past all the signs of a slow decline

Neo Drake​.

Neo Drake​.

     Neo gave her a nod in thanks before he approached the bike, unhooking the radio and keeping his back to her as he tried going through the frequencies they used among their group. “N speaking. SOS.” No answer. Then the next, and he repeated the same line. Nothing. One more. SOS. And this time there was a response, a quiet smile giving his lips a slight curl. “Eight-one-seven-one-dot-six-three, four-nine-three-one-dot-five-one-one. Over.” When they’d begun speaking, Neo held the radio against the lapel of his jacket to mute the sound, pressing his ear close so he could be sure to hear everything they said. 

     It was better than nothing. He found them. Someone, at least. And when he was done he returned the radio to its spot, spinning to face the person who’d saved him. “If you ever have questions. About… all this.” He gestured around him then slipped a black card with a series of pink dots — a code — printed on its exterior. “Thanks again.”

     Continuing to mind her business, Erica focused on the low rumble of her idling engine and tuned out whatever was being said to the masked stranger by the indistinct voice on the radio, only returning her attention to him when he turned back to her and replaced the device on her bike.      All this. Erica cast a glance around, unsure of what she was supposed to be looking at. Did he mean the city? And why would she ask him when he clearly didn’t have the answers? Curious turned to strange as he handed her some type of card, and the confusion was written clear across her face when she raised her gaze from it back to his unusually expressive mask.

Neo Drake​.

     “Oh no?” His head dropped, all attention back on them. Mental conditioning made him wonder what her lifestyle was like; maybe she’d be a prospect for their ranks. His posture perked up, and while she couldn’t see it beneath his mask, he was pausing to examine them, gazing at them from behind two flat neon lines. “Do you have somewhere to go? Maybe we can find somewhere to go together.” He peered behind them, head canting to the side, hues of blue and green from signage illuminating her ride, “We can use your radio.”

   “I have somewhere to go,” she confirmed, studying him with a tinge of curiosity. Awfully trusting. Or maybe he was just desperate. “And I can’t take you there.” If it really came down to it, she supposed she could arrange a meeting for him with someone with more authority at the Haven — someone more suited to finding out more about him and whether or not he was worthy of trust.

Neo Drake​.

     Eventually, she stopped, and he recognized the area enough from when he, Sariah, and Tomas went on their runs. “Thanks,” he said from behind his mask, and the neon eyes transformed into upward arrows before he got off her bike. He’d never stayed in the city and really, had no idea where to go from here. Maybe he could find somewhere under a bridge, but drones were sure to catch him out after curfew if he slept on the streets.

     “There a hostel or anything around here?” His voice sounded a bit clearer than it had in the desert, but he was still parched, and every word felt like sand grinding against his throat. Neo took a moment to look at their surroundings, shoving his hands into his pockets, his attention aimed up at the skies for the very drones he’d just been thinking about. If he could get somewhere with a radio, he could get on their frequency, get word out so that he could get the code for the next colony.       Maybe he’d even reach Sariah and Tomas. Maybe his mother. Someone; someone who wasn’t fucking dead.

Neo Drake​.

    Wiry arms wrapped around her waist when he got on the back of her bike, and it was familiar, this mode of transportation, making him think of Sariah and Tomas once more and hoping, hoping, they were alright. Before they started moving, Neo fitted his mask back onto his face, and it was still coated in grime, but he’d take care of that once he could get a little privacy. Where? He had no idea. Maybe this person would; then again, how could he know he could trust her for anything more than a ride?

     The wind woke him up more, and his pulse became rapid as he realized what he’d gotten away from. He might not even have a home anymore. His family. His brow furrowed beneath his mask and every muscle stiffened, tightening further when he coughed some of the sand up from his lungs. Only the ride was quiet; there weren’t any trucks racing behind them, no armored vehicles or signs of more patrol. It was just the empty desert, grey peaks appearing in the distance as they raced closer to the city. 

     Erica had figured that as soon as they were closing in on their destination, her passenger would tap her side to indicate turns; maybe point, or call out to her with a more approximate location, but he didn’t; so she kept going — further in, so he’d at the very least be able to get to a subway or something, if he was reluctant to show her where he was really headed.

