The group picked through the wasteland. As one being they moved, together picking through the ruins and waste, the rags that hung from their frail bodies flickering in the unrelenting wind. Closely packed limbs and bodies looked as one; all the same, sickly white-yellow, bony and gaunt. They were indiscernible from one another, and together they formed a beast picking its way throughout the scrap.
As one, the group flowed over an iron girder that lay still across their path. One did not make it, breaking from the group, and falling on the packed, brown earth. Orange rust scraped onto the tattered rags he wore, staining them from the brief contact with the girder. A dust cloud puffed from the impact, only to slowly rest on the ground again. He lay still, and coughed once. The rest of the group continued forward, oblivious to the one left behind. He struggled, reaching a thin arm forward, and a dry mouth opened. A slight croak forced its way between two lips. His other part was too far away, and could not hear. They continued forward.
Now alone, the man lay. Gradually, the heat haze hid the rest from sight, and they were gone. He reached forward once more extending his crumpled, worn body to its fullest extent. For a second time, his mouth opened. For a second time, he was not heard. The man's arm came down, causing more dust to rise from the baked earth, and a soft crunch sounded.
For several seconds the man did not move. Then the sound inserted itself in his mind. It had not been the soft whistle of the wind, nor had it been the shrieking groan of metal sliding in the junk. It had been a crunch. Like the sound of plastic. Under his hand. Slowly, he raised his hand, struggling to find the reserves of energy to do even such a small movement. The moment his eyes lay rest on the object beneath his hand, a surge filled him. A half-full plastic water bottle lay there. The man's cracked lips tilted upwards in the corners, and he grasped the bottle with his hand. He raised it hastily to his mouth, and unscrewed the faded blue cap. Careful not to spill any, he placed his lips on the rim. The water flowed down his throat. The cool liquid breathed throughout him, rejuvenating his limbs and body. He gulped the magical fluid down, not even pausing to breathe for several long seconds. Then he lowered the bottle, again cautious not to spill any of the remaining water, and replaced the cap.
First awkwardly, but with a gradual gain in confidence, he started to run forward. He felt restored. The group had disappeared from sight completely, but he could catch them. He was new again. The displaced dust on the ground clearly showed the path they had taken, and he followed it, expecting to catch up at any moment, and to join them on their unending search.
A sudden, sharp bang resonated around the junkyard. The sound ricocheted around, distorted by the strange shapes and materials of the area. The man's brow furrowed. His free hand rose to the centre of his chest. It was warm and sticky. He moved the hand away from his chest, and cast his eyes to his palm. It was painted crimson. The man crumpled to the ground, tiny gurgling sounds bubbling from his mouth.
It was several minutes before the other being arrived. They were fully covered in perfect black, a massive rifle swaying slowly on its sling. They simply stood and stared at the lifeless body at their feet, blood spilling out and slowly expanding to form a thick puddle. After nearly a minute, they stooped. The rifle swung around from their back to sway at their side, but reverted back to its original position once they straightened up again, the near-empty bottle of water no longer in death's grip. The person stood for a while longer, their covered eyes gazing into nothingness. Their arms hung loosely by their sides, and their head tilted, looking to the water, then to the body, and back again, before going back to the nothingness. Then, suddenly snapping out of it, they placed the bottle in a belt loop, and set off briskly into the wind. The dead body lay still, framed by the orange metal and grey rising concrete around him. The ground around the body wet and red, and outside of that, dry, orange and cracked. The person in black didn't look back. They just left, picking their way through the wasteland.
