Not a Word

CW: electrocution of living beings

You gather for your task. The hush that's fallen over the Bastion crackles with fear, punctuated by the sounds of preparation: fences fortified, weapons drawn, loved ones held close.

You've convinced The Saint to help you. It's good muscle to have around, if it comes to it. You're not sure what to make of that suit of armour with a voice, but there's safety in numbers.

Strangeness-in-the-air is with you, too. While you finish your preparations, gathering tools for traps you plan to set up, Strangeness keeps close to your side, speaking to you in a tone that feels far more like preaching than pleading. 'If we find one away from the pack, we should talk to it, Raindrop. I know you don't want to hear it, but Lottie wasn't dead until we killed her. We can't do that again. I can't see that again.'

You don't respond. What could you say?

Instead, you turn your attention to Dr. Chambers, busying yourself by making your utility clear: she thanks you for your effort, but moves on swiftly, leaving you alone with Strangeness again.

You grit your teeth and turn to her, but instead of speaking, you see her wince in pain and put her hand to the top of her back, as if feeling a fresh wound. She's facing half away from you, and the pain seems to pass quickly, and you don't know what to say to her, so you leave it. You hope it won't get in the way of your work.

Few words are exchanged between the three of you on your travels. You take the lead, eyes darting back and forth; The Saint follows from behind, metal-clad figure seeming to absorb all light.

Your careful attention is soon rewarded when you hear the sound of crunching branches beneath unfamiliar feet. You nod to The Saint, who follows you swiftly through the underbrush towards the noise. It doesn't sound like many - you imagine it's a straggler - but still, you're cautious, putting your shield in front of you. The shield was given to you by Loosha, who made it from sheet leather and metal. It's unwieldy, but the protection is reassuring, and Loosha seemed grateful when you agreed to take it.

Soon, you find the source of the noise. A single, lumbering zombie, skin covered in coarse and oozing lesions, a mess of red and green and blue with two beady, hungry eyes staring at you. Leaves have been strapped to its feet with twine - that explains why you couldn't hear the footsteps for so long. You're quick to hit it, hard, with the heft of the shield, knocking it over onto the ground where it writhes for a second then falls unconscious.

You remember what Strangeness asked of you. This thing isn't dead. It could be in a second if you needed it to be, but maybe you let it stay like this, alive but safe, for Strangeness' sake. Where is Strangeness, anyway? When did she slip away?

The Saint shoots the infected. One bullet, straight to the forehead.

Before you can protest or rethink, everything gets very, very loud. Strangeness pushes through the trees, to rejoin you. You look at her, confused and relieved and annoyed by her absence - she notices the body on the ground - and there's no time to talk about any of this because your heads snap in the direction of far-too-close, far-too-fast, far-too-many footsteps.

'Run.' You're not sure who says it, but they're right, so you do. Your footsteps are so much louder than the infected's, and turning a sharp corner, you see why: all their footsteps are cushioned by the same primitive shoes as the first. And even with this strange tool, they're fast, unimpeded by the pain of scratching brambles and sharp stones that delay your own pace.

The Bastion's fence draws closer as your legs begin to burn. You don't dare look behind you, afraid that you'll see an infected's hungry grasping fingers inches away from your neck, so you focus on the barbed wire instead. You shout warnings once you're close enough to be heard, and the Bastion springs into action, a mass of frenetic bodies making their last stand.

You slip through the fence seconds before it is alive with electricity. You cover your ears, trying to escape the half-human screeches of pain and something that could be fear. Then, you cover your nose, overcome with the smell of burning bodies.

The wave has fallen. The Bastion is safe. As far as you can tell.

You grip your chierk, pressing its shape into the skin of your hand. As long as you live, you won't let the Bastion fall the same way you did last time.

Dark. Everything's dark. The sun has gone missing. You look up to find it but you can't tell which way's up.

No - there's something. Tiny sparks, little blades of light. You reach out to grab one and your entire arm explodes with pain. You wrench it back, stuck still in this dark, dark void.

You squeeze your eyes shut. Nothing changes in your vision, but part of you longs to hide from this, to wait it out.

But another part begs to face this head-on, whatever it is, so you force them open.

You open your eyes, back to that chain-link fence, and a pile of corpses.

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