*Alexandra*

Hal is passed out on my lap. There is a large bandage wrapped around his arm. Is it red cloth, or is that just his blood, or is it the color from the bleeding sky? The world around me is rumbling and shaking. I am in the back of a truck. We are moving. Greg pulled me out of cover and sat me down. Hal fell on top of me and then passed out. I can feel his shallow breathing on my legs. He is alive. I am alive. To my side is Lora. Lora is alive. I look around the truck. George is on the floor. George is alive. Greg is sitting at the back. Greg is alive. I do not see John. I do not see Mike. I do not see Adam. I do not see Dani. They are not alive. We are alive. I am alive.

There is an IDR trooper checking the people in the truck. He is checking their pulses. He is checking the ones that do not move. He is Rodriguez, I think. Dani told us about her squad. Dani is not alive. There was Greg and George of the Hound Dogs, our bitter rivals, and closest friends. There was Manuelle who drove the truck. Their leader Ebel. And then there was Rodriguez. This man must be him. He is checking another person now. Rodriguez sighs and picks the person up. Will he help the person? He rolls the person off the moving truck. No, not a person, a corpse. They are not alive. Rodriguez checks another person not moving. He leaves the person be. That person is alive. Rodriguez looks at Hal laying on top of me. Hal is alive. We are alive.

As he steps closer to us, I manage to croak out, “he is alive.” I hold Hal closer. His breath is shallow. He is breathing. Rodriguez looks at me, nods, and moves on to the next person. That person is alive. I am alive. We are alive.

I hear a faint crack. More faint cracks. They are coming from above me. That must be Ebel. She is the only other female in Dani’s squad. Dani is not alive. I am alive. She is firing a rifle on top of the truck. She is tethered to the roof of the truck. She is firing at the goblins. She is firing at the Black Hounds. There is a Roc Eagle as well. She does not see the Roc Eagle. She will . . . stop being alive. I point up but cannot speak. I reach for her foot. I can barely touch her, but she looks at me. She sees me pointing. She sees the Roc Eagle. She kills the Roc Eagle. She got experience points, but she is leaving the loot behind. She is alive. I am alive. We are alive.

There are no longer any sides or top to the back of the truck. From the exposed back I can see the towers rush past us. There are more trucks behind us, there should be more in front as well. The convoy, or what is left of it, is taking us through the city, although we are still in the city center. We are forced to swerve in and out of sidewalks, shoulders, and very little road. The roads themselves are covered in crashed and broken cars. The solar flare would have rendered all these useless. There may be some good loot in them though.

There are IDR soldiers on each of the convoy trucks’ roofs, firing at both Goblins and Black Hounds. From the speeding terrain I can also see what might be Scavengers as well. Horrid little shits that travel in small packs. They have a habit of ambushing us after our party finishes off a larger foe like the Black Hounds. If there are scavengers there are likely to be their larger cousins, Scrapers, as well. Ambush predators that hide in trees and jump down on you from above. There are no trees here though, only skyscrapers. There may not be enough of a difference to stop the Scavengers from using them as ambush spots.

I force out from my throat, “Greg, Scrapers.”

Greg looks confusedly at me as I point up to the passing buildings, I say again, “Scrapers, ambush from buildings.”

After a moment, realization hits him and he nods. He moves to just beside me and strikes the roof near Ebel. After some discourse that I can’t make out, she nods at him and then to me as well, before returning to her position. This time keeping a closer eye on the passing buildings.

Greg does not immediately return to the back of the truck, instead he rustles through some boxes. There are magazines inside. There are only about five more with red ends and another thirty with blue tape. Greg does not count the ones with the blue tape, he just hands one of the red taped magazines to Ebel. He looks to the back of the truck worried but stays next the box.

I reach over to Greg, “let me,” it is getting easier to speak, “please, I need a quest.”

He looks at me and then the back. Finally, he nods, “only give the lieutenant the mags with red tape when she kicks the roof. Don’t bother with the blue ones, they are non-lethal and will do no good against the black hounds or roc eagles. After each mag tell her how many are left.”

After finishing his instructions Greg grabs a long pole from the truck bed and returns to the back of the truck. I look over to Rodriguez and he has a pole as well. They look to have come from the damaged top of the truck. I check on Ebel and she has slowed her firing. There are only five mags left and over half a city to navigate. I am alive. We are alive. We will stay alive.

