Hero

The sky goes from dark blue to pretty pink when I look towards the horizon. Months have slipped away after I lost Blaze.

Unfortunately, Mr. Giggs also passed away from a lung infection.

All the people who I care about end up dying.

____

The morning creeps in slowly, with pale light barely breaking through the dusty air. I stretch out in Falcon's front seat, the aches in my body refusing to ease after another night of restless sleep.

The screams, explosions, burning tents, and bodies... so many bodies.

Blaze's blood-stained face keeps haunting me every time I shut my eyes.

I brush off the thought by rubbing my eyes and get out of the car.

The camp ahead is already stirring. People move about, setting up their tents, scavenging for what little remains.

I make my way down toward the centre of the camp.

"There he is..."

"The one who got Blaze killed..."

"Even Griggs died, who will be the next?"

"Always shows up when trouble happens..."

"There is the Freak magnet."

I grit my teeth, pretending I don't hear them. They think I don't know. They think I'm not aware of how they look at me and how they avoid me like I carry some kind of curse. But I know. Even when they don't say a word, I can sense it. Their eyes, damn me.

I head to the water supply tent, my throat dry from the dust and the heat, but I can't escape it even here. The guy operating the water station barely glances at me as I approach.

"Could I have some water?" I ask.

He doesn't look up. "We're rationing today. Come back later."

I frown. "But there's plenty in the tank—"

"Later." His voice is cold and final, as if the conversation had already ended.

I turn away, fists clenched at my sides. It's the same every day. No one wants me around; no one trusts me. I thought it would get better with time, but it only feels worse.

I pass a group of men working on a broken-down truck, its engine sputtering and coughing smoke. Usually, I'd offer to help—maybe show them the trick my dad taught me for fixing coolant leaks—but I can already feel the tension as I approach.

Reed, this guy who I help fix cars, gives me a mean look from under the hood. "What do you want?"

I gesture to the engine. "I noticed some damage. I could take a look—"

"We don't need your help anymore," Reed snaps. He wipes his greasy hands on a dirty rag. "We're good."

I go to say something, but how he's looking at me like I'm a Freak makes me choke on my words. I give a stiff nod and back off, acting like I don't give a damn.

But I do care. I care more than I want to admit.

I make my way to the edge of the camp and sit on a rocky outcrop overlooking the wasteland. From here, I can see Falcon parked at the top of the hill, the only thing still feeling like mine in a world constantly trying to kick me out.

My hands tremble as I pull a canteen from my pack and take a long sip of stale water.

I hope it blows over soon.

____

Weeks pass.

I persist in journeying alongside the colony, and I choose to keep them at a distance now.

Moreover, they still haven't assigned me any tasks. I try starting conversations with the colony folks. Yet, they still don't engage with me much.

Although I can't hate the Swifters, it pisses me off when they ignore me. After all, they still provide me with food and water.

Only a few duos return unscathed or complete from their theft missions.

The Freaks have grown more cautious. Survivors recount how Freaks set traps for Swifters at the walls.

Something is also stirring in the wastelands. Whispers of growing Swifter groups hint at a changing landscape and the potential for a revolution initiated by a guy named Flash.

I would love to meet him.

However, I have observed no signs of that occurring in our group. We remain on the run, existing at the lowest rung of the food chain.

Hopefully, things will change soon.

The caravan screeches to a halt, battling against the wild gusts of wind.

I park Falcon, my trusty ride, on a hill and get a breathtaking view of the area.

The convoy is a couple of hundred metres away from me below in a valley.

It's nighttime.

"Pitch your tent here!" The leader's voice rings out.

I strain to catch every word through my open window by tilting my head a little.

I get out, walk to the hill's edge, and watch the buzzling convoy.

Campfires come alive and provide a warm glow that protects them from the cold.

The men work hard. They hammer tent pegs into the ground while the ladies and kids move their stuff to their temporary homes.

Torches and flashlights shine on the wasteland, exposing its hidden beauty.

Once the fierce winds die down, a gentle breeze blows through the tent fabrics.

My eyelids grow heavy.

In the beginning, sleeping in Falcon proved to be quite challenging.

Despite the chilly nights, a thin blanket won't provide sufficient warmth. Sometimes, I take risks. I tend to overuse Falcon's batteries for extra comfort and warmth. Needing to recharge when the sun is shining on its solar panels causes me to fall behind.

The car's seats also concealed a sleep mode, but Dad never told me how to use it. I saw the text on the screen and tapped it multiple times, but the front seat refused to fold down.

I embarked on a mission, pressing every button on the built-in tablet.

Ta-da! I discovered the hidden sleep feature!

