‹ Prequel: Of Smoky Burgundy
Scorched Earth
everything you touch burns.
Slinging his gun across his shoulders, Garrett began the trek back to the base. He acknowledged the people he passed with a brisk nod, not bothering to make eye-contact. Keeping to yourself was easy among the others. He could faintly hear shots being fired in the distance but otherwise the area that surrounded the makeshift base was silent, save for his footsteps. The forest gave way to the campsite swarming with people carrying weapons and food. The center of the base was a giant white tent with a red cross branded on its side. The hospital stood proudly over the small tents, looming grandly over the rest of the base.
Garrett ducked into the medical shelter, holding open the tent flap for an outbound patient. He cringed as his nose was assaulted with the scent of medicine and blood. Despite working as one of the guards for the camp, dealing with blood had never been one of his strong suits. Glancing around the center, he took in the image of bruises and cuts of every shape and size. There were too many patients for the limited number of physicians in the hospital. Occasionally, a doctor would wander through, but that was rare. The infection had spread throughout the hospitals first, preying on the weak and attacking the strong. The zombies had left everything in short supply: doctors, nurses, bandages, and medications. It was bitterly ironic that the Infected sprung from the very thing they annihilated first.
No one had the chance to figure out what had caused the primary outbreak before it was too late. Doctors and patients alike were either attacked and turned, or killed immediately. Since the primary target for the zombies were the brains of their victims, some people claimed the Infected were more intelligent than people gave them credit for--that the virus implanted itself within the brain. But Garrett knew better--they were just shells. They weren't people anymore. The Infected had animalistic instincts, not unlike those of the forest dwellers. Killing and destroying them was the only option.
His eyes swept the room, his gaze hardening. The smell of blood and antiseptics was putrid, but no uncommon. People littered every available corner, with doctors filtering between them slowly as they tended to their ailments.
“I should start charging.”
Lucy, a nurse in her late forties, stood with her hands on her hips and a frown on her face, blocking Garrett from walking any further. She pulled him off to the side, quietly scolding him.
“Don’t I at least get a frequent visitors discount?”
Lucy shook her head, sighing as she cut strips of cloth to bind the wounds he foolishly acquired during his patrol.
“How do you manage to do this to yourself every single time you go out to patrol?”
Garrett shrugged, grimacing as Lucy bandaged his arm tightly. “I’m just lucky, I guess.
“This way, I have an excuse to come and visit you.” He flashed a disarming smile in her direction and he smirked as the older woman’s cheeks turned a shade darker.
“You’re quite the charmer, aren’t you?”
“Only for you, Lucy. Only for you.” Sending her a wink, Garrett let his eyes wander. He recognized a few of the people being tended, but a lot of them were foreign faces.
She was in the east corner of the tent when he first saw her. She reminded him of all the others--except she was smiling. There was a young boy tucked into her side--nestled in between her arm and her body, her wrist curled protectively around his frail form. She was talking enthusiastically, and her grin only broadened. It was rare among the camps to see someone smile openly. Everything was so full of tension and loss that it seemed like smiling was lost in the wayside. They locked eyes from across the room and that was it. One simple glance and she became just another face in a crowd of the desperate.
“Hey Lucy, who’s that?”
“Who is who, dear?”
He nodded in the girl’s direction, attempting to be discreet. “Her.”
“I’m not sure. She mighta been part of the batch that came in today from up North.”
The nurse tugged the bandages on his arm and he winced. Patrolling was dirty and painful, but to him, it was better than sitting around the base all day just wondering. Wondering when there was going to be an attack, and if they were even ready. He couldn't sit still and just wait. Garrett and Kennedy always talked about setting off into the middle of the forest towards one of the rumored safe zones. They were a myth around the base, but they were determined to prove it true. He could barely believe in it--an area completely free from attack or infection. Some place where he could live normally again, even if he didn't even know how to do that anymore.
Lucy tapped his shoulder, signaling his release from her attention. He got up, fixing his shirt back over his shoulder, cautious to avoid pulling his bandages.
“Garrett.”
He turned, holding his arm. “Yeah?”
“Just be careful. Or try, at least.”
He smiled back at the woman, nodding lightly. Grabbing the gun he'd placed on the floor, Garrett slung it over his shoulder and headed for the bunks. There were too many bunks in one tent but he didn't have any say in the arrangements. Too many had been lost that the elders felt they were safer in larger numbers. Grabbing his shower gear, Garrett headed to the community showers to wash off. He'd killed too many that day. He shook his head, sending droplets down his polished abs. He let the water run all over his face, soaking in the memories of that afternoon. He worried that they were growing in number; too many for the base's small army of volunteers to take care of on their patrols.The zombies were getting too close to the camp.
Stepping from the shower, Garrett quickly dried off and threw on a random set of clothes. Personal cleanliness was rare since the infection had spread. Showers happened only when one was in range of the base, and even then, there was never a guaranteed chance you'd get hot water. He padded over to the base, lying down on his cot. He pulled the ratty notebook out from underneath his bed and started writing. He'd promised himself he'd keep a journal, in case he ever escaped from this nightmare. He never wanted to forget. He doubted he could, but writing it down helped him keep sane.
