Troy wiped his sweaty brow. Clumps of his dark hair clung to his rugged face. The summer scorch was still lurking and the sun still down mercilessly. Waves of heat rose from the desert sand around him. His foot prints left a trail that stretched for miles and miles behind him from the previous town. He stopped and pulled out the metal canteen from his pack. It glittered in the sunlight over his head and greedily he drank the last drizzle of water he had left. A sigh escaped his lips as his burning throat relished in the small relief. The canteen was replaced and he continued, trudging through the midday desert towards his destination. Ahead, he could see green and more mountains, which meant he was very close now. Enemy territory loomed around him, but at least he was close to some kind of civilization where whatever was needed could be stolen.

He entered the town with his gun drawn and loaded. No telling if anyone was out there. The heat of the day had passed after a couple hours and it was beginning to cool down as the afternoon drifted on. He clung to the sides of buildings still trying to scope out the area. His sandy colored body armor and pack stuck out like a sore thumb against the nearly white buildings. After a couple hours of searching the town came up clean. He sought shade to rest for a little bit and came across what looked like a restaurant and walked in. A temperature difference could be felt almost immediately; the air around him dropped at least ten degrees. His nose twitched as he adjusted to the new environment.

Troy walked through the mess of the filth ridden building. Pieces of the ceiling and broken furniture littered the floor. The scene was covered in a thick layer of dust. His tracks were the only disturbance along the blanket. He stepped carefully over the fallen tables and chairs, keeping his gun ready for action. The bright shafts of light from the front glassless window only illuminated the area. His feet crunched against the glass that lay all over the floor.

He could tell this place was once popular considering how many skeletons were scattered about the floor.

He continued behind the counter. It was probably months since the last time a soul saw this place. The register had been stripped into pieces that were spread around the skeleton that was still adorned in its flashy black and purple uniform. Long stringy blonde hair that was pulled back into a pony tail was still attached to the skull. Apparently, this girl had been slit at the neck, noting the skeleton’s position against the inner counter as well as the massive blood stain on the collared shirt. The nametag shimmered in the shadows, torn black letters still read the girls name.

“Poor Nancy.” He spoke softly to himself, although it came out more as a resounding echo amidst the thick silence. He turned his gaze away from her and glanced around. After a moment he straightened up, “no food here.” He muttered as he backed out of the small space.

He turned to the doorway of the kitchen: there had to be some food in there somewhere. There had been no food, and he had been starving for days, to the point where he didn’t feel hunger any more. A shadow of what he once was can best describe how he looked at that moment. It had already been eight days since his last decent meal. He wound up scavenging where he could to find any kind of nourishment; he even began eating every plant he could find and eating off of dead animal and human carcasses.

The door to the kitchen was still attached, so he planted himself against the wall and fished out his flashlight. He mounted it onto his rifle and took a breath. All that military training had come in handy since he was alone now. He placed his hand on the door and opened it gradually.

Rebels were probably hiding out behind the door, waiting for him to just walk in, so that they could gun him down.

He heard nothing and fired a single shot into the darkness. He winced at the sheer ferocity of the noise. Silence surrounded him once more as things settled down from being shot at. He heard no movement so he peeked in, using the flashlight to peer into spots where the solid white beam coming from behind him did not shine. He carefully made his way inside, keeping his gun armed and ready.

It was another raided disaster scene – many like he has seen before. He relaxed a little and lowered his gun, checking out the cooler, only to find it empty. He checked each shelf thoroughly, trying to find something - anything. He came up short, but managed to find a rat’s nest.

Troy grimaced when his stomach gurgled rather loudly, from out of the blue. He blinked and patted it with his free hand, “Shush.” It apparently desired something, perhaps the rats would do. He walked to the sink and jimmied the handles to see if they worked or not. He was sure that nothing was going to come out when:

SPLOOOOOOSH!

He quickly turned it off and touched where the water droplets had sprayed him.

“Holy shit…there’s actually water here.” His face curved into a smile for the first time in months.

“Oh yeah, stayin’ here tonight.” With a laugh he unloaded his pack and began setting up camp.

He found a bucket and filled it along with his canteen. He determined that this was a good place to stay the night. He secured the area, setting up traps in a couple areas: simple ones like bells attached to a string.

With the area secured he could breathe a little easier now. A couple hours passed as he began to tire from the weary day of non-stop foot travelling from Hurricane to here, the small city of St. George. He still only had five miles to go and two days to get to his destination: Santa Clara.

Troy walked back outside as the sun was sinking into the horizon; there was absolutely no body in sight. He pulled out a cigarette and did what he hadn’t done in a long time. He lit the old bent cig and breathed in the soured smoke and exhaled slowly. It wasn’t all that good but the nicotine did ease him of his stress.

He let out a puff of smoke and looked around, absorbing the scene. The remnants of automobiles, some were simply melted and the rest remained eerily still. It had not rained in months so the streets were still unwashed of the blood stains that littered the vicinity. Torched and decaying bodies lay about, some more recent than others. His gaze met with an old man that looked to be in his seventies, his mouth hung open and his tongue lay on the ground beside him. His eyes were still wide from the shock of death. His body was mangled from head to toe.

“Traitor,” he mused aloud, “Only a traitor would have his tongue severed.”

He was probably left over from a caravan or something. Since even they left there must not have been any food what so ever. The decaying carcass offered nutrients for survival, he blinked, “why didn’t the caravan eat him?” He shook his head and breathed in another puff of smoke.

