Where the Self Resides

Where the Self Resides is a spin-off of my previous story, Thaumaturgy of the Prophet. -Leafwhisker 21:06, June 2, 2014 (UTC)

The title is from the song "Dark Matter" by Andrew Bird. =Part One= On the ten year anniversary of the apocalypse, Samantha Yune had been piecing together the remnants of a book which she had found in an abandoned auto repair shop. Among other things, she also found a car wrench and a box of matches next to the mangled body of a man she assumed had been in his forties, but the state his body was in made determining anything about him near impossible. On top of finding the abandoned auto repair shop, it started to rain, so she started to piece together the pages of a weather-damaged book.

She pulls up the hood on her sweatshirt, the wind howling as it runs through the broken windows of the houses across the street. When she looks up outside, she sees a fork of lightning reach for the ground before it disappears. Two trucks are in the garage: the one which she sits on is significantly more appealing than the other considering its windows aren't smashed in and the inside doesn't reek of dead animals. She considered attempting to hotwire it – it had been used recently – but ruled that idea out because she didn't want to attract bandits.

She looks back at the pages of the book – most are yellowing, some have water stains, but it is mostly readable – and runs her fingers over the cover page. It is just a phone book with lists of names of people who have probably been dead for years.

Her boots touch the pavement as she stands and looks outside. The rain has lessened to a steady drizzle; she might as well start moving before the sun sets. She slings her backpack over her shoulder and tosses the partially repaired phone book on the mangled body. It hits him square in the face. “Hope you get to where you want to go, Tom.” she mutters to the body before she leaves. ~ ~ ~ The steady drizzle turns into a downpour ten minutes after she leaves the shop. The crunch of her boots on the gravel is drowned out by the rain; she constantly looks behind her in case someone is following her. Generally, in this world, more people will break your leg, steal whatever you have, then leave you to die rather than befriend you. She knows this well.

Her hands slide into her pockets, her breathing becoming more quiet, as she walks. With any luck, the rain will settle down so she won't have to stop before the sun sets. Lightning arcs into the ground, lighting up the darkened sky as hail begins to pelt her arms. She pulls her hood down more before she catches a hail pellet and brings it in her line of sight. Not golf ball sized at least.

The shriek of a bird makes her stop. She looks behind her to see dark shapes coming towards her and without hesitation she breaks into a run. She takes out her knife from its sheath as she runs - the hilt is familiar in her hands. The rain and hail pelt her, numbing her body under the thin sweatshirt, but she ignores that. She feels a thump on her back and winces as her shield digs into her body. Her legs begin to tire, her breaths coming in gasps as she runs, but she doesn't allow herself to stop. Another bronze feather hits her shield. Then another. It takes three tries for one to sprout from her shoulder. Pain spreads throughout her shoulder and down her arm; she does not look back. She sees blue Honda a few yards from her so she bolts to it, flinging open the door and pressing herself to the floor. She hears an indignant huff from the front seat but doesn't bother to tell the other person to duck.

Bronze feathers break the glass, then beaks peck at the window. Sam stays down, her knife held tightly in her hand. A bird head breaks through the glass and she drives her knife through its eye before dragging the blade out. She kicks the bird in the head repeatedly before it finally relents and flies off with the other two. Finally, she sits up and takes the time to look at the other person. They turn around, their blond hair sticking up all over their face. “You're a demigod.” The words are spit out of his mouth but lack the venom they might have usually carried.

“Yes.” she replies as she sits on the backseat and sets her backpack and shield down. She unzips her hoodie, draping it over the headrest to let it dry. “The birds'll be back soon.” she adds as an afterthought.

“I know. I've traveled with demigods before. I don't recommend their company.”

“Neither do I.” She looks at his face which looks like someone attacked it with a Sharpie. “You might make good bait. How well do you run?”

He raises his eyebrows before realizing it is supposed to be a joke. “Did everyone else run away from you in fear?”

“Something like that.” Her eyes sweep over the damage the Stymphalian birds caused to the car: all the windows are broken, letting rain and hail in, the hood is dented, and blood is splattered on the seats. Her eyes lock onto the air freshener and realizes why it smells like rancid oranges. “Can you fight?”

He shows her a gun. “Don't freak, I have Celestial bronze bullets, too.” He turns back around and opens his car door to step outside to survey the damage. As he's preoccupied, she takes the gun from the front seat and sits back. When he returns, he looks pointedly at her. “Give me the gun back.”

She doesn't respond.

He sighs. “Fine. Just give it back before you go barreling out of the car once those birds come back.” She doesn't bother to respond. Her eyes look outside at the lightning which strikes the ground. A pellet of hail hits her arm hard enough that she knows a bruise is going to form later. A thunderclap shakes the car.

She sees the approaching figure rather than hears them a few minutes later. As they grow closer, she sinks back into the seat. The boy mirrors her gesture but she doubts he even knows what is approaching. “Come out, little demigod, I know you're there.” Medusa's voice is sickly sweet as she slithers towards the car. Sam sets her knife down then unloads the gun and puts the cartridge in her pocket. She tosses the unloaded gun in her backpack and takes the knife in her hand again. She slides out of the car after she puts her hoodie on just as lightning strikes the vehicle. The boy stumbles out hurriedly, tripping face first onto the pavement as he tries to get out. Medusa whirls around to look at who caused the noise and looks at Sam from behind her sunglasses. She smiles – her teeth are jagged – and Sam begins to step back just as the boy jumps up and runs towards her. She can practically feel the fear radiating off his body.

She steps backward as Medusa approaches, her pace quickening as Sam's pace slows. She eyes the boy who is still staring at Medusa as if he is frozen by fear. She turns away from Medusa and breaks into a run; the boy follows her lead. Hail bounces off her head and arms as she runs, and the rain soaks through her clothes. She positions her knife in her hand so that she can see Medusa as she approaches, and once Medusa is only a few feet from the boy Sam stops. The boy bumps into her, stumbling, when Sam turns around and ducks behind him when she sees Medusa take off her sunglasses. Sam's hands grip the sides of the boy's head then she forcefully turns it so he's staring into Medusa's eyes.

His legs turn a gray color as cracks appear in the stone. Lines like spiderwebs form on the boy's flesh as his skin turns gray as it solidifies. With all her strength – and the aid of the slippery ground – she knocks the newly formed statue into Medusa, effectively pining the monster to the ground. Sam's boot connects with Medusa's head, shielding Sam from Medusa's gaze, and once she unsheathes her sword she slices off the monster's head. As she wipes the dust from her sword, she kicks Medusa's head to the side. Once she sheaths her sword and grabs her stuff from the Honda, she turns around and begins to run.

The rain stops just before she holes herself on the first floor of an abandoned hotel. The windows are boarded up – someone had been here before – but the smell is not unpleasant. The person who had previously lived here had done some cleaning for which she was grateful. She tosses her backpack and shield on one of the moth bitten couches and throws herself down on the other. She unzips her hoodie, draping it over the side of the couch, and unlaces her boots before kicking them off onto the floor. She winces as her fingers curl around the bronze feather and take it out. She takes off a sock and presses it to the wound to staunch the flow of blood while she grabs her backpack with her other hand. Unzipping it takes a bit of work, but once she opens it she takes out an ambrosia square in an open ziplock bag and eats a corner. She gently sets the backpack on the floor as she takes her sock away from the healing wound. Darkness settles around her as the sun sinks, and she closes her eyes.

She hadn't even asked the name of the mortal. She imagined he was a Ryan; he looked like a Ryan. Nine years she had been living like this in this wasted world. With the gods dead, everything is so dreary, so dull. But she makes it through because that is what she always does. What she will always do. ~ ~ ~ She wakes up to a knife digging into her throat. “Where is she?” The voice is panicked and angry; Medusa isn't the one holding her at knife point. Sam opens her eyes. The boy in front of her is young, fourteen maybe fifteen. His matted blond hair falls to his shoulders and his wide blue eyes dart everywhere to avoid looking her in the eyes. The grip he has on her shoulder is pathetically weak and the knife was almost immediately jerked away from her neck when she opened her eyes.

She sits up, pushing him away with her foot so he trips over her boot and falls on the white rug. “Whoever you're looking for I don't have them.” she says as she puts her boots on and begins lacing them up. Once she finishes, she takes a granola bar from her backpack and takes a bite out of it. She doesn't miss how his eyes look at the bar longingly. He doesn't move from the floor as his eyes widen in realization. “No! No no no! Help me find her, please! You're a demigod, aren't you? You can help me! They listen to demigods!”

“If bandits took her then she's already dead.” She grabs her shield from the other couch, even though he makes no move towards it, and puts it next to her backpack on the floor. Her eyes fall to the knife in his hand. It's a simple bread knife that looks like the most fighting it has ever seen is against a tree branch.

His eyes start to water so she wrinkles her nose. “Please, she's only seven! You have to help me, I don't stand a chance against them. She's my sister; she means everything to me!” He pushes his hair out of his face as he rubs his eyes. He's sincere, she can tell that much.

“No.” Sam stands, collecting her things and holding out her knife where he can see it. He stands up and backs away from her, but she knows he isn't going to stop pestering her. When she walks out of the building, he is right behind her although he follows at a safe distance.

“I'm Richard,” he offers, “if you help me I'll leave you alone. I just want my sister back! Don't you understand that?” She ignores him as she straps the shield to her back then slings her backpack over her shoulder. But she does put her knife in its sheath. “Please!” he begs although his voice is less strong. “Please, help me.”

She starts walking away; a glance at the sky tells her it is going to rain again soon although the sun is still bright. The sound of his footsteps follows her for a couple yards before they stop entirely. Her pace quickens when she looks up to the sky once a steady drizzle begins. She pulls up her hood and begins running as the drizzle turns into a downpour. Boots crunch against gravel, the world turning into a blur as she runs without any direction in mind. Living like this doesn't require any direction or moral compass. Her only objective is to survive; she plans on keeping things as they are.

Lightning lights up the sky, illuminating a gas station a couple yards away. Across from it is an old motel that's falling into the ground. Cars of various shapes and degrees of disuse line the street as the sound of rain hitting against metal turns into an annoyance then a rhythmic pattern. She picks up speed and, once she's close enough to the gas station, slows to a steady jog before sitting on the back of a pickup truck that is protected by the roof. She watches the rain fall as she drinks from her water bottle and finishes the granola bar. She watches as the rain falls, and she would not be surprised if one day it didn't stop.

The sound of glass breaking causes her to jump off the truck and look at the gas station. Broken glass litters the ground, and she catches a raccoon scurrying under a Jeep. She turns around, grabs her backpack, then runs out into the rain.

It isn't long before something begins to follow her. The growling is quiet at first, then it becomes so loud that Sam has no choice but to focus on it instead of the rain. She skids to a halt, turning her head to see a hellhound whose head, unlike older hellhounds, comes up to her chin. The monster slows down and begins circling her, its teeth barred and its saliva dripping onto the ground. She unsheathes her knife before stamping the ground. A vine breaks through the ground, wrapping around the hellhound's forepaws twice so that it loses balance and falls on the ground. She stamps her foot on the ground again so two more vines shoot up and wrap around its stomach before squeezing. The hellhound begins to whimper, its fiery eyes becoming less like a demon's and more like a dog's. The vines around its stomach loosen but never disappear completely as she steps away from the monster. The vines around its forepaws tighten, preventing it from going after her, and after a few seconds she runs away in the opposite direction.

She sees a small house ahead and doesn't hesitate to open the door once she's close enough. When she steps inside, she surveys the condition the house is in. Some of the floorboards have been taken out and nails are sticking up haphazardly everywhere. A couch has been attacked – by animal or human she does not know – and the foam is sticking out. The smell of death and decay is prominent yet she sees no dead animals. When she steps into the kitchen, she realizes it is much worse than the family room. Cabinets are thrown open; cockroaches and centipedes are crawling in and out of them. The kitchen table is covered in animal droppings and moldy food.

The stairs to the second floor, she later finds, are in the best condition when compared to the sections of the house she has inspected so far. Bugs still crawl on the walls, on the stairs, and on her boots, but she ignores that fact as well as the smell which becomes more pungent.

The hallway she steps into proves that the stairs were the only decent thing in the house. The bodies of rats and mice litter the hallway while one which are still alive scurry from room to room. She covers her nose with her hand as she checks the rooms for anything of value; she finds nothing. When she opens the door to the last bedroom, she finds a human body. Or, what used to be a human body. Now all that remains are bones and bloodstains on the now gray carpet. She steps back, nearly tripping over the body of a rat, and slams the door closed. Her boots thunder down the hallway then the stairs, and when she flings the door open she sighs in relief as the rain splashes her face.

The house across the street still retains whole furniture which is promising. The smell of decay remains, but the smell is less pungent. The floorboard do not sink beneath her feet and, most likely because of the actions of some person before her, there are no animals that scurry about the room. A thorough inspection of the other rooms reveals that most if not all the furniture is intact although nothing of immediate value remains. Sam finds her way back in the family room and sets her backpack, shield, and sword on the coffee table which is in near perfect condition. The rain taps on the windows which aren't broken and slips into the cracks of the ones which are, and she promptly falls asleep. ~ ~ ~ The sound of breaking glass wakes her up immediately. She stands up as quietly as possible, gathering her things and unsheathing her knife. Footsteps circle her and the words of whoever is inside the house are mumbled under their breath. A soft breeze runs through the dark house. Something touches her elbow – a hand – and she whirls around to find herself face to face with a young boy. Although the lighting is dim, she can tell who he is by the word which runs from his mouth. “Sorry!” The word escapes as a squeak as she is kneed in the gut. She has enough sense to sheath her knife as a bag is pulled over her head.

She wakes not by design but by a hand roughly shaking her shoulder as if she is a protector amidst a storm. Her eyes open not to light but to darkness and she recalls the boy pulling a bag over her head then tying her hands behind her back. Small hands tear the bag from her head and the light which falls in her eyes makes her wince before her eyes adjust. The boy's blue eyes focus on her for a moment, realizing she is awake, and he stands up. Her ears pick up the faint growl of something not too far away. Her back presses against the tire of a car.

“That-that thing is coming; you have to do something!” His voice is like that of a mouse. Squeaky and insufferable. She stares at him.

“What is it?” His face sags with relief and he bends down to cut the ropes tying her wrists together. The pieces of rope fall to the ground; Sam stands and notices Richard has stopped in an alleyway. The ground is littered with trash and buildings crowd them on both sides. When she turns her head, she sees that their exit is blocked off by a minivan forcefully crammed against the fencing. Something is out there and she imagines it is much worse than a monster.

“I don't know,” he answers after she looks down at him. A few hours of grim coat his face and worn clothes. His hair is even more filthy than it had been when she first saw him. “but it sounded like a dog.”

“Hellhound.” she corrects as her hands searches for her knife that is no longer in its sheath. She notices her sword and shield aren't present, either. “Give me my things.” Richard hesitates under her stare, his body fidgeting as if he is trying to decide whether or not running would be the wisest option.

When he does give her back her things, she doesn't let his look of hesitation go unnoticed. She puts her weapons in their sheaths and straps her shield to her back when she hears the growl a second time. This time the growl is louder, more desperate, and when she hears the sound of claws raking the pavement she knows she has stayed too long.

“You can't leave, not now!” Richard's cry of protest is already out of his mouth before she even starts walking away. His voice makes her stop, but not out of desire to help him. She is more surprised that he could read her face. “What about my sister?” he adds but she knows she made no promise to help him.

“Find her yourself. You're her family, that's your duty.” she states as she walks away from him. She shoulders her backpack as she breaks into a run. She makes a right, dodging a blue mailbox, and only briefly glances into the shops where windows are broken and littered with items. She curses him for taking her back here, but at least here she has some protection and she still knows the area.

The sound of paws hitting the pavement follows her for more blocks than she can count. Each howl that it releases feels almost like a wolf howl, as if it is drawing the pack. For all she knows it could be, but it is neither a wolf nor a dog so its hunting patterns shouldn't necessarily be the same. She hopes they aren't.

She makes a left, trapping herself in a fenced in alley. She starts to climb the wire fence; some of the wires have been cut and she only narrowly avoids them. She hears rather than sees the hellhound stop in the alleyway; she hauls herself up and drops down on the other side of the fence. Now, face to face with the monster, she realizes it is the same hellhound as before. Its eyes are still a fiery red but now they look less like a dog's and more like a monster's.

When it jumps, it doesn't land over the fence and instead rams itself face first into the fence. She makes her way around dumpsters and overturned trashcans, finding herself in the middle of an empty street. There are no cars or sound except for the hellhound's howling. As she walks backwards, she looks into the empty shops and, like most she has seen, some have broken windows and unhinged doors. But something still feels off about this place. She looks to the sky but finds nothing but a few clouds dotted around the darkening blue. She pulls up her hood as her feet take her to the nearest building – a coffee shop that looks as if it was the first to be ransacked. She slides the partially open door with her foot to step inside, and the first thing she notices is how spotless the place is. Any usable item is gone and entire chairs are missing from tables. As she walks around the tables, she finds that outlets have been attacked for their wires and even the machines have been dismantled for their parts. There is no moldy food in the display cases, and when she checks the back rooms, and even the bathroom, she finds that everything has been striped clean. She exits the building to look at the others and finds them left the same way. All of these buildings are almost skeletons of what they used to be; all that's left to do is let nature tear them down completely.

She ends up in the middle of the street once she checks a few more houses, and she almost forgets about the hellhound before it rams into her body, pining her to the concrete. She twists her body around just as it moves its head down. It gets a mouthful of her backpack instead of her face, but its claws still tear at her arms as she pulls away from the monster. She shrugs the straps of her once-intact backpack onto the ground and grasps the hilt of her knife. While it spits the remains of her backpack out of its mouth, she stabs the hellhound in the eye.

