Chapter 2

Familiar Strangers

Arthur moved behind another building, which was stony and in a worse state of decay than even the silo. He pulled the drive out of his inner pocket and reached for his headpiece.

Of course.

He had set it in his rucksack, which had been stolen from him. That reminded him he had nothing to bandage his side with. Or food. Mainly he was worried about the food.

Long ago, maybe, he did not feel hunger. He felt need for feasts, in the days of queens and kings and tinny, dancing music. And later, much later, he needed tea at set times during the day. He had even fancied himself as a chef. What a dead dream that was. Of course his friends reminded him of the burning cold dishes incident, one that did not glorify itself as the "good old days" but nonetheless was definitely part of better times. And now, he wondered, where had his friends gone? Some went into Enviro-Builds on their own land, saving what they could in order to save themselves and their people. Others had not been quite as damagingly affected by the terrors of war and remained above ground, reverting back to the grovelling middle ages. And still others remained a mystery. Those who rebelled or denied annihilation — where had they gone?

There were ways to get back with them. And although he had forgotten what they were, they were locked away information in the safe. Or in the drive he held close to him. It had to be. Ruth's obliqueness couldn't have meant much else. He needed a way to listen to the recording.

There was the graveyard, of course, where men who went out and suffered were buried along with their suits. The Enviro-Livers often worried of contamination. As had he, once, long ago. Now he moved towards that destination, his legs and ribs still aching dully, and traces of Ruth's blood stained his pant legs. And yet, he couldn't help but think that it would be easier to just relent and return to his cramped quarters down below. Maybe if he stomped hard enough someone down there might hear him.

Overhead, the dark clouds grew darker and streaks of lightning danced inbetween. An instinct told him not to press his hands to his chest and reveal weakness. But who out in the wasteland could survive it, much less try to attack in it? The town he was in was some sort of exception. Even the air there felt purified. Nonetheless, even with the acrid smell of a dying land around him, he looked about warily. A drop of hot rain plopped on his cheek.

He needed to find shelter, and fast. A few more drops splattered his head and he broke into a jog. The only places with roofs he knew were the Enviro-Build, now painfully far behind him, a town he wasn't welcome in, and a now burnt silo. Oh, and some sort of structure up ahead. He perked up and allowed himself to run a bit faster. Even in his earlier years he wasn't quick. Soon, spikes of pain began frolicking up his chest with each breath.

The building rolled up the slope to greet him as he neared it. It turned out to be a broken down cottage. The roof was mercifully intact, much to Arthur's pleasure. He rushed towards it and pushed the door open, using his shoulder to shove it in. The inside of it smelled… Well, it smelled better than the silo, Arthur gave it that much credit. He looked around a bit more, hearing thunder crackle and a leak drip drop somewhere. He found the driest corner, covered with frayed blankets and a faded doll. He lay down on it, favouring his side, and clutched the drive tightly. He fell into a fitful, mean sleep.

He also dreamt.

He dreamt of something long ago, when he first entered his Enviro-Build room. His dream recreated the cabin almost perfectly, having had enough memory of it stored away for a lifetime, and Arthur could almost feel the scratchy pillow case that bothered him so many nights, and the dull electrical rumble that ran along the walls. However, his dream did not allow him past the four walls. He felt danger, increasing, spiking each and every hair follicle on his body.

He jerked awake, startled by a crash of lightning. He stumbled towards the window near his make-shift bed, peering out. Darkness lay over the land unrelentingly. It was dotted with the glow of lightning, but not much else. Otherwise, it was impenetrable. The oblique rain shower came as a shock. How many years had he spent either under Enviro-False light, electrical lights, or torchlights? Had he ever truly seen the night become so mercilessly dark? The shock of it startled him. He nearly felt like weeping. History had been erased from him.

But, no, crying wouldn't do anything. All it would do is cause more stress and thus more pain. And it wasn't like he was entirely hopeless. He had a hope, and it clung to his neck, sticky from his stressful sweat. He should never have considered going back down. There was no time for that. The only direction now was out, towards a head piece, towards the missing clues, and towards something akin to peace.

When morning came, he shouldered the pain of his body and hunger, and went to the graveyard. It was not far from the cottage. Hardly an hour's walk. If he had a monitor, or any technology other than the broken shards rattling in his breastplate, he could have calculated it for sure. As is, all he had to guide him was himself.

