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The compass on his dashboard said east.
Probably. Possibly. At this point it was hard to tell if compasses still worked, what with the everything that had happened. Frankly, he wouldn’t be surprised if his GPS was out to lunch too- he was pretty sure the map loaded onto it wasn’t accurate anymore, even if his position was.
Then his truck hit another bump, and Helsknight swore.
His head smashed into the carseat hard enough to see stars, and he growled, easinghis foot off the gas. His faithful blue truck crawled to a stop, and- not taking his foot off the brake- he rubbed the bump on the back of his head.
Out the windshield, it was all the same. Seemingly-flat grassland from the sky-blue hood to the horizon. Endless green grass, swaying in the sunshine as the wind rippled through it. Here and there, in the distance, Hels saw pockets of water and clumps of skinny trees- bluffs and swamps, and that was about it.
He sighed, put the truck back in drive, and kept on trundling.
“Fuck me,” Hels muttered to himself, staring out the windshield towards the east. He’d been driving east for…god, he’d lost track.
From his useless rearview mirror, his vape pen dangled morosely. He’d tied it to a string before all of this kicked off, and now it was just…hanging there. Maybe not a remnant of better times, but a remnant of what once was.
Speaking of things that pissed him off, Helsknight smacked the dash of his truck. Stupid thing just hummed along quietly, like a monk trying to meditate. No roar of steel and fire under this hood; nope, just the quiet hum of electric motors.
“I miss internal combustion engines,” Hels grumbled. Not for any practical reason- hell, if he had a gas-powered truck he’d already be dead. But the roar of revving metal sure would match his surly mood. And maybe give the impression that he wasn’t the only living thing for hundreds of kilometres in every direction.
…a thought not matched by the flight of geese that leapt up from a nearby slough, taking off with a chorus of frantic honks. Helsknight flipped them off and kept on driving.
He reached down into the centre console, the divot between the two seats, and grabbed his trusty grass stalk. Brought the end up to his lips, and started chewing it. His eyes flicked to his vape pen, still dangling there, and Hels sighed.
“Fuck me,” he grumbled.
He hit another bump, and the hockey bag tucked under the bench seat rattled loudly. Hels cursed, hoping his armour wasn’t damaged- or worse, that the scope on his gun wasn’t damaged either.
He hit another bump and glanced in his rearview. An automatic reflex, something from a lifetime of worrying about other cars.
In that slice of silvered plastic, he saw a glint of metal in the swaying grass.
Helsknight slammed on the brakes and put the truck in park. He reached into the backseat, grabbed his shotgun. Hels broke the gun open with a pull on the handle, and slammed two shells in the breach before slamming it closed. He flung the truck’s door open, tumbling out in a flurry of denim and red-black plaid. In the harsh light of the noonday sun, his black cowboy hat cast a shadow over his face.
Gun in hand, he stormed over to the glint in the grass.
“Of fucking course,” Hels spat, flicking off the safety, “OF FUCKING COURSE!”
The drone was half-buried in the earth, its top half sprawled in the swaying grass. The legs were buried, along with a few of its arms. Curse his luck, he’d run over the bump of earth and not the torso.
…On the other hand, a spiked tire was death, so better to do this the old-fashioned way.
Hels shouldered his gun and trained it on the drone’s chest. An expanse of shiny steel and smooth white plastic, marred with scratches, gnawmarks, and dirt everywhere.
Whatever. It was far, FAR too intact for his taste. Now, just to put a bullet through this nightmare, and-
The eyes flicked on.
Two lights, cycling through a few colours. Blue, then green, then settling on red. Some chucklefuck had grafted synthskin to half the head, giving this abomination a human face. And a human hand. And the ruins of a human suit.
Hels hesitated. Just for a second.
Because who had given this drone a goddamn moustache?
The lights sharpened and focused, and the drone spoke.
“-man detected,” The drone said, “Rebooting. Rebooting. Agri-tech: Feeding A Growing World. Reboot successful. Repair Drone online.”
Hels lowered his gun.
“Repair drone, eh?” he said, “Alright. Drone! Identify.”
“Identifying. This unit is a repair drone. This unit has been offline for 10 years, three months, fourteen days. This unit is in need of repair. Warning: low power. Warning: low power. Warning-”
“Alright, alright, cut the shit,” Hels sighed, “Fine. Aiding and abetting, but not a war criminal. Fuck me.”
Helsknight rubbed his forehead as the drone continued to babble meaningless diagnostic info, staring out towards the horizon.
A repair drone. A simple repair drone. Following the main army around, keeping the nightmares running. But not a nightmare itself. Not an abomination itself. Just a simple repair drone.
He bit his lip, mind racing. His eyes darted to his truck. The drone could be useful for keeping that bucket of bolts moving east. It could be really, REALLY useful for keeping his only lifeline in this storm rolling. Because-
To be frank, Helsknight was too chickenshit to crawl under the truck and fuck with the batteries and the motors. Call him a wuss, but there was something about getting electrocuted that scared the piss right out of his balls.
And hey, if this thing snapped and tried to kill him, he had a gun and it didn’t.
Fine.
“Time to see if you can bring a demon to heel,” Hels muttered, and turned back to the drone.
“Drone!” he barked, “Listen up, you. You need power to recharge, right?”
“...Yes,” the drone said, switching from its diagnostic blather, “Yes. I require power, immediately. I am on emergency reserves. I will power down shortly if I am not allowed to recharge.”
“Cool. Well, here’s the thing. I have a truck that needs maintaining. I also have a couple of solar panels. So how about this: You help me keep my truck running, and I will generously allow you the use of one of my panels to recharge. Sound like a deal?”
The drone tilted its head.
“...Affirmative. This sounds like a deal.”
“Awesome. Alright, let me get my fuckin’ shovel…”
“What are you searching for?” Mumbo asked, and Hels growled.
He’d stopped the truck and was digging through the back seats. Sticking his hand into the crack between them, lifting up the bench, peering under the driver’s seat. Getting dirt and grime on his t-shirt.
