The night pressed in on either side, and the orange strip of light down the center of the road grew slimmer. There was something out there, something watching them, and the Rider knew it. They weren’t but halfway into the first city block when the light faded away. The moon shined above, but while it offered little light it could send them no comfort. The horse began to sway from side to side precariously. Then, as through a dark glass, the Rider saw the first Urchin.

Street Urchins they were, at least before the explosion. Children of Nauticus, now children of the night, and they were hungry. The first watched through its single remaining eye, the other having been burned out by some twisted brand. It was male, but it’s black hair fell tangled into its face. It’s toothy grin was in human, and it wore little but a loincloth. Sores dotted it’s emaciated chest, exposing several cracked ribs clinging to the loose skin. What fingers it had left were elongated, like claws. When it’s maw parted a long purple tongue flopped out limply, hungrily. The horse sped to a canter, then to a full blown gallop. The Rider let the chain slide through the leather gloves, stopping it at an appropriate length, then began to spin it alongside the horse. The urchin shambled forward, then burst into a spring. They ran at each other down the abandoned city road at full speed, the urchin matching that of the horse.

The urchin pushed itself off the ground with it’s deceptively strong legs. The claws flailed through the air and lit let out a feral wail of rage that nearly sent Margo tumbling out of the saddle. The spiked ball square in the face, not letting out a sound save for the sickening crack as the spinal cord twisted and snapped. The centrifugal force of the spinning chain stuck the urchin’s head to the spiked ball. More urchins appeared all down the street. They didn’t walk into place, it was as if the Rider had blinked and they appeared while his eyes were closed. They watched the Rider, those that had eyes, and even those that didn’t. They watched from where windows used to be, in the doorways, atop the buildings. In Ethicas’s name, there were so many of them. There weren’t this many children in Nauticus even before the catastrophe, where had they all come from? They were all disfigured, some missing an arm or an ear. All were emaciated to unnatural proportions. They were diseased, displaced, and very hungry. Trusting the horse to it’s path, the Rider let go of the reigns. The Rider let go of the swinging chain, and as if flew, grabbed onto the very end at the last minute. The ball soared through the air and struck an urchin in a second story window.The ball tore right through the chest, shattering the ribs, and emerging in a midst of blood and organs on the other side. The Rider yanked on the chain and ripped the urchin from his perch in the window. One of the urchin’s leg was impaled on a protruding rusted spike. It pierced through the leg, gripping on like a bard, and wouldn’t yield. It shredded the leg, sending tufts of flesh and bone falling to the ground like confetti. Margo covered his eyes as the urchin was stretched by the two opposing but equally defiant forces. The urchin, a young girl of maybe five, opened her maw impossibly wide and let out a howl. Her scream, unlike that of the first urchin, was one of unimaginable pain, not of savagely. The flailed her arms wildly as though she had lost complete control of them. Her eyes seem to bulge under the excruciating pain. There was a revolting pop and leg was forced out of it’s socked. The skin, all that remained of the connection between the leg and the body, stretched and tore apart like some cheap article of clothing. The urchin fell to the ground, landing on it’s fragile head. As it was dragged along behind, Margo saw that part of the head looked like it had caved in when it hit the ground. It left a red smear on the street and an echoing wail. Somewhere in the attack 

the head and come loose. It finally fell off the spike ball and flopped onto the street, flattened and unrecognizable as human save for the fragments of skull protruding from the sides.

