The Outpost II

The outpost buzzed with activity; survivors huddled in groups discussing scavenging plans, defenses, and their bleak hopes. Alexia and Quinn moved cautiously through the camp, their presence drawing a few curious and wary glances. Supplies were stacked in corners, poorly hidden tarps or crates, and weapons were meticulously maintained by watchful sentries.

Alexia's instinct screamed at her to stay sharp, there was something about the outpost that didn't sit right with her. These people looked desperate---not just to survive but for anything they could take for themselves. It felt like walking into a den of thieves.

Quinn, silent but observant hung back while Alexia approached Dom again. The wiry leader's expression remained guarded as she spoke.

"We're just passing through," Alexia said evenly. "Looking for a place to regroup and figure out our next steps."

"You're welcome to stay for the night," Dom replied, but his eyes drifted to their gear---her machete, the salvaged bag slung over Quinn's shoulder, and even the reinforced boots they wore. "As long as you pull your weight."

"That's fair," Alexia said, offering a tight smile. "We can help with whatever you need. Just don't expect us to stay long."

Dom nodded, but there was something calculating in his gaze. 

Hours passed, the sun dipping lower in the sky. Alexia kept herself busy sharpening her machete while Quinn sat a few feet away, his posture tense. He wasn't trying to focus on the shadows, but they came anyway, rippling faintly beneath the dying light. 

"Quinn," Alexia called softly.

He glanced up, startled out of his thoughts. 

"Don't. Not here," she said, her voice low enough for only him to hear.

His jaw tightened, but he nodded, pushing the shadows back into the recesses of his mind.

"They're watching us," he muttered, his gaze darting towards Dom and a few others whispering in a corner of the camp.

"I know," Alexia replied. Her tone was calm, but her fingers gripped the machete handle tightly. "Stay ready. This doesn't feel right."

Night fell, and the outpost quieted. Alexia and Quinn were shown to a corner of the camp with a makeshift tent barely big enough for two. The darkness felt oppressive, but Alexia's system chimed faintly in her mind:

[Environmental Threat Detected: Hostile Intent Nearby.]

She stiffened, her hand instinctively reaching for her weapon.

"Quinn," she whispered. 

He was already alert, his hand brushing the hilt of his knife. "What is it?"

"Trouble."

The tent flap rustled, and before either of them could react, Dom and two others stormed in, weapons drawn.

"Hand over your supplies," Dom barked, his rifle aimed squarely at Alexia.

Her eyes narrowed, and she rose slowly, machete in hand. "We already told you; we're just passing through."

Dom sneered. "And you're passing through with enough gear to keep this camp running alive for weeks. Drop it, now."

Behind her, Quinn shifted, his body coiled like a spring. The shadows at his feet quivered, mirroring his rising anger.

"Take another step," Alexia said, her voice cold and steady, "and you won't live to regret it."

Dom laughed, but it was a forced sound, his finger twitching on the trigger. "You think I'm buffing? Look around. "You're outnumbered."

Alexia's system buzzed again:

[Critical Threat Imminent. Advising Immediate Action.]

Before Dom could pull the trigger, chaos erupted.

A bloodcurdling scream tore through the night, followed by the guttural growls of the infected. The camp exploded into panic, survivors scrambling for weapons as the barricade buckled under the weight of the horde.

Dom faltered, his attention torn between Alexia and the chaos outside.

"Guess you've got bigger problems," Alexia said, slashing her machete upward. The blade struck his rifle, knocking it aside as Quinn lunged forward, his knife flashing in the dim light.

The other two men scrambled back, but before they could regroup, the infected burst through the tent walls. Decayed hands clawed at the air, their grotesque forms illuminated by the flickering firelight.

"Move!" Alexia shouted, grabbing Quinn's arm and dragging him outside.

The camp was in ruins. Survivors were being torn apart, their screams drowned by the guttural howls of the infected. Alexia and Quinn fought their way through the chaos, their weapons cutting down anything that got too close.

As they neared the edge of the camp, a lone infected lunged at Alexia, its jaw snapping inches from her throat. She stumbled, her machete raised in desperation, but before she could strike, the creature froze mid-air.

It hung there, suspended by an invisible for force.

Quinn stood behind her, his arm outstretched, his face a mask of shock and concentration.

"Quinn?" Alexia breathed.

He didn't answer, his focus entirely on the infected. The creature writhed, its body twisting unnaturally before being flung backwards into the horde.

Quinn staggered, his breath ragged. "What the hell was that?"

Alexia pulled him to his feet, her system buzzing with new information:

[Subject 'Quinn' Telekinesis Detected: Dormant Ability Now Active.]

"No time to process it now," she said, dragging him toward the forest.

Behind them, the camp burned, the infected overrunning what was left.

Once they were safely away from the carnage, Quinn collapsed against a tree, his hands trembling.

"I.... I did that," he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper. 

Alexia crouched beside him, her expression unreadable. "You saved me, thanks but whatever this is, it's keeping us alive. That's all that matters."

Quinn looked at her, the weight of what had just happened reflected in his eyes. "We can't keep running blind. I know a place----a base. It's fortified, and I have a..... friend there."

Alexia raised an eyebrow. "A friend?"

He nodded, his gaze distant. "He'll help us. But we need to move fast."

Alexia studied him for a moment before standing. "Lead the way." She was gonna head to the base anyways after she investigated the anomaly, so there was no issue with Quinn taking her there.

Quinn pushed himself to his feet, his resolve hardening. Whatever awaited them at the base, it had to be better than what they'd just escaped.