Ascension, page 9
The Hellhound let out a soft whine, breaking my concentration. It sniffed the air and turned its head towards the footprints, its instincts sharper than mine. I couldn't afford to ignore it.
Another bounty hunter?
I crouched, examining the footprints more closely. Small feet. A woman, perhaps. Not that a woman couldn't be a bounty hunter, but they wouldn't leave their tracks so carelessly in the dirt and sand. Bounty hunters worth their salt knew to act like ghosts, to move without a trace. These prints practically shouted their presence.
I let my eyes drift back to the bunker. The footprints led away from it, not toward it. Someone from inside going out? It didn’t add up. Why leave the safety of the bunker to wander this forsaken land?
“Huh,” I grunted, rising to my full height.
The Hellhound sniffed the ground again, eager and restless.
"All right," I muttered. "Let's see where this goes." I turned to the hound. “Track."
The Hellhound shot forward, nose to the ground, following the trail with a single-minded determination. I kept pace beside it, my senses heightened. The air grew colder as we moved further from the bunker; the landscape shifting from ruins to barren wasteland.
Each step felt heavier, like wading through thick fog of unease and questions. Why had they left? What were they running from? My mind raced through scenarios, each one more troubling than the last. The Hellhound paused occasionally, ensuring it was still on track before pressing forward again.
The footprints led us to a building barely half a mile away. It stood crooked, like a weary giant, its concrete walls marred by time and violence. Broken windows gaped like empty eye sockets, and rusted metal beams jutted out from the structure, twisted into unnatural shapes.
I noticed a word spray-painted in vibrant red across the crumbling facade: Hope.
The irony wasn’t lost on me.
I scoffed, the sound barely audible over the soft crunch of debris underfoot. Hope had no place here.
The footprints vanished near the entrance, swallowed by the shadows of the building. The person had likely taken cover inside. I eyed the structure warily. It was the perfect place to set a trap, every corner offering concealment, every broken wall a potential ambush point.
The Hellhound continued to sniff, nose leading it towards the building's entrance. Its glowing red eyes flickered with anticipation.
“Easy,” I murmured to it, pulling out my gun. The cold metal felt reassuring in my hand. Ready for anything, I followed the Hellhound inside.
The interior was dim, light filtering through gaps in the ceiling and walls. Dust particles floated in the air, disturbed by our presence. The Hellhound moved cautiously, sniffing at every shadow and crevice. My grip tightened on the gun as I scanned our surroundings.
The Hellhound's ears flattened as I crept closer to the voices echoing through the decayed building. Each step felt like a dance with the shadows, careful and deliberate. I gave the Hellhound a look, signaling it to stay alert but quiet. It complied, muscles tense under its matted fur.
"Think of all the demon shards we're going to get for her, baby," a woman's voice said, rough and jagged like broken glass. I knew that tone anywhere—Forgotten.
"Demon shards?" a girl replied, confusion evident in her voice. She must have come straight from the bunker. Green as grass.
"This Bunker Rat don't know currency!" The woman laughed harshly. "She's more of an idiot than I thought."
It didn't take much to piece it together. The girl had fallen into a trap. But was she my bounty? No. If she were, these scumbags would be swarming her like flies on rotten meat.
But then who...?
I stayed hidden, letting the shadows cloak me while I waited for more information. No point in revealing myself if this wasn’t going to benefit me.
"Go get her, Bruce," the woman ordered, her voice dripping with anticipation. "Maybe knock her out if you have to."
"Wait," the girl pleaded. "You don't have to do this. There has to be another way."
I almost laughed. Did she seriously think she could negotiate with these Forgotten pieces of shit?
From my vantage point, I saw her still struggling. Her leg was caught in some splintered wood.
"Please," she continued, desperation coloring her words. "This isn't who you are."
I scoffed but then my eyes widened when I noticed Bruce hesitated. No fucking way.
