William ran through the camp. His shoes were too small for him. They clung to him, caked in mud and grime. Two men carrying an old wooden chest of drawers in his path, Will sped up. The slick mud allowed him to slide past them before they noticed him.
The early morning air was still crisp. His lungs were stinging as he drew in deep breaths. The sound of his footfalls were light on the mix of mud and concrete. Old tents on his left, right, ahead, and behind were lined up 1 by 1. A gap in the tents acted like the end of a block of houses, providing a wider path for vehicles and people to travel through. Will skidded to slow down as he turned onto the large path, but was back to his full speed in two strides. More people on these pseudo-roads; he stayed out of everyone’s way.
William Matthews was a shorter kid. He had a mess of dark black hair on his head and tan white skin. Only about 5 feet tall, he had turned 13 earlier in the year. No celebration had marked his day of birth. The changing weather made him aware that his birth date had come and gone. Mud had caked onto his shoes and pants legs, and sweat stains were visible beneath his thick wool shirt. Fresh water was rare nowadays, so he was starting to stink, but he didn’t mind. Smelling awful was the least of his worries nowadays.
"Watch it!" exclaimed a woman as Will leaped over her dog. It was a small white poodle with mud spattering on its fur coat. He would have stopped to pet it, but he was in a hurry.
Continuing his run, he ignored the people around him. Too many of them had that sunken look in their eyes. Scared and scarred over the events of the last year. That thought almost made Will pause.
Has it really been a year? He thought for a moment. In a year, the city had undergone a lot of changes. Actually, if rumors were to be believed, the whole world had changed.
He pushed those thoughts away as he came closer to the large tent directly ahead. There was already a line of boys in front of one of the many checkpoints scattered around the camp. William began to slow down. With two large gulps of air, his breath was steady as he forced his heart rate to slow down. A cold sweat on his forehead, he wiped it off as he stood at the end of the line of boys.
There was very little chatter in the line. The sun was still coming up; the day had barely begun. Will wasn’t exactly sure of the date, but he assumed it was late August or early September. Days of the week had disappeared for him a long time ago, so for all he knew, it could be Saturday. But with the end of the world, weekends were a thing of the past.
As the boys at the front received their daily missions, the line slowly advanced. One by one, the line moved up. The feet squishing in the mud told him someone was behind him. Glancing back slightly, he saw the larger duo form a line behind him. Both were older than William. The large black kid was at least 15 years old, although he looked older. Almost 6 feet tall, he towered over William. Actual muscles were peeking out of his disheveled clothes. Will knew him by name, but that was all. His half-brother stood behind him. Given his lighter skin tone, Will assumed he was of Latino descent. Short dark brown hair and eyes scanning everything the younger brother was Will's height. The other boys ahead of William were quiet as they waited.
“Where do you think today?” Santos whispered. The shorter of the brothers was always quiet; it was the first time Will heard his voice.
“I’m betting I’ll be stuck digging,” Samson said in a deep baritone voice. As if accustomed to it, the older, darker-skinned brother cracked his knuckles. The big man paused. “And I’m guessing you’ll run, Will.”
Will’s heart clenched. It was the first time Samson spoke to him. The older and bigger Samson made Will more than a little scared. Though Samson was only 15, Will had seen him beat up an older kid who tried to take his tent.
“Uhh,” Will stammered, having been caught eyeing the brothers.
“Come on, don’t have all day,” an older woman’s voice said. Will glanced forward to see a large gap between him and the front desk. The others had been assigned while he eavesdropped on those behind him. William rushed forward to stand directly in front of the desk.
“Uh-”
“Messenger,” the older woman said. “Run this to the Eastern camp, and this to the Northeast.”
William grabbed the small slips of paper she offered. Stuffing them in his pockets, he nodded and walked away from the table. Samson and Santos stepped up to get their assignments, but Will ignored them. As he made his way around the large job assignment tent, he came to a short wall surrounding the encampment. A quickly moving stream of people walking outside of the fenced-in enclosure. There were a few guards with guns to make sure no one tried to break in.
The others were quiet as they headed to work, joining the line of people. In the past, these individuals would have worked as baristas, engineers, attendants, or in a variety of other jobs. These days, they worked as scavengers, farmers, runners, or in any job that actually contributed to the community.
As he emerged from the fence, Will wiped his nose. Outside of the protection, Will didn't notice much difference. The air and view were the same, but he could almost feel everyone around him tense up. Attacks had stopped some time ago, yet people were still hesitant. Nobody enjoyed losing the safeguard they had diligently fought for.
The main group headed toward another park close by, where cattle grazed. William turned east first. His strides were rapidly increasing. His body had gotten used to a steady jog over the past year. After a simple warm-up, he would gradually increase his speed as he ran past building after building. His job as a runner was to relay messages between a few of the other camps in the area.
