The Nation Collection One: The Nation, #9

By Dell Sweet

The jeep bumped over a pile of rubble, jarring them violently. Marco hissed in pain. Bear pulled over, cutting the engine. The sudden silence was deafening, broken only by the distant cries of the infected. They needed to check on Sarah.

Carefully, Bear and Beth examined Sarah's injuries. Her pulse was weak, but she was still alive. A deep gash on her leg pulsed ominously. Infection was a constant threat, a creeping shadow lurking behind every injury. They cleaned the wound as best they could with some leftover antiseptic wipes and wrapped it tightly with whatever clean material they could scavenge from their supplies. The situation was precarious, every injury a roll of the dice against the inevitable.

As they tended to Sarah, a low growl echoed from a nearby alleyway. The growl was different. It was intelligent, tactical, not the mindless roar of a typical infected. It was a deliberate sound, planned. Bear grabbed his axe. Beth raised her rifle. Marco struggled to reach for his shotgun, despite his injured arm. The air crackled with tension, the unspoken fear hanging heavy between them.

The alley was dark and narrow, its entrance choked with twisted metal and broken concrete. Bear crept forward, Beth and Marco close behind. The smell of decay was stronger here, almost suffocating, mingling with the metallic tang of blood. They moved slowly, cautiously, each step measured and deliberate. They were in the heart of the infected's territory now, and the sense of vulnerability was palpable.

As they rounded a corner, they saw it: a group of infected unlike any they had ever encountered before. These were organized, almost disciplined. They weren't simply shambling corpses; they were strategists, hunters. They moved with an eerie coordination, their attacks calculated and precise. They were using the environment to their advantage, using the shadows and the rubble to ambush their prey. There were at least a dozen of them, surrounding a makeshift barricade made of broken furniture and scraps of metal. Their collective growl was like the guttural rumble of an approaching storm.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Writerz
• Release date: Sep 11, 2016
• ISBN: 9781370445226

Dell Sweet

Dell Sweet was born in New York. He wrote his first fiction at age seventeen. He drove taxi and worked as a carpenter for most of his life. He was honorably discharged from the U.S. Navy in 1975. He has written more than twenty books and several dozen short stories.

Book preview

The Nation Collection One

By Dell Sweet

All rights foreign and domestic reserved in their entirety.

Cover Art © Copyright 2024 Dell Sweet

Some text copyright 1984, 2000, 2004, 2005, 2024 Dell Sweet

LEGAL

This is a work of fiction. Any names, characters, places or incidents depicted are products of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual living person’s places, situations or events is purely coincidental.

This novel is Copyright © 2024 Dell Sweet. No part of this book may be reproduced by any means, electronic, print, scanner or any other means and, or distributed without the author's permission.

Permission is granted to use short sections of text in reviews or critiques in standard or electronic print.

The Nation 01

By Dell Sweet

All rights foreign and domestic reserved in their entirety.

Cover Art © Copyright 2014 Dell Sweet

Some text copyright 1984, 2000, 2004, 2005, 2014 Dell Sweet

LEGAL

This is a work of fiction. Any names, characters, places or incidents depicted are products of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual living person’s places, situations or events is purely coincidental.

This novel is Copyright © 2004 Dell Sweet. No part of this book may be reproduced by any means, electronic, print, scanner or any other means and, or distributed without the author's permission.

Permission is granted to use short sections of text in reviews or critiques in standard or electronic print.

Prologue

Bear

He was up the ladder faster than he would have thought possible. Billy, Mac and Dell were up next, but the firing was over. It had not come from Beth, except at the very end. There were half dozen dead laying in the roadway a hundred yards from the bus. Directly below, as Bear walked to the edge and looked down, two frightened young kids stared up at him. Teens, maybe, he told himself, not much past that, and they were both carrying machine pistols, yet they had somehow allowed the dead to get as close to them as they had - a girl and a boy. The girl had a gash on one side of her face and looked pretty bad off. He glanced back up at the dead in the road, and then let his eyes fall on the other houses on both sides of the road. Nothing and nothing. He looked to Beth

Three?

Dead got her... Dragged her off in back of the houses... She was dead already I think... Bitten... she lowered her voice. Same with these two.

He looked back down at the two.

How did you get injured? he asked the girl.

Beth stepped up beside him. Dead girl had her pinned to the ground. She wasn't hurt before that. Had the boy too.

That's a fuckin' lie! A fuckin' lie! The boy screamed. They never touched us... never. We got away, he added in a near normal voice. He turned and looked back down the road at the dead, and when he did, Bear saw the blood leaking from his hairline. He looked back at the girl and her eyes were locked on his, staring up at him.

Girl? Bear asked.

She frowned and then nodded. I don't know. I think I cut it on the road... He did, she turned and pointed at the boy. They slammed his head into the road, She tilted her head as she looked up at Bear and then Beth. It might have been. It was this close, she held her index finger and thumb barely apart. Could have been. She cleared her throat.

We've been here, we didn't just get here. They're dumb... They can't even get out of their own way. But we found some this morning that weren’t dumb... somehow, she seemed confused. Set them on fire. Some got away, she shook her head, staggered, and then her eyes cleared. She continued, Hell, maybe all of them got away. The thing is, they weren't stupid. Not like the ones we've been dealing with, she shrugged. Her eyes fluttered as she spoke, and she staggered again.

Sick, Beth whispered.

The boy looked up. I'm telling you, they never got her at all. Never did. His own eyes were glazed, no doubt due to the head injury hiding under the hair that was slowly darkening and becoming plastered to his head. The blood was bright red now, flowing down his neck. He held the girl for a second, but it seemed all he could take, and they both sagged to the ground.

Goddammit, Bear muttered. I guess that explains the fire though.

Down the road, three dead staggered into the street from a house where they had seen several others come from. Before Bear could speak, Mac and Billy dropped all four with just a short burst from their weapons. Getting a lot better, Bear said. A lot. They said nothing. He looked back down at the girl and boy and then walked away and looked over at Beth.

I am not for it. I think she's sick... Maybe not the boy, but what the fuck can we do? Beth asked.

Bear nodded. When he spoke, his voice was a deep whisper. Nothing. He's not going to leave her. He leaned forward and looked down at her where she lay curled in the boy's arms. He was out. Maybe not coming back. The blood was still pumping from his head and flowing down his neck.

Bear squatted and peered down at the girl and the boy for a few moments before he spoke again. What do you think of her hand?

