The Old World

Moody sighed as he stared down the barrels of the 3 guns pointed at his chest from the other vessel - He didn’t have time to deal with these poor starving fools. The radiation sickness would likely kill him in less than a month. He could probably make it to the port before his legs stopped working, but he couldn’t afford any more delays.

The first pirate leapt over the gunwale of Moody’s depressing little sailboat and pressed his pistol directly into the chest of the grizzled old man, motioning for the other two to board and search the cabin.

Moody searched the eyes of the man now holding him at gunpoint. There was a hint of malice and sadism, likely suppressed for many years before the catastrophe. But mostly he saw desperation. And that was what concerned him the most.

He had to be quick.

The gaunt pirate glanced toward his comrades now ransacking the sailboat’s cabin.

Now.

Moody’s left fist crushed the man’s windpipe with shocking speed as his right hand diverted the barrel of the gun away from his chest. The pirate fired instinctively, missing his mark by a mile, as Moody drove his knee into the man’s stomach before sending his head into the guardrail.

It was the coughing fit that saved Moody’s life.

As the spasm wrestled him to the deck, a shot split the air and a bullet screamed by above him. He grabbed the gun from the limp form of the first pirate and trained it on the two emerging from the cabin.

“Get off my boat,” Moody rasped, unsuccessfully attempting to affect strength in his voice.

The two pirates nervously stood their ground, pistols pointed at Moody. They were young, no older than 20, and looked like they hadn’t eaten in weeks. One had faded blue eyes that must’ve been bright and full of life in the old world.

How pathetic, Moody thought to himself, a dying old man against two half-starved jackals.

The boys glanced at each other, equally unsuccessful in their attempts to portray confidence.

“Mister,” the blue-eyed one said, “there’s two of us and one of you. You ain’t gonna win this fight.”

“Probably not,” Moody agreed. Seeing the small green book in the boy’s other hand produced a flash of anger in him.

“I know you boys don’t remember much of the old world,” said Moody, “but we used to-”

“Shut up, old man,” Blue-Eyes interrupted, “put the gun down or I’ll shoot!”

“Why haven’t you shot me already?”

Blue-Eyes didn’t have a good answer for that. He pursed his lips, glancing again toward his friend.

“Look at me,” Moody barked. The boy met his gaze. “I don’t give a hoot in hell about this boat or anything on it beside that little book in your hand. You can have the food, the medical supplies, anything else you find, and be on your way. My time’s almost up. But there’s one last thing I have to do before then. And I’m not going to let two children get in my way.”

“Why don’t we just shoot you and take the supplies anyway?”

“You do that and one of you is gonna eat a bullet before I go.”

An uncertain silence entered the conversation.

“Son,” Moody continued, “I can see in your eyes that you haven’t killed before. Now I don’t know how you’ve managed that in this world we’re in, but I wish I could say that about myself. That’s rare as gold these days. And as much as you’ll wish every night that you could get that innocence back, once it’s gone it’s gone.”

Moody watched the gears turning behind the youth’s faded blue eyes, then moved his gaze to the book. “Please, just leave the book. Take the supplies. And go. Let me die on my own terms.”

-----

In the old world the sun would be setting right about now in a beautiful array of scarlet, yellow, and orange. But now the dead sky simply faded to black as the sailboat limped into the harbor.

It was three days after the pirates had boarded his vessel. The hunger pangs had been bad at first, but Moody had nearly starved enough times out here to know how to deal with them.

As the last glimmer of light faded, Moody pulled the boat alongside what was left of the dock. There was one small section amidst the bent and splintered wreckage that looked mostly stable enough to walk on.

Mostly.

Road map, water, flares, spare batteries; Check. He threw the bare essentials into a small backpack, flipped on his headlamp, and tucked the little green book into his left breast-pocket before stumbling off the boat onto the pathetic excuse for a dock.

Regaining his balance, Moody pulled the pirate’s pistol out of his waistband and racked a round into the chamber. The little 9mm would have to do, though he wished he still had his old Glock .45 - if the rumors were true, and Moody knew that they were, he’d need as much knockdown power as he could get.

At least those boys had the sense to load hollow-points, he thought. He put his hand on the knife at his side to reassure himself.

Normally he would never go ashore at night, especially here. But between the sickness and the hunger, Moody wasn’t sure how long before his body would stop listening to him. He couldn’t afford to wait - he had to take his chances in the dark.

With his pack, his gun, and his little green book, Delroy Moody entered the dead city.