With a cry, the Urchins poured out of the windows and doorways along the street. The horse broke free of that city block onto the open junction when it finally gave out. One of the front knees buckled and collapsed. The urchins were several feet behind, clamoring over each other like a dark swarm of some hellish wasp. Margo and the Rider both leapt off the horse before it fell on it’s side. Margo stumbled and fell, but the Rider grabbed the sloth-kin by the arm and pulled him to his feet. They sprinted with unknown reserves of speed fueled by the imminent danger. The horse, lying on it’s side in the street, neighed for help. Seconds after the riders ran from the fallen mount, the first of the urchins reached it. The child, almost identical to the first urchin yet with longer hair, crawled over it in the fashion of a feral spider. The fallen horse raised it’s head for one final plea, looking with terror to the Rider. Margo turned back to help but the Rider firmly gripped his should and nearly dragged him along. Violently grasping the creatures foreleg and skull, the urchin sank it’s teeth into the horses’ throat. A geyser of blood sprayed into the sky, soaking the starving urchin. He released his teeth, spewing forth more blood, then took another bite from the fallen horse. The horse screamed, almost like a dying human woman, then was overcome by the urchins.

The Rider could hardly spare a moment to watch in pity before he grabbed Margo and they began to run again. The urchin’s had lost track of them though, satisfying themselves with the small feast or killing each other over it. There were other terrors in the night though and the Rider had no intention of discovering them any time soon. The road was littered with abandoned cars and assorted jetsam. It was undoubtedly the main road of the city: eight lanes with a concrete roadblock down the middle. A crashed combat helicopter, Mi-24 Hind, blocked four of the lanes and the others were so torn up they could hardly be considered a road at all, only a reminder of what once was. Moving from one downed vehicle to another, the Rider and Marlow made their way through the intersection without being noticed by any other creatures. Once the Rider saw a sniper in one of the windows of a far off building, but the sniper was preoccupied with the wild hogs that running down the road. Ducking under a gap in a pileup of flotsam, the two finally reached the far side of the road. Margo stopped and rested against the pileup for just a second.

“Margo, we have to go. We’re not out of this yet.”

“Just give me a second,” Margo was panting. He was not unfit, but sloth-kin were not accustomed to or built for such running.

“Margo!”

“Just…”

The Rider unholstered the crossbow and fired a single shot. Just above Margo’s head, an urchin wailed as it tried to free itself from the bolt. Margo leapt to his feet and began running, “Hurry Rider, we’re not out of this yet!”

Supressing a laugh, the Rider sprinted away. Around the corners and over the top came the urchins. They crawled on all fours, scratching madly at the ground and pulling themselves forward at tremendous speed. The Rider freed the ball and chain stopping for a second to swipe back at a few urchins.

“Margo, grab the crossbow and start fireing!”

“I can’t.”

“What?”

Turning and running again, the Rider examined Margo. There were no visible injuries and aside from being a bit shaken he appeared to be in perfect health,

“I’m a pacifist.”

“What?! Margo, grab the damn crossbow and shoot a couple bolts at the urchins!”

“I can’t!”

They ran and rounded the corner, the Hanger door was just barely open. The building itself was plain, having been painted a dull grey ages ago and never having received even a dab of paint since then. Along the walls were a couple smeared bloodstains, not that unusual for a Nautican building nowadays. The Rider gracefully turned the corner while Margo scampered behind clumsily. Just inches behind him came the Urchins, now predominately on two legs, with their claws outstretched in desperation. Margo screamed like a schoolgirl when he felt one of their talons brush against his white fur. His stubby legs peddled faster and faster but barely managed to stay ahead of the Urchins. The Rider grabbed the corner of the great metal door and spun around the corner into the hanger. In the center of the dark room the barrel of a 105mm Howitzer stared the Rider in the face. The Rider stepped aside and opened the door a little wider. Margo ran through and stood paralyzed with the shock of the artillery piece leveled at his face. The Rider leaned over and unceremoniously yanked him aside. The first urchin came around the corner froze as Margo had. There was a flash of fire and an earth shattering tremble accompanied seconds later by a noise only comparable to standing in the midst of a thunderstorm. Margo spun about dizzily, temporarily blinded by the flash. The Rider looked around the corner of the building, where nothing but a black scorch spot remained of the urchin. The others ran in a fear that overpowered their hunger.

“Who the hell was that?” Came a shout from the back of the room.

“A Rider and that Sloth-kin we’ve been seeing for a couple days,” came another.

“Which Rider?”

