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Description
The hand yanked me down hard, knocking the wind out of me and leaving me in the dirt to gape up at the open, still-beautiful sky. I lay there breathing heavily, instinctively raising both hands to show I was unarmed. “Look, I'm sure I can't hurt you, and I don't have any weapons, or money, or treasure, if that's what you're looking for,” I said desperately.

The voice laughed gently, and replied, “You think I want anything from you? I'm not threatening you, gas-mask. I'm trying to help you out. Look.” I sat up, following the person's finger towards a tiny white wire stretched tightly between two of the stunted, scraggly trees that dotted the landscape. Concealed behind the brittle, wiry branches and crumpled leaves of both were some kind of boxes, one in each, made of slate-gray scrap metal. Each had a few multicolored wires poking out like stray hairs.

“You hit that wire, you set both of 'em off. Blown to bits. I should know, made 'em myself.”

I finally turned to face my – well, savior. Before me stood a young woman about my age, maybe a head shorter than me, built sturdy and strong. Her rusty brown hair was cropped close to her round face, wild and thick and swirling in such a way that it almost looked deliberate, a controlled chaos. Although she had somewhat tanned skin, a few faint freckles made their way to the surface to frame her pale, silvery-gray eyes. The vest she had mentioned was navy blue, thick but worn, and it seemed this woman was trying to cram as many pockets as possible onto her clothing. Beneath the vest was a faded, smoky t-shirt, and at the end of her hands were dark fingerless gloves. Below were baggy, olive-colored cargo pants and black, heavy-looking combat boots, even more so than my own (and the iron inside was probably a lot stronger). She also carried a bulging, forest-green backpack, also covered in pockets.

She stuck out a slightly grubby hand and grinned when she saw me looking at her. “Roxy. Roxy Harris,” she said, and gripped me hard when I took it. “And you are...?”

“You can call me Dylan, I replied, giving a slight smile before I realized I still had the mask on. I fumbled with the two buckles in the back awkwardly, unable to see what I was doing and finally managing to force the straps out of their literal steel grip. They hung down the back of my neck limply, like cold, heavy hairs. I peeled the gas mask off (it was plastered stickily to my face from at least three years of wearing it) and ran my fingers through my pale brown hair with a sigh of relief. Though the mask had helped me through a lot, the confined space of the rubber mask was packed with humid, sultry air, stagnated throughout the years. Normally I was too focused on trying to make my way out to pay attention to how stifling it had been in there (not that there would have been anything I could do about that; I would most likely have died if I'd taken it off), but now that I was safe, and around another person, I noticed how uncomfortable wearing that gas mask had been. It now hung loosely from one of my hands, swaying gently in the cool nighttime breeze.

“Got that all sorted out, then?” Roxy said, but her tone was not belittling; instead containing merely a hint of honest curiosity. I nodded, and she glanced over her shoulder – quickly, reflexively, as if it was something she'd been doing for a very, very long time, something she could hardly control anymore.

“I broke into this place looking for supplies,” she said, brushing off the backwards glance as if it had never happened, “blew a hole right in the wall, as you can see. Didn't know the place was, well, inhabited. If I had, I wouldn't have tried to get in; I'm certainly not that desperate for provisions. And I'm not about to rob anyone, either. So, uh, sorry.” She reached one arm over her shoulder, rubbing the back of her neck and giving me an awkward half-grin.

“No, don't worry,” I said quickly, “that was not where I lived.” I shuddered at the notion, but I felt a remote twinge of guilt, a slight, tiny wrench of something in my chest – the feeling some people get when they tell a lie. Technically speaking, I had lived in there. It wasn't a pleasant place, and to this day I wouldn't call it home, but no matter how hard I'd fought to get out, it was where I'd lain my head at night, where I had eaten, where I had spent the last god-knows-how-many years (I think it was four or five?). In an honest sense, it was my home.

“What I'm wondering, though,” I continued, trying to slip away from that fact, “is how you managed to break in there. If you couldn't tell, the walls are pretty damn resilient.” It was true, I was very interested in finding out how she could have blown the wall out when the majority of technology on hand during the time of the Reckoning barely left a scratch on the place.

“Call it a gift, but, aside from making bombs, one of my specialties is finding places' weak spots. You know, their 'fatal flaw,' their 'Achilles heel?” I just sort of know, that that's somewhere you wanna strike, somewhere that's gonna collapse easier than the rest. You know?” She shrugged gently. “Pretty useful for someone like me.”

