Metallic Oblivon: One Man’s Trash

As the metal beasts came near, Cirilla drew her twin revolvers and Lex cocked his shotgun. Even this early in the morning, the sun ran hot on their skin. Sweat hung off them like tears as their bodies ached for relief. The creatures moved on four legs, throwing themselves forward while they gnashed their steel teeth. Crawlers were the closest machines got to animals, about as big as dogs, with a fierce bite and agility in bounds. They were ratty, ugly things, their spiked backs jutting out at sharp, awkward angles. Even the cold glow of their eyes seemed to be a dirty shade of blue

“You ever see this many?” Lex asked.

“Yeah, a while ago. Ripped apart a trading party, left nothing to recognize,” Cirilla responded. She quickly looked back to the small crate on the ground behind them.

“Anything happens to me you take the box and haul ass,” Lex told her.

“I appreciate the sentiment, but I was doing that anyway,” Before he could say anything back, Cirilla rolled away and started blasting at the machines.

“Yeah, of course you are,” Lex muttered. As one of the crawlers leaped into the air, he blasted its underbelly and watched it fall into the sand, its complex wires and gears exposed. He shot it again, destroying the machinery and leaving the beast twitching and screeching.

“Low left!” Cirilla called out. On instinct, Lex shot at the ground, blasting a crawler point-blank and snapping it in half. Cirilla split her attention, trying to shoot multiple machines. Lex dug in his pockets, quickly backing up as he scrambled to find another shotgun shell.

“Cirilla!”

“Yeah, I got issues too dammit!” she said as she backed up into the trash heap behind her. Lex wrapped his fingers around a spare shell just as another crawler jumped up. It opened its massive jaw in the air, ready to sink into Lex’s neck. As it came down he swat it down with his gun and sent it into the rusted trash. Before it could get up he opened the chamber of his gun and slid in the shell. The nmachine came at him again, but was met by the barrel of his gun.

“Cirilla c'mon!” Lex shouted as the crawler exploded into pieces. She quickly looked behind her; the only way to stay escape was to keep moving up. The pit they were stuck in wasn’t deep, but it would take some effort to climb over the jagged trash. With no time to weigh other options, Cirilla called out to Lex and prompted him to start climbing. They scrambled up, their gloved hands gripping whatever sturdy edge they could find. The crawlers followed them, screaming and leaping, rabid in their desire to kill. Feeling the metal shift and slide, Cirilla formed an idea, and hoped that when she got to the top Lex would follow her lead. A call from her right subsided her fear.

“Cirilla, when we get over we should-”

“I know, we are!” she called back. They were halfway up, feeling the weight of their satchels and the sting of the sun. The crawlers were snapping at their feet; the only thing that kept them back was the scrap being hurled from above. The machines took the hits in stride, though the setbacks still kept them from their meal. The things thrown were odd objects; boxes with numbers on them, plastic cylinders, and folded rectangles. It was all garbage to Cirilla, but Lex couldn’t help but be fascinated by everything that crossed his hand. 

“Now isn’t the time for ogling,” he thought to himself, though still, he tried to remember what each thing looked like. As they neared the top, Cirilla grabbed a bar from the scrap and beat one of the crawlers into a disc. Lex scrambled over the top of the slope and shot one of the beasts, giving Cirilla a chance to join him. Once they were both on even ground, she waved him back, and rapidly started kicking the trash beneath them. The pile they were under began to slide, and all the loose junk fell below. The crawlers made a final desperate lunge, their iron fangs biting at the air, but a car battery and a large white box sent the pack down into the mess, buried by the ancient past.

“Fuck!” Lex collapsed, laying awkwardly on his side to avoid being poked in the back. Cirilla took her shotgun off her shoulder and sat down. Their skin was baked and covered in a thick layer of sweat. She let out a heavy sigh and started wiping her face. They had been scavenging for hours and barely found anything useful. The crate was packed with oil, lubricant, brake pads, nuts, and bolts. It even had a spare handgun in it. A diamond in the rough, now lost completely.

“Goddamn machines,” Cirilla rasped. She spit up a wad of phlegm and continued panting, trying not to let her anger bubble over.

“I have the canteen,” Lex took the metal container from his coat and held it out toward her. She shook her head in refusal.

“Cirilla, drink. C'mon,” he insisted.

“I’ll drink when we get home. Let’s just cut our losses and drive back. The geezer will have to make do with what we have,” she told him, referring to their third housemate, Bryan. He was an old man, too old to do much fighting but still good with his hands. He lived with Cirilla and Lex in their safe house and helped them with maintenance. He also offered plenty of wisdom, though the two of them rarely listened.

“Yeah… yeah alright. Let’s go. If I see anything on the way I’ll pick it up,” They put away their guns, took up their bags, and climbed down the pile they were on top of. As they came back to the dirt and dust, they found themselves towered over by junk. A lot of the old world has collected itself in giant heaps, landfills full of everything lost, misplaced, and forgotten. It was a graveyard of the past, one combed for spare parts, tools, gear, and anything else of use. If they got lucky, they’d find a box of ammo or car parts with minimal rust. Cirilla and Lex weren’t lucky often.

