☢Scorched Earth☢

The earth had been scorched many years prior.

There were many rumors of what had happened- Nuclear bombs, the wrath of God, the Illuminati establishing a new world order, Cults. No one was sure- all communication was cut, all world leaders were either killed or went underground. Ground zero was some college town in what used to be Connecticut. Most people around there didn't make it.

It wasn’t radiation- or at least, any type of radiation doctors had seen. Sure, it caused mutation and killed A LOT of people. Sure, it rippled out and caused strange changes in the flora and fauna everywhere. Okay, maybe the world how they knew it was destroyed and buildings fell and, like, any communication had been cut off. But, it hadn’t killed EVERYONE. Some people who lived in make-shift bunkers survived, but also people just living in their houses made it out untouched! It was unclear how or why people died, but whatever had swept over the world had kept everything in a stasis.

Most of the world was impossible to navigate nowadays.

Fuel was near impossible to find, and a safe path was even harder. Desert now stretched further, forests were overrun with mutated carnivorous plants, animal life had become feral. Most people just moved to small settlements and SETTLED, or stayed on their tiny homestead and scraped by how they could.

But not Jake.

No, he thought ruefully while tapping his fingers on the steering wheel. He had taken his beaten up camper van on the road, followed a radio signal, and now? Was the errand boy of the wasteland. With many objectives that kept him whizzing across the country. For example, he was currently finding a missing person, delivering a shipment of homemade hot sauce, and trading a butt-ton of books. Like, a BUTT-TON! (He hoped they would be appreciated- books were always the first thing to burn for kindling these days) It was Jake's pride that he had one of the only working vehicles in the wastes, which made his stock valuable. Which is why it was armored and weaponed out the wazoo. It also ran on vegetable oil and food waste. How? He didn’t know, some science shit. He had listened to Steve ramble on about it but found it hard to keep up.

Nah, for now, he was looking over his dash as he headed north, towards what was once Maine. His well-worn jeans and flannel shirt (with many patches and holes, mind you) were set into his seat with him- he had been on the road for far too long at this point and would need a stretch break before breaking into the tangled forests of the east. Because that was another multi-hour stretch, the only difference being that he would have no way to get out during that. The plants tolerated his ugly amalgamation of a van, but they didn’t take kindly to the driver. Once he was granted passage from its keeper, he just had to make a beeline north and get the FUCK outta there.

Before he considered stopping, motion in front of him made him slam on his breaks. He saw… something. In the barren, dusty wasteland stretched in front of him, any sign of life was alarming. Whatever was out here was going to need help- or try to eat him. He hoped the former but knew the latter was likely.

Still. He was stopped. He wanted to stretch his long-fucking-legs anyways. And running back to the car would be a great way to exercise before the stupid long drive he had left. Jake felt himself pop the door open, and stepping out, his rubber soles bouncing off the earth. He had a small knife blipped to his waistband, but he could run fast. And the van would do way more damage than anything he could do. But despite everything, despite all the violence that Jake had seen and experienced, he still saw the best in any situation. And that endearing and annoying quality came once again when he placed his hands around his mouth and called out

“Yo! You doin’ okay?”

“Yo! You doin’ okay?”


His hearing snaps back towards the source of the yelling, some sort of car in the distance. A mini van, looks to be. Any sort of vehicle was a rarity from what he had seen, and even rarer was something that looked as though it could reliably traverse the frankly… well… fucked landscape. What had happened in the time he had been asleep was truly baffling. He couldn’t remember much of anything beforehand and even parts of the after were a bit. Well. Tricky. He’d found himself here though, with this tall young man making his way towards him, hopefully not intent on killing him, though if it did come to that at least he felt more assured in using the weapon strapped to his side than most other things. Like where he had come from, for instance. Or where he was going. Possibly a name.

“I suppose so.” He called back. The young man was getting closer now. Dusty, though they all were. Wearing a ragged flannel and blue jeans that had seen far better days, he approached seemingly without much care for whether or not he might be dangerous. He supposed he wouldn’t really strike any alarm bells: jeans just as dusty as the other man’s, a button up he thought might have been expensive in a previous life, boots well past the point of no return, a coat stolen from the bombed-out museum he had woken up in. Some dark navy colored historical remnant, tattered but still retaining some semblance of a previous sophistication. It hung to about his knees and did a lovely job of hiding the cane sword and bags full of supplies he held on his person. His glasses that had somehow survived whatever hell had happened were perched low on his nose, and he had to brush the dirt covered white locks from his face to better see the young man now.


He supposed the kid seemed friendly enough. Strange in this environment, but not entirely unwelcome. Still, he approached with a sense of caution, one hand thumbing the grip of the sword at his side.


“I don’t suppose you might have room for another, wherever you’re going?”

“Long as you aren’t crazy and got something to share, you can hop on board!"

Jake looked at the dusty old man, finding his interest piqued at this guy. The button-up and fancy cane were a very strange thing to see in this strange new world. But Jake liked the strange things- they often lead to interesting stories to trade on travel when he was light on cargo. Green eyes lingered to the dirty hair, the true bright white poking through the grime.

