The Scientist Part 1

Chapter 1: Journey

The oil flowed black into the sand, turning thick and unusable. They had only traveled around two miles, and the colony was still faintly visible on the horizon. The Jeep had slid on the loose gravel road, freshly spread down the old path. The scouting expedition had already gone horribly wrong, practically before it had begun. The jeep had hit a rather large boulder on the side of the path and had gashed the underside of the Jeep, rendering it useless, at least for the time being. “I guess I’ll start walking” Pan said reluctantly. Midas looked at him blankly, then merely nodded. Erin was less passive in response. “Okay. We’ll wait here, I’ll see if I can stop any of the leakage. Make sure Daniel knows. And duck when you tell him, he’s gunna be pissed as hell.”     

Pan started to walk in the direction of the colony. The desert stretched for eternity around them. They were in a place once known as Arkansas, not always so desolate, but forever changed in the Long Fires. Those who had seen the fires died slowly, their bodies eating at themselves, infused with the unbridled force of nature’s smallest particles. The dust had annihilated the crops, and the ground was as infertile as solid stone. They grew their food in the caves, deep shafts that they had tediously dug by hand generations ago. Scotty, the engineer, had come up with the skylights and irrigation, scavenged from the rusting graveyard that was once a highway. They dug through the roof and sealed in the windshields of old cars at angles to divert rainwater into the maze of piping Scotty had conceived. That was two decades ago, when the Chicagoan, Jack Of Hammond, had founded the colony with his band of worn survivors after traveling across the Great Waste. This had all precisely written by the scribe Exi, who had died when Erin was a very small child. Erin had loved to hear her speak, listen to her mild lisp spew forth tales of steel birds and glass pillars hundreds of feet high. Most of all she loved to hear about the people, some kind, some horrendous, and all in a constant blur of motion, always moving like the water of a stream.

There was but a single spring, and it was the center of the colony. The spring started deep underground and pushed through the ground a few miles away from the hills the colony was built atop. The stream flowed smoothly through the colony, then slithered into the caves. Jack had declared it was their salvation and had begun to build a lean-to immediately, halfway delirious in the scorch of the sun. Erin had seen a map of Jack’s old country once, the sprawling mecca of Chicagoland, and had seen the city Hammond amongst its streets. She always wondered why he had no last name, but had decided in her thoughts that perhaps it was one of the things great leaders must give up. She had read in tattered books about Alexander the Great and Napoleon and others. It seemed no great leader had been graced with a last name, lest they had been revoked in substitution of their great feats. Erin often thought of these things. Her peers had often mocked her, never understanding the power of knowledge, not caring to gain from history’s greatest minds, Machiavelli and Hitler and the rest. They cared only for their assigned duties from the Panel, scurrying about garages and kitchens and other places of pure labor.

Erin was assigned these as well, but stole books from the Head’s personal library. She was never caught, thankfully, for punishment would have been great. The only ones who were permitted to read texts that were non-essential to their field of work were those on or related to the few people that comprised the Panel. The Panel believed that workers should work, not think. Erin felt differently. Her knowledge had aided her many times before, and now it did the same. She put the jack on a bed of rocks under the Jeep and lifted the vehicle enough for her to slip underneath and investigate the leak. The underside of the vehicle was a mess of torn steel and flowing oil. Erin slipped out from the Jeep and let it down. She turned to Midas.

“Yeah it’s fucked.”

Midas nodded. “Thought so.”  They could do nothing to stem the leak, so they did what they could: sit.

It took Pan two and a half hours to get back to the wrecked Jeep, but when he did there was a tow truck on his heels. Daniel, the Head Mechanic, was riding shotgun in the tow truck. He hopped out and went to the Jeep.

“What the hell. I just patched the gas tank on this one. What’s broken?”

Erin replied. “The boulders tore up the piping on the underside. It leaked all the oil out.”

“Dammit. Why did you even have this out here?”