William had been doing the job for a few months and had his own preferred paths for different camps. On his own, he was able to ignore the rest of the world as he sped up slightly again. Eating away miles one at a time was his job, and to be honest, he enjoyed it. He gradually discovered the simplicity of running as he received assignments. A year ago, he probably couldn’t have run a full block. He could now run around the city from sunrise to sunset.
It had been a long road to get to where he was. He was born and raised in Chicago, Illinois, and once upon a time lived a simple life. America had been civilized. People went to work, came home, and sometimes went on vacations over the weekends. He was just like any other 12-year-old at that time. Excited for video games to come out. Begging to see this or that movie. Barely putting any effort into his grades. A very simple life.
That was at least until the world ended. In the movies, it was always sudden. One day everything was fine, then the next it all went to hell. Some zombie outbreak, aliens attacked, an alteration in the world’s weather, or any other unlikely scenario happened to cause the world to end. A huge shift in the way of the world that forced people to fight for survival.
The real thing was not so cut-and-dry. Instead of days, it took months for the world he grew up in to cease to exist. Will didn’t remember much about the start of the apocalypse. Back then, he was close to becoming an actual teen. While he was concerned about his parents accessing his internet search history, the world as he knew it came to an abrupt halt. Washington, D.C., actually blew up. It was not some metaphor or figurative statement; it exploded. He had seen the videos taken in the aftermath. One day the city was there, then the next it was gone. A huge sinkhole had opened up underneath Washington, D.C., and buried the whole city in less than 60 seconds. The city's natural gas ignited, setting off a massive fireball that scattered everything beneath it.
No one knew why or how it happened. People were too busy determining who was in charge after the incident to figure out how D.C. disappeared. The country was thrust into chaos. Within seconds, every single politician in the city met their demise, a number that, as Will comprehended, was substantial. Of course, some politicians managed to survive, attempting to establish a sense of leadership in a country without any governing bodies. They failed, though. The failure was not due to a lack of effort, but rather to the fact that the majority of nations worldwide also lost their leaders. In a single 24-hour period, the world lost kings, queens, presidents, chancellors, ministers, senators, secretaries, and even unpaid interns. In an instant, entire cities vanished.
Normally, America bailed out the countries in crisis, but once America lost its head, there was nowhere to turn for help. Countries focused on themselves, but it was a losing battle. When no country could guarantee their currency, people stopped accepting it. When people stopped accepting the almighty dollar, people stopped working to earn it. Once workers stopped running the power plants, the true apocalypse started.
It was in the works for weeks. At first, people continued their lives, but once shortages appeared, lawlessness began. Looting and riots started. Small ones to start, but they were like forest fires. They continued to grow until they became unstoppable and self-sustaining. To make matters worse when prisons began to close, many released their prisoners. No leaders to enforce the laws meant no need to imprison them. The doors were opened for the worst of society, and the true looters showed their heads.
William was only 12 when he saw someone murdered for the first time, and it wasn’t his last time. As an only child, he had his mother and father. But his father was one of the good people; at least that was how Will remembered him.
William's father, a police officer, went to work every day, even at the end of the world. He helped where he could. As one of the city's finest, he worked unpaid. Many had chosen to do the same, despite the uncertainty and lack of a paycheck. By the time Will and his mother ran out of food in their apartment, they learned his dad had been dead for weeks. No one knew how. His body was found. A bullet between the eyes. William never had a chance to mourn him. He was thrust into the actual end of civilized society; it was a matter of live or die, eat or starve. There was no time to think about what could have been.
It didn’t take William long to grow up in the first few weeks. His mother was always out, trying to secure food. Will stayed at home until that, too, was no longer safe. Fires had broken out everywhere, and staying with people was no longer safe. It was everyone for themselves.
Will was one of the lucky few in those early days. At least he had a mother. He had witnessed and interacted with numerous children whose parents had abandoned them during difficult times. When things became difficult, they focused on their own survival. Keeping themselves alive, the city was overrun with yet more misguided people trying to stay alive another day.
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It was, to say the least, bad, and it only got worse. People escaped the major cities, going to more rural areas to try to find food and water. However, those from the rural areas who did not live on farms attempted to migrate to the cities, hoping that they would also have access to food and water. Neither was correct. The riots had morphed into large gangs that clashed with one another. The introduction of guns into these clashes did not take long. They dispersed the gangs, only for them to regroup and launch a counterattack once they possessed more powerful weapons. The city became a melting pot of constant fires and gunfire. Seeing the dead was commonplace, and anarchy reigned for months.
During this time, leaders rose up. Bringing people together. They secured resources and contributed to restoring a semblance of normalcy. Many of those leaders were killed, of course. Misguided underlings thought they knew the answer and tried to take power like some winner-take-all dictatorship. That stopped when those people were disposed of.