*Ebel*

After speaking with the civilian girl that told him to look out for these so-called scrapers Greg leaves for the back of the truck. The girl grabs a red label magazine and holds it tight while looking at me. If she can pass the mags up, it is better for Greg to be at the back anyway. He needs to be there to dislodge any upstart monsters that try to grab a hold of the truck. Even more of these things, and now they are going to come jumping from above us. With only five magazines plus the half of one I have in the rifle, how are we supposed to make it out of this city if more of these things keep appearing? I have to start conserving ammo.

We pass by an intersection where a passenger plane has crashed. Upon entering the intersection, I can see a large group of monsters. The mess includes the newly seen things Greg called scavengers, as well as ones that appear to be a little larger with longer claws. These must be the scrapers. There is a large impulse to open fire into the murder when I realize what they are doing. They are feasting on the charred remains of the airline passengers. I need to conserve ammo. There is nothing we can do for them; they are already dead or too far injured. Without any hospitals and only what we can provide at our post, there is no hope for survival for most heavily injured. I am already having Rodriguez dump the dead over the side. If we are able to rescue even one of them, they would be so injured that the corporal would just be dumping them in a few blocks anyway.

I am sorry. I am truly sorry, but we are here to fight for the living. We are here to ensure the survival of the most people as we possibly can. We cannot risk the lives of many just to rescue a hopeless few. Especially when that few will die within hours anyway. I am sorry. The IDR cannot help you. We are not superheroes. We aren’t even regular heroes. We are just people trying to do what we can.

We continue past the intersection without stopping or firing even a single shot. Not a single of the monsters even tried to disrupt us. They had an easier meal available to them. I am so sorry. All trucks in the convoy seem eager to make up for lost targets when the scavengers start appearing afterward, on the sides of buildings. A couple almost get the lead trucks, without a way to communicate, I could not send the warning about them. Yet the green and brown coloring of their skin makes them pop out from the shiny grey and reflective buildings. They are easy targets, if we know to look for them. After I took down the first few, before they even had the chance to jump at us, the other trucks caught on as well. I look at the girl below me handing me another magazine, three left. You did good girl, you just saved more lives, that we would have failed to protect.

As we move away from the city center, and into the districts before reaching the suburbs and outskirts, the clustered skyscrapers thin. Less monsters are crawling the streets as well. In front of us there is a small group of survivors being chased by a goblin. The first truck fires on and kills the goblin. I lower my rifle and look at the survivors. It is a family of four. A mom, dad, child, and a baby. There is plenty of room on any of the trucks. There are no monsters near here. The last truck can easily stop and pick them up. The convoy is small enough now that I can see both the front and back truck. The back truck did not stop. I can see the family reaching out. They are screaming, calling, pleading. The mother is holding out her baby in front of her. The last truck did not stop. We did not stop. I did not stop for them. I did not rescue them. I left them to die. I left that mother, that father, their child, their baby to die. They will not make it out on their own. They will die. I left them to die.

There is another group up ahead. Larger this time. Even more monsters. There are enough of them that the monsters will likely ignore the convoy. Will we leave them to die? Will I leave them to die? Will they be our bait so we can conserve ammo? Did I throw the dead over the side so I would have room to stretch my legs? No, I did not. I will not leave them to die. I am an IDR trooper. I am an IDR lieutenant. An IDR squad leader. I am here to help people. To rescue them in their deepest despair. I will not leave them to die when I could have done something to help them.

I slam on the side of the truck and scream at Manuelle, “STOP THE TRUCK!”

Manuelle calls back out to me, “what?! But we are in the middle of the . . .”

I cut him off, we will not leave these people, “STOP THE DAMN TRUCK!!!!!”

The truck lurches to a halt about ten meters from the group. I open fire on the monsters as the trucks behind us swerve and nearly rear end us.

The squad leader from the truck just behind me storms out of his truck and erupts, “What the HELL are you . . .”

I glower at him, “WE are IDR TROOPERS! We do NOT leave civilians to DIE!”

The man looks down and then directs his troopers to load the survivors on board. He had seen us pass by the family previously as well. I no longer had to forcefully halt the convoy to pick up survivors. I am so sorry. We Will come back for you.

