The Dead Scout's Handbook of Afterlife Survival

Chapter 33: Cody

The walk to Cody was a brief one, twenty miles, every one beautiful. They found it easier to absorb the scenery when it didn't have to cross layers of dirt, terror, and hunger. Snowfall covered the jagged mountaintops and soft sloping hills, while infrequent, enormous, black-trunked trees stretched their bare branches into the sky like gnarled and skeletal fingers. Wildlife was scarce, though, on occasion, tiny, white, furry creatures burst out of holes in the snow, chattering and screeching. Having become a proficient hunter, Rebecca brought their curiosity came to an abrupt halt. At night, their fire burned like a hot coal in the tundra, and overhead, reds, greens and purples rolled across the sky. After an uneventful and worry free day, they dozed off into the best sleep since meeting Pestilence.

With the glowing, swirling, colorful sun overhead, they arrived at the gates of Cody. A 50-foot-high, steel, barred gate climbed to the clouds with spikes standing menacingly over the arches of the two doors. Circular turrets with hundreds of metal spines interrupted the wall every few hundred feet or so. Along the concrete and steel encircling the city, marble statues of men and women stood proudly, dressed in flowing gowns, cloaks, robes, street clothes, suits and body armor. Some statues' eyes glowed shades of reds, greens, yellows, and whites. Far down the row, Cayden spotted a sculpture marred with graffiti and several sizable chunks carved out of it. Squinting, he made out the broad shoulders, short stature relative to the rest, and scratchy, hanging beard. He turned away upon recognizing it.

"This is amazing!" Rebecca said.

"Yes, yes. And Cody is nothing compared to Pirene. Everything is so big, polished, and the same as anywhere else. With great power comes underwhelming creativity."

"Hey! Out there!" a voice called from a turret.

Two stocky men strode from either metal half-door and peered through the thick bars of the gate. Both had shaved heads, rather lumpy facial features, gray slacks and black tee shirts, undersized for their bulging torsos.

"Who are you?" the left man called.

"Just travelers!" Martha waved as she approached them.

"Why are you here?" the right man asked with a thick Boston accent.

"Here with four arrivals and... myself. We've been here a few months, but as you know, the journey from Jackson isn't too pleasant."

"Pretty dangerous! There are a lot of bad folks out there," Righty said.

"Only four bad folks I'd be concerned about," said Lefty.

"Shut up, Kurt!" Righty snapped.

"This is wildly unprofessional!" Martha cupped her hands around her mouth.

"Alright, fine, you're right, grandma. Let's see all your abilities so we can getcha in here and print some IDs for you."

#

The process shell shocked them all, having gone from months of absolute, wasteland anarchy to fingernails-on-a-chalkboard bureaucracy in the span of five minutes and a hundred feet. However, it helped that the two guards nursed their offensive humor and monotone explanations with the same comically severe apathy. Thus, the ID process proceeded uneventfully as Righty peppered the explanation with forced innuendo and a dash of what Cayden suspected were hypocritical nudges at lefty, or Kurt's, sexuality. The group followed the two officers through the double doors of a two-story, bland, rectangular, concrete building. They continued into a sterile white and grey room with a bright, green wall on the far side, unnecessarily spacious for the single, computer terminal.

Newcomers could enter information separately or in a group. Everyone agreed on the latter. The terminal instructed them to choose both a first and last name. In theory, any could do. Families meant little here for newcomers, but sometimes bonds were strong enough to warrant a shared surname.