William had seen more than a few people executed. At first, it was bullets, but when those became scarce, corporal punishment went back to hanging. William had become numb to death and murder by that time. He was a seasoned 13-year-old at the end of the world.
He had become used to his new life. They assigned him the task of delivering messages to various camps and groups, and he dedicated most of his day, every day, to this duty. The long-term depletion of batteries, the scarcity of small portable solar panels, and the absence of electricity all contributed to the widespread use of runners throughout the city. He wasn't sure if this was the modern-day equivalent of texting, or if it was a return to the days of telegraphs. It was arguably one of the safest jobs available. That is, if you could run fast enough. There were still plenty of criminals out there; Will had to be careful, but he had been doing the job for months by that point. He knew every back alley route there was, and no one had been able to corner him yet.
As he pondered, he turned into an alley and discovered a line of dogs staring at him. Many dogs in the once bustling city were at the camp. Those that were good guard dogs had been rescued from abandonment in the streets. The canines, without use, had been butchered and eaten a while ago. The poodle from earlier was one of the lucky few left.
Dogs were bad news in the city, especially in groups. William didn’t notice any red ones but he still turned and ran away from the alley. A couple barked in his general direction, but none gave chase. Some part of them still domesticated; they wanted to join him most of the time, but Will learned his lesson about trying to bring strays home. His mother back at camp had been adamant that they only worried about one another, nothing else. William begrudgingly agreed.
By that time, with his stride at full gait, William ran past burned-down and crumbling buildings. No one was around; he didn’t see much going on until he got closer to the eastern camp. Only a few miles away from the camp he called home, he noticed a few of their people working fields at once parks. Winter was growing closer, so everyone was gathering what they could.
Small groups stiffened as he ran past; they let him by unmolested until he was at the edges of the other camp. An older man sitting at the desk perked up as William got closer. Pulling out the message for the Eastern camp, he slapped it on the rickety table between them.
“Hey, Will, anything new?” The older man inquired. Usually assigned to send messages to the Eastern camp, Will knew most of the people at the welcome desk.
"Nope, I saw a group of dogs, but they were friendly,” Will answered as he took two big gulps of air to steady his breath.
“Meaning they didn’t chase you,” the old man said. He scanned over the message and nodded. William stopped reading them a long time ago; they were usually something simple like, we are low on water, do you have any to trade?
“You should head back to your camp; this takes priority,” the man said, handing Will a new note.
“How important?” William asked. Priority messages usually meant a new troublemaker was in the area. He opened the note and was surprised by what he read.
REPORTS OF HELICOPTERS SEEN AND HEARD SOUTHEAST. NEAR THE LAKE
“Helicopters?” Will asked, surprised. He hadn’t seen anyone trying to fly since early spring. “Multiple?”
“Yep, reports say at least a dozen,” the old man said with a small smile.
William whistled lowly. Usually, the planes and copters that were seen were singular. Some random pilot happened upon gasoline and flew by, never to be seen again. More than one at a time was very rare. A part of him felt a shred of hope, as most everyone did. Helicopters meant resources. Perhaps there was a military presence nearby that could provide some level of protection for the populace. Try to establish some sense of the old world. He dismissed the hope as soon as it entered his mind.
“Hurry,” the old man said. William nodded. Something like this meant that the leader of his camp would want to schedule a meeting and send scouts and others to try to establish contact with the outsiders.
William’s heart and hope increased as he turned around and ran the other way he had come. He was no longer slowly speeding up; he was at his full speed within a few strides. With a small smile on his face, he was looking forward to handing this message over. A dream of an effortless life played through his mind. Of video games and leisure, no longer fearing to step outside or look over his shoulder.
He arrived at the location with the dogs much more swiftly. Unfortunately, this time they were heading out of the alley. As he ran past, they barked and gave chase. William turned to look at them. None possessed the crimson hue of the deadly hounds that had eluded them numerous times. The monstrously large bloodhounds were a new type of wolf that had moved into the area, causing more than a little headache. Many of these dogs simply acted like they were playing. They followed him with a brisk stride.
As he got closer to the tent, a high-pitched noise sounded from the camp's direction. Will could practically feel his eardrums vibrate as he skidded to a halt. Covering his ears did nothing against the sound. The dogs chasing behind him yelped and ran in the opposite direction.
The noise continued for several seconds before abruptly ceasing. Holding his ears for several moments longer, Will slowly withdrew them when the noise didn’t come back. Taking a gulp of air, he could feel energy in the air. Something bad was going on in the direction of his home, and he didn’t like it.
Bolting away as fast as he could, he imagined the worst. Highwaymen had tried to establish themselves some months ago. They took over a stretch of road and demanded a toll, but the camps came together and dealt with them. Outside the city, marauders appeared near the town's edge, prompting the camp to dispatch men to combat them. However, the camp had not faced significant threats in a while. Near the center of town, it wasn’t the best location, but the other camps around it provided some protection, so they were able to stay safe. This was something new. William could only guess what would cause it.
