your hands grip the sides of the boat as you shiver. you're soaked to the bone, handsewn clothes sticking to whatever space they can take up on your skin. hair sticks to the back of your neck, the edges of your forehead, and the excess water drips off into the already soaked tunic.

when the boat rocks against the uneven ground, you realize it's time to move. your hands numbly and clumsily grab along the wood to pull yourself forward, to hike a leg over the front and set a foot on the solid ground. there's a stumble as the boat begins to rock away. it hadn't quite lodged itself onto the land, and you slip backwards away from it as it gets moved by the current again. you stumble onto your back, catching yourself on your elbows before your shoulders can touch the ground all the way. you can only watch, eyes locked on the dingy little boat floating away.

a crack of thunder brings you back once again to the situation at hand. it's time to get away from the open coastline and find somewhere to survive in until you can make a plan.

you doubt that there’s anyone being sent after you, but it’s best to expect anything so you pushed yourself up onto your feet and start walking inland.

it’s daunting. the giant buildings you had only seen from afar are much taller and wider than you thought. there’s so much noise, the water of the rapids and the rain, the creaking from old steel. somewhere a loud screech comes from a demon. it spurs you into following a wall closely.

you’ve got nothing except the clothes on your back and the shoes on your feet. you hadn’t even been able to get two functioning oars, so your arms burn from having to row the boat with one, relying on the wind of the storm to get you far from the island. if a demon found you, there was no chance you’d live to the next day.

you take slow cautious steps around the street, eyes roaming over the area once, then twice, then multiple times more just in case you can’t see what’s in front of you. pieces of the old world stick out to you. you come up on a staircase with a giant red ‘66’ in front of it. you bet that even with the context it still wouldn’t make sense to you. further in front of you, a giant painted fish adorns a restaurant entryway. you can only take a second to look at it before another crack of thunder makes you jump and keep walking.

you use broken awnings as cover from the cold rain, hand tracing the walls as you stay close to whatever building is next. everything is out of your depth. you'd never left the island like this before, and the soldiers always stayed high off the ground from what you had been told. there was no training for this, no preparing for being everything's prey.

the sun is going down. it peaks through the streets between buildings, still lighting the sky but leaving an eerie feeling.

you move quietly towards what looks like some old world living area, houses stacked on top of each other until you can barely see them in the sky. the window of the entrance is broken, but you overlook it, happy to have a way inside. the glass crunches under your feet as you get out of the rain.

it’s pretty dark inside now that the sun is starting to set. it smells moldy and rotted, and rain leaks through various holes in many places.

you wander inside further, listening for demons and checking over your shoulder at the window to make sure nothing’s tailing you inside. the shuffling of your worn shoes is quiet, but the building is somehow quieter, and it sounds like you’re the loudest thing that ever lived.

sticking close to the wall, you try to find a room that hasn’t been broken into, or at least with intact walls. you could at least barricade the opening if it comes to it.

there’s a shuffling noise, to your left, coming from the open lobby area of the building. something faintly moves behind the counter. it’s gangly, virus-grown, pale. it twitches as you freeze in your step with your breath catching.

the head turns, tall fungus growths moving stiffly with it, and you can tell it’s looking right at you. you can’t even see if it still has eyes, but you know. it shifts again, a moan sounding from it. you want to step back and inch your way back outside, but there's another snuffle from somewhere near the broken window. out of the corner of your eye, another demon. this one's in plain sight, crouched near the wall.

this second demon twists and reacts to the first one's sound. it lets out a similar moan, hunching in on itself. you'd think it was in pain at first, but then you remember being told by your peers once that they couldn't feel any.

you're stuck frozen, breathing shallow. your face has long paled and your shaking as you try to figure out where to go. behind you is piles of glass and in front of you is the darkness of the building. you don't know anything about this building, what if there were more?

you shuffle back slowly, one foot taking you a step back. it's not quiet enough.

