I mull over Seymour’s request as we make our way past the charred corpses and holes in the road to reach the others. The stench slapped me in the face again when I stepped down from the truck. Nothing like a smell of demented bacon to remind you you're in an apocalyptic zone with the potential for death literally any second. Me and Seymore weave our way past the charred bodies and slag holes in the road, finding everyone else huddled near a still unconscious Sara, Karen sitting on the ground next to her.

“We pick up too much stuff. With George being out we can't carry all of it and Sara.” Toby says as we close in.

“I can carry something, just nothing heavy. My right shoulder is fine.” George replies, sounding contrary as ever with his tone.

“We're over half way to the Walmart. Maybe Seymore can carry something if Lucy keeps him healed.” Robert says.

“Even with Lucy's help Seymore is what, sixty years old? He ain't gonna be able to carry one of these heavy ass bags.” Greg says.

“We thought the same thing about the riffle which is why we kept it put away. But clearly we underestimated the utility of Lucy's healing.” Robert says.

“Tell that to my fuckin shoulder.” George grumbles right as we reach the group.

“What's wrong with your damn shoulders now?” I ask captain sour face. Because his face currently looks like he's sucking on five super sour bomb candies at once. Also his wound is gone and his shoulder looks fine.

“His shoulder is broken, he probably has bone fragments from…..” Karen says, only to get interrupted by George being George again. He, Karen, and Greg go full bug eyed when they notice what I’m carrying.

“Oh hell no! Why does she have a fucking rocket launcher. Robert what the fuck man!” He immediately starts whining like a jealous little bitch.

“Shut up boy. I'm the one who told her to carry it. Because neither you, nor any of us could for hours on end without getting tired. Gimme that guy bag son, it's light enough without the rifle I can put up with it for a few hours.” Seymore says to Greg after snapping at George. Shit, I guess everyone is getting tired of his crap.

“No way in hell Greg is gonna be able to carry her, at least not fast enough to reach Walmart before we die of old age. We need to find somewhere closer.” Toby says.

“Can I carry the rocket launcher while Lucy carries Sara then?” Greg asks while handing Seymore the gun bag.

“No, that launcher with the ammo we looted is just as heavy as her. And your arms will get tired way faster trying to lug that launcher. Now listen closely boy, I’ll walk you through how to pick her up so you can carry her.” Seymore says pointing at Sara.

“We need somewhere closer. With Sara unable to move we just need to pick a building and find shelter. It's too dangerous to be carrying her around out here.” Robert says.

“Can we just leave the rocket launcher and have Lucy carry her?” Toby asks.

“No, we need that launcher to throw a stone in the cultists' plans. Alright, put her arms above her head like this, and make sure her legs are together.” Seymore says.

“I’m all for fucking with the cultists but is now really the time to be worrying about that? We need to find a place to rest or we won't be able to do shit.” George of all people asks, which certainly catches me off guard.

“Yes, the sooner we wreck their toys, the sooner we can get help. Unless you got a whole emergency room in your back pocket we don't know about, we can't do anything about a brain injury or broken bones. OK, now foot on her feet and throw her arms over your shoulder like this and lift. Keep your legs under you! Good, this is the best way to carry someone in a pinch. Even noodles like you lot can get a few good minutes of carrying in before needing to stop.” Seymore says as Greg manages to successfully haul Sara onto his shoulders.

“Yea, I’m only gonna be able to hold this for a few minutes.” Greg says, the strain evident in his voice.

“Alright let's go then, we don't want to wait for any cultists to come looking for their stuff. We keep going up the street, away from the base and any potential reinforcements. Everyone start thinking of anywhere that might be closer. Doesn't matter what it is, as long as its sturdy and easy to hide in. We can break in if we need to.” Robert says.

Toby helps pull Karen to her feet and we all start to move out. Everyone keeps near Greg in case he needs help getting over the remains of the decimated planter and debris from the building that took a fireball. Robert in particular stays close to him, with them being more in the middle of our group. Me and Seymore are at the front, while Toby, Karen, and George are at the back. Which I find extremely weird since I don’t know where I’m going. Until I take into account that we really aren't going towards the Walmart anymore, and Seymore seems to know what he’s doing. Which adds another question to the list of many I've been holding since it wasn't really the time. But what better time to ask than as we slowly trudge our way away from where we almost died fighting cultists. But quickly before we do, I turn over my shoulder and reassign the healing crystal from Toby to Sara. There's nothing more I can do for George with my minor heal, and honestly Sara needs it more. I highly doubt it will help if she has actual brain damage. But maybe it might be enough to push her state to where somebody else can help. With that done, I turn back to Seymore.

“So, do you think those cultist defenders were a one off fluke, or should we expect more?” I ask him, breaking the oppressive silence hanging over the group.

“Those weren't defenders. Some sort of casters certainly, but not defenders.” Seymore replies, which doesn't make any sense. Apparently he senses my confusion and continues.

“Those two were using demonic artifacts to cast spells. I take it you noticed how both were one trick ponies? An actual defender with access to magic would have thrown around different spells, and Robert would have never even made it to their flank, much less charged through it.” He says, which reminds me Robert still has the shield crystal. Not that I plan on taking it back yet.