Its howl is harsh enough that she winces as she pulls out the knife and sticks it in the other eye. Before she can pull it out, it knocks her down with its head. Her shoulder hits the ground first, causing pain to jolt through her shoulder, but she manages to stand back up. The hellhound flails around, its paw clawing at the left side of its face where the knife is embedded in its eye. Its right eye is already healing, but the process is slower than it usually is. She doesn't stick around to ponder why.

When she turns to run, she's greeted with a bronze feather that sprouts from her right leg. While the blood stains her jeans, she pulls her shield from behind her back and tries her best to duck behind it. The sound of the Stymphalian birds grows, and she hears them moving around her as the birds try to find an open spot. She turns her body with them despite the pain in her leg. The bone isn't broken, she can determine that much, but she cannot stand up forever.

Then she realizes the hellhound tore apart her bag. She doesn't have any ambrosia left.

She pushes the thought from her mind as the bronze feathers begin to make dents in her shield. Her feet begin to slide; one of the birds sends a volley of arrows that her shield mostly catches, but a few land in her shoulders. The pain seems to curl around her body now, but she continues to stand. Her sword dangles useless at her side and the hellhound continues to paw at the knife but it isn't a real threat anymore. She sucks in a breath and, finding the coffee shop where the door is still open, she breaks into a run that nearly causes her to faint. The feathers bruise her back before falling to the ground and she runs behind the counter, jumping down and leaning against it. Her leg and shoulders throb with pain but the blood seems to have stopped. Still she doesn't pull the feathers out yet. She can't risk losing anymore blood and she doesn't have anything to treat the wounds with.

Her breaths come in gasps. Her head falls against the counter as she runs her fingers through her dark brown hair. The shrieks of the birds begin to die – she imagines they're not coordinated enough to go indoors – so her only threat is the hellhound that grows only more angry with each second. She needs her knife back but she has no way to get it before the hellhound attacks her. She pulls her leg up to her chest and sighs. Her stomach growls and her throat feels unnaturally dry. Everything except her weapons was in her backpack, and her shield is little more than a dented piece of bronze now.

She pushes herself off the floor, stumbling only slightly as she unsheathes her sword. With her other hand she picks her shield from the ground. She steps are slow at first; it takes her a few minutes to finally exit the coffee shop. The hellhound is still howling, the knife looking almost comical from where it is on its face. It notices her but, instead of simply growling, it attacks her. Its paws land on her stomach and her back hits the ground first. Pain explodes in her chest; she imagines she broke more than one rib. It growls, saliva hitting her cheek, and the smell of dog breath invades her nostrils. She stabs upward with her sword but the hellhound bats the sword out of her weakening grip. She grits her teeth, the pain almost too much to handle, as her hand reaches up to pull the knife from the hellhound's eye. The howl of pain is deafening. She thrusts the free blade into its throat, blood spraying onto her clothes and face, and the hellhound's body collapses on top of her. As long as she doesn't move the dagger it won't heal itself.

A sigh escapes her mouth as she uses her remaining strength to push the hellhound's body off of her. As an afterthought, she pulls the bronze feather from her leg and tosses it somewhere on the ground. Her legs wobble as she stands, her sword and shield momentarily forgotten as she looks up at the sky. For once she wishes it would rain. She bends over and picks up her shield and sword, sheathing the sword and keeping the shield out. She blinks a few times; she's finding it harder to keep herself upright.

She starts walking away from the hellhound and away from where the Stymphalian birds came from. The wound on her leg stings and her shoulders aren't much better. It hurts to breathe, but she tries to ignore the pain that attempts to make her stop moving. She has to get away from the hellhound as quickly as she can. She isn't going to risk staying in the same place as it.

She hears footsteps and looks around to see people of various ages running out to meet her. She counts four of them, and all of them hold various types of weapons. Two of them approach her, trying to calm her as she pushes them away with her hands. Her eyes begin to close and she stumbles. One of them catches her.

“She's badly wounded! You three, get her inside! I'll keep watch for any other Stymphalian birds.” Sam pushes away the nearest person, but they murmur something she cannot quite hear. Her lips part to say something before her vision goes black. =Part Two= ''Small hands stretch towards the knife, but the child's eyes still look up at the sword in its display case. The metal gleams just for her, and she doesn't have to imagine holding the hilt to know it would fit. Perhaps it would be too big at first, but she would grow into it.''

''A hand grasps her shoulder, pulling her away from the artifacts. “Samantha, how many times must I say this? Stay with the group!” Her arms fall to her sides as the teacher leads to her to the rest of the class, but her head still turns to gaze at the weapons. The security guard watches the two intently.''

''The teacher brings Sam to a secluded corner after leaving the chaperones with the rest of the class whose laughter could carry for miles. “Sam, hon, you have to start making friends. I know this was hard for you in the past, but I know you can change. Your parents and I –”''

''“They aren't my parents,” Sam states plainly. “I don't even look like them.”''

''“Sam,” the teacher chides. “your parents and I are all worried about you. Please, just make an effort to be more social.” Sam stares at her before her eyes fall to the ground. The floor is too clean. It looks unnatural.''

''The teacher sighs, leading Sam back to the group where she avoids the other children's eyes as they leer at her. One, a boy, looks at her with a too kind smile; she grips her upper left arm.'' * * *

When Sam wakes up, the first thing she remembers is the pain in her chest, and the first thing she notices is the room. The walls are a sickly white and the door is closed. All the furniture has been moved out save for the bed which she lies on and a dresser which is practically glued to the bed. The air smells of pine needles, yet she cannot see any candles, and the sunlight which filters through the windows bathes the room in light. Someone pulled the sheets too tightly around her body and, from what she can feel, the same person put bandages around her wounds. The bronze feathers have been removed from her shoulders and loosely-tied gauze has been put in their place. Her throat feels unnaturally dry, and all she can think about a cool glass of water.

She throws her head back on the pillow, ignoring the pain that swarms in her chest when she breathes, just as the door opens. She sits up despite the protests of the person and her ribs, and looks at him intently. He has curly black hair, hazel eyes, and light brown skin. A faint scar rests upon his cheek. “I didn't think you'd wake up so late,” he murmurs to himself, then straightens up. “Um, hi! I'm Eric, and you really shouldn't be sitting up in your condition.” His smile is crooked and somewhat sheepish, but he lacks the same timidness which Richard had. His clothes have not yet faded in color, and there are only a couple of places where the fabric has frayed. “Is this your safe haven, then?” she asks as her eyes dart about the room; she relaxes when she sees her sword leaning against the dresser.

“Yeah...” he mumbles. “I'm going to have to change the bandage on your leg, okay?” He winces as he rolls the sheet up to her knee then unties the bandage. His fingers shake and his hands are unnaturally warm. “It's not infected.” he murmurs more to himself than to her, and he ties a fresh piece of gauze over the wound after cleaning it. “How do your ribs feel?”

“The same.” she answers, but keeps her gaze fixated on her sword. The sheath is bloody and coated with grim, as is the hilt; she can't remember the last time she cleaned it. He mumbles something to himself before he looks up at her with a kind of wonder in his eyes.

“Leah told me you fought a hellhound by yourself and you even managed to stun it. She told me about the Stymphalian birds, too, but I saw those myself. Not many people have the nerve to stand up to a hellhound by themselves like that.” She would doubt he'd ever been in a fight before had it not been for the scar on his cheek. “I'll tell my mom to come check on you.” As he slips out of the room, her gaze is drawn back to her sword. Her right hand stretches, begging to grip the hilt so she can leave this place. But leaving would be unwise considering the condition she's in, much to her annoyance.

Every breath reminds her of the fight with the hellhound, and when she closes her eyes she can see the thing's fiery eyes. She can feel the claws tear her flesh and the bronze feathers pierce her body, and for a moment she wonders how she survived.

The sound of the door opening prompts her to look at the woman who steps through. She holds a glass of water and a plate with a measly lettuce sandwich on it, and her blonde hair is tied in a braid. A satchel hangs on her left shoulder. A few wrinkles which do not match her eyes line her face; she frowns as she looks at Sam.

“I'm surprised you made it,” she says as she steps up to Sam's bed and sets the glass and plate on the dresser. “but I shouldn't be. How old are you? Seventeen? Eighteen? You must have grown up during the apocalypse so you would have learned to adjust before anyone else had the chance to.” She presses her palm to Sam's forehead then pulls it away after a few moments. “Your temperature feels normal, but what about your wounds? Any irritation of the skin?”

“No.” Sam replies. After a moment she adds, “You're a demigod, aren't you? Shouldn't you be dead?”

The woman answers, but not with the response Sam was expecting. “Do you know of the Greek gods?” The woman's touch is light as she unwraps the bandages over Sam's shoulders and upper arms, and her work is done swiftly - within a few moments the Sam's wounds are re-bandaged. Sam catches a faint smoky smell on the woman's clothes.

Sam waits before answering and draws her eyes to the broken clock on the wall. She can hear each breath she takes, and she does not allow herself to wince at the pain that builds in her chest. “Somewhat, but I couldn't tell you the names of all of them.”

“At least you've heard of them, and since you know about the existence of demigods you know that they had offspring with humans. Monsters attacked these demigods because of the scent they produced, but certain demigods had weaker scents because of their godly parent. Children of the gods Hades, Zeus, or Poseidon were attacked more often than children of the other gods. Powers also served a role in a demigod's scent. The more powers a demigod had, the more likely they were to be noticed, but the less powers they had the less likely they were to be noticed.

“My father is Apollo, and my only skill is to heal through touch, so my scent is significantly weaker than others.” Her eyes shine yet do not meet Sam's gaze. “Do you have any pain other than your wounds?”

“No.” Then the woman looks at her, her eyes almost seeming to memorize the features in Sam's face before she turns around.

“Get some rest. Even with my ability it will take some time for you to properly heal.” She closes the door softly as she leaves, and Sam is once again left alone. She would prefer it more if she had something to do. Once she finishes the sandwich and empties the glass of water, she closes her eyes and forces sleep to come to her and give her some kind of relief.

She wakes up to rain. It taps on the windows as the wind howls through the trees, and she lets the sound take her mind off the pain for a little bit. Then she hears footsteps. Some are soft, others heavy. Most are hurried but a few are slow. The air still smells like pine needles.

She turns her head to see a glass of water and another sandwich on a tray. She eats, drinks, and lets her head fall back on the pillow. This room is too cramped despite the utter lack of furniture; she wants nothing more than to get up and walk away from this place. She supposes she could if she wanted to. Her wounds do feel slightly better, and her ribs don't hurt as much, yet she knows it would be foolish to leave.

The next several days pass without many happenings. She eats and sleeps for the most part, and Eric's mother comes in to heal her once each day. Sam finds herself able to stand up without causing too much pain in her leg, and her breaths become less laborious. The pain isn't going to completely diminish for some time, she knows, but the pace remains much faster than one without aid.

Sam decides that more than a few people live in this hotel, but she has no idea of the exact number. Counting the different each different pair of feet that walk by her room isn't actually a reliable way to gain information, but until she is able to leave it will have to do. Eric is the only person willing enough to talk to her; she comes to the conclusion that he isn't as afraid of her as his appearance suggests. He brings her books to read although she never bothers looking through them, and he tries to get her to talk about her past. She doesn't, so he instead talks about himself well into the night. She can't say that she dislikes his company since listening to him drone on gives her something to do rather than lie in bed, but she doesn't care for it either.

“I'd always wanted to see other countries before the apocalypse,” he admits. “but that was mostly because my mom and dad went to Europe more than a few times before they had me. I guess that rubbed off on me.” He pulls his legs up to his chest so his entire body is sitting on the chair which he brought into the room. “I still want to travel the world, but that isn't really possible now.” He sighs then looks at her as a hesitant smile grows on his face. “What about you?”

“There's no point in traveling to another country,” she says as she looks up at him. “not even before all this.”

He doesn't turn away from her gaze. “Why not?”

“The people aren't gonna change.” Her gaze falls from his face to the door which Eric left ajar. Someone passes the room, but Sam hears their laughter instead of their body. She tunes his voice out as he continues to talk; she uses the time to count the cracks in the ceiling when she lies back on the bed.

Eventually, he changes the bandages on her wounds and replaces them with clean ones; each time his hands shake and his face contorts. Once the room begins to darken, she asks him a question.

“If you hate seeing open wounds so much, why are you a healer?”

“I...I want to make my powers stronger. I want to be someone who's respected.” His words grow quieter near the end of his explanation. The floor creaks as he stands up. “Um, I guess I'll go.” She doesn't answer him, and before she knows it he's left the room.

Then next day, Sam is moved to another room on the same floor. From the hushed voices of the crowd, the person who's moving into her previous room has wounds which easily surpass hers. She takes in the hallway as if she's come across water after being stranded in a desert for days. The cracks along the ceiling and walls are sealed with some kind of putty, and the people who scurry about range between children to teenagers to adults. Some of them look at her, but their gazes are fleeting. Her limp feels much more obvious among a crowd of uninjured people.

The new room is the same as the other one, so instead of actually staying in it she puts her sword in its sheath around her waist and exits the room. The crowd has begun to disappear; all she can hear are the cries of pain from the injured person and footsteps down the hallway. She starts walking down the hallway when Eric stops her. Or maybe he just decides to join her since he doesn't bother making her go back to her assigned room.

They walk down the stairwell in silence. He walks ahead of her until they reach the bottom and she looks at the lobby in front of her. The space is filled with groups of canned food, toiletries, books, weapons, blankets, and other items. Sitting on the counter and sorting a small group of items is a pretty redheaded girl who doesn't even bother to look up when Sam walks across the room to the spotless revolving door. Outside she sees the deserted street before the giant makeshift gate where a few people are on watch. The sky is a pleasant blue but in the distance dark clouds are gathering.

“Hi, Sarah.” Sam hears behind her and turns her to see Eric plucking a fresh apple from the pile the girl – Sarah – is sorting.

“Hey, Eric. How's babysitting the warrior queen going?”

“She's, um, right here.” Eric says, and Sarah finally looks up at Sam. The girl's curly red hair is tied in a messy bun. She wears a faded yellow sweater with a plaid skirt and black tights; it hurts Sam's eyes just looking at her outfit. It takes a moment for Sam to realize that only one of Sarah's blue eyes are moving when the girl looks up and down at her.

"You're pretty cute." Sarah jumps down from the counter and Sam realizes they're the same height, but while Sam is lithe Sarah is more muscular and curvy. “What's your name?”

“She hasn't told anyone.” Eric says. Sarah raises her eyebrows.

“We aren't gonna rob you and leave you to die. Not everyone is a bandit, you know.” Sarah tells her then goes back to sorting the pile. She tosses some stuff into what looks like a trashcan, but on further inspection Sam realizes it is a pile of machine parts. “The people who're skilled with tools and stuff use those to make fancy weapons.” Sarah informs her.

“She means people like her.” Eric adds then looks around. “Has Leah come back from the sewers yet?”

“Not yet. You know her, she likes to make sure every inch is looked at before she comes back.” Sarah tosses the rest of the stuff in a box next to her and turns around. “You up for some monster hunting, Eric?”

“I can't.” he admits. “I'm supposed to help with the other patients.” Sarah sighs in annoyance but doesn't say anything as she exits the building and runs to the right. Sam watches the sky for a few seconds before she turns around and looks at the rest of the room. Maps have been tacked onto the walls, and when she steps closer she realizes they are filled with descriptions of bandit hideouts, monster territories, and buildings that have been looted.

“We don't actually hunt monsters,” Eric says as he moves next to her. “but we have to when they attack us. Recently the attacks have gotten worse, and the Stymphalian birds which followed you here are only adding to the problem.” He pauses before adding, “Not many people want you here. They're hoping the Stymphalian birds will follow you if you leave.”

“When.” Sam corrects. She raises a finger to trace the nearest pathway towards a three story house that hasn't yet been searched. If she runs the trip will take around thirty minutes if she doesn't count the high possibility of a monster attack.

Eric doesn't comment on her revelation and instead mumbles a hesitant goodbye before he disappears up the steps.

A few hours later, Sarah comes back sporting bruises around her right eye that have already begun to heal and on her right shoulder where the fabric of her sweater tore. She walks into Sam's room with a confident gait, and the grin on her face isn't the strangest thing she has. Around her neck is a leather chord with teeth and talons of different sizes attached. Blood stains her skirt and her white sneakers.

“Hey.”

Sam stares at her for a moment longer then sits up. Eric's mother had healed her only a few minutes prior so her pain will be numbed for the next few hours. “Can I come in?” Sarah asks and Sam gives her a short nod. Sarah plops down on the chair across from the bed and kicks her shoes off. “Eric doesn't know what he's missing.” she comments when she turns to look at Sam. “Healing people just doesn't compare to the rush of a battle.” Sam pulls her feet to her chest and raises her eyebrows.

“You do that for fun?”

“You don't? Damn, I guess I had you all wrong. With all your piercings and that--” Sarah gestures to her right temple. “--weird ass haircut I figured you enjoyed it out there.”

“From the way you dressed I thought you'd be terrified of this world.” Sam replies; Sarah's grin only grows.

“Guess we were both wrong, huh. How does my eye look?” She points to the left one – the one which Sam noticed doesn't move. It looks the same as the other one except it doesn't look as if it connected with the ground.

“It's fine.”