Beth squatted beside him and looked down at the girl. She stood and shook her head. I can't tell. It looks like she's turning. Turns black, you know, but just under the skin... like... like a spiderweb flowing out under their skin. Bad description, I know, she finished.

Not really. Pretty close to what I have seen. Looks like the capillaries just under the skin turn black. Takes no time at all... spreads to the rest of the body. Can take the finger, hand, foot... if you're fast enough. Stop it right there. I've seen it done.

Beth met his eyes. Her voice was low. Can't take her head off. She's got the other cut on her face and that seems to be turning black too... around the edges. Can't tell for sure yet.

No. Looks it to me too. Bear sighed. He rubbed at his eyes and then turned to Billy. How long do you guys need to finish your project?

Rest of today. Tomorrow to test it and make sure it's okay.

Yeah? All that work and that's it? Beth asked.

Not as complicated as it looks. It's swapping out the body, really. Everything is in the wiring harness, just run it into the van cab... wire up a switch. The big deal is mounting the body. I have a welder, I have a generator, but I'm not so hot with welding.

Really? Well, like I said, I am. Show me what you got, what you need, and as long as you can juice up that welder, I'll get it done for you, Bear said.

Billy laughed. Man. That's good. I was worried about it, but... He broke off as Bear turned away and looked back over the edge of the bus. I'll wait for you... get the generator fired up. I have to cut some plate steel and make what I need you to weld. We'll be waiting.

Bear turned back and nodded. Be there in a bit.

Billy's eyes slid up to Mac, and a second later they both turned and made their way down the ladder.

Dell... we got this, Dell. Bear turned and looked at Dell. Dell nodded, relief clearly written on his face, turned and made his way carefully down the ladder.

Bear reached into his pocket, pulled his pouch out and rolled a cigarette.

Roll me one, Beth said.

Yeah? This is rough stuff.

Yeah. Roll me one, Beth repeated.

Bear rolled a second cigarette, handed it to Beth and then struck a match. Beth leaned in and pulled a deep breath as Bear held the match to her cigarette. He lit his own, looked over the edge, and then tossed the match after he shook it out. His eyes looked down the street where the three dead had now become four, bumping around parked cars. One had walked into the side of a house. It kept backing up and then walking straight forward again, slamming into the side of the house over and over again.

One had found the middle of the street and was drunkenly staggering its way toward them. Bear flicked his machine pistol to single shot, raised it, sighted and squeezed the trigger. Half the zombie's head instantly disappeared from its shoulders. The other half seemed to hold together for a moment and then toppled to the left. The zombie dropped in to the street in a heap. Beth coughed beside him. He turned.

Jesus, Bear. Rough is not the word.

Bear nodded and then looked down at the two teens. The girls face was beginning to darken, her hand was a mass of small spidery black lines. The boys head wound was slowing, but there was a fine mass of black lines running across one cheek. Guess that answers that, Bear said quietly.

Beth took a deep pull off the cigarette and rubbed at her temples with her free hand. Is this the way it's going to be, do you think?

Bear's cigarette dangled from his lower lip, seeming plastered there. No... He raised his eyes. We're gonna find that place and settle down there. No more of this shit.

Beth flicked her cigarette off the edge of the roof. Bullshit. I don't see it. I don't believe it exists, and if it does, I don't think you can settle down.

Bear took a deep pull from his own cigarette and then flicked it off the roof too. He said nothing, but leaned forward and looked off the edge of the roof. He looked back up and held her eyes for a moment. Beth stepped forward too, shrugged her machine pistol from her shoulder and into her hands. She raised her eyes to Bear. He nodded, thumbed his pistol to full auto, and sprayed the two where they lay up against the bus below. Beth's pistol hammered away too. They were brief bursts, but they did the job. They both backed away a moment later.

Okay? Bear asked.

Beth nodded.

Bear slipped his pistol back into the sheath on his back, walked to the other side of the bus, snagged the ladder and dragged it upward. A moment later he was lowering it on the other side.

Got you, Beth said tightly.

Bear climbed down the ladder. A few moments later he was pulling the bodies away from the side of the bus, dragging them over behind the nearest house and rolling them down into the ravine that the rains had cut into the hillside there. In less than a minute, he was climbing back up the ladder and then pulling it up behind him.

Beth watched the street. There were two more dead that were getting closer. The one was still slamming repeatedly into the side of the house down the street.

Okay? Bear asked quietly.

She turned to him. Yeah. It is what it is. She thought for a second, but didn't know what else she could say.

Bear nodded. I'll send Dell back. He waited for a second.

Got a pint... Got a couple actually... Beth said.

You offering to buy me a drink? Bear asked.

She held his eyes. I think I'm offering more than that. I don't want to cause problems...

Bear nodded, I'll send Dell. We'll take a little walk. We can talk this out, I think.

Yeah? She moved closer to him. Bear started to lean toward her and the ladder rattled. Beth stepped back, smoothed her shirt unconsciously and looked toward the ladder.

Iris's head rose above the ladder level. Something's wrong with Winston, she said.

Bear looked a question at her.

I don't know... sick... Cammy said he has pain in his arm. Iris looked from Beth to Bear and then back and forth again. You had to kill them kids?

Bear sighed. Mac told you?

Well, yeah.

Yeah... Had to... Okay, I'm coming, he turned back to Beth, an apology in his eyes. Her own eyes said she understood. I'll send Dell. She nodded. Bear turned and followed Iris down the ladder.

I can't believe it, Iris muttered as they walked toward the garage.

What? Bear said, Winston?

Please... You two are fucking! She lowered her voice to a hissed whisper.

Bear was taken aback. What the hell are you talking about? He stopped and closed one hand on her shoulder, turning her back to face him.

She squinted her eyes. Are you serious? It's obvious.

It's obvious that you see something that isn't happening, Bear said.

Right... Right... I won't tell. But it's fucked up. You shouldn't be with Cammy if it's Beth you want."

I'm telling you nothing's going on, Bear said.

She glanced down at his hand, shrugged it from her shoulder. No? You will be. It's not fair to Cammy is what I'm saying. She turned and walked off to the garage, leaving Bear standing for a second before he got his feet moving and followed her.

