Aell Truman POV
My day started like this: I woke up to the smell of mold and regret. You know that feeling when you forgot to take out the trash and it's been sitting there for a week? Yeah, multiply that by a thousand, add in the staleness of damp wood, and you're getting close to what my "bedroom" smells like. Eau de Apocalypse, if you will.
I rolled off my "bed"—just a pile of rags and straw I'd thrown together one night when sleep mattered more than comfort—and hit the cold floor. "Ow," I muttered, but pain wasn't really the problem. It's more like a daily companion at this point, a little reminder of life's cruelty, as if I needed any. Good morning to you too, Universe.
The morning light, or at least what little we got since the sky was always filled to the brim with dark clouds, fought its way through the cracked windows. Outside, Section 3 (aka the Slums) was waking up, if you could call it that.
It wasn't exactly known for its lively mornings.
More like shuffling through another day of survival. Another day of trying not to end up like the addicts—feral, starving for beast meat, and completely out of their minds. You know, just your average Tuesday.
I grabbed my bag, slung it over my shoulder, and then reached for my bow. It was old, worn, but reliable enough. I did a quick check of the string, a habit I'd picked up from my first few hunts. Pro tip: always check your equipment. It's way less embarrassing than having your bow snap in front of a hungry bobcat.
The main room was alive with noise—the chatter of kids, the crackle of fire, and the smell of smoked meat. The table was crowded with my siblings, ranging from toddlers to teenagers, all trying to eat their share of what was left from a few boars we hunters had brought in a few days ago. Meat had been smoking in the fireplace, the only way to keep it from rotting too fast in the damp air. Mmm, nothing like the taste of slightly-less-spoiled meat in the morning.
James sat at the end of the table, his leg propped up on a stool, swollen and stiff from his gout. He was our adoptive father, though that word meant little in the slums. Family was whoever you survived with. And James? He kept us together, even if his body was breaking down faster than my patience on a bad day.
"Morning," I said, leaning against the wall near him. "How's the leg today?"
James just grunted and waved me off, not bothering with pleasantries. "Same as always. It's there, it hurts, and it's not getting any better." He eyed me over the rim of his mug, then jerked his chin toward the table. "Eat. You're gonna need it before you head out again."
"I'm fine," I started to argue, but James shot me a look that told me it wasn't a debate. I sighed and grabbed a strip of smoked meat from the table, chewing on it as I slumped into a chair.
The kids, as usual, couldn't leave me alone for two minutes.
"Aell! Did you catch this meat?" Jess, the youngest, piped up, her eyes wide with excitement. She was six, her hair a tangled mess of curls, but she smiled like she didn't have a care in the world. I wished she could stay like that.
"Yeah, I helped," I replied, trying to keep my voice light. "I whispered sweet nothings to the boar until it agreed to become our dinner."
"Can we come with you next time?" another one chimed in, followed by a chorus of other voices. They were all staring at me, hopeful and eager, their eyes full of dreams of adventure. They didn't get it yet and I hoped they wouldn't have to.
"Knock it off, all of you," came Tommy's voice from the other side of the table. He was standing by the wall, sharpening his knife, his broad shoulders (something very unusual in the slums) hunched forward as he focused on the blade.
Tommy was the oldest of all of us—eighteen— only a few years older than me, but he'd grown up fast. The slums did that to you. He was another hunter, like me, and one of the few people I trusted completely. "Aell's got enough on his mind without you lot pestering him."
"But—" Jess started, her lip trembling.
"Tommy's right," I cut in, giving her a gentle smile. "Only one or two hunters can go out at a time. The woods aren't safe, and we can't afford to lose anyone. Especially not you, squirt." I ruffled Jess's hair, and she giggled, though I could see the disappointment in her eyes. "Besides, someone needs to stay here and protect James from the attack of the killer dust bunnies."
As I finished my food and stood to leave, James called out, his voice rough but steady. "Be careful out there, Aell. And don't forget to check the traps."
I gave him a nod, knowing full well what he meant. Animals had gone missing over the past few days, there weren't as many boars or deer and when animals left that was always a bad sign. It was basically screaming at us that something weird was going on in the woods.
"Yeah, I'll check 'em," I said, glancing at Tommy. "Ready?"
Tommy grunted, sheathing his knife. "Ready as I'll ever be."
I stepped out into the gray morning, the familiar streets of Section 3 stretching out before me like a maze of crumbling buildings and desperate souls.
The addicts were already out, slumped in doorways or stumbling down alleys, their eyes glazed over with that same wild hunger, this was what happened when you ate the beast meat scraps that were thrown from Section 2, though what they were doing with meat that made you go crazy, your guess was as good as mine.
We were about halfway to the wall when it happened. An addict, looking more feral than human, lunged at us from a shadowy alley. His eyes were wild, mouth frothing, hands reaching for anything he could grab.
"Whoa there, buddy!" I yelped, jumping back. "I know I'm irresistible, but this is a bit much for a first date!"
The addict didn't seem to appreciate my humor. He lunged again, this time managing to grab my jacket. I could smell his rancid breath, see the desperate hunger in his eyes. It was like looking at a human-shaped black hole of need.
"Sorry about this," I muttered, and then I swung my bow, catching him right across the face with a satisfying thwack.
The addict went down hard, sprawling across the dirty street. For a moment, everything was silent. Then, like someone had flipped a switch, the other addicts scattered, disappearing into alleys and doorways faster than you could say "beast meat".
I looked at Tommy, who was staring at me with a mixture of surprise and approval. "What?" I asked, shouldering my bow again. "I wasn't gonna let the dude eat me."
Tommy shook his head, a rare smile tugging at his lips. "Come on, hero. We've got traps to check."
Eventually, the shacks and makeshift homes thinned out, replaced by nothing but open, dirt-filled paths. The giant wall that surrounded Section 3 rose up ahead, gray and imposing, towering over everything like it was mocking us. They built it to keep things out of section 3 and to keep us in the city.
I looked back, toward the heart of Section 3, where another wall loomed. Taller. Thicker. The barrier that separated us from the inner city. The place everyone wanted to be but no one from here would ever get near. The last shred of hope for people in the slums, even though they'd never admit it. If you could just get over that wall… maybe life would be different.
"Yeah, right," I muttered under my breath, shaking my head.
I turned around and headed to the small gap in the wall, one of the few ways to get out of this city, and in an instant we had left the dreary slums and were surrounded by the vibrant yet equally dreary woods. Just another day in the life of Aell Truman, apocalypse survivor extraordinaire.