Martin
Sergeant Martin couldn't believe his luck. Escaping Higgart should have been the death of him, had the spies not given him that special ammo. He had long since run out, but not before judiciously utilizing them to find safety. Linking up with a small group of other soldiers, they ransacked the Reach until they were forced North due to dwindling sources of replenishment. They'd encountered a number of undead groups along the way, which had thinned their numbers. Of the almost seventy that they'd started with, they were down to only two dozen, and now, Dr. Lisa Stone, too.
He sat in the passenger seat of the truck, directing her to their camp. She looked lean and muscular compared to when he'd last seen her. Of course, with no restaurants to eat at and when your daily exercise consists of running for your life, it's easy to maintain a figure of relative health. He glanced over at her, and she did the same to him.
"So, how'd you make it out?" Martin asked. "After we got separated, I was afraid you were a goner."
"It was the scariest day of my life," she admitted. "I just remember darting through as many side streets and alleyways as I could until I got picked up with another group of soldiers heading out," she explained. He nodded as he followed along. "What happened to you?"
"Well, after we hit Market Square and the undead came at us, I just started shooting. Next thing I know, I'm all by myself running at full speed away from these sprinting corpses..." he went on. She shivered at the thought. "I nearly ran out of those Black Screamers right away, but I had enough to get me into a manhole and through the city's water system. I followed that to the river and then, boom: home free," he concluded. She smiled and nodded enthusiastically.
"I'm really happy you made it," she admitted. "Thank you for seeing me through such a dangerous assignment. You wouldn't have had to worry about any of that had I not been there." He shrugged.
"I would have been back with my unit, probably. They all got wiped out," he lamented. "At least, I think they did. I haven't come across anyone else."
"What about the other soldiers we were with?" she asked. He shook his head slowly.
"They didn't make it," he answered quietly. A lump formed in her throat.
"I'm sorry," she offered. He shrugged.
"Yeah," he sighed. "Oh well. Better them than us," he rationalized. She hated to agree with him, but she nodded anyways. "Anyways, turn right up here, at that break in the fence," he motioned off the side of the road. "We're back there, at the campground."
The campground wasn't particularly large, with a single parking lot leading to the gravel trail that wrapped around the campsites. Each space was not only occupied, but they spilled over onto one another into what could best be described as a refugee camp for the living. Thick woodland around the camp protected them from sharing too much sound and obfuscated the views, leaving only a clear view of the nearby river. A trailhead marked "Twin Towers Trail" beckoned eager adventurers and explorers into the woods to the ancient, medieval fortifications that once separated the Riverlands from the Neck. Martin didn't know what it was, but he'd hiked there early on and saw the ruins himself. They were just piles of old stones with an ancient – yet functional – stone bridge. He had her park the truck near a gentle slope, to make it easier for her when she departed, before exiting the vehicle. With their foraging party returning, the camp would eat the day's kill and be introduced to Dr. Stone.
"Tell me," Captain Forscythe asked during dinner that evening. "What sort of doctor are you?"
"I'm a forensic pathologist by training," she explained. "But I worked for the government as an advisor to public health."
"Seems like a bit of a leap," he mused. She nodded.
"Yeah," she sighed. "As it turns out, I'm not a big fan of corpses. Wish I would have learned that before going to med school..." The group shared a compassionate laugh.
"That might have been good to know," he agreed with a chuckle. "And again, we're sorry to scare you like that. We just don't know who's who... or what..." She shook her head.
"No worries at all," she reassured him. "I've been through worse." He nodded in silent understanding. "How are things around here?" she redirected the conversation with ease.
"Ah, mostly quiet, to be honest with you," Forscythe somewhat lamented. "We had nothing but action for almost a year... lost a lot of good people... but in the last couple of months, there's been almost no contact with anyone... on either side," he went on. She nodded, in full understanding.
"They're at Dragonstone by now," she sighed. They all looked at her.
"What?" Martin asked. She turned to him.
"Before I went to Branton, I was in Weymouth," she explained. "I got a transmission from Dragonstone when I was outside of Rosby. They said they were sending boats to bring people to Dragonstone, but I just missed the last one."
"Because of the zombies?" Martin pressed. She nodded.
