An Impervious Few // KateLena Apocalypse AU

The Blonde Bandit

Yelena Belova did not plan for this. As she sprinted across the cracked asphalt on the way out of town, she dare not look back, fearing the angry mob that may be closing in on her. Though she was faster, stronger, and better armed than any of her former colleagues, she was not looking for a fight, and certainly not on her own.

Her lungs burned before she even reached the town limits. Worryingly, her pace had slowed slightly, and she cursed herself for not implementing more cardio in her months of planning for this heist. The black duffel weighed heavily on her back, bouncing wildly as she ran. It was stuffed with evidence of her treachery; stolen firearms, ammunition, matches, first aid, spare clothes.

Most crucially, though, she managed to swipe some water purification tablets and a few days worth of food. The meager slices of bread and cans of applesauce were what got her caught before she could stock up; Black Widows were terribly vigilant when it came to pantry access.

Ideally, Yelena would have stolen enough beef jerky and peanut butter to make it to Charleston, but with her early exit, her rations would last maybe a month. She had the insane idea of dumping the cargo for a cleaner escape, but without these supplies she may as well hand herself over to the Lurkers.

Jaw clenching, she pushed through the tightening in her hamstrings and the fire in her lungs. She ignored the pounding of boots on the pavement behind her, ignored the screams of "traitor!" and "thief!". The pejoratives did not bother her; they were true, after all.

As the chase stretched to a half mile, Yelena wondered how long the Widows wanted to keep this game going. They were a determined bunch, and Yelena knew this full well, having been a member for six years. Perhaps member is the incorrect word, though. The young Yelena was more or less coerced to join the gang.

Yelena let the memory push her legs harder into the ground, catching a second wind.

Before the outbreak, the blonde had nothing, and after, she had even less. The only thing Yelena ever truly had was her older sister, Natasha. Their parents had died young, leaving the sisters to bounce from home to home, shelter to shelter.

She was fourteen when the Lurkers began roaming the streets with their rotting flesh and never ending hunger. At the time, she and Natasha had been placed in the temporary care of an older gentleman in St. Louis, and while he wasn't the worst placement they'd ever had, he certainly wasn't the best. He often forgot to buy enough groceries for three people, leaving the sisters hungry. He would fall asleep in his recliner every afternoon, disregarding his obligation to drive Natasha to karate or Yelena to soccer.

Being sixteen at the time, Natasha was growing weary of the foster system and pessimistic altogether, so when the first reports of infection broke, Natasha took her chance. She swiped the old man's hunting rifle and pistol and began her conquest.

Yelena's older sister was ruthless in a way she did not expect. Years of neglect, abuse, and trauma exploded in a world where rage and violence were admirable qualities. Though meeker back then, Yelena followed her sister's lead, becoming a skilled marksman and fighter.

Two years in, the sisters had garnered a bit of a reputation in the Appalachian foothills. Word of a redheaded terror and her little blonde sister pistol whipping grown men drew the attention of a group known as the Black Widows.

Yelena heard tales of the Widows, even back then. A group of ravenous, bloodthirsty young women who looked after themselves and absolutely no one else. They did what they felt they had to in order to survive, but had a habit of being trigger happy and unmerciful to anyone who crossed them.

One day, Yelena and Natasha had the displeasure of running into a scavenging platoon of Widows. There were only five of them, easy enough for the sisters to take out, but Natasha saw it differently.