The front seats transformed into cosy beds, with the back seats retracting to create space.

Sleeping in Falcon has become better now.

When it comes to sleep, I'm so tired.

Then, I see red curls and blue eyes.

"Hero?"

"Elara?"

Wearing the patchwork dress, she quickly turns and runs in the opposite direction.

"Elara, wait!"

Someone grabs me by the arm. Drips on my forehead. I touch it with my fingertips and then look at it.

Blood.

I look up.

It's Blaze all covered in his blood. "Little brother. Farewell."

He disappears into a cloud of white smoke.

Suddenly, everything gets dark, and I spot a light in the distance, calling me.

____

"Hero, wake up."

"Mom, is that you?"

"I said wake up."

I open my eyes, and it's total chaos - engines roar, and people scream.

What the heck is going on?

My heart is pounding.

The sky resembles the blood in my dream.

I reach out to tap Falcon's touchscreen.

A thunderous explosion freezes me in place.

Dang it! I should help them.

I snatch my binoculars from the passenger seat, get out, and sprint towards the source of the commotion.

With the sound of gunfire becoming more imminent, I lower to the ground and crawl towards the edge of the hill.

As I look through my binoculars, I notice a dark cloud with fire. It reveals a crater formed by a rocket's impact.

The Freaks launch a missile from a bazooka that creates a white smoke trail, destroying tents. Body parts, blood, fire, and sand fly everywhere.

Men, women, and children flee the camp while the merciless Freaks pursue them on their motorcycles and cars.

With spears and cleavers, they intercept their prey and strike them down.

The Freaks' wagons carry both the living and lifeless unfortunate souls.

I rub my neck and wipe away some sweat while breathing rapidly.

We don't stand a chance. I need to go!

Then, I rush back to Falcon, hop into the driver's seat, and tap the touchscreen to start the car.

Falcon's tyres kick up sand, sending grains flying in every direction, but we remain in the same position.

Come on!

I'm not giving up that easily. I exit the car and dig around the wheels.

"You can do this!" Sweat streams down my face. Despite my efforts, the vehicle remains stuck.

Dang it! What now?

I'm shaking and breathing like crazy.

You can still hear the echoes of the slaughter. Screams and gunshots intertwine, creating a chilling symphony.

Like a dog, I dig, flinging sand aside.

This should work!

The war cries, and the noise of the battle draws no nearer. They haven't realised I'm around.

I stop digging. My intuition tells me that staying still is my best shot at staying alive. The sound of the tyres and the sandblasting could reveal where I am hiding.

I crawl back to my lookout point and raise my binoculars. However, their shining glasses could reveal where I am. I tuck them away and continue observing the harrowing scene unfolding before me.

As the tents smoulder in flames, the pickups drive off with their wagons filled with lifeless bodies.

The wind whips around torn fabric scraps, carrying the distinct odour of smouldering wood and scorched cloth.

I feel nauseous, and I can't hold it in any longer.

My last meal mixed with bile splatters on the sand below. Unable to bear the weight of the horror, tears streaming down my face.

Why does this keep happening to me?

I'm sitting against Falcon's bumper, clothes all stuck to me. Deep holes surround the car's wheels.

The air whispers memories of me and my dad gazing at the sky in awe of nature's beauty. Despite its barren appearance, the desert holds many hidden gems.

I feel like a tiny ant in the vast universe in these moments.

In contrast to ants, we struggle to cooperate and live together. Maybe if we were a different type or...

What the heck am I even saying?

I punch in the sand like crazy. "Dirty bastards! It's not fair! Why is all of this happening?"

No one answers.

____

It's been a day.

It's night; I find myself still stuck.

The stars and the moonlight up everything around me, and a cool breeze flows into my car.

My body's like a block of ice, and it forces me wide awake.

Time passes, and it's quiet. I grip my crossbow.

Then I hear it—the crunch of footsteps growing closer.

I point my crossbow toward the sound, ready to defend myself.

"Don't shoot!" a manly voice calls out.

I squint my eyes to get a better view.

A silhouette emerges from the darkness: an adult man. He raises his hands in surrender and waves at me, pointing towards my car.

I step out of the car, keeping the crossbow pointed at him. "What do you want?"

"Is that your car?" he asks.

I don't trust this guy, no matter how friendly he seems.

"Yeah, it is, and it will stay that way. You better leave," I say, raising my voice.

"Hey, calm down. I don't want any trouble. I'll be gone in a flash. It looks like you're having some trouble, though." The man grins and gestures at my buried wheels.

"Just go! This is your last warning! I'll shoot, you know!"

"Ha, not so tough, kid," he teases. "How old are you, anyway?"