Chapter 1: The Burning Fields

The acrid smell of burning wood and flesh hung heavy in the air, a cloying perfume of death that clung to the back of Bear’s throat. Before them lay what was left of Oakhaven – or what had been Oakhaven. Now, it was a skeletal landscape of blackened timbers and twisted metal, a testament to a fire’s savage efficiency. The once-familiar shapes of homes were reduced to charred husks, their interiors gaping maws of ash and shadow. The silence was broken only by the occasional crackle of embers and the rasping sigh of the wind weaving through the ruins.

Beth, her face pale beneath the grime, stumbled back, her hand flying to her mouth to stifle a gasp. Finn, ever vigilant, his rifle held ready, scanned the horizon, his eyes narrowed, a grim hunter assessing his prey. Maya, typically stoic, showed a flicker of something akin to horror in her usually impassive gaze. This wasn’t the work of a random fire; this was deliberate, calculated destruction.

The evidence was chillingly clear. The fire hadn't simply consumed the village; it had been meticulously orchestrated. Buildings were torched in a pattern, not the haphazard spread of a wildfire. There were signs of methodical destruction – overturned furniture, scattered belongings, as if the inhabitants had been forced to flee in haste, leaving behind a life snatched away in an instant. The air, thick with smoke, carried a subtle, almost metallic tang, a scent Bear recognized – the lingering odor of burning flesh.

This was no accident.

Bear felt a knot tighten in his gut. This was different. The usual shambling hordes of infected, driven by instinct alone, wouldn't have exhibited this level of calculated brutality, this chilling precision. This was something… else.

Firebringers, Maya muttered, her voice barely audible above the crackling embers. The name, whispered before in hushed tones, now hung in the air like a tangible threat. Rumors had circulated for months about a new variant of the infected – faster, stronger, and, most terrifying of all, intelligent. They weren't just driven by primal hunger; they possessed a twisted, macabre intelligence that enabled them to utilize fire as a weapon. It was a chilling thought, a grim evolution in the ongoing war for survival.

Bear ran a hand over his stubbled chin, his mind racing. This wasn't just about finding food or shelter; this was about understanding a new enemy, an enemy that wielded fire like a horrifying tool of war. He scanned the devastated village, his experienced eyes picking out details others might miss. A partially burned piece of parchment lay near a collapsed wall; the remnants of a crude map, perhaps, detailing the village's layout before its fiery demise. The meticulous nature of the destruction suggested strategic planning, a horrifying display of calculated savagery.

He gestured towards Finn and Maya. Stay alert, he commanded, his voice low and gravelly. This wasn't a random fire. Someone, or something, planned this.

Their search of the remaining structures uncovered more disturbing evidence. Charred bones lay scattered amongst the debris, their skeletal forms twisted in grotesque positions. Some were human, some were not – the remains of infected consumed in the same fire, a disturbing indication of a possible internal conflict within the Firebringer ranks. The unsettling reality sank in – this new enemy was not only capable of using fire, but also capable of controlling it with frightening precision. They had burnt both the living and the infected, suggesting a level of organization and intent far beyond the capabilities of the typical, shambling undead.

As they moved deeper into the ruins, a faint whimper reached Bear’s ears. He followed the sound, pushing aside debris and clambering over charred timbers. He found them in a collapsed section of what looked like a dwelling – two teenagers, huddled together amongst the wreckage.

A boy, no older than fifteen, lay sprawled on the ground, his leg twisted at an unnatural angle. His face was pale and streaked with grime and blood, but his eyes, though vacant, held a flicker of life. Beside him was a girl, perhaps a year or two older, her arm mangled, her breathing shallow and ragged. Both showed the early signs of infection: pale skin, feverish touch, a disconcerting lack of alertness.

The boy coughed, a rattling sound that tore through the silence. His lips moved, but no words formed. The girl's eyes flickered open and, for a moment, a spark of recognition seemed to register before fading.

A wave of conflicting emotions crashed over Bear. Fear, of course, the ever-present companion of their harsh existence. But also pity, and a twinge of something akin to empathy, a feeling he had almost forgotten in the brutal years since the fall. Taking them in would be a massive risk, a tremendous burden on already strained resources. It would slow them down, making them easy targets, potentially exposing the entire team to infection. Yet, leaving them to die felt… wrong. It felt like a betrayal of something fundamental, a flickering ember of humanity in the desolate wasteland.

Beth, ever the compassionate one, was already kneeling beside the children, gently assessing their injuries. Her hands moved with practiced gentleness, a strange contrast to the harsh reality surrounding them. They're alive, Bear, she said softly, her voice tinged with both concern and determination. We can help them.

Finn and Maya exchanged uneasy glances. Their usual stoicism was replaced by palpable unease. They knew the risks, the challenges, the potential consequences of taking on this additional burden. More mouths to feed, more bodies to protect, an increased vulnerability to attack. This was a gamble, and the stakes were life and death. The unspoken question hung heavy in the air: was it worth it? Bear's decision hung suspended between the hardened pragmatism forged in years of relentless struggle and a nascent compassion that threatened to breach the walls of his cynicism. The burning fields of Oakhaven had revealed a new enemy, but they'd also revealed a moral dilemma far more challenging than any horde of the infected. The fate of two teenagers, and the integrity of his own team, hung in the balance. The weight of their survival, and perhaps the faintest spark of hope in their ravaged world, rested on his shoulders.

The boy, no older than fifteen, lay sprawled on the ground, his leg twisted at an unnatural angle, the bone protruding through a ragged tear in his jeans. His face, pale and streaked with grime and blood, was contorted in a silent grimace. His eyes, though vacant, held a flicker of life, a stubborn refusal to surrender to the encroaching darkness. A ragged cough tore from his chest, a rattling sound that echoed the devastation around them. His lips moved, forming wordless sounds, a desperate plea lost in the ashes.

Beside him, the girl, perhaps a year or two older, lay huddled, her arm mangled, twisted at an impossible angle. Her breathing was shallow and ragged, a gasping struggle for air that mirrored the fight for survival raging within her. Her skin, like the boy's, was pale and clammy, a chilling testament to the infection's insidious advance. A fevered flush stained her cheeks, contrasting sharply with the pallor of her lips. Her eyes flickered open, meeting Bear's gaze for a fleeting moment before drifting back into a hazy unconsciousness. A spark of recognition, a brief flicker of awareness, had danced in their depths before fading, leaving behind only the chilling emptiness of encroaching death.