Dirty, well-worked but long fingers traced up to his sideburns, where his own grey was starting to peek in. 26 and greying. The apocalypse did that to ya! To not look like a total weirdo, he ran the fingers through his hair for a moment, fluffing it ever so. The guy across from him looked like he had been on a well-worn path for ages. Least Jake could do was offer some food and water while peppering him with questions to check out the crazy factor before letting him on board.

“I was gonna stop for lunch anyways! Wanna join? I got fresh water, maybe a juice box or two. And some food!”

"I don't consider myself of unsound mind, but I'm not sure what I might have that might interest you.” he answered as he drew closer to the man and his van. “I’ve learned very quickly to travel light.”

This close, he could see the dirt smeared across an abundance of freckles, the red hair that was just starting to gray at the roots. Young man seemed self conscious of it; he had to chuckle to himself. There really wasn’t anyone to impress in what he assumed to be the apocalypse. From what he’d seen and dealt with, it all tended to be vagabonds, marauders, looters, and the occasional lonely homesteader. Not one of those had ever commented on his appearance.

“Food would be lovely though, as would a bit of water.” He was getting rather tired of what he had stored away for himself. Dried meat and the occasional tin of canned food got rather old after a while. He was hopeful for whatever this stranger might have packed away, even if juice boxes did sound rather childish.

“If i might press my luck a bit further,” he said now within feet of the man. “Would you happen to have a lighter?”

Jake began to walk with the man back to the van, listening to him with a kind smile. He had a nice way speaking, but also he knew that some people on the road just enjoyed another person to talk to. Another person was just as hard to come by as food and water sometimes, and, at least to Jake, it was just as essential. He would have gone batshit if it wasn’t for his radio and his different contacts across the country. Steve once joked that Jake tried to stay at least a 3-hour drive from a friend.

You see, it was funny because it was true!

“No lighter, but got some matches. Why? You got cigs?” Jake nodded toward the coat, trying to eye for a box in a pocket “A couple of those and I’ll drive you to Paris! We got homemade ones, and they’re good, but you know smokers. Specific about their brands.”

They finally made it back to the van- it had once been a minivan, sure, but it had been turned into so much more. Large tires lifted the frame, with spikes and metal armor outlining the body. Inside, they had tricked it OUT with not only a double bed, but also a 2 cabinet kitchenette, small seating area, and rack for weapons. Jake's hands gripped the side door, revealing the brightly colored insides, illuminated with dull, warm Christmas lights. One other thing to note: there was not a nook or cranny of the van that had not been stuffed with… stuff. Books, magazines, cardboard, condiment packets, shoes, blankets, pillows, and anything in between. Jake prided himself to have ‘at least one of anything!’ in order to not only cater to himself, but to any potential customers or poor saps stuck on the road.

Speaking of.

“What do you want? I got a little bread left, some pre-kablooey canned stuff, some fresh cheese and veggies. An apple or two if you don’t mind the fact that they KINDA taste like bananas. For drinks; water, juice boxes, nondescript clear liquor, nondescript brown liquor, uhhhh… oh! And the tiniest cask of wine!”

His mind goes to the few playing card sized packs in a side bag hidden in the folds of the coat. He snagged whatever he had found on his travels greedily and hidden them away from most anyone who had wanted to trade. But, this man was offering food and a possible ride to… somewhere. He hasn't yet said, but anything was better than continuing on foot.

"Cigarettes I fortunately do have. Bit if an old habit, that one. But, it is supposedly the apocalypse, who's really going to bothered by a bit of smoke?" He hummed idly as the man flung open the back of the van.

Well. At least he knew this was serious. Bright blue eyes roamed the interior, taking in the setup, the bed, the shelves piled high, the honest to God tiny kitchenette all somehow shoved into this van. He has the sudden realization that this must have taken a while to really set up, and for the need to have even been there… A low, nauseating feeling of horror begins to settle in his chest.


How long had he truly been out?


The kid is still talking, something about food, and he has to blink the dazed look from his eyes. "I'm sorry, ah, anything fresh you might have would be fine." Hes recovered well enough, but he can already feel his tenuous grip on the current situation slip slowly from his grasp, his whole orbit tilted at yet another extremely inconvenient time. He needed a ride, not acrisis, couldn't his damn brain just understand that for once?

Slender fingers come up to rub at his temples and the beginnings of a migrane; the markings on his hands glowed very faintly, almost unnoticeable in the bright light of the afternoon.


"And I'll take water. Possibly that wine if you're willing to part with it for a few Marlboros."


His eyes open again and for the first time, they catch on something even more interesting than the food or the strange setup. There, tucked away in places his blurry mind had simply passed over, were books. A mess of them, an absolute treasure trove of bound pages and words.

"You have books?" He asks incredulously. Most he had seen had been burned for easy heat, and what he had managed to salvage had been just scraps. But these? Whole, if not a bit dusty and torn, but while books just sitting stacked high in this van.


He considered very briefly the option of murder; kill the boy, take the books.


"How much do you want for one?"he said instead, motioning towards the stack.

Jake tossed a bottle of purified water at the man, before turning and picking out pieces of his best cargo. A little cheese covered in a cloth, a little chunk of bread, and an apple seemed as well rounded of a meal than anyone would be able to get on the road. With another deft hand, he grasped a small bottle of wine in a clear, slender bottle with no label. There was one couple still making wine in northern California that was like liquid gold when it came to trading. But he could spare a little right now.