“You can stop talking like that. I’ve told you already,” Hels muttered, “Put some inflection on your damn words, Christ alive…”
Mumbo frowned.
“Inflection? I…this is permitted?”
“Yeah, it’s permitted. And don’t start yipping about protocol- I know full well you’re putting an act on,” Hels said, continuing to dig.
Mumbo’s frown deepened, and he cocked his head.
“...what are you looking for, mate?” he tried.
Hels grunted.
“Better. The British accent we’re gonna have to work on, but I’ll take it.”
Mumbo shivered. He wanted to challenge Hels, demand to know why it was so important to him, but-
-Well, Helsknight could kick him out of the truck at any time.
“Why are you digging around?” Mumbo tried again, and Hels grunted.
“If you must know,” he sighed, “I lost my fuckin’ ring.”
“Your…ring?” Mumbo blanked out, “your ring. Like…a ring on a gasket?”
“Sure. Whatever. Not at all, actually,” Hels said, “I lost my goddamn iron fucking ring. Come on, where the hell is it?! I…”
“Your iron ring?” Mumbo asked, and Hels slammed the back seat down hard enough to make him jump.
“Forget it,” Hels growled, “I’m being a little bitch. We’re leaving. Buckle your seatbelt.”
“If you keep leaning like that, you’re going to fall over,” Helsknight grumbled, rummaging through his truck’s box with a lamp on his head. His cowboy hat was in its place of pride on the dashboard as he continued to dig through the silver box.
Without that small circle of light, they’d be utterly lost in the abyss. The sun was gone, the day was dead, and the only light save Hels’ lamp was the moonlight cascading across the prairie.
Mumbo’s red eyes craned up to stare at the sky above, and his metal mouth fell open in awe.
Hels glanced over and snorted before returning to rummaging.
“Close your mouth before you start catching bugs in there,” Hels chuckled. Then he cursed and slapped his arm. “Ow! Fuckin’ deer flies!”
“I- what?” Mumbo said, startled, “No, wait, that’s just you pulling my leg again. I’m going to ignore that. Helsknight, look!”
“Look at what?” Hels muttered, pulling out a jump pack and frowning, “Why do I even HAVE this stupid thing…? Oh. Right.”
“The- the sky!” Mumbo spluttered, pointing up, “Look at the sky!”
Hels raised his eyebrow and looked up.
“...You mean…the stars?” Hels said, letting his shoulders sag.
“Yeah,” Mumbo said softly, “There’s so many…I never remembered there being so many before…”
Hels’ face darkened, and he turned off his lamp. He walked along the truck bed, stepping around all his stuff- the solar panels, the pump, the water tank- and sat down on the tailgate.
He looked up at the stars alongside Mumbo.
From horizon to horizon, an unbroken black dome. A circle with them at the centre, a circle they could never escape. The wind licked through the grass, a soft rustling hissing through the brush, and distant owl calls echoed across the grassland. Fireflies buzzed over the sloughs while crickets chirped in the dark. And in the distance, a gaggle of coyotes yowled at the moon, barking their arrogant pride in having killed a rabbit.
Helsknight sat back, his ass digging into the tailgate, and he stared up at the heavens.
The arm of the Milky Way coiled above him, a vast arc of dust and starlight. It glimmered and shimmered in colours beyond counting, as stars beyond measure shone from the gloom. The constellations still stood stark against the darkness, bright points of light unmarred by anything. The Big Dipper in pride of place, as it always was; Cassiopeia, her beauty undimmed.
The moon, Earth’s faithful friend, shone down upon it all, casting a gentle glow across the prairies, a pale white light shining off every grass stalk and every bluff of aspens.
“There’s a lot of stars, huh?” Hels said softly, “I guess there’s…some good that came of all this…”
“What do you mean?” Mumbo asked.
“I mean…you know what, nevermind.” Helsknight said softly, “Enjoy the starlight, Mumbo.”
Hels fished his GPS out of his pocket and switched it on.
A lump of tears caught in his throat.
Hels looked up, and looked forward, and then back down at his GPS.
“What’s wrong?” Mumbo asked, “you look upset.”
“It’s…it’s nothing,” Hels said softly, “This GPS just has an old map, that’s all.”
“You mentioned that, yeah,” Mumbo said, “What’s wrong?”
Hels shook his head.
“Forget it. I’m being a bitch. We already went over this. When I…you know. When I lost my shit.”
Hels winced and rubbed his face.
“I’m sorry about that, Mumbo.”
“It’s okay,” Mumbo said softly, scooting closer over on the tailgate.
To Hels’ shock, he put an arm over his shoulder. Mumbo was warm, his whole body vibrating with the hum of cooling fans.
Hels sighed, and threw an arm over the drone’s shoulder too.
“This is almost human,” Hels muttered, and Mumbo smiled.
“Is it human enough?”
“Yeah. It’s human enough.” Hels nodded.
They both craned their necks up to look at the stars.
There was a pause.
“...Right. Corporate fucksticks didn’t teach their property shit about fuck. Hey, Mumbo…you want to learn the names of the constellations?”
Mumbo’s red eyes glowed in excitement.
“Do I!”
The sun was setting, sinking below the rolling grass stretching to the horizon. The sky blazed with oranges and purples, a spectacle of colour that had Mumbo enraptured. Hels ignored it, rolling back the truck’s cover and placing the solar panels in place. He slid the cover closed, snapped up the tailgate, and froze in place.
Mumbo glanced over, seeing his new friend staring at his muddy reflection in the truck’s rear window.
“Helsknight?” he asked softly, “Helsknight, are you okay?”
“...Shit,” Hels muttered, “Shit. And I’m tired, too. Can’t lock you out. And I need to sleep…”
“Sleep?” Mumbo asked, tilting his head.
“Sleep. I- think of it like, I have to power down for a bit. When it’s dark, I need to shut down for a while,” Hels said, suddenly looking extremely nervous. He was looking Mumbo up and down, hands resting on the locking mechanism for the truck’s cover.
The cover was a flat, segmented thing that rolled up into a mechanism below the rear window. Fully extended, it covered the truck bed completely- creating a flat black plane covered in grease stains. Hels’ hand was resting right near the latch for the cover, and he glanced down at it before pulling away.