“God dammit!” Cirilla screamed as she kicked in an old mirror. Scavenging was a tedious task, so when the two did it they liked to be thorough. This was their first trip in months, and it had completely gone to waste. They were both furious, though Lex was too preoccupied with other things to be as enraged as his partner.

The two traveled down a beaten path, crunching tin cans and metal bits. The garbage came up to their ankles, making walking an awkward task. Overhead the clouds were creeping along, morphing and expanding. The wind had picked up something fierce in the last week. A storm was coming soon, breathing over the wasteland like a leopard stalking gazelles. They could barely feel it then, but there was trouble in their air. It was unmistakable, the cold sense of tension building.

Passing the stacks of trash, Cirilla reloaded her revolvers, while Lex picked up trinkets around them. He pulled old signs and boxes as they walked, examining them for a moment, then discarding them. He ran his hands over grooves, and stuck his fingers in holes, overtaken with curiosity. He always had moments like these, where he fixated on the arbitrary, blocking out the world around him. During downtime, he allowed himself moments of unfiltered fixation, learning what he could, deciphering the puzzle of the world he belonged to.

While Lex indulged himself, Cirilla glanced at him with malice, her patience already too thin to deal with his small annoyances.

“Could you cut it the fuck out? Please? Before we get attacked again?” Cirilla snapped.

“Sorry, sorry. I just… well I’ve been thinking and-”

“Oh God, don’t tell me you’ve got something sweet to say about this shithole. It’s garbage, Lex. Garbage,” she told him.

“A lot of it is garbage, yes. But this stuff used to belong to someone. They used it and they cared about it, and maybe it doesn’t have value to most people, but it can still be useful to us. One man’s trash is another man's treasure, right? I mean look at that,” he pointed to a machine with a big cup attached to it.

“That thing could do something for us. I don’t know what but-”

“Okay yeah sure you can never have too many cups. You win this one congrats. Now c'mon, I think I know a squatter camp nearby we can loot. Pick at their scraps before we go home, so maybe this trip won’t have been a total waste,” Cirilla put her revolver back on her hip but kept her hand on its grip.

“Oh come on, I don’t care how moody you are, you have to admit some of this stuff is cool!” Lex shouted, letting his enthusiasm take over. throwing his arms out toward the rank collage of history they were wading through.

“Keep your damn voice down. This stuff is not cool, it's junk. The shit you’re over here falling in love with is what hunts us. It’s what makes our lives hell. Whatever stories they told you about gadgets and computers as a little boy are bullshit, and I won’t entertain this nostalgia trip you’re on,” she explained with a wild twitch in her eye. Lex threw his hands up, dropping the topic and an old tape at the same time. She was tired, and so was he. Today wasn’t a day for arguments, he thought. 

At least, that was until they heard the scream. Off in the distance, like a crow's caw in a dark forest, they heard a woman's panicked yell, followed by rapid gunfire. Lex and Cirilla ducked behind cover and drew their guns. The noise went on for minutes. Lex breathed heavily as he waited for the sound to cease. Cirilla rolled her eyes after every hammer click and round of firing. It was a terrible fight, full of agony and disgusting sounds, but she couldn’t be bothered to find sympathy so early. Lex was wincing at the fatal blows and screeching machines.

Once it did end, the silence felt unreal, as if a bullet would cut it any second. Slowly, the two got up and looked around. Whatever had happened was staying where it was. They were safe to keep going. Cirilla went on walking, though Lex lingered for a moment.

“Cirilla wait!” he called out, regretting it immediately. She looked back and gave him a dirty stare, eyes bloodshot, bags deep.

“No,” she said sharply.

“Just- just listen. We go check things out, see what happened. Worst case scenario we have to kill someone. Best case, we get to loot a corpse. Either way, it’s worth taking a peak,” he suggested. Cirilla walked up to him and grabbed his shoulders.

“Lex. I. Want. Sleep. I have wanted to sleep for the past five hours. Why can’t you understand that? Why can’t you just leave well enough alone? What just happened over there has nothing to do with us, nothing at all. Why can’t we ever just leave a place without having some dumbass adventure?” she said, pleading and shaking him.

“I just think this might be a good opportunity for us to make up for what we lost. If there are other people here looting then there must be something to find,”

Cirilla took a step back. She threw back her coat, put her hands on her hips, and against her better judgement, weighed the options. Some believed machines came from scrap heaps. Building themselves, festering in limbo until they were ready to rise. She knew better than to risk her time in them and was well aware of what kind of ravenous monsters lie in waiting for a brave band of travelers, or a couple of drunk fools. Anything stupid and fleshy enough to be fed on.

She knew better than to take a gamble like that, especially in the state they were in. But as much as she hated the idea, he was right. The most worthy bounties have more than one party after them, and the group they heard had to have been at least ten deep. The promise of loot was sweet, and after so much strife, hope sounded the strings of a harp on a midsummer's day. They needed a win. They deserved a win. A peak couldn’t hurt.

