Chapter Text
The world went to shit a while ago. That was all there was to it really- shit. Once power was lost, so was accessibility to food, water, and medicine. The rest is kinda history. You try not to think about those first days too much. You’ve been on your own for a while now. The last time you saw a person was a year ago. It was a father traveling with his small son. You exchanged a few words, made a simple trade, and you were on your way.
A full year without talking to another person. You think the only reason you haven’t gone insane yet was your dedication to your routine, to survival. Fetch and boil water, check your traps, tend to your garden, repeat. Occasionally you would venture into one of the nearby towns, looking for anything useful.
Today was one of those days. You walked the 2 miles through the woods to a small stripmall, your eyes on the thrift store. You stayed at the forest line, concealed and watching for any movement or sign of people. After waiting for about 15 minutes you rounded to the back of the stripmall, choosing to enter from the back door which had considerably more coverage because of the forest only a few paces away.
When you reached the door, you pulled the crowbar from your back pack and pried the door open. Once you made your way inside, you crouched behind the checkout counter. Again you listened for any movements that may indicate the store was occupied. When you heard nothing, you picked up a nearby bottle and threw it over the counter. It shattered in the middle of the room. Still, you heard nothing, no movement.
With crowbar in hand, you quickly sweeped the small store. Once it was clear you let out a sigh of relief. Others may view your methods as excessive but they’ve kept you alive thus far. With your checklist complete you could now focus on your task.
You needed something to cover your garden at night to protect it from the frost so you weren’t very picky. You found some sheets that would work as well as a couple of thick flannels that will be nice for when fall comes. You stuff everything into your backpack and get going.
A whistle cuts through the air, startling you so badly as you scramble back behind the counter. You peer around it, trying to find the source of the noise. Across the street you see two men armed with guns sweeping the buildings across the street. You had to leave, now , before they checked your building.
You opened the back door slowly, wincing when the old hinges gave out the lightest creek. You crouch in the doorway, staying low out of sightlines. You listened for movement but there was no time to be thorough, those men could barge into the store at any second. You quickly and quietly head to the tree line.
You hear the whistle again, much closer this time. You turn your head to the source, sweat running down your back. It’s a man, dressed similarly to the ones you saw before in military gear with a rifle slung across his back. His back is to you and it takes you a second to realize he’s pissing. And whistling too, nasty fucker.
Your heart is hammering in your chest. You need to make a decision now. Your mind races. He was near the open entrance of the store next to your hiding place. That meant he was going to you next. You couldn’t hide. You looked to the forest line, only a couple yards away. You doubted you could make it there without being detected. You were stuck between a rock and a hard place.
When you heard his pants zipping up, you followed your instincts and ran. You could tell he shouted after you but you couldn’t make it out over the sound of your heartbeat and your blood rushing in your ears.
You sprinted through the forest. You had the home advantage, you knew these woods. This part, unfortunately, was flatter and had less coverage, meaning you were easier to track. You didn’t even bother serpentining, just pushing as hard as you could to get to the denser part of the woods where you could hopefully lose him.
You were close when he tackled you from behind, evidently faster than you anticipated. He was crouching over you, your hips bracketed by strong thighs. He was gently holding your wrists between your bodies, keeping you from pummeling him. His expression was neutral, almost comforting. It couldn’t be trusted. You have seen what men like him do to women like you time and time again. That gave you a renewed vigor, fighting harder to get out of his grasp.
“Lass, will you stop,” he chidded in a thick accent, “let me just-”
You cut him off, channeling all your strength, ramming your knee into his groin. He choked on his words, letting you slip your hands free. You wriggled out from under him. When he realized what you were doing, he reached for you again. You clocked your arm back and punched him in the face as hard as you could. You thought you heard something crunch, unsure if it was his face or your hand but you didn’t have time to worry about that now. You darted away from him, into the thicker part of the forest.
The terrain here was more variable and dense, obstructing sight lines and creating all kinds of hiding spots. You serpentined, moving erratically, making yourself more difficult to track. Your lungs burned but you couldn’t focus on anything but getting away from those men. You came to a small creak and quickly crossed it.
You were close to home but you didn’t know if you were still being pursued. You didn’t want to lead them right to your front door. You headed into the woods past the creak. You found a spot to lay low, covered by branches and bushes. You listened: for footsteps, splashing in the creek, talking, whistling, anything that would give you information about the whereabouts of your pursuer.
The snap of a twig was the only warning you got before you were hauled backwards and slammed into the ground. The wind was completely knocked out of your lungs. You tried to scramble backwards, away from the threat but you were dragged back towards it by your ankle. A massive boot came down on your chest, not enough force to hurt you but enough to keep you in place. You felt the contents of your backpack digging into your back and neck. You squirmed trying to get unpinned, but the pressure was unrelenting.
