Book 1: At the Edge of Misery
Cristine Daya Gerrard, a young residency doctor in the apocalypse must mend the pieces with her broken and estranged family, while fighting for her place in a community that doesn't accept her. One man in particular doe...
The rattle snake and stolen clothes were just the start of Cristine's harassment. In the flicker of the candlelight the scorpion that scuttled over the floor was more black than the night outside. It's pincers were raised, yet held it in towards the head, like a tiny boxer that held his hands in ready to take a jab at her.
Only, each inky claw had a swollen bulb right behind the long edges, ugly and menacing to the eyes. For all the display with his pincer, its curling tail was the most fearful thing. A pinch would be painful, but the poison soon after would be deadly.
It was just menacing and scuttled with alarming rapidity across the wooden floor, making for a shaded spot to hide in. It took Cristine a full hour to grab the deadly insect with as much stealth as she could. In a fit of anger she smashed the poisonous bug with her boot.
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Almost three weeks in the new world, Cristine had trained herself to never fully fall asleep, a skill that always came in handy when the infected or people snuck up on her. That being said, she always had some type of weapon underneath her headrest or in this case her pillow.
Her equally dark eyes couldn't be seen in the dead of the night when they came apart from their lids. If they were, one could discern their sharpened state and guarded intellect. She slipped the knife from underneath her pillow and lifted herself from the bed.
Cristine slipped on her boots and prowled through her room, while her eyes adjusted to focus in the dark. She stood between the space of the door and window, listening. There were no voices, no footsteps.
With her back planted against the wall, Cristine rolled her wrist and in that moment the quiet had become like icy drips onto already cold skin. The night was never like this, like some isolated scenery.
Whoever it was, and Cristine had a fairly good idea who, clearly wanted to tamper with her state of mind. When stimulated with stress and fear, the human brain is only made better at learning and remembering these exact things. This type of stress triggered impulsive actions that could endanger her stay at the Ranch. Therefore, to restore one's piece of mind, her other voice of reason needed to tamper her wary mentality.
Cristine looked down at the outline of the long hunting knife in her hand. "They're trying to scare me into doing something stupid." And because her response to take a weapon was so swift and decisive she almost fell for it. Juvenile as it all was, these punk moves were meant to make her paranoid and snap when least expected.
Taunted to stay on her toes and alert every hour of the day, exerting herself to deal with poisonous animals that coincidentally were only near her cabin. It drained her mentally and physically one step at a time and Cristine pressed the but of the knife against her forehead out of frustration.
Cristine dropped her shoulders and noisily stomped back to her bed.
Outside the single cabin, thundering footsteps could be heard. Two people in military gear stood staunch at either side of the door and looked at each other with as much as a spark of interest and slight disappointment.