“Scouting mission. We were to look for supplies in a fifty mile radius.”

“You better get back and get another then. And be more careful next time!”

Erin mounted the back of the small dirt bike that had brought Pan back to them.

“Midas you wait here we’ll be back in twenty at most.”

Midas nodded. Judging by the sun it was nearly four o’clock. Even though it was a hot July day, they would need to bring night gear to protect them from the harsh cold that darkness brought. Erin and Pan sped away and Midas decided that he would help with preparing the broken Jeep for transport to the colony.



Chapter 2: Mission

By the time that Erin had gathered the gear, secretly packed extra supplies, picked up Midas, and had driven the new Jeep, a flat black behemoth with a roll cage and oversized tires, far enough into the desert that they couldn’t be seen, it was nearly six o’clock. They had long ago left the gravel path that the Colony’s workers had produced, and now bounded along the cracked roads and highways, nearly white from the relentless bleaching of the sun. Erin rolled the Jeep to a stop and turned to her companions.

“I think it’s appropriate to announce that we are not actually on a scouting mission.”

Pan and Midas looked confused.

“Over the past few weeks I’ve overheard the Panel talking about reports from one of the other scavenger teams. Weird stuff has been happening in the desert. Reports are coming back that machines are starting up randomly, moving across the desert. Strange graffiti is appearing on walls and equipment. Tools and supplies in the overnight camps are disappearing. Here look at this, it’s a sketch that I stole from one of the files the Panel had.”

She held up a small scrap of paper. On it was drawn a seven-pointed star. To the side was scribbled a note reading ‘Devil’s Clan’ and circled in red ink. Midas studied it carefully, then took his own notepad from his bag and copied the design carefully. Then he slipped his pad back into his bag.

Pan spoke. “What’s it mean?”

Erin replied. “I’m not sure. That’s why we’re out here, I told the Panel when I requested the Jeep that we were doing a three-day supply scavenge. We have that much time to find out before they start looking for us. I intend on that being as long as we’re out here, but we’ll see if it is or not.”

The others nodded in agreement. Erin began to drive again. They roared across the barren desert and let the day collapse into night. They had woven in and out of the carcasses of vehicles long forgotten. They approached a low building with fuel pumps standing outside like dormant guardians. Erin pulled the Jeep close to the building and shut down the engine. They had used roughly a quarter tank of fuel, which meant close to nothing since the Jeep was equipped with two auxiliary fuel tanks, each holding fifty gallons.

This left little space for supplies in the rear of the vehicle but since their group was only three people instead of the usual five, the back seat left more than enough space whatever equipment they might need. They got out of the Jeep and drew their weapons. Each person assigned to scavenging received a weapon, usually a low-caliber pistol, but were allowed to trade their issued weapon for any that they found scavenging, with the Panel’s approval. Erin had taken advantage of this and had traded her old .22 for a mighty 1911 .45 caliber bearing the name of Colt. Midas, who, along with Pan had only recently been assigned to scavenging after an entire squad had disappeared without a trace, were stuck with Erin’s old .22 and a rusted 9 millimeter pistol, respectively. Midas, who had previously been the colony’s blacksmith but had trained a younger boy to do his job now, also bore a large machete, which he had taken the liberty to make himself and had added a sharp spike on the end of the handle for stabbing anyone who dodged his chopping. Pan, who had been a messenger before being assigned scavenging, also wielded his switchblade. Knives were standard issue for messengers of the colony, lest they find themselves in trouble of any kind.

Erin motioned silently to the others and raised her pistol. As Midas went around one side of the building and Pan about the other, Erin kicked in the door of the fueling station and swept her pistol around, prepared to blast anything moving into oblivion. The first room was void of anything of importance. Midas and Pan came through the back of the station and found nothing as well.

“I’ll take the first watch” Midas spoke up.

