Burial ground

    The graveyard stretched to the horizon, bleak and black. Wrecks of tanks, planes, armored vehicles, helicopters, robots. Intertwined in a deadly embrace. Motionless, rusting, sinking beneath the constantly shifting sand.

    This place, witness to the greatest battle of the war, the battle that tipped the scales of victory in favor of humanity, now stood dead and forgotten.

    Aside from the scorpions, he was probably the only living creature here. And certainly the only sentient being (though, as in every war, many wonder if humans are truly sentient). There was no human being within a radius of dozens of kilometers.

    The war held no interest for him. Before he had to join the army, he had been a taxi driver. He had his own car, which earned him money, an apartment, a family. He had something to live for. And the war had snatched it all away in a split second. They had only sent a telegram that his wife and two children were dead. They had perished in a missile attack.

    That's when he decided to escape. To escape this hell where people were dying at every turn.

    During one of the battles, in a small town on the Pakistani border, he suffered a minor wound to his arm. He disconnected the sensors monitoring his vital signs, smeared himself with blood, pulled on the still-smoking remains of the machine he had destroyed moments earlier, and pretended to be dead for four hours. Then he set off.

    He arrived here.

    From the wreckage and debris, he built himself a shelter and buried the bodies of the soldiers who had fallen on the field of glory. Not all of them, of course. Only those within a few hundred meters, but even so, he had two days' work. He set up an alarm system and set traps (he learned this during the siege of Kabul).

   He ate whatever he could find. He hunted small desert animals living among the nearby rocks. A day and a half's walk from the Cemetery, a river flowed, from which he obtained water.

    Sometimes he ran short of men. The days seemed to drag on endlessly. But he preferred to stay away from towns and settlements. He feared someone would recognize him and accuse him of desertion.

    That day, as every day, the sun woke him around seven. Bright, warm rays streamed into the turret of the Abrams where he had his sleeping quarters. He climbed out through the hatch. At this hour, the steel armor was still cold, and contact with it quickly and painfully drove away the last vestiges of sleep.

    He stood, stretched, and looked around his camp.

    To the left of the large square was a "bathroom": a small radar doubling as a basin, an additional fuel tank for the helicopter disguised as a boiler. The water was always icy cold in the morning, but after a full day in the sun, an evening bath was a pleasant experience. The canopy of an F-16 served as a bathtub. It was transparent, but here, he didn't have to worry about that.

    He spotted a towel hanging from a pipe driven into the ground and sighed. He'd forgotten to put it away overnight again. Now it would be all damp.

    To his right, he'd improvised a field kitchen.

    In the center of the square was a fire ring (a pit into which he poured gasoline), and under the Abrams turret , he'd set up a chair from the same F-16 as the "bathtub."

    The outhouse was outside the camp.

    He washed himself, then dried himself with a wet towel. He ate the remains of last night's dinner and stretched out on the chair. The only problem with the food was that it spoiled quickly. Even if he protected it from the sun and heat under layers of scrap metal, it didn't last more than a day.

    A month ago, while walking to the river for water, he came across a caravan. For a few rounds of ammunition, he bought some seeds: beans, peas, and a few other seeds. A week later, he began preparing the land for cultivation. He fenced off a patch of land that was sunny most of the day, watered the ground, and assembled his tools.

    Plowing the plot took him all day. He took his time. When it became too hot to work at noon, he moved his chair into the shade and took a nap. That evening, he returned to the field and sowed it.

    Then he went hunting. He managed to shoot two of the small animals that lived in the area. He didn't know their names. They reminded him of the prairie dogs he'd seen when he was a child in America.

    When the sun dipped below the horizon, he returned to camp, skinned the animals, and roasted them. Two were just enough for dinner. Not particularly filling, but he'd gotten used to the fact that he rarely managed to eat more. And he had to save something for breakfast.

    There wasn't much to do in camp after dark. The fire kept the animals away, though he'd never seen anything bigger than those prairie dogs. But how long could one sit by a fire alone? Fire has a certain hypnotic power that can easily make you melancholic. Melancholy isn't a good idea, especially when you're aware of the prospect of spending many more months alone.

    So he climbed into the turret and settled down for sleep.

