Tale of The Broken Sword

Chapter Thirty Seven : A Wanderer and His Son

17th February, AD 2057

Washington, D.C. - Former City

Everent's eyes parted ways and he saw a swarthy, old man sitting on the other side of the fire, swirling a long, blackened wooden stick around it. Everent tried to move but a sharp pain in his chest prevented him from doing so, and muscle cramps lingered all around his body. The pain was enough to send him groaning softly as he moved every inch of his body.

The man, having noticed Everent in his sufferings, lay the stick down and stood up. He walked towards Everent and knelt down, examining his lower abdomen, and heaved a sigh filled with sense of relief.

"You woke up already, thank goodness." The man said, placing his skinny palms over Everent's body. "Don't move too much, that wound of yours was pretty nasty."

Everent could not think of something other than water. He needed something to drink. That's all he could think about. Water.

"I... water..." He croaked.

"Water?" The man fixed his eyes on Everent's lips, trying to understand the weird accent that the sergeant has. "Well, sure."

The man extended his arms towards an old, rugged rucksack and pulled out a bottle of water of it. He then gave it to Everent, who accepted it greedily. Everent twisted the cap and forcibly pulled it out with all his strength. He tilted his head back and downed the liquid all at once. The water was slightly sweet and the cool liquid ran down his throat.

Everent closed his eyes as he savoured every drop of it. He hasn't drank any water cleaner than this, and the water rations that the supply officers provided back in the Line was all murky and it tasted rather weird and even he would get an occasional stomach aches from that liquid.

When all that feeling withered away and Everent felt pain once more writing in his chest, he looked onto the man. Closing the opening of the empty plastic bottle and tossing it back to the man, Everent spoke out with a stuttered manner.

"Thanks..." Everent clutched his chest tighter, trying to stave off the pain. Everent could not remember how he'd end up here and more wounds appearing around his body seemed to be a mystery to him too. What happened? The only question that his mind was yearning for an answer was annoyingly recited repeatedly in his brain.

But in the midst of all those thoughts, an image of a violent-looking man loomed in a foggy haze before his eyes, silently gesturing and shouting vulgar words at him. Scavengers. And it was not long before the sergeant was put up in his alert mode, partially thinking that this man sitting before him might be one of those savages that nearly killed him.

The man, upon noticing the fear in Everent's eyes and the sweat streaming down the fearful young man, raised his hands in a peaceful gesture.

"Relax," The man smiled reassuringly. "I'm not a scavenger. Wanderers, if you wish to call us that way."

"Wanderers?" Everent asked, feeling puzzled at another word to describe people living in here. Wanderers, it was probably a better name than scavengers.

"We don't live here," The man started. "We're heading south, passing through this city when we stumbled upon you. You're more or less on the brink of death when I've found you, so be grateful, yeah?" He winked at Everent.

Everent nodded and smiled half-heartily at the man, looking down towards the dusty pavements.

"Me name's George," He tilted his head to the side, trying to see anything moving behind the sergeant, before looking back at him. "What's your name, young man?" George asked him with a hint of extreme curiosity and Everent introduced himself.