Thread: At the end of the world. {octo x missedstations}

They had left the last town when the harvest was done. It would not have done to overstay their welcome. While any farmer needed a couple of extra hands, these two were drifters, and who knew where they had come from, the things they had done, the things that they were, perhaps. Strange stories often came out of the badlands. So they were on the road again. They travelled together because a traveller alone was asking for trouble. Little else seemed to link them. This close to the badlands, it was not wise to light a fire. But the night was cold, and Alexander worried that having no fire again would be worse. Curling up together at night did not keep them warm enough, and the last time they ate was two days ago. They had been unlucky with supplies handing them over to bandits instead of handing over their lives. At least they had only taken the food and some of Alexander's ammo. The boy gathered the firewood automatically, while Alexander did his best to light it. The most they would have was a tea of some bitter herbs, but that was better than nothing. Boiling the water disinfected it, and the herbs covered the taste. Alexander was old enough to remember the time when there were cities, and water could come out of taps . Alexander had been born just before the Cataclysm, before hell came to earth. At forty-something, he was lucky to have lived so long. When the fire was lit, the boy was making arrows again. Bullets were too rare to waste on hunting Alexander only used his gun when it was truly necessary. The boy was a fair shot with a bow sufficient for hunting, and to deter badly equipped raiders. The arrows were simply sharpened and fire hardened sticks. Alexander sometimes wondered who had taught the boy so well, but there was little point in asking. Alexander had never heard him make a sound, not even during the fights they had lost, when the victors slammed him against the wall and, well, better not think about it. He guessed that the boy was probably seventeen or so, maybe eighteen. They were both thin and lean, but the boy would never be a tall man. A lifetime of malnutrition wasn't exactly the best for physical development. Alexander could guess how someone so incompetent at hand to hand combat stayed alive, and it really wasn't his place to judge. The boy had the black hair and the dark skin of a gypsy, and was pretty enough to get by. It wasn't as if Alexander had not taken advantage himself, he was just curious as to why, even in the light of that, the boy still chose to follow him. 'My mother used to say that before the Cataclysm you couldn't see the stars,' Alexander said, staring upwards. As always, the boy didn't reply, but he took the cup from Alexander and crouched beside him, sipping the bitter brew. At least their camp was sheltered from the wind. 'The first snow is a month away, we need to find somewhere to stay.' It was like talking to a wall, but Alexander was used to it. Having a person was nice . Maybe none of the boy's responses were verbal, but sometimes like now the boy leant against him. It was only for warmth, he knew, but he had missed human contact in all the years he had been alone. 'Shall we go to the city?' No reply, of course, except the growling of their stomachs.