The heat was palpable, his skin covered in a thin layer of sweat. Decrepit buildings loomed over like guardians of old, still lingering with the memories of a year ago, when normalcy carried a different meaning.
Silent steps clicked against the barren roads, carrying a hooded figure along, their shoulders slouched. With a strained backpack and a solid metal pipe of a length comparable to their height, the figure kept moving, looking around with each sound that took flight. The dirty leather jacket clung to their body, held on firmly by the tight backpack straps.
'This should do,' were the thoughts that rose up at the sight of a worn-down building—a store, or at least what remained of it. In a swift motion, every muscle ignited as the thin fingers held on to the pipe. The dirty thing told stories of strife, yet none else knew them but its owner and the tarnished axe, the steel bit long since dark with dried blood.
Breathing slowly, the doors opened as they walked on shards of glass, glancing all around the silent place.
'Too silent.'
The hazel eyes loomed over the fallen shelves, clattered over like domino pieces. Humid air and a putrid stench that reeker of the creatures that swallowed up humanity, but the figure made no effort to block it. That was the least of one's worries, like hygiene unless keeping a wound clean was in question. Shattered jars emanated the rotten stench, their content spoiled and consumed by fungus. Under the whole mess, a few cans still lingered, the treasured supplies appreciated.
They knelt down, checking a few of them with a curious hand while sliding down the backpack, placing inside what little items of worth were found.
'Two cans, not bad.'
Shuffling noises struck his ears, the already tense muscles springing in motion. One hand shot for the hip, right underneath the hoodie, while his torso turned to the side, his eyes falling on the undead creature. Its dark, rotten skin clung to the shattered form of what had once been human. Decaying limbs reached out to him as the creature stepped closer with mechanical instincts.
The metal pipe danced in what dim light managed to get inside, spinning until it was held out at the side. It sped up as the undead approached, shattering its skull with a mushy crack. The limp body toppled over like a tower of cards, motionless next to the rugged boots on their feet.
The disturbance was short-lived, as they quickly got back to scavenging. The remains on the ground were mostly spoiled, with the occasional trapped can that they barely pulled out from the debris.
'No more. Keep moving.'
Soft clicking sounds accompanied the otherwise cemetery-born stillness floating in the air. Their gaze was once more dashing around the area, hoping to find nothing but the same loneliness their mind had buckled underneath. The undead were bound to hang out in the city center, not around the edge.
"GRAAAA!"
Wide eyes leapt back to the shriek, noticing the undead, strange, less rotten, and more... human in shape. Its ash eyes bore through his being, staring with one single intent: hunger, a primal one akin to predators.
"Fucking mutated thing," the figure mumbled, breaking into a sprint towards it, twirling the pipe in an overhead arch before bringing it down like lightning. The same ashy eyes popped out at once, crushed under the sole of the heavy boots.
'Got to go away fast.'
The backpack thudded over and over against their back, jumping slightly with each step taken, coming just a bit later than the sound of the boot striking the ground.
Hundreds of steps erupted in unison from everywhere, lifeless groans filling the air with a cacophony of guttural sounds foreboding death. One look over their shoulder was enough to see the swarm of zombies closing in, some of which were running at speeds humans could hardly match.
'Shit. The sprinters are the biggest issue. At least it's not one of those.'
As if rechecking the memory, their hand slid along the axe in one quick motion, the fingers sprawling over the grime without issue. It was there, yet they hoped to never need its help in the same manner.
Crashed cars acted as barriers, the figure sliding over them with practiced ease, hoping to buy more time, get away, or at least find a spot to lose them at. Nothing came into view, and hope was dimming bit by bit, like a candle running out. The undead kept dashing for him, the stench of the living fueling their insatiable hunger.
'Come on, you had worse. Come on, keep running. You'll find a way.'
The street shrank before their eyes, countless zombies stumbling in from the sides, drawn in by the constant hollering of the others. Food was there, and one wanted to grab it. One sprinter got closer, reaching out for him with rotten arms, only to be struck by the pipe against the knee, which buckled and gave way. It would no longer walk again.
The cars kept working as footholds, allowing just a few more minutes, just a little more distance. The zombies that kept chasing tripped over them, but the stubborn things kept getting back up; they kept going over and over, never tiring, never suffering any damage from over-exerting the body. Humans had pain to limit them. Those things had nothing.
"Over here! We can run through the back!"
The female voice came from an apartment building, somewhere on the third floor. He could see the figure by the window, the worried expression on her face bearing faint details.
'Trap or not, I don't have any other choice. Sure, they might follow me in, but the door might at least buy some time.'
With little choice, the figure made haste to the side, the makeshift metal weapon more than ready. One undead leapt at him, only to lose its already mushy head. Another sprinted in, flailing its arms wildly. The figure slid to the side, moving the pipe along. It struck hard against both legs, breaking them from the shin.
