Us and Them

Days Are Numbered

   Josh let out a groan as he sat on a boulder, yanking off his boots to let his sore feet breathe. They were caked in mud, stained in blood from an unknown source.
   He had watched Clancy cross the Paladin Strait to where Nico, the most ruthless of the nine Bishops, had been hiding after catching wind of the escape. His friend was gifted with the same powers of psychokinesis as the Bishops, which made him not only a threat to the regime but a glimmer of hope to those oppressed by DEMA.
   The battle had started with eight of the nine Bishops, eyes glowing yellow with power as they commanded armies of the dead. They outnumbered the Banditos eleven to one, which caused all but a handful of his friends to fall and join the ranks of mindlessly controlled undead. Clancy was taken by Nico, probably to an undisclosed location within DEMA where anyone would have a hard time helping him. Hell, getting him out the first time had been nearly impossible.

   Josh shook his head and looked to the clear stream that flowed beside him. He hadn't bathed in weeks due to the threat of the Bishops and the danger of the saltwater deltas that flowed around The Way Out. He had now crossed into a lush, green area where fresh water was plentiful. But it seemed that this may be his last opportunity to stock up on water.
   He stripped himself of his muddied clothes, setting them in a pile on the boulder and went to the water to bathe. The cool water felt good on his sore muscles and he let himself relax for awhile. For the first time, he wasn't running on adrenaline and realized just how exhausted he was.
   Once done cleaning, he trudged back up the bank and unpacked a set of spare clothes he kept in his pack. It felt odd to be out of the heavy green hoodie and cargo pants. He then washed his clothes in the stream and hung them up on a tree branch to dry while he set up camp.
   It was lonely, being without his companions, especially Clancy. He had been a mentor to the other and losing him again had ripped his heart out of his chest. But, he could not save him alone, this was as plain as day. He needed to find help but where?

                                             •••
   The forest had began to thin by day twelve, the soil a little more sandy in consistency the landscape began to remind him of Trench. Deep sandy hollows nestled between craggy cliffs and mountains surrounded him. He stuck to tree cover as he trekked onward, a habit of avoiding large open spaces had been trained into him from years of hiding from Bishops. The air was dry, but there was a pleasant breeze blowing across the valley. Clancy would've enjoyed this, he thought to himself. All he had left of his friend were his journals.
   The sun was beginning to set in front of him, turning everything a golden color around him. But, in the distance he spotted the silhouette of buildings as he stood atop a cliff. These weren't the large, daunting apartments of DEMA, but quaint little buildings dotting the valley below him. There didn't look to be much activity in them and he could sure use some shelter for the night. He was in very unfamiliar terrain, away from the lush and full foliage he was used to. Now it seemed all that survived out here was scraggly underbrush and small cave streams. So, he decided this was the best course of action.

                                    •••
   "Ugh, I think that shit's infected."  A tan, dark haired man scrunched up his nose in disgust. "It smells like that chick I hooked up with two weeks ago."
The other winced as the last of the bandages were ripped quickly off his wound, the stench of infection filling the air.
   "Thanks, Pete. Next time, I'll be sure to ask whoever kidnaps me to sterilize their instruments before they start carving me up like thanksgiving turkey." He retorted, shifting uncomfortably on the trashed couch he'd planted himself on.
A stocky, redheaded man entered through the front door of the house the four of them had claimed about a month ago. He was tattooed from head to toe, but spoke softly.
"Sorry I'm late, Patrick. All the liquor spots around have been raided by the Vixens some time ago." He said, the sack of bottles clanging as he sat them down.
"'S no problem, Andy," Patrick replied, leaning forward to dig through the bottles. He pulled out a half full bottle of whiskey and unscrewed the top, taking a swig from it before handing it to the other.
"Pete? Can I borrow your belt? He's gonna need something to bite down on. This is gonna hurt like hell."
The pain of disinfecting the nub where his left hand used to be was worse than losing it in the first place. Though, there was the adrenaline at the time to hinder that. Patrick exhaled sharply as Andy moved to the wound on his abdomen, where his liver used to be. Then, fresh bandages were applied where needed.
"Thanks," he winced, taking another drink of whiskey. Pete pat him on the shoulder, taking the bottle from him.
"Don't drink it all in one go, now. This is the only way we can keep you from dying on us for now."

A sleepy eyed, curly haired man padded in from another room. He blinked at the three sitting around in what could be dubbed the living room.
"You guys finally got Pat cleaned up, eh?" He said, taking the lawn chair next to Andy.
"Well, for now. He probably needs to see someone who actually knows how to treat this shit properly." Andy sighed. "We didn't ruin your beauty sleep did we, Joe?"
"Nah, got a weird feelin' someone was gonna show up." Joe frowned, then shook his head. "Probably just a bad dream."
Pete glanced to the makeshift machete that leaned against the corner of the couch, it was a blade fashioned to a bass guitar neck for extra reach. Andy had a snare drum that acted as a crossbow. They couldn't risk the Vixens getting near Patrick, who knew what they'd done to him.

                                         •••
   Josh had misjudged the distance of the little valley town, it had taken him three days to reach it. The landscape and lack of direction made everything seem way closer than it was. Unfamiliarity made his head spin. He had found what seemed to be a common trail into the town, the sandy soil compacted down as if something heavy had been rolled over it for years. Up ahead there was what looked like a military checkpoint.
   "Fuck," he muttered under his breath, adjusting his pack on his sore shoulders.
He approached the gate where two little kids were sat, they paused the card game they were playing and approached him.
"That ain't any of the ones we're looking for is it?" One of them whispered, looking Josh up and down.
"Can't be. The Head Bitch said they're shorter. They normally travel together, too." The other replied, then approached Josh. "You can go through. There aren't any illicit objects in your pack are there? CDs, cassettes, y'know music stuff?"
   Josh shook his head. "No? I'm just passing through, I think."
The boy shrugged. "Alright, well, I wouldn't stick around here long. Vixens are gonna burn this place to ashes here in a couple weeks. Part of their search for some fugitives."
   Josh thanked them and let out a breath he'd been holding. What the fuck did I get myself into, he thought, looking around at the dilapidated neighborhood. There were piles of trashed musical instruments and equipment filling the corners of the streets, some still smoldering from whoever set them ablaze. Clubs and any place one would go to enjoy music was shuttered or destroyed.
   There weren't very many people about, some drunks passed out on the stoops of small houses and a couple wild dogs sniffing around in the trash. Well, at least he knew he was somewhat alone out here.
   He ended up letting himself into a vacant house through the back door, finding that there was fresh food in the fridge and what looked like a decent place to settle down for the night. He figured he'd stick around for a few days, but every one felt numbered. As if there were some deadline for his journey that he had to meet.