-------

The small white light of the headlamp bobbed up and down as Moody made his way through the vast gothic labyrinth of shattered skyscrapers. The once great metropolis would be unrecognizable if not for the skeleton of the bridge.

Moody opened the road map to get his bearings.

Just one more block.

Moody shook off the sentimentality creeping into his mind. He’d come so far, overcome so much; he couldn’t let his guard down now.

Crunch.

Moody spun around, dropping the map and yanking the pistol out of his waistband. He already knew what had made the noise, but he prayed with his whole heart that he was wrong.

Moody found it perplexing at times that he still prayed. Most people gave up on it shortly after the Catastrophe. And yet, after all that had happened, after every atrocity that he’d witnessed since then, he just couldn’t bring himself to let go of that hope. Maybe that was why he was still here...for now at least.

A scuttle to his left.

He whipped the gun around, but the culprit evaded his light yet again.

Should’ve stayed on the boat, he thought to himself.

He shined the light into the gaping hole that was once a laundromat’s door in front of him. Every hair on his body stood up as a single pair of eyes shone back at him through the darkness.

Another scuttle behind him.

"Shit."

He fired three times into the first pair of eyes, then spun around to face the creature behind him. He squeezed off one shot before quickly stumbling to the left, barely dodging the clawed form that leapt at him from the edge of the light. Spinning to meet his shrieking foe, Moody now saw the rat in plain view.

To call it a rat would be only half true. It certainly had some rat in it, but in appearance it resembled a deformed Great Dane with long retracting claws and thick quills along its back. Moody had seen only one of them before and swore he’d never wander into their territory again.

And now there were six of them.

Moody put four bullets point blank into the closest rat’s head. It did the job, but barely. He kept his head on a swivel, revealing more of the creatures.

It didn’t take a PhD to do the math - he didn’t have enough ammo.

Thankfully they were mostly coming from one general direction. He fired his remaining three shots to halt their advance before reaching back and pulling a flare from the side pocket of his pack.

SKREEEEE! An unearthly scream shook Moody to his core before he could light the flare as another rat lunged from the right and took him to the ground. It’s claws sank into his shoulders producing the worst pain he’d ever felt. The beast roared into his face and attempted to sink its teeth in his throat, but he brought his knife up first, skewering its brain.

The rat’s lifeless body now slumped down onto him, its dead weight pinning him to the ground. In seconds the others would be on him.

Perfect, he thought to himself. He’d left the safety of The Grove and nearly circumnavigated the continent in that shitty little sailboat just so he could be dinner for A FUCKING RAT.

The rest of the pack engulfed him, jostling one another for a chance to grab some meat.

Amidst the tearing and ripping, a scarlet light flashed beneath the grotesque dogpile, blinding the rats and scattering them in all directions.

Moody lay there for a moment holding his flare and catching his breath before shrugging the dead rat off of him. He’d suffered some pretty bad lacerations and he was missing his left ear, but his would-be predator had acted as a nice meat shield protecting his vitals. He looked his lifeless “protector” in the eye.

“Fuck you.”

He’d lost his head lamp and his gun in the fight with the rats, so he relied on the light of the flare to guide him and keep any other nearby mutants at bay. Thankfully he was close now.

So close.

Continuing down the macabre street, he could see more eyes glaring at him hungrily from the darkness. But he was too exhausted now to pay them any mind. He felt his strength draining with every step and wondered if he’d actually make it. Perhaps he’d only delayed his awful fate.

And then he saw it.

He’d often wondered if it would still even be standing. But there it was in all its glory, the great stone pillars and arches a beautiful memorial to the old world. The lions to either side of the steps flashed bravely in the crimson light of the flare, challenging any mutated beast to come meet their gaze.

Moody slumped to his knees as he lit another flare and set it down beside him. Tears streamed down his cheeks as he rose to his feet and ascended the stairs, removing the little green book from his left breast-pocket.

“Treasure Island”, it read on the cover. His childhood favorite. He opened it to read the inscription on the inside:

“Property of the New York Public Library”

He found the slot by the door labeled “After-hours returns” and slid into it his precious MacGuffin.

Glad I got that off my chest, Moody thought happily to himself as he breathed a sigh of relief.

Guttural roars ripped through the night, echoing in the dark city streets from all directions. Apparently he’d made his presence known to the brood.

Moody lit his last flare and held it, tightly gripping the knife in his other hand, and smiled.

Let them come.