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uzurimisery · 3 months

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chapter 1: the night things went to shit. / choso kamo / nsfw

wc: approx. 6k

Warnings: MDNI, DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT, zombies, dubcon, violence, gore, eventual smut, slow burn, dead bodies, cannibalism, reader uses guns, guns, torture scenes, graphic depictions of violence and injuries, warnings to be added and updated

Sometimes the green blinded you. The vibrant, verdant shades, spiralling up the sides of buildings, breathing life into the dead cityscape. Where once doors stood, vines dangled hanging like beaded curtains. Roots thicker than your arms weaved through the cracked pavement. New species, ones thought dead, ones birthed anew, living and breathing in the death of mankind. Plants everywhere and in everything, and tiny white flowers in broken ceramic.

In the distance a pack of wild dogs were barking, no doubt hunting down a bird or two for dinner, or whatever rodent they could find. It was always so quiet when you were out here on your own.

You still remember the before. When glass panes went high into the sky, the sun's light reflected off them and hurt your eyes. When your eyes were closed you could feel the heat from them, smell your mother's perfume as she pulled you by your sticky three-year-old hands to go in the building. Sometimes you could hear the wind whistle against the buildings as they swayed with it. The rumble of engines, horns, music, the sounds of traffic.

One day you’d wake up and forget that memory too. The dead were numerous and remembering them living hurt more than not. There were more important things to focus on than the dead, or you’d become one of them. Food, shelter, keeping your logs up-to-date, reporting to your commanding officer.

How it happened was blurry. A mess of fragmented images, grating against each other, clashing between what was real and what was imagined. One day things had been fine and the next 90% of the population had died. And some came back to life. Shambling corpses decaying and composted as walking plants. The schools said that it was humans' fault it happened. That we warmed the planet to the point where things that were dead came back to kill us. Things that once were no threat became one. Others, a sect of religious people called The Followers of the Prophet said it was the result of all our sins, the hatred of mankind made manifest. Whatever the case, the world ended minus the small encampments of people left in safe zones.

Some people still lived out in the wilds, apart from the remnants of civilisation. Some were small communities and some were lone wolfs. It was better to keep your distance from them regardless. The dead were dangerous, but humans were deadly.

Teton neighed under you as you led him out of the city limits, annoyed that you stopped petting him as you went. He was a funny horse, more personality than some people you knew. 17 hands tall, American Saddlebred, dark bay, and very opinionated. Breaking him had been a nightmare, no one else had ever gotten close to it, but one day the two of you reached an agreement and he’d been your mount since then. Even if he fought the bit from time to time. He was the only real perk of the job.

The stock of your Ruger 10/22 Carbine bumped against you awkwardly as you leaned forward to pet the needed horse. “Whiny boy today.”

You were one of the lucky few. Taken in by The Federation, fed, educated, trained. All because you had potential because you had a gift. There were a few people like you. They called you all blessed but it felt more like a curse. Certain people, not many, could sense the hordes. Some of the more gifted ones could even control one or two of the corpses. Influence them to act differently. You weren’t that talented, you just had enough sense that

allowed you to do scouting on your own just like you were now. There were moments, darkness pooling behind your eyes, where it felt like there was more but it’d disappear as soon as it got there. Right now you could feel that power pulling at you, telling you that there were dead nearby.

Another one of the dogs barked, pulling your attention back up. You squinted, turning behind you, one hand raised to shield your eyes. It was quiet today, more so than usual. It was easier to prefer the days which were chaotic and filled with events. When things were calm it felt like your nerves were on fire, primed and ready to burn. Waiting for a spark that never comes.

The rounds were simple today. The sun was still high in the sky, hitting your back and you did the east route. It was cleared out years ago, with traps and mines put in place to keep any of the dead or looters from getting close to the walls of the Federation. Something about the silence today felt like a living thing, like a bumble was put around you, pressing against your eardrumbs blocking sound. It crept under your skin till the only thing you could hear was Teton’s horseshoes hitting the pavement and your own breath.

Coming over the crest of Overpass 3E, the source of your anxiety came into view. A small pack of the dead, three of them, were rambling towards you. They were a mess, most of their flesh falling off in disgusting grey clumps, attached to the bone only by sinew. You could sense they were on the last stage of this life cycle, soon they wouldn't be able to move anymore. They would become one with the environment, wherever they fell to the ground. There they’d sit and wait for some poor soul to walk back that they could reach and drain the life out of them, dooming them to become just like it had.

