II. Between Memories & Nostalgia
Waking up still drowsy and filled with those painful memories, Cornelia remembers where she is as she wipes off her half-dried tears: in a run down house somewhere in the outskirts of the city. Uneven boards and nails closing off the broken windows as an improvised barricade, through which small rays of sunlight pierce, indicating that it was still daytime though she had no way of knowing what time it was.
Cornelia observes how the sunrays illuminate the decaying moldy walls that surrounded her, specks of dust still floating in the air, making the air dense and harder to breathe with the faint smell of rotten wood and rusty metal.
Letting out a sigh she says to herself in a muffled tone:
“So this nightmare was real after all, huh?”
Cornelia looks down to her wrist, seeing the scratched and battered metal band that said “6-19” on one end, and etched with delicate worn-out scratches it spelled on the other side: “Abby”.
“Good morning, Abby...” she said as teardrops fell onto her wrist. “Will you ever answer me again? I could really use a friend right now.”
Memories of that fateful day still flashed before her eyes so vividly: the announcement of that April 14th of 2074 will stay with her as long as she lives. Rising smoke all over the city, flashing lights in the afterglow of dusk. Suddenly, everything fell into silence, followed by a violent shockwave that seemed to envelop everything it touched with its destructive grace. Cornelia managed to escape with her family. Her dad pushed her away from a crumbling building that was about to crush her, ending up stuck in the debris, he screamed that Camila and she should escape while they could from that hellish situation. Camila ignored him and rushed to his aid, trying to dig him out from the rubble that swallowed him. Out of nowhere a vicious pack of dogs like they’ve never seen before: way too muscular, tall and coordinated started to rush towards her mother, despite her not fighting back an already lost battle, the thirst for blood of the hounds seemed to go beyond just instinct. The last words that Cornelia heard that night were those to run and never look back, to survive and find somewhere were things like that would never happen again.
Her thoughts were still filled with pain and regret, constantly asking herself as to why she had to survive and her parents didn’t. She stands up to heat up some leftover soup from yesterday. Lost in her thoughts, she ignored the viscous, unappetizing mix of random ingredients that were haphazardly thrown together, coupled with the indescribable fetid smell that the bowl let out into the air.
Being more water than anything else, Cornelia holds her breath and takes a spoonful of the horrid substance into her mouth which she immediately regrets:
“Damn, this is even worse than yesterday! How long has it been since I’ve been able to scavenge something decent to eat? How long has it been since the disaster?” She asked herself, staring at the rotting wooden floor. “A year? More?”
Finishing up her breakfast, Cornelia looks out the window: the entire street seems deserted, entire open fields with tall grass, cracked sidewalks and rust covered cars littering the roads back to the Capital were all that her eye could see. Except for one small mishap: her bike was gone.
“Coño de la madre! It’s the fourth time in I don’t know how long! I hope that they get impaled with that broken raggedy seat or something, miserable assholes the lot of them.”
As soon as she finished her rage filled rant, phrases that people told her over the years started to fill her head saying:
“Nothing is free in life.”
“Remember that sometimes not remembering anything is better.”
“Don’t let anyone but yourself change who you are.”
“Feelings make you human, but to stop being functional because of them makes an idiot.”
Trying to shake off those words from her mind, Cornelia looks up to the ceiling and sighs:
“I wish I listened… I really wish I listened before, why did I have to survive this alone?”
A mysterious voice comes from the shadows, asking her:
“Who did you want to listen to, miss?”
“Wha--W-who goes there?”
A tall slender shadowy figure can be seen in the corner of the room, small yet heavy footsteps approaching her whilst saying:
“I’m sorry if I scared you. I figured since we’ve been traveling together for some time now, I’d try talking with you to calm you down. You seem distressed.”
“What? No! Huh? Travelling together? Do I know you from somewhere? Are you some sort of crazy stalker or something? She asked nervously.
With a slight chuckle, the figure started to step from the shadows into the thin beams of light shining through the barred windows.
