The breeze of the irradiated world thicken in its way, movements of chaotic perversion. Its smell was a mix of napalm and dust filled with radioactive particles. Peculiarity rises as the two see the mess of the Legionaries... It was more crucifixion than anything else. Added with modern chemicals too.
Getting through his package, he grabbed about nine pieces of shirt. "This oughta be useful."
"What in the hell are you doing?" Diane was concerned, her boss being obviously weird. "It's for my survival, you have somewhat of an armour and I don't."
"Right..." She shrugged it off after, still felt bizarre for her own liking though.
The familiarity of both present and past churns he who leads the group. As they hear groaning, both of them grabbed their weapons. "I'd be better with running..." he complained, tilting his neck. "But experience does wonders for me than shit like that."
"Still have your senses?" she asks, doing the same with a different stance rather than one handed. Michael laughed, "Of course. We'd be dead if I was not eating well."
"Not what I meant, but we'll go with that." Diana looked at him, still focusing on her aim. After for what seems to be eternity for them, they went up and saw what they expected. "Christ, be faster will you!? We don't have time!" he screamed, running to one and kicking them.
"Yeah! Beat 'em fuckers up!"
"Don't." Kick. "Worry." Another stronger kick. "I." The undead's neck was starting to tear apart. "Fucking." The temple and the foot met once more. "WILL!" And at last, that one kick made him scream 'GOAAAAAAL' as he hit another one with the head.
A wailing scream pierced their ears. "Stay dead, you son of a bitch!" he ran and stomped on the head and shot the other one next to it. Rounds upon rounds, the choir of death come upon them with no such quarter of breath.
"Whew... Five down, two for each of us and the one that was in crossfire..." he panted, brushing dirt away from his baggy, 10th piece shirt. "You think we should go before they'll be more?"
"Haah... Yep." The militia-filled one of them replied, putting another new magazine. "Run and shoot if they're gaining on us." She took in a breath of air as some more woke up from their slumber.
"Then I'm going to do that too!" He started counting on how many are there, and by the amount of bullets he can use. "How many mags you got left?" he asked, fixing his own equipment.
"6, 9 rounds in each of them." she answered, packing them back into her pockets on the lower side of her own baggy pantaloons. "About 54 rounds, and additional to that is 5 more, since I didn't change or waste them."
"We're not waiting for those two, are we?" he referenced the other two... They're running to them, which was new. "I thought they'd reconsider. Eh, it's their choice." He looked at them from afar with his eyesight. Their figure was blurry though.
"Guuaaghh..." A newcomer arrived from the wastelands, looking for prey to munch. "There's a new addition, so... About 19 of them, minus two... 17 left, but they die within FUCKING DAMMIT, OUCH!" Looking to his shoulder, he saw that there was something biting him.
Another one bit the dust as they flopped over to the ground. "5 bullets wasted, great." he hummed, pulling away the canines of the undead to put them off. "Noooo! My shirts are now irradiated. Oh well."
Diana puts her fingers to the bridge of her nose. "You know what, I'll cover you while you do that."
"Thanks." he muttered, pulling about 6 of them up to his chest. "The pressure is killing me anyways." he grunted, pulling about half of what he wanted.
"Take a bath. We don't want your death early." she told him, shooting 2 at the same time. The once-soldier pulled out the empty one and changed it. "OI, YOU TWO! GET OVER HERE ALREADY!"
Rummaging over his pockets, he got something sharp that made him yelp. "Ah, here's my knife." Michael twirled it with no care in the world while saying "Their ass is gonna die again before we do."
"Shank them hard and good." she suggested, still shooting the oncoming slaughters she's getting. 14 left, if we count the other two that she killed.
"You get one!" he stabbed one of them, continuing on with "You get one!" to another and the final one with the most. "All of ya get one!"
Hit and run. The plan isn't spectacular, but it gets the job done of saving resources while killing of what is in their way. It also works with speed, running to where the culprits are.
"WAIT FOR US, YOU PIECES OF SHIT!" a feminine voice called- no, more likely, shouted at them. Whacking and banging while gunshots were still being made. "Fucking hell, they forced us to move!"
"You know, when they do it, it haunts us! Now, we're the fucking hunters!" ANOTHER ONE GETS STABBED IN THE ASS! Damn, that was fun to shout. "YOU TWO, WE DIDN'T CATCH YOUR NAMES YET! WHAT ARE THEY?!" he yelled, still running.
"AS IF WE'D TELL YOU! HIYAAGH!" Barbara kicked one while letting the hit she made with a wrench make a THUNK sound.
