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The night air was still, quiet. Too quiet. It made Rachael uneasy, raising the hair along her arms and the back of her neck. Too quiet meant nothing nearby trying to survive—no animals or birds or humans. Too quiet meant nothing living.
Too quiet meant dead.
Holding up one hand, she signaled the four young people behind her—two women and two men—to stop. Then she crouched down, moving quietly through the brush, pushing aside the thorny branches that plucked at her clothes, snagging on her leather armor. She didn’t make a sound beyond a slight rustle of leaves and the creak of well-oiled leather as she unsheathed an elvish style dagger strapped to her belt, holding it at the ready.
For a moment all she heard was the rhythmic pounding of her own heartbeat. Then the sound of something shuffling along the ground with an uneven gait. First a crunching noise, then a swoosh. Maybe someone limping, dragging an injured limb behind. The smell of rotting flesh settled any doubt of whether it was human or orc.
Crunch, swoosh, crunch, swoosh. The sound carried across the night air as her eyes scouted for its source under the shards of moonlight filtering down through the treetops.
There. Up ahead to the right of the path. The bramble bushes trembled as a slumped figure emerged, ignoring the sharp thorns that tore at its skin and ragged clothing.
Gesturing to her friends to follow, she scanned for any more orcs before leaping to her feet and charging toward the lone figure. It turned toward the sound of her footsteps and moaned; an unearthly death rattle that echoed through the trees, sending a shiver down Rachael’s spine despite the countless times she’d heard it.
She could see in dim light that this particular orc was in lousy shape—it looked like it had spent some time submerged in water. Mottled skin peeling away from its bloated face. Moss growing in an otherwise empty eye socket. Fingers swollen and splitting open at the tips.
It reached for her and she ducked easily under one decaying hand, spinning around the orc to position herself behind it, driving her dagger directly into the base of the skull with an awful crunch. It crumpled to the ground, the stench washing over Rachael and her group.
“Ugh! That one was ripe.” Alice grimaced, dark hair falling around her face as she covered her mouth and nose with one arm.
The dagger made a squelching sound as she pulled it out of the orc’s skull. Rachael wiped the viscous black blood on a handful of leaves and tucked it back into her scabbard. “At least it was only one,” she said, trying to sound reassuring.
She felt less than reassured, however. It had been three days since they’d seen a living human other than the small scouting group that had splintered off from their original group of travelers, and three weeks since they’d seen anyone outside of that. No survivors, no towns hidden away from the dead. Nothing, except for orcs.
It felt like they were alone in the world.
The five took to the path again, moving quietly and cautiously through the trees, ready for attack, ready for any trap that might spring shut on them.
Rachael was still worried they weren’t ready, but she knew that if they waited much longer they ran the risk of being unprepared for winter, so she’d set a date and pushed for preparations. Some of their group were afraid to leave the safety of the hospital, and others were unable to make the long trip, so the number that set out from their temporary home was lower than Rachael had wanted. But she would never force someone to make the journey. She knew it was a risk, even if she was optimistic of the endeavor.
Of her small team, the two fittest and most promising were Claudia and Jason. He was in his early thirties, with skin the color of milk chocolate and brown eyes flecked with bits of gold. Claudia, ten years younger, had lighter skin and green eyes. She looked like a fashion model, and he looked like an accountant, but they moved well and could fight.
***
After two weeks of slow and strenuous travel, they’d found a school with fences and walls intact, and very few orcs in the immediate vicinity. Everyone was exhausted, so Brett had suggested they take up camp for a few days, give people a chance to rest. Despite her own desire to keep moving, Rachael had agreed, dealing with her own restlessness by deciding to scout the surrounding area for supplies and survivors. Alice and three others had volunteered to go with her.
After two days of cautious exploration, they’d found only meager supplies and there were no signs of survivors anywhere. It was disconcerting, and Rachael decided to give them one more night of searching before heading back to their group and declaring this area an orc zone.
Sunrise breached the horizon as the five broke through the edge of the forest. They paused for a moment to appreciate the pure light reflecting off a stream that wound its way between scattered suburban-style homes and spacious farmland. At first glance it was if nothing bad had ever happened here. But, as they took a closer look, certain details became obvious: shattered windows, doors hanging on broken hinges, garbage scattered along the ground, and the slow movement of a half dozen or so orcs shambling through the streets, looking for prey.
“Let’s go around,” suggested Claudia.
Rachael nodded. There were not likely survivors here and the odds of supplies still remaining in the gutted buildings were too low to risk drawing out more orcs.
As they turned away from the dead town below, a sudden movement out of the corner of her eye caught Rachael’s attention even as Alice called her name in a low, urgent voice. Rachael spun, dagger already in hand as something pushed its way through the bushes on either side of a deer path ahead in the tree line. The others took out their weapons swiftly and silently, ready for anything.
Well, almost anything.
None of them were prepared for the little boy that emerged. He looked seven or eight, tops. Hair combed and slicked nicely to the side, dressed in country club best, looking as if he had wandered away from a family luncheon in the World Before. His light green button-down shirt was well kept, no holes or patches other than a small rip in one sleeve that could have come from wandering in the woods. Even his shoes were in good shape.
For a brief moment Rachael thought she might be dreaming. His cheeks were rosy and clean and round, not gaunt like the children back at the hospital. This child didn’t know hardship. Didn’t have to fight for survival. This was not a child from the end of the world.
“Hold,” Rachael said softly to her team, dropping her dagger to her side and quickly slipping it back into the sheath. She stepped forward with a non-threatening posture, hands out front and low, the way you’d approach a strange dog. The boy saw them and nearly bolted, but froze when Rachael spoke.
“Hey there.”
He looked at her warily, eyes red and swollen from crying.
“I’m Rachael.” She spoke in a calm and soothing voice. “What’s your name?” She walked a few steps closer, keeping her eyes and ears open for a possible ambush. The boy blinked through his tears.
