#dark taskforce 141

Part [1] Here

Red Dawn inspired AU Poly! 141 x Reader. This will eventually be a Dead Dove Do Not Eat so be prepared. Following chapters to be tagged accordingly. let me know if I missed any content warnings and I’ll add em. First actually published fic so forgive me as I figure all this stuff out. I also have no idea how to tag shit.

cw: suicidal ideation, ptsd type flashbacks

As the sun fell just along the pines, her breath started to solidify in the air, hanging lowly in the dimness of the night.

Her first instinct was to run. Adrenaline and fear melting logic and raising the fur at the nape of her neck. She embraced the feeling of something animal. Shivering and alone in a dark forest with predators just steps away.

Somewhere between the air growing colder and the birds having stopped singing she felt a chilled knife of reality slip between her shoulder blades. Pinning her squarely uphill behind the treeline from her grandparents cabin.

They'd taken it. More accurately they’d fucked up their vehicle on the precarious 2x4’s and stood in confusion for a few minutes before rallying and breaking down the front and back doors simultaneously with practiced ease. Military definitely. Their gear and their precision, silence. It was deafening. Or that was until they realized the place was empty. Even from safety she could see they were cataloguing, probably wondering where the owners of the home were.

No doubt thinking they'd find a bigger stash if they located the owners. That made her turn tail to the safety of the cabin before she could dwell on her precarious position in the food chain any longer.

It was always a possibility, that’s what she had to keep telling herself as she holed up in the bathroom with the two dogs, shivering and shakily holding a rifle. After seeing the sight of a once cherished home falling victim to an oversight of the 3rd amendment, the horror settled in her bones. If anything, laying low was the way to go. Then again, they weren’t Russian like the news had said. As she sat on the floor and grappled with decisions, Bronco laid out with great distaste, having been moved from his comfy couch for far too long. Rooster however cowered happily under her armpit.

Before she could realize what was happening, birds were softly chirping through the bathroom door. Groggily she sat up, gun still in hand and dogs snuffling into her to ward off the coldness of the tile. When her sensibilities came back to her, she perked up.

A bunny on a hill when a twig snaps.

It took minutes, hours maybe, for her to get her hands to stop shaking enough to open the door. When she did, everything was just so.

Everything in its place. Yet she was the only thing out of place.

Door creaking slightly she jumped when Broncos nails clicked against the tile and passed her so casually to the door. Looking lazily from over his shoulder. She swallowed thickly and turned to look back at the border collie puppy just behind her, equally as scared, crowding around her legs.

The morning air was thick with dew, and really she wasn’t sure she should be standing in the doorway dumbly as Bronco padded around on soft leaves and gravel. Could they hear them from all the way down there? Were they still here?

A braying made her head snap east to the barn. Hungry and angry that his breakfast was being delivered late, Jack was loud. Loud enough to alert the others.

Her blood ran cold, not thinking clearly as she sprinted toward the makeshift barn, rifle now on her shoulder and bouncing treacherously along. She didn’t even remember putting it there. Tears swelled in her vision and bile filled her mouth. Her fingers burned as they tried to pry the itchy twine away from the new bale. The noises the animal made were starting to warp, echoing off the aluminum roofing and driving her mad. Finally- the twine gave, grabbing a flake of hay she tossed it over the gate, spraying loose ends around her and onto Jack haphazardly before he quieted and snuffled on the ground.

Her body was full of static, waiting for something, anything bad to happen. All she could picture was the blood soaked carpet of her neighbors house. How they’d killed them like dogs. She knew she couldn’t do this alone.

Alone. All alone. Who would save her? Is there an army left to come save her? Before she knew it she realised she had been standing and watching the mule bounce back and forth on his back legs whilst chewing, only lifting hi s head once she’d gained her perception of reality once more. Something brushed against her leg and she stiffened, looking down to find Roosters small head staring back up at her.

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It was now almost dark. She hadn’t dared to peek over the ledge of the hill holding the cabin aloft her grandparents. She’d heard noises, voices, she assumed they were trying to fix their vehicle. At one point a loud Scottish(?) voice cursed loudly before a loud thud followed. All the curtains had been drawn and doors locked. Anything heavy had been pressed against said doors to at least keep a respectable distance between them and herself. The rifle hadn’t been more than a foot away from her, and her fathers Glock 19 had made its home in a leather holster by her right hip. Ammo filled her pockets, clanking while moving erratically from room to room, preparing for night fall. Jack had been fed and watered for the day with enough to keep him satisfied overnight in an effort to keep him quiet. The dogs had followed her while tending to him and done their business as needed, venturing out for only a few minutes at a time and closely monitored through a nearby window. A low whistle seemed to grab their attention enough to lure them back inside, or Bronco at least. Rooster seemingly following the older dogs example.

She’d packed a couple bags hesitantly as the sun fully began to set over the mountain tops. It felt wrong to leave, to give up her position so easily but staying alive was paramount. She had supplies laid out on the kitchen island. Water, fire starters, supplies to make shelter, first aide. Pick your poison and there was probably some variation of an item that was somehow laid out and ready to be put away. Her ears perked, there was the crunching of gravel faintly outside. Hearing them before she could see them.

Then there came the voices, coming from the front door. Large footfalls crunching gravel getting heavier and heavier. Closer and closer. There were more than two. She was certain.

Her blood ran cold and the rifle sitting just off to the side was up on her shoulder in a shaky instant.

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