    The sound of falling scrap woke him. He scrambled to his feet, grabbed his rifle, and jumped out of the Abrams . He knew exactly what the noise meant. Someone had tripped one of his alarms. They'd deliberately set them to wake the dead.

    He jumped to the ground. He ran in the direction of the noise. Without slowing, he checked his magazines. The first contained thirty standard, caseless rounds, the second, six explosive twenty-millimeter rounds.

    He ran onto the pile of scrap and crouched on his heels. He listened.

    Nothing. Silence.

    He looked around. The sun hadn't risen yet, but its light was already illuminating the sky. The darkness of night had given way to the gray of dawn.

    Behind him, on his left, lay one of the arsenals he had placed in various spots in the Graveyard. In case of an attack, he would retreat there. Weapons and ammunition were plentiful in this place. After all, thanks to them, he could buy the seeds he had sown yesterday.

    He thought someone might want to destroy his plot, and he was startled.

    He moved cautiously across the pile of scrap metal, trying to make as little noise as possible. He dropped to the ground. He approached the edge of the steel mound.

    He cautiously peered around the corner, holding his rifle at the ready.

    Someone was sitting in the alley where he had installed the alarm. A figure dressed in rags.

    He activated the flashlight attached to his weapon and stepped around the corner.

    White, xenon light flooded the path as he placed his finger on the trigger and switched on the lamp.

   "Don't move!" "He shouted. His own voice surprised him. He hadn't heard it in a long time. He rarely spoke to himself, and even then, he did so quietly. "Who are you!? What are you doing here!?"

    The figure turned to him, violently shielding his eyes from the bright light.

   He slowly lowered his rifle. The figure moved his hands away from his face.

   "Don't shoot..." That voice surprised him even more. He hadn't heard another human being in a very long time, apart from a terse exchange with the people from the caravan a month ago. And this human being...

   It's a woman, " rolled through his mind.

    He wasn't mistaken. It was a woman. Her face was dirty, her hair matted and matted. Her eyes were wide with fear.

    Only now did he notice that her right leg was trapped under a large piece of steel.

    He lowered his rifle and approached cautiously.

   "Don't move," he said. He tried to keep his voice gentle. "I won't hurt you. I want to help you."

    He slung the gun over his shoulder and lifted the steel plate that held her leg in place. It was heavy.

    As soon as she managed to free herself, she quickly retreated to the opposite wall of the scrapyard. As far away from him as possible. She was terrified. She hadn't noticed the bleeding wound on her calf at all.

    He knelt down in front of her and examined the wound. It wasn't serious, but the rust and dirt could cause an infection.

   "You're hurt," he said quietly. "On your leg." He nodded.

    She glanced quickly at her calf, then back at him.

    She tore off a piece of the cloth she was wearing and quickly wrapped it around her leg. As she did so, she barely looked away from him.

   "If you leave it like this," he said. "You'll definitely get an infection."

    She glanced at her leg uncertainly.

   "My camp is right here, not far away. I have water and some clean rags… I'll take care of you."

    She stared at him silently.

    The first rays of sunlight filtered over the mountains of scrap metal, and he thought of a few pieces of roasted prairie dogs left over from dinner.

   "I have food," he said. "Are you hungry?"

    At the word "food," her stomach gave a dull growl.

    She nodded quickly.

   "Then come with me."

    He stood and walked slowly back.

   "Can you…" a soft, hoarse voice said behind him. "Can you help me? I can't get up."

    He walked over to her and smiled. He took her by the arm and lifted her up. He led her to the camp.

    He sat her down in an armchair and gave her a canteen of meat. He sat down opposite her on the sand and watched his breakfast disappear at lightning speed. He would have to hunt something else, because it would be hard to wait until nightfall.

    He climbed onto the turret. He dug inside for a piece of bandage and a clean rag. He went downstairs, poured water into a bowl, and approached her.

    She recoiled instinctively.

   "Relax, I won't hurt you," he said. "It's just a bandage. I'll bandage you up."

    She looked at him hesitantly.

    He offered his hand.

   "Show me your leg."

    She slowly straightened it toward him.

    He dipped the rag in the water and gently placed it on the wound.

    She withdrew her leg, hissing in pain.

   "It'll only hurt a little," he assured her. "I need to wash this before I apply the dressing."

