Write Your Own Story: A Prairie Apocalypse

[Omega124]

The sun gradually awoken from underneath the concrete slabs, radiating the promise of a new dawn to all of those in Xin Tiankong. After the wind's cruel reign of the previous night, the sun brought with it a promise of tranquility to those on Earth. Songbirds chirpped merrily, perched on top of the parapets, tending to their young. The air was crisp, yet noticeably calm, and dotted with large, fluffy clouds.

Yet one woman didn't seem to get the message. Her ragged, dirtly blanket tightly secured around her, she was as unresponsive as the unmoving buildings around her. Faint breathing was the only thing even indicating that she was alive, at least until a giant shadow looming in front of her caused her to roll over.

"So that's where you are," a male voice curiously declared.

The woman jolted into consciousness as her blanket was ripped away from her body. Her widened eyes darted from side to side as she instinctively gasped against the intrusion.

The woman protested, "WHAT THE H-"

The male voice cut in, "Sister Zhonggou, it's almost ten. You're late for work."

"Oh," Zhonggou sheepishly responded.... "the wind..."

"Ah, yes. Fei Lian was quite wrathful last night. Much like Father Jianhong will be that you're not at the fields."

The woman couldn't help but groan as she slowly rose onto her feet. Like you don't think I know that?

"Do you think," Zhonggou responded, "I chose to sleep this late, Tai-He?"

Tai-He grimaced after that comment, flipping his hands over in puzzlement. "Yes? This is the third time this week you failed to show up on the farms at eight."

"Also," he snidly added, "It's Brother Tai-He. Show proper deference, Sister."

"Ok, Brother Tai-He," Zhonggou almost growled. God, no one is as much of a stuck-up like you are.

Tai-He smiled. "That's better. Now, Father Jianhong has asked me to bring you to him directly. If you could kindly-"

"Wait.... really?"

"It is not a Sister's place to interrupt a Brother," Tai-He angrily snapped. "But yes, he is most worried about you and your disruptive behavior. And for good reason, you clearly lack proper respect for your betters and our community."

It took all of Zhonggou's willpower to not just strike Tai-He right there. Who the hell does he think he is, barking her around like that? Especially with this crap about being better than her for being a man? Instead, she merely resorted to fixing a glare upon him.

"Fine," she hissed, grabbing her blanket. "Lead the way, Brother."

The two walked away from the ancient building that Zhonggou was nested in the previous night. Zhonggou's dead forlornly stared at the ground. She couldn't decide what was worse; being with Tai-He, or being forced in a meeting with Jianhong?

"Grand Master Kong," Tai-He proudly boasted as the pair crossed the empty, sorched ground, "once said, 'To give one's self earnestly to the duties due to men, and, while respecting spiritual beings, to keep aloof from them, may be called wisdom'".

Zhonggou rolled her eyes. "Yeah, that's real interesting, Brother."

"It would do you best to meditate on the words of the old ancestors. The Yang Guizi had his, Master Sun's and Master Li's tomes hidden in their libraries, but in their decadence refused to listen. Now their lands are destroyed. I fear you may be on the same path, Sister."

"It's not like the Old Homeland is doing any better-"

"Nonsense," Tai-He interrupted, "As we speak, the rebuilding of civilization in the Old Homeland far exceeds here in the new. We should expect a fleet to demand the rightful tribute from the Bear Republic any day from now."

"And do you have any proof for this?," Zhonggou prodded skeptically.

The man smirked, "If you mediated on the old Masters' knowledge, you will know that it must be true."

Finally, the pair reached the most central building in the complex. Made of the same concrete that surrounded the walls, the slightly-scorched facility was yet still a symbol of central authority; rusting barbed wire surrounded this dwelling, and the remains of a long-unusable observation post was the centerpiece of the roof.

Tai-He jumped in front of Zhonggou to open the door for her. "In his office. I must return to my studies at once".

"Have a nice day," Zhonggou responded, whispering an "***hole," under her breath.

Stepping into the building, Zhonggou's eyes wandered all over the decorum. This was once the central command of the occupiers back when Xin Tiankong was known as Ft. Macarthur, and relics from the days of "Imperial America" were neatly organized as much as the new occupiers could try to. Walls with their old American writing fading were repainted with Chinese on top of it, usually not matching the old text as rooms were repurposed. A musky scent permeated throughout the building; 200 years has not stopped the old relics from slightly rotting, but knowledge was too valuable to throw away.

