Page 62 of Dustwalker

He froze, a piece of rotting plywood forgotten in his hand. He’d left Lara vulnerable. How could he have abandoned her, knowing the history of that city, knowing what had happened to the people who’d lived in those houses?

One of the journal entries surged up from his memory. Its words had been written in a shaky scrawl, and a bloody fingerprint had marred the bottom right corner.

I was going to head down to the bar again tonight. Don’t know why. The booze is sour and the company is bleak, but something’s been brewing there, and I ain’t talking about beer. People really worked themselves up these last few days, and I can’t blame them. I know it was stupid. Hell, I knew it long before tonight. But I can’t blame them at all.

I saw them from down 19th, filling up the street. God, it was almost like those old movies, when all the villagers take up pitchforks and torches, only here it was shotguns and hunting rifles, crowbars and baseball bats. They were gathered up on the corner, shouting, and those bots…they just lined up across the street from the bar, shoulder to shoulder, and stood there. Didn’t move, didn’t say a goddamn word.

Shit escalated. Shit fucking escalated.

The bot that leads them stepped up. Told everyone to get their shit and go home. Someone threw a rock at it.

Those things didn’t even bother wasting bullets. Didn’t need to. Most of them look human, but fuck…the bots tore through those people like they were made of paper. Crowd fought for less than a minute, and then their nerve broke. They took off in every direction, a lot of them coming towards me. I helped Julio Ortega get around the corner. He wasn’t with his family when they got taken. When he let go of his stomach, his…

God, his blood is all over me. I can’t. Can’t write this anymore.

I don’t think they’re searching houses yet. Guess they’re content to slaughter people like cattle in the street, and that’s enough tonight. Like it was nothing…

Ronin’s urge to return to his residence was more powerful than ever, but it wouldn’t do any good. It would take hours to get back to Cheyenne, and even if he was quick, it would mean the energy put into this journey had been expended in waste. He’d come all the way out here. He had to do what he’d intended.

Ronin searched the smaller buildings as the night progressed. Occasionally, lightning illuminated their interiors, followed several seconds later by wall-rumbling thunder. Bits of scrap metal and plastic accumulated in his rucksack. It would only be worth a fraction of what his last haul had earned. The gold ring would up his return significantly, but it couldn’t be counted; it was Lara’s. She would choose what to do with it.

As dawn neared, the storm cleared out. Ronin moved into the larger structures near the town center. These had sustained more damage than many of the others, probably due to their size, but they were navigable.

In the first building, he discovered the remains of three humans—skeletons in faded, ragged clothing. The fingers of the largest were wrapped around the grip of a rusted revolver. Ronin knelt, brushing away the dirt on the floor to reveal the message painted there.

Saw their faces

Heard their screams

No one left to absolve us of our sins

He contemplated those words as minutes passed and the sun crept higher over the eastern horizon. Would they hold significance to Lara? Ronin could almost piece the meaning together, could almost understand.

Weren’t there images in his memory he couldn’t erase? Screams echoing from his otherwise forgotten past? Explosions and charging armies, gunshots and blood and oil…

Ronin forced himself to stand and leave the bodies behind. It would do him no good to pursue the fragments of another life.

He went into the building withMNICILwritten over the entrance. It had probably beenMUNICIPAL, before the Blackout. Sections of the ceiling had collapsed, likely due to decades of water damage, and most of the interior furnishings had been reduced to useless scraps. He worked his way deeper inside, clearing some of the rubble from a hallway to access another section.

Rotted bits of plaster, shards of glass, shreds of dingy carpet, dirty rubble, and pieces of unidentifiable furniture blanketed the floor. A padlocked door stood at the end of the hall.

The heavy lock broke with a single blow from the butt of his rifle, and the door came off its hinges when Ronin pulled it open. Inside stood three service bots, one with a broom in hand, their casings dulled with age and dust.

The ceiling was reinforced, showing no signs of rot. Ronin had encountered similar rooms in other places. Had there been rules in the old world concerning where bots were allowed to rest?

Stepping inside, he searched the shelves lining the walls, adding six long-dead power cells and several specialized tools to his bag. A small box held miscellaneous parts, unidentifiable because of the built-up dust and lint inside. He placed the entire thing in his bag, atop the other items, but he left the bots alone.

Once, they’d moved and worked, they’d spoken and thought. Even if their functions were simple, they’d been alive.

Returning to the hallway, Ronin crouched and rummaged through his bag, rearranging his haul. The tools and parts would undoubtedlybring in a stack of credit, but the power cells were the real treasure. Even uncharged, they were worth at least as much as his last haul.

When Ronin emerged from the building, the sun was at its zenith, shrouded by that perpetual gray haze. The Dust wasn’t just beneath his boots. It was everywhere, above and below, outside and in. Even with his skin replaced, it was only a matter of time before dust built up in his internal mechanisms, before it caused failures and breakdowns. No one, whether bot or human, escaped the Dust.

Not even within the walls of Cheyenne.

And Lara was still alone. Was she frightened, upset?

Lonely?