Bear knelt, the rough ground pressing against his knees, a familiar discomfort that faded into insignificance beside the weight of the decision pressing down upon him. He examined the boy, his experienced hands moving with a practiced gentleness born from years of tending to injuries under far less favorable circumstances. The boy's pulse was weak, thready, but stubbornly persistent. The infection, he could feel it, was already taking hold, a subtle chill in his touch, a telltale sign of its relentless advance. The girl showed similar signs, the early stages of the infection already visible in her feverish touch, her labored breathing.

Beth, her face etched with a mixture of concern and determination, was already tending to their wounds. Her hands, usually calloused and hardened by the harsh realities of their existence, moved with surprising gentleness as she cleaned their wounds. Years of scavenging and survival hadn’t dulled her compassion, a resilience that stood in stark contrast to the brutal realities of their world. She worked efficiently, her movements precise and assured, as if she were in a field hospital instead of amidst the smoldering ruins of a village.

Finn and Maya stood watch, their rifles held loosely, their eyes scanning the horizon for any sign of movement. Their usual stoicism was replaced with an anxious unease. They knew the risks. Bringing the teenagers back to their camp was a gamble, a potentially fatal one. More mouths to feed, more bodies to protect, an increased vulnerability to attack. The logistical challenges were immense, the potential consequences catastrophic. The unspoken question hung heavy in the air – was it worth risking their own lives, their own precarious survival, for two infected teenagers?

Bear felt the familiar tug of conflicting emotions. The hardened pragmatism forged in years of survival warred with a nascent compassion he hadn't felt in a long time, a flicker of humanity in the darkness. Leaving them to die seemed barbaric, an act of inhumanity that felt like a betrayal of everything he once believed in. Yet, bringing them into the fold was a monumental risk, not only to their own survival but to the safety of the entire group.

The decision was more than just a matter of logistics; it was a moral dilemma, the kind that gnawed at your conscience long after the sun had set. Each breath, each heartbeat of these teenagers was a stark reminder of their shared humanity, a fragile connection in a world consumed by death and despair. Their survival, their suffering, laid bare the terrible cost of survival in this broken world.

Beth looked up, her eyes filled with a mix of concern and grim determination. We have to try, she said, her voice barely a whisper above the crackling embers. They’re still alive. We can help them.

Bear looked at her, at the unwavering compassion in her eyes, and felt a grudging admiration bloom within him. Her faith in the face of such bleakness was inspiring, almost reckless. It was a stark contrast to his own pragmatism, his cynicism. He knew the risks. Infection was a slow, agonizing death, and its spread was unpredictable, potentially decimating the entire group. Yet, the alternative was equally unacceptable.

He surveyed the scene, his gaze sweeping across the charred remains of Oakhaven, the grim testament to the new, intelligent enemy they faced. He saw the ruins, the death, the devastation, yet he also saw the fragile flicker of life in the eyes of the injured teenagers. He knew the choice wasn't merely about survival; it was about their humanity, about the fragile essence of compassion in a world that seemed intent on extinguishing it.

Alright, he finally said, his voice gravelly, a testament to years spent screaming and struggling for survival. We take them with us. The decision made, the weight lifted, yet the gravity of the situation remained. The road ahead would be long, arduous and fraught with peril. The teenagers survival depended not only on their luck but also on the willingness of the group to overcome their doubts, their hesitations, and their fear. The burning fields of Oakhaven were merely a prelude to the battles ahead. The true test of survival and the essence of their humanity were about to begin.

The journey back to their makeshift camp was arduous. Caleb, his leg secured with makeshift splints fashioned from scavenged wood and cloth, groaned with every step. Sarah, her arm supported by Beth, whimpered occasionally, her breathing still labored. The infection was already progressing, subtle changes in their skin tone, the faintest trace of delirium in their eyes. Every movement was a painful reminder of their vulnerability, their precarious hold on life.

The team worked as a unit, sharing the burden, a familiar rhythm emerging from their collaboration. Finn and Maya scanned the surroundings vigilantly, their senses sharpened by the presence of the injured teenagers. Their silence, usually a sign of calm efficiency, reflected the shared tension, the awareness of the heightened danger. The silence was punctuated only by the occasional groan, the rasp of breath, the crunch of debris beneath their boots. The fear was tangible, a heavy cloak draped over their shoulders, an oppressive silence punctuated by the constant reminder of their vulnerability.

Bear walked in the rear, his eyes scanning the perimeter. His gaze was calculating, assessing their surroundings, searching for any potential threats. He watched Beth and Maya, monitoring their every move, listening for any change in their breathing or demeanor, noticing the slight tremors in their hands as they carried the injured children. His mind worked, strategizing, planning, anticipating, preparing for any eventuality, even the one he most desperately wanted to avoid – the potential outbreak of infection among the entire group.

The sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows that danced and writhed across the ravaged landscape. The air grew colder, a biting wind whispering through the skeletal remains of the village. The shadows lengthened and deepened, and the silence that followed was heavier than the previous hours. The weight of their responsibility, the profound realization of the fragility of life, hung in the air, a tangible reminder of their precarious survival. The darkness was not only an environmental challenge, but a harbinger of the unknown, a reminder that the threats they faced could come not only from the infected, but from the very world they inhabited.

Reaching their camp, a collection of salvaged structures huddled against the side of a ravine, was a moment of both relief and dread. The flickering light of their makeshift fire offered a fragile sense of warmth and security, a momentary reprieve from the encroaching darkness. But the sight of the injured teenagers, their pale faces illuminated by the firelight, served as a constant reminder of the precariousness of their situation. Their hope and humanity, a flicker in a dying world, were now inextricably bound to the fate of these two children. The night ahead would be fraught with danger and uncertainty, but they would face it together. Their survival, their humanity, and the faintest spark of hope in this shattered world, rested on their ability to overcome the obstacles ahead, together.

The fire crackled, spitting embers into the chilling night air. Beth, her face smudged with dirt and grime, knelt beside the boy, her fingers gently probing his mangled leg. Her movements were precise, economical, born of years spent scavenging and surviving in a world where medical supplies were as rare as hope itself. Yet, there was a softness in her touch, a gentleness that belied the harshness of their existence. She hummed a low, wordless tune, a counterpoint to the rhythmic rasp of the boy's breathing. It was a small act, insignificant in the grand scheme of their struggle for survival, but it spoke volumes about the compassion that still flickered within her, a stubborn ember refusing to be extinguished by the darkness that surrounded them.

