Maxwell Needs Help...

A month had past since Chloro Phil had brought home the survivors. The small group had suffered tremendously at the hands of the wasteland raiders, but their robust recovery gave everyone in Chama hope for the future. Optimism not just for the survivors but for survival of humanity in general. Chama may have been a small community, but it was strong and healthy.

A new problem had arisen though. The Elders’ Council emergency meeting had failed to settle upon a course of action regarding a young boy who had wandered out of the wastes. He was emaciated and sunburnt, and barely alive. He had stumbled into one of the gardens on the outskirts of  town, and collapsed into the farmer’s arms. In his delirium, all he could mutter was “Maxwell…Maxwell needs help…”

Who was this, “Maxwell?” The boy himself was unable to offer additional information, and was still deep asleep. He may have even been comatose. Marianne, the local medical professional, had discovered a scrap of crumpled paper in the boy’s pocket during her routine cleansing of the boy’s injured and starved body. The scrap contained a few lines of nearly illegible script, along with a curving line with three X’s on it. One X in particular was circled, in a brownish charcoal. The actual medium used for writing was unclear, and only deepened the mystery of who this boy might be.

“We must send a team to investigate this map, straight away!” Councilman Brillis hotly argued, banging his fist on the council table as he spoke.

“We don’t know if it’s a map or not, dear Councilman.” Councilwoman Carolina responded in a sweet, sing-song voice, clearly intending to rustle Brillis’ feathers. These two had been at odds for the last year over the prospect of digging a new irrigation channel, failing to decide which of their two fields to run it through. Both wanted it, and the Council had voted that neither should have it. 

“I could go out alone and try to follow the map,” Chloro Phil offered. “It seems to follow Highway 84 south. And the first X looks like Heron Lake State Park. I camped there once when I was in college.” Chloro Phil was a logical choice to send out, as his plant-like body was impervious to the scorching sun of the wastes. Phil had a number of natural defenses that would be helpful, including bark skin and an ability to grow plants that would provide him with water. Phil also required no human food, utilizing instead the sun’s nourishing rays.

“Chloro Phil is an excellent choice! I heartily agree!” Councilman Brillis’ enthusiasm stoked the ire of Carolina, made worse by the fact she couldn’t disagree. Chloro Phil was the appropriate choice, and would spare anyone else who would be woefully inadequate in keeping up with him. But she hated the idea that she agreed with Brillis. 

“It’s decided then,” Council Leader Davis announced. “Chloro Phil will leave at once to discover the meaning of this map, and attempt to locate this, “Maxwell.” Travel safe, esteemed colleague. We hope for your swift return.” 

——

Phil traveled south down Highway 84, stopping at each abandoned vehicle along the way in search of anything useful to his fellow Chamites. They had welcomed him into their community, and he had proven quite useful in helping establish a new agricultural program. The land around Chama was beautiful northern New Mexico, a mix of mountain cliffs, pine forests and river terrain that provided ample shade and paths for water. The community planned to use the river for irrigation in their new gardens. There were dozens of small farms, each supporting a specific vegetable or herb that Chloro Phil’s plant powers could sprout out of the ground. This allowed each species to thrive or perish individually, which became a metaphor for Chama’s resilience. 

In typical Choro Phil fashion, he documented his travel experience in his journal. It read something like this:

Sun Day 94

I’ve been on the road a few days now, stopping at each abandoned vehicle I see. It seems people fled with whatever possessions would fit in their cars, and most of that detritus from old lives is still in their vehicles. I’m keeping an eye out for anything Chama might find useful, and I’m amazed at how much stuff has been left behind. It seems people fled their cars and trucks, and didn’t carry much with them on foot. But where did they go? I’m not seeing any bodies or human remains. It’s like they’ve disappeared. Odd. Creepy. It makes me feel alone. 

——

Phil made his way to Heron Lake State Park, and scoured the remains of the campground there. There were a few derelict tents staked, but tattered beyond repair. Why had the boy marked this space with an X? The nothingness here added to the mystery, and prompted Phil to continue his journey. The next X on the map was the circled one. There’s no telling what he might find there. 

