-1 Prologue (1/2)
2035
Brook, New Cinalia
”Here, over here! I saw them run off the highway!” a Savage proclaims while pointing to the sign that displays the towns' name. ”They have to be hiding somewhere there!”
”Find them!” a shrill voice screams.
The Savage leader sent forth dozens of followers to search the town. Their clothing is ripped and filthy with some combination of blood, food, and soil. Their heads are either barely covered with stringy hair or completely bald with red pockmarked, burnt and torn skin. A short, metallic spear is held over a grimy shoulder alongside a mess of dirty alabaster hair as the wielder urges his men on. His stern gaze follows the sprinting mass of manic warriors.
Their mouths gape open as they dash over and through obstacles. The large hunting party separates into groups of predatory members that race to overtake their enemies with an unhinged look in their eyes. They are fueled by avarice, and the desire to be uplifted from the nameless faces of their companions. To be honored by not only their robust commander but the other lords of the Wastes.
The Savages tear through the streets, kicking in apartment doors, and breaking store windows with rusted metal poles. Three of them are holding chains attached to malnourished dogs. They cackle before releasing the hounds into an apartment building. One of them follows the dogs inside in search of prey.
Another of the Savages runs into a convenience store. Her foot gets caught on a strong piece of wire, sending her body crashing into an empty shelf. The pressure on the wire detonates the explosives set up behind the cashier counter.
There is a blinding light and an earth-shattering boom as the concrete beneath the linoleum flooring is revealed. Glass, metal, and human flesh bury the entrance.
Dilapidated post office walls shake as the people within grab for their weapons, medical materials, and backpacks. Dirty figures in mismatched clothing pace back and forth grabbing items and urging each other to go faster. Sid drinks from his jug of water and barely gets the lid on top before he drops it onto a counter. He sweeps his gaze across the room as he makes his way to the entrance.
Parents haul small children along behind them. Their small, grimy faces can't decide what to focus on the most; the people rushing to the left or the people rushing to the right. Their parents wrench their arms forward when they lag behind. People grab soiled blankets off the messy floor, shove them into torn bags, or roll the material into balls to be held underneath an arm.
”We'll have to leave it!.... Leave it!” a rusted portable grill crashes to the ground.
The owner crouches in front of the grill and shoves bits of coal into their pockets before rushing outside. Sid steps over the grill before stepping through the shattered glass entrance. The shards crunch under his boots. He sidesteps a pair that is huddled together talking in hushed tones on the stairs.
Their foreheads are touching. They have the same unkempt look as the rest of the group. Their torn clothing are layered under ragged hoodies with tattered sleeves. The edges of their pants are coated with the mud that is caked over their worn shoes.
Sid's long sleeve shirt protects him from the chill in the air. It's a stained, faded green wool shirt. He rubs his palms together while he surveys the area. In the distance, smoke rises into the sky toward the epicenter of the town. Around him, civilians rush past and scurry off toward the other side of the building.
When he continues down the slanted steps he avoids the muddy holes along the sidewalk. He narrowly avoids stepping into a puddle and pauses to look back at the post office's crumbling facade before hearing shouts in the distance.
He follows the shouting to the parking lot where a muscular man stands among shuffling bodies. The man's short, peppered hair clashes with his bright blue jacket.
”Civilians, grab only what you can run with and move on,” the large man yells.”We won't come back for you if you lag behind. You have 10 minutes!”
Sid walks over to the man and motions him over to where the rest of the team is stationed. Huge chunks of debris riddle the street and obstruct the road. Several dark clothed individuals lounge on the stranded cars parked in front of the post office. A black bag is open on the hood of a white vehicle with ammunition stacked inside.
Sid walks over to the center of the meeting area and claps his hands a few times. The large man jogs over to listen.
”Looks like Carla's booby-trap idea bought us some sorely needed time,” Sid says before turning to the rest of the team. ”Let's go! Dan is going to stay behind and ferry these people to route 296. We need 10 minutes. Start the clock!”
”What?! No, I'm going with y'all. You know this area much better than us,” Dan begins to negotiate, ”I'll lead the-”