1 The wind howled with a lack of mercy burning through the core of any ears left to hear it kicking

up the dust of the seemingly endless wasteland. The desert sun burned like a fiery ball, yet somehow the chill in the air seemed to promise snow or hail to come crashing down. The blue sky of mid-day was tinted also with dancing shades of pink and green, twisting like long dragons and touching every mile that could be seen. Despite the vicious wind, all was quiet on the roads. No cars drove upon the dusty street. No traffic or horns or movement. The only force kicking up the sand was nature itself. The straight and flat highway lined itself perfectly along the eternal horizon. Stretching as far as the eye could see and farther, it pressed on into nothingness. Untraveled and unkempt, it stood beside fields of similar nature. Grass brown as earth grew wild in the once fertile crop lands. Large white propellers, like helicopters on sticks, spun with confidence and force but only to spin without any purpose what so ever. No cattle stomped on the grazing lands, or disturbed the grass in its quest for takeover. All was silent. All was peacefully still. Even as the wind yowled in contempt, it yowled into the great unknown. The echoing disturbance could be heard from every inch of that highway. The heavy sound of thick leather upon the roughness of the way rang out in desperate need to echo. Even without a hill in sight, the noise called in a thousand directions, and continued to call until the wind blew the waves away. The boots were of impressively sturdy build, and size ten and a half in mens. They were caked with grime of an assorted type, red earth and other material clinging to the combat style soles. The laces were frayed and destroyed. The toes were starting to tear at the seems. It was obvious that these shoes had been well worn, and as some would say well loved But that love was in the past now, as destruction overtook the innocent clothing articles. The shoes matched the man who wore them with a sense of accuracy unbeknownst even to a poet. Just as the military style boots began to rip and shred, as did the spirit of their wearer. He was a tall man, an even six foot two. Perhaps a little too tall for his own good. His haircut was no longer clean, as long and ratty dark hair starting to swing down into his eyes and face. His tan skin showed more evidence of damage than of tan, both from combat and from travel. Cuts coated his limbs, as minuscule as paper-caused little nicks to as large and small knife accidents. Burns from the sun and from skidding on the floor stained his flesh and his clothing. Dirt painted itself all across his face, his hands, and his knees. Dark eyes, obviously dulled from exhaustion and marked with dark circles from need for sleep, floated miserably in a thick and blurry skull. He marched in a sort of hunger and limp comparative to that of a stallion that had been ridden to near death, and was simply marching because there was nothing more its body could do. He wandered seemingly without aim along the road in the bright sun of the day. Glimmers of warmth from the great circle inked down and caught themselves on his exposed

arms, only for the wind to wisk them away. Yet despite the chill in the air, he left his coat tied casually around his waist. It clung for life to the thinning man, whose main source of warmth was a raging fever and the desperate air of dehydration. Sweat fought at his head and on his shoulders, tearing him in a strange sort of way Every sign stopped him. Every glimpse of humanity gave him a moment to rest, and perhaps think a thought or two. He slowed his already pitiful trek, his shoulders slouching downward to the ground, forcing every muscle to push his head up just a few inches. The bright green square struck against the brown and dull yellow with a definition and emphasis. His blurry eyes buzzed to focus, shoving words together in a jumbled mess. Minutes passed, as he recalled his literacy, calling the letters together over and over again. Sweetwater 15 Miles He stood in silent mumbling and marvel, letting his head fall slowly down on his shoulders. Stiff hands dropped to the level of thick ACU pants, held by a belt tied one rung too tight. The wind shot itself against him, launching his metal name plates into his shoulder blades with barely a sound. Peace silence The wasteland once again was empty and plain. It was as though he were as natural as the grass flowing in the breeze, without source, and without purpose. And he could feel it as well. Peace is a fleeting force. No matter its foundation or cost, it comes to a sorrowful end. For every moment of peace he had lost, pain tugged at his very core. Every passed sign, every forgotten mark of humanity, every torn heartstring, wore him to the dust of his ligaments in the constant march. He pressed forward in the wake of his discovery. Just a destination raised his concentration. Somewhere to be when the sun set that night, was comfort enough to keep movement in his shoes. This was the world. Time had been lost. Society had been broken. It was as though the terrors of every science fiction novel had suddenly be stripped of its graces, replaced with a reality none could have summoned through any basis of logic. It plagued him everywhere he walked. It plagued him everywhere he slept. The memories still so fresh of the end followed in every footstep. He wondered at times if that was what made him so tired, so sick, so willing to give up despite what time had taught him. But time meant so little now. It struck with brutality but ninety three days ago so quickly, a true name for it had not even been coined by the leaders of nations. People he met called it every name for the apocalypse, from a Fallout to Ragnarok, though none described it properly. The best label he could recall hearing, was The Bright Light Cataclysm stated by a scientist who barely managed to place his word above the chaos. In weeks entire regions were crippled, left destroyed and lifeless in heaps, each with a similar story. The beautiful lights began first striking strange locations. They called it a miracle, a scientific marvel. The auroras of the north soon shone in so many lands, all of differing degrees and radiance. Millions flocked, praising the new beauty of

