Hero

A week has passed.

Falcon's electric hum resonates. The air is thick with dust, and the sun scorching hot.

The wasteland goes on and on, with cracked earth and junk everywhere. The thud of Falcon's tyres against the uneven ground shakes me in my seat.

Hunger twists my stomach into knots, and my throat is dry.

I'm almost out of water and food, and need to find help fast.

____

Hours pass.

Luck!

I notice tyre tracks left by those who came before. I must follow them, even if it means risking a run-in with the Freaks.

A day has passed.

I still follow the tracks.

What's that on the horizon?

I squint against the bright sun and see a dark cloud moving from left to right—a bunch of vehicles coming our way.

Could they be Swifters?

By easing up on the gas, Falcon slows down. Then I pull behind a sandy dune, watching the convoy come closer.

I turn Falcon's engine off.

Could these guys help me? Can I tag along with them?

Two more days crawl by, and each second feels like it's taking forever.

Being alone really sucks. So, I followed them, and I know they've seen me.

I wonder if they'll think I'm a bother, a lost kid looking for help.

The wind fills my ears through the slightly lowered window as the stars lighten the sky.

My heart starts pounding when a voice comes out of nowhere. I lower Falcon's windows and peek outside.

An older guy stands next to my door.

I take a better look at his face.

His smile and those brown eyes make him seem understanding, sending out a caring vibe.

"I'm Blaze. Still following us, huh?"

I nod, my words getting stuck in my throat.

"Can't talk?" he teases.

I shake my head.

"It's dangerous around here on your own. Care to share why you can't speak?"

"No, not really."

"Hah, you can talk... See you around then," he says, turning away.

"No, wait... I'm Hero. I... I've been alone for so long, and... Can I join you?"

Blaze taps his index finger on his chin.

"What can you do? What skills do you have?" he asks.

"Not much. I can fix cars, though."

"Okay... It's always great to have an extra mechanic in our midst. And your car... You have a nice one."

"Yeah, Falcon, he's all I have left."

"Okay."

Blaze's smile gets bigger, and his eyes show even more warmth. "Come with me. Let me introduce you to the group."

I step out of Falcon onto the sandy ground, trembling a little.

Blaze leads the way, and the air feels different. It's buzzing with energy as we get closer to the group. During our walk, he breaks the silence between us. "So, what made you come out here all alone?"

"I lost my family to the Freaks. I've been on my own since."

"I see."

"That's tough, kid. But you're not alone anymore. We're a close team and look out for each other."

I offer a hesitant smile. "Thanks. I don't know what I would've done out here alone. And I hope I'm not a burden to you guys."

His grin widens. "No worries, Hero. We've got each other's backs. You'll see. By the way, what's your age?"

"I think 13."

"You think?"

"Yeah, we never celebrated birthdays."

"Ah, I understand... There's nothing to celebrate, anyway. Well... Welcome to your new home, little one."

____

Days blend, and Blaze takes me under his wing.

Our camp is always buzzing with activity, growing from 100 to 250 people.

Tents made from cloth scraps and metal pieces spread out in all shapes and sizes, extending in every direction. While moving around, people of all ages fix things, play, cook, and talk.

With smoke rising from a fire in the middle, my nose wrinkles.

My feet crunch on the dusty ground while the sun beats down hard. As kids run past me, I wipe sweat from my forehead. They laugh and play with a ball made of rags.

I dodge to avoid them, almost tripping over a loose rock, making me smile.

It's nice to have a home again.

Blaze talks with a group of people near a burnt-out car. While he listens, I notice the lines on his forehead deepen. After spotting me, he quickly nods and returns to his conversation.

Near the edge of the camp, I spot the pile of supplies we scavenged: metal parts, old tools, and bits of food mixed together. People sift through the pile. I see a woman's brow furrow as she examines a piece of metal, then tosses it aside with a huff.

Falcon, covered in a layer of dust, sits nearby. Under my fingers, I feel the cool metal as I run my hand along its side.

Dad and I spent so much time making it perfect.

I walk on, and it's getting windy.

