Cleaning Up The Future

2034

Underground Shelter, W.A.R.T.S

The sandstorm winds begin to ebb, as several people rush the rest of the way into the underground shelters' entrance tunnel. A blonde man approaches with a borrowed rifle held up to his eye line and not a step behind him are two other men wielding pistols. One of the men awkwardly holds his gun while keeping his bandaged arm up to steady the aim at his elbow. They stop a moment at the ticket booth, a remnant of the underground garages' past purpose, and pause at the stain of blood on the off-white wall.

They sidestep the body left crumpled on the ground and stalk toward the generators set up along the wall beside the makeshift electric fence. The rolling gate shutters as the last of the storm passes by, but the lack of howling winds outside goes unnoticed while the mercenaries check if their newest assailant has truthfully been neutralized. They focus on the threat lying on its side, slightly smoking from its c.h.e.s.t. Each man hangs back at least a meter from the body, while more people return to the scene.

"Wallace!" the night guard runs over to the body beside the ticket booth. He slides the rest of the distance to the body's' side and grips the bloody man's head while repeating his name. "Wake up, Wallace!"

"Move aside," the night guard shifts to the right to give the smaller man room to work but doesn't leave his companion's side.

Pheno kneels beside the unconscious guard and notes that he is bleeding profusely from his forehead. He ignores the commotion happening behind while leaning over the injured man and monitoring his pulse at the side of his neck. There is a slim, shallow cut on the patient's' neck, but it isn't a cause for concern.

"Is he alive?"

The doctor ignores the question as he examines the laceration cut across the forearm, tsks at the deep wound, and reaches within his brown satchel for some materials. The thick strap digs into his boney shoulder as he rifles around in its depths. His hands pull out a small brown bottle, a thin white cloth, and a small roll of gauze. He settles down on the ground and lays the items on his l.a.p. He cleans around the wound with the thin cloth, then unravels some of the gauze, folds it, and presses it into the unconscious man's forearm.

"Hold on here," the doctor instructs the night guard beside him while keeping the limb raised above the patient's head. "Hold down, keep it high," He packs his other items into his bag, then uses the guard's shoulder to rise off the ground. Small pebbles and soil cling to the knees of his raggedy, brown trousers.

"-dead. The storm seems to have died down. Don't know for how long, but-"

Pheno hurries over to the mercenaries surrounding the human remains beside the generator. The darker skinned mercenary, Nard, is nudging the corpse with his foot while his comrade keeps his weapon drawn, aimed for the head. The blonde has his rifle lowered and is speaking on his radio. The doctor clears his throat, "I don't know if he meant it, but only one dead. This one will make it if we make it to infirmary."

Ika bites his lower lip, he can see the night guard keeping the pressure on the injured man's wound behind Pheno. He glares down at the remains in front of him before speaking into his radio, "We're coming over to A level. The gate is clear. Open it up, and send someone to the infirmary, we're on our way." He pockets his radio and turns to Nard, "Let's go. We have to get them out the side exit."

Nard looks over at the other mercenary, spits on the corpse, and holsters his weapon, "Legs?"

"Meh, fine, but you first. I'm sh*t backwards," both men grab the injured man while the night guard keeps the damaged arm up and out of the way. Pheno follows after them, calling out reminders for care.

Ika remains with the corpse beside the generators. He crouches beside Marcus's head and turns it upward to view the cloth covered eye. 'Was it even...'

He hooks a finger under the cloth to-

"We've come to open the gates!" an older woman's panting voice cuts through his thoughts and springs him up back to standing. His rifle thumps against his inner t.h.i.g.h while he backs away from the generators to give her room to work.

"Get me a tarp!" The woman orders one of the three lackeys with her before grabbing the body by its wrist and hauling it to the side out of her way. Ika retreats from the area, it'll take some time to get the wires off the gates here and then this entire tunnel will be jam-packed with traffic as people return to their homes. He makes his way toward A level. The rest of the wounded will probably be taken out of the alternate exit, they'll need all the help they can get with the current chaos that's just swept through their encampment.

*****************************

1.3 km East of W.A.R.T.S

"Ugh, right. There's no privacy down there."

"I'm glad to be sleeping without some schmuck snoring in the next tent over."

"That's cause you usually aren't outside the orphanage. I'm lucky if I get snoring."

An old pickup truck drives away from W.A.R.T.S's main area down a well-traveled road a kilometer outside of the base. Tires kick up dust from the arid, cracked ground as they turn off the main road to circle a shallow pit. The shallow pit was dug in the shadows of a large rock formation that appears to be in the shape of a giant tooth. With three, enormous, spiraling roots shooting out from the center, the molar-shaped formation sat in the middle of the mostly flat desert plain, a clear marker of the defeat New Cinalia suffered from the many blows dealt by Underlings. The boss calls it "diente rocoso" [rocky tooth], but the rest of his men call it Crap Mouth Rock, since it sits right beside two pits, one for their trash and one for their sh*ts.

Southeast of their position sits a river that pushes contaminated water right by their location to flow north toward the mountain ranges in the distance. Not two kilometers west of the river, the communal toilets are settled above a large pit full of critters waiting for fresh dung to feast upon. The rusty blue pickup truck parks and the two subordinates leisurely round the truck as they continue their conversation.

"I saw Nicky and Cohen at it again the night before...or I don't know," the young man slams his door and taps his leather gloved hand on the roof of the truck while he thinks. "Telling time down there is hard...maybe two nights ago actually. I don't think they know their angry whispering isn't...what's the word?"

"Subtle," the other young man, who is wearing a brown cap, stands at the back of the truck with his hands resting on the warm metal, picking at the peeling paint ch.i.p.s.

"Yeah, that," Gloves slaps a hand down on the latch to open the cargo area then hops inside to get to the tarp lying in the corner of the dirty truck bed. After he gets a good grip on it, he lifts the wide end of the tarp onto his t.h.i.g.hs and looks down at his buddy. "You got it?"

"Yeah, sure," the tarp is pushed out of the truck into the waiting arms of his comrade then they shuffle backward until Gloves can hop out. "You know what can solve all of that?"