But the rest of her face isn't. Sarah's bottom lip is split, and bloody hand prints are around her neck. Long cuts mark her cheeks, but they have stopped bleeding and are beginning to scab over. “An empousa found me right after I got a hellhound that was nearly through the gate.” She explains, then tilts her head to look at the leather cord. “And these are from the first few years during the apocalypse when the monsters still disintegrated.” She almost sounds proud.

Sarah looks back at Sam with an expression she can't quite read. “Even though you're big on the all 'not sharing' thing, you're going to have to trust us sooner or later. You probably like being by yourself, but going out there feels a lot more safer if you know you have some place to go back to.”

“This place is going to be ransacked sooner or later.”

“Every place is going to be, be it by monsters or people – hell, the Leviathan might even decide to grow legs and come stomping all over the Earth – but at least I have a place to call home before that happens.”

Sam raises her eyebrows. “The Leviathan doesn't exist.”

“Until all of this started I figured hellhound didn't exist either, but now they're attacking me whenever I walk through the gates. If they exist, why can't a giant serpent be swimming around in the world's oceans?”

“If it did, then how the hell did it hide for so long? And why did it decide to appear ten years ago?”

“I'll ask it for you.” Sarah gives her a grin that's unsettling. “Actually, there's word that two demigods are trying to find this thing. They think killing it will set everything back to normal.” Sarah gives a short laugh that's more similar to a cough, and Sam half expects her to double over with a coughing fit. “I can't believe anyone could be that dense.”

“Really.” Sam says sardonically.

“Just because it exists doesn't mean killing it will set everything back to normal.” Sarah pauses, then adds, “It could end up making everything worse.” From the way Sarah says it, she sounds ecstatic, almost as if being in the middle of an apocalypse is the best thing that's ever happened to her.

Sarah stands up suddenly, knocking over the chair with a dull thud, and extends her hand in a mock gesture of politeness. “This isn't why I came up here, though. You're probably sick of being stuck in this building, so I have something to show you.” Sam stares up at her. It's true she wants to leave this place, but she doesn't particularly want to go anywhere with Sarah.

“Don't worry,” Sarah croons, “I'll protect you from the big, bad monsters.” She laughs at Sam's expression, handing her her sword. Sam stands up, taking it, and the two step out of the room. Sarah leads her down the hall and up several flights of stairs before finally stopping at a door at the last flight of stairs. She pushes it open to let light flood in. Sam raises and arm to shield her eyes before stepping outside into the mild air.

The deary sky looks so much closer up on the roof of the hotel, and the buildings seem more broken. She steps up to the edge of the roof, peering down at the wall which surrounds the hotel. Outside the wall, several hellhounds try to pry at the walls but eventually become discouraged so leave. The ocean begins on the west horizon, and the only thing separating Sam from it are buildings and monsters. Her gaze falls back on the world under her, and a Stymphalian bird make a shrill sound as it looks up and sees her, but it makes no attempt to attack her.

“They rarely come on to the roof.” Sarah tells her as she sits down on the edge, her legs dangling off the side. When Sam looks at her, she notices more than half of her wounds are already healed. She doesn't comment; she already has an idea of who healed her. A few raindrops fall on Sam's nose; within a few minutes a light drizzle begins. Neither of them speak for a few minutes, but eventually Sam breaks the silence. “You're a mortal, aren't you?” It's more of a statement than a question, but Sarah still answers with a yes. “Then why don't you hate this world?” Her eyes fall back to the Stymphalian bird which flies to the wall where someone is guarding. The two scuffle, but the Stymphalian bird is the one which flies away wounded. The figure goes back to their post.

“How could I?” Sarah's voice is strangely morose, and another silence falls between the two. A breeze coaxes the cold air to wrap around them like a cloak. Sam's feet move on their own accord as she looks down at the the ground below. The gate changes to a small building with opaque windows which looks like a greenhouse, and instead of guards there are people who move in and out of the greenhouse with laughter that Sam can hear even up here. The sight is almost pleasant, and it stands out too much among the backdrop of abandoned buildings. It shouldn't be so homely. “It isn't so bad here.” Sarah says a few feet away from her. Sam looks up and meets her gaze but she doesn't respond. It's just masquerading as a sanctuary.

Her eyes fall to an animal which she can't see clearly from up here, but what she can see doesn't make sense to her. It is pacing around the wall, and its pelt seems to be a mixture of orange and white. It keeps pacing for a few more minutes before disappearing into an alley. A hellhound follows after it, but within seconds it races out of the alleyway like it was frightened.

“Why did you bring me up here?” Sam finally asks after the rain stops. She looks on at the people walking in and out of the greenhouse as she waits for Sarah's answer.

“I figured you'd like it up here.” Sarah replies. “Most of the wounded here like to come up to the roof. I think it calms them.”

“Looking at an empty city isn't calming.”

“The fact that the monsters can't touch them up here is.” Sam disagrees with that. For her, there's nothing calming about being above the monsters.

Pain starts back up in her leg, reminding her that she shouldn't be walking around like this. Sam backs away from the edge of the roof, then turns around and walks towards the door. Before she can push it open, Sarah does. The girl leads the way back down the hallway, too, since she has the flashlight, and if she notices Sam lagging behind she doesn't mention it. Once they reach the bottom, Sarah opens the door to see Eric rushing around the hallway with a pile of fresh bandages. He looks at the two curiously, and his gaze settles on Sam just a few seconds too long before he runs to the next room.

“He has a thing for you, by the way.” The news isn't that surprising to Sam.

“Shouldn't he be the one to say something about it instead of you?”

They reach Sam's room and Sarah shrugs. “Probably.” She almost looks guilty, but Sam doubts Sarah would feel guilty for anything. Sam opens the door, but before she can close the door, Sarah says, “Enjoy your solitude.”

Sam doesn't respond, and as soon as Sarah leaves she closes the door. She puts her sword back on the dresser and sits on the bed. She doesn't sleep, and instead she nurses the idea that the monster pacing around the wall is something she shouldn't brush off lightly.

It takes another week and a half for Sam's wounds to heal, and when she finally begins straying from her room she notices the looks people give her. Most of them give her glares, but some – usually the children – give her terrified glances as if the hotel is going to be overrun with monsters at any moment.

She usually finds herself sitting on the wall, teasing her own freedom, and there she can see just how much the Stymphalian birds have affected the people. Nearly everyday she sees someone fighting one of them. From the way the birds act; however, Sam thinks they are simply testing the waters. They rarely come in groups and are often seen alone or with another bird; she wants to leave this place before they eventually act.

Her feet lead her to the east side of the wall where the greenhouse looms over her. It is relatively large, although it still doesn't reach the third floor of the hotel, and she can see clumps of green through the mismatched glass fragments. A man-made stream gurgles to her right and canteens line the sides. Small dots dart around from within the building, and it is only when Sam opens the door that she realizes they're songbirds.

The air is pleasantly warm and the sound of bees fills her hears as they flit around flowers and vines which grow around poles. Tables line the walls, and on them are plants which provide various uses. Some are vegetables, others are herbs, and a few are just wildflowers meant for decoration. An old man with dark skin stands at the back of the room where the most plants are and waters them using a pale blue watering can.Various hues and shades of green bloom within her vision as she takes in everything within the greenhouse. If she closes her eyes, she could imagine the world is no longer is disrepair.

She steps up to the nearest table, one with wildflowers and herbs, and her eyes catch a withering flower that's been pushed to the back. Her fingers brush against one of its leaves, causing color to flood back into the yellowing plant. Its flower turns a pinkish color but, despite the fact she brought the flower away from the brink of death, she frowns.

Her eyes drift from the newly resurrected flower to the herbs including thyme, basil, and countless others. Although their value is limited, they carry more worth than simple wildflowers.

She moves deeper into the greenhouse, her fingers constantly brushing against the plants simply to memorize the feel of them beneath her skin. The entire greenhouse hums with life, both from the plants and the animals living among them, and she cannot deny its surreal beauty.

“It's been a long time since I've seen a child of Demeter.”

Sam stops. Her head turns toward the old man who walks past her and begins watering the countless other plants. “Excuse me?”

“You're a demigod, aren't you?”

Sam frowns. “Demeter isn't my parent.”

The old man sets the watering can down and looks up. His wrinkled face speaks of years she will never reach and his dark eyes tell of memories she will never know. He doesn't frown.

“She is. I've seen enough children of Demeter to know one when I see them. She and Dionysus are completely different, you see, so the differences between their children tend to stick out when you get to be as old as I am.”

She doesn't respond. Even if he's right there's no point in arguing with him. Although she never cared to know who her godly parent was, she cannot deny it fills an ache deep in her bones. Then it creates a new one as she expects.

The old man goes back to watering the plants, his face still expressionless. Sam stares at him a moment longer before she hears something ram into the wall. The sound reverberates through her body, and her hand immediately goes to the hilt of her sword as she runs out of the greenhouse. Screams of varying pitch fill her ears and the unwavering cacophony of the situation causes her legs to move faster towards the direction of the hotel. If everything falls in her favor, she will be able to reach her room without attracting anyone's attention, and once she has everything she can slip away without anyone the wiser.

Just as her hand reaches the hotel's revolving door, someone shouts, “Hey, Warrior Queen, find some backup!” Sam whirls around, seeing Sarah standing precariously on top of the wall for a split second before she jumps onto whatever ran into it. Someone pushes open the door, knocking her out of the way while she's distracted. She regains her balance and darts inside, pushing someone in the process, and her legs bring her up the steps as people rush past her. She opens the door to her room and finds the backpack she had procured for herself.

She imagines the midwest will be nicer than the west coast, although rumors have spread that bandit activity is more prominent there than anywhere else because so many dense populations of demigods and mortals alike are scattered amongst the land. Regardless, she could use a change of scenery.

As she exits her room, she maps the hotel in her mind. There is only one way to leave this place, and doing so will bring her directly in the path of whatever is trying to smash down the wall. She has no choice but to move past and hope the beast doesn't see her.

Her feet just reach the bottom step when she hears a crash and sees a hellhound nearly as tall as the wall standing amongst a pile of wood boards, metal sheets, and other things she cannot identify from the distance. Someone pushes past her, shouting “Don't just stand there!” into her ear before they run outside. She swears. The hellhound will come into the hotel, but even if it doesn't floods of monsters will be attracted by the noise, and now there's nothing to keep them from coming in.

Her grip on the hilt of her sword tightens as she pushes the revolving door and steps outside again. Her eyes catch the sight of the greenhouse before she looks back at the hellhound. Bodies broken and bleeding litter the ground, and only a handle of people are left.

One of them is Sarah who's managed to hang onto the hellhound's side by its fur, but it's ignoring her in favor of crushing the people at its paws. With her right hand, Sarah takes a sword from one of her sheaths and sticks it into the hellhound's side. Sam winces as its howl reverberates within the ground, but its left front paw only raises to swipe the nearest person, sending them falling to the ground in a heap.

Another person begins climbing up the beast's leg, but its mouth closes around them and tosses them into the sky. A third person manages to get a grip while the beast is preoccupied with a fourth person who circles around the hellhound, changing direction every few seconds to keep its attention. For a moment, Sam believes her interference would be unnecessary and begins stepping backwards when the hellhound notices her. It fiery eyes seem to glow, and with no hesitance it barrels towards her.

Sam swears as she sprints to the right then makes a sharp turn to the bodies littering the ground. The metallic tang fills her nostrils and a gleam of something shiny catches her eyes. She bends down and picks up a throwing knife and notices more strapped to the body of a mangled young woman.

The wind picks up as she turns to face the hellhound. The two people hang onto its fur for dear life, steadily climbing up to reach its back, and Sam stands as bait. She grimaces and throws the throwing knife in its direction. Her foot steps back with a sickening crack but she doesn't linger to survey the damage to the body. She sprints to the left, stomps the ground, and a vine breaks through the concrete and wraps around the hellhound's forepaw, bringing it to the ground with a crunch.

As she stares at the hellhound's body, she begins to step back. The vine which once wrapped itself around the hellhound's forepaw begins to retreat to the ground. Pain erupts in her left arm, near her elbow, and she turns to see two Stymphalian birds circling in the air. Sam sighs, rips the bronze feather from her arm, and throws it to the ground.

Sarah sinks a dagger into the hellhound's eye, but just as she jumps off it stands up again with a low growl. The birds fly down to the ground but, instead of attacking Sam or the other two people, they notice the dead bodies and take one by their talons before returning to the sky where they cannot be reached.

Sam's attention goes back to the hellhound. Sarah stares up at it and then she turns toward Sam. “Do that thing with the vines, again!” she shouts.

“I was just about to.” Sam responds with annoyance, but before she can do anything the hellhound leaps at her, knocking her to the ground and trapping her beneath its giant paw. Her sword clatters to the ground a few inches out of her reach. Tears form in both her flesh and her clothes, and she prays nothing in her backpack is harmed.

Blood splatters the ground, and the hellhound's howl pierces through the otherwise quiet area. Pain erupts in Sam's shoulders as the hellhound's claws dig further into her flesh, and she closes her eyes as salvia drips on her face. Its rancid breath invades her nostrils.

A sickening crack fills the air, and the hellhound's weight is pushed off of her gradually, and when she opens her eyes she sees Sarah staring at her. Sarah her attention back to the wrecked wall, and she swears loudly. “Eli, what does the rest of the wall look like?”

Sam stands up, sheathes her sword, and notices the other person who had been hanging from the hellhound. He has short black hair and dark brown skin, and he radiates authority although he doesn't look more than a guard. “Not good. If we don't get it rebuilt we'll have to relocate.”

Sarah frowns. “We have more than one hundred people here, and there's no way the kids can survive this! Do you know where Leah is?”

Eli shakes his head. “She's been gone for three weeks now.”

“If she doesn't show up soon we'll have to leave without her.” Sarah sighs and directs her attention back to the hellhound. A pool of blood is forming around its lifeless body, and Sam finally notices the sword in its heart. Sarah mumbles something Sam misses and walks toward Sam. A grin spreads on her face as if the hellhound didn't just knock down part of the wall, and then –

Sam wonders if this is Sarah's way of coping with everything, and for a moment she wonders what happened to her.

“Your shoulders are both bleeding. So is your arm.” Sarah points out and Sam raises her eyebrows. Sarah's grin doesn't waver. “But if you're able, can you help me with the bodies?” Sam doesn't say anything, but she still finds herself carrying the body of a girl, younger than her, bloodied and green eyes wide open with horror. The girl had a life here, albeit a dreary one. She had a history, and she would have had a future had the hellhound not broke the wall.

Sam cannot find it in herself to care.

She places the girl next to the woman whose body she had accidentally stepped on, and Sarah and Eli both carry a mangled pile of flesh that cannot be identified as human anymore. As Sarah turns to bring another body to the line and allow it to be mourned, Sam stops her.

“My name. It's Sam.” She doesn't know why she says it. But she does.

Sarah manages to smile at her. “Nice to meet you, Sam.”

The entire funeral doesn't even last an hour, but during that time people constantly work to rebuild the wall. It is nothing like what it once was, and it will not stop the monsters from breaking in, but it provides hope to the people of the hotel. Even if it is false hope. Sarah, Eli, and a few others stay on top of the remaining sections of the wall, watching out for monsters. Sam sits on the wall not because she wants to guard, but because the funeral pyre is too cluttered with people she does not know.

The taste of smoke lingers on her tongue as the sun begins to set in the darkening sky. The gauze around her shoulders and arm reminds her she cannot exert herself, but even so she must leave soon if she wants to survive another day.

The muffled sound of weeping surrounds her but she ignores it in favor of watching a small animal scurry across the pavement. Buildings both crumpling and still intact surround everything, and the street is lined with broken down cars. A chill fills the air not completely unrelated to the ongoing funeral, and Sam notices a figure out of the corner of her eye. She turns her head and sees an orange colored pelt, and she stands up abruptly just as someone shouts, “Monster at the wall!”

The monster looks up and its vivid golden eyes scan the wall, and it only takes a few seconds for it to run into the newly constructed gate and destroy it. It howls – but it's more like a roar – and Sam realizes just how small the monster is compared to the hellhound. It's nearly half its size, and it has three heads. One of a lion, one of a goat's that sprouts from its back, and one of a snake that acts as the beast's tail.

Then the lion's mouth opens, and the person closest to it is engulfed in flames.

The screams of the mourners grow in volume as they run into the hotel, but the giant beast leaps over them and blocks their path before the rest of the people can go inside it. The sound of shrieking catches Sam's attention, and she looks up to see a few dozen Stymphalian birds in the air. The sound of crunching gravel directs Sam's attention back to the ground, and she swears when she sees several hellhounds of various sizes approaching the damaged wall.

Sarah and the others move to attack the three-headed beast while Sam drops down on the ground outside the wall. She scans her surroundings, but she already knows that as long as she keeps the hellhound's off her trail she'll be fine.

She slowly walks to the nearest building and opens the door as slowly as possible. She runs up the steps, not unaware of the stench of mold that fills her nostrils, but as soon as she hears muffled voices outside she freezes in her tracks.

She stands still for a few minutes with her ear pressed to the wall. The sound of her rapid heartbeat becomes a constant sound in her ears, so when she strains to hear the voices she cannot make out what they're saying. But she determines that the voices are coming from outside, not from within the building, so she slows her breathing and walks up the steps. She opens the door to the nearest room, ignores the dust covered furniture and animals which run out the door as enters, and moves to stand by the window. She peers outside.

Five people walk towards the hotel. They carry an assortment of weapons and armor on their bodies, but the most noticeable thing is not them but the person who the tallest – most likely the leader – is dragging along. The figure is young, maybe several years younger than her, and they have blond hair that's accumulated enough dirt and dust to look gray.

