As the first rays of the sun pierced through the dense canopy of the forest, a golden hue washed over the landscape, slowly illuminating the world below. Dew-laden leaves glistened like diamonds, catching and reflecting the morning light with a gentle brilliance. The forest came alive with the symphony of morning—birds awakening from their slumber, their cheerful melodies echoing through the trees. It was a harmonious chorus that resonated throughout the woods, untouched by the chaos that had consumed the world.
The woodlands radiated an unbothered tranquillity, a peace so palpable it felt like another world entirely. Were it not for Jonathan, Przemek, and Sofia lying on the hill overlooking the settlement, this place could have been mistaken for paradise.
The air was cool and crisp, carrying the faint earthy fragrance of damp soil and pine. Mist clung to the low-lying areas, weaving between the trees like something out of a fairytale. Jonathan found himself briefly lost in the serene beauty, his thoughts wandering to a time when life had been simpler. For a moment, he let himself believe in the illusion of peace.
He was shaken out of his reverie by Przemek’s hand on his shoulder. The firm grip grounded him, bringing his focus back to the task at hand.
----------------------------------------
Much to Przemek’s reluctance, the trio had decided during the night to send Sofia to the gates of the settlement. The plan had been her idea, and she had volunteered without hesitation. While Jonathan could communicate if needed, the group wasn’t sure how the settlers would react to a non-Swede. Przemek, with his heavy Polish accent and his no-nonsense demeanor, was out of the question. Sofia’s Swedish heritage, coupled with her calm disposition, made her their best option.
Przemek had eventually agreed to the plan, though his reluctance was clear. He had come up with a strategy for keeping watch: he and Jonathan would remain on the hill, maintaining overwatch with their rifles trained on the settlement. If anything went wrong, they would cover her retreat.
Now, the two men lay prone behind their rock, their scopes scanning the plain below. The settlement appeared as it had last night, a hodgepodge of structures surrounded by a makeshift wall of pallets and scrap. Inside, life seemed to go on as usual. Two young women, accompanied by a small crowd of children, washed clothes near a water pump. A pair of men worked on one of the vehicles that had arrived the previous evening. People moved about with purpose, as though this was any ordinary morning on any ordinary day.
“They seem to have settled in well,” Jonathan muttered, his voice barely above a whisper.
Przemek didn’t reply immediately. He adjusted his scope, his focus sharp. Finally, he said, “Remember—don’t tell them how many of us there are. Stay out in the open. If you feel like they’re cornering you, cut your losses and get out of there. Don’t run. Just walk away without asking questions. Tell them we have eyes on you, and we’re ready to shoot their kids if they even lay a finger on you.”
Jonathan gave him a sidelong glance. “I’m sure they’ll love hearing that,” Sofia quipped, her tone dry but her expression steady.
“Oh, and let your hair down as you get closer to their gate,” Przemek added, almost as an afterthought.
Sofia raised an eyebrow. “You want me to use my feminine charms, Przemek?” she asked sarcastically.
“I just hope you know what you’re doing,” he said quietly, his voice losing some of its edge.
Sofia didn’t answer immediately. She left her rifle with Przemek, choosing to carry only her pistol, discreetly tucked into her waistband. As she began making her way down the hill, retracing their steps from the night before, Przemek called after her.
“Whatever happens, we won’t leave you behind,” he said, his voice calm but filled with conviction.
Sofia stopped for a moment and turned back, smiling at him with warm eyes. It was a look of quiet gratitude, one that Przemek reciprocated with a faint nod before returning his gaze to the settlement. He trained his scope on the men guarding the gate, steadying his aim in case things went wrong.
Jonathan watched Sofia’s figure disappear into the mist below, his fingers tightening on his rifle. “She’ll be fine,” he said, more to himself than to Przemek.
Przemek didn’t respond. His focus was razor-sharp, his breathing steady as he tracked the movements of the settlement below. The plan was simple: Sofia would walk back to the cottage after her encounter, and he and Jonathan would follow at a safe distance, ready to act if they were followed.
