Chapter Text
The wind shifted slowly, the gusts grew stronger, driving more of the sand in the direction Alfie had just gone. Dry wind, not remotely better than in the regions he had been before - and vastness, nothing but endless, arid, lonely vastness.
Alfie stopped on a hill, carefully took off the cloth he had wrapped in front of his mouth, and looked around. He had to be maybe a few miles from some base camp now, from a swap site, at least he had it deep in his head, and in his gut. Dry bushes stood around, now and then a few scattered rusty car parts, pieces of scrap and metal. There had to have been people here, at some point. He took a deep breath, even though the dry air burned in his lungs, as it had for days.
He desperately needed something to drink.
With a slow motion, Alfie checked the level of his water bottle. The last time he had filled it had been in a shack, in exchange for an old pocket watch he had still found in the depths of his backpack. His eyes narrowed slightly as he held the bottle against his ear, shaking it slightly. There were maybe 200-300 millimeters in it, if he could hear it correctly - it would be enough, provided the nearest settlement was a few miles away.
And if there was any water to be found at all.
Alfie put the bottle back without taking a sip. He would still need the supplies, that was for sure. Especially if he got the mileage wrong, because in this part of the world, getting water was as hard as getting guns or cars - or food. Almost impossible. With a soft sigh, he pushed the scarf in front of his face again, high up over the root of his nose, and checked the position of the sun once more before trudging down the hill with heavy steps into the endless expanse. A long road lay before him.
Alfie had always been alone. Since this chaos had broken out, since the already destroyed world had become even more broken by murder, manslaughter and the scarcity of resources. One murdered for water, one murdered for a sip of hydro - a drink that at least quelled the feeling of thirst for a while. Alfie didn't like to drink it because it was addictive, much like alcohol. He took it only when he could find nothing else.
Through his years of isolation from others and endless wandering through this apocalyptic world, Alfie had acquired a lot. He could survive, he survived every day, and was not at all keen on living in one of the settlements. He trusted no one but himself. And he had trusted his dog, when Cyril had been still alive - before a drunk had shot him. Alfie had broken that man's neck with his bare hands, thirsty for revenge.
But his thoughts quickly turned away. One step in front of the next, ignoring the sun that burned on his neck and head. Further, always further straight ahead, driven by his pure instinct.
§---§---§
Fire.
Smoke.
Screaming.
Panic.
Alfie huddled behind the pitted metal wall, already rusting, and listened to the assault like a movie. He'd seen it from a distance, the broad, thick columns of black smoke that had stretched across the entire length of desert - an image he'd not seen for the first time.
It was just another raid of people on other people, another raid to kill others, to desecrate, to get goods and water. Hoping to come across some hidden treasure, like an oil well deep in the former Orient.
Alfie had seen many of these troops before. As far as he could avoid it, he avoided them - only when necessary, he used his strength and killed some of them, depending on how big the groups were. They were the so-called Hunters. They raided settlements, in larger and larger circles, to extract more for their own, leaving nothing but bloody tracks in the sand and holes in families.
He pressed harder against the wall, breathing in and out deeply. Somewhere distant he could hear a woman screaming, and a man. As Alfie cautiously leaned in behind the metal wall, he saw the two torn apart, the man taking a shot through the head. There were seven Hunters.
He could handle seven.
Alfie silently pulled his gun from his holster, quietly cocked it in the trigger, waited. The yelling grew stronger. He counted the seconds, waited a moment for the woman to begin pleading, only then did he dash behind the wall and immediately shoot one of the Hunters in the face. He couldn't even scream, so quickly he lay in the sand, bleeding.
He caught the next one around a corner, who was just feasting on the supplies of a hut, the next in a makeshift field. Three. That left four for him to catch.
A sharp shot passed him by, hissing, and Alfie rolled behind the nearest opportunity for cover. The shot had just missed him, and Alfie shot hard into the face of the man from whom the shot had come. Three to go.