"Sorry," he said, his voice devoid of any real apology. "Gotta eat."
He lunged at her then, and the girl reacted fast. She kicked at his knee, throwing off his balance.
She kept struggling to free her leg, but it was no good. Her long blonde hair shone under the sparse light filtering through the ceiling. The pristine Purifier uniform she wore made my blood boil. Part of me wanted to see her killed just for what she represented. Another part was curious to see how this played out.
Bruce recovered quickly and came at her again. She swung her pack with surprising speed, connecting with his head.
I had to hand it to her... the girl was quick on her feet.
Well, maybe not quick enough, but still.
The impact knocked Bruce back, but he shook it off with a growl.
"Hold still," the man growled, his grip tightening around the girl's arm.
I sighed, the weight of my gun familiar and cold in my hand. A waste of ammo, but necessary. I lifted the gun, sighted down the barrel, and squeezed the trigger.
The man's head exploded in a spray of blood and bone fragments. The girl flinched, eyes wide with shock and terror. I could see her trying to process what just happened, her breaths coming in short gasps.
"Sick," I commanded the Hellhound.
The beast lunged forward, muscles rippling under its matted fur. It raced towards the stairs where the woman stood frozen in shock. She barely had time to scream before the Hellhound's jaws clamped down on her throat. Blood sprayed in a crimson arc, splattering across the Bunker girl's face and clothes.
I smirked, reholstering my gun.
I slowly walked up the steps, each creak of the wood echoing in the silence. The girl was still struggling, her back to me, unaware of my approach. Her long hair hung in tangled strands, and her uniform was smeared with dirt and blood.
"Looks like you're in a bit of a stitch," I said.
She flinched but didn't turn around. "Um, yes, it appears so," she stammered. "My leg is stuck, and I can't… I can't seem to pull it out."
Her voice trembled like a leaf in a storm. Pathetic.
"Bunker rat," I muttered under my breath.
I knelt beside her and examined the situation. Her leg was wedged between two splintered beams, the wood digging into her flesh. I could see where she'd tried to free herself, but it only made things worse.
"Hold still," I barked, grabbing the beams with both hands. "This ain't gonna be gentle."
She whimpered but obeyed, her body tensing as I applied pressure. The wood groaned and cracked as I pried it apart. She let out a small cry as her leg finally came free, collapsing onto the floor.
I stood up, wiping my hands on my pants. "There you go. Now get up and quit whining."
The girl turned around, and my breath caught in my throat. Her face was a stark contrast to the ruin—smooth skin, delicate features, and those eyes. They were a brilliant green, flecked with gold, and they seemed to pierce right through me. I hated myself for noticing. She was stunning, a beacon of beauty in this hellscape.
And so damn young.
Despite living in a bunker all her life, she had freckles on her upturned nose, on her high cheeks.
Her bunker uniform, once pristine and white, was now smeared with dirt and blood. The fitted white jacket with its high collar hugged her athletic frame. The golden halo with wings emblem on her left breast glinted in the dim light, a mockery of purity and order in this forsaken place.
I liked the sight of blood on it.
It made her look less like the untouchable purity she represented and more like just another soul struggling to survive in this hellhole. The red stains clashed with the uniform’s intended symbolism, adding an edge of raw reality to her otherwise polished appearance.
“Get up,” I growled.
She struggled to her feet, wincing as she put weight on her injured leg. Her movements were slow and unsteady, but there was a determination in her eyes that caught me off guard.
“Thank you,” she said again, her voice trembling yet earnest.
Her gaze met mine, and I waited for the usual reaction: disgust, fear, maybe even revulsion. Instead, her eyes scanned my face with a calm intensity. There was no hint of terror or repulsion in them, only curiosity and something else I couldn't quite place.
I clenched my jaw, anger bubbling up inside me. She had no right to look at me like that—not after everything I'd been through, not with what I had become. My demonic appearance had repelled countless others; why should she be any different?