the first demon behind the counter screeches, coming out from hiding to crawl around hauntingly. it's back is hunched permanently, hands gangly and twisted from scraping on the ground. all of it's bones are visible, legs thin. it rushes to another hiding spot, and you flinch back, stepping onto the glass from the broken window.

the second demon reacts. it's moans sound like it's mourning, crying out as it's disturbed. it, too, starts to hurry around the lobby, not yet coming at you, but finding somewhere to stalk from, to watch you and get ready to attack.

you're left to do the same, run somewhere else and hide, just like one of them. as you crush the glass on the floor on the way out, there's more screeching and shuffling from the demons.

they're after you now.

as you run out of the building back into the rain, they're doing the same, running over the same crushed glass into the street. it's darker now, sun having lowered more. the rain continues, now feeling even colder since you've been out of it for a little bit.

you're running fast, thankful for your upbringing as your stamina holds up down the street. your feet are hitting the ground hard, pebbles and rubble making you wince but you don't bother to look down or look back. the screeching behind you is enough to keep you going until you've reached a bombed street.

there's rapids rushing past, and there's small plateaus of road scattered around. it's enough.

you jump as you get close enough, and you land on a sections of road, skidding to your hands and knees. it's wet rock, and it doesn't make your life easier. there's fast water in between you and the demons now, but one of them manages a jump that brings it too close for comfort. you scramble up to fling yourself to the next plateau, but not without feeling the brush of the demon's hand on your leg.

the other demon's fallen into the water, hands scraping and scratching at the broken road to try and get to you but it gets swept away with a loud screech until it's out of sight.

the demon still on your tail is working hard, but it lost it's smarts over time, and your mind is still in tact. you make a final jump, just barely making it to the next platform of road. rock digs into your stomach as you pull yourself up fully. you kick and wriggle and when you finally get on the platform, you look back.

it's still there, getting ready to jump just like you did.

water splashes at you from how fast it's moving around the road pieces. you wipe some out of your eyes and move to the other end of the platform to gauge the jump. you don't have time to prepare yourself, the demon's got it's arms hooked on the road behind you and it's pulling itself up.

you step back once to give yourself space to run, and that's your mistake. you're just jumping forward when the demon's bony hand catches your tunic and yanks you backwards, down into the rapids. you’re scrambling to get out of the water, to at least get your head above it to breathe, but that thing is gripping you at your shoulders, clawing to get a bite of you.

your head breaks above the water for a moment, enough to take in a breath, then you go back under to fight it off. your lungs are burning as you fight the gripping hands away from your shoulders and neck. you shirt is tearing as you fight.

for a moment you accept that you'll die here, but suddenly the hands were gone. you open your eyes and through the murky water see the demon had crashed into a chunk of rubble and is stuck on it as you get swept further by the water. it's not moving anymore.

not a second later does the same happen to you. the air in your lungs is forced out, and you take in water as you try to use the wet rubble to get to the surface.

you break through into the air, sputtering out water. you look like a wet cat stuck in a river, claws clinging to the nearest stable surface. and with much effort, you make it onto the side of the broken roads, slowly pulling yourself up and out until you’re laying flat as you cough.

the sun's almost gone. it's darker and colder and the rain's picked up.

you let yourself take a moment to lay there and spit out any other water before you get up again. your heart still pounds from adrenaline as you look around to figure out where you are now.

it's a small side street, probably not far from where you had found the demons, but you wouldn't go back now. it was dangerous, and now you knew there were demons hiding in those buildings.

a faint screech and clicking gets you moving further along the street. it's hard to see if anything's getting ready to attack, so you hurriedly find another place to hide while you gather yourself.

a broken wall catches your attention. there's no sounds coming from inside the building, none that you can hear yet at least, and it looks a little more secure than the first one you had wandered into. you shuffled up to it, clutching the edge of the wall. you turn as you round into the entrance, looking through the street again. as you step back into the alcove-like area, you're so focused on keeping an eye out for demons you don't even see the wolf waiting inside.

