<!--[if gte mso 9]> Normal 0 MicrosoftInternetExplorer4 <!-- /* Style Definitions */ p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal {mso-style-parent:""; margin:0cm; margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; mso-layout-grid-align:none; punctuation-wrap:simple; text-autospace:none; font-size:10.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman";} p.MsoTitle, li.MsoTitle, div.MsoTitle {margin:0cm; margin-bottom:.0001pt; text-align:center; text-indent:36.0pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; mso-layout-grid-align:none; punctuation-wrap:simple; text-autospace:none; font-size:16.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size:10.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman";} @page Section1 {size:612.0pt 792.0pt; margin:72.0pt 90.0pt 72.0pt 90.0pt; mso-header-margin:36.0pt; mso-footer-margin:36.0pt; mso-paper-source:0;} div.Section1 {page:Section1;} --> <!--[if gte mso 10]> Into the Ruins

 

Jim took off his worn baseball cap and slowly wiped the grime from his forehead, it had been a long day. Turning his back on the setting sun he looked towards his three companions sat relaxed but alert around the tiny campfire, thoughts of the past twelve hours weighed heavy on his mind, why had it happened this way and what was he supposed to do now ? Things had been so good for the past twenty or so years, why now…

“Why are we here?” he asked aiming the question at no one in particular.

“Because we’re here, roll the bones” sang one of his comrades in a flat monotone. The voice belonged to a dusty blonde haired male sat staring into a mug of brown sludge.

“Very funny Ken, know anymore like that?”

Jim found a smooth patch of earth close to his friend and slumped down, “That was the last album I bought before… well, you know”

“That’s a lie, you copied it from me, I remember. That’s all you ever did copy stuff, never did buy your own”.

“So he was a scrounger even back then?” chipped in the third member of the group, looking up from a piece of canvas stretched between his legs. On it lay several parts of a rifle, stripped for cleaning, small bottles of oil and several clean rags scattered amongst the pieces.

“I never had any money then, still I got none now… still, some things never change eh?”

The group laughed, the noise somehow strained, as if it was done more out of habit than in reaction to the poor humour.

“Time for some shuteye, we’ve got a long day ahead tomorrow,” said Ken. “We need to find some petrol and some fresh water, this bottled shit tastes as if it’s a hundred years old”.

“That’s because it is a hundred years old you idiot”, came a terse reply from Dillon as he continued to clean the rifle. Then he added, “We should set up a watch, who’s going to volunteer?”

Jim and Ken looked at each other, and then turned to look at the other member of the group, Shaun, who was sat on the other side of the fire looking at an old road atlas.

 “Don’t look at us”, he said looking up from the book and turning to Dillon, almost making it sound as if he spoke for both of them.

“You’re the ones that don’t need much sleep” came back the sharp reply from Jim.

The faces of the other two turned together, the dying rays of the day’s sun reflected in their eyes, twins, each an identical copy of the other, each smiling at there comrades reply and fully understanding the true meaning of the words.

“OK, we got it. You softies have a good nights sleep now and don’t let the bugs bite” said Shaun.

“Would you like me to come and tell you a bedtime story?” chipped in Dillon.

“Up yours!” said Ken moving towards their vehicle and removing his sleeping bag from the rear stowage compartment.

 “See you in the morning”.

 

**********************

 

The dying embers of the fire illuminated Jims back as he attempted for what seemed the hundredth time to find a comfortable spot to ease the passage into sleep. Just beyond the fires now dim glow he could see Dillon –or was it Shaun? sat on a crate slowly scanning his portion of the night, an Enfield assault rifle held loose but ready in his hands.

“Damn impossible to tell them apart when they’re not moving” he thought.

Turning over he looked into the small flames hoping to find some small comfort in there dance, instead he found himself being drawn into them, his mind drifting back to the past. A long time in the past…

 

“… And your sure there will be no problems. We sleep for a month, then its one hundred and twenty thousand pounds in the bank, just like that?”

A woman in a white coat turned from a group of other white coats, looking first at Him and then at the other seven people laying on trolleys around him, “Yes, its as simple as that. We will shortly move you to the lab area where you will each be placed inside your own cryogenic unit, a number of tubes will be inserted into your body and a …”

“Just where in our bodies?” a voice asked from one of the trolleys.

