Isaias’s return walk to the church was quiet save for the sound of boots and a tarp dragging across asphalt. The scraping was quieter now that Isaias had ordered the man pulling it to walk fifty feet behind the rest of the group. They’d stopped after a quarter mile to gut the deer, since Jameson neglected to. If they hadn’t, they might have made it back with only a few pounds of barely salvageable meat.

They weren’t lacking for hunters in Finlay’s church—they were lacking for consistency. A deer may feed a family of three for weeks, but for a group of fifty people it was a few meals at most. All the normal hunting grounds were so far that it almost wasn’t worth the effort... but almost didn’t mean much when one meal could mean the difference between life and death. More and more hunters were going out every day. Sometimes they would return with tales of monsters—birds with too many eyes, venomous snakes the size of pythons, and other, more mysterious things. Sometimes the hunters wouldn’t return at all.

Not that Isaias cared deeply for those who were weeded out. In times of hardship it stood to reason that the strong should survive. But for what he was trying to build? Isaias needed weaklings. That was why he tolerated Finlay.

One of his men spoke up. It was Carson, the man who was knocked out cold. He didn’t even see Jameson sneaking up on him. Useless.

“Isaias, sir?”

Tentative, as always. Strong body and a weak mind: the unifying traits among his subordinates.

“What is it?” he replied, careful not to let his exasperation show.

Isaias had been trying to dial back his moods recently, to little effect. He didn’t want his men to be too frightened to speak up and fail to bring to his attention something that he hadn’t thought of.

“Why’d we let Jameson go?”

‘What an annoying tone of voice.’

“It’s odd that a grown man can sound so petulant.”

“Uh… wh-what?” stammered Carson.

Oops. It seemed he’d spoken out loud. So much for hiding his thoughts.

“Because Jameson is worth three of you, Carson. Just be glad he didn’t kill you, then be happy I didn’t, and then shut up.”

It was just too satisfying to finally be able to speak his mind. The Apocalypse had given him much this past month. Embryo had given him much.

He wanted more.

A knife flashed between Isaias’s fingers as he worked through his dexterity-building exercise once more. No one in the church seemed to realize the gift Embryo had given them yet. The true gift—not magic or ki, which already existed since the beginning of the Apocalypse much like a gun given to a blind man—but the ability to improve. If they didn’t figure it out soon, Isaias may tell them, but not before he had cemented his position at the top.

The knife became a fluid blur as he worked, weaving in and out of his fingers like a serpent. Ki played a role in his improved dexterity, though what he still had to discover was the extent to which it influenced his growth. What else was ki capable of? Was thauma the same? Embryo had been quite upfront with him thanks to his high talent in ki, but he still lacked a lot of information.

Information. Information won wars. Information decided everything. If Embryo wanted humanity to thrive, shouldn’t it share the sum of its knowledge with all people? But it didn’t—it gave only bits and pieces, and more to those with talent. It prioritized the strong. As if he needed more reasons to pursue strength.

Isaias had lied to everyone about how high his talent was, of course. Even after reducing the number he remained well above the others. Besides, talent was meaningless on its own. He preferred to let his actions speak for themselves.

There. He had sufficiently distracted himself from his anger. Normally, he wasn’t as terse with his men as he was with Carson, despite his shortcomings, but his failure in letting Tom Hudds escape had brought the man down several notches in Isaias’s estimation.

Good subordinates were hard to come by. That was one reason why he’d been so forgiving with Jameson after he saved Tom earlier. He had been hoping to recruit the carpenter for some time now, and not only for his talent with woodworking. He was formerly an enlisted serviceman, an Army Warden. If he had the same training as the other Wardens Isaias had known, it would be a massive boon towards their collective survival—no, their flourishing. And after the meeting at the church where he learned that his daughter was a far more talented mage than anyone else in North Hill, he knew he had to secure the Brays for the church.

How many people lived in that house with Jameson? How many had he taken in? His daughter was one. Tom Hudds made two. Then, there was the one hiding in the forest earlier. The footsteps had been light, those of a slight teenager or possibly a woman. Was it a Shokarov? The Shokarovs and Brays were friends, so it wouldn’t surprise him. But no, the footsteps were too light to be the boy, and too heavy to be the girl. It wasn’t Hemash, for obvious reasons.