*Alexandra*

After exiting the city center, we have started to stop for more survivors. Ebel has started using her rifle more often again because of this. We are down to just one more full magazine and the one in her rifle. Barely any of the other trucks are firing at all anymore either. It has gotten to the point that we don’t even try to shoot at any of the creatures unless they are actively attacking someone. If we stop for survivors, Greg and Rodriguez jump off the back and while Rodriguez protects the truck with his pole, Greg uses his to beat back the creatures if he can. If he can’t, that is when Ebel shoots the things, and that is only after careful aiming while Greg holds them steady.

Despite this we have gained substantial results. At the cost of ground, ammo and time we have gathered another fifteen survivors to our truck alone. It is so packed the children and smaller people are sitting on the laps of others. Hal was even placed on top of Lora, and I am currently standing on top of the ammo box with the last magazine clenched tightly in my hand. No one is complaining about the hope to escape the city.

Reaching the edge of the suburbs we slow down to pick up another survivor. This one is alone, wait . . . that is not a survivor. No. Don’t stop. I lurch around to the squad leader, “Don’t STOP That isn’t A . . .”

Before I could finish, the Phantom Hunter leaps from behind the house and topples the second truck in the convoy. Its long feelers pierce and scoop up the bodies ejected from the truck. They are not alive.

Another survivor appears just to our right. We are alive. We will stay alive. Ebel is raising her rifle to fire at the phantom hunter ahead of us. I leap onto the roof alongside her and grab the barrel of the rifle. I can feel my skin boil and blister under the heat of the three fried rounds. Ebel screams at me and stops firing as I yank the rifle toward the oncoming threat. She sees the phantom and immediately opens fire again without waiting until I let go. The fire surges through my arm and instead of letting go my hand clamps shut. Ebel is forced to kick me off the truck to get me to let go. The hunter reveals itself and takes the bullets from the rifle head on. It halts. I use the time to fling open the door to the truck’s passenger side and scream at the driver “Reverse!!!”

Seeing the hunter, the driver does not hesitate and backs the truck up into the one behind us. I am struck by the door and waylaid to the asphalt ground. I stumble back up, stars in my eyes. The hunter rears for a charge. I jump on the front of the truck to avoid the charging hulk of muscle and teeth. It strikes the front of the truck opposite to the side I am clinging too. The truck spins like a top. I try to hold on, but I can’t feel my burnt hand and I go flying.

Once back on my feet, there are three more phantom hunters attacking the convoy. Trucks are being tipped and survivors are no longer alive. I am alive. We are alive. We will stay alive. I scramble back to the bed of the truck that is now facing me. Climbing over the disoriented occupants I reach the head. Ebel is laid out on top, still tethered to the roof. I shake her and she barely manages to look at me, she is alive, I am alive, “We have to get out of here! Our weapons won’t do anything to those things! There are five of them! We need to go! We have to go!”

She shakes herself and looks around. She raises her rifle and tries to shoot the hunter attacking the nearby truck, the rifle clicks empty. People are scattering from the downed trucks. They are screaming. They are being entangled by the hunter and drug into its waiting maw. Those not immediately eaten are speared and left for later. They are not alive. I am alive. We are alive.

Ebel looks at me, she has ejected the magazine from her rifle. I raise my hand where the mag was, and I am holding nothing. I look to the other side of the street where the magazine lay on the ground. Ebel reaches for the latch on her tether, I grab her hand, “it won’t help, we need to leave! You just unloaded half a mag into one and it only slowed it down!”

Ebel grits her teeth and looks down and punches the top of the truck. Another truck peels off away from the convoy followed by two more in other directions. One of the hunters looks toward our truck. We both look at it turn our way. I am alive. Ebel leans over the side of the truck and roars, “Specialist! Get us out of here!”

I fall back into the bed as the truck heaves forward, just dodging the charging hunter. The hunter tries another charge, but the truck is too fast and leaves it behind, to feast on the remaining trucks. I clamber back upright and look at the ammo box that I had been standing on. Inside there are only non-lethal rounds left, that will have little effect on these creatures. Little effect is better than no effect. I open the box and grab a blue label mag and hand it to Ebel. We both look at each other for a second before looking back as we drive off on our own. We can see the four remaining upright trucks speed off in different directions. Through fences, signs, and anything else in their way. One of the trucks is winged and toppled. They are not alive. I am alive. We are alive. We will stay alive.

*Ebel*

We are alone. We left the convoy behind. I left the convoy behind. I left them to die.

