Chapter 1 – The Travelers

The cool winter winds tore violently through the valley, its icy claws ripping and tearing at everything. Trees bent against its power, bark turning cold and brittle, frail against nature’s power. Dark clouds rolled overhead, adding to cold of the land. They were low and heavy, ready to dump their devastating load on the valley bellow. Welcome rain would turn to flash floods, trees uprooted, and dusty plains turned into muddy pools. For the duration of the storm, the world of the valley would be turned upside down.

None of this seemed to matter to the two dark-clad figures, marching determinedly across the valley floor, the leading figure’s mind resolutely fixed on reaching his ultimate destination. Their cloaks, damp from the coming storm’s moisture, were clutched tightly against their bodies in a failing attempt to ward of the winter’s cold. Thick boots thudded against the ground as they walked, and a scabbard hosting a sword swung at each of the figure’s sides.

“I’m cold,” grumbled one of the figures late into the night. His teeth chattered as he spoke, and he stuttered uncontrollably from the pressing cold. His companion stared on ahead, eyes fixed on the horizon, just as cold and tired as the other. But he knew he had to continue on, get to their destination as soon as he possibly could. The letter he’d received day’s earlier spoke of a need for their presence. The handwriting had been very familiar, and Trevor was intrigued by the letter’s plea. Now he pushed on, intrigue turned into determination to reach his destination and to know for certain what the plea had been about.

“Get used to it, Tim,” the leading figure called to his trailing companion, his voice gruff and harsh from the cold. If it had been light, he would have seen the steam pour from his mouth in those few words. “We rest when we reach Phoenix.”

“Trevor! How the crap are we supposed to be of any help in Phoenix if we’re half dead when we reach it?” Tim complained pointedly. He dashed forward slightly, catching up with his fast-paced friend. Even after nearly three days march, Trevor continued to move at the same pace, never wavering or slowing. Tim had barely been able to keep up, but somehow managed to draw on some hidden strength.

Trevor grunted at Tim’s irrefutable logic. He was right, of course. Both he and Tim had to be ready for battle, maybe even before reaching the Phoenix Encampment. They had to sleep. It was inevitable. They’d double their pace tomorrow, Trevor resolved as he kept his eyes open for a covered refuge from the oncoming rain.

-

Night slowly turned to day in the valley, the usually bright and burning sun hidden behind the canopy of clouds that still hung over the vast dessert valley. A cool breeze blew lightly across the valley picking up what little dry dirt there was and tossing it about; and for once Tim was grateful for the glasses he was forced to wear.

Together he and his friend and traveling companion Trevor moved at a heightened pace, attempting to make up for the time lost during the night’s rest. They had gotten maybe three hours of sleep, but even with such little sleep Tim felt unusually refreshed.

They traveled until noon like that, wordless, almost running, urgency to reach their destination weighing upon their minds and driving their legs to move longer and faster than they should have. As they continued the scenery began to change. The usual open desert began to give way to worn and weathered stones, fragments of buildings given over to nature’s brutal power. The beaten path they traveled grew rocky and uneven, segments of faded pavement becoming bigger and closer together. Soon they traveled on a cracked road, remnants of walls and buildings lining the road becoming more and more frequent. Occasionally they would catch a glimpse of the rusted remains of a car and sadly pass it by, nearly desensitized by the destruction that had become their world.

It had been a long time since the two had last come back to the valley, nearly five years past, two years after the initial destruction witnessed on their trek. It had been in search of a friend, a search that had failed miserably. Since then they had avoided the valley at all costs, which was not too hard. Needless to say, their current trek was not pleasant.

“I hate coming here,” Tim commented at one point, shuttering at an overturned Mustang. Trevor just nodded. It was a sad sight indeed. Quickly he pushed his thoughts away, turning his full focus back to the horizon, and the remnants of the Loop 101 that lay there, crumbling away like the rest of what had been civilization in the valley.

Suddenly the two came upon a crossroad, so familiar and yet so distant in their memories. Tim stopped and stared at the still standing sign in silent contemplation. It was bent and warped, graffiti covering most of the green rectangles of metal, but the names were still visible in faded white.