"Thank you," she said softly, her voice trembling but sincere.
I didn’t respond. Instead, I motioned for the Hellhound to come closer. The beast padded over obediently, its eyes still glowing with an eerie red light. It sniffed at the girl briefly before losing interest.
“You got a name?” I asked gruffly.
“Everly,” she replied. “Everly Harrington.”
The name struck a chord. Harrington—the same as Elise. This girl was more than just another bunker rat; she was my lead.
"Long way from the bunker," I drawled.
"I'm looking for my sister," she said earnestly. "She was taken by… by some scavengers a few days ago. You don't understand. She's important. So important. I… I need to get her back."
Her sister.
Like a gift from God Himself.
"Will you help me?" she asked. "Help me find her? I… I don't have money. I think they said demon shards? I don't even know what that is, but… but I can…" She let her voice trail off.
"Your sister's been taken," I said flatly. "You're not gonna find her by wandering around aimlessly, little girl."
Her eyes widened slightly but still held no fear. "Do you know where she is?" she asked.
"I might," I replied evasively. "But it's gonna cost you."
She straightened up, determination replacing the earlier vulnerability in her gaze. "I'll do whatever it takes."
For a moment, I almost admired her resolve. Almost.
"You tell me everything you know about these scavengers that took your sister," I said, keeping my voice low but firm. "Everything you can think of, you got that?"
Everly nodded, opening her mouth to speak. Before she could get a word out, the Hellhound growled, its eyes fixed on the doorway.
I slapped a hand over her mouth, my eyes narrowing as I listened intently. Footsteps echoed through the decrepit building.
"Bruce? Linda?" a voice called out. "You get the girl that wandered in here? Come on, we've gotta go. It's going to be night soon, and I don't wanna be out here… What's that noise? Is that growling?"
The moment he stepped into the room, I fired. The shot echoed in the confined space, and Everly let out a muffled squeal against my hand. The man collapsed with a thud, lifeless eyes staring at the ceiling.
I removed my hand from her mouth and moved swiftly to loot the body. A quick search revealed some food and trinkets—nothing too valuable, but useful enough in this wasteland.
"You killed him," she said, her voice trembling. "You just… what if he could have helped us find Elise?"
"No one's here to help, angel," I replied, pocketing the food and trinkets. "People like him? They'd sell you for a scrap of metal."
"There must have been some other way," she insisted, walking over to me with a determined look in her eyes. "Thou shalt not kill. It's one of God's commandments."
I glanced at her, irritation flaring up inside me. "You think quoting scripture's gonna change how things work out here? God ain't gonna save you from people like them—or from me." I glared at her. "Look around, sweetheart. You see God anywhere here? Wanna know why? He doesn't care about you, about me, about any of us."
She bit her lip, eyes wide but unwavering. "We can't lose our humanity," she said softly. "Even out here."
"Humanity," I scoffed. "Out here, it's kill or be killed, a lesson I got a feeling you'll have to learn the hard way."
Everly fell silent for a moment, then muttered a prayer under her breath. She was clinging to her faith like it was a life raft in this sea of despair.
"Come on," I said gruffly, standing up and motioning for the Hellhound to follow. "Unless you don't wanna find your sister, then?"
She hesitated but followed closely behind me as we stepped back into the Forsaken's grim embrace.
We didn't have time for second-guessing or moral debates—every second counted if we were going to find Elise alive. Though something told me I was going to regret setting eyes on this slip of a girl in the first place.
Chapter 11
Everly
I brushed the dirt off my clothes, looking up at the man who had just saved me. His silhouette was rough against the dying light. The world beyond the bunker was still so new, so terrifyingly open. There was so much space.
"Thank you," I said, my voice a bit shaky. "I'm Everly. Everly Harrington."
He didn't reply right away, just kept walking ahead, the dog—no, the creature—at his side. I hurried to keep pace with them, trying to make sense of everything. His legs were so long, I had to double-hop just to try to walk by him.
