The beach swarmed with men, women and children. Already the colony was established; the cabins and tiki huts lined the sands. Beyond that was a stark pine forest, spreading as far as the eye could see into a backdrop of mountains and peaks looming in the distance, enshrouded in cloud. I shivered slightly as a chilly wind blew in from farther west; it was quickly replaced by the warm breeze emanating off of the ocean. It felt almost like paradise—paradise away from home…sweet home…
"You there! ID card."
I was awoken from my slight trance by the Sec lieutenant standing before me. I had somehow been tossed into a line of eager settlers, and stood before the armored Sec lieutenant, a stone sword attached to his backpack, several unlit torches on his belt and his standard issue SMG slung lazily on his shoulder. Fumbling in his own pack, I produced my Resettlement ID card to the man, who gave me a lazy wave of his hand to pass me onwards. "Bloc 4." The man called out as I passed. He was referring, I suppose, to the number of the house I was to be a resident of for the rest of my life.
I found Bloc 4 in the interior of the town. Once you passed the wooden pontoons out on the beach, a stone slab road led into town, which was guarded by a simple wooden palisade around the perimeter and with small wood towers at each of the four corners. Simple gates guarded the four entrances and exits; they seemed relatively light, easy for a large mass of zombies to pass. The defenders were in an even more abominable position; all of the men held simple wooden bows, save the lone pulse gun set up at the entrance to the beach. A Sec officer manned that; a shiver went down my spine as memories of Trojan Pass came back to me. I entered the gate and walked past rows of wooden cabins, each twenty blocks by twenty blocks, with a semi-triangular roof, and all wood. All had a torch outside to light up the street; here and there small wooden posts with a torch on top passed for streetlights. Couldn't expect glowstone lamps in this dinky little village, not like in the Estate Quarter of Diamond City.
Bloc 4 was rustic; I opened the door to find three rooms total; two bedrooms, each with a simple john inside, and a main area with a rug, crafting table, double chest and furnace, along with a table for eating and a simple stove for cooking. The tools and belongings scattered around were evidence that I was not living alone; all of a sudden, a head popped out of the room to the right.
"'Allo there!" the head said with a heavy accent. He stepped out of the room, an unfinished stone pickaxe in hand and a strong shaft of wood in the other.
"Oh…I didn't know that I'd have a…"
"Roommate?" I was cut off. "Neither did I. But better than living alone, I suppose. Name's Bush, Wil Bush. Resettlement Program, I suppose?" the new man asked, pointing to my clothes. The blue khakis were a sign of my curse.
"Yeah. Name's Nat, Nat Somers."
I was feeling more comfortable with my new roomie by the second. His voice dropped lower, no longer shouting, and he began to talk in a calmer tone, laying the unfinished pickaxe on the crafting bench and sitting down at the table.
"So…Resettlement. I can't imagine how that must feel." Wil spoke, taking a swig from the canteen lying on the table. It was ale; I was never fond for alcohol of any sort, only drinking at communion.
"It wasn't very pleasant, I can say that," I said to him, taking a seat beside him. Wil was dressed up in leather armor, in perfect condition save a single gash across the chestplate.
"Can't even imagine…Sec throw you out, just you?"
"Me and a few other guys. I didn't see them on the ship," I said. Three other of my highschool friends—two of them miners as well. I hadn't heard from them since they left our town of Moarca Ravine.
"A pity. Most people who come here as miners don't survive long. Not to get you down or anything—"Wil chuckled, trying to reassure me, and took another deep swallow from his canteen. I began to feel a sinking feeling, and the tear on his chestplate did nothing to reassure me.
"How long have you been here?" I asked him. If he had been over a month, it would've been better.
"At least a month. Dunno…days get lost within the daily tedium, ya know," he answered. I felt a little more relieved. Just when I began to settle down on the table, hungrily eyeing the loaf of bread sticking out of the chest by the wall, a scream of agony rent the air outside. It resounded throughout the village, echoing until it disappeared completely. Wil's response didn't leave me optimistic.
"Ah…damnit…not another one…how long is this going to go on?" he remarked, cursing silently under his breath again and raising himself up from the bench. I followed him closely, swallowing a lump in my throat as the scream echoed again, and out the door, into the main thoroughfare. Other doors from other cabins opened; exasperated men, frightened women, crying children came out, all gazing at the west gate. Three shapes were distinct; carrying what looked like a sack. Then it hit me; the scream was coming from the sack. They had another person—maybe?—in that sack. Two Sec soldiers were running down the street, followed closely by a mob of other scraggly, dirty miners. Wil followed closely, cursing under his breath; I struggled to keep up with the growing mob of settlers rushing down towards the gate. Luckily, we were able to see what was going on; through a crack in the mob, I could see the two Sec soldiers approach the group of tattered miners. They were covered in dirt and blood; scratches angrily reddened their faces and arms, and one of the others was bleeding profusely from a behemoth open wound across his shoulder.
"By Notch…it happened again…" I heard Wil stammer silently. The crowd quieted down as the sack was opened. The horribly wounded man was exposed; I could hardly look at the grotesque wounds and tears that laced across his torso and shoulders. But what most attracted my attention was the color of the wounds; they were almost pulsating with a purplish glow, and the skin around them was taking on a blue color, as if it were becoming infected. The wounded man's breathing was becoming raspy and forced; it quickened, and he was no longer able to scream. The two Sec soldiers zipped up the bag, and began to drag it to the gates. No one spoke; no one questioned their behavior.
It had happened again? What had happened again? That sinking feeling in my stomach was starting to come back. What the hell was going on in this colony?