truth. "I've been alone since All-Clear."
Her shoulders seem to relax, so I go on.
"I never gave up hope, though. I knew there had to be others. And there are, right? You're not the only one out here, are you?" Playful thoughts of Adam and Eve pass through my mind. I wish I could see her face.
"Come with me." She turns away and leaps onto an outcropping of rock, pulling herself upward in a single movement.
Does she expect me to do that? Not happening. I might be able to super-run or whatever that was before, but rock climbing has never been my thing. I've never had the grip strength for it.
"Why should I? I don't even know who you are."
She half-turns, and her goggles stare down at me. "Remember what you were running from?"
How could I forget? It was the weirdest thing that's ever happened to me...outside the bunker. "You saw that, huh?"
She resumes her climb. "You're not safe here."
Me? What about her? Shaking my head, I drop my face shield into place and start up after her. "At least tell me who you are."
Strange. With all that's happened in the last half hour, the only thing I want to know right now is the name of my newfound companion. Who cares about killer rocks when after months of solitude, I finally have someone besides my imaginary giants and an ill-conceived pet to talk to.
I'm not alone anymore. There are others like me out here. And as I climb after my new friend, the only thing I know for sure is that I would follow her anywhere.
"You have a name, right?" I watch her swing one-handed from a crevice in the rock and grab hold of another. Amazing, really. So agile—
"Climb." Her tone is firm, making it clear that conversation won't be part of this journey, wherever we're going.
I do my best to keep up, lagging five meters behind her at all times—but not due to any lack of effort. "Where are we going?"
"Higher."
Well, that much is obvious. She reaches the ridge where I first saw her and stands there, waiting for me.
"How far?" I grunt, pulling myself upward.
"Not very."
I pause to catch my breath. "You're not going to eat me, are you?" I half-smile, but my charm is lost now behind my face shield. "Because—if you are—then there's really no point in me going much farther. Right?"
"You need to hurry." Her tone is flat. "We don't have much time."
"About that." Straining every muscle in my fingers and forearms, I manage to reach the ledge at her feet. With as much grace as I can muster, I heave myself up and crawl toward her dusty boots. "The whole attack of the killer rocks thing. Is that commonplace around here? I mean, have you seen anything like that before? Because it kind of freaked me out."
Her goggles are fixed on me as I stand. Wish I could see her eyes. I like her voice—even-toned and calm, albeit humorless.
I've really been alone too long.
"We go up and over from here." She points. "Follow me, and stay close."
"Yes ma'am." I salute.
She watches me for a moment, then takes a running leap from the ridge, upward and to the left, landing with both hands jammed in the crevice of a sheer rock wall. She dangles for a moment, then swings single-handedly across to another outcropping, her movements effortless.
"Stay close, huh." I shake my head.
This must be some sort of initiation into her clan. She's from a cave-dwelling, mountain-climbing bunch of survivors, and this is their rite of passage in order to join the tribe. If so, then I should consider my current humiliation an honor. Maybe she'll look past my grunting and gasping and slug's pace and see the effort I'm making here. That's got to be worth something. If I make the cut, I'll be part of a community again. No more going it alone.
As long as there isn't anybody like Jackson in the mix, count me in.
"Hungry?" I call up to her and reach into my pocket for a protein pack.
"We'll eat when we get there."
"Anybody I know?" I chuckle as I tear open the pack and take a bite.
"You've got to hurry." Her tone has changed. There's an urgency to it now. She looks below us, past me, as if something may be following.
"Okay." I lose my contagious sense of humor for the moment and drop the pack into my pocket, doubling my efforts at keeping up.
I've never had a fear of heights, and I'm glad of it now. Between my boots, there's a good twenty-five meters or more that we've climbed already, and who knows how much farther we have to go. One thing's for certain: my companion knows the way. Her familiarity with every crevice and outcropping proves that she's made this trip many times before.
She must be fairly muscular underneath all those loose, billowing garments. She moves with such ease and grace. My arms are already sore and trembling, and I've tried to keep in shape over the years with hundreds of push-ups every day. But I'm using different muscles now—pulling instead of pushing. Guess I trained for the wrong Olympic event.
Thoughts of Adam and Eve cross my mind again, but I have to dismiss them. Even if she is the most perfect, beautiful woman I've ever seen (and after these past months of solitude, I know she would be), I have a feeling she's not alone. She didn't seem shocked to find me. There will be others waiting for us, maybe all from the same bunker. They weren't all like Sector 43. They couldn't be. And for all I know, she might be married to a polygamist—some kind of mountain tribe living off their stockpile of nourishment packs. Or maybe they're all women who outlived the men from their sector and set off on their own to live out their days in peace. If that's th
e case, then I'm sure I'll be very popular. We'll have this entire continent to repopulate, and we'll need to get started on that right away. Good things definitely come to those who wait.
Don't tell them you're sterile.
Everyone in Sector 43 was. Jackson said he wasn't, but I never believed him. We were a labor sector, and the government geniuses didn't want us reproducing while underground—consuming carefully planned resources, space, and oxygen. Sterilization was mandatory unless you were one of the sectors' best and brightest. Rumor had it that there were bunkers designated for all-male and all-female populations. Carefully selected based on the results of genetic and intelligence tests, they were the hand-picked gene pool of the future. Of course they weren't sterilized. They had one purpose in life: making plenty of whoopee. And babies, too, when the time was right.
My companion could hail from an entire enclave of prime female specimens, all eagerly awaiting the arrival of a virile young male to get our species back on the road to recovery...
Dream on.
I reach a rock ledge and pull with my left hand curled into a crevice. I throw my right forearm over the top to brace myself. Strong hands take hold of my shoulder and the back of my dusty jumpsuit, helping me onto a level sheet of rock. Gasping from the effort, I roll onto my back.
"Thanks," I manage.
My companion stands over me, and I see myself in her goggles again. I look pathetic lying there with my lungs heaving.
"We're here," her voice comes through the material wrapped around her face, but her tone is difficult to interpret.
Behind her, the yawning mouth of a cave opens into the side of the mountain. The first few meters in there look safe enough, shielded from the sun's rays but with sufficient light. Farther back it's pitch black, and I can't tell where it leads or what could be lurking inside. I try to quell my overactive imagination.
"By here you mean..." I leave the blank for her to fill in.
She turns away and enters the cave. "Follow me." Her voice echoes against the earthen walls.
Spirits of the Earth: The Complete Series: (A Post-Apocalyptic Series Box Set: Books 1-3) Page 2