Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Soap

The faint breeze rustled the branches of the lush forest growing high above their heads. Streaks of golden light broke through the scattered canopy, creating bright spots upon the ground floor. Dried leaves and fallen twigs occasionally crunched under their careful footsteps as they tried to find patches of grass to muffle the noise.

The forest was thick, but not enough to impede their movements. The trees were tall and the shrubbery low. A car would have a hard time navigating, but a person could freely walk amongst the trunks, the bushes, the rocks.

Unseen birds chirped with one another in perfect harmony. The skittering black dots of critters shuffled between the trees causing a leaf every now and then to float down from above. The creatures of the forest chittered, hissed, tapped, and cawed, all sounds that were a familiar mark of this area.

Soap kept his breathing calm and quiet, a gentle breeze blowing against his face that he was careful to keep downwind of. He remained still, just like he had been for a while now.

Focused. Quiet. Observant.

He looked into the distance through the light fog that had begun to accumulate and caught the movements of both Price and Gaz. Masking his body behind a tree, a hand signal from Gaz caught Soap’s attention. Following his eyeline, Soap squinted, his gaze landing on a male deer picking at a luscious patch of grass, oblivious to the three men that encircled it.

The walkie talkie mounted to Soap’s shoulder quietly crackled to life.

“Do either of you have the shot?” Price mumbled softly.

Soap kept his body low, hiding himself out of view with the foliage of a nearby bush.

“Negative,” Gaz responded. “Boulder in the way. Getting closer might spook it.”

“Soap,” Price chimed in again. “Looks like you have a shot.”

“I’m here for tracking and moral support,” Soap whispered back. “Shooting is up to you guys right now.”

Soap watched the deer naturally raise its head, its ears twitching curiously. It took one small step forward, quiet hooves clopping against the ground.

“We have no clear visual,” Price responded a bit more urgently. “Our window is closing. You have to take the shot.”

“Oh for fucks sake…” Soap muttered to himself as he swung his rifle around.

Of course he had the only shot. Of course he wasn’t familiar with this gun. Of course the gun he usually hunted with had decided to miraculously break right before they were set out to leave. Of course this replacement rifle had been reported by multiple hunters who had trouble with it in the past.

He preferred pistols anyway. Smaller. More discreet.

Soap whipped the strap around and rested the butt of the gun against his shoulder. The silencer on the end of it only made the gun more awkward to maneuver. He put his eye up to the scope.

His breathing echoed in his ears, silencing the rest of the lively forest all around him. Inhale. Exhale. He focused on the target in the distance. His heart slowed, one beat after another. His finger curled around the trigger.

The gun kicked back forcefully into his chest, the bullet ripping from the chamber.

Soap’s stomach dropped when he heard the high-pitched scrape of the bullet grazing against the boulder, chunks chipping off the rock in all directions.

The deer instantly reared its head towards the noise, halting abruptly and pausing for half a second.

“Fuck…” Soap muttered, immediately trying to realign.

He let off another quick shot, but it also missed. A second later, the deer sprinted into the foliage and disappeared.

Everything was quiet for a second.

“Regroup on me,” Price then called out.

Disappointment washed over Soap as he let out a frustrated sigh, punching the ground perhaps a little harder than necessary as he stood. He flicked the safety back on and slung the gun over his shoulder so it rested next to his backpack.

Three bodies emerged from the forest, coming together.

“Told you I was shite with this thing…” Soap grumbled in annoyance. “Needs to be taken apart for scrap. Handguns are more my style anyway.”

“Yeah?” Price said, an amused raise to his eyebrow. “And do you think you would have hit the deer from that distance with a handgun?”

“At least there would have been a chance…”

Soap expected Price to be upset but his face remained neutrally unbothered, always controlled.

“C’mon,” he said gruffly, shifting his backpack and beginning to lead them in the opposite direction from where the deer had last been.

“What?” Soap called out, confusion scrunching up his brow. “Where are you going? We can still try and track it down.”

“No one is going to successfully shoot anything on an empty stomach right now,” Price answered without bothering to look back. “We should head back to the small clearing that’s just over this ridge. Eat dinner.”

Soap and Gaz shared a brief look. As if on cue, both of their stomachs rumbled, causing them to scramble after Price.

A couple minutes later, they made it back up the slight incline to a set of logs that had fallen long ago. The logs sat in a perfect triangle, covered in patches of lush green moss like a divine cushion offered to them. They settled in the space, Soap grunting as he crouched on the ground and rested his back up against the log. In silence, all three of them began to rifle through their packs.

One by one, each man took out their vacuum flask, all to varying degrees of dented and beat up. Soap’s was pale green, old, reminiscent of something that might have been used by soldiers overseas decades ago. He unscrewed the top and looked at the murky brown stew that sat inside before tilting it up to his lips.

It was lukewarm – as was anything he put in his decrepit flask – but still, as the food hit his stomach, he instantly started to feel better, less grumpy. Soap had learned not to be a picky eater a long time ago. It didn’t bode well with survival nowadays. As long as it had calories, it meant he was able to make it another day.

The stew wasn’t bad either, maybe a bit plain tasting, but considering the constraints they were under – that the rest of the world was under – it was a five-star meal for all it mattered to Soap’s stomach. Real meat, potatoes, and carrots. Not many were that lucky.

Soap wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “I'm not as familiar with the south woods, that’s probably why we’re having such trouble.”

Price nodded into his flask and brought it down. “Well, we didn’t have much of a choice.”

He was right about that. Scouts had picked up a horde passing through the north woods. It would have been an unnecessary risk to send their hunting parties through that area. The north and east woods were the preferred place to hunt – lots of hills to spot prey from, good variety of creatures, and large water sources that drew them in to rehydrate.

While being a few kilometers off the main road, the settlement that they lived at was also directly in the path for migrating birds and deer. On a lucky day, one might even spot a black bear meandering through the thickets.

If no one was being particularly stupid, the bears generally left them alone. It was as if a mutual understanding had developed between man and bear when the whole world turned upside down five years ago. Bears didn’t seem so wild or dangerous anymore when there were other creatures much worse out there.

Bears attacked for food or to protect their young.

The creatures attacked humanity because they lacked any of it in their souls. One might consider it “thrilling” if they had any emotions at all or thoughts beyond dragging every last person alive to the suffering depths of hell with them.