"I'M ROGER, BESIDE ME IS BARBARA!" the other one answered, smacking some with the end of his firearm.
"MOTHERFUCKER!" She smacked her companion hard. It wasn't so that he gets wounded though.
"Not anymore, girl!" Roger pushed another foe near him, shooting afterwards. "They became debris more than I thought they would be." he murmured as he punched an undead near them.
On Michael's perspective again, he was not having a good time. "I DON'T WANT YOUR FUCKING RABIES, YOU CUNTS!" He writhed in agony and struggled to escape. Five of them grappled him. Each one of them fighting for flesh.
Twirling his knife, he pushed it with his weight and tries to move by his own center body mass. Since Michael wasn't free of the tight grips, it failed to let him free. 'OH FOR FUCKS SAKE!' he screamed in his head as he was bit. Twice, by each one than the one he stabbed.
Ten bite marks came to his own clothing, tearing the jeans and the soft cotton shirts. It hurt. It really hurt. Another factor is how his flesh is now showing and bite-borne diseases will be a 1/9 chances in this predicament. If he get chomped again, of course.
Rabies is hard to get, especially if they're vaccinated. It's pretty rare unless caught by wild feral animals. Even then, it only goes along with the saliva of the creature infected. Not airborne, no. Saliva would be already dried up and died.
Bang! Bang!
Two gunshots saved him for a bit. Squirming away and pulling back his weapon, he cussed once more. Whilst gaining his senses back, he ran back and panting. Falling to the sand, it felt too cold. Desert coldness... Harsh as winter yet not too much.
'-4 degrees Celsius or 25 degrees Fahrenheit. Not good.' Michael heaved as he was chilled for a bit. "Thanks, Diane."
"Say thanks to them, I only staggered two." she shrugged off, dragging the lad. "Seriously, you're a wimp in this type of situation."
"Can you two stop flirting?! We got a situation here!" Barbara berated them as they smash 2 more 'they-who-was-dead' in the head with her wrench.
"Same to you." he panted, going around like a dizzy drunk bastard. He hitched his breath as he saw the woman opening the cap of the gasoline. "Diana, don't." the leader finally made a command.
"What?" Diana had to step back for a moment. "Why?" she asked, tilting her head while blocking teeth with her gloved fist.
"FUCKING DO IT! DO YOU WANT US TO WASTE SOMETHING IMPORTANT?!"
With her nose scrunched up, she punched his shoulder and pinched his ear. "Stop shouting and tell me why we can't use this!" she raised her voice while she grabbed what he wanted.
Whining for a bit, he told her "If we don't, we won't win a battle or a war. We need it for something, but for later!" Taking in a breath, he added "It's not for hunting!"
Sighing, she just beat up the one biting her hand for a while. "Get the fuck off me, you insolent brat." Pulling their tearing hair back, Michael queried "You heard that you little shit?" Spitting at the undead and throwing them to the ground, he finished the job. He stomped on the skull.
"You two, did you pack your things?" the juvenile yawned, tearing the two shirts he has. 'Well, shit.
"How the fuck would we get all of them when you forced us to run?!" the partner of the blacksmith yelled, tired and looking deprived. "We have an anvil and tools left there. We'll go back after this escapade you let us have by force."
"I let you choose, not force you to. You could've hid in a-" He was dragged with his collar and was slapped. It dumbfounded him and stopped saying anything more.
"Listen here you ass-wipe." Barbara started. "As if we knew this would happen! Now look what you done to us!"
Taking this chance, Roger stepped in and stopped her bickering. "They're just other people, Barbara. Your squabbling won't mean anything." Their distraction was cut short as another Zombie came rushing at them like a literal rabid animal.
Running as a madman, Michael fought the Zombie himself. The adrenaline he still has was thriving up until that stab. While his body's force come to contact the undead, he told her "AS IF WE KNEW THAT YOU DIDN'T CONSIDER HIDING." A silent, strong stab came with it.
"Then again, you seem more like a Karen than anyone here." he stated after he made a broken CPR. With his knife, he put it in the mouth of the dead and pushed their ribs too hard.
With what the boy said, she slowly marched over to him. "You've drawn the line, mister." she sneered, raising her weapon.
Since Michael felt a presence coming to him, he stopped trying to break the ribs of the still-breathing 'creature' below him. A weapon would be better, especially a blunt one. Once they were one metre apart, or 3.3 feet, he knew what to do afterwards.
Every inch, every 2.54 centimetres (It's more accurate to say that rather than just "every centimetre), it felt queer and destructive. Hitting it in the air first to find the momentum with the perfect amount as to not break the tool. With the jaw closed on the adjustable tool, she readied it again.
