*
For the first time since his awakening outside Genesis Station 13, Barsch had slept a dreamless sleep. He awoke feeling refreshed, the rigors of the previous day washed away along with the storm. When he had awoken, he had found Lanista in his arms, which he had taken as a sign that his subconscious was under control once more. And in the light of day, the blade did not seem as malicious, and the voice he had given it seemed childish and ephemeral.
But reality soon intruded on his positive mind-set, reminding him that Kingston was close to death and that he was probably not too far behind. They were still several miles away from Carçus, and judging from the increasing frequency of the old man’s coughing fits, they were running out of time.
“Barsch, good morning! How are you feeling?” Kingston called as he exited the bunker. The hermit had recovered some of his energy, and his face had more colour, but he was still weaker than when Barsch had first met him.
“I’m fine, I guess. How about you?”
“I’m still alive, if that’s what you’re asking!” replied Kingston, with a forced smile. Moments later, Alza joined them, although she did not share in their conversation. Instead, she gathered up her belongings -her silver bracelet, greatcoat and pack- and went to stand a few feet away. Her message was clear: it was time to move on.
Following her unspoken advice, Barsch and Kingston collected their things and met her outside. Ahead of them, the hills that had persisted since Proxa 09 finally disappeared, replaced by fields of wild corn that had been flattened and scattered by the hypercane. They left without another word, quickly leaving their temporary place of shelter behind as they emerged from the hills. Without the storm to stop them, they picked up the pace, and soon the ruins of Carçus filled the horizon.
As they neared the city limits, more and more signs of war became apparent. Large craters dotted the fields, and several farmhouses lay in ruin, with entire walls reduced to rubble and vehicles heat-welded to the road. It was a horrific spectacle, but seemed to lack reality in the ghostly world the group found themselves in. With no human cries of suffering, or courageous military charges, the scenes were reduced to mere set-pieces, like the world's largest war museum. For Barsch, the war-torn buildings and ruined landscape brought back nostalgic memories of his childhood, when he and his father had travelled through countless similar locations.
Alza gave the tortured environment no more than a passing glance, but Kingston was obviously suffering. He had been holed up in his hut for decades, hiding from the world, and now he was being forced to confront it. As a soldier, he had been partly responsible for creating wastelands almost identical to Carçus, but he had never before seen the aftermath of his actions. If not for the life-saving medicine hopefully held within the city, he would have turned around and never looked back.
Between Barsch’s nostalgia, Alza’s apathy, and Kingston’s shame, there was no space for conversation. They merely walked in silence, as mile after mile fell behind them. Soon, the distance between the farmhouses lessened, and badly eroded roads were spotted, hidden under four decade old dirt and plant life. They were entering the outer suburbs, where farms and barns were replaced by houses and schools. But these homes held no laughter, and the schools had long since recessed into empty husks. They were walking into a dead city, and if fate did not smile upon them, they could become permanent residents.
An hour later, the uneasy group found a main thoroughfare that led straight into the city. All around them lay abandoned vehicles and building sized craters. As they passed one of these, Kingston brought them to a halt and pointed to something at the heart of the depression. There, still embedded in the hard ground, were the remains of a small missile. Hundreds of tiny holes covered its outer surface, a sight which confused Barsch until Kingston whispered, “Airborne neurotoxin. Nasty stuff…”
Unfortunately, Barsch did not have to try and imagine what had happened, as the evidence still lay around him. Skeletons, some more powder than bone, and some too small to be from adults, littered the road. Some were still strapped into their vehicles; others had died in the streets, fleeing from the cloud of death. However, they all had something in common: they were all facing west, away from the city. And now he was heading the opposite way, delving deeper into the city-tomb that Carçus had become.
“Desperation can make men do unforgivable things, but slaughtering civilians, killing unarmed women and children, how can a sane person justify that? How could anyone do this to their fellow man and still face themselves…”
The words came out by themselves, but they were still his true feelings. Not for the first time, he was glad that he had been born a generation late, and so had been spared from witnessing humanity’s most shameful hour. He had never seen the world before the pollution devoured it, but perhaps that was for the best, as he would never truly know just how far humanity had fallen.
“As you said, we were desperate… foolish and desperate. Before the wars, we had been united as one race, across the globe, but that all fell apart the moment the blight appeared. And just like that, years of hard work went up in smoke, and we regressed to our most primitive urges. Protect your own, and destroy any that weren’t. It’s so much easier to push a button and destroy a city if you are thinking in terms of ‘us and them’, than if you are still seeing them as former neighbours.” Kingston wore a look that spoke of painful memories, so Barsch said nothing more.
Awakening Page 57