Because of the horde passing to the north, Greenridge was on a caution alert and implementing quiet protocols. Anything to try and go unnoticed. For so long, man had been at the top of the food chain, the consideration of anything less than dominance – the confident hubris of which was now nothing more than a laughable memory – crushed resolutely and definitely.

Everyday, humans knew what it felt like to be prey.

Some blamed it on God’s punishment towards a world of unremorseful sinners. Others blamed it on parasites in the drinking water. Or a virus that changed human DNA as we know it. Other crazies blamed the vaccines, the chemtrails, the aliens – both illegal and extra-terrestrial.

Soap didn’t have the patience to deal with those nutjobs, but thankfully a lot of them disappeared within the first few years of the outbreak. Turns out talking out of your ass about the end of the world was a lot different than actually having the skills to survive the apocalypse they preached about for decades.

The world didn’t have time for theories, only action. You either had to play well with others or be competent enough to live on your own.

Soap had seen so much shit in the past five years that it could easily erode away at a person’s sanity. Or their will to live. Probably both.

Sometimes something specific stuck in his mind and never left – the deathly quiet of the neonatal ward as cribs and incubators rotted with skeletons, the sound of a last breath desperately choked out as tears flowed from their eyes, the disgusting warm whisper of a drawl in his ear, the scared crying of a girl holding a newborn baby that Soap happened to stumble upon in the forest.

Sometimes it was specific, but sometimes it was just the stench of the rotted bodies, the piles of the deceased, the abandoned cities and towns that echoed with the life they used to have.

Greenridge had been Soap’s permanent home for the past four years. Well… as permanent as it could be considering his job. Even the word “job” felt weird. There was no nine to five. There were no pay stubs or deadlines. It was just survival. It was how he made sense of this new and fucked up world he had to live in every day. It was how he kept going, how he tried his best.

“We’re already hunting at a disadvantage here,” Gaz chimed in. “I wouldn’t be so hard on yourself, mate.”

“I just don’t want to show up empty handed again…” Soap said. “We could have used the antlers too. Looked sturdy.”

“We’re not the only party out here,” Price replied easily, taking off his boonie hat and fanning himself with it. “If not us, I’m sure it’ll be someone else. Best not dwell on it.”

As Soap continued to look at Price, a slow smile began to pull at his lips. “You sure you’re not a father, Captain?” Soap asked cheekily. “Even just a few kiddos running around after all these years? Cause you sure as hell act like one sometimes.”

Price’s face pinched up and he levelled Soap with a glare. “I’m sure…”

“You know…” Gaz chimed in jokingly, leaning over and resting his elbows against his knees, flask gripped in one hand. “We’ve been calling you Captain for years now. You think it’s time to finally give you a promotion?”

Soap perked up upon hearing this, his ears excitedly twitching like a dog that found its playmate.

“Major?” he suggested. “Maj? I don’t know… doesn’t quite sound right…”

“Major Price!” Gaz cried out with a laugh, his eyes twinkling mischievously. “Sounds like I’m trying to sell you something. Couches! Loveseats! Ottomans! Get everything here at Kyle’s Commodities! We make major prices, minor prices. Limited time offer. Only this holiday weekend!”

Soap and Gaz chuckled to themselves, relishing in the unamused scowl that remained fixed on Price’s face. “You two are a major pain in my arse…” he grumbled before lifting the flask up to his mouth again.

Gaz shot Soap a knowing look, eyes widened slightly in exaggerated fear. “We’re going to get a stern talking to soon.”

“I’m happy enough with my name,” Price continued. “No need to fake a rank I haven’t earned.”

Soap scoffed. “If you’ve survived this long given…” with a wave of his hand he vaguely gestured to everything, “it’s an achievement for anyone.”

“He’s old school,” Gaz said matter-of-factly. “Respects an institution that doesn’t exist anymore.”

“I’m aging as you speak is what I am,” Price grumbled.

“We keep you young! Which is something it appears you have forgotten how to be.”

“Which one is it? Am I old school or young?”

“Whichever one suits my needs.”

Gaz’s joking grin was evil, punchable, and smug. It matched the one that Soap wore. Perhaps that’s why they were such good friends. One man was a nuisance, but two men were dangerous.

Price shook his head as the three of them settled into silence. Gaz casually craned his head around, looking all around them for something unknown to Soap. After apparently sufficient investigation, Gaz brought his attention back to the men before him.

“Think we’ll make it back?” he asked jokingly.

“What do you mean?” Soap asked.

“Well…” Gaz started, the tone of his voice almost resembling a campfire horror story. “We are in the south woods. Where all the rumours are coming from…?”

Soap was familiar.

About six months ago, whispered stories started to spread around Greenridge, harrowing tales of a ghost that lived somewhere in the south woods. If you ever had the misfortune of coming across it face to face, it would be the last thing you ever saw. You weren’t making it back to the settlement alive. Some people disappeared. Some were brought back as corpses. But there wasn’t any rhyme or reason to how people would die.

At its core, the story had its purpose to keep people from entering the notoriously dangerous south woods, but that was due to bandits, rougher terrain, weather, and sporadic stories of animals acting more aggressive than normal. To Soap, the evidence behind an actual ghost being the culprit was… lacking, to say the least.

But the lesser exaggerated stories might have some merit to them. A figure seen in the woods before quickly disappearing behind a tree, as if vanishing into thin air. No one ever got a good look at it, always a flash out of the corner of someone’s eye just fast enough to cause lingering fear and uncertainty about whether it had even been seen at all.

Granted, people in the woods weren’t anything new – it could be anyone passing – but the revelation that it was a human, or one of the undead, or a supernatural creature was yet to be seen. The mind could play tricks on you in these woods, even just a moment of lost focus or panic succumbing you to her whims.

When all of humanity had lived the past five years of their life looking over their shoulder, and everyone’s worst nightmare suddenly became a real horror to survive in, it wasn’t surprising that the human mind had started to make up a whole bunch of other creatures that left everyone continuing to cower in fear.

Despite the thousands of years of fictional stories and folklore that suddenly burst out of the pages of fantasy and began to push humanity to extinction, Soap wasn’t so easily convinced with these new horrors.

Maybe he should be.

Soap finished his last bit of stew and screwed the lid back on. “I actually thought that was a story they told the children to make sure they’d stay away. If teenagers were going to ‘rebel’ and sneak out, at least they’d be encouraged to go into safer territory where we had more patrols. But… I don’t know, I guess the story seemed to take on a life of its own.”

