Hell on Earth (Revamped)

Chapter 9.) There's fire

The clock ticked softly in the dim dining area as August sat hunched over the table, shadows carving sharp lines across his face. His thoughts were heavy, circling endlessly like wolves over a corpse. Coming to Virginia was supposed to be the solution—a haven—but it hadn't turned out that way. Instead of peace, they found curfews, military surveillance, and whispers of something sinister brewing beneath the surface.

August drummed his fingers against the worn wood of the table, staring at a map sprawled in front of him. Richmond. Shadae had mentioned it as a possible next step, but could they afford to gamble again? His last suggestion had led them to this place—a gilded cage—and now, every decision felt like a weight he couldn't carry. Was he ready to risk their lives?

His thoughts flickered to Amelia. Six years old and already witnessing a world that would torment most adults. He hated the way this apocalypse had forced her to grow up too soon. Every missed bedtime story, every stolen moment of normalcy—it all felt like a failure on his part.

And the group... he still couldn't figure out how they fit together. Leah, the wildcard, was quick and innovative, but was her knack for sneaking around and reading lips enough to justify the risks she took? Tyrone, the doctor, had the medical expertise they needed, but August wasn't sure he could hold his own in a fight. Shadae was solid—an FBI agent and skilled navigator—but her tendency to grow attached to places worried him. And then there was Natasha.

Natasha, someone who he was told to be married to, yet had no recollection. Natasha, his wife. Brave, quick-thinking, and discerning in ways that sometimes scare him. She was the glue holding their fragile group together, even when he wasn't sure how to keep himself together.

A faint creak on the floor snapped August from his thoughts. Instinctively, he grabbed his gun, flipping off the safety as he aimed toward the dark living room.

"It's me," Natasha's voice came softly as she stepped into the dim light, her hands raised.

August exhaled sharply, lowering the weapon. "What did I tell you about sneaking up on me like dat?"

"I'm sorry," she said, her voice gentle. She moved into the kitchen, pulling a bottle of her homemade lemon water from the fridge. "Why are you sitting in the dark?"

"Thinking," he muttered, leaning back in the chair and rubbing his temples.

Natasha studied him for a moment, her eyes softening. "What's wrong?"

He didn't answer right away, his jaw tightening as he stared at the table. Finally, he lifted his head, meeting her gaze. "Feel like I'm losin' time, Tash," he said, his voice low and rough. "I'm struggling to remember... us. How we met, how we got here. Our purpose. Pieces of me are missin', and I don't know why."

Natasha's grip tightened around the bottle, her throat tightening. "You're not the only one," she admitted quietly. "I've been having dreams... fragments, like memories that don't belong to me. It doesn't make sense, but I didn't want to worry you."

August looked at her sharply, a flicker of something—fear? Anger?—passing through his eyes.

"This place... this city," he said, his voice trembling slightly, "it ain't right. Tha' South's fallin', Tash. Georgia's gone. Florida, Alabama, Mississippi—they're overflowin' with zombies. It's only a matter of time before it creeps up here."

Natasha sat down next to him, the weight of his words settling heavily between them. "So what do we do?"

"I think about takin' us outta here. Somewhere safer. Maybe Richmond or further, like Shadae said. But every time I try to move, I second-guess myself. What if I'm wrong again? What if it's worse? What if I lose one of you because I wanted to act out of fear?"