Sorry but this isn't an official update, owing to the fact that I'm still waiting on a segment from Wandering Letters who's been dealing with some personal issues of his own as of late. This is a side story mostly inspired by an original idea of mine which ground to a halt because it was unlucky enough to be one of my earlier concepts and thus, has been sitting in a dusty corner of my hard drive for a considerable length of time.

Scavengers

Side Story One: Scavenger Three

Nathan Harper decided that it had been, all things considered, a good day.

Granted, they were hiding in the middle of a burnt out apartment block while a veritable tide of undead streamed past the building and Rian had wasn't going to be walking anywhere any time soon but the cache they had found – entirely by accident – was a Godsend. Ammunition mostly but a handful of weapons too, most of them military grade, and a significant amount of canned foodstuffs. No water unfortunately but even finding this much was a great find. Most Scavenger teams returned with barely scraps. Indeed, Nathan couldn't remember the last time there had been a haul of this magnitude and he found his flecked amber eyes leering hungrily at the two carts that held the goods.

Of course, as they had made to leave for their exfil point, a harbour just on the edge of the city where their transport, the Lady Luck (and how apt her name was, Nathan mused) sat a safe distance from, waiting for the green flare to signal their arrival. Captain Booth had ordered them to load the stuff and make their way out; nice and clean, but then, as it usually was, trouble had decided to poke its ugly nose in.

It had started with the chanting on the side street through the long abandoned industrial part of town, and shortly after the cultists had emerged; crawling out from practically every nook and cranny, brandishing cruel, serrated bladed weapons, emaciated beneath their thick, snow white robes, the hoods marked with a bloody handprint. He knew enough about the mainland and its dangers to recognise the so called 'Doom Children'. They usually herded crowds of undead by using their own recently initiated members as lures, bottling other survivors in or pressing them into carefully prepared ambush zones where more experienced members waited. Each one of them was ritually scarred underneath those robes, and he remembered one tale Yani had told him of a Scavenger who had lost his mind when he found the mutilated faces of not only men and women underneath those low hoods, but children too.

The chanting was a terror tactic that, against nervous survivors on a hairline trigger, would have broken them. The hardened men and women of Scavenger Three, with the exception of Nathan, who was new blood, had simply tensed in preparation of the bloodshed to come.

And it had come.

Dozens died as the nine individuals who made up Scavenger Three formed a hasty defensive circle and opened up with their weapons. Crimson flowers blossomed on pure white robes, hoods snapped back, revealing horrifically scarred visages as bullets whipped through the air, punching through bone, ripping into flesh and tearing cartilage. For all that though, the Doom Children appeared to be as numerous as the flesh eating undead, and just as desperate. One slipped through the field of fire to sink a pair of scissors deep into Rian's thigh.

It had been about then that the dead, ever present in the desiccated world, had reminded them all of the constant threat they posed.

A side door to a warehouse, boarded shut, the wood half rotten from the constant exposure to the elements, gave way as a stream of the dead pressed against it, driven into a slavering frenzy by the noise signifying the arrival of prey. They poured out of the building, stumbling into the rear of the gang of Doom Children, devouring those closest while the rest either fought back or fled. Booth had ordered a retreat, and in their haste they had almost tipped one of the carts over as they ran from the growing mass of undead.

The game of dead cat and heavily armed mouse had gone on for almost an hour, and in that hour they had almost been trapped twice by more of the roving undead attracted by the gunfire and Rian had almost collapsed twice from the shock of his wound. Finally they had gained enough ground on their pursuers but then the awful groaning seemed to come from every damned corner of the city. Booth had kicked open the door to an apartment and they had rushed in, four of them hauling the carts up the staircase while Nathan held onto Rian and Booth and the rest secured the doors and then made sure the building was clear.

They now sat in a crusty old apartment on the second floor of the building, the others in the main section while Nathan sat with Rian, who was laid down in the bedroom. Posters of old bands Nate had never heard of even before everything had been turned upside down lined the walls of the bedroom, with the odd pin-up girl here and there for a bit of a change of scenery. Most of these posters were faded, and an old, dried bloody handprint marked the one closest to the entrance. A sizeable bloodstain at the foot of the bed told Nathan that whoever had lived here had evidently lost the battle.

