#joy mutants

She was inspired by a campfire. It was something Buddy often gazed into when the scavenging was done and there was nothing else to do. A small flickering piece of destruction, the wall of rocks surrounding it and preventing it from moving any further, keeping the flame’s focus on destroying what was below it at that moment. 

She thought of a plan, then practiced her trumpet.

It took some time to figure out how to get any semblance of a proper sound out of the instrument, and even once she did it wasn’t much compared to the haunting tones she recalled from her confrontation with the throne of flesh and the pathetic man who sat atop it. Still, after hours of tedious experimentation and a few close calls with mutants accidentally provoked by the sound, Buddy finally established what notes got the reactions she needed from the mindless mounds of meat. 

She kept Brad tied to a rock formation in one of the many caverns snaking through the looming precipices of Olathe, it was the only thing strong enough to withstand his efforts to follow her when she left. The craggy walls were deep underground enough to protect him from the sound, Buddy had no desire for him to get caught up in her plan. Whichever way Brad ended up perishing, she didn’t want it to be like that. 

The next step was finding a location, which didn’t give her much difficulty. The wasteland was full of precarious ravines and it was just a matter of finding one closed off to escape and big enough for her purposes. Eventually Buddy pinpointed the perfect spot, a sheer drop between two cliff edges with the space below filled with jagged stones. To fall from there would mean certain injury or worse. 

It was a place she’d been to before and gave her no joy to return to. Rusty stains still marked up the stones, scraps of polka-dot fabric tied to stakes made makeshift flags in the wind. Among the many piles of bones and flesh nearly picked clean by animals, two larger corpses stood out. She recognized the remains of the mutant Yado sent to attack her, the encounter it had with Buzzo leaving its arms torn off from its body as well as its head, the decaying limbs still sticking up off the ground like bony trees. 

Buzzo himself was a little further up ahead. Buddy had left his body there, his bloated form was much too large for any sort of reasonable burial. She doubted he deserved that kind of dignity anyway, but he did offer some aid in the end. As such, when she came across his dented, bloody helmet amongst the carnage, she buried it as a small symbolic grave. 

It was an area full of rot, and more than fitting for her purposes. Olathe was dying, disemboweled by Buddy’s own blade, and she intended to finish what she started. 

She began a far distance from it, however. Buddy wanted to draw in as many mutants she could before their final destination. Once she set foot on her established path, she raised the trumpet to her chapped lips and began to play. 

Come here. 

It was a shrill, piercing call whose sound bounced around the rocks in a ringing echo. Once finished with the melody she’d created Buddy repeated it, eye scanning her surroundings for any signs of movement. Soon enough they arrived. Worming their way out of caverns and stumbling down cliffs, the mutants lurched and groaned in their approach. After eyeing them warily for a moment, Buddy turned heel and briskly marched away with the sounds of the trumpet streaming behind her. The mutants followed. 

It was difficult to figure out a straightforward route to lead them in, the terrain uneven and made up of steep angles. Occasionally Buddy would have to pause playing to use her hands to climb a rope or particularly daunting hill, but she tried to keep the music going as much as possible to keep the creatures completely ensnared by it. Some of the bigger ones struggled to maneuver themselves up the cliffs, but her call was persistent and they eventually managed.

As the absurd parade went on, Buddy could hear more and more mutants behind her, the music she made now mixed with gurgling groans and rumbles as an ominous accompaniment. She tried not to look at them, instead just being mindful of her peripheral vision to make sure none were getting too close. 

The noise was starting to make her head throb, the combination of constant playing and moving leaving Buddy more winded than she was used to. However with every step there was a swirl of rage in her chest that kept her going. This was the human race that everyone told her she was responsible for, had to keep alive. This was the future she ended up suffering for. It wasn’t fair. She missed the numbness of the Joy, now every emotion inside her felt too sharp, twisting up her insides. 

Buddy couldn’t quite tell how long she had been going, passing The List, the emptied out settlements, but after what felt like ages the polka dot flags at last came into view. As she grew close to the cliffside she climbed up onto a taller rock formation, high up enough to have a view over the ravine. The hollow sockets of nearby skulls watched her all the while. 

When Buddy finally turned to look at her followers, her breath caught in her throat. 

It was a sea of flesh, plain and simple. A writhing, breathing assemblage of bodies extending far back to the edge of the territory, lurching and twisting over each other and impossible to count. Buddy had seen her fair share of horror but something about the sight before her made bile rise in the back of her throat. But it was too late to stop now.

Quickly she raised the trumpet once more, steely determination in her eyes as she cast her gaze back to the pit. When she played again, the tune was changed.

Move forward. 

And so the creatures did. With no thought left in their rotted brains for self-preservation they scrambled forward and around the rock Buddy stood upon, an island among the waves of former men. When the front lines of the mutants reached the edge of the cliff they fell without any fuss, quickly followed by the others pushing behind them. A part of Buddy even more spiteful than the rest wished Yado was still alive down there so he could die terrified, crushed to death by the things he seemed to love so much. But then again, maybe that sick freak would enjoy it.

Buddy played the trumpet with renewed vigor. If that man truly made her in order to have a hand in the creation of these monsters, it would be all the more satisfying to spit in his face and destroy them. It was all the better for the mutants, in her opinion, she’d be putting them out of their misery. A cruel mercy. 

Her music only stopped when she found herself alone. Immediately the distant screams and moans reached her ears, but for now Buddy ignored them. She never expected them to all die right away. This next step was to handle that. She now approached an unassuming crate she had filled with what she needed prior, setting her trumpet on the ground and peering inside. 

There was a group of empty beer bottles, filled with gasoline and oil and plugged with pieces of cloth. She’d seen such firebombs used by others before, it didn’t take much for her to figure out how to make them. Objects of destruction were easy to find in the wasteland whether it be cigarettes and booze, which caused decay from the inside, or something less subtle. Dustin and Brad may have been able to throw fire but Buddy, even with her abilities in combat, had to get creative.

She took four of the firebombs and returned to the edge of the cliff, placing all but one by her feet as she rummaged into her pocket. Buddy withdrew a lighter, a smudged and scratched up metal box she found off a body while scavenging, then flicked it open to ignite the rag. Time seemed to move in slow motion as she turned her gaze to the pit, lifting a steady hand to aim before hurling the bottle into the ravine. 

With a sharp crack it shattered against rock, fire blossoming like a glowing, terrible flower. The dazed sounds of the mutants began to be intermingled with screams. Most of the fire dissipated after a few seconds but Buddy was satisfied by the sight of some scraps of clothing still attached to the mutants catching alight. It was a start. 

Thus began the process: light, throw, and repeat. Buddy tried to do it as fast as she could, she wanted this over with. Soon smoke began to rise and the smell of burning flesh assaulted Buddy’s noise, making her lightheaded. By the time there weren’t any bottles to throw it was a thick cloud, partly obscuring the bodies below. The sounds of pain coming from them intermingled with the roar of fire that sent a stifling heat up into Buddy’s face. She slowly backed away, breathing shakily as her trembling hands clutched the lighter. It was done. 

At first Buddy tried to imagine it in a different light. The flame purging these mounds of filth from the earth, letting whatever humanity was left in them rise up along with the smoke to somewhere different, somewhere better. She remembered Uncle Rick mentioned a place called heaven once, somewhere people went to after they died where they’d be happy forever.