Captured
Sam turned to his sister, Elsie, and hugged her tightly. "Take care of yourself and Colin," he said, pulling back to look into her eyes. "We'll meet again soon. I promise."
"We will," Elsie replied, her voice steady yet brimming with emotion. "Just stay alive, okay?"
"We'll do our best," Sam tried to sound confident, but Liam could hear the uncertainty lingering in his words.
They joined Sergeant MacCrimmon, who unfurled an aged map on the hood of a patrol car. "Alright, lads," MacCrimmon's voice was gruff but not unkind. "You've got a ways to go. Stick to this route," he traced a precarious path through the city. "Dangers lurk everywhere, so keep your eyes open, and don't waste your bullets."
Liam took the map, the burden of the moment weighing heavily. "Thanks, Sergeant. We won't let you down."
"I know you won't," MacCrimmon said, clapping them both on the shoulders. "Godspeed."
The two exited the police station, their footsteps sounding unnaturally loud in the stillness of the deserted streets. The city, once filled with the bustle of everyday life, now stood eerily quiet, a ghost town haunted by something far worse than ghosts. They moved quickly, senses heightened to every creak and groan of the city's remains.
As they approached the outskirts, a dilapidated storefront came into view, heavily barricaded with makeshift defenses. The survivors inside were initially invisible, shrouded by shadows and the looming structures around them.
"Hell of a place to hunker down," Sam muttered, eyeing the rusty nails and wooden slabs nailed haphazardly across the windows.
Liam raised his hands as a sign of peace, "We're friendly! We're just looking for a survival camp."
For a moment, it looked like their message had been received. Then, without warning, gunfire cracked through the air. Splinters rained around them as bullets pelted the ground and the surrounding walls.
"Liam, get down!" Sam shouted, diving behind an overturned dumpster.
"Stop shooting!" Sam's desperate voice tried to reason, but the only reply was more gunfire.
Liam fired back, but aimed to miss, hoping that a threat might force their attackers to reason. "Why the hell are they shooting at us?" he gasped between bullets, his voice taut with fear.
"No idea," Sam replied, frustration edging his words. "But they aren't listening to rational speeches."
Just then, a loud explosion ripped through the area, the shockwave knocking them both to the ground. Ears ringing, Liam tried to gather his senses. When his vision cleared, the silhouette of a burly figure loomed over them, face marred by a prominent scar on his chin.
"Well, well, what do we have here?" His voice dripped menace. "Looks like fresh blood for our ranks."
Liam's stomach turned cold. He scrambled to his feet but found himself quickly outnumbered. Rough hands grabbed him and Sam, binding their wrists with thick, knotted ropes.
"No! Get off me!" Sam struggled, but the grip of their captors was ironclad.
"Quiet down, pretty boy," growled one of the men, jerking the knots tighter.
The leader stepped closer, studying their faces with narrow eyes. "Welcome to our little community," he sneered. "You're gonna be real useful to us."
Liam exchanged a panicked glance with Sam. Their plan lay shattered at their feet, replaced with a new and horrifying reality.
The leader snapped his fingers, signaling his men to start moving. "Get them up!"
Dragged along, Liam and Sam stumbled through the deserted streets. The sound of their captors' boots echoed ominously.
As they approached a fortified compound, Liam's heart sank further. The old cement factory had been transformed into a sprawling fortress, bristling with barbed wire and makeshift guard towers.
"Inside," barked one of the men, shoving them through a narrow doorway. The door slammed shut behind them with a finality that reverberated in Liam's bones.
The room was dimly lit, the only illumination coming from a single flickering bulb overhead. Dust motes danced lethargically in the meager light, adding to the oppressive atmosphere. They were left alone, bound and helpless.
Liam looked over at Sam's pale freckled face. "We're gonna get out of this," he whispered, the determination in his voice meant as much for himself as for Sam.
Sam swallowed hard, a look of terror in his eyes. "Do you see a way out of here?"
Liam scanned the small room. "We have to find one," he replied. "We have no other choice."
---
The hours dragged on, each second a weight that pressed heavier on their spirits. They barely spoke, each lost in their own thoughts, until the metallic clang of the door being unlocked jolted them back to reality.
