Fractured

It had been two months since the bombs went off. Two months since the radiation became a daily part of life. Two months since he had last seen a human being. Two months since he had seen Angel.

Out on the barren side of some godforsaken mountain in what used to be the Appalachians, Nathan Harrison limped along through the layer of ash covering the ground another few yards before pausing and leaning over in his heavy Nuclear-Biological-Chemical gear to cough violently inside the helmet. Noting the flecks of red staining the inside of the helmet's visor, he simply held himself up by his now-jammed assault rifle, which he had been using for several days now as a cane. Laughing bitterly, he began a conversation in his mind between his cold, rational side and his raw, emotional side; An all-too-common occurrence now that he had lacked any human contact for so long. Closing his eyes, he immersed himself in his thoughts, ignoring the swirling ash around him and the slight ticking of his geiger counter.

You shouldn't be standing out in the open. You shouldn't have left the area around Atlanta in the first place. What supplies are out here? Oh, wait, nothing. That's what I thought.

I couldn't stay! I couldn't stay there knowing she was laying there, alone!

You're the one who was so concerned with fulfilling her 'last wish'. What the hell kind of wish is 'Live' anyways? Live for what? To watch the fallout float in the air? How rich.

Well, we're already here so we might as well keep going!

We might as well end it all. Think that the rifle would work for one more shot if we cleaned it?

That's enough of that! We have to keep moving! The geiger counter is rising. There's probably an ash storm coming.

Might as well give up and wait here for the inevitable. It's as good of a place as any...

Nathan's emotional side won out once more however and he shook out his conflicted thoughts, giving way to the cold, calculating mind that had been in action since the moment Angel had left him, back in that old shelter in Atlanta. Opening his eyes and utilizing his muted sense, he gathered that a large ash storm was on the way, easily noticeable by the shortening of time between the clicks of the geiger counter on his belt next to his canteen and survival knife. Shifting his backpack that hung loosely from his thin frame, he straightened up and began moving forward once more, again using the useless rifle as a walking stick.

After hours of walking through the storm, Nathan was growing tired. His eyes stung from prolonged use, his legs creaked unnaturally for a 26-year old, and his geiger counter was still steadily ticking, signifying an even large amount of radiation surrounding him, and likely penetrating his suit through either the small holes from where his bullets had penetrated the previous owner's body, or from sections he had likely improperly sealed. Either way, his inner voices had long since quieted, and he was forced to come to the cold conclusion that unless a miracle occurred, he would soon be just another corpse in what was left of the former-United States of America.

As tried to push himself forward, his legs gave out and he fell to the ground, his world dark as his head fell into the foot-deep ash layer he was trekking through.

Well fuck. This is not how I expected to die. Old age? Maybe. Weaponized smallpox? Probably. Exhaustion after hiking through mountains for hours? Fuck that!

Figuring it didn't really matter at that point what he did, he clenched his eyes shut and tried to ignore the ash he could already feel piling up on him, if only mentally at the moment.

See. This is what happens when we let you go. You kill us!

I want what's best for us as well as you!

A new, monotone voice cut in, devoid of emotion.

What do we matter? Angel was all that mattered. Without her, we might as well drop.

How can you say that? It's so...

Suicidal?

You shut up! This is between me and- Wait, who are we anyways?

As the voices devolved into a shouting match, the calculating side of Nathan sighed internally, taking note of the numbness in his legs and the limpness of his arms. Deciding it wouldn't hurt to see some light before the end, it began rolling Nathan over, straining his muscles further before finally succeeding in turning him enough for his elbows to push him up. Looking around blearily, he noted the slope went down to the left, and to the right was a...

Light?

He winced as all the voices seemed to shout at once. It was rapidly becoming hard to maintain rational thought. As his eyes began to form black spots, he pushed himself up and shakily leaned heavily on the rifle he grabbed from his side, now a greyish-brownish blur in his vision. He wasn't sure if his vision was the result of his visor laying in the fallout or his own failing health, but as another cough wracked his body, spraying blood onto his visor again, he made a decision that went against every voice yelling in his head.

He took his helmet off.

Popping the seals and throwing the helmet to the side, he drew in first one shaky, ash-filled breath, and another long one, savoring the feeling of unfiltered air, even if it was direly polluted by god-knows-what. Taking a few hesitant steps toward the light, he soon found a source of untapped strength he would never had guessed existed and began making long strides towards the light. As he drew closer and closer, details emerged.

It was a torn entrance to a bunker. To the side lay the broken and charred body of what appeared to be a man holding a small bundle. Ignoring the entity as if it didn't exist, Nathan stepped forward and inhaled deeply. After choking briefly as his nostrils clogged, he frowned.

Cordite. The guy must have tried blowing the door.

Stepping inside the small concrete hallway behind the door, he found it lit sparsely by dim red emergency lights.

Must have had power fail a long time ago.

Walking further along for a few hundred yards, Nathan was startled by a sickening crunch of what could only be bone. Looking down, he confirmed that he had stepped on the half-decayed skeleton of what appeared to be an old man holding a revolver in one hand and a crumpled note in the other. Reaching down and pulling the fingers apart, Nathan plucked the note out of the dead man's grasp and brought it up so dim red light shone through, illuminating barely legible text.

...tried for two weeks... no contact... continued work... no chance at escape... too old... Caroline, forgive me...

Dropping the note and watching it flutter down to the dead man's chest, Nathan clenched his teeth and stepped past the body, walking forward as the lights gradually began to dim. As they finally seemed to shut off, he reached a door. Reached being code for walking right into. After muttering a string of curse, Nathan felt around and realized it was similar to a door on a navy ship. Twisting the handles he felt around, he felt a satisfying click as the door unsealed and allowed him to push it open and reveal the room beyond.

He was stunned. Sitting in the center of a room looking the same as the interior of an aircraft hangar, was a massive arch containing what seemed to be a wall of swirling, pure-black energy. Surrounding it were endless workstations with dead computers, monitors, and strange machines. Pushed against a corner, a duffel bag and a cot marked where the dead man had likely spent his last days, working on the strange device. Shaking slightly, Nathan took a small step forward and reached out feeling a strange combination of bitter cold and unbearable heat the closer he went to the strange portal. Stepping further, it was almost as if he lost control of his motor functions. He continued taking step after step while the voices in his head screamed for him to stop. But it was as hopeless as a star near a black hole. He could not resist the force attracting him.

As he drew nearer, the mental force turned physical, and the traction of his boots on the ground gave, and he experienced zero gravity as his body began to float, moving slowly in the air towards the wall. As his sensory nerves became overridden with feelings of heat, cold, and fear, his primal instincts took over, and he lashed out, attempting to escape. All this proved futile, however, as he only seemed to move closer. Finally, as his legs began entering the field, it was as if a poison or toxin had entered his veins, rendering him immobile. He could only watch as he was brought through the field, out of a dead world, and into a world he would never dream possible.