It was old–ancient, really. Six chambers, single barrel, single trigger, manual sights. All rusted over, of course. Useless.
She put it in her bag anyway. History was history, after all.
Scorched lands gave way to more desolation. Nothing had grown in this area for centuries, maybe longer. No one was around who remembered, of course, so it might as well have been forever. The Teachers told stories of the old days, claiming that life sprouted from every crevice as it did in the Sanctuaries. Some believed because they were desperate enough to need something to believe in. Others, like her, chose not to care. Caring meant leaving yourself open, and out here in the Wastes, that was a death sentence.
The ancient piece of worthless metal clinked against an old cup in her bag. She stopped and swung the bag in front of her to look inside: a dented metal cup (also rusted), a few nuts and bolts, her traveling kit, the ancient piece, and an old, worn book. Her spoils for the week.
She reached inside and pulled the ancient metal out, once more examining it with her trained scavenger’s eye (that’s what her aunt had always called it). She lifted it up, holding it at she would a laser gun, and looked down the rusted sights. The dots lined up perfectly, and she pantomimed shooting off a couple of rounds. Not that it had the ability to shoot anymore; it was no longer capable of performing its intended purpose. Useless.
But she put it bag, anyway. Maybe there was something that even useless things could still do.