The Last Realm of Rust and Dust

Chapter 1

The sun blazed like fire, its scorching rays spilling across the charred earth. The parched soil cracked in a myriad of fissures, with the occasional stubborn wild grass defiantly piercing through. Though their tips were tinged with yellow, underneath remained a vibrant green, bursting with vitality.

Evie donned a modest straw hat, a scant shield against the vexing sunlight. As she passed by the small patches of grass, she crouched down to gently prod the yellowed tips with care and admiration.

Observing the grass sway gently, a subtle smile curled at the corner of Evie's lips. She murmured in a tender, velvety voice that felt like a cool breeze across the hot expanse, "You are the most tenacious green in this barren land. I will keep waiting, waiting for you to spread across these plains."

After bestowing life-giving precious water to the few hardy grasses striving to survive on this scorched terrain, Evie proceeded on her journey, her back laden with an enormous basket.

The horizon stretched endlessly across the desolate wasteland, and it was after a long, enduring walk that Evie finally stopped. A plastic bag caught her eye.

On this forsaken land littered with desolation and countless pollutants, Evie often spent whole days scavenging. Accustomed to solitude, she had grown used to this lifestyle. Evie bent time and again to collect refuse, her gloved hands worn and grimy. When filth stained her fingertips, she remained unflustered.

It was as Evie stooped to pick up an empty can at the bottom of a shallow slope that her fingertips suddenly brushed against something cold and soft.

Evie knew well what she had found—a human finger. Having encountered many a corpse in her years on the wasteland, she always afforded them a proper burial. However, this time was different, for a dead hand should be cold and rigid, and the touch she had just felt was not. Lying here could be a living person.

Indeed, Evie had saved injured souls on this barren land before, and although the present situation was unusual, she retrieved an drill bit from her backpack, intent on unearthing the individual.

Gazing upon the faintly visible finger, she surmised that the soil was likely shallow and took care with the shovel, fearing a misstep might prematurely end the fragile breath still lingering in the victim.

Expertly, Evie peeled back the layer of dirt, which did not press too heavily, revealing first the man's hands—slender fingers covered in grime and blood-tinted mud laced between them.

Evie softly exclaimed with a hint of bewilderment as she cleared away most of the dirt from the man's face and body.

The man lying in the shallow pit was in rough shape, his body smeared with blood and dirt, senseless. Crouching down, Evie removed her gloves, extended a finger, and felt for his breath—weak but warm.

He was alive.

A flash of realization crossed Evie's face as she gazed at the mud between the man's fingers. He must have wanted to avoid being exposed to the elements; while conscious, he painstakingly dragged his injured form to dig himself this refuge.

Evie blinked her reddened eyes, the long lashes casting shallow shadows on her fair skin, and softly declared, "Poor thing, I will save you."

Evie always carried precious medicine for just such occasions when she might come across an injured person on the wasteland. This time, it would be used to tend to the man before her.

She used over half of the water remaining in her canteen, eyeing the man's parched, peeling lips before licking her own dry ones and tilting her head back to drain the last of her water.

After cleaning his wounds, Evie extracted a bullet nestled near his heart with a small knife and applied a clotting agent to stem the bleeding.

Under better circumstances, she would have avoided such makeshift care, but on this wasteland, options were few. Survival now depended solely on him.

During the process, Evie noticed that aside from the gunshot wound, he had several vicious cuts—blade inflicted.

Her fingertips crossed over the lacerations, and her mind pondered the origins of these blade wounds when the bullet injury appeared lethal. That meant there was only one explanation—the attacker had wanted to inflict further pain.

Evie wondered what the man had done as she retrieved a small pill from her pouch, attempting to slip it into the man's clamped jaw to no avail. Reluctantly, she pocketed the pill.

With the day growing late, she had to return home before darkness fell. The man, who managed to dig his own shelter, remained unconscious, so she left her straw hat over his face and scattered anti-insect powder around.

"If I come tomorrow and you have passed away, I'll just bury you in this pit. Don't be afraid, I won't let you be exposed in the wilderness." Evie brushed a stray lock of hair from the man's forehead with a gentle voice, soft like a whispering breeze.

