The Mist

We fight Civil War Soliders... not the Marvel kind

Waking up in the middle of the night because your head smacked against the car window is not a pleasant feeling. I don't recommend it.

Something else I don't recommend is waking up and having a near heart attack.

Because if waking up with a big headache wasn't enough, I found myself being pinned down by massive unseen force. Naturally, I freaked out when I noticed a heavy mass crushing the right side of my body.

A million possibilities ran through my head, each more terrifying than the last.

Turning my head a little I saw Mitchell's mop of brown hair snuggled into my shoulder.

I wanted to shove him off me for nearly scaring me to death, but he looked so peaceful when he was asleep that it felt rude just thinking about it.

I wanted to go back to sleep, but Mitchell's loud snoring right in my ear wasn't helping. I wondered how I fallen asleep in the first place.

Sleep clearly not an option at this point, I put my head back on the window and began trying to make sense of our quest.

In the darkness of night I felt a feeling emerge. A feeling that had been lurking in the back of my mind since I stepped into Aphrodite's limo. I don't know why but something just felt off. I tried shaking off the feeling, but I could still feel it there.

I dozed off again with a sinking feeling in the bottom of my stomach. Something just wasn't right.

_____________________________________________________________________________

It was the crack of dawn when Mitchell woke me up. We had finally arrived in Philadelphia.

Honestly, I just wanted to go home and sleep in my nice, warm, beautiful, bed.

Groggily, I let Mitchell drag me wherever the hell he was dragging me. I couldn't have cared less at this point.

"Hey, wake up. I need you to look around. Do you see any monsters?"

I looked around briefly noticing we were on a bus. "No, no monsters."

He let out a breath, then happily plopped down onto a seat. I sat down next to him, sluggishly wondering how we got here.

A minute after I sat down, I was once again enveloped into sleep's sweet embrace.

I barely even heard Mitchell mumbling how Hypnos should just claim me considering how I can fall sleep .

I entered into a world of tranquility. It was short lived.

Suddenly jerking awake, I found myself broken out of that serenity.

Especially considering who was sitting three seats in front of us.

There were three of them sharing a seat. I wasn't quite sure what they were. They looked like zombies, but I found the thought kind of silly. I mean that was Sci-fi movies not greek mythology.

But there they were, wearing some old confederate uniforms. Some wearing t-shirts over their uniforms. One was wearing a hat that read I am NOT a zombie.

Well, I had to give him...umm..it points for trying.

Their eyes—or eye sockets—were not so subtlety looking back at us every so often.

In a panic I made a strange noise that sounded like a Cat being strangled by an angry Ladybug.

While the nearby passengers gave me concerned looks, I jabbed Mitchell violently in the stomach.

"Civil War Soliders have invaded the bus." I hissed.

"Wait, what!?!?!"

"Three seats ahead of us."

"Wait, those guys sitting behind the Captain America T-shirt guy?"

"Yeah..."

Mitchell's eyes went big as the Mist cleared out. "He knows."

"Wait—what—who know?" I asked panicking.

"Shhhh not now. Names have power."

As the bus pulled into the next stop, Mitchell grabbed my hand, yanking me out of my half formed mental threat. We were pratically sprinting towards the bus door. The soliders stood up; they were definitely following us, no doubt about it.

But they weren't attacking.

We had gotten off the bus, but the group of three soldiers had quickly followed us.

"Our master has been kind enough to give you one warning give up the quest." One hissed.

"Who exactly does your master think he is?" I retorted.

"Our master is the all powerful inescapable god of War, Ares."

Well shit.

"Sorry boys, no can do. You see, I would prefer for World War Three not to break out."

"Children in my day listened to their elders. Nowadays, they have been corrupted by the dam Yankees", spat out one of the soliders angrily. 

Crossing my arms, I glared right at the solider," Go Yankees." I hissed.

Mitchell, sharing my sentiment, flipped them the bird. And without so much of a warning they charged.

Two of the confederate soliders headed for Mitchell while the third lunged at me.

I used my backpack to smack him in the face. Realizing my magic dagger/brush thingy was in my backpack, I freaked  because I had just launched it at his face.

Despite his nose being at an odd angle however, his face showed no pain.

He looked at me with an angry look on his face as he reset his broken nose with an unsettling crack.

My backpack had landed behind him, and I knew I was screwed. Unlesss.....

I surprised him by lanching myself foward and swinging my fist into his zombie stomach. He made a disgruntled noise.

Then, the jerk decided to play dirty by grabbing a fistful of my hair and pulling me down. Gods, it hurt.

If he wanted to play dirty, then so be it. I kicked him in the face, which actually hurt. He released me in surprise and then dropped like a rock. I proceeded to stomp on his stomach.

Then I ran for my backpack, grabbed my hairbrush, and twisted the handle. Come at me now, Mr. Zombie Man.

The zombie I had taken down was now waddling towards me holding his stomach. He looked downright murderous.

But you know what? Despite being stared at by a murderous monster in the eyes, I ran right at him dagger in hand.

I swung out at him with my dagger narrowly missing him as he dodged.

In a flash, he whipped out some handcuffs made of black bones. " You're lucky my master told us not to kill you two."

This new information threw me through a loop, so they weren't trying to kill us.

I fell onto my butt when he suddenly pushed me down. Looking up at the monster above me, I saw the perfect opportunity to dig my dagger into his ribcage. And so I did.

He turned into black powder, erasing all evidence of his existence. He left nothing but black monster dust and the smell of sulfur on my clothes

Mitchell looked up at me as he dealt the final blow to the last zombie.

"Where are we?" He said causally brushing the zombie dust off himself.

We looked at the deserted bus stop.

"Good question."

He gave a frustrated groan. "We're lost."