The wasteland stretched out in every direction, a vast expanse of cracked earth and jagged ruins. The fires of Refuge still burned on the horizon, their glow barely visible now against the night sky. Smoke lingered in the air, carrying with it the acrid stench of ash and death.
Grizzley led the group in silence, his machete hanging loosely at his side. He hadn’t stopped moving since they’d fled the square, his mind too focused on putting distance between them and the Sanctified. The others followed, their footsteps heavy with exhaustion.
Behind him, Sam trudged forward, one arm around Lila to steady her. She leaned on him, her face pale and streaked with soot, her spear dragging in the dirt. Ezra was just behind them, his wrench slung over his shoulder, his gaze fixed on the ground. Mara brought up the rear, her bow in hand, her sharp eyes scanning the shadows for any sign of pursuit.
They didn’t speak. There was nothing to say.
By the time Grizzley called for a stop, the horizon was beginning to lighten with the first hints of dawn. He found a cluster of boulders nestled against the base of a hill, their jagged edges offering a small amount of cover.
“We’ll rest here,” he said, his voice hoarse.
The group collapsed without argument. Sam helped Lila sit, then crouched beside her, checking the cuts and bruises that covered her arms.
“Let me see your hand,” he said softly.
Lila held it out, her fingers trembling. Sam frowned as he inspected the raw, blistered skin where she’d gripped her spear too tightly for too long.
“Should’ve wrapped it,” he muttered.
“It’s fine,” Lila said, her voice barely above a whisper.
Sam gave her a stern look but didn’t press further. He tore a strip of cloth from his shirt and began wrapping her hand.
Ezra sat a few feet away, his head resting against one of the boulders. His chest rose and fell unevenly, each breath a reminder of the bruises he’d taken during the battle.
“I screwed up,” he said suddenly, his voice breaking the silence.
Mara looked at him, one eyebrow raised. “What are you talking about?”
“I didn’t do enough,” Ezra said, his hands clenching into fists. “I couldn’t stop them. I couldn’t—”
“Enough,” Mara interrupted, her tone sharp but not unkind. “You did what you could. We all did.”
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Ezra shook his head. “It wasn’t enough.”
“None of it was,” Grizzley said, his voice low. He was sitting apart from the group, staring out at the wasteland. “That’s the truth of it. Doesn’t matter what we did—it was never gonna be enough.”
The group fell silent again, the weight of Grizzley’s words settling over them like a shroud.
Sam broke the quiet after a long pause. “What now?”
Grizzley didn’t answer immediately. He leaned back against the boulder, his fingers tracing the hilt of his machete.
“We move,” he said finally. “Keep moving until we’re out of range.”
“And then what?” Mara asked, her tone edged with frustration. “We just keep running forever? Is that the plan?”
Grizzley turned his head slightly, meeting her gaze. “You got a better one?”
Mara didn’t reply.
“We’ll figure it out,” Grizzley continued. “But first, we survive. That’s all that matters right now.”
The group rested for an hour, though none of them slept. They ate sparingly from what little food they had left—dried strips of meat and stale biscuits scavenged from Refuge before the fall. The water situation was worse. Ezra passed around a single canteen, and everyone took careful sips, trying to stretch it as far as possible.
When the sun was fully above the horizon, Grizzley stood and adjusted the strap of his pack. “Time to go.”
The others rose slowly, their bodies protesting every movement. Sam helped Lila to her feet, his arm steadying her as she adjusted her grip on her spear. Mara slung her bow over her shoulder, her sharp eyes already scanning the horizon.
Ezra lingered for a moment, his gaze drifting back toward the faint glow of Refuge.
“They’ll come after us,” he said quietly.
“I know,” Grizzley replied.
“And when they do?”
Grizzley’s hand tightened around the hilt of his machete. “Then we deal with it.”
The wasteland was merciless. The sun beat down on them as they walked, the heat bouncing off the cracked earth and pressing down on their shoulders. Every step felt heavier than the last, the weight of exhaustion dragging them closer to collapse.
By midday, they came across the remains of a long-abandoned gas station. The roof had caved in, and the pumps were little more than rusted husks, but the structure offered shade.
Grizzley motioned for the group to stop, and they shuffled into the shadow of the building. Mara and Sam began searching the debris for anything useful while Ezra helped Lila sit against the wall.
Grizzley leaned against a crumbling support beam, his machete resting across his lap. His gaze drifted to the horizon, scanning for any sign of pursuit. He didn’t expect Magnus to follow them immediately. The Watcher had already won. But Grizzley knew better than to underestimate a man like him.
As the group rested, Sam and Mara returned from their search, carrying a few dusty cans of food and a dented bottle of water.
“It’s not much,” Sam said, handing the water to Lila.
“It’s enough,” Grizzley replied.
The group ate in silence, their movements slow and deliberate. The food was bland and metallic, but no one complained.
When they finished, Grizzley stood and adjusted the strap of his pack. “We move again at sundown,” he said. “Get some rest while you can.”
The others nodded, settling into the shade as best they could. Grizzley stayed on watch, his eyes scanning the horizon.
As the sun dipped lower in the sky, the wasteland seemed to grow even quieter. The only sound was the faint rustle of wind over the cracked earth.
Grizzley glanced back at the group, his jaw tightening. They were alive, but for how long?
His gaze drifted to the horizon again, where the glow of Refuge’s fires had long since faded. Somewhere out there, Magnus was waiting. Watching.
Grizzley tightened his grip on the machete and turned away.
The fight wasn’t over. Not yet.