“111th and Olive,” Tim murmured sadly. His gaze moved past the sign, following the road labeled 111th all the way down to where it disappeared into the distance. Somewhere along this very road, way down past the vanishing point a friend of Tim’s once lived. He’d been a good friend, one who, contrary to his last actions, very well could have saved his own skin and left all of them in death’s cruel grasp. But instead he stayed, came to each of them and got them out of the city, sent them towards the White Tank Mountains. And as the last of their group left, his friend disappeared, not yet finished with his task. The last Tim had seen of his friend was of him disappearing into the darkness of the night while fire and destruction raged on the horizon.

“Tim,” said Trevor, his voice breaking through Tim’s revere. Tim was thrust back into the present, to the charred and broken remains of that once great city. Sadly he turned to Trevor. He quickly put on a cheery façade at Trevor’s curious glance.

“C’mon, we gotta keep movin’,” Trevor finally said and turned to continue down Olive. Tim followed, casting one last glance down the crossing street, hoping his friend had survived, but also preparing himself for the opposite reality.

Collecting himself, Tim dashed to catch up with Trevor.

And hour passed as they followed those ravaged streets without a sign of life. It was hard to watch the familiar places pass by, streets they had traveled before in better days. Shopping centers, houses, restaurants… all of them fragments of what they had been, what they were in the two traveler’s minds.

Eventually they made their way to the most familiar sight of all. Passing over the railway they both stopped, their jaws dropping in complete awe. It was still there, standing just as tall and solid, if a bit worse for wear, as it had all those years past. Even the cranes and bulldozers of the construction workers remained, as did the partially constructed building that would have been another building full of classrooms.

But most astonishing were the people; children, teens, and adults alike all busily working within the gates of what once was the travelers’ high school. Off in the distance the two could see the football field, now converted into a vast garden, the baseball diamond and soccer field converted into what looked like an archery range. The fence surrounding the school campus had been archaically built up, large spikes protruding outwards ready to impale any would-be attacker.

Tim grinned, but more amazingly so did Trevor, joining his friend in the utter awe this refuge inspired. It seemed so surreal, so unlikely that life could survive and prevail in such a desolate place, after such a horrible and civilization-crippling disaster.

“The Phoenix Encampment?” Tim asked his friend.

“Indeed,” came Trevor’s usually short reply.

-

The awkwardness of entering the Phoenix Encampment came as a surprise to the two travelers. After passing through the gates where men and women worked to repair some kind of damage, stares and whispers followed them as they strode boldly towards the building dubbed Old Main. It was the largest building on campus, save the gyms, having three floors, two above ground, and one below. It had at one time played host to both the offices of the school administrators and classrooms for the students. Math classes, Tim remembered suddenly, shuddering at the thought of his Calculus class.

Kids dashed about the front lawn, laughing happily, playing their games without a care in the world, ignorant of the true state of the world around them, of the things that had transpired before some of them had even been born.

One such child, clad in a simple long-sleeved grey shirt and black shorts, came dashing in the direction of Tim and Trevor. Being chased by two others, he did not keep his attention fixed on his surroundings. With a thud he crashed into Tim’s leg, a grunt emitting from the latter and a cry of pain from the former. Trevor stopped and watched in slight amusement. To his astonishment the boy did not cry, but instead began to laugh, rubbing his blond head gingerly.

“That hurt,” the boy said with a familiar sarcasm, a surprise coming from a child his age. The boy quickly rose and looked up at the pained Tim, blue eyes gazing up at the larger figure curiously. “You okay, mister?” he asked. Tim looked at the boy (“little squirt” running through his mind) and faked a grin.

“Ya, I’m good, little buddy,” he said kindly, although inwardly fuming at the pain in his leg. That kid’s got a hard head, he thought bitterly.

“My name’s James! I’m five years old,” the boy announced innocently, holding up his fingers to indicate his age. “What’s yors?” then as an aside the boy added, “and who’s yor scary friend?” He jabbed a thumb at Trevor. Trevor scowled and Tim laughed aloud. Something in the way the kid said it sounded so familiar, like something he’d heard many times before. But alas he could not withdraw the source from his mind, and dropped the thought process to answer the boy.

