The Kid lays face down on the concrete, like always.

Waiting motionless for the vertigo to subside.

He gets up, arms wobbling a bit: taking in his surroundings for a moment.

Time to move.

Sometimes the survivors (the very few of us left) wonder if the road will still rise to meet them with each forward motion. Every once in a while you come across a brick or slab that falls right out from under ya - just like that one. A chunk of tin roofing falls away with the slightest touch. The Kid somersaults back onto the larger gathering of floating debris to his left.

Kid’s on a mission for another core. Gotta hand it to ‘em, he fights hard to make this crazy world a little bit better.

Up ahead, Kid spots a cluster of squirts floatin’ around like they’re waiting for a meal. Reaching for the old friend on his back, he gets a feeling that he’s part of the menu now; best to make the first move.

With a leap and a howl, the Kid turns five of the little worms into paste. Hefting the hammer back to a ready position, a couple of squirts nip and gnash at ‘em. Squirt bites sting and sting and cause your blood to bubble at the site of the wound - you won’t die, but it’s a bitch to deal with if you ask me. Planting a heel in the sandstone flooring, the Kid swings a wide circle around him taking a few more out in the process.

Two squirts left.

He rolls and pulls out his repeater, emptying half a clip to rupture one of them. The last one telegraphing its attack pattern; and it’s coming his way. The Kid misses too many rounds, causing the gun to click; the clip is dry. No time to reload. Tossing the gun aside, the Kid scrambles to get a good grip and knock the final enemy back; not fast enough to avoid a bite on the right forearm. After a second bite he manages to heave a killing blow.

His weapons are too slow for these enemies lately. Maybe it’s time to say goodbye to this old friend?

He carries on due west for the core, taking swigs from the health tonic; it’s a crystal clean taste with a nip of fizz at the end. Kid takes the opportunity to reload before he forgets (don’t want a repeat of last time.)

Heading back to the point of impact (where he was kissing dirt) Kid finds himself at the intersection between bad and wrong: the Workmen Ward.

Kid knows that squirts ain’t the only thing he’s gonna find down the road. He hopes that he’s packed enough health tonics to make it back to the Bastion -So do I.

Working his way down the jagged mess of mossy cinder blocks, particle board and bog water. He spots something off in the weeds. Looks like a dead end by any other measure, but this... This is worth the detour.

Kid picks up an old war machete. Scumbags can digest just about anything; ‘cept for this. It’s quick for slicing and light enough to throw. Looks like it’s time to stow that old Cæl hammer in the shed out back, ‘cause this beauty can do the work double-time.

Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

Continuing down the road, Kid sees one o’ them novelty machines pumping out more and more squirts by the second. He hotfoots it over to the parchment, right behind the squirt spitting machine. Looks like a recipe for spellbinding the little varmints. Well, you know what they say, if you can’t beat ‘em, make ‘em join you.

Wasting no time, the Kid tosses some foraged powder at the squirts and all of a sudden they start scratchin’ and bitin’ each other till there ain’t nothing left.

Time to head south.

A whole trail of scumbags spots the Kid as he keeps up the pace. He makes short work of the little guys. After all, a bag of gas ain’t much of a threat now that he’s got that machete.

A big bad scumbag drops down outta nowhere and starts charging him, leaving a putrid trail behind it the whole way. Kid knows he needs some help and rolls right past the slowpoke. That scumbag may be strong, but he sure as hell can’t run.

Kid makes it to the squirt spawner off the beaten path and tosses some bait to ‘em. The new recruits are eager to please and rip into that big bad bag. A few squirts get swatted, but the big guy ain’t got a prayer at this point. And then… Boom. He’s finished.

Unfortunately for the Kid, there’s nothing here. Guess he’s gotta retrace his steps.

The forge that used to be kept up by the windbags ain’t what it used to be -nothing is nowadays. Kid spots an ashen body and investigates.

The forge seems an odd place to find the likes of Percy the Snitch. The Kid’s brow crinkles. He takes a single swipe at the former informant. The body crumbles and blows away like it was never there. Never much cared for that big wide grin of Percy’s.

Walking down the eastern path of the Workmen Ward, windbags dart here and there like they been hard at work all this time. Probably best to let the repeater do the heavy lifting.

He gets the drop on the lot, taking two down before the other three twist in alarm. With pickaxes drawn, the windbags attack. Kid feels the adrenaline pumpin’ as his hands swap out the clip. He takes aim and manages to drop another one as a wild swing barely connects with his skull. He won’t be so lucky next time. Immediately, the wooden handle of his enemy’s ax yanks the gun right from his hands with significant force. Kid acts quick; rolling back as he reaches for that trusty knife. Rising up and leaping suddenly catches the windbag off guard just enough to land all the hits the Kid needs to end the fight.

A straggler debates whether it’s worth the risk to take the Kid on. Kid doesn’t care to wait around for the windbag to make up its mind and hurls his machete like a javelin. The weapon strikes true and makes the decision for the lousy lackey.

He dusts himself off and reunites with his gun and knife. The day’s work is almost over.

One last place to check before heading back to the Bastion.

Core’s gotta be up there.

Sure enough, he hits the jackpot.

Only thing is, it’s surrounded by bad guys. Things ain’t ever easy out there.

With a slight hesitation, the Kid analyzes the soon to be battlefield, weighing his options. He marches on to the goal.

Just then, a cage falls on top of the core. Like I said, never easy.

The Kid lets out a gasp which turns quickly into anger -now you done gone and set him off. With his last plan out the window, he charges in swinging. Bullets fly, axes swing, metal strikes metal. Kid takes a beating for sure; good thing he’s got one last tonic on him. He takes shots in between sips. One hand lifting the heavy ceramic, one hand holding the even heavier repeater. The gun’s weight along with the nasty recoil doing a number on his arm as he keeps up the pressure. Drink. Shoot. Drink. Shoot. SHOOT. Shoot and then…

Silence.

He claims his hard won prize.

Kid figures there ain’t much left of this place left to explore. He’s right.

I watch as he lands on the Bastion, that poor patch of grass looking more and more like him each time he returns.

I say nothing, just holding my breath, praying that he’ll get back up. Kid doesn’t know it, but he’s the only chance any of us got left now.