Author's Note: So the forecast, as always, is slow updates. But I'm really excited to write this one. I don't think it will be so long, but this is my first post-apocalyptic story. The pairings will be a mess, but they will likely include: Sweden x Denmark, Sweden x Finland, Denmark x Norway.
As far as Warnings go: Graphic depictions of violence, adult content, abuse, mental illness, and (possible) character deaths are likely to occur. But then again, that's why we're here, isn't it?
Berwald walked alone through the deserted rubble that hardly resembled the glittering city it had once been. Pale, ominous sunlight shone dimly through a thick layer of brown smog that had become a constant cloud over the desolate world in which he now lived.
The memories had all been so clear once, but now, he could hardly believe he had ever seen blue sky, let alone the clean, bright faces of other people. He had been alone for so long now, hadn't seen anyone nor spoken to anyone in years.
Had it already been so long?
Perhaps. He couldn't really remember. Time had become a strange thing anymore, weeks and months were nearly nonexistent, it all just seemed like a single, unending day. Or perhaps he was finally starting to lose his mind.
His memories had begun to feel like they had happened in another life time. Once he had lived in a time of plenty and security, and then the wars came. So much time had passed, and many of the details were either forgotten or had never been known to him, though it was getting harder to tell the difference. However, he clearly remembered that things had started slowly, and then all at once, everyone seemed to be at war with each other. He thought he might have been a soldier in the war, but even then, he had no real memory of who taught him to use his gun. All he knew was that when the bombs started going off, chaos took control of everything. The borders of nations fell along with their governments, entire armies went AWOL, civilians were targeted, and for a short time the world witnessed the true evils that man could commit.
He couldn't quite remember when the first of the creatures appeared, but after that, any hope he had ever held about the world returning to normal was lost forever. An infection spread from things that were mutated by the blasts and radiation of the bombs. Some said that those who had died now walked the earth in a manifestation of the sins of the world, some said that the creatures had never been human at all, but Berwald had seen some that resembled people. Maybe even friends.
They attacked anything organic, and devoured everything in their path. So many people died so quickly. Berwald wasn't sure how he survived, but there had been many days since when he wished he had died along with all the others. He wasn't sure why he kept going. Curiosity, perhaps.
He had been walking for years. Just walking from city to city. Or, what was left of cities, anyway. He didn't remember their names. Hadn't seen a map in years. He just kept going because it wasn't safe to stop anywhere. Those things would find him by his scent if he hid out anywhere for too long. They were good at that. Not to mention real food was hard come by. He ate whatever he could find. A place to sleep was harder. Sometimes he went days without getting more than a few hours of rest per night. It could be so quiet sometimes. He wasn't even sure he had a voice anymore.
Wouldn't have had anything to say, anyway. No one to talk to.
Who was the last person he talked to?
He couldn't remember. He honestly couldn't remember if he had ever talked to anyone. Been alone for so long. The loneliness was far more wretched in the cities; across desolate land he could pretend this was the way things had always been, that he had never known another way. Another person.
Through each city he tried not to hope, but each time he left the broken buildings and shattered glass of car windows behind, he could feel that hope die a little more. For all he knew, he was the last man on earth.
But maybe it was that hope that kept him going. The hope of seeing another like him. All he ever seemed to find were the twisted, demonic faces of the creatures that would come for him in the night, though.
Berwald awoke quickly, having only been resting lightly. Deep sleep would get him killed.
He clutched his gun to his chest, aware that it was a sound that had disturbed him. His ears strained hard, eyes wide behind the smudged frames of his glasses, trying to catch the faintest sound. He stayed like that, his body still and rigid as stone. The sun was up by now, but there wouldn't be light until later. The clouds were too thick.
He waited.
It was a game that he had played before, but one that never lost its edge. He didn't dare move.
Tension.
An empty wind swirled across the desolate crags and pieces of cement he was sheltered beneath, their rebar bones broken and exposed. Nothing stirred. Nothing moved.
…Was he truly alone? Was his mind just playing tricks on him now?