“I’m Tim!” he responded cheerily. He was beginning to like the kid. “And he’s Trevor the Serious,” he added, putting on a fake serious demeanor as he spoke Trevor’s name. He quickly returned to his normal demeanor as the boy began to laugh. A sudden shout caused both to stop their laughing. Trevor just turned nonchalantly towards the call.

“I’m so sorry,” said a girl, running up and kneeling beside James. She ruffled the boy’s hair and gazed up at the two travelers.

“I hope he wasn’t bothering you,” she apologized. “He likes to talk. So unlike his father.” She ruffled James’ hair again, unaware of the boy’s sour glare.

“Not at all,” Trevor said with almost imperceptible sarcasm.

“No, no. We were just getting acquainted,” Tim said cheerily. “Are you James’ mother?” Tim asked suddenly.

“Ha!” the girl laughed, “No. I’m his aunt. My brother is his father.”

“Daddy helps run this place,” James blurted.

“Oh really,” Tim said seriously. He turned to Trevor who gave him a nod. He turned back to James and the girl. He squatted down, lowering himself enough to speak to the five-year-old face-to-face. “Is your dad available to talk to, James?”

“Ya! I go get him!” with a wave he dashed off, leaving the girl looking exasperated. She stood along with Tim and looked to the two travelers.

“He’s such a handful sometimes,” she said in a way that made Tim guess that she didn’t mind all that much. “You can wait here until my brother arrives, I guess.” With that she ran off after James who had just bolted through Old Main’s front doors.

Tim turned to Trevor who shrugged.

“I guess we wait,” he stated. Tim nodded affirmatively.

“The boy seems so familiar. It’s so strange,” Tim mused in an unusually somber tone.

“Indeed. I noticed,” Trevor responded shortly. “But we knew a lot of people here. It could be anyone’s kid.” Tim nodded. That was true, of course, but something told Tim that this was the child of someone that had been a friend. He just couldn’t place who it was just yet.

“What really seems strange, though,” Trevor continued, “is that we were called here on the premise that this was an emergency; a life or death emergency, I believe it was worded. From what I’ve seen so far, no emergency exists.” A shrill scream permeated the air, silencing all on the front lawn.

“You were saying,” Tim stated wryly, whipping around and drawing his sword. As usual the comment failed to elicit a response from Trevor. He just turned and likewise drew his sword. He nearly dropped it at the sight that met his eyes.

Tim looked to Trevor, and Trevor to Tim. Shock was mirrored in their eyes overlaid by disbelief and horror. Their gazes returned to the hideous creatures standing just inside the damaged gate of the Encampment, dozens of them with grins painted on their misshapen faces, their sickly-yellow-grey skin giving them a look of pure grotesqueness.

The inhabitants of Phoenix ran in every direction away from the creatures, terror plastered on their faces. Tim just grinned.

“I guess this is what we’re here about,” the blond man stated. Trevor nodded at his companion.

“Indeed.”

“Shall we?” Tim asked. Trevor didn’t even respond. Charging forward he cast off his coat in a fluid movement and launched himself into the crowd of creatures. Tim followed closely after, emitting an earsplitting battle cry.

“FBLA!!!!”

Tim brought his sword down hard on the first creature within range. With a gargled cry the creature dropped to the ground dying instantly. Tim drew back, blood covered sword flashing in the day’s dim light, and then thrust forward, running another creature through.

“Not so tough, are ya!” Tim growled. Swift as lightning he threw up his sword, parrying a blow from one of the creatures, his other hand moving swiftly to his belt and drawing a dagger.

“Ha! Flash-mode on you guys,” he commented as he blocked another attack with the dagger and then ducked quickly as those same creatures thrust forward. Blood gushed onto his head and ran down his face, but he didn’t mind. Rising and thrusting the dead creatures aside, Tim sliced and hacked as more poured through the broken gate.

Whilst Tim hacked and slashed almost without strategy, Trevor systematically attacked the enemy. They came from all sides, but they were no match for the deadly swordsman. With a calm demeanor and fluid hand Trevor picked his way through the creatures, stepping easily over the bodies that piled at his feet.

