Liberation (Remnants of Men)

Chapter 17: Rules of Engagement

   After a fruitless long stare at Troy, Runner retreated behind the cover the window provided. He was out of ideas for a rescue. In every way he calculated an assault, it all ended in their demise. The men out there were just too many for him to take on.

Perhaps, it was time to sever all ties. It was true that four hands are better than two, but there was another truth he knew. In the wastelands, four hands can just as easily be dead weight.

Angie tugged at Runner's shirt.

“What is it?” he whispered.

“Look,” she pointed outside the room.

Runner moved with his back upon the walls, making sure no one saw him. He reached the door frame and took a peek. Outside, he saw what Angie was pointing at. It was a black Rat bike, parked behind the hunting trucks, looking dashing in its rugged state.

“Bless you, Angie,” Runner muttered.

He took a step along the wall and stopped again. There were men standing in front of the trucks, carrying hunting rifles like babies on their arms. The way they placed their guns at an unready position, it seemed like the armaments were the most precious things the men possessed. He could easily attack them in their inattentive state, but there was a problem.

Runner wasn't particlarliy the best archer in Rat town.

 He sucked at the only weapon available to him. Other ranged weapons like, throwing darts, knives, and makeshift axe-his favourite- he could perform magic with. Slowly, he unslung his bow and struggled to nock an arrow on the string.

His hands were trembling. Angie crawled quickly to him and put her hands over his to calm him. She shook her head slowly in a no and Runner retracted the bow.

He took a deep breath, “thank God, I would have fucked this up. I need to find another way.”

Runner stared at Angie, waiting for her to say something. “You don’t talk much, do you?”

She did not answer.

“And here I thought we were bonding,” he smiled.

With the continuous brisk footsteps in the building, he was sure it was only a matter of time before the men found them. What he needed was to find what brought them there before they do. Thus, Runner went down hands and knees, crawling back to find the dying Sister Cooper.

He found her still resting on the wall.

“Sister Cooper,” he whispered.

There was no answer.

Runner crawled to reach her. He tried to touch her, but then he froze. The purplish patch that formed on the flesh of her thigh had grown all over her skin and to her face. An eerie sensation vibrated down his body, causing goose bumps to form on his skin as his gaze lingered on her face.

Half the flesh on the woman’s face looked like it was eaten down to the skull by acid and whatever it was still ate its way to the other part. Runner backed away from her slowly, he didn’t see her husband's corpse that was still on the floor and stepped on it. He lost his footing and slammed upon the corpse.

The bow snapped from the force.

Runner rolled over and stood on his knees, “no…no…no,” he tried to gather the broken pieces.

Something caught his gaze. It was a white paper, rolled to the size of a finger and fitted into the hollow body of the bow. Runner opened it and gazed at the words written on it.