The person in front holds up a hand and everyone stops. The child stumbles into the leader. “What did the demigod look like?”

The child whimpers. “She was Korean. She was tall and had long dark hair and the right side of her head was shaved.”

Sam's eyes widen. Richard.

“And the rest of the people here?”

“There's maybe fifty. Some of them have to be demigods, but there's this girl with red hair who I know is one.” Richard shrinks back while the woman holding him ponders his words, and then she lets out a laugh.

“Johnson, get the birds. Kagome and I will take care of the Chimera, and the other two can round up the people. Dead or alive, it doesn't matter.” She turns to Richard and smiles at him. “If your information is right and we find the demigod, we'll give you your sister back.”

The bandits begin walking towards the hotel where, as far as Sam knows, the monsters are destroying in order to get to their food, and Sam backs away from the window. With the bandits now looking for her, everything is suddenly much more difficult.

She moves to the drawers of the bedroom and flings them open. Papers are tossed from the drawers and dried out pens clatter to the floor. Sam's right hand touches a pair of scissors and she pulls them out from the recesses of the second drawer, and she moves to clear dust off the mirror above the vanity. A dust-caked face looks back at her with bleak dark eyes and lips that form a tight line. She grabs a fistful of hair and cuts it at her shoulder; the locks fall to the floor and the cut ends up being more uneven than she wanted. She does the same thing with the rest of her hair, and once she's done she takes the piercings out of her nose and ears. She finds a small box on the vanity and carefully places the bits of metal in it and puts the box in her backpack. As an afterthought, she places the scissors in her back pocket.

She takes a deep breath and closes her eyes. The bandits won't give up until they find her or until they get tired of lugging a kid with them. Their first target is the hotel, so Sam hopes they'll find enough demigods there to satisfy their greed, but if they don't there's no doubt they'll start checking the nearby buildings.

She opens her eyes and swears as her foot connects with the leg of a chair and it falls to the floor. Richard sold her out for a seven-year-old. She sighs and runs down the steps then exits the front door. She closes it quietly, then she runs north, away from the hotel. She can still hear the screams of terror as she puts more distance between herself and the bandits, and for a few seconds she thinks about those people stuck inside the hotel who are only minutes from death. Dying by a bandit's hand would be much worse than dying by a monster's teeth.

Her eyes spot an an bicycle lying on the sidewalk; without hesitation she checks the tires and gets on. Before moving, she looks behind her and catches a glimpse of the hotel in flames. She turns back to the expanse of concrete ahead of her and begins pedaling with a prayer that the bandits don't catch her. =Part Three= When Sam wakes up, she can still taste ash on her tongue.

It's been twenty four hours since she last saw the hotel, but she knows she isn't safe yet. She stands up from the couch and throws her backpack over her shoulder then opens the front door. The potted plants placed haphazardly on the porch have long since died, but she can tell when she touches them they used to be tulips. Yellow ones.

The bike rests against the railing at the bottom of the steps. She hasn't seen anyone else since coming to the house, so she assumes they've all gone because of the monsters. If not them, then the fire at the hotel would have repelled them.

She gets on the bike and begins pedaling at a leisurely pace as her eyes scan the area. The area is the picture-perfect idea of a suburban neighborhood, but she knows each house will be empty save for rodents, bugs, and other animals. Still, at the very least she could find supplies. She finds a relatively homely looking place several blocks from where she was staying and hops off the bike. She leans it against the railing.

The building is two stories like the others. The overgrown lawn has imprints from where animals slept, and the windows aren't broken in like many of the other houses. Vines wrap around the railing and stretch over the steps, and they retreat back into the ground with a wave of Sam's hand. She looks around before opening the door and slipping inside the home, and the first thing she sees is a dead rat lying in the middle of the entranceway. Sam covers her nose with her hand as she walks around the body, and she moves into the living room. Dust coats the furniture, and it is only when she clears the windows that light filters into the room. She finds a cabinet near the wall opposite the television, and kneels next to it. Her fingers trace the knobs, wiping the dust off, and she swings the doors open causing dust particles to fly through the air. Unread books sit in the space, and sighs and closes the doors when she realizes that's all there is.

She checks the next cabinet and finds two spare woolen blankets inside. They're plain in appearance and on top of a few dozen cedar mothballs, so she figures they're durable enough. She unzips her backpack then rearranges the contents so one of the blanket is on the bottom, and she carries the second one under her arm. She stands up, and then she hears movement from outside.

Her body tenses. Her head turns toward the now clear windows, and she can make out a small figure running away from something. She slowly moves closer to the window, and she notices a blood trail is leading whatever is chasing the figure right to them. She moves to the front door and opens it slowly, and once she slips outside she realizes the person has slowed significantly.

Leaving this place would be the smartest thing to do. She can find what else she needs later, and having someone trail behind her would just slow her down.

But having another person with her would deter Richard from her. All he knows is that she doesn't like company, and two people traveling together would be even less familiar in his eyes combined with her altered appearance. So she unsheathes her sword, sets her stuff on the ground, and tells herself she doing this for herself.

The empousa blocks Sam's strike with her own blade, and the yellow-haired woman offers her a grin that's all pointed teeth. “Well, it's been a while since I've feasted on demigod blood.” the monster murmurs, and Sam dodges to the left when the empousa lunges. She eyes the mismatched legs and ducks the monster's blade then moves to the left again. Sam is only dimly aware of the small girl cowering in the background, and she hopes the kid doesn't die on her so this is for nothing.

Sam hooks her foot behind the empousa's donkey leg just as the empousa moves, and the monster falls face-first onto the pavement. Sam drives the sword into the empousa's skull, and then replaces the blade with the scissors in her back pocket. She turns around and stares at the girl who's sitting on the ground. She can't be over ten. Her skin's brown and her hair's black and coily, and the gash in her left leg looks like it was caused by a hellhound.

Sam kneels next to her. The girl whimpers, but moves closer to Sam. “Please, help me.” she manages before she collapses. The girl is light in Sam's arms – too light – and she doesn't hesitate to move into the house she had just left. She clears the nearest couch of dust then sets the girl down and checks her pulse (faint), then feels her forehead (burning). The wound is deep enough that it will require sutures, but the bleeding itself has begun to lessen. She retrieves her stuff from outside and places it on the carpeting next to her, then she tears the fabric away from the wound and digs her water bottle out of her backpack.

She pours a little on the wound to wash the dirt away, then she takes a short drink then stuffs it in her backpack again. She tears a piece of cloth from her t-shirt, dampens it with water, and places the wet cloth on the girl's forehead, and then Sam finally stands up. She moves to the bathroom and finds bugs lining the walls, and when she opens the cabinet underneath cobwebs and empty plastic bottles greet her. She swears and moves to the kitchen, but nothing of use is there, either.

She runs upstairs and goes through each room, and she finally finds a bottle of half empty rubbing alcohol, a needle, and several spools of thread. She runs back downstairs, pours rubbing alcohol on the needle and thread – and in the process her own hands and the girl's wound – and begins closing the wound. Once she's finished, she ties a knot at the end and cuts the remaining thread from the sutures with her dagger, and she tears another piece of cloth from her t-shirt and wraps it around the girl's wound.

It isn't the best treatment the girl could receive, Sam knows, but it's all she can do for now. Sam covers the girl with one of the wool blankets then takes an apple out of her backpack and bites into it. Once she finishes it, she tosses the core outside on the lawn, and she sits down next to the couch while the little girl sleeps. Cold settles around her, but she ignores it in favor of tracing the cracks in the wall with her eyes.

She knows staying here is foolish, but she cannot risk moving until at least the girl's fever breaks. Once it does and the girl's strength starts returning, they can start moving. ~ ~ ~ Sam doesn't know when she fell asleep, but when she wakes up it's morning. Rain taps on the windows and creates a rhythmic sound she could easily fall asleep to, but instead she stands up. She feels something brush against her arm and turns around. The girl's eyes are open, and she looks slightly better than she had yesterday. Sam presses the water bottle to the girl's lips; the girl nearly empties the bottle before she finally pulls it away from her lips. She looks up at Sam and gives her an awestruck expression. “You saved me.”

Something resonates in Sam because of those words. Something which she doesn't dare to decipher, so she swallows the emotions budding up. “What's your name?” she asks.

“Alissa.” the girl mumbles, and already her eyes are beginning to close. She's so young; Sam wonders why a child is running around without anyone. She pushes the thought away and changes the makeshift bandage on Alissa's wound, and then she steps outside after determining the girl's fever is gone.

Raindrops slide off the roof to their final descent to the ground, and the cloudy gray sky promises nothing except more rain in the near future. The houses across the street reek of loneliness and forgotten memories, and she finds that the mere existence of them is insufferable. Her heart beats in time to the seconds she wastes waiting for a child who she does not know to recover from a bite wound she should not care about.

The corners of her lips curve downward. ~ ~ ~ “Why were you alone?”

Dust drifts around the space between breaths as Sam coaxes the green tendrils further away from the comfort of the soil. Overbearing warmth seeps through her shirt and into her skin as the sun's rays scatter looking for something to land on. Alissa sits across from her on the concrete steps. Her eyes widen as the plant grows before her eyes.

“If you keep following me everywhere you're going to bother your wound.” Sam reminds the little girl, although the wound has healed significantly since she first found Alissa. It'll take more than walking to reopen the wound. Her eyes briefly observe the girl's expression for any sign that Alissa heard her.

“I'll be careful.” Alissa murmurs, yet her gaze never trails from the plant. “Are you magic?”

“No.” Sam takes a handful of blueberries from the newly-created bush and drops them in the girl's open hands. She squeals with delight, popping one into her mouth. Sam harvests a handful for herself, and the leftovers she puts in a ziplock bag. As she eats, the bush's leaves wilt and the plant recedes into the ground until all that is left are gaps in the soil.

She looks at Alissa, and the girl finally meets her gaze. “Were you with someone before you were attacked?” Alissa's gaze falls to her feet. Her mud-stained shoes are falling apart and held together with duct tape, and colorful lines are drawn on with different colored Sharpies. “My mom and my uncle. My dad was with us, too, but then a pair of bandits attacked us. He told us to run, that he would hold them off and meet us later.” Alissa rubs her eyes with her hands. “My mom wouldn't tell me if he's dead or not because I think she was scared to believe it.”

“Where were you last?”

Alissa shifts where she sits. She shrugs. “I don't know, but I could see the ocean.” She hangs her head, and Sam sighs. It isn't much information to go off of, but assuming Alissa and her family were separated recently, her mother and uncle will still be searching for her. The sooner she gets rid of her, the sooner she can be on her way.

“Looks like we're gonna look for your mother and uncle, then.” Sam tells her, and the little girl looks up with wide eyes. A smile starts to grow on her face, and before Sam can go anything Alissa hobbles over to her and hugs her tightly. Sobs shake her body, and Sam stares at her. “Thank you,” Alissa mumbles.

Sam doesn't respond. Instead, she gently pushes Alissa away from her. “Pack up what you have and be out here in five minutes. We'll be going farther northwest.”

Alissa nods, goes inside, and Sam follows. Sam gathers up her water bottle, folds the blankets and stuffs them in her backpack, and pulls on an orange windbreaker. She gathers the spools of thread, needles, flashlight, batteries, and tucks them inside the other pockets in her backpack as her eyes sweep the floor. Alissa would have gotten everything else, then.

Her fingers ghost over the hilt of her sword, and she tenses. The bandits will find her. If not now, they will find her soon, especially now that she's backtracking. She knows she should leave the kid behind – she's done it before so many times, yet this time she can't bring herself to do it.

She frowns, pulls her backpack over her shoulder, and steps outside. Alissa follows her soon after with her own small backpack and a sweater she found tied around her waist. If it weren't for the grim on her face and the bandage around her leg where the pants leg is rolled up, she would look like a normal fourth grader on her way to school.

Sam grabs her bike by the handles, and together they begin walking.

Alissa stops suddenly a few miles into the journey. She tugs on the sleeve of Sam's windbreaker and points to the charred, crumbling remains of the hotel in the distance. “What happened there?” Something cold resonates within Sam, and she tenses.

“We shouldn't be here.” she mutters to herself, yet her legs keep moving. She can still see the swarm of Stymphalian birds raining down on the people as the giant three-headed beast engulfs the few warriors the hotel had in flames. She can taste ash on her tongue, and it makes bile rise in her throat.

She killed them, she supposes, by running away. Like the boy she let be turned to stone. Like Richard, who she left to wallow in his grief for his stolen sister. Sarah and Eric are probably dead. They were probably among the first to die. Sarah was too reckless, too foolish, so she would have died fighting the monsters. Eric would have died healing those whose wounds were too deep to ever heal.

They had a life there.

She killed them. But they would've died there anyway. It was inevitable, like everything else that's happened to them so far. This world only lets the people who earn it survive.

“We need to keep moving.” Sam reminds her. Even when the two start walking again, Alissa doesn't stop looking back at the hotel. Her eyes cloud over as she stares at the ruins. “Do you think we could have helped them?” she asks once she finally tears her gaze away. Sam doesn't answer. Instead, her pace quickens as she focuses on staring straight ahead. The gray and white clouds gently graze each other across the baby blue sky, yet despite the blessing of a beautiful day she wishes the rain would come to wash the memory of ash from her mind.

Alissa moves closer to her, but instead of reaching up to grab Sam's hand like Sam expects, she just keeps walking. When Sam looks down at her, Alissa looks up and gives her a smile that Sam doesn't return.

Incessant squawking erupts in the distance. Sam freezes. Alissa bumps into her as Sam surveys the area. Nothing except buildings, streets, street lamps, and the occasional car. She knows better than to think it's nothing, but for now there's nothing to immediately worry about. Even so, her paces quickens.

Once the pair reach the nearest shelter – a flower shop with windows that are surprisingly still intact – the squawking erupts again alongside furious indistinct shouts. Something topples over with a crash, and a thousand separate clinks fill the air as more shouts tumble out from the monster's mouth.

Hands groping for the doorknob, Alissa steps backward into the partially ajar door with an oof!. She trips on her way inside, picks herself back up, and scrambles deeper inside the shop. After a few more seconds, Sam follows her.

Dead, withered brown plants pile on top of each other on the dusty tabletops as the disintegrated remains of their leaves scatter at the bases of their pots. Burnt out lights hang like decorative ornaments from the plain white ceiling, and the earthy smells of plants and soil float lazily in the air. The cash register lies broken and opened on the floor, as if the money the person took was a way to free them of their fears.

Sam clears a space with her hand on the nearest table and places her backpack next to the potted plants. Alissa mimics her actions with too much flourish, and she gasps as the dry soil collects as her feet where the pot and plant lie. “Sorry!” she apologizes, but before she can do anything Sam clears the mess away with her foot.

“It's just a dead plant.” Sam tells her. Her fingers brush against one nearest to her. White lily, and the one across from it a pink rose.

“Can you bring them back to life?” Alissa whispers. Her fingers curl around the edges of the table as she leans close to the plants, body poised to spring back as if it'll come to life and attack her. Sam's fingers brush the stem of the white lily, and color spiderwebs back into it from the base of the stem and outward into the leaves. White petals bloom from the sepal and around the stamen, and they curl back as the flower's stem straightens. “Wow,” Alissa murmurs. Her finger brushes one of the petals with tenderness. “that's so cool.”

Sam jerks her hand away from the lily as another shrill shriek fills the air. A large mass comes barreling toward the nearest window directly opposite Alissa, and Alissa's eyes grow wide as her hands move to grip the edge of the table. Sam's body moves before she has time to think, and with a deafening crash the glass window of the flower shop breaks into thousands of tiny fragments. When several seconds pass, Sam opens her eyes to see Alissa staring up at her and her own arms stretched out around Alissa's body. “You're bleeding.” Alissa points to a thin trail of blood running down the side of Sam's neck. Sam wipes it away as she turns to face the carnage.

An unconscious woman with the mottled gray body of a bird lays at Sam's feet, and the jagged shards of glass spread around her like flower petals. Blood stains her torn and faded yellow sundress, and fresh blood oozes from the thousand of cuts on her skin. Feathers dislodge from her left wing as Sam nudges it with her foot, but other than that nothing happens.

Outside the building another harpy hovers. The backs of her wings are a glossy emerald green and the feathers around her throat a deep ruby red. Her eyes latch onto Sam. “There's more?” She furiously zips away, and it isn't until she's only a dark speck on the horizon that Sam and Alissa exit the flower shop.

Several people stand a ways from the flower shop, and once they begin walking Sam notices the familiar auburn hair of the one holding a wooden baseball bat with nails sticking out. Her blue eye widens in recognition, and a smile spreads on her face. “Sam?”

“Sarah.” The word flies from her mouth as she stares at the light haired woman. Her eyes move to the boy standing next to her with tousled curly black hair, then from Eric to the four people she does not recall. Their stances range from relaxed to guarded. Sam ignores them and instead looks back at Sarah when she speaks.

“I thought you might be alive.” Sarah looks to Alissa who stands closely by Sam. Her eyes are wide with amazement, perhaps because she's never seen this many people in one place before. “What's your name?”

“My name's Alissa.”

“Hi, Alissa.” Sarah's eye moves back to Sam. “I thought you would have left the area by now.” she says more to herself than to Sam, and as her eye moves back to Alissa a look of understanding passes over her face. “You should come with us. We have some extra clothes for the both of you, and we ought to stick together now that the bandits are more active.”

Sam hesitates. The four strangers eye her with suspicion, and her knee-jerk response will always be refusal, yet she knows what Sarah says is true. She looks at Alissa and notices the sweat beads on her forehead, and while Alissa might have been acting fine before now she's sways in place. Sam places her hand on the girl's shoulder to steady her, and when Alissa looks up she gives Sam a grateful smile. “Fine. But before we go any further we need somewhere to rest.”