“I don’t know.”

“Rider, identify yourself.”

The Rider reached up and removed the wide-brimmed black hat,

“De’Lor, a hunter-caste vampire.”

One of the people in the darkness of the room stepped forward, not one who had been talking, but one who’s presence De’Lor had already felt. Anna Lee was dressed in a beautiful red dressed embroidered with a black spider-web pattern. Her black hair was tied into a long ponytail that draped over one should and swung down to her waist. De’Lor felt a sudden nagging tug on the coat,

“You’re a woman? That’s why you laughed earlier, you’re a woman!”

“Relax Margo, I never said I wasn’t, you just assumed I was a man.”

Anna Lee’s green eyes turned to Margo Flynn, “A sloth-kin? How peculiar, did he travel with you De’Lor?”

“Only through these last few city blocks. We were attacked by urchins and I brought him along, I thought that would be fine by you. He’s ex-templar though.”

“Oh yes De’Lor, it’ll be just fine. I’ll have Garrin arrange quarters for him. Godot, Captain Tuttle and Lt. Kije were all Templar, we’ll have Margo bunk with them while things settle over here. We’ve been taking in a lot of refugees, more so than we can handle. It’s nice to have you back. How are things in the La Roche Haven?”

“Chaotic,” De’Lor ran her hand over the Gyvers parked around the room, “Are these new?”

Anna Lee strode to her side, “Yes, we scavenged them from the Templar bases, along with the Howitzer.”

“Anna Lee,” De’Lor’s lips were pursed and her eyes seemed glossy, “is he alright?”

“Margo’s scared, that’s all. We’ll get him some quarter’s and he’ll be fine.”

“I wasn’t talking about Margo,”De’Lor sounded oddly desperate, her eyes were on the point of tears, “I didn’t come from La Roche to care for misplaced hybrids and fend off feral orphans, you know who I’m talking about.”

“He’ll pull through if he’s as tough as he looks.”

“Anna Lee, don’t lie to me.”
“He’s in pretty bad shape De’Lor, but we’re doing everything in our power to help him, believe me.”

“Anna Lee,” a couple tears fell from De’Lor’s eyes. She was pretty, beautiful even. Her soft features at first made Anna Lee skeptical that De’Lor could survive as a hunter-caste, but De’Lor’s determination and survivability astounded everyone in the haven and served as an inspiration for the younger ones. In the short time Anna Lee had been around De’Lor, she had never seen her cry. Everyone 

cried the night they were taken into the haven, the night they left their old life, but not De’Lor. Not even after being betrayed and left to die by her uncle did she shed a tear, but now when told that Felix was hurt she wept like a widow, “have you considered…”

“No De’Lor,” Anna Lee was not harsh but she was firm, “I’d leave the decision to him, and only then when I’m absolutely sure he’s in the right frame of mind and fully aware of the consequences.”

“If we don’t do something, he may never make another decision!”

“You’ve been through a lot today De’Lor, we’ll talk of this further in the morning.”

“Anna Lee…” De’Lor beseeched.

“We’ll talk in the morning.”

De’Lor brushed past Anna Lee, lightly bumping her in the shoulder. Anna Lee sighed, De’Lor was frustrated and that was certainly understandable. De’Lor stormed across the room and pushed through the swinging doors and entered onto a long damp hallway. It stank of moss and blood, indeed both colored portions of the wall. Formerly part of the sewer system, the pipes had been hacked to pieces and the trench in the middle converted into a lowered pathway for small vehicles or horses. De’Lor was alone in the corridor, and it remained that way until she reached the hospice room. It was empty save for a single elderly nurse and Felix, who rested on frayed hammock strung between two warped poles. The elderly nurse checked Felix’s pulse and wrote something down on a paper. He stood from his broken stool and first took notice of De’Lor,

“He’s unconscious and really not well right now. Do you mind coming back later?”