Well, he would discover who it was soon enough. Even if they ran, they would starve or be eaten by monsters. Jameson would know that. And the more people there were, even if they were just useless mouths to feed, the more levers Isaias had to manipulate him with.

He would even allow Tom Hudds, that old liar, to live.

A memory surfaced suddenly, and Isaias’ upper lip curled back. When he first met Tom, he’d been looking for work anywhere he could get it, but there weren’t many places willing to hire a Nassorian—especially one without a passport or papers to prove his citizenship. It wasn’t like he could get back home easily when every customs officer in the country had a picture of him tacked up in their office, so he made the best of it, working himself into the nooks and crannies of this mountain community that was notoriously hostile to government influence, spreading the lie of his discharge from the Federation military, and leveraging the connection he had with Finlay and his wife until he began making enough money to eat by. And he even began to save up a little on top. He hadn’t given up on making it back to the Empire—he’d just delayed his plans.

He received his most lucrative job offer when Tom Hudds hired him on, full time, to repair those condos that had been in the process of falling apart since they were built. It seemed a lucky break for Isaias at the time. There wasn’t much that could really be done to fix a problem as endemic as Tom had, but he figured he could at least cover it up convincingly enough. And that was all the old man had really wanted, anyway. So, he pooled together all the cash he’d saved up and went out to buy everything he’d need to do the job, going so far as to rent an old pickup to transport the materials. With the payout from this job, he planned on purchasing that truck. A vehicle would have changed everything. For a week he went at it, skipping meals, his pride not allowing him to beg. He’d done a good job of it, too. Those rooms were almost livable by the end of the week, with another week still to go.

Tom never really talked to him, not even to introduce himself. He didn’t look at Isaias when he was telling him what he wanted done with the houses or when Isaias came by to give his reports. Then, Isaias went to Tom for his pay. The man’s family was over for some locally celebrated holiday that he wasn’t familiar with. Tom answered the door and said, straight to his face, that he didn’t have any money to pay Isaias with, and he didn’t want him working there anymore. He slammed the door in Isaias’s face.

Of course, Isaias had hammered on the door to demand an explanation. It wasn’t like he could take this dispute to a judge. He lived here to avoid things like judges.

When Tom’s son was the one who answered the door, a crowbar in his hand, Isaias backed away. The young man threatened him. Not with physical violence—though that was implied—but with the law. He suspected Isaias’s status, though he was still undershooting a bit. He probably thought Isaias was an illegal immigrant, trying to avoid extradition.

On the walk back to the truck, he heard something: a slur from the lips of the young man. It didn’t bother him, really, not as much as not getting paid. He’d happily be sworn at a thousand times for his payout. His pride allowed that. But the racism did help to put the past week into perspective.

Tom wasn’t the kind of weakness Isaias needed in this new world he was going to build. He lied to Jameson. He had fully intended to kill the man, of course, but if Tom could be used to chain down Jameson? That was enough. Maybe Chelsea, the talented mage, would be more difficult to control, but once they came into the church’s fold, Isaias would learn every weakness they had. It was what he was good at, after all.

- - -

While Hemash wrote at his desk, Albek was playing checkers with Liyne. The room was silent except for the occasional clacking of a piece on the game board.

Dinner had been a sordid affair. When Jameson learned that Isaias returned to take the deer, he laughed it off, but Albek could tell the jollity was forced. And if he could see through Jameson, there was no doubt in his mind that the others could. Everyone in the household acted like they were attending their own funerals. They had called it an early night, retreating to their rooms.

Jameson readjusted everyone’s living arrangements now that there were four new bodies that needed accommodations. The Shokarovs were all together in the guest room now. Jameson himself moved into Chelsea’s room, giving up his own bedroom to Tom Hudds and Joel, while the young couple he’d brought back with him—the Bishop family—took the living room that he had formerly occupied. This was at the behest of the Bishops, as Jameson’s first plan was to place all the women together in Chelsea’s room and have himself sleep in the living room together with the Bishop husband. The husband and wife didn’t want to be separated, though.

Clack. Clack. Click.

Albek stared hard at the board as Liyne made her move.

Liyne scooped up the three pieces she just took after exploiting a weakness Albek hadn’t seen, moving her prizes into a pile by her side.

‘When did she get so good at games?’

Clack.

He tentatively moved a piece up.

