Chapter 4

Three nods at me in greeting. No guarantee that's his real name, but it doesn't matter. I nod back. Then he climbs into the engine compartment of the Mozzies' truck and begins to take various components out. He works swiftly, appearing to know what he is doing. He clearly hasn't lived this long without learning a thing or two.

"You might think I'm a bit strange," Three says, pausing for a moment. "I haven't spoken to anyone other than ferals and cannibals in..." He stops to think. "About two hundred days?" Three wipes his brow. "That's a nice car. Where did you get it, anyway?"

"It's not much of a story," I lie, folding down the passenger seat. "I used to travel with a couple others a long time ago. Stumbled upon a little town of sorts one day, and they had this car. One of my companions really wanted it, even though we already had rides. But he wouldn't let it go. Threatened to kill us if we didn't help him. I guess being out here so long was starting to get to him."

I lift the container of spices and load it into the back of the car before continuing.

"Anyway, we killed everyone there and took the car. It wasn't easy; townsfolk nearly killed us. But in the end, my friend got his car. Soon as we were ready to head out, he killed the third member of our party. Out of nowhere, he just shot him. Tried to take me out, too. Shot my ear clean off." I scratch at the scar tissue where my right ear used to be. "So I killed him and took the car for myself."

I unfold the passenger seat and shut the car door before walking over to where Three is working. I try to limp as little as I can, but my leg hurts something fierce.

"Haven't traveled with anyone since. Just me and my car. Explains the paranoia, I guess."

"The Wastes will do that to a man." Three sighs, shrugging off his jacket.

I simply nod in reply, pushing the details of the story to the back of my mind. I don't want to think about it any more than I have to. Besides, it's time to get to work.

We spend all day fixing up the car. My engine block has bitten the dust - damaged slightly by the crash, but ruined by the Mozzies when they tried to salvage it. Savages. Luckily, the tow truck has a bigger, more powerful, and intact engine block that the two of us manage to jury rig up to my car. The axle is repaired, and the damaged frame and paneling is patched up with pieces from the motorcycles and truck. The car isn't pretty, but it is now more powerful and hopefully a little tougher.

The two of us are covered in sweat and motor oil by the end of the long day. The sun is beginning to set, turning the sky vibrant shades of pink and orange. I lean against my car and put my hands in my pockets, breathing in the rapidly cooling air. Three puts on his jacket and takes a long drink of a water from an old flask serving as a canteen. Then he pulls out another cigarette and beings smoking.

"Well… I believe my work here is done." Three holds out the pack, offering me the last cigarette.

"No, thanks," I say, waving it away. "Got enough bad habits as it is."

"I am going to Anuket for work," Three continues in his monotone, returning the pack to a pocket. "You are free to come with. Otherwise, I recommend going to see Thor. He values warriors and will happily give you work. If you tell him Three sent you, you get a better job. I'm well liked there."

I eye Three him carefully as he goes back to smoking. Hard as I try, I can't get a read on him. Thousands and thousands of days of Wasteland experience have turned him into an efficient, emotionless machine - or maybe he was always like this. Three and his truck appear to be much older than my car and I. Three easily has about four thousand days on me, I'd guess. Reaching adulthood is a challenge in itself out in the Wastes, but getting old is very rare. Even I'm probably a little above the life expectancy of adults out here by now - partially because I'm skilled in combat and survival and partially because I'm blessed with a lack of mutations or radiation poisoning. I have my birthplace to thank for that.

What I do notice about Three is the heavy bag under his sunken eye. He looks like he hasn't slept in days. He has at least been awake since I woke up this morning, but who knows how long he has been awake before that. He hasn't shown any signs of tiring out, though, and I'm more than satisfied with the work he and I were able to accomplish. He knows more about vehicles than I do, that's for sure. In fact, he seems to know a lot more about everything. If I stick with him, I might learn a thing or two about how things work in Caesar's Empire. On the other hand, I have no guarantee he won't lose his mind - if he hasn't lost it already - and turn on me. Rolling a die to make decisions doesn't strike me as all that sane. But he has no guarantee I won't turn on him, either. Even so, he seems to trust me at least a little bit. And I even managed to calm my paranoia enough to stop keeping an eye on his every move about halfway through the day.

It's not friendship - friendship is too trusting, too risky. It's just survival.

"Wouldn't mind going to see Anuket with you," I decide at last. "Been awhile since I got to talk to anyone other than my car, and it's not much for conversation."

"Then there is no point to wait around any longer," Three states, finishing his cigarette before climbing into the cab of his truck. "Grab any scrap or gear from around here that you want, then follow me. If we don't stop, we should make it to Anuket by mid-afternoon tomorrow."

"You got it," I reply, eager to leave Mozzie territory behind.

