This is another one of the survivor stories I'm working on. It's really more of an expository piece in that it gives a wider view to how things work in this world. I'm not sure how many of these there will be, and this will be the tamest of them.
Lillith was so graciously loaned to me by
misstoxin because she's simply amazing and I wanted to do something nice for her. Hope she likes it.
____________________________________________________________
Even before the whole end of days thing had come along and made everyone homeless, Corso had known how to survive on the streets. Then again about the biggest threats he had to worry about back when he was a regular alley cat was making sure he didn't drink anti-freeze or get cornered by a large dog. The entire human race going to war with one another of course had changed some things. Corso had been one of those thing. Something had happened during the aftermath of the blasts that had altered him. He had awoken in a much more human-like state, in possession of thumbs, with the ability to talk, and able walk solely on his hind legs. He wasn't the only one either. These mutated animals were usually referred to as Anthros, but more colorful and less pleasant names were just as common. Just like that, the game had changed completely, but Corso had always been a quick study.
The biggest challenge to survival was not getting killed by one of the monstrous beasts that lived outside of the survivor camps. Not all creatures had been so lucky in the changes the radiation poisoning had caused. Most the survivors that lived in the heavily fortified camps referred to them as zombies or mutants, but they were much worse than any of the horror stories humans told before the war. Some had extra limbs, grew to gigantic proportions or simply had spikes of bone stabbing up through their skin. The variations of mutants were as numerous as stars in the sky and it was rare to see two exactly alike. All had lost their minds. They were usually driven on only by an animal desire to survive. They would create hives where they would breed and feed upon each other, making some areas of the world dangerous enough even the boldest of scavengers avoided them. Luckily they tended to be loud and their stench was almost worse than their appearance so it was pretty rare that they managed to sneak up on someone. Even if they were seen approaching though, more than a couple of the mutants attacking at a time spelled death for a lone scavenger.
The survivor camps were the safest place to be, but that didn't mean most people stayed in them permanently. Each one varied greatly in their rules and how accepting they were, but most would allow anyone the use of a bed for the night, assuming of course they had a few items to trade for the privilege. Corso tried to avoid places with names like New Mecha and Bethlehem. They were usually ran by a religious group of some sort and in these dire times people tended to get extremist quickly. Not all the surviving humans were pleased with the way animals were suddenly acting like them. It wasn't unusual to see Anthros hanging at the end of ropes or nailed viciously to crosses just outside the walls of such places. Mercifully for every extremist camp there was usually a more friendly place in the area. They bore names ranging from hopeful to hilarious and were welcoming to just about everyone.
Corso had spent the day in what was once a decent sized urban area. Fortune had smiled on him and he had stumbled across a large pet store. Humans rarely looted places like this looking for food so he had known the moment he scrambled through the broken glass doors that he had hit the jackpot. The feline had gleefully filled his pull cart with canned dog and cat food, pet toys and books of all kinds. Everything had value for someone, so he took everything he could. The backroom looked promising enough that he pulled out his crudely drawn map and marked this as a place to return to later. Only a full load and the sun starting to slip downward in the sky made him decide it was time to head for camp. His favorite camp, Rotting Gulch, would take him a little over two hours to get to, but he considered it well worth the extra walk.
The atmosphere in Rotting Gulch was relaxed despite the large amount of people walking around armed to the teeth. The gargantuan walls that surrounded the camp were made mostly out of concrete road barriers stacked one atop the other with what appeared to be mostly car parts filling in the gaps. Graffiti ranging from lewd comments to breathtakingly beautiful artistic endeavors covered every inch of open space and looking over the new additions was Corso's favorite past time as he waited for the guards to allow him through. The gates closed at sundown every day, no exceptions, and he watched warily as the burning disk slipped dangerously close to the horizon. The line to get in was fairly short, but getting caught out would make for a dangerous night. Luckily one of the guards knew him as a regular and after a few cans of food and a book about Dalmations changed hands the orange striped tomcat was admitted into the city.