The butt of your rifle slotted snuggly against the shoulder of your firing hand and you gave a low whistle, sharp and urgent, to Teton to stop moving and brace for a shot. Your cheek met the riser as you steadied the gun with your other hand. The chamber was loaded with six shots and you had reserve bullets on you if they ran out. Your Federation standard issue Glock 17 was holstered on your left hip in case things went south too quickly.

Lining up the first shot was always the hardest but once you had it, you had it. Your finger tightened on the trigger, the metal cold against your skin. Everything was right in your sights, no need to adjust for wind. It was grim, how practised and patient the hundreds of drills you ran growing up made this second nature to you. Switching the safety off was as easy as your ABCs.

Another dog barked. Teton snorted. And then, muffled by the suppressor, a bullet whizzed through the air landing in the centre of the foremost zombie’s skull, knocking it to the ground, the bullet casting falling, jingling when it landed.

Two more shots followed suit. One hitting its mark and the other a foot off. The zombie had jerked erratically, somehow dodging the bullet. You lined up a fourth shot, accounting for its movement, but this one only hit its shoulder. It seemed to move with your gun, knowing to dodge.

“Shit.” You muttered under your breath, adjusting to shoot again and you nudged Teton forward a few paces to make it easier. Finally, with the air filled with gunpowder, the fifth shot hit its mark.

There was something off about the last one. It was too agile and aware for the state of decay it was in. Removing the magazine to load it again, eyes peeled on the final corpse. Thirty seconds passed by before it moved again. This time it was faster, spurred on by some unknown force.

Your heart hammered against your ribs as the zombie screeched, lurching forward. Teton whinnied, ear flat against his head, starting to back the two of you up from the imminent danger. Your own fear echoed his, this wasn’t the normal lumbering dead you knew. This was different, something smarter, something angrier, something that wouldn’t die.

Training kicking in, you steadied yourself as Teton continued to back up slowly. He knew to keep his head lowered for you to have a clear sight while doing so. The silence only seemed to grow thicker, no birds or bugs were heard. Just the groans and screeches of the zombie in front of you.

You pulled the trigger, the bullet flying out and hitting the zombie’s throat. It gargled, coagulated black goo pouring out of the entry point but it didn’t stop moving forward. Another shot. This one hit the mark square in the forehead. The zombie paused for a moment but it kept moving forward.

One shot to the head killed them permanently. Two should make it so there’d be no chance of it being alive. But it was still moving. A third shot rang out, hitting the left eye socket. Finally, it dropped to the ground, twitching and moaning. It wretched and jerked around for nearly a minute before finally, with a haunting death rattle, it stilled.

You stared, watching it for a few more minutes, afraid it would move again. It was only after the birds started to chirp again that you felt secure that it was truly dead. Teton had lifted his head and shook out his mane. Digging your heels into his side, you spurred him forward, still having to complete your route.

As you got beside the zombie which gave you all the problems, you shot it again.

Teton neighed, annoyed that you were wasting his time, ready to move on and get home.

“Just making sure,” you spoke while adding more bullets to the magazine. Something was happening out in the wilds, and not knowing was making you anxious. But there had been a change out beyond the Federation’s walls. “Let’s get back before sundown yeah? Don’t want to be out here longer than I have to.”

───※ ·❆· ※───

You had returned before sundown but were kept at the barracks accounting for why your ammunition was spent. They didn’t believe you when you told them that it had taken so many shots to kill one zombie so you have a meal ticket docked from your pay. Stupid pricks. The food was never anything good anyway. Always tasteless and looked like sludge.

The streets of the inner city were full of people today. Restrictions had finally lifted after the last attacks from the Followers. Not that the restrictions had any impact on you. Being gifted meant that you would never be out of the military until you hit 50. If you hit 50. People like you were too valuable to let go, no matter how much you begged. The last person who had tried to run, they had shot him in the leg to make him limp. Now they carted him around in a convoy on trade runs.

You took a moment to swing onto Market Street. Teton deserved a treat for being so calm today. Making a horse get used to gunfire, zombies, and near-death situations was not an easy process, but he was. He was as much a weapon as your gun was.

You pushed through the crowds as you went, the events of today gnawing at you. Children ran past, screaming as they played tag. A pregnant woman was haggling with a vendor over a sack of potatoes. A few horseback patrol guards were moving down the centre of the street, maintaining order. Sunlight filtered through the ripped tarps strung 30 feet above street level. They were installed 15 years ago after a particularly rough winter left six feet of snow covering the stalls.