Jake sat on the lip of the side door entrance, his long legs gently landing on the earth. He handed the goods to the man, but it was as if he was focused on something else. Jake followed the eyesight to a stack of books, and he felt his heart sank. And now he was asking for a trade.

Oh no.

“Uh… Sorry, but no trade for those. I’ve already promised them to someone else….”

But suddenly, kelly green eyes widen and pivot back to the man “But! If you come with me, I know where I can get you some books! Good books too! And she’s already read them so you probably could keep them too! AND! On the way, you can read whatever you like as long as you take care of them!”

The excitement rolled off Jake like a wave, but the hyperactive le bouncing and smiling stopped when he noticed the man glowing, ever0so softly in the harsh sun. Those tattoos… well, Jake wasn’t quite sure if they were tattoos. He had no room to talk- from the bottom of his feet, all the way to his neck were these symbols? Just all kinds- Egyptian Hieroglyphics, Greek Letters, Nordic runes, and some that he had no idea where they came from! Before the world turned into Satan’s Anus, he was able to control the meaning through these symbols by speaking a word. After, it left him overcharged. One time, he tried lighting a match with his words and he had set a grass field completely ablaze. He didn’t try much of that anymore.

But still. Glowing patterns? Seemed spooky.

“You doin’ okay man? I might have some aspirin if your head hurts! Straight from this doctor I know- master of painkillers, let me tell you!”

Another swift movement and Jake pulls a box of matches from his pocket, offering it along with the abundance of food. He hoped the man would accept the peace offering for what it was.

He takes the box of matches after a moment of consideration, stuffing them into a hidden pocket inside of his coat.

"Master of painkillers sounds remarkably sketchy." He says, voice flat. "If you're trying to persuade someone to come with you into your van, maybe leave that bit out." His head does indeed hurt though, and painkillers had been remarkably hard to find between the museum he had woken up in and where he currently found himself. If this strange young man truly had some… Though he would literally be accepting drugs from a stranger. He doubted whoever this was would go through all the trouble of trying to feed him before poisoning him.

He bites into the offered apple. A pity about the books really. Though, he did say something about knowing where to get more. If he could hitch a ride and get there, the trouble of travel with another might be worth it. Though he did have to wonder: who in the world could want so many books here in the apocalypse of all places? ‘Besides myself’ he thought with another bite into the apple. If they were all going to one person, it seemed almost excessive. Possibly one of those colonies he had heard of but never seen? Seems more likely. Maybe he would find out on the way there.

“Shame about the books.” he hums. “Though, I suppose the follow up offer isn’t too bad. I accept.” he nodded at the boy.

“Whoa! Let's not get too ahead of ourselves.” Jake smiled as he ripped a chunk of bread for himself. Before bringing it to his lips, he brought it to his nose and smelled it with a smile tugging on his lips. Karen, in all her infinite wisdom, was amazing. Even with the stress of holding together one of the best settlements in the country (in his humble opinion) still found time to make freshly baked bread. And, with the state of the world, it was important for him to enjoy every morsel of good, even the simplicity of freshly baked bread.

Once completing the ritual, he took a bite, his teeth tugging on the bread, before turning his attention to the man once again. “Gotta tell me about yourself first. We got quite some time to travel and I gotta make sure you don’t try to stab me. So, let's start simple. My name is Jake. I’m from Iowa. I’ve been traveling and trading in this baby for a couple of years now.”

His hand gave the swinging side door a fond pat in mention of the bastardized mini-van. Green eyes swivel back to the white-haired man’s, kind and friendly “How about you?”

Oh. Of course.

Of course he would want a name and various other information that would seemingly assure him that he wasn’t going to stab him in the night and steal his van. Well, so did he. He would love to know where he came from or what even his name was. As it was, all he could offer was the promise that he wouldn’t run him through with the sword at his side. Assurances like that would probably be less than whatever this man wanted, but well. That’s all he had.

“Is a name truly necessary?” he answers, a sharp defensive tone to the question. He bites into the apple a bit too hard. Blue eyes stare back at the ones looking at him, looking for an answer that he doesn’t have. He tries to tamp down his frustration and annoyance to offer some sort of answer, something that might get him in this van and towards the books and migraine medicine, but anything he could offer seemed vague and detailess.

“I’ve been traveling on my own for a while.” He says, eyes flicking back towards where Jake had first seen him. He had, he knew that at least. How long, where from, where too; those were all a little foggier.

The tension could be cut with a spoon when Jake tried to fish for information. He couldn’t understand why- it seemed perfectly reasonable in the current climate to learn if someone who was applying to be a traveling companion was a complete psychopath that will eat your guys then smear your shit on his face. Or something. The post-apocalypse was weird dude, people got pretty weird.

But still.

The ‘not-radiation’ radiation did fuck with people. He knew his powers were on the fritz, Karen had some others that were also a little screwy including both her kids. It screwed with people's minds, he saw that aplenty. He rationalized that no, it didn’t matter where this man had come from, it mattered who he was. And Jake wasn’t getting anything but a-okay vibes.

Plus, if the dude tried to kill him during the drive, he could just nuke him. Or push him out. He was an old man, how strong could he be?

