WHY THE WORLD'S LAST HOPE IS A CAN OF PEACHES

Chapter 2: The First Date (With Death)

"I hear more of them coming," Kaia repeated, her voice a sharp contrast to the wet, echoing drips of the tunnel.

Roderic wiped a smear of oily sludge from his cheek, staring at the black water soaking into his trousers. "Move? Move where? I’m currently standing in a soup of city-wide failure, Kaia. My shoes are ruined. My life is ruined. My peaches are—"

"Safe in your bag, mostly. Look, do you want to keep a tally of your losses or do you want to keep your head?" Kaia didn't wait for an answer. She splashed forward, her tactical boots crunching on the silt-covered concrete.

"I’d like both, actually! Is that too much to ask?" Roderic scrambled after her, his backpack clanking with the sound of several surviving tins. "And for the record, that wasn't a 'tactical descent.' It was a plummet. A very loud, very expensive plummet through my bedroom, my living room, and my peace of mind."

"I hit the target, didn't I?" Kaia tossed over her shoulder, her blue eyes scanning the darkness ahead.

"The target was a building, Kaia! It’s a stationary object! It’s not exactly a feat of marksman-like precision to fall onto a three-story brownstone!"

"Yeah, but I chose your brownstone. That’s the part you should be flattered by."

Roderic choked on a laugh that sounded more like a sob. "Flattered? You turned my home into a skylight and invited a pack of scythe-armed nightmares over for dinner! I had a system! I had labels! Everything was facing forward!"

"And now everything is facing... everywhere," Kaia chirped, slowing down as they reached a rusted ladder leading back up to the surface. "Shh. We’re near the West Terminal exit. Keep the whining to a low hum, okay?"

"I don’t whine. I provide necessary feedback on the quality of my current existence."

"Great. Feedback noted. Now, climb."

They emerged from a manhole tucked behind a pile of scorched tires. The street above was a skeletal remains of a shopping district. Twisted metal frames of cars sat like ribcages on the cracked asphalt. The air was thick with the smell of wet ash and something metallic.

"Okay," Kaia whispered, crouching low. "We need to cross three blocks to get to the Old Tech district."

"Three blocks? In the open?" Roderic hissed, pulling his jacket tighter. "That’s suicide. The Stalkers are one thing, but the Scav-drones—"

A sharp, rhythmic clack-clack-clack echoed from the far end of the street. It was followed by a low, mechanical growl.

"Cyborg-dogs," Kaia muttered, her face going pale. "Patrol pack. If those sensors pick us up, we’re done. In here. Now!"

She grabbed the strap of Roderic’s bag and yanked him toward a rusted, oversized dumpster overflowing with mildewed cardboard and unidentifiable rags.

"No. No, no, no," Roderic whispered, resisting. "That is a dumpster, Kaia. That is where germs go to have conventions."

"It’s also where people who don't want to be disemboweled go! Get in!"

She shoved him over the edge. Roderic landed with a muffled oomph on something that felt suspiciously like a damp mattress. Kaia tumbled in after him, pulling the heavy metal lid shut just as the mechanical clicking grew louder.

The interior of the dumpster was pitch black and smelled of ancient rot and wet fur. Roderic felt his skin crawl.

"I hate this," he breathed, his face inches from Kaia’s tactical vest. "I hate every single atom of this situation."

"Stop vibrating," Kaia whispered back. "You’re making the cans clink."

"I can’t help it! I’m having a very reasonable physiological response to being trapped in a trash can while robot wolves hunt us!"

Outside, the clack-clack stopped. A heavy sniffing sound drifted through the gaps in the dumpster’s rusted lid. A red laser light flickered through a small hole, dancing across Roderic’s forehead. He held his breath, his heart hammering so hard he was sure the dogs could hear it.

After an eternity, the mechanical growl shifted into a whine, and the clicking faded as the pack moved further down the street.

Roderic let out a long, shaky exhale. "Are they gone? Please tell me they’re gone."

"Yeah," Kaia said, but she didn't move. The space was cramped, forcing them into an awkward, knees-to-chest tangle. "They’re heading toward the sector wall. We’re clear for now."

"Great. Can we leave? I think something just touched my leg, and if it wasn't you, I’m going to scream."

"It was probably a rat. They’re harmless. Mostly." Kaia shifted, her shoulder brushing his. "Look, Ashborne. I know you’re pissed about the roof. And the table. And the general state of your Tuesday."

"I’m past pissed, Kaia. I’m in a state of advanced existential dread."

"I didn't pick your roof at random," she said, her voice dropping to a serious tone he hadn't heard before. "I’ve been watching that block for a week. Everyone else died or ran within the first month of the Collapse. But you? You stayed. You kept your lights off. You didn't leave a footprint. You were the only ghost in the sector who knew how to actually stay a ghost."