The normalcy of it all, the sheer mundane nature of life after the world had fallen apart, made you feel sick. No one was taking what you had reported earlier seriously. What if things were changing out there? Would all of this disappear?

There was no other option but to keep your guard up and move forward, the smell of fried dough hitting you. You stopped at the same stall you have been stopping at for the past four years, Dickson’s. An old man, who had been this old since the day you met him, wrinkled and worn down. His spine curled like a cat's, hands covered in scars and callouses.

“Well hello there soldier,” he rasped, his voice wheezy and dry like leaves in the wind. “How was afternoon patrol?”

You sighed. “Hey, Dickson. It was… fine.” He eyed you. He had practically raised you during the times when you were kicked out of the barracks for misbehaviour.

“Just fine?”

“You know I’m not allowed to talk about it further.”

“Oh I know,” he waved you off as he bent down slowly to retrieve a small satchel. Refined sugar. The one good thing about the Federation was the fact it had quickly spread itself into agricultural endeavours. Old Twin Falls was able to process the sugar beets that they grew. Granted the price was insanely high, but there was still sugar. “Teton’s been good?”

You nodded handing him five meal tickets for some of them. “As good as he can, ornery fucker.” You rocked on your feet and you recounted the afternoon. “He’s been real steady round the guns lately, finally- think he won’t bolt anymore.”

Dickson laughed. “Only you would be able to get any use out of him. Swear that horse can read minds.”

Suddenly, a little girl interrupted the two of you, her mother watching from a distance. Her hair was tied up in pigtails, looked to be about seven, her eyes wide with excitement.

“Excuse me, mister!” her voice chirped out. “Please can I get 500 grams of sugar please?”

Dickson chuckled again, pulling out a 500-gram bag, and weighing it to confirm the amount. “Of course young lady. That will be 25 tickets, please.”

The girl looked confused, she had been told the amount would be less than that. Quickly she composed herself, ready to haggle with Dickson. Her mother wanted her to practise it seemed and Dickson was willing to be her first practice. When she finally got her target amount she handed him the tickets and skipped off back to her mom.

Dickson watched as she left. “Sharp one. Reminds me of you at her age.”

“Oh please. I was hardly that nice.”

“Well now ain’t that the truth? You were a real shithead. Lucky you’re gifted or they would have kicked you out years ago. I damn near took you out myself one day.” Dickson winked before he leaned in. “Now tell me, what can you share without getting in trouble?”

The sun dipped lower, the patrol moving onto the next street. Your voice dropped to a whisper.

“The zombies, they’re…different. It took three bullets to the head for one to finally get down. It moved differently too. It only had a month or so before it became a sitting duck but it jerked around and moved with more speed than I’d ever seen before. Somethings happening out there Dickson.” A new patrol rounded the corner. “I’ve gotta get going, but you take care of yourself. I’ve got a bad taste in my mouth and my head won’t stop pounding.”

Dickson studied you. He knew you were telling the truth, your eyes darting between him and the patrol. He added more auger to your satchel as he spoke. “You stay safe out there.”

You nodded and then slipped back out onto the promenade, ready to get back to your place and shower. There had been a renovation project a year back you had helped out on. By reclaiming parts of the old city, they had the resources to create private accommodations for the specialist division. Only military personnel were allowed to live in them due to their location at the very edge of the wall, which was still unfinished due to the expansion. The real benefit was the stable they had in the back, which you could lodge Teton in. The shower worked as well. They were always cold, but they were something.

The motions of getting home, showering, dressing down out of uniform, and feeding yourself went by blurry, the exhaustion hitting you full force. You had danced with death many times, seen soldiers die as they were ripped apart by hordes like wild animals. Killing the zombies had been a near-everyday occurrence for you for nearly seven years now. In all that time you had never had something like today happen. All you could do was hope that it never happened again and it was just a fluke.

───※ ·❆· ※───

Today you were assigned to the western patrol night shift for four days. Command had deemed you ineligible to return to the eastern patrol until you had proven to them that you weren’t losing your grip. Bullshit. You hadn’t lost anything, you knew what you saw but no one believed you.

Night shift meant you had to sleep outside the walls as well at the outpost station. It was a half-bombed-out building the Federation had converted to watch over the trade route. The bunks there were cramped, pushed close together due to half the ceiling being gone, the stale with the scent of sweat and rations.

The twilight cast eerie shadows as you made your way on Teton, saddlebags packed full, the pit that had settled in your stomach four days ago when you were on the eastern patrol refused to leave. The one good thing about the Western Outpost is that you could sleep on top of the building if the weather was clear and stare at the stars. The death of mankind did allow for the galaxies to be seen again.