their skies, amused, entertained, elated Most hardly noticed the horrendous drops in temperature, many ignored the desperate efforts of scientists with no answers. No one listened to any reason, until the terror struck. With the lights and the briskness of the air, came something far worse. Death and carnage reminiscent of a dozen films and a handful of television dramas he once enjoyed watching. Genocide on the worlds scale, without the worlds say His thoughts always ended here, always pulled away deep into the back reaches of his mind. He shut his eyes in his walk, stumbling slightly against his own legs. Like a sleeping beast he walked, drooping forward, eyelids forced together. He pushed with mental might, killing those memories, fighting these ideas. This was not what he was trained for, but his training would keep him alive through it all. The mentality of a Ranger is forceful and fierce as a tigers claw, and he was going to survive. He was going to survive Hours passed and little changed. It was consistent as the tidal fronts, wavering only on schedule. The sun was soon to set, and not a sign had been seen for what he assumed hoped had been miles. The temperature of the air did not change, yet the blistering gust had slowed to a gentle and smooth breeze, and then to still and stagnant air. He tasted the western oxygen on his tongue, the pure flatland flavor. He could taste the cattle, and the crop, and the dust. It serenated him in his journey, a siren call pulling the seamen into the ever twisting waves of the ocean. And so it was, an ocean of sand and hard rock. Despite the hardships and mayhem it was home it was always home. He grew distracted in his senses ignoring the ones he truly needed most. The sun was just beginning to set, darkness was soon to fall. The dancing sky lights flickered in a menacing beauty. Purple, orange, and green spun around each other like a show, beckoning all to come and experience what it might bring into the coming darkness. Darkness His eyes shot open, energy suddenly filling his veins. The memory playing in his mind at all times seemed to resume at the point he dreaded most. His weak pace began to hasten, forcing muscles that no longer worked into a dangerous overdrive. Darkness was falling The darkness held nothing worse than the day. Any vile monstrosity one would battle in the night they would continue to fight against when the sun rose. But the connotation the human instinct it was stronger than the logic. The race against nothing new began as his adrenaline levels shot more read and hot than his eyes. Suddenly the burdens he carried seemed lighter. A large tactical bag weighing the equivalence of a small child now felt weightless against the terror that was consuming his very core. Miserable thoughts filled his mind If he had to spend another eve in the outdoors he would surely not wake up come daylight. The clopping sound of his hefty boots rang again loud into the clear. The pounding felt like an earthquake to his eardrums. A thousand horses pounded in his chest, shoving against his

