The city of March grinds to a halt.
It's a demonic force, stirred from the central deserts and brought on the backs of prevailing winds into the southlands. Motes of dust nothing more than harmless fragments, now united in a horrifying monster that shadows even the five suns above.
A wall of sand miles high, visible to the naked eye as it descends onto a bastion of humankind.
“Wow.” Madeline McCormick comments to Alto, the Bandit herself casually leaning on the side of their newly acquired truck. “I’ve heard the dust storms can get big down here in the Southlands, but I never imagined this big.”
He’s struggling with the covering, the thick treated canvas attempting to escape human confinement through the now howling wind within the open fuel depot. Metal bows strung across the flatbed of the truck, a simple frame allowing for the full coverage of any passengers and cargo.
“Alto.” Madeline repeats.
A loose end of flapping canvas slaps him on the cheek, the man’s wide brimmed hat threatening to take flight from his head. “Yeah?”
“You ever go through a storm like this before?”
He takes a moment to think about her question. “A few times.”
She tries to read him for deception, a truthfulness to his words adding to her followup. “How big do these things even get? Cause I’ve never seen something this big back in Centralis.”
Alto barely has a change to answer her as the wind torn canvas cover is almost ripped from his hands. “They’re much larger in the deep desert. Not many mountain ranges to stop them from growing big, I suppose.”
“In the Armin Collective?” She scoffs at the implication. “Come on Alto…”
“Well the big ones happen only once or twice a year. But, those are more dangerous than one of these.”
“Yeah, less dangerous? No offense but this doesn’t seem like it’s a…”
They arrive at the perimeter of the northern fuel depot.
Two of the four out of breath, Judge Murphy and Samantha absolutely destroyed by their hurried pace back to the designed reunification point.
“Oh look, they’re back.” Madeline pushes off the hull of the truck, raising her voice to them as she waves her arms wildly. “Hey! Over here!”
Old lungs burning above a still recovering heart within an ailing torso, the old man’s physicality once again pushed to its breaking point. Each breath taken filled with particulate dust, phlegm from both exhaustion and contamination spewed forth onto the ancient cobblestone from an awful bout of coughs.
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Samantha doesn’t fare much better, her small body simply regurgitating a mixture of stomach acid and drunk water.
“Five above…” Alto immediately abandons his current task as he jumps down from the truck bed. “What happened?!”
“Twelve individuals were killed in two altercations.” Samuel barely even breathes, his augmented physicality easily maintaining themselves despite the physical exertion. Minus, one single factor.
He turns towards the two, holding the arm of his sibling as he brings the request to them. “Do you have any nutritional supplements?”
It gnaws at his very soul, a hunger that screams to the boy like a wailing mother for lost children. The instinct amplified by implanted machinery, a feral look pulling atop a desperate face.
“Oh gods.” Alto softens himself, digging through pockets as he finds the purchased package. “Here.”
Waxed paper holding sticks of fried dough, covered in layers of synthetic sugar.
Samuel doesn’t even wait for a sibling’s agreement or generalized social contract, instead grabbing the entire package as he greedily stuffs mass into his mouth. Bought from now evacuated street vendors within the fuel depot, excess funds given to the children in the form of haphazard caloric nutrition.
The Bandit gives a side eye towards the Lawman, harshness in criticism. “So you guys killed twelve people on a shopping trip. I assume you didn’t even get through half the things on the list I gave you.”
“It was self defense against attempted murder.” Judge Murphy coldly informs as he reaches for his own weapon. “Under penal code…”
Alto cuts into their argument, pointing eastward towards the massive wave of dust. “Please, we need to remain focused.”
There’s something more to his words, a resolution to this argument found in the delay of time.
Both sides grumble, a conflict avoided just barely as they pull minds to current tasks. Items to be stowed, fellow party members to be helped, and final preparations to be completed.
Judge Murphy’s own experience forces him on the walk around of the acquired vehicle, ancient eyes observing its deteriorating construction up close. Complaints silenced as he takes note of peeling paint and rusting steel, the concern of missing bolts welded together from decades of spare parts salvage come together in a paragon of ruin.
Samuel makes his own comment at the sight, a half-devoured cerritos cake swallowed but complaint undigested. “This vehicle is non operational.”
“It works.” Madeline counters defensively. “And it's gonna work until we get to September. Until then, this is our saddled horse, our literal chariot of gods.”
Samantha questions the noun coldly. “What is a horse?”
“It’s an animal from the northlands. You can ride’em and stuff.” The Bandit dismisses from a spoiled childhood. “Anyway, this Liberation type trucking hunk of junk is gonna be the basis of humanity’s salvation! Whata ya think Ar? Good enough for you?”
He doesn’t dare scan it, any expelling of energy possibly enough to track him amongst this ruined world. Instead, Ar simply makes a visual observation with passive systems; a machine mind classifying the item with somewhat passable accuracy.
A primitive internal combustion engine mounted within a haphazardly mass-manufactured carbon steel frame, the entire thing already decaying from improper storage amongst the harsh conditions of the southlands.
Ar, the One, gives a neutral answer. “It’s sufficient.”
A quick snap of her fingers, Madeline turning back to the remaining team with a mission critical request. “Alright, fast question: who here knows how to drive?”
Absolute, deathly silence.