When you got there and settled the lieutenant handing out patrols gave you a joke of one. He had heard about what you had reported and thought you were stupid. The route you had never had anything going on. The last time a zombie had been seen on it was three months ago. They deemed you jittery and fearful now. But something deep in your bones, older than the Federation, knew that what you had seen was real. You had sensed the shift, the whispers in the winds, a chilling awareness chewing at the back of your skull. For a people so hellbent on keeping gifted in their ranks they sure didn’t take one seriously.

The patrol was just as uninteresting as you expected. The nothingness of it made it more nerve-wracking if anything. The whispers might have been faint four days ago but the volume was building.

The next two days passed without incident but the unease never left. Every night that the sun dipped below the horizon, the long shadows blending into each other, the whispers intensified. They became a tangible hum, pawing and pulling at you. You had tried speaking with the other gifted stationed at the outpost but they looked at you like you were crazy. No one else had felt or seen anything different.

Nightfall came again. Teton whinnied softly as you mounted him, ready to get the final patrol done, his ears swirling, listening out for any sudden noises. The route was now known by heart, each curve in the road familiar. Once you were done with this patrol hopefully you could go back to being on the western patrol.

Tonight felt worse. A sick, twisting feeling, circling you and settling into the ground. Your head felt like it was going to burst, eyes popping from their sockets from the pressure. Everything in you was screaming to run, to get far away from this place, to hide. The saddlebags had extra rations in them, your paranoia made you keep adding to them.

They said there was nothing like a bond between man and his horse, and Teton’s eyes reflected your fear. His usual temperament had shifted to being nervous, his ears pinned back, nostrils flaring. He felt it too, the unseen danger that was building around you.

Panic squeezed its cold hands around your throat, threatening to close your airways and leave you for dead. Your grip on the reins was tight, knuckles white, as Teton moved forward. The night was dark, the whispers deafening, but you were armed and ready.

The first hour of the route was calm. No surprises or action, just stillness. The feeling of being watched, someone peering over your shoulder as you went, was neverending. There was something out there, watching you, toying with you.

The second hour passed by with no reprieve, only a suffocating repetition of the calm, still night. You were unable to find any peace in doing the route, instead only spiralling further with your speculations. What was out there watching you? Each rustle of the leaves, the movement of animals, and the occasional gunshot made you jump, your skin crawling.

It was only halfway through the third hour, when the route led you back to having a view of the outpost and the walls of the city, that you saw it. The outpost was burning, the flames bright and high, a funeral pyre. From the distance, you could see people fighting, the gunshots now accounted for. You reeled, trying to dissect the scene, the whispers now screaming.

Was this it? Was this what you have picked up on? A desperate urge to turn and flee spread throughout you, but you knew you couldn’t. You were duty-bound to join the ranks and fight.

Teton whinnied, refusing to move forward as your heels dug into his flank.

“Teton c’mon, we have to go.”

He neighed, bucking up and he turned away from the outpost. “Teton no! We have to go back there.”

It was as you turned him back around, his winny frantic, a large deafening boom rang out. It came from the city walls, a section collapsing from the attack. Now it made sense. The outpost was a distraction, meant to draw the defences away from the walls so they could attack it. But the noise was what threw you off, zombies went towards the sound, so why would they bomb the wall?

Then, all at once, a horde screamed in the distance, thousands of undead moving towards the cause of the sound. Your blood ran cold, and the pressure in the back of your skull felt like your head was being pressed by hydraulic plates. You leaned off to the side of Teton and heaved, bile burning the back of your throat. You needed to leave, get as far away as you could. There was no helping anyone inside the walls now. The city was doomed.

The evacuation point was only 500 feet away from you. There was doubt any other soldier would be there now, and anyone who had escaped would be in danger. They needed help.

As you tightened your grip on the reins, urging Teton towards the evacuation point, the gravity of the situation began pressing down you you, threatening to crush you if not for the adrenaline course through your veins. The screams grew louder the more time passed and the longer the attack went on.

Teton’s hooves were heavy on the pavement, normally a gallop like this would have them ring out like thunder, but in the chaos of the night, they fell silent. The air was growing thick with the scent of smoke, burning wood and flesh.

The evacuation point was just ahead of you, around 30 people had made it there. It was empty of any fellow soldiers, no doubt everyone else had run towards the city.