I grab the duffel bag from my car and make a round of the crash site, picking up things that had caught my eye while Three and I worked. There are few tools scattered around now mostly-dismantled tow truck, as well as a couple coils of rope and a fairly long chain. As I pull the chain from the truck and sling it over my shoulder, I notice part of the floor of the truck is sticking up in an odd way. I pull the tab up to reveal a hidden compartment in the floor, much like the ones in my car. Inside are more crossbows and syringe-bolts, as well as a few broken handguns and ammunition. I take the ammo for my pistol and revolver. I decide to grab some of the syringe-bolts, too. I already have one of the crossbows, after all - might as well have ammo for it. I can't think of a circumstance in which I would knock someone out rather than kill them, but they might still be good to have in a pinch.

I move to the front seats of the truck, moving quickly so as not to keep Three waiting. He doesn't seem like the patient sort. In the glove box is a half-full canteen of water. As I pick it up, I see something shoved behind it in the back of the glove box. I reach a hand in and pull the object out. It's a pair of leather gloves. In the glove box. For all the days I've been out here, I've never met anyone who actually put gloves in the glove box. I can't help laughing a little at the ridiculousness of it. I can't even remember the last time I laughed, and it feels damn good. Despite a rough start, this is shaping up to be the best day I've had in a while. I put on the gloves, already imagining how much easier night fighting will be without frozen fingers.

Seeing nothing else of interest, I return to my car. I sling the now-heavier bag into the passenger seat and drop the chain into the back. Then I get into the driver seat and start the car. The new engine roars to life, and I can't help but grin widely at the sound of it. I wave to Three, signaling that I'm ready to head out.

The engine of Three's truck sputters to life. A thick, black smoke bursts from the tailpipe as the vehicle takes off, kicking up a large amount of sand and dust behind it. The armored truck isn't nearly as fast as my car, and its acceleration seems far from spectacular. However, it looks like it's able to take a beating my ride would never withstand. I've always preferred speed to defense, but my run-in with the Mozzies has me thinking I might have to make a compromise. A little armor couldn't hurt.

The sky darkens as we head North towards Anuket's place. I've never worked for someone who calls themselves a God. Warlords, sure, but not Gods. Three mentioned that people worship her, but in my experience, worship is just a nicer word for fear. Either way, someone with a title like that has power, no doubt about it. Managing to keep control of an oasis is even more impressive. The city must be heavily fortified and have well-trained, loyal warriors.

I haven't set foot in a city in a long time. Large towns, sure, but never anything that could call itself a city. Now that I think about it, I don't think I've been in a real city since I started my days in the Wasteland. Before that...

There are times when I forget I have a history. Sometimes it feels like I've always been fighting to survive in the Wastes. Three's question about my car today brought the memories back. I tried to hold them back, but now that I'm alone with my car and my thoughts, they all come surging forward. When I try to picture what Anuket's city might look like, all I see is white walls.

White walls, white streets, white paint brushed on the buildings again and again. Everything was white in Utopia, and everyone in the city had a place. Organization, systemization, control, cleanliness - as the Sovereign commanded. Everything had to be perfect. If someone wasn't perfect, they were sold as a slave to the savages beyond the city walls. Utopian slaves were worth a lot, especially as breeders. They were traded for supplies: ammunition, weapons, vehicles - all things that could be sanitized. Outside food was forbidden. The Sovereign claimed it was all full of maggots and disease. The city farmers grew crops and raised animals, all of which had to be as perfect as the people.

There were many of us in the beginning. I was number 54 of my generation. I survived a plague that wiped out nearly half of us. I developed no defects, while others were sold before they could even reach Citizenship. By the end, there was only a handful of us left, and we were perfect. We were granted Citizenship and given names. Mend liked to name the Citizens of each generation after a subject in one of his books. My generation's Citizens were named after old, powerful cities, Mend said. He gave me the name Roman.

I was not yet old enough to produce children, but I was ready to learn to drive and handle weapons - standard training in case Utopia was attacked. I learned fast and got cocky. I had a bad habit of challenging older Citizens, and I often had to be sent to away for healing. Mend was the only healer in the city. He was a very old man whose poor eyesight would have gotten him sold years ago if not for his valuable knowledge about medicine and history. Like everyone in Utopia, he wore a white tunic and sandals, kept his hair cut at the shoulders, and shaved his face. Unlike other Citizens, his hair was pure white, and his skin was as wrinkled as the crumpled papers that filled his study. He spent his days reading, writing, healing, and training his apprentice. Simon was about a thousand years older than I was. He had the same brown eyes and I did, but his hair was a darker blonde. Mend had chosen him as an apprentice when he became a Citizen and wouldn't stop bothering Mend about what his name meant. He tried to explain it to me once, but I didn't bother to listen. That happened a lot. He would always try to show off what he'd learned from Mend and then glare at me when I got bored. Even so, listening to him and Mend babble was better than painting the walls white again out in the heat, so I didn't mind that much.

