Chapter 1:
Our Little Group
"So what do you reckon then?" the skinny pale man in the corner muttered from his sun-burnt lips. "I doubt we can just walk ourselves in there without a whole damn tidal wave of bullets showering us from the other side." A large, worn man arose from his makeshift chair and emerged out of the shadows to join in the conversation. He held a rusty butcher's knife in one hand and a half empty bottle of whisky in the other.
"The hell you talking about Travis," he muttered as he launched the butchers knife into the side of the wall, "I been there enough times for thousands o' people to get killed if what you says is true." He limped towards a table in the centre of the room which was dimly lit with a single light bulb that flickered with every step he took. The man was old and had definitely seen better years. He'd definitely seen better showers too as the stench emitted from his body was almost visible. To the other men, he was the muscle of the group. The brawler. Though, most just knew him as good ol' Fred.
"I'm not buyin' it," Travis rejected. He wasn't so old, though his looks definitely told a different story. Years of sitting out in the boiling sun had not done him well and his skin had become wrinkled and dry. All that sitting around also managed to transform him into a living stick, that alongside the lack of food they had been receiving.
"Damn it Travis! You've barely set a foot outside the compound!" Fred muttered. He chewed whatever was in his mouth and spat it out in the middle of the cold, wooden floor ready to continue his accusations. Before he could, however, another man stood up from his chair near the door and stepped into the somewhat burning light coming from the fluorescent bulb.
"Y-You-You're all a pack of-f fuckin'... idiots!" The man wheezed as he coughed on alcohol still present in his throat. He held an empty bottle of rum which he soon discarded after looking at it confusedly. The others generally knew him as the drunk of the group. He rarely was committed to doing anything to help in any way and usually remained in a slumber surrounded by empty bottles of various different beverages. He was Jerry, and although he didn't look like much he was still part of the group. "If I h-had a penny for ev-every time you guys f-fucked up," he began counting his fingers as if he was a toddler, "I'd have, s-seven!" He stumbled across the room, tripping over his own feet in an attempt to reach the doorway but soon fell flat on his face. The whole room was filled with laughter, even from Jerry himself.
"Jerry, you're a fuckin' drunk, no doubt about it neither," Travis said as he stood up and marched over to help the poor man up. His skinny legs shook and his face became red as he attempted to stand Jerry up. Right at that moment a faint sound of footsteps approached the door. Travis dropped Jerry in an instant, leaving Jerry to fall first on the cold wood. Travis lifted his skinny hands and attempted to grab the handgun he had put in his top pocket. Why he put it there, the others didn't know. Something to do with all the time he had spent inside. He lifted the gun out of his pocket and aimed it at the door way ready to fire but he was stopped in his tracks when he heard the gasp of a young boy. That young boy was the new kid.
His name was Harry and he was only 15 years of age. For some reason, although he may not have looked very useful, they allowed him into their group. At least he proved to be a lot more useful than Jerry, that's for sure. Many of the others knew him has thief, mainly because he was the one who managed to steal all sought of valuables without anyone noticing and without any casualties. He wasn't very built for his age, but he used this to his advantage. He was light on his feet and could sneak past a dozen men without one of them even noticing.
"Hey! Watch out there buddy! Wouldn't want to blow my head off on such a fine day now would we?" he said as he slipped through the men of his group to reach his bunk.
"Damn it boy! You almost gave me a goddamn heart attack," Travis proclaimed has he lowered the handgun back into his pocket. "Damn kids," he murmured as he returned to his seat leaving Jerry on the floor.
"The hell you doin' out 'ere. I heard you had orders from the big guy." Fred said as he leaned on the old wooden table in the middle of the room.
"Don't worry, I've done it all," Harry said with a pinch of hesitation. He tried not to show it, but he was lying. The "big guy" or otherwise known as his boss assigned him to a few jobs outside the compound. This included look out duties, searching for food and basically searching for anything that may be useful for the group. Harry noticed that Fred knew he was lying however, and he quickly grabbed a dusty book from under his bed before speedily making it towards the exit. "Well, you know, I've got a lot of reading to catch on so I'm just going to…" Fred stood up and blocked the path to the exit making sure that Harry couldn't escape.
"You aint goin' anywhere little boy," he muttered as he lifted his fist and cracked his knuckles hoping to intimidate Harry.
"Fred!" a voice echoed from the hallway outside the exit. "Damn it, how many times have I told you to leave that boy alone?" The silhouette of a large man entered the room. He walked forward pushing Jerry aside with his boot and making his way into the light. It was none other than the "big guy", otherwise known as Adam.