     They were in Enterprise, a little south of the slums when she pulled over and idled, one leg hitting the cracked, dusty asphalt to keep them balanced as she tugged her helmet off and looked over her shoulder at him.

Neo Drake​.

     His mouth was dry and sticky and the moment the water hit his lips, he felt his entire body respond with relief. He gulped it down faster than he probably should’ve, but it wasn’t cold, and when he lowered the canteen, he was out of breath. His head was still spinning, from exhaustion, or dehydration, or both — and he wasn’t sure how long he’d been out here, but he knew he needed to get out, and quick. 

     His voice was whispery, lacking strength when he answered her, “Yeah. And I got stuck in the storm.” Neo answered their earlier question, though vaguely, and that was about all he was willing to give her in terms of that. Handing back the canteen, he held his hands up in a defensive stance, his tone becoming more placating, “I don’t have any weapons on me. I just…” He looked past them, at the empty desert, the rolling foothills and wisps of sand carried on the wind. No recognizable landmarks, not from here at least; he’d need higher ground, and given the raid, it made little sense to return to the carnage. He’d just get himself caught, or worse.

     “Can you get me to the city?”

     Without watching what she was doing, she fastened the canteen again, tipping her chin in a gesture instructing him to get up and studying him further as he did.    “Lift your shirt and turn around.”      He did as she bid him, turning in a slow circle, and there was nothing tucked in his waistband nor strapped to his side.    “Your pant legs,” she urged next, and he lifted those, too, showing her both sides of his ankles. No hidden blades.

     Slowly, she lowered the gun and ejected its magazine and slipped it into her pocket, then the round in the chamber which she didn’t bother with before returning the weapon to its holster, making sure it was secure. He’d have to hold onto her, sitting on the back of her bike, and reaching for her gun would be too easy. A split second, and she could be dead or stranded while he made off with her shit.    “Yeah,” she nodded. “I can get you to the city.”

Neo Drake​.

     Sand coated his tongue; that was the first thing he noticed when the sound of someone’s voice stirred him from his restless slumber and he answered with a raspy, “No.” His eyes drifted toward the barrel of the gun, and they didn’t look like Government, so maybe they were just a raider. Slowly, he turned his head to look around for others, but noticed none, returning his gaze to the weapon. He cocked his head to the side, lowering his brows as he gave them a quick once-over, and his hands shifted against the gritty sand when he straightened his posture against the rock. Neo held up both his hands, stiffening as he went still, and now he was looking at the metal canteen hanging from their hip, flinching his foot back when she tapped it with her own.

     “Can I please have some water?” It stung when he spoke, dehydration splitting his lip. It wasn’t the answer to her question, but his mouth tasted like copper, and he lifted an arm to wipe away a trickle of sweat that was dropping into his eyes, leaving behind a smear of grey-brown grime, and he could feel hard formations of gritty sand sticking to the corners of his eyes. He wiped again, frowning when he realized he was without his mask, but forwent putting it on now. What was the point? He was filthy and probably bordering on heat exhaustion. 

     Erica looked around. The landscape was open; nowhere nearby for anyone to hide, and if this was some type of ambush, it was an odd one, so it seemed unlikely. Returning her watchful gaze to him, she freed her canteen from its strap and dropped it in his lap, the gun still aimed unwaveringly at his head. There was no car, or bike, or anything around him, meaning he’d walked from somewhere — and from the looks of him, it was nowhere close. He had yet to answer her question.

Neo Drake​.

     One never knew when they were coming, not unless a random glance at the horizon showed one the wall of brown air stretching high into the sky. And that was it, that was all the warning one got before winds began bending the thin, withered branches, whistling over the stone of the canyons. Acacia trees whipped to one side, than the other, and everything became hazed in a false, orange-tinged dusk, the sun stamped out behind layers of dirt and grime. He should’ve been at the base, but he’d been sent hunting, and wasted too much time perched on a rock, drawing the peaks along the skyline, and now here he was, trapped in the middle of a dust storm. 