“No, I don’t believe you do. But we never formally introduced each other either.” said the dark figure wearing a long trench coat and with messy wavy hair. “Pleasure to meet you, the name’s Lin-”
Before he could finish his sentence, Cornelia grabbed the closest thing she could get her hands on: her guitar. She striking a decisive blow to the head of that strange man, thinking that would be the end of it.
Getting a better look at the man, she realizes he’s a tall, young-looking guy, with khaki cargo pants, black shirt, a long brown leather trench coat, and thick black boots, with his chocolate skin that was a strange mesh with his seemingly bedraggled dark wavy hair, except that now his face was all swollen up as he tried to get up from the floor.
“So that’s how kids are saying hello these days?”
Shocked by his quick recovery, Cornelia shuffles together an answer:
“I-I’m sorry, I thought you were some kind of monster or stalker or something. Are you okay? I did hit you pretty hard.”
Waving off her words, letting out a chuckle followed by a grin he says:
“No worries, I’m fine. You do pack quite a punch though. I guess I was due for my dentist appointment anyways.”
Baffled by the man’s sudden turn to jokes, she mutters:
“So this guy’s a comedian, huh?”
“Anyways, the name’s Lindbergh. Pleased to meet you.”
“I-I’m Cornelia.” she nervously stuttered. “So Lindbergh, huh? Is that your real name?”
Shrugging a bit, he replied:
“Meh, I figured New World, new name, right? Besides, you should be thanking me right now instead of trying to interrogate me. I did keep you safe all this time.”
Flustered by his words, Cornelia responded with a frustrated tone:
“What do you mean kept me safe?! I’ll have you know that I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself. Hmph.”
Somewhat holding back his laughter, Lindbergh says:
“Suuure… Then tell me a little story: of how you got them jeans to have such a natural tear? Especially around the knees.”
Cornelia observed the seemingly relaxed man in disbelief, not knowing how to properly answer, she blurted out the first thing that came to mind:
“Uhm, I’ve always liked wearing them like this, even before all this mess.”
“Oh, right, right. So, that has nothing to do with that time that those scavengers were snooping around and you started crawling away, scared for your life?”
Still baffled and wondering how Lindbergh knew so much about what she went through that time, she questions him:
“H-how do you know that? Are you sure you’re not some sort of creepy stalker?”
“No, I’m not. I just wanna hear your side of the story.”
Staring at her intently, Lindbergh’s eyes still expected a more straightforward answer.
“I-I can explain though! I was doing my laundry that day when some of my stuff fell onto the ground, when I was picking them up, I saw those bandits crawling all over the place. So I just started to crawl to get out of there.”
“For more than 8 blocks?”
Her face turned red with an ashamed expression as she replies:
“Ye--I mean, no! I’m not saying that wasn’t the case, I was scared. I think that even without anyone’s help, I-I’d… Be okay, I guess?”
Barely able to contain his laughter at this point, Lindbergh tries to explain his perspective:
“Look, I’m not saying you can’t hold your own. I’m just trying to understand why you would go through so much trouble to hide the truth in this new reality with such elaborate tall tales. I mean, I’m no Pulitzer writer, but damn, those stories of yours filled such passion, drama, suspense, intensity. They deserve a prize or something.”
Even more ashamed now by his words, Cornelia mumbled:
“What do you even get out of mocking me? Do you enjoy teasing random people all the time?”
Surprised by how gloomy Cornelia’s expression turned, Lindbergh adds to his explanation:
“No, it’s just that you didn’t even realize that I literally avoided you getting hurt or worse by those guys keeping them busy. So what I’m saying is: I saw you walking alone, and in this New World I thought you could use a helping hand. It’s the same I would’ve wanted if I was in your place. I’m a simple guy, of simple tastes. So I try to keep myself entertained, I didn’t mean anything by it.” he said as he pulled out something from his coat pocket. “Want some candy?”