    He carefully touched the wound. She hissed again, but didn't move.

    When the wound was washed, he began applying the bandage.

   "What's your name?" he asked, his eyes fixed on the dressing.

    Silence fell. He lifted his head and looked at her.

   "Ava," she finally replied.

   "German?" she replied with a nod. "But you know English?" Another nod.

    He went back to bandaging.

   "I'm Kenneth," he announced. He finished bandaging and stood up. "Well, it's done. "

    She moved her leg carefully.

   "It'll hurt for a few more days, but at least it won't get infected.

   " "Thanks." She smiled faintly. He smiled back.

   "Tell me... how did you get here?" He sat down on the sand again, this time closer.

   "I was traveling with the caravan to Kabul..." She fell silent for a moment. "We were attacked by machines."

    He bit his lip. He knew all too well how an encounter between poorly armed, untrained merchants and robots that destroy anything that moves and doesn't run up a tree ended. Besides, armed and trained soldiers didn't fare any better in such a confrontation.

    She told him that only a few people had survived, but most were seriously injured and soon found themselves alone. She had been trying to get to Kandahar. She had walked until she arrived here. She had subsisted on supplies they had taken from the caravan, but she hadn't eaten for three days.

    He didn't know what to do with her. He couldn't let her go on hungry. But he had nothing left either. He didn't want to leave her alone and go hunting.

    A funny thought occurred to him. He imagined himself as a caveman. Wrapped in leather, carrying a wooden club, going out to hunt a mammoth while his wife waited in the cave. He smiled at his thoughts.

   "Why are you smiling?" she asked.

    He looked confused. He waved his hands and stood up.

   "No, nothing. I just thought of something."

    She looked at him suspiciously.

   "Listen," he said. "What you ate was all I have. Everything spoils quickly here, so I have to go hunt something else." "Stay put. You're safe here. I've set traps around the camp." He realized he'd been fooling himself. "But you already know that," he muttered, taking his rifle and disappearing around the bend.

    He didn't return until afternoon. He'd managed to shoot five prairie dogs. He was truly proud of himself. The caveman came to mind again.

    When he entered the camp, Ava was sitting in the armchair, just as she had been when he'd left. The only signs that she hadn't been sitting there all day were her footprints in the sand.

   "I've boiled water," she announced as he approached.

    He glanced at the stove. A bowl of water sat on the hearth.

    He smiled.

   "Can you cook?" He showed her his prize.

    She nodded and smiled genuinely for the first time. She took the animals from him and went to the stove.

   "I have something else to take care of, but I'll be back soon," he said.

    He grabbed two containers of water and left.

    He only remembered it while hunting. In all the confusion she'd caused, he'd completely forgotten about his seeds. They'd been there, in the ground, without water, in the scorching heat.

    Now he watered them, but not too much, so they could absorb the water before the night's chill froze it. It occurred to him that they could make a sort of greenhouse.

    When he returned, dinner was ready. He built a fire and sat down on the ground.

    If she stayed here much longer, he'd have to find another chair.

   "She'll stay here much longer." The thought made his nerve endings quiver with electric shock. The hairs on his arms rose and fell.

    He'd spent the night in one of the weapons depots, handing his Abrams to Ava. Not that he was a gentleman, he simply didn't trust her very much.

    How could he be sure she wasn't a murderer or a thief? They were capable of telling tall tales to get to you! Maybe she wanted to steal his plants!?

    Finally, his restless thoughts sapped his last strength, and he fell asleep.

    He woke when the sun was already high in the sky and the warehouse was hot.

    He crawled out and headed toward the camp, but didn't immediately step out into the open, instead peeking out over the mound of scrap metal.

    Ava wasn't asleep anymore either. No wonder, if she'd spent the night in Abrams . She was still limping, but the pain probably wasn't severe, because she'd managed to fetch water, boil it, and heat up the leftovers.

    Maybe she wasn't a thief after all? He had no reason to distrust her.

    He stepped out into the open, resolving not to talk to her about the plants for now.

   "Good morning!" he called.

    She turned to him and smiled.

   "Hello. I heated up what was left from yesterday." She gestured to the canteen containing the remains of the meat. "Would you like some?"

    He smiled and took the container.

   "How's your leg?

   " "It hurts, but it's bearable."