“As I was saying…” continued the doctor ignoring the question, “… tubes will be inserted into your body and a number of electrodes will be attached to your hear …”. The doctor’s voice droned on and on.

Turning his head to either side to try and look at his friends, He wondered if they too felt as uneasy about this as he did, after all it was him that had talked them all into this. The advertisement had said nothing about tubes or having all your body hair shaved, that only came after they had signed the forms. Now here they were, himself, Mike, Gary, Ken, Kevin and three others he didn’t know, waiting for who knows what to happen.

“Right…” the doctors raised voice and the sound of her hands clapping together, caused Him to jump back into attentiveness. “… Will now move you into the lab area. Please stay on the trolleys and try to relax”. With a bump he began to move, a voice from behind called “I’m out” followed by several muffled laughs. The porter pushing the trolley looked around mystified, “You wouldn’t understand” the same voice replied, “It’s a long story!”

 After several minutes of nervous silence and a trip in an elevator they arrived at the lab.

Looking around He saw several strange units equally spaced around the room, each one looked like a self contained cockpit from a fighter plane with numerous wires and tubes running from the back and into the floor. A large visual display unit flashed information at a rapid pace across the screen as they came to a halt next to his allocated unit.

“Yeah, just like Top Gun”, one of the strangers shouted as he got his first look at the cryogenic capsules.

“More like a vid game, I think.” Shouted Mike from across the room.

“And I sure hope they got a lot of coins to keep the game going” replied Kev, as he was lifted by two technicians and placed into his unit.

One by one each volunteer was picked up and placed inside one of the capsules, thoughts turned to the dentist as He got his first look at the actual inside of the unit. The seat he was going to spend the next month sat in was a direct copy of the reclining models found in most dentist surgeries.

The droning voice of the doctor again cut into his thoughts, “Please listen carefully…”

 “I vil say zis only once” cut in Gary. The technician at his side tried to hide a smile and failed.

“…Mister Parkinson this is not a laughing matter please be silent. Will you all, in fact, please be silent while I explain what is to happen next”.

For what seemed like an eternity the doctor droned on about procedures and the constant recording of data by the control systems. Most of the information was incomprehensible babble to the people laying in the capsules, but still she continued. Finally she finished, with a final “Thank you for your cooperation. See you all in a month.” Then with the sound of high-heeled shoes clicking, she left the room.

“Thank god for that” someone shouted, “Just what I needed, a bloody good old bed time story to send my off to dreamland”.

Another doctor appeared over the edge of the capsule, “Right, were just going to place a few tubes here and there and then we can get started. You wont feel a thing I promise…”

“Yeah right, and I’ve not heard that before”, the last few words came from His mouth more as a squeak than his usual tone.

“There that’s the hard one done, the rest are easy. Can you just turn on your side for me please…”

“…OK all done. You can relax now”.

 Looking down to his feet; tubes and wires came from what seemed every part of his body. The thought that a hundred and twenty grand was defiantly not enough passed across his mind as he rested his head back on the seat.

Suddenly his hands and feet went cold, very cold, cramp coursed through his legs. Panic washed over him and he tried to rise, a hand pushed gently yet firmly on his chest and the doctor’s face appeared.

“It’s OK just relax, they are starting to put the cryonic fluids into your system, and the cramps will pass in a minute. “

Slowly the cramps passed as the cold spread its way up his limbs. Looking once more at the doctor he could no longer focus on his face. “God I feel good”, he slurred.

“That will be the relaxants getting into your system, in a few minutes we will be closing the cover and the next thing you remember will be a month down the line”. The voice seemed somewhat far away but He didn’t care, the cocktail of drugs pumping through his veins was doing its job, slowly he was falling into unconsciousness and it felt good.

The last thing he remembered was a hydraulic hiss as the clear plastic cover slid into place and a voice saying from far off  “… Jesus Carl this cant just be the flu…”

 

Shaun sat on the crate and stared at the trees, he had eighty-eight days to live. He knew this because his body told him so; the alarms had started to ring in his head two days ago. Still three months was a long time and who knew what would happen in three months?

He was going to tell the others yesterday but more important things came up.

Standing, he picked up his rifle and walked into the darkness. The stiffness of his right hip making him appear to waddle slightly.

