THE TOPIC OF THIS CONTEST WAS:
She was on her annual trek to the Spring Fair to obtain that one essential item. She walked quickly, ignoring the tiny purple flowers dancing in the breeze. It had been a hard winter. While she knew it was wrong, this year she’d have to try to steal it…
(Stories need only touch on this topic in some way to qualify.) Before you continue reading, take a moment to consider where you would take that story…
Dull gray light suffused the morning air, overcast clouds acting as a weighted blanket. The sound of recycler masks and the monotonous trudge of the horses through the melting snow held Ash in a trance.
Around her, the Black Dog troupe carved a path through the morning frost, a living organism in a bleak landscape. Ash could practically see the radiation hanging in the air, a reminder of the sins of those long past.
The faint outline of New Atlanta finally came into focus. Towers like steel teeth rose into the sky above, rusting behemoths long since abandoned. As the troupe drew within the outskirts of the city, Hunter called for a short respite. They’d pushed hard the past few days in an effort to beat the Dead Horse & Dying Sun clans from the south. Wouldn’t want to tangle with those bastards if things went sour.
“Check your weapons, remember the plan. I don’t want any heroes today, just do your job.”
A small spike of adrenaline coursed through Ash’s veins as she catalogued the small armory strapped to herself. She unhooked her mask and took a deep breath of the crisp air, the purple flowers of the radiation-infused willow trees tickling her face.
As they came closer to the fairgrounds, more groups became visible. Hands drifted to unseen weapons as each eyed the other suspiciously. As much as the Spring Fair was paraded as a neutral zone, one could never be too careful.
Silently, they began to take their separate paths. Ash fell into step with Duster and Mace, the brothers thin as corn stalks but sharp as thorns. The sounds of nearby travelers haggling with local traders began to permeate the air the farther in they went.
Jostling through the crowds, they stopped at a dilapidated shack that had clearly been erected in a hurry. A man covered in radiation scars leered at them as they entered, his skeletal frame looking as if it would crumble at the slightest touch.
“Ah…you three. Was curious…if you’d show up.”
“Not rid of us yet, old man,” Mace replied, a smile cracking his normally stoic face. They set two daggers and a kit of horse tack on the table, Duster tallying out the coins to pay.
“Any news…from out west?” Jerry wheezed.
“Nothing but bandits and bad storms,” mumbled Duster, pocketing the goods. As they turned to leave, Jerry’s hand settled on Ash’s shoulder, pulling her close.
“Be careful… Dead Horse…made it in last night. Watch…your backs.”
Silently cursing, Ash slipped him a five-piece coin, nodding her thanks. Guess they’d be making a swift exit.
As they made it to the northern end of the fairgrounds, Ash hid behind an overturned cart, eyeing the row of boxes at the other end. The flag of the New Foundation Alliance fluttered in the weak breeze, nearby soldiers ensuring no one got close to the radiation meds. Winter had been hard this year, and already several lines had formed to get their yearly allotment. Not that it would be enough.
As Ash fingered the bow strapped to her back, she caught sight of Daemon and his group meandering towards the front. All according to plan.
A raw scream pierced the air, freezing the blood in her veins. The once orderly lines of people in the square descended into frenzied chaos as the cry of the Dead Horse’s was taken up.
As she strung her bow, Ash sighted a group painted in black moving forward, rifles belching precious bullets into the soldiers guarding the meds. Their berserkers ran into the press, taking down those that remained.
A series of horns, whistles and war cries filled the air as every faction turned against those around them. Islands of humanity formed in the ocean of the courtyard, striving to guard each other’s backs.
Seeing Daemon dash towards the boxes and Hunter following swiftly behind, Ash bolted towards the wagons that had been parked close by, loosing arrows all the way. Duster & Mace made swift work of those that came close, daggers flowing like water through the press of humanity. As her clan withdrew carrying a half-dozen boxes, the wail of sirens pierced the air.
“Time to leave!” yelled Hunter, scrambling into the back of the wagon. The horses were kicked into action, the smell of blood and smoke propelling them forward.
Ash shot her final arrow into a soldier pursuing on horseback, the thin frame creating a small dust cloud as it hit the dirt. How hard they fought for life didn’t seem fair when it could be ended so quickly.
Turning at the sound of a box being breached, she heard a cry of dismay. In Daemon’s bloody hand was a pack of emptied plastic cartridges, meds drained of the life they were supposed to grant. A trap. And as the sound of sirens grew louder and the stamp of the enemy drew closer, all Ash could think about were those towers of steel, laughing silently at the futility and greed of those beneath them.