"Please don't!" a voice suddenly shouted, it had to be a young man, and Alfie poked his head out from behind his hiding place. The young man was yanked out of one of the huts, shoved to the hard ground, and prevented from getting up with a heavy boot, while another man came out of the hut with a child he held by the collar.
Alfie hissed softly. He narrowed his eyes slightly to get a better view of what was happening and cocked his trigger again. Leaning his upper body slightly into cover, he aimed at one of the Hunters.
The man under the boot tried to get up, but he was held down mercilessly.
"Please, he's just a kid! Let him go!" the man yelled, and Alfie could hear desperation, utter desperation. The voice sounded slightly hoarse, perhaps he had screamed many times before, he didn't know.
"There's someone here with a gun, Lennox. You've got to find him," one of the men snarled, and Alfie snorted softly. Find me then, he thought, and pressed his finger lightly into the trigger. He didn't pull the trigger, though.
Not yet.
"Is this the kid?" the other man asked, still pushing the young, struggling man down, and kicking him briefly in the face; the big man holding the kid grunted.
"We'll see about that."
Alfie stopped his finger. He exhaled softly, staring at the two men - but especially at the one who was pushing the child to the ground and ripping up the sleeve of its sweater on one side, while the young man on the floor began to struggle violently again. The child sobbed. "Leave him, he's just a kid, let him go, I'll give you anything!" he pleaded, and the man pressed his boot so hard on his chest that the young man's breath caught in a hoarse gasp.
"You don't even have anything!" the man laughed, and the young man whimpered.
"This is the child we're looking for!" the big man groaned, pulling the child, who was crying softly now, up to his feet.
"NO!" the young man on the ground screamed, and Alfie pressed his finger on the trigger. The man who had been holding the child immediately fell over, and the second immediately turned in Alfie's direction, eyes wild and open. He was dirty, as they all were, but his face was typically blackened from the soot of the engines - Hunters owned most of the vehicles.
"You did this!" the guy roared, easing off the young man with his heavy boot, reloading his gun. That's as far as he got, because Alfie shot him right in the neck, and he slowly slumped to the ground, choking on his blood, while the young man looked distraught and wide-eyed in Alfie's direction.
Alfie braced himself on his feet. One remained, a single one, and he reloaded his weapon, stepping out from his cover with firm steps. "Damn bastard!" someone behind him yelled, and a shot almost went through Alfie's arm, but it was only a graze; with one swift movement, Alfie turned around, fired several times into the man's stomach, and watched silently as he too went down to the hard ground.
It was quiet after that, except for the biting wind that still drove the rough sand through the settlement, and Alfie put his gun away. He caught the gaze of the young man, who was still looking at him perplexed and a little afraid, but Alfie just nodded bluntly. The young man returned the nod, then murmured softly, "Thanks."
"Hm.", Alfie made, and took a step towards the two. The child flinched; and though it could be seen that he was frightened, he nevertheless stared curiously at Alfie, while the young man, who seemed to be his father, hastily pulled down the little one's sweater sleeve. But Alfie could still see a piece of the pale skin, a tiny little one, on which were strange symbols. Like a tattoo. But the fabric covered that skin so quickly that it could have been just a deception. Alfie raised an eyebrow.
"How many were you, in the village?" he said darkly, and the young man blinked. He pushed the little boy protectively behind his slender legs, and only then did he answer Alfie.
"Not many. Five, maybe." was the quiet reply, and Alfie looked around with narrowed eyes. Yeah, he counted more than eight bodies - so they were all dead.
"Then I guess you're the only ones now. You'd better watch your step," Alfie muttered, pushing past the young man into one of the huts, which, after all, were now unoccupied. He set down his heavy backpack and began rummaging through the sparse furnishings for items he could use. And he had to do it before it got dark - for the sun was already slowly sinking below the horizon, and with the biting wind came the chill.
Alfie rummaged through the cupboards, found a few knives, a bit of water in an old pot, some hydro. Just as he was putting a dirty bandage in his backpack, he heard a step behind him. He turned around and his eyes fell on the young man. The little boy was still pressing up against his legs, and they were both looking at him.