Bear watched her, a knot of unease tightening in his gut. He’d seen Beth’s kindness before, witnessed her capacity for empathy in a world that seemed determined to crush it. He’d seen her share her meager rations, tend to the wounded, even offer comfort to the dying. But this was different. These weren't just injured strangers; they were potentially infected, ticking time bombs carrying the seeds of their own destruction. His years of survival had taught him the harsh realities of their world – trust no one, expect nothing, and always prioritize self-preservation. Compassion, in this world, was a luxury they couldn't afford.

He shifted his weight, the rough ground scratching against his worn leather boots. The flickering firelight cast long, dancing shadows, making the already grim surroundings appear even more desolate. The charred remains of Oakhaven, a village consumed by flames, served as a stark reminder of the new threat they faced – the intelligent infected, capable of not only inflicting pain and death but also orchestrating it. Their survival was a constant, desperate fight against the odds, a precarious balance between life and death. Taking in these teenagers was a gamble, a reckless act that could jeopardize everything they'd fought so hard to achieve.

Beth, he said, his voice a low growl, the sound of a man wrestling with his conscience. They're infected. We don't know how far it's progressed. Bringing them back is a risk we can't afford.

Beth looked up, her eyes meeting his. There was no defiance in her gaze, only a quiet determination, a steadfast belief that defied the grim realities of their situation. We can't just leave them to die, Bear, she replied, her voice barely a whisper. They're still alive. They're kids. We can help them.

Help them? Bear scoffed, the harsh sound a reflection of his own inner turmoil. How? We're barely surviving ourselves. More mouths to feed, more bodies to protect. We're already stretched thin as it is. This is suicide, Beth. Pure suicide.

There's always a chance, Bear, she countered, her voice rising slightly, a hint of defiance creeping into her tone. A chance they can be saved. A chance we can fight this together. We've faced worse, haven't we?

He knew she was right. They had faced worse. They'd stared into the abyss countless times, fought their way through hordes of the undead, scavenged for scraps in the ruins of a fallen civilization. They'd survived against overwhelming odds, against the relentless forces of nature and the even more merciless forces of humanity. But this was different. This was a test of their humanity, their compassion, a battle against the very instincts that had kept them alive for so long.

Finn and Maya, their faces etched with concern, watched the exchange, their rifles held loosely at their sides. They knew the risks involved. They had seen enough death to understand the potential consequences of their actions. They were aware of their own vulnerability, yet they also saw the flicker of life in those two teenagers. The moral complexities lay heavy on their shoulders.

The silence stretched, punctuated only by the crackling fire and the boy's labored breathing. Bear looked at Beth, at the unwavering compassion in her eyes, at the unwavering strength in her resolve. He saw in her a mirror image of the humanity he had almost extinguished within himself. He saw the person he once was, before the world ended, before survival became a brutal, daily struggle. And for a moment, that memory pierced through the hardened shell he'd built around his heart.

Alright, he finally conceded, the words grating in his throat. We take them. But on one condition. If they show any signs of further infection, if they become a threat to the group, we leave them. No exceptions.

Beth nodded, her eyes glistening with a mix of relief and determination. The tension in the camp seemed to ease slightly, replaced by a cautious optimism, a shared understanding of the risks and the responsibilities they were about to shoulder. The decision made, the weight of responsibility settled upon their shoulders – a weight heavier than any physical burden they had ever carried. The journey ahead would be perilous, fraught with danger and uncertainty, but for the first time in a long time, Bear felt a spark of something akin to hope. Hope, fragile and fleeting, but still hope – and that, in their desolate world, was a priceless commodity.

The next few days were a blur of activity. Beth, with Finn and Maya assisting, tended to the teenagers' wounds, cleaning them, applying makeshift bandages, and monitoring their condition with a dedication that bordered on obsession. Bear, despite his initial reluctance, found himself contributing, his experience in makeshift medicine surprisingly useful. He taught Finn and Maya improved techniques in splinting and wound care, their knowledge slowly accumulating through the daily tasks. The shared tasks bound the group in a shared purpose, uniting them under a common goal.

Caleb and Sarah, as Bear and Beth had begun to call them, showed slow signs of improvement. Their fevers subsided, their breathing grew less labored, and the vacant stares were replaced with moments of lucidity. They ate ravenously, their bodies starved for nourishment, and began to whisper stories of their past lives, tales of a world that seemed distant and mythical in their post-apocalyptic reality. Their survival was a daily battle, a testament to their resilience, and the shared efforts of the team.

However, the constant threat of infection loomed. The slightest change in their skin tone, a flicker of delirium in their eyes, sent a wave of panic through the group. Each cough, each fevered gasp, triggered intense vigilance and worry. The line between hope and despair was thin, a constant reminder of their vulnerability.

One evening, while Beth was tending to Sarah's wounds, Bear observed a subtle change in the girl's eyes, a glint of something unsettling. The familiar compassion in his eyes fought against the hardened pragmatism he had developed over the years. He noticed the way Sarah's hands twitched, her eyes darting nervously. He decided to take precautions, setting up a temporary isolation area in a distant corner of their camp. The decision was difficult, but one that was necessary to preserve the safety of the group.

This small act, a measure to curb their potential vulnerability, was a stark reminder of the delicate balance between compassion and survival. It was a testament to their capacity for empathy, a recognition of their shared humanity, even within the context of their harsh existence. Bear, hardened by years of brutal survival, had ultimately discovered the resilience of his own humanity. And in the flickering firelight, amidst the ruins of a broken world, a fragile hope began to take root. Their survival, and the survival of the two teenagers, depended not just on their ability to fight, but also on their ability to maintain their humanity.

The air hung heavy with unspoken anxieties. The crackling fire, a meager source of warmth against the biting wind, cast long, dancing shadows that seemed to mock their precarious situation. Bear, his face etched with weariness, stared into the flames, the orange glow reflecting in his tired eyes. The decision, once made, now felt like a colossal weight pressing down on his chest, a constant reminder of the gamble they had taken.

We're fools, Finn muttered, his voice barely audible above the crackling fire. He shifted the worn rifle resting across his lap, his gaze fixed on the two teenagers huddled together a short distance away. Caleb, the boy, slept fitfully, his breathing shallow and uneven. Sarah, the girl, her eyes wide and haunted, stared into the darkness, her body trembling slightly.

Maya, ever practical, broke the silence. Fools or not, it's done. We have to focus on the here and now. The resources… they're dwindling. She gestured towards their meager stockpile of supplies, a pathetically small collection of scavenged food and dwindling medical provisions. Adding two more mouths to feed… it's a strain we might not be able to handle.

