Chapter Text
There were many things that you considered ‘rules’ when it came to the apocalypse.
- Never start a fire at night. And if you absolutely had to, use a Dakota fire pit.
- Always carry two backpacks. On for the supplies you absolutely need. The other is for supplies you can live without.
- Never fire your gun if your silencer is broken. Ever.
The last rule was your own. For the most part, these rules kept you and your family alive. Well, now it was just you. Just you, on a lonesome farm on the old state line between New Jersey and New York. It wasn’t the cleanest home, but it didn’t matter, the only rooms you really needed were the kitchen, living room, and bathroom.
At the moment, you were looking for gas. Just plain regular gas to power your generator. At least until you could figure out how to connect the solar panels to the generator.
You pull on the reins (which was really just a thin rope you found) to your horse, and it gives out a soft huff. Feet stomping on the broken asphalt beneath it. You hop off the creature, patting it twice on its shoulder as you grab the empty gas canister. Untying the thin rope knot, you make your way toward the gas station.
Your horse follows, snorting loudly, which causes you to stop momentarily.
The only thing you hear is the harsh wind, along with distant shouting. Distant enough that you shouldn’t have to worry, but close enough that you know you can’t stick around.
Your pace quickens as you walk towards the gas station, the first thing you do is grab the pump, and you pull the handle. You scoff when nothing comes out. Wonderful.
You scoff, biting your lower lip. If you don’t use the shower for the next few months, then you could potentially finish building the solar panels. With a heavy sigh, you begin to walk back towards your horse, tying the gas canister back onto its belt, momentarily pausing at the low-pitched yell that emits from deeper in the city. You freeze yet again, a hand immediately darting towards the comb of your shotgun. But nothing happens, your horse gives a soft whine, bouncing in place while its tail swishes.
You narrow your gaze and swallow, climbing onto the horse and heading back the way you came. Your gloved hands tighten on the rope reigns as you contemplate your decision. Winter was soon, if you had checked your calendar correctly, then the winter solstice was only a few weeks away. You had already collected the firewood, and hunting had been fairly easy due to the traps you set. Along with collecting and making as much hay as you could during the fall and winter. The harvest had been largely successful as well, so really, the only thing you worried about was the generator. The thing was old, hence the reason why you wanted to get solar panels. But…you had no idea how to fix a generator, not entirely at least. Also hence the reason why you had so much firewood. And if you were being honest, you didn’t really know how to build a generator from scratch. You were just focused on repairing one that you found.
The horse continues to trot down the broken road, and you just bounce along.
A low growl is heard in the distance yet again, and for a moment you want to pull on the reins and let the horse run. But you’re certain that’d attract too much noise. Despite the fact that this horse was fast, being a mustang and all, the horse was loud when it ran. Powerful hooves clicking against broken asphalt was a recipe for disaster, you learned that the hard way. So you let the horse trot along, rolling the shotgun off your shoulder and into your lap. Your finger twitches on the trigger.
Your eyes begin to wander, even as your ears don’t. You sigh when you look down, biting your lower lip at the mostly destroyed sign. It lays flat on the ground, just as broken as the rest of Prince Bay. Most of the letters were faded, and you were sure most people just called it ‘P Bay’ at this point. But you were never quite-
You hear a cry, and your hands fly toward the shotgun. Heart pounding in your chest, eyes wide as you count inside your head. Forcing your breathing to steady, and your chest to stop heaving. But the cry isn’t from a Kraang. No. If a Kraang had spotted you, you would have been captured, controlled, or ceased.
Your horse continues to trot as your gaze is fixed on a nearby alleyway. For the most part, the alleyway isn’t dark, in fact, the sun illuminates it perfectly. It's then that you realize it isn’t really an alleyway, more like a thin road or a wide sidewalk. You can’t remember what they used to be called, but you hear the cry again. It's a more desperate, keening wail that echoes off the brick and stone walls of the long-abandoned city. The crying is loud. So loud that you’re certain it will attract Kraang. But you’ve grown up around enough children to know what it is.