“I know a place.” one of the strangers pipes up, although their green eyes study Sam cautiously. “I could show it to you.” They look at Sarah before taking the lead, and it's only until after Sam begins walking that she feels something grow deep in her gut.

“Why are you traveling with Alissa?” Sarah asks as her pace slows to match Sam's. Alissa softly snores from where she hangs on Sarah's back, and it's more than a simple relief to know the girl's latched onto someone else. “I thought you were the type of person to ignore people in need.”

“I don't know.” Sam says. She pauses. “How many people were killed at the hotel?”

“Most of them. This was all Eric and I could rescue.” Sarah frowns. “Eric swears he saw his mother escaping the building just before it collapsed so he won't stop talking about needing to find her. I wish I could do something to help him, but we never even saw her body so I don't even know if she's dead or not.”

“He'll eat himself up thinking like that.” Sam mutters.

“But he can't be faulted for it. It happens to all of us.” Sarah sighs as her foot kicks away a rock in her path. It clatters over to the other side of the street and stops where the sidewalk begins. The sounds of quiet chatter from the others fills the silence between her and Sarah, and she finds the sound a welcome relief from wherever her thoughts may take her.

As the shapes of buildings fall in and out of Sam's line of sight, she begins to doubt the people are leading them anywhere at all. She rubs at her eyes constantly as the hum of insects grows in volume with the gradual disappearance of the buildings. Then, finally, someone in the front stops with a confident “We're here!”

Someone lets out a disgruntled “finally” as they open the door of a small, two story house and slip inside. Sam goes in last after a final look at the trees in the front yard and the overgrown weeds spilling on the sidewalks.

A glowing lantern hanging above her head greets her once she shuts the door. Several more are placed on tables and hanging on different ceilings to slightly illuminate the path and the rest of the house. A mattress has been moved from a bedroom into the living room, and blankets and sheets are folded neatly on top of it with a few mothballs on each pile. The couch has been pushed to the wall nearest to the boarded window, and a map and a backpack are on the only table.

Sarah gently sets Alissa on the couch and covers her with one of the blankets before walking to the kitchen where the others are. Sam instead walks up the stairs to find the rest of the house has been thoroughly cleaned, and there's even a hint of candles. She finds a bedroom with a mattress and promptly sets her things on the floor after locking the room and falls asleep.

When Sam wakes up, no light comes in through the window. She rolls out of the bed and, from the way the sky barely looks any lighter than when she first fell asleep, decides it must be barely past midnight. She pulls on her boots then opens the bedroom door and slips into the hallway. The soft glow of the lanterns casts an eerie impression on the stairs leading down to the first floor, and as she walks toward the kitchen she sees Alissa still sleeping on the couch with a smile on her face.

She pushes the canvas covering the opening of the kitchen away with her hand as she steps inside, yet she isn't surprised to know she's not the only one awake. Sarah's tinkering with a disassembled remote at the table, screwdriver in hand. Her tongue peeks out from the side of her mouth, and her brows are furrowed with either concentration, frustration, or both. Eric sleeps in the chair next to her with his head buried in his arms.

When Sam sits down at the table, Sarah looks up. The dark circles under her eyes make her look older than she is, and bloody bandages are wrapped around her knuckles. “What monster attacked?” Sam asks.

“None,” Sarah admits. “I was bored.” She goes back to putting back the remote, although her hands don't move as much. A cherry tomato plant sprouts from the pot of yellowing flowers as Sam's fingers skim the top of the soil. She takes a tomato and pops it into her mouth.

“Why do you throw away your life like that?” Sam asks.

Sarah looks up, eyebrows raised. Her eye falls to the tomato plant, and she reaches out and takes one yet doesn't eat it. Her thumb presses into the skin, and with her nail she pushes into the skin hard enough to stimulate resistance but light enough so to not break the skin. “It gives me something to do.” she says with a shrug.

“I got into a lot of fights when I was a kid, so I knew the principal's office like the back of my hand. I was there when this all happened. I escaped to my house right before the monsters flooded the streets, and I saw a snake-haired woman instead of my parents so I took my baby sister Lilian and ran. We were taken in by a group of survivors a few days later, then the plagues happened a couple years later and those who hadn't been killed by the monsters died, so it was just me and my sister. She was four, and I was twelve, and I thought I was invincible because nothing had killed me yet. I was living in a dream with monsters, except I didn't really realize that the people who died actually stayed dead.

“My sister and I were walking through the alley one day. I was so hungry I would've eaten monster meat. I don't know what happened, but she started bawling and suddenly five harpies flew down toward us. They attacked her first. I should have done something, but I was too weak to even try to fight back. I crawled through a hole in the fence, and when I got to the other side I couldn't help but watch. They ripped out her throat first, so I never even heard her screams as they ate her.”

Sarah sets the tomato down and swallows. “I was an idiot. I should have saved her, but I was too weak to do it. I just let it happen.” She looks at Eric who's still sleeping, and a forced smile spreads on her face. “He and his parents found me a couple months after that. I would have died out there if it wasn't for them.”

The cherry tomato plant withers and falls over the side of the pot. The leaves scatter around the pot, and the faint smell of something decaying fills the air. The blood on Sarah's bandages suddenly looks much darker now, and if Sam concentrates she can see a bruise around the shell of her left ear and a pale line of skin across the bridge of her nose. Sam wonders if her own skin is splattered with bruises and scars, and she wonders how often her own stories would overlap with Sarah's.

“Did you have siblings?” Sarah asks as her fingers play with the remote screws.

“No.”

“Parents?”

“Died the first couple days.” Sam says, although she never considered them her parents before they died. Her lips part, but before she has the chance to say anything else a rush of jumbled speech and feet running on concrete interrupt her. Sarah looks at the window in the kitchen – boarded up – as her body tenses.

“Bandits.” She turns her attention from the window back to Eric, then to Sam. The conversation outside grows louder, then the sound of breaks through the window as something falls to the ground. “You know, I heard they take the demigods to the members of the Leviathan cult. I hear there's members everywhere, just waiting to snag another demigod. You know what they do when they get one?” Sarah asks as she pushes the dismantled remote and screwdriver away; Sam's faintly aware that Sarah's hands are shaking.

“No.”

“I heard they eat them. It's sick.” The sound of laughter fades away, replaced by the sound of something heavy dragging across concrete. A lump forms in Sam's throat as the sound fades away, slowly, and she hopes she only imagines the scent of fresh blood hanging, stagnant, in the stuffy air.

Something soft brushes against her leg. An orange tabby cat jumps on the table, curling up in the center of the table and promptly falling asleep. The normalcy of all of this reminds Sam of the world that used to be, and a pang resonates in her chest when she thinks of it. It's not like she misses her old life, but it's preferable to the one she lives now, if it could be called a life at all. She doesn't notice Sarah looking at her until she looks up. Sarah's eye drops down to the edge of the table. “Are you okay?”

Sam's eyes widen and her lips part, yet when she regains her composure she cannot find the words in her mouth. She swallows. Her eyes dart to the wall where shadows dance around with the flickering light of the lantern. “I'm fine. What does it matter?”

“You look different.”

Sam's eyes flicker back to Sarah, whose red curls clump together, falling down her face and brushing against her cheeks. “So do you.” she mutters.

“Watching people burn to death does that to you.” Sarah forces a bubble of laughter past her lips at her own words as her eye darkens. “Before you leave you should see the hotel. It might help.” The chair scratches along the floor as Sam pushes it away from the table. The cat's ears perk up although it doesn't move. Sarah gives Sam a small smile. “You should get some sleep.” she says, but they both know she won't.

Even so, she goes back up to the bedroom with the thought of leaving. It isn't as if she has to pack up anything, and it isn't as if she's needed here in the first place. Alissa would be safe here. She could find her mother and uncle, and they could be a family again. Sam will only get herself killed if she stays here with the bandits lurking everywhere, and yet –

When the sun finally rises in the sky, Sam greets it warily from her perch on the windowsill. The stars, while lacking in luster when compared to the sun, gave something for her to count as doubts piled themselves in the gaps in her mind.

She stands up from the windowsill, gathers her things, and frowns before leaving the room. The others sleep still, although the person with green eyes begins to stir as Sam walks past them. Sam pays them no mind; when she enters the kitchen Sarah and Eric are both awake, talking in hushed voices. Eric's eyes shift to her when he hears her enter, yet nothing flickers in them except for something unkind. He nods, yet his lips do not part for him to speak, so she looks away from him.

“We need to leave.” she says sharply. Sarah nods, whispering something to Eric that Sam cannot hear before she looks over Sam's shoulder.

“Morning, Nadia.”

Sam turns her head. The person with green eyes regards her coolly before their attention turns to Sarah. “The closest compound near here is in San Francisco. It'll take several days, but we have no other choice but to go there until we can find another place like the hotel.”

“You won't.” Sam comments. Nadia turns their head and narrows their eyes, but Sam doesn't elaborate.

Nadia continues, “There we can restock our supplies,” they look at Eric directly when they add, “and your mother might be there, too.” Eric's eyes widen, and hope washes over his face which makes Sam frown slightly, but she doesn't say anything.

“So, San Francisco then?” Sarah asks aloud as if anyone would oppose it. She stands up and leaves the kitchen without another word, and the silence left behind grates on Sam's patience. Nadia looks at her with their lip curled before following Sarah out of the kitchen.

The group departs once everyone wakes up, and in the light of day Sam cannot ignore the trail of blood left by the bandits only a few hours prior. Her blood runs cold, and she swears she can taste something foul on her tongue once she tears her gaze away from the bloodstains.

Alissa walks close behind Sam while Nadia and Sarah lead them. Their pace remains constant as they trek between forgotten buildings ruined by time, and they finally stop at a highway near afternoon. Most cars line up behind each other in a permanent traffic jam while others have already been moved to create temporary shelters for the travelers who stop to rest. Sam rummages through her backpack for her water bottle and doesn't move her eyes from the horizon as she drinks. She puts the water bottle back between the spare pair of jeans and jacket Sarah had given her and looks down when she feels someone tug at her sleeve.

Alissa looks up at her, hope swimming in her eyes. “Do you think my mom and uncle will be at San Francisco?” she asks.

“Maybe.” Sam murmurs and Alissa smiles. The girl skips over to Sarah and Nadia where they talk on the hood of a Beetle; Nadia looks down at Alissa and gives her a genuine smile before looking at Sam and scowling. Their attention turns back to Sarah, so Sam looks away. Eric sits with the others, smiling feebly at something a boy with glasses and dark skin says. She walks outside the ring and watches the horizon while she rests on the hood of a truck. The wind picks up around her, fluffing up her hair, as she spots something moving towards them on the horizon. For a few moments, they remain just another speck on the land until an outline of their body appears. When they're close enough that Sam recognizes it as a hellhound larger than the building they had stayed in, she's too caught up in the rush of emotions to realize it's being chased by something much larger.

She stands abruptly, causing all attention to move on her as she draws her sword. But as the hellhound approaches, she notices its gait is not one of a hunter, but one of a terrified animal being chased by a predator. She pauses, then –

“Oh my God.” Sarah breathes. A gigantic serpentine creature barrels toward the hellhound at a terrifying speed, yet the hellhound still remains in front of it by a few yards. Muscles ripple beneath its tan scales, and its limbs all end in claws the size of a Sam herself. Its tail drags behind it and tosses cars to the side as if they weight only a few pounds, and its claws dig chunks of concrete as it chases the hellhound.

Sam grabs Alissa's arm and takes off to the nearest side of the highway. The others' hurried footsteps are close behind, and once Sam reaches the side of the highway she flattens herself in the overgrown grass, panting. She closes her eyes and swallows as the others do the same nearby, but that doesn't block out the sound of something huge skidding into a car with a gut-wrenching howl. A few moments later the sound of flesh being torn from the bone is heard over and over.

No one moves or speaks for what seems like hours until long after the gigantic beast eventually moves on to find another monster to kill. Sam stands up from the bushes, brushing the leaves out of her hair and off her clothes, and she finds herself staring at the carcass of the hellhound. She expects the hellhound to reform from the carcass like some kind of phoenix, so she hides her surprise when nothing happens for minutes. She imagined the monsters could never be killed, yet it seems there's a way after all.

Finally, Nadia speaks. “What was that?”

“I think it was a drakon.” Eric responds slowly. “My...my mother told me about them, but she said they were incredibly rare so it was unlikely I'd ever see one.” Before he can stay anything else Sarah walks over to the carcass and inspects it by nudging it with her foot, then with her baseball bat. When nothing happens, she motions the others to come forward. Sam tightens her grip on her sword as she steps forward and doesn't relax even though she knows the drakon isn't coming back.

“Let's keep moving.” Nadia says and they begin walking. The others follow them, and once again the group makes the trek to San Francisco in the hopes that a compound will await them.

The group doesn't stop until the moon rises in the sky and another stretch of suburbs appears before them. They split up to search for a house in decent condition; the boy with the glasses finally finds one with a garden and lawn so overgrown with weeds that the pathway to the front door is barely visible.

Dark green drapes cover the windows purposefully, and Sam gets the distinct feeling that someone else has already claimed the house right before someone opens the door from the inside. A Filipino boy with black hair tied into a ponytail stares at them while raising a hand holding a pistol. He looks at Nadia who is the closest, and the corners of his mouth dip in a frown. “Get away from our house.” He starts closing the door, but Nadia stops it with their foot.

“Wait, we have a kid with us who needs to rest, and this is the only decent house around here. Let us stay a night at least.” Their voice causes Sam to narrow her eyes, yet she doesn't stay anything as the two stare at each other.

Finally, the boy shouts, “Daniel, can you come out here?” A few moments later, a Latino boy the same age as the boy standing in the doorway appears. He looks at the group with wary eyes before murmuring something to the other boy. The other boy sighs, then reluctantly nods in agreement before opening the door completely. “You can stay the night, but by the time the sun rises you're gone.” Nadia nods and leads the group inside. They pile themselves into the lobby, waiting for some kind of instruction. The other boy murmurs something to Daniel, kisses his cheek, and disappears further into the house.

Daniel points upstairs. “There are two spare bedroom upstairs and a couple other rooms that have been cleaned out that you can also use. There's blankets in the closets and towels in the working bathroom downstairs, but you're going to have to take care of yourself with anything else. There's a trading outpost a few miles down the nearest highway that has supplies every Monday, but get there at first light before anyone else if you want anything good. If you need anything for the kid Aaron might be able to help.” He gives them a brief smile before disappearing after his boyfriend, and Nadia leads everyone up the stairs.

Sam takes the nearest bedroom, and Alissa follows her. Alissa immediately sits on the floor before Sam can stop her, and Sam finds herself startled at the girl's selflessness. “Alissa, you take the bed.” Sam tells her, and once the kid buries herself under the covers she falls asleep instantly. Sam smiles at her before disappearing into the hallway after everyone else has come back from the bathroom. The stairs creak from beneath her as she walks and supplements the low conversation Daniel and Aaron share in the living room. She slips into the bathroom and locks the door.

The room reeks of cleanliness, and she can't help herself from turning on the faucet and immediately splashing water onto her face. Dried blood and dirt that once caked the skin slide away with the water and swirl down the drain as she scrubs her face, her arms, her hair. Once she's finally finished, she dries herself with a towel and stares at her reflection in the mirror. Small, faint freckles dot the skin of her face, and a small mole situates itself in the space where her neck and jaw meet. Her hair has grown slightly longer since she first cut it, and while it's still uneven the strands are beginning to even out. A scar she doesn't remember having runs an inch down her right cheek. Dark circles that no amount of sleep will fix hang under her eyes.

If there had been any constant to her before it's long since disappeared by now. Since she was a kid, she swore she wouldn't let anything get to her, but she was a hypocrite and a liar back then and that hasn't changed now. She does what she does and she tells herself that will never change, and yet..

When Alissa looks at her, what kind of person does the kid think she sees.

When Sarah and Eric see her, what kind of person do they mistake her for.

With her back leaning against the door, Sam exhales her sleepless thoughts through her nose as she listens to the uneven intervals of creaks in the floorboards. Her fingers drag against the carpeting before she springs up and opens the door. Silence greets her as she slips into the hallway, and she frowns as her head inclines slightly in the direction of the person whose outline looks too docile even amidst the shadows the hallway provides. “What are you doing?” she demands, then she realizes too late that he and his partner have good reason to be wary of them, who appear bloody and dirtied at their front door begging for shelter.

Aaron sighs; his back thuds against the wall as he steps into it, and he slinks down to the floor as he mutters a halfhearted “nothing.”

Sam narrows her eyes, but before she leaves he adds: “We heard about a hotel several miles from here that hundreds of people were living in. Did you come from there?”

Sam hesitates. “Yes.”

“What happened to it?”

“It burnt up.” Her eyes focus on the wall behind his head as the word falls from her mouth, yet before she leaves she asks, with some gruffness: “Why are you here? You could be anywhere else a thousand times more safer than this.”

Aaron doesn't say anything for a few moments. “My grandpa lived in this house, and when he died a couple years after all this happened it felt like I had to say here. He loved this place so he wouldn't have wanted it to fall into disrepair.”

Just as Sam opens her mouth to respond, her body tenses. She backs herself into the wall as Aaron stares at her, perplexed. “Something's wro-” she starts before a crash breaks the silence of the night. Voices both familiar and unfamiliar rip through the calm, and as Sam's mind works to remember these people her eyes widen and her heartbeat quickens. The hallway still stretches far away from the stairs, so they at least have time before the bandits come up.