He was unable to shake the mental image of something crouching just beyond the entrance to his small shelter, waiting for him to let his guard down. Forsaking all thoughts of returning to sleep, he held his gun tightly to his chest, and crawled forward.
His old, black boots had long lost their tread, but were now able to carry him silently as he crept over to the entrance, which was formed by the remains of a wall and what was now a collapsed roof. He adjusted his gun in his hands, his finger resting lightly on the trigger. He was running out of ammunition. Couldn't shoot until he absolutely had to.
Another gust of wind swept through, and he felt the dry air lightly brush the back of his neck and his forehead, bringing to attention the fact he was sweating with apprehension. His hands felt clammy now. He swallowed silently.
When he reached the entrance, he pressed his back to the side that had once been a wall, and peered out.
Nothing.
Just an empty area that had once been a main road. The asphalt was cracked and uneven now, and most of the buildings around had long been reduced to rubble. No one was there.
He stayed by the wall for a minute longer, breathing a little easier, but with his hands still frozen to his weapon.
Then, he heard something that made every hair stand on end.
A long, metallic scraping sound. It was so loud, he nearly dropped his gun to cover his ears.
When it stopped, there was a stillness that was eerie even in an abandoned city. Then, another sound shattered the newly-formed quiet.
"Hey-o!"
It had been so long since he had heard another voice he almost didn't recognize what it was. Three more metallic bangs rang out in rhythm. It sounded like someone was hitting a metal pipe on something not far from him.
"Anybody out there?"
After recovering from a moment of paralyzing shock, Berwald began to consider walking out of his shelter and into the street so the other person could see him, but something held him back. After all, it couldn't be assumed that this person was friendly, or alone. Slow memories began to surface. He felt like this was almost familiar. But why?
Before he had really decided what he was going to do, Berwald heard a different person cry out. It was a woman. She screamed for help, and then he could hear the loud patting of feet as she ran towards the voice who had cried out. He hadn't thought there was anyone else here. He would have just left without seeing anyone again and presumed he was still alone. It was an eerie thought to think that people hiding in these broken remains of cities just watched him walk through without making themselves known.
There were more voices then, and Berwald risked leaning just a little farther to see what was happening.
A group of men stood in the center of the road. They were rough looking, wearing all black with bandanas wrapped around their heads and faces, leaving only their eyes open, which were all covered by black sunglasses. Berwald briefly wondered if he had ever seen them before, but then decided that he was simply reminded of a biker gang from the old days. They were armed to the teeth, though. Guns and belts of ammunition served as their form of accessories, and several of them had long machetes hanging from their belts.
The woman who had run to them then collapsed at the feet of the one who held a long metal pipe. She was gasping and crying, begging for something Berwald couldn't hear, but guessed was simply for help. The men roughly pulled her up and she was practically tossed from person to person while their presumed leader thought quietly. Then, he gave a few short orders, and the woman shrieked.
Berwald bowed his head. He was remembering now.
This group was one of the few organized gangs that had appeared during the wars. They were a group that considered themselves to be the instruments of chaos, and believed that their purpose was to fight the creatures that had been appearing, using whatever means necessary. In a world where everything was broken and lost, Berwald supposed that joining up with something like that would give you your sense of purpose back, regardless of the cost.
When he looked back up, he saw that they had bound the woman with thick ropes and set her in the center of what had once been an intersection. Even from a distance Berwald could see she was bleeding now. She should have known better than to have gone to them seeking help.
The man who Berwald assumed was their leader swung his pipe again and it rung loudly when it made contact with the asphalt beside the woman. Her scream followed the noise.
"Here, you little fucks!" he shouted like he was calling for a dog. "Come and get it!"
A silence fell over the remains of the city once more, but it wasn't as complete as before. The woman was sobbing with her head bowed. Berwald felt a pain deep in his chest. He found himself wanting to help, even though he didn't know who the woman was. It seemed that the true evil in people came out in times of crisis.
"Maybe this place is clean," someone suggested.
The leader lifted up his sunglasses and squinted, turning to stare down each of the four streets around them. Berwald quickly pulled away from the entrance, crouching back down in the shadows. He held his breath.
