”It’s been 10 years, you start to forget, the things you should remember, and you can’t stop remembering.”
A saying that played over and over in Sienna’s head, was one of the last things her father said to her, she thought about it as she clenched the last memory she had from her old life, a simple silver necklace with a picture of her parents.
The bell above the door to the old diner jingled eerily, the sound cutting through the silence like a knife. She paused, hand on the grip of her trusty crossbow, scanning the dusty, shadowed interior. The once vibrant red booths had faded to a sad shade of pink, the chrome fixtures on the bar dulled by the relentless march of time and neglect. The floor was sticky under her combat boots, a testament to the spilled drinks and forgotten lives of the past. The air smelled faintly of decay and grease.
Sienna’s eyes narrowed as she moved through the room, her senses on high alert. The rustle of plastic wrappers and the occasional squeak from a forgotten rodent were the only sounds that pierced the quiet. The menu board above the counter was faded, the plastic letters that once advertised juicy burgers and crispy fries now a mottled mess. Her stomach growled, a reminder that food was a luxury in the wasteland she called home. She approached the counter, her gaze sweeping over the empty shelves, hoping for a miracle.
And there it was, a dusty corner where a couple of cans had been shoved behind an old cash register. She reached for them, her heart racing with excitement. The first was labeled ‘beans,’ a staple in their underground bunker. The second, a gleaming can of peaches. The sight of it made her mouth water. The sweet, syrupy fruit was a rarity in the world, usually reserved for special occasions. Carefully, she placed the cans in her pack, feeling the weight of her small victory. The peaches, in particular, would bring a touch of joy to the faces of the survivors who had grown accustomed to the bland, preserved diet that kept them alive.
As she breathed a sigh of relief, she sat on one of the old booths, relaxing her shoulders. Her worn tank top clung to her sweat-dampened skin, the fabric frayed from years of use. The vinyl seat was sticky, but she didn’t care. For a moment, she allowed herself to be still, her eyes drifting to the faded jukebox in the corner. It had been silent for so long that she had almost forgotten the sound of music. She reached over and gave the dusty machine a gentle nudge with the tip of her combat boot. A miracle—a soft melody filled the room. She recognized it vaguely, a tune from before the world had gone to hell. The music was a poignant reminder of a past she could never get back, but it also brought a small spark of hope.
The song grew louder, a rhythm that seemed to pulse with the echoes of a bygone era. It was a classic soft rock anthem, one that spoke of rebellion and freedom, two things she hadn’t known in a decade. She found herself tapping her foot along to the beat, the denim of her jacket vest squeaking slightly with the movement. She decided to wait for the song to end before moving on, a silent tribute to the lives that once thrived here. The melody grew more insistent, the guitars and drums a call to arms for survivors like her.
Her heart swelled with a bittersweet nostalgia as she listened, feeling the lyrics resonate within her.
As the music reached its crescendo, the bell jingled again, more insistently this time. She snapped out of her reverie, crossbow drawn and aimed at the door. Her grip tightened, knuckles whitening as she prepared for the worst. The world outside had taught her to be ready for anything, especially when the silence was shattered so unexpectedly. She held her breath, listening for the faintest sound of footsteps. The floorboards outside the diner didn’t creak, but she knew the difference between the wind and the weight of a human presence.
Her heart skipped a beat when she heard a familiar voice, “Easy, you don’t have to shoot me.” It was Flint, her oldest friend from childhood. He stepped into the room, his broad shoulders silhouetted against the harsh sunlight. Dust motes danced around him like a cloud of ghosts from the past. He was a year or two older than Sienna, but they had been inseparable since the world had gone to hell. His once-shaggy hair was now cropped short, military-style, a reminder of the man he had become—tough, reliable, and lethal when necessary. Despite the grime on his face and the weariness in his eyes, she couldn’t help but smile at the sight of him.
Flint’s transformation had been a stark one. Gone were the days of leather jackets and motorcycles, the smell of gasoline and whiskey that had clung to him like a second skin. In their place was a disciplined soldier, his body honed from years of fighting to survive in the harsh wasteland. His camouflage fatigues were meticulously maintained, the patches of various gangs he had fought and defeated sewn onto his vest like a macabre tapestry of his past battles. His boots, though worn, were polished to a shine that reflected the light, a habit ingrained from his time in the military.