The graveyard had relatively few bodies. The bodies had not been buried. Not that anything out here could get to them, anyway. Dust coated some bodies, having been buffeted by the arid breeze. They were pale skeletons or warped mummies, some still in suits. Those were the ones he looked for. He hardly gave grave robbing a second thought as he fumbled through for a faceplate.

After a while, finding only dead plates, blank helmets, and frazzled suits, he began to feel the absent eyes leech on him. He felt their thousand stairs, wondering why he chose now to act. Or perhaps warning him that it was too soon. The nuclear waste and empty, plant-less harshness of the world did not invite life. Not yet. Arthur's skin crawled. His hand brushed other, long, dry and scorched, ones.

Finally he touched something hard. And wiry. He pulled it off a skull, hair still springing out of the shrivelled skin. He'd seen death. But nothing like this, tumorous, burnt, boiled. The headpiece was an older model, one that had been built to last. He tucked away the headpiece next to his drive, standing up and stretching his stiff legs. He looked around, trying not to but inevitably recognising some of these faces. He couldn't help but turn away and retch, his heart burning.

—

"I am recording this because writing would fade. I am recording this because it must be saved. My name is Ruth Orion and I live in the Enviro-Build ANGLO-SAXON. I know there are many more and they are numbered, but my people have long since stopped tying to remember them. Perhaps they were worried that the others have died off. I don't. I don't worry for a second. What sense would it make to have only one of us survive? All of us were built to last and to live, generations and generations on until we could regrow on earth. Some here say it's a myth but I have gathered evidence to contradict all the doubts…"

Arthur listened to the recording, eating from a can of beans. The previous owners had believed the world would end and they were right. But they had not survived to live in their bunker, which Arthur had unearthed. Luckily, their food stores were abundant, as well as other things. Arthur found a new backpack, a gun, a knife, and a small kit of tools for thriving outdoors. Not that there was much outdoors left. As Arthur listened to the first recording, he picked out cans that hadn't gone bad (a lot of beans and spam) and began to fill his voided stomach. He felt his stomach lurch at the sound of Ruth's voice and worried he'd lose the precious food he'd foraged.

"… I was seeking all the old documents, intrigued by the rumours of a woman who went out in search of hope who had never come back. She said she had heard something about an ultimate plan to bring back life. Either to reject this hope or become even more hopeful, I went out in search of the so-called document. It was written out and had an attached video. I watched it many times and read it even more. The video depicted someone with an intense resemblance to one of the school teachers here. I have not contacted him yet. It seems impossible that the man in the video from nearly two hundred years ago — according to the timestamp which I doubt — would look like a younger version of Mr. Kirkland, someone who taught me not so long ago. And yet I can't shake the feeling. Possibly he is a direct descendent. I have asked if the Kirkland family is well known and all anyone seems to know about is the man Arthur himself and another one with the first name Kirkland, which was of no help. The young man only scowled at the question and gestured to me rudely.

"Well, regardless, the video told of the parts that are stationed outside of every Build. And, I quote, 'when we can all reach one another again, as indicated in the program, we can regain our old glory and the earth'. Such high words seemed so filled with pride and hope I couldn't help but believe him.

"Another man spoke on the tape as well. This one was foreign looking. He had paler skin and dark, dark hair and such a sweet voice. He relayed that one part, an air purifier would be outside dome number seven. That was the first one, and then he counted down. I won't relay these pieces. As this is only a sort of journal. And where I plan to go should know what comes next. I suppose this piece must be near here, because it said something about Britain, which I know is an old name for the land under which we thrive. I will look into the maps and the rest of the data the following day after work. End Log ONE."

The log cut off. Arthur paused before clicking to the next one. It felt like he was dusting off fossils trying to relocate these memories. He recognised taking that video and the trouble Alfred had uploading it to all the systems, as it kept crashing. And he would mock Kiku for making it so "crappy"! Arthur grinned at the memory. Kiku sighed and had shoved Alfred out of the way, which caused them to bicker further.

They had time to bicker, back then.

And now?

How were they all faring, so far apart? Did they all choose to forget, just like Arthur? Did they all let the memory of it seep into the back of their minds as they waited for the end of doomsday timer to set off in their Builds, calling them to the Programming Room so they could rehear all the information? And, speaking of the video, why did Ruth doubt its timestamp? It was a faultless system. Arthur lay back down on the blankets, staring out into the dismal, yellowy sky. The sun hovered but did not bring any warmth. All the heat rose from the ground and gripped the land and air, infusing it with something worse than humidity. Ruth wanted to find them all and gather them, it seemed. What did she expect to do? Walk across the ocean? She must have had a plan, of some sort.