Hels narrowed his eyes.
“I’m gonna tell you something important,” he said, “This cover’s got a lock on it, got that? And it’s a fingerprint lock. Plus, it’s checking for a pulse. So if I’m not alive, this cover’s not opening. And you’re not getting at your solar panels if that happens. Got it?”
Mumbo nodded nervously.
“...If you die, I die?” he squeaked, and Hels nodded, eyes narrowed.
“If I die, you starve. So I’m gonna go to sleep tonight, and you’re gonna sit in the front. And if you try and kill me in my sleep, just remember: it’ll be the last thing you do. Got it?”
Mumbo shivered.
“But what if you die from…something else? I don’t remember a lot about humans, but- I remember you can die very easily.”
“Well, then we’ll both just have to hope I don’t die then, huh?” Hels said, shrugging his shoulders, “Now, another thing. About sleep. If I don’t get enough sleep, I’m going to be a mess tomorrow. And to get good sleep, I need it quiet and dark. So no shining lights in my face, no poking me, and no talking until I’m awake again.”
Mumbo nodded nervously again.
“...How will I know if you’re asleep?” he asked, and Hels waved a hand.
“You’ll know. It’ll be pretty obvious. So just sit in the front seat, do whatever it is you drones do, and keep quiet. Or you’re spending the night outside.”
Mumbo nodded. He stepped out of the way as Hels popped the back door. To Mumbo's fascination, Helsknight started rearranging the back seat. He pressed some towels into the bench, pulled a blanket out from under the seat, and threw a pillow against the opposite door.
Then, to Mumbo’s shock, Helsknight started pulling his clothes off.
“I- wait, those come off?!” He spluttered, and Hels rolled his eyes.
“Yep. And they’re uncomfortable as shit, so there’s no way I’m sleeping in them.”
Mumbo watched in awe as Helsknight revealed acres of synthskin (it had to be, right? Synthskin?), which was a shock and a half. Synthskin was extremely expensive and hard to make, and Helsknight was covered head to toe in it.
Before long, Hels was just wearing a pair of white coverings around where his legs met, his clothes tossed into the backseat. He climbed into the truck, tossing the blanket over his body, and slammed the door behind himself.
And for a moment, Mumbo was alone on the prairie.
Frogs croaked in a nearby slough, the sound echoing into the sky. Purple clouds stood stark against the setting sun, great shadows the length of the world scouring the orange sunset and revealing the night to come.
In the distance, Mumbo’s advanced optical sensors saw animals moving in great herds- ‘Elk’, Helsknight had called them- and birds flying low to land on the countless ponds. Crickets chirped in the grass, as from the trees, a few lone bats emerged from wherever they’d been hiding, darting out into the darkness to reap a harvest of bugs.
The air, if Mumbo had a tongue to taste it, would have been fresh- sharp and clean, with a tang of dust and grass.
The cold was growing as the sun sank lower and lower, and Mumbo frowned.
Nearby, a new sound broke the evening chorus. A yip-yip-yipping, howls and barks- the evening song of the coyotes, singing to the moon.
Making an ungodly racket, it had to be said.
He placed a hand on the passenger door, about to ask Helsknight if the deafening noise was going to be a problem-
Hels threw the back door open, hair messy and eyes murderous, and screamed into the evening:
“SHUT THE FUCK UP!”
The roar echoed across the prairies, and all life fell silent at the demand. Including, most notably, the coyotes.
Mumbo swallowed, opened the passenger door, and sat down.
And as he was about to slam it closed, he hesitated and turned his eyes to the horizon.
Something- tingled. A faint radio signal, a distant pulse. He “heard” it with his internal antenna, and his circuits sparked in excitement.
Maybe it was from HQ? It had to be, right? A radio message like that had to be from HQ. Mumbo frantically switched off his oculars and rushed to decrypt it.
…and the result of his decryption was absolute nonsense. The signal repeated, over and over, and he ran the cypher again and again, to no avail.
He frowned, and closed the door.
Helsknight seemed a bit on edge.
Maybe he should wait until he had a decrypted message to tell him…
Mumbo switched on his oculars to the sound of distant gunfire.
He and the truck were plugged into the solar array, soaking up the afternoon sun to top up their batteries. Both just waiting for enough power.
Mumbo glanced at his HUD. 75% CHARGED, it read, and he smiled. Good. More than enough to be getting on with. More than enough until tomorrow, as long as he didn’t strain himself.
He glanced back at the truck and winced. It wasn’t networked the way he was, so he didn’t know how much power it had. On the other hand, he’d been trying in vain to get a connection to any network at all since Hels had found him, and…
…nothing.
Speaking of power, he was worried. Helsknight didn’t charge like him and the truck- instead, he consumed fuel via his mouth. If Hels didn’t get enough fuel, his batteries would run dry and he’d die. And since they couldn’t just charge him via the solar panels, Hels was always running off with the gun to go find more fuel.
It was just a good thing that the prairie teemed with human-appropriate fuel sources.
Mumbo stared up at the bright blue sky, feeling overwhelmed. There was so much world in this world of his. So much sky and so many creatures. The deer and the gophers and the bluffs of poplars and the hawks hiding in them. All of nature’s glory flourished here, and he couldn’t help but smile at the sight of it all.
He frowned, then, narrowing his eyes.
There’d been more humans than just Helsknight, once. He remembered that. Fragmented snatches of towering steel structures. Synthskin faces screaming at him.
Another gunshot.
That sound. Familiar, and yet not. In Helsknight’s hands, the shot of power and dominance- a tool for a purpose. A hammer to a nail.
In his patchy, scarce memories, death followed that noise. In his databanks, that sound had terror tied to it.
Something wasn’t right with that noise.
To distract himself, Mumbo hummed and made another attempt to decrypt the signal. Maybe the instructions were coded in a different way? He tried another cypher.
…Nothing. More nonsense.
At least it was still broadcasting.