bones with their hooves, fighting to force out of him. The awful thought came to his mind as he moved What if they could hear those thundering equines inside of him? But even the strongest ox can only pull so long. Just as the great circle dipped below the horizon, leaving the wide range exposed to the black and the shimmering crystals in the sky, the adrenaline failed him. He crumbled under a sudden crash of exhaustion and a wave of depression. It took all his remaining might to keep from falling to the ground. He couldnt bear the thought of another night, alone on the ruthless and painful plains of Northern Texas Home or not, beautiful or not deadly was something that could be near guaranteed no matter where he went. He clenched his teeth, grinding bone on bone. His tongue thrashed as he held tears back. Holding to that manly spirit he had always held Even when there was not a soul who could see him. His ever steady nature could not be broken, even by tragedy. But some tragedies are far worse than others. His pace slowed, but movement never failed and perhaps this was his most important trait of all for the sake of survival. And it saved his life His blurred eyes sought desperately in the darkness for anything of safety. A rock, some underbrush. Even one of those familiar green signs would have brought unimaginable relief to his heart and soul. Turning, spinning around he searched, still walking in pointless directions to a destination he should have known he would not make it to. Giving in sounded so easy laying on the cold asphalt, just waiting waiting for them to come But the horizon changed suddenly Something cast a shadow. Something reflected auroric light from filthy windows and shattered remains of glass. It rose higher the more he stumbling forward. His hope rose with it. It was nearly a half a mile away, nearly in a ditch, nearly invisible in the dark but just firm enough in the colorful glow. The slow and heavy walk turned into a mad and manic dash. Color flickered in his brown-black eyes, spinning and turning with every clumsy step. More than once on that half mile run did he trip, crashing into the ground, but it never slowed him. The fantasy of such discovery felt like a whimsical combination of every holiday known to man, coated in sweet delight and childlike ignorance. For the first time in three days, he may have found something of salvage. He had found the most inconveniently placed convenience store a man could ever dare pray for. The filthy Ranger stumbled down the small hill, rolling and tumbling onto the concrete of the small shops parking lot. Logic spoke nothings into his ear, warning that it may be raided, attempting to sway him from hope. The likelihood of there being food, water, or even access to this tiny building was zero to none in the condition of these lands But he didnt care. Like a

drunk pursuing a beautiful maid, he hopped and hobbled right to the very door of the building. His sick head whirled, his tummy rolled inside of his torso, and his eyes popped as he glued his mud ridden face to the dusty window. He could nearly see inside and if his eyes dared not deceive him any sort of method of entry would be completely and utterly appropriate. The locked door would not stop him. With the full force of his body he burst through the locks and glass, shattering the left rim of the door. He crashed with an explosive thunder onto the cold tile ground on the inside of shop, rolling in the broken remnants of the barrier to the outside. The rest of the pitiful door hung by its hinges, whacking against the wall and window beside it in mourning of its missing pieces. The man lay quietly for a little while absorbing not only the impact he had just participated in but the ceiling, the walls, the floor. Every protective piece cradling him from the outside. It had been so long since he had been in a building besides a poorly constructed camp system. A rush of relief overcame him and his closed eyes, relaxation allowing his hands to unclench for just a moment of real, true peace. And opening his eyes only made it more extravagant. Any childish hopes and wonders he held had been confirmed and validated in an instant. For a split second he believed he was hallucinating, but as he reached forward he knew that everything he saw was completely and utterly real. He grabbed with his hands, ripping back towards him with a grin slowly growing upon his solemn and bruised face. Despite the dust and lack of electricity, the entire shop appeared to be completely in tact. Shelves were stocked with nonperishable goods, the usual products of a roadside gas station. Jerky, chips, dried fruits, canned goods, and odd packaged pastries seemed to call from their places, practically begging to be consumed. Bottles of soda and water and alcohol remained bottled in refrigerators lining the back walls. Despite the lack of power, he was certain that a bottle of water would still be delicious and of his demand warm and a soda after so long would be a godsend. Other shelves included a soldiers dream supplies of all sorts, ranging from first aid kits to medicine to parts and repair tools. He gave no moment to loss as he swept the place from front to back. Expired cake donuts and airtight packs of beef jerky found themselves quickly stuffed into the young mans jaws. Water bottles were guzzled at impressive rates, sodas soon following suit. The large yet empty tactical bag was soon filled to the brim with bottles, medications, bandages, canned foods, and cigarettes. The soldier poured water on his face, his hair, his hands, and his feet, fighting the sweat and grime of the journey he had fought. Pills were popped one by one down his throat, fighting fever, infection, and any ailment he was aware of having. Minutes turned to an hour as he joyfully restocked his supplies, before quietly settling down to a less excitable pace. As night began to settle, so did the young Ranger. Bliss had not rid him of his wear, and sleep seemed more appealing than ever before. With a bit of struggled effort, he dragged a large and heavy shelf, laying it down in front of the busted doorway for the sake of safety. A quick trip

