The clash rages around you while each of the two parts lacks blood psalms that easily mingle with screams of dying and roar of the engines.
Fixed your eyes on Dommie’s terrified face, focusing on a drop of cold sweat that runs beside his eye. It would be so easy to overwhelm the A-Doctor and to call the attention of the Inner self cobustion. For a mutant you would surely receive protection, a reward, and perhaps a bit of respect; the temptation is definitely strong: to sell this small opportunist and join Galvax by killing as more disgusting mutant as possible, equal to those who have destroyed your home.
They locked you in the Gift Package, have changed you into a killer and a fighter … but you’re not like them, you’re better than the beasts that kept you in the cage.
“Inside the Circle of Rhapsody cunt!” shout, pushing Dommie towards the protection that the Musicians have raised in a corner; enjoying for a moment the feeling of control over your viscous friend. Run to the Speed Wagon and you almost arrived when something small and fast impacts on your arm; a shedding of pain spreads over your bones while you fall between a couple of trucks to avoid being a target for other shocker bullets. Hope you don’t have a broken arm while mentally point you to be visit by Dommie when the battle will be over.
Someone is playing! Some riddles of Rhapsody is playing a kind of battle march while the screams add to the rhombus of the motors: some vehicles of the Church of the inner self combustion are arrived and this extends even more your terror: with all that gas around could be easy that one of the Church’s spitfire blows up something in the air?
Bikini “Courtney” comes quickly by tucking a padded jacket with the symbol of two realweapon wrapped in a pair of red roses. “Then guys, head low but ready to fight. If one of these beasts gets too close to our wagons we start the charge and let’s see what the fuck is fighting! You know how I think people … I know some of you pray for Santa Curie and I have nothing to complain about this. If someone wants to join the clash is free to do so, but without our insignia … Rhapsody is neutral “
You are amazed by the firmness of the girl, for a moment you wonder if she was your companion in the psychotropic night you just passed. But then your attention is attracted by a couple of musicians who strike the shockers and prepare themselves to fight; watch how carefully and delicately they are stripped of jackets or jerseys from strange symbols or brooches, relics of that past music that is their drug and mission. You notice all their comrades touch them on their shoulders as a wish of good battle; watch a short-haired girl cry while kissing one of the fighters on the lips.
And a moment later they are gone. The two, who recognize as the first to have received the Kiss in the strange and spiritual rite seen before, charge the battle with the shockers in their hands in order to help the companions of their faith. The music continues to play as you see them coming into a clash between the fire of the Burns, the shockers of the Saints, and the dust of armored vehicles running around the square.
Thirty minutes incredibly long. Thirty minutes of screaming and rumble. Half an hour to be a spectator to that pogrom of death and fire in the name of faith.
You would not know which of the two sides won the clash. See the Church of the Inner self combustion retreat while the Cult of Saint Curie’s Worshipers begins to count its dead and wounded. Many have remained on the battlefield; even the two Rhapsody guys and it’s hard to breath in the Speed Wagon. You’ve seen Galvax split the head of one of the Musicians in half and you hope others have not noticed or remembering he was your friend. The last image you have of the giant is he who moves away with the Burned making a nod with the hand and screaming that he will wait for you at Rad City.
And goodbye to the one who was probably the only good friend you had found.
Stay there looking at the terrain of the clash, waiting for Rhapsody come back to the road, when something explodes in your right flank. Somebody hit you with a steel punch from behind.
Your turn and find Bikini’s eyes injected with blood while continuing to hit you screaming. Your brain for some reason wonders how to make a girl so small to give such shit, then notice the iron knuckleduster in the right hand.
“WHERE’?? WHERE THE FUCK? Do you have any idea how much that stuff is worth? “
You would like to try to answer, you would like to try to understand, but others come to give the girl a hard. They hit you screaming. Punches, kicks, sticks… and you just want to know what they accuse you of. Your head decides that this is the time to make you remember something about your night of fun: yes, you’re sure to have been fucked with this beauty. Great satisfaction! You’re about to be killed by a girl with you have had great fun few hours ago. You would laugh if you wasn’t afraid to break your teeth.
Finish on the ground, and now the hysterical screams start leaking something. Something that would turn you on with anger if you wasn’t so full of pain.
Damn stupid Dommie, fucking cock. He took advantage of the clash in order to run away with a motorcycle of the musicians; with the rumble of the battle and the noise of the vehicles no one has noticed. But the problem for Rhapsody is not the bike, it’s the fact that in the bag there was a backpack with a dozen old cassettes. A real treasure for them. And guess who the “friend” is left behind?