Disregarding protocol, you yelled at the group of survivors, telling them to get further away from the city. That there was no hope there. As you did so, a scream came from behind you, so loud that you felt your eardrums burst and blood trickle out from them.

The people in front of you screamed, scrambling to run away from what they saw behind you as you spun Teton around, horror seeping into your bones from the noise.

It was a mutant. They were thought to be rare in this area, part of why the Federation had settled here. Its body was contorted and deformed, its limbs too long in comparison, twisted at unnatural angles. The skin it had left was peeling off, revealing a purple shiny oozy leaking out of it. It had no eyes, flesh had grown over it and fused it into a mask.

It reeked, the smell of death permeating as it screamed again.

You unholstered your handgun, training kicking in, and fired a shot at its chest. The bullet sunk into its skin, but the creature didn’t stop moving, it was like the bullet did nothing to it, it simply staggered for a moment, the oozy substance leaking out of the entry wound, reacted to the bullet. The wound closed up as the goo filled the hole and hardened.

It turned its head to face you, pinpointing your location from the gunshot, clicking its tongue repeatedly, interrupted by short screams. Ice ran through you, your hand clammy, goosebumps covering every inch of skin. There was a very real chance that your gun would do nothing to stop the mutant.

Frantic, you kicked at Teton’s side. He moved quickly, well aware of the danger you were in. A handgun didn’t do shit against it. There was 50 feet between it and you, and a crowd of people 50 feet behind you.

Desperate you led Teton away from the crowd, shooting the Glock in the air to keep the mutant's attention, to make it follow you. You could hear its joint snap as it spurred into action, chasing you down. It clicks and screams growing louder the closer it got.

The side streets were a maze, the terrain made rough by the decay over the years. Teton was managing the best he could, jumping over a car in the middle of the road at one point. Your heart sat in your throat, its beating making breathing hard. The pressure on your head felt so great that it was going to crack in two.

As you rounded a corner, sharp and fast trying to break its line of sight, the mutant rammed into a wall. It slowed but the chase continued until you hit a more open area. When you looked over your shoulder, the mutant wasn’t behind you.

Before you could question it, an impact hit you from the side, knocking you off of Teton and flat onto your back. The wind was knocked out of you as you hit the ground, rocks stabbing into your back. Gasping for breath you struggled to regain yourself as the pain shot through you. Your fingers dug into the pavement, cutting on the rough edges of the cracks, as you rolled over to your front, crawling forward. Blood trickled down your face and into your eyes. As you pushed yourself up you heard it. Click. Click. Click.

By instinct you reached for your handgun, only to find it was knocked away from you in the fall.

The ooze leaking out of the mutant glowed faintly in the moonlight as it charged at you. Teton rushed at the creature, rearing up and knocking the zombie down with his front hooves. It allowed you to pull your knife out of the sheath at your side, spring to your feet, and move to attack.

While the zombie was disoriented, its clicks gargled, you lunged at it. Your knife cut through the air before hitting its right shoulder. The ooze once again leaked out and harder around the wound. The only way you’d be able to kill this thing was through decapitating it.

The mutant retaliated, swiftly, its partially healed arm swinging out, trying to scratch you. You managed to dodge it, stepping back away from it, but as it attacked you the ooze splashed onto your face. It burned as it settled on your skin.

It swung again and you sidestepped it. The movement allowed you to strike it again, this time aiming for the neck. The attack connected, perforated blade sawing through part of the fresh, but stopping short of the vertebrae. The ooze sprayed out once again, some landing in your eyes.

Blinking rapidly you readied yourself again as, despite the injury, the mutant didn’t stop. You had to get a full cut before it was able to heal the wound.

With grim determination you swung again, this time aiming for the opposite side of the neck. The blow was strong enough that you felt the muscles in your shoulder tear slightly at the impact. But the creature still stood, clicking at you, the sounds muffled and gurgled by the liquid now spilling out of its mouth as it attempted to heal. The bone was still intact.

With a scream you kicked the zombie back, making it stumble over rubble and fall down. You were swift, placing one foot on its chest while you bent down and grabbed it by the head.

Its clawed fingers dug at your calves, digging into them and leaving wounds. The shimmering liquid escaping from its wounds and mouth smeared across your front as you fought to maintain control.

You gritted your teeth as you forced yourself to ignore the pain and to pull upwards with all your strength. The bones in its neck resisted the tension, the ooze running down the bone and hardening to try and keep it intact.

