“When we woke up there was only dust stretching farther than we could ever imagine…”


    First Angel of ghosts


    “Come back safely…”


    With a firm nod, Noah acknowledged Martha’s wish, but no promises came from his lips. And how could promise something he did not believe would happen? He wished it would, but there was no belief in this empty wish.


    Noah, along with three others, were chosen as those who will chase after Sigmund. After the man who had taken a good part of their communities rations and ran into the desert. He was not the leader of their small group, but he was the one who had the best relationships with Martha. Maybe that was the reason why she was pleading to him and not Victor, who orders he would have to listen from now on.


    A sideways glance at the tall and grim man standing to a bit further away did not reveal anything else than the cold determination Victor was known for.


    Noah knew that Victor and Martha had been in romantic relationships in the past. Back when there still was hope. Real hope. There even was a vague recollection in Noah’s mind of Victor smiling. But how long ago was it? Years? Could not have been that long, but time was a strange here.


    There was no day nor night. Only dim murky perpetual ‘something’ that Noah did not want to call light. He still remembered what a real light looked like.


    Sun and Moon. Streetlights and neon signs. The simple lamp in his room, back when he had a real home. A real family. That light was nothing like what they had now. It allowed them to see, yes, but it also offered no respite from the horrors of their everyday life. Always showing the barren land around, the tired souls of his comrades.


    Then Noah’s gaze returned to Martha. To her eyes. These eyes still held light. They were the sole reason she was now their Angel. Leader of the last humans. Both in a spiritual and practical sense she kept leading them forward. To wherever that may be.


    Though, no one called themselves ‘human’ anymore apart from Martha.


    Ghosts. That’s what they called themselves. The last remnants of humanity. Ghosts of a once flourishing world.


    Nowadays they seldom spoke about the past. Noah could only guess why others did not, but for him it was simple. He feared that if he were to reveal his most treasured possession – his memories, others would usurp them. Somehow make them their own.


    It was a silly thought, but it clung to him and drowned his voice every time he tried to speak about his life before… Before this.


    All of this started suddenly for Noah. One morning, when they woke up the world had changed. A simple as that. No explanation, no warnings, not even any signs. All it took was only an instant moment.


    Noah still vividly remembered that day. He would never forget. Nightmares of that time still haunted him and they would until his last breath.


    Back then Noah had suddenly found himself alone in his room. His mother and sister nowhere to be found. His home a twisted picture of what it once was. A fourteen old him had sat in his bed and cried for a long time. Constantly he had tried to wake himself up from this apparent nightmare. It did not happen. It was not a nightmare conjured by his mind.


    The world had changed. It was only when the hunger became unbearable he left the bed and then his room to discover just how much it had.


    Noah’s, that day’s first look through the window, revealed the curse that was the new world. Where a small garden used to be, which was surrounded by a wooden fence, and street noises now was only a desert of dust. Red, silent and dry – stretching for forever in all directions.


    A light tap on his shoulder roused him from his contemplation. The two other men who would join him and Victor had arrived and with that, they were ready to leave.


    Noah looked at Martha once more. She was emaciated and week looking. Pale skin that was blasphemed by spots of unknown skin disease. The drags they all were wearing did not do much to cover those spots. Her small face was surrounded by unkempt brown hair...


    … Bones and skin. Just like all of them were. Only her eyes were what differed her from them. Only those burned close to the lights that he could remember. Nothing else.


    Behind Martha laid the camp they had made. A bunch of dirty tents made from cloth they had stitched together themselves. There was no real reason for those tents, as there was nor rain, nor wind here. But those shoddy tents gave the illusion of a place they could call their own. And a modicum of privacy. A place where they could cry and despair away from praying eyes.


    They had been at this place for a week already. It was time to leave. They had scavenged everything from the surroundings they could. Yes, everywhere they could head to there was only a dessert, but sometimes…


    Sometimes they got lucky. And lucky in this case meant they could live for a bit longer. They had managed to until now. Though their luck seemed to have run out.


    Despite the lonely and harsh surroundings if you searched hard enough, if you walked far enough you could find water. Where there was water there was life. Not animals, nor any plants, no…


    What lived in those oasis were insects. Noah was not sure what those insects ate, but it did not matter. Their fate was to become their nourishment. As nasty as those bugs were they still were better than dust.


    Unfortunately, the water always ran out as did bugs. Their group consisted of 48 ghosts and Martha. Well, now that Sigmund had run away it left them with one ghost less.


    It amounted to a lot of mouths to feed. Too many. Water and food were never enough, not to mention any other necessities. There had been too many times he had seen infection or injury cost someone their life.