Or, they don't because it's more than likely the bandits will split up. Sam swears softly. “I shouldn't have come here.”

“You? What are you talking about?” Sam doesn't answer and instead opts for grabbing her stuff out of the bedroom. Alissa watches her with bleary eyes.

“What's happening?” Alissa asks, but if she was expecting a response she's strongly misjudged Sam's character. Once Sam reenters the hallway with Alissa in tow, she focuses her attention on Aaron whose eyes widen when he looks at her.

Before either of them can say anything, someone shouts with glee, “I've got someone! Doesn't look like a demigod, though.” Aaron's face pales; his body shifts but before he can go anywhere Sam grabs a fistful of his shirt.

“Do you want to get yourself killed?”

“They've got Daniel!”

Sam sighs. “If he's not a demigod they won't do anything to him. Probably.” Confident he won't run off, she lets go of his shirt just as a silhouette appears at the end of the hallway where the stairs are. Sam steps back, her eyes widen, yet she stays frozen in place as the bandit shouts out: “There's more people up here!” The figure runs towards them, and finally Sam bolts down the hallway with Alissa in tow. Daniel follows close behind as the others spill into the hallway.

Nadia shouts something Sam pays no mind; she eyes a room with the door ajar and runs inside. Alissa skids to a stop at her heels, and to her surprise Nadia shows up as well. They close and lock the door, then they push a desk against it. “We're going to have to climb out the windows.” they say, their eyes fixated on Sam as if asking her to protest. “But once we do escape we can't run away from them or else we'll be in the same situation.”

“If we face then head on we'll all be slaughtered!” Sam points out, fear steadily slipping into her voice. Nadia narrows their eyes and shakes their head.

“No, we won't. They only go for demigods when there's one in the vicinity, right?” Any other person might have expected a twisted smile to appear on Nadia's face, but they only grimace at the what they are suggesting. “I have to protect them.”

Sam's arms fall slack at her sides, yet despite the growing fear in her gut she doesn't immediately say anything in return. She would do the same in an instant to protect herself just as Nadia does to protect their own group.

What a difference between she and them.

Alissa's gaze shifts between the two, not completely understanding the sudden rise of animosity between them yet knowing enough not to ask what happened. Sam narrows her eyes at Nadia, whose grimace doesn't change, when the doorknob rattles. Sam's head snaps to the windows as she mutters something under her breath, and she doesn't hesitate in climbing out the window.

Once her feet connect with the ground, she feels a presence a few feet behind her. Fear beads at the pit of her stomach, sprouting into ivy that wraps itself around her lungs, making it harder to breathe. She swallows, as if the action might disappear her trepidation, and she realizes, briefly, that she's never been this terrified in her entire life.

Reluctantly, she turns around. A well-lit lantern catches her attention first before she notices the wielder – a tall, pale skinned woman with braided dark blonde hair. Her clothes look brand new aside from dirt caked into the shoes, and she looks healthier and brighter than anyone else Sam has encountered so far. Someone tries to shrivel behind her, but the woman roughly grabs them by the arm and forces them into Sam's line of sight. “Is this the demigod?”

Richard doesn't answer for a few minutes, causing the bandit to click her tongue impatiently. Finally, he mumbles a hurried “yes” under his breath that Sam wouldn't have caught if she wasn't straining herself to hear them. Behind her someone jumps to the ground.

A toothy grin spreads on the bandit's face as two other bandits appear on either side of her, and another chill washes over Sam as she eyes the knives strapped to the bandit's belt. The other two bandits spread out so that they form the semblance of a semicircle around Sam, Alissa, and Nadia. “Now we just need the redhead and we're done here.” The blonde bandit nods to Nadia from where they stands behind Sam as if the two are simply doing business, but at the mention of the Sarah the temperature suddenly drops several degrees. Nadia steps forward with a protest on their lips.

“No! No, what did you do?” Nadia unsheathes a dagger as they approach Sam, but she moves her foot so a vine erupts from the ground and wraps itself around Nadia's ankle, making them fall to the ground. Nadia glares up at Sam who mimics the expression.

“They already knew about her.” The vine's grip loosens as Sam's anger fizzles into dread, and as the vine disappears back into the soil someone from above cries out, “Nadia!” Sam looks up to see the boy with glasses and Aaron being pushed in front of another bandit.

The blonde bandit's grin spreads. “Chlorokinesis... That'll give us a nice reward. Too many minor demigods out there who aren't worth anything.”

Two other pairs of feet drop down to the ground a few yards away; in the dim light cast by the lanterns Sam makes out Sarah and Eric who stand outside the bandit's semicircle. “Nadia!” Sarah yells as she brandishes her baseball bat, and Sam feels the misplaced excitement radiating off the her.

The blonde bandit turns around to face her, and her grin grows at the sight of Sarah's hair. “That's the one?” she asks Richard who nods. A knife sprouts in the space between Sarah's neck and shoulder, and when the baseball bat falls to the ground, several things happen at once.

Alissa, the youngest and the likely the most terrified out of all of them save for Eric, shrinks back against the house as if making herself smaller will protect her. Nadia rushes the bandit nearest to them, resulting in a gash against their leg and a dagger embedded in the bandit's neck. The other bandit who appeared tries to attack Sam from behind, but she unsheathes her sword and blocks their machete. Sarah pulls the knife from her body and throws it at the blonde bandit, but instead of embedding itself into her skin the knife falls to the ground after hitting armor underneath the bandit's clothes.

Someone shouts from above; Sam can't risk seeing their face but from the gist of their words she assumes they are the bandit in the window. Likely two, as another voice joins them. Pain radiates from a circular point on her right shoulder, and the hesitation is enough for the bandit she'd be fighting to force the sword from her hand and pin her to the ground. Pain from the bullet wound clouds her head, and combined with the tip of the machete digging into her neck something inside her to snaps.

A thick mass of green erupts from the ground, spiraling out and separating to create multiple ropes of made of stems, fungi, and flowers varying in reds, oranges, blues, and yellows. Something akin to cactus needles grow from goosebump-like mounds in the green, and as the ropes extend upward from the ground they pierce through the bandit's arms, torso, and abdomen and curl around their body. Flowers still bud and bloom even as the bandit's eyes go glassy, and the scent of honeysuckle fills the air, mingling with the metallic tang of blood that splatters in Sam's mouth and on her clothes.

Pushing herself away from the body, she stands as nausea overtakes her. Her eyes threaten to slip closed, and she sways on her feet only to be steadied when Alissa takes her hand in an iron grip. Something wet drips from her nose, and when she wipes it away she sees blood on her hand.

“Eric!” Sarah's scream practically rips through the atmosphere; Sam turns her head just in time to see Eric's body fall to the ground with two arrows embedded deep into his upper torso. The blonde bandit looks up at the other two in the windows with a reprimanding look you might give a child who's misbehaving, yet she doesn't say anything as Sam feels herself fall to the ground. Alissa tries to catch her, but Sam pushes her away with the strength she has left a she looks at Nadia opening as they yell something to Sarah. They pull Alissa away; Sam's gaze wanders to the windows where she sees the outlines of the others from Nadia's group, two bandits and a crossbow in the arms of a man with a shaved head, and before her vision goes black she sees the butt of the bandit's sword connect with the back of Sarah's head.

=Part Four=

Blurry lights dance around Sam's vision when her eyes finally open. Blues mix with whites, and the yellows of sun ray's streak between them as the images in front of her become sharper and clearer. The first thing she notices is how her hands are tied behind her back and her ankles are tied together. Sarah sits across from her with a faraway look in her eye as she stares off into the distance. Blood stains her clothes and her hair is matted; Sam imagines she looks much the same way.

The supermarket they've been left in has been picked clean of everything with several shelves - which Sam and Sarah are tied to - pushed together to create a kind of barrier which protects them from outside forces.

The bandit with a shaved head sits across from them with a paperback copy of a book in his hands. He looks up from the text and frowns. “Tell your friend to stop staring like that. It's weird.” The lack of malice in his voice makes Sam's eyebrows rise, and her lip curls at his words.

“You murdered her friend in front of her, what did you expect?” The words rush out of her, but she finds that she doesn't regret them as the bandit's frown settles into a scowl.

“The kid was in our way.” he says as if that settles it. His attention goes back to his novel, and for a fleeting moment Sam thinks this would be a perfect opportunity to do what she did before. No one else is here, and with the bandit distracted she could easily surprise him with her powers.

Yet when she moves her mind goes fuzzy; if she were to do anything that would sap her energy that much she might kill herself due to overexertion. And, glancing at Sarah, she knows the she would be little help in her state. Not that Sam can blame her, yet it only lessens their chances of getting out of here. For now she can wait and regain her energy, then she will do something to save them.

The next time Sam wakes up it's the afternoon, and she and Sarah are tied up in the back of a pickup truck. Cardboard boxes push lazily to the side give them space enough for one person sitting upright, but with Sam and Sarah both lying tied up it doesn't do anything for their comfort. The bandit with the shaved head sits on one of the cardboard boxes, but from the snores he produces he's been sleeping for some time.

With her right foot, Sam prods Sarah's sleeping form but there's so response. Sam awake enough that she could pull off something, but with Sarah sleeping and without any direct contact with the ground she's basically useless. The thought makes her scowl up at the clouds.

She doesn't want to die. She's always had that thought in her, yet she never actively thought about dying until now because she's never been this hopeless. As the truck moves passed crumbling buildings, all she can do is hope her death is painless. It's too much to hope that someone would see the bandits and risk their own life for two young adults they barely know about.

As she fidgets to make herself somewhat comfortable, she feels something sharp against her wrist. Her eyes widen. She shifts her arms so that the object presses against the ropes tying her wrists together, and slowly she begins cutting the fibers.

Her gaze on the bald bandit never wavers even after the rope severs. She flexes her hands, getting a feel for what's underneath her, when the truck stops. She shuts her eyes and forces herself to relax as one of the doors opens and someone steps out.

There's a slapping sound then aggravated huff. “Johnson, if you're going to sleep I'd be happy to leave you out here without any supplies.” Someone pokes Sam's leg, then grumbles something other their breath before walking away from the truck. Suddenly the truck moves, and someone's landing on the ground.

Sam opens her eyes to see Sarah staring back at her. While her eye still takes on a distant appearance, something else also clouds them. Figuring it's now or never when she notices the necklace of fangs around Sarah's neck, Sam motions Sarah to slowly turn around with her now-free hands. Sarah complies, and with the piece of scrap metal Sam unties the rope around her wrists, then severs the rope around both of their ankles.

Sam watches Sarah as she unties the necklace and holds it in the palm of her hand. She looks out of place without it, and the absence makes Sam stare at the hollow of her throat just a few seconds too long.

Sam tears her gaze away and quietly jumps to the other side of the truck. When her feet meet the pavement, she crouches down so that she can see two bandits arguing. When Sarah jumps down next to her, Sam tightens her grip on the scrap metal, shifts her body, and jumps up in the passenger seat where the fourth bandit waits. She grabs their head through the open window, smashes them against the door, and drags the metal's sharp end against their throat.

The thud of the bandit's head against the dashboard whips the blonde bandit's head around; San barely has enough time to duck before a throw knife thuds embeds itself in the truck door. Her eyes meet Sarah's, and she nods before bolting away. Sam goes the opposite direction, and once she has the blonde bandit's gaze she shifts her right foot and the pavement splits open.

Sam was vaguely aware of what the consequences in doing this would be. As her own energy level sharply decreases, the thick mesh of vines wraps itself around the bandit's throat, forcing her down on the ground. With the strength she has left, Sam pushes herself where the blonde bandit struggles against the mesh of green, and without hesitating she drives the metal through the bandit's heart.

With the blonde bandit dead, Sam focuses enough of her attention on Sarah to see her stabbing the bald bandit in the jugular with a harpy fang. His body falls to the ground.

For a few moments nothing happens. Sam falls to the ground, chest heaving as she gasps for air. She wipes the sweat from her forehead with her palm; when she pulls away fresh blood is left in its place. As she turns her head, she finally notices onslaught of tears rolling from Sarah's eye, her mouth ajar in a silent scream as she pounds her fists against the bandit's unmoving chest.

Sam is so caught up she almost doesn't notice the nosebleed she's sporting is much worse than the last one. The collar of her jacket staunching the flow is soon sticky with her own blood. She forces herself into a sitting position as she catches her breath, yet dizziness still threatens to overtake her. Closing her eyes, she lets her thoughts wander.

San Francisco should be their priority. As far as Sam knows, it's the only compound in the area, and just the thought of fresh food and a bed to permanent bed to sleep in makes her want to start running in that direction. It'll give her time to get back on her feet before she sets off again.

She imagines Nadia will still take Alissa and the others there. It would only make sense for them to focus on what lies ahead than the ones left behind.

When Sam opens her eyes, Sarah's stopped pounding her fists into the bandit's body and instead has resorted to looting the bodies among them. Daggers are strewn in a pile among a crossbow, and a few pistols. She tears the elegant jackets from their bodies and tosses them into the back of the truck, and although the work keeps her busy there's still something clouding her eyes.

When Sarah notices her she tosses her a water bottle. “You look half dead.” Sarah comments, yet her voice sounds monotone. Sam drinks more than half of its contents; before she can actually think about it she pours the rest over her head to wash the grim away.

The same nausea she felt last night slams into her when she stands. Her hand gropes for the stability of the truck as she stumbles towards it, and her hands tears open the boxes as hunger swarms her gut. Her fingers graze over a plastic packet of dried meat which she eagerly tears open. She tears the jerky with her teeth, relishing the taste of salt on her tongue. Once she finishes the packet, the rumble of her stomach settles down. It's not enough to last her the rest of the day, but it's something for now.

Pain throbs in her shoulder when she leans back against the side of the truck, reminding her of the bullet wound. She shrugs the jacket off only to find that the wound has already been covered by a white bandage. When Sam peels it away, the wound is still open with the bullet lodged between muscle. They didn't care enough to actually treat it, apparently, only to stop the bleeding so it wouldn't be a hinderance to them.

After digging around in the boxes then front and passengers seats, Sam finds a decently used first aid kit.

“Sarah, I need you to sew up this wound.” she calls as she steps away from the truck, though when she really looks at her she doesn't think she could trust Sarah to do anything right now. Sarah, while she's not crying, stares toward the sky with a distant look in her eye. It's pitiable.

Yet when she hears her name she turns toward Sam as if nothing happened in the last twenty-four hours. The necklace, bloodied, hangs in her right hand. “Okay. Okay, where is it?” She reties the necklace around her neck, steps forward, and manages a lopsided smile that looks more fake when Sam takes in the blood on her clothes.

Sam turns around and points to the bullet wound on her shoulder. “Here.” When Sarah's close enough, she hands her the first aid kit. “You should wash your hands with water first.” she adds. Sarah does just that, then disinfects her hands with whiskey she finds under the front seat. When she touches Sam's skin, her hands are cold. Yet as she cleans out the wound, they're steady. Steadier than they should be.

“This is gonna hurt.” Sarah murmurs as something thin slots between the bullet and muscle. Sam grits her teeth and balls her hands into fists as a steady hand pulls the bullet out and tosses it somewhere on the ground. A sharp sting follows as whiskey runs down her shoulder into the wound. Fabric presses against it, drying it, and finally Sarah begins sewing it shut.

Her nails aren't long when they press against the skin. Rather, they're all cut as evenly as possible and smoothed down with a filer. Her fingertips aren't calloused, either, and her touches are feather-light. It's strange. It's not something Sam expects.

Finally, Sarah applies a fresh bandage. “Done.” she says. It comes out morose. As if she could sleep a thousand years. She'd probably need it like Sam would. “We should get moving,” she adds to fill the silence as she steps away. Sam nods, but neither of them move to open the truck doors. Something still hangs between them.

“Did you know the bandits were after you?”

Sam exhales. She tips her head to look up at the sky baby blue. “Yes.”

“Did you know they wanted me?”

“Yes. But I didn't think they would find me with a group. I took a gamble and thought they would be looking for someone on their own.” And it didn't work. But now the bandits are dead, so Sam shouldn't still have a pit of dread in her stomach anymore. She should be okay, but something at the back of her mind is still nagging her that not everything is alright.

For a few moments, Sarah doesn't say anything. She piles the looted weapons into the back then slides into the driver seat. She pointedly looks at Sam until she clambers into the passenger seat, yet even when Sarah starts the engine its hum is the only sound apart for the birds.

Finally: “You should sleep.” Her voice is barely above a whisper once the truck begins moving, leaving the cold bodies of the bandits behind them. It's what they deserve, Sam thinks bitterly, and apparently Sarah agrees with her. They pass fallen street lamps, bent stop signs, and abandoned buildings before Sam finally drifts off to sleep.

''There's someone standing a few feet away from Sam, yet their features blur even more every time Sam tries to blink away the fuzziness around her eyes. Gradually, the space around them evolves into a child's bedroom with pictures hanging on the walls. Greens of mint, emerald, and everything in between fill Sam's vision, and she's vaguely aware that this is a dream.''

''On the bed a green and blue striped comforter is tucked in around a child-shaped lump. Snores fill the room as a desk and small wooden chair slide in place along the wall closest to the bedroom door. There's a small ball cactus on the desk, and next to it children's drawings are strewn about. Sam remembers everything from this room as if she left only an hour ago and not over a decade. Something fills her chest, and finally when she tears her gaze away from the room the person's face gradually sharpens.''