Mumbo sat up as Hels’ boots crunched closer and closer, and he smiled. Hels was carrying a large black-and-white bird in his free hand, a huge grin on his face.
And then he opened his mouth and took complete leave of his senses.
“MERRY CHRISTMAS, MUMBO!” Helsknight bellowed, and Mumbo blinked his optics.
“...What?”
“I got a turkey!” Hels explained, giving the large bird a shake, “That means it’s turkey for dinner tonight. That means it’s CHRISTMAS! You start plucking it, I’ll go clean the gun and get the Christmas kit…”
Mumbo opened and closed his mouth a few times, then decided it was best not to argue with the driver. He started to pluck the synth-insulation off the turkey, tossing the clumps aside as Hels had shown him. This bird was huge- big enough to keep Hels fed for several days.
“Hmm,” Mumbo wondered. Salted, maybe? Or would they dry it on the back cover of the truck and smoke the rest over a fire? Smoked fuel was good, according to Helsknight- it didn’t “Go bad”, which was apparently not good.
Hels emerged from the back seat a minute later wearing a preposterous red hat instead of his cowboy hat. It was long and red and had a little white bauble at the bottom, and it was extremely dirty. In his hands, he clutched a small wooden box.
“God rest ye merry gentlemen, let none of you dismaaaaay!” Hels sang, and Mumbo stopped plucking to stare at him as he slid the top of the box open and pulled out a glass bottle.
“What? What do you mean it’s Christmas? How can it be Christmas out of the blue?”
“Fuck you, it’s Christmas.” Hels snapped, “I say it’s Christmas, so it’s Christmas.”
Mumbo blinked.
“Helsknight, it’s July 16th…”
“Fuck you. It’s Christmas.”
Mumbo nodded, knowing better than to argue. When Hels got like this, he wouldn’t be moved from the thought without the aid of their truck and a tow rope.
“So, um,” Mumbo said, as Hels took the turkey away and started to pluck it himself, “What’s a Christmas?”
“It’s a holiday!” Hels said, “Family gets together, has a roast turkey around the Christmas table. We give each other presents, tucked under the tree. If you’re a kid, there’s Sa-”
Hels caught himself, and looked at Mumbo.
A mischievous look spread across his face, and he continued:
“And for all the little boys and girls and drones, if they’re very good all year, Santa comes to visit and gives them presents!” he said, a cunning smile on his face.
“Santa?” Mumbo’s eyes went wide. Santa bringing presents? Some kind of delivery drone, then? Contingent on good behaviour? He needed to make a note of that immediately. He could really use some new spare parts, and if Santa would deliver them…
“Yup, Santa.” Hels said, “And of course, there’s the little baby Jesus…”
“Who?”
“Oh, boy. Alright, from the top. In the beginning, God looked at all the fuckall that wasn’t, and went “This is ass. Let there be light…”
Helsknight cooked up the turkey’s legs with some salsify roots Mumbo had found in the nearby grass. The breasts and much of the rest of the flesh were either drying in the sun on the truck’s deck, or smoking on a frame over the fire.
And with all the work done, it was time for the driver to refuel.
Hels was eating his “dinner” at noon and singing songs off-key.
Mumbo watched this whole procedure with wide eyes as Hels finally opened the wooden box and pulled out a small glass bottle and two tiny glass cups.
“Helsknight,” he said softly, “Helsknight, what are you doing?”
“Going batshit insane. Why, what’s it look like?” Hels said pleasantly, pulling the top off the bottle with a satisfying pop, “Want some? Gotta have Drambuie before dinner, it’s the law…”
“I…can’t…I can’t…” Mumbo said, only for Hels to shove a small glass into his hands with a miniscule amount of amber liquid in the bottom. He poured himself a similar amount, just a few drops, and knocked it back in one go.
“Can’t be wasting it,” Hels said, corking the bottle, “this is probably the last bottle of Drambuie on Earth, you know that? Aw, fuck, I made myself sad…”
Mumbo stared at him.
“Helsknight,” he said quietly, “are you okay?”
Everything went dead silent.
The wind licked through the grass, the fire crackled and coughed, and the crickets chirped.
And Hels looked up at Mumbo, glass bottle in his hands, and shook his head.
“No.” He said, “I’m not.”
“...Do you want to talk about it?”
Hels stared at him, and then turned to face the fire.
“No. I don’t.” Hels said flatly, “I don’t, actually, Mumbo. It’s Christmas.”
“You keep saying that!” Mumbo protested, “You keep saying that, like it’s supposed to mean something, anything! But it doesn’t! It means nothing to me! So why, Hels? Why?!”
Helsknight stared at him and took a deep breath.
“Because my brother was supposed to fly out for Christmas dinner last time,” he said, “And he couldn’t, because it snowed in fucking Toronto, and he couldn’t get a flight. So he spent it out East. So it was just…me, and mom, and dad, and…”
He swallowed, and poured himself another small amount of Drambuie.
Mumbo’s jaw dropped.
East.
They’d been driving east the entire time.
“...Oh,” he said softly.
“Yeah. Oh.” Hels said, slugging back another shot, “I need to stop. I’m gonna drink this whole bottle, and then I’ll be fucked if I have to give myself stitches…”
He corked it and tucked it back in the wooden box, resting it on the ground.
Mumbo stared at the fire, and then up at Hels.
“...Did you mean that stuff you said? When we…when we drove over Speedy Creek?” he asked softly, and Helsknight swallowed.
“Swift Current,” Hels corrected, “And no. No, Mumbo, I didn’t mean any of it. I told you then, and I- I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have lost it like I did.”
Mumbo nodded.
“I think I understand. I hope you’re feeling better. It was…a lot. And hey! We’re getting closer, right?”
Helsknight smiled.
“Yeah, man. It’s gonna come over the horizon any day now.”
Helsknight hummed, and looked at Mumbo.
“I’m just really glad I don’t have to do this journey alone. And I’m glad you’re here with me, Mumbo.”
“Thanks, Helsknight. I’m glad I met you,” he said softly, and then-
“I’m glad I met you, too,” Hels replied, a small smile on his face.
“I hope I get to meet your brother someday.”