They made camp in the center of the store, pulling shelves into a defensive perimeter around their sleeping packs. The night was uneventful, and by the time Erin was on her guard shift, light was piercing the early morning clouds. She woke the others around six thirty. They groggily packed their gear (Erin had already stowed hers when she had woke) and boarded the Jeep. Erin drove deeper into the wastes. Pan, only seventeen years old, sat in the back and dozed off lightly. Midas produced a map of the area, a relic from before the Fires, from the glove box and studied it carefully. Map reading was required learning in all of the colonist’s basic education. Children began going to the Learning Hall as early as three years old and were taught everything from algebra to how to start fires. It was an integral part of colony life, one that was rarely questioned. “There should be a small town just over the horizon so, maybe three, three and a half miles.” Erin nodded and drove on.



Chapter 3: The Town

As they crept through the vacant maze of buildings, Erin had the growing sensation of being watched from the hulks of buildings around her. She imagined hordes of deformed beings lurking inside, stalking them as prey. The air was eerily silent; not even the sound of the locusts, usually a constant occurrence, was present.  They came to an intersection and Erin stopped the Jeep. She searched the buildings around them for any sign of life. Midas woke Pan from his nap.

“What now?” Pan inquired.

Suddenly a figure dashed across the road to the left of them and slid inside a building.

“Did you see that?”

“Weapons ready guys.” Erin commanded.

They drew their guns and Erin crept the Jeep closer to the building. There was movement inside the glass storefront. Erin pulled the Jeep parallel to the window like a pirate ship preparing to fire. There was more movement from inside the store. They could see a shelf being pushed over then two hazy figures in combat. One figure began reeling to the glass and the storefront exploded.  On the ground laid a man with messy hair wearing jeans, a dirty t-shirt, and motorcycle boots. He was bloody and had obviously taken a good beating. The second figure strode strongly to the shattered window. He wore a long grey trench coat, a strange backpack, and tall leather boots. His face was concealed by a tan gas mask. A long radio antenna was attached to each side of his head, spiraled and looking quite like ears. A satchel crossed his chest and there was a holster on his hip, from which he drew the long barrel of a Smith and Wesson .357 Magnum. Erin and her team all jumped at the resounding crack of a single shot. The head of the man on the ground exploded and blood sprayed against the Jeep. More blood splattered the Jeep as the masked figure drew a long bowie knife and chopped off the man’s left hand. He kicked the hand away and knelt to search the body, taking a lighter, a gun and ammunition, and a few other things he found important.

The man’s severed hand was had its palm skyward. Erin could see a seven-pointed star tattooed in its center. The man had been of the Devil’s Clan. The masked figure rose to his full height, over six feet tall, and stared at the Jeep’s occupants. The occupants stared back at him, not knowing exactly what to do. The masked figure drew a small disk from his pocket and popped it into the Jeep using his thumb as a lever. Then he turned and climbed back through the shattered window, disappearing into the dark interior. The disk had landed in Pan’s lap and now he turned it over in his hands as Erin pulled away from the battle scene.

“It’s a casino chip.  ‘A.E. Casino, Harley, Oklahoma.’”

“Alphatic Epsilonian. It’s a casino that started up a decade back in a little trader’s town. Just about turned into Vegas, but then they all blew themselves to hell trying to mine under the town.” Midas explained.

“Wait what’s Vegas?” Pan asked, confused.

“Never mind, it was just an old gambler’s town.” Midas answered him.

They drove through the town in silence, keeping an eye out for the mysterious figure or any other sign of life. The hum of locusts had returned. They found an old auto shop and rolled the Jeep into the garage. Then they secured the door and prepared for the night.



