"Wasted a goddamn Stinger missile to save some damn scav rat," grumbled a gruff male voice, tinged with irritation and disbelief. My ears were still ringing from the explosion, and consciousness seemed like a boat adrift in a stormy sea. I could barely register the pain that surged through my broken arm, a wave of nausea overwhelming me.

"Lift his head," commanded a woman's voice, authoritative and calm amidst the chaos. A blinding light assaulted my eyes as my supposed rescuer shone a flashlight directly into my gaze. The world spun, a disorienting blur of lights and shadows, rendering me incapable of focusing on anything but the silhouette looming against the backdrop of the night. Overwhelmed by pain and disorientation, I vomited.

"Oh, Christ alive!" the male voice snapped, his frustration palpable in the tense night air.

"Would you just shut up and help me get him into the truck?" the woman retorted, her tone brooking no argument.

I was vaguely aware of the sensation of being lifted, strong arms carrying me with an urgency that matched the situation's gravity. The sound of an idling vehicle, its engine a low rumble in the quiet of the wasteland, filtered through my dulled senses. Agony flared anew as I was unceremoniously dumped into the back of what I assumed to be a pickup truck, the metal beneath me cold and unforgiving.

The screech of tires breaking traction on the gravel preceded the sudden lurch of movement as the truck raced off across the barren landscape. The motion jostled me, every bump and dip magnifying my pain until it was all I could feel. As the vehicle gained speed, whisking me away from the nightmare I had narrowly escaped, darkness crept in at the edges of my vision, a peaceful oblivion compared to the hellish reality I had endured. Eventually, I succumbed to it, blacking out completely, the last vestiges of consciousness slipping away as the truck carried me into the unknown.

*

The aroma of cooking meat permeated the air, rousing me from the depths of unconsciousness. My eyes fluttered open, squinting against the bright light that filled the room. As my vision adjusted, I realized it was daylight, and I found myself in an unfamiliar building. Lying on a bed with an actual mattress beneath me felt like an unimaginable luxury after the countless nights I had endured sleeping on the unforgiving ground. An attempt to sit up quickly reminded me of my injuries; my right arm was immobilized, encased in a cast and secured with a splint, evidence of my rescuer's medical knowledge.

Glancing around, I noticed my pack and clothes neatly placed on the floor beside the bed. Curiosity prompted me to lift the woolen blanket with my left hand, confirming my suspicion: I was dressed in nothing but my underwear. Laying my head back down on the pillow, I took a moment to appreciate its softness—a rarity in the harshness of the Wasted Earth that I wasn't about to take for granted.

The sound of approaching footsteps tensed my muscles, anticipation and my survival instinct kicking into play. A woman came into view, pausing at the doorway. She appeared to be in her early thirties, her skin a deep bronze hue that spoke of days spent under the relentless sun. Her dirty blond hair was pulled back into a practical bun, though a few strands escaped to frame her face and partially conceal her vivid green eyes. There was a rugged attractiveness about her, shaped by survival yet softened by an easy grace.

Her attire was that of a typical survivor: tight jeans and combat boots formed the basis of her practical ensemble, complemented by a red jumper. A light denim jacket, worn and faded from use, completed the look. This combination of utility and unassuming style painted a picture of a woman who had not only endured the trials of the world but had adapted to them.

She approached the bed with a purposeful stride, her eyes assessing me for a moment before softening.

"How are you feeling?" she asked, her voice carrying a hint of concern that belied her rugged appearance. She placed a tray on a nearby table, the source of the enticing smell that had awakened me. On it, I could see a modest meal prepared with care.

"Better, thanks to you," I managed to reply, my voice hoarse. My gratitude was genuine; her intervention had undoubtedly saved my life, though the circumstances that led to it remained a blur.

She nodded, pulling up a chair to sit beside the bed. "You were in pretty bad shape when we found you," she explained. "That robot did a number on your arm. You suffered a minor concussion and your jacket caught most of the shrapnel. We had to dig some bits of bot out of your thigh,” she said gesturing to the bandage wrapped tightly about my thigh.

“We've done our best to set the broken bone, but you'll need to take it easy for a while."

Her straightforward manner was comforting in its clarity. There was no sugarcoating, yet a palpable empathy underscored her words. It was a rare quality in the Wasted Earth, where survival often dulled people's sense of compassion.