Off to the side were several other board games they’d already worked their way through. She’d defeated him at every turn, and now it was looking like he’d lose again. He’d been good at checkers, he thought. He squinted at the board, trying to peer through the veil of her stratagems, but no matter how he tilted his head, it remained a baffling array of black and red circles.

“Albek.”

He glanced up.

“You need to sleep,” his father said.

Oh. Right. That was why Liyne kept winning. Sleep. But sleep was where the dreams would get him. No, not the dreams. The pursuers in his dreams. They couldn’t hurt him, but why did it terrify him so badly?

When he didn’t answer, Hemash left to go to the kitchen. He thought for another moment, then hesitantly moved one of his pieces. Immediately, Liyne captured two in a row from another angle he’d missed.

“Can… can I concede?” he asked.

“No.”

“Okay.”

On the bright side, Liyne seemed to be doing fine, her emotional outburst from the other day a distant memory. Absorbed in the game, she didn’t need to use her walkie-talkie to speak. Her shyness was the sort of thing that scaled with how self-conscious she became. When she was preoccupied in an activity like this, she forgot to act reserved. The more people that were present, the more likely she’d use the radio as a crutch, or she just wouldn’t speak at all. When it was the two siblings alone and they were playing a game like this, they could do away with the act.

Clack. Another piece lost. He saw his end drawing near. Wait, what was this? The piece she’d just moved made a perfect chain, which would allow him to capture… he counted… five of her own pieces. Albek frowned, looking up at Liyne. She averted her gaze, appearing to become deeply interested in a piece of lint on the carpet.

“Liyne.”

She flinched at his tone.

“Liyne, you can’t go easy on me.”

She mumbled, “Wasn’t going easy…”

Sure, she wasn’t. This was a bad habit of hers. Albek decided to ignore the obvious opening, continuing with his original strategy of complete chaos.

“I don’t accept handouts from the enemy,” he growled.

She took his final piece three turns later.

“Why do you do that?” he asked her when the game was over. “Give me openings?”

“I… want you to have fun, too,” she said.

“I already have fun. You don’t need to go that far. It’s fun when we’re both trying our best.”

Twiddling her thumbs, she sheepishly said, “I didn’t want you to stop playing with me.”

He laughed at her earnest look. “I’d never stop playing with you just because you beat me. Whenever you want, just call me up on our communicator, and we’ll play a game. Doesn’t matter how much smarter you get than me, you’ll always be my second-in-command.”

She smiled, but hid her face in her hands so he wouldn’t see.

“So, how about it? Rematch?” he asked.

“…Dad said you need to sleep.”

“Pfft, are you listening to him, now? I’m right as rain! As good as a goose. As fantastic as a… a falafel. As zippy as a zebra?”

Liyne stared at him.

“I’m starting to see what you mean,” he conceded.

Hemash reentered the room with three mugs of something hot on a plate in his lap. Tea? He handed them out. Probably decaffeinated.

“Drink this and go to sleep. We have a busy day tomorrow.”

Albek was still frightened of his dreams, but at this point, his exhaustion had reached the point where he just couldn’t work up the energy to care about it anymore. He took the mug. Liyne took one sip of hers before she crawled into bed.

“Are you sure you don’t want the bed?” asked Albek.

“Yes, I am fine. I have taken to sleeping in my chair,” Hemash replied.

‘Could have given me this bed earlier, then,’ he thought sarcastically.

Albek sat on the edge of the bed while he sipped his tea. Something herbal, certainly not unpleasant. He watched his father. The man was resting with his hands on the closed journal, his eyes closed. Albek thought he was drifting off, and prepared to do so himself, but Hemash opened his mouth first.

“Truthfully, I do not agree with what you did today, Olvilo.”

Kalkian again. Albek glanced at Liyne, but she didn’t seem to be bothered. He spoke at a whisper to not disturb her.

“Do you mean when I went to Mr. Hudds’ place?”

“Correct.”

“I know. I’m sorry for being reckless, but I was trying to be careful. And at least it all worked out in the end, right?”

“I think you misunderstand me. I am saying that you erred in rescuing those two.”

Albek stared at the man, who finally opened his eyes, meeting his son’s gaze.

“They were fine neighbors to have when we could trade with them,” Hemash said. “But now that they have no home, and cannot safely return to that garden, they are like two anchors weighing us down. Just what can they provide us here?”

This accusation came out of left field.

“I—they—we can plant another—”

Albek couldn’t say the first thing that came to mind.