Her words struck a chord. Bear knew she was right. Their resources were already stretched thin. The recent fire had destroyed a potential source of fuel and shelter. Food was scarce, and their dwindling supply of purified water was a constant worry. Each day was a struggle for survival, a relentless battle against hunger, thirst, and the ever-present threat of the undead. Taking in the teenagers had tipped the scales, tilting the precarious balance even further.

It's not just the resources, Beth said, her voice soft but firm. She had been tending to the teenagers, her face showing the strain of her tireless efforts. It's the risk. We're already vulnerable. Two more people mean two more targets. More mouths to feed, more bodies to protect. She paused, her gaze meeting Bear's. And what if they… what if they turn?

The unspoken fear hung in the air, a chilling reminder of the ever-present danger. The intelligent infected, the ones who had set fire to Oakhaven, were a new, terrifying threat. Their cunning and strategic capabilities posed a challenge unlike any they had faced before. The possibility that Caleb and Sarah might succumb to the infection, turning into another deadly addition to the ranks of the undead, was a terrifying prospect.

We'll keep a close watch, Bear said, his voice rough. He knew it was a weak reassurance, a flimsy promise against the overwhelming odds. But he needed to believe it. He needed to believe in their ability to navigate this dangerous path they'd chosen. He looked at Beth, his expression softening slightly. He understood her worries. He shared them. This wasn't just about survival; it was about the morality of their actions, the cost of their compassion in a world that demanded ruthlessness.

Finn shifted uneasily. But what about the rumors? he asked, breaking the heavy silence. The rumors of the safe haven. Another group… a community… It would be easier with fewer mouths to feed, fewer risks.

The rumors of a safe haven, a community that offered shelter and protection from the relentless horrors of the wasteland, had been circulating for weeks. It was a beacon of hope, a faint glimmer in the overwhelming darkness, but it was also a source of internal conflict within the group. The journey to this haven was treacherous, a perilous undertaking.

The conversation turned to logistics, a stark contrast to the weighty ethical considerations they’d previously discussed. They needed to find additional food and water, they needed to expand their defenses, they needed to plan for every eventuality. The debate continued far into the night, the flames of their fire casting an eerie glow on their tense faces. They were exhausted, hungry, and fearful, yet they were united by their shared determination to survive, to protect each other, even with the new additions.

The following days were a grueling test of their resilience. The resources dwindled faster than they anticipated. The constant fear of attack, magnified by the presence of two more vulnerable members, kept them on edge. Every rustle of leaves, every snap of a twig, sent them scrambling for their weapons, their hearts pounding in their chests.

Caleb and Sarah, despite their fragile state, proved unexpectedly resilient. Their recovery, though slow, was steady. They were surprisingly adept at scavenging, their young eyes spotting details that Bear and the others often missed. They displayed a level of resourcefulness and adaptability that surprised and impressed Bear. He had underestimated them, judging them based on their initial weakness.

The situation grew increasingly precarious. Food became scarce, prompting increasingly desperate scavenging missions. The risks grew higher, as they pushed beyond the familiar boundaries of their territory to find sustenance. Internal tensions rose, fuelled by hunger and exhaustion. The moral weight of their decision weighed heavily upon them.

One evening, Bear noticed a subtle change in Caleb's behavior. The boy was becoming increasingly withdrawn, his eyes vacant, his movements jerky and uncoordinated. Fear gripped Bear's heart. He knew what it meant. The infection was progressing.

The decision, once agonizing, now felt inevitable. The hard-won compassion, the fragile hope that had begun to bloom, was threatened by the harsh realities of their situation. He quietly informed Beth and the others, his voice flat, devoid of emotion. The decision to separate Caleb, isolate him for the sake of the group, tore at his very soul. He had risked everything, everything they had to protect, to save the boy. Now, that sacrifice seemed meaningless.

The ensuing hours were spent in a battle against despair. Beth fought fiercely against the impending separation, her tears a testament to the agony of their decision. Finn and Maya, their faces etched with grief, prepared to carry out the grim task. Bear, hardened by years of survival, fought back his own emotions. He knew it was necessary, a measure to protect the rest of the group, but it was a blow to their very humanity.

In the cold, harsh light of dawn, Caleb was moved to a makeshift quarantine area. The separation was a stark reminder of the price of survival. It was a constant reminder of the brutal choices that they had to make in this ravaged world, the ethical dilemmas they constantly faced. The decision, as agonizing as it was, reaffirmed the harsh realities of their existence, the cruel necessities that defined their lives. The weight of his actions pressed upon Bear, a constant reminder of the cost of survival in a world where compassion and survival were often mutually exclusive. The journey ahead was still filled with perils, yet a new battle began - a battle not just for survival, but for maintaining a semblance of humanity in the face of unimaginable hardship.

The decision hung in the air, thick and suffocating like the dust that perpetually choked the wasteland. Bear, despite the gnawing unease in his gut, found himself nodding. He couldn't leave them. Not after seeing the fear in Sarah's eyes, the fragility in Caleb's shallow breaths. The image of Oakhaven, reduced to ash by the Firebringers, a testament to the cold efficiency of these new infected, still burned bright in his memory. Yet, here he was, staring at two more potential victims, potential fuel for the flames.

We'll take them, he said, his voice rough, the words a commitment forged in the crucible of their desperate situation. The relief on Beth's face was palpable, a stark contrast to the grim determination etched on Finn and Maya's. Finn, ever the pragmatist, immediately started listing their dwindling supplies, his voice laced with a cynicism that only masked his own deep-seated worries. Maya, meanwhile, was already assessing the teenagers' injuries, her hands moving with a practiced efficiency that belied the exhaustion in her eyes.

The journey was arduous. The weight of their meager supplies felt heavier with each passing mile, the added burden of the two teenagers a constant reminder of the risks they were taking. Caleb, despite his injuries, displayed a surprising resilience, his youthful spirit fighting against the encroaching despair of their reality. Sarah, quieter and more withdrawn, clung to Caleb, her gaze often drifting towards the desolate landscape, as if searching for an answer to their predicament.

Days bled into nights, punctuated by the relentless gnawing of hunger and the constant fear of attack. The landscape offered little respite, a harsh panorama of scorched earth and skeletal trees. The threat of the Firebringers was a constant, insidious presence, a shadow lurking just beyond the periphery of their vision. Every flicker of movement, every snap of a twig, sent a jolt of adrenaline through them, their hands instinctively reaching for their weapons.