Turning the corner, his momentum carried him forward as he slowed to a stop. Ahead, there were three large black military-grade vehicles at the camp's entrance. People were hiding behind the cacophony of spare parts that served as the fence perimeter, with some yelling at the vehicles.
William’s heart continued to pound as he stared at the vehicles. They were the size of a semi. Painted black, the exteriors appeared almost armor-plated. The tires themselves appeared to be capable of driving over almost anything. Will's thoughts swiftly turned to the helicopters that the Eastern camp claimed to have spotted. Was it true? Was the military back in action?
Across the street, a voice yelled, "Will!"
Practically jumping, he turned to see Samson and Santos in the alley with a few other people. Turning back to the vehicles, Will risked it and ran over to them. People continued to yell from the camp, but the vehicles sat there for a while.
“What’s going on?” Will inquired as he approached the others. Their eyes wide, everyone tried to peek out of the alley while making sure they showed as little of their bodies as possible, in case these strangers had guns.
“No idea,” Samson grunted as he focused on the scene. “Alarm went out, and we booked it back here. The trucks have been just sitting there for a while.”
“What-” The passenger side door of one of the vehicles opened, stopping Santos from continuing. Out stepped a tall man. With a mix of gray and dark hair on his head, he appeared muscular. Like the vehicles, he wore all black. More of a uniform than a suit, there was bright gold etching along the sleeves of his long-sleeve shirt.
William had seen more than a few men sporting military garb, whether real or fake; he didn’t know. These were something different. Standing back and watching the man approach the camp, he couldn’t help but worry that something bad was going to happen. The hair on his neck stood on end, watching and waiting to see what would transpire.
“Hello, Chicagoans,” the man’s voice said in a normal tone. The man's voice sounded out in the street almost a block away from him, as if he were right next to him. Will looked at Samson and Santos next to him; both had the same confused look on their faces. Before Will could say anything, the man continued.
“My name is Ben Rhinehold. I am part of the Dragoons,” he said. The older man acted as if the name should mean something to the people in camp. The name seemed to confuse Will and most of the people around him more than anything else.
“My team and I have been traveling throughout these once-United States. Bringing order to the chaos,” he continued. Will heard some people cheer behind the fence, but most were silent. "I am confident that news will arrive soon, but for now, we have restored some peace to New York City, Pittsburgh, Columbus, and Indianapolis by bringing their local energy stations back online and initiating the process of restoring order."
The people in camp did not react to the news. The secretive vehicles were still running, hiding the people inside. William wasn’t quite sure how they could do so much, but he didn’t think it would be through peaceful methods.
Ben let out a long sigh. “Now, I know you may not-” He stopped talking as a bullet was fired somewhere in the camp. The older man raised his hand in the direction of the fired gun, and nothing happened. No bullet hit him. Will was too far away to see if the bullet was aimed incorrectly or not, but he had a distinct feeling that the man stopped the bullet with a wave of his hand.
“An Arc,” Samson hissed, stepping away from the end of the alley.
“No,” Will said, but before he could deny it more, the man raised his hands, and the broken concrete around him heaved up around him and the vehicles. Like mountains formed in moments, the jagged black pavement created a physical barrier around him and the others. Forced upward as if pulled up by invisible strings.
People screamed and stepped back. Others ran. More stepped forward, aiming guns at the sudden protection around the strangers. Then suddenly, all the noise cut out. Will couldn’t hear anything any longer. No breathing, yelling, or shuffling of feet sounded in his ears. In an instant, all sound vanished. Then the voice sounded through the dead silent area. This time the voice was much more tired, as if he had hoped not to go this route.
“We will continue to do this as simply as possible. If you aim guns at us, we will respond with similar actions. I request that you all drop your weapons and consent to our takeover of the area.”
Will knew it wouldn't work based on the faces of those navigating around the sudden protection, even though he couldn't hear a response.
“I will count to 3,” the voice said, the only noise heard. He let out a long sigh and said, “3.” With that, a booming screech sounded out, bursting Will’s eardrums. Stunned and thrown back, he wasn’t sure how long he lay there, knocked out by the sudden sonic boom of power. By the time he heard anything again, Samson was grabbing his shoulder.
“Let’s go!” The bigger kid yelled, dragging William away. Not towards the camp, but the opposite way. Back into the city. Back to life before the community of survivors stopped trying to kill each other and made a home. Will didn’t know what to do, but running was the only answer he had. If those people were Arcs, there was no way to stand up to them. No way to fight back. They possessed abilities that were beyond the reach of ordinary individuals like himself. Powers that he could only dream of.