 

Ken slept under the vehicle. Tonight he dreamt of home, mostly it was good things, but some of it was bad as well…

He ran swiftly along the road, he was late. The lecture started five minutes ago and he was in big trouble, this will be the third time this week. Turning a corner at speed he ran straight into a large man walking in the opposite direction, bouncing off he quickly regained his balance and continued running. Turning his head to say ‘Sorry’ he saw the man fall to the floor, his skin leathery and shrunk to the bones…

Things blurred.

Next he was entering the lecture, he knew he was in trouble. If he could just sneak in without being noticed he would be fine.

‘Mr Cole, nice of you to join us’.

‘Shit’, he noticed me. Too late now. Turning he looked at the lecturer and then at his fellow students, ‘I can explain’.

‘I’m sure you can, we have been waiting over ninety years for this Mr Cole, it had better be good’

The voice came from a skeleton stood close to the chalkboard. Scrawled upon it was ‘COLE SLEEPS FOR NINETY YEARS WHILE WE ROT WAITING’

‘We are still waiting Mr Cole…’

 

Dillon spent the night watching the surrounding area. Nothing went unnoticed, the rats fighting in the bushes over some scrap or other, Ken’s body twitching inside his sleeping bag, the sound of the engine above him as it slowly cooled. His mind never wandered he just watched.

 

**********************

 

The second day began with the bright sun pushing its head above the hills to the east, the sky was clear and already the temperature was beginning to rise.

“Nice day for a drive” Shaun said, looking at the sky whilst wiping the inside of a cooking bowl with his shirt sleeve.

Dillon was busy checking the backpacks and storage boxes on the rear of the Longline LSV. “ I think that the further north and west we head, the colder its going to get”.

Shaun blew in to the bowl, and gave it a final polish. “I think you are right there ‘bro. The other thing it is definitely going to become is hard foot work if we don’t find some more fuel in the next day or so”.

“Hey, walking is good for you, I always like to walk everywhere,” Jim said.

“So I noticed,” said Ken with a sarcastic smile. “Ever since I’ve known you, you liked to walk everywhere. Pity us mere mortals that hate it, its four wheels or nothing for me”.

 

 

“More damn trees ahead.” Shaun was driving; watching the ever-changing landscape as it passed them by. The view from the driver’s seat of the four-man fast attack vehicle, or FAV, was almost one hundred and eighty degrees. Only the presence of Jim sat in the front passenger seat, blocked the view to his left. Ken and Dillon sat behind and above, Ken’s right hand laying casually on the stock of the pinion mounted M-60.

“What? I can’t hear a damn thing up here.” Dillon was wearing a large scarf wrapped around his face muffling the sound of his voice so much that not even Ken sat next to him could hear what he was saying.

“If you removed that damn thing from your face.”

“What!”

“Oh never mind, forget it.’

Apart from a number of roofless homes and isolated buildings set back off the road, they had seen no trace of human life since they left the city boundary.

Shaun wished he had kept his mouth shut, after all it was a stupid thing to have said and didn’t accomplish or add anything to the journey. But they hadn’t swapped a single word in over four hours and he felt he needed to keep the contact going. Twice he had tried to tell the others about his problem but the open top and sides of the FAV reduced any form of communication to screaming down the ear of the person sat next to you. A group discussion while at speed was out of the question.

Two hours or so ago it had started to cloud over, heavy dark clouds blew in from the north and then it had started to rain. Not heavy rain, just a fine drizzle, enough to soak the exposed sides of the passengers and make things even more difficult to communicate. The rain made the road surface slick, there speed in places reduced to a crawl as they negotiated piles of unidentifiable debris along the road. They had quickly abandoned the ballistic plastic windshield, the wipers didn’t work and the rain made it almost impossible to see through.

On the outskirts of a place their road atlas said was once called ‘Faulconbridge’, Dillon’s sharp sight spotted the muddy tracks of another vehicle. Kicking Shaun to gain his attention he indicated what he had seen and the vehicle came to an abrupt halt.

“Nice to see the brakes still work” joked Ken as he attempted to undo the seat belt and climb out. Once out of the vehicle he moved over to the tracks and was quickly followed by Dillon. Shortly they returned to the others and reported that the tracks appeared to be made by tyres with almost no tread pattern remaining on them.

Ever since the Ruin, motorised transport of any type was a luxury. A few people still understood the basic skills to work with metal but to repair the complex mechanics of such vehicles or make new tyres was almost an impossibility.

