Da ist keine hoffnung, und keiner Zuversicht
denn Feuer und Wasser komm nicht zusammen
-Till Lendemann
All illnesses of Christians are to be ascribed to demons
-St. Augustine
Fear makes the wolf much bigger than it really is
- A German Proverb
Simon stares at the open road north to Euproarch. Pines bordered the lonely concrete road North. Grimmsville was a small city of close to 1100 people. 1127, if Simon was correct. 13 people survived the initial epidemic, but of them, four commited suicide, five went North to New York City, and are never to be seen again. The other survivor, Kenny, was dead to begin with. Despite this, Kenny built all the signs that sprouted from the roof tops. White banners with glow-in-the-dark orange paint broadcasted the Grimmsen's message to anyone walking within 15 miles of the microstate.
The other three survivors, Simon Dianne, Mary Rinehart, and 'Cubo' Hassan were as good off as Kenny. Simon was a well built teen, with gelled up auburn hair, side burns curling down to his chin, and small beady eyes, and an inward hate strong enough to manifest itself outside his body. Mary was a schitzophrenic with dirty blonde hair, combed over to cover her right eye. She wore a red heart necklace, and green and blue pants. Cubo was a 6 year old 'little person' with very little hair save three longs strands growing out above his forehead.
Simon looks back over his shoulder upon Mary and Cubo. Mary had been tied to a pine tree and was babbling on about sex, while Cubo held on tightly to his Koran. Simon knew he was Muslim, but he also knew his family wasn't very conservative in any matter. Simon couldn't blame him. As the plague swept over the town, everyone that had a religion died praying, save Cubo, Claire, and Tod.
Claire and Tod were part of the group that left Grimmsville for New York. They had likely died already.
In one part of Simon's mind, only the strong survive, and only the careful prosper. Simon, nor Cubo or Mary were very strong or careful, which bewildered the strict unblinking part of Simon's mind. Even with all the might of a drug addict working on an SAT, Simon could scarcely grasp the gravity of his situation. I mean, one day, you're living a normal suburban life, the next, you are with a six year old 'Little Person', and a Schitzophrenic, surrounded by corpses.
Simon stood, face embracing the hot wind coming off the Delaware River. Ever since the epidemic, it seems to him there is a stark change in the height of water level each day. Waters of the Delaware were creeping in and over Dodd street, and only the buildings straddling Benjamin Franklin Hills remained high and dry.
A crashing roar erupted in the Trio's ears. They glance down Main street, and the Billboards, General stores, and Abandoned warehouses full of pesticides, all topple into the brown brackish water.
"Douches are very sanitary, Thank you." Mary hollers at no one in particular. Cubo glares daggers at her, then turns back to the ruins of Main Street. "Robots and Trees come zu dir! Vergnügen Mich!" She babbles, spitting saliva upon her chin and chest.
Mary was interesting in the fact that her unconscous, frank speech fluctuated between German and English. Simon tooked at Mary's eyes, which were focused at the Pines that surrounded the road to Euproarch. Three figures emerged from the wood. Two were obviously mechanical, whilst the other was similar in shape and color to the trees he had emerged from.
Cubo was anxious, and Simon observed at the travelers with an Eagle eye. Mary could care less.
"I wanna fuck your little Brother." she murmured. "Can't we trust Roboter with our lives?" The sane part of her utters.
Cubo smiles, looking at his shoes. "Maybe. Maybe we can trust them."
Simon's eagle eyes met Cubo's. "Maybe we can't."
Mary coughs in her five cents. "Vibrators are robots too!"
Las Vegas grew to a good size relatively quickly. The Suited One collected the sparsely populated souls of Earth.
Duncan glances around, observing the street around him. Greg Sanders was hanging a sign that read; No Trespassing property of the Harvester. To Duncan's right, Lammy and Griffin were washing the windows of a storefront window. Jack Knife was pushing a road-paving machine down the long sandy trail. It's bulky yellow sides were stained by asphalt, and when it's pipes churned, black tar shot from the smokestack.
Jack Knife lacked his prison tattoos, as they were a sign of his identity as a prisoner, and signalled loyalty with extinct comrades. Where ink had touched, Tak had a packrat peel off the skin. Jack Knife's Elvis-like hair had been shaved off to find more contriband.
Everyone else throught it was to elicit pain from the weakest individual in Vegas.
Duncan returned to his job fixing street lamps. He jammed the screwdriver into the lamp post, taking out some screws, without any real consideration of what he is actually doing. There would be new workers to help sometime soon. New guys can clean up his mistakes.
...
Greg glares at the highway ahead with unbattering eyes. In a flash of light, Draco arrived, with another group of survivors. There was a Blue otter, with pirate attire, an eyepatch, peg legs, and hook. There was a man with an olive complexion, long black hair, small beady eyes, blue canvas shirt, and tan khaki pants. The Last person was a large turtle of sorts, with flaming red hair, orange skin, and a black dog collar.
Draco was pushing them along, hands outstretched behind them. He had been talking to them during their trip, and the monologue continued as they walked the narrow ivory black pathway to Vegas.
"And if you'll just follow mah rules, no one can harm you." Draco assures in a false Texan accent. Draco hands the blue otter a stone, which transforms into a gleaming silver wrench. The three gasp. Greg pough-poughs the magic trick. Wizards can't do real shit, Tak whispers to him. Draco hands it to the otter. "Now, Russell, you can go into Lake Mead and start a job fixin' up all 'em pipes. No good pipes makes all o' us die." He sucks his teeth, and nods over to glances at Greg. "That Man o'er there is Sheriff Greg Sanders. He's you're leader till I return. Ya' hear?"
The Three nod. "Yes, Sir." They reply
"Well, then, I'm off to save more of the innocent." He says, putting on a croc's smile. With that, he apparates into thin air.
Greg smiles happily. "Now," he cocks his AK-47, "The fun of Hard Labor begins."
