The World We Live In | 𝚃. 𝙾𝚃𝚃𝙾 ♤

Chapter 1

"You need to see this boss," commenting this while looking through the binoculars peering down at the truck stop, Cooper handed it to Troy, and the bearded archer narrowed his eyes. The way they left the Reservation was one of chaos after their attack. His nostrils twitched at the burnt scent of what smelled like flesh, wood, and gasoline. Cooper pointed at Black Hat Reservation and commented as Troy silently perused the Nation's home. "There's still some dead, but their tents and vehicles are all gone... It seems they put a lot of it on fire." Turning to watch Troy again, Cooper asked, "you think they bounced?"

"Maybe, but let's not celebrate just yet. It could be a smokescreen. Their soldiers could've stayed and are waiting to ambush us as we speak. What I would do to get some payback." Troy lowered the binoculars, and his face was oddly calm. His eyes were cold, and his jaw set, but other than nothing but composure oozed from his body, such a contrast to the adrenaline-filled skirmish he maneuvered in with natural ease the same as breathing. Cooper didn't know what Troy was thinking, but he waited for his leader to give the order. His life, that of his squadmates and their people back home, would depend on what Troy decided right now.

"What are our orders?" Cooper saw Troy's faint smug signature smirk and felt the edge of his lip move up. Real sacrifice and real men on their battles by handing down the definite victory left no room for hesitance or chance. For Troy and most of them, anything other than confrontation and aggressive action was the way to crush and defeat their enemy.

"We check the place, search for tracks too and call home and tell them to set the traps and arm up for a possible attack by the Nation. I'm not sure what Walker has planned, but neither side has won yet, but we're all desperate to end this with nothing but the other's total surrender." Troy ordered the others into small teams to sweep the area and systematically check the buildings first. Their flashlights beamed and attracted the few dead that were barely active and heavily charred like coal-colored crusts of burned meat.

"Jesus," Troy heard the flabbergasted harsh whisper of Cooper when they moved to sweep the area where the Nation's people were. It was as desolate as the rest. Tools scattered around and left behind in a hurry. Troy wanted to ask Coop what he saw as he followed the man's line of sight and stepped next in line to the larger man and slightly lowered his rifle and sighed. His blue eyes took in the desperate two arms reaching out for them, hard snapping of a jaw with its flesh peeled off and revealing tissue and muscle. Its croaking and snarling were unintelligent, only that it was roused back vigorously by two potential meals in its vicinity that it could never reach because of the way. The dead body melted together with the militia fatigue and the fact that only his torso was left behind. "Cole. Poor bastard." Cooper's gruff-sounding voice bounced in the night and hearing him reach for his knife. Troy patted him on the arm.

"I'll do it," Cooper was quiet for a few seconds but nodded in understanding. Troy thought he saw a bit of pity flash through the latter's eyes, but he ignored it and unclasped his hunting knife from its clasp and walks up to the decimated body of the turned Cole, who was only recognizable by his militia wear. Crouching down to his knees, just a few inches out of the flesh-torn nails trying to claw for his face, Troy stares back. Sometimes, he wondered how those reanimated brain cells only kept the far-off muscle memory intact. Looking in the milky eyes, Troy's expression shifted. It looked pathetic, the way it was snarling like some rabies-infected beast, and it's hard to put a name into, but Troy was all but too eager to put it down. This corpse wasn't Cole anymore, but it had saved him in a way, so he'd at least keep his word to the man that had fought well. Troy jams the knife from the underside of the chin, twisting through flesh and bone, scrunching and mushing from the force. He watches the eyelids flutter shut, and Cole's body dropped down like a rag doll.

"We found vehicle tracks," a voice crackled through the walkie-talkie, and Troy clipped the radio from his waist and asked, "Which direction?"

"East from the look of it. We can't find any tracks that are splitting up," the man responded from the other side of the signal, and Troy frowned as his thoughts raced. He didn't know that part, but it was away from the Ranch. They were lucky there was only one main road leading back home.

"What's your estimation?"

"From the looks of the tracks, they have a headstart of one to two hours."

"We can catch up with our trucks," Cooper said from behind him, and Troy nodded in agreement.

"Alright, we head back to our trucks and-"

BOOM!

A thundering blast ignited from the gas station, barely some yards away, a blinding ray of orange-red shot into the air, lighting up the area. A fraction of a second later, a massive ball of bright fire birthed from the blinding flash and formed an irregular-looking mushroom that mounted to overtake the skies and oxygen, twisting and changing in shape, turning into a mix of bulky flames and pitch-black smoke. Pieces of glass, sand, and steel showered down. Troy had seen bombs, and this was better than a homemade one. The chaos was the work of a professionally timed one. Lowering his arm, he reflexively raised as a shield. Troy looked in the direction of the spreading fire, thumbed his walkie angrily, and asked for a status report in a pitched voice.

"..." Only the sound of crackling from the other side answered Troy, and the hot pit of fury settled deep in his gut. A desperate last-ditch effort from the Nation who had fled like cowards and still managed to take out part of his squad. "Shit," Troy cussed with a severe expression.