“Yes,” De’Lor pushed past the nurse a bit more forcefully than she had with Anna Lee. He gripped her shoulder and shook his head. In response she balled her fist and punched him square in the nose. He dropped like a stone and curled into a fetal position on the floor, where blood coursed from his nostrils. De’Lor sat on the stool and ran her hand across Felix’s forehead,

“Come on Felix, you’re stronger than this,” her other hand locked with his and she turned her head to brush away her tears on her shoulder. She forced a smile even though he was, as the Nurse had said, unconscious. That same Nurse pulled himself towards the door steadily, weakly letting out a cry for help.

“Felix,” she whispered, “I don’t think you ever knew what I thought of you. I was fanatical at the time, I realize that, and I told myself that nothing would stand between my devotion to Zallen and Teldumor, but I still harbored…” she smiled a bit more sincerely and let out a light laugh, “Ethicas help me, I don’t know what I’m saying. You can’t even hear me, and here I am talking about how much I…” again, she couldn’t bring herself to the next words, “I won’t let you die, no matter what, you won’t die while I live. I promise you that, no matter how you ever feel about me, no matter what the consequences, I will never let any harm come to you, ever.”

“Help me,” came the feeble wimper of the old man, he reached up for the door latch but faltered an collapsed back on the ground. Someone outside heard him and opened the door,

“Anna Lee! Doctor Sevallie’s been hurt!”

Several people rushed to the scene, Anna Lee was the last of them, “Sevallie, what happened?”

The old man’s hooked nose was obviously broken, “I…” he turned his head in and saw De’Lor positioned by Felix’s side, “I fell and landed face first, I guess I’ll never grow out of being a bumbling idiot.”

They laughed for the simple sake of having something to laugh at, a rare affordance in modern Nauticus. Anna Lee and another vampire supported the doctor and carried him to one of the cots.

“De’Lor, you did nothing!” She heard one of the vampires call her name but she hardly registered it was hers. One of the other vampires stepped in her defense but she had entirely missed the scenario. She watched Felix intently, stroking the hair out of his face and rubbing her hand gently over his arm. It must have been radiation that had gotten to him, it seemed that vampires and hybrids were immune. That only furthered her resolve,

“I won’t let you die, no matter what it takes.”

The cloud overcame the pickup truck. The herd of howlers crossing the plane hardly noticed the foreign vehicle in their midst, though they occasionally brushed alongside it they seemed to do that well enough to each other. Haceven held tight onto a handgun, while standing next to him Dr. Wretched stood and seemed to embrace the wind. When his hand brushed against a howler’s outstretched wing, he turned and leaned over the side of the truck to pet it.

“Will someone pull him back in!” Barrow called from the front, “he does this all the time. Can’t stand people but he sure as Ethicas loves his animals. Not in a creepy bestiality way, in a child-like way.”

Haceven seemed unsure what to do with Dr. Wretched, finally settling on sparing an occasional gauche glance at the brute and leaning away from him. Corda stood and pulled him back in, much to Dr. Wretched’s dismay. Vincent laughed and watched the howlers with great interest. The stars overhead shined brightly in a way they never had while Nauticus was still thriving. In some way it added to the feeling of wilderness, a feeling Teldumor was actually finding he enjoyed. This depravity of civilization, this feeling of just this close-knit group and the skies, it was something had only felt long ago when he first met Anna Lee. They could see each other decently in the moonlight, but the visible connection was not nearly as comforting as just the sounds of their voices. Teldumor found that even after the revalation of the betrayl, he still trusted and loved Lennix as a father. Corda had been there with Teldumor since the escape, and they had shared in Lucas’s loss just as Felix had.

Corda had been thinking the same thing, but suddenly a wave of sorrow came over her at the thought of Felix. Corda shook the tears and the hair out of her face and squinted against the wind. She knew what it was like to lose someone, the way she had with Lucas, but this was different. He couldn’t be dead, he simply couldn’t. She didn’t know if this was denial or a lovers intuition, but she knew that he wasn’t. But if he was…no, he wasn’t, and she couldn’t bear to accept otherwise. Not now, maybe not ever.He had been a friend, but he was more than that. She had never been in love; she had never had that sudden rush of warmth whenever someone had mentioned his name, that was, until she heard someone mention Felix. But how could she know what love is? The only men she hung around were hybrids, middle aged to old, already taken, and sometimes combinations of all the above. Did she love Felix out of desperation for someone to love, hell, did she love him at all?