Most the buildings in the camp were made of parts of shipping containers linked together with parts salvaged from cars and house trailers. Scavengers could rent a small room for the night if they had the trade goods to spare, but it was more common for people to just find a semi-protected location and sleep on the ground. Every camp had permanent residents and regular traders that came through several nights a week and since Rotting Gulch had a local fresh water source it tended to be popular. It was inevitable that eventually scavengers would make friends and occasionally group up to take care of pockets of Mutants or check out especially dangerous areas. Corso found one such group he was familiar with and joined them.
The group had pushed a group of heavily dilapidated couches into a rough circle around a fire pit and were passing a bottle of foul smelling liquid that proved to be some sort of alcohol. It was a mixed group of five people, with more Anthros than humans, but they seemed comfortable with one another. A young human woman that appeared no more than sixteen was beating out a little rhythm on a partially melted five gallon bucket in between puffs on what appeared to be a hand rolled cigarette while a sleepy looking Sheephound accompanied her on a makeshift guitar. Across the circle from them a middle aged man was having his dead wife's tattooed on him by a large black bear with a grizzled grey muzzle. On the ground a few feet away sat a heavily pierced female rat sketching them on a piece of old newspaper with charcoal.
Corso shared several cans of dog food with the group and was offered a place on one of the couches for the night in exchange. A quick look through the books he had scavenged yielded a slightly water damaged but useable notebook with a dopey cartoon dog on the front which he offered to Lillith the rat. She dug around in her pockets for a moment and produced a shiny silver steel stud which she pushed through the tomcat's ear for him. Despite the stinging when he caught a glimpse of himself in the small signal mirror he carried he agreed that it was a rather fair trade. They took turns telling stories of adventures out in the wasteland and sharing whatever bits of news they had heard. As the night grew late they began to take turns napping, at least one always awake to keep an eye on their belongings.
Morning came early for Corso and as he pulled his pack straps over his shoulder and looked at the still sleeping group of scavengers he couldn't help but smile. Sometime while he was asleep a human woman and a mixed breed dog had joined the pile and despite the chill in the air the group looked warm and content. He hated to go, but it felt like something was calling him. Maybe it was time to move on. He dug out his area map with all his favorite looting spots and tucked it into the sleeping rat's arms before turning and heading towards the gates of the camp. The faint outline of mountains could just barely be made out to the West. Maybe it was time he saw just how vast this wasteland really was.
Lillith was so graciously loaned to me by
misstoxin because she's simply amazing and I wanted to do something nice for her. Hope she likes it. ____________________________________________________________
Even before the whole end of days thing had come along and made everyone homeless, Corso had known how to survive on the streets. Then again about the biggest threats he had to worry about back when he was a regular alley cat was making sure he didn't drink anti-freeze or get cornered by a large dog. The entire human race going to war with one another of course had changed some things. Corso had been one of those thing. Something had happened during the aftermath of the blasts that had altered him. He had awoken in a much more human-like state, in possession of thumbs, with the ability to talk, and able walk solely on his hind legs. He wasn't the only one either. These mutated animals were usually referred to as Anthros, but more colorful and less pleasant names were just as common. Just like that, the game had changed completely, but Corso had always been a quick study.
The biggest challenge to survival was not getting killed by one of the monstrous beasts that lived outside of the survivor camps. Not all creatures had been so lucky in the changes the radiation poisoning had caused. Most the survivors that lived in the heavily fortified camps referred to them as zombies or mutants, but they were much worse than any of the horror stories humans told before the war. Some had extra limbs, grew to gigantic proportions or simply had spikes of bone stabbing up through their skin. The variations of mutants were as numerous as stars in the sky and it was rare to see two exactly alike. All had lost their minds. They were usually driven on only by an animal desire to survive. They would create hives where they would breed and feed upon each other, making some areas of the world dangerous enough even the boldest of scavengers avoided them. Luckily they tended to be loud and their stench was almost worse than their appearance so it was pretty rare that they managed to sneak up on someone. Even if they were seen approaching though, more than a couple of the mutants attacking at a time spelled death for a lone scavenger.
The survivor camps were the safest place to be, but that didn't mean most people stayed in them permanently. Each one varied greatly in their rules and how accepting they were, but most would allow anyone the use of a bed for the night, assuming of course they had a few items to trade for the privilege. Corso tried to avoid places with names like New Mecha and Bethlehem. They were usually ran by a religious group of some sort and in these dire times people tended to get extremist quickly. Not all the surviving humans were pleased with the way animals were suddenly acting like them. It wasn't unusual to see Anthros hanging at the end of ropes or nailed viciously to crosses just outside the walls of such places. Mercifully for every extremist camp there was usually a more friendly place in the area. They bore names ranging from hopeful to hilarious and were welcoming to just about everyone.
