Creep, creep, slowly we creep, wanderers in the desert, creeping along slowly as we try to find a place to sleep. Which way is up?
I continued onward, my last friend baking as a rotting corpse someplace past what once was Las Vegas, now just a memory of broken dreams and dust.
A thousands of us made our way through the Pass of Dreams, a place of no dreams, nothing to eat or drink for hundreds of miles in any direction. Really not a pass but a desert that once was used for nuclear weapon testing back in the 1950s.
Angel was alive somewhere, possibly Alaska. I received a letter from her five years ago telling me to join her there, in the Green Zone, but I couldn't leave my people in the Godless zone, no leader except a twelve year old boy named Romeo, the heir to the throne of Zion.
And here I was, the last member of my tribe sinking into the oblivion of the sands of time.
When was the last battle? 2027? I couldn't remember that far back. My memories were gone except for a few last remainders shuttled away into my data banks.
Angel and I married in front of the altar. A child, now dead, of the Disease. I was young, possibly 8 or 9, riding a bike along a broken sidewalk when the first missiles hit New York City.
Countless lives gone in a blast.
We responded in kind, launching our own missiles against The Hand of God.
Gone. Millions upon millions of lives, vaporized.
Somehow we, a few here and there, survived, rebuilt, scrounged the last bit of whatever we could from a torn and destroyed mother Earth.
And here I was, lying in the sand, my last memories of a war that was beyond senseless. I was dying. I knew it at that moment I would not see the setting of the sun.
Creep, creep, slowly we cree...