Well, she smiled, at least he was a good kisser.

“So,” Teldumor grinned, “you love guns and animals.”

Dr. Wretched nodded eagerly, appearing more as a child than as a fully grown man. They all smiled except for Haceven, who grew jumpy whenever the howlers strayed too close to the edge of the car.

“Relax Haceven,” Lennix had to shout above the thunder of hooves, “This was what every march was like for the Volkermord when you chased us out of La Roche.”

Teldumor shot Lennix a brief glare, the kind that begged him not to reopen old wounds, but Haceven seemed not to hear the comment, his entire attention devoted to the brown howler that brushed up against the side of the car. They were having fun at his expense, but he didn’t mind and they didn’t intend for it to be cruel. Dr. Wretched too seemed to notice the wolf-kin’s nervousness, clapping him on the shoulder and pulling him close into a great bear hug in a genuine effort to calm him down. This drew more laughs as Haceven awkwardly tried to push himself away from the barbarian, first politely then forcefully. Hair ruffled and persona disgruntled, Haceven finally broke away and shifted to the other side of the pickup truck while Corda reluctantly scooted over to make room for him.

Lennix nudged Teldumor and pointed just over Haceven’s head. Corda, seeing the exchange turned her head and giggled. Soon, everyone but Haceven and Dr. Wretched saw the Howler running parallel to the truck and directly behind Haceven’s head. Dr. Wretched frowned and turned back to his seat when one of the howlers on his side moved out of petting range. Not wanting to upset Barrow, his best friend, he sat glumly in his seat with his arm propped up to support his head in obvious boredom. In sudden excitement he caught sight of the one directly behind Haceven. Seconds later he was crawling overtop of Haceven with his arm outstretched towards the Howler. Thinking it was another of Dr. Wretched’s stupid games, he tried to politely push Wretched back to his seat. Wretched’s hand inched closer, stretching out as far as it possibly could, then it finally brushed the soft neck fur of the howler.

Several things happened all at once. The howler let out a friendly squawk, Wretched let out a deep bellowing laugh, but most importantly the squawk tensed every muscle in Haceven’s body. The wolf-kin let out a cry and his hands balled into tight fists. Unfortunately, in one hand was the gun, and 

one of those muscles was the trigger finger. Pointed right into Dr. Wretched’s chest, the handgun fired at point black range and threw Dr. Wretched back into his seat.

Blood sprung from the open wound, everyone in the back except Haceven sprung forward to help Wretched. The barbarian looked around in playful curiosity, not even taking notice that he had been shot.

“What’s happening back there?” shouted Barrow.

Corda moved up closer to the cabin while Vincent and Lennix moved over to examine the wound. Teldumor grabbed the gun from Haceven’s limp hands and turned on the safety, a couple second too late. The pickup truck was filled with swears and Vincent’s shouts for medical equipment.

“We haven’t got any! What the hell’s happening back there?”

“Wretched’s been shot Barrow,” Corda explained.

Haceven sat limply, watching in horrer and muttering incoherent phrases and half finished apologies. No one paid attention to him anymore though, all eyes were trained on Dr. Wretched, who himself began to stammer stupidly and roll his eyes up in an effort to watch the howlers. Teldumor ripped off an arm of his shirt and stuffed it into the wound to stop the bleeding.

“He’s going into shock,” exclaimed Lennix. Vincent took off his shirt to try to keep Wretched warm, but Wretched’s eyes began to close.

