The Industrialist

Damian.

***

It was nighttime.

Two dark green jeeps, all-terrain wheels, diesel-powered, and with no glass windows, even windshields, roared on the expanse of the lifeless desert floor. Gray overcast darkened further away from the reach of the city lights and the walls became dark silhouettes. They felt safe now. Of what had transpired, the concept of walls gave them an air of hostility.

However, they had been silent for almost an hour as they reminisced about their dead comrades back at the base. All twenty dead, cold, and instant.

The stink though still permeated the air. Their garbs, pants, and even weapons had been submerged into unimaginable streams of shit, urine, and water.

Luckily, the other rebel members managed to leave them with two functional jeeps to their modified underground parking space outside the Southern wall. The Caretaker was thoughtful sometimes, despite his grunting, mumbling, and cursing, whenever he slides down the engine of their trucks, oil spilling on his arms and his coveralls, and grease all over his hands and face.

He always had a bad day, to some, it was a mystery.

But Damian knew the reason why the Caretaker hated his job so much. He tends to the vehicles with utmost care and intricate passion but the drivers drove the vehicles with utmost carelessness. He would say that the drivers seemed to be ragged against the rocky terrain, just pushing the pedal down despite the wavy desert floor. It would stress the bearings and challenged the chassis, he would mutter.

However, Damian knew that what they're driving were the pending preventive-maintenance jeeps. They were bound to break down along the way. Even so, Damian was still hopeful. A fifteen-mile drive would only take them around ten minutes tops with a moderate and safe speed. The roads tend to be challenging way Eastern, and flooring the accelerator pedal would give the vehicles a bigger problem.

They passed the Boneyard outskirt after three minutes. They decelerated but not to a point below thirty miles per hour. It was the outskirts, and Abominants probably had nestled within central area of the Boneyard.

Even so, the uncertainty of risk was still high.

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When his Specialist sideline activated and tasked to drive people outside the wall and take them to places, Damian had been exploring the routes surrounding the city, the majority southward. Mostly, people would ask for assistance in smuggling, as they needed some expert in navigating the way to Axiom Trench.

Ever since the Obsidian scorpion, Damian rerouted to a farther course, avoiding the center of the Boneyard by encircling to its outskirts, making another half hour more to reach Trench Hill.

More people came to him ever since Lance had his illegal exploits of Tyllrium trade from Axiom Trench. He would say that his business was booming, thanks to that kid.

Although the Outsiders had cleared up the smuggling routes by slaughtering all Abominants in the area, even the level ones, however, these Abominants migrated so frequently for an unknown reason. Probably when the winds were strong, ushering the volume of air contamination to move to places, the Abominants would follow. That's the nearest theory that people believed.

Damian did not fear the presence of Abominants. However, the Demetrian season was approaching - a month prior. Therefore, the Abominant's activity would be more erratic and unpredictable. A lot stronger and crazier in that sense.

And the said season would increase wind velocities that came from the North and East. Now, Damian felt the wind was blowing against them, which he feared the most. Probably, the level ones would follow the wind's direction and would intercept their route. It would be unfortunate, furthermore, their vehicles were no condition to outrun the groundlings.

At least somehow, in that particular moment, Damian felt safe away from the grasp of a pursuing unknown.

"Hang on Flint," It was Joe who applied pressure on Flint's wounded thigh with both hands as they were seated in the rear passenger seat.

"Don't worry about me, boys. I'm fine," Flint's voice gargled with slight blood, perceptible even behind his gas mask.

A wheezing torturing breath came from the other wounded comrade also at the back seat. Luckily, no significant wound could be seen from him.

"Damian, the winds!" George said from the front passenger seat.

"I hate the odds. We have to change the route. I will lead the way. The other jeep will follow."

Immediately, George signaled with his hand to the other jeep. He whirled a finger on the air that Jefferson could see. After a vast bends of flat lands, they entered a sloping road populated by dead trees on the side.

"Where are we headin'?"

"Gerald's View Subdivision," Damian answered.

"What? How far is it?"

"Five miles from here, North." Damian took a sharp left turn on a narrow road heading to a gradual downward steep.

"The Outsiders had not cleansed the area yet."

"I know but this is our best chance. We can stay for the night there. I am not liking the winds. Probably, Jefferson knew it too and would agree to let the night pass." Damian said and George nodded.

"Joe, check your ammo," George said as he squinted on his back.

"Five mags," Joe answered.

"Do you have poison bombs?" Damian asked.

"Yes, I have three," George answered. "What do you think is waiting for us there?"

Damian consumed two of his when they escaped inside the tunnels. An uncleaned area would mean that Abominants might have made the place a habitat. Mostly, Abominated dogs, called groundlings, as they breed faster, or Rattus as they loved abandoned houses. But what the outsiders hated the most when they cleaned up abandoned villages like Gerald's View were the Abominated bats.

They liked to hide under roofs during nighttime and were aggressive for human flesh.

"I don't know, George. I guess'll find out," Damian answered.

After a few minutes of downward steep, they reached the plains again, and the number of dead trees receded. They reached a concrete highway but unsmoothed still because of the heaving dust that was carried by the wind over time.

"How do you know this place?" George asked.

"This route is connected to Bay City. This highway, about forty miles from here, is the boundary. This was used to be a trade route for transporting goods of inter-city merchandise. After my deployment, I had odd jobs, like being a driver in one instance, connected to a company, Carry-All, if you have heard of it. So, I drove this route a few times, transporting legal merch."

"When transport trucks would reach nighttime, we detoured towards the former glorious Gerald's View." Damian continued.

"What about the Abominants?"

"Mercs, ex-soldiers, were deployed to clean the area for years. And ever since the fall of Bay City, nobody maintained that place any longer. So, let's expect some minor encounters."

After a few more minutes, they decelerated from the highway and turned towards a stone-walled fence, beaten by the Nuclear blast decades ago. Looking from the outside, they saw white-washed structures of the same beaten condition, rubbles all over, and roofs became rust scraps for some, and others were roofless.

Most of the time, they don't name places like this, they just call it an abandoned village. This was an exception, they called it Gerald's View, because of the untouched embossed brass letters, but lacking of letter 'E' of the word 'view', installed at the side of the torn metallic gate. One could still read it even from afar.

Their jeeps pressed on through the dilapidated fence and into a concrete road that separated the once glorious houses. Carefully, Damian's jeep first entered followed by Jefferson's. Although it was dark, yet, the houses were still perceptible even a few blocks from their vantage points because of their sizes.

"Housing for the rich fuckers," It was Flint who grunted then he coughed. The wheezing fellow beside him seemed to have woken up from his rest and cursed too.

"Yeah, can't imagine living in this big of a house," George replied.

"Can't imagine the life before. These houses cost a fortune. Probably a few twenty million units each."

"Try fifty!" Their wheezing friend interjected. His name was Cordopio, the weird name probably came from his roots, but his comrades called him Cors.

"Shhh. Shut up, all of you." Damian said. "This place seems inhabited but Abominants probably nestled inside these houses. I suggest that we load our weapons and keep our mouths shut."

They hurriedly followed Damian and there was silence once again. They went deeper into the subdivision and chose a smaller house that had remained the integrity of its walls or what was left of it. It was the same place Damian and his colleagues rested, still holding the house's walls almost precariously looking. But it was the best choice compared to others.

They parked their jeeps along the road and disembarked carefully. They sauntered along a narrow-cobbled pathway toward the house making a strategic military line.

"What are we expecting inside?" Jefferson asked as he followed Damian's back.

"Bats, probably," Damian answered. They had rifles with them, engaged in any surprise attacks.