“Well, I’m heading north. Settlement up there that has a shipment. And we will be passing through Appalachia, so we are gonna be stuck in the car for a while. As I said, feel free to thumb through the books, take some of the meds. Maybe take a nap? The settlement is real nice, not like those raider camps. Real community, which is tough to find nowadays…”

Jake took another chomp of bread before climbing back in the car, starting to put things away, thinking. “You can come. I’ll take you there, you can decide if it’s for you or not. However, if we are going to be on the road for a while, I’m gonna need to call you by something.”

Without thinking, he began to adjust the piles and piles of books and boxes of inventory to make a little more room for the man. He began to wonder how a man like this emerged from the deserted landscape, how he had survived. “Like some godamn Lazarus….”

He can’t help but breathe a sigh as the relief washes over him. He had been hoping the strange young man would have been lenient enough, trusting enough to let him on without any sort of identifier, but that hope had seemed far fetched in his mind. To little humans out here, and too many of them wouldn’t have been willing to just drop the matter of a name so fast. It was all so easy, he began to consider that it might be some sort of trap. Some sort of way to lure him into something nefarious; he had heard rumors of some less than savory activities that fueled some of the less above board settlements. Rather hoped this wasn’t one of them.

‘Young man seemed either friendly or stupid enough, however,’ he thought as he watched him climb into the van. ‘Jake,’ he reminded himself. ‘It was Jake who was offering him a spot of rest and a bit of medicine as he drove his truck through Appalachia. Why they wouldn’t be allowed to stop, though was beyond him. He’s about to climb in after the man - Jake, he reminds himself again - when he catches the softest muttering from him.


“Like some goddamn Lazarus…”


“It’s Professor Mckay actually.” he adds without much thought as to why. The world shifts slightly; he ignores it, readjusts his foot on the doorframe when he misses the first time. “ Or doctor. Really, there’s a slew of other titles I won't bore you with, but the familiarity of a first name is something I do not grant undergraduates.”  The van spins along with his vision and he has to grab at the door frame to keep from pitching forward. His eyes close as he grits his teeth against the pounding static in his ears, feels the rising pressure push against his skull of a force that has him wanting to vomit right here on the poor man’s shoes. It's hard not to, but he manages, holding himself whit knuckled in the open door frame of some poor stranger's car.

Jake had already placed the key into the ignition, the car puttering to life beneath them. The tiny, fuzzy kitty-cat keychain (that had been swapped at some trading post in the bumfuck middle of nowhere) jiggled at the new humming. He also began to flick little switches that had been added in, while corresponding gauges on his dash began to light up. He gave a soft smile as he heard the man start talking. He turned around at the sound of a name.

McKay.

Dr.

Why he didn’t tell Jake that in the first place, he didn’t know. But people were weird in the apocalypse. Really weird- they were on their way to meet up with a family of them right now in fact. But the berating and mention of UNDERGRAD made Jake bristle ever so slightly. But then there was silence, only the incredible tension that filled the small space. He swiveled around, about to ask once again if the man was okay. But the answer was clear.

Jake hopped up, heading to the door to help the man in. He didn’t bother asking for status- the man would probably bluff or give him a glare that would say it all. Instead, Jake gently took him by the arm, trying to pull him in.

And then he got a look outside. Swirling, dark clouds were moving across the scorched earth, and he could see the wind had stilled to only pick up seconds later. His eyes suddenly flashed with danger, the humor melting away- gone were the rainstorms, now it was only rainstorms. In a swift motion, he pulled Lazarus into the vehicle, pulling him quickly, but gently, to the bed in the back corner. In another swift motion, he pulled the door shut, and sat in the front seat.

“Sorry, Dr. McKay! We gotta go!”

He wakes a few minutes later after passing out, or so he assumed.

He doesn't remember much of the time between being outside the van and being inside. Only a fuzzy static fills the space where those memories would have been, the time from then to now beginning on his feet on the dirt outside to now. Now, where he tentatively opens an eye to the soft lights surrounding him. 'String lights,' he reminds himself. He had seen them briefly when he had looked inside the van the first time. Slender hands ball in the fabric surrounding him: cheap cotton sheets from an era before, a handmade blanket topper. He had been thrown above all of it with his coat and boots still on.

Efficient, hurried. There must have been a reason for the sudden lug and toss. Dirtied white hair shifta as he attempts to push the memories back in with a palm to his forehead and a low groan. He'd been outside, Jake had gone inside the van, he'd said something...


Lazarus. He'd called him Lazarus.


Something about the name seemed right as he rolled it around in his head. The sound of it, the rhythm, all of it just stuck so neat in the bits of his brain that seemed so cracked. He decided then and there as he rolled on in the back of this van that wasnt his that he rather liked it. Keeping it was only natural.

Its then that he really notices the sound. Sheets of rain, coming down in thick, heavy drops, were pounding against the side of the van. Rainstorms out here tended to be intense and something to be feared, though he had to admit; it was rather nice to finally experience one with a roof over his head. His elbows pull him up to a half sitting position, his eyes track the driver seemingly unaffected by the deluge save for the occasional muttered curse under his breath.


He decides to break the ice first. Jake had been friendly enough, it was time to return the favor.


"I ... well... rather like the name Lazarus. If you'd like something to call me."