While this was happening, Michael let his slack lower body to wake up. He pulled out his sharp knife and let himself be tensed. Taking in a deep breath and letting it out, he tore the open jaw with his unwounded hand. One strike can let him have a full-on concussion. Doesn't matter how weak it is.
Bam! Barbara swung the wrench in a vertical, yet slightly curved, blow. The first attempt, and hopefully the last one. By lunging over his right leg, near to the moving carcass whilst his upper body was sloping to get away. Sheathing his knife, he made an effort to stand straight once more after that fall.
The summary is: Since the other was ready to move away, he tumbled over and regains his balance.
"We both have the same foes. Nice try to kill an asshole though." he commented, brushing away dust as he stood up. "Roger, was it? If you want her alive, don't let her be there for long." he suggested as he stretches. "You'll know why."
With his mind quite bemused, the man queried "The fuck do you mean?" The simple retort that was given to him was clear. A loud and proud screech that pierced the ears of anyone near was summoned. It came near to the place where both Barbara and the soulless creature was.
"Now..." Michael started, arching his back with both of his palms. "Be grateful that I tore apart the lower jaw. The canines are duller than ours, but it doesn't mean force would not be there." he explained, yawning and grabbing his gun. '3 more rounds 'til it's dead.' he supposed while reloading.
The sharpshooter among them asked her leader "Can you stop... Being an asshole?" Roger was still in pain with the loud noise, mouth agape as his sensitive ears was wailing with the sound of small and silent ᴱ ᴱ ᴱ ᴱ 's.
Chortling, he replied with "Well yes, but actually no." Michael proposed "I'll try not to be to newcomers." and then ended, more of a reason rather "'Hunting' here means to exploit the common danger we'll get."
"Help her, don't just be a sitting duck." she commanded the poor soul next to her and shook him. Since that put them back to reality a bit, she shoved their head to their suffering companion.
In panic and frustration, Roger rushed to fight back the beast that bit his friend. He pulled the torn skull away while the arguable main character shot it down. "I could've said that you should've shifted the weapon to your free hand. Nevertheless, you won't listen to anyone but him." Mike pointed out, yawning while putting another two rounds to the unfazed undead.
The once-dead body became limp once more. It looked more brutish up close. Looking around if there's more, he was content of the outcome. "Good job, guys." Michael complimented, grinning as a child but hearing eerie silence beyond the sea of sand.
Doubting that phrase, Diana vocalised her feelings with it. "I have some qualms about that sentence." Watching the youth move like a bastard, she questioned "You sure this is fine even though we used some ammo?" She paused but stated the fact that "We could've run too."
"Hey, it's better than getting killed by someone I try to call as ally." he answered, groaning and hunching. "It's naïve to call them friends, but acquaintance would be preferable." he carried on. After that, he turned his attention to Barbara and Roger. "Secondly, get fucked by your understanding of surroundings, which I sum up as pure zero."
"What the fuck is wrong with you...?" Barbara panted as they try to clean the open wound. Roger was with her, tending the pierced skin. It was a grace that rabies aren't normally transmitted. Lesser than 60%, more likely since the gash wasn't too opened but the marks are still deep.
"Ask that first to yourself. Let's go, scary woman." the leader quipped, laughing for a bit until he got hurt and whimpered.
"Try that again and it's confinement for you." the soldier threatened, making him weak and weep in fear. After some seconds, he regained his strength and confidence.
Squinting his eyes, he pointed his fingers. "Now, you can come with us with little supplies or go back to your base." Raising his back once more, his head was turned up. "Roll the dice and pray there's none. We might meet again." he emphasized the probability.
Turning back, they went off their way while bidding farewell. "Don't make me jinx my words of you surviving." the boy warned, looking up to the stars while thinking 'Been so long that I've seen that done.'
As they were leaving, the rage still fumed, mostly coming from Barbara. The corpse was more or less pendulous when it was raised or carried. Only a slight amount, of course. Taking it upon himself, Roger took time to calm her down. Especially when they were coming back.
The crosses were still there, made by they who copied Rome. Surrounding them were the rotting few that never see the light of day. The salivary glands was not exaggerated much, it felt more normal. Familiar. "I hate that man and his bitch." she muttered, pressure in her forearm.
"Why do you always have to be like this?" Roger exhaled shaking his head. 'Exhausted' was an understatement on how he felt.
"I did the same to you. Roger, you know I don't like strangers in this apocalypse-filled place! Also, they're going to such a faction that was known to be a massacre team!" she exclaimed, exaggerating her actions by waving her arms while walking.
