George
glanced at the speedometer on his HMD. He must have been caught up
with the excitement of driving that he did not notice how fast he was
going. He eased the accelerator back.
"It's
getting a bit sandy," Tricia noted.
Out the
front windscreen, George saw that the air was getting dusty.
Visibility was getting shorter - the horizon had already disappeared.
He checked that his mask was still feeding him clean air.
"Say,
Tricia." A question had popped into George's mind. "Does
Iona usually offer us weird stuff like she did earlier?"
"Once
in a while," Tricia replied.
"Is
the stuff safe?"
"Not
always." Tricia paused. "You've to consider that she's
resistant to drugs and poisons. Something that she considers mild
maybe be bad for us. Especially since we're used to city food."
"So
she doesn't know herself?"
Tricia
shrugged. "I can't tell for sure. I can't say if she offers
something nasty on purpose or because she doesn't know. Iona, despite
her flightiness, is one of the best wasteland survivalist around. You
noticed that her pack can't have contained much food or water,
right?"
Since
Tricia had pointed it out, George recalled that in the cave where
they had rested, Iona had only a small sling bag. The other pieces of
luggage had been brought by the other members of the party.
"Anyway,"
Tricia continued, "I've drunk and eaten enough of her stuff to
be able to guess which are dangerous."
"Can't
I just decline?"
Tricia
shook her head. "Declining is also a risk. The food she gives
may offer some protection against some poison or condition out in the
wastes. It may help you survive out here."
If
George accepted food from Iona, it could make him feel bad. If he did
not, he could face some unknown danger without protection. It was so
difficult to decide with his health at risk both ways.
"You
can trust her," Tricia said, "She'll never offer anything dangerously poisonous."
That was
small relief. "So, what's the worst that could happen?"
"Loose
bowel movement, rashes. Hallucination, if you're unlucky."
Whatever
relief George had felt was gone, smothered by a fresh blanket of
unease. By then, he had learned of all sorts of hazards in the
wasteland. Bullets, poison, the weather. Why had he wanted to explore
the vast emptiness so badly?
"Uh,
Squirt," Tricia called his attention again, "Take a left at
60 degrees and floor the pedal." She was looking at the LCD
display on the datapad in her hands.
"Huh,
but shouldn't I drive slow."
"Right,
right, but we've a dust storm coming in fast and unless you want to
be buried in sand..."
George
glanced to the right, past Tricia, at the background beyond. He could
not make anything out in the low visibility. He had to trust that his
companion's information was correct.
The boy
quickly turned the pickup in the instructed direction and
accelerated. The engine roared to propel them to a greater velocity.
Combustion engines were noisier than vehicles that ran on electric
motors.
The land
was mostly flat, so bumps were occasional. However, the pickup still
vibrated with the engine's power. George did not pay attention to
those details, though. He was concentrating on driving and gear
shifting. Hopefully, he would not make a mistake and lose speed.
The dust
in the air grew thicker. The rearview mirror showed him nothing of
the approaching duststorm.
"Faster,"
Tricia urged.
George
switched to a higher gear and added pressure to the accelerator. The
bad visibility was a concern. "It's hard to see!"
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