The Journey

John Smith wakes up in an infirmary after serious mal nutrition, and escapes the camp in a stolen Land Rover he lovingly calls LP, when he comes across a girl in the desert, and she wants to hitch a lift...


1. Chapter One

~“Uuunnnhh” I sat up too quickly, nearly vomiting over my bedside “Nurse”.
     “Careful where you point that mouth mate, I don’t want to be cleaning your sick up all off the floor.” Back before the apocalypse (I still didn’t like calling it that) she would have been Scottish. Now everyone’s just “Survivors”, with no race, nationality or creed. Everything had changed, no democracy, no names of countries, not even flags, unless you count the crude drawings of the insane. I’m usually a wanderer, on my own, surviving with no real purpose, but I had fell upon hard times recently, and passed out near a camp, and had woken up a few days ago (I didn’t know exactly, it was hard to keep track) to this woman who called herself “Nursie”. She liked patronising me, even though I’m eighteen years old, with baby speech. What annoyed me the most was she was only twenty two.
     I was starting to get stronger, so I’d started to ask the camp elders if I could leave, but they were being suspiciously vague, so I thought it might be best if I leave.
     The sun was setting, and Nursie had passed out after her evening drink, and the window was open, the curtains blowing in the faint breeze. I checked to make sure no one else was in the room or watching me, and promptly vaulted out of the window.
      I landed on the dusty desert floor, the only ground left, and sprinted towards the vehicle zone, where they kept their scouting vehicles, and the fuel was kept in massive pumps, lining the route out of camp. I spotted a nice Land Rover, from a while ago, but no one knows how long ago because no one can remember how the registration numbering worked.
     I jumped in and, thank god, the keys where in it, so it could be used at a moment’s notice. But as I turned the ignition, a red light lit up and a beep followed to catch my attention. I cursed rather horrifically at this point, for it had clearly not been refuelled yet, so I guessed it probably just came back.
      I jumped out and lifted the canvas flap to search inside. Triumphant, I pulled out three jerry cans (one by one of course, they were too heavy to hold all at once) and placed them on the floor. I picked one up at a time and refuelled them at the pumps. I threw two in the back of the Land Rover, but left one on the floor so I could refuel the vehicle. My plan was to refuel it and then fill the jerry can back up with spare fuel, but as I emptied it into the LR (Land Rover) there was a shout of warning.
     I turned around to identify who had shouted, and saw one of the guards brandishing a machine gun, telling me to get down on the floor. I blatantly ignored it and, still holding onto the jerry can, jumped into the driver’s seat and turned the ignition. When it sputtered my heart nearly hit the floor, but I needn’t have worried, for a second later it burst into life, and I put my foot on the accelerator, jolting my neck back into the seat, and sped along a track that led out of the camp.
     A flash from the mirror reminded me of the soldier, as the bullets from his gun punched into the LR (yes I suppose it kind of was a pet name for it), getting worryingly close to the jerry cans full of highly explosive/flammable liquid.
     I swerved left and right, trying to escape the flying objects of death. Unfortunately for the soldier, one of these objects hit one of the massive fuel pumps behind me, which in turn exploded in rage at being awoken.
     Some flying debris hit the road either side of me, in front of me, behind me, and, unfortunately, on me. But the LR was a tough old beast, and managed to take me out of the camp, roaring in such a way it could wake the dead.

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