The doors held, thank fuck. We waited, our flashlights piercing the bunker's darkness. The rats scratched and clawed, shredding our nerves. But finally, after a long two hours, the horrors gave up, leaving us in silence, with only our nervous breathing filling the air. I checked my watch and sighed in relief. It was dawn. Outside the sun was finally beginning to rise. I looked at the others. They all looked exhausted, not ideal for the day we had to come.
“Let’s pack up our shit and get the hell out of here,” Beth said. We did as ordered and made our way back through the bunker until we reached the entrance. I hefted my rifle, Trevor did likewise as Ethan scurried forward and with a grunt pulled open the heavy doors. I blinked against the inrush of light and then slowly ascended the steps being sure to check my corners to ensure there was no nasty surprises waiting for us.
“Clear,” Trevor announced.
“Clear,” I echoed.
Stepping outside it was clear that the commotion of the previous night hadn’t gone unnoticed. The long grass had been flattened and trampled by what must have been scores of feet. I crouched and studied one of the prints. From the misshapen outline and drag marks a mutant had created it. We’d been lucky that the bunker entrance was so well concealed by the grass.
"We need to put some distance between this place and ourselves," I said, my voice edged with urgency. As we moved forward, we navigated through the maze of suburban gardens, our steps quick and cautious.
Overgrown hedges and long neglected flower beds whispered stories of abrupt departures and untold chaos. Toys lay scattered in the yards, left behind in a haste that spoke volumes of the panic that had swept through the once peaceful neighbourhood.
We skirted around abandoned over-turned bicycles and long rusted playground equipment. The silence was oppressive, broken only by the distant cawing of crows and the rustle of our movements through the underbrush. I hated such places. This was a place of ghosts. They creeped me out more than any abandoned highway.
Eventually, the tangled greenery gave way to the clearer boundaries of the housing estate's edge. The change in scenery was abrupt—overgrown lawns replaced by the wild disarray of nature reclaiming its territory.
Before us now lay the highway, the dark ribbon of asphalt cutting through the landscape. It stretched out, empty and desolate. The road was littered with more abandoned vehicles, their doors ajar, belongings scattered as if their owners might return at any moment to claim them. Yet, there was no sign of life, only the eerie stillness. We followed its course for two miles before we reached the outskirts of the city.
With the desolate highway behind us, we ventured into the skeletal remains of a post-apocalyptic city. The once towering skyscrapers now loomed like gravestones, marking the death of the world before. The structures cast deep shadows over the world below. Streets, cluttered with debris and the carcasses of vehicles, wound between the buildings, a labyrinth of abandonment and decay. Nature’s relentless reclamation was evident with vines and weeds erupting through the cracks in the concrete, wrapping the city in a grim embrace.
As we navigated through the ghostly streets, the silence of the city was abruptly shattered. The distant sound of gunfire and explosions ricocheted off the hollow buildings. Approaching a particularly massive skyscraper, now toppled and lying across the urban expanse like a fallen giant, I called for a halt. The air was thick with tension, the sounds of battle growing louder, a clear indication that the city was far from abandoned.
Reaching for the radio clipped to my belt I flicked through the channels until the usual static crackle was soon replaced by scattered broadcasts, each one a chaotic blend of shouts, commands, and the relentless sound of gunfire. It was clear; several Marauder groups were embroiled in a vicious turf war, no doubt fighting over the dwindling resources that the city had to offer.
The fragmented transmissions confirmed what I suspected.
"East sector, we've got the Waterfront Boys on our tail!" one voice yelled, panic underlying its assertive tone. Another voice, colder, more calculated, broke through, "Lock down the supplies. No one gets through without facing lead."
I looked at the others. "This is exactly what I feared. Every city I’ve encountered is a warzone. If Jake thinks we can slip the group through undetected, he's sorely mistaken."
Beth crossed her arms, her stance defiant. "We have a mission, and we're going to complete it. If the Marauders are preoccupied with each other, they might overlook us."
I sighed, the reality of our situation weighing heavily on me.
"Perhaps, but that would require a small, nimble group. And let's not forget, there are children in your group."
"I'm aware of the risks," she said her green eyes glaring into mine. "But staying out in the wasted earth, exposed and constantly on the move, isn't any safer. Like Jake said our supplies are running low, pushing through might be our only shot."
I knew she was right, in a way. The open road offered no refuge, and every day spent wandering in search of safety was another day of danger. It was just the way of the world. Yet, the thought of navigating through a city torn apart by bands of murderous killers, especially with innocents in tow, filled me with dread. I’d been on my own for so long that the mere thought of being responsible for others was sobering.
"Alright," I conceded, rubbing the back of my neck anxiously. "But we move with extreme caution. We avoid any engagements and use the chaos to our advantage. And at the first sign of trouble, we retreat."
Beth nodded, a silent agreement passing between us.
We set off, navigating through the desolate streets with our senses acutely tuned to every sound and shadow. As we progressed, deliberately avoiding the main thoroughfares, and clinging to the shadows, we became like spectres drifting through the ruins. Each corner turned and every silent command issued propelled us deeper into the urban labyrinth. As we went, I learned more about my comrades. They knew how to handle their weapons and how to move tactically. These weren’t some helpless survivors; these people knew how to handle themselves. That knowledge put my mind at ease and for the first time in a long time I was thankful.