Petrol that even remotely approached the purity of Pre-Ruin supplies had dried up a few years after the ruin. It was still available though, small heavily guarded processing plants produced a product that was just about acceptable. The asking price was high, higher still for some who paid with their lives as they tried to steal what they couldn’t afford.

One of the group’s great strengths had been the vast quantity of Pre-Ruin supplies they had access to. Hidden beneath some Government and Military installations, protected by elaborate electronic security systems and powered by fusion reactors, were bunkers and supply depots intended to be used to rebuild Humanity after the collapse. Each an Aladdin’s cave filled with food, equipment and lost technology. These installations had kept the group alive over the past quarter century and allowed them to trade amongst the scattered communities that existed around and within the city they once called home.

Jim found his mind turning once more towards his old friends, what had become of them? One still traveled with him, three others had briefly joined with him several months ago and then gone there own way. But what of the others, did they still sleep in some underground lab unaware of the long passage of time or had they awoken to this strange New World and succumb to its many dangers?

For months after he had been convinced that he was the only one left, the thought of being alone playing on his mind, the dreams nearly driving him mad. Shaun and Dillon had been his saving; they had been there from the start of this madness. Waking from the cryo sleep together and sticking close by as though they were some sort of guardian angels, both had taken turns to talk it through, finally making him realize that his own survival had to come above all else.

Then the rumors started Smithy had been seen working as a guard around Jake’s Brewery, Gaz and Ken were in the ruins of the University. Mike was seen lying seriously wounded within the hospital at North Head.

These and a lot of others. All of them had been followed up, all had lead to dead ends.

Then one day the whispers became reality, returning from a trading meet with the Domain Commune, Shaun had heard weapon fire from within the burnt and crumbling shell of the Myers store. Not the pop of  local self-loads or muskets; this was the sound of full auto fire.

Creeping into the ruin they quickly came upon a scene of total carnage. Standing behind a fallen pile of crates was a man in patched combat armor, his face hidden behind the dark opaque visor fronting his helmet. He was casually changing the magazine on his G-11 assault rifle whilst scanning around himself for more movement. The bodies of thirty or more dirty, scruffy humans, most likely a clan of cannibals who now survived by eating the flesh of there own kind, lay scattered around. They must have chanced upon the stranger and thought of the easy meal ahead, how stupid. Now they had paid the ultimate price, as the withering fire from the assault rifle put pay to there mad, knife and axe wielding, charge in seconds.

The man spun as Shaun stood up, the rifle immediately swinging to follow.

“Come on you fucker, there’s plenty more to go around.” The voice sounded strange, muffled yet somehow amplified by the helmet, yet not totally strange.

After a tense few minutes, where the standoff twice nearly turned to bloodshed, the stranger chose to come out. That stranger had been Ken, and that chance encounter had been nearly seven years ago…

<!--[if gte mso 9]> Normal 0 MicrosoftInternetExplorer4 <!-- /* Style Definitions */ p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal {mso-style-parent:""; margin:0cm; margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; mso-layout-grid-align:none; punctuation-wrap:simple; text-autospace:none; font-size:10.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman";} @page Section1 {size:612.0pt 792.0pt; margin:72.0pt 90.0pt 72.0pt 90.0pt; mso-header-margin:36.0pt; mso-footer-margin:36.0pt; mso-paper-source:0;} div.Section1 {page:Section1;} --> <!--[if gte mso 10]> Chapter 2

 

The LSV shuddered violently and brought Jim back to the here and now, this section of the road was badly pitted, over one hundred and fifty years of neglect was beginning to return it to how nature intended.

Ken was now driving with Shaun and Dillon riding up top, this left Jim plenty of time to his own thoughts. He idly opened his jacket pocket and pulled out the strange Identity card given to him by Kevin a few months before.

It was credit card sized with a photograph and details of its original owner on one side and a bar code, like those found on Pre-Ruin tin cans, on the other. The only other detail was a large B-12 printed as a background on both sides. Kevin and Gary had both said it was a military keycard that allowed access into American facilities.

At the time it was a nice piece of junk, there were not many US bases here in Australia. Those few that did exist were hundreds of miles away.

Now with growing failure of the fusion reactors in the city bunkers, the idea of a new start someplace else looked better each day. And didn’t Gary say something about a Gateway to home?