"Let's forget that moment." he proposed, still looking at the deep gash. "I don't want that stress when you're injured."
"Yeah, yeah..." he sighed, agreeing with his statement. "Thanks, by the way."
"For what?" the blacksmith asked, walking with a slight limp and groaning at each step as he cussed out "Fuck, my legs hurt." Their partner chuckled at that retort, helping them up with their small plight.
"Your company." she started, carrying his side with her bad arm. "It's nice to find a kind face in these times." she clarified her claim, flinching some bits as she feels ache in the arm itself.
In a bad situation, at least positivity came back and bloom slow.
_________________________________________________________
"Gack...!" Nathan woke up coughing, wheezing and dehydrated. His whole body ached. From his back to his legs. His eyes was still watery and breathing was erratic than what he could take. Letting his eyes wander around in a rapid manner, he saw a familiar figure near him. Sleeping.
Crawling up to sit and hold himself together, he bemoaned "Why am I the one suffering while you just be Sleeping Beauty." He looked at his surroundings more and he found his glasses within 5 feet of himself. It wasn't broken, which was odd.
'The hell? I supposed it would've been broken, but...' Upon closer inspection, the frames wasn't different, hell even the colour on the temple of the glasses and the brand seems familiar. It was cleaner than what he knew of. It felt more new too, not as loose when he wore it all the time.
'Thank god that the lens weren't torn apart.' When he wore it, his temple was slightly pushed but wasn't tearing him. His eyes was still filled with moisture so he rubbed it with his palm and fist, tipping the glasses up a bit.
Turning to the doctor, he shook him a bit. "Doctor, wake up. I've fallen and can't get up." he jest. "Hey, you typically woke up by a simple speech." Checking his pulse, it was still beating. That was a good sign that he's alive. "John? Come on, Jonathan, wake up." he groaned, another wave of affliction coming to his body.
"P- Agh." he coughed, continuing with "Please don't leave me like this." Nathan wailed. The scientist panted, eyes watering once more. Clenching his torso and curling up into a ball once more muttering utter nonsense.
Until then, they were whining, exhaustion and pain. He was sensitive and numb at the same time. For a small bit, he heard another voice. "H... ou... ay?"
"P-painkillers..." he vocalised, now falling down again, to the shoulder of John. Someone let him look at something he knew. A pill, but he didn't know what. The hand that carried it didn't force him to take it but slowly gave it to him.
Opening his mouth for a bit to bite the hand, the fingers came and went as quick. Feeling dehydrated, someone gave him a glass of water. Perhaps the same person. He had little tribulations on holding the glass, some of it spilling. After the small experience of numbness, his fatigue took him and made him faint.
"Tylenol? Who gave you that?" A bearded man asked the quick messenger. They were writing in a paper. In it was prescriptions and
"You know I took it, Hippocrates. By the way, how the hell is Hephaestus- I'll not go into that question. Probably because of the Hundred Arms we took but I don't know." Hermes scratched his neck, eyes closed and exhaling. "I can't believe we became two than one."
"Is that Michael boy coming here?" Hippocrates, as you know now, ripped the prescription and dosage on how much they can take. "Since he's in a sleeping state, grab the Povidone-iodine, gauze and keep that painkiller. The wounds aren't as much deep."
"Ares did a number on him." Coming near the bruised boy, he checked if there are more. "No broken bones is good, right?"
"Yes, that's the basic one. Seriously, you called me for such a basic thing. Just wrap him up so that I could go back to my station, had to call Hades for one of Ares's men." he stood up, their hands held a scroll. A browning paper, old and slightly crumpled but when he put his hand away, the top had four figures. Apollo, Asclepius, Hygieia and Panacea.
A curious cat, Hermes murmurs "Was Kratos there? It's peculiar how he got to tame the hell-hound 'God of war'." and hoped it was audible enough.
It took some time, but the old doctor answered. "He's the boss. Beat him in a one-on-one fight. That's how it worked and you know Alexander considered it fair."
Hermes realized something. "Oh, I forgot to answer your question. Yeah, but it's going to be morning they come."
"Really? That hypothesis feels muddled, more so if they don't know where we are." the older one hummed. "Take care of them."
"Yeah, yeah." the speedy messenger sighed until he remembered. "By the way, if Ares hadn't told him yet, just make these two the scapegoat."
"Sure, sure." Hippocrates accepted and bid farewell. "I'll see you later." The door opened and closed shut. Opening the windows, there still is the cold breeze that came.
"Now..." Hermes rubbed the lower side of his jaw and tilted his head. Stretching his arms a bit, he wondered "What to do with you two?"