“Be still.” The command was low and growled, the kind that expected unyielding submission. Your eyes travelled up to meet those of your captor. Dark, almost dead looking eyes pinned you with a stare that was akin to the boot on your chest. Like the others you saw, this one was kitted out head to toe in military gear, weapons strapped all across his body. Unlike the others, he was masked, wearing a black balaclava with a faded and chipped painting of a skull on it. He was also fucking massive. And fucking terrifying. All this gave you the spike of adrenaline you needed to fight back.
“Fuck you,” you spit out at him. He wasn’t the first asshole you had to survive and he certainly won't be the last. You had survived too long to give up now. With the fight inside you rekindled, you began pummeling his boot, attempting to dislodge him. When that proved fruitless, you resorted to your legs. You tried to sweep him off his other leg to knock him off balance but he was steady as a rock. Your last, and most risky, resort was kicking him in the groin like you did his friend, but he grabbed your foot in his iron grip. Now you were flailing your leg, trying to get your foot out of his grip.
He cocked his head at you, seemingly amused by your antics. He bent over you slightly, putting more pressure on your chest, forcing you to take short and shallow breaths.
“Are you done?” His voice was casual, as if speaking to a friend or coworker, or even a child. And that pissed you off.
“Nope,” you said between stuttering breaths, in a way you hoped was more defiant and less bratty little kid.
He put more pressure on your chest, you could feel your ribs creaking. You knew a break would be enough to kill you in a world with no hospitals. He leered over you and it was hard to tell because his face was covered, but it looked like he was smirking. Smug bastard.
“Ya sure?” he asked.
“Ya,” you said in a shaky breath. He’ll probably kill you here and now, you know that. But you also know that whatever these men have in store for you will probably kill you later, so might as well put you out of your misery.
Although, he doesn’t make any move to kill you, just stays leering over you with that cold stare. You feel completely bare under that look, like he’s peeling away the layers of your brain and finding all the juicy secrets kept within. It’s a look that covers your skin in goosebumps. He just stares at you like that for what feels like forever.
Suddenly, the silence is broken by a sharp whistle. His head immediately snaps in the direction it came from. He answers it with his own, effectively giving away your position. It doesn’t take long for the man you kicked in the nuts to join you. Despite kicking him in the balls, he seems pretty chipper.
“You got me good, lass,” he says wagging a finger at you, as if you had been playing some kind of game, “but seems like Ghostie here got you back.” He pats the shoulder of the man on top of you. You look back at him.
Ghostie? Seriously?
‘Ghostie’ turns towards nuts and says something you can’t hear. Their conversation is hushed but you can tell they’re saying just as much with their eyes.
“Right,” Nuts says, clasping his hands together, “this was fun but time to get back.” For a second you think they’re gonna let you go. That hope is immediately quashed when Ghostie pulls out a pair of zip ties. That makes you right and squirm with a renewed vigor.
“Aww come on, she don’t need those,” Nuts says, gesturing to the cuffs.
“Seriously?” the other man scoffs, gesturing to you as you try to get free, “she’s not exactly being cooperative.” Nuts looks almost guilty about it. He makes eye contact with you, his eyes pleading with you to cooperate. When he saw there was no use, he caved.
“Alright fine, but I’m not carrying her.” Nuts said with a dismissive wave as he turned back in the direction you came from. That left you with the monolith of a man. You struggled to keep your hands out of his reach but it was no use. He easily caught your wrists and bound them in front of you. When you tested the strength of the zip ties you were disappointed to learn they were solid.
While you were distracted by the ties, Ghostie hauled you up onto his shoulder with what appeared to be no effort. He securely held you with one giant hand on your lower thighs and the other on your lower back. When your shock at his strength left you, you continued trying to get free, squirming on top of his shoulder.
“If you keep squirming, I’ll drag you by your hair.” There is no room for arguments in his voice. That threat made you stop.
Since the start of the chase, you had been running on pure adrenaline, fighting for survival. Now you have time to think.
There are 4 of them that you know of, all decked out in heavy gear with what looked like well maintained weapons. To you that meant one thing- military, and with how quietly that huge fucker snuck up on you, you’re almost positive. Okay. Military. Oh fuck they’re foreign military too, based on the accents. Nuts sounds like he's maybe Scottish, the other one just sounds British.
Okay, that’s two things you know: probably military and foreign. What do you know about the military? Military could either be very good or very bad. You’d heard stories from other survivors about military bases turned into thriving communities where everyone was protected and held hands and shit rainbows. That was probably a pipe dream. You’d heard other stories of squads falling into chaos, ignoring orders and doing what they wished, which usually included pillaging, rape, and slavery. You hope those aren’t true but part of you knows that they are.
In terms of the men, or soldiers themselves, Nuts seemed to be the softer one. He was the one who hadn't wanted to cuff you afterall. You should exploit that as much as you can. Ghostie on the other hand…you should steer clear of as much as possible.
It doesn’t take long for the large man to reach your destination, which was the strip mall, specifically the second hand store you were in previously. Your pack mule dropped you on the filthy floor hard, knocking the air out of you for the second time today. You scrambled to get away from them, your back hitting a wall.