"Old enough to handle a crossbow and take you down!" I reply, trying to sound confident.

A heavy sigh escapes his lips, his shoulders slumping.

"About eighteen then." He drops to his knees to read the letters on my tyres, his fingers tracing the grooves. "I'd love to have one of those," he says as he stands up . "Do you have an extra one?"

"Why would I give you anything?"

"Do you have an extra wheel or not?"

"Again... Why should I give it to you?"

"Well, if you have one, I'll help you get unstuck, and in return, I'll take the wheel. Sounds like a fair deal, right?"

"Sounds fair. But why would I trust you?"

"Seems to me you don't have a choice."

Stepping forward, I tighten my grip on the crossbow, pressing it against my cheek.

"Be careful, or you might shoot yourself," he teases me.

"Shut up, old man. Where's your car?" I demand.

"Old? Okay, I deserved that. It's about five hundred metres from here," he answers, pointing towards some shimmering hills in the starlight.

I walk past the unwanted visitor, getting a closer look at him.

He's in his thirties. His outfit includes a worn leather jacket, ripped jeans, and scuffed cowboy boots. A stubbled beard gives him a charismatic look like my father's, while his grey hair points out in all directions. With his small, piercing remaining eye and chiselled jawline, he exudes a rugged charm. His sneaky smile is like my old man's, always up to something.

Even in the darkness of night, the two shimmering rings on his chest grab my attention.

Rings of loved ones?

"Those rings should be on your fingers," I remark.

"What rings?"

I point to his chest with my free hand. "Those rings."

"Oh, those," he laughs, and quickly hides them under his shirt. "Don't you worry about it, little boy. Focus on your car. Besides, you have the same necklace."

I startle and press my hand against my chest.

"Well... Do we have a deal?" He grins.

"Yeah, we have a deal," I reluctantly agree.

The dude gestures towards my trunk, and I nod. He opens it and moves my stuff around.

"Be careful," I caution him.

"What a mess," he says, chuckling.

"Just focus on your car, old man."

He retrieves the wheel from the trunk.

"You catch on quick," he laughs. "What's your name?"

"Hero."

"Hero? That's funny... I mean your real name."

"No, just Hero. That's my real name. No jokes."

"Okay, okay, no need to get worked up. How old are you? Seriously, this time."

"I don't know, about seventeen? Could be older."

"You don't know? Well, that's interesting." He grins.

"Why's that?"

He smirks once more and heads off, carrying the wheel.

"Where are you going?" I shout after him.

"Relax, man. Can't you guess?"

Of course, his car.

"I'll be right back, I promise."

He walks away, carrying the wheel.

I wonder if he is coming back.

____

When I hear a click, it hits me - I am tied to his car.

Who would've thought? I've got some random dude pulling my car out of the sand.

When Falcon's no longer being dragged, I reverse to loosen the rope.

The stranger taps on my window, and I roll it down.

"All good," he says and gives me a thumbs up.

We shake hands and then fist bump. Then, the man walks away and hops into his car. I can't make out the model; it has a similar shape to mine and doesn't make any noise.

Pretty cool, since I thought I was the only one with an electric car.

I admire the car's sleekness, especially its black paint job and the metal spikes at the front.

Its fierce appearance has lightning graphics on the hood and sides.

Wait a second... He knows my name. What's his?

"Old man! What's your name?" I ask, hoping for something cool.

"I told you I would be gone in a flash."

"No, really."

"Nunya," he responds with a smirk.

"Sorry, what?" I raise an eyebrow.

"Nunya business," he chuckles, almost choking on his joke.

That's a good one. I'll have to remember that.

He disappears before I can ask him for his real name again, leaving me staring into nothingness.

What a strange yet friendly guy.

I hope I'll meet him again.

____

Once I hit the road again, I feel super nauseous and dizzy. Flashes of violence flood my mind, hitting me like sledgehammer blows, leaving me paralysed. I stop Falcon. The overwhelming emotions are becoming too much to handle.

Why is everything flooding back now?

Images of my parents' hands, Blaze, Elara, and blood suffocate me. Memories of murder, theft, and sorrow that I've buried deep within me resurface. It's like a movie that never stops playing in my head, and I can't stop it.

I grab the wheel and try to yank it out of the dashboard while screaming my lungs out.

Then everything goes dark.

I'm back in the wall. The metal plate is being removed as blinding light overwhelms me.

As I strain my eyes and squint, the faint outlines of my parents come into focus in the distance. However, as they draw nearer, their recognisable forms start to warp and change, taking on an unsettling resemblance to gaunt Freaks. Their slender, skeletal fingers grip me.

With a gasp, I force my eyes open, feeling the beads of sweat running down my back and forehead.

