The Tramp – Part Four
Serial Story
The Tramp began a mad frenzy of a display running through the crowds of fleeing people. His blades were thirsty for blood and he was more than willing to quench their sickly appetites. It was amazing how things got so barbarous so quickly.
How did they allow themselves to get so worked up like this? Thought the Tramp. Surely they must have known that this moment was going to happen eventually, a country cannot enter a war, kill thousands, and expect no repercussions; death is always an inevitability. But maybe they were just living in a dream; maybe they refused to believe that any of it was actually real. It is very easy to disregard a conflict when the battleground was on enemy soil destroying enemy homes and cities.
The Tramp watched without sympathy as they ran like startled children. When it came to life, one truly only cared for its own. Family, children and loved ones were all abandoned as the natural will to escape the incoming doom took over. The Tramp was a wolf — just taking his pick for the slaughter. The Tramp was, of course, aware of the dubious safety provided by the Vaults, but reaching them provided no interest to him. Sure, it would be great to have a supply of meat sacks to kill. But, eventually, he would find himself alone and in the dark just wasting away until death came for him slowly. No, it was better to die doing what he loved and going out in a ferocious blaze of glory…
Where better a place to be than the location where everyone was headed? The Tramp wondered — because sooner or later, the people on these streets would notice him and because of the high gun rate in this city, he would be gunned down; after all, he is only human, and openly killing people. But outside the city, only a few were in the possession of a firearm, and they would be squashed like sardines trying to get into the Vault. It would be open season; he wouldn’t have to chase down stupid thugs like he is right now. All of them would be right there roundup together, so he could give his blades their fill and have an endpoint in his own death.
But how could he get there before the bombs went off? The vault was too far to run and he didn’t have a car. Someone above must have heard his question as cars now began to fill the street. The people held zero regard toward the people in their way and sent bodies flying in the air as they drove them over. One car in particular with blood covering its fractured windshield took a hard right and drove directly into a building. A resounding explosion detonated, causing the sound of screams to die out for a moment. Bits of bodies littered the ground, charred from the explosion. The screams of those caught in the explosion rose up as many of them crawled away after being knocked down or losing their limbs.
The Tramp thanked the unintelligent fool for that perfect distraction, though many of the vehicles continued on their way, sweeping over people. The explosion was enough to cause one curious car to stop and watch. With the amount of viable transportation out of the city escaping or exploding every second, he had to take the first chance he would get.
He rushed to the driver’s side of the small blue car and yanked on the door handle. To his surprise, it was unlocked and the car door went flying open. Sitting in his seat was a small man who fit perfectly in his tiny compact car. The puny man had pale white skin and a more-than-receding hairline. He wore a tight yellow sweater that fit so snugly the outline on his gut was visible. The tiny man looked up at the Tramp with a look of surprise that evolved into fear as the Tramp reached out toward him. With a quick succession of moves the Tramp successfully blasted the man in the face with a hardened fist and unbuckled the seat belt, sending the man thrashing into the pavement.
The Tramp ducked his head in order to get his large body into the miniature car and even once he was in, the top of the Tramp’s head rubbed up against the ceiling. The car had an automatic transmission and was still set in the drive position so all the Tramp had to do was but his foot down and drive. From the moment the car moved, the Tramp felt like he was driving a toy; before, he wasn’t able to appreciate just how little the car was. It truly was a glorified golf car and it definitely drove like one — with the slightest twitch of his hands on the wheel, the car lurched forward. It was almost as it the Tramp had been dropped into a video game as he swerved around the pedestrians running rampant in the streets. If he had had a substantially larger vehicle, the Tramp would feel remorse about running over the sheep sprinting for safety, but in this ca,r he would be as good as dead, too.
As the Tramp maneuvered around the people in the street he glanced out the window and saw the mayhem occurring outside. Storefronts were being crashed open from desperate people either trying to loot or trying to find shelter from the oncoming blast.
Nah, they’re definitely low life thieves.
The Tramp never understood the human nature of always wanting to have new things. He had always been on the move, going from place to place, never staying in one location for very long. But he was always leaving a pile of corpses behind him. The only possessions that the Tramp kept with him throughout the year were his trusty blades; it was because of this that he had zero patience nor the tolerance for those who stole things.
Bah, if you want to steal you better be prepared for the consequences.
The Tramp had a rather strange sense of morals and he knew it, nudging softly against the wheel to the right the car moved drastically toward the curb. It only took a moment of searching for the Tramp to locate the button to roll down the eastern window. The car never came to a full stop as the Tramp slowed the car down slightly so he could hold his arm out the window while his left still held onto the wheel. He kept his focus on the road before him but kept the car drifting to the right so he could catch as many of the would-be robbers as he could with the keen edge of his sword. Throats were torn open as the Tramp’s blade was driven through them at high speeds. At level with their necks, the gush of their jugular blood splattered the sky blue exterior of the stolen car and those standing around the soon-to-be deceased.
The Tramp let out a malicious laugh that drained the air from his lungs and caused tears to swell in his eyes.
This is truly a wonderful time to live in; I don’t think I’ve ever felt so alive. And its only going to get better once I make it to the Vaults — things are really going to kick off…
next: The Tramp – Part Five
previous: The Tramp – Part Three
more by FRANCISCO LEYVA
photograph by Rob Bye
