The contents of my stomach lie in a mess on the ice. But it's only when people begin to collapse, that our attention whiplashes back to the imminent danger of the radiation. In the chronicles of legend, the nuclear waste in the atmosphere was said to kill most people by being breathed in and then infecting the lungs until they wasted away. Most areas of Contania don't have enough gas masks for the people within them, but in sector seven everyone has one with them at all times, due to the dire ventilation in the mountain mines. Just as I put my mask on, I catch sight of someone who collapsed, with vivid red flowing out of her mouth. There is also something else - which happened as I saw her - she begins to go bald, and her chest shrinks to give way to a protruding rib cage. As the sight gets unbearable, I look back at the ship, which is not an improvement. Once again, the man on the hill acts as spokesman.
'Are you trying to say... that your skin... is made from... unborn children?!' every time he stops, it's to gag. It's then that I see him, cradling a small boy against his side: he must be only six or seven years old, but I can't tell whether he's crying under the facade of the gas mask.
'That is correct, human. Our Youthful Flesh can repair and replace decaying cells, which is how we managed to survive in the radiation.' speaks the leader. 'You may call us...' he ponders a moment, 'the Grafted.' Underneath that poison riddled skin lifts a smile, which forces a sound of disgust from me.
'So, er... Graftlings? Why have you come here? How do you know we survived?'
'Grafted. We come from the land of Australia. When the war was in it's final days, the country sealed itself off, by deploying massive metal barriers in which to shield us, but not sustain us. It gave us time to come up with a way to survive in the barren landscape. Our cleverest scientists and geneticists worked relentlessly to find solutions. Rejuvenative cellular children, a salve that was supposed to act like a second skin, anti-nuclear clothing. But, one by one, each test failed. The barrier was beginning to fall into ruin by the time the scientists had been reduced to commit inhuman acts. They began testing stem cells. Resorting to abducting pregnant women, they began stem cell research, sacrificing the equivalent of an entire new generation in the process. But eventually, they managed to replicate skin grafts. Slowly, surely, we began signing up for the 'Patch.' That was the name of the programme of patching up infecting areas with brand new skin. For over three centuries, our people have been surviving by the means of skin grafts. So much so that the stem cells have been making the skin more life long.'
This time, it was me who plucked up the courage to speak. 'What do you mean, life long?'
The smile that the leader gave me now, was not supposed to be in any way kind. 'I mean, we are slowly becoming immortal. And so can you. Join us. Become the immortal life!.'