4.6 | Dark Ages ✓

+ 0 0 : 0 5

+ 0 0 : 0 5

HIS EYES SNAP open at a keening wail.

It's time.

He's been waiting for this very moment. With his bag at his feet, the gun on his lap and his chin resting on his palm, he's drifted in and out of sleep while preparing for the worst. One creature he can kill. But if a swarm floods in and he runs out of ammunition...

He doesn't want to think of that.

Grimly, he strides to the window and peers out. There they are. The monsters come lumbering in from the west. He counts five, but who knows how many more there are? They sniff the air like bloodhounds, and one or two of them make some kind of inhuman noise—a split between a grunt and a screech. A signal, definitely. They inch closer to the house. Some have limbs hacked off, others riddled with open wounds in their body, but they seem none the worse for wear.

Of course, he thinks. You can't kill what's already dead.

Turning on his heel, he heads back and grabs his bag and gun. He'll be damned if he's killed without knowing why the hell he's here. He'd found a map in his bag last night, with several safe zones marked out within the vicinity. He'll head to the river, then figure out where to go from there. He strides to the back door and yanks it open.

Then slams it shut when he sees three creatures waiting for him.

"Shit!" he hisses, darting to the window.

Three more crowd the back, blocking his exit. Can they see him? Smell him? Hear him? He creeps along the windowsill, trying to find another way out. If he has to make a choice between facing these three and the crowd out front, he'll take the former any day. He lifts his gun and...

He very nearly jumps out of his skin when three shots ring out.

Frightened out of his wits, he peeks out the window again, only to find three corpses on the doorstep. Dead. Well and truly dead, the way he'd killed the other one two days ago. Just then, there's a shriek outside, and the front door collapses as a wave of creatures come swarming in.

Run.

His flight instincts kick in. Bolting up, he yanks the back door open and leaps over the corpses, racing down the empty road. He pictures the map in his mind's eye, prays desperately for there not to be another monster on the way, and runs to the river. His lungs are on fire, his eyes stinging from keeping them open for too long, and his heart feels like it may beat out of his chest. But he runs and runs and runs, knowing that if he stops, he may never get the chance to escape again.

He rounds the bend leading to the river, then darts up to the bridge. Once he ascertains that the monsters are no longer chasing him, he doubles over and gasps for air. Shaking with relief, he drags a hand through hair and pulls himself up.

He freezes at the barrel of the gun pointed at his head. Cloaked in a long coat, with a mask and dark glasses obscuring its face, the figure before him motions towards the river with his gun.

"Jump."

His breath lodges in his throat. He's so relieved to find a person at first that he raises his own gun only several seconds later. "Who are you?"

In one swift movement, the man lunges forward to grab his wrist. He's disarmed and shoved towards the edge of the bridge. Below, the water runs swift and rapid. Instinctively, he backs away, only to find the stranger's gun pressed into his spine.

"Jump," the man repeats.

"I–I don't—"

"Jump!" The stranger shoves him off the bridge.

He sinks with a splash. The waters close around him as his fingers latch onto something—cold, black, metal. His gun. He grabs it and his bag, clinging on to them even though the weight draws him further down. He can't swim.

Can he?

His legs move of their own accord, treading water and keeping him just near the surface. But the torrents are too fast, too wild, and he chokes and gasps whenever he breaks the surface. Above, he sees the dark figure watching him from the bridge, and he makes a last-ditch attempt to kick himself upwards. He catches a sliver of air at the water's surface and sputters.

"Help!"

The figure turns and walks away. A strange sound fills his ears, even amidst the gushing water—tick, tick, tick. And as his vision darkens, the image of the girl he's dreamt about becomes clearer than ever.

Can you help me?

She smiles that sunshine on snow smile and pulls him right under.