Under the shadow of a collapsed skyscraper, we paused to consult the map. Trevor cursed under his breath—the main and quickest path was obstructed by a colossal pile of rubble, and with each step forward, the sound of gunfire intensified. I motioned for the group to follow, and we diverted our route, utilizing side streets and back alleys in search of a passable way forward. It was in one such alley that we stumbled upon chilling evidence of the Marauders' presence: a lifeless body suspended from a wire above us and several metal spikes obstructing our path. Emblazoned on a wall in spray paint were the words "Fuck off," a warning that we had reached the fringes of Marauder territory. Keeping low, we continued down the alley, our guns at the ready for any sign of an ambush. As we ventured deeper into Marauder territory, the cityscape took on a more menacing tone. Buildings, pockmarked with bullet holes and scorched by fire, stood as silent witnesses to the anarchy that reigned. Streets were littered with the detritus of battle—abandoned weapons, shattered glass, and, most hauntingly, the lifeless bodies of those caught in the crossfire. The air was thick with the stench of decay and blood.
We moved like shadows, avoiding the main roads, skirting the edges of conflict. The Marauder-controlled zones were marked by crude barricades and graffiti, symbols of territory claimed through violence. Inside these boundaries, the worst of humanity was on full display: groups of armed men patrolling the streets, their faces hardened by cruelty, their laughter chilling as they recounted their exploits. We witnessed scenes of unspeakable horror—civilians caught in the wrong place, subjected to brutal interrogations or worse, their pleas for mercy ignored.
You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.
Finally, we emerged out of an alley and onto a broad crossroads. The asphalt was pocked with craters where some battle had taken place either recently or long ago it was hard to tell. Wrecked armoured vehicles blocked the road and judging from the blast points it was clear they’d been taken out by some form of high explosives. Trevor raised a fist in warning, and we scattered, taking up positions that gave us a line of sight on the roadway. The sound of a vehicle grew louder and then it came into view. A beat up old pick-up truck spray painted in blood red and adorned with crude extras. On the bonnet a long steel spike had been welded onto it and barbed wire ran around the sides. On the bed in the back a heavy machine gun had been installed and was manned by a Marauder. I raised my rifle and placed my eye to the sight. The truck slowed to a stop in the centre of the intersection and another Marauder climbed out of the driver’s cabin. I moved my sights over the gunner. They were clad in an ensemble of leather and pieces of scrap metal that was crudely fashioned into some form of protective wear. Around his torso, a makeshift vest made from what looked like the remains of a bullet proof vest and what looked like Kevlar plates. I could just make out the faded letters of the city’s former police department. The gear had no doubt scavenged from the ruins of a police station. His legs meanwhile were encased in leather and reinforced with knee guards salvaged from sports equipment, they looked like hockey pads. His head was covered by a helmet no doubt repurposed from a motorcycle rider or military checkpoint. Like the truck it too had been customised with metal spikes and painted with the image of a grinning skull. A gas mask hung loosely around his neck.
The Marauder who emerged from the truck was dressed similarly, equipped with a shotgun and a machete holstered at his hip. He started sifting through the vehicle's wreckage. For several minutes, we remained hidden, as still as statues, while the tension mounted. The gunner, perched at his post, became visibly agitated.
"Hurry up, damn it!" he yelled. "You know the machines patrol this area."
"Quit your whining," the other retorted sharply. "'Dog' said he needed those ammo boxes we hid here, and we're going to retrieve them. If you prefer to return empty-handed and face 'Dog's' wrath, be my guest."
The threat silenced any further protests from the gunner, but their conversation set off alarms in my mind. Machines patrolling the city spelled trouble—big trouble. Peeking over the rubble I was concealed behind, I caught Beth's eye, reading her urgent desire to escape this place. That's when I heard it: a distant but intensifying clank of robotic steps. The Marauders, lost in their argument, paid no heed to their surroundings. The mechanical sounds grew louder, signalling not one, but multiple machines approaching, likely attracted by the commotion at the crossroads. The clanking echoed off the devastated buildings, and I saw the shadow of the first machine nearing the alley opposite me. My heart raced as it emerged into the dim light, a tall and slender figure, its metallic frame catching the faint light ominously, with two glowing orbs for eyes. Soon, more machines appeared, totalling seven. Ethan, panicked, sought deeper cover behind a wrecked car, while Trevor silently urged him to remain still.
Suddenly aware of their peril, the gunner let out a cry and swivelled the machine gun toward the approaching threat, while the other Marauder dashed for the truck. Gunfire erupted, sparks flying as bullets struck the nearest machine, which, though slightly staggered, continued its advance.