''Freckles splatter across the man's cheeks, and his skin glows from the constant exposure to the sun. His eyes crinkle when he smiles, and Sam's eyes widen as his fingertips skate over the scar on her cheek. She can't decide whether the mole on his cheek should be on under his right eye or on his chin underneath his mouth, so it constantly moves. Sometimes the freckles fade, and then they multiply, and right when Sam decides on the perfect balance her father's body liquifies into a puddle of water at her feet as the lump on the bed starts sobbing.''

Sam opens her eyes to the midnight sky. Stars cluster around each other, twinkling against the night sky through the smudges on the window. They've parked along the side of a highway somewhere, but Sam doesn't recognize it. Sobs none too gentle escape Sarah's parted lips from where she sags in the driver seat as if the weight of the world is crushing her. Tears stream down her cheeks, creating lines through the dust, and she looks so weak it's unnerving. She looks so fragile, yet Sam knows she's anything but. Sarah bumps her elbow against the steering wheel as she moves to wipe her eyes when she notices Sam staring at her. Her eyes dart everywhere around Sam.

“I'm sorry.”

The apology is weak. Even her voice refuses to allow actual sorrow to mingle within the letters.

“It's not your fault.”

Sarah's words are less reassuring than Sam's own apology, yet her voice still rings with honesty. Directly, no, it's not her fault, yet she still unknowingly led the bandits to them. She shouldn't care, yet she does, and she imagines that the guilt will eat her alive once it holds enough influence over her heart.

When Sarah steps out, Sam follows her to the back of the truck to stretch her legs. Flames flicker in the lantern Sarah holds, casting a surprisingly good amount of light over the boxes filled with, likely, more food along with other necessities. To prove her hunch, she opens one of the boxes and stares reverently at the boxes of soap.

Another yields pants folded neatly on top of either other among t-shirts and shoes, and others reveal canned food, packets of dried fruits and meat, and bottled water. Boxes of matches sit neatly between boxes of ammo, and a small smile spreads on Sam's face. “This is incredible,” Sarah breathes, voicing Sam's own awe. “this could last us months if we let it.”

Sam takes one of the packets of dried apples and rips it open. The taste is different, but she still finds herself eating at least half. Sarah takes the rest along with a bottle of water. Around a full mouth, she starts, “The others - “ then stops. Her gaze falls to the ground, focusing on nothing in particular. If Sam knew her better she might have said something. Instead, she just takes her sword from the pile of weapons and waits awkwardly until Sarah forces a smile on her face.

The silence that stretches out between them as they start on the highway again is uncomfortable, and when they do talk Sarah never sounds like she should. So, trying not to focus on it, Sam watches the stars from the window and counts them. She makes it to one hundred before she's being thrown forward in her seat as the truck screeches to a halt.

Wide eyes stare back at them and hands stay outstretched in front of the two women. One has long dirty blonde hair which is unkept and matted whilst the other woman's – at least ten years younger – is near immaculate. She wears well-kept clothes and looks well fed compared to the woman next to her. After standing dazed in the headlights for a few minutes, the oldest woman starts banging on the hood. “Please, please help us!” Even with her screams muffled, Sam notes the desperation in her tone. Still, she shakes her head at Sarah.

“We don't know who they are.” she mutters as her hand ghosts over the hilt of her sword. The familiarity gives her comfort enough to realize how helpless she felt without it. A chill runs down Sam's spine the longer she stares at the woman's desperate eyes, and the grip on her sword tightens. Something's off. She doesn't know what, but something's telling her not to trust them. “Sarah, we need to leave.” she practically shouts, and finally Sarah swerves around them. When the rapid beating of Sam's heart diminishes, there's a bang and the truck lurches before Sarah slams the breaks.

Sam's blood runs cold. Her heartbeat speeds up and sweat forms at the back of her neck as she watches the women's outlines approach the truck leisurely. Sarah's grip tightens on the steering wheel before she flings herself out of the truck. Sam briefly notices a spark in her eye that'd been missing before she jumps out to prevent Sarah from getting herself killed.

The older woman with the gun lunges at Sam surprisingly quickly for someone so weak and, dropping the gun, her hands lock around Sam's throat. Sam has the curiosity to wonder why the woman wouldn't just shoot her before she digs her nails into the woman's frail wrists. A high pitched shout escapes the woman's lips, yet her grip still tightens. Sam stamps down on the woman's foot hard enough to break a few bones, and finally the woman releases her grip. Sam pushes her away, pins to her to ground, and almost drives her sword through the woman's head before the woman wails, “No! No please don't kill me! My sister, she hasn't eat for days, and then you two came along and you don't look stringy like everyone else. Please, my sister has to eat or she'll starve without me! Don't you understand?” Sam responds in by way of a sword through her skull.

She stands up just in time to see Sarah stab the other women in the neck with a dagger. Her eye reflects something too happy although her face doesn't betray her emotions. She turns her head to face Sam. “Are you okay?” she asks and Sam nods.

“You really like fighting, don't you.” Although Sam doesn't mean it, her words bite. Sarah doesn't respond until after she kicks the popped tire.

“It gives me something to do. It feels natural. It's not like I like it when I fight people, I just act on reflex as if they're the same as monsters. What does that say about me?” Sarah swallows the rest of her words.

“That you're just as much of a monster as everyone else.” Sam adds, “You can't run from your emotions like that.”

“Neither can you.”

Sam doesn't say anything, so Sarah continues, “We're going to have to walk from here on out. Sleep in the truck or find something better?”

“Anything is better than walking down a highway at night.” Sam tightens her jacket around her body before saying, “I'll take first watch.” She clambers onto the back of the pickup, situates herself on a sturdier box where her back leans against the rear window, and looks up. Enough clouds begin dotting the night sky that rain isn't unlikely in the near future; she just hopes it'll rain before the sun rises.

Even so, the rain would wash the blood from her body.

Despite knowing those people tried to leave them stranded so they could be killed and eaten, Sam finds herself pitying them. The older woman truly did care about her sister, in a twisted way, yet she still finds herself involuntarily shivering at the fact that someone could care that much to the point of mindlessly wasting away for the good of the other person. It's nothing she wants to think about, yet the night provides few options for her when she isn't sleeping.

As the steady chorus of insects fills the silence, she lights a lantern and opens the box filled with clothes. She takes a few t-shirts out, cuts the sleeves and collars with a dagger, and starts sewing the bottoms. She stuffs the makeshift bags with soap, food and water, clothes, shoes, ammo, matches, and anything else that might come in handy. As she digs through the boxes, she finds a swiss army knife which she pockets.

Once she finishes, the half-empty boxes stare at her. This isn't enough, yet before she can create more bags someone sits across from her. Sam looks up to see rays of light beginning to streak across the sky and Sarah smiling at her. “I can help.” she offers and starts creating another bag. Once she finishes, she stuffs it with mostly food, water, and soap. She tops it off with the bottle of whiskey and the first aid kit.

“How do we get to San Francisco from here?” Sam asks, although she never found a map in the truck either. Sarah shrugs.

“I don't know. We should start walking before the monsters wake up though.” Sarah slings the crossbow over her shoulder and puts a pistol in the waistband of her jeans. As an afterthought she takes one of the daggers. Sam takes the dagger she'd been using and straps it to her thigh. She jumps out of the truck with Sarah right behind, and together they start walking.

It's not long before they spot the harpies. Sam notices them first, and when she stops Sarah goes still when she notices the group of feathers and leathery skin crowded around something several yards ahead of them. Sam suspects it's a carcass of some sort, and when she catches a whiff of the scent the wind carries her thoughts are confirmed.

“If we go around them we might be able to sneak past.” Sam mutters as she ducks behind a green Beetle with Sarah right behind. Still, even as she says the words she doesn't believe them. What they need is a distraction which they can't provide, or they need to wait it out which could very well lead to more monsters showing up due to the smell of meat. Sam doesn't do anything for several minutes; in the meantime her fingers drum against her leg as she figures out a way to get past them without fighting.

Before she can even say anything, a voice speaks up. “I smell humans.”

Sam's body tenses up. Beside her, Sarah slowly and quietly opens the car door enough that she can slip inside easily. Sam follows her and ends up with her body squished on the floor in the back while Sarah presses her body into a ball in the footspace in the passenger seat. The air is stale and smells faintly of onions.

The muffled chatter from outside steadily increases in volume as both footsteps and wings beating against the air fill the silence with trepidation. Fit partially underneath the seats and bags, Sam's quickening heartbeat cannot be slowed even when her fingers clutch at the hilt of her sword. The weeks of sweat and blood must make them reek, yet neither of them can do anything about that now. Storm clouds had been appearing; maybe if they're lucky it'll rain.

The sound of wings flapping approaches the Beetle they're in. Sam shuts her eyes, stills her body, and slowly breathes in and out. The slow pitter patter of rain on the windows begins slowly yet surely, and soon there is a downpour drowning out all noise except for indignant squawks and shouts.

Although Sam's heartbeat gradually returns to normal, she doesn't dare go outside just yet. When her eyes open, she traces shapes in the dust-caked window before raindrops create pathways for water to wash the grim away and allow for something new to begin. Mild pain radiates in her legs as they start to cramp, and when she starts to adjust her position as quietly as possible she hits her right elbow on the floor.

Pain shoots down her arm. Sweat beads on her forehead. A piece of hair falls across her lips. Her eyes close again to the grays around her as the sound of wings fighting against the wind quiets down until it's a distant memory. She allows a sigh of relief to escape her lips. They're both fine.

When she sits up, she doesn't notice the beady yellow eyes until glass showers the two front seats. If the sun were shining on them, the seats would sparkle in the sun like a display of art, but the only thing that drips down are raindrops against the dashboard. The harpy cackles, makes a wild grab for Sarah, and wrenches her left arm away from her body. Sarah's arm snaps just below the elbow with a faint crackling sound, but even as a short scream falls from Sarah's lips she finds the strength to slash her dagger against the harpy's wrist.

The harpy shrieks like a banshee as her hand flops against her wrist. The grip her talons hold on the hood of the Beetle loosens, so she falls into a heap on the cold ground. Sarah swears up a storm as she cradles her broken arm against her chest whilst simultaneously trying to escape from the car. After Sam steps out, she pulls open Sarah's door and she nearly falls in a heap on the ground.

Sam steadies herself and Sarah, then when her attention turns on the harpy she unsheathes her sword. Looking closer, the harpy's feathers shine with brilliant reds, and yellows and blues sprout amongst the red feathers of her wings. White and red freckles decorate the skin around her ears, cheeks, and forehead close to where vibrant orange hair flows from her head. Her eyes are a quiet yellow, and whilst she looks delirious with hunger she looks incredibly young compared to the other harpies Sam has seen.

Once the harpy stops wallowing on the ground and her wrist heals, she leaps at Sam who calmly raises her sword so the harpy skewers herself on it. “Stupid humans!” the harpy screams as she pulls away horizontally so that the blade cuts a line straight through her body. Blood spills on her feathers and clothes, yet she ignores this and instead barrels Sarah over as her skin starts knitting itself back together.

Sarah yelps as she falls backwards into a puddle. The harpy claws at her arms, her legs, and her torso as she rips a chunk of flesh right out of Sarah's shoulder, clothes and all. As blood drips down her chin, she grins wide. “Mm, mortals taste delicious!” she croons before Sam slams her body into the harpy. She unsheathes her dagger with her free hand and drives the blade into the harpy's heart. She gives a dying squawk reminiscent of squealing tires as her eyes cloud over. To be safe, Sam slices off the harpy's head with her sword and kicks it a few feet away.

Sam stumbles away, breathing heavily. She pulls Sarah up from the ground and inspects the wounds all over her body. Most look like small gashes so shouldn't be too much worry. The only thing that immediately requires attention is her shoulder. Blood stains her shirt at an alarming rate, and Sarah's face already looks much paler than it usually is. The addition of dark circles under her eyes make her look like she's dying.

Sam opens the backseat door and pushes Sarah inside. She falls onto the seat with Sam kneeling next to her, and for someone with a broken bone and blood gushing out of a mouth-shaped wound in her shoulder she's very calm. When Sam starts cutting the fabric around her bite wound, Sarah finally starts fussing. A stream of swears leave her ajar mouth as Sam pours whiskey on the wound. She wads up a sock and presses it to the wound.

“Keep that there. I'm going to set your arm.” Sam orders. Sam complies with a weak nod even though her eyelids begin fluttering. Sam sighs and tapes the sock over the wound with tape as Sarah's eyes finally shut for the last time.

The rain doesn't look like it's going to let up. Raindrops relentlessly pound the car so quickly that Sam can't even get a clear look of what the outside looks like anymore. Even so, Sam steps out of the car. She straightens her legs as she spots a storm-damaged tree off the highway, so she jogs over to it and picks up one of the longer fallen branches. She strips it of its leaves, snaps it in two pieces the length of Sarah's forearm, and jogs back to the car. Using strips of cloth, she ties the branches on opposite sides of Sarah's forearm to create a kind of splint. She then creates a sling out of the leftover long-sleeved shirt she'd been using and fits Sarah's broken arm in it. It's not the best work she's done, but it's something.

A sigh escapes Sam's lips as she gently pushes Sarah further into the car so Sam can sit next to her unwounded side. Sarah mumbles something incoherent as she leans against Sam's body for warmth. A few strands of hair fall in her face, and she almost looks peaceful despite the fact that she's sporting a broken arm and a bite wound that she could die from. A mass of faint freckles cover her face, but they're only noticeable if you look closely enough. They look like stars sewn into her skin, and if she drew lines between them they could form countless constellations.

Sam supposes it would she would be disappointed if Sarah died from this considering she survived the hotel fire. She wouldn't be able to carry the rest of the bags without Sarah's help, either, and although she's lived on her own for a decade it would be strange going back to her solitude after being around all those people for so long.

Sarah wakes up a few hours later after the rain stops. She blinks blearily a few times before looking down at her broken arm. “Thanks.” she mumbles through a mouth of corn that Sam practically forced her to eat.

“How's your shoulder?” Sam asks after she sets the empty can on the floor of the car. Sarah shrugs and winces at the pain the action causes.

“It hurts. I think it stopped bleeding, though.” Sarah still manages to grin through the pain as she follows Sam out of the car. Sam yanks her dagger out of the harpy's chest upon noticing the harpy's head has been tosses a few yards away from its original position. With Sarah beside her, she starts walking down the highway.

After hours of walking, they reach a small stretch of suburbs protected by a wall around the houses. It's composed mostly of metal, tires, wood, and other various parts of vehicles, and while it doesn't tower over the houses it looks much sturdier than the wall around the hotel. Two people pace on what looks like the entrance to the community. “Wow,” Sarah breathes, stepping ahead of Sam a few strides. “that looks like heaven.”

“We should stay there for a few weeks until your shoulder wound recovers. They probably have maps, too.” Sam says and Sarah nods in agreement. The two people pacing the wall notice them and start shouting at each other. Sam and Sarah still are too far away to make out their words, but Sam imagines they're arguing about whether or not to help.

A few minutes later the gates open slowly and just enough that a man taller than both of them walks towards them. As Sam steps closer, she notices he wears glasses and his black, curly hair is long enough to be tied back. He looks at least in his late thirties and would fit the picture of a stay-at-home dad if there wasn't a rifle on his back.

He gives them both a sunny smile that Sarah returns. Sam stares at him impassively. “Who are you?” he asks. Sam looks at Sarah who shrugs with only her right shoulder.

“I'm Sam, and this is Sarah. We're just passing through and need of a place to stay while my friend recovers. Will you let us in your compound?”

The man, while his eyes dart from Sam, to Sarah, to Sarah's broken arm, finally makes his smile a little more genuine as he nods. “You will appear before a few other people before we get you situated. If you would follow me.” Although reluctantly, Sam follows the man through the gates with Sarah right behind her.

As the gates shudder closed, Sam takes in everything. It would look like the usual suburbs if not for the people of various ages with weapons walking between houses. Some must have been converted for other means because she spots people going in one house with weapons and walking out without any. Trees line the walls of houses and the wall around the section of suburbia itself, and the flowerbeds in the middle of the streets are flocked with children.

“It's beautiful here.” Sarah murmurs as they follow the man deeper into the compound. Most people stop to stare at them while some go about their own days. A small four-year-old points at them to his mother and waves at them enthusiastically. Sarah waves back. Sam doesn't.

“I guess.” Sam murmurs as the man leads them to a smaller house with a palm tree in front. He gestures them to enter it first while he follows behind them. When Sam steps into the house, the first thing she notices is the table in the huge living room. Two women a little older than the man sit at it discussing something as they write on a large piece of paper. When the door slams closed, they both look up.

“Naveen, you're back,” one of them comments with a sigh as she stands up. “And you've bought more kids in. You know we're short on space.” The woman who has stayed silent frowns.

“Liana, please, you'll create a panic. Hello, my name is Diane, the person in charge of keeping this place in good condition. I keep keep stock of our supplies amongst other things. Liana here is in charge of sending out scavenging parties, and Naveen is the one who allowed this all to happen.”

“I'm Sam and this is Sarah. We're only going to be here until Sarah recovers, so you don't have to worry about the lack of space for long.”

“Good because we aren't in the position to accept permanent residents.” Liana says. “Naveen, I can show them around.”

Naveen claps his hands with a smile. “Thank you.” He turns back to Sam and Sarah. “If you need anything I am usually here with Liana and Diane. We will do our best to accommodate you.” He goes back outside while Liana steps forward. She gives Sam and Sarah a smile as she spreads her arms out.

“This is where Naveen, Diane, and I hold meetings and also where we bring strangers such as yourself if they want to stay in our compound. It holds our food storage as well as generators which power the rest of the compound. You'll find many demigods here who go in and out of this building; they usually to lead scavenging parties because they're used to the monsters outside the wall. Are either of you demigods?”