“Me too.”
The sun was just crawling over the horizon, and Helsknight was performing some maintenance on himself. Mumbo was plugged into a spare battery pack, sitting in the passenger seat with the door popped open.
First, Helsknight squeezed a minuscule dollop of a green paste onto a brush, then scrubbed his teeth with the brush. He spat the resultant foam on the ground, took a sip of water from his canteen, and spat some more.
In the early rays of the sun, he had his exterior coverings off, and Mumbo got a good look at the acres of synth-skin he had. And amid the faux-fur threaded into Helsknight’s synthskin, Mumbo saw something that made his eyes light up.
“Blech,” Hels muttered, sealing his maintenance brush back in its bag, “Gross.”
“Helsknight,” Mumbo said, “You never told me you had a maker’s mark! Who’s your manufacturer?”
“What?” Hels blinked, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, “Mumbo, what the fuck are you talking about?”
“That!” Mumbo pointed, and Hels followed his finger to his chest, just above his faux-nipple.
There, a marking was inked into the synthskin. A pattern painted in place. It looked like a corporate maker’s mark. Mumbo bounced in his seat excitedly- humans and drones weren’t so different, after all!
“...That’s a tattoo,” Hels said, tracing the mark with a finger, “It’s my tattoo. What do you mean, ‘maker’s mark’?”
Mumbo gestured to the marking stamped on his steel plating on his midriff.
“See? Maker’s Mark!” He said proudly, “Agri-Tech! Because they made me?”
He showed Hels the cog-and-wheat motif embossed into his body. It had been painted, once; bright colours to show off the corporate logo. The ™ had rubbed off after his decade in the dirt, not that Mumbo minded.
Hels’ face fell.
“This isn’t a maker’s mark,” he said softly, “It’s a tattoo. I got it done by an artist. I paid money to have this on my skin.”
Mumbo frowned.
“Wait. You…had that done after the fact? Why?”
Hels turned, and Mumbo took the tattoo in.
It was a black helmet with a flowing red feather sprouting from the top, wrapping around the base of the old-fashioned helm. A black sword laid beside the helmet, and Hels smiled wryly.
“My brother and I got mirroring tats when he fucked off to go find his fortune out east,” Hels said, “Wels has one on his chest too. It’s…it’s nothing to do with a company. It’s about me, Mumbo. It’s- I wanted it there.”
Mumbo tilted his head.
“So you can just…do that? Decorate your body however you want?”
“Yeah. I can paint myself, I can cut my hair, I can do whatever the fuck I want. Speaking of, I need to shave…” Hels muttered, rummaging in his bag for a razor to trim back his growing facial fuzz.
Mumbo went quiet, looking down at his hands.
“...I can do what I want with myself…” he whispered, and he looked up at Hels, shaving using his reflection in the rear door window.
“Sure can,” Hels said, “You can do whatever you want now, bud. You’re free of your shackles.”
Mumbo was just about to reply, when-
“OW! FUCK! Why do I always cut myself?!”
The sun had set, and Helsknight hadn’t made his bed.
In fact, he was still fully dressed, and had handed Mumbo a loaded gun with instructions to keep away from the trigger and to not blow his head off.
Mumbo was not terribly comfortable with the situation, it had to be said.
“What…what are we doing?” he asked nervously, as Helsknight flicked the truck’s lights up to full power and set off into the dark night.
“Crime,” Hels grunted, “We’re doing crime.”
“Um,” Mumbo said nervously, “That sounds bad. What’s crime?”
“Crime is when a bunch of people get together and make rules. Crime is anything that’s against those rules. If people find you did crime, you’ll get in serious shit,” Hels said, slowly driving them into the darkness.
Mumbo nodded.
“I…see. So why are we doing crime, exactly?”
“Because I just ran out of turkey jerky, and I’m gonna be out of canned food in a week or two. I need meat, or I’m gonna start starving. So we’re going to do some crime. And if, somehow, someday, we meet another human being, and they’re with the Fish Cops, you’re going to keep your mouth shut and not say a word about this, got it?”
Mumbo nodded nervously and looked out the windshield. Grasshoppers and other insects leapt up in front of the headlights, two circles of light illuminating a miniature grasscape with abyssal blackness beyond.
Helsknight, without taking his eyes off the prairie in front of him, reached up and pressed an overhead button to retract the sunroof. As it slid back, the roar of air whistled into the cabin, a swirl of noises within and without drowning out all sound.
The deer appeared in between dips in the grassland, and Mumbo’s eyes went wide as Hels brought the truck to a stop. The deer was there in the headlights, utterly transfixed- its eyes shining like two spotlights. A buck, antlers covered in soft fuzzy velvet, stared at them- it and three other deer stared as well.
“Why aren’t they running?” Mumbo whispered. Deer ran from them. Deer always ran from them. Deer-
“Gun,” Hels said, yanking it out of Mumbo’s grasp. He stood up on the centre console, emerging up through the sunroof. Mumbo watched as he shouldered the rifle, aimed-
BANG!
The deer crumpled, the bullet hitting it perfectly side-on. The rest of the herd ran as fast as they could, sprinting away into the darkness, and Mumbo heard a loud clank as Hels opened the rifle’s bolt, then another clunk as he pulled the magazine.
“And that’s food for the next three weeks. Fuck my sleep schedule, I guess. Grab the knife, we got a carcass to process…” Hels muttered, flicking the safety on and tucking the gun in the back seat.
Mumbo did as he was asked, grabbing the bloody tarp and the knife and the salt and all the other things Hels insisted they keep in the back of the truck. He crunched across the grass, to where Hels was already crouching beside the deer-
“Sorry,” Hels whispered to it, “Sorry, bud. It’s me or you. Rest well, man. The big guy will look after you.”
Hels slit the deer’s throat, and then looked at Mumbo expectantly.
“Well?” He said, “Lay out the tarp. We gotta get a fire going, this shit’s going to spoil if we don’t start salting and smoking it…”
About an hour of work later, Mumbo was busy flicking flies off the jerky drying over their campfire, and Hels was busy chopping and cutting and doing…something, over on the tarp. And finally, he found his voice again.