Arthur turned back towards the recording, hitting the "next" button.

"It seems it will be a long journey. The places they mapped are far, but endurable. And it is supposed that these men and women in the video would be the ones travelling. Which seems odd. Wouldn't they be dead? Or were they just too hopeful? That is why I plan to find this seventh piece of the puzzle, and conquer it or use it or locate it, whatever it takes. I need to get this started. What happens if we wait too long? Besides, I feel these timestamps are horribly wrong. I mean, the system has been showing many glitches lately…"

Arthur stopped the recording. He could have sworn he heard a hissing sound. Or scraping. Or a mixture of both. He perked up, reaching for his newfound gun and looked about. The wind creaked through the house. Arthur turned towards each window and door. The backdoor emitted the same sound, followed by a low groaning. His heart jumped to his throat. He threw open the door, feeling himself tremble.

A creature, a person? Lay before him. It was barely more than a muddy puddle of flesh with legs and a wilted face. Arthur held the gun before him, his hands remembering how they once could be steady, and he took a stance.

"What do you want?" He asked.

It groaned at him, a long, rattling sound that sent shivers up and down his spine. Its long hand reached for him, grasping his ankle and digging into it. It lurched forwards, attempting to launch itself at him. Arthur let out a yelp and shot at its head. The blood and brains splattered across him, spraying the old wood around him, but the creature continued to twitch and grip. Arthur shot another bullet through its chest, where he could see veins frantically pulsing. Arthur wrenched his feet away. He heard another groan from somewhere. Was this the Town's army, coming for him? Arthur felt panic rising up in him, faster and faster. He had tucked some food into his backpack, which he checked with a firm pat. He considered rushing in and grabbing the blanket that had been so dear to him the past night, but another rumble of groaning sounded and he rushed out. He prayed to find something with wheels in the back of the cottage, where he hadn't checked yet.

No luck. Not even a unicycle.

Instead, he found more of those creatures rushing towards him, creeping or actually running if they had good feet. Along with the sound of their noise he heard, like a jeer, the screech of tires.

He began to sprint. Unfortunately, right into the direction of the car rumbling towards him. It veered around him, sending out a plume of sickly dust. A rattle of gunfire shot from it, sparking against the creatures that crawled towards them. They grunted as the flutter of shots brought them down one by one. Someone stood on the top of the military grade vehicle, holding a heavy gun in front of him, balancing it on the edge of the car like a sentry. The man had a sunburnt face and blissfully seemed unaffected. He turned towards Arthur who had been grazed by a bullet and held his arm tightly, feeling blood trickle out.

"Wo—ah!" He cried and the car slowed to a roll. "We've got a runner here!" The man looked down at him, grinning. His face was scarred, but friendly.

The driver of the car poked her head out, her oddly cut hair - patchy and short and blonde - blew in the wind. "Oi, I see him alright. Thought he was a near sentient one of 'em."

"No, I'm normal!" Arthur cried out, his heart still racing. The woman stopped the car before him. She scrutinised him closely, furrowing her brow.

"Doubt that but go in. I can't waste time. He'll blow himself up there if he waits any longer."

Arthur clambered into the truck, finding a seat near the shooter's legs. He looked about as he milled them down. The woman scrunched her face and veered the car away, grumbling something indistinct.

"Thank you," Arthur said. The wound on his shoulder seemed to be healing, if ever so slowly.

"Don't mention it. She'd like you, up there in the Big House." She laughed unkindly.

The man who had the gun sat down, leaving his makeshift sentry ready for use just above his head. He grinned at Arthur.

"You got a name?" His hair was frazzled.

"Ah, yes, Arthur." He held out a hand. The man slapped it, laughing. Arthur felt the sting and turned away, trying to smile back but feeling to dumbfounded by the recent events to muster up even a polite chuckle.

"What's a… fellow like you doing out there alone? Usually you guys come in groups."

"I was camping out at the cot over there. It was quite quaint, really."

They sighed and shook their heads at him.

"And what do you mean by 'you guys' anyway?"

The woman spat something out the window. "Y'idiot. You don't just go into people's cots and live there. That's where Grim lives and he isn't a nice fellow now is he?"