Several haphazardly armed guards entered, flanking the scar-faced leader. He strode in with an air of authority borne of raw, brute strength.
"What's your names?" His gaze bore into them, a predatory interest shining in his eyes.
"Liam," he answered, keeping his voice steady. "And that's Sam."
"You ever killed anyone, Liam? Sam?" The question came with a casual cruelty, like one might inquire about the weather.
"No," Sam's voice wavered.
"Mmm," the leader intoned as if disappointed. "Well, you're gonna learn. Real fast. Names Aeron," he said. "And you're now part of my crew. Delight in it or don't. Makes no difference to me."
Aeron turned, indicating the guards should proceed. Two of them grabbed Liam and Sam, hauling them to their feet.
"We're not your slaves," Liam spat, resisting the pull. "We're not joining you."
Aeron chuckled, a dark sound devoid of genuine amusement. "Oh, but you are. Everyone's gotta play the game, lad. The only question is, how well do you play it?"
They were led through a maze of hallways and stairwells, every turn eroding their hope bit by bit. Each room they passed carried its own measure of suffering—huddled groups of people with eyes hollowed by despair. The whole place reeked of fear and desperation.
"And here we are," Aeron announced as they reached another cramped room. Tools and rudimentary weapons lay strewn about. "You'll be starting here. You help us, you get food. Try anything funny, you get a bullet."
"What do you want us to do?" Sam asked, his voice almost a whisper.
"Organize," Aeron shrugged. "And make sure you do it right."
Two guards stayed behind, watching Liam and Sam intently. The others, including Aeron, exited the room.
"We're in deep shit, aren't we?" Sam whispered once they were alone again, rubbing his wrists where the ropes had left red marks.
"Yeah," Liam admitted, the weight of their predicament pressing down on him. "But we can't give up. We'll find a way out."
---
Time limped along. They scouted the room cautiously under the ever-watchful eyes of the guards. Threads of hope lay in the mundane—the slight give in the floorboards, the forgotten nail pried loose from a table leg. They moved quietly, each tiny discovery adding to their silent stockpile of potential escape tools.
Finally, when a guard's attention wavered during a change of shifts, Liam whispered urgently to Sam. "Now's our chance. Look at that vent in the corner. If we can unscrew it…"
Sam's eyes lit with a flicker of hope. "Do you think it'll lead us outside?"
"Only one way to find out."
They worked in hushed tandem, using an old screwdriver to carefully remove the vent cover. Every scrape and metallic whine sounded unbearably loud, but their guards seemed engrossed in a card game.
Just as the final screw came free, the door flung open. Aeron's form filled the frame, his keen eyes immediately locking onto their actions.
"Trying to run, are we?" he growled, advancing into the room.
Liam and Sam shot to their feet, heartbeats thundering in their ears. "We were..."
Aeron's fist drove into Liam's gut before he could finish, pain radiating through his midsection. "Don't test me, boys," Aeron warned, leaning down to meet Liam's pained gaze. "Next time, there will be no warning."
He straightened and looked at his guards. "Double their shifts. No more slack. They're desperate already."
The guards nodded and pulled Liam and Sam away from the vent, pushing them towards the back wall.
As Aeron exited, he tossed a mocking glance over his shoulder. "Remember, every attempt only gets you deeper in the hole."
They sat in dejected silence for what felt like hours. The guards' vigilance intensified, their watchful eyes missing nothing. The fleeting hope of escape had been crushed, leaving a palpable tension in its wake.
Liam's fingers found a small, sharp screw still hidden in his grasp. He squeezed it tightly, the pain grounding him, reminding him that they were not defeated. "We'll find another way, Sam. We have to."
Sam nodded, the fire of defiance returning to his eyes. "You bet we will."
---
True to Aeron's word, their shifts were doubled, and their guards' scrutiny became unrelenting. They lunged through menial tasks—cleaning, organizing supplies, fortifying the compound—all under the ever-present threat of violence.
As the days blended into one another, Liam and Sam's spirits grew increasingly frayed, but they maintained a silent pact of vigilance. Every moment away from their guards was an opportunity to gather information, a chance to piece together a strategy to escape.
Late one night, as they were sorting through a cache of tarnished supplies in a dimly lit storeroom, they overheard a conversation between two of Aeron's men just outside the door. They huddled closer to the thin walls, ears straining to catch every word.