Comforted by his scruffy yet sincere demeanor, she reached out for a handful of candy which they both enjoyed as she replied:
“Huh? Candy? Yeah… Well if you can promise to keep that a secret, then I’ll be your friend.”
Overjoyed by her words, Lindbergh mushes Cornelia together, holding her tightly against his arm while yelling:
“Right on, chicuela!”
Blushing from the tight grip he had on her, Cornelia struggled to say:
“H-hey, you’re squeezing too tight.”
The days went by, with Cornelia keeping her guard up, not entirely sure about trusting Lindbergh yet. All the while he tried to make her laugh and relax, which he succeeded albeit causing some frustration at the same time.
Walking down an old abandoned road by the countryside, on one side, empty houses worn-down houses with creaking half-open doors and windows bashing against the wind, rusty gates rattling as the dust rose up from the ground, hitting the remnants of the old world like a discreet yet relentless storm. On the other side an immense expanse of open land with only broken fences surrounding them for miles as far as the eye can see.
Lindbergh, keeping his eyes upfront and maintaining his stride, whispers to Cornelia:
“Hey, I think we’re being followed or something.”
Turning around to see her surroundings, Cornelia doesn’t see anything before she’s stopped by Lindbergh’s words:
“Don’t look around!”
“But there’s no one nearby, I can’t even hear anything.”
A more serious expression takes over Lindbergh’s face as he says:
“The fact that you can’t see them, doesn’t mean that they’re not there.”
“What do you mean? Is there someone after you?”
“After me? Nah. I’ve had a few scraps here and there with some troublesome folk. But I’ve gotten to realize that there are fights you can escape, and some that you have no other choice but to fight. I hope this isn’t one of those times.”
Based on his answer, Cornelia questions him further:
“So, have you had to kill a lot of people then?”
“Kill? That’s not always the answer to things, even in this world” he said as he stopped dead in his tracks. “Wait a minute, what’s that noise?”
Rumbling in the distance that became even louder as moments when by. Realizing it’s the sound of the engines of a band of bandit bikers that roamed around the ruined city. An innovation from Brazil, hydrogen powered engines that survived the war, since they were engineered to only require an input of water, that would be later boiled down to its core components, burning the hydrogen atoms that were released in the condensation. Since the Electro-Magnetic Pulse or EMP of the bombs ruined almost everything electric, which was most of what modern society used. The only survivable countermeasures were some backup Faraday reinforced generators and solar plants, hydrogen engines, and some nuclear shielded facilities.
These biker gangs were born from the bike enthusiasts and aficionados that used to ride the entire continent in their thirst for adventure. At first, they tried to help people around different communities and neighborhoods, but they began being shunned and turned away due to their rough mannerisms and personalities. Eventually they started raiding settlements, and scavenging whatever they could find off the ruins of the old city, or from the hands of poor unsuspecting survivors wandering along the barren roads of Buenos Aires.
Lindbergh looks around, hearing the roar of the engines, sniffing the air, saying in a muffled tone:
“I think it’s the Barderos gang. We gotta hide.”
Crouching behind a broken down wall inside a house along the road, they see the bikers approaching from the far side of the road.
Nervously shuffling behind cover, Cornelia asks:
“The Barderos? Really? That band of old geezers is still out and about, even after all that’s happened? How do you know that it’s them and not someone else?”
“Because they’re a bunch of idiots.” he replied with a happy grin.
“You gotta be kidding me, how are they the idiots if we’re hiding from them?”
“You’ll see… They took the slogan of those hydrogen engines way too literal. They pour anything there to keep them bikes going.”
“What do you mean by anything?”
“Just relax and enjoy the show… Try not to laugh though.”
The rumbling motors slowly came to a stop near the house in which they were hiding. Despite not having a clear line of sight due to the amount of decaying cars and trucks that were strewn along the street, they could clearly hear the grunts and noise coming from the rowdy bunch.