Finally growing bored of watching the burly Scavenger, who had long since lapsed into unconsciousness, Nathan got up from the edge of the bed and strolled into the living room, which also doubled as the kitchen. An old, dusty brown couch had been pushed aside to allow space for the two carts laden with supplies and the rest of Scavenger Three had propped themselves against a wall to catch their breath. Most cast wary glances to the door to the apartment or the windows, one of which Captain Booth stood next to, observing the outside activity with a grim look.

Booth glanced over to Nathan and nodded slightly, and the rookie nodded back after a brief moment of uncertainty before making his way to the Captain, making sure to try and keep his footsteps as quiet as possible. It was unlikely the ocean of dead would hear them over their collective moans, but every Scavenger, even the rookies like him, knew not to take chances where the mainland and its many perils were concerned.

'What's it like out there?' Nathan asked in hushed tones.

Booth snorted, a very unladylike reaction, before flicking a strand of her dark hair from her eyes. In another, more peaceful time, Miranda Booth would have had the face of an angel. The world however, had been cruel to her, and a vicious, jagged scar that ran from the left of her scalp to the corner of her mouth put paid to any looks she might have been proud of. Nathan suppressed a shiver at the hard, cold edge in her frosty grey eyes, which was entirely at odds with her soothing, Southern American drawl.

'Too damned many of them. It's almost like they're migrating, like birds.'

Nathan paused a moment before replying.

'But I thought they said this place was mostly clear.'

Booth shook her head.

'Can't take anything at face value in the Scavenger Corps rookie. Some places will be swarming with zombies one hour and completely deserted the next. Maybe it was clear at the time they gave this place a look over but you should know by now that it can change in a heartbeat,' she took another glance outside before casting her eyes over Nathan's shoulder, 'How's Rian doing?'

Nathan shrugged. 'Sleeping now… listen, I'm no doctor and I know I'm just a rookie but I think we should get him out of here asap. I mean, who knows where that damned pair of scissors has been before that crazy bastard shoved them into Rian's leg.'

Booth grunted. 'All right rookie, you're on my team and I know most of this is new to you but try and keep this in mind: you're on my team now, and in my team there is no such thing as a stupid question or bad talk. You got something on your mind you say it and don't you dare sugar-coat it, rookie or not. Got it?'

Nathan thought for a moment before nodding. Booth gave him a look that he thought was meant to be reassuring. With her scarred face and those haunting grey eyes it looked more like a grimace.

'Trust me rookie, if we had a way out we'd be taking it. But as it is there's zombies practically coming out of the damn walls down there and we'd not get two steps before getting ourselves chewed down to the bone. We'll get out, of that you can bet your ass, but only when that mob down there's dispersed.'

Nathan nodded again. He didn't have much doubt that Captain Booth would see her team safe. The rumours surrounding her would have normally invited scepticism from Nathan, but with her they just seemed to fit. There was an aura about her that inspired him; inspired her team, telling them that, as long as they followed her lead they'd all see the day through.

They waited hours for the tide of undead to pass them by, and eventually day turned to night, when, finally, the groans of the dead began to recede.

'Looks clear, or as clear as it's going to get,' Booth murmured as she peered out of the window, 'Let's go.'

Nathan woke Rian and helped him up as the others carried the two carts down to the bottom of the apartment. The darkness offered only limited visibility and none of them possessed any night vision goggles. Flashlights would only attract the attention of the undead, and so they went by the light of the moon, which was pitifully dull as the treacherous clouds shifted and concealed it.

The road to the harbour took them through winding streets, made difficult by scattered vehicles and items dropped by looters who had likely come under attack as they had tried making off with televisions and other machines. It seemed almost laughable to Nathan that people had once risked their lives for something like a microwave when bullets, food and clothes were the only currency of any significant value in the world as they knew it.

A sudden crash from behind them froze the team.

'Now who the hell–' Booth started before a grating, all too familiar moan echoed throughout the night.

'We're rumbled! Flashlights on; weapons free, we're running for the harbour! Move it!' Booth bellowed. After a brief moment of fumbling, nine beams of light lit up the space before them, illuminating the shuffling forms of several oncoming undead.

