- Posting Speed
- 1-3 posts per week
- One post per week
- Online Availability
- 16:00-20:00 US Central
- Writing Levels
- Adept
- Advanced
- Prestige
- Preferred Character Gender
- No Preferences
- Genres
- Cyberpunk, Sci-fi, Fantasy, and other low-tech/fantasy.
"Yeah, another for the collection," Ethan scoffed, attempting to offer a laugh and coming short.
He leaned back against the bed, gnashing his teeth to dull the agitation and pain that steadily thrummed through his veins. He shut his eyes and attempted to cast the pain aside, but to no avail. It seemed that, along with the emotional weight of losing Haven, this physical reminder would persist for a while too. Ethan gingerly probed his injury along his chest, wincing at the touch. The skin was red and swollen at the edges, but the real danger would be infection. Bacteria could kill faster than a lurker's bite without the medicine to combat it, and Ethan had no intention of coming this far to fall victim to some base infection.
Without much conscious effort, Ethan pulled his clothes back on, being sure to avoid brushing up against his newly sealed wounds. The craving for a cigarette crashed over him as soon as he finished dressing himself, but there were none around for him to light. In his rush to leave Haven, he had neglected to pack them. The need sent pangs of equal parts agitation and mania through him, fingers twitching as he fruitlessly searched through his pack. There truly was not a single line of tobacco anywhere.
Defeated, Ethan submitted to this added weight atop everything else. In that moment of defeat, the wave of cravings subsided but was swiftly replaced by the loss of Haven. Will's limp body, the way Markus had collapsed to the ground. They had been, if not friends, at least constant, physical reminders that Haven had after a fashion become home. Home in more ways than the camp in Maryland had been. Those had been strangers, potential threats. They were things Ethan had patrolled, not people he had grown to know. When the lurkers had come up from New York after being drawn out by the military's withdraw, swarming their little quarantine camp, the faces of those that had risen again were not familiar. Ethan could have scarcely told recently fallen friend from stranger, save for the tone of their skin.
Ethan heard the lurkers below and shuddered. Few lurkers had human skin anymore - it was pallid and grey, sunken now. Some were outright starting to decay, becoming sleepers in a comatose state. Perhaps a few more would soon, he reflected bitterly as he thought of the survivors fleeing Haven coming upon lurkers. He dreaded finding familiar faces among the dead in the coming days. He rested his forehead in his hands and swallowed back tears, perking up as he heard sniffles. He jolted up, expecting someone to come tumbling through the doorway. When none came, he turned and noticed Riley weeping atop the bed.
What did he do? He had seldom bothered to keep up with grieving companions - he had always had the option to push them aside. It had been years since he had cried over the deaths of others, and he wondered if he ever would again. If Haven did not bring him to tears, he thought, it was unlikely anything else might.
Ethan cautiously approached Riley, slipping next to her and gingerly wrapping an arm around her shoulder. It felt the right thing to do, even if his movements dragged ever so slightly as he hesitated. Steadily, he let Riley lean into him, sparing a glance down at her as she wept. He had been like her once, when this had all started. When his town had been uprooted and moved up to Maryland's quarantine camp. When many had fallen ill before the crisis started. The ones that had died on the road. It had hardened him, killed a part of him. The very part Riley showcased now - that of a human, and not a survivor.
"Hey," he whispered softly, casting the thought aside. "Hey, hey..."
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