‘I was thinking of your advice when I went to save them.’

It felt like a betrayal. Surely his father, confined to a wheelchair, understood the hypocrisy of calling Mr. Hudds and Joel anchors? But he looked serious.

“Perhaps we can, and then we would have food again in three or so months. Months, Olvilo. You must be smarter,” he continued. “I’m certain that Jameson will not see it in the same light, and may even approve of your actions, but you have made survival more difficult for all of us.”

“That—that’s not true.”

The refutation rang hollow.

“Can you alone provide everything they need without worsening our own position?”

Of course not. He replied with the only argument he could muster: the moral one.

“Was Mr. Bray thinking about himself when he took the three of us in?”

“I can’t speak for Jameson. It is his house, his domain. Can you provide for two more mouths to feed?”

There was a sick feeling in Albek’s stomach. He wanted to deny his father, to say that yes, he’d be able to look after them, but he couldn’t say it with certainty, and his father knew it. But he hadn’t done wrong. He knew that. It had felt right to him, acting on his feelings rather than his logic—his true feelings, not the artificial hate of his aegis. Once he pulled off the rescue, he’d been lifted, feeling happier than he’d been in weeks. Though it had been a short high, he still felt a sort of contentedness, like he’d just eaten a hearty meal. Only now it was being soured by his father’s words.

But now, when he imagined leaving those two to their fates, a crushing weight descended on him. The burden of caring for them was nothing compared to that load.

A part of him wasn’t even surprised that his father took this stance. The pragmatic man could be ruthless when he needed to be. He saw that much growing up. Thinking of him as a saint would be deluding himself.

But Albek had found something here at the Brays. He didn’t know how to define it, but it was a type of kinship, something he hadn’t felt since he lived in Kalk. A belonging. Becoming a part of something greater. Not quite family, though Mr. Bray had treated him like a son. Chelsea couldn’t be called a sister exactly, but he still considered her someone that he didn’t want to let down. He recalled their conversation three days ago, where she’d blamed him for making Liyne cry. He hadn’t gotten angry at her then, though normally he found it so easy. Her words then hadn’t been coming from a place of anger, but concern.

It was at this moment he understood. Albek had tried to justify his actions this morning as actions taken to foil the church’s plans, but he realized that his resentment wasn’t as strong as he made it out to be.

It wasn’t hatred or recklessness that led him to save those two. He’d been unconsciously modeling his actions after Jameson, the man whose philosophy of life was so unlike any that he’d known.

Once Albek understood this, he looked again at his father, now with some pity in his eyes. His words saddened Albek in a different way than they had earlier. He loved the man, but he doubted he could ever understand. It came of being raised the way he did: inundated with crime at an early age, unable to extend that hand of trust to anyone but immediate family.

The conversation ended there. Hemash seemed content to let his words sink in, and closed his eyes to sleep once more.

As the shroud of slumber overtook Albek, he smiled at the thought of his sister. Liyne already had a head-start on him as far as caring for others was concerned.

Two hours of sleep.

That’s all he got before he woke up in a cold sweat, legs kicking the covers off as he tried to run from the hunters. He clamped a hand over his mouth, stifling a scream. He froze, muscles tense, listening for sounds of movement. All he could hear was his thudding heart. Eventually, the deep breathing of his father and sister broke through, and he began to calm down. Liyne shivered and turned in her sleep, uncomfortable from the sudden removal of the blanket.

He wanted to cry, knowing that he couldn’t close his eyes again. Whatever those things were, they had been so close that he could feel their rotten breaths coming down his neck.

He tucked his sister back in and sat down on the floor, spending the rest of the pre-dawn hours trying to learn Levitate Object.

Day 7 Report:

designation:ZLTDB0K9HUV continues to exceed growth rate projections [PL+5].

STAT gain: N/A

SKL acquisition: Increase_Momentum[0]

Variable isolation successful: no further incursions from stat.eff (EXCLUDED).

Self-diagnostic complete.

Sprite corruption is [NO DATA FOUND].

Error.

Self-diagnostic encountered [NO DATA FOUND].

Error.

Emergency report filed, to be submitted [FILE WIPED].

Resuming analysis of noncompletion of harvest.directive: 14.28%.

Resuming special protocol with exclusionary status.

“Kiddo, I wanted to tell ya—I’m real proud of what you did.”