The only ammo left are the non-lethals. They are somewhat usable against the smaller goblins and scavengers, but the black hounds and roc eagles, they barely slow them down. Now there are also what are being called phantom hunters. Large hulks with four legs thicker than people, a mouth large enough to take a chunk out of a truck with feelers that have veritable spears at their end. The worst thing is their lure. It looks like a person, it will even wave at us, try to get us to stop. The other creatures will even try to attack or chase it. How many people have we just passed by, worried they were just lures? I am sorry. I am so sorry.

We are no longer driving at full speed. We can no longer afford too. By going full speed, we just announce ourselves to anything lurking in the shadows. Now we are going about as fast as a light jog. Greg and Rodriguez are jogging alongside the truck, with their makeshift spears. They have bound their knives to the end of support beams from the ruined truck bed covering. They are now a more effective defense than I am with my rifle.

We have about five more miles to go before we reach the city outskirts. We have not run into any of the other trucks that escaped the ambush. We are now in an area of houses rather than businesses and skyscrapers. Should we have made a move for the warehouse district? There are fewer blind spots, and the few that exist are thin alleys, too small for the phantom hunters to hide inside. There is also much more open ground without obstructions. There are also far fewer trees to obstruct the roc eagles. The suburbs are fine, the phantom hunters are a major threat, but all we have to do to avoid them, is to no longer stop for survivors. No longer stop to help people. Leave them to die. I am sorry.

We have around twenty-three survivors with us in the truck now. I have to get them out of the city and back to post. If the post is still there. These monsters have been showing up all over the place. They likely showed up at post as well. Is the post still there? Is there a safe place to return to? If not, where to then? There is an armory about fifty miles away from the post. I was posted there for about a month. It is not a place to bring survivors though. It is nothing but an explosion waiting to happen in this environment.

We have finally left the edge of the city limits. After dropping three groups of goblins and scavengers and even a black hound we have made it out. We left behind seven groups of survivors. I left behind thirty-two survivors. I am sorry. I will come back for you. Please just stay alive until then.

Greg and Rodriguez climbed back onto the truck as we left the paved surfaces, in favor of the open countryside. We let loose believing we could rush back to the post and just outrun anything chasing us. I was keeping my eye on the sky for the roc eagles rather than anything on the ground. Now in the open countryside there were no obstructions for us, or them.

Looking up at the sky I saw the cracks. The cracks described by the civilian, Alexandra, handing me my mags. Are more roc eagles going to appear? The cracks are growing up. They are not growing out, but up. I ratchet my head down to level. I simply lower the rifle in my hands. From the cracks emerges a mountain on legs. Eight legs the size of redwoods. Measured not in meters but in stories tall. The ground crumbles under their weight.

From below me I can just barely hear Alex mutter horrified, “a mountain strider.”

Mountain is correct. We are small compared to the titan, maybe it won’t see us. Maybe we won’t be enough of a meal to bother with? What then? Will it then decide to go to the city? Will it eat the few survivors there? Will it finish its meal and then come to find us? The post. We have anti-tank munitions. I don’t care how thick of a shell or skin or whatever this thing has, it will not survive weapons designed to punch through ten inches of steel. I will put my truck at risk. I will place the civilians in it at risk. I cannot leave it to feast on the city. There are thousands, if not millions still trapped inside. I never saw any of the monsters trying to break into the buildings. There are people in those buildings, there were no shattered glass on the ground from broken windows. The chaos has yet to spread indoors. There are still people in those buildings. That thing will just knock those buildings down. Peel them open like an orange to feast on their insides.

I raise my rifle and fire. The cracks shred the air like a chainsaw. The flurry of rubber bullets screams through the air. They strike against the shell of the monster. None of them miss. It is bigger than the broad side of a barn. Yet all the bullets do is deform and bounce off, like a bunch of bouncy balls. It is enough. Instead of stepping toward the city, it raises one of its legs and steps toward us. Please, oh please let the post still be there. Upon contact with the ground, I can feel the ripples through the vibrating of the truck. I do not need to tell Manuelle to step on it. We are already going as fast as the truck can. I hope it is fast enough.

*Alexandra*

Ebel shot the Mountain Strider! Ebel aggroed the MOUNTAIN STRIDER. Why?! Why did she agitate a RAID boss?! Mobs are one thing, even high-level mobs, but this thing is a raid boss, A RAID BOSS?! WHY?! What death wish does she have?!

