It didn’t take me long to find that the area we were in was completely unrecognizable. Buildings that should have been new looked like they had aged decades, and overgrowth buried entire neighborhoods. Even the landscape had shifted.

The previously flat landscape common to my home state was filled with hills and valleys. Trees far too large for the short amount of time they'd had to grow dominated the landscape alongside unfamiliar bushes with blue-green berries. Thick green vines wrapped around the trees and structures. I had even seen one five story building that looked like it had been crushed inward by the force of the vines and other vegetation that had overtaken its rubble.

Birds, too large and with exotic brightly colored plumage, filled the air. Squirrels, which should have been everywhere, were scarce and could only occasionally be seen fleeing larger predators. Things moving too fast to be clearly observed, but clearly dangerous.

It was a new world. Still, I recognized some of the landmarks. Earlier we had passed an old strip mall with a Sub Shop and an ice cream parlor I had taken a few dates to. The buildings were open to the elements; earth and plant life had grown up around them, nearly consuming the structures. Roofs had caved in and wood had begun to rot giving the air a musty smell.

This was still Charleston, just changed. The home that I remembered was lost to time with only fleeting remnants remaining. Another thing to mourn.

It was just one more reason I couldn’t trust Sebbit. I didn’t believe he had lied to me, not intentionally. We simply had different perspectives. To him this was acceptable. An unavoidable loss, one that perhaps could have been much worse.

To me it was the literal end of the world, the loss of everything I had ever known.

The remnants of that world, decayed as they were, soothed me in a strange way. The world was gone, it couldn’t be saved, but parts remained. Any part of that world was something that I could cling to. There was still hope that I could still save a small piece of it.

The scout slowly led us westward. Her approach was just as careful as it had been in the cave. She would frequently stop, motioning me down with a single hand held out at chest height. At first, I was not sure why we were stopping, as it seemed to have no pattern. Despite this, her intense pace ensured we made good time.

After travelling for nearly an hour I guessed that she was searching for hiding spots. Places where enemies could lie in wait for an ambush.

I began to try to look for the same, try to guess what would cause my guide to call a halt. We had passed many places that I believed good spots, empty gas stations, particularly dense clusters of trees, or rock formations big enough to hide behind. Scout passed them all by without a second look.

Either she didn’t identify these spots as dangers, or she was somehow able to rule them out so quickly we didn’t need to slow down. In fact, she seemed most nervous when entering open spaces.

Our longest pause by far was upon entering an open field of blue grass. The meadow was long and narrow, with a thick growth of trees on one side and the collapsed ruin of an overpass on the other. Red and yellow flowers dotted the ground atop small hills. A sweet honey-like smell was carried on a gentle, cooling breeze permeating the air.

The scout grabbed me by the shoulder and pushed me down while signaling for me to be quiet by putting her entire hand over my mouth. I gasped, but she only held tighter. After making eye contact with me for a moment the blue scaled scout seemed satisfied I wouldn't freak out, and let me go.

She pulled her rifle from the holster on her back with a practiced grace. The maneuver probably would have been impossible with human arms, the long slender arms of the female Kree’mark were an obvious advantage.

She swung the rifle up and with a click it unfolded as she placed the butt against her shoulder. It was all one smooth motion, and I was drawn to the precision and grace of her movements were.

Rather than pointing the gun forward, as I expected, the scout instead aimed straight up and began firing in short four-round bursts. She fired three bursts and an equal number of birds fell from the sky. I flinched and grabbed my ears, ringing from being so close to the gunfire.

Each bird was as big as a poodle and had feathered backs and scaled leathery wings. Wicked talons and long scimitar like beaks made it obvious that these were birds of prey. Large muscular legs made them look as dangerous on the ground as they no doubt were in the air.

My analyze skill identified the avians as volcarians, an eldritch monster indigenous to dungeons and containment zones. I had expected them to be native Earth species mutated from exposure to eldritch energy.

No sooner had I began wondering why the scout had decided to start bird hunting than a thick vine burst from the ground at the center of the open field. It was massive, at least twenty-five meters long and thicker than a tree trunk.

The vine wrapped around one of the downed birds and with a sickening crunch of bone began drawing it inward. A mouth, a half-sphere of thorns rotating like a woodchipper, appeared from what had previously been disguised as a small hill. The bird was tossed into the maw and immediately turned to paste.

I pushed down the feeling of nausea and fear, trying to stay upright and keep my eyes on the danger.

Two more vines grabbed the remaining birds and the creature ‘ate’ them as well. Afterwards the vines began to flail about smashing into the ground causing the earth to shake with sounds that could be heard from miles away.

It took about ten minutes before the flailing stopped and the creature retreated underground. Divots could be seen on the ground from the plant-monster’s flailing, but the field once more looked tranquil and inviting.

If I had not just witnessed the carnage of a few moments prior I would have believed the field was as safe and peaceful as anywhere on Earth. Though, perhaps nowhere on Earth was safe anymore.

“It’s safe now,” the scout said. She began to walk into the field. I reached out for her, but due to my shock she was moving before I could react.

“Woah, stop,” I yelled. “What are you doing, that thing could come back at any moment.”

“I told you,” she made eye contact as she spoke. Her eyes were purple with slit pupils, like those of a cat.

“It is safe.”

Once she was halfway through the field, not even bothering to go around the mound that had only minutes before been a razor-filled maw with three-foot spinning teeth, I began to follow. I gave the hill a wide berth, however.

We traveled quickly after that, and what had once been the Ravenel Bridge came into view about an hour later. Despite the distance I could vaguely make out the road, now cracked and overgrown, that led up to the bridge. Cars had been stacked three high to construct a makeshift barrier.

Soon we arrived at the remains of a park overlooking the bridge. The scout motioned me to stop.

“I’ll go ahead,” she said. “My superiors want a report.”

“All right,” I said shaking my head. I trusted her judgement, she had kept me alive this long.

She began walking away but turned back and looked at me.

“Take this,” she said. She tossed a small grey disc with a circular depression in the middle.

“What is it?” I asked after catching and briefly examining the device.

“It’s a Com Mod, a communication device,” she told me. “Press the button in the middle, speak and I’ll hear you. Only. Use. It. For. Emergencies.”

“Sure, but what should I call you? Do you have a callsign, or a codename? Or…?”

“Catalya. Call me Catalya. But only in an emergency, alright? If you put me in danger because you get chatty, I will skin you. Remember that.”

“Alright, Catalya. I’ll wait here.” For some reason, I believed her threat.

Catalya slowly made her way towards the bridge before disappearing into the trees that had overtaken the surrounding area.

I found a bench that had been spared the devastation and that was miraculously still visible through the overgrowth. It was old and made of solid cast iron, not too comfortable but I had been on my feet for entirely too long.

On a plaque welded to the frame of the bench was a single sentence. “In loving memory of John, devoted father and husband.” Nothing more, no last name or biography. The only thing he had left behind was the memory that someone had loved him.

It was a fate I could envy.