Theo Normandy did not understand that his presence had not gone unnoticed as he battled to come to terms with his new environment.
The enormous spaceship, which was the size of multiple football fields, was an oddity that rocked the barren landscape. It was unlike anything anyone had seen in years. No one could ignore this phenomena after the sky had been barren of life for decades.
The RedWing created a mountain of fire that streaked through the sky as it entered the atmosphere.
It lit up the dark, crimson sky, bright enough to be seen hundreds of kilometers away. For those too far to investigate, it became a tale whispered in reverence, a distant miracle—or a warning.
The land below was a wasteland of horrors. No one remembered the last time the sky had offered anything but dread. Yet here it was, a blazing beacon falling to earth.
Inside the craft, Ariella worked tirelessly, deploying her modular disassembly program as they entered the atmosphere. Sections of the ship broke off in stages, massive intact facilities separating to reduce the load on the mainframe.
Theo was aware that he would soon need to locate those strewn-about pieces—and quickly. They might have been his sole means of returning home and his only chance of survival. If he was even able to locate home.
Scavengers would now target the broken pieces of RedWing that would be scattered across the uncharted territory. Ariella, however, didn't appear to care. Although the ship's core was dispersed among several regions due to the crash, her defensive capabilities were at the highest level.
According to her, "some pieces are running low on power," "They'll need direct sunlight to recharge."
She spoke calmly, but Theo could hear the urgency in her voice. They had to get moving, and quickly.
Three individuals stood silhouetted against the faint glow of the horizon at the top of the largest structure in the destroyed city.
A wiry man among them looked through a pair of shabby binoculars. The lenses, one of their most treasured possessions, were worn and scratched but still worked.
He lowered the binoculars and glanced at his friends, whispering, "Do you think someone finally did it?"
"Did what?" the woman next to him yelled. The crisp night air was pierced by the sharpness of her voice. It's most likely just an old satellite returning to Earth. Nothing more.
"But look at the size of it!" a younger man with a feverish energy interrupted the third person. "That thing is enormous. It's not a satellite. And the shape—didn't it like a stingray? Nothing in the old archives matches that.
"Archives," the woman crossed her arms and sneered. "Are you often expressing your theories? The governments of that era were not very open. What kind of weaponry were they hiding away? They are to blame for our first involvement in this catastrophe.
Her annoyance was hardly restrained as she spat the words with venom. The younger man winced but did not back down.
"What about those who walk? She went on. "Do you believe the crash site will be ignored? We can't risk being caught out there for one of your theories, not to mention the gangs and scavengers."
"It's not just a theory," he stated in a firm yet quiet voice. "We could make use of anything there, if it's advanced. Our supplies are running low. Additionally, I could discover something that will aid in my studies. A cure, you know.
She gave a sour laugh. "A remedy? Still clinging to that fantasy? You must awaken. More ammunition, not wishful thinking, is what we need. Why would you want to stroll into the heart of the city at night? Some fabled remedy?"
Their voices were passionate but controlled as they argued in low whispers. Making noise at night was punishable by death. Walkers' senses were sharpened and they were more active in the dark.
Throughout the conversation, the third figure—the one holding the binoculars—had said nothing. At last, they spoke in a firm yet composed tone.
"Enough. We cast our votes.
The younger man couldn't help but snort quietly, but the others fell silent.
With hands raised in the gloom, the vote was swift. There was no turning back once the decision was made, even though it was a tense moment.
"Looks like we're heading to the crash site," the leader stated. "At dawn. Prepare before the sun rises.
The younger man nodded eagerly, though the woman's scowl deepened. She muttered something under her breath, but no one pressed her.
The crash site was bound to attract every scavenger, gang, and desperate survivor within a ten-mile radius. The promise of resources—guns, food, technology—was too tempting to ignore. But they all knew the risks.
Walkers would be the least of their problems.
...
...
...
"Do as you wish. Just don't say I didn't warn you," the second person grumbled, leaning back against the dusty wall of the room.
The third member, clearly eager to leave, grinned. "Come on, we need to go out anyway, or we'll starve to death. Besides, I've been tinkering with some new equipment in the lab. Perfect chance to test it out."
The other two froze, exchanging alarmed glances.
"Absolutely not," the first person blurted, panic lacing their voice. "We don't need your 'inventions' complicating things."
"Yeah," the third chimed in quickly, hoping to shut down the idea before it gained traction. "This is a basic run. Recon, maybe scavenge some food. Nothing fancy."
"But—"
"Save it for when we really need it," the first interjected. "We can't risk your gadgets backfiring again. Remember the grappling hook incident?"
The inventor frowned, crossing their arms in mild offense. "That was one time."
"One time too many," the third muttered, before adding more diplomatically, "Your work is valuable. We just need to save it for the right moment, okay?"
"Fine," they relented, though their sulking was evident. "But don't blame me if things go sideways."
And with that, the trio settled on their plan: they'd head to the crash site at dawn. It might be dangerous, but danger had long since become a part of daily life. Zombies were just another problem to deal with, like rationing food or finding safe shelter.
In this world, only the strong survived—and these three had already proven their resilience time and time again.