“Okay, Lex. You get to take point. If we manage to come away with something good I’ll be happy. But if it’s all shit we turn right back around,” she said with a drowsy slog. Lex smiled in a proud sort of way. He looked at the sky, over the stacks of trash.

“The shots came from over there. C'mon, let's be quick.” So they went off. With tired eyes and heavy boots, through dust and heat, they walked on beat dirt paths and over sheet metal, one looking for riches the other looking for atonement.

They walked a short bit, stepping over stacks of magazines and old shoes on the way. When they emerged at the sight of the shooting, they found a small open area, where a group of stalkers were bent over two corpses, clawing at their chests. Casually, Lex drew his pistol and shot the machines. By the time they hit the ground, they could have made nice vent covers.

“Look, bodies. You get the one on the left,” he said, moving with long strides. She sighed, then went to search the corpse.

They both wore thin grey trench coats and ragged brown boots. Their shirts were dirty, but not full of holes like hers. On their heads were straight tufts of hair, and on their faces were clean patches of stubble. Pinned to their chests were metal emblems, something vaguely in the shape of a star.

“They’re townies. Fuckin figures,” she said, prompting a dirty glance from Lex. Cirilla inspected their gear and searched their pockets. They had a decent amount of ammo and freshly polished revolvers. She also found a bit of gun oil and a folded piece of paper.

“Lex, come check this out,” she held up the paper for him to read. He took it and opened it up.

“It’s just a list. Parts they needed to find. You see any hooks, cylinders, firing pins?”

“Some of that stuff yeah. Not much,” she said as she dug in their pockets, and kept what was worth taking.

“Well if they were from a town going on an expedition, there’s sure to be more of them, with more loot,” Lex suggested.

“You can’t be serious,” Cirilla said with a flat tone.

“Look! There’re boot prints leading deeper into the junkyard. If we follow the party, we’re bound to get a decent haul,”

“And run into more machines. Who knows what's crawling around in here? I mean,” she stopped to yawn, ”Do you honestly believe this is worth our time?” she picked us the bits from her discard pile and rattled them in her palm. With an air of defeat, she dropped the pieces.

Lex looked into her eyes with sincerity, hoping to get through to her, but he saw nothing beyond his own dark reflection.

“I believe that these people need our help, and if we can help them, whether it rewards us or not, then we have to try. They are human, after all. Same as us. Whatever we find you can take, but I’m not gonna turn my back on these people,” and with that, he marched forward into the junkyard. Cirilla was happy to keep arguing with him until she heard a shift in one of the trash stacks.

She drew her revolvers and followed behind Lex. He stopped for a moment, having heard the noise a second later. With the speed of lightning’s crack, five stalkers jumped out from their places among the garbage and pounced on the two. He was stunned for a moment, but with a blink, he drew his pistol and fired at them. With her shotgun, Cirilla whipped around and blasted through two of them, her body acting on instinct rather than conscious thought. The remaining two screeched and called to their aid four more of their kind.

“Fuck, c'mon,” Cirilla blew apart their rusted heads with her revolvers, while Lex used his shotgun to bash them apart. Stalkers were frail, closer to cannon fodder than a real threat, though it wasn’t hard for them to gain the upper hand. A cut from their claws could sever an arm, and a bite from their razor jaw could tear veins like a storm ripping up roots.

Luckily for our duo, it didn’t come to that. Within minutes they were staring at wire and bent metal, trying to relax as sweat slid down their faces. It was a short romp, but enough to get their blood flowing.

“Well, I’m awake at least,” Cirilla said as she reloaded. Lex holstered his pistol and looked around, making sure nothing else was getting ready to attack them. Once they were in the clear, he put his shotgun on his shoulder and kept on. Cirilla squinted at him. No regret, no hesitation, not a word. Sometimes she was afraid he didn’t think much.

“Dumbass won’t make it alone,” she muttered to herself, as she followed a few steps behind him. If another ambush caught him off guard he couldn’t handle it alone. She listed a number of reasons for following him in her head. If there was some altruism in them, she’d never admit it.

“I appreciate the-”

“There’s nothing for you to appreciate. I’m looting then I’m leaving. When you come to your senses, feel free to join me,” Cirilla told him. He clenched his jaw and cracked his neck.

“I wish you would just admit you want to stay. Or leave and let me handle this. I don’t appreciate all the patronizing,” Lex told her. Cirilla scoffed.

“Yeah, you’re the one in agony here,”
“Like you wouldn’t believe,” he said sharply.

The two kept on, wading through the rank collage of rust, both trying their hardest to remember why they were there in the first place. Over the stench of waste and rising temperature, it was difficult to think straight. Lex was tracking what signs of life he could find, hoping that he wasn’t too late. Meanwhile, Cirilla had found spare gun parts, some new tools for the car, and some bolts to finally fix their air filter. 