this is your second mistake.

her gun clicks as she raises it towards you.

you're facing her in a second, stumbling back into the wall of the entrance, just next to it. you doubt you'd make it a step before she'd shoot you down.

she's menacing, face pinched in anger. her chin is tilted down and she glares at you, hand steady with the gun. she's in a gray shirt, one that doesn't cover her arms, cargo pants, boots. she looks soldier-like. it reminds you of the buffer women of the soldiers back on the island. however, she's clearly a wolf. you can tell from the gear, from the look in her eyes. you'd been warned about them, had they ever invaded the island somehow.

she shoots.

you duck quickly, diving for a pile of rubble to hide behind. another two shots ring out and chunks of rock around you litter the floor with the rest of the debris of the building.

“stand up”

the wolf’s voice is deep and commanding. you’d stand if you didn’t know any better.

“i said stand up!”

she takes a step forward, boots crushing pebbles underneath them.

you’re shaking behind the rubble. you’re cold and going through your third adrenaline rush of the day. you keep your head down and press yourself to the rubble.

as you cower, you clutch at the collar of your shirt and you whisper to the prophet. “please guide me through my storm, let the wind carry me to my salvation”

except she can hear the whispering, and she steps closer to round the block of rubble to get you under the end of the gun again.

“let me reach clari-“

“where are the others?”

you go quiet, looking up at her from your spot on the floor. it takes a second to think, and you numbly mumble out an answer.

“there are no others”

“bullshit, where are they?” she stiffens her arm, solidifying her grip and stance as she keeps aiming at you, at your head.

“i’m alone, i’m…” you wish it wasn’t true but you say it anyway. “i’m not longer one of them”

the confession is heartbreaking, to you at least. the scars on your cheeks feel like they’re fresh all of a sudden, and the clothes you wear feel wrong now.

her expression doesn’t change. she still has that look in her eye. like she should shoot without any other questions, like you’ve got an ambush set up right outside waiting for her. "and i'm supposed to believe you?" she spit the words out, untrusting.

"yes? i don't know..." you don't know how to respond. you look her over once more. this is the first time you had seen a wolf up close.

"get up" she flicks her gun upwards as she says the words, reminding you just where you are. you do what she tells you to, and you slowly push up onto your knees then stand up.

she steps in closer, gun still aimed as she reaches forward to check for a bag or weapons. she grabs your shoulder and pulls you forward, peering around your body and turning you this way and that to search you. when she seems satisfied, she moves back a little. she eyes you up and down for a moment, and then motions her gun towards your clothes.

"pockets, now"

you follow direction, and while one pocket is empty and turned out, the other reveals a small whittled figure-- the prophet.

she grabs it quickly, thinking it's some sort of knife or smaller weapon. when she looks at it closer, she realizes it's nothing. at least, it's nothing to her. she tosses it back towards you, uncaring if it lands in your hands.

your hands fumble to catch it and when you pick it up, you hold it tight between both hands for comfort.

“where are they?” she glances towards the entrance of the small alcove, rain flowing in when the wind picks up.

“who?”

“the rest of your group!” she adjusts her grip on the gun as she gets agitated.

“i- i’m alone. there’s no one else.” you insist. water drips off of your wet hair, skin still damp from the swim you had taken with that demon.

and maybe she’s going crazy, telling herself she should just shoot you and move on, save herself in case there really is an army after her. she doesn’t.

“scars don’t travel alone” she points out, still looking you over and trying to find the signs that you’re a ploy, a set-up.

“scars?” you ask, but you don’t need an explanation as you hand subconsciously reaches up to graze the exact things on your cheeks. so that’s what the wolves call you. you swallow thickly. “i’m no longer one of them. there won’t be anyone coming after me”

“coming after you?” the wolf repeats your words, her face pinching in confusion alongside the hostility. “what’s that supposed to mean?”

your thumb rubs over a smooth groove of the small figurine you clutch. you shiver from the temperature.