    They ate breakfast, and then he changed her bandage.

    As he went hunting, he first checked his plot. He watered the ground (the results of his labor were still invisible).

    Suddenly, a roar echoed through the Cemetery.

    He rushed toward the camp. He found Ava standing motionless in the middle of the square.

   "Can you shoot?" he asked, not even looking at her. He struggled with his rifle to disconnect the grenade launcher module. He might have hated the military, but he'd spent several years in the army, and in times of danger, his military pragmatism kicked in.

   "I used to... I used to shoot... but..."

    He dealt with the grenade launcher and handed her the rifle. It was much lighter now.

   "Hide in the Abrams and don't come out until I call you!"

    He rushed to the nearest weapons depot, where he got a new rifle and extra magazines.

    He knelt down to catch his breath.

    Where had the noise come from? From the southern edge of the Graveyard. How long had it been? About four minutes. If the trap hadn't stopped his guests like Ava had, it should have at least slowed them down.

    He sighed in dissatisfaction and headed south.

   It had been awfully crowded around here lately...

    The sun was heating the wrecks' armor so much he could feel it even through the thick soles of his boots. He suspected that if he stayed in one place for too long, they would begin to melt. Lying down on the mountaintop and crawling to the edge was out of the question, too. So he jumped down and moved across the sandy ground.

    He crawled to the spot where he'd set the trap and hid behind a small pile of scrap metal.

    He quickly leaned over it and then ducked back down.

   "Fuck..." he hissed quietly.

    Beneath the mound of sheet metal and armor, a spidery walking tank, the size of a Jeep, was dying.

    Machines.

   Where had they gotten here?

    If this tank was still operational and spotted him, he'd let the others know someone was alive.

    But if he finished him off, he'd give away his position. There were definitely more of them here!

   Think, man! If they have thermographs, they can still see you! The nearest ambush is two hundred meters to the left, the weapons depot behind you.

    He switched his rifle to explosive rounds.

    He rose and fired three shots, followed by three explosions. He hid, waiting for the smoke to clear.

    But he didn't. A second tank appeared on top of the rubble to the right.

    He jumped left just as a hail of bullets engulfed his hiding place. He rolled and scrambled to his feet. Blindly, he fired the remaining rounds and ran toward the next ambush.

    Behind him, a terrifying clang of steel echoed. He didn't even look back. He didn't want to know if the machine was tearing through the mounds of armor or if this was just its death throes.

    Gunfire rang out again. He dodged to the side and was now running

    in a zigzag pattern. He entered a narrow alleyway. He remembered exactly where he'd set the ambush. He vaulted over a tripwire, rolled, and continued running. He glanced back. He lost his balance and fell.

    The spider-like monster stood two meters in front of the ambush. It didn't move. And it wasn't aiming at him.

    He had the impression the machine was analyzing it. She saw him jump, and with its precise cameras, she could even see the well-hidden mechanism.

    It slowly released the magazine, which fell into the sand.

    And suddenly, the machine surged forward. It leaped over the trap and lunged at him.

    He covered his face with his gun, waiting for a shot, a blow, or something that could end his life in an instant.

    The machine didn't even register the first shot. After the next, it stopped and looked to the right. It analyzed the trajectory and determined where it had come from.

    Kenneth knew, too. He saw Ava the moment the machine moved toward her.

    He removed a fresh magazine and loaded it. He put the rifle to his shoulder and pulled the trigger repeatedly.

    Successive explosions ripped through the machine's armor until the click of the bolt announced that the magazine was empty.

    He ran to the wreckage and fired another full clip of standard rounds.

    He reloaded. He glanced around nervously, searching for more targets. But all around, there was silence.

    He slowly lowered the rifle. His breathing was returning to normal.

    Suddenly, he heard a crack behind him.

    He whirled around.

    Ava was clumsily climbing down from a pile of scrap metal.

    He breathed a sigh of relief.

   "What are you doing here?" he gasped. He wasn't sure whether to be angry that she hadn't listened to him or grateful that she'd helped him.

    He walked over to her and helped her down.

   "I heard the explosions and I was afraid something had happened to you.

   " "Everything's okay. Thanks for the help." He smiled. He looked at the wreckage. "You're a good shot.