Eventually, Zhonggou found an open door marked "Jianhong". Inside the room was a man sitting at a desk, intently studying an open book that Zhonggou was unable to identify. This was perhaps the cleanest room in the entire building she had seen; everything was neat and immaculate, especially the large collection of books and folders in a large shelf that was behind the desk. The man's white hair was long and neatly kept straight, with a beard which hung from his face. His clothing, a crude imitation of a hanfu, was yet by far the most elegant and clean in the entire monastery. It was even purple, not a an easy to make dye in post-apocalypse America.

Suddenly, his eyes jumped upwards. "Sister Zhonggou, is that you?"

Zhonggou hastily attempted a quick bow. "Y-yes, Father Jianhong."

Jianhong slowly inserted a pre-war dollar bill into the book on his desk, before carefully closing and putting it away. "Please," he said, almost too calmly, "Come in."

Zhonggou immediately did as ordered, sitting at a chair on the other side of the desk. Her eyes shot downward, and her body shook in fear.

"It has come to my attention, Sister Zhonggou, that you have been shirking your duties. This is the third time you failed to report to the farm on time-"

"I-I-I-canexplain! I-"

"Calm down Sister," Jianhong, "We are not mad at you-"

Zhonggou sighed, "That's not what Tai-He said".

"Ah, yes," he retorted. "He can be a bit.... overzealous. No one is more dedicated to his studies in the monastery than him, but perhaps that has stunted his personal development. I apologize for his conduct."

The black haired girl just wordlessly stared at the desk, unflinching to what her counterpart was saying.

"What we are," Father Jianhong continued, "Is concerned. You're staying up all night, running off into the old barracks and other holy grounds of the ancestors, and not focusing on any of your work and studies. On the nights you stay in the communal houses, your fellow Sisters say that you are restless at night. Even when you sleep.

There is something wrong, Zhonggou. You're not at peace here."

Zhonggou continued to remain silent, avoiding all eye contact with her superior.

After an awkward pause, Jianhong continued, "I can't help you if you won't say anything, Zhonggou. Please, for our sake-"

"Why are we here?"

Jianhong blinked at the response. "That is a question that has eluded humanity for as-"

"No," Zhonggou retorted, "I don't mean some philosophy crap. Why are we here?"

"To preserve the knowledge of the ancestors and of Imperial America, Sister. To make sure another War doesn't happen and our descendants learn from our mistakes.":

Zhonggou bitterly shaked her head. "No, that's what you do. I grow the food, make the meals, wash the dishes, and every Sunday I get a book chosen by a Brother that 'I can handle'. The men study, the women serve."

Jianhong sighed, "I know it doesn't seem fair from your side, but I assure you the ancestors know that this is the best way for a virtuous society. The feminine Yin compliments the masculine Yang, but they are ultimately distinct from one another. To let the Yin play the Yang only brings disharmony, as the old world fully felt. Even our ancestors fell victim to this, and paid the price"

Before Zhonggou was able to retort, an armed man bursted into the room.

"Father Jianhong, the caravan has arrived," he bellowed.

The white haired man sagely nodded, "Understood. Sister, please join us. Perhaps this will be a good learning experience for both of us."

 

[Angst]

-----------
August 3rd, 2324

The Foreman leaned lazily against the wall. Each of my strokes took a firm grip into the soil. Drawing the rake back was second nature to me, I drew it again and again. The sun was scorching, but my back was used to it at this point, although still aching near my neck. It had begun clicking. I had talked to the Foreman about it, and Mr. Friendly, our surgical bot, but it only had them beat me until I said I was fine. Drawing the rake back again. Danish was washed away from my throat. I spoke it once in May and they took my rations for two days straight. When I asked for water, they beat me. When I collapsed, I woke up, staring at the fine tools of Mr. Friendly running over me. I drew back the rake. The ground was shaking out of a sudden. I stopped the work and stared at it. It was shaking, but very still. The rows were like ripples of excrement, running over me. I knew they would beat me. I was ever so still, the Foreman would beat me. The other workers would beat me. I clung to the rake and crouched. I heard the loud sleep of the Foreman. The silence was thunderous. Someone put a hand on my shoulder. He would beat me. I shook and knew that I was possessed by his stares. I dared not turn around because Master Fergy was there. He was whispering, so I couldn't hear a sound. I knew they would beat me. Ripples caressed my legs, and in the face of my neighbour, he was my face, a monster. I took the rake in front of me, I couldn't breathe fast enough, he was waiting for me to start. If I started, they would beat me. The worker's face was shaking, but very still. His hand extended like a claw, it would beat me. I threw myself backwards and drew myself through the mud. They would beat me. The Foreman slept, when he woke up I would be taken into the mud, and my arms were growing into the desert knives, like spinning rain.
-----------

 

[gay_Aleks]

The skies turned grey. It wasn't that late yet. Or so it seemed - 14:21 was what the Pipboy clock said, yet it was as if it was almost evening. The sun was long gone, behind the grey clouds. A storm was coming. Radioactive rains weren't very good for the health, so Roberta had to seek shelter, and it'd better be now.