“It had to start somewhere.”

“In my experience,” Price chimed in, “if you dig deep enough, there’s a little truth to all rumours.”

Soap tried to recall the handful of stories that had become commonly associated with this “ghost” within Greenridge. “Tahir left to travel west. God knows if he made it that far. And wasn’t it proven that Dale was stealing from the stock supply? So he was exiled. To be fair, we kept that pretty quiet to not cause a panic so people probably filled in the gaps about what happened to him. And Kalani determined that Maria had an aneurysm while out hunting. It was a freak accident. Just bad luck.”

“Well,” Price said with a grunt as he stood up, “let’s hope we have good luck then. Come on, it’s time we get back at it. Sun’s setting in a few hours.”

With complying nods, Gaz and Soap packed up the rest of their things and shuffled their backpacks on. Once everyone was ready to go, they began to make their way back down the ridge to where they had last seen the deer, using the large boulder in the distance as their anchor point.

Once they reached it, Soap walked around to the other side and crouched down, focusing on the soft ground. His experienced eyes immediately landed on half a hoofprint, the other half kicked up with dirt as it sprinted away. Brushing away some of the dead leaves and twigs, Soap was able to see several prints leading into the bushes.

But once it disappeared behind the foliage, the ground hardened almost into rock making hoofprints impossible to see. He spent a couple minutes trying to find any more tracks in the surrounding area around the bushes, but to no avail.

He had to go with instinct.

“It’s common for the deer to travel that way,” Soap said, gesturing with his hand in the distance. “There’s a watering hole not too far from here. That would be my best guess but it’s not a given.”

“Your best guess is still better than anything else we got,” Price said. “Let’s do it then.”

The three of them prepared for their hike through the woods and began with one step forward. They didn’t talk, not much anyway, instead attuning their ears to the rich sounds of the forest.

Footsteps were integral to listen out for. Animal scratching or clopping could indicate a potential meal. Coordinated sprinting from something that had to be human could indicate either friend or foe. And the slow, dragging steps could indicate the monsters that even hell wanted nothing to do with.

They walked for about half an hour, stopping occasionally to see if they spotted any animals. Taking a quick opportunity that was noticed before the rest of them, Gaz aimed his gun into the branches above his head and a bird dropped down to the ground a second later. Price offered him brief praise and Gaz tied it up by its legs to the outside of his backpack.

Better than nothing was a common mantra nowadays.

They continued on before coming across a small break in the trees. As they got closer, the shape of the lake began to form in front of their eyes. Soap kept his head on a swivel, looking out for the deer that had eluded him.

He hoped it wouldn’t be so lucky this time.

But all of a sudden, Price silently threw up a closed fist, both Soap and Gaz immediately stopping and checking their surroundings. With the constant shuffling of their feet finally quieted, that’s when Soap heard the faint voices, distance garbling the speech into words he couldn’t quite pick up.

Keeping the rest of his hand in a fist, Gaz extended his thumb and pointer finger to be parallel, shaking it silently to signal the short form for Greenridge.

Price’s face remained pinched up as he concentrated, furrowed eyebrows and narrowed eyes. His head was slightly tilted as he focused on the voices in the distance. He was still.

His stillness then shattered, and he turned to face Soap and Gaz. With a shake of his head, Soap could see the faint worry he tried to hide that lit up his eyes. Price brought his pointer finger up to his lips, swiping down across them several times.

Fuck…

Reds.

They were a notoriously vicious group of bandits that had terrorized the southern colonies for years consisting of pitiful men and women that wasted not a single second before turning on their fellow man when given the opportunity.

Considering they had no discernable survival skills other than intimidation and murder, they needed to steal what belonged to others in order to survive. Or just for fun. Larger settlements had been able to fend them off for the most part. Smaller encampments or travellers hadn’t been so lucky.

Greenridge was well protected and careful to stay off their radar despite their relative close distance to Eden, the occupied city that the Reds ruled. Greenridge could hold back small parties of Reds with ease, but if their leader Jean-René Marcel Broussard ever decided to point the full force of the Reds towards them, then that would be the time to seriously worry.

Jean-René Marcel Broussard.

A man with many names, each sending the same spark of fears through people’s hearts when heard. A man who despised humanity. Who sought only death and destruction in his attempt to cling onto fleeting power. Who had a hole where his heart would be.

In many ways, he resembled the monsters they were fighting everyday, just a different type of monster that relished in witnessing pain and suffering, not by some instinctual need, but because he enjoyed it.

Soap had had a few run-ins with some Reds over the years. Sometimes he ran, or traded his way out of the situation, or fought back. While they did have a leader, as a whole they lacked any sort of rigid discipline. Some members were more reasonable than others. Others were deranged and skittish, a combination that made reasoning an assured impossibility. Some were simply looking to survive by any means necessary.

Soap could never tell which type of Red he was dealing with until it was too late. He had to assume anytime he saw a Red that it could be the last time he saw anything at all.

The three of them crouched down and slowly inched closer to the lake. They stuck to the treeline, carefully placed footsteps and strategic foliage hiding them as they approached. The forest eventually thinned, and Soap could finally see the figures in the distance.

Operating much like a psychotic cult, it was common that the Reds wore some type of red bandana somewhere on their body. They cared more about the fear their presence struck than actually trying to blend in. Playing the long game with lying and manipulation took too much effort for them. For many, intimidation was just as fruitful as deception.

That’s not to say that some of them weren’t smart. On a rare occasion, some made the conscious choice to ditch their identifying red. These ones could probably be classified in the “reasonable” category. But that was what made them just as dangerous. They’d pretend to be your friend just to turn around and slit your throat in the middle of the night.

The other identifying mark that all members were required to have was a red cardinal tattoo somewhere on their body. Some were proud of their membership, displaying it on their wrist or neck, while others kept it on parts of their body that may be more frequently covered by clothes.

Seeing that mark meant for certain that they were a member. Reds didn’t take kindly to deserters or those that wanted out of the cult. Everyone with that tattoo was either wreaking havoc or dead, the bullet lodged in the back of their head an indication of their disloyalty.

While the distance across the lake prevented him from seeing any tattoos, the red bandanas hanging off their necks, wrists, thighs, were enough proof of who they were.