On one of the beaten paths, she found a small pink sack covered in dust. The vibrance of its color quickly caught her eye. Hanging back a bit, she bent down and looked inside the bag. There were two toys inside: a tall blonde doll wearing stylish clothes and some kind of machine decorated with car parts. She smiled at it, stuffed the two figures in her own bag, then kept on walking.

Lex moved a car door aside as they came upon another clearing, this one, somehow, more strewn with garbage. There were large square objects, with different odds and ends on top of them. They were a different kind of machinery; simpler yet more foreign. Also crushed on top of each other were square consoles and random mechanical bits, all mixed together in the putrid sea of clutter. The surrounding piles had sharper slopes and looked like they could be brought down by a good argument, or the right breeze. But for the moment, they held. For the moment.

Cirilla scanned the area for anything worth grabbing, while Lex looked for more bodies. At first, he saw no one, but a cough from across the clearing revealed a man buried under random hunks of metal. He was holding his stomach and covered in blood. Only some of it was his. His teeth were stained red, one of his eyes was beaten beyond use, and as Lex approached, he could barely see past his tears. His name was Joseph, though he couldn’t muster the strength to introduce himself.

Lex ran over to where he was and lifted the debris off of him. He was sitting against a grey box, heart thumping as he assumed the worst.

“Hey, I’m gonna help you, okay? My name is Lex, and that’s Cirilla,” he pointed to his partner, who was examining silverware and stuffing mechanical bits into her pockets.

“I have bandages, and we have a truck. We can help okay?” Lex explained slowly. Joseph shook his head lightly. He looked up to the sky with expectation, but the clouds rolled on with a certain apathy. He looked back down to the sand. The wind blew and something shifted like a response. 

“You don’t have to die here. We can-” Joseph reached forward and pulled Lex close. He could smell the stench of sweat and the metallic tang of blood all over the man. Lex grabbed hold of him to keep himself upright.

“Go… go… the… the he… ra-” he ended his sentence with a ghastly moan as the last bits of life left his eyes.

“What did he say? What did he say, why does he want us to go? Did you hear?” Lex asked, dropping him with a defeated sadness.

“It doesn’t matter why he said to leave, let's just leave,” she called, turning a muffler over in her hand.

“No… no we can’t give this up yet,” he said. Cirilla turned around and looked at him bewildered.

“Lex, to what end are you chasing this?” she asked him, angry rather than concerned.

“I’m pursuing this until it’s over. If he was still breathing, maybe there’s other people alive, people we can save if we’re quick,” he looked down at Joseph's corpse, then back up at Cirilla, tears starting to form on his eyelids.

“You know, you are so goddamn heartless. Back home, if someone needed help, we went out and we helped them. And we didn’t come back until we had answers. Because we knew they had families that were sick thinking about them. Because they had friends in shambles over their absence. Because it was noble. Because it was right!”

“Well you ain’t home no more. You don’t owe anyone anything. I mean this is ridiculous! You have nothing to gain on these damn crusades. You don’t care about these people, you’re just afraid of being a bad person, when in the end it doesn’t matter. None of it does,” Cirilla explained. She was trying to help, in her own way, though he couldn’t see the point past her frustration.

“Nothing matters,” he muttered as he stood up, “Nothing ever matters with you. I can’t stand this. Why the fuck are you even here Cirilla? If this is as futile as you claim.” His face was a distinct shade of red. She gave him a blank stare, unphased by the rage he had brewing.

“Townie corpses carry the best loot,” she replied. Lex was ready to blow, but unfortunately, the words never left his mouth. Over the hills of trash came an ugly chorus of metallic screeches. The two looked up, to find three crawlers chagrin toward them. Following close behind was a pack of ravagers, machines with blades for appendages. They’re much faster than their stalker counterparts, and much more efficient. So when Lex counted eight of them and found himself lacking in ammo, he hoped that this fight would be anything but long.

“I refuse to die in this shithole. Get a grip and pull your weight,” Cirilla commanded. She took up her shotgun and ran to the far side of the clearing. Lex cursed her, then scrambled to conjure a plan as a chunk of the horde came for him. 

He had no time to draw his pistol as they came upon him. Lex frantically searched the area, looking for anything that could save him. In his search, he tripped over a metal pole on the ground. It was green, full of holes, and had an odd-shaped sign attached to the end of it. It was red, and in big white letters, read “STOP”. Lex felt it was kind of fitting for the situation. In a better condition, he could have laughed. 

He took it up as two of the ravagers lunged for him, and defected their blows. The sign was a struggle to hold, but if he could just keep it up for a bit, he’d have an opening.

“Fucking… bastards!” With a heave, Lex swatted at them with the sign, leaving dents in their rough grey bodies. As they faltered, he dropped the sign and took up his shotgun. With a thoughtless squeeze and a prayerful aim, he blew a hole in one of their faces. The circuitry inside zapped and flickered as it fell toward Lex. 

Sidestepping the metal corpse, he shot another in the chest, exposing green boards and chrome gears. It continued to move, making frantic slashes at him. The beast cut deep, ripping through his sleeves and leaving gashes on his arms.