——

Sun Day 96

I’m two days out from Heron Lake, headed a bit south west. I can see another lake in the distance, probably another two day’s walk. I’m being careful because I’m starting to feel like I’m being followed. I have the distinct impression that I’m at least being watched. I’ve felt that way ever since I left my last campsite. 

Sun Day 97

I found the watcher! It was a horse! It must have trailed me from the lake. I managed to feed it some grass, and it’s now hanging around my camp. It’s nice to have a traveling companion! I’m naming the horse Curiosa, as she clearly wanted to figure out what I’m up to. 

——

Phil and Curiosa struck camp at sunrise the next morning, Phil in front and Curiosa trailing a few feet behind. They had not gone far when they came upon a fairly well-maintained barbed wire fence. Following the fence brought them to a dirt road, and a busted down sign reading El Vado RV Park. There were a number of rusting vehicles along the road, and Phil’s gut told him to be careful. He found a cluster of pinyon pine, and tied Curiosa out of sight and off the road. He’d proceed on foot alone from here.

What he saw about a mile down the dirt road made his skin crawl and stomach lurch. Bodies and body parts lay strewn about, but nothing indicated what had caused such carnage. There were a couple of decrepit RV’s, and he snuck into one to see if he could discover any clues. The RV had been rifled through, but there was no blood or death in here. He might make this base camp for the time being. He waited until night to creep back out. 

He quietly slipped out of the RV, and snuck to the camp store. It was the only substantial building on premise, aside from a couple of disgusting cinder block bathrooms. Strangely, a light emitted from inside the camp store, indicating he was not alone. 

He decided to peek in one of the windows on the side of the building before he tried the front door. Just as he was eye level and making out the shelving on the inside, a bloodcurdling scream came from behind him. Whirling, he dropped to a crouch, and pressed himself up against the wall. Movement flashed across his periphery, a quick burst of inhuman speed. Whatever was out here was not human. At least, not anymore.

Phil took a moment to compose himself, then slid along the wall looking for a backdoor. Sure enough, the back of the camp store housed a small restaurant, and the door into the kitchen was unlocked. He tested the rusty hinges for noise before opening the door just enough to slip in. It was quiet inside, and the light seemed to be coming from the dining area just outside the kitchen’s swinging saloon doors. He could see no movement out there, so he scurried as close to the door as he could. 

The dining area was a makeshift prison, with a few whimpering people chained to a heavy wooden centerpiece that looked like it may have once been a collection of dinner tables. The tables had been arranged to look like a teepee, lifted on one end around the dining room’s thick central support beam. Upon each table was a human captive, staked spread eagle. A few looked dead, but a couple of others were clinging to life. 

Phil snuck alongside the wall until he saw a thin bearded man, stripped naked and barely alive. Phil threaded his way through the bramble of chairs strewn around the room, and tugged on the man’s foot. He let out a terrified cry, not knowing what had just happened to him. 

“Shhh… are you Maxwell?” 

“What?” Maxwell whimpered. “How do you know my name?”

“I’ve been looking for you. A small boy wandered into our settlement about a week ago. He was barely alive. He was delirious and kept muttering “Maxwell needs help.” Is that true? Do you need help?”

Maxwell let out a deep sigh of relief, feeling safe for the first time in who knows when. “Can you get me down? I will need help walking out of here.”

Phil nodded, and stood up gingerly to unfasten the ropes binding Maxwell to his dining table. He untied the knotted rope from Maxwell’s right hand, but as he reached for the left, a ghastly scream rent the air. Whirling into a crouch, Chloro Phil could not believe the horror that stood before him. It was a creature unlike anything he could have imagined, a freakish terror of the wastes. It looked like several human bodies had been fused together, with arms and legs sticking in all directions. It stood on four legs, along with three hands on the ground for more balance. Legs and arms stuck into the air though, giving the distinct impression it could roll as easily as it walked. The most frightening aspect of this creature though were the four heads, each one looking in a different direction. But the largest head was looking right at Phil, almost as if it wondered what this green man tasted like.