Read Online Robinson Crusoe 2244 by E.J. Robinson - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: E.J. Robinson
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he’d come that way before. The sun continued to rise—the heat along with it—until he was winded and soaked with exertion.
Mosquitos feasted on his skin and the husks of long dead trees bit at his feet. The bandages continued to unspool, forcing him to stop and retie them again and again. Finally, when he was certain he would never escape the wetlands, he saw a broken chip of road dangling limply over the far side of an embankment. He skipped the remaining way through the shallows and scaled his way to the top of the incline.
Standing atop the hill, he’d have never known the bog existed. Storefronts lined both sides of the road with faded signs Robinson was surprised he could read—the writing of the One People. Most of the windows were broken out and weeds overran everything. Other than an occasional bird passing overhead or a rodent foraging in the shadows, little else stirred.
When he reached the far end of town, Robinson found an old log to rest on. He gauged by the sun that it was mid-turn. Thirsty and tired, he opened his bag of rations. Thankfully, whoever was in charge of the emergency provisions had thought to include several candles and a piece of flint with an instruction booklet. Unfortunately, there was no water, so he went in search for it and found a small pool between the roots of a gnarled tree. Only then did he realize he had nothing to collect it in. He sifted through a number of ancient items until finally kicking a corroded cap off one of the old carriages.
The cap made the water taste of rust and earth, but it went down like wine. He had to force himself to stop after several liters to avoid getting sick. Then he took inventory of his rations. By his count, he had a three-day supply.
He needed a plan. His mother’s numbers might have led him to this continent, but not to a specific destination. He needed shelter. He also needed a weapon. He had no means of procuring either so he stalked around until he found a dead branch that could double as a walking stick or a spear before setting out again.
The two-lane road led to one with four lanes, which surprisingly led to a military base, its name still discernable on a rusty sign. The fence surrounding it had a heavy lean, but the rusty wire protruding everywhere still looked treacherous. Rather than risk cutting himself further, Robinson continued along the perimeter of the fence until he found a section that had fallen away entirely.
The base was flat and sprawling, made up of large areas of paved stone blemished by a handful of trees and shrubs that had erupted through the rubble. Sunlight reflected off something in the distance. He moved toward it.
Squadrons of flyers in a profusion of shapes and sizes littered the area, though many seemed capable of supporting no more than a pilot or two. Looking closer, Robinson found most were outfitted with weapons, though how they worked was beyond him. Still, this brought up the questions he’d been pondering again and again: How had a civilization so replete with advancements failed to stave off its own extinction? Had the Great Rendering spread so quickly that not a single one of these flyers had gotten off the ground?
At the far end of the tarmac sat a number of cavernous hangars and the main body of the base itself. Waves of heat radiated off the pitch as the sun reached its apex. As Robinson passed the last hangar, he saw the doors were half open. Inside was another flyer that was four stories high. This one was unique. He could still make out the multiple shades of blue and white surrounding its two-dozen oval windows. It also bore a strange circular sigil with prominent words underneath. Unfortunately, they were too faded to read. Robinson wanted to step inside for a closer look, but the heat was rising and he was already out of water. His feet had also begun to burn through his wrappings, forcing him to jog the last one hundred meters to the main building.
The moment he passed through the
Mosquitos feasted on his skin and the husks of long dead trees bit at his feet. The bandages continued to unspool, forcing him to stop and retie them again and again. Finally, when he was certain he would never escape the wetlands, he saw a broken chip of road dangling limply over the far side of an embankment. He skipped the remaining way through the shallows and scaled his way to the top of the incline.
Standing atop the hill, he’d have never known the bog existed. Storefronts lined both sides of the road with faded signs Robinson was surprised he could read—the writing of the One People. Most of the windows were broken out and weeds overran everything. Other than an occasional bird passing overhead or a rodent foraging in the shadows, little else stirred.
When he reached the far end of town, Robinson found an old log to rest on. He gauged by the sun that it was mid-turn. Thirsty and tired, he opened his bag of rations. Thankfully, whoever was in charge of the emergency provisions had thought to include several candles and a piece of flint with an instruction booklet. Unfortunately, there was no water, so he went in search for it and found a small pool between the roots of a gnarled tree. Only then did he realize he had nothing to collect it in. He sifted through a number of ancient items until finally kicking a corroded cap off one of the old carriages.
The cap made the water taste of rust and earth, but it went down like wine. He had to force himself to stop after several liters to avoid getting sick. Then he took inventory of his rations. By his count, he had a three-day supply.
He needed a plan. His mother’s numbers might have led him to this continent, but not to a specific destination. He needed shelter. He also needed a weapon. He had no means of procuring either so he stalked around until he found a dead branch that could double as a walking stick or a spear before setting out again.
The two-lane road led to one with four lanes, which surprisingly led to a military base, its name still discernable on a rusty sign. The fence surrounding it had a heavy lean, but the rusty wire protruding everywhere still looked treacherous. Rather than risk cutting himself further, Robinson continued along the perimeter of the fence until he found a section that had fallen away entirely.
The base was flat and sprawling, made up of large areas of paved stone blemished by a handful of trees and shrubs that had erupted through the rubble. Sunlight reflected off something in the distance. He moved toward it.
Squadrons of flyers in a profusion of shapes and sizes littered the area, though many seemed capable of supporting no more than a pilot or two. Looking closer, Robinson found most were outfitted with weapons, though how they worked was beyond him. Still, this brought up the questions he’d been pondering again and again: How had a civilization so replete with advancements failed to stave off its own extinction? Had the Great Rendering spread so quickly that not a single one of these flyers had gotten off the ground?
At the far end of the tarmac sat a number of cavernous hangars and the main body of the base itself. Waves of heat radiated off the pitch as the sun reached its apex. As Robinson passed the last hangar, he saw the doors were half open. Inside was another flyer that was four stories high. This one was unique. He could still make out the multiple shades of blue and white surrounding its two-dozen oval windows. It also bore a strange circular sigil with prominent words underneath. Unfortunately, they were too faded to read. Robinson wanted to step inside for a closer look, but the heat was rising and he was already out of water. His feet had also begun to burn through his wrappings, forcing him to jog the last one hundred meters to the main building.
The moment he passed through the
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