There was nothing but red on the horizon as she barreled down the dusty highway on Johnny Lee, he beloved crotch rocket

There was nothing but red on the horizon as she barreled down the dusty highway on Johnny Lee, he beloved crotch rocket. The vibration of it rattled her teeth, punctuated by flies hitting the face mask of her helmet. It was hard to tell if it was night or day anymore. She couldn’t remember when she started to ride or what reason was great enough to make her want to leave the OutPost. There was food, ‘hot’ showers and most of all booze there. Behind her, she could see a large cloud rising, black and fluid. It was impossible to judge how far away it was but it was big and moving fast. She stopped her bike abruptly, nearly sliding into the hard packed dirt on the side of the road. He binoculars hung off her belt over her left ass cheek where she pulled them out of their pouch. Taking a gander at the cloud she let out a small gasp. All her childhood phobias came to the forefront in a second.

They were locusts, mechanical locusts mashing their little metal teeth. Buzzing angrily, they knocked into each other with no room to cater to their erratic flight patterns. Almost as if they could sense her observing them, their beady red eyes honed in on her. They became more erratic, flying with new fury. The cloud started to move faster. In a panic, she got back on her bike. Kicking off too hard, the bike stalled, causing her to jolt forward. The seconds it took to get the engine to turn over were scored with the rapid thundering of her heart and the sensation of sweat trickling down her cleavage. Trepidation at the though of her bike maybe not starting again caused her hands to tremble slightly. As with all things, she could escape this as long as Johnny Lee started to purr like a kitten.

Looking back every few meters, it quickly became apparent that the cloud was traveling at speeds she couldn’t hope to match, let alone top. She had minutes at best before they over took her and it didn’t seem likely they would just past by her. She couldn’t help wonder angrily where these little fuckers were coming from. That thought was over taken by her marveling at the idea of dying without knowing the firm touch of a man in over six months. It made her laugh out loud. A moment later she was in the middle of the pseudo living cloud. The locusts tore at her leather jacket and other clothing, quickly getting at her flesh. Her screams were shrill and coarse. Terror threatened to tear her vocal cords to shreds if the bugs crawling down her throat didn’t find them first. There was barely more than bones left before they even gave thought to stopping their flight.

She jumps out of bed before being fully awake, clutching at her throat, she coughs, gasping for air. Icebox watches from the edge of his bunk, one of the few who still has the privilege of not sleeping in a hammock. He laughs at her as she crouches on the floor, disoriented.

“Those were some sexy noises you were making there.” He polishes the dress boots he’s never going to wear, a habit that’s become increasingly frequent out here.

“Why don’t you go find somewhere else to jerk off? I’m starting to thing you got some kind of fetish for boot polish.” More concerned with making a face at her than what he is doing, the polish clatters to the ground from where it rested on his knee.

“That only happened once and it could have happened to anyone.”

“I don’t know. Most guys I know have the good sense to wash their hands before they go touching their dicks. Especially when they’ve been polishing their boots.” She gets out her soaps and towel. “I’m going to shower.” That nightmare left her drenched in a sticky layer of sweat.

“I thought you lost all your water rations in the game last night.”

“Female personnel get more shower chits. Besides, do you really think I brought more than I was willing to lose to the table last night? I’m not all balls to the walls like some people.”

“What ever.” Without taking considerations of the black polish on his hands Icebox rubs his head leaving a big dark smudge on his shaven scalp.

The water could be called warm at best, which was suiting, one could suppose, considering the extreme heat they experience at the OutPost. She lets it cascade down her toned body, slowly scrubbing her tanned skin with the rough ‘exfoliating’ soap. A sensation she has come to enjoy over the months. The thought of those locusts and their gnawing metal teeth makes her skin crawl. Everything about the dreams seems so wrong but felt intensely real. She can’t shake the panic. Her stomach churns and heaves, yellow bile hitting the tiled shower flood, making her shiver. She watches it circle the drain. The meaning of it all eludes her. It has to mean something. It was too disturbing. The pounding in her head scatters her thoughts, making it impossible for her to give rational consideration to the subject. They’ve got to stop letting her sleep in so late.

The trembling gets so bad that she drops the soap. Her knees become too weak to stand. She sits leaning against the wall, feeling each tiny square tile cut into her bare back. Her delicate fingers rub the fuzz on her scalp. She finally succumbed to the practicality of it and shaved her head like the men. Only leaving the fringe over her forehead. Her mother would be spinning in her grave to see her daughter with a Chelsea but camo isn’t exactly flattering to the female physique and she needed one way to tell her apart from the other apes. She’s never been good at the whole reading between the lines bullshit. She lacks the subtlety of most women. The only one she knows who will be able to figure it all out if Prophet. The man has forgotten more about World Literature that she know about any past lover’s body. When she can stand again, she is going to take this dream business to him.

“So what do you think it all means?” She leans over the chess board intently, watching Prophet play against himself, wishing he’d pay more attention to what she is saying.

“I think it means you need to stop drinking so much moonshine while on guard duty.” Aggravated, flops back into the dusty armchair, sending up a cloud of fine sand into the sunlight. “Move the pawn to H-4 please.” Her hand hovers over the pieces as she tries to figure out what he wants her to do.