to the public restroom proved useful and allowed him access for the first time in months, to a mirror. The soldier leaned tranquilly over the sink. His weary and old eyes gazed into the filthy reflective surface It almost shocked him to see the animal of a man he had become. The old crew cut he had prided himself in was no longer existent. Weight of both muscle and healthy fat had been lost, leaving a skeleton of lean muscle and bone to carry what was left of him. His black eyes matched the black underneath them, twisting his eye sockets into violent bruises, and his teeth were beginning to look questionable. Another bottle of water, and a still freshly packaged toothbrush later, he felt a little more human But nothing could ever restore the humanity he had long before this ordeal. He crept quietly back into the main of the store. Crawling in silence, he unrolled his filthy sleeping roll behind the checkout counter. Laying in utter darkness and dust, he heaved a sigh of exhausted relief. His body ached more than it ever had before. His head was heavy, his hands were burnt from the sun, and his feet were wrapped in bandages he had scavenged to attempt to relieve the ruthless blisters. Yet despite the misery that was slowly consuming his physical form, the fatigue, the exhaustion, and of course the fear that never truly left This was the most positive he had felt in 46 days.

2 The sunlight of morning stabbed through the dusty windows of the convenience store, waking the slumbering soldier in a smooth gradient. He groaned, rolling to his side. Nine full hours of deep sleep loomed over him like stone, his thick jacket wrapped around him like a sheet. Comfortable and more rested than he had been in so long, movement sounded like a chore. A part of him almost wanted to ask for five more minutes. A small yet slightly pained smile crossed across his face at the thought. Laying on his left, facing the wall against the window, he attempted to calculate how long the food in this store could sustain him. Perhaps he could stay here for a while. He wouldn't mind dying here... He threw away the concept. He had a place to go. He had to go North. He had seen Mexico, it was as destroyed as this place. Perhaps the Canadians in all their cold and survivalist wisdom pulled through. Perhaps they never had to fight it in the first place. After all, they always had the northern lights... right? Maybe still there was a safe place in this world. Who knows what remained? Radio signals were too far and between in the remnants of this forgotten continent. He arched his body off the ground. The aches were a permanent state of physic, but it felt more soothed than it had in many nights. His ratted hair was waving hopelessly around, cowlicks dominating the filthy black strands. Now conscious, replenished, and aware of his condition, he

took all motions to remedy. In bare socks he stepped around the dusty corridors of the now sunlit store, the musk in the air and the filth on the shelves not causing any sort of note or distraction. A toothbrush, deodorant, a razor maybe two. Mouthwash, water bottles, toothpaste. It was as though he had checked in at a luxury hotel for the evening, and was now enjoying a morning of perks and props. Complimentary, of course. There was no man for the register. He stepped into the restroom facilities, leaving the door wide open for the world to see. The questionable toilet was used with intense gratitude. The sink, though filthy, was soon spotless with the rising down of Listerine and fluoride. Shaving cream splattered the mirrors, disinfectant dripped to the floor, and empty boxes of painkillers fell in the alcohol and aloe puddles that made the entire room reek of cleanliness. An hour passed as he groomed himself like a woman, taking care of every detail on his cut and brutalized face. Facial hair was tossed away. Hair from his skull was removed and replaced with that same classic crew that he had yearned for from childhood and earned in years of training. He smiled with a clean toothy grin, a sly sneer as he adjusted his uniform back into place. His bruises still ached dully, and his head continued to leave a faint pounding echo. But everything had somehow clung to his favor through the evening. He felt like a new man. He dodged wet spots on the floor as he walked back to his pack. Jacket replaced, food loaded to the brim in pockets and pouches. Sunscreen found itself slathered on his thick white skin, spare bottles placed tactfully in his gear. He sighed with a sense of pleasure and content, proud of his little discovery and thankful to the Gods he did not believe in. An expired soda and a handful of assorted junk foods filled his stomach for breakfast. It was soon to be time to resume his journey. But not before a survey of his surroundings. From the window the desert seemed just as endless as before. The horizon was flat, yet nothing seemed to appear on it. A pitied frown spread across his face, recalling the days of travel in the past and imagining the trek of the future. His jacket was zipped, his course was set. Continue forward. North. And then the dust began to rise. As he turned it appeared only yet another dust devil. Wind playing whimsically and evilly in the sands. But even the corners of his eyes had the instinct to warn him of worse. The dust rose slowly, then higher and higher, until the horizon line was consumed by a large vehicle. Two large vehicles. And he recognized both of them. As they neared he identified them as military issue combat style transport vehicles. The first was a huge two ton utlity truck, hooded on the bed and reeling over any dent in the earth with ease, making Texas flatter than it was before. He couldnt put his finger on the exact model. It was big, very big. Perhaps antient too. It was linked to a trailer that looked somewhat dainty in

