Chapter One
Alone in the Wasteland
Part 1 of The Wanderer's tale
The year was 2147A.D and the world was dead and burning. It had been so for the last twenty five years. Murdered in nuclear fire. A genocidal follow on from a long,bloody and pointless third world war between the East and the West. Nothing was left. Nothing save a broken corpse of a world covered in scorched earth and shattered cities. Billions had died in the nuclear holocaust. They were the lucky ones . The unlucky ones had to live on. To fight on against hunger, thirst and all the horrors of this new dejected earth.
The bear Freddy was one such unlucky soul. He was tall and handsome but was showing early signs of malnutrition. Food was getting harder and harder to come by nowadays and if you were lucky enough to find any then it was never for free. It was a matter of kill or be killed, everything was now, and Freddy had done his fair share of killing.
Only the strongest survived and there was strength to him. Not in body alone but in spirit as well. He had not yet been broken as so many others had.
He walked slowly along the broken roads of Arizona,the hot morning sun blazing down upon and dirt covered his fur and clothing.. He blinked as sweat trickled into his tired eyes. He was clothed in nothing but a pair of blue denim jeans. He carried a backpack but it contained little save a few meagre supplies. A Remington 870 Tactical was fastened to the backpack within easy reach. He also carried a Glock 19 hung at his side. He had killed many times with both.
Blood ran down his arm from a large cut and soaked into the rags of an old green t-shirt that he had tied there. He had received the wound from the knife of another bear. She had been trying to steal Freddy's small supply of food. She hadn't lived long enough to regret that mistake.
He smiled grimly to himself at the thought of her. The first living soul he had met in days and it had been only for her to try to kill him and consequently die at his hand. He wondered who she was and where she might have come from but quickly pushed the thought aside. It didn't matter. She was dead and gone. That was all there was to it.
All that mattered was the fight to keep himself alive. Everyone was out for themselves nowadays and was willing to step on everyone else in the fight to stay alive. He just had to make sure he was the one stepping hardest.
Serve and protect. Freddy had once dearly believed in that. Part of him still did but it had been a long time since it had meant anything.
…..
By midday he came across a large graveyard of motor vehicles. The majority of them smashed and twisted into unrecognisable and monstrous shapes. He scanned the area but he seemed to be alone in this wasteland of metal and rust.
"I think it's time for a rest now Freddy. Don't want to overdo it and end up killing yourself."
He sighed. He really needed to break the habit of talking to himself. He was prone to it every now and then. Sometimes the loneliness of this dead world was too much even for him.
Sometimes he wondered if he'd end up going mad if he carried on.
" You'll end up going mad if you don't," he argued back. "Either way you…I need to rest."
Quickly he relieved himself then saw to his arm. The bleeding had stopped but the T-shirt was ruined and his arm still hurt like hell. He fixed the t-shirt back in place before dropping his backpack by the side of a car. Slumping down next to it he pulled out a scrap of stale bread and a single cigarette. He didn't have many left.
Smoking was Freddy's one real addiction. He felt nothing for alcohol or fame or sex but smoking had held him in its grip for years. He had thought about giving it up more than once but had always come up with the same excuse. If he was going to die in this circus show of a world it wasn't going to be because of a cigarette and if somehow it did end up being what did him in then he wasn't against that either. There were far,far worse ways to go out there in the wildness.
He lit it and began to smoke.
All too soon the cigarette was gone. Flicking it away in irritation he undid his backpack and pulled out his small bottle of water. He coughed.
"Hell, I miss fresh water….. Haha stop bitching Freddy. Beggars can't be choosers now can they? "
He finished drinking and turned to the bread. It was stale but edible.
A sharp cry ripped through the stillness of the vehicle graveyard.
Freddy was up in an instant. Glock drawn he scanned the area. The sound echoed around the columns of rusted and broken metal. It sounded to be coming from all sides at once. Freddy listened intently. Keeping his breathing steady, in and out, in and out. He undid the safety catch on his gun.
A second cry was heard. There was pain in it and a note of surrender. Somebody was dying. Or wanted to appear that way. This could be a trap.
The cry came again. Freddy moved slowly forward.
Up ahead he found the cause of the sound.
A musk deer sat at the base of a scrap heap. He looked old and was dressed in rags. His lower half was coated in dry blood. Two wolves ,one missing most of his head, lay dead next to him. Flies were everywhere.
"You here to finish me off?" the deer growled. "You're a bit late for that."
"What happened here?" Freddy asked, knowing instantly that it was a stupid question.
"What the hell do you think happened here dumbass? I got shot. Those two muck sucking wolves jumped me. Oh they may have done me in but at least I'm taking them down to hell with me. Now why don't you sod off and leave me to die in peace."
A spout of coughing racked his old body and he sat there hacking up blood and drool. Once it had passed he lay back. His breathing, hard and ragged.
Freddy said nothing . Reaching inside one of his jean pockets he pulled out a small bottle and tossed it to the unfortunate deer.