"…and I'm telling you, it's everywhere," one guard said, his voice grim. "Stonehurst is done for, and we're not getting any help. Worldwide, they say. Governments fell like dominoes. Ain't nobody left to send aid."
Liam's heart thudded in his chest. If the infection had indeed spread globally, there would be no interventions, no rescue operations heading their way. They were truly alone.
"What's Aeron's plan then?" the other guard asked, worry creeping into his tone.
"Aeron thinks if we hole up here, we can survive it. Thinks everyone else out there is as good as gone. But between you and me," the first guard lowered his voice, "I'm beginning to doubt it. We're barely scraping by as is. If this keeps up, we might not last the year."
Liam exchanged a tense glance with Sam. The conversation outside painted a dire picture, but it also confirmed that their best hope lay in finding a way to escape and reach the survival camp—if it even still existed.
As the guards' conversation tapered off and they walked away, Liam and Sam returned to their work, their minds racing with the implications of what they'd just heard.
"This changes everything," Sam whispered, stacking another faded canned good on the shelf, his movements robotic. "We need to get out of this place, Liam. We can't stay here."
"I know," Liam whispered back, his eyes scanning the room for anything that might aid their escape. "We just need the right opportunity. We've got to be smart about this."
Days passed without a clear opportunity, but the weight of the recent revelation pressed on their minds like a vise. Then, during one particularly ungodly hour of work, fortune seemed to tilt their way.
Guard duty was unusually lax, the usual scrutiny waning for the first time in their hard-bitten captivity. Liam seized the moment, nudging Sam and motioning to the room's exit.
"Looks like we have a chance," Liam breathed, low and urgent. "Let's make it count."
They moved silently to the door, muscles coiled tight, ready to spring into action. Liam pressed his ear against the cool metal, listening intently. The usual murmur of guards was absent, replaced by an eerie stillness.
Sam whispered, "Why is it so quiet?"
Liam shook his head, "I don't know. But we've got to move. Now."
They slipped through the doorway, shadows amidst shadows. The dim hallways seemed to stretch endlessly, each corner promising both an escape and a potential trap. Adrenaline spiked through Liam's veins, his senses hyper-aware of every creak, every faint echo.
A distant commotion grew louder as they neared the compound's entrance. Liam peered around a corner and saw a cluster of survivors, their attention distracted by some internal dispute. Aeron was nowhere in sight.
Liam and Sam edged closer, picking up bits of the heated conversation.
"We're running low on supplies!" a woman with dirt-streaked cheeks argued, her voice strained with frustration. "We can't keep sending people out there. It's a death sentence."
A wiry man with a scratched face countered, "We either fight or starve. Aeron's orders. Kill as many infected as you can until nightfall. We need any supplies they might be carrying."
Liam turned to Sam, eyes wide with a mix of hope and fear. "This is our chance," he whispered. "If we blend in with them, we can make a break for it once we're outside."
Sam nodded, his jaw set in determination. "Let's do it."
They fell in at the back of the group, keeping their heads down and their expressions as neutral as possible. The group moved with a resigned air, like soldiers marching to an uncertain fate. As they reached the compound gates, the sharp tang of fear and desperation hung heavy in the air.
The city beyond the compound was no less foreboding than the compound itself. Shadows cast by the abandoned buildings loomed across the deserted streets. The echo of their footsteps reverberated through the silence, a ghostly reminder of the life that once thrived here.
Just as they stepped out, Aeron's voice bellowed from behind, "STOP THOSE KIDS!"
Panic shot through Liam. They needed to run. Pushing Sam ahead, they dashed into the labyrinth of ruined streets, Aeron's enraged shouts echoing behind them.
The city's landscape blurred as they navigated alleyways and derelict buildings. Their breath came in ragged gasps, but they didn't stop, driven by the primal instinct to survive.
After what felt like an eternity, they finally collapsed behind a set of dumpsters in a narrow alley, their lungs burning, bodies aching. Liam leaned his head back, sweat mingling with grime on his forehead.
"We... made it," he panted, eyes scanning for any sign of pursuit.
Sam nodded, clutching at his side, "I can't believe it. What now?"
