Yelena Belova did not plan for this. As she sprinted across the cracked asphalt on the way out of town, she dare not look back, fearing the angry mob that may be closing in on her. Though she was faster, stronger, and better armed than any of her former colleagues, she was not looking for a fight, and certainly not on her own.
Her lungs burned before she even reached the town limits. Worryingly, her pace had slowed slightly, and she cursed herself for not implementing more cardio in her months of planning for this heist. The black duffel weighed heavily on her back, bouncing wildly as she ran. It was stuffed with evidence of her treachery; stolen firearms, ammunition, matches, first aid, spare clothes.
Most crucially, though, she managed to swipe some water purification tablets and a few days worth of food. The meager slices of bread and cans of applesauce were what got her caught before she could stock up; Black Widows were terribly vigilant when it came to pantry access.
Ideally, Yelena would have stolen enough beef jerky and peanut butter to make it to Charleston, but with her early exit, her rations would last maybe a month. She had the insane idea of dumping the cargo for a cleaner escape, but without these supplies she may as well hand herself over to the Lurkers.
Jaw clenching, she pushed through the tightening in her hamstrings and the fire in her lungs. She ignored the pounding of boots on the pavement behind her, ignored the screams of "traitor!" and "thief!". The pejoratives did not bother her; they were true, after all.
As the chase stretched to a half mile, Yelena wondered how long the Widows wanted to keep this game going. They were a determined bunch, and Yelena knew this full well, having been a member for six years. Perhaps member is the incorrect word, though. The young Yelena was more or less coerced to join the gang.
Yelena let the memory push her legs harder into the ground, catching a second wind.
Before the outbreak, the blonde had nothing, and after, she had even less. The only thing Yelena ever truly had was her older sister, Natasha. Their parents had died young, leaving the sisters to bounce from home to home, shelter to shelter.
She was fourteen when the Lurkers began roaming the streets with their rotting flesh and never ending hunger. At the time, she and Natasha had been placed in the temporary care of an older gentleman in St. Louis, and while he wasn't the worst placement they'd ever had, he certainly wasn't the best. He often forgot to buy enough groceries for three people, leaving the sisters hungry. He would fall asleep in his recliner every afternoon, disregarding his obligation to drive Natasha to karate or Yelena to soccer.
Being sixteen at the time, Natasha was growing weary of the foster system and pessimistic altogether, so when the first reports of infection broke, Natasha took her chance. She swiped the old man's hunting rifle and pistol and began her conquest.
Yelena's older sister was ruthless in a way she did not expect. Years of neglect, abuse, and trauma exploded in a world where rage and violence were admirable qualities. Though meeker back then, Yelena followed her sister's lead, becoming a skilled marksman and fighter.
Two years in, the sisters had garnered a bit of a reputation in the Appalachian foothills. Word of a redheaded terror and her little blonde sister pistol whipping grown men drew the attention of a group known as the Black Widows.
Yelena heard tales of the Widows, even back then. A group of ravenous, bloodthirsty young women who looked after themselves and absolutely no one else. They did what they felt they had to in order to survive, but had a habit of being trigger happy and unmerciful to anyone who crossed them.
One day, Yelena and Natasha had the displeasure of running into a scavenging platoon of Widows. There were only five of them, easy enough for the sisters to take out, but Natasha saw it differently.
The two had been running low on supplies for months. A few weeks prior, Yelena had cut her leg on a broken window, and it was looking infected. The Widows were unfortunately their best bet of procuring medicine, so when Natasha picked a fight, she did so with the intention of losing. She fought well enough to merit an invitation to the group, but not so well as to be a threat. That day, Yelena and Natasha swore loyalty to a different band of sisters.
They lied through their teeth, of course. The only sister Yelena loved was her real one, the one who had protected her for so long, the one who bruised her pride and broke a finger just to get Yelena antibiotics. She was everything; Yelena would bleed, kill, die for her.
The two spent an uneasy few years with the Widows. Yelena could tell that Natasha quickly grew discontent; she had seen that faraway look in foster care many times. All Natasha had ever really wanted was to be free, and here she was, bound by so-called honor to a group of women she cared not for.
Yelena should have seen it coming, really, when Natasha revealed she wanted to defect. When she relayed her plan, Yelena just sighed, knowing how risky it was. Widows did not just kill attempted deserters, they tortured them into a slow and painful end.