There were three of them, each holding a gun out in front of them, their sights trained on the two individuals that kneeled in front of them. Their hands were interlocked behind their head and their bodies slouched over.

If Soap strained enough, he could faintly hear the begging.

Soap instantly recognized the two captives as fellow hunting members from Greenridge – Ola and Rebecca.

The Reds were shouting and shoving the barrel of their guns into the back of their heads, again and again, as if playing with their food before eating it.

“What the fuck are Reds doing here?” Soap hissed angrily. “This area is supposed to be clear.”

Price didn’t answer right away, the angry scowl that pulled his mouth down displayed the same amount of anger Soap felt.

Price observed the Reds for a few seconds more. “Garrick, you and I will sneak over. Soap, stay here. Can’t risk a faulty shot. No offense.”

“None taken.”

“We’ll make our way around and try to flank them from the rear. Once you get my signal, create a distraction and we’ll try to take them out.”

“Copy.”

Gaz bumped a balled-up fist against Soap’s chest as the two of them weaved back into the forest, following the curve of the small lake. The body of water wasn’t massive – the size akin to a large pond or a small lake – but still far enough that if their movements were caught, the hunters would no doubt be shot immediately.

Soap waited, carefully watching the Reds. If anything escalated, he’d have to take a chance with the rifle as his last resort. He kept himself low to the ground, controlling his breathing and scanning the treeline for any sight of Price and Gaz on the other side.

He waited.

He then heard a pop of static feedback sound off from his shoulder, a known signal from Price created by pressing the talk button twice in rapid succession. He let his eyes wander across the lake again, but Price and Gaz still remained expertly hidden somewhere within the dense trees.

Soap trusted that they were ready.

He quickly scoured the forest floor, coming across a hefty rock that he could still pick up with one hand. He tossed it lightly in the air, getting used to the feeling for a second before focusing his gaze back out towards the water.

In one smooth movement, Soap chucked the rock over his head which gracefully arched through the air before dropping into the water with a ka-thunk.

He automatically tensed up, waiting for the Reds reaction, but there was nothing. They kept their dead eyes fixated on the hunters.

It was still too far away. It wasn’t loud enough.

As Soap readjusted his crouch, the butt of the rifle bumped into his back, sending a jolt of an idea to his head. He pulled the gun around.

Maybe this piece of junk could be good for something.

He quickly twisted the silencer off and settled the butt against his shoulder. He tilted the rifle into the sky and steadied his stance to prepare for the recoil. He pulled the trigger.

The sound of the bullet echoed across the hills, the scattering footsteps of creatures unseen amongst the treetops and forest floor scurrying away fearfully.

Across the way, Soap watched as the three Reds instantly raised their guns in his direction, their heads frantically whipping side to side for any sign of danger. Now in fear for their own lives, they’d lost focus on torturing their victims.

A prideful smirk lit up Soap’s face.

Just then, two figures came barrelling out of the forest, sprinting towards the Reds with vigor. They barely had a second to notice the stomping footsteps making a beeline right for them before Price and Gaz were there.

Gaz lifted the butt of his rifle and swung it down against the back of one of the Red’s skulls. If Soap had been close enough, he probably would have been able to hear the ear-splitting crack. The man immediately crumpled onto his knees, the gun dropping lifelessly from his hand as he naturally reached up towards his wound.

Gaz then smoothly reached out and grabbed the Red standing next to him from behind, wrapping his arms around his neck in a tight headlock. Gaz yanked him backwards so the man lost his balance and was left scrambling to pick his feet back up. He flailed and clawed at Gaz’s arms, ever more frantic by the second. Soap watched as the man very quickly started to go limp from the lack of blood flow and completely slumped over. Gaz dropped the deadweight unceremoniously which landed in a pile of limbs against the ground.

At the same time, Price thrust his foot out which collided with the back of the third Red’s knee. He violently buckled and fell forward, landing on his hands and knees. With a forceful kick, Price sent the man splaying out on his stomach. He brought his foot up again and dropped it down on the man’s head.

Both Price and Gaz straightened up from their battles and watched the one that Gaz probably had given a skull fracture. The Red’s hand reached up pitifully before falling down to the ground with finality.

Soap didn’t think that all of them were dead – maybe some – but it gave them enough of an opportunity to help out the hunters. Both Price and Gaz crouched down and offered their hands to help the hunters up. Even at this distance, Soap could tell they were unsteady on their feet.

All of a sudden, there was a loud spray of bullets causing everyone to instinctively duck. Price whipped his head back out towards the forest while Gaz raised his gun. Price pushed one of the hunters forward, frantically pointing around the edge of the lake. His deep, gravelly voice seemed to bounce off the water and Soap could hear what he was yelling.

Run.

The hunters without a moment’s hesitation slipped back into the forest, running parallel to the lake, Gaz and Price following right behind them. Soap was also on his feet in an instant, running in the same direction to try and meet up with them.

He whipped through the trees, swatting away the bushes and leaves that rushed towards him. Every time he hit a dense thicket that blocked his vision, his stomach dropped at no longer having a clear visual on Price and Gaz. His shoes landed heavily against the ground as he continued sprinting forward. He strained to catch glimpses of bodies through the leaves, holding onto hope every time he saw a blurry figure.

He could see figures in the distance, shrouded by the foliage that Soap was cursing ten times over. He raced towards them, getting closer and closer. He broke free and leapt out into a relatively small clearing, his heart soaring in elation when the figures finally came into view.

A feeling that instantly turned into dread when Soap caught a glimpse of the red bandanas tucked into their waistbands.

Soap was moving too fast. And the four Reds facing away from him were too close.

Soap dropped to the ground at the last moment and used his momentum to slide forward, colliding his feet into the legs of one of the Reds. Toppled over by Soap’s force, the man’s legs were lifted out from underneath him and he came crashing down, slamming hard bone and heavy muscle onto Soap’s body.

The yelp that escaped from Soap’s mouth was involuntary.

But he was already frantically clambering up in half a second right as several pairs of confused eyes landed on him. Caught off guard – and one of them moaning on the ground – the Reds quickly scrambled for their guns to point them at Soap, but he was already sprinting back into the forest.

Maybe they’d leave him be.

The flurry of pops that whizzed by his head put that thought to rest. He could hear the heavy footsteps that chased after him over the sound of his laboured breathing.

Fuck fuck fuck!