They hadn’t been driving for too long. Maybe an hour or so, The van puttered along through the rain, the droplets bouncing off the roof and windshield in a loud patter. But it was comforting in a way now that they were safe inside. The car was warm, and protecting them both from the sudden onslaught of storm. The windshield wipers swung back and forth quickly, and some amalgamation of ‘classic rock’ spewed softly from the speakers. Some British invasion, some Billy Joel, maybe even a Springsteen.

Jake had spent that time thinking about everything but the man unconscious in the bed behind him. He thought about how the rain seemed to be coming down hard, how Billy Joel singing about ‘Only the Good Die Young’ seemed far more likely than ever, how he really needed to see if Karen had any new shows when he made it up North. He ran through his lists in his head of supplies, of trades, of inventory. They were creeping up on a very important trade- he might have lied about not stopping. There was one stop they had to do before traversing through the woods. And it had to go smoothly, as it always did before. His eyes flicked in the rearview mirror to different piles and items, skillfully avoiding the bed.

Until there was movement.

Jake’s eyes snapped back to the road, but he let his lips grow to a crooked smile. He had checked on the man before they had set out- he was breathing, he was alive. But something knocked him out. It was good to see him regaining consciousness. And commenting on his words earlier.

Lazarus. Jake liked it.

“Hey! Look who is awake!" Green eyes flick back up as his smile grew, staring at the older man holding himself up.

"Well, alright. Lazarus it is. How are you feelin’? You were out of it for some time! Do you need anything? Feel free to help yourself.”

Jake initially meant that question to pertain to medicine or food, but he realized it also went for the books littering the small space as well.

“Lord please.” He holds up a pale hand, wincing at both the sound and the movement. The migraine from before had subsided but not fully. His mind feels rubbed raw, as if someone had scrubbed his brain with a wire brush. It takes him a moment to register what Jake was telling him, or rather, offering him. Also asking. God, maybe he should just go back to sleep.

“I feel fine.” He says instead of any of the above. “Do I need anything?” he continues, more to himself. The kid - Jake, he reminds himself again - Jake isn’t looking towards him, his eyes fixed on the dark and rainy road ahead of them. He takes the moment to look around him. It's the same as what little he had seen in the brief glance before: books, food, water, and other miscellania scattered and shoved into every nook and cranny.

“Do you care if I borrow one of the books? Just for the ride, I am aware these are unfortunately someone else’s.” he can’t keep the bitter tone from his voice but Jake had promised there would be more eventually, so he can’t bring himself to be too resentful about the situation. Despite the question, he doesn’t wait long for Jake to give him any sort of yes or no and simply grabs the closest paperback to him. The book is surprisingly undamaged, just a touch of water damage along the back corner. Looking at the cover, he’s almost disappointed to see that it's some sort of terribly cheesy romance novels. The sort where the cover is one of those overly dramatic yet technically impressive oil paintings.


He sighs. A book is a book, he reminds himself quietly, opens the cover, and settles into the mattress to read.

“Yeah! Help yourself to whatever books while we drive! As long as you put them back when you’re done, you read every single one in the van if you’d like!”

He tapped along with the rain, along with the soft boot stomp and string that flowed from the speakers. God, he was grateful he kept his CDs when he left from home- grateful that his parents even let him leave. They knew he was not one to be cooped up, but traveling when he did was a risky affair. Not just that, it was unheard of. But playing around with his dad’s old trucker radio, making contact with a couple of people and realized: everyone was in deep shit. And help was a rare commodity. So, he did what he could, picked up things along the way, trading what he could. He had his usual places now- Steve’s Bunker, Lyov’s hobble, and, of course, Karen’s Settlement. She had spun shit into gold, that was sure. Most settlements dissolve into the dust of the wasteland, but Karen had a remarkable talent of keeping everyone inspired and motivated. It was why Jake encouraged his parents to move out North. They had stayed put, their roots were deep and they were staying in case Jake’s older siblings ever came back. But they allowed Jake to take two of his younger sisters. And the ginormous house rabbit Winnie was always dragging around.

Until she wasn’t dragging the rabbit anymore. Winnie wasn’t doing anything anymore. Winnie wasn’t-
.
He had made Penny promise to look after that stupid rabbit, made Karen swear not to cook it up, even though it’s fluffy fat ass could probably feed a dozen people. The rabbit was the only piece left.

Jake physically shook the thoughts from his brain. No use in thinking about that- it was a while ago, he had another dude to worry about right now. One, from the sound of it, was leafing through those paperbacks Noelle loved so much. Probably the one with the big buff man and the dainty little lady on a pirate ship. Gross.

They drove in relative silence for what seemed like a long while as they puttered to their destination. The rain did not let up, but Jake didn’t mind. It kept him focused as they passed destroyed cities, the soil razed from the blast. But as they passed, Jake’s mind began to desire conversation once more.

“You ever been to Appalachia, Lazarus? Before the boom or currently?"

“Can’t say that I have either before or after this ‘boom’ you’re referring to.” he says back, fingers flipping yet another page in this terribly gaudy pirate-themed modern romance. The premise so far was dreadfully similar to so many before it, though the characters at least held a bit of promise. The leading male is pleasantly more than just a study brick wall for the heroine to throw herself against, and she herself is pleasantly established as a character. All in all, it's more than he was expecting out of a novel like this. He’s strangely engrossed.

