The Demon (and Other Stories)

Rocks and Gunpowder

The man and his mule were exhausted and sore from a long journey. They have been walking for days, from city to city, through the void of the vapid and barren desert. The dryness engulfed him. The sun was beating him down relentlessly. The sand stung in his eyes, even finding its way into his mouth; the grains cracked when he gritted his teeth. It was rough going, but for him, when was it not? He would endure this, as he always had. He needed the money desperately.

The mule, however, became fed up and halted in its tracks. The farmer clenched his fist and prepared to scream at it, but drew a deep breath and calmed himself down instead. He knew yelling at and punishing this beast of burden would do nothing — mules are stubborn.

The man looked over his animal companion to see what was causing it trouble. Placing a hand on its hide, a fiery warmth enveloped and almost burned his hand. The mule was overheated. He should have checked earlier, but it was better late than never. He trudged to the side of the cart and heaved a barrel of cool water out of it. Dragging it to the mule, he waited patiently as the mule lapped up the refreshing water. The man grabbed some cloth and buried it in the water, running it over the hide of the mule. Soon, the animal began to cool down and was satisfied.

"We are almost there," whispered the man, "Come on, keep pushing."

As if the mule understood him, the animal grunted and began walking again. As he led the mule and cart along the path, he looked at the desert and sighed. He thought of those old American western movies that he found in the ruins of that dilapidated city a couple miles or so east.

Ever since the collapse, it seemed that the days of the wild west had come back. When the States fell, the east and west coastlines were the first bounce back in this post apocalyptic world. Filled to the brim with bustling cities filled with advanced technology, wealth, and connections to the outside world, or whatever was left of it. Beyond the Coasts though, the heartlands of this new nation were as lawless as ever. Refusing to be reconquered by the civilization the Coasts brought. The only rules you lived by were your gun and your town's.

He longed for the renegade lifestyle the outlaws, rangers, and bounty hunters lived, but he was just a farmer with an old rusty handgun. Nothing much special about him.

The farmer trekked on diligently for what seemed to be hours; stopping sparsely as he made his way across the desert. Every so often he'd pick up little stones and stuff them in his pockets for later. As he did so, memories flooded back to him. He smiled as he thought of his youth, throwing little pebbles at goats in the green pastures of his home. Those times were long gone. He missed those days of ignorant bliss, but missing something won't bring it back — he had work to do.

On the horizon grew a city. It was the only city west of the Mississippi and East of the Rockies, but it wasn't a good one. Mud houses clashed with those that were made from lumber and logs, and in turn, they clashed with ones made of concrete and steel. The city was an ugly mishmash of all sorts of architecture.

He soon found himself walking through the busy city. People hurried out of the way of the mule cart as it moved through the crowded streets. He smelled all kinds of food, along with all kinds of filth. The simple farmer did not like the filth, including the city. To him, cities gave center stage to the worst of humanity, and he was not very keen on theater. Besides, wherever there was city filth, the Metal Sickness would be bound to follow. People laughed the farmer off, but he knew deep down that the horrible plague would come back, and he wasn't going to fall prey to it.

The man and his mule pushed their way through the winding streets, taking turns down narrow roads and broad ones alike. He eventually entered the downtown region of the city, filled with shops, markets, and customers. He was finally here. Scrummaging through his bag for his map, the rope jerked out of his hand. He spun around to find his mule suspended in the air as a group of boys ran away, snickering and laughing.