Roderic frowned in the dark. "I just like my privacy. And my peaches."

"No, it’s more than that. You have a knack for being exactly where the danger isn't. I call it luck. My boss calls it a 'localized probability anomaly.' Either way, I need it. I’m looking for a specific transmitter—a Pulse-Link—hidden in the Old Tech district. If I find it, I can broadcast a signal to the offshore havens. We might actually get a lift out of this hellhole."

"And you think I’m the key to finding it?"

"I think your luck is the only thing that’s going to get us through the Wasteland territory. Those guys aren't like the Stalkers. They’re human. Well, mostly human. And they’re very, very paranoid."

Roderic groaned, leaning his head back against the cold metal wall. "So, to recap: you destroyed my sanctuary to draft me into a suicide mission because you think I’m a lucky charm? I’m not lucky, Kaia. I’m just a guy who really, really hates being bothered."

"Same thing in this world, Peach-Man. Now, let’s get out of this trash. I think the 'something' on your leg was actually a half-eaten boot."

They climbed out, Roderic spending a good thirty seconds frantically brushing off his sleeves. They moved with more caution now, sticking to the shadows of the crumbling storefronts. The further they went, the more the landscape changed. The debris was no longer just trash; it was reinforced. Barbed wire was strung between streetlamps. Human skulls—some real, some metallic—were perched on spiked fences.

"We’re in Dorian’s backyard now," Kaia whispered, her hand hovering over her pistol. "Don't make eye contact with anything. Especially if it’s on a pike."

"Why did we come here again? This seems like the opposite of where 'luck' would take someone," Roderic muttered.

"The transmitter is in the old relay station. Dorian moved his camp right on top of it. He thinks it’s a gold mine. He just doesn't know how to turn it on."

"And let me guess, you do?"

"I have the codes. You have the 'don't-get-shot' energy. It’s a perfect partnership."

"I’d prefer a partnership that involved a lawyer and a restraining order," Roderic grumbled.

They turned a corner into a wide courtyard that had once been a plaza. Now, it was a fortress. Tattered banners hung from the balconies of a luxury hotel, and a fire flickered in the center of the square, surrounded by men and women in mismatched armor.

Before they could take another step, a bright spotlight snapped on, blinding them.

"Hold it right there, scavengers!" a gravelly voice boomed from above.

"Don't move," Kaia hissed under her breath. "Just let me do the talking."

A man stepped out from the shadows of the hotel entrance. He was tall, lean, and wore a coat made of several different types of animal hide. His face was a map of scars, and his eyes were cold and yellowed like old parchment. In his hands, he gripped a double-barreled shotgun that looked like it had been salvaged from a shipwreck and held together by spite.

"Kaia Everlast," the man said, his voice a low growl. "I heard a birdy fell out of the sky today. I didn't realize she’d be bringing a guest."

"Dorian," Kaia said, her voice suddenly smooth and confident. She tucked her hands into her belt, looking entirely too relaxed. "You’re looking... well. Did you do something with your hair? It’s very 'post-industrial chic.'"

"Save the charm for someone who still has ears to hear it," Dorian said, stepping closer. He ignored Kaia, his gaze settling on Roderic. "Who’s the civilian? He smells like disinfectant and... is that syrup?"

Roderic felt his knees trembling. "It’s... it’s Del Monte's finest, sir. Please don't shoot me. I’m just the logistics coordinator."

"Logistics?" Dorian scoffed, leveling the rusted barrels of the shotgun directly at Roderic’s nose. The metal was pitted with age, but the dark holes of the barrels looked cavernous. "He looks like a spy. Or a snack."

"He’s with me, Dorian," Kaia said, her tone sharpening. "And we have business. The kind of business that involves that big, shiny tower you’re sitting on."

Dorian didn't lower the gun. He poked the tip of the barrel right into the bridge of Roderic’s glasses, forcing him to tilt his head back.

"Business is closed for the day," Dorian hissed. "The only way you're walking into my camp is if you're the ones I’ve been waiting for. And if you are, you’ll know the words."

Roderic stared down the twin barrels, his vision blurring. "Words? What words? I have a lot of words! I have a whole dictionary of words! 'Inconvenient' is a personal favorite right now!"

"The password, boy," Dorian growled, his finger tightening on the trigger. "Give me the secret password, or I’ll see what the inside of your head looks like on the pavement."

Roderic looked at Kaia. She was staring at him, her eyes wide, silently mouthing something he couldn't make out.

"I... I don't..." Roderic stammered, his mind racing through every label he’d ever memorized. "Is it... 'Best before June 2027'?"

Dorian’s eyes narrowed. The hammer of the shotgun clicked back with a sound like a death knell.

"Wrong answer."