I dream about it every night…..
Isn't that just so cliche of a— newly, leading woman such as myself? Plagued by the ghosts of my past, scarred by an old lover. Last standing in a story that had to end for this to begin?
Yea, yea, whatever.
But the images. It's like a car accident in slow motion on a global scale. Nothings been so impossible to look away from ever….
Hands shaped from the stars hovered over the spinning dirt ball that was Earth. Like new constellations. In each palm, glimmering nebulas of raw spacial dust and solar winds blew like polychrome tidal waves.
The hands were human. Five fingers. Four fingers, one thumb, for the perfectionists. I could even see the shape of acrylic nails at the end of each digit in the sharpened spacial debris.
Acrylic? Why would I know that?
Well it's simple.
I knew that because I also knew— I also know, everytime I see it, the hands are a projection. A spectral reimagining of what transpired down below on earths oh so cluttered surface.
Someone somewhere, some sort of chaotic god in man's clothing, molded the stars— molded the very fabric of something infinitely deep and outwardly expanding. Something as powerful as space.
And then the blast came.
The stars holding the shape of two human hands scattered like snowfall in zero gravity. And somewhere on earth, a fissure of green ripped across the skies for a mile.
Short when considering the grandness of everything that was transpiring on nothing short of a biblical scale. But devastating all the same.
The Green Scar, locals called it— after the real locals, and millions before them died. Nothing more than a glowing pimple from where I stood… floated? Dreamt. Even so….
The blast was so strong it scarred the earth. So forceful it threw earth off its axis. As verdant sparks danced between the space of earths surface and ozone layer, chaos fell in excess.
My science folks know what happens when the earth's spin cycle is interrupted.
Earthquakes.
Tsunamis.
Volcanic Eruption.
Droughts.
Lightning storms straight out of Dante's Inferno.
The earth used to be brimming with life. With green.
Now it was filled with them.
And our blood was on those hands.
Those hands that had power to shape the stars to its will.
Did they even survive what they starte—
"Trish!" The militaristic tone of voice set of alarms in my brain long before the heavy knuckled knocks on my door.
"Trish, you gotta get up. Like now."
Who was I kidding? I wasn't sleeping anyway.
I got out of my bed with the speed of someone with much healthier joints than myself and approached my desk. The floorboards let out a groan as if my room itself was waking up in my stead. A Newspaper drawn on animal hide gave a plethora of daily information. Monotonous and boring. But I was told it helped establish normalcy for the older people.
And no, I didn't mention opening my eyes because I don't. I wasn't sleeping. I wasn't blinking. I was…..
Anyway.
I grabbed the glass bottle of murky liquid labeled eye drops with a tape strip and popped the cork.
"Trish—"
"God damn, Lance! I'm coming." Maybe I wasn't sleeping, but the grumpiness of early morning hit me the same as anyone.
"It's just— it's important."
Only one thing was ever truly, important.
"Where are they?" I asked as I let the liquid solution pour from the bottle and serenade my hazel eyes into a state of moisturized bliss.
"Sixty-Ninth and Fourth. It's a small Horde but the scouts said they were joined by…..uhhh."
"Lance, speak." My Hunters never falter. Fuck.
"The Scouts reported that the Horde was joined by Humans."
I cringed, feeling my thick corn rows pull against my strained scalp.
No more time for talking. Humans were Husks favorite— only, meal. Normal. The state of the world, even.
Humans working with Husks? Red flag. Red missile the size of Cuba before it went under, actually.
I shrugged on my gear with the familiarity of a decorated Soldier. Only this kit didn't include Kevlar and camo.
Husks were colorblind and didn't use guns. They used teeth and bio-weaponry grown from who knows what.
So, Riot gear, chainmail, strapped leathers and clothing sewn from firefighting garb got the job done.
I like to go light. Something for the shoulders and midsection. Gauntlets and an air purifier mask. No need for a helmet, if they get that close you're fucked most of the time anyway. And a poncho for the cold.
When I opened the door, Lance was partway through knocking again.
He looked like he was cut from obsidian and steel with all the dark metal he was wearing. As did most of the members of the Knight-Hunter's Defense Division, (KHDD). The strongest, fastest, and most vicious survivors, to the point of predation. Some, like Lance, I grew up with.
But I couldn't see the frail boy I once knew past his hard dark eyes. He was in fight mode.
I walked past him, he followed.
"Details." I demanded as I shuffled across the polished wooden floorboards and jogged down the stairs.
