Hunted || Wesari

Chapter Twenty-Four: Family Reunion

"Brenden?" Wes asked in disbelief.

The two brothers stared at each other, not believing their eyes. Wes had spent the last two years of his life thinking that Brenden was dead; to have him here, in front of him, was too good to be true. There was no way this was happening.

Keith lowered his gun, and Wes shot to his feet. The two brothers embraced. Brenden ruffled Wes' hair, like he did when they were boys.

"I can't believe this," Brenden pulled away, grabbing Wes' shoulders. "I thought you were dead!"

"And I thought you were!" Wes exclaimed. "What happened?"

"Oh, I'll tell you everything, brother," Brenden grinned. "We have a lot of catching up to do."

He turned to the gathered people, who were looking at the two of them in shock. "False alarm! Any friend of my brother is a friend of mine! Make sure our guests are taken care of. I have some talking to do with my brother."

"But-" Zach started.

"Justice will be served for your friend, Zach," Brenden promised. "But not today. My brother has been returned to me! This calls for celebration, does it not? Notify the chefs! Tonight, there will be a feast!"

The people cheered, and Brenden threw his arm around Wes, leading him through the crowd. People were dispersing, going back off in the directions they came from.

"Wait, what about my friends-" Wes glanced back, and saw Mari and Noah slowly rising to their feet. They looked uncertain, and Wes could understand why; they didn't know Brenden. To them, he was a stranger, untrustworthy. They had no reason to be reassured by his presence.

"They will be cared for," Brenden assured him. "And you shall see them soon. But until then, I think we should have some family time, should we not?"

Wes nodded shakily. Brenden had changed; he could see that already. He used to be an unassertive, quiet boy who preferred to stick his nose in a book than to talk to people. This Brenden, who spoke with so much confidence that you couldn't help but want to do what he said, was a starch difference to the Brenden he remembered. He should've expected that; no one could go through the past two years and come out the same person they were before it began.

Brenden led him into one of the houses, which Wes assumed was his. If people lived in the houses, then that would explain the cleared walkways. Wes couldn't understand why Brenden ad set his base up here; cities weren't protected, and could easily be found. They were far from a good headquarters.

Besides for the boarded-up windows, you wouldn't be able to tell this house apart from one in 2016. The floors were swept, the furniture in good condition, the walls covered in paintings. It reminded Wes of their childhood home, though to a much smaller scale. He wondered who had lived here before.

"Take a seat," Brenden gestured to a lazyboy in the living room. Wes sat down, and Brenden sat on a loveseat opposite him. The only light came from the window, which gave Wes a clear view of the deserted road outside.

"So, welcome to my home," Brenden waved his hand around the room. "It's pretty big for one person, but, as the leader, I get certain privileges."

"How many people live here?" Wes asked.

Brenden shrugged. "Five hundred, six hundred?"

Wes' eyes widened. He might have well said 100 million people, that was how outrageous those numbers sounded. In this day and age, three hundred people was as big as an army. Six hundred was an empire

"How?" Wes asked in disbelief. It was hard to even believe there were that many people left in America, the world even! He couldn't wrap his head around it.

"Easy to locate spot, I suppose," Brenden shrugged. "We'll pretty much let anyone in, provided they would help out our community. Those are out main contributors."

"Your community?" Wes asked. That was an unusual word to use. Most people said 'their group' or 'their company'. Wes had never heard anyone say 'my community'.