The air was musty and hot as men gathered in a diner. The diner was far from pristine- tiles were grimy, pots and pans were laid out upon the floor (some with dents in them), and the furniture was either in a state of disarray or destruction. The windows were broken open, but it did not appear as though the bandits had done so. There was a certain kind of calmness in the air. It was a calm that you would notice right before the quake was to strike you. It was the moment that you felt right before a large man was to introduce his clenched fist to your face, it was that moment where you werenât sure what was about to happen, but you knew that you didnât like it.
Outside it was dusty. The clouds, accompanied with the sky above, had a desert sunset color of a yellowed orange. Dust curdled upon the cloud, and what little shrubberies there were remained burned and unmoved. The group of 10 men were frantically searching about this diner, hoping to find what it was that they sought. "Jack! Get over here, I found something thatâs not cast-iron!" one of the men called. A man with a large scar on his eye stepped forward, and regarded the man who called him. Jack bent down and examined what looked like an old tarnished pot. Behind it was even more outdated cutlery, not made in cast iron but tin, aluminum, and standard iron.
"Good find, son!" Jack regarded his unrelated partner. Despite not being related to anyone in the crew, this man was often regarded as Junior, a nickname he soon learned was more condescending then endearing. "Get me a sack and we can head home."
It was then that the hum of two large vehicles came into earshot. A few of the men made audible expletives as gunfire was heard from outside. A foreign national anthem sounded through the bulletâs noise. "We got nationals! Abort! Abort!" the lookout yelled. Smaller vehicles were heard being turned on. Diesel filled the air while Jack scooped up metal into a burlap sack.
"****! We gotta get out of here, Junior, take the rest of the men and get in the buggies, we need to be out of here ASAP," Jack commanded. Jack scooped the rest of the scrap materials into his bag as he saw rag-tag armored vehicles zoom out into the wastes. The buggies had four wheels, each suspended several feet in front and in the back of a main structure, which was the actual buggy. Hydraulics held the buggiesâ passengers in place, usually only two people were inside of them. One user controlled the dual-gatling guns while another piloted.
Four buggies zoomed out into the dust as the foreign contacts came into Jackâs sight. Junior, being loyal to his comrade in arms, was dodging heavy anti tank rounds. Jack held out his thumb in a meager joke, hoping to get the attention of Junior. Junior, seeing his comrade, drove in a sweeping motion, so as to let jack grab onto one of the many ladders fastened to the side of the buggies. Antipersonnel arms fire rang through the air on Jackâs position.
"****!" the veteran squelched, a bullet drilled into his neck. Blood sputtered out onto the scrap metal before him. Junior, in one fell swoop, drove beside Jackâs dying corpse, grabbed the bag, and ran. Jack, bleeding out onto an old, grimy tile floor, could only look on as his nine comrades fled. His eyes widened in fear, his head brought about nostalgic memories as his entire life flashed before his eyes. Feeling sweet death approach him, he let his soul release from his body.