"It's morphine," he explained. "It won't save your life but it might give you a more pleasant death."
"Oh well I thank you for that. Not many forks left that would show compassion like that."
The bear just shrugged.
"You heading up the road?" the deer went on. "There's an old be easy to find. There's a big green eyeball painted on the side. Coach is mine you see or at least it used to be. No use to me now. Anyway it's yours if you want it. Won't do you much good I reckon but at least it'll be a roof over your head."
Freddy nodded his thanks and turned away.
"Wait one more minute, bear. Maricopa. It's not so far away. Half a day at most. The coach is not so far from Maricopa. You don't want to go there. I know you'll be tempted to scavenge around there but…
The deer coughed hard, specks of blood flying from his mouth. .His face contorted in pain as seizures racked his body.
"Don't go to…. Maricopa….not safe…those..those th…"
He slumped over and did not move again.
Freddy stood there for a moment and then moved on.
…
Hours went by, hours of nothing. Freddy simply walked on and on through the scorched, ash filled wasteland. The roads were littered with desolation. Smashed and overturned vehicles were everywhere. Abandoned and forgotten. Nothing but empty shells of steel and rust rent beyond any hope of repair. In and amongst them lay the dead. A miserable gathering of bodies scattered about. Some lay in their vehicles, many more lay in the road. Most were nearly unrecognisable as ever having been living beings. Burnt away to little more than blackened, shapeless husks. Those that weren't so were nothing but skeletons. Their bones burnt and brittle after long years in the merciless sun. A gentle wind blew, rustling what little scraps of clothing remained.
It was a haunting scene.
Freddy moved through them, his eyes set on the path ahead of him. He would not look down at them. There was no point to it. There was no point in feeling pity for them. They were long dead and, as with so many times before, he could do nothing to help them. He would not stop. He would not look down.
He stopped and he looked. Down upon those unfortunate wretches in their resting place of ash. He removed the shreds of his t-shirt from his arm and placed it over the face of one of the really was no use to him now so he would use it to give the dead some small margin of respect. He stood there a moment, his eyes upon those poor souls. Then slowly he turned his eyes upward toward the darkening sky.
"We really are alone aren't we?"
…..
The sun was just sinking below the horizon when Freddy at last found the coach. It stood by itself. No broken vehicles or slain bodies. Not even so much as a scrap of litter. It just stood there by itself in the middle of the road framed by the sight of distant Maricopa . The bear felt a sensation of abject loneliness creep into him.
He moved towards it, gun out but already knew he would find nobody inside.
…
The coach had been in a better state than Freddy had anticipated. The place was relatively clean and most of the windows and seats, red and made of leather, were intact. He had found a few bags of potato chips near the driver's seat and even discarded white on him maybe but that didn't matter. He was glad of it anyway.
Freddy had eaten the potato chips and then spent the last few hours of sunlight tearing up the seats and dumping them on the floor as a makeshift bed.
He now sat in the darkness under an old, worn out blanket. The only source of light coming from a small fire he had made from bits of paper lying around the coach. He drank and ate a little. His mind wandered. Memories rose to the surface of his tired mind. Memories of how the world had been.
In some ways it had changed drastically. Yet in others it had remained the same. Just like him. Different and yet somehow the same as he had ever been.
A flash made him look up. A burst of dark red light illuminating the pitch black of the night. A deep rumble followed soon after.
Freddy stood, the blanket falling and smothering the tiny fire he had made.
Another flash.
He made his way to the door, taking his gun with him.
The road was as empty as when he had arrived.
He waited a moment more then turned his head towards the storm.
Clouds were gathering in the distance. Black clouds out of which lightning flashed a brilliant red.
It was a devil storm. They had been birthed from the war. Not much was known about them save them being nuclear and very deadly.
Freddy was not afraid of them. He found them beautiful in a strange way. Deadly yes but beautiful all the same.
He snatched up his pack of cigarettes from inside the coach then made his way onto the roof. He lit a cig up and watched the storm long into the night.
…..
Freddy stood there in the middle of the playground. Blood dripped slowly from his nose and onto his school uniform. It was making such a mess.
So much more blood dripped from his fist.
The other children all stood around him with mixed looks of shock ,fear and teary eyed gratitude in the case of one dingo girl.
The wolf boy, Gill Harrison, was the only one who wasn't standing. He was lying face down on the floor out cold. His face had far more blood on it then the young bear's did.
Freddy heard the voice of his history teacher Mrs Tina Mullen. She was shouting.
"Fredrick Theodore Fazbear, what have you done?"
….
The sun was just beginning to rise,the light of it bathing the coach in a dirty greyish gold.
Freddy stood and stretched, whining as he did so. It had not been a restful night. He coughed as he inhaled some of the small particles of ash that floated through the air.
Picking up his gun, a Remington 870 Tactical he went outside to do his business and to see what kind of a day it was.
It was a pleasant morning. Sunny but not overly hot. 80F or so by the bear's reckoning. It would be a good day for a walk.
In the distance Freddy could just about see the desolate remains of what was once the suburbs of Maricopa, Arizona.