The wind whistles through the camp, making the tents flap and creak. To avoid the dust, I cover my mouth with my scarf and squint against the stinging grit that irritates my eyes.

I notice a big tent, shade and water barrels.

People line up, filling their containers. I wait for my turn to fill my container as I go in. No one talks; we all watch and go on when we're done.

Upon leaving the tent, I see Blaze again, and he gestures for me to come over.

I go to him with my feet, kicking up little puffs of dust. He claps a hand on my shoulder.

"You like it here?"

"Yeah."

"It will not be this way forever, little one. We've got to make you smarter and stronger so you can survive these lands. I'll pick you up tomorrow."

I nod.

Blaze crouches low to the ground, his eyes scanning the dusty surface.

I watch him closely, trying to understand what he sees.

"Look here," he says, pointing to some shifted sand. "This is a footprint."

I kneel beside him. "How can you tell?".

Blaze smiles. "Based on the shape and disturbance of the dust, pay attention to the little things, such as the dust being swept aside and the small indentation in the ground."

He moves a few steps forward.

"Check out the tyre tracks now. They're easier to find. See how the pattern repeats?"

I follow his lead, keeping my eyes on the ground. "So, what do we do once we find these tracks?"

"We follow them," he answers. "But that's not all. We need to understand these tracks. They tell us how old they are, how fast the person or vehicle was moving, and whether they tried to hide their trail."

I nod, trying to absorb everything he's saying.

Although Blaze makes it look effortless, it takes years of practice.

We move slowly, Blaze leading and me following as he points out more signs.

A broken twig here, a scuff mark on a rock there. Each clue adds a piece of the puzzle to whoever has passed here.

"Why is this important?"

"In this world, knowledge is power," Blaze replies. "Knowing how to track means finding people, avoiding danger, and staying one step ahead. It's a skill that can save your life.

That sounds pretty logical.

I practice with Blaze daily. And they asked me to fix cars with an experienced mechanic.

Fixing, tinking vehicles of the convoy, earning some food and water.

We keep on the move, stopping only when we need some supplies.

Our convoy is growing out of nowhere. Other Swifters and Free People show up and don't leave.

They also get assigned to roles in the same way they did with me.

I keep imagining it's Mom and Dad whenever someone new joins.

It's a shame, cause I know they'll never come back.

With months of education and rummaging through the desolate lands, I can now track almost as well as Blaze can.

He pats me on the back.

"You're getting there, kid," he says. "Keep practising. You'll read these tracks as easily as I do one day."

I smile, feeling a spark of pride. Tracking is more than just a skill; it's a new way of seeing the world.

"Besides... One rule. The most important one of all. Be swift... MSG."

"MSG?"

"Yeah. Move, Steal, Go... the way of the Swifter."

"Ah... I get it."

"Good."

We're scavenging through a car wreck.

The sun casts shadows on the twisted metal and broken concrete.

"We take only what we need to survive," Blaze says.

"Okay." I nod.

Blaze spots a piece of metal jutting out from the debris and signals me to approach.

"Check this out," he says, pointing to the metal. "We can make something out of it."

I watch as he pulls a smaller, sharper piece of metal from his pack.

"Now we get creative," he says.

Blaze kneels and starts working on the metal, showing me how to bend and shape it.

"First, we need to find the right angle," he explains, holding the metal to the light. "You can turn this into a saw."

I follow his lead, searching the wreckage for anything that might help. I find a piece of wire and bring it over.

"Good. We can use this to secure the handle."

He shows me how to wrap the wire around the metal, creating a makeshift handle.

"See? It's not perfect, but it'll get the job done."

I grip the handle. "What else can we make?"

Blaze smiles. "Anything you can imagine. Out here, the significance of creativity is equal to that of strength. You never know what you might need to build to survive."

"Who taught you all of this?"

"I learned it from my parents. They showed me the way."

"So cool! Where are they?"

Blaze gazes away into nothingness. "They're gone. Just like my whole family."

"What happened?"

Blaze faces me again, his eyes glistening from withholding tears.

"Let's just focus on our practice, okay?"

I nod, but I want to bond with my brother more.

We continue scavenging and find more metal, wire, and other scraps.