With a sickening crack, the vertebrae gaw way. You fell back as the head broke free in your hands, the mutant’s body convulsed in front of you, joints snapping at unnatural angles as it flailed. You threw the head to the side, the final clicks dying out at it lulled against the pavement, the shimmer from the ooze fading.

Teton snorted as he came up behind you, attempting to nudge you up and to move.

Every part of you hurt. The wounds on your calves burned, and blood started to coagulate already. It was far too soon for the wound to be doing that. The muscles in your shoulder felt like they were repairing themselves the longer you sat there. Your eyes burned, a mix of your own blood from a head wound you got from the initial fall, dirt, and the liquid from the zombie stinging them. Strangely, the pounding in your head felt lighter, less urgent. Like being in contact with that thing had helped.

You wanted to scream and cry, to throw yourself against the ground and cry. But you couldn’t. You had survived it, but there was so much more still happening in the city. You couldn’t go back there, you’d be no help to anyway in your current state. The best you could do was go help the survivors and make sure those at the evac point had gotten away safely.

You hauled yourself up, pulling against Teton’s saddle to do so, a goan tearing out from your throat. Teton lowered himself so you could mount him more easily. Things were never going to be the same after tonight.

───※ ·❆· ※───

Only 5 people had survived besides you. What they told you had happened was devastating. It had been the Followers again, this time with heavier ammunition than they had ever had before. They said that they had control over the horde as well. Could control them like puppets. Now they partied in the remnants of the city.

The survivors said they were going to go north, to Old Twin Falls, and warn them, begged for you to come with them. There were no military personnel besides you there to guide them. You didn’t know if it was pity or guilt but you did. First, you had to sneak into the outpost. They had left that for the city itself. There you stocked up on more ammo, rations, and a first aid kit. Luckily one of the group was a nurse trainee and able to bandage up the cuts and bruises people had. When she looked you over on the second day of the journey your wounds had mostly healed.

The saving grace had been the ammunition. It was still limited, but it was 75 rounds for the Glock 17 and 200 for the Ruger. The group would have to move quickly, and quietly. By some universally divine intervention, a paddock of horses had remained untouched as well, with a cart there. This allowed you to fit the two people too injured to walk in the cart. Perhaps you weren’t shit out of luck yet.

The road to Old Twin Falls was something you knew by heart, having run it eleven times in your life. You had never had to lead a group there, but you had been there. It wouldn’t be an easy journey, through the mountains and desert, but it could be done. It was fall so the weather was neither too hot nor too cold, the only worry being the nights. But with enough dry sagebrush and tumbleweeds, you made fires. The issue was that the route had suffered damage from a storm that had passed through the third day of your journey.

It took eleven days to go the 225 miles, stopping frequently for breaks. There had been a few encounters with zombies, mainly in the ruins of old cities, but they were small enough groups you were able to take them out or avoid them.

The days were long but the nights were longer. Finally seeing the walls of Old Twin Falls was like getting into bed after a long day, your joints achy and painful, the exhaustion seeping out of you and into the bedding. The relief of getting off your feet after standing for hours.

When you approached the gates, the guards had their weapons drawn, ready to fire. Their uniforms looked different from how you remembered them.

“Identify yourself or we will shoot!”

Your voice was hoarse, dry and sandy from the lack of water you had in the final stretch of the journey. “Capitol Lake Special Taskforce Private Y/N L/N reporting.”

“Capitol Lake?” The man in charge lowered his gun, the others following suit.

“Yes sir, Capitol Lake. Behind me is a group of survivors remaining after an attack by the Followers of the Prophet.”

There was a pause, minutes passing, turning into an entirety, as reports and information were exchanged up in the watch towers.

“Come inside Private, there is much to discuss.”

The relief washing over you almost made you collapse, its warm and heavy feeling blanketing over you with the promise of rest. The tension carried in your whole body, tight with having the ensure the survival of the people behind you, slipping away with every creak of the heavy gate opening. You ushered them forward, each one of their expressions haunted, changed by what had happened.

The guards, their initial hostility now gone, quickly organised proper transport for the injured, taking them to the medical centre. The familiar and comforting smell of smoke and metal hits you. In the distance, you could hear what you knew to be the market street. Thighs were normal here, calm, spared from the madness that had happened at Capitol Lake.

The officers had led you to the medical centre and told you that you’d need to speak with their commanding officer. There was a brief mention of how things had changed in Old Twin Falls in the past three months since the last trade run, but no one was clear with you on what had changed. But that would be tomorrow's task. For now, you let yourself get poked and prodded by the attending doctor before passing out after they injected you with morphine.

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