     Even with his mask pulled over his face, the stinging pelt of sand blasted his bare forearms and knuckles, lips pressed tight as he tried to cough up the dirty air. Grit grinded between his teeth as he pressed forward, unable to see the landmarks past the storm. Neo nearly tripped over a broken branch, buried by the gusting sands, and he could feel the dirt building up behind his mask, clinging to his sweat so that it began to chafe. And then… it became worse. And then… he heard it. Cries of panic and the powerful crack of gunfire. Neo picked up his pace, fighting against the winds, hands reaching forward until they came into contact with the hot steel of a military vehicle. Had they known the storm was coming? Were they using it as cover? How long had they known they were there?

     “Sariah!” He tried to choke out, but the shout was interrupted by a fit of coughing, and the figure that appeared in front of him was not one of theirs. It was obvious by his gear — all black, a sleek helmet covering their features — and whoever it was raised their gun, Neo throwing himself to the ground and scrambling across the sand to get away.       “We have another one!” He heard the woman call from behind, but he didn’t stop running, and the dust felt as though it infiltrated his lungs, making every breath feel like sandpaper being rubbed against his lungs. He couldn’t stop. He had no weapons and he couldn’t see shit. He couldn’t stop. He kept repeating it to himself, over and over, as if somehow he’d eventually convince himself he wasn’t a complete fucking coward. 

    He’d get to another base. They’d radio the survivors. Sariah and Tomas would be okay. He could do this. He only had to make it a little further…      Eventually, he couldn’t hear the gunfire or the screams, and his legs were on fire, his steps becoming clumsy as his muscles began to give out, trembling every few steps. He didn’t know where he was. Maybe he was closer to the city than he thought. Not that it mattered — not when they’d likely prosecute him the same they had the others. So Neo fell to the ground, leaning his weight against a large rock before he tore his mask from his face, taking a moment to breathe in — somewhat — fresher air. His entire body was coated in a fine layer of dust, and the murk still hung in the air — but it was better, and he was alive. Without even realizing it, his eyes fluttered closed, and within minutes, sleep, albeit uncomfortable, found him. 

     She’d thought it was a corpse. Covered in dust, propped up against a rock, all alone in the desert, newly settled after a sandstorm, the sun barely beginning to break through the haze lingering in the air. Stopping her bike nearby, Erica approached, curiosity and mild opportunism leading her to investigate. Sometimes people who died in the desert had useful things in their pockets.

     But there were no visible injuries, and as she got closer, she swore she could see him breathing. He was rust and ochre all over with the dust that clung to his skin, and certainly no one she knew, so she freed her pistol from the holster at her hip, hovering over him.    “Not dead, are you,” she muttered to herself, listening for his breath but hearing nothing other than the breeze that was still rushing over the arid landscape around them.

     “Never.”

     “People like to get too friendly. Or familiar. Whatever.”

     “Yeah. It will.”

     “I’ll even go in with ya.”

     Vaughn broke out into a wide smile when she saw Erica’s excitement, nodding firmly, “Alright! It sounds like the ocean is the way to go. Although, a rainforest is really cool.”

     The waiter reappeared with their orders and Vaughn was still smiling brightly when she looked at them, extending a thank you.

     Vaughn’s expression brightened a bit as she responded, “Really?”

     “Yeah!” She leaned forward, resting her forearms on the table, “You have a scene in mind?”

     Vaughn cheerfully ordered — and she’d also forgotten the name of the fancy dish — spreading her legs a bit before stretching them out underneath the table. 

     “So… whaddya wanna do after this?”

   “I don’t know.”

     “I know. That’d be a bit wild, wouldn’t it?”

     “Honestly? It’s not so bad.”

   “Very.” A server came by to take their order. Erica had to look at the menu again, because she’d forgotten the fanciful name of the dish she wanted.

     “Like people who only live out in the desert. You don’t have access to things as extravagant as say…” Vaughn reopened the menu, dramatically squinting at the text, “Avocado chocolate mousse, right?”

   “I never said I only lived in the desert.”

     “What do you guys eat? I mean like, you probably don’t have all the decadent bullshit.”

     “Like… I know you’re not wildlings. It’s just… doesn’t seem like there’d be as many people, so less people to make wild shit, ya know?”

     “Settled.” Vaughn, grinning, held out her hand to shake Erica’s. 

     “We can top it off with these chocolate cupcakes they have? They’re filled with like… not icing… not whipped cream… but… I don’t know. I just know they’re fucking amazing.”