As soon as I heard the words Get him... my heart sank. The looks on peoples faces range from deranged anger, to complete confusion. Most seem to have no idea what is going on, and even the angry ones don't seem ready to follow the order.
Nobody reacts. I just stand there, probably looking like a Wasteland mess, in need of a wash and a good hot meal, not to mention a proper sleep.
A woman comes around from behind the others. She is late in life, her skin darkened, but mostly from endless exposure to sunlight, it seems leathery and full of cracked lines. Her eyes are a piercing blue, like small lakes of life within her. Her hair is long and straggly, a vibrant grey, looking out of place in a world that seems to have been engulfed in simplistic destruction. Her clothes are very much expedient, full of pockets and hidden areas, no doubt lined with guns and knives.
She approaches me, all the while staring, refusing to take her eyes off me. Attention changes to her, and I can feel the nervousness around, as people make imperceptible steps back, gradually moving away from what might any moment develop into a scene of conflict.
I can't do with any more arguments. Whatever she wants, I have nothing left to give, and I am so tired and hungry that if they want to eat me, than they can; food poisoning and all.
'Stranger, what are you doing here?' She asks. I am surprised by her drawl, the twang to her speech. I admit I am also surprised that she has spoken to me, in a manner which isn't sly or screaming at the top of her voice.
'I came out of a vault, and have no memory of that place or who I am, not even my name. I wandered around, escaped mad people trying to eat me, and these burnt looking creatures that seemed to want to kill me, for no reason, and I ended up down there.'
The woman just continues to stare at me. She has a mean look about her features, but that could be just the ravages of time and experience of strangers. As a woman in a world like this, I can't imagine it would be easy. I stare back, but not doing too good a job of it as my eyes keep closing due to tiredness.
'How the hell did you survive long enough to find your way here?' She asks, very directly. She clearly isn't being humorous about it.
I shake my head. 'Luck perhaps, and a desire to live.'
As I say that others murmur, some nodding their heads. It seems to be a common sentiment, one that they welcome.
Without saying another word the woman begins pawing at me. She rifles though my clothes, I guess looking for weapons. She then drags her thick, clubby hands through my hair, and then lifting my lips up, looking at my teeth.
'I guess you've been protected somewhere, no signs of radiation, and generally in good health.' She says.
'Why would that matter, I mean radiation?' I ask. Several others laugh.
'I guess you never heard those mighty bombs dropping then.' An old looking man says rhetorically. His skin is like the old woman's, dark and leathery, sun worn. He smiles through broken, yellowed teeth. He looks so thin if he turned sideways he might disappear. I just shrug, trying to return the smile, badly.
'OK, he seems harmless enough. Lock up that door again and I'll show him round.' She says, and I let out a great sigh of relief. As I do I can feel the tension from others dissipate, and once again the sun is shining brightly in the sky for a reason.
For the first time I feel able to look beyond these others, and see the camp. There are various rough looking shacks, and some cloth tents. Occasionally there are camp fires, some have groups of people round them, smoking, eating, drinking, chatting. Beyond all that is a high fence, made of all sorts of scraps, wood, metal, bits and pieces, even an old fridge.
It's like an old African Shanty Town, only I wonder if that place exists any more. Perhaps in time I will find out.
As we walk around a well worn path, she guides me towards a very small, low slung cloth tent. It is round in shape, very battered, with some holes in the roof. Inside is a rickety wooden bed, without no coverings or pillow. On its floor is a hessian type covering, with bits of grass growing through.
'This here was old Mrs Samson's place. She died and it's been left untended since. you can move in here, make of it what you will. If you want to eat, you either have to go looking for wood to share or sell, gather your own water and make sure to boil it from the stream. you can also scavenge the Wasteland, provided it doesn't kill you first! Then sell whatever you find. This shack need fixing up, that's up to you.' she says, ready to turn away.
'Wait, what's you name?' I ask. The look on my face must say everything about how I feel.
'They call me Mae, but some just say Ma, though I'm nobody's Ma.' She says, and as she once again moves to leave, she reaches into her pocket, pulls out what looks to be some stale bread and hands it to me. I take it humbly, feeling such a wealth of emotion that I cannot express it any other way than to hug her. She takes the meaning and smiles briefly, before leaving.
Before she is totally out of sight, she looks back at me one last time. 'Ain't nobody gonna do it for ya, you want ta survive, you'd best learn quickly and get it together.' She says. I nod quickly, accepting the terms and she is gone.
It looks a mess this small shack, but there is room to improve and repair, and with the others I can make something of a home for myself. I take out the bread and bite at it eagerly. I imagined it might be foul, but it is surprisingly good and I finish it quickly. wonderful.
It will be enough for now. I need sleep. the bed looks anything but inviting, but I don't care, I would sleep on the floor if need be. I drop down, feeling the deep ache in my limbs, and allow myself to drift off into a better world of dreams and hope. I dream of things to come, plans to make, and places to explore. In my mind, I know, my journey and my adventure have finally, truly just begun...
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