Chapter 4: Invasion

Erin remembered the night in fractured bursts: Shattering glass, then boots; An air horn sounding in the night; Red flashlights and green lasers dancing around the room; Swinging a tire iron at a dark figure; two other figures overtaking her as the first one fell holding his head; her screams, the sounds of confusion and of men in combat; the rustle of cloth as her head was bagged and her limbs bound. Then silence, long stretches of cool air and the roar of an engine. Their captors did not speak, but Erin could feel Pan and Midas bound next to her in the vehicle, a truck of some sort. Then there were lights everywhere, and the wind had disappeared. Erin could hear the hum of engines or generators, she couldn’t tell which. The truck had stopped twice, Pan and then Midas being removed from her side.

Now she sat against cold cement. A small puddle squatted in the center of her cell. The only light came from beneath the thick steel door that sealed her inside. She guessed that the room had originally been some sort of storage room, as there were metal shelves bolted into the walls and a broken light bulb above her on a cord. Her captors had stripped her of her weapons and supplies, her lighter and like things, and had pushed her to her knees and removed her hood, then a swift kick to the back of her head and she was out. She awoke unbound and with her chest in the puddle, which meant that her shirt was soaked with the mucky water, uncomfortable but bearable, and with a throbbing on her skull.

They had let her keep her boots, tall combat boots from before the Fires, for which she was grateful; they were her most prized possession she had acquired thus far, having found them on her first scavenging trip on a skeleton buried in the wreck of a mercenary transport truck. She had tugged on them and the shins of the skeleton had come with too, black with burning, but the boots were unscathed, and Erin guessed that the poor soul’s clothes had probably burned off him and helped set his skin up in flame. So now Erin sat with her legs curled against her wet shirt and her back against the cold concrete behind her. Then a sound came to her, as she contemplated her next actions, slight at first then growing in volume: a scream; an animalistic, pained scream echoing through whatever type of compound they were locked into.

It took Erin a moment to comprehend what she was hearing, to realize that it was a human noise, distorted, yes, but still a human noise. Her jaw dropped as she realized that someone was being tortured, and her thoughts were confirmed as a second scream, this one higher in pitch rose to meet the first in pain and agony. Erin felt her stomach flip. They were torturing Midas and Pan. Erin’s blood ran cold and she boiled with anger. The throbbing in her head evaporated, allowing pure adrenaline to flood her mind.

She stood. The screaming had stopped, at least momentarily, and her heard men’s voices laughing and heavy steps approaching. Erin jumped and tore the light bulb and its cord from the ceiling. She rushed to the side of the door and waited, wrapping part of the cord around each hand, and shattered the bulb against the wall. She crouched slightly, and saw boots stop in front of the door. A man threw the door open and light flooded the room. As he stepped inside and Erin pounced, wrapping the cord around his throat and strangling him. A second man had been standing behind him and drew his gun, pointing it at Erin and his friend, unsure whether to shoot or not. He began to call for others to come.

Erin knew she had to act fast; she stabbed the man she was choking in the throat with the broken bulb, drew his gun from the holster. She fired two quick shots into the other man and dropped the first, who was now drowning in his own blood. She stripped him of his equipment belt. It was much too long for her slender frame, so she slung it across her shoulder as a bandolier. She walked out of her cell, gun pointed in front of her defensively, and stalked through the hall towards the screams she had heard. They had stopped now, she saw two doors open, each a good distance from each other. She was standing in a large tunnel, carved out of stone and deep in the earth. She guessed it was some sort of mine. She began sprinting to the doors, then saw a Jeep, her Jeep she realized, drive to the first door.

Someone got out and walked inside the room. There was a sharp crack and the man emerged holding a gun. Erin hid behind a half-demolished truck and watched as the Jeep drove to the next door. There were more screams from inside, then another sharp crack and the man, dressed in all black, emerged again with his gun. The Jeep drove on deeper into the tunnel, and Erin resumed her sprint towards the doors.