The road continued on through the mountains, patches of large pines and other trees dotted the foothills. Areas of flat land were becoming less and less common as they drove through what their road atlas told them was Blue Mountain National Park

A rusty sign at the side of the road warned that they were approaching Wentworth Falls, New South Wales. Population –that part of the sign had been over painted that many times it was now unreadable. This was the first sign of life since the tire tracks miles back.

Ken slowed and dropped the engine out of gear, simply allowing the LSV to roll forward under its own momentum until he stopped it on the crown of the next bend. Some two hundred yards ahead a roadblock crossed the road.

“Roads blocked.” He stated.

Dillon being higher up had already seen it and was leaning down to speak to Ken below him.

“Which way are we going to play this? Through or around?”

Jim laughed quietly. “I don’t give much for our chances in those trees.”

The road ran around the bend then straight for about 300 yards. The roadblock consisted of rusted RV’s, pickup trucks and thick tree trunks all held together with rusted razor wire. The rusted jumble covering the full width of the road. A crude barrier just wide enough for a single vehicle to pass through blocked the mid section.

“Two blokes with battered looking hunting rifles,” Shaun announced, shielding his eyes with his hand as he peered ahead. “Could be a few more of ‘em about but they don’t look that tough.”

“There’s another sign further up on the right, can’t make out what it says. The writing is in red and the metal’s rusty.”

Dillon pitched in “It says pay the toll as set by the town elders for the right of passage. “

“How much?”

Dillon squinted again. “Doesn’t say. Probably the usual. How much have you got? You know the score.”

The engine rumbled softly as Jim looked to either side of the road. There was a clear patch of maybe a half dozen yards then the trees started. There was plenty of room for the LSV to maneuver but speed would be a problem.

“Looks like through the barrier is our only choice. Get ready folks.”

 

“Stop you whore sons!” They could barely hear the shout over the engine noise, but the gesture was unmistakable.

The man was of around average height and wore a faded denim shirt and pants. He carried a non-discript bolt action hunting rifle that had seen far better days. The other gate guard whose face was hidden by a scarf held another rusty and beaten bolt action rifle and leaned against the barrier.

“We’re coming through,” Dillon shouted.

Slowly the LSV began to move forward.

“Pay the toll as set by the elders, strangers. It’s the law of Wentworth Falls. ”

The speaker wasn’t exactly brimming with confidence. He stood with his shoulders hunched, the grip on his rifle loose. Twice he turned and looked behind him, towards a row of semiderelict shops.

“He’s hoping for some backup to arrive,” whispered Ken.

Behind him Dillon slid the Enfield AutoNeedler pistol from its holster and into his left hand, just below and behind Jim’s head. He didn’t see any point in wasting time here.

“The elders say that…”

No one ever got to find out just what it was the elders had to say.

Dillon brought up the pistol and fired at the man with the scarf. At a range of less than six yards it was a no miss situation.

The shot that consisted of ten ultra thin, yet barbed, flechettes went within an inch of where he had aimed; at thirty yards the spread of the deadly darts was minimal, at six it was none existent, they all hit just below the jaw line. Destroying the air passage and gullet, they powered through to destroy the fragile bones of his cervical vertebrae. Finally exiting and embedding themselves in the rusty metal of the roadblock.

The rifle clattered to the floor and the scarf slipped, becoming splattered with blood as it fluttered to the floor. Jim stared at the mane of red hair that cascaded from under the scarf, across the startled face of the young woman, vanishing as she fell dead at the back of the roadblock.

Almost simultaneously the M-60 machine gun barked into life as Shaun put a triple round burst into the other man, two of the bullets hitting him square in the chest and spinning him around the third hitting a wooden log and tearing a huge splinter away.

“Go, Go, Go!” shouted Jim as he brought his own Glock-35 pistol into view and raked the now deserted road.

Ken was already moving, putting the LSV into first gear then slamming his foot on the accelerator. The roadblock didn’t leave much room on either side of the vehicle. The gap was only around seven feet or so, probably to deter anyone from trying to run it at high speed. The LSV was around four and a half feet wide, five with the backpacks strapped to it. That left around six inches of clearance each side.

The dying man had managed to crawl across the gap, almost as if he had wanted to use his body to stop the vehicle.

Both wheels on the left side ran over his right arm, chest and head.

Ken felt only a slight jolt as the skull was splintered into hundreds of pieces under the wheels.

“Targets, right, 3 o’clock.”

