Helmet decided the group should stop at a river as it came into view. They halted at the bank and unloaded while the older man checked a crudely drawn map. Asking what the river was called before the invasion would have been useless. The reason was not due to anyone being unable to determine the name—there were still a few knowledgeable enough outside the group that could deduce something along those lines—but the river likely had not existed before the invasion.

Evident by the jagged and violent way the land had been cut and cratered, Helmet figured the place had once been a simple section of ground. What sort of weapons and battle caused such a level of terraforming was not a question anyone cared to ask; they simply jumped out of their vehicle and began preparing fishing rods.

At Glasses’ direction, Helmet watched him lean out of the machine and heard unclear shouts to guide the giant Reaper into place; Angela found a deep crater for her machine to squat into. The yellow chest was low enough that he could hop out on even ground without worrying about falling. With a polite ‘Thanks Angie,’ a nickname she told him to stop within a string of curses following, he made his way over to the others and prepared to catch dinner.

The only one who did not fish was Helmet, who headed toward Angela. He had long come to terms with the fact that he couldn’t catch anything and often settled to start the fire. Several logs from the jeep were tossed in front of the Reaper, and Angela sighed. The giant metal frame groaned as it slowly stood up.

“Hold on!” Helmet shouted, “I was hoping we could chat.”

“I’d rather die,” the young woman shot back as her machine stopped.

“I doubt that; you would be dead already if that were true.”

Angela gave no response but lowered the mech to where they could see eye to eye. She watched as the older man positioned sticks and logs into a pile and lit some kindling with a match. Moments later, a large fire was raging.

If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

“Pretty good, huh?” Helmet said with a chuckle. He reached into a pocket and spun his hand before pulling it out.

“Is that something to be impressed by?” Angela said with a roll of her eyes.

“Of course! You wouldn’t believe how bad I was at starting fires when we first set out.” Helmet moved his feet out and slowly lowered to the ground near the flame. He had to be careful how he sat, or he might not get up easily. The older man held in his usual cry of ‘getting old sucks’ to spare Angela from his complaints—he would wait until she knew the group better for those.

“I figured you knew how to start a fire just as well as any other old fool.”

“Hey now, I was a much younger old fool then. Still had some color in my hair, even.” He pulled off his Helmet to show a mangled head of gray hair. “Enjoy it while it lasts.”

“I don’t expect that it will matter,” Angela grumbled as she scratched at bulging wires in her arm. “I won’t be going very far from this machine.” Her red eyes grew wide, and she bit her lower lip as she looked at her legs.

“How did you end up in that machine, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“I do mind.”

“I see; well, I won’t force you if you don’t want to discuss it. We’ve all been through plenty these last few years, that’s for sure.”

Helmet prodded at the fire to ensure the wood was well positioned. Some cries from the river indicated one of the group members had just pulled in an impressive catch; they had a habit of competing, and Helmet was very familiar with the distinct cries. Bandana had just pulled in the large catch, which replaced Coats.

Shortly after, the competition ended with no more upsets, and several disfigured, but still edible fish were being roasted over the fire. The group engaged in lively banter, forming a circle around the fire with the mech.

“I’ll win next time,” Coat grumbled as he crossed his arms.

“You can dream about that, but spare us with your idealistic chitchat,” Bandana replied with a smirk.

“We got a pretty good haul at least, right Helmet?” Glasses asked. The older man nodded in reply.

“I would have liked to at least catch a couple for the cooler; we still may have a day’s ride ahead of us before we might see a town,” Slacks said as he gently wiped the barrel of his rifle. He was the last to get a cooked fish on account of taking so long to put down his gun.