Inside the first she found Pan. His body was tied to a steel chair. A saw was dug deep into his thigh. His toenails were scattered about the floor and a few teeth sat in a metal dish next to a pair of pliers. A hole dripped blood from his forehead. Erin threw up on the floor. She turned and stumbled towards the next door. The next scene was not any better. Midas had been strapped to a table. Several knives stuck out at odd angles from his limbs. He, too, was missing fingernails, and several of his toes had been severed with a bright red pair of bolt cutters. There was a hole in his forehead where he had been shot. His eyes stared lifelessly at the ceiling.

Erin ran from the room. She sprinted forward, not knowing where she was going. Her intuition told her that she was headed the right direction. A guard began to yell at her but she just kept running. Tears clouded her vision, but through the haze she could see a door. She burst through it and into the arms a tall figure. She began to fight, then saw in was the mysterious masked man from the storefront the past day. She broke from his arms and pointed the gun at him. He drew a grenade from beneath his coat, pulled the pin, and threw it through the door, slamming it closed after it. Then he began to run, grabbing Erin’s arm and pulling her with him as she attempted to protest. Several seconds later there was a concussion as the grenade sounded off.

Smoke seeped through the door. The man let go of Erin’s arm and they ran together, finally breaking into the bright light of day outside what was indeed a mine. Erin saw a Humvee in front of them and instinctually ran to it. The mysterious man entered the driver’s seat.

“The gun!” he yelled at Erin, and she saw a large .50 caliber machine gun mounted on the top of the vehicle.

She climber to the gunner’s compartment and acquainted herself with the weapon, turning to see a small squad of armed men running towards them. She opened fire, spraying wild bursts at the men, sending them ducking and diving for cover. The Humvee roared to life and dust clouded behind them as it pulled away. Erin continued firing, killing several of the men and wounding others. She stopped firing as they pulled out of range, and ducked back inside the Humvee. She sat silently, not knowing whether to speak or not. They rode in silence, roaming across the desert. Erin fell asleep, rocked into slumber by the bouncing terrain of the desert.



Chapter 5: Acquainted

When she woke, Erin saw that they had pulled into a rundown makeshift city. They drove through ruins, some of them inhabited by haggled, dirty people with scrawny beards and tired faces. They continued driving until they came to a large building, larger than anything else in           the town. A makeshift sign announced its name, Alphatic Epsilonian. It was the same as on Pan’s casino chip. The masked man, the one who had saved her, had meant for them to come here, she realized. The Humvee pulled around the building to the back and parked. The masked figure jumped out, then beckoned for her to do the same. She exited cautiously, following him inside.

She had holstered her stolen gun on her bandolier, but now placed her hand protectively on its grip, prepared to draw at the first sign of trouble. They entered the casino through a single back door. Inside she was met by a tall ceiling adorned with non-functioning lights and hand-painted portraits of showgirls and other performers. The masked man strode up a stairway and through a curtained doorway. The entire casino was in a state of minor disrepair, and the stairs creaked questionably as Erin followed the man.

As she passed through the curtains, Erin was met by the glow of electronic displays and the hum of generators. The man had removed his gear, setting it all neatly on a coatrack, and stood at a table, tinkering with some bits and bobs whose purpose was not clear to Erin. The man was tall, and still wore his boots. He was dressed in black cargo pants and a dirty thermal shirt with the sleeves pulled up. His hair was of a short-medium length, dark and greasy. His gun was slung in its holster at his side, and a dirty bandanna hung out of his back pocket. He turned to face Erin, revealing a long scar that ran from his nose to his jawline.  He wore sleek leather gloves with missing fingertips and with holes for his knuckles to protrude. He smiled slightly at her then spoke.

“Would you like a drink?”

The words cascaded forth from his mouth and Erin was surprised at how easily he spoke.

“uh..” Erin was at a loss of words. The question was unnervingly simple, normal even, that it seemed very out of place compared with everything that had happened in the past sixteen hours.

“Would you like a drink?”  the man asked again. His voice was calm as he inquired of her.

“Um, yes. Please.” She stuttered.