“Ahhh!” he bashed the monster back with the butt of his gun, and spammed the trigger, forgetting it was empty.

“Damn!” It was coming back toward him now, with more ferocity than before. Dropping the shotgun, Lex drew his pistol and pressed it against the machine's chin. With a decisive pull, he blew out its processing unit and pushed it to the dirty ground. He turned with a bit of flair toward the other machines coming his way and loaded what little ammo he had left.

Meanwhile, Cirilla was pressed up against another stack of garbage, slowly climbing up the pile to gain distance. She took a large glass pitcher and threw it at the ravagers. It hit one in the face, but didn’t break its stride. A statue of a gold man caused a slight dent but was otherwise pointless.

“Shit, okay,” she took her shotgun off her shoulder and opened it up. There was one shell in it and two left in her pocket. Below her, four ravagers and two crawlers.

With a speed only obtained through tragedy, she slid one shell into the gun and threw it closed. As they leaped toward her, she cracked the two crawlers open like eggs. They tumbled back toward the ground and leaked black yolk.

She put the last shell in her gun, but the ravagers came too close for her to shoot. Her revolvers were within reach, but if she stopped to draw them, her jugular would have been punctured.

She looked around, weaving sword blows as she tried to conjure any information that would be useful. None of the garbage inspired her at first. It was all a mangled mess of rotting devices and dead memories. Nothing worth having, nothing worth using. But very quickly, Cirilla ate her words. Inches away from a ravager's blade, she thought of a single word. 

Battery.

Years ago when she was fucking off in a similar junkyard, she shot an old phone by mistake. After a few seconds it burst into flames, and let out noxious smoke. The trick was reliable, though she hadn’t had a purpose for it in years.

She kicked a pipe and sent a dresser tumbling toward the ravagers. It took one of them out, giving her enough time to slip away. Digging through the pile, Cirilla gathered everything she could find: phones, tablets, computers, watches. Then, she grabbed any wire or string she could use to bind all the devices to one another.

She had in her hands a makeshift bomb. It was heavy with potential, the weight of it making her arms sore. Cirilla threw it on the ground near the ravagers as they came down, and ran toward her partner. Drawing her revolver, she shot the bomb four times, just enough to cause a reaction.

“Get the hell back!” Tossing a ravager off of him, he ran to Cirilla and looked back at the last of the horde.

Smoke came from the ground, wafting up into the dry air. The machines kept moving, hobbling toward the two. They inched closer and closer to the explosive. Cirilla held her breath as they entered its effective range.

“What’s the idea here?” Lex asked.

“Give it a second!” The batteries continued to smolder, the smoke getting thicker as they expanded. Plastic melted away as technical bits were ignited. Lex watched the process intently, finger twitching on the side of his gun. He wondered if it had felt this hot moments ago.

“Cirilla, what’s the big idea!” For a moment, she was afraid her plan had failed. They would be cut to the quick, dead, and forgotten. Just like the townies before them. Just like the garbage surrounding them. 

Then, as the machines prepared themselves for a lunge, it happened. The device split and the bomb exploded into flames, rising with a ferocity that horrified Lex. The machines caught fire, halting as their circuitry was fried and their bodies warped. As they collapsed in a burning pile onto one another, Cirilla felt a tame sense of satisfaction.

“How did-” Lex began.

“C'mon, the gas’ll make you sick,” Cirilla told him. They ran deeper into the junkyard as the ravagers were morphed by the fire.

The path was tight and winding. It was as if the garbage itself was closing its fist around them. They ran for a few minutes, desperate for any sort of escape. The path went for a few dozen feet until they finally came to a fork. The path on the left curved back toward the scrap heaps, while the path on the right generously offered a quick escape. Cirilla looked at Lex, then back at the path.

“C'mon, we can leave if we cut through here. It’ll be a long walk back around to the truck but-”

“There’s blood over here. Looks like someone got dragged or something. Still fresh,” and he ran down the left path without a second thought.

Cirilla looked to the right. He would be easy to leave, she figured. Easy to abandon and ignore. Though, ultimately, hard to forget. With a huff, she turned and went down the left path, shaking her head and swearing that he had cashed in his last favor.

As they ran past lampshades and teapots, they could hear crashes and gunshots ring out in the air. Lex felt a new breath of determination enter his lungs, the need for accomplishment overriding all logical thought. He heard nothing but footfalls and thought of nothing but his destination. He turned a sharp corner and found himself surrounded by flattened cars and piles of old parts. For a moment his vision was shot, but as he relaxed, he saw the horrifying scene laid out before them.

Bodies lay strewn across the dirt, beaten and snapped. Blood dripped from rusting relics, and guns lay loaded next to their owners. The garbage around them was stacked high, like the pillars of a coliseum. The rust coursed through in ugly sprawling patterns, casting tangled shadows.

At the center of the chaos was a giant metal hulk, towering over a horrified man. It was bigger than any other machine. More menacing, more complex. The plates that made up its body were a smooth grey metal, not as decayed as a stalker, though with fair bits of damage. Most unique were its joints. It had as many as a human, giving it more control over its motion.