"Nope, not at all," her cohort replied jovially. Their cadence seemed oddly familiar to Arthur, who now looked at the landscape escaping behind him. He saw the village not too far off, rising with smoke. And, beyond it, he glimpsed the tip of the mountain his old home was located in. After that the land stretched into dusty nothingness, surrounded by blank sun.

"Probably why those things attacked you," she continued. "They smelled fresh meat that wasn't Grim and they came hunting. Thought you were weak enough to be an easy meal. Lucky for you we came swooping by."

"Yes, that was kind of you, but how did you —?" Arthur was interrupted by the other man.

"Yep! Bam, I shot 'em good didn't I, sis?"

"Sure."

"And, you won't believe this, they had a whole lot more than usual. Wish we could have looted but we had to pick you up. Too bad they'll rot straight into the ground. Maybe we can still get some things out of them."

"Get some fresh meat and gems for me while you're at it, then." She retorted. He rolled his eyes and turned back to Arthur.

Arthur shook himself out of his reverie and faced the man. "Thank you for saving me back there. What's your name?"

"Some call me Kyle, some call me Jett, whatever floats your boat." He shrugged. He had a long gash across his nose and his brown hair stuck to his forehead with sweat. He swept it away. Arthur felt the accent he used was painfully familiar. But it couldn't be what he thought it was, could it? It's origin was so far away. The woman also felt agonisingly familiar.

"I'm Ali. Thank you for asking."

"Ali the Alley Cat." Jett added.

"Oh, you're welcome." Arthur grinned at her.

She smirked back at him through the cracked mirror.

"So, ah, Kyle?"

"Yea?"

"How'd you not shoot me? I mean, what difference was there between a hobbling man like me and a bunch of… them?"

"Well, for one you were running at us, and for a second you were almost being eaten by them. If they have fresh meat they don't resort to cannibalism, usually. And if they do it's always in wherever they come from, in the labs or their underground tunnels. Wasn't hard. What kind of question is that, anyway? We'd always help a man in need." He patted Arthur's back.

"You two look very young for hunting those monsters." Arthur continued. "Where'd you come from?"

Kyle shrugged. "Here and there. We're taking you somewhere to be safe. Safer is what I should say. That's where we live. Good old Camp."

"Quit blabbering." Ali hissed. "Be quiet."

Kyle fell silent, staring out the windows. Arthur looked, too, seeing only crumbled earth and shattered stones. Decayed brick homes sunk into the piles of dust and dirt. A path, nothing left but stone shards, winded through the homes. Ali's fingers gripped tighter around the wheel.

Finally they passed the area and came close to a sort of metal camping ground. Kyle began chattering again, having past the graveyard of homes. Arthur slipped out of the car. He held his bag close to him, wary of these people. And yet he had completely trusted the two who had taken them into their own car. That, lest he forget, had a hefty machine gun mounted on top of it. Wasn't he beyond worrying at this point?

A few dirty-faced people looked up from cooking fires and their work. Several smiled at Kyle who bounded, like an excited puppy, towards them. He stood to talk before each one, leaving Ali and Arthur behind at the car.

Arthur looked at the woman, who was shorter and grimmer than him. Her face was angular, pointed out towards the lot before them with approval. She squinted, like she couldn't see very well.

"Is he your brother?" Arthur asked.

"No. But he came here all weird and hopeless. Got lost from his old home, and I took him in and fed him. Now he clings to me like a dog." She smiled, nevertheless. "I don't know where he came from but he speaks so differently. He said he came from far away. Where he was a moment ago, it seemed to him, it was cold. But you should ask him about it later. It's interesting."

"And you all just trust me with this sort of private information?" Arthur asked.

Ali paused. "I oughtn't but… I feel as though I should." She shrugged. "My instincts are rarely wrong I can assure you. So perhaps you will bring about something good. And, if you did let anything slip, I'd cut that tongue out." Ali patted her pocket.

"You've had practice?" He could see the shape of a butcher knife beneath the leather of her pants, strapped to her leg with a string of some sort.

"Plenty."

She pointed towards another home, far off. A man sat before a tiny fire, looking fearfully in their direction.

"Really?" he had only been joking, after all.

"Yes. I'm not fooling with you." She turned and walked away, towards the side.

Kyle returned to Arthur's side.

"Had a nice conversation?"

