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The badlands were shrouded in darkness, the compact darkness of the midwinter. Not that there was any snow, in the badlands the normal weather was steady raining or drought, usually with no relation whatsoever to the month. This December was of the dry version, and the predators were getting desperate for prey. The roaring diesel engine was the only thing disturbing the silence of the dark night. Enrique was anxious to get back to the camp again, he didn’t want to miss too much of the celebrations. Well, he would soon be home again. The terrain was getting rocky, and the car started shaking against the uneven surface. Enrique wasn’t worried, he knew the terrain like the engine of his car, every slope and stone. He knew he had just passed the wreckage of an old schoolbus, a burnt skeleton from the war. He knew he would soon pass that sharp curve of the badland racing course, where his brother had lost his car to some scum from the Quakers camp. Soon that humiliation would be revenged he thought, as the dark shadow of a small hill appeared out of the darkness. He turned off the lights as the slope increased, and as the car reached the top of the hill he turned off the engine and let the car roll downhill to a silent stop. He sat for a while in the darkness, looking at the lights on the plain a few hundred metres ahead, trying to determine if someone had seen or heard him. Everything was calm, and he could hear the sound of the power generator keeping the important lights working, keeping the animals away from the camp. Without the power, everyone in the camp would be wide awake all through the night, on their toes looking for hungry predators. They would be easy prey in tomorrow’s race. He started to get nervous, and lit a cigarette to calm down. He inhaled deeply, enjoying the luxury, normally only the leaders and priests of the clan were allowed to use the rare cigarettes. Being given one was a sign that his mission was important, and that the clan had confidence in him. He would not let them down. Suddenly, the image of Roberto, the priest, turned up in his mind. He realised it was time, and turned the engine back on again. Dropping the remnants of the cigarette, he slowly turned the car until it was facing the dark silhouette of the generator building, outlined clearly against the glimmering lights. "Remember, boy, it’s better to give than to take", Roberto had said to him during the ceremony before he left the camp. Roberto was a wise man, what he said was always true. This time too. "So true", he thought, and pushed the fire button for the missiles. Three times to be on the safe side. He watched the streaks of smoke making their way toward the lights. The three explosions seemed disappointingly small, but a few seconds later the lights went out, one by one. "Merry Christmas", he thought, a satisfied grin on his face, as he turned the car around and stepped on the pedal. Behind him, he heard screams and the sound of engines starting... |