'Light them up!' someone yelled and suddenly the space was filled with gunfire. The closest of the shambling bodies stood no chance and were shredded by dozens of rounds but more were on the way.

'Don't stand still damnit! Keep moving before we all get boxed in.' Booth shouted before spinning on her heel and burying the blade of her machete halfway through the skull of a zombie with old, hideous burns.

The Scavengers picked up the pace, the two men with the carts using one arm to hold their sidearms as they pushed onwards, using the mass to scatter any of the roving undead in their path.

'That's it! That's the way!' Booth said approvingly, taking the head of another groaning figure with clinical precision. They were cutting a path through and would be at the harbour in no time at this rate, Nathan thought as he helped Rian shuffle along, who covered the two as best he could with his own sidearm.

Then the groaning reached a fever pitch and Nathan felt his blood chill.

'Run for it!' Booth ordered; a note of desperation in her voice, 'Go! Go! Go!'

The Scavengers broke ranks and pelted forwards. The mob that had passed them by earlier was doubling back at the noise they were making and if they weren't fast they would be all over the beleaguered men and women of Scavenger Three.

'Carts up front! Rookie, hurry up or you'll get left behind!'

Nathan panted under the strain of hauling Rian's bulky mass along. It would have been much easier if he had some–

His thoughts were cut off as something slammed into them, toppling the two men. Nathan slammed his head against the wall of a corner shop and spent a few moments seeing stars, dazed and confused, and not a little hurt. A sharp cry brought him back into focus and he saw two rotting corpses clawing at Rian, who was trying desperately to hold them back far enough for him to bring his sidearm to bear.

Nathan raised an arm to the wall to steady himself and picked himself up, drawing his own pistol, an old Makarov that had, apparently, belonged to an ex-Spetsnaz Major. Nathan put the head of the closest creature in his sights but a sudden bout of dizziness spoiled his aim and almost made him collapse at the suddenness of it.

Nathan shook his head violently and, instead of taking aim again, charged at the two snapping, snarling zombies atop his teammate. He was a slim young man, but putting enough speed on, he managed to dislodge one of the corpses and stagger the other when he made contact. Acting on instinct and fuelled by adrenalin and terror, Nathan put the barrel of his gun to the forehead of the closest zombie and pulled the trigger, painting the road with gore.

He whirled around to see the gaping maw of the second zombie. He swerved aside, realising with growing panic that more shambling horrors were closing in on them.

Suddenly something swatted him from the side. Nathan lost it, flailing his arms about until he realised that there were no snapping jaws lunging for his throat, no foetid arms and cracked nails reaching for purchase where they would clamp down like a vice. Something clattered to the ground to his right, then there was more clattering, like something had been thrown…

Nathan looked down and saw a rifle – Rian's rifle – and several magazines for the firearm at his feet.

'Take 'em and go!' Rian said, the big man's voice quivering, 'I'm not going to make it.'

'The hell you aren't.' Nathan snarled in reply and made to pick the big man up but Rian pushed him away.

Then Nathan saw the blood streaming down his arm, and the wound on his neck.

'Oh…' Nathan said dumbly.

'I'll at least buy you guys some time. Now get the hell out of here before you lose the rest of the team!' Rian paused for a moment, 'And tell… tell my kids that I loved them, and that – for what it's worth – I'm sorry.'

Nathan nodded, unable to say anything.

A gunshot snapped him out of his shock and he saw Rian with his pistol in hand, a furious expression on his face.

'Don't just stand there rookie! Run!'

Nathan ran.

He scooped up Rian's gun and the magazines and took off; dodging through the street that now teemed with rotting, groaning zombies. It was so dark now he thought for a moment that he was lost for sure, but then he saw the flashlight beams from the rest of the team barely half a block ahead and spurred himself onwards. A claw carved a gash across his cheek but Nathan barely felt it in his panic, his brain operating on autopilot as his body sought the quickest way through the swarming press of undead.

Finally he broke through the ring of undead and saw his team, realising at the same time that they were almost at the harbour. A concrete fence lay ahead, ringing a small coastal warehouse where nautical parts were stored, and an iron gate sat just at the end of the street. The dead swarmed all around, stumbling and shuffling towards the Scavengers retreating for the gate. One of them must have caught sight of Nathan because she raised a hand towards him and suddenly a withering hail of fire cut down a group of zombies bearing down on him.