It's a baby. A damn baby is here. Alone most likely from the sound of it, but even as you keep your eyes trained on the alleyway, and your finger on the trigger, eyebrows pulled down in concentration. You lightly kick the sides of your horse and it comes to a stop. Huffing and shaking its head. Its ear twitched.
You take a deep breath. You knew that there was a settlement east of here, in the same direction as home. You traded there fairly often. So maybe, just maybe, they’d be willing to take the babe in. You hadn’t visited the settlement in some time, given that you hadn’t had anything to trade but you did now.
So, you pull the reins on your horse and make your way down the alleyway. Shifting on the back of the horse as you emerge into the sunlight yet again.
You enter what seems like a parking lot. Maybe a parking lot to a small shopping district, or an apartment complex. The cars are rusted and overturned. The sidewalks are barely visible underneath all the rubble and greenery. The cry becomes louder, and you make your way toward the parking garage.
The cry goes silent, and you also stop. Because what if it isn’t a baby?
The only sound being heard is a few birds scattering in the distance. You watch them, crows that scamper off towards the blue and black sky. You shake your head and continue towards the parking garage, whilst shaking away the fear of it being a trap. You’ve heard stories of cannibals and ravagers taking recordings of prisoners or children crying for help. Just to lure in more prisoners or…food in this case.
The parking garage is…well…a parking garage. It isn’t in a better state than the rest of the bay. Vines that wrap around the cracked pillars, rusted cars, and…
Your eyes trail towards a lonely tent, which sits in the corner of the parking garage. There are no lights on, and for the most part, it seems largely abandoned. You look closer, then grimace upon seeing a hand. Mangled flesh and crusted crimson splattered on the concrete. Maggots stick from the nearly decayed appendage, writhing in their new habitat in delight. You swallow thickly and move on.
You hear the cry again, and this time it's closer. The cry is more like a loud whimper at this point. You hear the low growl in the distance again and stop.
Silence.
You move again.
Your horse ascends the ramp and you find yourself in a nearly empty parking garage floor. There are a few cars near what used to be an elevator and a flight of stairs. But that seems to be about it. The cry gets softer as you make the horse go forward. Hooves click against the concrete as you approach what seems to be (or used to be) a minivan. The windows are covered by a thin sheet, and part of it has been torn off. A bloody handprint is on the door handle.
The handprint looks fresh. Ruby liquid still dripping down the rusted metal. Which concerns you, even as you jump off your horse’s back and walk around the other side of the car. There’s a tense silence that fills the garage before you hear the cry emit from within the vehicle. It's then that you grab the door handle, grunting as you attempt to pull the door open. It doesn’t budge. You squeeze both of your hands onto the handle, planting your feet on the ground and tugging. Leaning with your body weight in the process. The door snaps open, and you stumble backward, nearly falling in the process.
You peek your head into the vehicle, and for a quick second, you think you have just fallen for a trap. But you’re wrong . You’re so damn wrong.
Just as you (thankfully) assumed earlier, wrapped in a thin gray blanket, is a baby. A 4-month-old baby with a mess of black hair and bright brown eyes. The babe is wearing nothing but a thick puffy, gray jacket. You sling the shotgun over your shoulder again and lean into the car. The baby instantly stops crying, eyes red and puffy as you bring it out into the sunlight.
It looks up at you, wide-eyed and drooling.
The baby giggles and smacks your chest. You snort and wipe the baby’s wet cheeks with your gloved finger.
It's then that you look around, you remember seeing the corpse on the level below you, but you could tell that it had been there a while. And if they had hidden the baby up here before they died, the child would have been long dead by now.
It's then that the baby starts to coo, pulling on your jacket and garbling nonsense.
You lift the baby to your face, by holding it under its arms. The baby seems fine, but it smells like garbage (which is to be expected. You didn’t smell the greatest either most of the time), and there’s a thin layer of dirt on its skin. But otherwise, it's uninjured.
