Chelsea was warm. She loved waking up
to that feeling, even if she didn't open her eyes, even if she didn't
move for a little while, she loved waking to being warm. It was like
remembering something so important that you want to memorize it,
again, just to make sure it's always there for you. She kept her eyes
closed, but felt M's arm draped over her, keeping her safe while he
slumbered next to her, his even breathing nearly music to her, no
matter how many times she heard it.
It'd been a rough time for him since
he'd gotten there. He helped retrain people in their town, helped
gather supplies, and even came up with new safety procedures for some
of the crews. He even trained her, intensely, and she became an even
better shot, and even added skills to her repertoire like survival
and hand to hand combat. She remembered those days fondly, the way he
was so happy teaching people, even though there was a dark torrent of
emotion underneath. She bit her lip as that scene, in the cafeteria,
played out in her mind.
So many people were pestering him for
his story, they offered up theirs, some even offered the stories of
others, trying to coerce the young man that was so knowledgeable in
surviving in this world. He resisted for as long as he could, until
one day a rumor started that he was a spy for some other settlement.
M wasn't hurt about the accusations, in fact he understood them. He
asked that as many people be present for his story to quell the
little fire that'd sprung up.
Chelsea remembered being infuriated
with the rest of the people, she reminded them how much he'd helped,
but her cries fell on deaf ears. She remembered seeing him sit at the
back of the room, in a single chair, holding a cigar box, her heart
ached for him. She wanted to stand by him, comfort him as he spun his
tale to the people that had demanded it. She counted the people that
walked in, nearly the entire population of their little town, staring
at the man with the long, black hair, dark eyes, and a beaming smile.
When he was sure they were ready he began.
She felt herself tremble as he began
his story, opening the cigar box at the same time. He spoke about his
three brothers, taking out tiny trinkets from the box as he did. He
was the oldest, the next brother in his teens, the one after had only
turned eleven, the last was barely learning to walk. He talked about
his father, who was in the special forces before the world fell
apart, and how he trained him. He went on to tell how his father died
fighting to restore the world. The entire time he spoke Chelsea's
hands were balled into fists of fury and worry. He got to the part
about his mother. For the first time in his tale his voice shook. It
felt like the world trembled beneath her feet.
M explained how his mother was an
alcoholic, even into the fall of the world. He told everyone how he
would have to include liquor in his daily runs, just to keep her
functional. It was then that he pulled out a tiny bottle, the label
faded and nearly scratched off. Tears flowed down his cheeks, her
cheeks burned with tears, too. She'd fallen asleep drunk one day
while he was out looking for food, his brothers couldn't fend off the
dead that had heard the youngest of them crying. Chelsea started
pushing her way through the people, trying to get to him, to comfort
him. He had placed the bottle back in the box, then told them all
about the last settlement he was in and how it fell. Even how he
ended up here.
He met her eyes and smiled, through the
tears, he smiled. She rolled over in their small bunk and put her arm
around him, pulling herself closer to his warmth. He didn't stir, but
she felt he knew she was there. Their relationship was quick to
start, but slow to elevate to anything besides sharing a bunk and the
title of a relationship. She stared at his face for a while,
pondering the idea of going further, but it didn't last long. The
small, red lights at their door began flashing, an emergency was at
hand. A cold chill went through her as she shook M awake.
He came awake with a start, like
always, instantly asking if she was okay, she nodded her answer. “We
need to move. There's an emergency.” He looked at the light, then
back to her, but she already knew the process. Within a few minutes
she had her pack on, her rifle, and a few knives that he had given
her, all ready as she ran out with him in tow. The young woman paused
outside her door, the town alive with shouted orders, which raised
the hair on her neck. The constant word was 'Raiders', each time it
was said with more and more panic. Chelsea knew her role, M knew his,
and they raced off. Luckily her bunk wasn't too far away from her
post on the wall.
Chelsea's thick winter clothes made all
sorts of sounds as she ran to the tiny stair set and began climbing
up. Her rifle was over her shoulder, her legs pumped as the name of
the man that was replacing her for the moment escaped her. She was
about to call out to get his attention when a spear plunged through
his chest, a spray of blood jetting out from his back, coloring the
metal sides of the small roost. She tried to react, but the man was
pulled over the side of the wall, screams of triumph erupting from
the outside. The only thought on her mind was if M was okay.
Her eyes scanned the wall, frantically
looking for him. She found him, just as he ducked a circular saw
blade that had been launched at his head, missing by inches and
sticking in the ground behind him. In her head she was furious at the
attempt, but the rest of her was acclimated to violence. Quietly she
climbed to the top of the stairs, poking her head over the edge to
see who was attacking her settlement. What she saw drew a gasp from
her.
TO
BE CONTINUED...
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