Where Light Dies

17. The Outsiders

"They must've started the circle checks."

"What's that?"

-- Dayton, Surface -- December 2015 --

The skies shone in a dull scarlet red, casting the colour of fresh blood onto the uncharted earth. Soft crunches faded into the evening air as they trekked over the cracked asphalt. The pack huddled close to each other, conserving as much heat as they could.

"It's kind of like sending out a search party," Blake explained, pulling the jacket's hood over his head. "They'll keep stretching the radius, until they find me."

"You're the son of the camp leader and all, but would they go that far just to save your ass? I mean, it's basically a risk for the whole camp," Reyna inquired, rubbing her forearm. She'd finally got off Sam's shoulder, barely able enough to walk on her own two feet.

"You've got it wrong," he replied, staring blankly at the freezing red lands ahead of him. He'd always thought that the colour didn't match with the unforgiving cold. "It's more like finding a lost sword. I'm not very, expendable," Blake elaborated, his eyes narrowing down to a firm line, "and I am not her son."

Not her son...

"I think we can stay there," Anne announced with a straight face. Blake replied with a nod of his head, a fading smile on his features. This somehow disappointed the girl, but she wasn't one to pry.

In front of them was a supermarket, an old and dilapidated building few years from crumbling into itself. Its lemon-yellow paint had given way to a dull canary, lined with weeds and ferns, the most common of plants on the abandoned surface realm.

"Nice catch kid," said Blake, patting Anne's head as he walked towards their makeshift motel for the day. Now that definitely hit the spot.

This is perfect, thought Reyna. Ample space to escape and enough cover to stay hidden. It was exactly what they needed. There definitely were no signs of darks, but one couldn't be too careful.

"Hey!" Samantha called out, pulling out her blade and pistol.

"What is it?" Blake asked, turning around to face her.

"What're we looking for in there? Food?" asked the redhead, stretching her back from the long walk.

"For real?" Blake smirked, covering his mouth.

"Look, if you're gonna eat seventeen-year-old canned shit, then be my guest." Reyna guffawed.

"Then what the fuck are we here for?" Sam retorted.

Just how stupid can a human get? thought Blake. He was about to kick some reason into that thick skull of hers, but Reyna had already cut in.

"Knives, guns, anything non-perishable. And some sleep, if we get time for that," Reyna replied as she unsheathed her blade, holding it crossed over her gun as she entered the store. Faint rays of the dying sun crept up behind her steps, illuminating the narrow aisle in a pool of red. All four members of the pack clicked their utility torches on, holding it in the same hand that held the knife, lodged between their fingers.

"Sam, take the aisles on the left," Reyna whispered, eliciting a firm nod from the redhead. "Blake and Anne cover the right end. I'll take the main aisle," she said, bumping her fist with the girl.

"Be careful everyone," she added, walking into the silent shadows.

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"Mr. Blake."

"Get over that already," he snapped.

"Okay," Anne replied, toning down her voice.

"What is it?" Blake asked, facing the eleven-yea- old.

"Is Sarah your mom?" she replied, hugging the walkie tight against her chest. The child had stopped mid-step, gazing at Blake who stood a few feet ahead.

"No."

"Then who is she?" she asked in a haze of confusion.

"Let's just say that, um," Blake dragged on, trying to find the right words. "She's, someone I'd happily kill," he chimed in, finishing the sentence.

The girl stood frozen for a few moments, shocked at his casual reply. There wasn't a hint of remorse in his words, making her doubt if he still was the same person who taught her to cling to her virtues.

"What kind of a person is she then?" she asked, staring at the blade she held in her hand.

"The kind that'll do anything to protect what's dearest to them," he replied.

"Isn't that what a good person does?" Anne asked, her conscience lingering on the verge of distraught. Her timid mind couldn't process all that unwound before her. The difference between what was good and what was not seemed to change with each day that passed.

"It's not her goals that I resent," Blake replied, his monotonous voice tearing the shadows apart. Anne felt a chill run down her spine as she watched his face darken with hate. "It's how far she goes to get them," he muttered, walking forward with his palm gently caressing the wall.

Anne felt a weight lift from her chest. His expression, it wasn't one she could bear to watch for long. It came from somewhere strange, a place she never knew of. The steady sound of his fingers grazing against the festering grey flakes of paint brought her back to her senses.

Against the dim glow of the sun, faint letters glimmered in crimson. Could it be?

"Mr. - Blake!"

The two were now staring at the wall, where the words 'FIRST AID' sparkled in the torch light. However, all that was left below was a rectangular patch of white paint. Blake had almost turned back, but Anne's face caught his attention. The confusion etched in her features hadn't gone down by an inch. His flashlight drifted back to the moss-covered walls. A patch of fresh white shone brilliantly against the decayed paint, casting a bright glare all around him. SHIT!

"We need to find the others. Now!"

Anne dashed off into the darkness, followed by Blake who was a few steps behind her. The box was taken off recently. That means... his mind traced back, wrenching down on the conclusion he'd already come to.

Outsiders.

The world was far crueller a place than one could possibly imagine, and out on the surface, there was but one thing to be feared more than darks.

Humans themselves.

Communications between bases were close to none, so practically every living thing you saw outside camp was free to kill. The surface was a victim to all sorts of horrors. While some killed for survival, others killed for sport. In the end, it was the law of the jungle that prevailed. People often murdered others in cold blood to take their supplies, sometimes even to find their camp and make it their own. Eventually, people from other base camps started referring to each other as outsiders.

Screams echoed in the distance, and they seemed to be running right towards it. Anne slowed down her pace to match with Blake, who was vigorously ripping his jacket off his torso. She looked at him with doubtful eyes, unsure of what was going on.

"Go ahead and stall for a while. You mess up, they die. Got it?"

That was far more than enough to melt her fuse. She sprinted head first into the dark alley, leaving Blake behind. Hollow thuds echoed in the aisle, making her even more desperate to find the two. She dashed into the central aisle, the main exit right before her eyes.

The only difference this time around was that the exit was blocked, by four silhouettes etched into the evening horizon.

Two thrown helplessly on the ground, and the other two holding knives to their throats.

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