    And when someone died… He knew too damn well that ghosts were made out of meat… He even had fantasized of eating someone. But luckily, or unluckily, depending on how one looked at it, corpses always became corrupted by something in the air.


    Noah knew that in the past some had died from trying to eat their closest ones. Cannibalism was not something accepted, but when the inevitable death came some people wished for those who still lived to eat. So their last wish was for others to do just that.


    Their wish was futile in the end. Noah knew that some more scrupulous people had done experiments with flesh, but nothing had come out of it. Well, except for more corpses.


    And then there were ruins. Scattered all across the never changing landscape were small and familiar remnants of Earth – their true home.


    Mostly small trinkets. Sometimes something bigger like a broken car or a larger piece of a brick wall. Inconsequential things like that.


    And sometimes they found clothes or living utensils. Even canned food. That had happened just a month ago. They still had a couple of cans of the dog food left…


    No, Sigmund had taken those too… That was why they had to find him. He had left with enough water and food to feed ten people for a week. Without it, more lives will be lost.


    So Noah turned his back to the temporary camp and started to chase after his partners, as they had left him a little behind.


    Noah knew that Victor would not say anything so he tried to start a conversation with Chaplin and Scott.


    “So, how far do you think he has walked?” Noah started while with eyes following the visible footsteps in the sand.


    “Probably not that far.” Scott shrugged. “Though he likely has more energy in him than in any of us but… You know…”


    Noah did know, everyone did...


    This desert took people who were alone. Sometimes all they found was a corpse, with no signs of any injuries, but sometimes… Sometimes all that was left was the rags that the victim wore and those few personal belongings everyone clung on to.


    That was why no one moved around by their lonesome or even slept alone. Whatever it was that took them did so only when ghosts were alone. It did not matter if the other person was paying any attention to the other. Just don’t be alone and you would be fine… As fine as one could be here.


    It was for this reason that they moved as four. And if necessary they could split into two groups. It was honestly a waste to spend so much energy on just a single man, but what he had taken was just that important for their survival.


    As able men they received more food than those who were weaker, crippled or given up. Not much, but a little. Noah was reluctant to see his share to shrink even more.


    But with this luxury they enjoyed came more responsibilities. They had to work more, walk further and carry out some of the more morbid tasks. Such as getting rid of the corpses.


    For Noah, the last one was the worst. Every time they had to lug one of the deceased away from the camp he tried his best to not look at the corpses face. Because sometimes those faces worse smiles. Smiles of relief and Noah had to wonder if it wouldn’t be easier to…


    But no, he was not ready. Everyone played with these thoughts, but he thought himself stronger than that.


    After a moment of prolonged silence, Chaplin spoke up, his voice sonorous and clear.


    “What did our Angel told you, Noah?”


    It was always a pleasure hearing Chaplin speak. He rarely did and was a rather lazy person, but because of his, frankly beautiful voice he was an integral part of their community. The reason being he liked to sing before the time to sleep came. Those many songs Chaplin knew was the best part of most days. Even if he did do little else, no one minded it.


    “Nothing much, just… To return.” Noah answered. He did not like how Chaplin viewed Martha. Yes, she was their leader, but she was not their messiah, just a stronger, better person than everyone else was. Chaplin disagreed.


    “...And what are we to do with Sigmund?” Chaplin uncharacteristically for him asked another question.


    Noah’s eyes flickered to Victor who was walking slightly ahead of them. He knew that Victor and Martha had argued before they had decided who would go. And from the fact of who was leading this small group, Noah knew who had won that dispute.


    Still, it was time for Victor to tell them what the final decision was.


    “Victor, could you tell us?” Noah spoke up.


    Victor sent an annoyed look back at the trio but still answered.


    “Death.” Came a cold answer.


    Noah had suspected it, but hearing it still chilled his heart. After all, the four of them all had bad blood between them and Sigurd. None of the four would feel sad about seeing the thief go. It must have been one of the conditions of choosing pursuers. Noah only hoped that he would not have to be the one to do the deed.


    The chances were small, but if something were to happen in the heat of the moment he would still have to act. They could not take the risk of getting injured.


    Noah’s hand slid down to side where a small makeshift club was fastened to. He fingered it absentmindedly before sighing.


    “Victor… Will you-”


    “Yes!” Victor cut off the question. “If everything goes as planned. If not it will be up to you three.”


    Noah cringed. Victor was as succinct as ever and after answering the question he signalled to them to pick up the pace.This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.


    “So…” Scott started. “If chief here misses his chance can I go next?”


