Since I escaped from Speranza with my sister, leaving behind my dying mother, it feels as though my sense of time has become foggy. Minutes stretch into endless hours, while hours seem to blur into brief moments. I'm not entirely sure how I ended up in a certain place or how I find myself performing certain actions. It's as if my body moves on its own, driven by an inexplicable inertia.
Brina and the others try to talk to me every now and then, but their voices reach me distant and distorted, as if coming from another dimension. I know I should pull myself together, that I should return to myself, but reality seems to slip through my fingers. I can't make sense of everything happening around me. And why should I continue to live? I had made a promise to my mother, sworn to protect Maria, yet I ended up leading her to die in the desert.
Brina is right, I feel like a Zombie now. A walking corpse without purpose, dragged through an arid existence.
My gaze falls upon my mother's pistol. I draw it from its holster and tinker with it, studying its details. Looking at it, one can sense the balance between form and functionality, an harmony of sleek lines and sharp edges. Crafted from a lightweight yet incredibly durable composite, its matte and anti-reflective surface gives it a tactical and captivating appearance. The most innovative feature of this pistol is its electromagnetic loading system. No traditional magazine protrudes from the grip; instead, the bullets are housed in an electromagnetic cartridge within the grip itself. This revolutionary system allows for faster and smoother reloading, minimizing the risk of jams in critical situations. The ergonomic grip is a blend of comfort and precision. Designed to adapt to various hand grips, it ensures a secure and natural hold. The adjustable grip allows for personalization, providing optimal control even in tense moments. The trigger, then, activates a fully electronic firing system, ensuring an instantaneous and precise response. Recoil is minimized thanks to damping technology, allowing me to maintain a steady aim even during repeated firing.
However, while this pistol represents the pinnacle of weapon technology, it remains anchored to a human essence. Every time I grip it, I feel the weight of my actions, the responsibility of each decision. Looking at the weapon, I reflect on the choices I've made, the people I've lost along the way. It's a tangible symbol of how much the world around us has changed, of how we're forced to evolve to survive.
Looking at the magazine, I see there are still twelve rounds left. Three of the initial fifteen were wasted in the frenzy of combat, trying to defend my sister and myself. And now I wonder: what will be the fate of these last rounds? Will they be spent protecting what remains of this new reality, or will they leave behind another trail of pain?
Otilia didn't want to take it, but what sense does it make for me now? Perhaps I should use it to end it all?
Despite my lack of will to live, the mere thought sends shivers down my spine.
"What's it like to kill a human being? I haven't done it yet, but with what we're facing, it could happen." Brina asks me.
"I haven't had time to think about it. Everything happened too quickly; it was instinctive. If I had hesitated to pull the trigger, I would have been the one dead, and my sister would have followed shortly after."
"It's not a pleasant feeling." Otilia replies. "It shouldn't be." she adds bitterly.
"Hey, it's picking up a radio transmission!" Milano exclaims excitedly.
"Amidst this storm?" Brina wonders.
"Can you tune it in?" Otilia asks.
"Yes, the frequency is surprisingly strong." Milano replies.
"There's something... maybe... there... " Milano fiddles with the radio tuning tools.
"Sounds like a recorded message." Otilia comments.
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President of the New Nation? The New Nation? Who are they? I wonder in amazement.
The transmission cuts off. "What nonsense." Brina comments, openly expressing her skepticism.
"Yeah, they all sound like empty words and unlikely promises." Milano adds.
"The New Nation? Who are they?" I ask the others, seeking an answer.
"It's the first time I've heard the New Nation mentioned." Otilia responds with a puzzled tone.
"It's incredible that we can intercept these radio transmissions in the midst of such a storm." Milano remarks.
President Penelope Romano's words continue to reverberate in my mind. Her promise to create a better future, a nation free from wars and fears, seems like a distant and unreachable light. Still, I can't help but wonder if there's still room for hope in this arid and devastated world.