What the heck was that?

____

Every day is hard. Yeah, I get my water and food by doing what Blaze told me: tracking, sneaking stealing, and running... MSG. Although, doing it alone is tough.

Months have passed, perhaps a year...maybe two. And being alone has strange effects on me.

My hands tremble when I think about Mom, Dad, and Blaze. I keep seeing their faces, twisted and smeared in blood. Elara is gone and I can't quite picture her face anymore. But I keep having the same nightmares over and over.

Sometimes when I drive, I start talking to people in my mind. I go to Blaze for advice or discuss paradise with my parents.

It's like they're next to me in the passenger seat.

Oh, how I long for them.

I grip the steering wheel, feeling my heart thumping as if it wants to break free from my chest.

Dang it! I miss you.

My dry throat makes it hard to swallow, and my breath comes out in short, quick bursts while my chest feels heavy as a rock.

I need fresh air and get out of Falcon.

Once I touch the sand, I drop to my knees.

I clench my fists and punch the sand; each hit makes my hands ache. Tears blur my vision, but I wipe them away.

I don't want to cry anymore. It doesn't bring them back.

Please, someone... Help me!

____

I lie in Falcon. My body curled up and tight. Every noise makes me jump.

My eyes dart around in the dark. My muscles stay tense, ready to spring up and fight or run. But there's no one to fight and nowhere to run that feels safe.

My stomach twists, and my body shudders.

I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to push the people I care about away, but they keep coming back over and over.

With my fists, I hit the dash, and the pain feels almost good. It's real and something I can control.

I slump, lean forward, and lay my head on the steering wheel. Its cold, hard surface is the only comfort I have left.

The silence in Falcon is loud. It's pressing down on me.

I wish for someone's voice, a touch, anything.

But all I get is my ragged breathing and heartbeat thud.

Despite my longing to connect with others, a suffocating sense of dread grips me.

The more people, the more dangerous it gets.

Meeting people always results in their death.

Will I always be alone?

____

Falcon glides along the borders of the 51st State. I'm stressing over whether his tyres will hold up on this trip. When you see blisters and hear loud tyre noise, it means a puncture is on its way.

Giving away my spare tyre was a mistake.

I get out to check on them.

Scratches and a thin profile tell me I need to change them fast.

As I sigh, I find solace in gazing at the serene blue sky.

I daydream about building my house in Eden to shake off this heaviness. It's like a ray of hope in these dark times.

Crawcraw!

Crows... Flying all over the place, distracting me from my thoughts.

They move away from me.

Crows means food.

I quickly get in Falcon and trail them, struggling to keep up in the soft sand.

I learned this trick from Blaze. We would follow crow calls to find nests and collect eggs.

After a while, I spot a dead tree with filled wooden baskets nearby.

Eggs!

About twenty metres from the tree, I stop Falcon and get out. The crowing grows louder near the dried-out tree. I hold on to the branch and lower myself down.

It's sturdy enough.

I climb up the branches and find the first nests full of eggs. I take the eggs and place them in my linen shoulder bag.

The crows screech and attack, pecking at me with their beaks and claws.

I do my best to ignore them.

Going up, I find more nests. I shoo away the stubborn birds, and they fly away, giving me fresh eggs to gather.

Something splashes on my right shoulder.

Oh crap, bird shit. Unbelievable!

I climb back down, waving my arms to keep the aggressive birds at bay.

Once on the ground, I run to Falcon, hop in the back, shut the door, and lean over the back seat to check the trunk. I wrap the eggs in cloth and stick them in the cool egg box my dad made.

Next, I climb over the mid-console, spit on my tissue, wipe off the bird poop on my shoulder, and chuck it.

Today's haul is excellent!

I've got enough food to last me a week.

Time to go.

By pressing the accelerator, I gain speed. As I make a turn, my compass slips from the dashboard and clatters onto the passenger floor.

While driving, I reach for the compass. It slips from my grasp and falls to the floor. It bounces twice and cracks.

"Dang it!"

I retrieve the compass from the foot of the passenger seat and examine it by rotating it in my hands.

When I twist my wrist, the needle moves and points to "east."

Is it pointing in the right direction with those dents from the fall?

Maybe nature can help me figure things out.

I try to determine the position of the sun.

Where does it rise and set?

My dad taught me to navigate using only the sun and stars when I was younger.

I found using a compass to be incredibly easy, rendering his lessons useless for me.

I should've paid better attention.

As I reach over to the back seat, I grab my collection of large maps and attempt to read them. The harder I try to find where I am, the more lost I get.

None of the stuff around me looks like the landmarks on the map.

I'm lost.