"You... you saved me back there. I don’t know how to repay you," I continued, hoping to get more than silence this time.
He finally glanced down at me, his eyes cold and calculating. "Tell me what happened to your sister."
I sucked in a breath, remembering the chaos and fear that had filled the bunker that night. "Scavengers raided our bunker and took her. They broke through our security somehow—You see, our security system was... is... state-of-the-art. It was designed to be impenetrable. We had biometric scanners, motion sensors, even thermal imaging. The entrances were fortified with steel doors that could withstand a blast. The entire perimeter was monitored 24/7 by surveillance drones."
I paused, recalling the alarm blaring, the red lights flashing as people scrambled in every direction. "When they broke through, it wasn't just about brute force. They had inside information, knew exactly where to hit and how to bypass the systems. It was like they had the keys to the castle."
"Who were these scavengers?" he asked.
"I don't know," I admitted, frustration bubbling up inside me. "They moved like they knew exactly what they were doing. Like they had a-a purpose. Well, one didn't."
He nodded slowly, absorbing my words. The dog at his side sniffed the air, sensing the tension between us.
"Did they take anyone else?" he demanded gruffly, cutting me off.
"I don't know," I stammered. "I… I wasn't there—"
"'Course not." He sneered. "Hiding, then?"
I shook my head vehemently. "No! I don't think they took anyone else. They killed our High Priestess and a few others. But besides Elise, everyone was accounted for."
His expression remained unreadable as he processed my words.
"Huh," he said finally.
"Does that mean anything to you?" I asked, hoping for some insight or reassurance.
He didn't respond, just kept walking ahead as if my story meant nothing to him.
Silence stretched between us as we moved forward through the desolate landscape. The sky darkened further, shadows growing longer around us. My thoughts spun with worry for Elise and questions about this enigmatic man who had saved me yet seemed so detached from it all.
But I knew one thing for certain—I needed him if I had any hope of finding her again up here.
I quickened my pace to catch up with him. The dog—or whatever it was—trotted along beside us, its eyes reflecting the last slivers of daylight.
“Well, what’s your name?” I asked, trying to keep my voice steady.
He grunted again, not even glancing in my direction.
“You have a name, don’t you? Everyone has a name,” I pressed, hoping to crack his stoic exterior. “Back in the bunker, there was this kid who insisted he didn’t have a name. Turns out, he was just trying to get attention because he thought his name was boring. His name was Jeremy. We called him Jer.” I looked up at him. "Well? Do you have a name, or do you think —"
“Do you ever shut up?” he asked roughly, stopping abruptly to look at me.
I frowned, feeling the sting of his words. “That’s rude,” I said firmly. “You don’t just go around telling people to shut up when they’re trying to have a conversation with you.”
He glared at me, his eyes hard and unyielding.
“I just want to know what to call you,” I continued, softening my tone but maintaining my stance. “Can’t you give me something?”
“Will you stop talking for the rest of the night?” he asked.
“Oh, I don’t know,” I replied, pondering it for a moment.
The silence between us stretched as I weighed my options.
He waited, his eyes locked on mine. The air between us felt thick, like it could snap at any moment.
"You're serious, aren't you?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper. "Fine."
"D," he said flatly.
"D?" I echoed, trying to wrap my head around it. "Is that your name or—"
He placed a gloved finger over my lips, his eyes glaring at me. The pressure of his finger was firm, almost uncomfortable.
"I'm just clarifying," I began, but he pressed harder against my lips.
"You asked for something to call me," he said, his voice low and controlled. "I gave it to you."
"Can you at least tell me—"
"Do you honor your word or not?" he interrupted, his eyes narrowing. "Doesn't your God have something to say about that?"
I jerked away from his hand, feeling a surge of defiance. "For one," I said, straightening up, "He's not just my God. He's everyone's. Yours too."
