Chapter 1
Heat. Searing heat. Burning through to the core, causing hundreds and thousands of creatures to cower, others to perish unable to withstand the inferno.
Then came the dust. Brought in by storms that made the world shake, lightning flashing in the shroud. Cowering became futile and there was no shelter that would protect even the smallest. Every little movement created a whirlwind of debris, especially the refugee crafts trying to make their way out. So many wanted to escape, so many never made it. Every ship was struck down, as if the storms were targeting them. Every. Single. Time.
And then the silence. A deafening quiet that bored into the heads of the remaining few and threatened to take hold of their brains.
This was all Shiloh Valentio could remember. The screams and cries, the pain and panic. And them nothing. Everything before, everything surrounding that time and even for some time after was a blur. She couldn't really remember what had happened. She only knew the world was a completely different place.
Stuffing her hands into her pockets, Shiloh scanned the horizon.
Huge derelict structures stood around her workshop in what must once have been, a glorious city. Dust and debris piled in every corner, swept up by the wind. Clouds covered the sky, blocking out the sun and the view of any God's that might have been watching. The coverage left the world in a grey, brown light. Dark. Dull. Hopeless.
Turning her attention back to her work, Shiloh pulled her welding goggles over her eyes and fired up the acetylene torch. The heat made a shudder run down her spine, and the light burned her eyes for a second. There was something familiar about the feeling, but for the life of her, Shiloh couldn't remember what it was. The days seemed to be full of little reminders like this. Hints or feelings of something familiar, something she should know. Something that was missing. But there was never any clarity. whatever it was remained lost, gone forever, like so many others.
Working was the only thing that helped her block out the noise from outside. The silence that had once been, was now broken by constant noise. A variety of human, animal, and mechanical was constant. And even more so today.
Shiloh's workshop bordered onto a large flat piece of land, now used as the centre of the city. It often hosted a market, with vendors shouting their wares or for a place to host small events. Shiloh could always tell what day of the week it was by the noise and smells from the square outside. Monday's was animal and produce, highlighted by the squawks and cries of the menagerie outside, as well as the smell of blood from the slaughter when one was bought for food. Tuesday was quieter, but not by much. The railway brought in fabrics and jewels for sale or trade from the nearby city. Wednesday was medicinal herbs and other such ointments. Thursday brought in the children with toy sellers and other assorted gadgets that didn't interest her one bit. Friday was Shiloh's favourite day. The scent of oil and metal welcomed her to it. This was the day the square would fill with engineers and mechanics looking for a certain part or spare pieces. Shiloh's workshop was always a popular visit on a Friday.
But today was Saturday. And that could only mean one thing. The slave traders were out, and the auction for the most able bodied of the slaves was in full swing. It turned Shiloh's stomach thinking of all those men and women who would be taken from their homes in the outskirts or the dunes and sold here. Shiloh didn't own a slave, nor did she want to. She couldn't understand the idea of owning another human, as if they were an object. So every Saturday, Shiloh would close her workshop and light up her acetylene torch, hoping to drown out some of the tears and cries from the slaves and the sellers.
She was working on a motorcycle, one that would take her out of this decrepit city and onto somewhere new, maybe even somewhere green. The cycle was made of old parts she had found, bought or traded for and polished up to a golden shine. The front had an octopus motif, the tentacles coiled around the handlebars. It was her pride and joy. There was only one problem. She couldn't get it to run.
Shutting off the torch and lifting up the goggles, Shiloh sighed.
"Moment of truth," she muttered and straddled the immense frame. After attempting to kick start the metal beast four times, in which it only coughed and spluttered, Shiloh slammed her hands down on the handlebars. "Shit!" It wasn't working, and Shiloh couldn't for the life of her figure out why.
"Perhaps.." Shiloh leaned forward, checking the engine, poking and prodding the components as if willing them to speak to her. She pondered the different elements, all the while trying to block out the auctioneer outside as another slave was sold.
Swinging her leg off the machine, she slid down to the floor, continuing her investigation. Then she saw it. A small crack in combustion chamber. Shiloh sighed and settled down on the floor, leaning her arm on her knee and letting her goggles dangle from her hand. She wouldn't be able to get a replacement until next Friday, another week in this hell hole.
"Well, what's one more week when it's already been ...." Shiloh squinted, unable to remember how long she had been stuck here. And alone. She couldn't recall any family or friends, just isolation. A wave of shouts and screams from outside the workshop door caught her attention. Great, another fight. Another brawl over a slave or a price. She didn't need this coming inside and breaking anything else of the little she had. She pulled herself up from the floor and moved towards the workshop door, preparing to check all the locks before moving any items away from the wall. She chastised herself for not doing this earlier, but the excitement of the previous days market and the parts she had acquired had meant it had slipped her mind.
As she reached up for the top bolt of the door, it was slammed open, trapping her behind the door. Shiloh held her breath as the noise and scent of someone entered the workshop.
She didn't know who it was, but hoped she wouldn't have to find out.
