Where Light Dies

41. Trust

"Blake? We just found a manhole.".

"So what? It's a city Mark. And why the hell are you wheezing."

"The manhole. It was open. We heard sounds."

-- Heatherhills, Southern pass -- 2017 --

Mark huffed from the long run, his hands clamped on his knees as he bent his head low. Blake stared at him in disbelief, turning away from Sarah who slept peacefully in her makeshift bed. Beth sat beside him, not knowing what to make of the sudden revelation.

"Are you sure?"

"It's a camp Blake. We're sure of it. The only reason we came back is 'cause they might've held us captive if we snuck in," said Mark, standing up to his full six feet. A concoction of rancid smells pierced his head, pricking at his throbbing temples as he rubbed circles into it. The scent of denatured alcohol had fused with suffocating spores that lined the rotting brown wallpaper. Rivulets of scarlet rays wriggled their way through the dusty curtains, adding to the mournful atmosphere. Mark could feel his lungs yearn for air. He was glad they chose to camp outside.

A firm shake cut through his thoughts. Blake was on his feet, his hand tight on Mark's shoulder. With a firm yank, he dragged him out of the infirmary, shutting the door behind him.

"I-I'm saying we leave for the base by evening. The rations won't last another couple of days." Mark stuttered, struggling to keep his resolve.

"And what if they don't take us in?" Blake hissed, letting go of his hand. He turned around to look outside, his eyes setting on the usual buzz of his people going about their lives. It was their third day here like this, camping out in the open without a single wall to hide them. The people had refused to get into the building, saying they'd rather die in the open than get slaughtered in its narrow suffocating corridors. It was then that the realization hit him.

They feared death no more.

"If they don't take us in then so be it. Hold us prisoner and at least we'll have a roof over our heads. We're out of food anyway. It's all the same now," Mark replied. He leaned with his back to the wall, slowly slumping down against it. Beads of perspiration collected on his rugged complexion, his breathing slowly calming down as his body relaxed.

"Let's go."

Mark flinched. His eyes were locked on the boy in front of him, wondering how he'd made a crucial call this fast.

We're playing with lives here.

"When?" Mark asked, as if he were silently wishing that Blake had thought through it.

"We leave at noon," Blake replied nonchalantly. His gaze was fixed at the door, watching his people calmly go about their routines in broad daylight.

Unafraid.

If they don't care about themselves, then who am I to give a shit.

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"We're going eh?"

Reyna hadn't expected them to find a base so close to them, especially when they were on the verge of starvation. A light gust of wind whistled through the concrete jungle, making her gaze at the abandoned lands.

It used to be a crowded place once, her mind reeled as she took in the nostalgic view. Reyna had dreamt about the cities, brimming with life regardless of day or night. She'd heard tales of a carefree living, trotting through the bustling streets in blinding joy with not a single worry for the days to come. The elders often boasted of their exorbitant youth, nights well spent with friends, most stories ending up with them drunk, broke, or an awful combination of both. She remembered the smile on their faces as they laughed their hearts out on their mistakes, the silent hints of tears as they nipped at the corner of their eyes.