Nathan didn't bother acknowledging the support, instead focusing on pumping his legs as fast as he could manage towards that gate, which his team had now reached, pushing the carts inside the fence as others put their hands on the gate, prepared to swing it shut as soon as Nathan was through. With an adrenalin-fuelled roar Nathan sprinted through the mob of undead and pounded through the gate. Immediately the others swung it shut and one of them draped a padlock and chain around the bars to seal it shut. It wouldn't hold long, not with the sea of zombies outside pressing against it, but hopefully it would keep the rotting cannibals out long enough for their evac to arrive.

'Pop that flare, we're not out of this yet!' Booth commanded in between long gulps of air, exhausted as the physical exertion finally took its toll.

One of the equally tired Scavengers – Coates if Nathan recalled correctly – reached for her waist and retrieved a flare gun, pointing it skyward before squeezing the trigger. A brilliant green flare raced into the air like a firework, arcing through the sky before petering out like a dying candle flame.

Now the waiting began.

The Scavengers pushed their haul to the edge of a pier before almost collectively collapsing in a heap.

'I am so beat,' one Scavenger murmured underneath a scratched riot helmet.

'I really hope we've got some hot chow waiting for us when we get back home,' said another.

'That would really brighten my day up… night. Whatever. What do you say Rian?'

Silence answered them.

'Rian?' Asked the same man.

Nathan swallowed the lump in his throat before opening his mouth to speak.

'He didn't make it,' Nathan said, feeling his throat dry up as the others turned to regard him. 'We got attacked and – and I hit my head and they swarmed him and… and then he got bitten…' Nathan realised he was still cradling Rian's rifle in his arms, he also realised that, somewhere along the way, he'd dropped a couple of the magazines for it.

An uncomfortable silence reigned.

'Goddamnit,' Coates murmured. The others turned their heads, each of them mourning privately for their recently lost comrade. Nathan had felt sure they'd blame him, and realised he felt relieved that they didn't appear to. What did that say about him? A man had recently died and he was worried about what everyone else thought about him. Shame flooded through him and he hung his head limply.

'It's not your fault,' Booth said, observing him and misinterpreting his expression entirely. 'Rian was… a good man, but he knew this could happen to him. All of us know it could happen. Don't get so hung up about it, cause if you let every death – and there will always be more death – hit you like this, you'll find the business end of your gun look mighty attractive one day.'

With that finished, Booth turned to check on the rest of her team.

The Lady Luck arrived scant minutes later, and the goods were hauled onboard just as the gate finally gave in to the pressure of the frenzied undead and collapsed inwards, allowing them to stream into the complex. Nathan watched them try to shuffle after the retreating vessel, a seemingly endless line of zombies pitching into the ocean as they tried to chase after their fleeing prey. They reminded him almost of lemmings with their focus solely on what was in front of them, unwilling or unable to see the hazards in their way until it was far too late.

Nathan curled his lips in distaste before turning his head away, finding he could no longer stomach to look at the pitiful, but deadly creatures. He passed one of the crew of the Lady Luck, who stopped him for a brief chat.

'Gotta hand it to you boyo,' he spoke with a distinctively Irish brogue, 'I don't think I could do what you brave bastards do. Anyways, we appreciate it. All of us… you're goddamned heroes one and all.'

Nathan gave a slight nod and passed the crewman, making his way into the bowels of the ship to his room. His roommate Yani was splayed out up on the top bunk, already asleep and snoring. Nathan sat on the edge of the bottom bed and remained there for a moment, deep in thought.

You're goddamned heroes one and all.

Rian had given his life up to save Nathan. Rian was undoubtedly a hero. Nathan on the other hand had left him to it. He'd not even looked back. He'd said a few token words but when Rian had told him to run it had been all Nathan had not to sigh in relief. He had been lucky. Nathan was about as far from a hero as it was possible to get, and as he finally curled up on the mattress, he began to weep as self-loathing overtook him.

-X-

So that's the first side story. Most of these will focus on Scavenger Three and this Nathan bloke, but, similar to the 'Logs' of my other story The Pelanoi Accounts other side stories will look at other events and happenings in the world.

Until next time.