It’s more like apocalypseliteif you ask me.
Physically the orcs have ogre like physiques, grunting voices and surly personalities but characterizing them as stupid or low intelligence is just prejudice. They have a justice system of their own, which includes heads on stakes and bloody hand to hand combat which few humans could survive. Even at fifteen years old when I saw them for the first time, I didn’t recoil. I wasn’t scared. In my own childlike way, it seemed like a fairy tale coming to life.
Since then, I’ve had my share of less than pleasant experiences with them. But, most ignore me and I do the same right back. In more recent years, I chuckle when I’m in the more progressive integrated areas and I see one of them riding a modified Harley or wearing a three-piece suit, talking on a cell, as stressed as any other human Millennial back in the day.
There are growing divisions within their own race. There are those that want to stay separate, primal and steeped in their old ways, and those that embrace the possibilities of modern conveniences and lifestyles. They’ve looked upon the golden calf and greed has taken root.
I down shift and slow to a stop then shut down the engine and swing my leg over the peeling vinyl seat, walking it to the side of the house I staked out this morning. I lean the motorcycle against the red brick behind a cheerful, if not overgrown, blooming Forsythia bush. Then I make like a hippie ninja in my black and gray tie die and leather boots, my black hair pulled back in braids and secured in a leather orc-style hair band I picked up at a fair a few weeks ago, then move toward the rear entry.
Sliding my expired driver’s license down through the crack of the back door, I wait until it hits the bolt then angle and wiggle it the way experience has taught me for this type of 1980’s Schlage brass door lock. The deadbolt isn’t set, thank goodness, so with a few more seconds of manipulation it clicks and I shoulder it open.
The last hint of orange and pink in the sunset is fading as I pull down my night vision goggles and ease into the darkened house. I’m optimistic. This one didn’t have any broken windows and the doors were still closed so I may have hit the jackpot. E. Poplar Way used to be a very new-money gated community, so I might find some high-end shit.
The city and a good portion of the subdivisions surrounding it are nothing more than empty wastelands. Some have blocks of burned-out structures; other areas are time capsules. Bicycles lie on driveways; barbecue grills stand open with abandoned beer bottles full of rainwater sitting on picnic tables next to the ketchup and mustard. Lawns are overgrown, vines snake upward to peaked roofs. Nature is taking back what is hers and the occasional black bear sighting on Main Street isn’t out of the question.
I ease inside into a vacuum of silence. It roars around me as I press against the wall and relock the door using the deadbolt instead of the flimsy knob latch. I’m far from the only scavenger around and a diamond in the rough like this usually draws attention. Probably only its position, out of the way on the outskirts, helped keep it the way it is, but with my luck, some crew of scrappers will be rolling up on it any minute.
“I’m inside,” I whisper to Chloe. The low sound of breathing in my iPods tells me she’s still there.
Electricity is spotty in the worst areas, gasoline and natural gas are in short supply, but the government has managed to maintain cell service almost everywhere. There’s still Netflix and Bravo with the Kardashians, two of which are now in relationships with orcs. Most say it’s just for ratings, but who knows, and more truthfully, who cares? The Real Housewives of Orange County is still on but those New Jersey gals? Jersey’s a wasteland so, yeah, that’s all re-runs now.
“I hate when you go alone,” Chloe says, as I scan the entry, keeping her voice whispery as though someone might hear besides me. My goggles bounce back everything in hues of green and gray but I’m so accustomed to it, my brain translates it into full color. “What if you have an episode and pass out?”
“I’m a lone wolf,” I say, peeking around the doorway from a back entry mudroom that leads into an expansive white kitchen. There’s the scent of decay and a sadness from a place being closed up too long. On the long black marble island is a long rotten bowl of fruit surrounded by dead gnats that look like spilled pepper through my night vision. Dishes are piled in the sink and two highchairs with long ago-stale Cheerios on the trays stand at the end of the granite island. “Besides, I drank a bottle of water and ate some stale potato chips before I left. Got my hydration and my sodium all set.”
“You’re a lone something,” Chloe says. “You get an adrenaline rush then your blood pressure drops and boom, you’ll be down. I told you I’d go with you.”
I bite back a chuckle. “Chloe, you are many things, but a scavenger is not one of them. You got caught at the last festival taking a grape from the fruit stand.”
She is right about the possibility of me passing out but that’s not going to stop me. I’ve had syncope from low blood pressure since my early teens. I try to eat and drink and keep my salt intake up but sometimes, it hits me out of nowhere and I’m down for the count.
“Everybody takes a grape.” Chloe says as my skin prickles with the thrill of the hunt.
“Yes, they do, butyouget caught.” I whisper. “And, you’re ready to pop out that spawn of yours. You are my best friend, but not a good criminal.” I creep along the kitchen wall, spying a butcher block knife holder next to the gleaming stainless steel commercial range.
Score.
I note the Enso emblem on the end of each knife. Back in the before, these sets sold for four G’s, and now, I’ll separate them, sell them individually and make at least that much selling them out of the back of my school bus slash home on wheels.
“Looks like I might have to go,” Chloe hisses, with Levi shouting in the background. “Some appropriators are causing trouble. Not with us, but they’re messing with the that incense vendor with the purple hair. Orcs are one thing, but humans taking on orc culture just to be assholes? I don’t get it.”
“Yes, stupid,” I say. “I should be back in an hour. If you can help me get my booth set up, I’ll be running behind as usual.” I love working the festivals. Doing charcoal and caricatures isn’t high art, but it’s fun and I do my more serious work with the cash I make.
“Okay, but if you’re not back, I’m sending Levi to find you.”
Fuck. “Donotsend Levi. He nearly got me killed in Boonville last week.”
She releases a huff. “He wastryingto protect you.Thoseorcs were nuts, come one. You’re five foot nothing and selling them stolen weapons out of the back of the Magic School Bus.”
“I can handle myself. I had something they wanted, they had something I wanted, then Levi fucked it all up flashing that bullshit old badge I gave him as ajoke,not so he could pretend he’s part of Judicial Enforcement. Laws don’t mean much anymore everyone knows the JE are as corrupt as any of the gangs.”
I wrap the knives in towels and shove them into my backpack, rifling through a few drawers, scanning, grabbing a thing or two then moving toward the hallway looking at the artistic black and white photographs of two smiling identical looking toddlers and what I assume are their parents. Staring back at me are extremely well-groomed men, with unnaturally white smiles holding hands and beaming at each other. “I’ll see you later. It’s getting dark, I need to concentrate.”
“Okay, but if you’re not back…I’m going to send—”
“Bye.” I pinch my earbud to end the call, releasing a breath, and swallow, orienting myself in the dark space around me.
I work my way through the family room to an office. I scan the room with its dark wood paneling and 60” flat screen over the fireplace then I see it.