The last thing you remember is someone who throws you a bottle, the impact on the temple. Then the darkness.
Get awakened by the feeling of something hot coming down your throat. For a moment go back to the horror of when the Family has picked you up; but then you realize that the taste is as pleasant as the feeling that spreads on your body. Open your eyes and notice that you are on the battlefield, a figure wrapped in a strange white dress is getting you hot soup. Look at your body and notice the bandages at the points where Rhapsody has filled you with barrels, every bruise invokes pain and memory.
But someone has cared for you and nurtured you. Could it still be of kindness in the Postworld? Take your gaze to your rescuer by murmuring a thank you when the saliva dry out in your throat. The woman who is curing you, worn in white robes by the complex embroidery, has a dirty and suppurating whitish pus. A mutant. One of Saint Curie has picked you up, probably exchanging for one of the wounded in the clash.
“You don’t have to thank me, son. I can’t leave a faithful on the ground to die like a dog. This world donated by the Gamma Advent serves to evolve and show us worthy of the Lady of the Barius, not to reduce us to sacrilegious animals. I took care of your wounds and gave you food and drink … oh .. do not worry. Good water, not like the one we donated to the inferior monsters of the inner self combustion, hoping to understand that gift. “
Remember the accusations of the preacher about the poisoned water, and suddenly this altruistic woman takes a completely different perspective. You drank her water and ate her food, it was probably contaminated stuff.
“Where did you go? Are you going to Rad City too? Everyone want the city of hope “
Murmur something while you notice a piece of paper that the woman offers you. It’s a kind of an invitation, the image shows a soldier with his face covered by an gas mask that nurses a child and handle a realweapon. There is something disturbing in that image, in those invitations and promises they tell. But what is represented you have already heard about it. Much, long ago, you told the companies of soldiers trained and armed with the wonders of the World gone, and not only with the simple shockers, which are pale imitation.
The Trauma Korps.
You believed were just one of the many innumerable myths that travel between outpost and outpost; legends that talk of epic battles made by these mysterious fighters who disappear quickly leaving behind just the echo of their endeavor.
Trauma are really in Rad City, is that why everyone wants to go to that city?
What the fuck is special in this Rad City? Keep asking, but you already know that it will continue to be your target.
After a couple of hours of rest you are ready to get up. The woman’s care has really come to fruition, but you want only to put as many miles as possible between you and this mutant hole.
“Go son. Follow your dreams. I don’t have much to offer you, but take some food or you will starve. Are not good areas to hunt or pick up what’s waiting for you, especially on foot. “
Accept the food and water the woman offers you, sure to throw them once you will be distant enough. Get a piece of pipe, a very miserable weapon with which to turn around and leave behind ypu the Saints’ Outpost.
All alone, just like when it all started. You wonder where Galvax is and also that fucking Dommie; you recalls Bikini’s lips, “Courtney”, the iron of his fist, the Musicians who go to battle, the anathema of the spitfire of the Inner self combustion, and also the smashed smile of your savior. And retakes the Gift Package and the Family. You are still alive, and this is already very much.
You go inside a forest, hoping to find a little of food. But the plants you notice are distorted and with sick leaves, it doesn’t look like good stuff. Repeat to yourself that advancing you will find other food, that you know exactly where to go and that you are not losing in the woods. But the truth is that your stomach grows bigger and the contaminated supplies you have with you begin to look appetizing and tasty. Of course, there is a risk of getting something really bad … but the alternative is to starve.
You continue to doubt this when finally distorted trees become a wide clearing, and here is a new surprise to wait for you. In the middle of the clearing there is a folded bike inside a ditch; at a short distance the body of someone. For a moment, you hope he can be Dommie, but you’re forced to be disappointed: the relaxed person, wrapped in some padding, is smaller than Dommie. Probably a traveler who took the wrong hole ending on the ground, maybe he is already dead.
But that bike seems to have a heavy load. See a tin on the floor … probably the supplies.
And if it was a trap? Your mind can only go back to the beginning of your misadventures. Now you are a different person from that boy, you have already killed several times and you are certainly bigger than the driver of the bike … if he is still alive. Take those supplies with strength, maybe the bike can still move. It’s not a bad idea.
It’s also true that you’ve just seen how much you can do without resorting to violence. Maybe to be friendly can make you both a supply and an ally.
You face a new dilemma.
TO THE NEXT CHAPTER