Hundreds and hundreds of days passed. My combat skills improved, and I stopped getting hurt so much. Eventually, I started training new Citizens. When they got hurt, I always went with them to see Mend so that I could spend some time with Simon. Despite our differences, we'd become good friends. He liked having someone to talk to besides Mend, and I liked avoiding work.

During one of my visits, Simon quietly told me that the plagues among the children were growing worse, so it was good that the members of my generation were just about ready to begin producing offspring. I was paired with a woman - I don't even remember her name now. We met only to try to produce children for the city, as was custom. Together, we were able to produce two children. Whether they survived to become Citizens or not, we never knew. More and more people were being cast out of the city each day. I once overheard Mend telling Simon that he feared for the Sovereign's mind. Our ruler spent most of his time inside the white palace walls now; his fear of catching some illness was stronger than ever.

I remember vividly the day when Simon told me that Mend had been sold. His eyesight had all but given out, and most of his knowledge had been passed to his apprentice. The Sovereign saw him only as a defective old man now, so he threw him away without a second thought. I'd never seen Simon so angry before. I thought he would have marched up to the Sovereign and slit his throat if he'd been able to get into the palace.

Simon and I left Utopia days later, determined to find Mend. Most of the people who left Utopia came crawling back soon after, only to be denied entry. Some of them went insane just outside the city walls; I could hear their screams in my sleep sometimes. I tried to convince Simon to stay. Without his medical knowledge, illness would run rampant. When I mentioned how many people would die without him, Simon said it was justice. Utopia was no longer a perfect place for Simon, and I wasn't about to let him go out there alone. We stole vehicles and supplies and left the city for good.

We found Mend's body the next day, propped up against a boulder. Beside him, a stranger was digging a hole in the sand. Simon threatened him with a gun, but the man didn't so much as flinch. He calmly explained he'd never seen a man that old before, and it had seemed wrong to leave him lying out in the sun. He also pointed out that Simon never turned off the safety on his gun. We were lucky to be alive, he said, and stupid for not shooting him on the spot.

The stranger's name was Cord, and he offered to teach us how to survive in the Wastes in exchange for some of our supplies. We helped him bury Mend and left the White City behind us.

One day, we saw an enormous cloud of black smoke rising from within the white walls of Utopia, far off in the distance. Cord whistled and said the slavers must have finally united to breach the city walls, but Simon and I knew better. Simon couldn't take his eyes off the smoke. He told me he hoped the Sovereign burned last and slowest, but I could see grief in his eyes.

Time passed. How much, I don't exactly know. Hundreds of days, maybe a thousand. Cord stayed with us all that time - said he preferred our company to being on his own. The three of us became a skilled team out in the Wasteland. We were good friends, too. Maybe that was why we didn't notice the signs of insanity until it was too late. Maybe we just chose to ignore them.

Like I told Three, the end began with a car - the car that I now drive. That day, Simon finally snapped. He said that we needed that car, that it was faster than our cars, that it would take us back to Utopia in time to save Mend and all the people there. The guilt over their deaths had slowly eaten away at his mind, I guess. For the first time since I'd met him, Cord looked sad. He knew what was happening, and he knew what had to be done. But I convinced him to do what Simon wanted for now. I didn't want to believe my best friend had lost his mind. I didn't want Cord to kill him. We could figure out what do after we got the car.

We never got the chance to figure it out. After we got the vehicle, Simon killed Cord right in front of me. Said he would have betrayed us soon anyway. I tried to reason with him, but that cost me an ear. Nearly cost me my life, but I'd always been a better fighter than Simon. Moments later, he lay dead at my feet.

I was alone after that. I took the car, leaving the bodies of my friends to be covered by the sand over time. I couldn't even bury them. I just drove away as fast as I could. I went from town to town, doing jobs for people who had things I needed. I never stayed in one place too long, and I never agreed to travel with anyone.

And now here I am, traveling with a man I just met. Why did I agree to go with him? Maybe it's because my brush with death shook me up pretty badly. Maybe I just miss having someone to talk to. Maybe I'm finally losing my mind. I tell myself that it wasn't Simon I killed. Simon died the moment he lost his mind. The last thing I need is for guilt to drive me mad, too. But maybe it wasn't just that with Simon. The Sovereign was going mad, too, wasn't he? Maybe there's something about Utopian blood - something not so perfect after all. The thought of insanity terrifies me, but at the same time, I feel that it's almost inevitable. How can I hold on to my humanity in a place like this? It seems impossible. Maybe I'm traveling with Three so there'll be someone there to kill me if I lose my mind.

There's a part of me that wants to just turn the wheel and go my own way. It would be so easy to just leave. I doubt Three would come after me - unless his die told him to, of course. Then again, it's only one job, and it'll likely be over quickly with the two of us working together. After that, I'm free to be a lone Road Warrior once again.