The Honey Wagon makes another pass through the countryside attempting to eradicate remnants of life. The world officially called it “Xiuhtecuhtli” after the Aztec Old God of Fire. Colloquially, it was dubbed the “Honey Wagon” because of its sweeping rotten radiation employed to exterminate life on Earth. All hope was gone and only black humor remained to mask the despair. Conventional weapons and biotech did nothing to deter its destructive will. There was no rhyme or reason to it. You simply had to hide. Many gave in to end the crippling fear.
It saunters into the suburbs, and I hear it approaching closer with its low groan and rapid “schickschickschick!” blanketing everything underneath it with DNA-busting radiation. The townhouse begins to vibrate with an oddly mesmerizing resonance that calms me. I lay down on the barren cold floor of the vacant unit and cover myself with a woolen blanket I found the day before in an abandoned vehicle. Fierce and agonizing nausea hits me like a bomb as the Honey Wagon passes overhead. I expel the contents of my stomach onto the floor in one violent motion that painfully strains my neck and back. With my skin blistering more and more by the second, I embrace hell. I curl into a ball and pass out.
I wake to a man screaming outside in the courtyard. It is a woefully thick scream insulated by the freshly fallen snow. It’s not quite daylight yet. My head pulses in pain and my mouth dull, dry, and metallic tasting. When the screaming stops, I can hear my own raspy breathing. Hurts. Unable to move, I close my eyes again. Is this all there is? Did any of this matter? As I fade out, I contemplate if I could have fought harder. Did any of this even matter?