Dystopia Chapter 16: Dusted By Death

We hustled homeward, empty-handed, navigating obstacles along the trail. Approaching the Well, notice a small group has gathered, applauding? Celebrating our safe return? I did not realize that such a committee existed. Soon realize there was a great interest in the failure of, or success of, a team’s return. They were about to be disappointed. We all made it out alive, although it came at the cost of death and suffering for others. Frank, still looking back, watching from a distance, observed bodies collected. Rarely was he quiet, speechless, now realizing this was no longer a diversion.

The other gang had filled the vacuum and was now finishing the inhumanity. Human vultures scampering about, collecting weapons, abandoned horses, emptying pockets, leaving the bodies to be collected or… letting nature do what comes naturally.

As we pulled into the corral, the curious stepped forward to peek inside the wagon. Empty. Words are not required. Their expression of disappointment, a few obscenities, disgusted looks; message received. Slowly, they turned and walked away, shoulders slumped, eyes downcast. We now hitched our horses, removed saddles, brushed and fed them, bedded them for the night, and then stood speechless, inconsolable. The vibe is cold, the mood frosty, the night air chilling, and not in a good way. I felt nauseous. This was not who I was, forced into a role I did not choose, driven by fear, no longer at peace. I could not make eye contact; eyes down, I shuffled off.

From a safe distance, members of the committee — or their representatives — watched, dissatisfied, surrounded by minions.

Allies peeled off, wandering back to their respective lodgings. Me, to my corner of the world. Without even a stick of wood to feed the chiminea. The smell of death surrounding each one. And failure. Sun slipping behind the horizon, temperature dropping, hungry but lacking the energy to even walk to the kitchen. Back in the good old days, I used to eat something daily.

Upon entering, my ‘room’ was dark. Exhaustion setting in, in a small pot of collected rainwater, washing hands and face, hoping to remove the smell of powder residue. Removing a layer of dust-covered clothing, too tired to clean up, too cold, abruptly realized I am not alone.

“It’s warmer in here. Want to join me?” a gentle voice invited.

A small ray of light illuminated the murky darkness; now too exhausted to worry, even though I didn’t know who it was. A warm body was a welcome comfort. Slid slowly in, smells fresh, went with the moment. Names later.

"Heard you all had a tough day," she whispered, her breath warm against my neck. "Welcome home."

"True. But alive," I mumbled, and faded — spooned, still.

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