Eli had a theory that the best climbers were the people who had to master the art on the fly, or be killed. He had learned how to ascend the studded pine trunks and rough-hewn cabins of his childhood. While he was as good as any small child could be at climbing, he only did it when he wanted to gain a vantage point, or get the jump on some of his family’s pigs. Every other person his age probably had some fond memories of scampering up the ruins in their community, or the rigging of whatever vehicles they were traveling in. But if he consulted those born before the ’40s or even the mid ’30s, he’d receive those people’s tales of running for their lives, and shivering against branches while their family’s killers stalked beneath them. And other good times like that. Warra was still climbing like the early marauders were on her tail.
She had reached the top of a store building in the time it had taken Eli to… she hadn’t even given him enough time to see what else was on the main street. He had asked to see the town from the rooftops first. Everywhere around the Roller was too crowded with people making camp, and being up there would make him feel like an overseer of some kind, which was always nice. Besides, it would be nice to give Cone a sense of command and some responsibilities besides questioning the researcher. He could hear them barking at each other as they unrolled the tent and brought out provisions. But what would they do after that? This might be one of the rare scenarios where the crew became distraught by idleness alone. That had happened once before, and it was incredibly predictable.
His climb up the side of the building wasn’t as bad as he thought it would be. The remnants of a large truck had been parked a few feet from the structure, so he was really climbing the vehicle and kicking against the wall when he needed support. He had learned how to climb the old world’s vehicles on the trading excursions that his family lead to a nearby settlement. The local children had taught him how to wedge his feet into different kinds of hub caps, and see if the roof was still walkable. There was still glass in the truck’s window, so he couldn’t rest his foot on the door. After some particularly embarrassing maneuvers, he rolled himself onto the building’s roof. He started sinking. There was over a foot of snow on everything out here, and for a moment he honestly thought that he would need to ask Warra to pull him out. When he sat up, he found her squatting near the edge and looking out.
They really were in the middle of fucking nowhere. This feeling had been growing in Eli since he had been told he was going to the Singing Road. Cone had warned Eli about how remote their destination was, multiple times, but he wasn’t bothered. His route up to the Rusted Horizon had been met with fewer and fewer other vessels the further he went, and almost none were headed the same way. Every other conversation from the Horizon’s crew had been something about how their super-vehicle was, “the last sign of civilization up here.” The pilot who had delivered the Roller commented on how far he had come. And the non-specialized crew had just about shat their pants when they realized how much farther they had to go. So what did he expect? That there would be lush forests and thriving cities, or at least what was left of them? What lay in front of him was basically a worse version of the ocean: it didn’t have waves or fish, just snow-covered land for as far as he could see.
“They won’t like you.” Warra said, without looking in his direction. Eli’s perception over his guide changed on an almost hourly basis. There were times when she imbued the spirit of a fearsome and wise woods-person, and other times when she behaved as obtusely as a petty child. He decided to play along.
“Why not?” He asked. Warra stood up and started walking along the roof. Eli held back so her scarf wouldn’t blow in his face.
“They won’t.” She said, like she was giving herself the last word.
“Who’s ‘they?” Eli asked.
“I can’t tell you.” Warra said. Eli grinned.
“How old were you?” He asked.
This question made Warra turn and stare at him. He’d done a good job of catching her off-guard. Judging from how her mouth was hanging open, he might have been the first person to have ever asked this question. He also had a feeling that he was the first person she had talked to in over a year.
If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement.
“When the Burnout hit. How old were you? Six? Four?” He asked again. Now she was looking at her surroundings like they had heard a wild animal or something. On second thought, she looked like a cornered deer.
“They—” She tried to start.
“I know a feral child when I meet one.” Eli said. If he was right, her only social interactions were when she was selling pelts or agreeing to guide someone. And people would only ask her about where she was from, or what she could offer, but nothing about her. Eli could see her now, the real “Warra”. A little child crawling through fields and sobbing to herself while the world burned around her. Everything about her was this awkward hybrid of grim survivalist and stunted innocent. He had seen this type before, but never someone who was nearly as remote as her.
“How was it? Spending your nights in hollowed trees, eating live mice, running at the first sign of artificial noise.” Eli said all of the things he imagined that she would have been forced to do. This was bordering on cruel. On closer inspection, it looked like the purple in her scarf was from old polyester fabrics— maybe the clothes she was wearing when the world fell. Warra looked slightly less frightened now, like she was receiving some of Eli’s compassion.
“I was fast. And quiet.” She said, with a hint of pride.
“But you weren’t alone. A little kid, who couldn’t even pronounce the ‘L’ in her name couldn’t have survived the winters of what was then North Dakota without some help.” Eli said. He had suspected this much from the start. Warra wouldn’t be a direct link to the phenomena, but she had been damn close with it. She stepped back as she realized that he was still trying to use her.
“You are cruel.” She said. Eli knew this. People always commented on his meanness once the interviews started. He just wanted to know things, and he didn’t mind bluntness. For this kind of information, he would gladly do away with any niceties and interrogate her at knife-point. He had honestly thought about doing this, and then saying that she had killed herself or something. It wasn’t like anyone would be looking for her. Unfortunately, Center-Brace had already done that and two suicides would look suspicious. And he couldn’t say that she had tried to kill him. Everyone knew that it would take years of training, or a lot of drugs to match the sheer ferocity that these wild-people had in a fight. He was stuck trying to talk her story out of her.
“How did you get separated from your parents?” He asked. This might be interesting.
“They were talking about what was best. They were so afraid of what was coming, that they…” Warra said before choking up. In that moment, she might have gone all the way back to that fateful evening, or whenever, when she had overheard her parents talking about putting a knife through their daughter’s throat while she slept. He had actually studied an order of child-killers for one of his assignments.
“They wanted to spare you from it.” He said. Now it sounded like he was trying to comfort her. It just felt natural to say something to try and put her at ease. It wasn’t like she had ever taken the time to process this. But this wasn’t his job. He was supposed to be investigating phenomena, not helping this adult feral get her shit together.
“The fires, and the guns, and the screams.” Warra said. Her eyes were now bloodshot, and there were bits of frozen mucus and saliva around her face. Eli watched his breath fogging the air instead of the breakdown in front of him. It wasn’t like she would tell the crew what a cold bastard he was.
“So you ran off.” He said.
“I survived.”
“Have your friends ever told you why they helped you?” Eli questioned. If she would just say a little about this… A little bit about anything specific would be helpful.
“I don’t ask… I never ask.” Warra said, shaking her head. She might have run off from her parents, but she understood loyalty. Maybe she was just crazy, but she definitely appeared to be indebted to something. Something must have helped her through the early years, taught her how to survive and hunt, and then start trading when things quieted down. A good mentor could have done that. But if she had been taught by someone, she would have named them already. There was phenomena here, and Warra was the best proof he’d found. Maybe she’d tell him something more useful in a later conversation. As of right now, he could climb back down if he wanted to talk to another brick wall. Who else was there that he hadn’t chatted with?