I nodded, suddenly aware of a gnawing hunger. With her help, I managed to sit up and begin to eat. The food was simple, yet every bite was a reminder of how close I had come to never enjoying such a basic pleasure again.

“What is this?” I asked through a mouthful.

“Chicken,” she replied.

My eyes widened. Chicken? I hadn’t eaten real fresh meat in months. Canned food was the best I could hope for on my travels. I devoured the meal in record time savouring every morsel.

"I'm Nathan," I introduced myself, realizing I hadn't yet done so.

"Beth," she returned. She gestured toward the tray. "You should eat something. It's not much, but it's nutritious."

“So,’ Beth began as she took the plate from me and offering me a glass of water. ‘what the fuck were you doing out there? Travelling at night is a death sentence, any rookie knows that.”

I raised an eyebrow.

“Rookie? I’m no rookie lady. I’d hunkered down for the night in an abandoned service station just off the highway. I thought I was safe, and then a horde of mutants came lumbering by. They attracted the Optimus and I had no choice but to run.”

Beth nodded in understanding.

“And that’s when we found you.”

Love this story? Find the genuine version on the author's preferred platform and support their work!

“Yeah, thanks for the save. Now, I have a few questions for you.”

Beth shook her head and turned to leave.

“No, that’s not how this works, Nathan’ she replied, emphasising my name as though she was trying it out for size. “Get dressed and meet me outside. Jake and the others will want to talk.”

I sighed and gingerly swung my legs over the side of the bed causing the blanket to slide off and expose my vulnerable state. Beth stared at my body and then walked away. The door opened and closed with a thud.

“I still got it,” I chuckled to myself, instantly regretting it as pain lanced up my arm. I shuffled over to the chair and very awkwardly got dressed. Getting my shirt on was tricky with a broken arm but after a lot of swearing I managed it.

Once dressed, albeit awkwardly due to my immobilized arm, I took a moment to gather myself. I checked my pack. Of course my Glock had been taken and they must’ve taken my rifle off me as soon as they’d dragged my sorry ass here. Where here was I hadn’t a clue. From memory I didn’t recall any survivor camps in the area and those people that were scraping out some form of meagre existence the nomadic life was the only way to stay ahead of all the fucked up things that wanted us all dead. They were clearly wary of me, and rightly so. I could be a Marauder for all they knew. Hell, these people could be Marauders for all I knew! I’d have to keep my wits about me and be sure to keep an eye out for any means of escape. Until I could learn I had to assume Beth and these other people were hostile. Would be just my luck to have been saved from being torn to pieces by a robot only to fall into the hands of a bunch of cannibals. I took a deep breath to steady my nerves and to stop the room from spinning. The concussion may have been fairly minor but the effects were still being felt.

Stepping outside, I was met with the harsh light of day, the sun a stark contrast to the dim interior I'd just left. Before me stood a sturdy concrete structure that, in a previous life, would have likely served as a storage shed for machine parts. The faded signage reading ‘Campbell’s Motors’ hinted at its past life as part of a workshop and garage, now encircled by a chain-link fence that marked the boundaries of our compound. Beth awaited me just outside, her posture conveying a mix of readiness and impatience, her arms folded across her chest, her expression one of subtle urgency.

The compound buzzed with activity, more so than I had anticipated. Individuals bustled about, their movements purposeful, engaged in tasks ranging from carrying supplies to performing maintenance. Their cautious glances in my direction were a clear reflection of the suspicion typically reserved for outsiders in this unforgiving world—a sentiment I could understand all too well.Beth led me to a communal area where a group of people were gathered. Among them was a man whose presence commanded attention. He was broad-shouldered, with a face that had seen too much yet remained vigilant. His steely grey eyed gaze upon meeting mine was penetrating, assessing.

"Nathan," Beth introduced me, "this is Jake, our leader."

Jake nodded, his scrutiny unabated.

“Beth tells me you had a run in with some mutants and an Optimus. Not many people can tangle with those and still be breathing.”

I chuckled.

Attempting to lighten the moment, I chuckled. "Yeah, well, it wasn’t my first rodeo. What is this place?" I diverted, keen to keep details about myself scarce.

“We’d been on the move for weeks until we stumbled across this place. It had four solid walls an intact fence and plenty of space for us to rest up.”

Jake turned and gestured for me to follow. Beth was right behind me no doubt with a pistol trained on my back underneath her jacket. There was three people of various ages tending to crates containing chickens, there was even a goat tied up to a post nearby. Nomads was my first thought.