Blaze instructs me to create basic tools, such as a hammer from a sturdy piece of wood and a chunk of concrete.

This is so awesome.

I'm learning to survive and adapt, create, and make something out of nothing.

Blaze pats me on the back. "You're doing good, kid. Remember, out here, it's not just about staying alive. It's about thriving, regardless of how tough things might get."

"Thank you."

We gather our tools and begin the journey back to our camp.

Weeks pass, and we start a new training phase—the one I hate the most: weaponry.

Blaze is relentless, but I know he means well. Despite my dislike, he stresses the importance of being prepared.

"It's all about survival, little brother," he emphasises. "Avoid fights if you can. And only if you must fight with all your strength. Our lives depend on it."

Despite some of me recoiling at using weapons, I still nod. I understand why it's necessary.

Blaze hands me my parents' crossbow.

"First, let's work on your grip," Blaze says, demonstrating with his crossbow. "You need to hold it tight, but not too tight. Like this."

I mimic his stance, adjusting my fingers around the metal stock. The weight of the crossbow feels awkward in my hands. With one eye closed, I try to follow Blaze's instructions.

"Good. Now, when you aim, you want to keep both eyes open. Look at your target and align the sight with your dominant eye."

I raise the crossbow and try to line up the shot. The target is a skull with a painted red bullseye. I pull the trigger and miss the target completely.

"Don't rush it. Take a deep breath, steady your aim, and then release."

I follow his instructions and miss again.

Come on, focus, Hero... Focus.

Blaze steps behind me, adjusting my stance slightly. "Your feet have to be as wide as your shoulders. Shoot again."

I let the arrow fly, and I miss the skull by just a hair.

WOW!

"You're doing better. Remember, it's not just about hitting the target. It's about being ready when it counts. It's all in your head."

I take a deep breath, focusing on the target once more. This time, I steady my hands and clear my head.

The arrow flies.

BAM! BULLSEYE! Right in the middle of the nose.

"See? You're getting there," Blaze says with a smile. "If you keep practising, it will soon become second nature."

With the passing of weeks, the training has become a daily routine.

Blaze shows me how to handle different weapons—knives, spears, and even makeshift clubs. After each session, I am exhausted and sore, but it also gives me a bit more confidence.

One evening, after a hard session, Blaze sits beside me. He cleans his weaponry with a cloth. "I can see you hate this, Hero. Keep in mind it's not about wanting to fight. It's about being ready to defend what's important."

"I know, Blaze. I just... I hope I never have to use them."

"We all hope for that. Yet, hope alone isn't enough. We have to be prepared for anything."

Tightening my grip on the crossbow, I realise it no longer feels as foreign.

Blaze grabs his knife and sharpens it with a wet stone.

"Blaze," I say, "why do you help other people?"

While looking up from his knife, he pauses and directs his attention to me.

"I mean," I continue, "you could just look out for yourself, right? It would be easier."

Blaze resumes sharpening his knife. His jaw tightens, and he takes a deep breath before speaking.

"I was like you," he begins. "I lost my family, and I had nothing left. Then, I met a group of people who changed that. They took me in, even though I had nothing to offer. They showed me that helping others keeps us human."

After standing up, he starts pacing around the campfire.

"Out here," he says, gesturing to the wasteland, "it's easy to lose yourself... to become like the Freaks or the gangs. But helping others... it keeps you grounded."

He sits down again, facing me, and then runs a hand through his hair.

"Also, helping others isn't just about them," he adds. "It's about us, too. It keeps us from becoming monsters and gives us purpose in life."

Blaze picks up his knife again, the sharpening sound resuming.

"Thanks, Blaze," I whisper.

He nods, the corners of his mouth twitching upward. "Anytime, little brother. Anytime. Now, let's get some rest. Tomorrow, we start on close combat."

With the crossbow within arm's reach, I lay down to sleep. Although I may not love weapons, I can still respect them for what they represent: a means to survive and protect.

The stars in the sky form a blanket of lights that cast a faint illumination on the ground beneath. Blaze and I face each other, our breaths visible in the chilly air.

"Here we fight."

"Fight?"