Focus. He needed to focus. He was quick. He just needed to outrun them.

Bits of bark exploded off a nearby tree and flew towards him as the bullets lodged themselves in the trunk. He raised a hand to stop the flying projectiles as he continued forward. He gracefully leapt over a fallen tree and strategically wrapped around a large one still standing so it hopefully protected his back a little better.

He could hear the angry yelling directed towards him. He kept running. He made a beeline towards a small stream and splashed through it to the other side. He counted.

One.

Two.

Three.

Four.

Five.

Six.

He then heard the flurry of stomps that splashed through the water after him.

Ignoring the burning in his lungs and in his legs, Soap pressed the input button on the walkie mounted to his shoulder.

“Reds on me!” he panted. “I’m running… I’m…”

Soap looked around, trying to get his bearings. He ducked under a rotted wooden bridge and slipped into a dense collection of leaves, keeping one hand out in front of himself at all times. He glanced behind himself to try and catch a glimpse of where the Reds were.

Eyes forward.

That was what Price had always told him.

If he’d listened, Soap would have seen the low branch that hung down from one of the trees. If he’d listened, Soap would have seen the ravine that dropped below his feet. If he’d listened, he would have reacted.

Soap turned around just in time to smack his forehead into a thick branch. Pain immediately began to bloom on one side of his head, and he lost his footing. His momentum carried him forward, and the ground suddenly tilted. His body crashed onto the forest floor and rolled, Soap frantically trying to grasp and grab as his body tumbled uselessly.

A rock dug into his shoulder blade. Loose twigs sent tiny little cuts all over his arms. The fall forcefully pushed the air out of his lungs making him gasp for breath. Dirt and grime kicked up all around him, stinging his eyes and slipping into his mouth.

All he could do was brace.

He could feel himself start to slow and his body rolled him flat on his back before fully stopping. He stared up at the 20 foot drop he had been at the top of seconds ago.

He didn’t have time to admire the view.

He took a moment to check in on his body. He moved his right arm. His left. His right leg. His left. He then moved his neck. He was sore all over, but not screaming in pain, and there were no displaced bones as far as he could tell.

He was running again.

But as he stood, suddenly the world tilted, and he found himself stumbling. It twisted and turned before him as he clambered forward. He flung his hand out to grab onto anything to sturdy himself as he walked forward – rocks, branches, roots.

He tried to look up at the sun to determine which direction he was walking but there were suddenly two in the sky, perfect dance partners that spun around each other around playfully. He could still hear the footsteps, but he wasn’t sure which direction they were coming from. The forest was playing with him, taunting him just as the Reds had done to the hunters.

Despite this, Soap was determined to keep going.

Finally, something in the distance caught his swirling vision. It was a large tree half stuck out from the ravine. It had a large root base that twisted and turned towards the ground, creating a small space between the trunk and the dirt.

His head pounded with every single heartbeat, and Soap wouldn’t last long if he continued to run. He quickly made a beeline towards the roots and haphazardly crawled into the cave-like structure. He pushed himself as far back as he could so hopefully no one would be able to see him.

He sure as hell hoped he wasn’t invading the home of some unfriendly animals.

Soap tried to concentrate on controlling his breathing. Inhale. Exhale. Calm his heart.

He heard the familiar footsteps get louder and his whole body tensed up. He brought his gun around and pointed it at the entrance.

He waited.

He heard the footsteps get closer and closer. They were right next to his den, but they kept going, eventually getting quieter and quieter.

Soap didn’t put the gun down until not a single stomp, yell, or mutter could be heard. He let out a relieved sigh and plopped his head up against the dirt wall.

This was not how he expected this day to go.

He was suddenly aware of drops of water that splashed down on his face. Confused, Soap raised his hand to touch at his forehead, the obvious red marking his fingertips even in the dim light. Soap let out another sigh – this time slightly exasperated – and wiped the blood away on his pants.

He then raised his hand again to reach for the walkie, but something sharp poked him instead. He glanced over and saw that the walkie had been half-smashed to pieces, the small antenna cracked off and the front panel missing, the motherboard inside looking bent and busted.

With little hope, Soap pressed the talk button.

“Price. Gaz. You there?”

The utter silence was expected. Looks like he was on his own to try and make it back to Greenridge.

He waited underneath the tree for a while, ensuring that the Reds didn’t circle back. He also waited for the swirling in his head to subside so he could finally think straight again.

Once again, Soap checked all his limbs and climbed out of the den. He glanced around in all directions. Everything was clear. He then climbed back out of the ridge.

He really should have been paying attention to where he was running.

Soap looked around for a few seconds before settling on a plan that was better than nothing. He decided to keep the setting sun to his back because he knew he would eventually come across the road he could follow back to Greenridge. He just didn’t know how long it would take. Or if there would still be daylight for him to navigate.

If he got lost in the south woods after dark… Well, he didn’t want to think about it.

One foot in front of another, Soap just focused on eventually, hopefully, coming across the road. Looking around at the unfamiliar woods, he kicked himself the whole time for not having explored them more in the past.

He’d only been walking for maybe 20 minutes when the sun slowly started to dim. He checked his watch which indicated there was still an hour until sunset.

Then he heard the thunderous roaring.

Someone up there really had it out for him today.

The sky shifted before his very eyes, turning dark and angry, the clouds blocking out any semblance of the blue sky hidden above it. Then he heard it.

Pat.

Faint, in the distance, before several more.

Pat, pat, pat.

In an instant, a tear seemed to rip open the sky as a wall of rain came plummeting down towards Soap. Everything down to his underwear was soaked after barely a few seconds. The rain came down in thick blankets, limiting his visibility greatly. Every now and then, a streak of lightning zig-zagged across the sky, igniting the whole forest for half a second which was quickly followed by booming thunder.

With nothing to do but keep walking, Soap tried to walk straight, but the hidden sun no longer offered him a path. He just had to hope that he wasn’t going to get turned around.

Thankfully, like a gracious reprieve Soap had been silently praying for, he saw something blurry in the distance. A figure, but not a person. Something bigger. With each step closer, he could see through the rain a little bit better. It was square. Brown. It was…

A cabin?

It looked like a stereotypical cabin a child might draw, four walls made from rows of cut tree logs. One side had a chimney made of stacked rocks sticking halfway out the house. It also had a small wrap around porch on the other three sides with a makeshift set of three steps leading up to it. Around the porch was a single thin log used as a railing, nailed in at mismatching heights between the columns that held up the slanted shingled roof.