    Both Noah and Chaplin turned their heads to look at Scott in surprise.


    “I don’t mind… No, I would prefer it if you did.” Noah gulped as Chaplin indicated that he did not mind either. “But why?”


    Scott kicked the sand in the air. A waste of energy Noah duly noted in his mind.


    “It’s personal. If not for the order from Angel I would be the one to do it.” Scott answered the anger now barely concealed in his voice.


    So Scott had known before Noah did. It was not strange, he probably had harboured thoughts of getting revenge in his mind for some time now. Given the chance, he probably had asked for Martha’s approval.


    The question was, for what? What had Sigmund done to Scott?


    Their small community was not good at keeping something hidden. If you had an argument with another member everyone knew. If you found something of value the other person would keep you honest. It only became more pronounced with Martha coming to power.


    At the very least it was not something recent. Noah would know otherwise. He was curious but decided not to inquire further.


    The continuation of their pursue became more and more taxing as they walked. Sigmund had managed a distance that came as a surprise to them.


    After they had walked for almost an hour Victor finally decided that it was time to take a breather.


    Plopping down in the sand four of them took out the small waterskins they all held somewhere on their bodies to refresh themselves.


    At first, Noah had gagged every time he had to take a mouth of water from it, but now he did not care. Not everyone could use plastic bottles. Those were primarily used as distribution containers. In the end, what did it matter of where the skin had come from.


    A small amount of water entered his mouth washing it from the dust that had irritated him from the most of their journey. That dust would soon return, but for now, he let out a content sigh.


    Noah was getting hungry too, but it was not yet time to eat. If they ate the single patty made from bugs they had on them they would be out of food. And it was not like he could not wait a little bit more.


    After all, Sigmund had a lot of eatables on him. Noah had no doubts that they would get at least some crumbs as their reward.


    Again, only crumbs. Victor would never allow more, but it was still a luxury only allowed to them.


    The never-ending red dunes still extended as far as they could see. As did the footsteps left by the thief. No matter how hard Noah squinted he could not find Sigmund’s silhouette running away from their temporary camp.


    This observation promised them at least an additional hour of chasing. And every addition minute chasing would add to their return time.


    Noah could not help but admire Sigmund a bit. Yes, Sigmund had most likely gone crazy, but it still had to take more than just craziness to enter the desert alone.


    None of the people here believed that Sigmund planned to die alone. The way he had stolen and run away, it was all too well planned out. They did not know what his goal was.


    Before leaving Sigmund had not acted out of his line. No strange topics were raised, no suspicious activities observed.


    Noah had seen how a crazy person acted. It was not uncommon for people to lose mind here. Sigmund had acted nothing like those people.


    The five minutes Victor had decided to rest for soon ran out and they once again set out, chasing after the unseen man hidden by the desert.


    It took two more hours and another rest for the uneasiness to settle in their minds. Maybe it was sooner for others, but Noah up to now had believed that the chase would end soon.


    They were wrong. The march seemed to be neverending and done in almost complete silence. No one spoke up. Not like there was anything worth talking about. It would only tire them quicker.


    Still, how had Sigmund managed to walk this far? Did he know a method of avoiding being taken away? Noah shook his head to clear it. It would still not explain Sigmund’s actions.


    “How much farther do you think we have to walk?” Noah spoke the first words in what felt like forever.


    As expected it was Scott who answered with gnashed teeth.


    “Better not much, or I’ll make him feel pain.”


    Noah did not bother to tell Scott that Victor would not allow it. And speaking of Victor…


    “Do you see anything?” Noah wondered as he watched Victor squint.


    Instead of an answer, Victor hushed him and then pointed with his finger at a spot in the distance. It took a bit to Noah spot the dark speck on the red background.


    The spot was not moving. Maybe they had happened ruins, after all, they had not found anything for hours now, but the most probable answer was…


    “It must be him!” Scott exclaimed, but before he could rush ahead he was stopped by Victor who grabbed him by the hand.


    “Stop, be quiet. He may be sleeping.” Victor speculated still squinting his eyes, trying to make out what exactly he was seeing.


    “Right, right! Let’s go.” Scott agreed as he whispered back.


    After sending a look after Scott and Victor who now walked further ahead Noah still tried to recall what had Sigmund done to Scott. It must have been something significant.


    Only when Chaplin started to pull him along did Noah start to walk after his comrades.


    The following fifteen minutes were spent in silence. As they closed in on the spot it became clear that it was their target.


    Sigmund was lying sprawled out in the sand. Around him strewn about were foodstuff that he had taken. Most of them untouched, apart from the canned dog food. The empty can was still in Sigmund’s hand taunting the men who were now slowly surrounding him.