“Jesus, Ghost.” An older man admonished him. Ah, so it’s just Ghost. Nuts had called him ‘Ghostie,’ so they must be close. Another piece of information that you store away.
“What’s all this then,” the older man said, gesturing to you with a jerk of his head.
“She snuck up on me while I was taking a piss.” Nuts informs.
“Did not!” you rebuttal.
“Did too!” he argued back like a child.
“Look,” you say, settling him with a stern glare, “I was just trying to leave, that’s it.”
“Ya and walked in on me pissing,” he quips.
“Well maybe if you didn’t treat the whole world as your personal toilet, that wouldn’t have happened,” you bit back. You hear a chuckle that makes you break your locked gaze on Nuts. The source of the laugh is from a very pretty man, far too pretty for an apocalypse. He has dark skin and warm brown eyes, a stark contrast from the dead-mud brown of Ghosts.
“She got you there, Soap,” the pretty boy says. Soap? What kind of a name is Soap? Who are these people?
“Get on with it,” the old man says, pinching his brow. He’s obviously annoyed at the antics of the younger men.
“Well then I did the gentlemanly thing and tried to talk to her,” Soap says as if he’s completely innocent in this whole affair.
“And was that before or after you put your dick away?” It was surprising to hear the harsh voice of Ghost directed at one of his comrades.
“Don’t think that matters,” Soap mutters.
“Then?” The old man asks.
“Well, then-” Soap sputters, “then she ran and I chased her and once I got her I just tried to explain but then she…” he trails off, you could almost swear you a blush on his face, “kicked me in the nethers,” he says in a hushed voice. The pretty boy bursts out laughing this time.
“Let me get this straight,” the old man drags a hand down his face, “the lass catches you with your drawers down, doesn’t seem too apt for conversation, she runs, so, naturally you chase her down and grab her.” Soap seems to be understanding how you viewed his actions.
“Aye..” he mutters, earning him a smack on the back of the head from the old man.
“While in full military gear with a rifle on his back!” you add to the list of offenses. They all look at you, seemingly having forgotten you were there.
“What makes you think we’re military?” the old man asks, his icy glare now aimed at you.
“I mean it’s kinda obvious,” you scoff.
“Humor me.”
“Well the first thing I noticed was your body armor, which isn't all that unusual out here but all of your body armor sets are complete, not a single piece missing, and they fit you properly. Some scavengers will have an odd piece or two but they never know how to actually wear it.”
“Go on,” the old man says as if he knows there’s more.
“The guns are a dead giveaway. The last time I saw people with guns like that was maybe a year after the fall.”
“Really?” the old man asks, “I thought you Americans were gun crazy.”
“That may be true, but very few people know how to clean and maintain rifles like that, handguns sure, but that's a whole different beast. Which means you were most likely trained.”
“Hmmmm,” says old hums, which you take as a sign to continue.
“And you guys use call signs, like, come on who would name their kid Soap?” Old man chuckles at that.
“Well you’ve got us there, guess we're pretty rusty, haven’t seen people for a while.” he gives you what you assume is supposed to be a kind smile.
“And,” you point to Ghost, “this massive fucker snuck up on me without making a peep.”
“Really?” Old man raises an eyebrow at Ghost.
“In my defense sir,” so old man is the leader, “all I knew was that Soap was injured and the assailant was getting away.”
“Hmmm so this is all Soap’s fault,” old man says while stroking his chin thoughtfully.
“Sir, I didn’t-” Soap starts but he is cut off when old man raises a hand. Then he turns his attention to you. He crouches down to your eye level while still maintaining a distance.
“Sorry about Soap, lass he can be a real eejit sometimes,” he spoke softly, as if trying to calm a dog.
“No worries, you can just let me go now,” you say, trying to school your rage.
“Afraid we can’t do that, lass,” he looks almost sorry, almost.
“What, why not?”
“Well you see…” he starts but seems to have difficulty finding the words. Soap helps him out.
“We haven’t seen anyone else in a long time,” he says quickly, trying to rush it out before anyone can stop him.
“And that’s my problem, how?”
“It’s safer if we stick together, power in numbers and all that” the old man leans closer and whispers, “between you an me, I’m getting quite bored of these fellas.” He gives you a wink.
“So you’re kidnapping me because you’re lonely and bored,” you say incrediously. Old man cringes at that
“Well…” his voice pitches as he turns to his team for support.
“We’re not gonna rape ya, if that’s what you’re worried about,” Ghost grumbles. The other men verbally admonish him for his brazen words but you appreciate the honesty, if it is honesty. You interrupt the men and speak directly to Ghost.
“Do you really expect me to believe that?” He makes some kind of hand signal and brings it over his heart.
“Scouts honor,” he says deadly serious, and it makes you laugh.
“I don’t have a choice, do I?’ you say through the giggles.
“Nope.”