Aimless

Chapter One

It was a dreary day, uncommon in the wasteland. In most places people would seek shelter from the rain, due to the high levels of radioactivity involved. In Iowa, however, the rain was a welcome thing. It was rare, and the relatively small amount of nukes targeted at it gave it too little radiation for any more than a tingling sensation. Naturally, this gave the rain an almost magical reputation in the area, and people would rush out to it to feel the cool, moist water on their skin.

Naturally, this meant Violet was indoors, working the furnaces.

"Quit your slacking and get back to work!" roared the Slavemaster. He walked through the furnace room, watching the many slaves collected by his tribe pump air and shovel coal to keep the various machines throughout the compound running. His anger was, as usual, directed mostly at Violet, who had stopped for a moment due to a hacking cough.

"Yes -cough- sir!" she whimpered, picking up her shovel. The smoke from the coal had been giving the child a terrible cough recently. One of her fellow slaves, who claimed to have been a doctor before he was captured, assured Violet that it was nothing serious. She doubted that, but continued work without protest. Mostly because if she did, she would be killed. Or worse.

Violet's friend, Richard turned to her. "Hey, look on the bright side. Merchants are coming in tomorrow, maybe they'll take us."

"We'd still be slaves," responded Violet. "Besides," she sighed, "you and me both know no one would want us. They'll wait till we're old enough to do the heavy lifting."

"There's always hope."

"Whatever you say, Richie."

Some time later, the whistle of the Slavemaster indicated that their shift was over. The slaves somberly walked off to their "quarters", in reality a trailer park lazily set up for them. The trailers themselves were cramped, with most of the space used up by bedding. The little furniture that had been in them had been moved outside, with the slaves organizing a system for storage of personal items. Violet went to the cabinet drawer with her and another family's name scratched into it with a sharp rock. Inside it was their possessions- Violet's kept in a small pile to the right. While the family, who she rarely spoke to, had a large stash of scavenged, and in some cases stolen toys and trinkets, Violet had some… interesting items. Three, to be specific. One diary that she rarely wrote in, one empty whiskey flask with her mother's name written on the label in black marker, and one copy of The Best of H.P. Lovecraft. When she had asked for it from a generous trader, he seemed shocked, saying that "Even I can't stomach that shit!" But she loved it. Violet's life seemed nice in comparison to the poor souls who dared to disturb the Old Gods, and that helped lift her spirits.

Violet picked up the book and flipped to At the Mountains of Madness. She didn't understand what exactly was so frightening about these stories. She found them suspenseful, but she couldn't help but not take them quite so seriously. It was probably all that funny-sounding fancy-schmancy language.

"Hey you." came a voice from the shadows. It was harsh, demanding. But it couldn't be a slavemaster, so...

Violet turned around and dryly acknowledged the man. "Sam."

Samuel Rollins Warrick. Asshole was a raider back on the east coast, or at least claimed to have been. He always was a slimy bastard, that was for sure. Always coming up with schemes to get supplies, most of which ended with crackdowns by the slavemasters and the deaths of all involved slaves, save for a few, whom Warrick was always among. Still, when he did pull through, he brought back a whole lot. Thanks to this, he had a begrudging respect from most slaves, and mindless loyalty from a select few.

"What do you want, jackass?" Violet asked. It had been a long day, and she was in no mood for his bullshit.

Sam gave a slimy grin, "Hey, relax sweetie. I've got a proposition for you, one you might like," he said, moving towards her. "See, I overheard one of the slavers talking about those merchants coming tomorrow. Turns out, I know 'em from a while ago."

"What a coincidence," came Violet's sarcastic reply. "I think I can guess from here. These 'buddies' of yours are well-armed and still like you enough to do you a few favors. You're going to discreetly talk them into planning a prison break, and you want to bring some of the guys and 'a sweet gal like me' along because you feel oh so horrible about how they treat me," she said, making no attempt to hide her sarcasm, "and if we all get caught and I'm killed, and you just happen bring back more food than normal from one of your 'raids', well that's all just a big coincidence, huh?"

Sam's face soured. "You got a lot of attitude for a kid your age, you know that?"

It was true. Violet was one of the youngest slaves in the compound, only 12 years old. Her parents were killed in a raid when she was 8, and she was captured by the slavers a day later. The only thing she had left of them was that flask. She had matured quickly, whether it was simply how she aged or the stress of slavery, no one knew. All that anyone knew for sure was that she had a good head on her shoulders and was a real piece of work. In fact the number of people ho categorized her as a 'scary bitch' was only outnumbered by the people who saw her as an 'annoying bitch'.

Sam calmed himself. "Look, you got most of that right, I'll give you that. But trust me, whatever you may think about me, I want out of here as much as you do. Besides, we have a plan! And it should... no, will work!" Violet was growing uneasy. Sam never got this worked up. It was almost as if he actually cared about someone other than himself, for once. But it was still Sam. He was hiding something.

"If this is going to work, then what do you need me for? I'm not risking my life for you, if that's what you're thinking."

Sam sighed, and turned around, placing his hand against the chain link fence separating them for the outside world. "I'm gonna be honest with you, kid. We're gonna need a lot of people for this. Main idea is we get the bastards real distracted, see? So much chaos they won't notice us turn off our collars and slip out. Besides," he said, turning to her, "you're valuable. They aren't putting the pressure on you because they hate you. It's because they want to break you. Get you hopeless at a young age, and you'll grow up to be one of their most productive slaves. They won't kill you. Rough you up, maybe, but not kill you. And that'll help us out a whole lot. Even if things go south, we'll have you as leverage. Then we still have a chance, see?"

Leverage? That's what she was to him, leverage? No way. "Fuck you," she said, "I won't be some pawn in your screwed up scheme."

Violet coughed, and turned to walk away. She'd get some shuteye on her mattress in the main trailer. Maybe she'd get lucky and Sam would wind up dead tomorrow night. But Sam had one more trick up his sleve.

"About that cough!" He shouted.

"What about it?"

"It ain't just a cold." Came Warrick's reply. "I swiped a medical magazine off a trader a few weeks ago. That 'doctor' you've been seeing? He's a quack." Sam grinned slightly, and began to walk towards Violet. "What you've got is 'Black Lung'. Pneumoconiosis, if you want to get technical. Long term exposure to coal dust screws up your lungs. Starts with a cough, then you have trouble breathing, and eventually..." he stopped, crossing his arms and cocking his head to the side, "you die." He started walking again, circling her. "Now there were some treatments for it before the war. In the early stages, a few stimpacks to a major artery will pretty much cure it. So long as you're away from the coal dust.

"Now the slavers, they ain't gonna give you any stimpacks. They probably think you're just playing sick to get outta work. But if we get out, a doctor may have some sympathy and help you out. If not, at least it won't get worse." He stopped pacing, and looked at Violet. "You understand me? You stay here, you die. You come with us, there's a chance you'll make it."

Violet could only stand there in shock. She had seen death. She was used to it. But her own death was always something unreal to her, something she would never have to face. She was holding back tears.

"Ok. I'm in."