Genetix

12-Maya

The sun is hot on my hair as I ride along. I used to wish I had a motorcycle with a real, growling engine, and maybe I still do, but for now the quiet hum of my hovering bike helps keep me under the radar. I should have brought a helmet, but luckily, my hair doesn't get in my face very easily. It's pretty exciting being out here on my own; the only time I left the compound was with Jakob, when I said goodbye before he left. He gave me a bunch of stuff to read and his own personal notes to study on how to survive the desert. Not to brag, but I'm a star pupil. I just hope I won't need to use what I know.

After nearly an hour, the broken rubble of the city comes into view. Smoke still rises from many buildings, a creepy reminder of the riots that broke out among the uninfected. The secret of Greek fire should have stayed buried in my opinion, but then again, no one listens to my opinions. Except about music, I have excellent taste in music. Okay enough, I need to focus.

I pull up at the first layer of jutting stones. It's not safe to travel on foot around here, but it's even less safe to take a hovercraft due to the nasty groups of infected living in the cities. If one of those guys hears you, you've got about ten kinds of bad coming at you from all sides.

I start clambering over the rubble, looking ahead for a likely building to find this juice-thing. I hope it'll be somewhere towards the bottom, cause otherwise I might have to camp out in a building to avoid being ripped apart, and I do not want to have to blast my way out of here.

The little gizmo is supposed to be able to suck the life out of a skyscraper, so I ignore the first few buildings, apartments of only moderate size. I can see the biggest buildings from here, poking up so high it makes me dizzy to look at them, but they're all clustered in the middle of the city and through who knows how many infected. I hope that I can find what I need from a closer source.

I creep forward to a promising military-owned apartment building, seven or eight stories tall. The door is relatively clear of rubble, which could be good or really bad. For one, it might be the stash of some hoarding survivor, but looters might also have gutted it. In either case, it had the chance of the infected lurking in the shadows. I start to worry about ammo; the bits of steel supports sticking out of chunks of cement don't look like they could handle more than a few swings even if I managed to yank one free. I'll have to fix up something else to defend myself before long. It'll cost me precious time, but better a little time than finding myself in need of a weapon and running out of all my time at once.

A quick peek through the filthy window doesn't reveal anything; nothing moves, and nothing looks like it might be what I need. Still, it's not as if I can tell from here, and it's worth a look.

I unstrap my gun from my pack and attach the silencer. If I do run into trouble, I don't want to attract more while I defend myself.

The door swings open easily enough, with no more than a small cloud of dust sent dancing in the light that streams from the windows. I look around the room. It's totally silent, something I've never experienced before. The compound always has the electric hum of the generator and music coming from somewhere. If nothing else, I'm glad I'll be able to hear any infected coming before they arrive.

Still keeping my gun raised, I start digging through the rubble. I should have asked Michael where in a building I would find the juice-bug, but I guess I'll just have to look. There's some drawers and cupboards to look through, but it seems someone has already picked this place over. I do find a few things that interest me. There's a handful of photographs in a drawer, yellowed with age and a thin layer of dust. I didn't know anyone kept paper copies of anything, not when you could just upload it for storage. I tuck the pictures into my jacket. I doubt the owners are still alive, but I'm sure, on the microscopic chance that I ever see them, they'll be happy to have them back. Other than a couple canned goods, there's nothing. I move up a few floors, and find some signs that people lived here at one point, some fairly recently, but whoever they were they're gone now.

In one of the rooms, I find something that makes me feel sick. The smell of rot oozes out of the doorway like a week-old sewage leak. I close my eyes for a moment, knowing that what I'm about to see will probably make me regret ever coming near the city, and prepare myself.

I hate being right. This room belonged to a child at one point. The first evacuations may have cleared out the original family that lived here, but whoever brought their child here since wasn't lucky enough to escape. There's a crib in the corner with flies hovering in a swarm above it. I can't bear to make myself look any closer. A lump forms in my throat. I wouldn't cry even if I could, but those good ol' parents of mine- if you can call them that- decided tears were a waste of water. Whatever keeps me hydrated, I guess. But the sight of a dead infant wouldn't trip my nerves too much anyways. I can't let it, and I had the rotten luck to hold my dead mate's shredded body when Micah ventured out those doors for the first time. I didn't love him, not like I was supposed to, but it was still a huge loss. I thought I had this grand future, you know? A mate to reproduce with, a bunch of adopted siblings, a purpose... Sometimes it almost seems like all of it died with him.

I shake the pesky morbid thoughts out of my head and leave the building. If anyone had to use the little gadget, they would have hooked it up on the bottom floor anyways. Not much sense in plugging in for a quick, high-power getaway when you have to run up and down stairs to do it, right?

The next building is some sort of medical facility, and it's a total wreck. Blood all over the place, but I guess whoever left it wither got away okay or went feral and chased after those who did, because there isn't a body in sight. I don't know why anyone would want to drain a hospital of power, I mean, that's some majorly bad karma coming your way if you're willing to shut off all the important stuff keeping people alive. And for what, a clean getaway? Not worth it when there's so many other buildings to choose from. With that in mind, it doesn't seem likely that I'll find what I'm looking for here, but I decide to snoop around anyways.

Man, this place is barren. After the whole world collapsed, I guess this place was looted by druggies, not that there were many going after the mundane and harmful chemical reaction by then. Why shoot up and suffer withdrawal when you can plug in for no real side effects? Actually, I hope the people who took the supplies needed them, or at least got good use out of them. I'd like to think there are more decent people in the world than my family realizes.

A breeze hits the building, carrying with it traces of grit from the desert. There must be a sandstorm blowing in.

'g