   " "When I was traveling with the caravan, I learned to shoot at cans.

   " "This is also... a bigger can..." he said, kicking the smoldering wreckage. "Come on... We have to see if the other one is dead too. "

    They headed for the first trap.

    This machine, too, turned out to be just a pile of scrap metal.

   "Since you can shoot, maybe you'll come hunting with me?" he suggested.

    She agreed.

    They spent the rest of the day shooting prairie dogs, lying around, and staring at the blue sky.

    Ava, though she only managed one, had a good day for Kenneth. He'd hit seven.

    They returned to camp and talked well into the night.

    Then he went to the warehouse. He crawled into the crumpled Hammer. He lay down on the ripped seat, turned around, adjusted himself, and went outside. He couldn't stand it without a blanket. Too cold. And in the morning, he took it with him to camp.

    He set off back.

    Bright light flooded the streets around the camp. He stepped into the circle, but immediately backed away.

    He crouched and leaned out cautiously. Ava sat

    beneath the turret of the Abrams , in the water-filled canopy of the F-16.

    The red glow softly washed over her naked body. She washed it with slow movements. She hadn't bathed in weeks. There was no doubt she was enjoying it immensely.

    Kenneth greedily drank in the sight. Ava's legs, long and shaped by miles of desert travel, dripped with water every time she ran a wet cloth over them. Her breasts were beautiful. Round, like plump grapefruits. God! He hadn't tasted grapefruit in his mouth in over two years. His body reacted automatically. He wanted so badly to approach her... now... at this moment... to touch her...

    Ava stood and stepped out of the water. Kenneth stood with her.

    She dried herself slowly, thoroughly.

    When she was completely dry, she dressed and approached the fire. Kenneth couldn't believe how well the old rags hid that beautiful body.

    She stared into the fire for a moment, then climbed onto the turret and disappeared inside.

    Kenneth waited a few minutes, then stepped into the light. He stood by the fire and looked around for a blanket.

    It lay beside the flight seat. He picked it up. He looked at the Abrams and at his baggy pants. He sighed. He'd have to manage on his own.

    He moved forward.

   "Is that you, Kenneth?" a voice came from inside the turret.

   "Yes, don't worry. I just forgot my blanket.

    " There was silence for a moment. He was about to say goodnight and leave when the voice from the turret spoke again.

   "Can you come in here for a moment? I have something to tell you."

    He climbed up onto the turret and peered inside.

    Ava was sitting, wrapped tightly in blankets.

   "What's the matter?

   " "Can you come down?"

    He glanced down at his pants. The effort of climbing had cooled him down a bit. He threw the blanket inside and then climbed down himself.

   "Is something wrong?

   " "Actually, no..." she turned her head. "I... I saw you when I was bathing...

    " Kenneth broke out in a cold sweat.

   "I... I didn't mean..." He raised his hands defensively. "I really came for a blanket... it wasn't special..."

    Ava threw off the blankets covering her. She was naked.

    The words caught in Kenneth's throat. He knelt on the floor, his mouth open, unable to utter a word.

   "Do you like me?"

    Her body, bathed in the milky moonlight, was even more beautiful than in the firelight.

    He swallowed.

   "You... should... get dressed..." he choked out. "... you'll catch a cold..." She

    moved closer to him and placed her hand on his chest.

   "Your heart... is beating so fast..." She grabbed his hand. "Do you... want to feel mine beating?" and without waiting for an answer, she placed it on her chest.

    He pressed her tightly to him and buried his lips in hers.

    He felt her trembling, her rapid breathing against his neck.

    He leaned down and kissed her breasts—two juicy grapefruits. He kissed her legs, his fingers entwined in the black triangle of hair.

    She stripped him of his clothes and pulled him onto her.

    For a moment, they gazed into each other's eyes.

    No other world existed. There was no yesterday, no tomorrow. All reality was contained within those few cubic meters of steel.

    And then her hand guided him to her moist core.

    They made love passionately. Until it hurt. Two bodies, longing for intimacy, for whom nothing else mattered.

    Still nestled together, they fell asleep.

    They woke up and lay there long after the sun's rays had penetrated the turret. They stared at each other, speechless. Only when the interior of their shelter had warmed did Kenneth rise and begin dressing.

   "Come on," he said. "I want to show you something."