“i’m an apostate,” you explain,”they wouldn’t send anyone after me. it’s not worth the risk of their lives to find me now.” your voice wavers. it’s a hard-to-digest truth.

the wolf keeps her hostility. “what did you do?” she asks, now sure that you’ve probably done something considerably bad. and to you, it feels like you have, you know you have.

you close your eyes in regret, trying not to picture how you’ve strayed so far from the path. you’re parents are back on that island, and you wish you could tell them you loved them once more, that you didn’t mean to become an apostate.

“i saved a wolf.” you whisper it as the sin it is. “i looked away when i should’ve said something, i was such a coward.” you’re chest is tight with self-hatred.

you almost forget you're standing in front of one of those wolves you're saying you should have ratted out.

"you're the scar who let manny go?"

finally, a break in her hold. her grip wavers on the gun.

"i didn't know they were there to- to massacre us, i thought i was doing something good, something kind!" you ramble just a bit, still heartbroken over the event. you lost many good people, people you cared about. "he should've left!"

the gun is lowered just a bit, enough that you won't be shot in seconds but still held so she could pull it right back up.

"that- you..." the wolf stuttered over a couple words, clearly lost for what to say. the rain outside was getting heavy, lightning occasionally filling the room with light.

it lit you both up: the wolf as she stood tall and dry, then you shivering and soaked, hands to your chest with your figurine clutched tightly.

“no…” abby's just as confused as you are when she explains things, but for a different reason. your parents had been alive when the infection ravaged the world, what else did they not tell you about it all? "it's a fungus, it takes over the body... grows through the head until you end up like that bloater. it's not... sin, or whatever." she mumbles the end of her explanation, not trying to instigate but wanting to actually educate you.

you're inclined to disagree, to insist that it's all sin that ravaged the world. you don't. for the first time, you try to think of it like one of the viruses seraphites got after being in the rain for too long. you'd caught it once, having one of the worst cases on the island. but it never made you eat anyone or release spores.

all you did was quarantine in your house with your mom by your side until the fever broke. your mom had been helping you move from your bed to speak with the prophet, to thank her for life and for her blessings. you were so sure that your prayers were why you had been granted to heal- that you were free of sin because of her. now everything you did felt like sin.

"and the.." you don't have the words in your vocabulary to comment on it. "the thing that exploded, the one you threw at the demon, what was that?"

"infected." she corrects you. "that was a pipe bomb. a bunch of things go inside and then you light the fuse- that's the string on it- and then-" she mimes with her hands an explosion motion.

you don't quite get how 'a bunch of things' could cause an explosion like that, but it makes enough sense. after a few attacks from wolves, anything is believable.

"one of the soldiers back home, uh," you have to pause when your chest twinges at the word 'home', "she told me that we use molotovs, the bottles with the rags and fire."

"yeah, i know." abby says it flatly, almost wants to tell you about how many times she's nearly been hit by one thrown by a scar, but she doesn't. she thinks your smart enough to figure it out. you are. you feel guilty for a little while as you walk.

the road gets crowded, old cars piled bumper to bumper and crashed into each other. like everything else, it's all taken back by nature, grass sprouting through the spaces of broken road, bushes overgrowing the barriers on the sides. there's puddles in each pothole and crack. the noises of your and abby's footfall fills the silence as you keep on.

abby is marching along, determined and focused. she keeps her head forward to keep an eye on the path ahead. since reaching the main road, she’s kept her gun out and at her side. her eyes don’t even flutter down to check for things that could trip her, and she walks over them with ease. everything she does is solid and intentional.

as you think over all of these things— abby and her soldier-ness, being sick enough to eat people— you can’t help but have hundreds of more questions. you don't ask them.

"so..."

abby's got your attention again. she's got one hand holding onto her backpack strap as she walks. she adjusts it.

"you, uh, you saved my friend, another wolf."

oh. she's trying to make conversation. you take an extra step to catch up to her and walk by her side, shoes splashing into some leftover rain water.