“No.” Sam says without breaking eye contact.

Liana hums. “Okay. Well, I'll show you where you'll be staying. If anything catches your eye on the way I'll be happy to explain its purpose.” As Liana leads them outside, Sam notices a sort of pavilion in the center of a constructed cul-de-sac away from the rest of the house. Several picnic benches rest under the shade, and while it's no where near enough for everyone it gives off a kind aura. “One of the Hephaestus demigods built that some years ago for the families with young kids. Most people eat inside their own homes, but sometimes it's kind to eat outside once in awhile.”

“How long has this place been here?” Sarah asks as she narrowly avoids being run into by a seven-year-old.

“About seven years now, before the last gods faded. We were lucky to have so many people still in the area after the plagues died down.” They approach a small two story house with a garden overtaking the entire lawn. “This is where you two will be staying for the duration of your stay. Most of the rooms have been converted to bedrooms except for the kitchen and bathroom, so Marie will find you a room.” Liana knocks on the door thrice. She waits for a few moments until a willowy woman in her early-mid twenties opens the door. Her hazel eyes widen when she sees Sam and Sarah standing still behind her.

“Oh, hello, Liana. Are these new arrivals?”

“Yes. Marie, if you could can you house them for a couple weeks? They aren't permanent residents. And once you give them a room could you send the wounded one over to medical?”

“Of course, but they'll be cramped in here. Come on, follow me.” Marie ushers them inside where Sam nearly trips over a sleeping bag. Sarah snorts then bumps into a teenager a few years younger than her as they run into the kitchen. Marie leads them up the stairs to one of the actual bedrooms. “You'll be sleeping here. Of course, you can go outside whenever you want to but unofficial curfew is when the sun goes down. If you'd like to help with anything like scavenging parties or wall patrol you should meet with Liana or Diane again. The bathroom is down the hall so you can clean up there. The shower rarely runs hot though. Now, I'll lead you to medical.” Sarah waves to Sam as she walks downstairs with Marie.

When Sam opens the door to the room, she's met with wide blue eyes staring at her in horror. The pale girl's nose wrinkles. “God, you smell like a garbage bin.” Another girl with coily black hair and brown skin elbows her in the ribs.

“Shut up, Maggie. Hi, you must be who Marie was talking to. I'm Lena.” Lena's hands wave around animately as she talks. “We rotate who has the bed since there's only one between us, so you can have it tonight. Is there anyone else with you?”

Sam's eyes travel over the room. It's smaller than she thought, with a pink sleeping bag on the white carpet floor. The bed's been pushed back to the sickly yellow wall furthest from the door. There aren't any desks, but there is a small potted evening primrose on the windowsill. “Just one.”

“Okay. We'll let you both have the bed first then.” Lena pointedly looks at Maggie when she adds, “You can have first dibs on the bathroom in the morning, too.”

“Thanks.”

“Speaking of the bathroom you should take a shower. Make it a long one, Garbage Bin.” Maggie comments. She ducks her head when Lena aims a punch at her face. Sam doesn't say anything; she instead leaves the room and walks down the hallway towards the bathroom. She opens then closes and locks the door behind her. This place is too good to be true, but they won't be here permanently.

She strips, turns on the water, then scrubs her body with the soap she undoubtedly hoarded from the truck. Dirt and blood alike swirl down the drain, making the porcelain tub splatter with colors. The water feels like heaven against her skin.

She doesn't know how long she stays in the shower, but it must be at least an hour. She might feel guilty if being clean didn't feel so amazing when she dries herself off with a fluffy towel. She pulls on fresh clean clothes then runs her fingers through her wet hair to comb it. A part of her still feels filthy, but she imagines it's only because she rarely gets an opportunity like this. She pulls on the same boots then goes back to the room where Maggie stares at her with wide eyes. “You still look terrible.” she comments as Sam sets her bags in a corner away from the two and sits next to them. Lena jabs Maggie in the ribs.

Lena carries over two rolled up sleeping bags and sets them next to Sam. “Marie brought these up while you were showering, but you still get the bed tonight if you want it.”

“I'll just take the sleeping bag. My friend will need the bed more than me.” As if on cue, the door opens and a freshly-clean and bandaged Sarah steps inside. Her broken forearm's been covered in a kind of cast and left in the makeshift sling Sam made previously, and the tank top she wears puts the bandage on her shoulder and her necklace of monster teeth on display. “Hi, you must be Sam's friend. I'm Lena.” Lena greets and Sarah smiles at her.

“I'm Sarah.”

“You look worse than Garbage Bin.” Maggie comments without looking up from her book. Sarah stares at her a few seconds before sitting down next to Sam.

“Hey,” she says with a smile. “you clean up nice.” Her smile spreads in response to Sam's eye roll. “Do you have any canned green beans in one of your bags?”

Sam shrugs. “You can check yourself.” As Sarah digs through Sam's bags, she adds, “How long till you'll be ready to leave?”

“It better be soon.” Maggie says. Sarah chucks an empty plastic bag at her.

“I don't know. After my shoulder heals I can at least move the rest of my torso easily, so whenever that happens.” Sarah retrieves a can of green beans and opens the top using her dagger. As she eats, Lena leaves the room with the promise of tea. Maggie shuffles further into her corner with what Sam assumes is her sleeping bag. Thankfully, she doesn't make anymore comments.

“Fine.” Despite everything, she has a nagging feeling about this place, and Sarah's been acting different. “But as soon as you're able we're leaving.”

The door opens and in Lena walks, balancing four mugs of tea in her arms with a smile on her face. She passes two to Sam and Sarah first, then gives one to Maggie and leaves the last for herself. She sits down across from both of them, and Sam notices how young she looks, at least fourteen or fifteen. “How did you end up here?” Lena asks with genuine curiosity as she nurses her mug.

Sarah looks at Sam before explaining about the hotel fire which burnt her sanctuary to the ground. She mentions finding Sam and Alissa after searching for survivors then joining up with them on their way to San Francisco. She leaves off the bit about the bandits and instead claims they were separated when monsters attacked them, and after traveling for a few days they ended up here. Lena listens with rigid focus while Maggie yawns loudly after Sarah finishes talking.

“Wow, it's amazing how you've survived through that. I couldn't last an hour out there.”

Sarah frowns. “Have you always lived here then?”

Lena nods. “Always, but not in this specific building. My mom and dad got really sick during the plagues, so I had to move here while they recovered. They didn't, but I still stayed here because everyone was scared about kids the most.” She sets her empty mug down. “Is that how you made your necklace? From fighting monsters?”

Sarah nods. “They're trophies from when he monsters still turned into dust.” She smiles at the look of awe Lena gives her. “Is Maggie from here, too?”

Lena shakes her head. “She came here a couple of months ago with a group. I don't know that much about it because she won't tell anyone. If you want, I can show you around once you've settled in. We have some really nice greenhouses that I help out in.”

“Sure.” Sam replies once she finishes her tea, though it barely had any flavor to it. She sets her mug off to the side like Lena did hers. As she leans against the wall, she takes in the cleanliness of the room and the overwhelming feeling of wariness in her gut, so she decides that if she wants to figure out this place she should see everything she possibly can.

As the night sky turns from midnight blue to pale yellow as the sun rises, Lena conducts an unofficial tour of the compound for Sam and Sarah. The three wander around the greenhouses for most of the tour, Lena and Sam both share the blame for this, while the rest of the time is spent looking inside the houses meant for storage facilities. Eventually, Lena disappears and Sam and Sarah are left sitting at one of the picnic benches across from each other.

A steady drizzle begins as they sit. Sam sighs as her eyes look around everyone who races to get inside. “I don't like this place.” she says without preamble.

Sarah's eyebrows rise, but once the words sink in she nods. “I know. The materials they have are too good. At the hotel we never had this kind of stuff. It's like -” She stops as the blood drains from her face. “They could only get this stuff if they were bartering with someone, and we've only seen high quality materials like this one other time.”

Sam's blood runs cold. “These people can't all be bandits. It's impossible.”

“Maybe the aren't bandits. None of them look like they would survive a week out there, and none of them seem outright malicious towards demigods.” Sarah sighs. Her index finger traces shapes on the wood. “We shouldn't get into it. If they end up being suspicious of us that'll only make things worse.”

Sam frowns, but Sarah's probably right. Still, she'd feel better if she knew more about this place. Sarah pulls a pack of sunflower seeds from her pocket and slides it between them.

“You were staring at the sunflowers when we were in the greenhouse.” she comments when she sees Sam's expression.

“Flowers just take up space,” Sam says. “but even if I wanted to grow them I can make them sprout from the ground by force of will, so I don't need any seeds.”

Sarah grins. “Growing something without any powers is fun, too.” Sam stares at her incredulously, but even so she still pockets them. Sam's attention turns to Sarah's fingers as they drum against the wood in a steady rhythm. Sam almost asks about it, but she decides she probably has a good grasp on why she's doing in.

As the raindrops fall, steadily, from the gray sky, the two worm their way onto the wall mostly because Sam doesn't feel right being cooped up in a room. The two people on duty shrug and let them up. Sarah lets her legs dangle carelessly in the air while Sam sits cross-legged as she watches the rain bombard concrete, wrecked and pristine cars, trees, and bushes. Occasionally, a monster nears them only to flee at the sight of the wall.

It would be nice if not for the pit in Sam's stomach. Whether or not these people are good, the wall is going to come down and the monsters are going to flood the streets, breaking into houses and tearing everyone apart. It happened to the hotel, it will happen to Daniel and Aaron's place, and it will happen here.

“I should be out there fighting monsters.” Sarah says suddenly. “I feel so useless sitting here.”

“You would get yourself killed like this.” Sam points out. A raindrop hits her in the eye then rolls down her cheek and off her chin. Her eyes catch a red feather the size of her hand as it floats lazily into her lap.

“So what.” Sarah breathes. “My entire family is gone, either eaten by harpies in front of me or burnt to a crisp or with a dozen arrows in their back. Everyone's dead, Sam, and it's not like I have anything worth living for anymore.”

“As far as you know Nadia's still alive. So is the boy with glasses you were with. What about them?”

“Nadia sold us out so that no one else would be killed, Sam. As soon as the bandits shot up Eric they decided my life was worthless.” Sarah's body shakes with silent sobs next to her, and while Sam should be repulsed she leans closer. “What am I supposed to do now?”

“There's San Francisco.” Sam knows that when she says it the words won't have much effect, but she says them anyway. Anything to stop Sarah from crying. Not necessarily because she can't stand it, but because of something else altogether.

"I know that. But it's just a place, and no one's waiting for me there. Not like Eric's mom might have been waiting for him. Not like Alissa's waiting for you."

Sam shakes her head. “Why would Alissa wait for me? As far as she knows I'm dead.”

“You saved her life, and she's still a little kid. You're practically immortal in her eyes.” Sarah stands up, and Sam finally notices the sadness written in her skin. Just how much pent up sorrow had she held in all these years. How much of that does Sam share. The thought is repulsive.

Even after Sarah leaves the wall, Sam sits in the rain. It numbs her skin, her bones, the particles holding her together so she can exist. Had they survived, would she have been so attached to her foster parents? Had she not been the person she was, would she have been terrified to live in this world? Why is it that she only cares about her foster parents after they died nearly a decade ago? Why is it that she has to change?

She twirls the red feather between her fingers, and her lips form a frown.

Even with the knowledge that a monster attack is unlikely, Sam sits on her sleeping bag in the dead of night, twirling the red feather between her fingers as an afterthought. Sarah sits next to her. The silence between them fills with tension from the conversation on the wall, with unspoken phrases, with false reassurances.

“What am I supposed to do if you go out and try to fight your way through hordes of monsters?” Sam mutters, but the sentence is spoken more to herself rather than Sarah. Why should it matter to her now when several months ago she wouldn't have cared if someone dropped dead around her as long as their body didn't fall in her path. Why is it that a ten-year-old kid with a leg injury ends up being the catalyst for so many despicable things. Why is it that she can't stop thinking about her father ever since she learned about him when she was five. “I'm just as broken as you are.”

Sarah doesn't say anything for a few minutes, but when she does her voice is barely above a whisper. “How long have you been alone?”

“Four years. Maybe five.” Maggie shifts on the bed, body moving as if she's waking up yet her eyes never flutter open. The evening primrose in the windowsill stands rigid, though its posture is as lazy as the way its petals unfurl when the sun dips into the horizon.

“You're selfish, Sam, so you don't get what it's like having everyone you care about ripped away from you. You might be as broken as I am but not in the same way.” And she is. Or she was. She doesn't know anymore, and someday the past she's bottled up in her head is going to catch up to her. This place will be the death of her, one way or another.

“I don't want to die.” She doesn't mean to speak them, yet the words tumble out of her mouth without so much as a warning. Maybe she's scared. Maybe the nighttime atmosphere is just getting to her head. Maybe she's not the person she used to be, and there's something to be despised about that.

Sarah replies, softly. “Maybe we'll be better people if we do.”

Turning her head sharply, Sam stares at Sarah's crestfallen face. Shadows slide down her neck, slot under her eyes, curve under her cheekbones. When Sarah notices her staring, she smiles tightly. Sam almost says something when the muffled shouts begin. Immediately, Sam's body tenses for a fight as she pulls every monster she's ever seen from her memory. Harpies are too frail. Hellhounds lack speed. Centaurs deal with long ranged attacks; they have usually have no business with humans. Medusa, definitely not. The Chimera, maybe. The drakon, a possibility. Too real of one.

She doesn't notice Sarah's already run to the window in excitement, nearly tripping over Lena as she goes, until Maggie mutters, “What are you doing?” while rubbing sleep from her eyes. Sam steps over by Sarah and frowns as she sticks her head out the window. The shouts grow louder, and when Sarah speaks again she's grinning.

“They're bringing back a wounded kid. Looks like a monster attack.” She zips out the door without any regard for her injures or the people around her. With an annoyed look from Maggie, Sam reluctantly follows her outside where only a few other people have gathered.

Due to distance, all Sam can see is someone being carried by two other people into one of the houses. Most of the people go back into their houses when it's clear the three won't be coming back outside, yet Sarah stays glued to the middle of the street. “This is like the hotel.” she says suddenly, yet Sam doesn't think that's quite right. Before Sam can say anything, Sarah starts jogging towards the wall illuminated by lanterns. She ignores the protests of the men on watch as she steps up on it. “Did you see the monster that attacked them?”

One of the men, graying with a mustache, nods. “It looked and sounded like a harpy. It was persistent; I worry it'll be coming back soon.”

“It's probably the same one.” Sam says when Sarah looks at her questioningly. As the two walk away from the wall, Sam peeks in the lit house being used as a medical bay. Around a dozen scrubbed people crowd around the wounded person, passing surgical instruments Sam can't even name to each other. She finally tears her gaze away when Sarah nudges her aside so she can look. “Were you ever in a hospital, before this all happened?” Sarah asks. “Aside from being born I guess.”

Sam stares at her. “No, why? Were you in one?”

“This is a ridiculously good imitation of one.” When they start walking back to their assigned house, she adds, “And I have been in one before. When I was eight, a bird attacked my eye when I stumbled across her nest, so I was rushed to the hospital. Then I got a glass one.” When she notices Sam's incredulous look, she grins. “This isn't the same one. A nice son of Hephaestus made this for me a couple years ago.”

When Sarah's face falls, Sam doesn't comment. The tension between them steadily rises when they shut the door to the room they're staying in, and in the silence Sam allows herself to think about the wounded kid with metal objects being stuck in their body. Something about it doesn't feel right, and just being here is unsettling enough without adding the fact that she's a demigod on top of it.

A few days later, on a bright, sunny morning, a kind of funeral is held for the teenager. Her name was Elisa, and she came here with her older brother a few years ago. Apparently, she was a social butterfly according to Lena, and she had the uncanny ability to sense when it would rain. Her brother, a few years older, knew exactly when and where lightning would strike at any given point in time. Although she sometimes led expeditions outside, she tended to help out in the greenhouses where she later befriended Lena.

Since the girl knew almost everyone, many people had something to say; the funeral lasted at least four hours. At the end the girl's body was placed in a casket later swallowed whole by the ground.

Lena doesn't stop crying even as she leaves, and even Maggie's face reflects the atmosphere of the rest of the people. Led by the crowd, Sam and Sarah end up at the pavilion with a few other grieving families. Their sobs, thankfully, muffle Sam and Sarah's conversation.

“Something still doesn't feel right.” Sarah murmurs, eying the mourning faces passing each other in the street. Sam has the same feeling, yet she doesn't know what's causing it. As far as she knows they can't be giving demigods away since they buried the kid's body, but how else would they be getting this stuff?

Sam watches Elisa's brother disappear into one of the houses. “I agree.” The door shuts behind him. If there wasn't a body for the funeral, perhaps she would be more inclined to find out whether or not the monster attack was orchestrated in some way. But there is a body. The only things she knows about the Leviathan cult are their apparent affinity for cannibalizing demigods and how they seemingly have an abundance of knowledge and supplies from the world before, but apart from those things they're shrouded in mystery.

If she knew more, she could figure this out.

Sarah stands up abruptly. Her lips form a frown, and her brows furrow. “Maybe this place is just perfect.” Yet even as she says it there's a hint of disbelief in her voice. “I'm going to see if I can go on watch for now on. Maybe I'll come across something.”

Although Sam doubts Sarah will be granted permission, it's still a good idea. “Okay. I'll help out in the greenhouses since there's an opening now, and Diane frequents them so I might be able to get information there.”

Sarah frowns. “Be careful, Sam.”

“You be careful too.” =Part Five=