Page 6 of Ronan

Except, as nice as resistance sounds, their only accomplishment is adding more to the body count. For every lucky shot in the dark they manage, they’re hit back with grenades and bombs.

Wiped away like nothing more than a pest.

Three generations ago, when my grandparents were mere children, the veil fell one lazy summer afternoon. Nowarning, just chaos. Monsters spilled into our world, shaping the only reality I’ve ever known.

Stories whisper of a time when large, clean towns bustled with people who had everything they needed close at hand. They worked defined jobs and were paid in paper money, then came home to their families. They relaxed in air-conditioned houses and slept peacefully in comfortable beds without a knife tucked under their pillow. Food wasn’t grown, but purchased from giant stores, and no one was trained in combat unless it was for sport.

Fantastical dreams if I ever heard them. The ridiculous wishes of children that go to bed with their stomachs still rumbling. That sort of existence is nothing more than a young man’s fantasy—the prayers of those thrust into battle before they even know how to wield a sword.

Absurdity.

It’s a different world now, and I don’t dwell on the imagined possibilities of a make-believe life I never lived.

In the wake of the world’s destruction, a third faction quietly separated themselves from the chaos. Tiny communities of humans tucked into the isolated corners of the world, where they could find refuge from the monstrous urban centers. Outside their borders and away from their tyranny, villages developed and thrived.

My entire world had been the cluster of houses I’d grown up in with my mom, hidden in a sanctuary in the middle of the forest. We survived off the land, away from the rules of this jacked up society.

It was a peaceful existence until it fell apart just after my twentieth birthday, and now my allegiance doesn’tbelong to any city or camp. I’m neither a supporter nor a rebel.

I am a wanderer.

An outlier.

“Hello?” Far too close, a man’s voice rings through the silence and startles me back into the present. My arms wrap around Boomerang and pull her nearer as I crouch closer to the ground, using the bushes as a shield. “Is someone there?”

Six years of being on my own have honed my skill to move without a sound, and thankfully, Boomerang is quiet and still beside me as I hold my breath and wait. The dark of night offers us cover, but it hinders my ability to track the man.

Deprived of my sight, I force my other senses to take over, and eventually, he takes a few steps. Grass crunches under his feet as he moves just beyond the trees. Rain has been scarce this season, which has made roughing it… well, rough. But right now, the crispy blades underneath his shoes are a blessing, allowing me to follow his movements.

“You don’t have to be afraid of me… I won’t hurt you,” he calls, and I almost laugh at the notion.

It’s a lie of the highest order.

Everyone hurts everyone in this world.

After a few more moments of tense quiet, his footsteps recede, leaving behind a welcome silence before he speaks once more. “If you need shelter or supplies, come to the gates and ask for August. I know it’s hard to trust anyone, but I’ve been where you are. These aren’t bad people; they’re just surviving like everyone else.”

Eventually, his patience reaches its limit, and he walks away, leaving Boomerang and me alone in the quiet grove. More than an hour passes as we wait, the only sound the sighing of the breeze through the leaves. “Change of plans, girl,” I whisper, and she tilts her head at me in question.

I was just passing through with no actual destination in mind when I discovered the community on the horizon. My intention had been to camp in these trees for a few days and observe, see if there might be a trade opportunity before going on my way.

But now that they’re alerted to my presence?

It’s time to move on.

The rebel camp becomes smaller in the distance as we weave through another patch of trees, dragging a branch to erase the footprints left in the dry, dusty soil. Sunrise is only a few hours away, and I’d prefer to get more distance between myself and civilization. A dense forest lies ahead, and if we hurry, we should be able to make it to cover long before the first lights of day peek out from beyond the horizon.

We rest for a few minutes, and I take a swig of water before pouring some in the small bowl I carry for Boomerang. She laps it up before pawing at my leg in thanks, and I grin down at her. “Ready, girl?” I whisper, and she studies me like she does whenever I speak. Being alone out here means I rarely bother, so my voice often comes out hoarse and broken from thelack of use.

After a few more minutes of rest, we set a brisk pace through the open stretch of land. The better part of the past twenty-four hours has been spent on the move, and I ignore my legs as my muscles scream at me to stop punishing them.

Safety first, rest second. My survival hinges on this rule, and it has kept me safe all these years.

The forest’s edge gets closer, and I can already imagine curling up on some moss, covered by the camouflage blanket that’s been my savior in the wild. Preoccupied with daydreams of sleep, I take longer than I should to register the hum of an engine as it whirs closer. Headlights rake across me and Boomerang, making a giant, exaggerated shadow of our silhouettes dance over the tree trunks ahead.

Two vehicles are gaining on us by the second, and I only spare a moment’s glance over my shoulder as panic plunges adrenaline through my veins. “Fuck, run!” I scream, racing towards the woods. Dust and rocks scatter in a cloud around us as my feet pound into the desolate soil, and I command every ounce of energy in my body to move faster.

Deep inside, I know it’s in vain.

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