Drawing everyone’s attention to the back of the formation, a biker speaks up:
“Oi! Boss? I think it wasn’t such a good idea coming through here…”
“Shut up, dumbass! What’s the matter now?” said a deep raspy voice that came from the front of the biker column. “Barderos! Dismount! We go through on foot!” announced the apparent leader. “We’ll fill up the tanks after crossing this rusty piles of crap.”
Cornelia and Lindbergh observed as the multitude of gang members started pulling their metal steeds across the dusty corroded maze of vehicles. Their outfits consisted of mostly worn-out leather vests, jackets and patches that covered the various materials from which their pants were made of, some even covering their crotches or backsides. Their various helmets displayed different twisted and malformed shapes and sizes, as if they were made by craftsmen with serious problems regarding their motor skills and hand-eye coordination, taking to modifying all sorts of hats, caps, helmets, and even masks into all sort of bizarre horned or deformed devilish shapes. The scent that they let into the air burned even the nose hairs of anyone breathing near them, being on the road without bathing for weeks, or even months at a time, made dirt and all sorts of scum stick to their bodies as if it were a part of their rough looking exterior. One thing that did stand out was how neatly the aligned their bikes in front of one another as each rider stood in front of their bikes, apparently trying to fuel them up.
Another one of the bikers closer to the leader suggests:
“Sir, I think we should go to Riachuelo to fill up our tanks.” he said as he pointed further down the road. “It’s a couple of minutes away.”
Annoyed by the words of his man, the leader answers with a threatening tone:
“So now you decide to grow a pair of balls, huh?” pointing at the same place that his man did. “Why don’t you go over to Riachuelo by yourself then?” said the man in an uncouth manner as he shrugged. “I can’t guarantee what those things will do to ya though. So if you’re done trying to be a smartass, shut up just pee, you useless monkey.”
“B-but I can’t if everyone’s looking at me…”
Cornelia was so caught up in the scene that was unfolding in front of her eyes between those men that she didn’t notice that Lindbergh was trembling at her side, as she turns around to ask him:
“Lindbergh, are you alright?” she said in a whisper. “What’s wrong?”
In a muffled voice, he mumbled:
“I-I told you--”
“Come on, let’s go. These guys are making me uncomfortable too.”
“--I-if I move, I think I-I’m gonna die.” Lindbergh replied in a trembling voice as he rolled around on the floor.
“How can you be laughing at a time like this?”
“I-I told you, they’re a bunch of idiots… I mean, who in their right mind even thinks of peeing inside of their bikes? C’mon, you gotta admit it’s hilarious.”
Before they could continue their debate, they heard the start of the engines resounding all around the dead landscape, as they began to depart the area, the farthest bike’s engine drowned as it shut down, after multiple failed attempts to restart it, the frustrated biker exclaimed:
“Oi! Boss man! Boss! I think Ol’ Berta has passed to a better life…. What a sad day.”
“Damnit” said the leader gritting his teeth. “Well, get on Guillermo’s bike and let’s go. We don’t have time to get all sentimental right now, we’re on a tight schedule.”
“Fuck me, boss! Get someone else to take him, he smells even worse than all of us combined!” protested Guillermo as the smelly biker sat down.
“Shut up, before I decide to leave both of you out here to rot with Ol’ Berta.”
As soon as they left the immediate area, a thunderous explosion enveloped the nearby ruins, sending random debris and bike parts flying everywhere. Stopping for a brief moment to look back at what caused the blast, the leader sees a small mushroom cloud right where they left the bike behind. In a frustrated grunt the man sighs:
“Not again… I’m getting too old for this.”
Lindbergh and Cornelia emerged from a room in which they took shelter, glad to have avoided those incompetent savages. After trekking around a bit, they start to wander what they will have for dinner that night.
“Yo, chicuela. Do you have any food on you?”
“I’m down to one cup of instant noodle soup, I doubt that it’ll fill either one of us up.”
“Of course not, even before the war it was considered more of a snack, at least for me. I never quite understood how they could even think that it should fill a grown person. I mean look at that tiny packaging!”
