“Paris! Don’t forget, we need the model 3 filter, okay?” Paris’s father called from underneath their broken moisture collector. The machine having been damaged during a bad sand storm, the family having to purchase water from their neighbors, it tasted funny.
“I know!”, Paris responded, of course she wouldn’t forget, she wasn’t a baby, “I’m going to stop by Tom’s on my way back!” The little girl turned and ran off before her father could object. A toothy grin placing itself on her face, delighted with her quick escape, her father would have had her come straight back home, but she had something she wanted to show Tom.
Paris was born in one of the coastal cities, she didn’t remember much about it, just that she was stuck inside all the time, her parents telling her about how the streets were too dangerous to go out and play. She was bored out of her mind until they moved out to the desert, she still remembered the first time she felt the heat of the sun on her face. A few days before her 9th birthday her parents woke her up late at night and dragged her out of her room and into a transport truck. She wasn’t very happy about the sudden awakening; she had tried to ask her mom what was happening, but she had simply held her finger to her mouth, telling her to be quiet.
The truck ride was not the most comfortable thing, there was a lot of other people cramped in with her family, they didn’t smell very nice. At some point she had fallen asleep and was jolted awake when the back of the truck slid open, a bright and painful light blasting into her face. She tried to hide from it, but her mom picked her up and carried her out and into the light. It was hot and bright, her eyes hurting from the sensory overload. Her mom whispered in her ear to open her eyes; she didn’t want to, but her curiosity was getting the better of her. It was hard to open them cause of how bad it hurt, but the pain went away after a moment. She saw so many colors.
Paris passed a stand cooking some sort of meat, the smell making her drool slightly. She was tempted to use the money her dad gave her to buy some, but that’s what a baby would do, and she wasn’t a baby. She turned on her heel, a bit more reluctantly than she would want to admit and started back on her task. The town center had the most markets, but more specifically it had George’s Garage, “The place with all the spare parts”. She snuck into one of the nearby alleys and found her way to the back door of George’s, a well-kept trailer home with an attached shed, she banged on the door, a clattering of objects fell inside.
“Hey! Who’s banging! If it's you Bouncer boys I'm gonna feed you to the motor oil machine!” A booming male voice resounded from the other side of the door. As the door started to open Paris hid off to the side of the door, a big and tall balding man peered his head out of the door, a significant beard and gut giving him a rather ruff appearance, it was George.
“BOO!” Paris jumped out in front of the man, her sudden appearance causing him to jump back, smacking Paris on the head with an oily rag he had been holding at the same time, smattering her face with black streaks.
“Ew! George!” Paris smacked at the smeared motor oil.
George, who had jumped back into the trailer clutched his chest and glared down at the little girl, “It’s what you get you little brat! I swear Paris, you’re gonna give me a heart attack one of these days. Prosthetics aren’t cheap...”
Paris chuckled, “You looked so funny, your face was all...” Paris made a silly shocked expression, mocking the man. She proceeded to fall on the ground, laughing at her caricature of the, now slightly frustrated, man.
“Oh, shut up you stinky grease rat, just tell me what you’re here for, so I can get you outta my hair. I actually have better things to do, believe it or not.” George had caught his breath and used his rag to wipe at the sweat that had built at his brow.
It took a few moments and George threatening to shut the door for Paris to get up and dust herself off, remembering the real reason she had come here, that being not just to scare George. She relayed her father’s request, “I’m supposed to get a model 3 filter.” Purposefully accentuating the three.
George started digging through one of his boxes before she had passed on her whole request. He threw several objects to the side, some mechanical components and other doohickies. Paris had to side step a stray bolt that seemed to be almost purposefully aimed at her.
“Here it is!”, with a grunt George straightened himself out and walked back to her, holding a round little round and yellow filter.
“Is this it?”, Paris asked, eyeing it questioningly, she though it would be cooler.
“Of course, it is!”, George snorted back, incredulous at her skepticism.
