Jordan politely walks us to the front door and after exchanging pleasantries he asks Tom to escort us to a small house that was unoccupied not far from his own. He encourages us to make ourselves at ho and that when the raid is approaching he will have Tom get us.
The town is still waking up as we leave Jordan’s place. Grass sprouts in uneven patches along the dirt path, clinging to the spaces where footsteps haven’t beaten it down. The morning dew creates small patches of slippery mud as we walk.
Tom doesn’t talk as we march a few hundred yards to the house Jordan is letting us stay. It’s not one of the poorly thrown together cabins that fills the town. No, this is one of the hos that made it through from the old world.
A baby blue rambler with white shutters and a yellow door. I glare at the house. Growing up a pet peeve of mine has always been hos with mismatching doors. I was convinced that hos with mismatching doors were always haunted.
This particular house seems especially off to since it seems totally out of place, with no yard or fence. The surrounding cabins only make it worse—hastily built, ugly things pressing in from all sides.
Tom stops in front of the door and fumbles with so keys before unlocking the front door and letting us in. The inside slls of old potpourri mixed with musty old clothes. The furniture is all floral and out of date with a recliner covered in clear plastic.
“This house belonged to an elderly couple before the induction. They are no longer with us. The bodies were found in their beds.” Tom steps into the house hands on hips.
“It was a pretty rough sight. No one wanted the place after that. We cleaned out the room where it happened but there are three other rooms with beds if you want to use them.”
He turns back to us and sniffs. “Not sure how much you sleep, but there are other rooms if you need them.”
“This is great, thank you Tom.” I give him a thumbs up and a smile.
He walks to the door and is about to step out before he pauses at the door. “Oh and uhh…feel free to mingle here. People already know you’re here.” He gives Ellison a quick glance before nodding and closing the door.
Once the door shuts, we exchange looks.
Nick walks over to the front window and peers through the dusty blinds. “This place is a dump.”
Classic Nick. No sugarcoating. I can’t argue with him, though.
“And where the hell is everyone? Faction LM is tiny compared to this faction but it feels way more alive.”
I stand beside Nick and take a look. We can’t see much of the town from here—just dirt streets and ugly cabins.
“Well I don’t know, it seems like more of what I might expect of an apocalypse honestly. Not everyone has a Jared.” We let the curtain close and the room is cast back into a slightly red hue from the light penetrating the curtains.
“Not everyone has a Layton either.” Ellison adds inspecting the recliner with plastic on it.
In the short ti I’ve spent with Ellison he’s already grown into soone I trust. Maybe it’s the greying beard—or the way his antlers give him a strangely harmless bambi type look. Or maybe it’s because he has been quick with a kind word and easy smile.
I chuckle and stroll around looking at the house we’re staying in. “Thanks, Ellison.”
Absent-mindedly I pick up one of the pictures on the coffee table. It’s a picture of an old couple smiling wide in front of what I am pretty sure is Niagara falls. They look happy.
“What do you guys think of Jordan?” I ask, placing the picture back on the table.
“That dude is an enigma.” Nick says crashing into the floral couch.
Ellison lowers himself into the recliner slowly and it squeaks as the plastic rubs together. “What do you an an enigma?”
“I don’t know, he’s just perfect–you know? But he seems to suck as a faction leader. Does that make sense?” He asks, reclining and kicking his feet up on the coffee table.
The problem is–I do get it. Talking to Jordan, he makes you want to trust him. He’s friendly, easy going and intelligent. And he seems to care about his faction’s well-being.
So why was I hesitant to trust him? That answer is simple. The state of his faction. It just didn’t match how he presented himself. He had asked towards the end of the eting, “what do you do with people who don’t want to help themselves?”
You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.
That question had stuck with . It felt like an accusation. It reminded of an old football coach I had who blad our losing season on us as players without taking any responsibility.
It’s still early though. We agreed to help with the next raid, until then I wanted to learn more. I also want to find out what the heck Mischief was up to.
“Yeah I think I get what you're saying Nick. Maybe it’s not as bad as it looks though?” He’s still kicked back on the couch but I want to explore the house a bit more.
“I am going to look around a bit. Do you guys want to check out the town in a little bit?” I ask half distracted peering down the dark halfway.
“Hell yeah. You know I’m in. Maybe they have so shops or sothing in this ghetto?”
Smirking, I drift down the hall, eyes fixed on the door at the end. Step by step, I move—almost in a trance. The hall is lined with pictures of what must be family and friends.
Even without my enhanced senses, the sour stench hits hard—so strong I can almost see tendrils curling under the door.
I hesitate, hand on the doorknob. Swallow hard. Then I push the door open.
