In the first six months after the apocalypse hit, most survivor groups were led by rogue militias ard to the teeth. So had just a dozen folks, others numbered in the hundreds.
But as ti dragged on, food and water started running out across the board. The groups that had food pulled in the ones that didn’t. Those with water did the sa. If you had more guns or people, you absorbed the ones that didn’t.
Bit by bit, those little village and town squads rged into bigger ones. Small teams beca factions. Survivors slowly got used to dealing with mutated creatures. They didn’t fear them quite as much anymore. So they started moving on cities - taking over, claiming turf, becoming local warlords.
Sure, not all humanity was lost. Not everyone turned into a monster like Cliff, who ruled through stockpiles and won. Most survivor teams still stuck together. They looked out for the weak - won, kids, the elderly weren’t left behind.
A lot of people were still fighting for their families. For their kids, their parents, their lovers. Magnus kept asking himself: could he really swing his blade at people like that?
He wasn’t a devil. He didn’t go after regular folks just to spill blood. But he wasn’t so saint, either. He wasn’t going to start handing out food for free or saving everyone that crossed his path just because they were breathing. He had to be smart.
That’s why he set his sights on Ashbrook Town. There was grain in that place. He’d trade for it - materials, crystals, whatever. And for the weaker teams? He wasn’t going to gouge them. He’d be fair, as fair as the world allowed. But that was the line.
After hearing him out, the mood in the truck went cold. The won, who’d been chatty just a mont ago, fell quiet. After a long pause, Liana finally asked, voice thin, "So... what? We’re just gonna skip looting whole cities now?"
"We’re not skipping," Magnus replied with a sigh. "If a city’s not heavily occupied we still go in. But we need to know where to draw the line. There’s a difference between scavenging and butchering."
No one argued after that. A few details about the next day’s journey were discussed, mostly between Magnus and Emily, and the rest wandered off to rest.
But just before Magnus left, Emily stepped up beside him and, out of nowhere, said, "You’re... not quite how I thought you’d be."
He froze, turned to her - but she was already slipping into the RV with Liana. It was their night with the bigger bed.
He didn’t know what she ant - if it was praise or sothing else. Caught off guard, he tucked it away in his mory and headed back to his own bunk.
Co morning, Liana and the logistics crew fueled up every vehicle. The Ice Regint was at another peak in numbers. After scrapping a few useless cars, their convoy now held over 330 vehicles.
Recruiting new mbers hadn’t gone great these last few days - only 17 new won had joined. Plenty of male survivors had co by, but Charlotte had politely turned them all away.
The Ice Regint now stood at 1,064 people. At exactly 8 AM, the convoy rolled out. 331 vehicles packed with supplies thundered down the road - a moving fortress. Liana had rigged steel cables between so vehicles, coupling them together. Magnus didn’t see much use in it, but he didn’t stop her either.
The July sun blazed like fire overhead, roasting the earth. Most of the vehicles ran their crude air conditioning, but those without - like the old Ironvale Transit Authority buses - left their drivers sweating, so stripped down to their undershirts just to cope.
The stretch past Southriver City was a graveyard of wrecked cars, more than when they’d entered. No one knew why. The convoy kept stopping to clear the way. Now and then, they’d run into a freight truck or a gas station, and every ti, they took a break - modded the trucks, fueled up generators, filled barrels.
They left at 8 in the morning, but by 7 in the evening, they’d crawled just 90 kiloters. After a whole day of bouncing in their rides, the team looked worn out. So lay back resting, but it didn’t seem to help; they looked more beat than when they swept Southriver City a few days ago.
Dinner was sparse. No one really had an appetite. Liana had the logistics crew cook plain porridge. With it, they had pickled veggies, ham sausages, bits of beef tendons - bare bones supplies.
In the RV living area, after eating, Abigail and her sister cleared up the dishes willingly. Charlotte lit a lady’s cigarette, drew in a thin trail of smoke, and spoke lightly, "Magnus, once we get to Ashbrook Town, do we really need so many fighters?"
Sophia shot her a glare. "That’s not even a concern. If what he said is true and Ashbrook has an underground granary, we could feed triple what we’ve got now."
Liana nodded slowly. "I get where Charlotte’s coming from. Feeding people takes more than grain. We need water, vegetables, daily basics. Like Magnus said, if we keep showers running for the squad, the supplies won’t last long."
Emily gave a small nod. "I’m with them. Capping the team at a thousand sounds just right - no more, no less. And unless soone truly exceptional shows up, I wouldn’t bring in anyone else."
The won went back and forth, voices calm but thoughtful. Magnus didn’t join in. He sat quiet in a white armchair, cigarette in hand. To him, none of this talk really touched the heart of the matter.
What kept him up was the Crimson Rain. He couldn’t figure out why it was already showing up in this lifeti. And worse - there was the second teor drop.
The thought of it made his spine crawl. He couldn’t shake the chill every ti he rembered. In his last life, he’d only survived nine months. Whatever lay past that? Total unknown. And it scared the hell out of him.
"Hey, Magnus, say sothing will you?" Liana finally snapped, annoyed by his silence. "Still playing the silent type?"
Magnus blinked, snapped out of his thoughts. The won were staring. He coughed lightly. "Yeah, I agree. A thousand’s about right. No need to grow beyond that."
But just as he said it, another thought hit him. Sothing new, and it didn’t sit right.
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