The Brachiosaurus Riders

We’ve been trapped inside the Sears for five whole days...

Image prompt from Alicia, tagged by James (HVR).

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We’ve been trapped inside the Sears for five whole days.

Anyone who still goes to a brick and mortar store these days must already be desperate for supplies. There’s more trash and rubble in the parking lot than there is product inside the building. It’s a good thing nobody goes anywhere without a pack of food and water on them, otherwise I would’ve been in serious trouble two days ago. Despite dwindling supplies, no one volunteers to go outside.

Making my way to the main entrance, I peer through the glass. This morning, a massive leg, bigger than an ancient tree trunk, blocks my view. The Brachiosaurus is well known for being a gentle giant and probably would take little notice of the tiny humans, scrawny and sunburned, as we scurried out of the Sears.

No, the problem isn’t the five dinosaurs shuffling through the trash in the parking lot.

A man I’ve come to know as Pete joins me at the automatic doors that no longer open. He looks like he’s somewhere in his thirties, although it’s hard to tell sometimes. Unless you have access to medical supplies or a doctor, then disease can age you. But Pete seems like a fairly healthy guy. For someone roaming a Sears, he came surprisingly well prepared; he even gave some of us a little extra water on occasion.

He also doesn’t smell the worst, I notice, feeling heat rise to my face.

“Are the riders still there,” he asked, looking up as far as the windows allow, “or have they been cooked by the sun?”

High above the average human head is a howdah attached to the Brachiosaurus’s back. Usually, the howdah is filled with archers, weapons, food and water. High up, near the dinosaur’s head, is a specially-made saddle where the navigator can steer.

“Hard to say,” I reply. “They haven’t had anything to shoot at yet.”

“They might not have to.” Pete casts a grim look over his shoulder. “We won’t last much longer in here.”

When he turns that look on me, it becomes less grim and more determined.

“Do you trust me?”

No. I definitely shouldn’t. I don’t know anything about this men beyond what five days inside of an old Sears has shown me. And yet, I find myself saying:

“Yes.”

He smiles, and I look away. It’s been a long time since saying one simple word has left me feeling so pleased with myself.

Someone needs to distract the riders, he explains. Otherwise, we’ll all starve to death. If the two of us can create enough chaos out in the parking lot, then we all stand a chance of survival. He makes a good argument, but I’m no soldier. Any combat skills I lack refinement and are self-taught. We’re also not at our strongest right now, though that situation won’t improve the longer we wait.

Pete’s confidence only seems to grow as he shows me an old, janky lawnmower that he believes might run, if only to make loud noises. A diversion that will hopefully allow the two of us time to attack the nearest rider.

It’s crazy. Suicidal. But there’s a gleam in Pete’s eyes that makes me want to try. Makes me want to meet those insane expectations. Makes me want to hope.

Is that what I’m feeling? Hope? I haven’t felt it in so long.

We push the lawnmower to a back door. I’m already dripping sweat and craving a cold drink of water. Pete removes the moldy furniture we had used to barricade the door and shoots me a wink.

“Ready?” he asks.

I take a deep breath. “As I’ll ever be.”

He wrenches the door open, and the blazing sunlight rushes in. Here goes nothing.