That was his best bet for supplies.
He remembered the warning the musk deer had tried to give him. Not to go to Maricopa. That it was unsafe. Most likely thieves and murderers.
It didn't matter. He had to go. His supplies were all but gone and they were getting harder and harder to come by.
It was a risk he had to take and if he was to die then what of it?
He would just be another amongst untold others who had met the same fate. Forgotten by all and missed by none.
…..
Maricopa was a tomb. The suburbs rang with a silence that was deafening. Freddy drifted from one desolate house to another. Two hours and he had found little. Little safe for ash and broken homes and bodies. The bodies were strewn about everywhere. In the roads,homes,cars. A few were even scattered about in the ruins of what had once been a playground. Small bodies. Tiny arms outstretched as if reaching desperately for a salvation that would never come.
Freddy shook his head and then moved on.
Hours went by as he wandered through the deserted neighbourhoods. He found little save for more scenes of death. At the end of one street was a small house where a section of wall had collapsed. Cautiously he entered the building, his gun raised and at the ready.
The wall from which he had entered belonged to the dining area. Little was left of the furniture. All overturned and smashed and thrown about. A shattered door led to the kitchen. He searched it Knives and a few old bottles of wine was all he found. No food. He took the knives but left the wine. It was bad for the mind and would not help quench one's thirst. He also hated the taste. He tried the taps but they were useless.
After a thorough look around downstairs he made his way to the next floor and into the bedrooms. One was completely empty, Devoid of a bed or furniture of any kind. There was dried blood on the floor and walls. Freddy pulled a face and moved on to the second bedroom.
The body of a gorilla lay inside. A brown Harrington Jacket clung to it. Dirty and slashed. The shade of the jacket was nearly the same as Freddy's fur.
Carefully he lifted the deceased primate and carefully removed the jacket. Shaking it free of dust he pulled it on over his T-Shirt. A quick search around the room rewarded him with a pear of scissors and a half-full pack of cigarettes but little else. Sighing he got up, shook the dust and dirt from his fur and once again moved on.
….
The bear stopped in front of the empty shell of a two story house.
He turned his head towards the sky. Only an hour at most of daylight left. He would have to be quick if he wanted to find supplies and get "home" before it went dark. He had not seen anyone yet but he was not willing to spend the night out here. There was more to worry about than those made of flesh and blood.
He pushed the front door open. The sound of broken glass scraping across the floor echoed into the dimly lit stillness of the house.
Taking a deep breath and keeping one hand on his Remington 870 Tactical he entered the building.
….
Nothing. Not a single scrap of food remained in the place. Smashed glass, torn and soiled clothing and even broken toys were strewn about but not a single item of food anywhere.
"Today really hasn't been your day for food has it Freddy?" the bear muttered to himself then huffed.
He shouldn't complain. He should be thankful for the small things that made each day that tiny bit less wretched. Today it had been a jacket and cigarettes. Maybe tomorrow he would find food
There were other buildings he hadn't checked. Others that might have food but he knew he couldn't stay longer. Night would be upon him soon. It wasn't worth the risk.
As he turned to leave he heard the soft crunch of cardboard beneath his foot.
It was an old pizza box. Dust and grim had done much to obscure the image and text but if one looked closely they could still be made out. A white cartoon lamb adorned it with the words ARTHUR'S PIZZERIA scrolled underneath. Arthur had a big smile upon his face and his arms were wide as in welcome.
A small smile pulled at Freddy's own lips. Images of his childhood flashed through his mind. A happy hopeful time where the world had been so bright. Foolishly, impossibly, unreachablely bright.
"It's Arthur Woolly's Pizza! For kids, it's number one!
Arthur Woolly's Pizza! Where fantasy meets…."
The bear trailed off from his singing. The tune of fantasy and good times seemed more than pointless these days. It seemed cruel.
With one last look at the box Freddy dropped it back to the floor with a tiny thud.
It really was time to go.
As he made to leave a shape came into view, followed by a loud screech. It was bestial in nature but also wholely metallic.
Freddy pressed himself behind the door of the kitchen, cursing himself for his stupidity. He had allowed himself to get sentimental. That would get him killed.
Paw over his mouth he waited and listened.
Something was moving through the house, the sound of its footfalls deafening.
A loud crash was heard from somewhere close by followed by another screech. Something entered the kitchen.
It was a monster. An Endoskeleton.. A mechanical horror made during the war. Made in the likeness of the living or some mockery of them.. It and millions like it were made for the singular purpose of killing.
The war may have been long over but these nightmarish things still roamed the wastelands intent of murdering anyone they came across.
Freddy heard the thing's breathing or at least the sound it made that mimicked breathing.
The bear waiting, hand on his shotgun. After a moment the danger passed on and the endoskeleton moved its way upstairs.
Slowly Freddy got up. He waited a moment. Carefully he made his way to the front door.
He didn't close it behind him but simply made his way around the corner of the building. Right into the path of a second endoskeleton.
.