I honestly don’t know how long it’s going to last, because I have a bad habit of ‘losing steam’ on projects really quickly. BUT I adore post-apoc stuff, so here goes nothing, I guess.
EDIT: I changed some stuff. Well, really, a lot of stuff.
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I leaned back in my seat. I really shouldn't be relaxing, there were more important things to think about. Like, for instance, the 'E' on the gas tank and the flashing 'low power' readouts that swarmed the back of the old Toyota Land Cruiser. Low on gas, mother fucker flashed on the small readout screen. Thank the gods for home modding.
In reality, it probably couldn't be called a 'Land Cruiser' anymore. The bottom of it already had to be reinforced to accommodate the ridiculous amount of circuitry I had crammed on board, as well as the assault rifle on the top, not to mention the hodge-podge of solar panels that covered nearly all of the remaining exterior surface of the four-wheeler. The thing was a beast. If anything, it deserved a name, but I hated naming things on the account of the fact that everything I had named had died.
I reached back with a lazy hand to turn down the brightness on the screen jungle that so enveloped the interior of the vehicle. As the lights dimmed, I flicked on the headlights, and the car came to life with a dull roar. Have to find some gas, I thought, and pulled out onto the battered roadway.
No one drove this early anyway. It was just past morning, and the dirty red of the sun was just piercing through the morning smog over the horizon. There was smog everywhere, now, the cities are always burning somewhere. There wasn't a signal out here, and the Net was bound to have some new news with the factions. Chasing the signal, that's all his life amounted to now. Chase the signal and find some new job to do to get some new food or water or gas. Or ass, really. Whatever you need to get along in New Earth.
That's what they called it, the idealists. 'New Earth', like those fucking neo-christians. Like they know a fucking thing.
I wiped a stray hair from my eye. The road was broken and barren, no one bothered to fix up the roads when most of the cars were defunct. Most travelers preferred to walk anyway, like the one up ahead.
He stuck out a gloved thumb in the dim light, seeing my headlights. The Land Cruiser slowed as I approached the traveler, who was clothed in a ratty poncho and carried nothing but a backpack and a silver cross on a string around his neck.
That cross would have stopped me, had I seen it, but I didn't, so the wheels slowed to a stop in front of the traveler. The traveler jogged up to the passenger side window, and I rolled it down from a switch on the interior. His face was young, but muddied from weeks of walking on the road. Damn road kids and their lack of common sense.
“Hey kid, what the fuck do you think you're doing?”
“I'm just looking for a ride out to Oregon country, man. You willing to help out?”
“Do you know what the fuck could happen to you if you're just walking on the fucking highway? I'm not an asshole, but there are a fuck-ton of them out here.
“What are you waiting for? Get in the car.” Maybe I swear a bit too much. That's what loneliness can do to you.
The traveler cracked a half-smile and opened the door, clambering into the beaten Toyota. The cross off his neck bounced off his chest, catching the early morning light
“Just, uh, just throw your pack in the back. Find a spot.” Nathan said, his eyes back on the road.
“What's your name, kid?”
“It's- it's Alex, Alex Houston,” he extended a gloved hand to me. I took it and we shook. The kid couldn't be that bad.
“So... what's all this stuff back there?” Alex said, gesturing to the forest of towers and screens in the back of my SUV.
“That? That's just, uh, some of my shit. I like to pick stuff up. Why do you ask?”
“I'm just wondering. I can barely find a place to throw my pack. That's a lot of electronics, man. Where did you find all this stuff?”
“I look around. Most people think computers and junk are worthless nowadays, because no one has a use for most of the software. That's not really true, but popular opinion holds. What can you do, you know?”
I swerved on the roadway around a body. There were a lot of those out on the highway nowadays. After the 'poc hit, most people who survived were forced out of their hideaways to roam the badlands. Most couldn't take the pressure, or couldn't find enough food and water to keep walking.
“Hey, I never got your name.”
“It's Nathan. Nathan Kyheart.”
Alex stifled a laugh. This is why I avoid people.
“Really, dude? Kyheart? Shit sounds like it came out of some old fantasy novel.”
“You know, I could just throw you out of the car now if you'd like, or I could wait until we run into a group of shotgun-wielding hicks with a taste for your thighs. Your choice, kid.”
Alex looked away, fiddling with the cross on his neck.
“Sorry.”
“Don't- don't worry about it. Just don't make fun of my name, 'kay?”
A short beep emanated from the center console of the Toyota. Low on gas, mother fucker.
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