The dying song

Chapter I: The fallout

2020.

Utahime.

Sand.

That's all Utahime can see ahead.

Sand that covers the remnants of what used to be a concrete jungle, once upon a time full of towers, buildings and night lights, now erected as corroded obelisks. Sand, and nothing else. The sun is lurking over the horizon, bathing the ground gold in a silky breath. The old dirt-caked quad-bike she's driving, formerly modified to cross unthinkable roads, allows her to keep the pace to make it to the base before the sunset.

She drives away, leaving behind the dead body of the man she just killed. It was an act of mercy, actually; he had asked for it. His wounds were too deep for her to help, his body lacerated, bleeding, as the unmistakable result of a lost battle against one of those monsters. It was a wonder to find his body intact, even when he was in a state of near death: the monster should have been scared away by sunlight, leaving its prey half alive. She couldn't tell how many hours had passed since the attack, but that man wasn't a sorcerer, and there was no healer or Reverse Technique user around that could save him from his impending fate.

A bullet between his eyes had been his best option.

She had been his savior, and his thief, taking away from his trailer all she could find to keep herself and her group alive. Utahime thanked the man inwardly: there was no time for burials or regrets; only a tiny part of her brain feeling remorse over a small fact: she was, as well, losing a part of an already crippled humanity.

She shouldn't be here at this hour of the day. But her group was running out of supplies, and somebody had to have the guts to go and get them. She stops in front of the same old abandoned gas station, scavenging in the crumbling place, filling the tank with combustible and two more bottles that hang from the bike just in case. She drinks some water from her canteen, dying to wash the crustiness off her face, but water is precious and she shouldn't waste it like that, the disheartening landscape around reminding her that resources are scarce and she can't allow herself to use them freely.

Looks like she was the only volunteer, so she had decided to go out before dying out of starvation. But now, Utahime has to hurry and speed up, a desperate attempt to leave the dusty roads, running between sandy, old buildings before the night falls on her and creepy, blood-thirsty curses start appearing around to try to kill her.

"You there, Utahime? Hurry up, it's getting late."

The voice from the other side of the intercom makes her push the talk button when she takes the device to answer.

"On my way."

"Great. What did you find?"

"A dying man on the road."

Mei snorts.

"And for food?"

Long ago, Utahime would have winced at her friend's heartless answer. But they have no time to spare now, and compassion has been replaced by the lack of empathy and a fierce need for survival.

"Sugar, six noodles cans, four beer cans and rotten onions I could get from his trailer."

"Beer? Girl, you must be dying to get here and have a taste of that."

Utahime snickers. "I am. But I would rather save them for health purposes."

"Shit. Still, that's too little for six adults and a baby."

"Is it enough for you, dear Mei?"

The voice laughs teasingly across the radio. Utahime's mouth draws a half smile.

"For me it is, but, you know, I wish I wouldn't have to share."

"Like the good old days, isn't it?" She can even hear Mei's pout from the other side.

" Ding, ding, ding, ding, ding!!! The Great Mei is back in the ring! "

This makes Utahime smile widely. The joke reminds her of a certain someone.

"You think you're funny. Anyway, I'm taking the shortcut."

"Fine. Be back before dark. Gettin' late."

She hits the brakes to turn left and speed up again. In her circumstances, time is gold and she can't afford to waste a single drop of it. The landscape is a depressing sight, and her heart tingles at the memory of her past, taking an old photo out of her pocket to place it between the hand clutches as some sort of charm that could give her extra luck on her way to the base. She thinks of it and everything that led to this day. The thought is full of sorrow.

It's been two years since the Shibuya incident, the event that triggered a world war, leaving half of the world almost uninhabitable, unleashing thousands of curses that killed thousands of humans or, in the best case, made them disappear without a trace. Loved ones, friends, acquaintances.

People that'll never be back.

People she'll never get to see again.

Just like him.

Like the man in the picture she stares at as she drives on her way back home.

Utahime smiles at the memory, amber eyes flooding with the ghost of her printed evocation of a white haired man kissing her cheek.

A photo. A picture. A fucking portrait she wishes it won't fade under the cruel weight of time. That's all he left her.

But fate has other plans, as if it doesn't want to let her keep the only reminder of what she once had, of everything she lost, by blowing a gust of wind that snatches the photo away from her fingers until it flutters out, making her lose control of the handlebars. Mindlessly, she hits the brakes, her four-wheeler suddenly spinning around, reaching the peak of a sand dune, and she's rolling down along her vehicle, until her body crashes into something solid and all her tongue tastes is copper and sand after the bike overturns...

Cerulean, ocean deep eyes are all she can look back on before passing out, in the middle of a merciless, prowling desert.

Until all she sees behind her eyelids is black.