Hunger Pains

Empty husks. They had landed in what seemed to have been a park at one point but now only the flat land remained. Surrounding them, tall buildings, decrepit and broken. Excluding the blues of The Destiny, their surroundings were monochromatic. Beige had become everything. Cracked roads and upturned vehicles led them towards the last remnants of this dying race. Char followed behind Lore, weapon drawn as they navigated their way through the graveyard. The bones strewn through the streets had been picked clean and sat drying in the sun’s intense heat. There were no sounds, there were no smells, just death. They had landed at the closest point to the settlement but the walk was still forty five minutes long with barely a word spoken between them. As they approached the camp they thought things would have changed but the only difference between the city and the survivors settlement was the survivors. Bleached skeletons lay discarded in towers of ivory, the living hiding amongst the dead city. Lore and Char’s approach was near silent yet alerted the remnants. An alarm sounded but that was all, no guards, no weapons discharged in warning, just a siren. Lore walked towards what they determined to be the centre and emptied their satchel. Fourteen days rations seemed like a lot but with only twenty eight bars there would barely be enough for one per person. They stepped away from their offering and re-joined Char at the outer settlement gate. Hushed words were exchanged as a girl, more bone than skin skittered from the shadows. Gingerly, she approached the food pile and began a slow wrestle with the packaging. After her failure, she discarded it and returned to her darkened corner. Seeing her away, Lore walked towards the food and picked up the bar she had dropped. They easily tore the package open before setting it down once more. Before they could reach Char, the girl was back at the pile. She gave the bar a thorough examination, making use of all of her available senses before slowly biting into it. She smiled and shouted something in a language neither Lore nor Char fully understood. Then they came. Out of the woodwork, twenty six stick figures descended. They attempted to emulate Lore’s opening action but once again, after failing they dropped their bars and stepped away. Lore returned and to their surprise, the people remained. They reached down and picked up their closest bar and tore open its top. They then moved on and began opening the others. One by one, as Lore moved further away, the people returned and began snacking on the rations.
“Human.” His voice was raspy as he attempted to get Lore’s attention with his mouth full. “Why are you here?” He spoke in a slow and over enunciated tone.
“We came to help.” Lore slowed their tone slightly to ensure that they were understood but not enough to patronise.
“Too late.” He continued in the same tone. “We are already beyond help. You have extended our suffering this day but by tomorrow it will not matter.”
“We need to speak with the leader if one is available.” Char came closer.
“Or a historian.” Lore stood from their crouch.
“I am Sitia, leader of my tribe.” He stood from his hunched position. His back maintained its arch.
Despite his famine given figure, Sitia was a textbook example of his species. Peachy grey skin stretched over his mountainous shoulders and strong yet lean ostrich like legs making him perfect for his current situation.
“We have an idea to help you.” Lore began but Sitia shut them down.
“We are beyond help. Let us continue to die.” His pace had sped slightly but he pronounced the words with the same patronising emphasis.
“We didn’t mean now. We need to know when this all started.” Char came in closer and lowered her volume.
“This? This famine has plagued my people since long before my birth.” Lore looked at him and the others in the settlement.
“How did we miss this?” They shook their head.
“For seven years our planet has been sick. Before this began,” He closed his eyes and spoke with another’s voice. “Food was plentiful and free for all but now we are reduced to this.”
“Seven years?” Lore gave Sitia a double take. “You’re seven?”
“Five actually. I was among the last to be born. The famine made us unable to conceive.”
“O’Raes have genetic failsafes.” Char began. “If too many are active then breeding becomes impossible.”
“She’s right. My father spoke of the tightening, a period where our organs slow to allow for greater survival odds. He told me how because of it, my mother had to give her life for mine.”
“Do you have any written records of your history left that we can examine? If we can get exact dates and times, we could potentially stop this.” Lore’s arms flapped at their sides.
“We used many of our written texts to make crude sugars but those that survive are housed in the tower.” Sitia pointed to a pock marked sky scraper ahead of them. “And if he yet survives, our chronicle.”
“Does this Chronicle write your history then?” Char moved closer to Lore.
“He is an observer, a guardian from a long respected order. One of the few untouched by the famine. He is the keeper of our story and the herald of our extinction. When we breathe our last, it is his responsibility to ensure our tale is told.”
“When did you last see him?” Lore looked to their Breacher.
“Three moons ago. He came with pages and shells for consumption.”
“Three moons is about seventeen hours, give or take.” Char attempted to count on her fingers.
“Then that’s where we’re going next.” Lore turned to leave.
“Why now human? Why care now?”
“I’m sorry this has happened to you but your situation only appeared on our sensors recently.” Lore bowed their head as they left for the tower. The survivors huddled around them in thanks as they tried to leave the camp. Starved History.