"We still head for the survival camp," Liam replied, regaining his breath. "We just... need a new plan."
They sat in companionable silence, recovering. The city, once more degraded, now felt almost sinister in the unsettling quiet.
"We need a more reliable way to navigate," Liam said, reaching into his back pocket and pulling out the worn map Sergeant MacCrimmon had given them, its edges fraying. "And better tools."
Sam agreed. "But first, let's find somewhere safe to rest. I can't run another step without collapsing."
They quickly checked their surroundings, then moved cautiously towards an old, graffitied church they'd spotted. The building gave off an air of neglect, but it offered relative security.
Once inside, they set up a temporary camp in what had once been the church's nave. Liam peered through a broken stained-glass window to scan the street for any sign of movement.
"Didn't expect this journey to take so many detours," Sam said, his voice a mix of frustration and exhaustion.
"Haven't we all?" Liam replied, offering a sardonic smile. "But at least we're still on it. That counts for something."
Night spread its blanket over the city, the dark hours filled with distant howls and cries. While the world outside roiled in chaos, the church provided an unexpected sanctuary.
"I can't believe how quickly everything's changed," Sam murmured, laying back against the worn bench. "Four weeks ago, our biggest worry was exams."
"And now we're running for our lives from infected and lunatics like Aeron," Liam said, shaking his head. "This plague... it's turning everyone into something else. Like, they've all just... snapped."
Silence fell, thoughts weighed down by shared memories of normalcy, now distant and fragmented.
"We'll find that camp," Liam said eventually, determination hardening his voice. "And Paisley and Elsie will have found something at the university by now. We just have to stay smart, stay alive."
Sam looked at him, intense. "Liam, if anything happens to me... I mean, if one of us doesn't make it, promise you'll find Paisley and Elsie. Promise you'll keep going."
"We're both making it out," Liam replied firmly. "No promises needed. But yeah, I'll look out for them. And you'll do the same."
Sam nodded, a small, weary smile breaking through. "Fair enough," Sam said, the corners of his mouth twitching upwards. "Do you think Aeron blows up like that just because he's really, really hangry? Maybe all he needs is a Snickers bar."
Liam chuckled, the sound unexpectedly light in the darkened church. "Yeah, I bet if you handed him a candy bar, he'd transform like one of those commercials. Turn back into some mellow dude who runs a yoga studio."
Sam snorted. "Can you imagine? 'Om in, folks. Today, we're exploring Bikram without bullets.'"
"Right," Liam replied, his smile widening. "And maybe after class, he'd treat us all to a glass of kale smoothie, talking about balancing our chakras while we disassemble AK-47s."
They laughed quietly, the tension between them dissolving into the laughter that echoed gently in the cavernous space.
"Man, I needed that," Sam said, wiping a tear from the corner of his eyes. "It's the little things, I guess."
Liam leaned back against the rough stone wall, gazing up at the remnants of what was once a beautiful stained-glass window. The colors had faded, and many pieces were missing, but in the dim light, it still held a certain beauty. "Yeah, sometimes all we have are the little things."
They shared the silence for a moment, the weight of their journey somehow feeling lighter after their laughter. But the seriousness of their situation quickly settled back in.
"Alright," Liam said, straightening up. "We should get some sleep. We'll need all our strength for tomorrow."
"Good idea," Sam agreed, lying down on one of the church benches, using his backpack as a makeshift pillow. "Who knows what fresh hell awaits us."
"Well, let's hope it involves fewer infections and more, I don't know, unicorns and rainbows," Liam joked as he found a relatively comfortable spot on the floor, leaning against a dusty pew. "Maybe a nice picnic spread, instead of dodging bullets and infected maniacs."
Sam chuckled softly, his eyelids heavy. "Yeah, maybe we can convince Aeron to host the first-ever post-apocalyptic tea party. We'll sit around, sipping tea from dainty little cups while he lectures us about barricade techniques."
"Right," Liam replied with a smirk, closing his eyes. "We'll toast to survival and the fine art of scavenging."
Despite the bleakness of their situation, the levity of their banter created a fleeting sense of normalcy. A small reprieve amidst the chaos. Both boys relaxed as much as their surroundings would allow, easing into an uneasy rest.