    Even before seeing the gratified sleep, Sigmund was enjoying Noah was resolute to finish his task, but, in addition, now he felt anger and need to hurt the man who had taken the best out of everything he had stolen and squandered it to please himself.


    Once eaten food was gone for forever. It was, but Noah still felt like tearing it out of Sigmund''s stomach.


    Now was not the time for it. Now that they were even closer Noah could hear a slight snore that came from Sigmund’s mouth. Once again Noah pushed down the rising anger.


    All four of them were now holding improvised clubs in their hand ready to jump on the unsuspecting target at any signs of movement.


    Noah was closing in from the right, while Scott from the left. Victor had chosen to close in from the head side, which left legs for Chaplin. There was nowhere for Sigmund to run now.


    But they still had to act with caution. They did not want to fall into Sigmund’s trap. If the man was pretending to sleep he could still injure one of them. And in this world, it always ended badly. The world slowly eroded the injury making it worse and worse. No one wanted to live in agony.


    With suspicion, Noah searched Sigmund’s body with his gaze. There did not appear anything that the laying man could use as a weapon near him. The can would not help him, but the other hand was under the body and from where Noah was closing in from he could not tell if it was empty or not.


    Judging from Scott, who was coming from the opposite side it was likely empty.


    Then everything went to shit.


    "A loud thundering sound pierced Noah’s ears disorienting him for just a moment, but this moment costed them dearly.


    The following scream chilled Noah’s bones as if in slow motion saw a fountain of blood spurt out of Chaplin’s body.


    Loud shouts disturbed the silent dessert as Noah watched Chaplin collapsing. He could not revert his eyes from the violent scene. There was so much blood flowing out of the hole in Chaplin’s neck.


    “… what…” Noah felt himself mumble, then someone called his name and another gunshot twisted his stomach. His attention returned to the rest of the men. Slowly, much too slow his head turned.


    Noah saw Scott collapsing backwards and Victor swinging down at Sigmund who was now attempting to rise.


    Victor was shouting. Noah could tell that his name was called. As if trough mud he started to move forward. He wanted to run. To turn around. To not see the death that embraced his friends. But he had a duty. That was all he had.


    A step forward and Noah witnessed Victor’s weapon hitting Sigmund’s arm which held the handgun. An audible crack followed. Noah thought he could see the sound itself as it stabbed into his brain.


    It had to be enough. Victor raised his hand once again, while Sigmund hatefully watched it happen. Not a sound came from the traitorous man’s mouth.


    Noah saw it. The moment that the gun fell from the lifted broken hand. Sigmund''s other hand was ready to catch the falling weapon. Noah could not allow it. It would be the end.


    Now with more strength, Noah moved towards the clash. A second powerful blow came hitting the same broken arm. Sigmund’s face twisted in pain.


    So slow. Noah wished he could move faster. Did Victor not see? The gun was now in Sigmund’s other hand and slowly he was rising it up.


    Noah had to do something.


    “NO!” He attempted to shout, hoping for Victor to see what he saw.


    But it was too late. The third loud bang rattled Noah’s bones. Victor was hit in his torso and with glee, in his eyes, Sigmund was now turning towards Noah.


    Noah did not want to die. He had to hurry. There was still time, but the reality was merciless. There was still a meter left and he found himself standing at the gunpoint. It was too late to stop as he mechanically mirrored Victor’s previous action and raised his hand into an overhead swing.


    Wet sound thud and gunshot froze Noah’s thoughts for the last time. He felt the shot hit his body. The searing pain took away his conciseness for a moment and he waited for the follow-up, but it did not come.


    With a groan, he tried to open his eyes. Partially succeeding Noah opened his left eye and found himself down in the sand looking at Victor repeatedly hit what was left of Sigmund’s head.


    “Vic…” Noah tried to speak, but pain and desert dust made it hard for him to get words over his lips.


    But this attempt was enough. Victor noticed Noah’s plea and rushed to his side.


    “Where were you hit?” Victor demanded to know.


    “I don’t… He had a gun. Gun…” Noah could not believe.


    Victors hands pulled down Noah’s pants and he felt the man examine the wound.


    “It went through your thigh bone.”


    “Oh…”


    “I’ll try to stop the bleeding, but…”


    Noah swallowed tears. He was now a cripple and cripples did not live long. They were a burden on everyone else. Maybe it would have been better to die with his friends.


    “Victor… I… Don’t want to… Please…”


    “No, you have to live.” Victor did not listen. “I promised.”