comparison, an old yet reinforced horse trailer. He assumed it was for transport of more material. The lead vehicle alone could tote 20 men easily. The second was a smaller, faster car. A Land Rover Wolf, military grade, also hooded. It speedily moved around the large truck, guiding it along its way and establishing a perimeter. It was a heavy Rover, granted, but it moved like a roadrunner in the dust. He froze in his place, standing for what seemed like hours, until the vehicles stopped, and the dust began to settle. His chest hit the ground, crawling feverishly to lean against the windowsill, to watch his oncoming friends. Both machines, dragons in their own rights, shut down completely next to the gas pumps. A closer look showed that each vehicle was modified, heavily. Definitely not just military issued trucks in the least. Each one had solar panels soldered onto the fronts, connected to an assortment of large industrial wires winding like snakes into the engine circuitry. Heavy barrels were also sealed with iron attachments to the sides, pumps and tubes linking into the vehicle, all with different colors of tape and ties. The thick covers on the backs of each bed were mended and patched, bullet holes still lining some of the fabric and on the exteriors of the cars. The Wolf had some sort of decal carved into it, but the dirt caked windows didnt allow him to make out exactly what it was or what it said. And instead of guns, the Wolf had been equipped with the largest solar panel he had ever seen on anything, not to mention a vehicle as well as a small satellite guarded by several layers of chain link grate. The vehicles were a hodgepodge of a thousand tiny bits, modifications, and protective measures. Bars on the windows, grates on the panels and the engines, fabric covers on every sand-sensitive edge. They looked ridiculous but they looked indestructible. He lay in wait, watching the still chain coated tires settle quietly on the sands. He assumed the worst. A dozen guys, maybe more. With this getup, they could be well armed, and ready for any action. He analyzed his position ammo-less, left with little but a grenade to his name. His fever was not gone and would not be leaving in time to race out as if an escape were possible. And being civil was out of the question He had tried that once before Never again would he trust another human on these trails that was well prepared as this. A door shot open, and two booted feet landed heavily on the ground. A tall figure stepped into the outside. Despite the sure briskness of the air and the lack of mercy in the wind, he wore short sleeves and what appeared to be a Kevlar vest. He walked with a storming slouch as he moved around the car. The first to survey the situation. A second figure stepped from passenger. This one only slightly taller. A third leapt from the drivers seat of the Wolf, but vanished before he could see them in detail. A forth from that passenger, also vanished. And he could tell by dust rustling there may be more behind the covered backs.

