The Survivalists

-Chapter 12-

Ezra sat quietly over the steaming soup, quietly. Tahlia had bragged to her parent's over Ezra's fantastic fighting abilities, but he simply kept silent. Watching the pieces of vegetables float on the surface before drinking a spoonful of the broth. 

It was much better than what he was used to eating in all honesty. He detested meat for obvious reasons. When one was exposed to the death of mammals, and then the collecting of their meat to feed another being, one did not exactly feel comfortable eating meat any longer. 

Of course, they served chicken, turkey, beef. Not Infected meat. However, it made no difference to him. When he saw a piece of chicken, he saw the muscle of The Infected. 

This soup contained no meat and perhaps that signified poverty, but he didn't mind it. Not in the least bit. He found it extremely appetizing. 

They looked on fondly at him and Tahlia's mother seemed to both like him and look t him as though he were one of The Infected. 

He didn't even try to figure out her feelings toward him, and as the night grew old, they retired to bed, stating he was more than welcome to take the empty bedroom beside Tahlia's. 

They trusted him. 

Tahlia looked quietly at him, hand propping her head up. Soup finished and spoon resting in the empty bowl, she sighed quietly. 

"Ezra." 

Ezra looked up quietly, looking towards the door before turning back to her, "It was the cloak, wasn't it? The reason why your mother disliked me?" 

Ezra wanted to suck the words back up the moment he'd spilled them. Was he honestly concerned about what her mother thought of him? What should it matter?

"..I'll be honest, I believe you would have left a much better impression with it off, but that doesn't matter now. Tell me..do you remember when The Infection first broke out? How old were you?" 

Ezra looked at her quietly, the candle light in the window illuminated the insides of his hood, but it was obvious that the way he bent his head down, made it impossible for his face to be shown. 

It was almost creepy how it appeared he have no face, even in the low candlelight. 

Ezra however, was thinking distantly. Back to the time when he was standing in that winding asphalt road, the red Hood behind him, his hands lightly resting on him as they both stared at the photographer. 

A photograph had been taken but he'd never seen the photo, and he'd never questioned why it had been taken. 

"My memories are lost, but that doesn't matter. The past doesn't matter. I live to serve the red Hood, and when he should die and a new red Hood rises, I shall live to serve him.." 

"Ezra, no. It does matter. You can't go spurting out that little speech whenever anyone askes you either. You can't remember any of it?" 

Ezra was stunned. He'd always been told that the past was in miniscule importance to his new reason for living. Now, she flipped it all around, and for some reason, he believe her more than he had believe red Hood in all his years of living with him. 

After all, he'd gone behind red Hood's back just today. Blatantly. Could it be that..perhaps red Hood was wrong? Wrong about everything? He felt his world somehow crash. 

"No, I was..I was five years old, I believe." Ezra replied quietly. 

Tahlia looked down at the table quietly, "You don't remember the reports on the news then. You don't remember television. Phones. Schools. I was the same age as you, Ezra." 

Ezra dropped his spoon softly, clearing his throat and clutching the wooden table harshly. 

"It was the most traumatic part of my life.." She whispered softly looking into the darkness of his hood, "When the reports first came on TV, they called The Infection because it started off as nothing more than a weird illness with no cure. It your brain swell and your heart rate slow down. Then, they started reporting the people were..dying. Then coming back to life. They ate flesh. Humans. Other Infecteds. Anything with meat.." 

Ezra still looked down at the table in silence, listening quietly.  

"Everyone ran, as fast as they could. No where. Just anywhere. They thought running in the streets with no goal in mind made them safe. My parent's and I were lucky to survive and they were part of the founding members of this village. We didn't think we should name it anything at all so we called, The Village. Nothing more, nothing less. It was simple. Just like our lives became. We built this from just a plain plot of land. It's developed and now we take in strangers, give them a home and start them off with a new life. A promising way of life." 

Ezra looked up slowly, "My society started that way, I believe. The red Hood is the head of all of us. He is our leader. The color of our cloaks represent our status. Women and children wear white, rich men wear blue, average men wear grey or brown sometimes. Then there are the black Hoods. We are hand picked by red Hood as his loyal protectors. We do what is asked of us, we go on missions that we are requested to do with no questions asked. He is our commander, and we are his army. Now that we are built up in the refuge of the prison, we don't accept anymore strangers. We kill them on sight. Most of us anyway." 

Tahlia looked quietly at him, turning away slowly. "You're a black Hood, yet, you aren't ruthless?" 

"No. I was raised by red Hood himself. He found me alone. He proclaimed that if I was tough enough to fight the Infected as a young boy, I would be a killing machine by the time I turned to an adult. I kill The Infected. Not the living." 

Tahlia's lips turned upwards slowly, "My mother doesn't dislike you, by the way. She's just concerned about what you look like beneath that hood. She's a bit beneficial.." 

Ezra finally allowed a small, genuine smile to pull at his lips.