Rising of the Dead

Chapter 19: Lost

Chapter 19: Lost

Sawyer Wilson

As my senses slowly stirred back to life, I found myself lying motionless on the frigid floor, held captive by the effects of some mysterious chemical. While I couldn't definitively identify the substance, an unsettling awareness told me that I had likely been subjected to it. Never before had I felt so devoid of vitality; I might as well have been a living corpse. The arduous task of opening my eyes felt like wading through treacle, and once they finally fluttered open, it took considerable effort to focus on my surroundings. What I beheld was a bleak room, and the only means of escape, a door, was cruelly secured by a heavy chain.

Attempting to sit up sent waves of nausea churning in my stomach, serving as a stark reminder of my body's need for sustenance. How long had I been in this lifeless state, locked away from the world?

From the murky shadows, a figure emerged. Iron bars separated us, forming a fragile boundary between my vulnerability and his enigma. The room revealed its sinister secrets, showcasing a wooden table adorned with an unsettling collection of tormenting implements.

"Who are you?" I managed to whisper, squinting to discern any hint of the man's visage. The dim light conspired to keep his features concealed. He clasped his hands together, a gesture reminiscent of the man I encountered at the Safe House.

"Don't worry, I'm not your adversary," he reassured me with an unsettling chuckle.

"Where are my friends? Jaidyn and the others?"

"They're missing," he replied with an eerie calmness.

"What? You took them with you!"

"I'm not Jason, Sawyer." The room's meager light now revealed his face—an unshaven young man with hair that appeared recently cropped but far from meticulously styled.

"How do you..." I began, but my voice trailed off.

"Your wallet spilled your secrets, along with a bit of cash. Why do you carry it?"

"For memories. Please, don't touch my mother's picture."

"I won't. It's safe," he reassured, his hands moving in a placating gesture.

"Why am I locked up if you're not one of the antagonists?"

"We needed to gauge your trustworthiness," he said, drawing closer to the table. Darkness swallowed his face once more, leaving only the shimmer of his unruly hair in the feeble light. He leaned against the table, causing it to emit a faint creak.

"What do I need to do?" I inquired, my voice laced with frustration and impatience.

"Nothing," he cryptically replied.

"How the hell am I supposed to get out of here, then?"

"I like your spirit, Sawyer. I sense a fire burning inside you," he observed.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean you have the potential to join my group."

"But I already have my own group. Release me so I can find them."

"I will help you."

**** ****

Following our conversation, the stranger introduced himself as Kaleb. In the days before all this chaos, he had been a cadet and had honed his survival skills without the comforts of a well-stocked store. He spoke of surviving on an island teeming with deadly snakes, an extravagant metaphor for his resilience.

Stepping outside, my stomach growled with an intensity that mirrored the rumbling of thunder. The tantalizing scent of cooking beef wafted through the air, enticing my senses. Kaleb couldn't help but notice my hunger as I absentmindedly moistened my dry lips.

"Hungry?" he asked, his hand resting reassuringly on my shoulder.

I nodded, my gaze locked onto the source of that mouthwatering aroma. Amidst a camp bustling with survivors, it felt like a semblance of the world before, albeit set against the backdrop of a boys' scout camping trip. There were no adults; instead, teenagers, mostly my age or slightly older, exchanged hushed whispers as I walked past them. We inched closer to the source of the delectable fragrance. Kaleb led me to a tent that resembled more of a house, boasting a kitchen, a lounge area, and his own bedroom.

Seating me at a wooden chair before an empty table, Kaleb continued to prepare our meal.

"So, what were you up to before all this?" he inquired as he skillfully wielded pots and pans.

"Just trying to survive, you know," I replied, my voice tinged with a hint of exhaustion.

"I'm impressed with how you've managed to stay alive. Where did you learn those skills?"

"I didn't really learn them; I just went with the flow and relied on luck, I guess."

"Luck can be fickle," Kaleb cautioned. "It has a way of running dry."

"Well, I'm lucky that you found me and offered your help, but how?"

"I'll tell you soon enough."

"Alright, but I know and thank you for everything. We were doing fine until those bastards came along."

"Choosing to stay in a supermarket was a risky move," Kaleb noted.

"We weren't staying. We were just there to... rest."

"I see." Kaleb abruptly paused in his preparations, forcefully slamming his hand onto the table. I flinched involuntarily as he began to speak with unwavering determination.

"Listen, what I told you about luck—it's no joke. It can run dry," Kaleb emphasized, his words carrying a weight of urgency.

Swallowing hard, I nodded in understanding.

"I get it," I replied, my throat parched and dry.

"For now, eat and rest," Kaleb said as he served a steaming bowl of soup that beckoned with its fragrant chicken broth. My mouth watered in anticipation as I grasped the spoon, preparing to savor this unexpected meal. In this world of turmoil, questions remained unanswered, but I sensed that revelations and challenges lay ahead, and I was determined to face them with the fire that had been ignited within me.