“Which one?”

“That one. I know, this isn’t what you wanted to hear. I just don’t thinking you should take so much stock in one nightmare. It’s probably just your subconscious manifesting your frustration with being out here. It’s boring. There’s nothing but sand and bugs. The war will be over long before it ever reaches out here. I know you joined up to see some action but if the reports are at all accurate then we’re the lucky ones. So relax and don’t worry so much. It’ll put wrinkles on that pretty little face.” Scowling, she moves the piece on his oversized board.

“But it felt so real. I mean, Johnny Lee stalled, I felt my whole body jolt forward. Johnny Lee has never stalled. I can still feel those bugs tearing chunks out of my skin and muscle.” She shudders a little as she says this.

“The mind is a fascinating thing. It is capable of playing tricks on even the most rational of people. This becomes a regular thing, that’s when you start to worry.” Pursing his lips, he slides a piece forward.

“That was a dumb move. Now you have yourself in four moves.” Surprised, he considers the board more closely.

“You’re right. Oh well. You should really play with me some time. I would love the challenge. I’m getting really bad at this game.”

“No thanks. I used to play with my mother when she was in the hospital but I haven’t played since she died.”

“That’s a shame. Well the offer always stands.” She gets up and walks past him. It’s hard to tell if anything he said helped to reassure her. It at least makes her feel better to have told someone else about it. One thing for sure was made clear; she really needs to get laid. This is gotten pretty bad. No men practically since she got to the OutPost. There isn’t really much selection. All the rejects their proud fighting forces have to offer.

She groans, walking into the car pool to give Johnny Lee some sweet sweet loving. He’s the only real man in this OutPost. Too bad he’s not really a man. Paintball watches her fiddle with her bike from the desk. After dropping the wrench three times he says to her with a laugh;

“Have you eaten anything yet today?” She has to think about this for a moment.

“No. Why?”

“Well maybe you’d be having less trouble if you ate something.”

“Does coffee count?”

“You’re hands are shaking.” She looks down at her calloused hands now covered in grease and can’t seem to steady them. Putting her tools away she walks over to sit on the edge of the desk.

“I didn’t really need to do anything anyway.”

“So… bad hang over?”

“What? No. Why?”

“No offense but you’re looking a little pale and why else would you skip breakfast. And lunch?”

“Maybe because the food sucks.”

“Well everyone’s noticed you hitting the sauce pretty hard lately. Especially while on guard duty.” He turns back to his paper work as he says this.

“I don’t drink any more than the rest of you. It’s just more noticeable because I’m a chick.”

“You don’t need to get defensive. I was merely making an observation.”

“Right. I’m going to raid the kitchen.” She slides off his desk and starts to leave.

“If you ever need someone to talk to…”

“I’ll tell it to my gun.” He frowns at the papers in front of him.”

Peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. One of the few respectable meals out here in the desert. Her stomach isn’t up for anything much fancier. She is about to take a bite when Prophet sneaks up behind her and starts to tickle her. All the jam leaks out onto her hands.

“Damn it, Prophet!”

“The locals just called. They’ve got a swarm of locusts attacking their outer fields. They want us to take care of it. Figured you’d be up for it. You seem to hate bugs.” She gives him a meaningful look. “It’s just a coincidence.”

“Right. Want to help me make a napalm bomb?”

“We can do that?”

“Yeah, it’s not hard. Just a little bit risky.”

“Okay.” She leaves her sandwich on the counter, distracted by more exciting things and heads out of the kitchen to the supply room.

“This is going to be fun.”

“Wait. Why do we need a napalm bomb again? That seems like a stupid thing to have lying around.”

“Locusts, remember? For someone so smart I would have expected you to have figured that one out.”

“Right. Africa.”

“Yes.” She starts piling things into his arms. Various chemicals and protective gear.

“Have you ever done this before?” Prophet is suddenly very uncomfortable with the whole idea. She is the last person he would trust with volatile chemicals.

“No, but one of my ex’s was a chemist and he took me through it once.” This statement does nothing to assuage his worry.

“This was Textbook, right?”

“Yes.”

“You stopped sleeping with him over three years ago.”

“I know. It’s lucking for you I have a good memory.”

“No you don’t!”

“It’s called selective memory. So where should we do this?”

“Umm… Outside, far away from the buildings sounds good.”

“Yeah, we’re going to have to play this a little loose. The recipe takes more time than we have. The locusts have probably torn through a good chunk of the fields.”

“Well that won’t really matter if we napalm the fields. Nothing grows after that.”

“Oh yeah…” She stops piling things into his arms.

“You just wanted to make a napalm bomb.”

“Maybe…”

“Way to go. That would have completely fucked things over with the locals, not to mention landed us in the stockade.”

“Sorry.”

“Damn it, Boots. I gotta stop listening to you.” Shaking his head in incredulity, he starts putting things back on their shelves.

“Fire is still the way to go. We just need to use something less toxic…”

“So, gasoline?” She just gives him a grin.