Robinson Crusoe 2244 by E.J. Robinson Page B

horde hit the blockade like a battering ram. He nearly lost his footing. Even worse, the structure started wobbling badly. It was only a matter of time before it toppled. Several renders tried to climb after him but fell back into the crowd where they were swarmed and torn to pieces.
    The horrific scene made Robinson’s stomach churn. But as he reached the top of the blockade, his foot flew out from under him and he fell down the other side, landing hard on his shoulder and hip. Pain flared up his legs and spine, so excruciating he couldn’t move. Just when he thought he might pass out again, he heard the breaking of glass and the shattering of wood. A render had circumnavigated the blockade through a storefront. The beast rose up on two massive legs and let out a piercing howl that Robinson knew would be the last sound he ever heard. But just as it took a step in his direction, he heard a snap of metal. The creature never saw the barricade as it toppled over and crushed him.
    Robinson limped off again, but the pack stormed after him. His hip was hobbled and he was beyond exhaustion. It wouldn’t be long now.
    As the creatures closed in on him, Robinson’s only path was a small park on an adjacent hill. He burst through its gates as the creatures closed in behind. He limped along until he stumbled from the path, his feet submerged in mud that felt like cold, viscid gruel. He fell and scuttled on his back up the hill until he could no longer move. There he waited for the renders to descend on him in unison.
    They never did.
    The beasts lingered at the edge of the path but would venture no farther. A few still had sight of him, but the majority had been turned away by the scent of something stronger than blood. Robinson looked down and felt the stuff coating his skin. It was black and thick and smelled vaguely sulfurous.
    “Oil,” he said in comprehension. “You won’t go near oil.”
    The renders thrashed and howled at the sound of his voice, but none would enter the wet part of the field. Robinson scooped up a handful of crude and slung it at them. They quickly scattered. His anger suddenly boiled to the surface as he rose to his feet, screaming for all his worth. There, he fell to his knees, too tired to sob or to celebrate that he was alive. It should have felt like a great victory, but all he could think of were the days ahead. Twice in two days he had faced death. Twice he had persevered. To survive here long term, he would need more than blind luck. He would need help.
    The answer came like a thunderbolt. Not from the sky but from the earth. There, in the mud before him, was a boot print.
    And it was fresh.

Chapter Sixteen
Contact

     
     
    The next three days were a soul-numbing experience of limited sleep and limitless despair. He had run too long on adrenaline. All he had left was vapor.
    The day after the attack, Robinson returned to the white building only to discover the damn creatures had ravaged his belongings and scattered them to the wind. Of the few possessions he could scavenge, he found only two rations of food, half a candle, and his flint. Everything else was gone, including his shoes. Even if he scaled his already paltry meals back to a few rations a day, he had no chance of them lasting out the week.
    Each day at dawn as the renders crept back into the shadows, he was left to face the city alone. He traveled through empty streets, across broken roads, and down to the river where he gathered materials for a fire. Two turns each day were spent purifying water. It was never enough.
    Foraging was not a skill he had learned in school. He had little idea what he needed or where to look to find it. Since he was too afraid to travel outside the city, he mostly walked the residential areas, peeking over fences for an occasional tree bearing fruit or nuts. Both were hard to come by and of those he found, the birds and animals had often gotten to them first.
    Animals were surprisingly abundant during the