DECODE - Simon Ghost Riley [Editing]

11| Alone

Las Almas, Mexico.

TW; Alone Mission Storyline, murder, war crimes, canon typical violence, mentioned/referenced Sexual assault, referenced suicide/attempt, self harm, explicit injury description.

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In the blackness of night, Las Almas burned.

A raging inferno that bled sulphuric black clouds into the clouds above as though it was an entity in itself—mocking, conniving—while the walls of the city seemed to crumble around the valley in a last ditch effort to escape the fate that awaited the city.

Fog slithered low through the streets, twisted tendrils clustered to painted walls, painting atrocities that were locked silently behind closed, shuttered doors. Flames seemed to devour the archaic structures, tongues of fire intertwined with shadows in a cruel, ritualistic dance. Smoke illuminated in pulses of ghastly light that danced like spectres among the suffocating streets.

The acrid air burned my throat and gnawed at my lungs whilst I staggered closer to the ruined town, my ankle aching under the injury I'd sustained. Every step seemed to be a battle, determination—or, rather, stubbornness—to survive the night.

Beyond the city's crumbled walls laid a field, vast and endless with charred remnants of what looked to be corn, perhaps maze if I had to guess. I staggered through it, blood splattering the charred foliage behind me with every step I made in my half-blind state.

Eventually, buildings surrounded me. Devastation spread like a plague; charred husks of vehicles lingered in the beaten dust road whilst the skeletal remains of homes loomed over them, stripped down to the very marrow of the infrastructure. Each ruin seemed to listen, to leer as I clung to the powdery walls and descended further into the bowels of the farm compound.

I kept moving, teeth ground together as I attempted to stifle my pain, to keep quiet.

The grip on my boots failed for a second, slipping in the rain, blood, and mud beneath them whilst every tendon of my ankle felt as though it was about to snap from the tension surrounding the bone. I forced my way forwards, my nails gripping into whatever surface I could find for leverage.

In the distance, Shadow Company still hunted. They were wolves circling their injured prey. They would find me, make no mistake about that. I could only determine how long it took them to reach me.

And I would persist.

I approached a barbed wire fence, the iron rusted and worn from years of use whilst the posts splintered around the tension. There was no other way into the down, not if I wanted to remain unseen.

So, I dropped low, my belly sinking into the mud and mulch as I wormed beneath the barbs of the fence. Rusted claws scraped at my back, tearing and clinging to the fabric of the hoodie I still wore. I could feel where it ribboned, where the fabric practically unravelled into shreds.

On the other side, a barn stood tall. Unaffected by the fire, scratched red paint signalled to me like a beacon. Or, perhaps, a warning flare. Regardless, it was the only building still fully erected near me, the only shelter from the thunderstorm that battered Las Almas. Though it wouldn't surprise me if this was the remnants of a hurricane.

I exhaled, the sound shivered through clenched teeth and a tense jaw.

I forced myself upright, dragging my injured leg behind me as I edged closer towards the farmhouse. Slow, careful movements. Its silhouette was blackened against the burning horizon, the lone flicker of an abandoned candle lit the inside of the window, the ember dying as it struggled in the gail-force winds. Shadows danced behind me, the shapes moved with every shudder of wind that careened through the city and towards the shack I was stood outside.