The driver is putting caution to the wind as we scream across the land, both metaphorically and literally. Every time the Raid Boss takes a step, the ground Visibly Ripples!! Why?! Why would she draw it to us?!

We are approaching one of the outlying towns. Please oh please let it get distracted. Yes, yes yes yes, it is starting to veer to the side. Ebel raises her rifle and empties her mag into it. The bullets won’t even leave marks on its shell. No, no no no, it is coming back for us! Why?! Why won’t you just let it go do its own thing?!

Ebel looks down at me, her hand outstretched. She wants another magazine. I stare wide eyed at her, a mag shaking in my hand, “are you going to shoot at it again?”

She glares at me without saying anything. She will shoot at it again. Why? She insists with her hand, and I timidly put the mag into hers, and she loads it straight away. Please don’t shoot the raid boss again.

She shot it again, and again, and again. Every time the raid boss lost interest in the annoying fly that was nipping at it, she would nip it again. Am I the only one that wants to know why? Am I the only one tempted to just cut the tether and leave her to solo the raid boss? By the fact that Rodriguez is now standing next to me, facing the rest of the truck with a very severe look and his spear held tight, no, no I am not the only one on the truck tempted to do so. But pointy sticks are scary, despite all that has happened. Especially when they are held by the guy dumping bodies off the side of our truck just an hour before.

Eventually, our driver ceases his swerving dodges and buckles down for a straight sprint across a field. The mountain strider has only been missing us because of his erratic driving. Why would he decide to just go straight all of a sudden?

I peek over the top of the truck to see the front. There is a small shack and a couple trucks on a nearby road. What could Manuelle hope to achieve by rushing to so few people? It is blatantly obvious by now that Ebel won’t let the raid boss go after anything other than us. What help could . . .

Smoky streaks slice through the air from the small group ahead of us. Deafening explosions shake our very bones. I slump back around against the cabin of the truck, peering at the mountain strider. Two streams of smoke lift to the bleeding sky. Two more spears of smoke strike the raid boss in the torso followed by a tooth jarring boom. The mountain strider hesitates and two more of the rockets strike two of the legs on one side. The blast lights up the sky a brilliant white before returning to a dusk covered in bleeding colors. The boss tilts and succumbs to gravity as it crumbles to the ground twitching. Two more strikes and the raid boss does not move. They beat the raid boss. We Beat a RAID BOSS!!! We are still Alive!

Our truck pulls up to the shack. Now that I am next to the building, I can see that it was a gas station. The covering and pumps have been smashed and the price sign is twisted on the ground. On the side of the building, is a large splash of graffiti tagging the building as IDR.

The other survivors and I, along with a passed-out George are ushered off our truck. Ebel hops off the roof as an IDR soldier uses a hand pump, feeding off the underground tank, to fill up the truck’s diesel tank, before the gas tank with another pump. Hal and four others including George are laid down on cots, laying just outside the half collapsed storefront.

As I am guided with the other civilians I hold onto Lora. She has not changed her expression, or moved without provocation since we left the expo. She is alive. I am alive. We have stayed alive.

Two more soldiers I don’t recognize load up four crates I recognize as ammo crates before hopping on the back of the truck. They toss the existing ammo crate full of non-lethals off. I can see a stack of crates near us. Several are open. One contains rifles with a few missing. The others hold red label magazines, fifty red label magazines. The others have what look like tubes with red paint on them, rockets. The rockets used to take down the mountain strider. They are loading these crates on the back of the truck.

I can see Greg changing out his spear for what looks like a shotgun. I set Lora down on a bench and make sure she doesn’t fall over before going to Greg, “Greg, what, what is going on?”

Greg looks at me with a serious frown, “we just got word. IDR headquarters has issued safe haven protocols, and green lit lethal force mobilization.”

I shake slightly, “what does that . . .”

From my side Ebel speaks up, “it means you are going to a safe place, and anyone else we can rescue. As for us, it means we are now fully armed and ready to take on anything that appears in front of us. It means we are at war Alex.”

Ebel places her hand on my shoulder, “you did good out there Alex. You saved lives. Now it is our turn to go save more.”

With that, the two of them climb back onto the truck with two more soldiers and drive off. They are returning to the city. Returning to that hell. Returning for those left behind inside.