Cornelia looks at him with a somewhat surprised expression, to which she asks:
“So you must be really hungry. When was the last time you had anything to eat?”
Shrugging off the question, Lindbergh answers:
“Y’know, I think it’s been about 3 or 4 days. Can’t really remember. Maybe more?”
Shocked at the indifference in which he replied, Cornelia shoves the instant soup into his hands.
“How can you be so calm after spending so much time without eating?! I thought you ate every time we took a break or when we were camping out for the night!”
“Sorry, sometimes I get so caught up in the events of the day that I forget to eat. I always do find something to eat here and there though. So, no worries.” he reassured her with a smile. “Let’s check one of these houses, maybe there’s some stuff left in the pantries or hidden somewhere. You wouldn’t believe the crazy places in which some people kept food and other stuff.”
“Sounds good to me, though if we don’t find anything to eat. I’m sharing my noodles with you, you gotta eat.” she said blushing a bit.
“Cool. I think we’re close to the middle of town around these parts, it’s too dark to see though. Tomorrow we can have a look around, see if there’s anything good to eat or grab around there.”
“It’s a plan then…”
That night faint howling could be heard all around the enveloping darkness that surrounded the dwindling campfire. The problem that unsettled them was the fact that since the bombs fell cats and dogs seemed to have vanished.
Lindbergh did manage to scrounge together a decent meal from one of the houses, grabbing an old can of tomato sauce, putting it together with some polenta and the chopped up noodles, using the flavor packet providing a somewhat decent seasoning to the entire ensemble.
“Looks like you like cooking too…”
“Yeah, well I mean, I can fend for myself out there.”
Taking a spoonful of the strange yet delicious meal, Cornelia’s palate is delighted to find how the flavors combined in such a simple dish.
“It’s really good. Especially to warm up the bones on these chilly nights.”
“Heh, thanks. Finish up there and get some rest, I’ll take the first watch tonight.”
Without going much further into the conversation, Cornelia says goodnight as she finds herself a decent enough corner in the living room of that run down house, leaving her trusty knife discreetly tucked nearby ready and within an arm’s reach in the event of an unexpected situation. Falling asleep almost as soon as her head hit the pillow of her sleeping bag, Lindbergh turned around to see her peacefully sleeping for once, smiling tenderly at her, then carefully grabbing a chair, barring the door and close enough to the only open window in order to see any potential threats nearby.
The next day, they picked up everything, double checking so that nothing would be left behind. Walking down the old avenues of the once greatest commercial centers in the North of the Greater Buenos Aires Metropolitan Area, they saw what used to be huge businesses that drew immense crowds back in the days before the great tragedy. Shattered windows, broken shutters, doors, and display cases, everywhere you looked only charred, ransacked, and pillaged buildings remained. In the Economic Resurgence of Latin America, the Federation became a sort of glass cannon: providing society with virtually anything they desired at a moment’s notice, reaching even the most isolated corners of the continental giant with easy, all these services and conveniences came with the price of making society incredibly accustomed to these comforts and luxuries. Whenever there was power shortage or even the slightest weather change, people would go on insane rants on social media, blaming the government or private institutions, others would fall into seemingly endless depression, and a few other went through violent episodes blaming the media and entertainment for their excessive advertisements and invasion of privacy, which they then proceeded to disturb, protest, and wreck public property on a whim. When the collapse came, everything escalated to an unprecedented scale. People killing each other trying to loot stores of non-essential items, stampedes leaving thousands dead just to get ahead in supplies, insanity overcame every sense of stability that was built up over the years.
As Cornelia and Lindbergh walked through some of the wrecked businesses, occasionally finding interesting trinkets guarded by big rats or other vermin. Eventually they found an old burned down adult sex shop, with some toys, whips, and leather outfits still on display. Despite their somewhat burned appearance, Lindbergh commented:
“Hey, look over there! I bet that’s where them feisty ladies went to get the flames of love back on track, huh?”
