Across the Deadzone

Chapter 1: Ophelia

It first started when a herd of science-experiments-gone-wrong escaped. A lot of them. And they started wreaking havoc on the world. They bred, more and more, and pretty soon, there was an infestation of hulking, slobbering, murderous creatures. So many even the scientists that made them couldn't control them anymore. Not that they really ever could.
And then the sun exploded. Not really, but it sure as hell felt that way. Solar flares, everyone I talked to would say, a nasty one. Anyone not underground was instantly evaporated. And those who weren't were melted into piles of human goo.
I think the ones that died in the initial blast were lucky. They didn't have to deal with the aftermath; the mutated mutations, the violent tribes that now ruled everything they could find, and the Deadzone (aka the place that got hit the worst in the blast.) All hot, barren sand for miles in every direction. Not to mention, even more infested with mutants than the rest of the planet. You only go into the Deadzone if you're suicidal or crazy.
I'm neither of those things. Not yet, at least. But I need to cross it, one way or another.
The only way to get through the Deadzone without croaking halfway through was to have an Uber take you. They know the land better than anyone, and, most of the time, even they don't make it out.
The closest town where I could hire an Uber was called Hemmington, which is about the saddest and most boring name I've heard since the apocalypse began. Usually, they would be something cool, like EVAC, or MERGENCE.
Hemmington was tucked away into the sheer side of a cliff, overlooking the Deadzone, and mostly shaded from the sun. Although fairly small, the cavern-town was bustling with people. Traders, shopkeepers, hired guards and mercs, permanent citizens. All with heavily fortified walls to keep the monsters out. Or, as fortified as you can get when the best supplies you have are scraps of metal and broken wood, all thrown together so that it looks like a trash heap more than a wall.
I classified myself as a Wanderer. Though, unlike most Wanderers, I knew where I needed to be.
I fiddled with my belt, searching for my bag of dice. I doubt I have enough for an Uber, especially to cross the Deadzone. I'd probably have to work in Hemmington for a few days before I worked up enough.
Only fifteen. Not enough for an Uber to risk their life.
Shifting my backpack on my sore shoulder, I pushed through the crowd of people buying their everyday wares and headed toward the front desk, which was just a rickety old metal table stacked high with various trinkets from the 'Old World' that now had no value other than to look nice. Two young men sat behind it, eyes staring at something set between them.
Only one of them seemed to actually work here; he wore the typical work clothes, dark pants and shirt, with a badge that had probably once been shiny pinned to his chest. He had chubby cheeks and the beginning of a beard. His head was crowned with fiery orange hair. If things had been normal, I have a feeling he would've played video games for a living.
The other seemed to have tagged along, not really doing anything other than distracting his friend from doing his job. He was clean-shaven, with black hair quiffed up like he was constantly pushing it away from his face. He was pale, which meant he probably hadn't stepped foot out of the settlement since the sun flares. One of his legs was propped up on the table as the two talked.
I stepped forward and cleared my throat, grabbing their attention.
"How much for an Uber across the Deadzone?" I asked, sparing no time for pleasantries.
The redhead narrowed his eyes. "You wanna cross the Deadzone?" he asked, looking at me like I was crazy. I just folded my arms across my chest and tilted my head.
"No, I need to cross the Deadzone."
The man sighed. "Alright, but it'll be expensive. And dangerous," he added as an afterthought.
I ignored the last part. Of course, it would be dangerous. Traveling, in general these days, was like walking the line between life and death. "How expensive?" I leaned forward, pressing my hands against the rusty table for emphasis.
He thought for a moment. "Fifty dice."
I clicked my tongue, knowing the price was less than fair but not feeling up to bartering at the moment. "I'll see what I can do. When's the next Pickup?"