Jameson Bray pulled Albek aside after breakfast to tell him this.

“Goin’ to Tom’s house because you thought Isaias might find him, pullin’ off that rescue… you did right by that.”

Raccoon-like eyes going wide, Albek looked at the man. In truth, he hadn’t been expecting him to speak of it. He’d wondered if Hemash had been partially right, and Jameson was concerned about their food and not entirely happy with having Mr. Hudds and Joel here. But this served as an affirmation that he had acted correctly. Were Albek feeling less like a zombie, he might have cried.

“I—ah,” stumbled Albek, “I just thought about what Mr. Hudds’ was saying the day before, about being in hiding from the church. And then you mentioned neighbors, and I saw the direction Isaias was going, and knew I needed to do something.”

“That’s quick thinkin’. I should have thought of it myself, but thanks to you it all worked out in the end.”

Albek smiled, but it must have looked ghastly, since Jameson winced. Albek tried to change the conversation.

“Those two, um, the Bishops—”

“Maya and Everett,” Jameson supplied.

The wife and husband in question were at work in the kitchen, washing the dishes. The pair were in their early thirties, having no children of their own. They were quiet and kept to themselves, so Albek hadn’t learned much about them.

“Right,” Albek said. “They were going to get recruited by the church?”

“Yeah. Isaias already gave them a deadline a while back, so the next time he came, they would have had to pack up and move.”

“Why does the church do that? Go around, recruiting people? Doesn’t it just give them more mouths to feed?”

It was a question he’d been wondering since Hemash brought up his point last night. Ever since the Apocalypse began, the church had been in full recruiting mode, and showed no desire to slow down until the entire mountain was under them. Could they keep up with the demand for food?

“Who knows? Finlay’s always been a little off the deep end, if you ask me. Probably thinks he’s gonna make a new country or somethin’.”

“Really?”

“Can’t say. But hey—speakin’ of food, we’ve got ourselves into a bit of a pickle, too.”

Albek knew this conversation would be coming. He noted the inclusive “we.” They were in this together.

This made him happy, but that didn’t mean he appreciated the pun.

“Now, the Bishops brought over some supplies of their own,” he continued, “but that won’t last long. I’m fixin’ to head over to Tom’s place and see if there’s anything we can grab that the Nulites missed. You coming with?”

Albek lowered his head. He’d been thinking in the early morning hours.

Images played out before him: the cat monster, flying at him from across a room, Isaias, knife flashing in his hand, the troupe of thugs from the church, wielding makeshift weapons. The church used their power to push around all of North Hill instead of fighting the monsters. Then he saw himself, barging into an abandoned house and striking down the two monsters before they put up a fight, killing them with little resistance.

He had a plan, now. He had his cursed ability—the aegis—but was it truly uncontrollable? What if he didn’t use it as intended?

“Actually Mr. Bray, if you don’t need me, I was thinking of going out scavenging somewhere else today.”

“Somewhere else? Where’s that?” he asked.

“I’ve got a few places in mind,” Albek said.

“There ain’t that many houses left, kid. All the easy pickins have been picked. Hell, I picked many of ‘em myself.”

“There are still a few places around.”

“How far out are they?”

Albek wasn’t expecting the onslaught of questions. How could he explain without worrying the man? Damn, he was too tired to dance around this issue. He’d just tell him.

“I know some houses that don’t have any monsters in them. Down towards Brook Street.”

Jameson was silent for a time, brows furrowing.

“Ain’t that practically in church territory?” he finally said.

“I’ll be careful.”

“Hmm…”

Jameson eyed him, and Albek could tell he was observing his posture, his gear, and the dark circles under his eyes, among other things. For a while Jameson looked like he didn’t want to let him go, but in the end the man sighed.

“You’ve been at this for as long as I have. And you’ve got magic, I s’pose. Don’t stay out there too long. If I don’t see you back here by lunch, I’m goin’ out after you. Brook Street—don’t go anywhere else.”

Albek agreed and began to get ready. He and Jameson were the only two who would be leaving today. The rest of the people who would stay began to set up a schedule along with Chelsea’s help. If someone needed to go outside, everyone agreed that they would go to the backyard, avoiding the front from now on. At the same time, someone would always be watching out the front window for Isaias’s group or any other people, and if they were spotted, a message would be sent in the party chat. With nine people, they’d gone over the party size limit of eight, so one person had to sit out. Little Joel was still too young to read, so it ended up being him. Mr. Hudds would chaperone him full time, so it shouldn’t matter that he didn’t receive the messages.