    They went outside. Kenneth took her hand and led her.

    He had been thinking about this since he woke up. He weighed the pros and cons until he finally decided.

    They reached a place where the Graveyard was thinning out a bit. The wrecks were few and far between, each lying separately, not, as they were everywhere, intertwined in a deadly embrace.

    In the center of this "clearing" was a large patch of plowed earth.

   "What's that?

   " "It's my garden," he replied proudly. "A while ago, I managed to get some seeds. I have peas, beans, broad beans, soybeans... and another... but I don't remember the name."

    She walked around the field.

   "I'll look for some glass... Plexiglas or something... I'll cover them. It's cold at night... I'm afraid they'll freeze.

   " "Not bad... really..." She looked at him. "I didn't think you knew anything about that kind of thing. "

    He smiled sheepishly.

   "I don't really know... I water them every day... but I don't know if anything will come of it.

   " "I hope so."

    She smiled.

   "I haven't watered them yet today. I'll be back with water later." He looked at her. "Fancy a walk?"

    She nodded, and they set off. After a few meters, her hand found his and he took it.

    They traveled many kilometers, talking and speaking in silence. They watered the seeds, hunted for dinner.

    Before the sun set, they climbed a scrap mountain. The steel was warm, but comfortable to sit on, so they sat and watched the day fade.

   "I haven't watched a sunset in ages.

   " "Has it gotten old?

   " "I guess so." He looked at her. "But now the circumstances have changed."

    He leaned in and kissed her, just lightly touching her lips. She kissed him back.

   "Have you ever thought about going south? See what's out there?"

    He remained silent, staring at the sun.

   "Maybe. Maybe that wouldn't be such a bad idea. "

    The sun had disappeared behind a range of steel hills.

   "Do you want to go back?" he asked.

    She smiled and nodded.

    She stood up and walked to the gentler slope of the "mountain." She was about to start descending when her foot suddenly slipped, and Ava tumbled down a dozen meters.

    Kenneth didn't have time to react.

    He rushed to the edge, and before he could lean out, he heard a dull thud.

    He looked down.

    Ava lay on her back on a pile of scrap metal. She wasn't moving. Her left leg was twisted unnaturally.

    He descended as quickly as he could, cursing loudly and silently praying to God that nothing would happen to her. But when he touched the ground, he knew something was different.

    A thick, rusty rod protruded from Ava's stomach. Her wide eyes stared at the darkening sky. Beneath the pile of scrap metal where she lay, the sand was slowly turning dark with blood.

    He stood, unable to move. It took a moment before he could bring himself to approach her.

    He touched her arm and gently moved it.

   Tears streamed down his cheeks in thick streams.

    Not because he liked her, because he was in love. Because she was simply someone he could talk to, someone he could spend time with.

    And now he was alone again. Alone in this damnable Graveyard.

    He wanted to die.

    He lay down beside her and put his arm around her.

   "You humans only know how to pour water from your eyes," he heard.

    He raised his head. Ava was staring at him with a blank stare.

   "I'll never understand you. There's not a shred of rationality in you."

    He stood up, trembling. His mind couldn't comprehend what his eyes were seeing.

    Ava's hand shot out. Her hand tightened around Kenneth's neck.

   "It's a shame it turned out this way, really." She stood and lifted him. "I was hoping more people would show up and eliminate more targets."

    Kenneth reached out and ran his hand across her cheek. He smiled slightly.

    She tilted her head, as if curious. She clenched her fingers tighter. Kenneth's face twisted in pain.

    His right arm split, and a blade emerged from between its limbs.

    Cold steel plunged into Kenneth's stomach.

    A muffled scream and blood escaped his lips.

    She released her throat, and Kenneth collapsed onto the sand.

    He rolled onto his stomach and began to crawl. His brain frantically tried to locate the nearest weapons cache.

    Suddenly, he heard a crunch behind his head. His vision went dark

    . He couldn't feel anything.

    She returned to the camp and pulled the pole from her stomach. The hole made the task difficult, but if she didn't undress, no one would notice.

    She gathered the rest of her clothes. The robots they'd destroyed yesterday had told her that the front had moved far south. So the surrounding areas should already be perfect for a sabotage.

    As she left the Graveyard, the moon was rising.