With her home still a considerable distance away, Evie soon left after speaking.

As nightfall crept in, the man in the pit eventually opened his eyes slowly. Reflected in his gaze was the pitch-black night sky, devoid of any light, terrifyingly dark.

Anderson, with hollow eyes, rasped after a while, "I'm not dead yet..."

Dragging his battered body, he wandered alone in the darkness, possessing nothing, clutching at life's last straws. Why was he not yet dead?

Anderson propped himself up, gazed down at his wounds—now cleaned and medicated—and his eyes were filled with complicated thoughts.

Who had saved him?

With a cold, sharp look, Anderson contemplated his current state, as pitiful and worthless as a stray, thoroughly defeated. What kind of person would save him? Why would anyone bother with such a thankless task?

He lay back down in the hole he had labored to dig, lying there with his eyes wide open, staring at the black night sky. It was the twentieth year of the apocalypse, and he hadn't seen stars or the moon for a long time due to the severe pollution of this world. The sky at night was forever a dull, lifeless black.

Like every other starless, moonless night, there was no light, but Anderson stubbornly kept his eyes open, waiting. He didn't know what he was waiting for—death to take him, or for the morrow to arrive?

During this wait, Anderson felt the straw hat slip from his face. His fingers unconsciously grazed the rough edge of the hat as a gentle breeze brought a scent of grass and flowers, seemingly possessing a magical power to dispel the despair in his heart.

Maybe it was the breeze and the fragrance, or perhaps his body was just too exhausted—Anderson finally succumbed to a deep sleep.

...

The following day.

Evie returned to the desolate land filled with discarded rubbish, her large empty basket now carrying water, food, and medicine. She stepped lightly, with her small frame, and the feverish Anderson, suffering from an infection, did not immediately detect her approach in his hazy sleep. By the time he did, it was only to feel a sudden emptiness at his fingertips.

After removing her gloves and casually placing her straw hat back on, Evie crouched beside Anderson. She expertly checked for his breath beneath his nose.

"You're quite the fighter," she commented, her cool hand gently touching his fevered forehead.

In that instant, Anderson awoke with a start, his eyes snapping open alertly. The moment he became lucid, he swiftly sat up, poised to attack.

Evie's reaction wasn't particularly swift but not slow either, certainly not faster than Anderson. She lowered her gaze to her delicate neck now under his dirty, rough hand. Without a trace of fear, her tone uplifted, "I thought your vitality matched that of the wild grasses of this wasteland, but it seems you're even more resilient."

Her voice was sincere, genuinely delighted by the tenacity of a life.

Anderson's head cleared; they were so close he could smell the grass and flowers from last night. He regained his senses quickly, his fingers pressing against Evie's throat as he asked coldly, "Why save me?"

"Many have asked me that," Evie said softly. "My answer has always been the same: where there is life, whether it's the parched wild grass on the wasteland or the severely wounded you before me, I will save it."

Though subduing Evie might have been an easy task, for the weakened Anderson, it would require the strength he had barely managed to conserve. He tugged at his dry, peeling lips, his distrust apparent as he spoke coldly, "Stop pretending."

Evie hummed in bewilderment, as if awaiting further explanation from Anderson.

"If I so easily believed your words, I'd probably be dead already," Anderson's grip on her neck tightened a fraction. "No need for this pretense, there's no use flattering a dead man."

After his words, the hand on Evie's neck suddenly exerted force. At the moment pain flared, her instincts kicked in; she twisted her hand behind and drove her elbow hard into Anderson's injured body.

Instantly, his wounds ruptured, blood gushed forth, and Evie broke free. They both tumbled into the pit.

Anderson, with his expression set cold, attacked Evie again, but she, without even blinking, decisively grabbed the drill bit from behind her and brought it crashing down onto his head, quickly incapacitating him.

Evie got back to her feet, cleaning the blood from the drill bit on Anderson's grimy clothes before placing it back in its place. She looked down at Anderson, collapsed in the pit.

The earth beneath him was stained with a vast spread of blood, presenting a scene of utter bleakness. Evie found herself moved by the pitiful sight, her eyes welling up with tears once more.