Corso had spent the day in what was once a decent sized urban area. Fortune had smiled on him and he had stumbled across a large pet store. Humans rarely looted places like this looking for food so he had known the moment he scrambled through the broken glass doors that he had hit the jackpot. The feline had gleefully filled his pull cart with canned dog and cat food, pet toys and books of all kinds. Everything had value for someone, so he took everything he could. The backroom looked promising enough that he pulled out his crudely drawn map and marked this as a place to return to later. Only a full load and the sun starting to slip downward in the sky made him decide it was time to head for camp. His favorite camp, Rotting Gulch, would take him a little over two hours to get to, but he considered it well worth the extra walk.
The atmosphere in Rotting Gulch was relaxed despite the large amount of people walking around armed to the teeth. The gargantuan walls that surrounded the camp were made mostly out of concrete road barriers stacked one atop the other with what appeared to be mostly car parts filling in the gaps. Graffiti ranging from lewd comments to breathtakingly beautiful artistic endeavors covered every inch of open space and looking over the new additions was Corso's favorite past time as he waited for the guards to allow him through. The gates closed at sundown every day, no exceptions, and he watched warily as the burning disk slipped dangerously close to the horizon. The line to get in was fairly short, but getting caught out would make for a dangerous night. Luckily one of the guards knew him as a regular and after a few cans of food and a book about Dalmations changed hands the orange striped tomcat was admitted into the city.
Most the buildings in the camp were made of parts of shipping containers linked together with parts salvaged from cars and house trailers. Scavengers could rent a small room for the night if they had the trade goods to spare, but it was more common for people to just find a semi-protected location and sleep on the ground. Every camp had permanent residents and regular traders that came through several nights a week and since Rotting Gulch had a local fresh water source it tended to be popular. It was inevitable that eventually scavengers would make friends and occasionally group up to take care of pockets of Mutants or check out especially dangerous areas. Corso found one such group he was familiar with and joined them.
The group had pushed a group of heavily dilapidated couches into a rough circle around a fire pit and were passing a bottle of foul smelling liquid that proved to be some sort of alcohol. It was a mixed group of five people, with more Anthros than humans, but they seemed comfortable with one another. A young human woman that appeared no more than sixteen was beating out a little rhythm on a partially melted five gallon bucket in between puffs on what appeared to be a hand rolled cigarette while a sleepy looking Sheephound accompanied her on a makeshift guitar. Across the circle from them a middle aged man was having his dead wife's tattooed on him by a large black bear with a grizzled grey muzzle. On the ground a few feet away sat a heavily pierced female rat sketching them on a piece of old newspaper with charcoal.
Corso shared several cans of dog food with the group and was offered a place on one of the couches for the night in exchange. A quick look through the books he had scavenged yielded a slightly water damaged but useable notebook with a dopey cartoon dog on the front which he offered to Lillith the rat. She dug around in her pockets for a moment and produced a shiny silver steel stud which she pushed through the tomcat's ear for him. Despite the stinging when he caught a glimpse of himself in the small signal mirror he carried he agreed that it was a rather fair trade. They took turns telling stories of adventures out in the wasteland and sharing whatever bits of news they had heard. As the night grew late they began to take turns napping, at least one always awake to keep an eye on their belongings.
Morning came early for Corso and as he pulled his pack straps over his shoulder and looked at the still sleeping group of scavengers he couldn't help but smile. Sometime while he was asleep a human woman and a mixed breed dog had joined the pile and despite the chill in the air the group looked warm and content. He hated to go, but it felt like something was calling him. Maybe it was time to move on. He dug out his area map with all his favorite looting spots and tucked it into the sleeping rat's arms before turning and heading towards the gates of the camp. The faint outline of mountains could just barely be made out to the West. Maybe it was time he saw just how vast this wasteland really was.
Category Story / Fantasy
Species Housecat
Size 120 x 83px
File Size 13.7 kB
FA+

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