The Blackened | ONC 2022

「Chapter Four: Die Roll」

While the buzz of excitement in the air shocked my nerves into a frenzy, I still couldn't help but imagine the worst when it comes to any of our people leaving our walled home. Due to my lack of combat prowess, I only went on scouting trips near to my home. If it weren't for the calming scenery you could take a minute to admire, all you would focus on would be the chances of those shambling corpses hiding around every corner.

I couldn't get the image of McCall's vulnerability out of my head. The raw edge his voice held, the hope hiding behind a dam, it felt like one big disaster waiting to take him out.

However, none of that stopped me from resenting him.

'Stay here at camp, Ravina. It's for your own safety.' Blah, blah, blah. It's not like the group we're sending is any more or less competent than I am. It's just a scout. A step forward to assess if they really can be our allies.

Nothing I can't handle.

I think he's honestly just hindering my ability to record the history going down between Lepus and Cervus.

Amongst the people, there were countless whispers coming from the shadows. Rumors in a small group travel fast, and for those that were actually there, the words they spread were like a game of telephone. While putting an ear to the ground, you could tell the obvious rumor was that Andrew was finally taking the seat of the first council member.

I can't blame the people for getting the words twisted. With the looks Andrew had thrown at McCall all throughout the speech and the haste to leave afterward, it looked like McCall was finally losing grasp of his position, hanging on by a thread. With the success of a trade partnership in his hands, he could snatch the credit as he should. McCall would be able to solidify his decisions as a leader.

Come late afternoon, we received no word from the group out in Lepus.

Even with scouting parties, there was always a way to get a signal across from them. At one point, we had something akin to a telegraph device. It looked close enough to a phone, but almost as bulky as a brick. But it still got us far with sending messages. Well, until someone dumped it into a ditch during torrential rain.

Failed methods of communication include medieval carrier pigeons, messenger dogs, flares, and relays.

The pigeons were an absolute disaster.

These days, we've resorted to using a tree binding system. As long as we know where our established boundary lines are, the scouts will tie brightly colored anything to the trees, and later on, depending on the color system, our city scouts will report on their progress. We're all too lucky that no one has broken our binoculars yet.

I suppose that despite my worrying, all of this was giving me an opportunity to catch up on writing about the events of the collective this morning. The words and declarations of our council members were still fresh in my mind despite the hours that had gone by.

My pen flowed lightly across my journal as I recalled the detail swarming in my mind. Every stroke released tension I hadn't realized was building up. Every dot and dash put to rest the worries in my mind and the world faded out. In this apocalyptic world I shouldn't expect the ease of writing to be the source of comfort for my life. It should easily be the knowledge of having security and food to eat every day that combated the worries. Perhaps comfort should have come in the form of a person who would hold you together as the blood split before your eyes. Someone who would hold both of your hopes together and keep them pure all while being your armor. But yet, it's writing in this journal that keeps me anchored to the world. It's just as good as an ear that listens.

Every so often I checked on the sunlight streaming from the gap in my tent, though it all felt displaced. When did I return to here? Was it after McCall had led us to the alleyway? Or did I take a detour through the town. The burden of these events had locked my memories, but I couldn't be bothered to keep pulling at straws.

The silence in my tent was palpable. Yet that's how it was every day.

Somehow I had expected everyday life at the end of the world to be filled with life threatening danger every minute. I thought you would be fighting for your life of having hundreds of contingency plans when your first one went awry.

But all I did was sit here.

In the deafening silence.

Maybe I didn't want to go on the scouting mission just to be a historian, maybe I wanted a break from this mundane camp. Where everyone seems content with just, living. Heh. Who am I kidding?

If this keeps me out of combative scenarios I'll deal with the static silence; it accompanies me while I write my life away telling the tales of others. I'd die two minutes after stepping foot alone out there.

Maybe it was an instinct to check what was going on outside of my confinement. Even as the last rays of the sun peaked out from behind the far off hills, something was off. There was too much of a hush settling around the sleeping tents.

I hunched beneath the flap of my tent and ventured out to the town square. Further ahead was the buzz of people being busybodies. Though the energy was less contained than the news from this morning. None of their words made sense in the garbled manner they were reaching my ears.

The crowd of people near the fountain exchanged hugs and cries all around. Pure unadulterated joy radiated from their faces. It was honestly the happiest anyone had been in this city, even compared to the day we had found this place. Though, after a quick scan of the crowd I couldn't see Andrew or McCall anywhere.

I stepped up to one of the onlookers, trying to blend into the revelry as much as I could.

"Am I, uh, missing something here?" I sputtered. "What's the news on the hop?" I recognized who I was talking to a second later.

"Hey Satie! I'm surprised you haven't heard. You're usually the first to be in the latest." Dante flashed a bright grin my way. "Give me one second, I lost Cassius but we'll fill you in on the happening."

Dante and Cassius were some of our star chefs in the city. Somewhere around three years ago, Dante had found his way to the camp blood streaking everywhere on his rich sepia skin. He had looked like he fought his way through a battlefield. The lone survivor of a massacre.

For the following weeks he had woken nearly everyone screaming bloody murder in the middle of the night. Although Sheila had given him most of the camomile and lavender tea she could muster, anything other than a frying pan wouldn't keep him asleep.

After a brief moment, Cassius had located us and jogged over. He held a lopsided grin, seemingly over the moon about the recent revelation.

I had always admired the lost pigment of his skin. His almond set being interrupted by near milky patches looks as though an artist had looked at him as a blank canvas and just splashed on splotches of paint to make a masterpiece. Even if everyone couldn't look him in the eye without staring anywhere but, I looked him head-on. Everything about his charismatic personality and gung-ho nature about who he was made the day better. I enjoyed a quick cooked meal at his hands and a lighthearted conversation between the three of us. Even if his embarrassment of my compliments knew no bounds.

Cassius wrapped his arms around me with a quick kiss to the forehead and stepped back. "Hello my little, avocado."

Dante snorted and gave me an off look.

"I'm going to choose to ignore that, but good to see you too, Cas. Do you happen to know what's going on?"

The two each threw an arm around my shoulders and lead me away from the crowd. If I didn't know these two were the biggest softies in the camp, I'd believe they were leading me away to kill me.

"Quit grinning like you're scheming. Spit it out."

"Oh my darling, Satrivina," Dante started.

"There are large changes coming our way in a matter of days," Cassius continued.

They both shared a look and turned to me. "Lepus has a cure for the Decay," their voices finished in unison.

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