Chaos (Warriorpunk Trilogy 2)

Chapter 01: A Slender Thread

An energy field of translucent blue covered the outpost and its surrounding territory in a dome of protection. Most of the buildings had combat damage, burns or holes, reinforced by whatever materials had been available for salvage from the devastated city around it.

The sky was darkened by storm clouds, and a fierce wind tearing between the abandoned buildings outside the shield kicked up black clouds of debris, soot, and ash.

Standing on the balcony of the habitation block was the leader of the outpost, Cyrus. His dark eyes matched not only the color of his skin but his current mood. At over six and a half feet tall, his heavily muscled frame made him imposing to most, but the insanity gripping the world defied reason. He knew well those beyond the shield wouldn't be intimidated; they were too crazed to be intimidated. If he was going to retake the world, he'd probably have to kill every last one of them.

Cyrus' gaze scanned the broken and charred landscape beyond the dome, watching for any sign of life. He wasn't looking for survivors because he knew plenty had survived the war. Too many had survived, and they laid in wait for his people in the ruins beyond the border of the outpost shield.

"Trouble sleeping?" his wife asked. Deborah slipped into a silvery robe of satin, flipping her brown hair out from under the collar and across her shoulders before stepping out on the balcony with her husband.

"Just keeping an eye on the neighbors," Cyrus answered without altering the direction of his gaze.

"Worried about tomorrow?" Deborah questioned.

"Not much," Cyrus denied. "We've been planning this for some time, getting everything ready and in place. We shouldn't have any trouble."

"So, what's keeping you up, my love?" she persisted.

"I can't help thinking about what is beyond our shield, the decimated lands," Cyrus admitted after a lengthy pause. "They're consumed by insanity. In the desperate times after the bombs fell, civilization collapsed in the struggle for survival. Resources, including clean water and food, became vital necessities people killed their own loved ones to possess. The political backstabbing present before the war changed to include real knives."

"I know," Deborah acknowledged, her voice soft and her blue eyes directed toward the war blasted city beyond the shield. "Survival became all that mattered, regardless of what dark or vile actions were required to attain it. People only joined together long enough to achieve common objectives, but most cooperation ended with one side or the other, sometimes both, dead when someone outlived their usefulness."

"I haven't found any indication of outposts like ours elsewhere in the world," Cyrus told her. "We may be the last fragment of human civilization, where decency and integrity still mean something. Who would've thought we'd live to see the day when having a code of honor would make us outlaws?"

"We didn't turn against society," Deborah countered, her tone firm. "It abandoned us. They claimed their vile deeds were human nature, and thus, natural. Suppressing, or even openly opposing, the dark urges humanity had always possessed was deemed an aberration and illegal, forcing our exile. We're still holding on to what is good in humanity while they betray each other for any little advantage they think they can gain. If having a working moral compass means being an outcast, then society be hanged."