They scavenged what they could, their efforts often fruitless, the wasteland offering only meager rewards for their tireless efforts. Food was a luxury, water a precious commodity. The struggle was unrelenting, a test of their physical and mental fortitude. The strain showed on everyone's faces – etched lines of exhaustion, eyes filled with a desperate hope that was constantly threatened by the harsh realities of their world.

The internal tensions, already simmering beneath the surface, began to boil over. Arguments erupted over resource allocation, over the risks they were taking, over the very survival of their group. Finn's pessimism grew, his complaints about the added burden of the teenagers becoming increasingly frequent. Maya, though practical, was beginning to show signs of exhaustion, her unwavering optimism gradually fading. Even Beth, usually the voice of calm and reason, displayed moments of frustration and despair.

Bear, hardened by years of relentless struggle, remained steadfast. He knew the weight of responsibility, the burden of leadership. He had made a commitment, and he wouldn’t waver. He understood their concerns, he shared their fears, but he refused to let despair consume them. He pushed them onward, his own weariness masked by a steely resolve, driven by a stubborn refusal to surrender to the desolate reality around them.

One evening, huddled around a meager fire, the weight of their circumstances hung heavy in the air. They discussed the rumors of a safe haven, a place of refuge that seemed almost mythical in its promise. It was a beacon of hope, a faint glimmer in the pervasive darkness. But the journey was fraught with peril, the Firebringers were a constant threat, and the path was uncertain.

The debate was fierce, their voices echoing in the vast emptiness of the night. Finn argued against the journey, advocating for a more cautious approach, focusing on securing their immediate surroundings. Maya, while apprehensive, still believed that the risk was worth taking. Beth remained silent, her expression unreadable, her thoughts a mixture of hope and fear.

Bear listened to their arguments, weighing their perspectives, acknowledging the validity of their concerns. He knew the risks were immense, the chances of survival slim. But he also knew that remaining in their current state was a slow, agonizing death. He had to believe that the rumors were true, that there was a chance, however small, of finding a sanctuary, a place of safety for them all.

We’ll go, he finally declared, his voice carrying the weight of his decision. We’ll go to the safe haven. His words were met with a mixture of relief and apprehension, but they also seemed to reaffirm their shared desire for survival. The journey would be long and dangerous, but they would face it together. They would face it with the two teenagers, their unexpected additions, who had become inextricably woven into the fabric of their shared struggle for survival. The road ahead was still uncertain, but amidst the ruins, they found a renewed sense of purpose, a shared determination to defy the odds, to fight for a future they were not yet sure they could attain. The burning fields of the past were behind them, but the fiery trial ahead loomed, promising both destruction and the potential for rebirth. The fire within them, however small, still burned brightly.

The decision made, a renewed sense of purpose settled over them. They mapped their course, allocating resources carefully, planning their strategies for dealing with the ever-present danger of the Firebringers. They began to formulate a defense plan, using the meager materials they had at their disposal. Caleb and Sarah, despite their injuries, actively participated in the planning, their contributions surprising and valuable. Their youthful energy served as a counterpoint to the group's weary demeanor.

With a renewed sense of purpose, and despite the overwhelming odds, they set off towards the rumored safe haven. The journey was fraught with peril, every step a gamble against the unforgiving landscape and the ever-present threat of the Firebringers. But as they began their trek across the charred remains of the world, they did so together, a battered, fragile band of survivors, united by their shared hope and their unwavering determination to survive. The burning fields of the past were a grim reminder of what they had lost, but the path ahead, however uncertain, held the promise of a new beginning. The weight of their shared burden was immense, but in their unity, they found the strength to move forward, towards a future yet unseen. The journey was their shared testament to the enduring spirit of humanity, a flicker of hope in the face of overwhelming despair. The fight was far from over, but they were ready to face whatever lay ahead, together.

Chapter 2: The Whispers of Havenwood

The whispers began subtly, carried on the wind that whipped through the skeletal remains of buildings, a mournful song echoing the desolation of their world. It started as a mumbled speculation, a hesitant question exchanged between Finn and Maya during a particularly bleak scavenging run. Then it blossomed, spreading like wildfire through the small, beleaguered group, feeding on their desperate need for something – anything – better than the grim reality they faced. Havenwood. A name, a whisper, a potential salvation.

The rumors were vague, fragments of information pieced together from scavenged scraps of paper, overheard conversations from the few other survivors they’d encountered, fleeting glimpses of hope in a world perpetually consumed by darkness. Some spoke of walled settlements, of thriving communities somehow managing to eke out an existence amidst the ruins. Others painted a picture of a fortified sanctuary, a bastion against the horrors of the undead, a place where resources were plentiful, and fear, at least somewhat, mitigated. The details were hazy, inconsistent, unreliable. Yet, they were all that stood between them and the crushing weight of despair.

Finn, ever the pragmatist, remained deeply skeptical. It’s just another story, he’d grumbled, his voice raw with weariness. Another pipe dream to keep us going when there's nothing left but dust and death. He pointed to the crumbling cityscape surrounding them, a stark reminder of the fragility of hope in such a broken world. Each shattered building, each silent street, was a tombstone to a former life, a chilling testament to the futility of their endeavors. The harsh sun beat down on them, unforgiving and relentless. The air hung thick with the stench of decay, a constant, suffocating reminder of the pervasive death surrounding them.

His cynicism, however, was not entirely unfounded. The landscape they traversed was a bleak tapestry of destruction. Twisted metal skeletons of cars littered the roads, their windows like empty eyes staring out at the barren land. Buildings, once proud symbols of human achievement, were now skeletal remains, their interiors choked with debris and the unsettling silence of desertion. The air itself felt heavy with the weight of the past, a haunting reminder of a world lost. The occasional glimpse of a distant, smoldering ruin served only to emphasize the pervasive danger they faced.

Maya, though initially apprehensive, found herself drawn to the possibility of Havenwood. Her optimism, though battered by the relentless brutality of their existence, stubbornly refused to die. It might be our only chance, she argued, her voice low but firm, her gaze fixed on the horizon as if searching for a sign, a beacon in the desolate landscape. The thought of a sanctuary, a place to rest and regroup, fueled a flicker of hope in her weary eyes. She yearned for a moment of respite, a chance to mend their wounds, both physical and emotional. The constant fight for survival had taken its toll, leaving them perpetually exhausted and on edge.