He had strange eyes, the young man. They were bright, of a very light, striking blue, a color rarely seen in the eternal expanses of the desert. It was the color of water, the color of the sky, and Alfie stared at the man for a moment. He didn't look like someone who could fight - quite thin, with gangly limbs and skinny legs, with a prominent face, with high cheekbones that showed a few scratches from a fight.
When Alfie averted his gaze again and kept searching, the man cleared his throat. "You're... you're not from around here, right? You can fight, and you seem well trained. My son and I, we... we have nowhere to go, now that everyone..." the young man said quietly, and Alfie raised his eyebrows as he found a dry piece of bread in an old drawer. He took a light bite of it, but didn't look at the young man, who was still a little sheepishly pressing himself into the doorway. "You saved us, and maybe you could give us some tour, some help, to the next town?" he continued, and Alfie spat out the bread again. It was too old.
He stowed the rest of his things in his backpack, shouldered it, walked past the young man, and wordlessly pushed his way into the next tent, which was half torn down by the attack. With a soft, amused grunt, he found a small bottle of dirty water, and immediately put it in his backpack. The man had followed him.
"We're not heavy companions, we... I don't need food, and my little one - Charlie - he doesn't need to be carried, and if then I’ll do, I'll do it. We just need someone who knows his way around, who knows where it-"
"What do they want him for, huh?" Alfie grunted, and the young man opened his lips softly, as if in gentle shock. He blinked as Alfie looked at him, and snorted softly.
"You... That was a coincidence. No one wants us, we're..." he stammered, and Alfie took a step towards them. The young man stood protectively in front of the little one named Charlie, even as the boy looked at him curiously. Alfie could tell they had nothing. They wore the same clothes as everyone else, torn and dirty from the eternal sand, a few straps of leather for things, or for none, as he saw - the young man's boots had seen better days, too, and Alfie raised his eyebrows.
"They said ‘this is the kid’. So, they're looking for it. That's danger, you see. Besides, I'm just traveling alone." Alfie grumbled, turning around again, searching the tent further. But this time he didn't really find anything he could use except for a scrap of cloth.
He fixed his gaze on the thin fabric of the tent wall - the sun was setting, slowly, and it was getting colder. Maybe he should at least stay here this night, there were shelters here after all.
"I... he's, well Charlie's not a danger. Please. I can give you water, or something else if you.... I have something in my tent, and I have..." the young man with the blue eyes stammered, and Alfie looked at him again, eyed him briefly.
"M’ not interested. Forget it, the risk is too high. I always travel alone, I don't want or need company," Alfie said tersely, and the young man snorted slightly.
He went after Alfie again, followed by the small child.
"Please. Just to the next aid station, I have no idea how to get there. We can't stay here!"
Alfie rolled his eyes again, then turned to the young man. The blue eyes stared back at him, big and hungry, big and fucking desperate, dammit. Alfie never let himself get small, and it wasn't because of him. His eyes went to the kid, to the little boy staring at Alfie with equally blue eyes, his little fist buried in his father's pants. It blinked - Alfie then looked back at the man.
"I'll stay one night. You can follow me tomorrow, at a distance. I don't want any talking, no begging, I don't want to notice you at all, okay?" he grunted; the man blinked, slightly confused, then nodded. "The nearest exchange post is maybe fifteen miles from here. Do you have a car?"
The young man shook his head.
"What about the Hunters, how did they get here?" he asked harshly, and the young man shrugged.
"They were there on foot."
"Unusual for them, it is."
"I know. We'll stick to it, just until the next station, thank you." he murmured, and Alfie nodded roughly.
When he had searched all the temporary dwellings, he built a fire. It was only a small one, but it was big enough to generate enough heat; he sat down in front of it, pulled his cloth away from his face, and took a small sip of water.
