Through The Ashes

1

Nobody knew how much of the population remained. The only certainty was that it was steadily declining, hour by hour. With the stakes always high, there was little room for contemplation or hesitation.

Jorn had people to feed and provide for, therefore she couldn't stop and weigh her options about anything most of the time. Survival was the only answer, the only choice.

Somewhere down the line, it made things easier.

So when a bold and foolish individual attempted to rob her of everything she had gathered during her hunt, she acted without hesitation.

A wet, gut-wrenching noise escaped the assailant as they grappled in the abandoned apartment. "AGH!" he cried out in pain as she delivered a series of punishing blows with her brass knuckles.

The stranger curled inward, arms wrapping around his abdomen as she forced him to his knees on the cluttered floor. His body odor wafted around Jorn's nose, his clothes in a raggedy and thin condition that allowed no real protection.

Jorn pushed the barrel of her pistol into his temple with her non-brass-knuckled hand. The familiar bloodlust rushed through her veins. She pulled some of his short, rough hair in the other fist, steadying his head, making sure he wouldn't move.

"Two choices. Fuck off or I blow a hole through your head," she said coldly.

The assailant continued to wheeze and rant, his breaths labored and his words filled with bitterness. "We're all dead anyway," he spat, his voice dripping with resignation. "Go ahead, kill me. The Rot will get me either way. They'll get you too."

"They can have you," Jorn seethed with a final decisive blow. She slammed the end of her gun into his head, knocking him out cold.

Jorn straightened, calming herself down. As she surveyed the ransacked apartment, her mind drifted to the world before the outbreak, a time when such scenes of devastation were unimaginable. The place looked raided twenty times over as she tried to picture it as a clean, humble space where a happy family probably once lived.

She holstered her gun and adjusted her black, thick poncho, ensuring it stayed in place. Leaving her brass knuckles on, just in case, she reached for the black garbage bag filled with canned foods, ammo, first-aid supplies, and some clothes.

It was a weighty burden, even for her, but she knew she couldn't afford to leave anything behind. The thought of returning to this place was the last thing she wanted, spurring her to gather her belongings swiftly and make her exit.

※※※

The overgrowth of plants and grass crunched underneath Jorn's feet as she made her way through the landscape. The night was slightly warmer, hinting at the arrival of spring after a harsh and unforgiving winter.

Her shoulder and arm began to ache, a dull pain spreading through her muscles. She felt the tension in her lower back, the muscles constricting uncomfortably beneath her skin. With each step, her legs throbbed with exhaustion, and her feet grew numb as they dragged across the concrete below.

As she journeyed back to camp, quiet as a mouse, her thoughts drifted to the past, a habitual retreat despite the dangerousness of the present.

Nightshade City had been Jorn's lifelong home, once a vibrant metropolis pulsating with vitality and promise. It was a place of profound significance, a melting pot where dreams seemed within reach regardless of the obstacles.

Yet, like all bustling cities, Nightshade had its shadows. Crime lurked beneath the surface, a constant presence despite the efforts of law enforcement. Despite the balance of good and bad, a disaster beyond anyone's imagination eventually struck. It was as if someone suddenly flicked a switch for catastrophe and decay.