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Authors: E.J. Robinson
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door he froze in his steps. He was seeing the face of evil for the first time.
Chapter Thirteen
When You Quit, You Die
The metal doors had been rent open, their glass surface long gone. Inside the enormous vestibule, the walls were stained black with streaks of old blood. Mottled pools of it also covered the floor. A great many people had tried in haste to raise two fortifications to block the entrance, but it was clear by the mountain of refuse scattered around the room that they had failed. The walls and roof were peppered with holes and brass casings were scattered across the floor. Not a single skeleton had been left behind.
As much as Robinson was hoping to make this his shelter, there was no way he could spend one night inside. As he turned to leave, his foot struck the edge of the fortification, causing a rumble from above. He leaped back, narrowly avoiding the avalanche of metal chairs and boxes as they slammed into the ground with a deafening clamor.
When he regained his footing, Robinson saw that something cylindrical and metallic had spilled out from the debris. He grabbed it and gave it a shake. It felt empty and light. He tried the top, but it wouldn’t budge. He banged it against the floor. This time the cap opened. The smell inside was pungent but not entirely unpleasant. He tucked his new drinking goblet into his bag and left, relieved he wouldn’t have to drink from the rusty cap any more.
The base’s main entrance had also been heavily barricaded with carriages, but it too had been overrun. He was ready to be free of this place.
Outside the base, he entered a field of high grass and sunflowers that swayed lightly with the wind. Bees buzzed by, searching for blossoms to pollinate. For a time, he imagined if he closed his eyes, he might wake up in the tangled wolds back home and to the sound of Vareen calling him for supper.
Instead, he heard the running of water and after a spell, he came to the bank of a wide river whose waters flowed unhurriedly but looked clean and devoid of refuse. He knelt to cup some in his hands, but just as his lips parted, a fish passed by, sporting two tails and twitching spastically. His thirst quickly left him.
After a brief rest, Robinson pressed on. He was tired, but stopping felt like quitting. His father once told him that, “in the wild, when you quit, you die.”
Eventually, he came to a roadway larger than any he’d seen before. The husks of carriages dominated one side while the other was oddly empty. He wondered, and not for the first time that day, what had happened to the people driving them.
The roadway rose until it reached an elevation that allowed Robinson a view of the entire city. It sprawled out in all directions as far as the eye could see. Vast tracts were utterly vacant, as if a great flood had come through and wiped everything above ground away. But pockets here and there inexplicably remained.
Off in the distance, he saw a collection of enormous structures. There was no question these marked the city’s capitol. Standing center amongst them was a single, colossal obelisk rising high into the sky. How men had built such things was beyond him. How they endured centuries of neglect was another matter. He knew in an instant he had to see that monolith up close—to touch it with his own hands—to be certain it was real.
Unfortunately, the sun was rapidly descending. There was only a turn of light left at best. So when he spied a neighborhood of what looked like family dwellings, he quickly made his way to them. Most had caved in on themselves like ill-timed cakes, but one two-story residence remained intact. It was perched on a high cliff, its sunny side the battlefield of a languorous war between ivy and trumpet creeper, the outcome of which wouldn’t be determined for eons to come. Despite its weathered, pale exterior, there was something warm about the place that reminded Robinson of home. He moved in for a closer look.
The front
Chapter Thirteen
When You Quit, You Die
The metal doors had been rent open, their glass surface long gone. Inside the enormous vestibule, the walls were stained black with streaks of old blood. Mottled pools of it also covered the floor. A great many people had tried in haste to raise two fortifications to block the entrance, but it was clear by the mountain of refuse scattered around the room that they had failed. The walls and roof were peppered with holes and brass casings were scattered across the floor. Not a single skeleton had been left behind.
As much as Robinson was hoping to make this his shelter, there was no way he could spend one night inside. As he turned to leave, his foot struck the edge of the fortification, causing a rumble from above. He leaped back, narrowly avoiding the avalanche of metal chairs and boxes as they slammed into the ground with a deafening clamor.
When he regained his footing, Robinson saw that something cylindrical and metallic had spilled out from the debris. He grabbed it and gave it a shake. It felt empty and light. He tried the top, but it wouldn’t budge. He banged it against the floor. This time the cap opened. The smell inside was pungent but not entirely unpleasant. He tucked his new drinking goblet into his bag and left, relieved he wouldn’t have to drink from the rusty cap any more.
The base’s main entrance had also been heavily barricaded with carriages, but it too had been overrun. He was ready to be free of this place.
Outside the base, he entered a field of high grass and sunflowers that swayed lightly with the wind. Bees buzzed by, searching for blossoms to pollinate. For a time, he imagined if he closed his eyes, he might wake up in the tangled wolds back home and to the sound of Vareen calling him for supper.
Instead, he heard the running of water and after a spell, he came to the bank of a wide river whose waters flowed unhurriedly but looked clean and devoid of refuse. He knelt to cup some in his hands, but just as his lips parted, a fish passed by, sporting two tails and twitching spastically. His thirst quickly left him.
After a brief rest, Robinson pressed on. He was tired, but stopping felt like quitting. His father once told him that, “in the wild, when you quit, you die.”
Eventually, he came to a roadway larger than any he’d seen before. The husks of carriages dominated one side while the other was oddly empty. He wondered, and not for the first time that day, what had happened to the people driving them.
The roadway rose until it reached an elevation that allowed Robinson a view of the entire city. It sprawled out in all directions as far as the eye could see. Vast tracts were utterly vacant, as if a great flood had come through and wiped everything above ground away. But pockets here and there inexplicably remained.
Off in the distance, he saw a collection of enormous structures. There was no question these marked the city’s capitol. Standing center amongst them was a single, colossal obelisk rising high into the sky. How men had built such things was beyond him. How they endured centuries of neglect was another matter. He knew in an instant he had to see that monolith up close—to touch it with his own hands—to be certain it was real.
Unfortunately, the sun was rapidly descending. There was only a turn of light left at best. So when he spied a neighborhood of what looked like family dwellings, he quickly made his way to them. Most had caved in on themselves like ill-timed cakes, but one two-story residence remained intact. It was perched on a high cliff, its sunny side the battlefield of a languorous war between ivy and trumpet creeper, the outcome of which wouldn’t be determined for eons to come. Despite its weathered, pale exterior, there was something warm about the place that reminded Robinson of home. He moved in for a closer look.
The front
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