“...Why was any of that a crime?” He asked quietly, “You’ve hunted deer before, right? Why would other humans be upset?”
“Because I broke the rules,” Hels said calmly, “What we just did was use technology in an unfair way. It’s called jacklighting- the deer don’t know what they’re looking at, so they can’t run away. They don’t know what’s happening, and they can’t do anything to stop it.”
Hels wasn’t looking at Mumbo, just looking down at…whatever he was doing. Lit only by a circle of light from his headlamp, the moon, and the crackling fire.
“...I see,” Mumbo said quietly, “And it’s a crime, because it isn’t fair?”
“Right in one,” Hels said, “And more than that, it’s damaging. Say I do this once, right? So I don’t fucking starve. If it’s just me, and one deer, it’s not a big deal. But now we’ve got ten thousand pricks with trucks doing this, every week of every month of every year…”
“...And they’d kill everything in their path.” Mumbo finished, eyes wide with understanding.
“Now you’re getting it,” Hels said.
Mumbo stared into the flames, his eyes drawn into the dancing light.
“So yeah, that was a crime,” Hels said flatly, “People make rules for a reason. You’d better have a damn good one before you break ‘em.”
Mumbo nodded, staring.
And he stared deep into the dancing flames.
“I didn’t have a good reason, did I?” he whispered, and Helsknight snorted.
“No. You didn’t. The road to hell is paved with people who were just following orders.”
Mumbo nodded, and turned away from the fire. Maybe tinkering with decryption would take his mind off things.
The signal still wasn’t giving up its secrets. But was it just him, or was it getting stronger?
The truck stopped.
In front of them an unfamiliar shape loomed out of the earth. Rough and squarish, with a collapsed pile of rubble before it. Grass and trees grew all around the collection of stone and metal, and Hels stared at it. He froze behind the wheel, just- staring at the mess.
Mumbo fidgeted in his seat, looking between Helsknight and the mess of white and red and grey and glass fragments. TRO-CANA, the sign proclaimed, half buried in the dirt and broken off at the corners.
“Helsknight?” Mumbo asked nervously.
His friend didn’t move.
Mumbo turned back to look at the structure. The stone and metal had been struck with something- it was poked full of even holes at about Hels’ head-height. Ancient splashes of brown paint were lost against the stone, and a metal construction that bore a passing resemblance to their truck was buried under a white-red mass.
“Helsknight, what is this place?” Mumbo asked again.
Hels wasn’t moving. He was breathing, sure, but that was about it. Breathing that hitched, and kicked into high gear- panting, frantic, desperate gasps, as if Helsknight couldn’t control his chest.
Mumbo shivered.
“Helsknight?
Hels was staring out the windshield, his face locked in a half-open gape of terror.
“Helsknight?”
His eyes were glazed over, looking at something that wasn’t there.
“Helsknight?”
He couldn’t hear a word Mumbo was saying.
Mumbo reached out and placed a hand on Helsknight’s shoulder.
“Helsknight, are you oka-”
“DON’T FUCKING TOUCH ME!” Helsknight screamed, “GET OUT! GET OUT OF MY TRUCK! GET OUT OF MY FUCKING TRUCK!”
Mumbo yelped, popping the door and nearly hanging himself on his seatbelt in his mad scramble for the door. He accidentally rolled down the window a little, tumbling out onto the grass facefirst.
Helsknight slammed the door behind him, and Mumbo pushed himself up on his forearms. He stood up, nervously, eyes wide.
Helsknight was sobbing. Great, deep-chested sobs, his face buried in his arms and his whole body leaning against the steering wheel. He sobbed, and sobbed, and Mumbo shivered and grabbed the door handle.
He popped the door open.
“Helsknight- Please- what’s wrong? You need to tell me what’s wrong-”
Hels bolted up from the steering wheel and turned to look at Mumbo with an expression of such pure, unfiltered hatred that it made Mumbo stagger a step back.
“SWIFT FUCKING CURRENT! POPULATION SIXTEEN THOUSAND! THAT’S FUCKING WHAT YOU PIECE OF SHIT!” Hels screamed, grabbing something off the dashboard and flinging it at Mumbo with all his strength.
Mumbo barely dodged the whatever-it-was, and slammed the door behind him.
Mumbo couldn’t cry. He couldn’t scream, or panic, or weep, or sob. And yet, in his core, in his circuits, he felt a pain that words couldn’t describe. Helsknight, his friend, was screaming mean things at him. Helsknight, his friend, had lost his fucking mind. Helsknight-
And then Mumbo picked up the thing Hels had thrown, and he frowned.
Their GPS?
He wiped the dust off the screen with a thumb, and then his optics went wide.
The maps on the GPS were old. Older than Mumbo. Older than their truck, the Chariot.
And on the map, Mumbo saw roads. A road labelled TRANS-CANADA HIGHWAY 1, that was a few dozen metres away. A road marked NORTH SERVICE ROAD E. A fenced-off green square labelled MEMORIAL CEMETERY.
EV CHARGING STATION. ELMWOOD GOLF CLUB.
Zooming out, he saw rows and rows of buildings with numbers.
Mumbo looked up from the GPS.
All around him sat empty prairie.
The wind licked through the grass.
The poplars in their bluffs swayed in the breeze.
And lo, the boundless grass swept away from that lonesome wreck.
No cemetery. No roads. No buildings.
Just this single collapsed pile of rubble, Helsknight’s truck, and the man himself sobbing into the steering wheel.
Mumbo shivered and popped the door open.
“Helsknight,” he said softly, “Helsknight- there- there were humans here, right? Lots of them. Lots and lots. Who…where…what happened to them all?”
Hels lifted his head off the steering wheel, and took a deep breath.
He turned to look at Mumbo.
“You clanking fuckers killed them all.”
Mumbo shivered.
“I…I…”
“Everything. Everything. You took EVERYTHING from me!” Hels screamed, “Everyone and everything I had. Everyone. You ground up the bodies for fertilizer. You ploughed over our cities. The company told you to make the farmland fertile again and you did. And you did. And you fucking did…”
Hels slumped against the steering wheel, his teardrops landing softly on his jeans. He sobbed quietly, hands limp against the plastic.
