I stood by the fence, scanning the tree line with my binoculars. "Someone's there," I muttered, exhaling slowly from my nose. Trouble, I thought. I grabbed my pack and slung over my rifle and headed to Dale. "Get Morgan, Jim, and Tom. Tell them to be on lookout. There's someone's camp not far from our place, in that direction." I pointed north. "Tell Morgan I'll be gone for a few hours. You keep lookout and keep the lamps low."
"Now, hold on a second—"
"No," I cut in. "You do not know how to fight in the dark. None of you do." I cut Dale before he could protest. "Plus, I'm only going to scout first. Let's hope I don't have to shoot tonight."
Dale's face changed a few times before his shoulders sagged with defeat. "Alright," he said, "but be careful."
"You got it," I said, tightening the strap of my rifle. Ghost barked once, as if to say, I'm coming with you. I didn't argue.
We moved through the forest in silence. The closer we got, the more the smell thickened. Crawling through a ridge that overlooked a small clearing below, a large campfire lighting the surroundings. Eight men in mismatched biker leathers lounged around, and from the looks of it, they'd been celebrating. My jaw tightened as my eyes wandered to two women that were setting a bit far from the rest, nude as the day they were born. Only a dirty looking sheet was draped on top of them. Their eyes were broken, hollow, and that told me everything I needed to know. My eyes turned cold.
I whispered to Ghost, "Stay low, boy," and then began the hunt.
I went silently, like a shadow passing between trees. One of the raiders stood up, clearly drunk from how wobbly he was. "I goin' to take a piss," he slurred as he staggered to the forest. I sneaked behind him, silently, knife in hand. A muffled scuffle, and then silence. The next two never saw the glint of the knife before they fell.
Grabbing my silenced pistol, I started cull them down one by one, never staying in the same place twice. They dropped like flies before the leader, a grizzly looking guy, barked at the rest. "Grab you guns and take cover, you fools!" before he hid behind a tree.
The left scrambled up and began shooting haphazardly. A bullet grazed my left arm. I leaped for cover, glancing at the wound. The blood was flowing freely. I grabbed a rag from my Inventory, letting a grunt as I tightened it around the injury. They clearly heard me because bullets flew toward my direction.
Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! Click! Click! Click!
Seconds I heard clicks. "Shit!" someone let a swore, and they rushed to reload. I took advantage of them reloading. Pfft! Pfft! Two dropped dead, each with a bullet hole in his head.
"Shit! John and Cass are dead!" A bald raider shouted. "I-I-I'm sorry, Boss. You're on your own!" A mousy looking raider stuttered out before he turned back and fled.
"Ryder! You son of a bitch—" Pfft! a bullet his him in the head, dropping him down. Seeing the leader down baldy turned back and started running but couldn't get far, Pfft! he dropped dead with a hole in his head. I holstered my pistol and drew my rifle, taking my aim at the fleeing raider. Deep breath, exhale, and release. Pfft! dropped.
When it was done, the night was quiet again. Too quiet. I stepped into the firelight, silent but alert. The women barely looked up, their expressions distant, broken beyond words. I crouched in front of them. "You're safe now," I said quietly. "No one's gonna hurt you anymore. You can come with me. I've got food, shelter."
A moment passed. No responses. Only tears. Then one of them, the oldest, met his eyes, whispering something. Her meaning was clear. I froze, shaking my head slowly. "I can't…" She reached out, gripping my sleeve with trembling fingers. There was no plea in her eyes, only release. Letting out a slow exhale, I reached for my pistol. "I'm sorry you had to go through this." Their eyes showed relief. Pfft! Pfft! My shoulder dropped under the weight of what mercy meant now.
Third Person POV
When the morning rose, Morgan found Zephyr near the road, kneeling beside one of the bikes, his face unreadable. The campsite behind his was cold and quiet, smoke rising from the last embers.
"You okay?" Morgan asked, noticing the wound in his arm.
"Just a scratch," I murmured.
"Jesus," Morgan muttered, scanning the place. "What the hell happened here?"
"Raiders," Zephyr replied flatly. "Not anymore."
Morgan looked at him, then the distant shapes beneath hastily placed tarps. He didn't ask questions. Some truths didn't need repeating.
Zephyr's POV
"We can use their gear," I said after a pause. "Bikes, ammo, fuel, food. Load it all. The world's not getting any kinder."
We worked in silence, stacking crates, siphoning gas, pushing the bikes under the truck bed. When we were done, Morgan wiped the sweat from his brow. "You did what you had to," he said.
"Doesn't make it easier," Zephyr nodded once. "It's not supposed to."
Back in the farm, the group gathered as me and Morgan rolled in with the salvaged supplies. Dale's expression hardened as he caught sight of the tarps covering the bikes. "Out there?" he asked quietly.
I met his gaze. "Yeah."
Dale swallowed. "Guess I was hoping the world hasn't… sunk this far yet."
"It already has," I said, "and worse then you think."
That night, Dale sat alone by the fence staring into the distance. The sound of cicadas filled the air, and somewhere inside, the last bit of innocence and hopeful thoughts he'd clung to slipped quietly away, piece by piece.
Meanwhile, I was maintaining my gear, but my mind was preoccupied with the girls at the campsite. I couldn't shake their hollow, broken eyes out of my mind. "I guess this is the true apocalypse," I murmured, "not that romanticized version in TV." Shaking my head slowly, I let out a long sigh before returning my attention to my gear.
(To be continued...)