Flustered by his words, Cornelia sighs dismissively:
“Why do you have to be so immature? The least we can do is be mindful of those who lost everything around here.”
“My bad, I didn’t mean anything by it… By the way, where are we headed though?” he asked in a cheery tone. “I am following you around after all.”
“I told you the other day when we were eating!” she said in an increasingly frustrated tone. “I’ve got to find a way to go up North, to Tigre. Rumors have it that the military safe zone up there is still working.”
“Well if your plan is to cross the pond, count me in, I’ve never been beyond this side of the river.”
They continued their exploration through the center of town, until they came by a decrepit warehouse next to a ruined rotisserie. Nostalgia fills Cornelia’s voice as she speaks with a sigh:
“I still remember when I worked at a place like this. It was just after the bombs fell, we served a lot of people escaping the outskirts. Apparently it was worse for everyone out here.”
“So you worked as a cook there?”
“Y-yeah, how did you know?”
“Well, you’re always passionate whenever we talk about food, and you do make some pretty mean meals.” he said with a big smile on his scruffy face. “So, what happened? Why didn’t you stay there?”
“Well, I was working for these kind of elderly couple that ran a rotisserie, but they also had a depot. They traded food for all sorts of things, even providing services for people that came to trade food instead” she explained. “One day I was accompanying one of the owners on an out of town run, to get more supplies for the business. They had cut some sort of deal with a ranch out here, the thing was that when we came back the rotisserie was up in flames, and the survivors had fled into the depot. We tried to help and get them out, I don’t know who or what they were, hackers, terrorists, paramilitary, they did have robots with them. When I tried to get people out, they caught me and I passed out, I woke up with a raging headache, everyone was gone, all that was left was large pools of blood all over the floor, splattered all over the walls, and covering my clothes…” she said almost falling into a whisper as tears started to build up in her eyes.
Widening his eyes, Lindbergh turns his gaze to the floor saying with a sad expression:
“That must’ve been horrible. I’m so sorry you had to go through all that. No one deserves to experience something like that.”
“Don’t worry about it, it’s not like it was your fault. This New World is more fucked up and twisted than it ever was. Looks like we didn’t realize what we had until it was too late… And it wasn’t just us… Everyone did.”
“Well, we can still try our best to make it better, even if it’s just a little bit at a time.” he reassured her in a cheerful tone.
“I don’t know about that… I still feel as if all the stories that happened on these streets have been lost to time--”
“Yeah, it’s awful…”
“--I still can’t believe all those people are gone, I can’t get over how empty everything feels now.”
“Total bummer..”
Cornelia lifts up her head, looking at the sky with a somewhat hopeful expression as she smiles.
“I just hope we can find a peaceful place where things aren’t so messed up, a place where we can finally find some peace and begin to rebuild.” she said as she turned to Lindbergh. “Hey, by the way... Do you have any family?”
A few moments went by, noting that there was no answer, Cornelia looked around trying to locate Lindbergh to no avail. Her expression began to sour as she started taking a step back, towards a rundown store, when out of nowhere a loud shattering of glass breaks her train of thought, filling her with all sorts of bad expectations. Upon further inspection from the source of the destruction, she notes that it was indeed Lindbergh who was coming out of the store with a huge assortment of food and goods almost falling off from his arms, which immediately triggered a recrimination on Cornelia’s part.
“Coño, Lindbergh! Don’t scare me like that! Were you even listening to me all this time?”
“Of course I was. All that sadness made me hungry though. Priorities, woman. Want some candy? They’re in my coat’s pocket, go ahead and grab ‘em, I’ve really got my hands full here.”
“No! I don’t want any candy! You nearly scared me to death! I’m still recovering--”
Before she could finish her sentence, another loud bashing of glass can be heard, this time it appeared to be coming from somewhere around the dumpsters just a few steps away from their position. Lindbergh crouches down and signals Cornelia to do the same as he whispers:
“Shh… Alright, whatever that may be, I’m pretty sure it’s no match for us… You go first, I’ll cover