As she continued, at a brisker pace, seeking for shelter, the first raindrops began to drop, and making quiet sounds as they hit the ruined car roofs. Tap. Tap. Tap. Afterwards, the loud ticking of the Pipboy's Geiger counter followed in an irregular, but persistent rhythm. Ti-ck. Tic-k. Tick. And finally, to put an end to this "symphony" - the malfunctioning Pipboy sending shocks through her left arm. At least, it numbed the pain...somehow. Bzzt! Bzzt! This thing felt like a slave collar on her arm than a supposed tool of convenience.

The rain began to get stronger, but ahead! Some kind of structure. She sprinted towards it, but the door was locked. She could hear voices inside. Some of them were angry, but one was wavering. It didn't matter to Roberta at the time, as this seemed to be the only inhabitable shelter nearby. She saw that the window was slightly broken already, and without thinking too much, started climbing through the gaps in the walls until she reached the window, broke it down with the pommel of her machete, and then she jumped down into the floor.

There, a complex situation was taking place. A man, holding a shotgun, but visibly shaking, was screaming at the door "I won't let you in! Wait, who the..." as Roberta was jumping down, while another voice, much rougher voice screamed "Go! GO! TEAR DOWN THAT DOOR!". A loud crash was heard, and four men entered. The first thing she noticed was that they were without a doubt, raiders - the scars and rugged clothing of the men was more than enough. The second, fortunate for her, was that only their "leader" had a firearm, meaning that they wouldn't be able to fill her with bullets if she says the wrong thing. Finally, but not lastly - they seemed very angry.

"Well, well! Wilson, I had no idea you had a companion..." their leader, while twirling the pistol in his arm in a menacing manner "Such a pretty one, too. We might just let you out if you let us vis-a-vis with your friend."

"I'm afraid I don't know this Wilson person. I was, well, seeking refuge from the rain, and I stumbled into here..." at the mention of his name, Wilson shivered, but Roberta ignored him "Complete stranger which has nothing to do with whatever scuffle you have."

"In a way, we could say that we had the very same goals. But Wilson here, he's a very rude host. Why wouldn't he let people inside his home, in this rain?" he said, bitterly

"Y-y-you want to rob me! And then eat me!" Wilson shrieked out loud, his arms shaking even more. His fingers were on the trigger. The leader saw that, and he simply stopped twirling his gun, and in a motion that would in any other case seem bored, shot Wilson in the leg, the latter screaming in pain, and shutting him up.

"Now, where were we...Oh, yes! So you're waiting out this radioactive rain to be over, yes?" he said, in a sleazy tone.

"It shouldn't be too long. Less than 15 minutes. Rains here don't last long." Roberta said, coldly, trying to cool off whatever that bastard's up to. Ain't gonna happen, buddy!

"Ah, but so many things can happen for 15 minutes. Right, boys?" his friends, up to then, quietly nodded. Whereas their leader tried to conceive it behind words and tone up to now, the eyes and facial grimaces of the others told all that Roberta should know. Raider scum. "Don't struggle. After all, you might even enjoy it! Ha! I think it's Marrow's time, as the last one died before he could get into the action!" he got suddenly straight to the point.

Marrow, apparently was the largest one of them - a giant blob of grease, really, less of a human being. He was smiling like a child, all the way up to his ears. For a moment, perhaps, she felt sorry for him. Poor bastard, he can't get his turn... Of course, that all dissipated when she realised why he didn't get his turn.

"If you say so.." Roberta said coyly, pretending to give in. They didn't know she was packing a surprise for them. "Just don't be harsh."

"Ooh, I'll be gentle, trust me!" Marrow said, and then started slugging to her.

Two steps, four steps. The stink of grease was now all Roberta could smell. Six steps, twelve steps. Probably wouldn't be able to smell anything. One step...He's in front of her. Unpacking his pants, with great difficulty, showing off his, ah, well, his manliness, so as to speak. Now! This was the moment! She suddenly took out her machete from behind her, and suddenly moved in for a swift stab. A soft sound of her blade going through the skin of "Marrow" - it felt as if she was stabbing a sack full of grease, had it not the copious amounts of blood.