Embarrassingly, Yelena had grown comfortable in her role with the gang. She had improved her combat skills as well as her scavenging. She enjoyed recon missions and loved being a part of a group, even if that group was not family. Deserting seemed too risky; did she really want to risk being on her own again?
Being a woman during the apocalypse was not easy, and the Widows offered safety, community, reliable food and water, though the methods of securing these things were morally questionable at best. Yelena had cracked a few innocent heads in her time, but still, better them than herself.
Despite all of this, Natasha valued her autonomy above all else, and being twenty two, she felt ready to venture out on her own.
One night, Natasha roused Yelena awake. The elder sister was clothed in all black, armed to the teeth with stolen gear. It was clear without words, she was leaving, with or without Yelena.
Disoriented, the blonde could not move quickly enough, and the hesitation was enough for Natasha to sigh, whispering, "I knew you wouldn't have the stomach to do this."
"Natasha, I-" Yelena started, but the redhead clamped a hand over her mouth in the darkness.
"It's fine. It's better if I do this on my own, anyway. I'll come back for you when it's safe, I promise. Love you."
And then she was gone. Yelena's mumbled response of, "love you, too..." reached no listening ears, and she prayed it would not be the last time she muttered those words to the only person in this world who deserved to hear them.
That was two years ago. Two years since Natasha fled under the cover of darkness, never to be seen again. Yelena waited, and waited, and waited for any sort of murmurings, any mail, any sign that her sister was alive and well... but nothing ever came.
The questioning from the Widows on where Natasha stole away to wore Yelena thin, as did the beating from the group's leader. She had her position stripped, her place in her platoon given to someone else. All Yelena was good for was washing dishes, digging latrines, and taking punches in training. If she dare hit back, a gaggle of Widows made her pay the price.
Yelena knew Natasha meant her no harm, but her leaving made Yelena an outcast, and easy target for ridicule and disgusted looks.
Interestingly, though, Yelena began hearing hushed chatter at mealtimes about a target down in South Carolina, and with enough context clues, Yelena put it together that the hit was on her sister. The Widows took betrayal and revenge very seriously, so Yelena vowed to get to her sister before they did. She deserved that much.
Finally, Yelena had enough and built her escape plan from the ground up. Memorizing every inch of the compound, guard switches, key locations, any and everything to gain a tactical advantage. She trained for combat in secret, doing push-ups until her triceps felt as though they would melt out of her arms. After stealing a big enough duffel to cram in her supplies, she put the plan into action.
Now, as she still ran miles down the road, heart feeling close to explosion, she felt safe enough to sneak a look back. Thankfully, the Widows had dispersed. It was night, after all, and they probably figured they could kill her and Natasha at the same time down the line. Better to avoid being picked off in the low lighting by Yelena's sniper rifle, anyway.
Gulping down air, Yelena veered off the street and into the forest to camp for the night. The highway was the best bet for day travel with its signage and clear sight lines, but at night, the cover of the trees aided in staying hidden. Plus, the thick ground cover of leaves and twigs made for a built in alarm should any Lurkers come stumbling along.
Feet dragging from sheer exhaustion, Yelena vowed to walk as far as she could without passing out before setting up camp. Almost in a daze, she passed through acres of pine trees and bushes, visibility at a zero.
The only thing keeping her going as she staggered through the forest, moon high above her head, was Natasha. In the past few months, the idea that Natasha may be in trouble crossed her mind. Maybe that was why she had not come back or sent word. Maybe someone else had her and was holding her for ransom from the Widows. Maybe she was hurt, alone, scared...
It was Yelena's turn to be the strong one. She would save her sister as Natasha had saved her time after time. She would reach her before the Widows, and finally, they would be reunited. It would be the two sisters against the world, as it was meant to be. Natasha was the moon to her sun, the match to her fire, and these two years without her had been misery.
Soon, Yelena promised herself. Soon.
She kept walking even as her eyes began to flutter shut. At this point, she was barely lucid, so she hardly clocked the traps laden around her feet, nor did she notice the plots of carrots and onions. So caught up in her thoughts and blinded by exhaustion, Yelena missed the jugs of water, the bowstrings, the carvings of pictures into trees. It had all the hallmarks of a home, yet Yelena did not notice.
That is, until she snapped a rather large twig under her boot. She looked up on instinct, meeting the gleaming eyes of a figure in a treehouse. The next thing she knew, she was drop kicked, and the impact sent Yelena tumbling to the forest floor, unconscious.
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Hi how are you? Whatd you think?
Y'all pls tell me if there's typos I'm impulse posting at 1 am. I got excited.