For now, all they could do was wait—and hope.
As Sofia descended the hill, her footsteps deliberate, she let her hair down, its strands catching the faint morning breeze. The gesture wasn’t for vanity but to appear less threatening, something Przemek had insisted on. She bit her nails briefly, a nervous habit, before forcing herself to stop. She was in the sights of her friends now, their rifles trained on her for overwatch. That thought reassured her, though it also added weight to the moment. Every step counted.
The closer she got to the settlement, the taller the walls seemed. What had appeared haphazard from a distance now loomed over her, an improvised fortress cobbled together from anything the settlers could salvage. Wooden planks, PVC panels, rusted metal sheets, and even washing machines and refrigerators made up its lower sections. As she approached the main gate, she noted the physical barriers: concrete blocks, bollards, and a padlocked chain-link fence separating the settlement from the outside world.
Up on the hill, Jonathan adjusted his rifle scope. “I still see three assault rifles,” he whispered.
“Two at the gate and one by the van,” Przemek confirmed, his voice steady.
Sofia kept her pace calm and deliberate. She resisted the urge to glance back toward the hill; the fact that she couldn’t see her companions reassured her that they were well-hidden. At the gate, one of the guards, a wiry man sitting in a camping chair, glanced up and froze when he noticed her. For a moment, he looked confused, as though he might have mistaken her for one of his own returning from errands. But when Sofia raised her hands in the air, his confusion gave way to suspicion. He grabbed his rifle and stood.
Przemek’s finger tightened on the trigger of his FNC rifle, his scope fixed on the man’s chest. His breathing slowed, steady as a drumbeat. “This plan sucked from the start,” Jonathan muttered, his voice edged with tension.
“Stay quiet,” Przemek hissed. His aim remained locked, the rock in front of him providing a stable rest for his weapon.
At the gate, Sofia stopped in her tracks. “I don’t want any trouble,” she called out, her voice clear and steady.
The man raised his rifle slightly, signaling her to halt. “Good. What do you want?”
Sofia took a breath, meeting his eyes. “Me and my friends want to talk to whoever’s in charge.”
The man scanned her from head to toe, his eyes lingering on her face before shifting to the treeline behind her. “Is that so? And where are your friends?” His tone was sharp, probing. He gestured for her to turn around, making sure she wasn’t hiding anyone behind her.
“I won’t tell you that right now,” Sofia said calmly. “But they can see me—and you.”
The man’s jaw tightened. He glanced nervously at the hill, trying to spot whoever might be watching. “You got any weapons on you?” he asked, his voice dropping slightly.
“In the left pocket of my jacket. There’s a pistol,” Sofia said evenly. By now, a small crowd had gathered near the gate, murmuring among themselves and watching the exchange with curiosity.
The man muttered something to the guard next to him and stepped forward, cautiously retrieving the pistol from her pocket. “Take her to Sven,” he said curtly, handing the weapon to his colleague.
As the gate creaked open, Sofia felt a firm hand grip her upper arm, steering her into the settlement. The scene inside was far from hostile—half-awake children played near a water pump, and a group of teenagers worked busily washing clothes and collecting water. Though every pair of eyes seemed to glance at her at some point, no one moved aggressively. Life here seemed... normal, almost reassuring in its routine.
They approached a large stable near the center of the settlement. Sofia stopped just outside its entrance. “I’ll talk to him out here,” she said firmly.
The guard escorting her frowned. “Really, lady? You better have a damn good reason to drag him out of bed this early.” He sighed heavily before relenting. “Fine. Keep an eye on her,” he muttered to another guard before disappearing inside.
As Sofia waited, she took the opportunity to observe the settlement. Two people brushing their teeth outside a decathlon-branded tent were watching her warily. The walls, up close, were a patchwork of pallets, tires, and trash, a testament to both ingenuity and desperation. Near the improvised kitchen tent, a small group of people rushed to prepare breakfast, steam rising from battered pots and pans.
“You want a plate?” a voice called out from behind her.