When Albek opened the door and stepped foot outside, a small white blur shot past him and into the house. He quickly turned, reaching for his bat, only to see that it was Mr. Hudds’ cat, Madame. The creature stared back at him, flicking its tail. Joel squealed and ran for the creature, who accepted the boy’s attentions with a resigned air.

Cracking a grin, Albek turned to leave, only to hear a startled hiss. A second blur darted under his legs and went outside. This time, it wasn’t a cat, but a dog. Dune stopped on the porch, turning to look up at him as if saying that he now had her permission to leave. Albek was about to order her back inside, but the dog had such an earnest gaze that he found his willpower wavering. He crouched down.

“Will you do what I tell you?”

She sat.

“Will you run back here if I tell you to?”

She began chewing on his shoelaces.

‘Is this really a good idea?’

No, but his ideas were never good.

“Lie down.”

She did.

“Roll over.”

She rolled over.

“Paw.”

They shook hands.

“Stay.”

“Come.”

“Go over there.”

“Bark.”

“Quiet.”

Several minutes later, Albek was left scratching his head. Sure, they had been working on these commands, but did all dogs learn this fast? They’d never owned one before, but even he knew that this was unusual. Had Jameson been training her while he wasn’t looking? His dogs were all very obedient, so perhaps they had rubbed off on her.

He still had a weird feeling about it, but he decided to bring Dune along anyway. He wasn’t planning on going anywhere dangerous. Well, unless he accidentally ran into a church party, but he had good reason to believe that wouldn’t happen. Brook Street was an isolated road that already had all of its houses checked. Albek had travelled that way after his scrape at the Robinsons’ place.

He set out with Dune, keeping his eyes peeled for any other people on the road. After ten minutes, he entered what they considered church territory. Every mailbox had been marked here: either showing a looted or infested house. His footsteps slowed as he came to each house that had been marked by placing the flag in the box. He investigated the homes by walking up the drive towards them a bit, pausing to sniff the air, then doubling back and continuing to the next house. He avoided the ones that had been looted already, as there was little point in checking them out. Someone could just mark houses as looted and come back for it later, but experience told Albek that this didn’t really happen. It was more likely for someone to clear out a house and then neglect to mark the mailbox.

At the third house he tried, Albek smiled. A window was broken on the front and there were blood spots on the porch, but when he approached—

‘There’s no smell.’

He couldn’t smell that enticing scent that had lingered around the previous homes. The other two houses he tried had that smell, so he quickly backed off to preserve his rationality.

His aegis wanted him to hunt monsters. It did something to his sense of smell, pointing out targets for his ability, and when he drained the creatures, he would grow stronger. Despite the temptation, he could never forget the way it changed him. When he called upon the aegis, he became something that was no longer himself. He nearly killed Dune back at the Robinsons because of a mild curiosity. He’d attacked his own father, and he could still see the bruise on the old man’s wrist, which hadn’t faded in the past five days.

No, he’d use the aegis’s ability to do the opposite of what the Voice wanted, even if it was just to rub it in its face. It wasn’t just out of indignation that he did this—he was scared. Scared of encountering another thing like the cat-monsters. Scared of losing control of himself, of the idea that he may stay in that cold mindset, a predator that could never be Albek again. Scared that he might not want to go back.

Even with the aegis telling him that the house had no monsters, his old habits remained. He circled the house, checking for any other signs of violence or other entry points. After seeing nothing that stood out, he tried the front door first. Locked. Going to the window, he boosted himself up and stuck his arm through the break he’d seen, unlatching it and pushing it open. As he did, he carefully scraped the broken glass off the ledge. He glanced at Dune.

“Wait a minute. I’ll get the front.”

After hearing him say that, Dune trotted off, moving around towards the front entrance. Albek blinked in surprise. After he went in, he did as he promised, opening the door. Sure enough, Dune was waiting calmly on the welcome mat. She trotted right in.

“Good… good dog.”

‘This is starting to get weird. It feels like she understands everything I tell her.’

He had a sudden flashback to his hunting trip with Jameson yesterday. The deer, that massive stag, appeared to have an intelligence far beyond any deer he’d heard of.