The man crossed the room to a small cabinet and a large den chair that Erin had failed to notice before. He took a small bottle from the cabinet and two glasses, filling each half way with dark amber liquid. He walked to Erin and handed her a glass, then toasted the air in front of him.

“To survival.” He merely spoke the words, not announcing them as Erin had expected him to do.

Then he downed his entire glassful, leaving Erin to gently sip on hers as she nodded in agreement.

“That’s original you know. From before the Fires.”

Erin made a face as the alcohol burned her throat. After a moment of silence, Erin spoke up.

“Who are you?” she asked quietly of him.

  He answered cautiously. “That depends on your intentions. What, may I implore, are your intentions?”

Erin hadn’t given any thought as to what to do next. She had no vehicle, her friends were dead, and she had only the stolen pistol for protection.

“I-I don’t know. There’s not much I can do.”

“You can be passive and let things happen, or you can be non-passive and take action. Those are the only two choices ever.” A sense of finality hung in the air between them.

“I guess I’d like to do something. I’m not sure what though.”

“I personally suggest revenge, but then again I always was hot-headed. Perhaps diplomacy is your preferred method.”

“No.” She replied sullenly, the full weight of her ordeal coming to rest upon her heart.

“‘No’ what? No action or no diplomacy?”

“No diplomacy. I want revenge.”

“I was hoping you would say that. Do you know exactly what you would like to do?”

“Kill them all.”

“That’s quite the undertaking. Do you even know who ‘they’ are?”

She shook her head. The man poured himself another shot and downed it swiftly.

“The Devil’s Clan. Sadistic bastards, always fucking with supply lines and merchants. I hate them intensely.”

“And who are you? You never answered my question.”

“I am Marcus Klaus, son of nobody in particular, you may have heard of me as being the Scientist. I’m more of an advanced mechanic, really. But I am called the Scientist by many and Marcus by those who know me. You may call me Marcus.”

Marcus took a little bow, sweeping his left arm far to the side.

“Uh, hi. I’m, uh, I’m Erin.”

“Pleasure to make your acquaintance.  Now, back to the whole revenge thing. You’ll need a team, which means mercenaries. Yes they are expensive but if they die then nobody cares. You just wander around right? No real home?”

“Actually I’m from a colony like 70 miles away. Though I don’t think I’ll ever see it again. I have no way to get back. The Clan stole my Jeep and all my supplies. I even had to steal this gun from them.” She tapped her pistol.

“ That is both good news and horrible. Good news because I can get you back there, bad because it’ll take a week to make the fuel to get there. Come here.”

He took her across the room to a system of pipes and burners in a corner.

“This is my distillery. I make diesel here for my Humvee. I need you to go into town and get fifty pounds of grain. Here, use this to trade. Tell the man that Marcus sent you, that you’re my new assistant.”

He handed Erin a small battery hooked up to a speaker of some kind. On top was a little box.

“What is this?”

“It’s a cassette player. It plays tapes. Here take Bach, he’ll like that.”

Marcus handed Erin a small rectangular object.

“Now go, you’re losing daylight. And take the wheelbarrow.”

He pointed to another corner of the room where he had stockpiled various useful things. Erin did as she was told, and after asking a few people in the streets, easily found the merchant. He was amazed at the little box and the sounds it produced, and happily traded it for the grain that Erin needed. On her way back Erin discovered a weapons merchant in the small town, and traded her stolen pistol for a new .45.  It felt good as she hefted it’s weight in her hand. She also discovered the ruins of Old Harley, a pit filled in various places with bricks and a few vehicles sticking out strangely. The mine tunnels below had been dug too close together, and Erin could see how the town had shifted into the earth, one section at a time.

Once Harley had been a great center of commerce and living; now it was in shambles, little more than just another stop amongst trade routes. Erin returned to the casino. It was late now, and Marcus showed her a room she could stay in. She thanked him, then quickly fell asleep.



END PART 1