The Perfect State: A Fictional Commentary on Humanity and Politics

The Journey: Chapter 5

Great North American Wasteland, 30 January 2048

8.00 AM, the Convoy approached the gas station. Driving to the gas station had been a quiet dangerless drive, hopefully exploring it would be the same although they did not know what they could expect once they reached it. Rationally thinking about it would be a most likely place to scavenge if someone was surviving in the wasteland; they had to hope that was not the case, things were getting worse by the minute.

The cars stopped just fifty members away from the gas station. The main building on the court was rotted away just like the rest of this godforsaken wasteland but at least it was standing, at the moment at least. Mane and Quent got out of their respective cars to discuss how to approach the situation and formulate a plan of action.

The main objective was finding power; the batteries in the cars were at a charge level which was not desirable and with only one spare half-full battery, they had to find power or else they might as well just wait to die right there. Hopes lay in that some buildings in the old world had diesel-powered generations as back up in case of a power outage. A jury rig or two with it and with a makeshift adaptor, an ad hoc charger for their batteries could be made. Then one more overnight charge would prepare their cars for most of the long journey ahead.

Mane and Quent agreed to search the gas station as a team if the suspected fate of Miss Adelaide taught them anything, it was never to split up when exploring. They approached the main building firstly to confirm that there were no dangers inside the gas station. Handguns cocked and ready, Quent and Mane took a quick look inside through one of the windows to make a quick assessment. It seemed it was empty; it was hard to see through the window as the grime had built up heavily over the pane of glass.

Standing each side of the entry door they looked at each other, they gave each other the signal and kicked the door in. Ready to fire guns blazing both were pleased when it seemed their quick assessment was correct. They lowered their guns.

However, their suspicions were justified. Most of the shelves were empty, presumably looted during the chaos of the war. All that remained was a few disposable foods which were now most surely out of date. So both Quent and Mane agreed that it was probably best to move onto the garage itself to check there but then a noise came out of one of the back rooms.

"It's coming from the men's lavatories," said Mane.

Quent agreed with the statement of his friend. Indeed it was but what was in there. Wild feral dogs? Another human-like Quent met in the town?

Whatever it was, caution was paramount so they aimed their handguns at the door, ready to fire on whatever came out of it. For a second they looked at each other and in both of their eyes was fear.

The door creaked open and the two men got ready to blast whatever hellish creature was in there to hell and back. It was...Another survivor but not any old, a properly kitted out one. His face looked like it hadn't been washed in epochs, his beard was long indicating a year or so of beard growth and his eyes had the look in them of someone who had witnessed the worst the world could throw at them.

Quent and Mane lowered their guns, friend or not, he had an assault rifle so all bets were on that he would win in a firefight. Quent was the first to break the uneasy silence saying "Hello Survivor."

The man just looked at him with a face of distrust and contempt.

Mane then said, "Look, We're trying to traverse the wasteland to a coastal settlement called New Providence."

Quent tugged at him indicating they probably shouldn't divulge everything but Mane continued on saying "Don't mind my friend, We are not going to harm you. In fact, your help would be most welcome at this time."