The bouncing, swooping accent fell over each word. Kyle must have come from very, very far away. And it must have taken him a lifetime if he walked, but here he was: young. And Ali had said that he felt he was somewhere else only a moment before. How could that be possible? Arthur hadn't travelled quickly in a long time. And even then it didn't just happen to a person. Besides, wasn't Kyle just a regular old guy who happened to have two names and a half-moon shaped scar across his face?

Arthur wanted to prod him, but the smell of cooking meat caused his stomach to rumble. Kyle must have either heard or was hungry himself, for he took him towards Ali's home, chirping about cooked rabbit.

They ate in silence. Arthur relished the flavour of cooked food. When the meal was done and Ali began making a pot of tea from leaves she somehow found, Arthur sat on an aged sofa. Kyle had wandered out again, calling out to some children to play a game of ball.

Ali set the tea down before Arthur, who happily picked it up. He hadn't had real tea in who knows how long. And, although this one was bitter and tasted more like roots than leaves, it made him smile. It wasn't one of fake powders and hot water. It was real.

"Haven't had tea for a while?" Ali smiled at him.

"No, well, not like this. Nothing like this."

"I figured as much. You came from that cliff side thing didn't you?" She spoke eloquently. She had a bit of the urban accent that hung around Kyle as well. At least it was better than the broken and chunky English he had heard only a day before.

"How'd you guess?" Arthur smiled, the crow's feet at his eyes crinkling.

"The suit. Who wears that ridiculous attire anymore? The land's almost safe. Well, not really, but it can be traversed without that weird thing. It must be heavy."

"No. It's a newer model. It's not as cumbersome."

"I'll get A— I'll get Kyle to get you something to wear that's better," she said quickly, waving her hand dismissively. She turned away from Arthur, looking out the open door to where Kyle was tossing around a small ball between the group of dirty faced children. Ali's face was thin and sharp, cutting into the light that surrounded it.

"I see. Thank you. I appreciate that. What do you want in return?"

She dismissed him. "No I don't trade."

"What do you do to get things, then?"

"I scavenge, here and there." She shrugged. "Trading was always… Someone else's deal."

"Whose?"

Ali chose not to respond to him and cleaned up their cups instead. "You can bunk on the couch here. I'll get you something for those wounds of yours. I'd recommend the great town sights but, as is, bed rest might be better."

As promised, she returned with salves and a bandage. However, the shallower cuts had healed and Arthur's ribs felt only dully sore. But another wound, a gash at his foot he hardly remembered getting, was steadily swelling. Ali bandaged it up deftly and let him rest, leaving to another room where he heard something like music play softly. Was it a radio or a recording that had somehow survived? Arthur couldn't tell.

Before he went to sleep, he considered listening to the next recording. There were twelve total, according to the tiny monitor with lime green lettering.

"It seems to me that I will have to get about protocol in an audacious manner, shall we say. The Overseers seemed to have been wary of people like myself wandering off, in case we found those messages or went crazy. And even then they were hard to get to. Not that they were stored under a lock or passcode. Anyone could get to the Committee files theoretically. But they were labelled under such odd titles like 'gardening with sunflowers' and other nonsense. Seems that accidental findings were inevitable. Any curious navigator of the files could stumble across it. Or if you knew what it was and you were that appointed, special person who was destined to get it.

"Special one my ass. If anyone's gonna do it it will be someone who is determined and informed. Even if I fail, this will serve as a way to relay the mission. I recorded some other information as well in other slots.

"Anyway, I set up a sort of gig. Something lives just beyond our borders and if I can get it to appear on the map as a threat, I have enough reason to get away. Once I get out of range I'll disable my tracker in the suit, a special code I added to my faceplate, and bam! I'll be out of their scrutiny in no time.

"They've warned about going aboveground for too long could lead to death from the radiation and toxicity, but after careful monitoring I feel that I could survive this. I should. Like the timestamps, the outside readers seem faulty. I've found signs of life outside on many missions and they seemed human. What else could they be? A small animal would technically have less of a chance of survival in harsh wastelands. I ought to be fine. I will be fine. Maybe I'll die along the journey. And if I can get it just barely started, I feel as if I can be satisfied.

"Because someone will hear this. I can't be the only person to discover what I've found."

The recording ended. Arthur lay in the darkening room. It had taken most of the day to just get here, and yet he felt as if he was wasting precious time just lying around. He'd get going the following day, maybe asking for provisions. If there was any remaining way to contact the others, it would be in the city. And the city had a copy of the files from he Committee as well. Everything lay there.

All of his answers.

At least, he believed so.