Rebel in the Desert

Inky blinked her eyes open. The night terrors came almost every night since the blast. As she regained consciousness, she hopped to her feet, checking to make sure the gun was still strapped to her thigh. Pulling her leather jacket closed, she sighed and started walking. She needed to find some wheels. She headed towards the suburbs of Battery City, hoping to salvage a car. Inky was a killjoy- post blast rebels who refused to take the brain washing BL/i pills distributed by the government. She made her way past shambled minivans and sedans, searching for a car that hadn’t been destroyed from the fallout. She searched for a couple hours, weaving between the same 3 or 4 models of homes, one after another. She dusted off the window of a two-car garage and peered inside.

“Oh Shit.” She whispered to herself.

She sprinted around to the side of the garage and found a rock to bust the window of the side door. Carefully reaching through the broken glass she found the deadbolt and unlocked the door. Once inside, she took in the dusty, beautiful car of her dreams. A black 1970 Chevy Chevelle with 2 white racing stripes down the center. She hopped in the driver’s seat and quickly got it hotwired. Once she had it running she found some empty gas cans in the garage and siphoned the gas from the two totaled cars out front. Before she knew it and much to her disbelief, she was peeling out in her new Chevelle.

“Woo!” she screamed feeling excitement for the time since she could remember.

She headed back out to the zones. She had been separated from her gang after a particularly nasty draculoid raid of their makeshift shelter. The loneliness was getting to her, but she knew she had to press on. She had to keep running. Into the night she drove. She found a place to stop as her eyelids began to give out. She kicked her feet up on the dash as exhaustion took her.

Sometime later…

The driver-side door creaked open slowly. A man in a Frankenstein mask stood peering down at Inky. He didn’t expect to see a girl, let alone a hot girl. Her dark brown hair fell in messy, untamed waves around her face in a sort of long retro shag mullet. She was definitely a killjoy. She wore a tight black leather jacket with gold lightning bolts on each shoulder, dark grey metallic high waist satin pants, beat up Chuck Taylors, and a fishnet crop top covered in black pearls.

“Fun Ghoul!” a voice whisper shouted from a few yards behind, “Any breathers with a pulse?”

Fun Ghoul, the man in the Frankenstein mask turned to his companion and raised a single finger, then placed it to his lips signaling to stay quiet.

His associate approached and looked inside the vehicle.
“Should we wake her, Jet Star?”

Jet Star opened the visor of his helmet, “Yeah, let’s see if she’s one of us. Maybe we can hitch a ride back to the DIE-ner.” He replied.
Just as Fun Ghoul reached out to rouse her, Inky awoke, eyes wide, and brandished her yellow ray gun at the two strangers. Fun Ghoul and Jet Star’s hands flew up, “Whoa! Whoa! Drop the gun, we’re pulsers!” Fun Ghoul yelped.

“Back up.” Inky growled.

The two stepped back. Inky squinted at them and took in what looked to be two killjoys around her age. One had curly hair sticking out of a motorcycle helmet. The other, a green rubber Halloween mask atop his head, tattoos up his neck, and a nose ring. She gulped when her gaze met his hazel eyes. He wasn’t too bad looking, was he?

“We’re killjoys,” the tattooed one said gently.

“Do you need help?” the one in the helmet asked.

Inky paused. They seemed legit, but you never knew what tricks the government was up to these days.

“Here, I’ll prove it,” said the masked man, reaching shakily for her hand.

She couldn’t say no, she was mesmerized by his eyes.

Keeping her gun aimed at his chest with her right hand, she slowly she let him take her left. He gingerly placed her fingers against his neck, just below his ear, where a scorpion was tattooed. It took a second, but then she felt it, the faint warmth of a real pulse, steady beneath his cold skin. It had been so long since she had felt another’s pulse. The draculoids didn’t have a pulse, the BL/i pills kept them alive, but not like it was in the old days. She pulled her hand away and stepped out of the car.

She holstered her gun and stuck out her hand, “I’m Inky Black. You can call me Ink.”
Fun Ghoul gave a toothy grin, “Fun Ghoul. And this is Jet Star.”

Jet Star gave a friendly nod, “Your car is badass.”

Ink chuckled, “Thanks man, just copped it today.”

“Damn, you came up.” Fun Ghoul said walking around the car. “What are you doing out here alone?” he asked.

Ink tussled the front of her hair, “I lost my gang months ago. Been on the run ever since.”

Fun Ghoul eyed her sympathetically, “Shit. You’re way too cute to be out here on your own,” he teased, surprised at his own flirtation.

“Stay cool, idiot.” He told himself.

Ink smirked, “I’m tougher than I am cute.”

“Oh, I believe it,” Fun Ghoul smiled, “You’re quick on the draw too.”

Ink blushed.

“We should be getting back,” Jet Star cut in, “The others will be worried.”
“Others?” Ink asked.
“Yeah, we’ve got a gang of our own.” Fun Ghoul replied, “Think we could catch a ride?”


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Notes

Thanks for reading! It's been a while since I wrote some good ole fan fiction. I've been really obsessed with the danger days album lately and wanted to write something set in that world. PLEASE LEAVE comments if you read!