"Bro... Knowing what to do in close combat is crucial," Blaze explains. "Get ready to make it personal."

My stomach churns.

I don't want to hurt someone, but I know Blaze is right.

"Alright," Blaze continues, "let's start with the basics. First, your stance."

He positions his feet shoulder-width apart, slightly bends his knees, and raises his hands in a ready position.

I copy his posture.

This is weird.

"Good. Keep your centre of gravity low, stay balanced," Blaze instructs. "Now, let's talk about the weak points."

He points to his body parts as he steps closer. "The temples, the jaw and chin, the throat, the solar plexus, the kidneys, and the knees. These are your targets. A well-placed strike on these, and it's over."

I swallow hard. My hands tremble as I clench them.

Blaze places a hand on my shoulder. "I know this isn't easy for you. But remember, it's not about wanting to hurt people; it's about being able to protect yourself and those you care about."

I nod again, trying to steady my breathing.

"Okay. I'm ready."

We start with simple drills, with Blaze showing each move slowly before having me repeat it. His strikes, which are precise and controlled, reveal years of experience. My body resists the violent motions, causing me to be hesitant and clumsy.

"Relax," Blaze advises. "You're too tense. Let the movements flow."

It's easier said than done. As I move around, I can feel my muscles' tightness. Despite my clumsiness, Blaze remains patient.

Night after night, we return to the same spot in the desert, practicing until my body remembers the motions.

My punches become sharper, and my kicks more controlled.

Weeks pass, and slowly, my emotions shift. As I learn more from Blaze, my respect for his techniques grows. I appreciate the discipline and control required. Each movement becomes more natural, and each strike becomes more precise.

One night, Blaze catches me off guard with a swift kick to my knee.

Pain shoots up my leg, and I fall to the ground. While I pant, I stand up.

"Good," Blaze says. "You're learning. It's not just about the techniques; it's about the mindset."

With my heart pounding, I wipe the sweat from my brow.

"Let's go."

But do I want this?

Blaze steps forward and places a hand on my shoulder. "That's the right attitude, Hero. We train so we don't have to fight. We train because we need to be prepared to defend ourselves and those we love."

I'm nodding, but I'm lost.

I promised to hurt no one.

It feels like Blaze's teachings clash with that promise.

My parents believed in kindness.

With every move I make, I tell myself not to break my promise. I'm adapting it to survive, for protection, not harm.

____

The moon hangs low in the ink-black sky.

Blaze and I stealthily approach the Freak outpost. The rhythmic hum of a distant generator merges with the silence of the night.

While crouching beside me, Blaze scans the shadows for any sign of movement.

The Freaks are out there. They're scouting the area in their ramshackled car.

We have been closely watching their routine for days.

"They usually make a pass around this time," Blaze whispers. "Stay low and follow my lead."

I follow.

Against the moonlit horizon, the silhouette of the Freaks' makeshift car emerges as the distant hum grows louder.

Blaze's hand signals me to move.

Moving in sync, we edge closer.

The Freaks' car rumbles as its headlights slice through the darkness.

We freeze and hold our breaths, hiding behind a rock lying in the dunes as the vehicle passes just metres away. The stench of gasoline penetrates my nose.

He glances at me. "This is it."

Some hundred metres away, they stop the car close to the generator. By staying out of the vision of the roaming headlights, we navigate the uneven terrain and get closer to our goal.

As we move forward, we notice an alcove containing water barrels.

Water... Finally!

Blaze signals for me to stay low. I cautiously peek over the edge of a sand-hill we hide behind.

Four Freaks stand next to the barrels. After laughing and refilling their canteens, they move away and gather around a fire next to the barrels.

We wait.

A few minutes later, they put out the fire with sand and drive away in their car into the darkness.

Blaze's eyes meet mine, and then he glides to the barrels and fills our containers with precious water.

I scan the area for any threats.

The coast is still clear.

Blaze comes back.

"We're done... Let's go," he whispers.

With our containers filled, we retreat.

We navigate the shadows, inching away from the alcove.

The stolen water sloshes in our containers.

As we move farther from the outpost, my body loosens more.

I'm glad we made it out.