“You know I hate surprises,” Sienna called out, not taking her eyes off the doorway. She heard the thunk of his rifle as he leaned it against the wall, the metallic echo echoing through the empty diner. She lowered her crossbow slightly but didn’t holster it.
Flint chuckled, the sound a little rough around the edges. “Couldn’t resist checking out this place. Thought maybe there’d be something good left.” He stepped into the room fully, letting the door swing shut behind him. The bell’s jingle faded, leaving them in a cocoon of quiet once more. His gaze fell to the crossbow in her hand, then the cans of food on the table. “Well, good to see your skills are still sharp. And you’ve got a good eye for the important stuff.” He nodded approvingly.
The song on the jukebox changed to a soft melody, a stark contrast to the energy of the previous anthem. Sienna felt her muscles relax slightly at the gentle strums of a guitar, the sweet voice of a long-forgotten artist crooning about lost love and the open road. It was a haunting tune, one that seemed to resonate with the ghosts of the diner’s past patrons. She couldn’t help but think of the lovers who had shared a milkshake in this very booth, the families that had laughed and argued over dinner, the weary travelers who had found solace in its neon glow.
Flint’s hand remained extended towards her, a ghost of a smile playing on his lips. For a moment, the world outside didn’t matter. There was just the two of them, the music, and the memory of a life that seemed like a distant dream. Sienna’s hand slipped into his, the calloused warmth of his palm a stark contrast to her cold grip on the crossbow.
The diner floor was sticky with dust, the jukebox a relic of a time when people danced for joy rather than to keep their spirits from breaking. But as they stepped closer, the music seemed to cleanse the room of its desolation. Flint’s hand rested gently on her waist, guiding her in a slow dance that had once been commonplace but now felt like the most precious of luxuries. She laid her hand on his shoulder, feeling the tension in his muscles ease as the music flowed through them.
For a brief moment, Sienna rested her head against his chest, listening to the steady thump of his heartbeat. It was a rhythm that she had come to trust, a reminder that amidst the chaos of the wasteland, there were still moments of peace to be found. His arms closed around her, and she let herself lean into his embrace, feeling the warmth of his body seep into hers. The cans of food in her pack were forgotten as she lost herself in the melody and the safety of his arms.
As the final notes of the song drifted away, they parted, their eyes locking for a moment. The silence that followed was thick with unspoken words and the weight of their shared past. Sienna searched his gaze, looking for a sign of the carefree boy she had known before the world had gone dark. Flint’s eyes, though hardened by the years, held a glimmer of tenderness that she hadn’t seen in a long time. His hand reached up to brush a strand of hair from her face, his thumb lingering on her cheek.
“We should get back,” he murmured, his voice a mix of reluctance and urgency. “We’re already behind, and we shouldn’t be out after nightfall.”
Sienna nodded, the moment of tranquility shattered by the harsh reality of their world. Nightfall brought danger, not just from the gangs and marauders that prowled the wasteland, but from the ‘others’ that had emerged in the aftermath of the global catastrophe. The creatures that had once been human, twisted and mutated by the radiation, had developed a taste for flesh and a preference for the cover of darkness. Their haunting howls echoed through the night, a chilling reminder of what the world had become.
They stepped out of the diner into the fading light, the jukebox’s music a fading whisper behind them. The sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in a mournful mix of reds and purples. The shadows grew longer, stretching out like grasping hands that beckoned them back into the safety of the military compound. The wasteland was a canvas of destruction, the skeletons of buildings and vehicles littering the landscape like a monument to humanity’s hubris.
“Wait, I need to grab something,” Sienna said suddenly, breaking the silence. She spun on her heel, rushing back into the diner. Flint watched her, his hand hovering over the door handle, ready to follow if needed. His eyes scanned the horizon, wary of any signs of movement.
