Safe Nights

Last Time I Looked On the Bright Side, I Got Radiation Poisoning

The night Dr. Death Defying brought my friends and I The Girl was silent.

It was remarkably quiet, even for two in the morning. Usually there was some kind of motion around, someone driving around or a couple Draculoids who had gotten lost. This was the kind of night you neglected sleeping in shifts, the kind where your hand doesn't grip your raygun as tightly as it ordinarily would. The whole day leading up to the night had been pretty silent, too, something I took as a good sign.

"Don't get your hopes up," Kobra Kid had said around the breakfast table the following morning. The radio show had no casualties to report, and the announcer had reported the lack of noise or people around the outer Zones, where we lived. I discussed the situation excitedly with Kobra and I's two other housemates (diner mates? We lived in an old diner; there weren't many houses out in the Zones), who shared my enthusiasm. Kobra cleared his throat before continuing. "There's always the calm before the storm."

If I had any foresight, I might've agreed.

"I'm not thinking about any storm at all," Fun Ghoul, who was scraping the last bit of cereal out of the box, commented. "If we focused on that all the time, we'd be long gone by now." He fumbled the box and knocked it on the side of his bowl, causing the contents to go sprawling all over the table and floor.

Ghoul looked up at me, half-scared for a second before shaking it off.

Jet Star had finished sorting this week's groceries out in the kitchen, more servings of the world's worst can of beans and some energy drinks. How any liquid survives more than a day out in the desert is beyond me, but I'll take sugar slush in canes over dehydrating.

He turned his head at the cereal falling and reached for the broom. "There goes your breakfast," he teased before handing the broom to Ghoul.

I sectioned out some of my cereal and put it in Ghoul's bowl, milk and all.

Dr. Death Defying's radio show had only come on for about two minutes around seven this morning, when it usually ran for about fifteen with quick updates between songs later on. Either the Scarecrows got him, or there was just silence on all other fronts.

Running into anyone from Better Living Industries isn't good, but Scarecrows eclipse Draculoids in terms of danger. The Crows have a choice–they chose their careers. They make conversation with you, they go into gas stations and buy snacks, they look you in the eye to tell you they're human, and so are you. They are their actions. They take off their almost nylon-like masks to remind you of that. If you see one, you take them out as fast as you can, but even that's difficult. Most of them have bulletproof vests and pads on their thighs and biceps. They move fast and they always bring backup.

On the other hand, a Draculoid is your old neighbor given a barely-functional raygun and has their head shoved into a rubber mask.

They're brainwashed; that's probably the easiest way to put it. BLI plucks people from the Zones when they can, but they mostly take people from their own city who've shown interest in leaving. They take your whole family too, make them into mindless killing machines in stupid looking white masks with gaping mouths and scraggly hair. Dracs shoot before they see you, whatever is in the mask doesn't let them do much else. They shoot like they're clapping their hands together to catch a mosquito, aimlessly and frantically.

If you can, you save Dracs. Usually you can shoot them in the shoulder and rip the mask off before they can stand back up.

The afternoon was quiet, too.

Ghoul and I left our guns at home and took a walk without our guard up for the first time in months. I couldn't think about the last time I'd even considered leaving my gun at home, but it felt right today.