With her inertia and the strength of her swing, the giant was pushed down, crushing his unfortunate comrade which happened to be right behind him, waiting for his "turn", as well. Unfortunately, the blade was stuck within Marrow's body, and there was no time to lose - the leader was taking aim.

"If Marrow can't have you, then you'll be mine, you bitc-" his words were cut short, as his legs gave out - a blast from Wilson felled him down on the ground. He let out a high-pitched scream of pain.

"Alright, mister, you can try and use that crowbar in your left hand, or.." Roberta stared down the remaining survivor of the group "You could train those feet and run for your life. You've got time 'till I pull out my machete."

"Aaah! Marrow! He's dead! DEAD!" he screamed, and ran for his life.

"Probably the smartest amongst this group." she said, then turned around to Wilson. "Now...what in the world are you doing here? This place is as far as it gets when it comes to civilization."

"It's a funny story, really. Heh. I was a mechanic at Idaho Falls - big deal, yeah? My specialisation was robotics, and pre-war electronics..." as he said, he twitched his eyes at the Pipboy. "Then I messed up. Ain't nothing quite like designing a eyebot for the largest casino, just to have it accidentally record you yelling at the big bosses, calling them "Sons of bloody whores and thrice-damned bastards!", while owing 3000 caps to the casino, eh? Had to find a place just like this. Been three years."

"Wow. That is stupid. You may know all about robots, but it seems you sure do lack the ability of knowing when to say what and where." Roberta said, scornfully, but slightly amused.

"Tell me about it. Sadly, my humble seclusion was interrupted, as gentlemen like these started to visit me. I don't think they even want money from me." he sighed, sadly. "I think the Idaho Falls bosses just want my skull at this point - maybe to drink from it. Heard they do that with debtors they don't like."

"Nah, man, it's all about dicks nowadays." Roberta quipped. "They've got this big hallway, all filled with the dicks of their debtors. Makes 'em squeamish and they pay up."

"Hahaha. You gotta be kidding me." he laughed, nervously "This can't be real, right? Right?"

"Well, it's what I would do to people who insult me while also owing me cash - but I don't know about the Great Khans. Think your assertion's pretty close, however. You're into some big trouble, especially with this foot." Roberta answered

"There's gotta be something...Something..." he repeated that word on and on. "Yes! You're a fighter, no? You can get yourself out of a predicament, yeah? Just like you did with those bastards!"

"Well, I fear you've got nothin' to offer to me, unless you've stashed away those 3000 caps somewhere." he shook his head "Thought so."

"Umm, I'm a mechanic! I can fix up your weapons!" he then took a glare once more at the Pipboy, as Roberta was leaving the room, and tried to limped his way to her "Actually! Your Pipboy is misplaced! And broken! I can fix it!"

Roberta stopped. Ehh? This guy, with his nerdy faced and weak will? Still, she did a motion - perhaps measuring the odds. In the end, music and actually being able to use the Pipboy without it being a literal pain overwhelmed the possible annoyance. Plus that, if I find him too annoying, I can always end him once he's not needed!

"That so? Is this why the radio isn't working and there's an electric buzz going through my arm every time I use this damned thing?" Roberta asked

"Yeah, all signs of improper installation and previous maintenance. Nothing that can't be fixed!" he cheerfully remarked. "Just...take me to Helena, that's the nearest town with a doctor, right?"

Roberta sighed. This was to be expected. Can't help it. Aloud, however, she just said "Fine, let me just take a look at your leg."

The rain had stopped. The skies were clear. Just thirty minutes have passed since the rain started and ended. It was time to continue on the road.

 

[Chukchi Husky]

How long had it been? The moon had changed since the coyote was captured. He is in a different cage, a bigger cage, still wearing a collar but no longer muzzled. An animal on display within a human tribe. He can see the humans walk past, looking at him, staring at him, talking in front of him like he is simply a dumb beast. He listens to their speech, learning their words, but he won't talk back to them. Let them think he is a dumb beast.

The coyote already knew the human word for his kind long before he was captured. It was one of the few human words his tribe taught him. He heard these humans say that word in front of him along with others. "The savage coyote man" they called him, unaware that he had a name. He won't tell them his name, not that these humans would notice. These humans might think he was only barking or howling if he tried to say his name.

