[ WP ] In a post apocalyptic world , a group of humans follow the wise words of The Mighty Magic Eight Ball

KLATTA, KLATTA, KLATTA! 
 Thus was our decree. 
 I watched as our leader, Mervyn, placed the scuffed, black orb of truth - lovingly called MMate, into it's hand-crafted leather carrying pouch. 
 Merv, with his dainty soul-patch of red, and a barren face beside ( he could n't grow much more, to his chagrin ) peered toward our group of seven. 
 `` Fellows,'' he called above the harsh winds of the frozen Ancient Jersey Highlands, `` long have we wandered, taking heed of MMate, our savoir. Our guide.'' 
 With bated breath we watched, Mervyn's comb-over wafting about his dry, flaking scalp. 
 `` Today is the day long awaited. Today,'' he said with pride,'' we have found our homeland which MMate has given unto us!'' 
 `` Merv,'' called Quinten, our cartographer, from the back, `` according to my calculations, we're in an area that was once known as Knee-Wark.'' 
 There was a nervous shift in our small crowd. Murmurs of dissent! 
 `` Fear not, my friends!'' Said Mervyn, `` MMate would not lead us astray. We are destined to make our lives here in this place.'' 
 `` Yeah, but is n't this where the ancients began their war?'' Asked Blandie, our chef. 
 `` That's correct,'' said Quinten scowling at Mervyn, `` this is where the atomics were first used. Where the land itself was said to spit fire at any who would dare to set foot on it's lands.'' 
 There was silence but for the wind. 
 `` Lem me see MMate, Mervyn,'' said Quentin, moving forward with his arms outstretched. 
 Mervyn cupped the leather parcel to his breast and said, `` No!'' before dashing off down the hill upon which we stood, watching, mouths agape. 
 Quentin watched, wary of the scorched land below. 
 We watched Mervyn as he hopped over a small glowing brook and held MMate aloft, shaking the orb as he so often did when consulting our savior. 
 He paused. 
 He shook it again. 
 A scream of rage echoed from below, like a beast woken from slumber to a den filled not with food for winter, but something that's not particularly useful, like someone had replaced the beast's food with twigs and old newspapers. 
 Mervyn dashed off again, holding MMate above his head. 
 BOOM. 
 A pillar of purple flame engulfed our leader, engulfed our savoir. 
 Mervyn's charred form slumped to the ground with a light whump and a cloud of debris. 
 MMate was soaring through the air, back toward us from the force of the explosion. 
 Quentin caught it and peered into the coveted window. 
 The orbs plastics had melted leaving a final message for our frightened band. 
 It read: 
 `` Outlook not so good.'' 