Garrett tilted his head towards the tent flaps as he heard the nightly sirens go off, warning the base to keep away from the barriers that surrounded the encampment. He lowered his head onto his pillow, burying his face in the scratchy material. He sighed deeply, his hands clenching into fists at his side.
Garrett ducked into the medical shelter, holding open the tent flap for an outbound patient. He cringed as his nose was assaulted with the scent of medicine and blood. Despite working as one of the guards for the camp, dealing with blood had never been one of his strong suits. Glancing around the center, he took in the image of bruises and cuts of every shape and size. There were too many patients for the limited number of physicians in the hospital. Occasionally, a doctor would wander through, but that was rare. The infection had spread throughout the hospitals first, preying on the weak and attacking the strong. The zombies had left everything in short supply: doctors, nurses, bandages, and medications. It was bitterly ironic that the Infected sprung from the very thing they annihilated first.
No one had the chance to figure out what had caused the primary outbreak before it was too late. Doctors and patients alike were either attacked and turned, or killed immediately. Since the primary target for the zombies were the brains of their victims, some people claimed the Infected were more intelligent than people gave them credit for--that the virus implanted itself within the brain. But Garrett knew better--they were just shells. They weren't people anymore. The Infected had animalistic instincts, not unlike those of the forest dwellers. Killing and destroying them was the only option.
His eyes swept the room, his gaze hardening. The smell of blood and antiseptics was putrid, but no uncommon. People littered every available corner, with doctors filtering between them slowly as they tended to their ailments.
“I should start charging.”
Lucy, a nurse in her late forties, stood with her hands on her hips and a frown on her face, blocking Garrett from walking any further. She pulled him off to the side, quietly scolding him.
“Don’t I at least get a frequent visitors discount?”
Lucy shook her head, sighing as she cut strips of cloth to bind the wounds he foolishly acquired during his patrol.
“How do you manage to do this to yourself every single time you go out to patrol?”
Garrett shrugged, grimacing as Lucy bandaged his arm tightly. “I’m just lucky, I guess.
“This way, I have an excuse to come and visit you.” He flashed a disarming smile in her direction and he smirked as the older woman’s cheeks turned a shade darker.
“You’re quite the charmer, aren’t you?”
“Only for you, Lucy. Only for you.” Sending her a wink, Garrett let his eyes wander. He recognized a few of the people being tended, but a lot of them were foreign faces.
She was in the east corner of the tent when he first saw her. She reminded him of all the others--except she was smiling. There was a young boy tucked into her side--nestled in between her arm and her body, her wrist curled protectively around his frail form. She was talking enthusiastically, and her grin only broadened. It was rare among the camps to see someone smile openly. Everything was so full of tension and loss that it seemed like smiling was lost in the wayside. They locked eyes from across the room and that was it. One simple glance and she became just another face in a crowd of the desperate.
“Hey Lucy, who’s that?”
“Who is who, dear?”
He nodded in the girl’s direction, attempting to be discreet. “Her.”
“I’m not sure. She mighta been part of the batch that came in today from up North.”
The nurse tugged the bandages on his arm and he winced. Patrolling was dirty and painful, but to him, it was better than sitting around the base all day just wondering. Wondering when there was going to be an attack, and if they were even ready. He couldn't sit still and just wait. Garrett and Kennedy always talked about setting off into the middle of the forest towards one of the rumored safe zones. They were a myth around the base, but they were determined to prove it true. He could barely believe in it--an area completely free from attack or infection. Some place where he could live normally again, even if he didn't even know how to do that anymore.
Lucy tapped his shoulder, signaling his release from her attention. He got up, fixing his shirt back over his shoulder, cautious to avoid pulling his bandages.
“Garrett.”
He turned, holding his arm. “Yeah?”
“Just be careful. Or try, at least.”
He smiled back at the woman, nodding lightly. Grabbing the gun he'd placed on the floor, Garrett slung it over his shoulder and headed for the bunks. There were too many bunks in one tent but he didn't have any say in the arrangements. Too many had been lost that the elders felt they were safer in larger numbers. Grabbing his shower gear, Garrett headed to the community showers to wash off. He'd killed too many that day. He shook his head, sending droplets down his polished abs. He let the water run all over his face, soaking in the memories of that afternoon. He worried that they were growing in number; too many for the base's small army of volunteers to take care of on their patrols.The zombies were getting too close to the camp.
Stepping from the shower, Garrett quickly dried off and threw on a random set of clothes. Personal cleanliness was rare since the infection had spread. Showers happened only when one was in range of the base, and even then, there was never a guaranteed chance you'd get hot water. He padded over to the base, lying down on his cot. He pulled the ratty notebook out from underneath his bed and started writing. He'd promised himself he'd keep a journal, in case he ever escaped from this nightmare. He never wanted to forget. He doubted he could, but writing it down helped him keep sane.
Garrett tilted his head towards the tent flaps as he heard the nightly sirens go off, warning the base to keep away from the barriers that surrounded the encampment. He lowered his head onto his pillow, burying his face in the scratchy material. He sighed deeply, his hands clenching into fists at his side.
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