Men discussed him with his keepers. He heard them use words like "mutant" and "mutation", "experiment", "test subject". Those men thought he was descendant of man's old attempt to alter the world to his pleasing, Another way to turn the world into a weapon so that man can kill other men. That is the way of man. Fight and destroy all that doesn't belong to him. Man wants to own everything, that he can't have he will destroy. Other humans said that he is a monster of legend, a monster that can change from human to animal. They called it a "werewolf". The coyote was told by his tribe that man had problems knowing the difference between a wolf and a coyote. Those keepers had no idea. All they knew was that they bought him from prospectors who found him in a forgotten ruin. They spoke of a rumour, of coyote men of the desert, now they have one on display.

Those keepers were not kind to the coyote. After buying him from the prospectors, they took off his muzzle. The coyote tried to bite them, so they punished him. That collar was more than just to show them that he is now their property. They kept him in this cage, unable to leave. The keepers tried to feed them their poisoned food, everything that man wants he turns to poison. The coyote didn't eat, so the keepers punished him. Now he must eat their poison.

The coyote wanted his freedom. He wanted to see his tribe again. He wondered if they knew what happened to him, if he simply ran away or even died. He wanted to hunt the animals of the prairies and desert again, wanted to drink from the fresh streams, wanted to howl to the wind and the other coyotes. He wanted to meet his old friends again. That was all taken away from him. Most important, he had to warn the tribe. Man had returned to his old ruin, he might find is way to finding the coyote tribes.

Then it all changed. The coyote discovered that not all of man are monsters.

A human came to visit him. A woman. She had pity in her voice. She said her name is "Sammy", that she came from a tribe called the "Followers of the Apocalypse". Sammy called him a "prisoner" and a "slave", said that she is going to free him. The keepers wouldn't allow it. The coyote was their property, their attraction. Many humans want to pay to see him. Sammy didn't give up.

Later that night. Panic in the human tribe. The coyote didn't know what had happened. He heard noise, human shouting, smelt fire. He heard someone running towards him. It was Sammy. She unlocked his cage. From her hands, she had some human magic, a strange little stone that she pointed to him. The collar that was around his neck fell off. The coyote is free. Sammy put her arms around the coyote, said he is like a big dog. The coyote knew about dogs. He knew dogs were what man did to wolves. Those wolves he didn't kill, he changed their descendants into dogs. The coyote thought to act like the dog, he gently licked her like a dog would a human. Sammy seemed to like the gesture, but she told the coyote that he had to run. Get as far away as he can from this human tribe. The coyote already knew that was what he must do.

The coyote ran away into the night, on all fours, as far as he could away from the human tribe.

 

[JohannaK]

II​

Hear hear, come and sing my song
I am Esther Haze, Spring from my Loins,
And I birthed myself.
I ran into the womb and came out a squirrel squeaking curses and hellfire
That I wouldn’t understand. I saw my mother die and she had my eyes, like bottomless holes
White and pungent. They’re my first memory of all
In the dead fire of night white needles sucking every bit of light.

She was the fury of the world and she’s me
But I’m not her.

I knew not the pain and the dearth,
I didn’t grow up
As she lived in this crowded
Polluted stinking town she burnt. I knew her fire only. I knew how it consumed her
And I set out to find the bounty of the Earth,
Away from fire or ruin or man. Vermin men, however,
A plague upon everything unavoidable, even
Itself. It runs and runs but never outruns
For it travels along,
It is their very nature.

Still I found a bounty
Of ugliness and white eyes, staring and unforgiving
Malicious to the end of their sight.
What bounty it was of meat and milk
In the green of the city, rotten revolting
As it was it gave me strength. Let me be a memory of the world
Before it learnt to forget and lied to oblivion
To itself about itself. Let me be the remembrance
Of forgetting who we’ve been all along. Let me hold you down
With a tongue and a soul, those eyes like a honeycomb
Whisper your truth under a breath. Let me stab you with hooks,
Tentacles under your skin that strangle your heart. Let me
Stop it for an instant, all of it and cry in your eyes. Let
The tongue of your brain call to your basest.

I really am a memory
Come back to haunt the land and the poison that treads on it.
A tongue, verily, a tongue I am that clicks and licks the lies off
As it speaks to itself. Oh yes I speak to myself, to the world
If the world won’t speak to me to wipe off its smug smile with the sound of a word
Single.

If my mother was the reaper, let me be the sower
In the conscience but never in the life. For nothing I don’t want
To pass on this mark and bear it still one hundred lives.
Humanity I’ve seen its fruit oh, I wouldn’t lay it any more
On the universe that sustains us. Let me be a Rasputin that lays the minds
Not the maids, I despise the maids
What waste: they’re human.