Suddenly three or four black smudge shot across the entrance to his shelter, eclipsing him momentarily. They were already gone before he could blink, but he grasped his gun tighter anyway.
"There!" someone else shouted, obviously having seen the creatures running towards them.
There was a series of gunshots and a few sickening gurgling sounds, then everything fell silent again.
Berwald swallowed hard, feeling like his hands would be shaking if he hadn't been clutching his weapon so tightly.
A few more metallic noises rang out in rhythm, the man shouted a few more times, but when nothing else happened, he finally seemed satisfied.
"Alright, let's get out of here."
There was some commotion, and then Berwald heard a few engines grumble to life. He realized that it must have been the sound of their various vehicles that had woken him up. It had been a long time since he had heard anything that loud.
"Wait!" the woman screamed, sounding like she was on the verge of hysteria. "Please, take me with you!"
Somehow, even with the loud sound of the engines rolling over the empty city, there was still a sense of silent tension.
She was sobbing again now, repeating over and over that she would do anything if they just didn't leave her behind. Someone might have mumbled something, or it might have just been the sound of the engines, but a single gunshot was the only answer she received.
"Let's ride!" he cried out, but it sounded more like a snarl.
A few of the other men whooped and cheered, and then Berwald panicked when he heard the engines beginning to move in his direction. He quickly lied down, throwing his dark hood over his light hair, and nearly pressed his face into the dirt.
He hardly dared to breathe as the deafening sound of military-style jeeps, armored cars, and a few motorcycles passed just in front of him. The adrenaline that was endlessly cycling through his veins kept his muscles frozen in place, but the terrifying image of someone happening to spot him robbed him of any other immediate thoughts.
Stay down. Stay still.
Though it seemed to take ages, the group left rather quickly. Berwald still wasn't willing to get up until the roaring sound was almost completely gone, but when it was silent again, he grabbed his pack, and peeked outside into the broken city once again. The vehicles were nothing now but a large dust cloud in the distance. He glanced around once more to make sure it was safe, and then he crawled out of the small sheltered den and walked onto the street. The woman who had been shot was lying on the road, a small bloody puddle surrounding what was left of her head. He looked away and shut his eyes for a moment.
If he had been a religious man, perhaps he would have prayed. But, he wasn't, and it would seem no god had ever heard them anyway. Not with the hell that had the world had become.
The sun was sinking in the sky though, and so he turned his back on the city and began following the road the gang had taken. With any luck, they would never cross paths again. Luck didn't exactly seem to be his strong suit, though.
Berwald walked over the barren land alone, the scorching sun somehow still able to burn through the toxic clouds above. The days were hotter now, and the nights were freezing. It didn't seem like it used to be that was, but he couldn't really remember a night where he had been able to sleep without his boots on. If there was a brighter side, it would be that he hadn't come across any creatures in a while. Cities were more dangerous, but out in open land seemed to be fairly safe. Maybe that gang was doing a better job of exterminating those things than he had thought.
He made a face at his boots as he trudged over the hard, burnt ground. They were wearing really thin. He would have to keep an eye out for new ones. Things like that were becoming harder to find anymore though. The destruction wasn't so fresh anymore. Most buildings that were still standing were empty and nearing collapse. He needed to try to find food, too.
Hot, dry wind swept through the empty land. Berwald wrapped a cloth around his face so he wouldn't breathe in so much dust. His glasses helped to keep it out of his eyes, but only a little.
Then, rising up in the distance, he saw something. More buildings, but they looked strange. He squinted harder, trying to discern it from the watery mirages that were also crowding his vision. However, unlike the imaginary pools of water, the closer he got to the structures, the better he was able to see them.
The whole area was fenced in by a strange metal wall that sort of resembled the hulls of massive war ships. Over the wall he could see the tops of a few buildings, and then a taller structure that looked like it had once been a factory of some sort.
A new settlement, perhaps?
Usually he only found the fresh wreckage of these places. If the monsters didn't get to them, the gangs would.
