A Smokey Story

Tentative title. Part one, incomplete.


“Just calm down. Relax and come with me, and I’ll make everything right.” My tone is assertive yet calm. If you panic, they start to panic, and that just creates a slew of new problems. My former friend doesn’t seem to be paying attention. My request is only met with the demented laughter of a man gone mad. The smoke idly sits atop the ground, without intention of going anywhere.

“You’re kidding, right?” he asks me. “You and I both know that you’re just going to kill me.” I try to look into his eyes, but I can’t make them out through the omnipresent black haze. Although he’s only standing a few feet away from me, I can only see his most basic features. His tall and slim frame, disheveled hair, and the large, protruding mask that covers his nose and mouth. There’s one on my face, too. I’m mostly acting out of desperation, anyway. Even though I can’t see his eyes, I’m already fairly certain what I would find there, and it wouldn’t be pleasant. “Kill me,” he repeats, “whether I listen to you or not.”

It’s hard for me to wrap my head around the idea that the imposing figure standing before me now was once one of my close friends. I’m not a very social person but I enjoy a little chat now and then. Wondering about the future is useless here and we met each other as two who liked to do so anyway. I can’t say I liked him when we first met but he grew on me as time went by. What was his name again? I don’t remember. Maybe it’s because of the smoke.
My attention suddenly snaps back to the task at hand. I usually don’t get distracted while I’m working, but memories will do that to you. My attention has only turned back because he has started to make a move. At first I think he’s attempting to grab a weapon. To my surprise he instead reaches for his mask, causing me to instinctively secure my own. “You said it yourself,” he reminds me as he begins to tinker with the latches and knots that hold the mask in place. “Everyone succumbs to the smoke sooner or later. Why fight it?” I’m starting to get fed up. This guy just won’t stop talking.

The mask drops to the ground. I may not be able to see his eyes, but it’s hard to miss the indicative black sludge dripping out between his teeth. The think ooze falls in a puddle on the ground, and I know now what I must do. Without waiting for him to act further, I reach for my trusty knife. We have advanced projectile weapons back in the settlement, but with the smoke out here you couldn’t aim worth a damn. We don’t use long blades out in the field for the same reason. You have to be pretty close to see our target so your only option is a short range weapon. Now that I’m sure he’s infected I can’t waste any time, so I aim right for his heart. He dodges my attempt at his life with a swiftness he doesn’t normally posses and swipes at me with his clawed hand. He doesn’t manage to rip all the way through the think leather covering my arm but does more damage to it than I would have liked. I realize now he must be wearing razors on his fingertips, an underhanded tactic only used by his type. I turn to face him again, and without hesitation he lunges for my mask, failing to realize you can’t get one off that way. They’re made of tougher stuff. During the moment that his razors are stuck in the already scarred outmost layer of my mask, I go for his throat. He can’t get out of the way this time and it’s a perfect hit.
The smoke infecting his already fatal wound only makes death reach him more quickly. He falls to the ground completely limp, without so much as a final gasp for air. Not that there’s any air to breathe out here. Before heading back, I grab his mask. They’re hard to make, and it would be wasteful to leave a perfectly good one out here. I leave his body where it fell. What else am I going to do with it?