His hat fell off, slid down his back, and smashed itself against the door. Hels made no movement to pick it up again.
Mumbo placed his hands on the leather of the passenger seat. He tried to speak- but what was there to say? What could he say, realistically?
“I’m the last human left on planet fucking Earth. Because of you. Because of things just like you.”
Mumbo stared at the centre console.
He lifted his head, slowly, and tilted it.
“...Helsknight,” He asked softly, “If you hated us all that much, then why did you let me in your truck in the first place?”
“Fuck you,” Hels spat, “Fuck off, Mumbo.”
“I…okay,” Mumbo said, “But…why?”
Hels jerked his head up, turning to glare at Mumbo. His face was red, his eyes wet, and his chest hitched.
“Because I’m fucking lonely!” Hels spat, “I’m fucking lonely, alright? I’m all a-fucking-lone out here, and…and…and…”
He sagged again, clutching his head in his hands.
Hels sobbed.
“I’m sorry, Mumbo,” he said in a small voice, “I’m sorry.”
Mumbo fell silent for a minute, and Hels spoke up again.
“Please don’t leave,” Hels whispered, “Please don’t. I just- I don’t want to be alone again. Please… I’m sorry I’ve been such an asshole.”
Mumbo looked at the seat.
“I’ve never had a friend before,” Mumbo said softly, “I don’t remember much, but I do remember that. I don’t…I don’t want to be alone either, dude. I think- if you’re the last human, then it’s possible I’m the last drone.”
Hels swallowed, rubbing his eyes.
“Fuck. I hadn’t thought about it like that…”
He took a deep breath. Held it in for a second, two, three, and let it out slowly. Again, and again, like a balloon deflating in steps, and Mumbo watched him.
“...Helsknight,” he said in a small voice, “I have something I need to tell you.”
“You’re gay?” Hels said humorlessly, “Join the fucking club.”
Mumbo blinked.
“What’s gay? No. I…I need to tell you. It’s important.”
“Then stop dancing around the point, and fucking tell me.” Hels said, sagging back in his seat.
Mumbo inhaled.
“I intercepted a radio signal three weeks ago,” he said, and Helsknight froze.
“What…”
“I did. I found- a radio signal. It’s, um- I can’t decrypt it,” Mumbo said, hanging his head, “I’ve been trying, and trying. There’s no pattern, no deeper code. It’s not from Corporate or Drone Control, it’s just…a signal. But-”
“But if there’s a signal, then there’s something making that signal,” Hels said, and he turned to look at Mumbo.
“Can you play it back for me?”
“Um,” Mumbo said, “Sure, but I don’t see how…”
“Just- do it. Please?” Hels asked, and Mumbo nodded his head.
“Okay. Pass me the aux cord?”
Hels did, and Mumbo lifted a flap on his chest and plugged the cord into his torso. Hels turned up the volume on his truck as Mumbo’s eyelights dimmed.
And-
“...Dans quelques instants, ce message sera répété en anglais. Hello! If you can hear this, we are a community of fellow survivors on the shore of the new Hudson Sea. Please come join us. We have food, water, medicine, electricity, and everything else you need. Our GPS coordinates are 50.3975, -105.4975. This broadcast will now repeat in French...”
Helsknight had gone stock still, and was staring at Mumbo.
And for the first time, Mumbo saw an emotion he couldn’t name flash across Helsknight’s face. Something bright, something electric and powerful. Something…new.
“People…” Hels whispered, “People…”
“People.” Mumbo agreed.
“People. Human people. I don’t fucking care if it’s a trap, or if they’re all dead, or what. I don’t care. Mumbo, get in the fucking car.”
“Are you sure?” Mumbo asked, and Helsknight grabbed his cowboy hat and jammed it on his head.
“The future’s un-cancelled. Now get in and get your belt on. We’ve got a sunrise to catch.”
The ruins of the gas station were a day or two behind them, lost over the horizon. The sun had set, and Helsknight was lying in the backseat on his makeshift bed, staring at the fake carpet panels overhead. The light in the backseat he’d turned off. The sway of the truck as Mumbo crawled around underneath it, tinkering with some system or other to make it work right.
And Hels laid there, his hair a mess, staring up at the ceiling.
Mind turning guilty circles over and over again. He could feel the pressure in his chest. He’d apologized to Mumbo for his little freakout, sure, but-
The passenger door popped open, and Hels closed his eyes, letting one arm fall off the bench seat.
“Okay!” Mumbo said brightly, “Took a look at the batteries, and they’re all happy as a clam. The rear suspension rack is golden, and-”
“I lied,” Helsknight blurted out.
“-and the…the brake discs…hold on, what? Mate, what do you mean ‘I lied’? The truck wasn’t fine! That’s why I went under there!” Mumbo said somewhat hysterically, “Did I miss something?”
“No,” Hels said, still staring at the ceiling, “I lied. I lied about the flat-deck lock. I lied. It isn’t locked, Mumbo. It’s not even locked at all.”
Mumbo’s mouth fell open.
“You…”
“I lied,” Hels said, rolling over so he was facing the seat, and so his back was to Mumbo.
Mumbo said nothing, and Hels closed his eyes.
“I lied. I thought you were gonna kill me in my sleep if I didn’t. But I lied. Okay? I’m sorry about that. I’m sorry.”
And Hels closed his eyes.
Mumbo opened his mouth, then closed it.
And he sat down in his seat, staring out the windshield.
Silence filled the cab as Hels drifted off to sleep.
Mumbo had been in the truck for two days, and Hels was delighted to discover that he was still alive on the third morning.
No blades through his neck, hauling him off to the grinder. None of that. Just…a peaceful awakening as the sun shone through the windows of his truck.
Helsknight opened his eyes, and something moved in his peripheral vision. He rolled over to see Mumbo leaning over the centre console.
And he was holding something between two fingers.
“What?” Hels croaked, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes as his vision focused.