He briefly thought about changing his course so that he would avoid the area, but, with a grunt at the lightness of his pack, he knew he couldn't go much farther without finding more food and water. A settlement was likely to have those things, and he figured he could trade for what he needed, given the assumption that the people within were not hostile to lone outsiders.
As he drew closer, the sun set behind him, setting a bright, blinding fire to the metallic walls of the settlement. He bowed his head a little as he walked closer to the part he assumed was an entrance. It wasn't a gate, which was what he had thought it looked like before, but rather a tunnel, fairly low, almost low enough that it would force him to duck. He reached the entrance without seeing anyone and paused, peering in to the darkness.
The area was silent. The wind pushed passed him, and he watched small eddies of sand swirl into the darkness before him. He thought about calling out, but then simply began to walk forward.
He was stopped short by the sound of guns cocking.
"Hold."
Berwald froze as the voice that had suddenly materialized behind him commanded.
"Put your weapon on the ground, and turn around slowly with your hands up."
His heart was beginning to hammer in his chest, but he bent down and set his gun on the compacted dirt before rising back up to his full height with his arms raised. Then, he slowly turned around.
There were two gunmen now blocking the entrance to the low tunnel. Both of them had helmets and tinted goggles over their eyes, as well as cloth masks over their mouths and noses. They were trained on him, and looked extremely wary, but didn't back up when he turned all the way around to face them.
"What's your business here?" the one on the right asked sharply.
Berwald had to swallow before speaking. "Just passing through, looking to trade,"
His own voice sounded foreign to him, but the man hesitated before he reached up and moved his goggles, setting them on his forehead and peering at him while his rifle was still pointed at him. He had a unique shade of green eyes and blond, choppy hair. His mouth was set into an automatic frown and his face was hard set. Mostly though, Berwald thought he looked young.
"No one passes through here except the gangs," he said, his eyes narrowing further.
Berwald kept his hands held up on either side of his head, choosing his words carefully. "Ain't part of any gang. Just passin' through."
The man didn't seem convinced and nodded to the pistol at Berwald's side.
"What's with all the guns, then?"
He made a face. The man before him was carrying many more weapons than he was. He was only carrying two guns, after all: an old Swedish assault rifle, and his 9mm, an even older handgun.
"Same reason as you." He huffed.
That was apparently the wrong answer.
"We don't need any more trouble here than we've already got," he said and raised his gun higher.
"I'm not here to cause trouble," he said as quickly as he could, but he was considering how suicidal it would actually be to try to shoot both of them in order to get away.
"Well what if I said I didn't believe you?" he asked, his eyebrows furrowing together.
He was beginning to realize that coming here had been a mistake.
"Well, then, I guess we've got a problem." he muttered lowly.
"I guess we do." He agreed and closed one eye as he began to aim.
Berwald waited for a terrifying second, and then his entire body sprang into action. He jerked, feigning right, and then leapt forward and managed to rip the gun right out of the hands of the man on the left after he had fired to the right and missed him. The blond on the right turned quickly and fired, nearly shooting his comrade instead of Berwald.
It was a miracle he missed, but Berwald didn't intend to test his luck. Using the stolen rifle, the struck the man on the left in the face hard with the butt, and when they fell back, he pulled it to his shoulder and fired without taking time to aim.
The blond dropped his gun with a strangled cry, doubling over. At first, Berwald had assumed the man had taken the bullet to his stomach, but then he looked down and realized he had shot his hand, and had severed one of his gloved fingers. Blood dripped to the ground, and while Berwald was distracted by the strange screams of pain coming from the first gunman, the second got up and hit him over the head with something hard and metallic.
Berwald saw stars before the ground rose up to meet him, and it took him several seconds to realize that he was just lying on the ground while the second gunman took his rifle back, and aimed it at his head.
"Wait!"
A loud voice echoed down the hall, and everything seemed to freeze.
The sound of footsteps drawing closer was barely audible over the ringing in his ears, but he was aware that someone new was approaching.
"What's going on?"
"He shot my goddamned finger off!" the blond gunman shrieked.
The new figure made a noise that might have sounded like 'ew', but then he shouted behind him and Berwald pushed himself to his side a bit so he could see what was going on. More gunmen appeared and two of them began to take the blond away while one came a bit closer and fetched the severed finger.