The young man and his son sat a little farther away. They were far enough away that they did not disturb Alfie, and yet Alfie could hear them talking. The young man pulled the zipper of his jacket higher, and the little boy's. The sweater seemed a little too big for the little boy, because when the young man put it on sensibly, the sleeves slid up. Alfie stared at one of the arms. And yes, now he saw it, what he had previously thought was just a figment of his imagination: strange, fine marks on the boy's arm. But, as always, only briefly, before the father noticed and pulled the sleeve back over his arm so hastily that the little boy was almost startled. Then the blue eyes darted over to Alfie, who just eyed them both emotionlessly.
"It's nothing," the young man said, and Alfie nodded dully.
Of course, it wasn't.
He just snorted briefly, then turned back to his water, watching the sun sink. It was turning into a cold night.
§---§---§
The sun had not yet fully risen, the first cool rays were only showing when Alfie had already shouldered his backpack and glanced over at the small bundle of a blanket and tightened legs; the young man and his son had curled up, and they were still asleep. There was no sound, and today the wind didn't seem to be blowing as hard, which was why Alfie didn't pull his scarf over his mouth yet. He stared at the rising sun, then back at the soft, dirty bundle of clothes and bodies, and considered.
His teeth dug gently into his lower lip, and he tightened his belt a hole. He could take them with him, he could. But what was he going to do with them? Wandering with a stranger had never been Alfie's favorite thing to do, and he didn't trust them. He didn't trust the eyes that had looked helplessly at him in spite of himself - and most of all, he didn't trust this child.
There was a reason the Hunters were after the kid - only what kind, that was a mystery to Alfie. It was just absolute certainty that he had a chip on his shoulder with these two, and that he would only get himself dragged into trouble.
On the other hand, it was just a little kid.
But Alfie knew other children. The kids who were raised by Hunters, who could shoot at seven, and who set fires, set whole settlements on fire like little devils. Alfie squinted his eyes slightly as he stared at them, and looked away again as the bundle of cloth moved slowly.
"Daddy, the man's still here!" a small voice squeaked, and the young man sat up, startled. He looked panicked for a moment, but then exhaled deeply as his eyes and Alfie's met briefly.
"We gotta go," Alfie grunted darkly, nodding towards the south. The young man nodded, lifting his son to his feet.
"How old is he, huh?" Alfie muttered, thinking of the gun he still had as a spare somewhere in his backpack - but he might as well shoot himself if he gave these two a gun, too. Besides, the young man didn't look like he could shoot at all - his fingers were far too delicate, far too slender to handle a big gun.
"He's six." the man said quietly, and after tying a scarf around the little boy's neck against the wind, he looked at Alfie, blinking. The sun was lowering broadly over the horizon, bathing everything in the familiar hazy ocher.
"Can he shoot? Can you shoot?" Alfie asked harshly, and the young man looked at him for a moment. Then the blue eyes bugged out, and he wrapped a scarf around his own neck.
"No." he said quietly, and Alfie uttered a dark murmur.
"That’s too bad." he said, as the young man jumped to his feet, picking up a backpack as well, and took the little boy by the hand. He walked towards Alfie, stopped in front of him, maybe a few feet, and then looked at him.
Alfie was irritated by the blue in his eyes. He had rarely seen that color in his life, and somehow, he didn't like it.
"It's only until the next exchange station, I'm sure nothing will happen. After that, we'll be gone, I promise. I can... I can shoot, a little bit, I just never - I'm not from around here, you know. What's your name, anyway? I'm Tommy. And this is Charlie." he said, and the little boy smiled at Alfie. Alfie just looked at him, glanced at Tommy for a moment, then nodded south.
"No talking, I said. We've got to keep moving." he grunted, leading the way with heavy steps as the two lagged behind for a moment. Alfie didn't turn to look at them, nor did he slow his pace - he could hear them hastily trailing him at one point, but he tried his best to ignore it.
After fifteen miles he would be rid of these strange two - and could finally walk alone again.
Maybe he could trade them in, too, depending on what they were worth. Depending on what this strange little boy with the tattoo on his arm was worth, if the Hunters were looking for him so hard.