6th Episode
Much can be said about the old world. Much more about the new.
The old world was built on convenience. The new one was built on will.
The internet of long ago had a term for people like him—weaponized autism.
The Chief had called himself many names in the years after the event. It took tenacity to survive, and he had plenty of it.
The old world didn’t die in an instant. The solar storm itself barely killed anyone. But the days that followed — the long, lingering days — were the true death knell. The diabetics, the chronically ill, those whose lives depended on convenience, all perished. Some horribly.
The Chief sat cross-legged on a rock at the mountain’s peak, breathing in the crisp air and squinting at the late morning sun. He smiled. Not in triumph. Not in gloating. Just at the simple fact that he was still here.
Who had he been before all this?
A desk worker. A nobody. Accountant? Designer? HR? He couldn’t even remember.
But he knew he had been a loner. A weirdo. That much was certain.
Archery, repair, mountain climbing, MMA—trivial hobbies, they had called them.
“Hey, it’s the mall ninja,” someone had snickered at a camping supply store as he examined knives.
They had laughed.
The knives had kept him alive.
One of them now tipped his spear, a blade that had tasted much blood.
He outlived. He adapted. He survived.
He smiled.
Below, the village stretched across the terraced hillside, nestled within the valley that was their home. His people—the ones who had come to him for protection, the babies he had picked up and raised—were waiting. The tribe he built endured.
He adjusted the Ray-Bans perched on his nose. Years ago, he had pulled them from a skull wedged in a rusty elevator shaft. The world was cruel, but the air was peaceful today.
At the foot of the hill, movement caught his eye.
A boy, his body painted with stripes of mud and dye, stalked through the tall grass like a red tiger.
The hunter returns.
——————————————
Smoke curled from the campfires, the scent of roasted meat filling the air.
Goro urged his horse forward, guiding it through the fords of the brook, his heart pounding with excitement. The tribe was waiting.
Around him, the grass stirred. Others were returning too, his brothers bringing their gifts.
The wolves were coming back.
Goro looked up.
And there, standing atop the hill, his father raised a hand in greeting.
It’s time for the Jamboree.