With its cold steel hands, it reached out and grabbed the man's head, its palm eclipsing the light in his eyes, and squeezed. His skull made a loud crack and split in two. His body fell limp and sprawled out on the hood of a rusted-through car.

The beast turned next to Cirilla and Lex, its square eyes glowing dark blue. The sour stench in the air inverted their stomachs. As it took its first step, it dented the sand and shook their hearts with stark horror.

Neither of them had seen a heracles before, but they had heard more than enough stories. Most involved looting parties and lone travelers, unaware of where they had wandered to. All involved brutal deaths, crippling injuries, and traumatized survivors.

“What’s the plan now?” Cirilla asked bitterly. Lex could only form thoughts of panic and guilt.

“We… ah fuck,” he stammered, trying to think of anything helpful to say. Though the only course of action seemed to carry the most risk.

“We have to fight it. These things are hunters, running will only make things worse. We have to kill it to get out of here,”

“You fucking idiot. You dumb fuck up!” Cirilla took her shotgun off her shoulder.

“Look, if we die it’s on me okay!” he shouted.

“If we die, asshole!” Cirilla screamed back, “We will be fucking dead!”

She shook her head and screamed in frustration as she stepped forward to take on the heracles. A shotgun blast put a dent in the beast, but it continued with its march. If it had a sense of humor, it might have given a hearty chuckle. But the only sound heard was a mechanic buzz as the machine prepared to rip her in half.

Cirilla jumped back to dodge its punch. Its fist made a FOOP! as it broke the air around it. She squeezed the trigger again.

“Fuck!” she yelled at the sound of the empty click. She threw the gun and ran to gain distance.

Lex was blasting away with his pistol, but the heracles wouldn’t shift his attention. He stuffed the gun in his pocket and raced to find something useful. He picked up a rotted car battery and a wrench, praying that they would be enough to slow the beast down. Cirilla was hip firing both her revolvers, pelting its face with bullets. Though each one fattened against it like rain. She could feel the heat against her face, the sweat blurring her vision. She never felt so mortal, so small. She fought like hell, but the tremor in her hands told her it was over. Mixed in with her salty perspiration was a small batch of tears.

Lex felt the weight crashing on him. The burden of his compassion, the foolishness that had led them astray. He threw the things in his hand. The engine did nothing, and the wrench did even less. As the heracles drew near Cirilla, she tried to turn and climb the surrounding garbage. Before she could grasp anything, it grabbed her by the arm and tossed her like a fly in the wind. She hit the skeleton of an SUV and fell to the ground with a heart-twisting groan.

Lex went white. His veins came through, illuminated by fear.a cold sweat crossed his forehead. 

He collected himself; she was still breathing, and he was no use in a panic. Something was going to kill the thing. Something had to. 

He opened the chamber of his gun. Nothing but dust. As the machine drew closer, he could barely think over the sound of his heart thumping. He threw the gun down and grabbed anything close: old guitars, landlines, chairs, game systems. The heracles took damage, but its path remained unbroken.

He took up his shotgun and shot at the same spot Cirilla hit. The heracles blocked it with its hand, then reached out and grabbed the gun. It squished the barrel and cast the gun aside. Lex turned to run. The machine kicked him in the back, putting him on his face, but also giving him some distance. He recovered quick and scrambled to find something useful, barely avoiding a follow up strike. He searched for something heavy, more explosives, anything to give him a fighting chance. He found nothing. 

He was out of ideas, of hope, until a wooden handle caught his eye. He grabbed it and pulled, praying it would be his saving grace. From the pile of garbage came the steel head of a sledgehammer. It was enough to inspire, but whether it would be his saving grace was still up in the air.

The heracles was upon him now. Lex took the handle with purpose and raised it with all the might he could summon. As it flew through the air, the weight of it slammed down on the monster's head. The hit was strong; it left a genuine crater and stunned the beat for a moment.

Lex recognized the prospect and got excited. He shifted the weight of the hammer behind him and struck again. This time he began to expose some wires. A laugh sprung from his throat, and his heart thumped with new vigor. As he moved the hammer again, he figured a third strike would do the job. The heracles, sensing the danger, wouldn’t allow it. Before the strike could land, it grabebd the hammer head and tossed it across the clearing. Lex had no time to react before he was punched square in the chest.

He hovered in the air for a minute, and slid across the ground until he hit a pile of wreckage. Lex tried to lift himself, but the heracles gave him no time to breathe. It punched him in the face, rattling his brain and fracturing his nose. It pulled back and hit him twice with two swift movements. Lex’s head rocked back and slammed against a metal box.

His lip leaked sour blood, and his eyes watered with a human fragility he was distinctly ashamed of. With what would’ve been his final thoughts, he reached around for anything he could use to get away. Unconsciously he took hold of a handle and swung the item at the exposed spot on the heracles. As it backed away, Lex looked at his hand.

It was a frying pan. A frying pan was enough to save his life.