It was roughly constructed, nothing too fancy or complicated. It was just one square room with a window and a door. It made Soap think this cabin was actually used for hunting back in the day and not just for fancy vacationing. It was also in the middle of nowhere.

The cabin looked a little run down – weathered wood, mess of decomposing leaves on the roof, and lines of moss growing along the chimney – but it was still standing.

He stopped and watched the cabin for a moment. There were no lights, no smoke coming out the chimney, no movement from behind the windows.

The buckets of rain still hadn’t let up as Soap continued to get hammered. It looked like as good a place as any to seek shelter in. He was also concerned about getting out of the open now that the rain reduced his visibility and the pattering rain and booming thunder reduced what he could listen out for. He didn’t want to accidentally come face to face with a pack of Reds again.

Figuring it was his best option, Soap started to walk towards the cabin. He made it to the steps leading up to the porch and lifted one foot but felt the concerning way the rotted wood depressed under his weight. He decided to not use the stairs and simply took a large step up onto the porch itself.

The second he found himself under the safety of the covered roof, another crack of lightning ripped across the sky, and the thunderclap struck his ears with its intensity.

“Steamin’ Jesus…” Soap muttered.

The floorboards underneath his feet squeaked quietly as he turned around. He watched the rain for a second before letting just his palm reach out from the cover of the roof to feel the thick raindrops splash upon it.

He was soaked, his clothes already beginning to stick and pinch uncomfortably to his body. He ran his hands through his hair – half mohawk half mullet – and tried to squeeze out as much as possible. He kicked his legs and flicked his arms, a futile attempt to dry himself but perhaps more about mental sanity than anything else. He shed off his backpack and plopped it onto the ground.

At that moment, he caught a flash of quick movement out of the corner of his eye, causing him to whip around.

This figure was definitely human.

Standing on the other side of the porch was a man, a large one, wearing a green shirt with camo-coloured sleeves and beige trousers that resembled one’s Soap had worn a lot while in the military. The sleeves of his shirt were rolled up to his elbows, revealing the black ink that marked his left arm in full tattoos. Small white scars covered both arms all the way up, the cuts disappearing behind his sleeves.

A balaclava with a skull design hid his face, showing only his stony brown eyes.

But that was the least of his worries. Soap was more focused on the bow he held, the string drawn back with the arrow pointed directly at Soap’s chest.

Soap immediately raised his hands.

(Art by daordinarylinchen)

“Whoa!” he cried out before he really had time to consider the words that were flowing out of his mouth. “I’m not here to cause trouble, alright! I’m not going to hurt you.”

“Put down your gun,” the man’s deep voice boomed, Soap immediately catching the thick Manchester accent.

Soap suddenly remembered that the rifle still hung on his back. “Aye…” he said slowly. “Aye, I can do that.” He made sure to not make any quick movements as he grabbed the strap of the gun and lowered it to the ground. Once he was done, he stood up again and kicked the gun over.

The man’s eyes never left Soap, watching him with calculating scrutiny.

“I didn’t know someone lived here,” Soap continued, raising his hands in what he hoped was appeasement. “I’ll leave, alright?”

The stranger dragged his eyes up and down Soap, examining everything. “Are you a Red?” he asked gruffly.

“Nae, nae, but uhh… would they answer truthfully to being asked that question anyways?”

Take it easy.

The stranger squinted, his eyes hardening further.

“Listen…” Once again, Soap couldn’t stop his mouth from moving. He hoped his authenticity could outweigh the distrust. “I was running away from some Reds when I found myself here. I was just looking for some shelter from the rain. As you can see,” he gestured vaguely to himself, “I was a bit too late.”

The man remained silent for several seconds.

At least there wasn’t an arrow in Soap’s heart.

Yet.

“How do I know I can trust you?”

The bow and arrow remained steady, not wavering in the slightest.

Soap took this small moment to slowly lower his hands, placing his palm against his heart. “My name is John. I’m from Greenridge.” Once again, he gestured vaguely to the direction he thought it might be. “I was out hunting with some friends when we had a run in with the Reds. The honest answer about whether you can trust me or not is you can’t. I know you can’t. I’m not sure there’s anything I’d be able to say in the next… I don’t know… ten seconds that would change that. So, I’ll leave right now if it spares me the arrow through the chest… I do enjoy living. I know… rare nowadays.”

As Soap spoke, the man’s head tilted ever so slightly, reminding Soap somewhat of a puppy.

“You’re Scottish.”

It wasn’t a question, but a statement spoken matter-of-factly.

“Aye” Soap replied, unable to hold back the minuscule smirk that pulled at his lips. “And you’re English. Disregarding the weapon pointed at me – and considering centuries of history between our two countries – that probably means that I should be more distrustful of you.”

Soap couldn’t help the nervous chuckle that bubbled up and out of him that tried to relieve the tension.

Once again, the stranger continued to watch him in silence.

“How about… how about we make a deal?” Soap tried saying lightheartedly. “You let me stay here until the storm passes and you can have anything in my bag. I don’t have to go inside either, I can just stay on the porch.”

For the first time since their interaction started, the man’s eyes dropped, landing on the bag that sat at Soap’s feet. Something flickered across his eyes, as if considering the proposition for a second.

“What’s in the bag?”

Soap bent down to open it up but quickly stopped when he noticed the stranger tense up again. Soap then grabbed one of the bag straps and tossed it over. It rolled a couple times before stopping at the man’s feet.

Some of the tightness in Soap’s body slowly seemed to melt away as the stranger slowly loosened his hold on the string, the arrow kept between his two fingers drooping slightly. Shifting both the bow and arrow so he held it in one hand, the stranger kneeled and used his other hand to pull open the zipper on Soap’s bag. He roughly rifled through the bag for several seconds before pulling out one of Soap’s pocket knives.

“I’m taking this knife,” he stated as he slipped it into his back pocket.

“It’s yours. We have a deal then?”

The man slowly stood up, once again reminding Soap of just how large he was, both in height and width. Without looking, the man reached over his head and placed the loose arrow back inside the small quiver that lay hanging on his back.

The man looked out towards the rain that still came down in sheets all around them. His eyes flicked around, something akin to hesitancy that Soap hadn’t expected to see. He was thinking, the gears that churned in his mind almost visible despite only being able to see the small slip of skin around his eyes.