“Elevate his legs,” shouted someone, Teldumor couldn’t tell if it was Vincent or Lennix at this point and didn’t much care. From the front, Barrow was shouting out frantic commands with Corda trying to calm him. The pickup truck swerved from side to side and howlers on either side let out their primate howls and began to batter against the sides of the ship.

“It’s too dark, I can’t see a damn thing!”

“The gunshot,” shouted Corda, “it’s frightened them!”

Haceven didn’t move from his spot, appearing just as much in shock as Dr. Wretched, “I didn’t mean too, oh Ethicas, I didn’t mean…”

A howler whipped it’s head around and slashed at the side of the truck with it’s tusks. The pickup truck skidded uncontrollably. Another howler slammed against the other side of the truck. Barrow swore and struggled to force the car ahead of the herd. Breaking free of the cloud, the truck’s back end was nearly severed by another swipe from a howler. Barrow began to cough up blood and the white sleeve of Teldumor’s shirt was soaked red with blood, while yet more spilled from the wound. Teldumor too removed his shirt and tried to press it against the wound, instantly soaking up more blood.

“We’re losing him!” shouted Teldumor, “somebody do SOMETHING!”

“Damnit Teldumor we’re doing everything we can,” shouted Lennix. Haceven continued to babble and stared in horrer at Dr. Wretched. The gates of Nauticus loomed up ahead and the cold of the wasteland was setting in.

“He’s going!” shouted Vincent. Dr. Wretched stopped coughing up blood, he just stopped doing anything. His eyes weren’t closed, they were still locked onto the night sky.

“No!” shouted Haceven. The wolf-kin sprung from his seat and lunged at Dr. Wretched, “it wasn’t that bad! Stupid oaf, wake up! Oh Ethicas, he’s faking it,” Haceven laughed hysterically, “it’s another one of his stupid games. He’s faking it.”

The others slumped against the sides of the truck. The howlers were not far behind, but they had been nearly forgotten. From the front came a cry of rage, whether it was rage or sorrow was indicernable, it was every emotion merged into one cry. A lump in Barrow’s throat quieted the roar, dying into a lone whimper. Teldumor ran his hand through his hair, reliving those horrible moments outside Nauticus where they lost Lucas. De’Lor, Lucas, Dr. Wretched… who’d be next. The back of the truck was quiet. Minutes earlier it had been warm, full of life, now there was nothing but the cold night wind and the stars. The pickup truck climbed the slope into the gateway and down the other side. If there were any creatures about they steered clear of the truck. It cruised soundlessly through the empty city streets, Barrow subconsciously turning it to avoid desolate obstacles in the road. This was to be Dr. Wretched’s hearse, and those sitting around the truck to be the only ones who would mourn. The truck turned around a small pileup and avoided a guard shack, coming to rest at a warehouse across the road from a hanger. It slowed to a halt, but no one moved, no one made a sound. From the front, Barrow’s sobs came uncontrollably. No one moved to comfort him, they struggled with their own emotions. It struck Haceven expecially hard, who was the second to begin weeping. Barrow tightly gripped the wheel of the car then violently opened the door. He drew a pistol from it’s holster in his white coat pocket and he moved around the back of the truck. He climbed up into the truck and strode towards Haceven, who didn’t yet notice him. Lennix and Vincent stood, blocking his path and struggling to bring him to his senses. Barrow wailed and landed several punches on both of them but they prevailed. He got off two shots, but both missed their target by quite a bit.

“You shot Wretched! By Ethicas, I will kill you!”

“It’s not his fault,” Vincent tried to explain as he struggled with the gun, “it was an accident.”

“I don’t give a damn!” Barrow still fought but with less vigor. When they finally settled him, Barrow threw his gun to the ground and stormed into the warehouse alone. Teldumor turned to Corda,

“Go keep an eye on him, make sure he doesn’t do anything rash.”

“Of course,” she got up and walked in after him.

Haceven gripped tufts of his hair and tugged madly at them. Vincent moved to his side to consol him but to no avail.

“Give him time,” Lennix sounded just as weary, “It’s been a long night.”