Beth, as always, remained the voice of reason, carefully weighing the risks and rewards. She understood Finn's skepticism and Maya’s fervent hope, recognizing the delicate balance between pragmatism and the necessity of maintaining hope in the face of despair. She observed the landscape with a keen eye, assessing the potential dangers along the route to the rumored safe haven. The thought of Havenwood filled her with a mixture of hope and fear. She knew the journey was fraught with danger. The Firebringers could appear anywhere, at any time. Even the journey itself was a gamble. They might never reach Havenwood, and any misplaced hope could lead to even greater despair.

Caleb and Sarah, the two teenagers, clung to the rumor of Havenwood like a lifeline. Their youthful naiveté, untouched by the cynicism born from years of survival, allowed them to embrace the hope the rumor offered, their belief infectious despite the chilling reality of their situation. For them, Havenwood represented a chance at a life beyond the harsh realities of their existence, a life free from constant fear and unrelenting struggle. The very idea of such a sanctuary gave them a reason to keep fighting, to persevere despite the overwhelming odds.

The decision, when it came, was not unanimous. It was a testament to the fractured reality of their lives, the constant struggle between hope and despair, and the clash of personalities vying for control in a world where survival was a daily, desperate battle. The weight of the decision settled upon Bear, the unspoken leader of their small group, the weight of their lives and their hopes resting on his shoulders. He looked at their faces, etched with exhaustion, uncertainty, and a glimmer of desperation. He saw the fear in their eyes but also the stubborn refusal to yield.

The journey to Havenwood began not with a triumphant march but with hesitant steps, each footfall a silent prayer in the face of the unforgiving landscape. The air hung heavy with the expectation of danger, every rustle of leaves, every snap of a twig setting their nerves on edge. The ruins of the past continued to litter their path, silent reminders of the horrors they had faced and the horrors that yet lay ahead. The vast, empty spaces between the ruins felt particularly ominous, the silence amplifying every sound, every potential threat. Every shadow seemed to harbor danger. The journey was not merely a physical one, it was a grueling mental test, a constant push against the pervasive despair.

They were forced to ration their already meager supplies, each bite of food a calculated risk, each sip of water a precious commodity. Hunger gnawed at their bellies, exhaustion weighed down their bodies, and fear lurked in the shadows. Yet they continued, driven by the fragile hope that awaited them. It was in those moments of stark, desperate survival that the bonds between them were forged and tested. They shared stories, memories, fears, and hopes. They laughed, they cried, they comforted one another. They became a family, bound not by blood but by a shared struggle for survival, a shared dream of Havenwood.

Days bled into nights, each sunrise offering only a temporary reprieve from the relentless pressure of their situation. The sun was a relentless torment, beating down on them with an unforgiving intensity that drained their energy and tested their resilience. The nights brought a different kind of terror, the silence punctuated only by the eerie whispers of the wind and the ever-present threat of unseen dangers. The stars, those distant, cold beacons of hope, offered little comfort in a world devoid of solace.

Along the way, they encountered other survivors, some friendly, some hostile. These encounters brought their own set of challenges, often forcing them to make difficult choices, to decide between trust and suspicion, cooperation and conflict. The constant struggle for resources created tension even within their own group, testing the limits of their already frayed alliances.

They passed through abandoned towns, their structures crumbling, their streets silent and desolate, monuments to a civilization lost. The echoes of the past lingered in the air, their very silence a poignant reminder of the destruction that had ravaged the world. They stumbled upon the remnants of human endeavors, from decaying vehicles to remnants of half-finished projects, silent witnesses to a world cut short. These scenes were more than just a visual experience; they were a deep psychological toll that reminded them of what they'd lost and what they stood to lose.

The closer they got to Havenwood, the more intense the tension became. The rumors began to evolve, becoming more intricate, more detailed. The whispered accounts of Havenwood morphed into a myriad of stories and conflicting reports. What was once a simple beacon of hope began to unravel into a kaleidoscope of possibilities, some promising, others terrifying. This uncertainty fueled the internal conflicts within the group, the debate between hope and skepticism growing more pronounced with each passing mile. Their shared journey tested the limits of their relationships, forcing them to confront their deepest fears and question the very nature of survival.

Their journey was far from over, but the whispers of Havenwood, once a distant hope, had taken root, anchoring their weary spirits and propelling them forward into an uncertain future. The road to Havenwood was more than just a physical path; it was a journey through the depths of despair and the heights of hope, a testament to the enduring human spirit in the face of insurmountable odds. Their destination remained uncertain, their fate still hanging in the balance, but the fire of hope, though flickering, still burned within them. They marched on, toward Havenwood, toward the promise of a new beginning, a future still unwritten, and a hope yet to be realized.

Caleb coughed, a rattling sound that seemed to tear through the fragile silence of the makeshift campsite. His eyes, feverish and haunted, flickered open, focusing on Bear with an unsettling intensity. He’d been largely silent since their rescue, a withdrawn presence clinging to the periphery of their group, his youthful frame ravaged by infection and exhaustion. But now, a spark of something – defiance? desperation? – ignited within him.

Havenwood… he rasped, the word catching in his throat, It’s not… what they say.

His statement hung in the air, a chilling counterpoint to the tentative hope that had sustained them through the grueling journey. Maya’s optimistic demeanor faltered, her earlier fervent belief in Havenwood momentarily eclipsed by doubt. Finn, ever the cynic, let out a sardonic chuckle. Of course not, he scoffed, his voice dripping with sarcasm. What else could we expect in this world? Just more lies, more disappointment.

Beth, however, remained cautious, her gaze fixed on Caleb. She’d seen the boy’s resilience, his unexpected bursts of strength amidst his obvious weakness. His words, though cryptic, held a weight that couldn’t be dismissed so easily. What do you mean, Caleb? she asked, her voice soft but firm, her tone devoid of the judgment evident in Finn’s voice.

Caleb shifted, wincing as a spasm of pain contorted his face. He reached out a trembling hand, his fingers tracing patterns in the dust on the ground, as if searching for the words to articulate his fragmented memories. They… they don’t tell the whole story, he whispered, his voice barely audible above the wind’s mournful song. It’s… controlled. There are rules.

His revelation sparked a heated debate within their small group. Finn dismissed it as the ramblings of a feverish mind, a desperate attempt to cling to some semblance of control in a