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Evergreen Everlasting
Verdant Wastes

Verdant Wastes

12/04/2065

The old M7 appeared out of place nestled among dense forests and thickets, a steadfast remnant of a bygone world. 

The primary road wasn't in much better shape, it's asphalt cracked and bleached by the sun. The paint that had once directed cars was long gone, alongside any cars for that matter. Instead replaced by tufts of grass and shrubs poking out of whatever gaps they could, fighting for whatever sunlight they could get, or trees which had toppled onto the road, or stretched out and reached desperately towards it. 

Occasionally, dirt tracks or small roads would pop out, encompassed almost fully by the greenery, then disappear out of sight almost as suddenly as they appeared. 

It was down one of those paths that Blake found himself walking. For security, safety, he told himself. That there wouldn't be any blockades on the side roads. And while it's true that highwaymen generally tended towards highways, he didn't exactly care about that. He did it to explore, to see what relics of the old world he could find and what stories they hid. Being constantly on the move had given him an appreciation for any landmarks he saw along the way. Any derelict, overgrown building or moss coated vehicle carcass could tell a story or house valuable treasure. 

Blake passed by an old train, one covered in so many leaves and branches it was almost impossible to see, and the tracks being covered by knee-high grass only aided its concealment. Yet Blake noticed a reflection of the sun in a small, exposed area which miraculously hadn't rusted away. He adjusted his worn beanie, which concealed his dirty blonde hair and a small scar on the side of his temple. His face was young, yet his eyes looked experienced, as if they saw more than they rightfully should have for someone only 19 years of age. He wore a dark green jacket with several sewn holes and patches of different coloured material where rips had once been. Under the coat was a holster where an M9 handgun was concealed, and over it a small satchel. On his left arm he wore a hand-made leather bracer with a built in watch, slightly cracked compass and an improvised sensor which searched for specific particles in the air. 

He approached one of the carriages and pulled the large handle with all his strength, but it would not budge. He tried again but to no avail, so abandoning the carriage he approached the locomotive and pushed aside the leaves in front of the broken windows. Inside, a skeleton sat undisturbed on the central chair. A dried out red stain covered the left wall and a gun lay on the floor on the skeletons' right. 

Poor bastard 

Blake thought to himself and considered leaving immediately. Yet first he skirted around the dead conductor, picked up the gun and unloaded the nearly full magazine of ammo and returned the gun to where it originally lay. He promptly moved away from the locomotive, pushing the leaves back and leaving the place as it was, no longer as excited to open up the other doors. He backed onto the track and gave the train a final look, which really was camouflaged expertly by the foliage, as were so many other places around. 

The dirt path eventually merged back to the more travelled and more prominent N24. The smell of morass from recent rain emanated strongly, with the only audible noises coming from Blake's boots crushing abundant weeds, the gas mask that hung from his belt clanging against his holster, or occasional gusts of wind rustling the branches of dark green leaves. 

Continuing along the barren road, past the Healy General Store, another rough, forsaken road emerged from the brush, leading to an even more derelict set of unfinished apartment blocks. Some were fully built and appeared similar to their fellow disrepaired structures, albeit with far less foliage. A few others, however, had entire sections of walls missing, surrounded by scaffolding. Without hesitation, Blake turned into the path and walked towards one of the incomplete buildings. He passed through the doorway, the metal door desperately clinging onto one of its hinges. Ascending the stairs Blake counted the stories, stopping at the fourth. He went into the hallway and stopped in front of the furthermost left door. Rooting around his bag's smallest pocket, he produced a keychain with no less than ten different keys, each marked out with a number or coloured piece of tape. He jangled them for a moment, then picked out a rusted key with an inscription that matched the adjacent room's number and opened the door. 

Inside was relatively clean and very comfortable, compared to the countless other rooms left uninhabited for years across Ireland. The room wasn't exactly uninhabited, however, as it served as a safehouse for Light Runners. Couriers and caravaners who trekked the worn roads, transporting all forms of information, from personal letters that bring smiles, to exigent orders and treaties that inevitably change the lives of countless others. 

This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

The Light Runners work under the banner of the Irish Provisional Society, or IPS. The largest trade union following the collapse, linking settlements and creating vital supply lines while introducing the Saibhreas as a currency. Bringing stability in an uncertain time. 

Around the apartment stood several supply packs, some in cupboards or boxes around the rooms, but what was most worthwhile was in a secure locker with a code. Blake spun the dials and inserted the code 2021, the founding of the IPS, years before Blake's time. In the locker lay a small stash of water and filters, and an even smaller stash of ammunition with just a few individual bullets. Blake didn't take any of the supplies, not out of a lack of necessity or any great care for others, but out of a lack of trust. A strong preference to using only his own equipment and supplies. What he did take however was a handwritten pencil note lodged in the back of the locker, with an oblong metallic object rested atop it

Hey there Blake

(If your not Blake please take some ammo and kindly fuck off. This is not for you) 

Hope the road's treating you well. I know there's a few foxes around these parts but hopefully you weren't too scared. 

Make sure to stock up on filters too, this time I won't be here to carry you to safety. And even if I were, that's never happening again. You owe me for that. Big time. 

Now something actually important, I heard you were going to Gourt Cross and I just came from that side. I know how much you like your 'untrodden paths' or whatever you call them, but stick to the main road for a while, there's a blockade set up on one of the side roads, found that out the hard way. Not too sure why it's there but just trust me, this one time. Wouldn't want you getting too hurt out there, not without me to watch it. 

Seriously man, watch out for yourself. 

P.S.  I made you a little something. I'd tell you to be careful but we both know that's a tall ask of you. Just don't have me stitching you up because of this

Kate, the one and only :)

Upon reading the letter a large smile lit up Blakes face. He folded the letter up and put it in his pocket, then pulled out Kate's gift, a small dented can with several wires taped to the side of it coming from the inside. The insides of the can were also taped shut, with a relatively short fuse poking out, and a pair of matches conveniently taped to the side. Despite its shoddy appearance, Blake knew it would come in handy and that he could never make anything like that himself. He placed the fuse into the can, just in case, put the bomb securely into his satchel, then collapsed onto the nearby couch, removing his jacket and bag and falling into a slumber.

He woke up pretty early in the morning, unable and unwilling to sleep for long when his job remained unfinished. So he got up, put his equipment where it should be, and peered out the nearby dust covered window. It didn't face the road, so save for a single path and unidentifiable building in the distance, the entire view consisted of pine and evergreen trees, oak, ash, willow, all the same from above, yet all so different. 

As per Kate's instruction, Blake avoided the several tempting yet potentially dangerous side roads, sticking to the main one for the foreseeable future. Nothing particularly eventful happened  for about the first hour, not until passing the old Flannigans house. Around there, Blake heard a rustling in the brush, then aimed his gun at the ever dangerous fox that emerged from within. He cursed and recoiled back, stumbling and almost falling over. But by the time he regained his balance, the fox was already gone, and probably for the better. 

Blake's absent mind and wandering thoughts were interrupted by a quick and sharp beeping from his bracer. His sensor detected oncoming Pustulus particles coming in from the south west, such gusts of wind that carried these dangerous particles were commonly dubbed the Winds of Change. Breathing in too much would lead to a fate worse than death, one Blake didn't want to think about right now. 

He fumbled with the mask at his hip and quickly put it on, ensuring the filter was twisted on tightly. He took a deep breath and walked on, looking around for any shelter as staying out, even with a mask, was risky and wasteful if shelter was nearby. Only after a few minutes of walking did he notice a single small house, a faint light shining from inside. 

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