"HOSTILES ENCOUNTERED. ELIMINATE," the machines announced in unison, their robotic voices chilling to the bone. The gunner unleashed a barrage of bullets, while his companion frantically attempted to start the truck, only for the engine to sputter and die. Then, with astonishing speed, the closest machine charged, its piston-powered legs propelling it like a bull, crashing into the truck and flipping it onto its side with a thunderous roar. The gunner was thrown from the back, screaming. The machine then leaped over the overturned truck, landing on the hapless Marauder. A gruesome tearing sound followed, abruptly silencing the screams. The other Marauder clambered out of the truck. He was clearly dazed and staggered a few steps before another of the machines spotted him. It rotated its body, turning on a dime and advanced. The Marauder shook his head no doubt to try and clear the stars in his vision and raised his shotgun.
“Come get me fucker!” he screamed hysterically. As the robot got within a few feet he pulled the trigger, the powerful shotgun blast blowing the machines head clean off in a shower of sparks. The robot continued regardless, its now headless body lashing out and snatching the gun out of the Marauders hands. In the blink of an eye, it flipped the gun about and fired shredding the Marauder nearly in half. His body flew backwards to crash onto the road in a bloody pile. I couldn’t tear my eyes away from the scene when suddenly, a thud. My gaze snapped to Ethan, who had accidentally knocked something loose, attracting the robots' attention. We were exposed. Shit!
There was nothing for it, they would find Ethan and kill him, unless. I had an idea. A batshit crazy one but one, nonetheless. I jumped up from my hiding spot and fired a few rounds at the machine closest to Ethan. The bullets had little impact other than pissing it off.
“Come and get me mutha fuckers!” I bellowed like a lunatic.
“HOSTILES ENCOUNTERED, ELIMANTE’”
Without looking back, I ran, the sound of clanking feet echoing ominously close behind me. I dashed back down the alleyway, heading towards Marauder territory. Navigating over fallen rubble, I nearly lost my balance but managed to regain my footing and pressed on. My lungs screamed for air, and my arm throbbed with pain, yet the terror of being seized by a machine fuelled my flight. Skidding around a corner, I stole a quick glance up the alley— all seven machines were in hot pursuit! I pushed myself to run harder. The sudden crack of a gunshot made me flinch as a bullet struck the wall beside me. Angry shouts rained down from above; the Marauders had spotted me and were now pouring out of their stronghold. I looked up to see four of them scrambling to set up their weapons and shouted, "Behind me!" Confusion flickered across their faces, then turned to panic as they saw the machines bearing down on them. Gunfire erupted, and I sprinted on, hoping the Marauders would shift their attention from me to the mechanized threat I had deliberately directed their way.
An explosion rocked the alley as a Marauder launched a rocket, then screams echoed as six of the machines diverted their chase from me to engage with the Marauders. Glancing back, I watched in horror as the machines scaled the sides of buildings, their metallic limbs punching through brick and concrete with terrifying ease. They ascended swiftly, a grotesque parody of primates, launching themselves at the Marauders. One machine was blasted out of the air by heavy gunfire—the distinctive thud of a .50 calibre—the robot spiralling into a building before crashing to the ground in a cascade of sparks. Screams filled the air as the remaining machines tore into the now overwhelmed Marauders. A fleeting pang of guilt washed over me, but I quickly shrugged it off.
One of the machines had not ceased its pursuit of me, rapidly closing the gap. I ran with all my might, my arms and legs pumping furiously, while remaining acutely aware of my surroundings—a single trip could be fatal. Exiting the alleyway, I found myself back on the main road through the city. Here, the wreckage of vehicles had been pushed to the sides, likely by the Marauders I had just escaped. Driven by desperation, I sprinted; fatigue was my greatest adversary now. Unlike me, the machine would not tire, become distracted, or feel pain. The commotion I'd left behind seemed to stir up a hornet's nest, evidenced by the crackle of my radio coming to life with shouts of confusion. Flicking through the channels, I heard her voice.
"Scavver, you'd better be alive. Come in!" It was Beth.
I grabbed my radio, pressing it to my lips. "I'm here. Heading back your way. One bot on my tail, be ready!" I gasped out.
Beth's response was muffled, but I was pretty sure she called me an asshole. I couldn't blame her. As I sprinted, I tried to orient myself. If my sense of direction was correct, I had doubled back, now racing down the road toward the intersection. Cresting a slight rise, the wrecked military vehicles and the overturned Marauder pickup truck came into view. I dashed toward them, praying Beth and the others hadn't left me to my fate.
"Get down, scavver!" Trevor bellowed.
I barely had time to react as Trevor materialized on the road, wielding the machine gun previously mounted on the truck. I darted to the side as he unleashed a barrage of bullets, his aim fixed on the machine hot on my heels. Beth and Ethan emerged from cover, joining the fray with their rifles. The robot faltered under our concentrated fire. Skidding to a stop, I turned, raised my rifle, and joined the assault. Our collective firepower decimated the machine's armoured body, severing its right arm, then its left leg. It issued a mechanical wail before collapsing.
Panting, I lowered my rifle and approached its crippled form. Standing over it, I drew my Glock.
“Eliminate this,” I snarled.
I aimed at the ridge at the back of its neck and fired. A hiss of sparks erupted, and the machine fell silent, permanently disabled.