Oh, the humanity in this world have sought but their demise, tis only just
They shall receive it. The maids and the queens and the princes and the monks
I’ve never seen any. They died in the fire white-hot where I was born
As my mother. Shall I, O, Shall I. Perish in my day and not prolong this agony
A hundred years longer.

The company of people is unbearable, the company of myself
Is devastating, so I will be dearth
As I was once the bounty of the world.
How could I deny myself?
Because the world is a moor I am not to join it,
If I live in the world I am not of it. Yet to leave it to its own
To live condemned to one hundred years
Of solitude absolute and unremarked. I shall live one way or the other.

At times I am sure of taking the hardest choice, that of taking no choice
Still I know it is a lie. I turn my blinding eyes and besmear the truth
For all to see and realise, HAH, they never do.
They’re blind as a cow in agony at the bottom of a tar pit, so I must bear their load
One hundred years more.

What a load I carry, she’s the bounty of the world and I’m her. She won’t be me…
So long as she knows my words and memories I can’t care. People talk themselves
Of legacies, I can’t have one. She’s more than a legacy, she’s a life,
The continuation of my life and my mother’s.
She is Esther Haze, Song of Herself,
I’m her and she’s my daughter.
She’s all I’ve been and she’ll be more than ever I or my mother were. This is me
After all, I talked her into life as her grandmother dragged me.
There was never a second coming of the Christ, but here is the Eternal Return of Things,

Esther Haze will outlive the world by any metric, the last of us
Will come kicking and screaming out of the last fire
That burns in existence.

How wretched I am to outlive myself. Every stabbing gaze there is
In the world I’ve known it deeply in my back
Sunk in my heart, not enough stares in the world to touch me. Tis envy
I feel screwing over my life. I have given myself out to the town
So I have become the town. I have become the misery
They have become too foolish to notice,
And I’m leaving. I will purge them through myself.
I shall be the fire that burns their wombs and their balls
The poison that kills their fields and their cattle
And they will look in their faces and remember. You will remember too
Or suffer, the wrath of my tongue whose curse I’ve cast upon those
As much as on these. This town is my land to rule
For another hundred generations of me. Where I settle
I will choose, and the land will know
But never speak the name of Esther Haze.

This is the truth that I know, I can hail fire and I am a spawn of fire, I will always be.
A hundred generations from now I will be born in the burning tail of comets,
My name will be written in the stars.​

 

[Chukchi Husky]

The wilderness at sunset. The coyote wakes. These past few nights, he ran far from that human tribe, until he could no longer scent those strange creatures. He hoped not to cross paths with those men again. With sunrise, he was long gone from the human tribe, certain that none of those men followed him. He noticed that men were limited to running on two legs, a coyote like him can fall to all fours when needed, for the hunt or the chase, or to escape.

He finds himself in the familiar, the open desert. How often man believes that no life can exist in a desert, except perhaps those deserts of his own making. The coyote leaves his lair, a shelter dug into a river bank hidden by sagebrush. At one time this den had once been a den for a large burrowing animal, now it was abandoned. He stayed here while he slept in the day, before moving on.

The coyote left the den and headed down to the stream below. Fresh, flowing water. He is lucky, such streams don't last long in the desert. In a season it will be gone, until the rains appear again. He laps at the water, until something catches his eye. Where there is water, there is life. He spots a jackrabbit. The instincts of his ancestors awaken within him, the ancient predator takes over. A slow creep, the quiet stalk, any wrong or sudden move and the jackrabbit flees. He approaches, hidden, up until the jackrabbit is in reach. Then, at just the right position, he pounces. The coyote lands, the jackrabbit between his paws. The jackrabbit screams, its fate sealed. The coyote bites, the taste of blood in his mouth, making him hunger. A shake of the head, the jackrabbit is dead, the coyote eats.

The coyote returns to the trail, to find his way back to the coyote tribe. This far from man, he takes a risk. He calls the primal sound of all canines. He howls. In the before time, man called the coyote "the barking dog", because of all the canines, the coyote is the most vocal. There is more to a howl than man can understand, more than a man wants to understand. A greeting, a warning, a song. He howls into the sky, a sad lonely howl, the sound carried by the wind. He is lost, so he calls to his coyote tribe.

Off in the distance, the coyote hears a lone howl. A howl he knows as familiar. A coyote from his tribe had heard his cry.

