The Unluckiest Raider in Apocalyptia 3

Story by Procrastinauthor

>Gazelle stopped walking and to a moment to look around him.
>He had, once again, had just enough good luck to out weight the bad, and survived his encounter with the… thing, from the ruins.
>It has been three days since, and gazelle had only progressed half as much in that time than when he began. His overdeveloped survival sense was on constant high alert. The area beyond the deadzone wasn’t any safer, he had a feeling he had to take his time here, and tread carefully.
>At least he had found a fisherman´s hat to cover himself from the sun, small mercies.
>Supplies were… good enough. He had found a drug store that still had some stuff on it, and he only had to almost die to a couple of zombies for it, what fun that was.
>He was now out in the open, wandering around what used to be a park, now an expanse of animal skeletons and overgrown greenery. Well, at least the plant life was thriving; soon the trees would reclaim the earth, using our corpses as nourishment. It was both poetic and very, very depressing.
>The unluckiest raider sighed, readjusted the weight of his supplies on his various pouches and pockets, and strode forth to keep explo-
>Click

>Gazelle felt a small object pose resistance to the sole of his boot, and then he heard a clear sound of a metal switch toggling. A sudden realization froze him on the spot, which probably saved his life.
>Landmine
>The man stood motionless, weighing his options: A) He could die on a horrible explosion, impaled by shrapnel made of his own bones. B) He could dehydrate himself until he fainted and THEN explode horribly. C) ??????? probably die anyways.
>Seven million years passed by, or perhaps a couple minutes. Same thing, as far as Gazelle was concerned.
>”Your hat!” a distant voice yelled at him. Sounded young, girlish. He would have turned around to look for the source, but he didn’t dare shift his body even a little. He was going to yell back what the hell she meant but was beaten to the punch before he could open his mouth.
>”Your fucking hat, take it off!” mystery girl was clearly out of patience, and perhaps a few screws as well. Still, Gazelle hadn´t lasted after the apocalypse as long as he had by being unnecessarily confrontational. Slowly, with the care of a surgeon about to make an incision near a mayor artery, he lifted his left arm, and took his hat off, keeping it in his hand as he let the arm rest on its original position.
>”Fuck, you are not him!” the girl apparently took offense to his hairdo. Well he had worse problems at the moment than a case of mistaken identity.
>He was then surprised to hear footsteps approaching. Did she not know this was a minefield?

>The girl once again proved to be too fast for him to keep up, and was already moving in front of him, appraising him with annoyed eyes. Dirty and slightly tattered clothes, a tool belt, some sort of blast shield put together from what looked like a stripped off car door and plywood, a pack of cigarettes visible on her breast pocket, and a lit one held between her lips, and a handgun on her hand, pointed at him; but even that last detail failed to call his attention as quickly as it did the color of her hair. Pure white, its brilliance tarnished by a clear lack of washing and grooming.
>Turning her expression into a grimace, she angrily took her cigarette off her mouth and violently tossed it on the ground besides her. She stamped her foot furiously as she vented her anger, Gazelle flinching the tiniest bit with every stomp, fearful for imminent blasting doom.
>”Why isn’t he back!, he loves us, he loves ME!” The angry girl yeled to no one in particular as she ran her fingers through her hair, a gesture that she did often evidenced by the yellowish stains of nicotine on her hair. “He wouldn’t die out there, he can’t! he always… always had a-a” She was breaking down as she spoke, her voice cracking with barely contained grief.
>Somehow, Gazelle was as afraid of this girl as he was of the little device under his foot. A mine will explode and kill him, and unstable person could be capable of anything. “Um… girl? Could you… could you get some help? I am stuck on a dangerous explosive…” He trailed off, unsure on how to properly explain to this girl the urgency of his situation.

>For her part, the white haired stranger emerged from her tantrum, reluctantly acknowledging that the man in front of her existed, even if she wasn’t too keen on it. “A mine, you are on one of my scrap puppies. Good job not exploding immediately by the way.” She gestured vaguely with her gun wielding hand, half in amusement and half in sarcasm.
>Gazelle’s blood went cold. He had run into his fair share of psychopaths in and out of his gang, but this one was by far the youngest ever. Grasping at straws, he attempted one of the few approaches that worked on such people: business.
>”Ah… your mines? Then… maybe you could disable this one? I ha-have supplies! They are yours if you let me go! …Please?”
>An arched eyebrow as all the answer he got, but that was a good enough invitation to elaborate.
>”Right, um… I got a few snacks here, if you like sweets? I think I actually have a couple chocolate bars…”
>That got a reaction from the girl, she opened her eyes the slightest fraction, and made a start to lift her hand at him, but then caught herself, and went back to her previous stance, shaking her head. Clearly chocolate wasn’t important enough to mess with a landmine.