The voice of Dillon shouted urgently, warning that now other residents of Wentworth Falls were coming out at them, ninety degrees from the front of the vehicle, right hand side. Three figures came running out of an old store, one waving what looked like a MAC-10 around his head.

“One ahead, fifty yards.”

Jim looked down the street for a way off the main road, two narrow side roads on the left-hand side,  and even narrower alley to the left. A man, tall, bald headed stood at the junction of one side road slowly bringing a short hollow tube to his shoulder.

“Oh Fuck!”

Shaun had spotted him also.

“Mine” he shouted.

Jim brought up his Glock and took quick aim, but to have any chance of hitting him he needed a stable platform to shoot from. The LSV though was rocking from side to side as it hit potholes and cracks in the road.

“Do him Shaun, NOW.”

Jim turned and snapped off a couple of rounds at the trio running to his right, firing across Ken’s shoulders, barrel close to his ears.

“Shit. I’m deaf!”

He saw the man waving the machine pistol go down clutching his leg, the MAC-10 skidding away down the sidewalk.

A bullet hit the anti roll bar close to Jim’s face and whined as it ricocheted off into the air, he instinctively tried to make himself smaller in the seat.

The bald headed man appeared to be oblivious to the danger, standing quite still in the middle of the turn off. He held what looked like an old M-72 one shot, anti tank missile. The muzzle was gaping towards the LSV, seeming to all on board as big as the mouth of a cave.

Against a soft target such as the LSV, the weapon had an effective kill range of over three hundred yards. This particular LSV was less than thirty yards away, coming straight at him, with no chance of veering to one side or the other.

“Shaun you tit, NOW, for gods sake!” Dillon roared.

The machine gun opened fire, but the LSV’s front wheel chose that moment to drop into a much deeper pothole and the whole vehicle lurched, throwing Jim against the dashboard and slamming his head and left side into the anti roll bars. Seeing stars and feeling a numbing sensation to his left arm he nearly dropped his pistol.

Shaun saw the stream of bullets tear into the wooden wall of a house just beyond the bald figure and then felt and heard  the M-60 jam.

Ken only heard the repeated sound of the bolt being slammed back and forth on the machine gun mixed with the sound of Shaun’s voice swearing repeatedly.

“Bastard, shit. Come on you mother...” Shaun continued to try and clear the jam.

This wasn’t a time for hesitation.

Quickly swapping the pistol to his off hand, Jim braced himself against the constant swaying and jumping of the vehicle. Not caring if he had a chance in hell to hit the man he raised the semi-automatic pistol and opened fire in his general direction, not pausing, pouring out round after round, his index finger working at the trigger, until the magazine was empty.

The world became chaos.

Ken fought the steering wheel, as the vehicle slewed from one side of the road to the other. At one point he clipped the kerb the tires squealed as the LSV came close to disaster.

Two men both fired at the LSV as it sped past, bullets sparking off the rear storage boxes. The wounded man was rolling around the floor screaming like a newborn child. Someone let fly with a shotgun from an upstairs window Dillon heard the hiss of the pellets as they sliced the air above his head.

Then the M-72 was fired.

By some miracle three of the rounds from Jim’s Glock had hit the bald man –one went into his right arm, another to his groin and the last into his stomach. His dying spasms launched the missile. It roared across the road, missing the front of the LSV by no more than ten feet and hit the front of a building across the street.

There was a loud bang, and a sheet of  boiling coils of red and yellow flame leaped towards the sky. Smoke began to billow out across the road, Ken pushed the LSV up through the gears and accelerated away.

 “More following us.” Said Ken as he checked the rear view mirror.

“They’re too far behind now to pose any real danger.” Shouted Shaun from above.

“They look sodding close to me.”

Shaun was staring back at Wentworth Falls, more of the buildings now appeared to be alight. There were two small figures, way behind, shaking their fists at empty air.

‘Don’t worry,” he said to Dillon casually. “Objects in the rear view mirror always appear closer than they are.”

Everyone laughed.

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They drove on for another thirty miles or so, pausing once to allow Dillon to take over the driving from Ken. They had passed through several other towns, shown in their atlas as Leura, Katoomba and Blackheath. All had been empty ghost towns, devoid of life and slowly returning to the land they had been raised from.

The buildings, having been taken over by termites, had mostly collapsed leaving only mounds of rotten wood to show where they once stood. Some buildings still stood however, those constructed of Brick or concrete, but even these had suffered the attack of the termite. The roofs had fallen in and the floors were gone, the resilient walls now covered with clinging ivy.

