William and Hume had said their goodbyes as a few of Hume's men began to file into a rust eaten van. "This is your ride," Hume said, "It was good meeting you and I hope to see you again, old man."
William had exchanged pleasantries and was quickly whisked off into the van with the rest of the men. They all struggled into their seats, as most of the van's space was taken up by a large chain-fed machine gun, poised to be ready whenever the right side door slides open. All of the men in the van were clad in helmets and body armor. Other than the three mules who only wore helmets, and whose arms and legs were exposed, most of which were covered in pinkish scar tissue. The mules wore expressionless faces, their rifles cocked and at the ready, their knives and batons unfastened at the holsters. William watched them carefully, as anyone would. Every mule he had come across were brooding and large, scars tattooed almost every inch of their body. Most men hated them, what they had done to themselves, injecting the blue until even their eyes changed to that same deep blue until their heart bumped more of the drug than blood, and they can't go four days without shooting up.
Although he had made it out of their encampment, William realized he wasn't out of the clear yet. They could've been ordered to take him out into the city and kill him there. But the van proceeded. Not stopping to kill him and after about ten minutes, William relaxed, but not by much.
One of the soldiers looked over toward William and said "How old are you?"
"Why does it matter?" another soldier said, "he'll be fucked anyway."
"Oh fuck off, the old boy's got a shot… look at him!" some of the soldiers laughed.
Then a mule shifted his gaze upon William, he studied him for a long time then spoke in a deep unshakable voice. "You've been out here before."
William stared back into his deep blue eyes unspeaking.
"Aye, I know it! You ain't no savage… but you've lived among them." he looked back down at his feet, "He'll make due."
The soldiers stopped their laughing, and stared at William, or the ground, or the mule but said nothing more for the rest of the ride.
A few minutes later the van stuttered and there were three distinct raps against the van's left side door. One of the soldiers pushed the door open and indicated toward William, who got up and stepped out of the van.
They had parked in the middle of a four-way stop, a few miles deep into the city. The driver showed William where he was on the map and then wished him luck. Before the van started up again, the left side door reopened, and one of the soldiers threw a rifle onto the ground. "A gift from Hume!" and the door slid shut.
William walked to the sidewalk, which was cracked and claimed by grass and moss. He studied the map he was given before he got down on one knee to find his own map of the outer city. A loud pop rang out down the road, William looked up from his pack and heard a second pop, then a third, then a fourth, before he saw the van explode a hundred meters down the road. William walked into the middle of the street and watched as small figures began to crawl along the ground. One of the mules picked up a soldier lying a few feet from the van and ran with the corpse into the surrounding wood and city. Gunshots began to ring out as another mule picked his arm up off the floor. Corpses littered the ground, as the few remaining soldiers began to flee into the greenery around them. William stood motionless as the trees and bushes began to shift and reveal apparitions and figures, who walked up to each remaining soldier and dragged them back into the descending darkness.