Know When to Run, When to Survive
Breakfast was a short affair. Stalker tossed a brown lump at the girl she said was bread, and although the girl hadn't ever tried it in this life, she was pretty sure it wasn't supposed to hurt when it hit you. It took a long while to chew, long enough for Stalker to also throw the girl a spare cloak and long enough for them to start making their way through the woods.
"If you can't keep up, don't worry about it. Keep heading this way," said Stalker, gesturing in front of herself. "I'll come back for you."
It felt like a challenge, with an implied "If I have to," and the girl was determined not to let it happen.
Stalker seemed to know every step, never glancing behind to make sure the girl was following, only speaking every so often in a sort of begrudging acknowledgement she still existed, tokens of specific advice like: "Don't let them see your ghost," or "Watch people. If they're well-fed, they're less desperate. People are willing to do stupid things for food."
The girl wanted to ask about where these lessons originated from, but instead focused on following the unseen path Stalker apparently knew, carefully making her way. There was no trail, although there were occasional vehicles, long overgrown with flora, rusted to the point where they were collapsing in upon themselves.
"Hid there once," said Stalker, as they passed a larger, unrecognizable mass of rusted metal. As expected, Stalker didn't elaborate, just taking another look before she moved on. The girl followed.
The trees grew denser, not sparser, although there were ruins, dilapidated structures, shambles for who knew how long, the forest having long since reclaimed it. Even where they walked had not been immune, the road long overgrown, asphalt unmaintained, pushed through by trees, pavement cracked and worn. Some trees were cut down stumps, and the reason why became abundantly clear as they approached a wall of spiked logs, complete with a gate at the bottom, crafted from metal spikes and wire lashed together.
"I don't like this," murmured Stalker, just loud enough for the girl to hear as they approached the gate. "Follow my lead. Don't show your ghost."
"Stalker!" Came a voice from behind the ramparts, and a young man peeked through the gate. "Who's your friend?"
"Refugee," said Stalker. "What's with the new walls? Warlord?"
"Fallen," said the young man. He was carrying a rifle, and it looked uncomfortably heavy. "Betty spotted one a while back. One of those with only two arms, she said."
"A scout?" Stalker frowned. "You should evacuate. This won't be enough if it's a Skiff or a Walker."
"It was weeks ago," said the young man. "Beginning to think she was seeing things. We've got someone helping, don't worry." He waved a dismissive hand. "You coming in?"
The gate screeched its way open, and Stalker walked in. The girl followed. The settlement was comprised of a network of old and new buildings, bits of scaffolding serving as lattice stitching them together. Chunks of the old walkways had been hauled away, making room for crops between buildings. There was a noise, and the girl looked up, brushing black hair out of her eyes. There was greenery atop the buildings as well, arranged along racks. Stalker talked with a few people she seemed to recognize, exchanging goods before rejoining the girl.
"Here," Stalker said, handing an object off to the girl.
It was a knife, in a roughly sanded wooden sheath, a sling of leather cord to hold it. "Thank you," said the girl, wrapping it around her waist. She looked up, and had to hurry to keep up with Stalker, who had seen something and was moving toward it. "What is it?" the girl asked.
"Risen," said Stalker, increasing her pace. "Hey!" she called out.
The Risen turned around, a hand on his hip. On a gun, the girl realized. "Hey," said the Risen. Light skinned, dark haired, and a pleasant smile.
"What's with the walls?" Stalker said. "They need to run. If the Fallen show up, it won't stop them."
"Well," said the Risen. "I'm Jamie. You must be Stalker. I've been helping these folk out, and I think they just need training. Training and fortifications."
"They die, they don't come back," Stalker said, in an angry hiss. "The Fallen have tanks. Tanks and ships. You can't fight that with wooden walls and grit. It just makes the place a bigger target."
"That's what I'm here for," said Jamie, white teeth flashing. "I'll have them ready."
"Bull," said Stalker. "You're going to get them all killed."
"We could work together on this if you want," said Jamie, holding up a placating hand. His other was kept firmly on his gun. "But I've heard you work alone. Or has that changed?" He glanced over at the girl.
Stalker stiffened, leaning ever so slightly forward.
Jamie chuckled. "I get it. You like the lone wolf gig. But we have to work together sometimes. These walls will help delay any attacks, give us time to respond. Not everyone can keep running. If you want to scout and look for them, go for it. Let us know. Alright?" Apparently considering the conversation to be over, he turned and walked away.
Stalker watched him go. After he was out of sight, she started moving back toward the gate. "I'm leaving," she said. "You coming?"
"Why not stay and help?" the girl asked.
Stalker turned on the girl, hands curled into fists, mouth pressed into a thin line of anger. After a long moment, she shook her head, tension leaving her body. "I don't work well with others. You don't know how to fight. Dead weight. I'm going to go scout. Just like he said."