Sofia turned to see a tall man with a beard stepping out of the stable. Though rugged, he looked younger than his gruff exterior suggested, perhaps in his late thirties or early forties.
Stolen story; please report.
“Some nice village you’ve got here,” Sofia said, keeping her tone warm but measured.
“We get by,” the man replied simply, his eyes studying her carefully. “Apparently, you’ve got some people overlooking us?”
“Just for my safety. I hope you understand,” Sofia replied evenly.
The man’s expression darkened slightly. “I understand what’ll happen to you if anyone here gets hurt or worse.”
“It won’t come to that,” Sofia said confidently. “Me and my friends just want to know if we can camp nearby. We don’t want any trouble.”
“That’s it?” the man asked, his tone skeptical. “Hell, some rye bread and wine would’ve been more than enough to welcome you as new guests.”
“We’re good, then,” Sofia said with a smile, taking a step back.
As she began to leave, the man called out, “What kind of folks are your friends?”
Sofia stopped, turning slightly. “We barely made it out of Malmö,” she said. “But let’s just say we know what we’re doing. We’re looking for peace, the same as you.”
“You all made it out of Malmö?” he asked, his eyebrows raising in surprise. “That’s an accomplishment. Heard the military didn’t even make it out.”
Sofia didn’t answer, but her silence and the flicker in her eyes told him enough.
The man—Sven, she assumed—paused before speaking again. “You folks want a job?”
Sofia tilted her head. “Depends on what.”
“We had a woman here. She’s important to us—a hell of a chemist. She was the one making homemade antibiotics. She’s gone missing, and we need her back.”
“Straight to the point. Who took her?” Sofia asked, her voice steady but laced with tension.
Sven let out a deep sigh, his eyes darkening. “Some unaffiliated bandits. Jävlar who’ve been stockpiling everything since the early days of the crisis. They’ve been shooting and killing anyone who stood in their way. They got her yesterday.”
Sofia raised an eyebrow, her expression sharp. “You sure she’s still alive?”
Sven nodded grimly. “I didn’t know she was—until they radioed us. Turns out they know how much she’s worth. They’re willing to give her back, but only in exchange for our entire winter food stock.”
Sofia narrowed her eyes, studying him carefully. The weight of his words hung heavy in the air, and she could see the strain in his posture. He was desperate, and desperation often made people dangerous. After a long moment of silence, she asked, “What happened?”
“Three of our vehicles left for a supply run near Halmstad. She went with them because she thought her aunt might still be alive there.” His voice grew quieter. “They were ambushed. The drivers and two others managed to escape, but not her. They took her, along with half the supplies.”
Sofia shifted her weight, crossing her arms. “And you’re planning to give up your entire winter stock for her?”
Sven’s jaw tightened. “She’s not just another settler. She’s the one who’s been keeping us alive. Homemade antibiotics, painkillers—she made them all. Without her, we’d be dying from infected cuts and fevers. And she’s more than that.” His voice dropped. “She’s family.”
Sofia looked him up and down, her mind working through the situation. She needed to tread carefully. “Me and my friends need to talk this through,” she said, her words deliberate.
“Of course,” Sven replied, his tone neutral but watchful. “Think of a price,” he added after a pause.
Sofia tilted her head slightly, glancing southward. “You see the football field just past the settlement?” she asked, checking her watch. Sven nodded. “Meet us there at 7 p.m.”
Sven held her gaze for a moment before nodding again. “Alright.”
They exchanged a firm handshake, his grip rough and steady. Without another word, Sofia turned and walked out of the compound. She kept her pace calm and measured, resisting the urge to look over her shoulder. The murmurs of the settlers and the sound of daily life faded behind her as she made her way back toward the place they stashed their backpacks. Przemek and Jonathan waited the entire time she walked, their rifles pointed at different armed characters near the entrance.
