Chapter 62: The Bunker (2)
Another flicker of light—sudden darkness—then back again the light. My eyes burn at the shift. I step forward, merging with restless forms, silhouettes pulsing in the intermittent glow. I massage my temples, trying to quell the hole drifting inside my skull—throbbing in rhythm with the flickering lights.
I vomit again—my second time since the collapse. My stomach grinds sour. The rest of the time I’ve spent in a corner, silent and separated. I don’t know anyone here except a handful I observed in passing through the tents. No familiar faces. No colleagues. No soldiers I’d met. The rest died under the plate or fell to monsters outside. Maybe a few escaped to the lakeside bunker—but I doubt it.
I trudge through the darkness, stoic and hollow. I feel nothing. No sorrow. No anger. Just... emptiness.
Then I see them.
First, a soldier—a big one—standing rigid. His armor stained green. It marks him as one of the High Blooded. Extra strength, extra danger. But armor slows even them. He’s holding a massive rifle, shoulders broad as a wall.
He looks down at me with narrowing eyes. “What is it?” His voice is low, sharp. I see steel grey in those flickering blue eyes.
Behind him, a woman steps into the light. Blonde like him, hair caught in messy waves. She’s about my height—1.80. Slender, quick. No rifle, but twin daggers on her belt gleam ominously.
“Frank, don’t always scare them,” she scolds. She smacks his shoulder—big enough to sting. “Goddamn it, hold your gun low.”
Frank grunts. “But... not my fault if something happens and I’m too slow.”