My gaze falls on the pistol again. It's a concrete object, something I can focus my thoughts on. But my hand hesitates. I've never shot anyone before, and the idea of ending my existence that way frightens me. My mind is a storm even darker than the sandstorm around us.
The sandstorm continues to rage outside the Caravan, the outside world a chaos of wind and sand. But inside the vehicle, in the heart of the storm, an even greater struggle is taking place. A struggle to find the will to move forward, a reason to survive in this world.
I look at the pistol again, but this time I gently put it back into its holster. It's not the solution. Not now.
I wonder who this Penelope Romano is and what kind of movement this New Nation she speaks of is. Yet, even though it sounds like an excuse, those speeches have made me think. Yes, I've become a "Zombie," as Brina put it, but perhaps it's time I start taking control of my life again. For my sister, if not for myself.
As the Caravan continues to move through the sandstorm, I try to gather the strength to face my new reality. I look at the worn photograph in my hands again, the happy faces of my mother, my father, and my sister. I wonder what they would think of me right now. I'm sure they would have wanted me to protect Maria, even though it's too late for that now.
Otilia approaches me, noticing me lost in thought. "Michele, are you feeling better?" she asks gently.
"I don't know... maybe..." I reply softly, trying to sort out my thoughts.
"The sandstorm is subsiding. We'll be out of it soon and can continue our journey to the Rebirth bunker." she assures me.
"Penelope Romano... have you ever heard this name?" I ask Otilia.
"It doesn't ring a bell. Probably one of those figures that emerge in times of crisis, trying to gain power and influence. We shouldn't blindly trust anyone who makes grand promises." she wisely responds.
"She said she's the President of the Republic of the New Nation. Who knows what all of this means." Brina comments.
"For now, all we can do is focus on our goal of reaching Rebirth and bringing the information about the Raiders to the General." Otilia says with determination.
The radio emits another sound, this time clearer.
Penelope Romano's voice resonates in the Caravan's cabin, reaching us through the sandstorm. Even though I'm skeptical about her words, I feel a faint spark of hope. Maybe there's truly a way to build something new, to overcome the hardships we've faced. Perhaps I can find a way to honor the promise I made to my mother.
The sandstorm finally starts to lose its intensity, and the first rays of light filter through the sand clouds. The air outside is still thick, but we can finally see beyond the windows. The feeling of carving a path through that natural fury is liberating.
"Look!" Milano exclaims, pointing through the window. "We're out of the sandstorm!"
I approach the window and look outside. The view is still limited, but I can see the desert stretching beyond the tumultuous sand. The air seems clearer, more breathable.
"Finally..." I say softly, feeling a weight lift a bit.
Continuing to look out of the window, I can see the sand dunes that loom on the horizon. It's a sight I never thought I would see again after fleeing from Speranza. The sandstorm had concealed this landscape, but now that it's subsiding, I feel as if we're achieving a small triumph against the adversities of this world.
"Look, Zombie, we're emerging from the storm!" Brina tells me with an encouraging smile.
I gaze at the desert gradually unveiling before my eyes. The sandstorm has left a trail of destruction behind, but now, with its intensity waning, I can see the vastness of this world. The sand dunes stretch infinitely, forming a rugged and desolate land, yet also laden with a wild and melancholic beauty.
"We've survived the storm." I say, almost incredulous.
"Yes, we've made it." Otilia responds with a reassuring smile.
The Caravan continues its journey through the desert, and as it does, I try to sort out my thoughts. I think about the President of the New Nation and her words. Even though they may sound like empty speeches, there's something in them that has awakened a sense of hope within me. Perhaps, despite everything, there's still a chance for change, to create a better future.
"What do you think about the words on the radio?" I ask my fellow travelers.
"If there's even a remote possibility that what she's talking about could become a reality, it would be incredible." Milano states.
"But it's hard to trust anyone in this world." Brina comments, reflecting on her skepticism.
"That's true. Look out of the window. That's our reality." Otilia adds.
I nod slowly, understanding their concerns. In a world so ravaged, it's difficult to believe that anyone can truly bring about positive change.