They began to gather slowly, casually. They stretched, each one armed to the teeth with as varied weapon choices as their vehicles decorations. They began to congeal in between the two vehicles, allowing him a more accurate headcount. There were, as he could see, a total of six figures. Each one, besides the original firstlander, wore a black weather jacket, and dark tinted sunglasses. The sleeveless man seemed to prefer his tied around his waist. Each one also had a distinct and brightly colored bandana around their neck, or rather a shemagh. Blue, green, yellow, pink, purple, and white. A seventh figure stepped from behind the trailer, dressed in the same black coat with a bright red bandana, and leading what appeared to be a very large horse. He allowed his jaw to fall slightly, at the mere hunormity at the animal, as well as the fact that it was still very much alive, and very very well. Its dark brown Clydesdale-Belgian coat shimmered in the morning light, and it held its head high with impressive discipline. It followed its leader to the very footstep. Besides the assorted colored accessories, each member of the group appeared to be drastically unique physically. The sleeveless man was very tan, obviously Hispanic, and composed of lean muscle. He walked with a sense of poise, but also swung his shoulders slightly too far forward as he pressed around. He appeared to fidget mildly, tapping his feet and shifting his head back and forth. The tallest figure appeared almost german, standing completely straight with spike cut blond hair. He too was lean, perhaps leaner than the first, but held a sense of domination and leadership in his stance. He gravitated towards a smaller figure, the leader of the beautiful horse, who was impressively small looking compared to him. They had similar colored hair, similar hair cuts, and the same dominating and powerful stance. He would even go so far to label them as siblings from assumption besides the obvious genetic different of size. But while the tallest man gravitated to the smallest, the latter was turned to face a very pale figure with hair running all the way down his back. They were locked in conversation, both with paled smiles on their faces. The other three figures stood together, yet as apart as they could be. One was a thin looking man with dark hair, closely eyeing around his environment and nodding occasionally at whatever the smallest figure was saying. Another, also very tan and standing very dignified, his pants tucked neater into his boots than the others, was conversing with the final member of the group, an obvious female of African American decent. She was also rather short compared to the whole of the men in the group, but not as small as the horse leader. They conversed for a long while, laughing and standing and viewing the skies. Sometimes they would point up or around, making directions, planning. They had been doing this for a long while Each one was dusty and bloodstained, weapons caked with grime and gore. Everyone had at least a combat style knife or two, and every single one had something a little extra as well. Guns, axes, blunt weapons, and more were juggled around almost randomly around the group. All except for the sleeveless man, who wore only the knives. Something about him in particular, appeared intimidating.

In an instant they were moving again. He watched from his window as they split into different duties. The long haired man dashed with a strange sort of hopping skip to the gas pumps, pulling some sort of tool case or utility box, and began working at the mechanics of Gas Pump Number 1. The tallest man and the Hispanic began popping solar panels open, tying pipes and cords together, and opening the tops to the large barrels. The female and the other, sorted Hispanic worked their way behind the vehicles, slowly tossing goods out of the trucks and to each other. They were setting up camp. But worry overtook him as he noticed the path the remaining members were taking. The horse tamer left the steed tied loosely to the front of one of the truck, not remotely fearing its escape. The loyal animal watched him walk away, and then slowly lowered its head for a standing rest. The small form joined the lean white man facing the convenience store looking almost directly in the way of his secret hiding place. And then they began walking He analyzed his odds. They were smaller then he was, one of them by quite a bit. But they were well armed The tall dark haired man with a machete, a knife, and a pistol, and the smaller with some sort of tactical axe. He was outnumbered, outmatched, and out triggered. His only hope was a truce Just a request to be let go They smashed a window a few feet away from him and the small figure leapt in. The soldier sat quietly on the floor, and the black coated being in the red shemagh began to prowl like a lion. He realized now that this small warrior was not a man, but a very boyishly outfitted girl. Her jaws were feminine, and her hands were small like a womans. She removed her sunglasses, showing off a pair of fierce, yet arrogant looking hazel eyes that shot off sunlight into the shadowy building. Despite being directly in her right peripheral, she didnt seem to see him, and continued walking forward through the building. And strangely enough, the man didnt follow her. She stepped with a quiet air, sweeping around the corners, barely eyeing the masses of food and supplies that he couldnt fit in his pack. It was as though she were searching for something in particular, something invisible. A scent, or a color. He slowly inched to stand, fear of startling the focused animal on the prowl. The jackal hunting its prey. Just the tapping of his shoes he arched onto his legs sent her spinning around to face him. Their eyes locked, hers still fierce and focused, and yet seemingly uninterested in his. She almost appeared to see through him, and he felt for a moment as a ghost in the wind. The man peered through the window, and at the sight of the soldier lept through the remains of the broken glass to join his comrade on the front. He too removed his glasses, and the three wartorn wastelanders stood in perfect silence, watching each other as the sun worked to peak.