Jake trying to make conversation again was less than preferred while reading, but he could multitask well enough. It seemed to be one of the few things he still could do with some amount of proficiency.

“Appalachia, those are the mountains on the east coast, correct?” he asks, quietly fishing for any information. For all he knew, the mountains were gone and replaced with a long stretch of plains land. Stranger things had happened.

He flips another page in the book, the sound echoing in the small space of the van along with the relentless patter of the rain.

“More than mountains now.” Jake huffed, leaning forward to spy through the rain “More than it ever was before. It’s grown, all of it. Divides the Northeast from everything else, which is great for those who live there, but those on the outside trying to get through… Well, you’ll see.”

And he would. Jake was one of the lucky few who got to pass- might be the only one. The plants were vicious, not only in their noxious fumes, but their carnivorous appetites made it very dangerous. And The Family was also quite reclusive. They didn’t take kindly to visitors, especially the ones who plunked the vegetation or tried to hunt on their grounds. Each time Jake had passed, he met with a member of The Family and had to barter his way though. It had been this way since the beginning of his travels he had been lucky enough to have the stuff to trade on hand. And The Family had strange tastes.

Speaking of.

“The girl’s got plenty of books like that up at Karen’s when you finish. She ‘s got all kinds of books- books about places and people, fictional books, newspapers, magazines, reference books. She’s got quite the collection!” Jake latched onto the fact that Lazarus likes books. If he had been able to figure out how to talk to Noelle about such things, he could emulate that energy to Lazarus.

“Grown over, hmm?” His eyes don’t tear from the pages as fingers used to the movement separate and turn pages. “Sounds at least interesting from an academic point of view.” Not that he had much interest in the subject other than a passing ‘oh, that seems lovely’ when something caught his eye. For some reason it was usually a fungus that caught his eyes. To be fair though, there was quite a bit of death and rot for such things to flourish. Another flick of his fingers and another page flips over.

Really, this story was more engrossing than it had any right to be, even if it weren’t the exact type of romance he preferred. He doubted any of those would have made it through unscathed. Miracles had to cease somewhere.

Jake was talking again and he would ignore the man, but the topic was books. He was quite fond of the things. So with one ear open, he reads and flips pages, listening as Jake tells him of some girl in some settlement with an immense amount of books. All sorts of literature. Honestly, if it were true, he might be easily persuaded to stay in one place for once.

“Sounds rather agreeable.” He hums, eyes flicking briefly to the windows where rain still pattered against the glass. “It has been quite a while since I’ve seen anything near even this small collection here. Where do you come by all this? I’ve kept my eyes out, but…” the rest goes unsaid.

“Oh, well.” Jake smiled sheepishly, looking back to the road, dipping and dodging past the major cracks and holes in the road. He made a mental note to radio Steve later, ask about that lead he had on those new off-road tires and rims. The roads were NOT getting better, especially now that jackass raiders have made homegrown explosives all the rage.

No worries about that right now, most people wouldn’t be caught dead in the rain. Or, he reconsidered, they would be caught dead. But not by choice. Probably.

“So, been trading around for a couple of years now. Most people got a surplus of something- tins of beans, bottle caps, fabric, plants, whatever. And most people also are dying for the things they lack- seasoning is a big one, so homegrown herbs and such have been important. And pre-boom stuff. Weapons are another. But also like… just general stuff that I already have from past trades. And, eventually, you see these big settlements, right? Trying to create civilization out of whatever is left.”

Jake pauses once again to swerve around the heap of some engorged, mutated mess of flesh. He purposefully did not look at it, focusing on the road ahead. Any minute now, and BOOM. They would see the trees.

“So, I’m making my way across the continent. Heading east mainly, knowing that there would be the most to scavenge near the big blast, knowing there would be people stranded out that way? And then, I find Karen’s place. This Lady has secured the better part of an entire neighborhood, got so much going on. Farming, weaving, making all these goods, and fortifying herself with these really sturdy walls. I ask her what she needs, she tells me the usual- food, clothing, etcetera. But then. This mousey girl, about my age, pipes up behind her. Asks for books, books of all kinds, and any kind, starts handing me duplicates she owns to trade out for new ones! Turns out, she’s writing records of all of this, trying to keep written word from bein scorched with the rest of art.”

Scarred fingers flipped a switch, cold air suddenly blasting in his face. Another flip and a soft breeze made its way to the man in the back, much gentler than the one upfront. He hoped he liked a little cold while wrapped in blankets.

“So, I’ve been helping her out since then. Get this! Karen was a librarian once, got her in the Portland Public Library. Sure, somethings had been looted, but most of the smaller, fiction books had been spared due to being less kindling than the large reference books. They were able to pull most of them out. And now? I’ve been helping distribute and trade whatever I can. Settlements usually have some, but you usually got venture to the really spooky places. Like where the creepy crawlies live.”

Silence fell once again, while Jake tried to spy their enterance. They passed the usual landmarks, the small line of houses, the busted church. Evidence of that expansion was starting to show- roots poking through the pavement, strange flowers sprouting up and twisting around rusted mailboxes.

"You'll like Karen. Most people do, she's a sensible woman, very capable. And kind. Noelle too. Shes the one with the books."