As the sun dipped below the horizon, the crisp autumn air settled over the small Swedish village. The night sky, clear and full of stars, stretched endlessly above, a stark reminder of how vast and indifferent the world was to their struggles. The cold bit at exposed skin, a chilling promise of the harsh winter ahead. For Jonathan, Przemek, and Sofia, the weight of their isolation pressed heavily on their minds. Though they had adapted to a life of roaming, the past few weeks had made one thing clear—they couldn’t do this alone. Their meeting with Sven and his group wasn’t just about a job; it was about securing something more vital: allies, shelter, and survival.
Przemek took a final drag from his cigarette, the ember glowing faintly in the darkness as his eyes scanned the area. Across the football field, one of Sven’s men stood watch, his silhouette illuminated by the faint light spilling from the bar. Przemek crushed the cigarette under his boot, exhaling a plume of smoke into the cold air. He squinted toward the attic window of a nearby building, where Jonathan was positioned, rifle in hand, keeping his scope trained on Sven’s men. The silent reassurance of Jonathan’s overwatch steadied Przemek as he adjusted his jacket and made his way into the football club’s bar.
The bar was dimly lit, candles scattered across tables providing the only illumination. Shadows danced on the walls as the flames flickered. Sven sat near the bar, engaged in quiet conversation with Sofia. They were speaking in Swedish, their words too low for Przemek to catch. He didn’t care much for pleasantries tonight. His mood was sour, weighed down by the lingering doubt that this deal could go sideways at any moment.
He leaned his FNC rifle against a table before interrupting their exchange. “So, what do you need?” he asked bluntly.
Sofia shot him a sharp look, but Przemek ignored it. A brief silence followed as Sven scratched his beard, gathering his thoughts.
“Sofia told you about Linda, right?” Sven asked finally.
“The pharmacist? Yeah, she did. Talk about a brain drain,” Przemek said, crossing his arms.
“Brain drain, right,” Sven replied awkwardly, nodding. “Glad you understand how valuable she is to us.”
Sofia leaned forward slightly. “I have to ask—why would we do this? You seem to have enough armed men to handle your own problems.”
Sven hesitated, clearly preparing an answer, but before he could speak, Przemek interjected. “Sofia, you already know the answer to that question.”
“No, I don’t,” she replied, her tone carrying a hint of annoyance.
Przemek leaned back in his chair, gesturing toward Sven. “He can’t risk his men. If he sends them and the mission fails—or worse, the losses are too big to justify getting her back—he’s going to have to explain that to his people. And explaining dead fathers, sons, and husbands doesn’t go over well.”
Sven’s expression shifted, a flicker of respect crossing his face as he studied Przemek.
“Or,” Przemek continued, “he sends us. If we fail, he doesn’t lose anything. We’re just hired guns. Sure, they won’t get Linda—”
“Linda,” Sven corrected.
“Yes, Linda. They won’t get Linda back, but it’s easier for him to explain to his community that some outsiders failed than to explain why he buried half his men.”
Sven didn’t respond immediately. He simply smiled faintly, leaning back on his bar stool.
“There’s nothing wrong with that. It’s the smart move,” Przemek added, breaking the silence.
Sofia shifted in her seat, attempting to redirect the conversation. “How many of them do you think there are?”
Sven turned his attention to her, the tension easing slightly. “Ten, fifteen last we heard.”
“They just stockpile supplies, right?” Przemek asked.
Sven nodded. “That’s right. They steal from communities, remnants of the military, even other bandits. They keep what they need and sell the rest.”
“What do they trade for?” Sofia asked, her voice sharp with curiosity.
Sven raised his hands in frustration. “Everything—ammo, medicine, food, drugs. Even…” He hesitated. “Time with young girls in that port district in Halmstad.”
The room fell silent. Sofia’s jaw tightened, her knuckles whitening as her fingers curled into fists. Przemek’s face remained stoic, though his gaze darkened.
“Where do you think they’re keeping her?” Sofia finally asked.
Sven exhaled deeply. “As of last night, they’re holed up at their depot—a fire station north of Halmstad.”
“And you know this for sure?” Przemek asked, his tone sharp.
“They radioed it on the regional network,” Sven replied.