“So, how does that work? Can we expect more of them?” I ask. I'm not going to bother asking why we didn't steal the artifacts, they are probably called demonic for a reason.

“Yes, we will probably run into more of them. They can be dealt with easily enough if you fight carefully. Of course that's if you're a trained unit. We're lucky these are our only injuries.” He says, glancing back at the others before continuing.

“As for how it works. I'm not a subject matter expert but a friend of mine once described demonic artifacts as magitech but with demonic sigils and symbols and all levels of wrong. It's said that the artifacts slowly curse and corrupt their user until they transform into a demon.”

The author's content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

“Oh, I guess that's why they taught us not to touch things with strange symbols in school.”

“A good part of it, yes. That and regular magitech can be dangerous too. Best not to let non experts pick it up and flail it about.”

“Still, why would anyone want to use something like that if demonization is the end result?” I ask. Only to imminently realize how stupid that question is. Though Seymore’s reply isn't the take I was expecting.

“Hmm, tell me girly. If you had the opportunity to become the very god you worship, wouldn't you take it?”

And that, that catches me off guard. Because damn that is deep and probably too god damn true for comfort. Cultists worship demons, or at least work with them to fuck everyone else over. In either scenario someone grabbing at what they perceive as greatness is more likely than not. Humans are idiots after all, and will blindly grab for power, possessions, and prestige without a care for what could happen. Just look at how our predecessors were the ones wrecking the planet before the demons came along. Heh, good thing I'm not……. No, stop that thought right fucking there. I am still HUMAN, and I will damn well not fucking forget that or act otherwise.

I shake my head to clear away what ever the fuck that was. Shit, fuck, damn, now is not the time to be loosing my sanity. Thankfully Karen speaks up before I can thrown myself into a spiral.

“I… I think there's a place we can stay around here. Maybe a street over. An old family bakery and confection shop. The front is open but I think the back only has two ways in. And the building is made of bricks.” She says, her voice trembling a little. She really isn't doing well, judging from how small She's making herself as we walk.

“It will have to do if no one else can think of anything better. Left or right ahead?” Robert asks.

“Right, we need to be on the parallel street. It's on a corner but I can't remember which intersection exactly.” Karen replies.

Before anyone else can say anything we walk next to a gap between the buildings. And alleyway conveniently leading to the next street over we want to get to, assuming it isn't a dead end. It's impossible to tell because of the thick dust still hanging in the air. It's also dark as fuck due to the limited light, and that light further being obscured by the buildings throwing thier shadows.

All in all it looks creepy, dark, and probably a bad idea. I'm perfectly content to walk past and stick to the at least partially illuminated street, and everyone else seems the same. So we walked past it without a word.

As we reached the first intersection, a loud howling echoed out in the distance ahead of us. It was very far ahead, but that didn't make it any less spooky for the five seconds it lasted. Everyone else pointed their guns down the street, I just kept my eye on it. After a moment of nothing happening we started moving again, this time a bit faster.

We barely finished rounding the corner when another howl ripped through the silence behind us, a lot closer than the first. Again everyone freaked but after a moment we kept going, but much more jittery than before. This is why we rushed, the noose is closing, and we need to make sure our necks are not in it when it finishes collapsing.

The cross streets here are short, blocks are longer than they are wide. Still by the time we reach the next intersection another howl blows through the silence, deeper and longer than ones before it, carrying on the wind a sense of dread and hopelessness. Definitely magic infused or something. If the rest of the group weren't jumpy before, they definitely are now.

We continue up the street. “Karen, where is this place you were talking about? What's it called?” Robert asks her, anxiety seeping into his words.

“I don't remember. Pastry something, I don't know! I only visited it once a year ago!” She replies almost in hysterics.

“And you didn't think to mention that before?!” George very loudly snaps at her.

“George shut up! Now isn't the time and your yelling is going to attract attention!” Toby hisses at him.

“Knock it off!” Robert snaps, but that only seems to enrage George further.

“No, fuck you! We're stuck in the goddamn shit hole! Billy and Clark are dead because of this bitch but we just keep parading around with her! We were completely fine until she showed up and now we're in the shit!” He bellows, making no attempts to keep his volume down. I open my mouth to refute him, but Seymore beats me to it.

With the click of the safety he spins around and levels his rifle at George. Greg panics and nearly stumbles trying to redirect his steps to get away. Karen freezes and crouches into a ball and starts crying. Toby and Robert jump back while bringing their weapons to a low ready against me and Seymore. Well mainly Seymore.

“Seymore put it away! We're not doing this.” Robert says, but Seymore ignores him.

“I've given you a lot of leeway because this is a very stressful situation. But you know what you're doing boy? You're singing along to their song, lettin them play with your fiddle by makin this your hill to die on. You know how we dealt with people letting the demons play with their heads when I served? We shot them, because they became a liability just as dangerous as the demons.” Seymore says so calmly you'd think he was listing off a street address. George just stares frozen at the barrel of the rifle barely two inches from his face.