 

[Chukchi Husky]

The coyote watched as the scout, another male coyote from his pack, approach him. The two coyotes then begin the greeting song, a coyote song as ancient as their ancestors, both the coyote and the scout make a wow-oo-wow sound. The song ends as both coyotes point their noses to the sky and call their greeting howl, a song called when a lost coyote is reunited with the pack. The coyote then bows playfully, the scout understands the meaning and begins to gently wave his tail. The coyote jumps onto the scout and the two playfully fight, wrestling with each other, not quite like animals yet not quite like men, somewhere between. It has been so long since the coyote had seen another coyote of his pack that he is overcome with joy, only wanting to play with his fellow pack coyote. He missed the company of other coyotes. The playing ends with the coyote on the ground, the scout on top of him. It may have looked aggressive to an outsider, but neither coyote was hurt in this play fighting. Both coyotes are wagging their tails, then the coyote makes a low whine followed by gently nuzzling the scout’s muzzle, a gesture of submission. Just another rule of the play fighting between coyotes.

The coyote and the scout start talking. To the ears of men, this talking may sound like the noises of a dog, but to listen carefully to the sounds, the signs of a language can become clear. Syllables and sentences form, this is no mere animal noise but a complex form of communication. The scout tells the coyote that the pack are worried, they feared what may have happened to him, coyotes don’t normally disappear during their quest. With the changing of the moon, the fear that something terrible happened to the coyote grew and so the pack sent out a scout to find him. The lonely howl of the coyote ended those fears, the lost coyote is found. The scout wants to know what happened to the coyote, why he disappeared. The coyote spoke of being taken by men, who then put him in a cage as a beast for other men to see. The coyote only escaped when a woman pitied him, a woman of another tribe of man. She released the coyote against the will of the other men. This worries the scout, the coyote tribe must be warned, men are beginning to approach the lands of the coyotes.

The two coyotes travel together, following a trail back to the lands of their tribe, of their pack. Crossing the desert and then the prairies takes three days for the two coyotes, stopping only to sleep, eat and rest, hunting together to take down the larger prey animals neither could hunt alone. Their trail takes them over a range of hills. On the other side, their home, the lands of their coyote tribe. A familiar sound is heard, the sound of falling water.

Crossing over a rocky pathway across the barren hills, the two coyotes enter a shallow valley. Hidden by the hills and secluded, this valley of the coyotes is unlike the rest of the wasteland. Flowing through the valley is a rapid stream of clear, fresh water. Unlike the seasonal flows of the desert that appear after the rains, the stream in this valley flows all year round. Here the valley is narrower, the stream fast flowing, forming falls over rocks where the water splashes and tumbles. On either side of the stream is a rarer sight, perhaps one of the rarest in the perpetual wasteland that is now the world. The sight of living trees. Conifers dot the sides of the valley, forming groves of trees, in some places thick enough to become small woodlands. A green valley in a world of sand and dust. How did such a place survive the burning of the sky? Perhaps this small wilderness survived only because of a small hole in the blanket of fire that bathed the Earth. None of the coyotes knew the reason, just another mystery whose answer is lost in the past.

The two coyotes follow the course of this fresh water stream as it flows downward. The valley opens up, the stream widens to become a small yet still fast flowing river, more conifers growing in the opening expanse. Further, the two coyotes come to a large clearing next to this shallow river, between the groves of conifers. Within this clearing is a village made up of a variety of different styles of housing in concentric circles, around a central circle. The largest is a longhouse, closest to the centre of the inner circle. Around the inner circle are the pit houses, a home dug into the earth with a roof made from frame of poles, covered in layers made from reeds. Outside of this circle of houses is an outer circle of cone shaped tents, except where trees and the river break the circle. These tents belong to the coyotes of other packs, visitors from the prairies who normally follow the herds of prey animals. For all the packs to be here in the village, something important must be happening. As the coyote saw the village, he howled, followed by the scout howling, then joined by a harmony of howls to sing the greeting song. The coyote had finally returned home.

Many coyotes come out of their houses to greet the coyote. His disappearance had upset their community. A young coyote to go missing on their quest rarely happens. His return brings joy to the pack. The most overjoyed coyotes are his parents. They greet him like he is a lost puppy, although the quest was supposed to mark his passing into adulthood. The coyote wags his tail like a puppy, just glad to finally be out of danger. He follows his parents to their house, close to the trees. A modest shelter that belongs to his entire family. The scout leaves the coyote, he instead goes to meet the chief of the coyote tribe, to tell him what happened to the coyote. The chief must be told that man is moving close to the lands of the coyote tribe.

