Tincture, An Apocalyptic Proposition

We Live Amongst the Dust

Play
Share!

Share this Podcast

MyCast

MyCast

MyCast Subscription

Tincture, An Apocalyptic Proposition

Matthew D. Jordan

Seattle

Description: A free sci-fi western audio adventure.

Now Playing

We Live Amongst the Dust

Play Download media
There was a solemn nature about a place designed to fly folk around the landscape—especially one now long past use—but the way Rhamuel figured, it was just a big graveyard without any bodies. The three travelers made a short scout of their surroundings and had tried to flush out any possible threats, but when no baddies came a-runnin’ they made peace with that stretch of the journey and wandered inside the airport proper, looking for anything but trouble, prepared for it none the less. The inside of the giant Terminal building was familiar in its disarray, but the utter immensity of the place as it lay before them wasn’t something the travelers had been prepared for. Marcus gasped audibly once they’d stepped through two large doors, frames that looked like glass may have sat inside at one point, doors rusted to a crisp and permanently affixed in their crooked positions. They were immediately greeted with a still chaos, filth and blown-over parts of an operation completely foreign to them were strewn everywhere. There were long stretches of cloth flooring torn up and laid over chairs, papers and large metal signs lay everywhere, and the color of just about everything had been drained away long ago. Now, the muted tones of the barren occupied the Terminal, and everything lived under a thin sheen of dust. A large and decayed metallic frame lay before them upon their immediate entry. It had fallen from its support, likely from the roof of the Terminal building. The frame sat at an angle, still facing forward, long metal cables coiled around its base and draped over itself, however, the signage inside remained. On the face of the sign were tall white plastic letters pressed into a black surface, most of them jumbled from the fall, but the occasional word like “baggage,” or “court,” still remained. Rhamuel approached the massive sign and the thing was still a few feet taller than him, so he had to look up to read the larger embossed letters that had been pressed into a metal strip toward the top. Marcus and Abranyah approached as well, and together they silently read the letters to themselves, forming words that still meant little to nothing to them, or any traveler who may or may have not stumbled upon them. STAPLETON INTERNATIONAL AIRPORT “Doesn’t tell us a damnable thing about ferment or tincture ingredients,” muttered Rhamuel. “This is going to take forever.” Marcus leaned in and observed the tall white letters more closely. “Says ‘concourses,’ here. I think we’ll have to pick a direction, and hoof until we need to turn back. Shouldn’t be more than three sections, maybe four. Long though.” “Let’s make for it, then,” said Abranyah. “Look out for leavings of things that seem untouched, what isn’t rust or dust, as it is.” Rhamuel and Marcus were holding their gunners in ready positions as they traveled throughout the Terminal, Abranyah behind with her large blade slung over her shoulder, waiting for a cue to drop the hilt down into her palm. They wandered down a long channel in the Terminal, one side covered with patchwork windows—most free from their glass panels—and the other side a series of counters and rooms, each slightly different in what was presumed to be their original purpose. Everything was quiet, the rushing sound of the barren winds largely muted by the walls of the Terminal. Rhamuel gestured with the shotgun toward the rooms. “Shops, I’d figure,” he said. Abranyah nodded. “All kinds. Has me wondering if our ingredients are in one.” Marcus slipped his revolver into the waist of his pants, as retrieving and firing the weapon was something he could achieve with a speed that any possible danger wouldn’t likely be able to match. He stopped in the long Terminal channel and observed his surroundings. “Would a hospital be in here?” he asked. Abranyah shook her head. “Different place. But…” Abranyah took her blade and pointed it forward,

Subscribe & Follow

NMX and Nab Show, Las Vegas, April 2015