Sparks flew from the beast. It made sporadic grunts, and kept jerking its fist back instead of hitting him. Lex forced himself to stand, his head throbbing, and hit it again. It fell over and started making eerie, glitching noises. Lex bent over it, and hit it again. He pulled back a panel and struck its innards again. And again. Again again again again, ripping up wire and smashing boards, until its central processing unit was reduced to shards. 

Lex dropped the pan and collapsed to the dry, hot ground. With what little energy he had, a joyous cry came from his mouth. He was heaving, thinking of the spare canteen under his bed at home. It was going to feel glorious, the warm water on his tongue, in his hair, against his face. He looked over at the heracles, confirming it dead, and next came the sweetness of being alive. Of having hands, breathing air. Feeling the thump of a heart, the spit on his tongue. It superseded the intense pain all over his body. Though the sweetest of all would be the stories. The memories, the pride, the dramatic embellishment. The tale of Lex Dium doing battle with a heracles, and coming out victorious, would be one for the ages.

But first things first.

“Uhhh…” Cirilla awoke with a groan, feeling around for her revolvers and brushing the dust off her hands. Lex jumped up and limped over to her, face aching as it bled.

“Cirilla!” she looked up at his swollen mug and hers twisted with anger.

“Cirilla are you-”

“Stop! Get the fuck back!” she yelled. Lex stopped where he was and frowned.

“You… you stupid piece of shit! I’ve seen those things squish people with their fingers! I have seen them kill men bigger and tougher than the both of us with one blow! They rip people in half for fucks sake!”

“Ciri I’m-”

“Don’t you fucking call me that!” she began to rise, holding the spot on her chest where she was struck.

“You and your goddamn heroics. We could have died, and for what? I don’t see anyone around here to save. Everyone we’ve passed has been dead or well on their way. And I could’ve lifted these scaps from anywhere!” She said as she rattled her bag.

“None of this was worth it! None of it!” Cirilla bent over and caught her breath. She stood back up, and look into his eyes with exhaustion.

“I try so goddamn hard to help you. I try to do right by the both of us, but all you’re interested in are fantasies and how you look in the eyes of God. Look around Lex, he isn’t here! He isn't here or there or any fucking where! All we have is each other and oblivion!” Lex blinked as tears started streaming from his face, like rain born from clouds of shame.

“If you wanna kill yourself playing the hero then go ahead. I’m done,” Cirilla went over to where she was thrown and picked up her guns. Silently, she started walking back the way they came, without an ounce of regret to speak of. 

There it was. The point of fracture. A divide they might not heal from, an excuse for one or the other to leave. They both longed for separation. They’d never say so, not in any meaningful way, but every now and again they could feel themselves giving up. Freedom always felt a day away, and this time, Cirilla thought, this time was finally enough. But of course, there was always something else. Something to keep them bound to one another. Like a sadist squirting hot glue all over their relationship. Their story wasn’t over just yet.

“Hello?” said a small voice from behind a pile of trash. It stopped Cirilla dead in her tracks, and sent Lex searching like a dog.

As he approached the source of the noise, a red-haired woman jumped up, aiming a pistol in his face. The state of them made her falter for a moment, but her finger didn’t move from the trigger. Her face was bruised, and the blood splatters across it were dark and dry. Her clothes were horribly torn, and Lex could tell she had trouble moving her left arm.

“Get back baby,” she muttered, pushing down someone small behind her.

“Miss, we don’t want any trouble,” Lex said.

“What are you, bandits? Scavengers? Cannibals!” she took a step back, chest rising and falling rapidly. Her eyes were shot, like she’d never learned how to blink.

“We’re just trying to get by, just like you are. We… I heard the gunshots and thought you needed help,” he explained.

“I’m Lex and…” he turned around, and found Cirilla standing at the clearing’s entrance, her revolver trained on the woman. 

“That’s Cirilla.” Lex waved toward her, and gave her a puzzled look. She didn’t care. Her eyes were fixed on the child.

“Where’s the heracles?” the woman asked.

“Dead,”

“Bullshit!”

Lex stepped back to show her the ruined machine. She looked at the beast, around at the two of them, then back at the child behind her.

“Wh… I…” slowly, she lowered her gun and shook her head. The tears came soon after that. With a childlike weakness, she ran forward and hugged Lex. Her pistol fell to the ground with a flat thud.

“They’re all dead aren’t they?” she wailed. Lex shook his head yes as he embraced her. She pulled back and called to her child. He came from his hiding place, and held the woman by her leg.

She introduced herself as Alicia, and her son as Milton. She explained the situation at length, though it was nothing that couldn’t be guessed. Ten townies go looting, they get ambushed by machines, and now they are a group of two.

“I didn’t want to leave Milton at camp,” she cried as they walked back to the truck, “I don’t feel right if I can’t lay eyes on him.”

“Who can blame you?” Cirilla told her, without an ounce of sarcasm. Her amnesty made Lex do a double take.