Inside, Sienna approached the jukebox with a sense of purpose. The power was out, of course—it had been for years. But the vinyl records remained, a treasure trove of music that had stood the test of time. With a determined look, she reached up and smashed the dusty glass display with the butt of her crossbow. The shards fell like glittering snow around her, glinting in the fading light. She didn’t care about the noise; it was a small price to pay for the joy she knew she could bring back to the compound.
Her fingers danced over the records, searching for the ones that held the most meaning. She pulled out a few, their labels faded but recognizable. The Beatles, Elvis, and a few others she had heard the older survivors talk about. They had been her parents’ favorites, and she hoped the familiar tunes would offer some comfort to the weary souls back home. Carefully, she placed the records into her pack, the plastic cases crackling with the movement. Each one was a piece of history, a relic of a world that now only lived in memories and stories.
Flint watched her with a puzzled expression when she emerged, the records peeking out of her bag. “Why are you grabbing those?” he asked, his voice tinged with confusion. “You can’t play them.”
Sienna looked up, her eyes shining with determination. “Once I fix the record player at home I will,” she said, her voice firm.
The sun dipped further, casting long shadows that stretched out like the arms of a dying giant. As the light waned, the first howls of the mutants pierced the stillness. The eerie sounds grew closer, a mournful chorus that sent shivers down their spines. The creatures were more active at night, driven by hunger and the instinctual need to hunt. Sienna and Flint knew they had to move quickly if they wanted to make it back to the compound before the full darkness descended.
They set off at a brisk pace, the sound of their footsteps echoing through the desolate streets. The cans of food jostled in Sienna’s pack, a metronome to their march. Flint took the lead, his eyes and ears attuned to the dangers that could come from any direction. The wasteland was unforgiving, a place where the weak didn’t survive long. But together, they had made it work. They had found strength in each other, a bond forged in the fires of adversity.
The air grew colder as the night closed in, and the shadows grew teeth. The howls grew louder, closer, and more insistent. Sienna tightened her grip on her crossbow, her eyes scanning the ruins for any sign of movement. Flint had taught her well; she knew how to read the landscape, how to spot a predator before it spotted you.
“Follow me,” he whispered, his breath misting in the chilly air. He led her through a narrow alley, the walls of the surrounding buildings leaning in like a conspiratorial huddle. The shadows danced with every step, playing tricks on her eyes. Her heart hammered in her chest, adrenaline making her pulse pound in her ears. She could feel the presence of the ‘others’ out there, the mutants that had once been people, now nothing more than savage beasts.
They moved quickly, their boots crunching on the gravel, the sound a stark contrast to the unnatural silence that had enveloped the city. The buildings around them stood tall and foreboding, their windows like the empty eye sockets of skulls watching their every move. The occasional flicker of neon lights, powered by who-knows-what, cast eerie patterns on the ground, leading the way like a macabre disco floor.
Flint’s hand was firm on Sienna’s arm, guiding her through the maze of ruins. The tension between them was palpable, their breaths coming in short, sharp gasps as they dodged the shadows that grew more menacing with each passing minute. The howls grew closer, the creatures’ hunger a palpable force that seemed to press in on them from all sides. Sienna’s eyes darted around, her senses heightened to a level she had never experienced before.
The alley opened up into a clearing, the sky above a canvas of deep blue and stars that twinkled like distant memories of hope. They sprinted across the open space, the sound of their breathing and pounding hearts the only noise in the oppressive silence. The walls of the surrounding buildings seemed to lean in, whispering of the horrors that could be lurking in the dark. The wind picked up, carrying with it the faint scent of something burning, a reminder of the constant danger that lurked just outside the safety of their compound.
The metal gates of the compound grew closer with every stride, the promise of safety a beacon in the gloom. Sienna could see the flicker of torches from the watchtowers, the shadows of the guards pacing back and forth. They had made it. The howls of the mutants grew fainter, the danger receding with each step they took towards the fortress that was their home.
As they approached the gates, the heavy steel barrier swung open, the squeal of the rusted hinges cutting through the night. The guards, faces etched with relief, waved them in. Sienna didn’t miss the way their eyes lingered on the cans in her pack, a silent testament to the scarcity of fresh supplies. She felt a pang of pride at her successful scavenging trip.