The muffled gargles were growing in intensity, yet the door was already open, with the woman motioning for the figure to enter before slamming the door shut. The thick door would hold for a bit, just enough time for them to vanish.
"Where to now?" asked the figure, to which the woman offered a weary look.
"Out the back. You're a lucky guy. I still have enough strength left."
He scanned the woman quickly, staring into her brown eyes for a few moments before her body turned, the long hair splashing on her back.
"Been long since I met someone," he said calmly, following her to the other exit.
"Same for me. Still, let's keep introductions for later, alright? I want to see you survive this mess."
The comment about her having some capability left seemed to suddenly make sense, a story he's lived too many times.
"You mean to see US survive this mess, right?" he asked, needing confirmation more than anything.
She simply smiled his way, the dark circles under her eyes bringing out what little life was in the brown orbs. Words weren't needed as she brought up a bandaged arm; the bloody arch formed underneath speaking all one needed to know. With a nod, the already murky eyes of his dimmed a little more.
"I see. Then, let's just run already."
The woman went first, no luggage, nothing to her name, just acceptance of the harsh fate that awaited. He followed along, his body worn from the constant running and the weight of his backpack, which he'd never abandon. The resources were priceless, just like his life. One couldn't be without the other.
Empty side streets welcomed them, paving the way to the outskirts of the city—which weren't that far off, but exiting was tricky enough that being followed by a crowd of zombies made leaving a suicide mission.
"Good thing the whole pack remained behind, right?" she huffed, looking over her shoulder at him. The man nodded, running along until both of them had made it out. They found solace on the edge of a forest, the large trees overlooking everything in their ancient silence.
"Finally, out, right?" she panted, bent over her knees as she struggled to get her breath.
"Yeah. You saved me," he breathed out, falling to the ground with a thud. He sat there, watching the woman simply slouch down against a tree, cold sweat running down her fore. The silence that fell was thin, like a layer of ice atop a lake as winter draws closer.
"What's on your mind?" he asked, the words blank and lifeless, albeit harboring what bits of his humanity survived.
She was still panting, just resting against the hard bark as her eyes scanned the city in the distance.
"Do you... have someone?" she asked, the words a struggling whisper on her lips.
He turned to look the same way, letting the wind blow softly through the branches.
"I used to."
He didn't return the question, knowing that the answer was like his, or perhaps worse. She nodded faintly, speaking in a soft tone.
"I used to have a family too. Everything was normal, a beautiful life. We managed to somehow survive even as disaster struck, struggling to find some normalcy in the chaos..."
Silence, home to the sound of her frantic breathing and struggling composure, the tears piling up slowly. He didn't look, but his jaw clenched tightly.
"I... I showed you the bite mark... I... my husband, he... and my parents... everyone..."
"It's ok... I understand," he answered, the spark in his eyes dying out with each word spoken.
She sobbed quietly, hiding her face against the coarse inside of her palms, all while he kept his face away, silent. No human could save everyone. It was too much.
"I beg of you..." she mumbled, the words a painful prayer. "Please... put me out of my misery. I don't want to turn into one of them, but I alone can't... I can't do it... I don't want to become one of those MONSTERS that took all I had..."
He finally found the strength to look at her—not just stare, but look and see it for what it was. The traces of fatigue that resided under her eyes, soft wrinkles span along her forehead, and most of all, he saw bits of himself in her, like a mirror with just a few shards left as part of it.
'She must have lost them rather recently to still have such life in her eyes.'
She looked up at him, tears flowing down her face like there was no tomorrow—which was true, in its own right.
He forced himself to be detached, to just give up what little humanity was straining itself for control, to just give in to what had to be done. The curse of being human was that life always found a way to break you down, to test you, and relentlessly strike at your core.
The tension left his body the moment his blood turned cold, fingers gripping something at his hip. With a stable hand, he took out a revolver, the simple gun well-kept even with the whole world falling around. She saw the weapon and simply... smiled. What a sweet smile it was—so honest and joyous. The spark in her eye came back, shining bright against his looming shadow.
"Thank you... you're an angel, sent to save me..."
He gulped, forcing down the spit with pure spite for the world. It wished to choke him, to fight back against what he was becoming—a monster in his own eyes, far from the man he had once wanted to be. Still, the soft whisper of his own mind kept him going, reminding him that death was mercy.
"I'm just a human, and you know it. God above knows what awaits you, but... I hope you'll find those dear to you waiting, arms open."
He put the gun to her head, the barrel clicking softly as it met her skin. It was a gentle kiss of iron on flesh, which would end as expected.
"Anything left to say?" he asked, as if last words would have value. She looked up at him, the smile still on her lips, greeting death most eagerly.
"Please... never blame yourself. I know that I'm asking you to do something inhuman, but... trust me when I say that... it's the most humane action you could do..."
With a long, stale breath of air, he put some pressure on the trigger, looking the woman right in the eye. The same thing she said had left everyone's lips, their wishes barely keeping him sane.