As the door swings open, the stench rushes out like a physical force. I retch, gagging, hands flying to my face. Tears well in my eyes.
The source of the sll is undeniable. At the center of the room, frad by twin nightstands, is a bed straight out of a true cri docuntary—sheets rumpled, stained reddish brown from what must have been gallons of blood.
Blinking through the tears I slam the door closed and suck in a breath. What the hell? The bodies were removed but they had left the room and bed completely untouched.
I grit my teeth and push the door open again, ignoring the rancid air. The sight of that bed—untouched, soaked in dried blood—sends another chill down my spine. I move fast, pressing my hand to the mattress and willing it into my dinsional bag before I can second-guess myself. I had to get rid of the source of this sll.
Even with the mattress gone the stench remains, so I rush to a window–pull back the blinds and yank it open.
There’s a screen, but I don’t care—I punch straight through it, shoving my head outside. Cool, fresh air rushes over my face, washing away the rotten stench that still clings to my nostrils. I suck in greedy gulps, eyes squeezed shut, just breathing.
For a few seconds I just keep my head out the window, eyes closed.
Jordan put us in a damn murder house. He had to have known. Tom had even warned us—but he never said anything about this. The bed, the blood—why the hell would they leave it like that? Was this intentional? If so, what would be the point?
I couldn’t think of a single reason they’d do this on purpose. No way. They must have just… forgotten the mattress. A stupid, careless mistake. Right? Head still out the window I decide they must’ve taken the bodies forgetting to take out the mattress. I have no reason to think otherwise.
A few more calming breaths later I open my eyes. I find myself peering into a roughly ten foot alley between the blue murder house and the adjacent cabin. Senses slowly return. I feel eyes watching . I turn and face the feeling across the dirt path in the parallel alley a slender figure jumps and scrambles out of sight.
Are we being watched?
With the lithe grace of my enhanced stats I vault out of the window and into the alley. In a second I cross the alley and follow where the figure slithered off too. I round the corner and nearly collide headfirst into a small person pressed tight against the shelter wall.
The small woman lets out a small yelp and slaps right in the face.
-
The slap might as well have been a strong breeze. Still, my hand went to my face, rubbing the spot instinctively
What the hell is this chick's problem? She is the one watching . But then I imagined my actions from her perspective. For all I knew, she was just minding her business and happened to see peeking out the window.
And what did I do? I vault out the window and chase after her.
Yeah, I'd probably react the sa way if so stranger chased into an alley.
“Hey! I’m so sorry—I must seem like a total creep. I didn’t an to scare you. I thought you were watching , but now I just feel like an idiot.” I take a step back, giving the woman so space.
She looks youngish—early thirties, maybe. Her hair is long and disheveled, it’s easy to see she is a natural beauty if not for her gaunt eyes and ssy appearance. She looks about ready to bolt.
"Can we start over?" I raise my hands in surrender. “My na is Layton-I’m new here and I am very sorry for my horrible first impression.”
The woman eyes warily. She takes her ti before she finally responds as if assessing .
“I’m Cassie.” She slumps her shoulders. “I’m sorry for slapping you.”
“Like I said–I probably had it coming.”
I offer an awkward smile. Cassie… why did that na sound so familiar?
“Cassie! I was supposed to et a Cassie this morning! Are you Jordan’s Cassie?”
Cassie blasts with a glare straight from hell itself. “No. I am not Jordan’s Cassie.”
She folds her arms defensively. “But I am the Cassie who you were supposed to et today.”
“Wow. Small world.”
That is probably why she was over here, most likely on her way to et up with Jordan at the house. I’m not sure why she was in the alley between houses but people were sotis weird like that.
“We t Jordan this morning. He asked about you. I don’t want to keep you, he seed pretty eager for you to co by.”
“Oh did he?” She looked up in the direction of the house. It wouldn’t be visible from our vantage but that didn’t stop her from muttering what sounded like curses under her breath.
"Yeah, he did... Am I missing sothing? You don’t seem like a fan of Jordan. He seed nice enough to ."
"Of course he did." She fires another glare toward the house. "That's Jordan—always knows the exact right thing to say."
Yep, definitely missing sothing here. Why was Cassie so against Jordan? From everything I could tell he seed like a genuinely good person.
“Cassie–I am pretty new here, and I’ve really only t a few people. Maybe you’d be willing to give and my friends a run down on what’s been going on?”
“By friends do you an the hairy guy with antlers and emo boy?”
I never drank much, so I wasn’t sure—but if I had to guess? Cassie was drunk.
Or at least, I wasn’t sure—right up until she projectile vomited on my feet and collapsed. I reach out and catch her before she drops into the mud.
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