Paris reached into one of the many pockets she had, pulling out a few rocks on accident before finding what she was looking for. She placed several small chips into George's hand, the little plastic disks holding value some sort of value. Paris didn’t really understand how it all worked, but people had decided that those little chips were money, so she didn’t think about it too much.
“Looks good little lady,” George pocketed the chips and patted her on the head, a little harder than she thought necessary though, his big fat hands messing up her hair.
Paris stuck her tongue out at George, earning a small chuckle from the boisterous man. She ran back down the alley, slowly making her way towards Tom’s house, well, hut. Tom was kinda weird and always smelt burnt, but he was the only other kid out here her age, so she made do. As she walked, she noticed people start to run towards the east side of camp, some shouts of fire. Paris thought for a moment about going to check it out but decided against it, she would be too short to see past the adults there anyways.
Tom’s hut was made up of several tin sheets and a big red nylon tarp, it looked like the tents that travelers sometimes use. She ran up and lifted up a corner of the tarp, peeking in. There was a lot of weird glass bottles and weird smelling chemicals that burnt her eyes, Tom’s mom working with some of them. After a moment, as the hut was pretty small, she spotted tom playing with a lighter in the corner, melting little plastic army men.
This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.
“Psst, Tom!”, Paris whispered from under the tarp.
Tom’s head shot up, his long and messy hair blocking his eyes. He blew it out of the way, his eyes lighting up when he saw her face. He put the lighter in his pocket and crawled over to the little opening made by the lifted tarp.
“Hey Paris, what are you doing.”, Tom whispered back, he was missing a few teeth, so it whistled when he spoke. Paris snatched his arm and pulled him out of the hut, “Ah! What are you doing!”
“Shut up stupid, we’re sneaking out, I want to show you this place I found.” Paris hissed at him, urging him to be quiet. It was too late though, something grabbed Tom by the back of his legs and pulled him back under the tarp, Tom screaming all the way.
The next few minutes consisted of both of them getting scolded by Tom’s mother, it was hard to understand her past her respirator though. After their scolding they were allowed to play inside the hut, which was pretty boring. Paris glared at Tom for a long time, if only he had been quiet, she thought. Tom, for his part, felt pretty bad about the whole ordeal, letting Paris use his lighter to melt some of his army men.
They continued like this for some time before a wild shriek was heard from outside, an orange glow emanating from the other side of the tarp. A wave of heat washed over the house as more screams and shouts of panic rang out. Another fire. Paris and Tom ran out into the street, Tom’s mom close behind.
Everything was on fire. Paris coughed at the amount of smoke, the inky black smog filling the air. Turning around Paris noticed the fire catch on Tom’s home, a frighteningly quick blaze. Before they could move to stop the fire or ask for help, Tom’s mom grabbed their arms and started to run away from the hut, dragging them along with her. Tom’s house exploded.
Paris woke up covered in dirt, her head hurt really bad, little drops of blood falling from her nose. She looked around, Tom was kneeling next to his mom. She crawled over to them, Tom had tears running down his face, his mom had a glass spike sticking out of her back. Blood starting to pool into a puddle beneath her, her eyes glassy and open wide. She was dead.
There were gun shots next, Paris jumped up to run. She grabbed Tom’s arm, yanking on it, trying to get him to follow her, Tom didn’t move. He broke free of her grasp and grabbed onto his mom, in between sobs he cried out the her, “No! We can't leave her! Mom! Wakeup! PLEASE!” Tom shook his mother’s corpse but received no response. More gunshots, they were closer now.
“Tom! We have to go! We’ll come back, I promise!”, Paris shouted at Tom, grabbing his arm once more and pulling with all her might, leaning back into it, adrenaline starting to pump into her veins. Tom’s grip slipped and he was broken free of his mother. Tom was looking down, tears falling into the sand while his face lay hidden behind his hair. Paris pulled him towards the nearest place she knew, George’s.
The town center was full of people, many burnt or bleeding, others running around with guns and shovels. George’s store was empty, but Paris spotted his bald head sticking out above everyone, making it easy to find him. Paris ran towards him, dragging Tom behind her.