"May this sin fall on my shoulders, not yours. I'll take the blame, for I pulled the trigger. May God forgive all you've done in this life, and may you find rest eternally."
BANG
Crows flew away from the spot at once, moving with the dying echo of the shot. There he stood, checking the rounds.
'Empty...'
Without saying a word, he pulled out a few bullets from an inner pocket, quickly placing them in before holstering the gun back into hiding. He whispered a quick prayer, then went on his way, straying from the possible undead that might scurry over.
The sun still watched from above, witnessing all he's done, every 'liberation' delivered. The light was there just because of the large glowing orb reflecting in his eyes. With a nod, his head remained bowed, and once again his steps guided him to the unknown. There he went, with eyes bleaker than before, the light losing itself.
...................................................................
Acheron walked alone, something she's done for so long that she too wondered how come her sanity was still intact.
'My training wasn't in vain, it seems, but I hardly expected it to last so much.'
Her steps were firm, fatigue the last thing she'd worry about. She rested her palm on the hilt of her odachi, which she proudly carried at her waist. The weapon was a symbol, one of better days, of the ones she's held dear. Everything went up in a sea of blood in the most unexpected ways. Some held tight to their faith in the military, but they had found themselves overwhelmed. Now, chaos reigned.
The backpack she had on was close to being just for decoration; her food resources were scarce, close to depletion. The majority of the weight came from the rifle she had slung over her shoulder, a last resort for most thanks to how loud guns were.
'When did I even last have a proper meal?'
The sound of her own voice had grown foreign with how little she needed to use it. Talking only ever worked if one had another person or a few marbles missing, which she refused to let go of.
The areas around were pure nature, untouched, and allowed to take its course the same way it had been before humans intervened. Perhaps it would return to some form of normalcy all while humanity paid for its sins. She looked from tree to tree, the forests home to beautiful songs chirped into being by different birds.
Amidst the harmony, disturbances clawed their way in, the distant groans reaching her ears.
'Zombies. They weren't supposed to be so far out, unless...'
Carefully, she dashed in the direction the sounds came from, studying such shifts just in case greater danger was around. After moving along the forest's edge, her eyes fell on a lonely figure, the hooded person running away from a couple sprinters, seemingly on their last leg. She saw the fatigue in their motions, the way in which the ground was about to claim them.
She held herself back, until the figure tripped and hit the ground.
'It's not my issue. I have no duty to save whoever that may be.'
The sprinters kept chasing, closing in on the figure who watched them come, making no effort to stand up. The man simply pulled the hood off, turning his head to the sky.
'He's accepted his fate, it seems.'
But even so, she knew better. Against all logic, she made a run for it, closing the distance quickly. With a loud shout, she got their attention, unsheathing her sword. One of the undead, fueled by the stench of another meal, made haste her way. With one swift motion, its head came off, her feet sliding graciously along the ground.
The other runners forgot the easy prey, instead focusing on her, meeting their second demise under the weight of cold steel.
The four bodies littered the ground at her sides while she swung the weapon in an arching motion, tossing off some excess grime. The rest she'd have to clean later. With weary eyes, she studied the man, seeing nothing but stolen youth and a rugged face that bore the worn-out soul within like a prize. Acheron got closer, standing right in front of him, seeing the muddy eyes look up bleakly.
"Get up," she said coldly, offering a hand in which he stared at for a while before taking it.
She yanked him up, feeling the extra weight of his backpack, which didn't go unnoticed. It would be a matter for later.
The man held tight to a metal pipe, despite having an axe attached to his backpack.
"Any bite marks?" she questioned curtly, to which he shook his head.
She kept looking him up and down over and over, but nothing worthy of note came to her apart from the slight bulge at his waist. She spared no time in yanking out the revolver, the clean weapon looking nearly new. She inspected it quietly, noticing him make no effort to take it back.
"What's your name?"
"I forgot," he replied, his voice a soft, blank whisper. It held nothing but sound to it.
"What do you mean?" she pressed, rising an eyebrow.
"I forgot... much is lost... I just am..."
She eyes the revolver, handing it back to him despite how bad a decision it felt. Something about that man was both disheartening and strangely comforting.
"What should I call you?"
He slowly put the gun back in its place, his arm trembling slightly against the handle.
"Call me whatever," he replied, barely meeting her gaze. With a 'Tsk' she shook her head and sighed.
"I'll call you... Steel," she said firmly, once again staring at the steel pipe. Seeing what he used it for wasn't difficult, thanks to how dirty the ends were, and yet it made for a decent choice that provided some distance.
"Steel," he replied, nodding. Finally, he brought his head up, straightening his back. He was a decent size taller than her, but she couldn't care less. The man standing before her was more of an empty shell.
"You know that I'll leave you if you drag me down, right?"
He nodded, and simply fell into step by her side as she departed.