"Like I said, Sixty-Seventh and Fourth was where the anomaly of Husk-Human Co-Operation was last seen. They're making their way towards—"
"Us. How long has it been since the Scouts report?" I asked while making my way through the labrynthian halls of Zone Twelve's very own castle. Camelot Keep. Once a Museum in the heart of Brooklyn New York. Turns out it was as functional as told. Even more so.
"Roughly an hour." Lance replied over the jostling of his armor and weaponry.
I hit the last step running and shoved my way through the thick reinforced wooden double doors to be embraced by sunlight that was immediately swallowed by storm clouds.
The radiant glimmer that once shined off emblazoned swords, spears and armory of the Old and New World vanished. Men, women and children continued to work like ants. Shuffling supplies to horseback and carriage. Sending gear to and from locations. The whole works.
"A storm's brewin, B."
I looked down the stone steps to find Ahmad facing me. His bronze skin stood out in the dreary ominous backdrop of the world. His curly hair looked like it already felt and melted the snowfall that was to come. I kept that fact in the back of my mind.
I nodded in agreement with the Knight-Hunter and prepared my big girl voice.
"Alright everyone keep working and listen up! We've got Husk activity no more than ten minutes North. Could be more could be less. Todays mission is some new shit, you hear me?! Don't come on my battlefield thinkin it's just another day on the job, this ain't work! This is survival. But most importantly, it's a puzzle. We figure it out and we live to see another day. Simple."
"Yes, Momma B!" A few of the younger Knight-Soldiers jokingly— and seriously, yelled in understanding.
I headed down the steps with nothing more to say to the people.
"Lance, you and your brother— Ahmad, are on me. Let's get out there first—"
"Trish…. I'd advise against the leading man… woman being a first responder. Your people need you." Lance cut in as they all bobbed and weaved through the courtyard.
I felt my body temperature rise as I looked at him with an eyebrow raised, "Are you my advisor, Lance?"
Lance's sharp jawline pushed against his fair skin like ribs on a starved man. Usually it made women go crazy in Camelot Keep. Not me, though.
"No, Trish."
I grabbed his adoptive brother, Ahmad, his wet hair rustled as I yanked him closer to me, "And forgive my previous slip up….. but am I the first responder?"
Ahmad dropped his eyes.
I raised mine to look at Lance, "Y'all on some bs right now, you know that? You weren't trained to be liars. Stop trying. If Ahmad went out there, so did you. So one of you, tell me who else is out there right now buying us time before I demote both of you for lying to your Knight-King." Damn that felt good to say.
"Wayne….. he's leading a KS Unit with some Scouts." Lance replied, dead faced as usual.
Ahmad cringed behind his sweaty curls before I threw him aside.
"Son of a—"
"B, you can't be mad at us— he was promoted to Knight-Hunter for a reason! He can do this. He's not your baby-cousin anymore!" Ahmad yelled after me as I shoved my way through the field towards the Armory-Men.
I gave him a final word before I got to business.
"He's sixteen, you musty ass idiot!"
The next few minutes went by in a familiar blur. Much like getting dressed this morning.
"Somebody get me my Dicks!"
Yep. Dicks.
Their more proper name is Pop Pikes, PP's. Guns and the worlds supply of ammunition went pretty dry five years ago. So we improvise like always. Camelot's Keep had a shit-ton of functional spears. Scouts and Unit Raids got us Gun Powder. The rest was up to the engineers. Which resulted in a spear with a bladed barrel. Just in case a stab to the face didn't take down a Husk. Hopefully a shotgun blast would.
I prefer to roll with two.
My guys know the deal. They found their way in my hands like drama finds it's way into the women's latrine.
"Climbing picks!"
Equipped.
"Flare Guns!"
Holstered.
And lastly.
"The King's Blad—." One of the Armory-Men bowed and handed me the blade. Or at least that's what he had planned before I snatched it from his prepubescent grip.
"Sorry, honey. No hard feelings!"
I was already off on an unaccounted for Horse.
Lance and Ahmad knew they had nowhere else to be but behind me.
So there it was.
Two Knights and a King riding off into the northern ends of Tundra Five's Zone Twelve.
The ride was short. Remember, we're already close.
Husks and Humans. That's more unbelievable than the glacial spikes ripping through the metal skyscrapers all around us. Even as old oils and decayed materials bleed over the frozen surface and make it look like nightmarish black monster talons are ripping the dead city apart. Overkill is the name of the game.
I keep my eyes peeled as I ride. I've got the Scouting posts memorized.
First up, CBS Pharmacy. The red ribbon flailed from the roof in the snowy winds and bit straight through my poncho.
I nodded to the Scout as me and mine blew by on the icy streets. If things went south, I had my flares. Red would alert the Scout that we had men in need of medical help.
