Regeneration

Chapter 34 - Torn

"Ugh," I stumbled on an uplifted root for what seemed like the hundredth time as the person guided me.

I could tell that the others had been bagged too, by the sound of their imprecise footsteps beside me. I craned my neck up trying to catch a glimpse of something, anything, a silhouette maybe. Nothing was visible through the cloth but dwindled glimpses of moonlight.

The stranger tugged my arm, jerking me back a bit and I realized we had stopped; I heard the others stop too.

"We're back, open up the gates," The man from earlier spoke and the creaking sound of a gate followed.

I was tugged forward again as we walked further I could hear a sound that was almost alien to me now. People. Real people, no screaming, no terror in their voices, just quiet murmuring. The sound made the hairs on my ear pickle.

The voices became faint as I was guided up a flight of stairs and into a room, the door clicking shut behind us.

The hood was pulled off my head and I blinked several times, trying to adjust my eyes to the sudden brightness.

We were all standing in a wooden room, the man who scanned us was leaning against a desk in front of us with his arms folded as he looked us over.

"I'm sorry about all this but we like to take precautions," he spoke.

Romero nodded, "Where are our things?"

The man gave Romero a half-smile, "Some interesting things you've got in those bags."

Romero didn't respond.

"So what's your story?" his eyes ran over each of us.

"We were simply looking for a place to stay the night... Jones' Cabins," Romero answered.

The man eyed him, "That still doesn't tell me much about you or explains the things in your bag."

Marco exchanged a glace with Romero.

"Okay, listen," Marco spoke, "We worked for Spanish Intelligence, but as you can see with everything going on, no one works for anyone anymore, just like you amigo, we're trying to survive."

"We heard about a safe zone, here in Brighton, so we fled Spain and came here... but the zone was overrun by those things." I further explained.

"As for those files and other things we were investigating kidnappings back in our country and just choose not to dispose of them," Marco went on.

"And I'm to believe this?" The man's voice was solemn.

"It's the truth," Romero said simply, "We're not looking for any trouble, you can return our things and drop us off somewhere far; we'll find shelter elsewhere."

The man watched us with a calculative expression.

"There's no need for that," he paused, "You can stay here for the night, but we'll be keeping your weapons for now."

He turned to one of the men in the room, "Take them to Wood-thorn."

"Follow me," the young man said as he opened the door and descended the stairs.

I looked back at the man, he stood in the doorway seeing us off. The woman from the woods was on at his side.

"Do you trust these people Dad," I heard her say.

"No, but they can be an asset to us," He replied, his eyes never leaving us.

I turned away, surveying the sparsely forested area. Cabins were sporadically situated about the place with tall lush trees in between. As we walked along the dirt path, I was met with the stares of the dwellers; some passing us and others from their porches. It felt strange to see this many people in one place, it had been weeks since I'd seen anyone other than Romero really. It felt somewhat comforting to know that there were other survivors like us.