Inside his home, the coyote tells his parents what happened, that he failed his quest. His parents tell him not to worry about the quest, that he came back to the tribe is enough. With what happened to the coyote at the ruins, he might be the last young coyote to go to those ruins as their quest. The coyote’s parents try to comfort him by saying that it doesn’t matter that he never found an artefact. All that matters now is that the coyote is safe and back home, no longer a prisoner of men.

Another coyote enters the home, the same scout that found the coyote in the desert. He brings a message that the chief of the coyote tribe wants to meet with the coyote. It is important that the coyote meets with the chief, to speak of what he experienced. The coyote leaves the tent of his parents and follows the scout to the longhouse of the chief.

The chief’s longhouse is the largest and most elaborate of the dwellings in the coyote village, yet compared to the grand structures of men this tent is far more modest, more humble. What would men think if they saw such a longhouse, or even this village of coyotes? Would they think this village quaint? Exotic? Charming? A curiosity that exists solely to attracts visitors? Perhaps man may even find the coyote village a cute imitation of man’s own tribes.

The two coyotes enter the longhouse. Inside is the chief of the coyote tribe who sits higher than the other coyotes in the longhouse, implying his own position as chief of the coyote tribe. Next to him is the coyote shaman, the keeper of the old stories. Around them are other coyotes. The head coyotes of each pack that make up the coyote tribe. Other coyote scouts are here, they are here to speak to the chief of what they’ve all seen. Man has returned to the prairies. That man has found one of the coyotes, it may not be long until man comes looking for the coyote tribe. What then will happen to the coyotes? The chief and the heads of the packs have gathered to decide how to best deal with the growing threat of man. Will man want to conquer the coyote tribe? War is the nature of man. Will man bring a message of peace, learning from the mistakes of his ancestors? Will man allow the coyotes to stay or must the coyote tribe leave this slither of life and migrate into the wasteland?

The shaman speaks. In a time before many of the coyotes alive today were born, a great battle between two tribes of men were fought, far to the south beyond the great desert. One great tribe of men carried the banner of a bull, the other the banner of a two headed bear. As those tribes fought, a third tribe fled from the conflict. This tribe of men call themselves ‘Great Khans’ and it is these men who have migrated north, out of the desert and to the prairies, close to the hunting grounds of the coyotes.

The chief then asks for the young coyote to speak. He tells them of his time with the tribe of men who captured him. The coyote speaks of another tribe who call themselves ‘The Followers of the Apocalypse’, it is a woman of this tribe who rescued him. Other coyote scouts have heard of this tribe of men, who use a symbol of a cross within a circle. This is a tribe of helpers, a tribe who help other men in need. That one of this tribe decided to help a coyote is a hopeful sign, perhaps man have outgrown his desire to own all and destroy what he cannot have, all that is different from him? The coyote then says that in his time kept in the cage for the amusement of men, he started to learn the language of men, picking up what he could overhear men say close to his cage, unaware that he is more than just a simple beast.

When the coyote finished speaking, he along with the scouts left the longhouse. The chief with advice from the shaman and the heads of the packs now had to make that important decision, what action the coyotes must take towards the return of man. The rest of the coyote tribe will know their decision in the early hours of twilight, when the sun begins to rise over the eastern hills.

The coyote returned to his home. He felt glad to be back home, back with his parents, back in the coyote village. Maybe this is why the young coyotes must go on this quest, not just to find an artefact to help the tribe but for the young coyote to learn what life is like without the village, without other coyotes, to face the wasteland alone. The young coyote can’t fully appreciate life with the tribe until it’s gone. Maybe it’s just different for the coyote, he had the experience of being captured by men, no other coyote of the tribe had to experience that. He didn’t want to think about that time with man, he’s back with the tribe, with the other coyotes he knew. He could put that dark time behind him. For now, the coyote only wanted to rest, to enjoy his return to the tribe.

Dawn, the next day. The coyote woke from his bed. To his surprise, the scout greeted him. The coyote didn’t expect to see the scout so early, although he did enjoy his company. The coyote smiled and wagged his tail, pleased to see the scout again. However, the scout is here for a reason, not just to meet the coyote again. The chief and the heads of the packs have decided on what action to take with man. The coyote feels he has had enough of man, making what the scout has to say much sadder. It has been decided that the coyotes should send one of their tribe to live with these men for a time, to learn more about these men. Then the tribe will know, does man pose a threat to the coyotes or will he be a good neighbour? For a moment, the coyote wondered why the scout is telling him about this decision, only for him to realise.

The coyote is the one chosen to go live with man.