Przemek leaned forward, his interest piqued. “Tell me more about this network.”
“It’s a makeshift station that isolated groups use,” Sven explained. “Mostly for trading and sharing information. Sometimes you get news, but most of the time it’s just bullshit. Occasionally, they broadcast the movement of large groups of insane folks. Or… something like what you did in Malmö.”
Sofia and Przemek stiffened at his words, their expressions betraying a moment of unease. Sven’s tone remained calm, but the implication hung heavy in the air.
“Sometimes,” Sven continued, “you hear groups begging for help, screaming into the radio as their outposts are overrun. Most of the time, the only response they get is someone asking what the price is.”
Przemek’s hand drifted to his holster under the table, his instincts kicking in. He met Sven’s gaze with quiet intensity, ready for anything. Beside him, Sofia’s eyes darted between the two men, her breath shallow.
Sven raised his hands slightly, sensing the shift in energy. “Relax,” he said. “Coming back to our business—they boasted about their ambush over the radio. They named their price for her return. Since we heard her voice last night, it means she’s still there. Those radios are too big to move around.”
Sofia exhaled slowly, nodding. “Can you mark it?” she asked, placing her map on the table.
Sven studied the map for a moment before circling a spot near Halmstad. “There. That’s the fire station.”
Przemek and Sofia exchanged a glance. The location was marked, but the tension in the room lingered, thick and heavy.
“What do you want in exchange for getting her back?” Sven asked, tossing his marker onto the table with a soft clatter. “The supplies we talked about aren’t nearly worth risking your skin for one of my people.”
Przemek and Sofia exchanged a glance. There was a moment of unspoken understanding between them before Przemek nodded. “You tell him,” he said warmly, his voice steady and reassuring. Sofia straightened her posture, feeling a surge of confidence with Przemek’s support.
She took a breath. “Well, on top of the supplies we discussed earlier—which, frankly, we could’ve asked for far more considering what we’re about to do for you—me and my associates don’t see any reason why our groups couldn’t become… friends, if this all goes well.”
Sven raised an eyebrow, his expression shifting into one of mild curiosity. “Go on,” he said, his tone pleasant but guarded.
“We’re not asking to share a bed with you,” Sofia continued, her voice calm but firm. “All we ask is that we can rely on each other in times of need. If we’re in grave danger or we need technical or medical help, we want to know we can knock on your door. And the same goes for you—if your people are in trouble, we’ll come when called.”
Sven studied her and Przemek for a long moment, his sharp eyes darting between them. The room felt heavy with silence as he weighed the offer. Finally, he gave a small, thoughtful nod. “Seems more than reasonable. If you do this for us, our door will always be open.”
Sven extended a hand. Sofia reached out and shook it firmly, followed by Przemek. The deal was sealed, but the stakes had never felt higher.
As Sven stood, he reached for his thick leather jacket, shrugging it on with practiced ease. “When are you planning to proceed?” he asked, his tone now brisk and businesslike.
“We’re moving tonight,” Przemek replied, his voice steady. “We can’t waste time. If they radio you, tell them you’re getting your affairs in order and that you’ll need proof of life by tomorrow afternoon.”
Sven nodded in agreement. “Understood.”
With that, Sven turned and walked out of the bar. The door creaked slightly as it closed behind him, and the faint chill of the autumn night crept into the room. Outside, Sven stopped near the edge of the football field. He stared across the field at the house where Jonathan was stationed, the open window visible in the distance.
He raised a hand and waved his hat toward the open window, a gesture of acknowledgment or perhaps warning. Inside the attic, Jonathan flinched at the motion, his focus snapping back to the scope of his rifle. He was lying a few meters back from the window on top of long table, his rifle steadied on his backpack. He cursed under his breath, realizing he should’ve left the window shut.
Jonathan’s instincts screamed at him to stay out of sight. He pulled back further into the shadows, his breathing slow and measured as he watched Sven walk away. Whatever peace they’d just brokered, Jonathan couldn’t shake the feeling that things could unravel in an instant.