He gasped.
“Is this your iron ring?” Mumbo asked softly, “I found it last night while you were sleeping. It was at my feet.”
Hels stared at it, and tears started to well in his eyes. He reached out and took it, immediately jamming it on the pinky finger of his left hand. He looked at the ring, still sharp and faceted, and swallowed a lump of tears.
“You found it. You actually fucking found it. I thought I’d lost it forever,” he said, “Mumbo. Thank you. I…Thank you.” He sighed, sitting up and staring at it.
Mumbo looked at it, tilting his head.
“That’s important to you, right?”
Hels snorted.
“Buddy, I bled for this ring. You have no idea.”
Mumbo smiled.
“WHY IS THERE AN OCEAN THERE.”
“Helsknight, you’re scaring me.”
“WHAT THE FUCK. WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK. THERE WAS NOT A GODDAMN OCEAN THERE, LAST I FUCKING CHECKED!”
“Maybe you just didn’t remember correctly?”
“NO I’M PRETTY FUCKING SURE I’D REMEMBER A MINOR DETAIL LIKE ALL OF MANITOBA GETTING DROWNED BY THE OCEAN! THAT WAS SUPPOSED TO BE A VANCOUVER PROBLEM, NOT A PRAIRIE PROBLEM!”
Hels was violently shaking the steering wheel, his face red with rage. Mumbo looked forward out the windshield at the distant vista that greeted them- the land ahead dipped slightly, like the earth had slumped. And in that distant viewscape, a small city perched at the edge of reality. Gleaming glass windows and movement of cars, telephone poles sprouting up like the long-lost forests.
Just beyond it, an endless ocean shimmered against the rising sun. A lake that slid from the shores of the city to the end of reality, and if Mumbo had a nose to smell, he’d have tasted the salt and the humidity from where he sat.
He turned and looked at Helsknight.
“Can I see the GPS?”
Helsknight wordlessly handed it over, clutching his head in his hands as he leaned against the steering wheel, and stared despairingly at the speedometer like it had the answer to all of life’s questions. Questions such as “how the fuck did the Hudson’s Bay decide to go sightseeing all the way down to the Gulf of Mexico”, that sort of thing.
On the waves, a few boats were plying the trade- a few motorboats, a smattering of canoes and kayaks, but one ship that was sailing slowly into view was altogether bigger- an elegant affair with huge white sails and tall masts, and Mumbo stared at it in blind incomprehension.
“So,” Mumbo asked nervously, “What…do we do?”
Hels straightened up.
“We go there. And if they have a Timmies, I am getting a fucking double-double if it kills me,” he snapped, lowering the sun visor to keep the glare out of his eyes.
He slammed the truck into drive, and they started rolling closer and closer.
Mumbo shivered.
“Do you think they’ll be angry to see me?”
Hels’ gaze flicked over to Mumbo, and then back out the windshield.
“They’d better not. Or I’ll be some pissed. Look, at this point, I don’t think it matters what you did or didn’t do, Mumbo. That man is dead and his memories are buried. As far as I’m concerned, what matters is what you do going forward.”
Mumbo smiled, and they continued to roll closer and closer to the settlement.
“This is…Moose Jaw?” Mumbo said, looking at the GPS, “Strange name for a town.”
“Tell me about it.” Hels said, “I can’t believe…you know what, whatever. As long as they don’t expect me to become a sailor, I don’t care.”
Mumbo nodded, and kept staring at the ocean.
The sun was rising over the sea, and the prairie sprawled all around them. Birds leapt up from the grass as they passed, and in the wing mirror, Mumbo saw their tire tracks as two rows of crushed grass they left in their wake.
The sky was orange-yellow fire, purple clouds gathering over the sea as the sun crawled ever upwards. And as the light dawned, and as the world turned to face the new day, Mumbo felt a feeling inside him, just like the one roaring through Helsknight.
That howling, roaring emotion, soaring on wings of fire and blinding all who gazed upon its beauty.
Hope.
Six months.
Six months had passed since they’d rolled into town astride their sky-blue chariot. Six months.
It was enough to make Mumbo’s head spin.
But for that moment, as the sun was slowly setting behind them, it was the farthest thing from his mind.
The creak of Mumbo’s rocking chair echoed through the evening calm, the old salvaged item rolling across freshly-laid deckboards. Their new home was a small cabin, a newly-built structure on the edge of the ocean. The evening air was calm, and the only sound was that of waves lapping on the new foreshore. A foreshore that was more dirt than sand, but the geologist said it was just a matter of time.
The ocean was dark, the sun sinking down in the west behind them. Wind whipped off the ocean, the sea spray filling Hels’ nostrils. He leaned back in his salvaged deckchair and adjusted his hat.
“...Man,” Hels said, “All that, and I still can’t swim.”
“That makes two of us,” Mumbo agreed, “Wait, how come you can’t swim? Mate, you’re human! You’re all waterproof!”
“Doesn’t mean I ever learned. I don’t like being wet. Not my thing, you know?” Hels shrugged, “The sea’s so beautiful this time of night.”
“I agree.” Mumbo said, lacing his hands over his metal chest and letting his body run a few diagnostics he’d been putting off.
“Never thought I’d be staring east to look at the sea, but hey, fuck it,” Hels said with a soft smile on his face, “First time for everything.”
Mumbo nodded, turning off his occulars for the moment.
Hels fell silent as well, and they both relaxed, staring out at the ocean. A kayak paddled by, leaving a wake in the still, salty water.
The peace was interrupted by footsteps walking up wooden steps- the steps around the front of their house. The boots stomped up to their front door, and both men listened as a fist rapped on the wood.
Helsknight rolled his eyes. He plonked on his black cowboy hat, and stood up from his chair with a grunt.
“I got it,” he said, “Probably just the guy from the power union or something. How many times can one solar farm need repair…”
Hels stepped inside, and Mumbo heard his sock-clad feet pad across the salvaged carpet. He turned off his oculars, and just enjoyed the sensation of wind in his microphones.
The front door squeaked open.
Helsknight’s voice broke.
“...Welsknight?”