Once inside, the doors clanked shut with a finality that sent a shiver down Sienna’s spine. The compound was a stark contrast to the wasteland, a bastion of order amidst the chaos. The walls, though scarred and pockmarked, stood strong, a reminder of the world they had fought to protect. The air was thick with the scent of burning wood and cooking food—comforting smells that she had learned not to take for granted.
They headed straight for the makeshift garden, a patch of green in the sea of grey concrete. The sight of the small vegetables poking their heads through the soil brought a smile to Sienna’s face. It was a reminder that life still found a way to thrive, even in the face of destruction.
The survivors had worked tirelessly to create a small oasis of self-sufficiency, a testament to their resilience. Tomatoes, potatoes, and even a few stray strands of corn grew in neat, carefully tended rows. Above them, a lattice of solar panels and wind turbines hummed quietly, providing the precious energy they needed to keep the lights on and the water flowing.
The rain had been scarce, but when it did come, it was a spectacle to behold. It would fall in great torrents, washing away the dust and the despair that had gathered on the compound’s walls. They had built ingenious catchments that funneled the water into underground storage tanks, where it was purified and filtered. The occasional storm was a gift from the heavens, replenishing their supplies and bringing a temporary end to the gnawing thirst that never fully left their throats. Sienna had seen people weep with joy when the first drops fell, their faces upturned to the sky, letting the rain wash away the grime of their existence.
But showers were a different kind of luxury, a ritual that had to be conserved. The water was heated by solar panels, a process that took hours on a good day. When the sun was scarce, they had to make do with cold water, but even that was a treasure. The shower stalls were simple, just a few walls of corrugated metal and a plastic curtain, but they represented a piece of civilization that had almost been lost. Sienna had seen newcomers to the compound break down in tears at the sight of them, overwhelmed by the sensation of cleanliness after months—sometimes years—without.
As they passed the garden, a few of the residents looked up from their tasks, their eyes lighting up at the sight of the food. They were a mix of ages and backgrounds, bound together by the shared experience of survival. There was the old woman, Miss Laura, whose green thumb had kept the garden alive through droughts and raids. The few children played a game of tag, their laughter a stark contrast to the gravity of their lives. And there was Marcus, a blacksmith, his muscular arms flexing as he hammered away at the anvil, crafting weapons and tools that kept the compound functioning.
Leo, the de facto leader of the group, stood tall at the entrance to the main building, his handsome features etched with the weight of his responsibilities. His shaved head gleamed in the flickering torchlight, and the scars that marked his face were a map of battles won and lost. His eyes lit up as he spotted Sienna and Flint, a genuine smile breaking through the stoic mask he often wore. He had once been a high-ranking military colonel, his skills and experience invaluable to their survival. His arms spread wide in welcome, and Sienna felt a warmth spread through her chest at the sight of his genuine affection.
He had found her a decade ago, a half-dead teenager curled up in the back of a burned-out van, her brown hair matted with dirt and her clothes singed. She had been left for dead, a victim of the chaos that had ravaged the world. But Leo had seen something in her—a spark of defiance, a will to live—and he had embraced her as his own, teaching her the skills she needed to survive in this new hell on earth.
Now, as they approached the military tent she called home, that spark had grown into a raging fire. The canvas flaps fluttered in the breeze, the same as everyone else’s, but inside was a world she had created for herself. It was her sanctuary, her own little piece of the past that she had salvaged from the wreckage of the world. The tent was filled with her treasures: a collection of books she had scavenged from the ruins of libraries, the remnants of her mother’s jewelry box that she had found in a looted store, and a small, tattered teddy bear that she had clung to since she was a child.
The flickering light from the solar lanterns cast a warm glow over her makeshift bed, a collection of salvaged blankets and a foam mattress that had seen better days. The walls were adorned with posters from a time when celebrities had been worshipped, a stark contrast to the gods of the wasteland now—water, food, and ammo. Above her bed, she had strung a line of Christmas lights, their bulbs painted in the colors of the rainbow, a whimsical touch that brought a smile to her face every time she saw them. The lights had been a birthday present from Flint, a reminder of the friendship that had been her rock through it all.