That was really all that mattered in the moment. I just had to get to Wayne.
And I did.
Lance whistled an auditory route to me and had us drifting left on our Horses guarded hooves and darting into an alley.
Husks's ashen corpses lined the brick halls as we slowed to a stop and hopped off our Horses.
They were trained. The sight of Husks didn't bother them like it did other animals.
I observed the corpses in silence.
Husks were a lot like finger-prints in a way. None were exactly the same. But they did fit a general mold.
Humanoid. Spliced with different creatures and mockeries of substances like steel, brick and plastic. All dead and necrotic in a greying glowing mess.
I studied the corpses just enough to confirm they were True-Dead and headed down the alley in a silent sprint as I unsheathed my blade.
Lance and Ahmad followed me, as they did.
We found ourselves on a highway. I found myself fighting off a panic as I followed the footsteps across the snow littered streets to what could only be the two hundred foot tall building on the other side.
I squinted as I viewed the walls.
Windows busted in. Climbing axe cuts in the brick. Only person strong enough to do that was a Knight-Hunter.
"We tracked them inside. Wayne took the initiative to enter with the KS Unit." Lance replied.
"I'm going to skin both your asses and have Marlon use it to write the newspapers for the next year." I took off in a sprint.
Lance and Ahmad followed.
They could of blown past me and cleared the ten foot jump between the building and the highway in a few seconds but they respected me….. I think.
So it took us a little longer. But we got there.
I felt my joints curse me as I bounded over a frozen Jeep, landed in a roll and immediately jumped to the building.
A fifty foot drop looked up at me from below.
As the three of us soared, we brandished our climbing picks. With practiced aim, I slammed my picks into Wayne's previous trail in a burst of rubble and snow.
Lance and Ahmed landed ten feet above me, with their picks inches deeper into the wall, all without much of a sound.
That or I was too busy hearing the Husks inside.
"Heeeelp— me?!…. Help…. My SON….."
"Rrreeuaaaaaghhh….."
The voices reverberated from every floor.
Husks were people once. When the blast hit, seventy percent of the population became Husks. All children died. The ones that didn't become a Husk in a flash were left pleading for their children… their survival. Even after completing their transformation.
Now it's just death echoes….
And they felt so much colder as I climbed inside the brick high rise.
Ahmad and Lance filed in after me. Blades drawn. Hybridized Knight-Riot armor blended with the shadows.
If they had brains— which they did, they wanted Wayne to make his way to the roof for flare usage.
So the only way was up.
I pulled out my flashlight and led them deeper inside.
Old wallapapers and out of commission printers covered in dusty ice filled the rooms.
Trash littered the floors, making stealthy movements more challenging. But it also made finding the Husks easier. They didn't give a damn about stealth.
Paper twisted and ripped as something sluggishly moved ahead of them.
Lance took the lead ready to rip through the Husk crossing the doorway of the room they just cleared.
I put my hand out to stop him.
Not a regular day at work, remember?
The Husk hobbled past. They didn't have the best eyes, and they were in the dark…. In a dusty room full of old and new scents. Invisibility was real in the new world.
"Haaaa…."
I pressed my flashlight against my thigh and centered my breaths, taking note of the creature.
Humanoid. Male, not that it mattered. Also not my type. Not that it mattered.
It had white skin. Very much unlike me. The bones in its face protruded grotesquely and had a softer appearance to them— like cartilage. It's mouth hung open so wide it's cheeks ripped, leaving stringy necrotic flesh holding its jaw in place. Through the holes I could catch a gleam of endless rows of white teeth. The purple dead glow of its insides made it easier to see.
And follow.
I motioned my Knight-Hunters to do just that with me.
We stuck to its backside like flies on the dead. All the way down another hall and into a storage room with dirty windows that hid the outside whiteness. Not that I would've noticed.
We were all too busy eyeing the spectacle.
Half the room was full of Husks. All walking— sliding in place, on the mounds of decades old cold paper as they marched towards the scent of the human in the corner.
No. Not human.
Something worse. I knew that as it too walked, face mashed into the corner of the room as it chased the smell of its own mask.
It was a Husk in human clothing.
Now why would anyone do that. How would they do that?
Where in the hell is my cou—
"RAAAAAAAHHHH!"
"Damn man, how'd you see me??!?"
"RAA—"
A blade cut through dead flesh. Something thudded against the floor above them. Probably a severed head.
"The hell up, deadman."
The Husks turned from the human scent and came face to face with me and mine.
"God dammit, Wayne."
I cut the lights.
Let's get busy.