I nodded. “I think it was a bit of a waste of, well, whatever you use to make your explosives. Trust me, there's no supplies in there. I recommend you stay far away. It's got nothing but decaying walls and dead plants that are probably living off of that putrid brown sludge.”

Roxy was staring over her shoulder again, this time much more obviously, consciously. I scanned the dark and aching land behind her, trying to get a glimpse of whatever was so interesting but finding nothing beneath the mute, milky spell of moonlight seeping past the ragged but heavy charcoal clouds (which had inflated enough to cover almost the entire stretch of sky, now drifting limply across it). However, after a second I managed to zero in on a humanoid figure in the distance: tall, broad. It seemed to be moving toward us, stepping with slow, jerky, mechanical motions, as if struggling to simply move.

“Get back in there.” Roxy snapped urgently, jerking a thumb towards the raw opening in the wall. Frantically I shook my head. “No way am I going back in that place,” But Roxy wasn't having any of it; she stepped up close to me, stone eyes narrowed to slits.

“Dylan. You either get the hell back in that building, back to where you came from, or you get torn to shreds in the worst way possible. You saw that thing out there, right? Well, it saw us, too; those mothers have night vision. And they're not friendly. Trust me, I've been through this, more times that you can count, and right now inside that building is the safest place to be. Deep inside. I think the tripwire can cover this little entrance, as long as we hurry. And I'll be right behind you, the whole time, I promise. We only have to spend the night in there, and then everything'll be fine. 'Sides, whatever was in there that you were so fired up about getting away from, it can't be any worse that what'll happen if we stay out here.”

The figure was a lot closer now (but still not as clear), and Roxy had a point – going back in there was probably not as bad as getting shredded. But that didn't mean I didn't have a very good reason for wanting to get out, besides the current lack of supplies. Something big, something that though I'd always try to run from, I'd never escape.

My own past.

“What are you waiting for?! Just go,” Roxy said with an edge of franticness, something that finally set me off (from what little I knew of her, she was not a frantic person), and I finally stepped through the jagged hole, back into the one place I thought I was finally done with.

Description
The hand yanked me down hard, knocking the wind out of me and leaving me in the dirt to gape up at the open, still-beautiful sky. I lay there breathing heavily, instinctively raising both hands to show I was unarmed. “Look, I'm sure I can't hurt you, and I don't have any weapons, or money, or treasure, if that's what you're looking for,” I said desperately.

The voice laughed gently, and replied, “You think I want anything from you? I'm not threatening you, gas-mask. I'm trying to help you out. Look.” I sat up, following the person's finger towards a tiny white wire stretched tightly between two of the stunted, scraggly trees that dotted the landscape. Concealed behind the brittle, wiry branches and crumpled leaves of both were some kind of boxes, one in each, made of slate-gray scrap metal. Each had a few multicolored wires poking out like stray hairs.

“You hit that wire, you set both of 'em off. Blown to bits. I should know, made 'em myself.”

I finally turned to face my – well, savior. Before me stood a young woman about my age, maybe a head shorter than me, built sturdy and strong. Her rusty brown hair was cropped close to her round face, wild and thick and swirling in such a way that it almost looked deliberate, a controlled chaos. Although she had somewhat tanned skin, a few faint freckles made their way to the surface to frame her pale, silvery-gray eyes. The vest she had mentioned was navy blue, thick but worn, and it seemed this woman was trying to cram as many pockets as possible onto her clothing. Beneath the vest was a faded, smoky t-shirt, and at the end of her hands were dark fingerless gloves. Below were baggy, olive-colored cargo pants and black, heavy-looking combat boots, even more so than my own (and the iron inside was probably a lot stronger). She also carried a bulging, forest-green backpack, also covered in pockets.

She stuck out a slightly grubby hand and grinned when she saw me looking at her. “Roxy. Roxy Harris,” she said, and gripped me hard when I took it. “And you are...?”