Driving now through the gathering gloom, Dillon indicated that maybe it was time to stop for the night.

“Do you think they will follow us?”

 “We’ll post a guard but I doubt they will want to follow us”

They parked on the driveway of what at some point in the past had been an affluent home, now only the chimney stack and a few foundations remained.

“Fire?” Shaun had moved to the rear of the LSV and had begun to remove the cooking pots.

“Maybe not eh. If we wasted any of the town elders back there, they may be eager to try getting even and we don’t want to give ‘em a beacon to aim for.”

“Could be best then if we all slept close to the LSV. One on guard, two-hour rotation, and yes you two, we will take our turn tonight. O.K”

Dillon and Shaun looked over at each other and smiled.

“Bet we get one and two though, eh!” noted Dillon.

“Thanks for the offer, see you in six then.” Returned Ken as he unrolled his sleeping bag close to the driver’s seat.

“Sod that,” replied Jim, “I’m the old man here and I need my beauty sleep. Shaun wake him in four, goodnight.”

With that he threw his sleeping bag across the high back seats and climbed in.

Dillon looked up at the clear sky, where the first of the bright stars were breaking through.

“ I think I’ll fuel her up.”

Shaun shook his head, turning slowly. “Leave it till tomorrow. We need to talk.”

“Yeah O.K, but the fuel is getting low we need to find a place to refill the tanks. We have enough for one full fill, that’s about 200 miles top.”

Moving over to where they had stored there rifles the pair said no more. Checking them they moved off into bushes that now filled the space where once the kitchen may have been quickly becoming hidden by the dense undergrowth.

“ Right, what’s the problem that can’t be shared by the others?” whispered Dillon, putting his back to the trunk of a small eucalyptus tree.

Shaun settled down at the other side of the tree. From here the two had a clear view of the road in both directions and of their vehicle. He placed the Steyr rifle across his legs and looked into the darkness.

“I’ve got eighty seven days left.” His voice was calm as he whispered to his friend.

“What do you mean, eighty seven days?” Came the urgent reply from the other side of the trunk.

“My power cell has eighty seven days remaining at normal drain. Less if I’m forced to over run systems.”

“That’s not possible,” he stopped and stared into the darkness for a few seconds. “ I’m reading over fifty years left in mine. It can’t be right.” Dillon shifted slightly so he was able to see his friends’ face.

“Well it is, I’ve run several internal diagnostics and they all come out the same. My primary power cell has been damaged. Remember that firefight a year or so back when I took a full blast from a shotgun to my hip? Left me with this damn limp,”

“Yeah, it was only the hip bearing. How the hell does that explain the power loss?”

“The pellets went in deeper than I thought. Some must have hit the cell and, hey presto, eighty seven days.”

“But why haven’t you noticed this before now?”

“When was the last time you did a power diagnostic, other than just now?”

“Well…”

“See, it just isn’t something I do every day. Just like you.”

“OK But we still have to tell the others, especially Jim. Shit, we’ve been with him for what? Twenty two years.”

“Twenty three years, seven months and a few days loose change. And no, they don’t need to know just yet; we’ve got enough to worry about as it is. Let’s find some petrol and a secure place to set up again and then I will tell them. But not sooner O.K”

“It’s your call. I’ll say nothing, but if it takes longer than three weeks…”

“Yeah, as soon as.”

“Can you smell smoke?”

 

Jim looked up at the black sky trying to count stars in order to get to sleep; the smell of the eucalyptus trees was soothing. He had not noticed the smell before now, it reminded him of home. Home before the plague and before the experiment that had saved his life, when he was a kid; his mother used to smother him in the oil of these damn trees when he had a head cold. He missed his mother.

Taking a deep lung full of the night air he stopped and sniffed again. The light breeze was carrying the feint scent of a wood fire, elusive and untraceable.

He yawned, the slow rhythmic tick, ticking of the LSV’s engine as it cooled in the night air relaxed him and he soon fell asleep.

 

Ken was already asleep; he had chewed on a few indeterminate things from an MRE pack and given up trying to guess what they were. Staring into the dark the last thing he saw was Shaun and Dillon deep in conversation part hidden by the trees.