He lets the steady stream of Jake’s words wash over him in the same way the rash slowly trails down the thick windows of the van. It’s soothing almost, the way his voice fills the empty space in his head where the thoughts don’t quite connect right. Soothing in the same way books feel right in his hands, as trashy a romance novel as this was. Jake spins stories that have him glancing sideways towards the drivers side from time to time but to check that he doesn't lose grip on the wheel long enough for them to veer off what little road they’re on. He talks about settlements, of a woman and her daughter, of requests for books and his own little adventures in finding these little lost scraps of days gone by.

He has no doubt he would enjoy the company of this Karen and her daughter, if only for the fact that they see books as more valuable than kindling. If he would stay with them though, well, that’s a different story.

From the moment he had woken into the charred hellscape that was this broken world, he had felt… restless. There had been a need itching under his skin for something out there that he needed to find, somewhere that his feet were trying to pull him towards. He admits, they’re doing a pretty shit job of it. He hasn’t found anything that has satisfied that unwelcome crawl that crested over his body when he found himself in a standstill. Even now, curled up inside this van, he can feel the faintest stirrings of it, but manages to shove it back down into some deep, dark place with the steady rhythm of Jake’s incessant chatter.

As much as the kid… annoys him, he has to admit; this is cozy. The rain, the books, the dim lights. It hits something at his core, unwinds a little something that had been tangled tight behind his ribcage.


Or it had been cozy until the roof shudders with a sudden heavy weight.


“Jake, pardon, but what the hell might that be?”

His eyes flick towards the windows and yes, this must be the forest Jake had been referring to. The landscape is draped in wild tangled vines that twist around every organic structure and obscure what they may have been underneath. Massive trees and shrubs jut out from strange angles and twist towards the sky, which itself is heavily obscured by the impossibly dense foliage blanketing its branches. The whole scene gives the impression of a garden forced to grow too much too fast, vegetation slotting wherever it could find a place to fit.

“Jesus christ!” he startles when another heavy something appears to tackle the hood of the van. It drags its large body up to the windshield, peering in with grey ringed eyes. He would be more concerned were Jake not smiling at whatever it was.

He turns and, oh lord, there was a pair of eyes staring upside down through the back window at him now ringed in those same grey irises. Closer to this one, he can catch the mop of curly hair hanging down with bits of detritus caught and dangling with the strands. Large calloused hands grip the edge of the van’s top as whatever - whoever- it is just blinks at him.


“Jake, who are… they?”

Appalachia always snuck on him. It was a wasteland, nuked out towns, not a tree in sight, and suddenly BOOM! All the trees! Green, lush plants grew across the land, across the world. Twisted and fitting into the space like how weeds used to grow through sidewalks- stubborn plants that were pumped up the non-radiation rads that swept its way across the nation. Well, that, and their caretakers took their job really seriously.

And they were always looking for expansion. Hell, the mountains were a while west still, they had grown outwards since.

“I told ya! Appalachia! Well, sort of. Post-boom Appalachia is like… a region that stretches through an entire strip of the continent. Lots of trees, lots of green. But you gotta be careful, they’re…. hungry.” 

As he spoke, he felt the car rattle in response as the twins lept on. And looking through the dash, yup, confirmed it. He gave a wide grin to the woman, who was squatting down and staring with those sharp grey eyes. Almost silver at how much they shone now- all curls and muscles and freckles, the twins are. And if one was on the hood- yup, there was the other. On the roof. Jake turned to share his grin with Lazarus, who matched with something of abject horror. The redhead waved it off before turning and offering a quick hand sign.

‘Heading north. Trade.’

He wasn’t quick with ASL, but it was ESSENTIAL to communicate with these two before getting out of the van sometimes- their hearing wasn’t great and it was less threatening to sign than yell out the window. Noelle had been kind enough to teach him a few key phrases- mainly directions.

“Them’s the twins. You can stay in the car unless you want to meet them. We gotta give them the stuff to get passage through- no worries though, they’ve been expecting me.”

Jake usually made a pass about once a month or more by now, coming from some direction. One of the reasons Karen’s place was so well fortified to the others in North America is that the sea to the northeast and Appalachia to the southwest kept the area fortified from any other group. Usually, the people that made through came with Jake, with his word that they weren’t rapscallions or the sort to murderize a town. So, over the years, he had become familiar with the twins. Hell, he considered them friends, as much as friends as you got with people these days.

In a swift motion, he unbuckled himself and began to grab stuff from the cabin. His body shielded most of it from the whitehaired man’s view, but by the time Jake was done, he collected everything into a linen bag.

Another quick motion and the van door slid open, and jake carefully stepped out, doing his best to not step on the plants in any damaging way. Which, to be fair, was difficult because he was never entirely sure how to do that. So, he resolved in standing uncomfortably straight on a spot where the plants had crossed and left the tiniest bit bare.

“Hey Tobi! How ya doin Agnes! I got some real good treats for you.”

Opening the bag to their direction, he revealed many a treat in the post-apocalypse. Homemade ketchup and barbeque sauce, spices, seasoning packets from foraged packs of ramen, forks, spoons, fresh herbs packed in neat little bundles. There was also a homemade knit blanket at the bottom of the bag, as well as some beeswax candles and soaps. Jake had squirreled away things from his trades south, and also emptied out most of Karen's stock on the way back north when meeting up with them. They appreciated the quality of the products and knowing that they came from non-assholes.