Then the man walked closer to Berwald. From the ground he could see his wildly blond hair and dark eyebrows, but not much else. He wasn't looking at him though; he was now facing the gunman who had hit Berwald over the head.
"What happened?" he asked.
The gunman pulled of their hat and goggles and long, brown hair fell down their back. Only then did Berwald realize that she was a woman.
"This guy came alone. He says he's not with any gangs." She shrugged simply.
"…And then?" he prompted.
"Vash was going to shoot him, then he was going to shoot Vash, so I hit him with my frying pan." She said matter-of-factly.
A frying pan? That was what she'd hit him with? What the hell kind of place was this?
The tall man chuckled and then bent down, bringing himself into Berwald's range of vision fully.
"Hey there! Sorry about all that. Are you alright?" he asked, speaking loudly and slowly, as if to check to see if he had brain damage.
Berwald groaned a little bit, but pushed himself up so they were looking at each other more evenly.
"I think so," his head still throbbed, but he was still wary of these people.
The woman was standing beside them, her gun once again trained on him.
She was pretty; she had vivid, grass green eyes. Didn't see colors like that anymore. However, he did notice a large frying pan hanging from her belt like a sword, and made a face.
"Why don't you come inside? The sun won't be up much longer." He urged and offered his hand out to him. "I'm Mathias, by the way. I'm in charge around here."
Though this man was apparently far more trusting than the two guardsmen, he didn't want to return the trust overeagerly. He didn't know these people, didn't know what they did to survive in this world. Sometimes finding out wasn't worth it.
Even so, he stared at his hand for a moment, not in distrust, but in effort to remember his own fucking name.
"Er, Berwald," he finally answered, shaking his hand.
The man looked to be around the same age as him, and had a wide, charming grin. His face was scarred, but good bone structure gave him a handsome complexion regardless.
As they both got to their feet, he noticed Mathias gesture at the woman to lower her gun. "You can end your shift early tonight, Elizabeta. Have someone take over and go get some rest."
She saluted before turning around and heading back outside. Berwald figured there must have been a hidden entrance along the wall for people keeping guard to look out of. He hadn't seen any from the outside, though.
Mathias led him deeper into the tunnel, which forked off into three separate directions. He led him to the far right, and Berwald followed him after retrieving his gun.
"Hey, really, sorry about all of that. Vash is in charge of the security here, but, he's a little...high strung." Mathias said, waving a hand and glancing back at him.
"No kiddin'," he mumbled, but hooked his gun over his back.
He didn't feel at ease, he just didn't want to be mistaken for a threat again.
Mathias just laughed, and Berwald watched the way his long hair moved. Did he have product in it…?
They walked a bit farther until they reached a gate, and as they drew closer it opened for them. Inside the surprisingly thick walls there was a small settlement. It looked to have been set up in the ruins of what had once been an old mining and refining complex. The foundations were all that was left of some of the buildings, but new ones had been set up, made out of clay, crude cement, and pieces scrapped from various other constructions.
There were people there, too. Tons of them.
Berwald hadn't seen so many people together in what felt like ages. Not even the gangs kept this many people. Many of them turned to look at them as the heavy gate was lowered behind them, and it caused Berwald to look down at his boots instead of looking around at the small settlement. He had always been shy, even before he had been alone for so long. Lots of people looking at him made him feel self-conscious, which usually caused him to do embarrassing things in a self-fulfilling-prophesy sort of way.
Only too late did he realize that Mathias had been talking to him since they entered. By the time he tuned in, he only caught the end of what he assumed was a complete, unabridged history of their little township.
"But anyway, you're more than welcome to trade and head out, but if you want to stay we're always more than happy to accept new members," Mathias grinned like he was trying to get him to join a club.
He nodded in thanks, but remained silent.
Mathias looked like he was about to just turn around and leave him there alone in the center of the buildings, stalls, and people, but the he noticed his gun slung over his back.
"Hey, is that an Ak 5?" he asked, gesturing to it.
