Elliot coughed. Sand clogged his throat. He coughed again as he struggled to open his eyes. His skin burned, and his body ached. Several hundred yards away, a burning wreck billowed smoke into the blue sky. All around him, the desert stretched on into hazy nothingness. He started to take account of himself. He had managed to bail out of the plane before it dropped like a rock. The parachute worked, but he was lucky not to have broken his legs. His knees were bloodied and scratched. The rest of him was in tact, but would likely bruise from the roll. The chute pulled against him as it caught wind. He cut the straps before it had a chance to drag him further into the desert. Nearby, his bag looked no worse for the wear. Withdrawing a water bottle, he took a few sips, enough to soothe his throat while rationing for a potentially long stay in the wasteland. He got to his feet and started to gather his supplies. Night was only a few hours away.
I am a fucking idiot.
He considered going to check the plane for anything else he could use, but it was a massive signal fire for raiders or worse. Instead, he chose to keep heading west and hope for a miracle. If he hadn't drifted too far off course, he would eventually hit a highway.
It's alright. No big deal. You have a bottle of water and no food. Probably a week's walk to the next settlement. Desert is filled with raiders, dozens of venomous animals, and even the plants want me to die. There's no water, and anything I try to eat will probably kill me in the most painful way possible. This is totally working out.
The sun baked down on him as he headed out across the desolate landscape.
Almost two years earlier, Elliot had lived in St. Louis. He taught flying lessons and painted in his spare time. His girlfriend visited on the weekends, and they had long talks into the night about how they would define their relationship. One weekend, he got drunk while watching football and went out to buy her a ring. He kept that for three weeks before returning it, having never told her about it. That day, he first heard about the virus. A small television behind the counter at the jewelry store displayed some blurred footage of a man and woman having sex. Though the video was already almost indiscernible, the network made sure to pixelate the areas someone believed to be the woman's breasts. Elliot thought it was funny at the time, some woman on MDMA so desperate for a fuck that she stripped down and wandered into the street until she found the first guy willing. Then New York fell. The world devolved into chaos. The government failed. The military failed. The remainder of humanity fled across the Mississippi river and build fortifications to hold back the infected. Those failed, too. At every turn, the infected hives and their queens stayed one step ahead, ready to destroy months of work with a single kiss. When the sanctuaries started to fall, the humans ran. Communities became dangerous as they attracted the infected. Elliot survived through it all.
He had spent the past few months traveling with a stranger he met in the Texas panhandle. They'd scavenged through West Texas and over into New Mexico without much difficulty. He knew of people who headed back east. The environment was kinder and food was more plentiful, but the infected prowled like starving wolves. Elliot and the stranger had made a decent existence for a while, but they got greedy. On a supply run into Albuquerque, they'd been swarmed by infected. His friend succumbed, no longer willing to fight. Elliot watched as his friend's clothes were stripped away, and his gaunt body disappeared under a writhing mass of beautiful women. In the confusion, Elliot slipped away. He found an airfield with several single engine planes. Though it took a few hours, he managed to get one of the planes mostly fueled. The process was cut short by the arrival of the infected. He got in the air as they watched, disappointment on their faces as a human male slipped from their fingers. Several hours later, he was somewhere in Nevada when the fuel died, and he jumped out into the desert.
The world that had been so comfortable was gone. He didn't know what happened to his girlfriend, but he could guess. So many people had dreamed the military or the government or some miraculous group would swoop in with a solution. First, people thought the infected could be cured. Then they thought they could be killed. Then they thought they could be contained. All of them were wrong. Other than his friend, Elliot had not seen another human in months. Before the sanctuaries collapsed, people talked of a secret mountain base where a vaccine was being developed. Sometimes it wasn't in the mountains, but at the top of a skyscraper in Chicago only accessible by helicopter. And other times still, it was in Area 51, buried hundreds of feet underground. Elliot wanted to believe in any of those bizarre fantasies, but time and again reality asserted itself. Perhaps, in some obscure location a group of dedicated scientists were perfecting the vaccine, but that did him no good. He had his wits and a few skills to survive, so he pressed on.
After an hour of walking, Elliot already felt on the verge of collapse. His skin prickled in the bright sunlight, and his body was starting to sweat less and less. He continued to take sips of water, and his stomach ached. He was already malnourished before being stranded in the desert.
This is a shitty way to go. Could have turned into one of those massive cock things. Being a mindless freak is still better than being buzzard food.
It certainly wasn't the first time he'd considered it. Giving in would have been so easy. He could have walked into the open arms and big tits of any of the millions of infected and been in total bliss. Instead, he'd chosen the struggle of humanity. The decaying civilization proved that humanity still had value. If the infected died out or retreated, humans could fix the world. Assuming a few survived.
Lost in his thoughts, Elliot did not notice the blurry shape move in the distance. The wind changed, and the sound of an engine drifted over the void landscape. He came to a stop and squinted to see what new problem was coming his way.
This far out and unafraid of making noise. Some kind of raider. Best case, former military who doesn't kill me and leaves me to die in peace. Worst case, probably cannibals.
With no where to run or take shelter, Elliot sat down. The vehicle grew larger as it approached.
As the truck rolled to a stop, it emitted the high pitched wheeze of a motor long in need of repair. It was an army vehicle, a two ton truck used for transporting supplies or men. The bed of the truck was once covered by a dome of thick canvas. The new owners had stripped that away in favor of crudely welded metal plating. The driver did not emerge, but a figure dropped from the rear of the truck. Dressed in thick robes, he hobbled forward on a cane.
Not a raider or ex-military. Cannibal just went way up in likelihood.
The man plodded slowly towards Elliot, but kept his eyes focused on his steps rather than the stranger in the desert. The man's robes were a motley of poorly sewn together old t-shirts and other strips of fabric. The staff he leaned on with each step was a gnarled branch with notches made all along the shaft. He came to a stop a few feet from Elliot and lowered himself to the ground with a loud sigh. Reaching into his robes, he produced a canteen and offered it to Elliot. As the younger man took it, he felt its cold contents slosh heavily back and forth.
Could be poison. Weak old man wants to drug me before loading me up. I could try and fight them, but...driver might just leave if I take the old man. Nope, still fucked. May as well.
Elliot unscrewed the cap and brought the canteen to his lips. The icy cold water poured over his cracked lips and slightly soothed the burning in his throat.
"You crashed the plane?" the old man asked. Elliot nodded. "Waste of a plane." The old man spoke to himself or, perhaps Elliot thought, to his walking stick. His face was dark brown from the sun with wide white circles around his eyes. As much as he could tell, Elliot judged the man to be over sixty. Not many his age had made it this long. The man crossed his legs and sat up straight. "I am Cadmus."
"Elliot."