You then tilt your head when the sunlight hits the baby’s face. A soft light appears from underneath the jacket, you move your hands toward the collar. The baby fidgeted and kicked its feet out. Your horse gives a soft whine, stamping its feet on the concrete. You pull on the chain and grimace at the dog tags.
‘CASSANDRA JONES’
That is what one tag says.
‘ANATAWA HITORI JANAI’
You have absolutely no idea what that means. Regardless, you look around yet again. Searching for any signs of life. Maybe a panicked mother, father, or older sibling running back toward the garage. Or a survivor coming out of hiding. But you find nothing, hear nothing. You grimace down at the kid and sigh. You softly close the car door and begin to approach your horse.
The horse stall walks as you climb onto its back. You raise an eyebrow at this, but pull on the reins, making the horse turn around-
You hear a click.
A soft clicking noise that you’d recognize from anywhere . You hear shuffling on the floor below you and quickly smack the reins. The horse rushes towards the elevator, and you pull the reins to the right. Hiding behind the crushed wall and pillars. You swallow thickly as you move the shotgun off your shoulder again, finger on the trigger and butt resting on your forearm. The baby grips your jacket tightly, and you’re certain it also knows what is coming because it's trembling silently.
You narrow your gaze as the clicking and groaning gets louder. A squelching noise fills your ears, along with the distinct smell of rot. The corpse from earlier stumbles its way up the ramp, hunched over. Its jaw is clearly broken, unhinged as a dark purple sludge fills in the cracks. You can see the various wounds that litter the corpse’s body, most of the sludge remains on the head, however. Your finger curls onto the trigger, eyes narrowing. Your head starts to pound, and your arms tingle.
The corpse’s head snaps towards your direction and shouts. An ear-pitching cry that is instantly cut off by the blast of your shotgun. The bullet goes straight through the skull, the corpse toppling over and hitting the ground beneath it. The corpse kicks and wriggles on the ground, decaying hands grasping at the wound.
You grab the reins, and the horse takes off. Bursting past the body and down the ramp, you hear the assimilated give out a mangled shout. Tearing through the garage as you make your way through the alleyway yet again. The horse huffs and the baby utterly screams. The low growl from the distance now becomes a high-pitched howl that bounces off the shattered windows and walls of Prince’s Bay.
Your horses' hooves pound on the pavement as you look back, seeing various forms of black and purple. They emerge from underneath cars, and inside shops. You’re not entirely sure why they’re emerging now, especially given that you walked past most of these things without an issue. You pump the shotgun, your head pounds again, and the first mass that appears within your vision is shot. A bullet screams through its center as it collapses onto the pavement.
You begin to reload, and the baby’s crying gets louder and louder. You ignore it and turn back to the Kraang. The Kraang writhing on the pavement and walls. But as far as you can tell, they’re too small to catch up now. They’re not connected to any vehicles or any people. You won’t have an issue getting away from them. So with that, you lower your shotgun, grab the reins yet again, and take off out of the city.
But the baby still cries. The crying is so loud it's so-
Loud. Your cousin’s crying is so damn loud from within the other closet. You knew fairly well that she was injured, based on the blood trail you could see leading into the small room. Her cries are loud, loud, and heavy as your older brother desperately tries to calm her down. You know that another one of your cousins is in the closet as well.
You’re largely uninjured, but you still sit in the corner. Listening. Watching. Knowing full well that they’re just in the other room–
–You shake your head, turning down to stare at yourself. Your heart is racing, breathing so rapidly you may pass out. The baby is still crying, and you almost find yourself stuck in the memory again. You look at your shotgun, counting the ridges on the forearm.
1 2 3 4. You thought. 1 2 3 4.
You look at the various carvings on the butt of the gun, counting 3 strawberries, two birds, and 1 badly carved dog. Your heart still pounds in your chest as you move along, all but ignoring the crying baby in favor of the road ahead. You can see the remains of Goethals Bridge over the dead trees and caved-in roofs. Your hand grips the reins tightly, and your fingers dig into the puffy coat of the child. You can feel the tears also begin to fall from your cheeks as you continue down the asphalt roads. Praying to every god you can think of that you can stave it off until you get home.