Cassie | Subject D-18 | The weak link
14 year old Cassie is the lone survivor of Maze D. Cassie isn't the fastest runner or the strongest, she doesn't even know if she's immune but somehow she's made it this far and doesn't plan on giving up anytime...
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I’m forced to leave the collapsed skyscraper as the sounds of zombies draw closer and I’m standing out in the open with no weapon like an idiot.
Not knowing where I’m going, I just choose a random direction and stick with it while hoping that I don’t run into any zombies.
I sigh deeply as I fiddle with the small pocket knife that I still have, examining the engraved initials on the side of it; S.S.
I wonder who S.S was? Did he or she survive the Flare and the Scorch? Or did someone steal their knife off of their dead body?
I quickly shake myself out of my morbid and depressing thoughts as I hear the sound of something behind me. Footsteps. Whipping around, I hold the small knife out in front of me as if it’d do any use against a real threat.
“Put down the knife, kid,” The person says as they stand in the shadow of one of the buildings, making it difficult to see who it is. I grip my knife tighter as I continue to hold it in front of myself.
“Seriously kid, put away the pocket knife. I’m not going to hurt you.” The figure steps out of the shadows, holding up his hands in surrender.
The person is a young man, about 19 or 20 years old. He has short black hair and is wearing an old military style jacket that has a flag on its sleeve.
“Who are you?” I demand as I search him with my eyes carefully to see if he has some sort of weapon.
“Did Janson send you?” I question. He quirks an eyebrow slightly at that.
“Janson? I don’t know who that is. My name is Hal though,” The man, Hal, says as he watches me with a slightly amused expression before it turns solemn.
“What are you doing out here alone? This section was red flagged months ago,” Hal says as he takes a cautious step forwards.
“I was with my friends but we got separated about half an hour ago,” I tell him, careful not to say too much that could give anything away.
“Well, I haven’t seen anyone around this section for the past six months except for Cranks and WICKED guards. Were you going anywhere in particular? Somewhere you can meet with them?” Hal asks curiously. I narrow my eyes lightly which Hal takes notice of.
“It’s fine if you don’t tell me. You should probably get off of the streets though. WICKED guards are going to be passing here in about five minutes on their usual patrol and you look like someone that doesn’t want to run into them,” Hal states.
I watch him for a moment, wondering if he’s telling the truth or if this is some elaborate scheme Janson came up with to lure me back to WICKED.