He crouched down. “Are you turning into some kind of monster dog?”

She blinked, cocking her head.

It appeared she wasn’t ready to talk. He gave Dune a quick head scratch, then surveyed the house with her, keeping his bat and his spells ready. As expected, there were no signs of life. In the kitchen, he was able to secure some food, but most seemed to have been taken already, likely by the family that used to live here. He made his way out of the house with plenty of space left in his pack. He could have found other items to take, but his priority right now was clear. He might return later, but for the time being Albek needed to increase their food supply.

He repeated the process again, locating an incorrectly labeled home, breaking in, and looting. His pack was fairly full by this point, but Albek was on a role and decided he could manage one more before Jameson’s deadline. Fifteen minutes later, he found a promising candidate: a small brick affair shuttered over and crawling with vines. It was similar in many ways to their old house, minus the smashed-in windows and bloodstains. Everywhere he looked, more reminders of what they’d lost. But then again, he’d gained a new family thanks to the actions of the church, as well.

He smelled nothing, but when he circled around to the back, Dune began growling.

“What is it? What do you see?” he asked her.

He looked around, but Dune was staring straight at the building, baring her teeth.

“Do you smell something inside?”

Dune stopped growling, snorting in what might be considered assent. Albek crept right up to the house, but whatever it was she was sensing, he wasn’t getting any of it.

“How about it? Do you think I can go in?”

‘What’s happened to me? Am I seriously asking my puppy for permission now?’

Dune gave a half-whine, half-growl and began pacing back and forth.

Albek decided to at least smash open a window. If nothing moved, he’d think about continuing from there. After trying the doors, he took a crowbar to the shutters, prying them loose. Then, he chucked a rock through the window and went up to investigate.

Immediately, he understood what Dune was smelling. Death. Something was rotten in there, and it didn’t just smell like old food.

“Hello?” he called. “Anyone home?”

No response, but that was to be expected.

‘Alright, then. Let’s do this the safe way.’

He went and picked up as many stones as he could, forming a pile by his feet some thirty feet from the window, and began chucking them through the glass, aiming to make as much noise as possible. After he was halfway through his pile, he heard a sound from inside: a low groan.

He sighed.

‘Like I thought. It’s a zombie.’

Zombies were the most common thing he’d encountered shortly after the Apocalypse. That wasn’t to say that he was used to them, but Albek at least knew roughly what to expect from them. That didn’t extend to the other monsters that lurked inside these homes, so it came as something of a relief, though the creatures were still annoying.

Albek approached the windowsill, hitting his bat on the ground and calling out.

“Here, zombie. Here, here.”

There was an answer when a figure appeared at the broken window. At one point, it might have been a middle-aged man. Chunks of flesh were missing from his face, and what was left of his skin showed a pallid gray. It hissed, staggering back as the sunlight began to burn it. The walking corpse didn’t combust into flame, but its skin smoldered, and it reeled like it had been blinded.

Albek hefted a palm-sized rock, throwing it before the zombie could get too far from the window.

“Sukar.”

The stone flew by the creature’s head, missing it by a foot and creating a sizeable hole in the wall behind. The zombie then vanished elsewhere into the house, causing Albek to swear. It wouldn’t return easily. Zombies were dumb, but they had some basic preservation instincts, at least against the sun.

He wasn’t worried about fighting the zombie, in truth. In the open, with his bat, a single zombie wasn’t a real threat. The issue was whether there were more than one. He deemed it too risky to enter if there were, especially if the house had small rooms and halls, which it looked like it did.

There were still options of attack, such as making traps or continuing to taunt them to where he could attack them safely. All of the options either took time or were too dangerous. Hell, he doubted he could even drain the zombie with his aegis—not that he wanted to try, for multiple reasons. Was there any good reason to bother tackling this place? He had about an hour until lunch.

No, he decided. He might come back later, but for the time being, it wasn’t necessary. Albek turned and headed back. Dune led the way, strutting with her head held high, like some proud beast of the wild.

“Yeah, yeah, good call. Don’t let it go to your head. You were only house trained a few weeks ago, you know,” he muttered.

She sneezed in reply.

A noise nearby caused Albek’s hand to fly to his bat. Several small creatures were scurrying away, fleeing into the forest. Dune’s sneeze had frightened them off. She huffed. Albek released the weapon, and the two of them made it the rest of the back in peace.