“George! What's happening! Tom’s house exploded! His mom is really hurt!”, Paris cried out to him, noticing for the first time the tears streaking her cheeks.
“Oi, Girly! You can't be out here, it’s not safe, follow me.”, George ignored her questions and swooped them both into his arms, running towards the towns post office. The building consisted of several large shipping containers welded together, the building received all the settlements shipments and was one of the most well-built structures in the town.
George slammed his fist into the steel double doors on the front of the building, the entire structure vibrating with the impacts. “I got two more! Open up! It’s George!”
The door cracked open revealing a teenage boy, an automatic rifle in his arms. George set the two kids down and turned them to look at him, a faux smile plastered to his face, “Listen to me closely tiny, don’t open this door for anyone but me or your daddy. Got it?” Paris nodded her head, her hands grabbing at the bottom of her shirt, the first inklings of fear finding its way into her mind.
“Good girl, I’ll be back real soon.”, George turned to face the teenager, “You. Watch them.” The boy gave a quick and panicked nod, the look in his eyes betraying his confidence. George shoved them into the building, several other kids in there with them. With a final glance out the door, at the panic and the death, the door shut.
Time passed and the gunfire grew louder, the teenage boy paced the room, sweat building and dropping off his brow. Paris and Tom sat against the front wall, Tom fiddling with his lighter, Paris with her ear to the wall, attempting to hear what was going on outside, but only hearing gunfire. More time passed and the teenager decided to go outside, his face pale, his grip on his rifle turning his knuckles white. He left out the front, telling us to stay quiet and that he would be back. He didn’t come back, and eventually the gunfire stopped.
Paris sat in the dark for a long time, maybe George forgot her? She didn’t believe that though, George wasn't a baby, and only babies forget. The darkness reminded her of before she left the city, the constant shadow that was lit only by neon lights, their glow casting the area with dull color. She wanted to see sunlight.
Paris stood up and walked to the door, the massive steel barricade blocking her path. The other kids watched her, Tom just kept playing with his lighter. She placed her hand against the door and pushed, she grunted with effort, the giant door straining her tiny muscles. Slowly, the door creaked open, she peeked out, everything was a weird smokey grey. Surveying the scene showed strange dusty mounds and only one figure, some sort of bot, standing in the middle of the town center.
Paris swallowed; her throat was dry. She grabbed at the base of her shirt with one hand and leaned against the door with the other, the door opening easier now. The bot turned to look at her, three red lights shone on each side of its face, a weird crooked smile framing them. She took a step forward; the bot just watched her. She took another step, then another, the bot stood up straight then got down on its knees, looking her in the eye. She took a step back.
The bot spoke a single word, its voice all scratchy, “Hello.”
Paris released her grip on her shirt and looked the bot in the eye, tears threatening to break and small tremors starting to wrack her body. She Spoke.
“Do-o you k-know wher-er George is?”
----------------------------------------
The little girl’s voice was tremoring as she asked me her question, the fear and sadness in it all-encompassing. In this moment I was grateful for my inability to cry, because I would be. The girl’s face was turned down and to the side, avoiding my gaze, my appearance most likely startling her. I debated how to best to respond to her question. Somewhere within my mind, a shadowy part of me, said to just tell her and the other children that their loved ones were dead and then just move on with my own life. That part of me made my soul recoil in disgust, I stomped it out, pushing the shadow back. After a moment I decided on another choice, the only real one.
I stood up and walked to the little girl, my form towering over her. I squatted down, my face now directly in front of hers, she stood stock still, drawing in a quick breath. I slowly reached out my hand and gently took her hand in it. My cold steel fingers wrapping around her hand, it being tiny in comparison. She looked at me in the eyes, her own eyes wide and full of fright, I gazed right back and spoke, my voice uttering another mechanical phrase.
“I’m sorry sweetie, I don’t know where George is,” I paused for a moment, "But I'll help you find him.”