"i did?" you barely remember what the man-wolf looked like when it had happened.

the island had it's morning fog, and the boat they used was small. it was only two or three wolves out searching for a gap in the seraphites routine. you'd seen them, just out of the corner of your eye as you made your way to the logging cabins. your path was usually calm and empty, no one else walking along with you.

it was chilling- seeing them. you'd felt so secure with your soldiers keeping watch. you never thought they'd get so close. but they did, and you saw them. you'd watched, stunned, as they scoped out the area and boated around. lucky for you, you'd been hidden by the brush and trees. they hadn't seen you until they were floating away quietly. only the man saw.

if you could just go back, shake yourself by the shoulders and sound the alarm... you'd do it in a heartbeat. it makes you feel more guilty than before, thinking about catching the wolf, abby's friend, to take care of him before any harm came to the island.

"yeah..." abby gets awkward. she doesn't know what to even say. there's nothing else to talk about. she's not looking at you as she talks, just keeps her eyes forward. she waves her free hand forward, as if offering something intangible. "thanks."

it gets quiet again. some bugs sound as they get close to you then fly away again. the temperature is heating up as the sun comes out from the clouds. footfall becomes less wet as the puddles dry out.

the warmer it gets, the more your stomach and chest buzz. the clarity comes quickly. seattle is behind you, and you won’t ever see the island again. as you walk, it feels oddly heavy and light at the same time. you’re free, and no one’s trying to kill you, but your actions weigh on you. would the prophet ever forgive you? would you turn into a demon from all of your sin? you even burned the figurine of her, she’s probably so mad. you’re sinful.

“we should stop soon to find food.” abby says, breaking the silence. “can you hunt?”

you blink and look over to her, and she’s looking right at you. she's almost got this look on her face like the one from when she first found you. it's pitying. it ruffles your feathers a little. you shake your head.

“i just helped at the lumber mill.” it feels so belittling, realizing how unprepared you are to survive. you knew exactly what to do with a rabbit or squirrel when it’s given to you dead thanks to helping your family with meals. but catching it? you’d be fucked. “sorry…”

abby doesn’t seem upset by it, but you can’t be sure. she shrugs a shoulder. “doesn’t matter, i can find something for us.”

and it surprises you when she actually does. you both veer off into the trees, keeping eyes open for any animals hanging around.

she’s got this heavy crossbow she unhooks from her bag, using it to get a few squirrels. she attempts a rabbit, but gives up when it’s clear she’d only be wasting time and effort. she hands the squirrel to you each time she gets one, and you hold them by the tails. if you could ingest raw meat, you’d have already torn into them.

by the time abby’s cleaned the arrows and got her stuff packed together again, you’re trying to make yourself useful. you’ve gathered some twigs and branches for a fire. abby stops you by holding a hand up. she shakes her head.

“not here. we’re too exposed.”

she’s right. you weren’t even thinking about that, how stupid of you. you drop the wood in your arms and nod, almost embarrassed. fuck, you need to snap out of it. it’s over, that life on the island, being a seraphite. you’re on your own- kind of.

as you follow her back to the road, your free hand makes its way to your sternum, fingers curled in instinct. your mind buffers, as if you’ve taken in a breath to speak but hesitated with words. you were going to pray, but what do you even say? would she even listen?

you awkwardly bring your hand back down and watch the dirt as you walk. you’re getting a headache from how pinched your face stays.

abby’s boots scuff against the road through the silence of you two. you swing the squirrels by their tails mindlessly. the clouds pass by slowly, only giving some cover to the hot sun. you’d grown so accustomed to the shade of the tall trees on the island. with another glance at abby, you see the sun spots covering her shoulder.

in comparison, you’re skin is sensitive, untouched that much by the sun. you’re face is becoming sensitive to the touch with a burn slowly setting in. the top of your head is warm, the signature braids of a seraphite coming loose in spots. you feel gross and dirty after the few days of being soaked through with dirty city water.