Soon the two swordsmen were back to back within the mob of creatures, blood soaked and tiring. But they continued to fight and continued to prevail. The creatures with their primitive weapons and archaic fighting style were no match for the combined discipline and power of these two men. Thrusting and parrying, slicing and hacking, these two were the ultimate fighting machine, and soon that very fact began to wear out the creatures.

Again the two moved apart, gaining ground on the creatures, pushing them back and back, farther and farther from the human refuge. Limbs severed and heads rolled, the grotesque figures littering the ground accented by their own blood.

The battle finally ended with a downpour of arrows, striking in the midst of the remaining creatures. Those horrid monsters finally saw the futility of their attack and turned away, running back from whence they came. Tim and Trevor stood alone in the middle of the cracked and bloodied street, drenched in the blood of the many slain creatures, breathing labored from the exertion of the battle, but eyes still alight with the adrenalin-rush of battle. They both turned around, walking slowly back towards the Encampment, victory evident in their bold stride.

Beyond the gate archers stood stiffly, bow in one hand, the other hovering over their quiver cautiously. Their eyes were fixed beyond the two swordsmen, but still it was unnerving, the silence thick as a heavy fog. Tim shuddered uncontrollably.

As the two neared the gate and the row of archers, one of the archers’ number stepped forward, a tall figure clad in all black, disheveled brown hair shagging into his face and over his ears. His eyes were hidden behind his dark sunglasses, a scar running from beneath them and striking down across his cheek and stopping just before his ear. But most notable was the neatly cut, redish-brown patch of hair situated on his chin. Both Trevor and Tim stopped dead in their tracks, awareness of whom this dark figure was, despite the scar, hitting them like a freight train.

In a fluid movement the man removed his sunglasses, revealing the dark rings that outlined his brown eyes. Hooking the glasses on the neck of his shirt, the figure moved forward, recognition mirrored in his eyes. He flashed a small grin.

“Long time no see, eh,” the figure said, voice raspier than what Tim remembered.

“Oh. My. G—” Tim began, but was abruptly cut of by a wave from the figure.

“Please, don’t use that phrase,” he said with an air of authority. Tim nodded.

“Luke; you’re alive!” Tim then exclaimed in utter shock. Luke grinned and nodded.

“So it would seem,” he replied sarcastically. He extended his hand to his friend and added, “It’s good to see ya again, Tim.” Tim shook his hand, nodding, for once shocked into speechlessness. Luke then turned to Trevor whose serious demeanor had not wavered throughout the engagement with the creatures and now at finding his friend was not dead, as was previously assumed.

“Glad you could make it, my friends,” Luke said. “It would seem that you arrived in the proverbial nick of time.”

“The letter said it was urgent,” Trevor stated as if it were nothing.

“I was kinda hoping you’d bring along Amanda and Andy, what with their sword fighting experience and all,” Luke admitted. Trevor nodded, but Tim began to speak before Trevor.

“Yeah, why didn’t you bring them along, good buddy?” Tim asked with mock curiously. Luke raised an eyebrow, but said nothing, instead letting Trevor explain.

Trevor scowled and responded, saying, “I wanted to see what this was all about before subjecting anyone else to the supposed problem.” It was an unusually verbose statement for Trevor, a sign that he did not like his decisions being questioned.

“And you brought me along because of my super fantastic awesome sword fighting skills, right, good buddy?” Tim exclaimed humorously. The edges of Trevor’s mouth curled slightly, but he did not respond. Luke, on the other hand, could not help but laugh, having not heard Tim’s witty utterances in nearly seven years.

“A wise choice, I guess,” Luke admitted. “Well, we can worry about the others’ involvement in this later. ‘Til then you can get yerself situated here. Yer accommodations have been readied. I, sadly, must attend to some other duties. I’ll catch up to ya later.” With that Luke turned away and faced the archers. With authority in his voice he began to give out orders, and soon the archers had dispersed to go about their assigned tasks. Luke walked away without a backward glance, heading in the direction of what had once been the football field.

A remaining archer stepped up to the two swordsmen and bluntly drew their attention away from their friend, clearing her throat loudly.

“Alright you two, follow me,” she said. Quickly she turned and began to walk towards Old Main, giving the two no choice but to follow.

“Well, this should be an interesting visit,” Tim commented sarcastically. Trevor had an unnerving inkling that this was just the beginning.