He offered them a ride home to no interference. Alicia humbly accepted. The car ride was a series of silent stretches, broken only by directions from the woman. She sat in the back with Milton, hugging him and wiping away tears. He hadn’t seen much, but what he witnessed was enough to shock him into silence. Occasionally, Cirilla gave them glances through the rearview. Lex fixed his mouth to say something, but looking at her, she seemed more tense than judgemental. He left her alone for the time being. There would be plenty to say later.

Near the end of the trip, Cirilla reached into her bag and took out the two toys she had grabbed earlier.

“Here,” She gave them to Milton, who took them without a word.

“Say thank you baby,” Alicia told him. He did as he was asked. Cirilla nodded in reply, then turned around. Lex watched it all from his peripherals, completely baffled. The mother looked at the two figures, and managed a weak smile.

Eventually they arrived at her camp, a small closure surrounded by sheet metal walls and barbed wire. It was high noon; the sun beamed its strongest, the one torment they couldn’t escape. There was a guard posted, who leaped up at the sight of the car, but eased up once he saw familiar faces.

“Come on. I’ll go inside and get your reward. Just wait at the gate,” Before Lex could say anything, Cirilla opened the door and got out of the truck. He paused awkwardly for a moment, then sat back in his seat. He reached in the glove box for medical supplies, and patched himself up while he waited.

Alicia ran to the guard and embraced him. They exchanged a few words, then went inside the camp crying on each other's shoulder. After a few minutes, she came back with a box full of weapons, ammo, food, and some spare clothes.

Cirilla took the box and looked Alicia in her eyes. She could almost see the trauma forming, the memory hardening into something evil. It felt awful, watching it happen to someone else.

“You’ll be okay,” Cirilla told her, “Just… take care of your kid. Like you have been.” She came off as indifferent, though a hint of empathy replaced her usual apathy. Alicia reached out and touched her hand.

“Thank you so much. I… I don’t have anything except him. He’s my entire life. I just… I can’t thank you enough. There aren’t enough decent folks out there,” she said, her eyes still spilling tears, her hands failing to convey her sincerity. 

“Can I…” Alicia began again. 

“If I need help again… if we need help, can I…”

“No!” Cirilla snatched away.

“Don’t count on anyone. Don’t lean on anyone. Don’t ask for help. Don’t need help in the first place,” Deciding that enough was enough, she turned and walked toward the truck. Through her stoicism, Alicia felt her intent. She nodded to herself, and head back inside the camp. She was given pats and hugs on the way in, and let herself be comforted by the warmth. But already she was counting her errors, righting missteps in her imagination. She would be better next time. For his sake.

As Cirilla got back in the truck, Lex looked over at her, his mouth gaping slightly. 

He began, “I’ve um, I’ve been thinking about things and… maybe you were right on this one-”

“No, Lex. Just hold on,” Cirilla said, cutting him off, “What I said back there was… right. Right but harsh. I chose to stay too. The blame isn’t entirely yours. Greed got the better of me, sympathy got the better of you. We both knew better.”

“Well I didn’t… I’ve been thinking and maybe you’re right,” he repeated, not sure how to process her behavioral shift. 

“I mean sure, we saved someone this time, we got a nice haul, but it’s not always gonna be like that. We have to be more sensible. I get it,” he paused for a second, taking a moment to think.

“You… I appreciate you. I appreciate you for trying, even if I’m stubborn and I can’t see it sometimes. You kept me alive back there,” Lex told her, trying to express all the gratitude he felt.

“Well you did kill a heracles alone Lex,” Cirilla admitted. He smiled to himself, and immediately she regretted the statement.

“And if you want an honest answer,” she started. Lex looked at her as he started the car.

“I stayed for the kid.”

“Oh… okay,” Lex wasn’t sure what that meant, for her or him, but it seemed like everything had worked out as well as he could. The stars had aligned, and he knew better than to tempt fate.

“Okay,” Cirilla said calmly after a short pause, “Next time I'll keep an open mind, and you'll be more sensible."

In a very rare and extraordinary moment, the two had a compromise. The sun blazed grand, and everything felt right. The midday breeze gave them both a feeling of calm. For Lex, the reward and the outcome alike were satisfying. He could live with having saved only two of the original party. It was more a victory than a loss in his eyes.

“If they could see me now, they’d be proud,” he told himself as he fought off tears. He could only hope he was right.

Cirilla kept rolling over her thoughts, her mind plagued by shame. She knew deep down that she wasn’t halted by altruism. If anything, her intent was entirely selfish. When she looked at Milton and Alicia, when she saw that child cower behind his mother, she couldn’t see them. She was enveloped by the past, taken back to the memory of sweat running down her mother's back. The hot hand that crushed hers. The whistle of the bullets rip. The loneliness, unending. Cirilla wasn’t concerned with the present. She was trying to save herself. She looked out the window of the truck as they crossed the dunes, and let out a labored breath. She knew as a woman, just as she knew as a girl, that she would never be saved. All she had, all she would ever have, was herself and oblivion.

Next time, beware of wolves in sheeps clothing…