Berwald pulled it back into his arms, and held it forward a bit, pleasantly surprise. "Yeah, it is,"
He took a closer look, and then flashed a grin as he tapped on the wide trigger guard. "Swedish mod, right?"
"Yeah," he smiled a little at his keen eye. "Bofors Carl Gustaf."
"Oh, right, right," he grinned and then looked up at him. "May I?"
He hesitated before removing the strap from his shoulders and letting Mathias hold it to examine it further. "Sure,"
The man was shorter, but not by much, and swung the weapon easy in his arms, fitting it to his shoulder and looking down the sight before he flipped it back and forth in his hands, looking at both sides.
"Yeah, I remember seeing some of these. God, that was such a long time ago. I was stationed in Sweden for a while, you know, before things really started going to shit. I was born in Denmark, so I was one of the only guys in my squad who could talk to the Swedes there. Not really fluently, of course, but, good enough to get us by without getting shot." He laughed before handing it back politely. "It's a good gun. Tough, that's for sure."
Berwald couldn't help but smile a little at him as he nodded and accepted his gun back. This guy was somehow charming and annoying at the same time.
"You're Danish?" he asked, gently nudging the conversation.
It had been far longer since he had met anyone else who was born so far north.
"Yep! To the bone!" he laughed and pulled up his sleeve, revealing a faded tattoo of the Danish flag on his arm. "Born in Copenhagen, even. Are you Swedish, then?"
Berwald nodded.
"Yeah, served there for a long time, before…" how did Mathias so eloquently put it? "Things really went to shit."
He laughed loudly, nearly making Berwald flinch.
"Hey, you know what, why don't you come be my guest for the night? You can trade up here for a bit, and when you're done, just head over to that place there." he smiled warmly and gestured at the tall building to the far east of the complex. "We can chat some more and I've got lots of extra sleeping space."
Berwald bowed his head quickly in thanks, eager to accept the offer before he was left alone in the center of this settlement without a plan. "Alright, thanks,"
Mathias grinned impossibly wider before he clapped him roughly on the shoulder. "Of course, it's nice to meet a fellow Scandinavian, even if you are a Swede,"
The Dane shot him a playful wink and Berwald huffed a little but smiled back. Then he waved daintily and turned around, heading off in a different direction and shouting to someone who hollered back in irritation.
Once he was gone, Berwald let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. Mathias was comparable to a wind storm, he thought. Chaotic, loud, and full of energy, and when he was gone, it felt shaken and empty.
He shrugged his gun back onto his shoulder and looked around. There were little stalls set up for trading, but it was hard to tell what everyone was selling, exactly. Feeling a little more like a lost dog and a little less like he actually wanted to stay here, he slowly made his way down the roadway, searching for something he wasn't sure he would know until he saw it.
Just to be around people again put him on edge. Faces, voices, loud sounds and people paying attention to things other than their immediate survival. After having been alone so long, the adrenaline wouldn't quit. Wouldn't let him relax around people. He had gotten so used to the silence that now his ears were sensitive, and he flinched when things were tossed or when people called out loudly. There was just too much to be aware of all at once, and it made him uneasy to know that things might slip by without him seeing or hearing them.
He walked slowly, feeling like he wanted to run and hide if only to get away from the commotion. His only relief was that people seemed to only wish to look at him. No one approached him or instigated anything, allowing him and his frazzled mind to move along. At the same time, however, he felt like he was only able to accept all of this because he felt like he was walking in a dream. Half like he was really here, and half like he was asleep in the wastelands, starved and dehydrated.
Who really knew what reality was anymore, after all?
The thought did not make it easier to relax, and the longer he was alone, harder it was to remember why he had let that Dane talk him into staying instead of just trying to get some supplies and get out. That was what he did, after all. He wasn't here to try to fix things. Things were the way they were, and he was just passing through.
He decided he would try to get his bearings, that usually helped calm his sporadic heart. However, there didn't seem to be any way out except the way they came in. There were large buildings which left little room for roads that weren't already laid, but the high walls made it impossible to see beyond the settlement. For now, it would look as though he were trapped here for the night, whether he wanted to be anyone's guest or not.