As she lay back, her mind drifted to the feeling that had hit her when she danced with him earlier. It was more than just the nostalgia of the music or the comfort of his strong arms around her—it was something deeper, something that had been simmering beneath the surface of their friendship for years. She had felt it in the way his hand had lingered on her waist, the warmth of his touch seeping through her clothes and into her very soul. It was a feeling she hadn’t allowed herself to acknowledge, too scared of what it could mean in a world where relationships were fragile, easily shattered by the harsh realities of survival.
But as she lay there in the quiet, she couldn’t help it as it consumed her thoughts. What if there was more to their bond than just friendship? What if, amidst the ruins of the world, they had found something beautiful and rare? Her heart fluttered at the possibility, her mind conjuring images of a future filled with more than just the endless struggle to stay alive.
Sienna’s hand found its way to her stomach, tracing the contours of her abs her worn tank top clung ti her firm chest. Her thoughts were a jumble of fear and excitement, the tactile sensation of her fingertips on her skin a strange comfort in the stillness of the night. She had always been strong, but the touch brought with it a newfound sense of vulnerability. The realization of her feelings for Flint was like a door opening to a room she had never dared to enter, revealing a part of herself she hadn’t even known existed.
With trembling fingers, she peeled off the sticky fabric of her tank top, the air cool against her bare skin. She had become accustomed to the layers she wore in the wasteland—the armor that protected her from the harsh sun and the prying eyes of those who would do her harm. But now, in the privacy of her tent, she allowed herself to feel the softness of the fabric of her bra, a luxury she had not allowed herself in a very long time. Her pants, too, felt restrictive, the heavy material weighing her down. She unbuckled the belt, letting the cargo pockets hang loose, and slid the fabric down her legs, leaving her in just her underwear.
Her eyes fell to her own reflection in a small, cracked mirror propped up against the wall. The candlelight flickered, casting shadows across her torso. She saw the scars that marred her skin, each one telling a story of battles she fought. Her stomach was flat and toned, a testament to the physical toll of their lives in the wasteland. Her breasts, nice and firm, were a reminder of the femininity she often had to suppress in the harsh world outside. But here, alone, she allowed herself to be a woman, to feel the softness of her own skin.
Her hand trembled as she reached behind her back, fumbling with the clasp of her bra. It was a simple thing, really, but in that moment it felt like a declaration of rebellion. The fabric loosened, and she took a deep breath, letting the cups fall away from her breasts. The cool air kissed her nipples, making them tighten. She felt a flush rise to her cheeks, a mix of embarrassment and something else—desire, maybe? She hadn’t felt it in so long, it was almost foreign to her now.
Her hand slid down her stomach, tracing the path she knew so well, the waistband of her panties cutting into her skin. She hooked her thumb into the elastic, her eyes never leaving her reflection. Sienna’s gaze was intense, as if she was trying to convince herself that this was okay, that she was allowed to feel something other than fear and anger. And as she did, she felt a throbbing between her legs, a gentle pulse that grew stronger with every passing second. It was a feeling she had almost forgotten, buried under layers of dust and grime.
With a sudden jolt of courage, she pushed her panties down, letting them pool at her ankles. She stepped out of them, standing naked in the candlelit tent, feeling the softness of the floor beneath her bare feet. The air was cool, but the heat of her arousal warmed her, the sensation strange and exhilarating. Her hand found its way between her legs, her fingertips dancing over her clit, feeling it pulse with each stroke. Her breath hitched, and she bit her lip to stifle the gasp that wanted to escape.
Sienna lay back on her cot, her legs spreading to allow herself full access. The mattress was hard, but she found comfort in its familiarity. Her heart hammered in her chest as she slid a single finger into her wetness, her eyes closing as she let out a soft sigh. The sensation was overwhelming, a symphony of pleasure she hadn’t allowed herself to indulge in for what felt like an eternity. The muscles of her core clenched around her digit, eager for more, and she couldn’t help but wonder if Flint had ever thought about this moment, if he had ever imagined her like this.