    “Mar-… -tha?” Noah knew.


    “Yes. I promised. I… can’t brake a promise made to her again.” Victor’s voice was as hard as steel.


    Noah’s mind wandered. Wandered back to the girl that had taken upon herself the duty of keeping them alive. Many thought of her as their life. Just as Chaplin did. Those eyes…


    “I… Understand.” Noah swallowed.


    “Lay down for a bit, don’t move.”


    Slowly Noah closed his eyes. Unnoticed tears had started to drench his face. He tried to gather whatever leftovers of a resolve he could.


    Yes… Noah would live. He still had something to do. He had to return.


    After a while, Victor returned to him and started to tend to his leg.


    Noah opened his eyes to see Victor hunched over his leg and fastening rolled up shirts to his leg.


    Noticing Noah watching him Victor explained.


    “I put our clubs in the middle. Best I can do for now. These shins will have to do until you return.


    “M-, me?” Noah stuttered through the pain.


    Then he saw something that horrified him even more.


    “Victor you-, you are bleeding!”


    Visibly frowning Victor pressed the piece of soaked red fabric back in its place on the wound in his chest.


    “We have to go. Come.” Victor extended his hand.


    Noah complied. With difficulty, he tore off his eyes from Victor’s blood and focused on his hand. Grabbing it was easier than he had expected.


    Victor pulled Noah up and soon both injured men stumbled back from where they had come.


    Noah blanked out from the pain from time to time. If not for Victor he would have not moved. Now this cold man was his last hope. His last chance to survive.


    The blood loss became more and more apparent. They were hours away from their camp, but already Noah could feel his eyes swim, his head becoming light.


    Noticing it Victor started to talk. About all kind of small things. Noah listened. Soon Victor spoke of a girl who had started to cry when he had reprimanded her. Noah knew that girl. She had died months earlier. Everyone in their party knew her, but Noah remembered that Scott got along her more than others.


    “Ah…” Noah remembered another thing. Sigmund was in a scavenging group with that girl. There was a talk that the girl was injured because of Sigmund''s mistake. “That’s why… Scott…”


    That was the moment Noah’s eyelids closed against his wishes…


    “Hey! He is still alive! Noah! Noah!”


    Noah heard someone call his name. He knew that voice, but the name did not come to him.


    “Here, drink!” The voice opened his mouth and poured something in it.


    It caused a violent cough out of Noah. It hurt. He forced his eyes open only to find himself face to face with Victor. The glassy eyes of a dead man burned his retinas.


    Noah wanted to scream, but again cough overtook him.


    “We have to get him back.” There was another voice. He remembered that one. Abram. Someone who was close to Martha.


    It was Noah’s last chance. He had to say it.


    “Abram, tell… Martha I…” As Noah took his last laboured breath his gaze happened to turn back at the camp, where the rest of ghosts were.


    “What Noah?” Abram was next to him, but Noah did not see him.


    Noah’s gaze now rested on those eyes. Burning hot and clear. They drove them forward and did not let them forget.


    “Ah… How I hate those eyes...” was Noah’s last thought.


    <hr>


    Martha liked Noah’s eyes. She would not go as far as to say that she loved them, but they were different. Noah’s eyes held emotions...


    Emotions that others had discarded. There was only so much sadness, rage and despair one could take before it all became meaningless. Strong emotions were rare. Too rare.


    Weren’t these same emotions that made them human? Why had others rejected them?


    Martha could not say. She disagreed with them. With the idea that everything they did was meaningless. It was what they did with their lives that made their actions mater. They gave life its meaning.


    But these people rejected their humanity. Ghosts… That’s what they called themselves. And she was their Angel.


    Did she ever ask for this burden? Martha only wanted to live. To be human. How could Victor and Noah not understand that?


    And now she was in her tent. Next to her was corpses of two men who had made their place in her heart.


    Dead… Was death all that was waiting for them?


    “Fools. Leaving me alone…”


    Martha did not cry. There was no need for that.


    Next to her laid a small intricate box made from golden material. It was what had made Sigmund mad. It was his ticket out of this place. Not the box was open and Martha could see that it could be hers as well.


    Next to the box was the gun that had killed Victor and Noah. Where had Sigmund found it she did not know.


    Martha cleared her eyes. Now was not the time for this. She sent another wishful look at the bodies that laid before her.


    There was so much more she could have said to them. So much more that she will…


    Slowly her fingers crept closer to the gun.


    Yes… That’s how it should be. Her place was with those who she loved. Was it not for them that she tried so hard? That was also what made her human.


    Martha would not reject her humanity. She would not become a ghost.