 

Jim awoke and felt exhausted. Back in the old days he would have slept anyplace and awoke the following day as fresh as ever. Now it felt as if every muscle in his body ached and the very marrow of his bones had been turned to jelly by the constant vibration of the LSV. His spine had been compressed and his head still hurt from the impact with the metal bar the previous day. Even the sounds of his own voice was odd in his ears, grating and harsh.

Again, Dillon and Shaun had let them sleep through the night, only shaking them awake when the first rays of light broke over the eastern hills.

They had canned chicken for breakfast, the tins had a ‘sell by’ date of July ’12 but the contents still looked and tasted good.

“Is this July twenty twelve or twenty one twelve, eh?” Asked Ken forcing yet another huge forkful into his already crammed mouth. The words came out muffled and slurred.

“Either way its still out of date you fool.”

“Yeah but what a difference that hundred years adds. Pass us another tin.”

The food was washed down with more bottled water. Shaun had noticed that they had less than ten of the small one-litre bottles left. Yet another thing to find and soon.

“What’s the situation with stores?” Jim asked after breakfast was finished.

“It’s looking quite grim on most things. We need to find a place to stock up and soon. We got fuel enough for about two hundred miles, Food and water is a problem. We have enough MRE’s for 2 weeks, three if we skip a meal a day but the water is down to eight or nine litres.” Shaun ticked each point off on his fingers looking at each of the others in turn.

“What about ammo? I’ve got six full mags for the Glock and one half full. Four full ones for the Steyr and the one in it, then its harsh language I’m afraid.”

“I’m on six mags for the needler plus one with nine rounds in, the carbine has eight full mags counting the one in it. I’ve also got two grenades stashed away for a rainy day.” Dillon said this whilst pouring petrol into the vehicles fuel tank.

“What about you Ken?”

“Errm. Eight mags for the Dessert Eagle and nine or ten reloads for the G-11. Plus I got the shotgun and twenty or so rounds in the cab.”

“Shaun?”

“I’m on six for my Steyr, we can share those if need be and I’ve got around fifty rounds for the Webley. Oh yeah, the M-60 has about 300 rounds left.”

Each person spent the next few minutes checking their weapons and stowing gear onto the back of the vehicle.

“What’s the plan for today then?” Dillon asked as he climbed into the driving seat. After fastening his safety harness he checked to make sure the shotgun was in easy reach of his right hand. Content he turned to look at the others.

Jim smiled and looked at Ken, “We find us some Petrol”.

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“My best guess would be to come off the 32 at Bathhurst, or go around it may be better. Then onto Highway 24 all the way to erm…” Shaun looked closely at the road atlas, its pages held together by string threaded through the pages. “Yeah got it, a place called Hey…”

“Don’t they have any places in this damn country with normal names. It’s all foreign to me!”

Shaun looked up at Dillon then back to the map. “Right, as I was saying, we then get onto the Stuart highway and follow that all the way to Adelaide, simply a matter of some 1400 kilometres.”

“Balls to that idea, there must be a military base someplace around here. Adelaide may as well be on the bloody moon. Have another look at the map, better still let me look.” Ken made a grab for the atlas only to have it snatched away at the last moment.

“Tut, tut we are getting slow aren’t we? Look this is a civilian atlas; it doesn’t show that sort of stuff stupid. Think national defence.”

Ken shook his head and walked towards the FAV, they had to find another storage depot and soon…

Thats as far as I got folks...

Well Jim in my honest opinion I can find nothing bad to say.It is very well written(any formal writer's training?) entertaining,you scored a good point w/me by using the G11 rifle instead of the nonexistant G12,Snuck yourself in as the main character,and I am hooked now like I am on Dan's Dl story.
Alot better than the drivel that Gold Eagle has been passing off as DL books(IMO).I would like more?
Pls consider throwing us some more Jim.

Thank you.

No, I've had no writers training just put it down as I thought it should sound and tried to mimic LJ's style.

Back in the late 80's early 90's when we played the RPG the G-11 was THE state of the art, way of the future weapon.

The Jim character replaces another who only played in the first ten or so game sessions then lost interest. I replaced him with me as it was me who refereed the game.

If I get some free time I will see if I can drag up some memories of what happened next and put it to paper (or screen !)

Yeah I thought I noticed a little LJ in there to(a compliment,not a critique)

Very good considering you have not had any training.I am impressed.If you do post more I will def read it Jim.