>Gazelle was sweating bullets now, worrying that any second now she would lose interest and leave him to his fate, and then the smell of cigarette smoke reminded him of a vice this girl was clearly a victim of. Feeling only a little guilty of the fact that he was enabling a destructive and debilitating addiction on a girl young enough to be his daughter, he revealed the ace under his sleeve. “I also found cigarettes!, a while pack!” THIS got a more meaningful reaction from her, brightening her face briefly before her scowl set in again, and spoke in a commanding tone “Show me.” There was the slightest tinge of venom in her voice; clearly she had been tricked that way once before.
>The raider took a deep breath to steady his nerves, and in a slow and fluid motion moved his arm towards one of the big pouches on his belt, taking extra care to not move his torso. The pack of Marlboros was produced in short order, opened, and shown to the girl, who confirmed its contents with a nod.
>She took a pair of pliers that were cleverly rigged onto long shears for reach from a makeshift holster on her back, and prepared her blast shield, but before she moved towards Gazelle, she spoke once again, pointing at him with the shears. “Now we just have the problem of your gun” Gazelle knew what she meant; usually people were civil enough when trading, but this was a lone child against an adult, with no one else for miles to watch. She would lose the advantage the moment he could move freely, and right now, she could make all the demands she wanted of him; she could walk away, he could not.
>Gazelle gulped down nervously, trying to think of a way to convince her that he really didn’t want any confrontations and he had been in enough shit already trying to survive, but trust was a currency that nearly went extinct when the plague hit, and their current circumstances wouldn’t foster it.

>”ok… ok… look, I can’t give you my shotgun… wait!” He interrupted himself when he started to see her scowl deepen “wait, hear me out, please? I won’t survive long out here without a gun, you know how hard it is!... I can meet you halfway, is that all right? I will unload my gun, and then I can’t make any sudden movements on you, see? I will keep hands up while you work and everything… please; I swear to god I just want to walk away from here.” Gazelle was a pathetic sight, begging to a child for his life. But he was completely fine with it. Most of the proud and dignified had died long ago, and he survived where they didn’t.
>The girl appeared to consider this. Thankfully, the shotgun that Gazelle disliked using because it put him too close to the enemies worked in his favor this time. It wasn’t a model you could reload and shoot in a hurry, like a magazine fed gun; he was right in that she would have all the time in the world to shoot his chest full of lead if he tried to use it against her. She watched as the man did a careful balancing act of opening his gun and tossing out the shells, then re-strapping it on his back, without ever moving his body from the waist down. It was amazing what people could do when full of adrenaline and with their lives on the line.
>She decided to just take the risk and went to work. Putting the blast shield between her and the offending explosive, she slowly reached the shear/pliers towards the device, while sparing a quick glance to Gazelle every few seconds, distrust clearly visible on her.
>Gazelle for his part did his best to look non-threatening, lifting his open hands up towards the sky and closing his eyes, trying very, very hard to not think about what would happen if anything went wrong.

>It all ended with a snip, and a release of breath. The white haired kid relaxed for a couple seconds before she caught herself and back-stepped quickly, pointing her gun at the man again. She was a bit surprised to see he didn’t move at all, probably too focused in his fear of death that he wasn’t paying attention. “Oi, it’s over now, hand over the box.” She called.
>Gazelle opened his eyes, and then blinked a couple times in realization. Then let the wave of relief wash over him; he was still alive! Thank providence he met this girl here, otherwise… well, you know. He realized the girl was talking to him, he didn’t quite catch what she had said, but the urging motions she made with her gun brought quick remembrance to him “Ah, right, here you go.” He tossed the Marlboros at the stranger with a lazy motion, landing them close to her feet. “No tricks, I’m just going to get out of here, and you will never see me again, ok?
>Perhaps a more softhearted man would have tried to help the girl, maybe escort her to the closest survivor group. But Gazelle had seen what men and women like would do when brought to the extremes of desperation and mistrust. I was already good enough if they could part ways free of injury.
>And the young demolitionist seemed to agree. She pointed eastwards with her free hand “walk in that direction, unless you want to find another of my scrap mines.”
>Gazelle nodded nervously, and rather than saying anything, he merely started moving in the direction she said, not daring to test his luck any other way.
>He could only keep his composure for a few dozen steps before he broke into a full, desperate run, wanted to get away from her and her craziness, before she decided to just shoot him in the back and take the rest of his stuff. The girl just smirked at the fleeing man as he disappeared into the distance.