Her thoughts grew hazier as she picked up the pace, her breathing turning ragged. The candle flickered, casting shadows that danced across her skin. Each stroke brought with it a wave of pleasure, a stark contrast to the pain and hardship that was their daily bread. Her hand grew slick with her arousal, her movements becoming more urgent, more needy. She thought of Flint’s arms around her, his strong hands guiding her through the dance of survival, and her body responded in kind.
Her other hand found its way to her breasts, her fingertips teasing the sensitive skin of her nipples. She rolled them gently, the sensation sending jolts of electricity down her spine. She imagined his calloused hands on her, his rough touch a stark contrast to the tenderness she craved. Her grip grew firmer, her breath coming in short gasps as she cupped her breasts, squeezing them in time with the rhythm of her other hand.
Her legs began to shake as she picked up the pace, her body responding to the illicit pleasure she had denied herself for so long. The shadows grew more erratic as she moved, the candlelight casting a mesmerizing pattern on the ceiling of the tent. The sounds of the compound outside—the murmur of voices, the clang of metal on metal—faded into the background, replaced by the symphony of her own pleasure.
Her thumb circled her clit as her fingers delved deeper, the sensation building like a storm in her belly. She bit down hard on her lip, tasting the metallic tang of blood as she fought to keep her moan in check. The walls of her tent felt like they were closing in around her, the very fabric of reality bending to the will of her climax. The world outside, the wasteland with its horrors and hardships, ceased to exist as she focused on the feeling building within her.
But her body had other plans. A moan slipped out, a low, desperate sound that she hadn’t heard herself make in years. It was a betrayal of the quiet she had grown so accustomed to, the sound of pleasure a luxury she hadn’t allowed herself. Her eyes shot open, her heart racing as she realized that anyone could hear her. But the fear only served to heighten the sensation, pushing her closer to the edge she had been tiptoeing around.
Her legs tensed, muscles straining as she felt the first waves of orgasm wash over her. Her body clamped down on her hand, the tightness a sweet agony that sent shockwaves through her core. The tent’s fabric walls seemed to pulse with the beat of her heart, the candlelight flickering in time with her gasping breaths. The pleasure was so intense, so overwhelming, that for a moment she forgot where she was, lost in a haze of sensation that transcended the ruined world outside.
The moan grew louder, a sound that seemed to echo through the compound, a declaration of life in the face of the wasteland’s relentless decay. She couldn’t hold it in any longer; it was a siren’s call, a declaration of need and want that had been building inside her for far too long. Her hips bucked up, the friction of her hand against her clit sending her over the edge. The climax hit her like a tidal wave, a release so powerful that it left her trembling and weak.
Her juices coated her hand, a sticky testament to the passion she had kept buried for so long. The sensation of her orgasm subsiding was bittersweet, a gentle reminder that she was still alive, still human amidst the madness. She took a deep, shuddering breath, feeling her heart slow to a more reasonable rhythm. The candle’s flame had grown tall with the sudden stillness, the wax pooling around it like a molten puddle of gold.
Sienna pulled her hand away, bringing her fingers to her mouth, tasting herself for the first time. The salty-sweet flavor was surprising, a stark contrast to the acrid metallic taste of the air outside. She sucked on her fingertips, the intimate act sending a fresh shiver down her spine. It was a moment of rebellion, a declaration of self in a world that often sought to strip her of it.
With trembling hands, she pulled her underwear back on, the fabric feeling strange against her sensitive skin. She couldn’t help but feel a twinge of regret as she covered herself up, as if she were hiding a precious treasure from the world outside. She sat up, her breathing still ragged, and took a moment to compose herself. The candle flickered, casting a warm glow across the tent, the shadows playing over her body like a lover’s caress.
Sienna knew she couldn’t stay there forever. The call of the bonfire grew stronger, the scent of roasting meat and the promise of hot food beckoning her from the solitude of her tent. She grabbed her pants and tank top, sliding them over her slim and fit form with a sense of urgency. The fabric clung to her skin, a reminder of the vulnerability she had allowed herself to feel. She took a deep breath, willing her cheeks to cool and her heart to steady.
