The Wild Ones

Falling

      Ada's feet crunched over the dirt and with her free hand, she swiped her sweaty bangs from her eyes, squinting into the glaring sun. Someone was walking over the cracked earth in the distance. She didn't dare call out to them, but it didn't matter. Moments after she noticed them, they noticed her, their head turned towards her and they paused. Nodded slightly. Both turned away from each other and walked in opposite directions. She yearned to chase after them but two people in one place presented twice the target for the Shadow Men. And there was always the possibility they could be one of those survivors desperate enough or crazy enough to shoot her, rob her, and leave her for the vultures. She almost didn't care.

     Almost.

     Minus the dying and the vultures she thought she might not actually mind giving up her stuff for a few minutes of human contact, but supplies were getting harder and harder to come by and it was impossible to survive in the desert without them. Finding the landmark she was looking for, a huge rust-colored boulder with a tiny withering tree in a crack at the top, she stopped walking and slid her pack off her shoulders, dropping it on the ground at her feet and scattering more fine, sandy dust on her boots. Chewing on her bottom lip, she rummaged around inside and pulled out a crudely drawn map. It was dirty. And crisscrossed with spider web white lines from being folded or crumpled too many times. With the sun sinking slowly, she had maybe forty-five minutes to find a suitable place to camp before it became too dangerous to move. Somewhere near one of the thin, reedy streams that would be evaporated when the summer heat really kicked in. There were a series of abandoned shantytowns cloistered around where the streams ran thickest, (not that they were ever very thick,) and Ada estimated the nearest one was about half a mile from her rock. Perfect.

     It took her less than fifteen minutes to arrive and she filled up her empty canteen in the stream. She drank deeply, far too thirsty to wait for the dust to settle to the bottom, and filled it again, slotting it back into the loop on her pack. The air was heavier now. Suffused with sweltering warmth and without a breath of wind to stir it, it also felt to Ada like night was truly descending. Which meant they were almost out. When the Shadow Men patrolled during the day they arrested or killed whoever they could, but night was their domain. Ada didn't know exactly why night made them so strong, maybe it was because of the camouflage, or the fact that most of the fugitives were asleep, but she knew not to be found in the open after dark.

     She approached one of the wooden shacks. They had actually been real houses decades ago when things were different and ordinary people could choose where they lived but over the years most had fallen victim to the elements and a few had collapsed completely. This one seemed alright to her though. So she stepped inside and closed the door quietly behind her. She tiptoed over a threadbare carpet that looked like it might once have been plush white but was now stained with orange desert dust blown in from the glassless window frames and patched with holes where vermin or the elements had worn away the carpet completely. She moved warily. There might have already been someone squatting inside. She pressed her ear against the rear wall, which sat in nearly the center of the house and held her breath. Listened. Several long seconds passed. She heard nothing. Satisfied, she exhaled and spun away. Now she needed dinner. And a place to hide.

     She found the kitchen, which was really mostly a living room with a small square of tile-floored kitchenette on the far side. There was a collection of petrified armchairs in a semicircle around a squat wooden table. On the kitchenette side, there was an ancient refrigerator next to a pantry. Both of their doors were wide open. Both were empty. She searched the cupboards, but to no avail. Looters must have already come for whatever canned food had once been inside. Figures , she thought. She was mildly curious why she didn't find any utensils in the house. Sure, silverware was an understandable thing for someone to take, it could be used as a weapon, but who in the desert would waste their valuable time and energy carrying around plates? Maybe they could break them and use the shards as some kind of spike? Or they could lob it like a frisbee. .. She shook her head. Not important . She had to find a place to hide where she could rest for a few hours.