--

you find yourselves at a river. it's off the main road, relatively hidden, surrounded by a thick patch of forest. the squirrels are clipped to abby's bag, secured tightly.

in abby's hand, a small sliver of soap sits. it's worked down from it's days of use, and her hand twitches as she holds it out. you see that she'd really prefer not to share, but it's an olive branch, one of the many she's extended since you both met.

"take it" she insists, holding it closer. "you... kind of stink really bad."

her words quicken your pace and the soap is taken quickly.

you both get some distance from each other at the water's edge, playing a quiet game of pretending the other isn't there. clothes are stripped off, and you even dunk yours in the water next to you in hopes that the runoff soap will do something to the grime on them. your hair becomes the hardest part of the wash. the river's water is refreshing, not too cold. it feels clean. fish travel by here and there, no use worth catching.

it takes a minute to undo the intricate details of the braids, and you sit down to air dry next to the water as your fingers dig through it. for a moment, you pause to set your clothes up to dry, but again you're stuck digging through knots and ties. you undo all of the hard work your mother had done just a day prior.

the water laps up against your legs as they stay soaking in the water. it's quiet and calm. clouds roll by, covering you from the sun. a breeze passes by.

there are tears hitting the water before you know it. your fingers are stuck in the knots, hair tugging and stinging at the roots. you yank hard, a guttural sob sounding from the pain.

your mother would never braid your hair again. you'd never feel the comfort of her hands in your hair, smoothing over your shoulders when she was done.

abby's hand on yours makes you jump, much like you did the night before when she had a gun aimed at you. you sniffle and glance at her from the corner of your eye. you stay somewhat turned away as if it stops her from seeing the state you're in.

she's gotten dressed again, clothes somewhat wet as if she didn't take the time to air dry at all. she's got your shirt in her hand, offering it up to cover yourself while she sits so close.

you accidentally tug your hair again as you try to pull your hand down and away. abby looks you up and down and reaches her hand up to help untangle the section caught on your finger. you're finally able to grab the shirt and slip it on. her voice is quiet, awkward.

"i have this..."

a small comb sits in her hand. another olive branch.

your eyes flit to it, then back to the water. you're ashamed. you were raised better. why are you making such a big deal out of hair? your mother would click her tongue at you if she saw you now.

but, once again, abby surprises you. she doesn't leave the comb with you, or push it into your hand. she gently pulls at a lock of hair, freeing it from the three others. she works her way through the twists, combing out sections in a gentle pattern. she never tugs or yanks, and the comb barely registers in your mind. you can hear her inhale and then hesitate for a moment.

"did your mother or sister braid your hair?" she talks like she uses the comb. it's gentle and timid, afraid of pushing too hard or overstepping. afraid of tugging and causing pain.

"my mother." you answer quieter, whispering it to the water.

abby finishes with the comb, sitting on her knees. something's eating at her, but you don't notice. you hold yourself. when your hand comes up to wipe your face, you only feel your chest tighten as your fingers brush over the scars.

"i can't braid it like she did..." abby leans a little as she talks. she's trying to say it to your face, to land the blow as gently as possible. "but i can braid it if you want."

this is it. this is the new normal. it's over. you're not there. you're here.

you nod just once, eyes still forward into the gentle flowing river and how it runs over your calves and feet.

you're here, and you're getting your hair braided by a wolf. by abby.

she's quick and silent, pulling out the hair tie to her own braid to tie your braid off. she stands up and grabs the mostly dry rest of your clothing to hand to you. she turns away, back to her bag as you get dressed the rest of the way. as you're slipping the second shoe on, she's already found another worn out hair tie in her bag and she's fixed some of the hair that slipped from her braid.

when you finish and clear your throat to alert her. she gives you a once over and a nod before going to pick up her bag and sling it back over her shoulders.

"come on." she nods her head to the direction of the main road, hands holding onto her backpack straps. "we'll find somewhere to sleep and eat."