"Yeah," she half-whispered. "The entire army was there." Martin scoffed.
"You say army like they're being led by someone," he brushed off the word. "They're just looking for food and if everyone's on that island, then yeah, they're on their way there."
"How do you know?" she asked, holding her emotions as close to the chest as possible. He grinned.
"I watch a lot of movies," he explained. "Or I used to. I miss movies," he mused. She smiled at him. He had saved her life. She wasn't about to rain on his parade.
Later that evening, Martin was walking along the edge of the camp. His trusty rifle ready to fire, but thankfully there'd been no sightings of undead all day. He felt very confident that they wouldn't be stolen upon in the night by their undead enemy. He decided to walk along the trail towards the ruins. The moon was bright in the sky, giving him just enough light to make it without needing his flashlight.
As he stepped onto the promontory with an overlook of the old castle, he noticed two figures sitting on one of the benches. He stopped and listened, thankfully hearing the hushed whispers of Captain Forscythe and Dr. Stone. He was about to step forward to make himself known until he heard the topic of conversation. They were discussing the movements of the enemy. He stopped and knelt down quietly, listening in the best he could.
"Who is she?" Forscythe asked quietly.
"A priestess from a thousand years ago, we think," Stone answered in a matched tone.
"What?" he gasped in disbelief. "Be serious."
"I am," she replied. "She's one of the very few confirmed magic users in history."
"Confirmed?" Forscythe snorted.
"Well, as best we can confirm," Stone sighed. "There are too many sources linked to her throughout different events that are... difficult to explain. Difficult to even interpret," she went on. "And she's not the only one, just... the one connected to all this."
"I still don't believe it," he sighed. "But we are fighting zombies."
"Yeah," she agreed.
"I always just thought this was a purely scientific or medical thing, not some fantastic story about magic," he went on. She offered a short chuckle.
"You know," she started slowly. "I was actually on the government advisory board for that exact line of thinking."
"Oh, is that how you met Martin?" Forscythe asked.
"The one hiding in the bushes listening in on us right now?"
"Yeah, that'd be him," Forscythe laughed. Martin cursed loudly and stepped out.
"How did you hear me?" he demanded. Stone giggled softly.
"You breathe loudly," she admitted. Martin was taken aback.
"You don't snore, though," Forscythe quickly jumped in. "Which is good." Martin cocked his head, wondering if it was an insult or not. He decided to take it at face value.
"Anyways, I'm sorry to eavesdrop," he apologized. "I just wanted to take a walk and I heard you talking about magic?" Stone shifted uncomfortably in her seat. Forscythe nodded and spoke first.
"This army of the dead may not be the mindless movie zombies that we assumed," he began slowly. "Dr. Stone has some pretty... compelling evidence to indicate organization and... God, be good... leadership."
They spent the rest of the evening discussing Melisandre, the Long Night at Winterfell and the defeat of the Night King. Martin and Forscythe asked a million questions. Lisa only had a few answers. They accepted whatever she could share after convincing. The next day, one of the men hotwired her vehicle and showed her how to start it herself without needing to pop the clutch after getting it rolling. Before she loaded up, they refilled her tank with scrounged gasoline from abandoned cars and wrecks along the back streets. Forscythe approached her before she could depart. Martin watched as they spoke.
"Do you think we should go?" he asked her. Martin took a step back, surprised.
"I would feel better going with an escort," she laughed. "But I... honestly, I don't know. This could be a suicide mission," she admitted. Forscythe frowned.
"Do you trust it?" he asked. "The information you received." She thought about it deeply for a few moments before slowly nodding.
"I do," she sighed. "I don't have any other choice." Forscythe looked her down carefully before turning to his party.
"Alright, everyone!" he shouted. "Listen up!" The group stopped what they were doing and walked over into a schoolyard semicircle around him. "Dr. Stone is working on a way to stop this plague and stop all the zombies," he began. "We have a choice: We can stay here and try to keep riding this out, or we can go with her and do our part for humanity." Martin didn't need any further encouragement. He stepped forward. The rest of them all nodded in approval. "Alright," Forscythe beamed. "Pack up. We're Oscar Mike in an hour."