"Do you want me with you?" the girl asked.
Stalker shrugged. "Do what you want." She started walking toward the gate.
After a moment, the girl followed.
They moved in silence, weaving through trees and stepping over roots. The silence stretched on and on, Stalker setting a harder pace, almost a brisk jog. The route was circuitous, the girl noted, looping around the town, cutting through the forest to look at the other dilapidated buildings. Gradually, Stalker stopped pushing as hard, slowing to a walk. She turned and looked at the girl, and removed a gun from a satchel, wordlessly offering it.
The girl took it, holding the gun gingerly. It was heavier, colder, larger in her hand than she'd expected, the grip covered in rough, filed hashes.
"You know how to use it?" asked Stalker, producing a holster to go along with the weapon.
The girl was surprised to know she did. She nodded.
Stalker kept moving as she spoke. "If there's really Fallen out here, put at least two in their head. They have helmets in addition to a tough carapace. The bigger they are, the badder they are. Four limbs is worse than two."
The girl struggled to get the holster strapped around her waist and move and listen all at once. The gun pushed into place, the click of a metal fastener as she pressed down.
"Their blood is a mild intoxicant. Is that the right word? Try not to get any on your face or mouth." Stalker turned toward the girl, as if to verify the word was in fact correct. There was a glint behind her, in the distance.
The girl glanced at it.
Stalker followed her eyes, and turned. An electric snap echoed in the distance, and Stalker staggered. The girl reached to steady her, but Stalker lurched toward the trees, pointing with her uninjured arm. "Cover," she croaked, and another shot hit her in the back, knocking her down.
The air smelled like it was burnt. The girl went for the trees, getting behind one, sliding down, fumbling with the holster she'd just put on. She jerked at the covering, trying to pull it out. Electric fire blasted past, curving around the tree, and the girl flinched away from it.
"We have to move," said the girl's ghost. "Those can home." The girl was already moving, throwing herself behind another tree, gun in hand.
The sound of chatter. Guttural chitters, mechanical breathing. They grew closer. Louder.
The girl breathed. Listened. More chatter. Movement, steps toward where Stalker had fallen. Scuttling going towards her. Her ghost was whispering, urgent words in her ear that she couldn't hear. Only a roaring pounding in her head and the sound of those who had attacked.
A gunshot. Then two more. Gurgling hacks. Another shot.
The electric snap of the rifle, followed by a grunt of pain.
The girl peeked out of cover, the gun held out in front of her. She was surprised to find her hands weren't trembling. Three bodies on the ground, with Stalker nowhere to be seen.
A noise to her right. An impact around her waist. A grip around her arm, shoving the gun away. It fell from her grip.
Four glowing eyes in her face, a maw of sharp teeth hissing at her. She headbutted it, and it flinched backward. She punched it, trying to push it off her.
It went, skittering backward on all four limbs.
"We don't have to do this," the girl said, her throat dry, voice hoarse. Her hand went down to the knife at her belt. "You don't have to do this."
It lunged. The knife hit its chest, biting and failing to find purchase, sliding off some sort of dark armor covering its skin.
They collapsed, it on top of her again, a knife drawn, its edge crackling electric blue. The girl caught the Fallen by the wrists, struggling to keep the blade away with both hands.
It was stronger than her. The knife inched toward her chest.
The girl breathed, gritted her teeth, and let its hands go. Even braced, the impact knocked the breath from her. The Fallen let out a raucous barking laugh.
And then it choked, coughing flecks of red-black, pawing at its neck where the girl's knife was firmly embedded. The girl pushed the Fallen off, tugging fruitlessly at her knife before looking blearily for her gun. Her ghost was hovering around her chest, spinning out threads of light. She spotted it, a glint of steel amidst the pine needles, and scooped it up.
"It's gone through and hit your lung," said her ghost. "I'll fix it, but I need you to-"
The girl coughed, and it hurt, dull aching as blood spattered her hand.
"Stay still," her ghost continued.
There was a noise. The girl whirled, pain blazing in her chest, the gun at the ready.
It was Stalker. "Good job," she said, her voice slurred as she stumbled, leaning against a tree. There were holes through her, her shoulder, chest, and leg. The ghost flitted about, triaging each. "You got one," Stalker said as she sagged down to the ground, resting her back. "We gotta go."
"It's over?" the girl asked. The knife fell from her chest. Flesh stitched together. She reached down, and picked it up. "Who are they? What are they?"
Stalker feebly kicked the body of one of the dead Fallen. "Red clothes. House of Devils. Hate humans, hate us. If only all assholes were so easily identifiable." She let out a chuckle, then groaned. "Fuck. We have to go tell them."
The girl offered Stalker a hand, and Stalker took it. They moved together toward the town. Slowly at first, then faster when they heard the sounds of machines in the distance.