“While I don't quite appreciate your attitude towards Lucy, you can dislike her for your own stupid reasons all you like. What you can not do is run around using her as an excuse to shout to the high heavens and draw trouble. So here are your options boy, you can keep quiet and not let out so much as a peep until we find somewhere safe. Or I can make a lot of noise for one second and then we don't have to worry about it any more. What's it going to be?” Seymore asks as Robert and Toby slowly lower their guns.

George stares at the barrel of the rifle for a bit longer before he seems to finally process the words and nods silently. Seymore turns back around and starts walking again so I quickly follow.

“Was that really the best idea?” I ask him as we slowly make a little distance on the others until they start to follow us.

“Unfortunately yes. They needed the shock to knock them out of the funk from the ambush and injuries. And I think that idiot is listening to voices in his head that aren't his own. And he’s to stupid realize it.” Seymore whispers to me.

“What?” I ask, caught off guard before I realize I should keep my own voice down.

“What do you mean hearing voices? No one’s mentioned hearing voices.” I whisper back, trying to get clarification. Because I sure as hell haven't been hearing voices.

“I’ve seen it before, sometimes in large scale battles the demons would employ mental attacks. It starts as an erroneous thought here or there, and slowly snowballs into borderline insanity. The nasty part is they blend right in with your own thoughts and the more you give into them the worse they get. So unless you know about it or are keeping a close eye on your own mental state you wont notice it.” Seymore whispers back.

“But this isn't a large-scale battle.”

“Yet.” is all Seymore says in reply. Fuck, he thinks they’re too dug in, and its going to get nasty when we drop the shield. That or he really thinks the plan of sending me out to rocket it is really a long shot.

“So why don’t we tell the others about it?”

“Because Miss Karen is borderline catatonic and George is just looking for an excuse at this point.”

“And you think that might send them over the edge?”

“Karen, maybe. Poor girl has suffered a lot during this. She wasn't really one for prolonged stress. George definitely. The others will be hit or miss if they believe it or not.”

“Why wasn't this mentioned earlier then? We might have been able to prepare for it.”

“Because I didn't realize it was happening earlier. You have to understand girly, there are a thousand ways the demons can kill you and thousands more they can make you do it yourself for them. I’m trained in recognizing and dealing with a lot of them from my time in the service. But even if I started listing off only the ones I know and am trained for from the very beginning I’d still be talking. I did give a small lecture at the start, which you were here for since you joined our group later.”

“And I guess voices in your head isn't a common one?”

“Like I said, it was used sometimes in larger battles. And by sometimes I mean rarely. It just takes too long to gain traction, days or even sometimes weeks depending on the person. And it's counter-able with proper training, troop rotation, and magic.”

“Well, we don't have training and we're not getting out of here. So it works perfectly on us.”

“Unfortunately.”

“So how long do you think they have before going coo coo for Cocopuffs?”

“George, a few hours unless you disappear for a while. The others, a few days probably. Their issues won't be focused on you.”

Fuckin great, another reason to shove me out the door and say go blow up the demons. Though that's arguably better than waiting for George to snap and randomly shoot me into the back of the head. Though I guess I have to give him some leeway if his dickheadedness is being exacerbated by demonic bullshit. My thoughts are interrupted by the crunching of broken glass, accompanied by a sharp pain in my right foot. Strong enough to make me cry out and jump back. Thankfully Seymore grabs me and keeps me from falling over. I pull my foot up to find a fucking shard of glass the size of my damn thumb sticking out of it.

“Fucking damn it!” I curse aloud, doing my best not to fall over.

“Shit, what happened?” Toby asks.

“I got fucking glass in my foot!”

“Shit, we can't afford even more of a slow down right now. Can you pull it out and heal yourself?” Robert asks.

“Probably.” I reply, looking up and trying to see where the glass even came from. It takes me a moment with the dust, but I realize I wasn't paying attention and we wandered right past the front of a looted building. The whole front was probably one of those glass front setup that lets you see in the entire front at one point. Now it's just smashed out, with the shards spilling into the sidewall and covered by the dust. I look up a little more and can actually read the name of the business. Denero Union Bank. No wonder this place got looted, cultists were probably all over it within the first few hours of being allowed to wander the city. I know banks are built kinda like forts, wonder how much trouble that actually had getting in with no one to stop them. I know banks are built kinda like forts, hard to call it a safe place to store your money if it can be broken into easily. Actually, that gives me an idea so stupid it might work.

“Hey, let's check this place out.” I say, turning attention from my foot to the looted building.

“If you haven't noticed, dumb ass, it's already looted. What the fuck we gonna find in a …….” George starts to talk shit, before a harsh look and a gesture of the riffle from Seymore shuts him up.

“I don't think a looted building is a good place to stay. But we might not have any other options.” Robert says.

“It's a looted bank. The cultists probably broke open all the doors but otherwise this place should be built tougher.” I say.

“Maybe, maybe not. Better than nothing. Between your foot and Sara we need to stop now anyways.” Seymore says, positioning himself to carry the weight of my bad foot.

With his help I can keep my bad foot off the ground long enough to at least walk over the shattered glass, which crackles under us as our entire group steps over it. Now we just gotta figure out if this place is serviceable, or if we just put ourselves in an open corner.