But there was one more thing.

Jake reached into his back jeans pocket and took out a slightly crumpled envelope. The light blue envelope was obviously made of recycled paper, but there was neat cursive scrawl in the middle, addressed to a Tobias Rudolf Maynard. These letters were exchanged at these little meet-ups, with explicit instructions. Grey envelopes were for when he went south, Blue envelopes were when he was returning home. He didn’t understand how the girl could write so much to the boy that she had two separate letters to give for Jake’s round trip. He also didn’t understand how the boy always had a response on hand, and a little gift. With each trip, it ate into his curiosity, to open one. But he knew if he did, Tobert would throw him to the trees.

The blast had hit their little patch of paradise a little harder than most for some strange reason. It could have been their already strange gifts that already saturated the land, could have been absolute luck of the draw, but whatever the reason had been, the changes had stuck. The energy had warped the vegetation into something more violent, whipped it into a strange vindictiveness towards anyone that tried to pass through. The running theory they had was that it was feeding on emotions their parents had had towards anyone not their own kin before the blast, not that that sort of thing mattered much anymore. Their home had protected them from the blast when it had taken that energy for its own and flipped what it couldn’t wholly absorb to them.

They had changed with the blast. They had been strong before, raised both by their parents and the unforgiving nature they had grown in, but now there was something extra. Something that made the nerves under Tobi’s skin flare hot and bright, something that took the whites from his eyes and left bright grey rings against black. Something that called the plants to him to grow unprompted in his hair and in trails down his back. Something that twisted Agnes into a sharp halfway point between her previously separate forms. Large pointed antlers often stained in blood twisted back from her forehead in proud arcs. She was made for ripping through the forest; he, for building it.
Now though? Both their attentions were held by the willowy ginger haired traveler that often made his way through in that horrid van. Agnes had spotted him first and thrown herself at the hood of the van. He had followed dropping from the treetops on surprisingly soft feet. He’d known she would talk to him first with hands signing through the glass of the windshield, so he moved towards the back window to possibly see what Jake had brought them this time. Instead of goods, his eyes met another pair belonging to a man tucked up under some blankets on the bed Jake kept stuffed in the back: hair a dirty white, skin pale as a cold morning, and wide eyes staring back in an impossible electric blue. Tobi held the man’s gaze before slipping from the roof over the back door of the van. Man was interesting, but he weren’t what he was looking for. That was currently slipping from the front driver’s door.

It was always a little funny to watch Jake try his best to avoid the plant life that creeped underfoot, more so when Tobi hopped off the roof of the van and the little plants gathered underfoot to provide a soft landing. There’s a greeting just loud to catch over their awful hearing before Jake hands the large bag of goodies over. Sauces, spices, blankets, a whole treasure trove of things they didn’t have further up. Agnes took the bag and began digging through it, but his focus was more on the folded piece of paper Jake held out. He snatched it eagerly and tucked it into a bag at his side before pulling out a similar letter on rougher paper along with a smooth, round rock.

“Fer Noelle.” He said as he held out the items to Jake. “Who that spook ya’ll got in the back, by the way? Ain’t e’er seen him with you ‘fore.”

That caught Agnes’s attention from where she was digging through the bag. Her long fluffy deer ears flicked as if searching for sound. “Y’all got someone in there? Who they?”

Jake knew that the gifts were a bit overkill- after so many years, he suspected that the twins would have let him through with no more than a little hello. But manners had not died with him yet, despite the bleak times. And he knew the twins and their parents were always grateful for the treats. In fact, when they had extra produce, jams, and honey, they often passed it his way. Specifically, only for Karen’s group. 

The envelope and cool looking rock were thrust to him, and Jake took them gently and placed them in his back pocket. It was precious cargo, top secret. Mainly because, if Jake had opened the letter before it went to its final destination, he was afraid Tobi would pull him up by the ankles and shake. It was an exchange that started with letters of greetings from Karen’s camp, penned by Noelle. And there had been correspondence ever since. Jake did note how they both blushed, him a deep red and she a bright pink, when he asked about what they wrote about. Often answered with an ‘I dunno, things.’ from both parties before squirreling those letters away. Honestly, he had given up his hunt for the Tobi Shrine that Noelle had to have somewhere in the camp. It had to be somewhere, with how many feathers, rocks, and animal bones he passed her way.

But anyways.

“Oh! Tobi and Agnes, meet Lazarus McKay! I found him on the side of the road! I’m taking him to Karen’s!” He says this with the eagerness of a child finding a sickly little puppy. He holds up a finger before sticking his head back into the van, looking back at the white-haired man. A long arm reached, and a scarred hand opened as an invitation to stretch his legs once more before their hours-long trip into the greenery.

It was overwhelming, Jake could tell, to meet strangers in such a new environment. Let alone strangers that looked like they would stab you and use your corpse as fertilizer- which, Jake was sure, had happened before. But still. The twins tolerated him at least, and they wouldn’t smite him! How else would Tobias get his love letters?

“Lazarus? I got some twins I think you should meet. Before we are trapped in the car for, you know, like 6 to ten hours."