In an instant, the stranger’s eyes suddenly hardened again, and he glanced over at Soap.

“We shouldn’t stay outside if there are Reds in the area.”

With that being said – the closest thing to a warm welcome Soap was ever going to get – the stranger walked forward a few steps and opened the door. He motioned for Soap to go inside first, a gesture Soap figured was more about paranoid safety than kindness.

He was grateful, nonetheless.

Soap stepped inside the cabin, the persistent sound of the rain instantly muffled as the stranger stepped inside and closed the door behind them. Soap let out a relieved huff to finally be out from the rain and looked around.

The cabin left much to be desired.

Much of the furniture was rudimentary, chairs, tables, and shelves made solely from wood, no finishings or intricate designs. It reminded Soap of when he took a school trip to those old pioneer villages, where workers walked everyone through the houses and showed off equipment in the barns. There was one large chair, the only one that looked like it had a cushion on it, with a simple seat and backrest made of weathered leather – the pinnacle of comfort compared to the rest of the cabin.

Soap could see the evidence of life this cabin used to have decades ago, perhaps even centuries ago. Sat upon the hanging shelves were miscellaneous objects – a bucket, a basket, a flask, wooden hammers, and a dull saw. Next to the stone fireplace was a tool that looked like it was made to churn butter. A heavy-looking antique trunk with metal latches was pushed against one of the walls. There was even a giant wagon wheel propped up in the corner, the thick layer of dust coating it indicating it had sat here for even longer than Soap had been alive. There were small wooden figurines placed sporadically around the cabin – a dog, a bear, a bird.

Sections of the floor were rotting much like the stairs, creating small patches where the wood had fallen through and he could see the ground underneath the cabin. In one of the holes, a tree root climbed up, reminiscent of a kraken trying to wrap its tendrils around a ship and sink it to a watery grave. There was a thick clump of leaves, dirt, and debris that had been messily swept to one side of the cabin.

The roof also looked not entirely structurally sound with missing pillars and cracked logs. But there was only one small leak in the corner, a vintage-looking bucket placed under it to catch the occasional drip.

Across the way, a ladder led up to a small loft mounted in the far corner, the size of which was just perfect enough to house a worn-down mattress and another antique trunk. Several shirts hung over the railing to the loft.

It was dark inside, the storm blocking out any natural light they would have gotten. Soap watched as the man walked around and lit the scattering of industrial lanterns, some sitting on tables, some hung from the rafters. They slowly began to fill the space with a gentle, flickering orange glow.

Glancing behind him, Soap noticed that there was now a wooden plank placed over the door, hung up by two sturdy hooks on either side.

“So…” Soap started. “You uh… did you build this yourself?”

Well, that was stupid.

“No,” he answered, barely giving Soap a second look. “It was like this when I found it.”

“How long have you been here?”

The man levelled Soap with a skeptical glare, his eyes squinting slightly.

Soap threw up his hands casually. “Not trying to pry. Never mind, I’ll stop.”

The stranger continued gazing upon Soap, the intensity of which was all-consuming, seeping down, wriggling its way deep into Soap’s bones. He flicked his eyes up and down, as if trying to see everything that was inside him, every thought and feeling, every hope and dream. For a second, Soap was convinced the stranger could.

The heavy scrutiny faltered slightly, a successful check, and the stranger’s eyes softened, ever so slightly.

“I’ve been here six months,” he answered, the honesty coming as a surprise to Soap. He half expected the man to shut him down. He answered – curtly – but answered, nonetheless.

At first glance, the stranger could be seen as cold, standoffish, hostile.

But if that was true, then why was Soap standing in his cabin?

Soap walked over to the fancy chair in front of the unlit fireplace and sat in it, the seat rocking slightly due to the mismatched leg lengths. He watched the man approach one of the tables that looked more like a workbench and heaved his backpack on top of it. He reached in and pulled out two arrows, a dead squirrel hanging off both of them. He ripped out the arrows smoothly, his hands moving with years of experience.

People could say a lot of things about Soap: trusting, a jokester, team player, decisive, a charmer.

But stupid, he was not.

Six months…

“I’ve heard rumours about you,” Soap said evenly.

The stranger didn’t react. He leaned over and dipped his arrows into a bucket of water by his feet, sitting down on the three-legged stool next to it. He reached in and started scrubbing the arrows. He focused on the task at hand, not bothering to look up.

“That tends to happen…” he replied flatly, the tone of his voice and his eyes revealing nothing.

Now that was unexpected.

“You’re not surprised?” Soap asked curiously. The man seemed to have immediately accepted what Soap had said, no follow-up questions indicating his confusion.

“Hardly.”

Now it was Soap’s chance to scrutinize. “Do you know what the rumours say?”

“I can take a guess.”

“People are afraid. From what I’ve heard, those that get near you don’t come back.”

The stranger suddenly looked up from his bucket, his intense gaze on Soap in full force again.

“Do you believe the rumours?”

Soap crossed his arms. “I’ve yet to see anything substantial. I need proof to start believing these things.”

“Are you worried you won’t make it back?”

Experience, history, and training – this was what Soap relied on. Experience living in the newfound wasteland of a world, history dealing with various unscrupulous types, and years of military training. Whenever he heard words like this, a bell rang in the back of his head, warning him to be careful and to watch out for any escalations or obvious signs of agitation.

Vague threats always had the chance of becoming very real.

But sitting ten feet away from this stranger, there was something… odd about him. Normally the high-pitched ringing of that bell would be impossible to ignore, taking over his mind, shifting him naturally into survival mode.

But the bell wasn’t there. Everything was calm. Be it his experience, history, or training, something settled calmly in Soap’s body, the words becoming just that – words.

“Hadn’t crossed my mind…” he answered honestly. He had been worried about not making it back because of the Reds. But ever since the stranger lowered his bow, Soap hadn’t been worried about him.

The man removed his arrows from the bucket and quickly dried them against the side of his pants before slipping them back in his quiver.

“Maybe that says something about your own self-preservation.”

“Maybe you’re not as scary as you seem,” Soap shot back.

The stranger paused his movements, tilting his head slightly. There was something that flashed behind his eyes, something about the way his body leaned back, tensed. He seemed almost… taken aback, the first evidence of real human emotions Soap had seen.