“We set out from the west about a month ago. We had a settlement with running water, crops and even some electricity.”

“Lemme guess,’ I said, ‘ something drove you out?”

Jake stopped and wiped his nose with the back of his dark skinned hand.

“Wasn’t robots, mutants or anything else. It was the Dominion.”

My eyes widened but I quickly masked my emotions. Damn.

“What’s that?” I said feigning ignorance. To these people I was just a simple scavver roaming the Wasted Earth looking for supplies. A nobody.

Jake raised an eyebrow. Shit, had I pressed my luck too far by pretending not to know of the Dominion.

“The Dominion are a collective of Marauder groups that have swept through the west. Killing and raping as they go. Any settlement that resists they slaughter the men and take the women and children.”

“A fate worse than death,” Beth spat with venom in her tone. There was a story there that much was clear.

“What made you come out this way? There’s plenty of Marauders out here.”

“Scattered groups are easier to handle than a united army of the fuckers. And then of course there’s the –‘

“Jake?” Beth interrupted suddenly with a warning tone.

Jake looked me in the eye. I wanted to look away, but instead I held his gaze. It was intense and I could see that this was a man who’d experienced way too much. He was a fighter, strong but also tired. Oh so tired.

“I think there’s more to you than you’re letting on friend,” he said finally. “You’re out here for a reason and I don’t think it’s just to scavenge for supplies.”

“I don’t know what you mean?” I answered, still playing dumb. I had to play this carefully. I needed these people. With my busted arm I couldn’t head out on my own. Shit, it was too dangerous to do that before the encounter with the Optimus.

Jake looked at Beth and nodded. She stepped forward and in her hands was a small handheld CB radio set. My CB radio set.

“We found this in your pack and its tuned to a very specific frequency.”

Beth twisted the on dial and immediately the radio emitted a signal tone. It beeped for three seconds and then a voice, grainy and distorted but clearly a voice spoke.

"Hello to all who can hear this message. We are the Reclaimers, a group dedicated to rebuilding what has been lost and protecting those who remain. In these dark times, we understand the value of community, the importance of safety, and the strength found in unity.

We are reaching out across the Wasted Earth to survivors, wanderers, and fighters alike. If you are seeking refuge, looking for a purpose, or simply in need of food, water, and safety, we invite you to find us.

Head northeast. Our location is kept secure for the safety of our members, but we have established beacons at various points—they will guide the way. Approach peacefully, and you will be welcomed. Our scouts monitor these areas regularly to guide new arrivals to our haven.

The Reclaimers stand for hope. We work together to salvage what we can from the ruins of the old world, pooling our skills and resources to create a sustainable life. We have engineers, farmers, medics, and defenders among us. If you believe in a future where humanity thrives again, you may find a home with us.

Remember, you are not alone. The darkness of this world is vast, but together, we can be a beacon of light. Let's reclaim what was lost, rebuild what was destroyed, and protect each other in these trying times.

Stay safe, stay strong, and look for the signs. We are waiting for you. This message will repeat."

With my left hand I scratched my chin. Shit. No hiding it now.

“Lemme guess, you’re seeking these Reclaimers out too?” I asked.

Jacob exchanged a glance with Beth.

“We are. My people are survivors and good in a fight but I’m no fool. Without skilled people we don’t stand much of a chance out there.”

“And you think I’m skilled?”

“You’re alive aren’t you? Out here in the harshest region of the Wasted Earth we’ve ever encountered and you did it alone. With your arm hurt you need us and I think you know that.”

I nodded and sighed. He was right. I looked him dead in the eye.

“Fine. I’ll stick with you. For now.”

Jake finally relaxed, his posture shifting from confrontational to slightly more open. "You're welcome to stay with us until you're healed," he offered. "But understand, everyone here contributes. We survive by relying on each other."

I nodded, accepting the terms without hesitation. The prospect of safety and the chance to regain my strength was all the motivation I needed. "I understand. And I'm grateful for your help."

As I watched this small group of survivors, I couldn't shake off the feeling of being part of something bigger than just survival. Here, amidst the ruins of the world, was a group of people daring to seek out these Reclaimers. They had hope, and a desire to build, and perhaps, to thrive. As I watched the hustle and bustle of the compound, I allowed myself to believe that maybe, just maybe, I had found a new beginning. Maybe I had been on my own for too long.