“You can call me Dylan, I replied, giving a slight smile before I realized I still had the mask on. I fumbled with the two buckles in the back awkwardly, unable to see what I was doing and finally managing to force the straps out of their literal steel grip. They hung down the back of my neck limply, like cold, heavy hairs. I peeled the gas mask off (it was plastered stickily to my face from at least three years of wearing it) and ran my fingers through my pale brown hair with a sigh of relief. Though the mask had helped me through a lot, the confined space of the rubber mask was packed with humid, sultry air, stagnated throughout the years. Normally I was too focused on trying to make my way out to pay attention to how stifling it had been in there (not that there would have been anything I could do about that; I would most likely have died if I'd taken it off), but now that I was safe, and around another person, I noticed how uncomfortable wearing that gas mask had been. It now hung loosely from one of my hands, swaying gently in the cool nighttime breeze.

“Got that all sorted out, then?” Roxy said, but her tone was not belittling; instead containing merely a hint of honest curiosity. I nodded, and she glanced over her shoulder – quickly, reflexively, as if it was something she'd been doing for a very, very long time, something she could hardly control anymore.

“I broke into this place looking for supplies,” she said, brushing off the backwards glance as if it had never happened, “blew a hole right in the wall, as you can see. Didn't know the place was, well, inhabited. If I had, I wouldn't have tried to get in; I'm certainly not that desperate for provisions. And I'm not about to rob anyone, either. So, uh, sorry.” She reached one arm over her shoulder, rubbing the back of her neck and giving me an awkward half-grin.

“No, don't worry,” I said quickly, “that was not where I lived.” I shuddered at the notion, but I felt a remote twinge of guilt, a slight, tiny wrench of something in my chest – the feeling some people get when they tell a lie. Technically speaking, I had lived in there. It wasn't a pleasant place, and to this day I wouldn't call it home, but no matter how hard I'd fought to get out, it was where I'd lain my head at night, where I had eaten, where I had spent the last god-knows-how-many years (I think it was four or five?). In an honest sense, it was my home.

“What I'm wondering, though,” I continued, trying to slip away from that fact, “is how you managed to break in there. If you couldn't tell, the walls are pretty damn resilient.” It was true, I was very interested in finding out how she could have blown the wall out when the majority of technology on hand during the time of the Reckoning barely left a scratch on the place.

“Call it a gift, but, aside from making bombs, one of my specialties is finding places' weak spots. You know, their 'fatal flaw,' their 'Achilles heel?” I just sort of know, that that's somewhere you wanna strike, somewhere that's gonna collapse easier than the rest. You know?” She shrugged gently. “Pretty useful for someone like me.”

I nodded. “I think it was a bit of a waste of, well, whatever you use to make your explosives. Trust me, there's no supplies in there. I recommend you stay far away. It's got nothing but decaying walls and dead plants that are probably living off of that putrid brown sludge.”

Roxy was staring over her shoulder again, this time much more obviously, consciously. I scanned the dark and aching land behind her, trying to get a glimpse of whatever was so interesting but finding nothing beneath the mute, milky spell of moonlight seeping past the ragged but heavy charcoal clouds (which had inflated enough to cover almost the entire stretch of sky, now drifting limply across it). However, after a second I managed to zero in on a humanoid figure in the distance: tall, broad. It seemed to be moving toward us, stepping with slow, jerky, mechanical motions, as if struggling to simply move.

“Get back in there.” Roxy snapped urgently, jerking a thumb towards the raw opening in the wall. Frantically I shook my head. “No way am I going back in that place,” But Roxy wasn't having any of it; she stepped up close to me, stone eyes narrowed to slits.

“Dylan. You either get the hell back in that building, back to where you came from, or you get torn to shreds in the worst way possible. You saw that thing out there, right? Well, it saw us, too; those mothers have night vision. And they're not friendly. Trust me, I've been through this, more times that you can count, and right now inside that building is the safest place to be. Deep inside. I think the tripwire can cover this little entrance, as long as we hurry. And I'll be right behind you, the whole time, I promise. We only have to spend the night in there, and then everything'll be fine. 'Sides, whatever was in there that you were so fired up about getting away from, it can't be any worse that what'll happen if we stay out here.”

The figure was a lot closer now (but still not as clear), and Roxy had a point – going back in there was probably not as bad as getting shredded. But that didn't mean I didn't have a very good reason for wanting to get out, besides the current lack of supplies. Something big, something that though I'd always try to run from, I'd never escape.

My own past.

“What are you waiting for?! Just go,” Roxy said with an edge of franticness, something that finally set me off (from what little I knew of her, she was not a frantic person), and I finally stepped through the jagged hole, back into the one place I thought I was finally done with.