I hear tales of fire. Engulfing forests. Rumors I've heard before. But this land is barren of flight. And yet before me stands flames that rage high above the forest. Smoke distinctly coming from a building. Yet the building stands.
An ill gotten gateway to the skies lays on its side, deep in this valley.
I return north. Rifle in hand. But I've made my vow to ask first. Nix and BS are south in Berezino. Its supermarket and apartments tempt. My venture is unseen. As I approach, two men pop out of the store. I've the jump on them. Nix and BS had warned, had known they'd spotted another gaffer earlier. Easily dispatched. Yet I give them warning. They scream friendly. That they've had their fill of the store, and need not more. I enter. Then stupidity reigns. As if it did not already, having entered the store. I allow them unseen behind me. We speak of journeys. And then the distinct pop of a makarov. Simply one.
Trapped in Elektro. A rifle and grenade keep me company. Yet all is quiet. Save for the moans that surround. Offer only despair. Quiet, likely, because death reigns here. And yet so does hope. Hope crashed into a holy place. A bus! To accommodate all gaffers! That I may not travel alone! That.......a man! Standing over two dead bodies. My rifle is raised. Fires true. The man remains. He remains suspended, a mockery of what life remains in this world.
Elektro ceases to be quiet. The dead surround. Retreating into a once sacred place. Its floor now condemned to be stained, in death and sin. Far too many to dispatch with the ammo I have. My pistol sounds off. Five dead. Far more flood between the pews. My grenade! It arks above the shambling bastards heads. The force knocks me back. Ears ringing. Death ceases to pursue.
I stand guard at the alter. The bus beat to hell and back. Broken visits on occasion, checking on the bus. Shooting becomes the norm. As it has been for time eternal in Elektro. Rifles, pistols, all sound off. This bus must remain. My life will go as this bus does.
Moans draw near. Shooting, as well. A man! Certainly here to end my life, flee on this bus. My rifle knocks him instantly to the ground, and the dead surround. He rises once more. I end his life with my pistol, so too the shamblers that accompany. But I've not just ended this man's life. I have murdered. Am a murderer. Certainly I would seek shelter from this shambling death. Hope that others would provide relief. Yet I killed him, no warning issued. No attempt to engage. His life ended that I ought not even have to take a risk. That I ought not communicate. Engage in things which once ruled society.
I resume my watch at this alter, stained. Broken perishes mere feet from the door of the church. More death, more shooting. All falls quiet. Yet I hear of a vehicle repaired to the northwest. This guarded bus now useless. A man's life ended. I'll join others. From the church I head. A bullet strikes my shoulder. A man, pistol only in hand, gives chase. We exchange gunfire. I lob a grenade as he runs off. My flanks were ignored as I exited the church. Perhaps I deserve to die for my transgressions. I slump behind the church. Blood pouring the the grass that surrounds. Life escapes, as does redemption.
I flee north by northwest. Rumors run through these hills of projectiles flying from vehicles, leveling cities. I run from death. From the civilization that remained. Losing my way often. No compass, map. Easily turned aside. But little wish to rejoin society. Much done and seen since the shamblers began their haunt. Outside of civilization calls. Or I seek it. Unworthy to rejoin, perhaps. Freezing as I run, rain beating at my face. The outskirts of inland ruined civilization will do.
I hunker in this factory shed. Warm once more. Settled in for the night. Disgusted. Perhaps to the north I shall head. To reflect. Palavar with any who approach. Tomorrow. Today I have survived.
Previously:
Flight