The Ranger made the first advance. My name is First Sergeant Warren Holt. The words felt forced. It had been a long hard while since he had spoken to other humans. His voice was slightly choked, and his throat ached with a sudden and strange rawness. But the two figures did not reply. The man looked to the woman, who continued a blank stare beyond the stranger they had just encountered. Warren held up his metal dog tags slowly, proving his identity. The two allies both widened their eyes slowly as he lifted his tags, what Warren considered to be curious. Never did he know that the tags were not the focus of this odd pair In the dull metal of the scuffed dog tags, Warren noticed something out of place. He read his name quietly to himself Holt, Warren. A jumble of numbers that meant nothing now Type A No Preference But the steel was a mirror, revealing something far worse looming just behind his head In survival reflex he swung his elbow around, reeling backwards in the whatever the silhouette was that crept behind him in surprise. He knew exactly what he was up against but he prayed inside himself that perhaps the visitors had flanked him or maybe another group had suddenly joined the fray Anything, but what he automatically assumed. Disappointingly, and with fear, he was right. He collapsed backwards onto the ground, overcome by the weight of the thing that, despite clocking in at fewer total pounds than him, pressed with a force of at least three men his size. His hands, just recently cleaned, gripped the loose and soaking flesh of the nightmare he had every night for weeks. Reeling like a worm, combined by the pressure of two beings pressing muscle, Warren and the strange beast scuffled upon the floor. The tumble lasted only an instant, but an instant was enough. Oozing milky and clear gunk splashed across the floor, and large snapping jaws thrashed at Warrens face. He managed to gaze deep into black, shark-like eyes Suddenly, the animal was torn off his body, and sent reeling across the room. Warren felt arms griping under his, dragging him backwards as the creature stood back upright. It looked like a man, naked and fleshy, with arms as long as its legs and eyes too large for its head. Bones bulged from its skin, cracking and constantly shifting with every step and motion. Its moist skin swung at its joints, like slugs glued to its tendons. Its face was nearly recognizable as human, but with its lower jaw jutting forward a little too far, and slime dripping from jagged teeth. Pitch black eyes glared at something to the side, as howling shrieks, like crying children or screaming men, escaped its hideous throat. Its feet gripped the ground, toes uneven, broken, and jutted, with ugly hands to match. He waited it seemed, ribs pulsing, shoulders rotating, for attack.

Warren found himself dragged back to the wall, shock filling his eyes and the stranger he had been staring down began speaking to him in a gruff tone. The words were along the lines of Can you hear me? but they buzzed and blurred. Warren could not pull his gaze from the creature that had, despite slapping flesh and tangled toes, crept right up on him and may have slept in the same building as him the night before. The man continued to try and bring the dazed soldier back to pure consciousness. The female, however, had other plans. She stepped over the pair of men, walking towards the stripped beast like it was her business. Just as Warren could not remove his gaze from it, it never pulled its gaze from her. It seemed mesmerized, confused and angry. It roared, spitting up chunks of filth and unidentifiable mush onto the floor. With a great leap it reached to place itself right upon the girl, uneven and broken teeth aiming for her skull. Warren reached out, as though somehow from here he would block its attack. But he was not needed. With an almost disturbing level of strength, the small form swung her tactical axe backwards, knocking the slender animal to the side and onto the floor. In the same swift motion she swung her leg upward, nailing that creatures jaw with her foot. As the frenzy continued, Warrens vision crew hazed. The colors of the battle blurred, but it was obvious that somehow, someway, this creature was weak to this stranger. He could see forms of others rushing into the building, kicking and shooting downwards at the monster. It thrashed and screamed as though it was in pain, snapping its own bones and lashing to reach anything it could manage. Another pair of hands grabbed at Warren, pulling his legs off the ground as he was lifted out of the building. A sharp and agonizing pain shot from his right lower limb, and the blurry colors of blood dripped down his thigh. Poor sap got swiped. Hell make it fine, he got lucky. Blackness. Sleep overtook him. He phased out of reality, to the roaring of monsters, the howling of wolves, the burning scent of meat, and the screaming of children