The stranger hummed, though it came out more like a grunt. “So… John…” He let the sentence hang in the air.

“Aye,” Soap answered easily, feeling his shoulders loosen slightly. “John MacTavish. Although… very few people actually call me that.”

Confusion flashed across his eyes. “John’s not your name?”

“It is, but if I told you the name I actually went by I figured you might think I was lying or definitely taking the piss. Not ideal for trying to get you to trust me.”

“So, what is your name?”

A creeping nag of embarrassment wound its way inside Soap’s mind. He’d never been embarrassed of his name before. Odd sure, but never embarrassed.

“It’s uhh…” he started, just having to bite the bullet. “It’s Soap.”

The blank look of judgment was almost worse than a barking laugh. The stranger was still. He blinked.

“…Soap?”

“It’s nothing special,” Soap replied quickly, his body awkwardly shifting on his seat. Change the subject. “What about you? I haven’t caught your name.”

“I don’t have a name,” the stranger replied.

“Well, that’s stupid.”

The stranger suddenly straightened up, his shoulders tensing once again. “Are you calling me stupid?” he accused.

“I’m saying not having a name is stupid. And incorrect. Everyone has a name.”

“Remember whose cabin you’re in…”

Another threat, but still the bell was silent.

“I thought you were just squatting…” Soap let slip out, the tone a dangerous closeness to teasing.

The stranger sighed and rolled his eyes, the release of tension slowly uncoiling his body. Another human emotion.

“Just call me Ghost.”

“Oi!” Soap cried out. “You were making fun of my name when that’s yours!”

“I didn’t say anything.”

Soap sat back in his chair and crossed his arms. “Aye… well you were thinking it.”

Soap was bold. He could just as easily charm as he could annoy. He had a big mouth. But even for him, he was way too comfortable way too fast saying these things. Ghost could very much still decide to kill him. The bell could go off at any second. But there was something inside Soap that felt conflicted.

Still, he should probably reign it in.                

In the seconds of silence that passed between them, Soap suddenly became aware again of just how soaked he was. His clothes hung tightly to his skin, folding and clumping up uncomfortably. He could feel his hair dripping down his back. He could hear his socks squelching in his shoes. He could see the mud that darkened the bottoms of his ankles.

With his skin still damp, the water seemed to suck away any of his body heat. Plus with the raging adrenaline that was now just a whimper, Soap felt the chilled goosebumps begin to rise on his skin.

Soap collected his hair and started to ring it out, sliding his fingers all the way back. As he did so, he casually watched Ghost get up from his seat and kneel down in front of a trunk. He snapped the clasps open and lifted the squeaky lid. He then reached in and pulled out a towel.

He silently tossed it over to Soap who quickly raised his hand to catch it before it hit his face.

“I don’t want the floors rotting any more than they already are…” He didn’t quite meet Soap’s eye as he said this.

Soap stared down at the towel in his lap, slightly ragged with a few tears in it, but still soft, and most importantly, dry.

“Right… cheers…”

Soap stood up and took a few minutes to wipe himself down.

As he did so, he casually watched Ghost move around the cabin again. He put his back against the wall and peeked out of the standing plywood in front of the window. He kept his head on a swivel, moving towards even the slightest of sounds. Soap noticed the way he never turned his back to the door. He noticed the knife that was strapped to the outside of his thigh. He noticed the way his hand sometimes naturally hovered over the pistol on his hip.

Once Soap was as dry as he was going to get, he swung the towel over his shoulders, laying it over top of them like a quasi-blanket.

“You’re military, aren’t you?” Soap asked. “Or ex-military, though I suppose everyone is now.”

“I was.”

“Me too.”

As soon as Soap said that, he could see the way Ghost’s interest immediately piqued, though he tried hard to hide it. He still remained hesitant, but curiosity also shimmered in his eyes.

“…really?”

“Aye. What were you?”

“SAS.”

Soap’s mouth dropped open and a smile tugged his mouth upwards. “No fucking way,” he exclaimed with an incredulous chuckle. He pulled back the towel to reveal his forearm, turning it towards Ghost and taking a few steps closer so he could see his tattoo. “Think we crossed paths?”

Ghost squinted at the tattoo before finding Soap’s face again. “Doubt it. What’s your title?”

“Ah!” he said with a laugh. “The one I’m stuck with for the rest of my life. Forever in limbo. I’m a Sergeant.”

“Lieutenant.”

Soap immediately straightened out, a playful smirk lighting up his face. “I should have been calling you sir this whole time,” he joked. “I can’t believe how disrespectful I’ve been.”

Ghost rolled his eyes, but it seemed less aggressive, less aggravated. “Ex-military.”

“Aren’t you glad now that the child you used to be chose this as an occupation? It definitely has been an asset to survival.”

Too much.

“Okay then…” Ghost grumbled, the tiredness seeping into his eyes. “I’ve had enough talking.” He peeked out of the plywood again. “Storm doesn’t look like it is letting up any time soon and the sun is close to setting.”

“Right…” Soap replied. Back to business.

“When are you thinking of leaving?” Ghost asked.

Soap didn’t have an immediate answer. The storm was still hell to navigate through and stomping around after dark would be a good way to break an ankle. He still wasn’t 100% sure where he was going and there was no guarantee there was anyone even looking for him right now.

Ghost noticed his hesitation.

He stepped back from the wall, looking Soap up and down for what felt like the millionth time. His hardened eyes softened slightly, almost imperceptibly.

“You can wait out the storm here,” Ghost said, once again averting his eyes. He pointed towards the cushioned chair in front of the fire. “It better be comfortable enough.”

He then walked over to the stone fireplace and threw in a couple more logs from the stack up against the wall. He grabbed a box of matches from the mantle and took one out, flicking it swiftly across the ignitor. The small flame flickered for a second before he brought it down onto the wood. The dry pieces quickly ignited, crawling out across the logs.

Ghost stood up again and turned back towards Soap. He didn’t say anything.

“Thanks…” Soap said genuinely, a weird feeling of warmth settling in his chest unexpectedly. Soap pulled his chair closer and sat in front of the fire, his whole body being engulfed with warmth similar to his chest.

After the day he had just had, Soap crashed down into the chair, his whole body feeling like it was melting with exhaustion. He rested his head against his balled-up fist, and before he knew it, his eyes were drooping as he fell asleep.