“Whatever.”

He crouched against a car to study the man as the sun began its descent to the horizon. His mind numbed into blissful musing. This war was getting annoying. It was one of those wars that never ended. As if something kept driving it along. Everyone around him suffered and was eventually killed. He did not question the motives of his superiors though. They knew what they were doing.

“All for the motherland of Crasia-” He put a hand up to his heart and bowed his head at the thought - there were many lives sacrificed to keep the motherland a peaceful home. He did what he was told and hoped that one day that peace he felt when he was a kid could be brought about again.

The mission he was on stated that he was to secure information about enemy hide outs over a set path. He was to arrive in Santa Clara at 09:00 in two days, with or without his comrades, especially since he was the only one who held an ass load of valuable information.

He spat out his cigarette on the old man and walked back inside. The cig burned a hole though the man’s already rotting flesh. Troy didn’t care. It was getting darker inside and he carefully stepped over his own traps.

He proceeded to settle in for the night. He shut the door to the kitchen and locked it with a make-shift latch he made earlier. He feasted on rats that he had cleaned in the sink and cooked over a makeshift burner he had concocted from the iron coils he found in the massive oven that was stationed only feet from the cooler.

He ate a little and stashed away the rest to be cooked later.

He sighed and laid back on his blanket. It felt nice to just relax – pretty sure that someone wasn’t going to tear down the door and try to kill him. It was quiet moments like these when he drifted back to those on the farm. He missed those days: doing nothing all day, spending time on the farm. Riding the horses was his favorite thing to do. That is until his father got a letter one day telling him that both he and Troy were to report to Columbia for mandatory drafting. He was only seventeen then – it seemed like an eternity ago, especially with him closing in on twenty-four in a few weeks. He reached into his pack and pulled out a worn out old picture of his family. He was pretty sure they were deathly worried of him – his mom especially.

All things considered he already knew that his father died in combat only a year ago. He died an honorable death however: very valiant in battle he went with a chest wound defending the flag.

“I’m sure.” He remarked dryly, recalling the death of his brother. He was run over by an enemy tank – not the most pleasant way to go, but the higher ups gave him a medal for planting a bomb on the tank when it was the major who did, not him.

“I’m pretty sure the higher ups had a vendetta against the major.” He continued to ponder aloud, “which is why my bro got the creds.”

He leaned back and closed his eyes, allowing the sounds of the crickets, outside and inside, surround him.

A metallic thump made him nearly jump out of his skin, he pointed his in the blink of an eye aiming for the rude disturbance. His finger was pretty itchy and nearly blew the sucker to smithereens. He breathed when it was only a can of soup.

A moment of silence passed.

“Soup?”

It took a moment to register before he all but dived for it. It felt heavy within his grasp, which meant it was full – “wait…” His suspicions rose again and he was on his feet, pocketing the can now, “who’s there?”

He felt very uneasy. He halted his breath and listened deeply to the air around him.

“Come out now and I won’t kill you.” That was a lie, since it was probably a rebel out to kill him. He heard shuffling from atop the cooler and jerked his light up.

A young girl, no older than fifteen or sixteen held her hand out as the beam hit her square in the face.

“Ow! Aim that somewhere else, I’m coming down.”

“Who are you?! How long have you been up there?”

His finger did not leave the trigger. He felt very insecure at the fact that he was sure that he’d inspected the place over again and again. He never thought to have looked up there.

“Get down here now!”

“Stop yelling and I’ll come down.”

The girl indeed did come down and did what she said she would do, keeping her hands eyelevel. He nudged his gun towards the wall.

“Stand there.”

She did that too. What wound up happening is that he searched her and she came up clean. She pouted afterwards. “Pervert.” She folded her arms.

“Who are you, state your purpose.”

“None of your business, and trying to survive.” She all but glared at him, “you looked hungry – I nearly threw up after you ate those rats.”

“You’ve been watching me?”

“I just said that.” He held the gun up to her head, “I-I mean, yessir.”

A moment of silence fell between the two. He eyed her warily. She continued, “I’ll share more with you if you get the gun out of my face.”

“How do I know you won’t gun me down when my back is turned?”

“I haven’t done it yet have I - ”

“Not a good excuse.” He cut her off with a glare that could slice through rock.

“You’re just gonna have to trust me, sir.”

He was silent for a minute or two before he carefully lowered his gun, “Dare I ask that you have more up there?”

“I’m not sharing it with you. You were lucky to get a can. It took me a long time to scavenge my treasures.” She didn’t seem to fearful of him. She backed up against the cooler and spread her arms, as if that would protect her goods.

He kept a straight face, “did you kill someone for it?”

He watched as she shielded her horror and pasted one of a feigned bravery, “It’s not like you’ll survive too much longer yourself, you can’t even forage for food right.”

His eye twitched at that. He took a minute to breathe before responding: “Give me a few more cans, enough for two days, and I’ll let you stay in peace.”

“Agreed.” She smirked and climbed back up the cooler.

He watched her with a sigh, here he thought the night would be peaceful. He felt himself slipping into a daze.

“I’ll be quiet! I promise.”

His body was egging him to just go to sleep, but something about the girl messed with him – disturbed him slightly. He heard her shuffling from above,

“Sorry just sorting stuff for you.”

He yawned, “Right.”

Something about the tone of her voice soothed him; the disturbance he felt was the calming wave he felt around her. He frowned as he closed his eyes, Damn, girl.