The night stretched long, far longer than Acheron had experienced in a long time. Her sleep was short-lived, always troubled, tormented by her own nightmares. The scenes her mind conjured went beyond anything from her old life, reaching depths that made hell shallow in comparison.
With the promise of more hours of torture for bits of rest, she stood up from the couch, discarding that offer for a moment of clarity. Maybe her body would tire enough to push her into a dreamless slumber, something she doubted heavily.
Light steps barely made a sound in the dark cabin, pressing the floor to life, the wooden boards squeaking a touch louder than she wanted. It would get the attention of no undead, but it was enough to scratch her brain.
Without much choice, she sat down on a chair, looking around the dark space, watching the silver lines of light come in through gaps in the boarded window. The barricade held against the door, furniture piled together for a layer of safety.
Click.
Her eyes dashed to the staircase, only to make out Steel, gun held out, lowered the second their eyes met.
"I heard noise. Thought we had intruders," he whispered unapologetically.
She sighed, shaking her head slightly as the man sat down on the bottom of the staircase, silent, his breath almost inexistent with how little sound it made.
'He heard that, from upstairs? I doubt he slept at all, then.'
Threading on the same line of thought, she pushed for some answers, asking what came to mind.
"Light sleeper?"
"No sleep at all."
"You need rest. You looked like death was at your door when we met."
Their eyes met in the dark, hers bearing a tiny silver dot from the light.
"Don't tell me to rest when you're awake," he answered calmly, barely changing tonality.
The same manner of speech again, bearing nothing about the man in front of her. Instead, she took to the details she'd seen.
"You scavenge a lot, I assume. Full backpack, resourceful with everything you put your hands on."
"Work or die," he nodded solemnly, accepting the fatality that came with mistakes. One wrong step, one move done halfway, and you risked a fate worse than death.
Both just sat there, in the dark, saying nothing for a good while. Strangely, none felt tension or the awkwardness that followed strangers forced together. In a ruined world, every bit of normalcy was a welcomed surprise, a bit of innocent pleasure in the middle of the end. She had found someone that—at least for the moment—bore no malice.
Her eyes had already adjusted to the darkness, trailing over the hunched figure of Steel, who just sat there, empty eyed. His palms rested on his knees, limply placed there with no tension in his arms. The floor was his point of focus, or at least he looked to stare in that direction. For a moment, she saw him as small and pathetic, barely a shell of a man that death chose to make a mockery of.
'What am I thinking, taking pity on him?'
She shook her head, looking away for a moment only to find his gaze right on hers. The image gave her heart pause, a cold shiver running down her back. That 'pathetic being' had a certain side to it that didn't speak loudly, instead hiding somewhere deep, where instinct managed to sense it. Her muscles tensed slightly, fueled by the sudden rush of her heartbeat.
"Why are you staring at me like that?" she asked, voice ringing louder than expected, almost harsh.
It was instantly gone, the haze returning to his sight, rebuilding the broken man to an empty shell.
"I got lost in thoughts... lived the wrong moment," he mumbled, focusing back on the present. "Sorry, Acheron. I'm just lost at times."
"Aren't we all?" she quipped. It was new, but an old sense of new, like picking up a sport you used to love after a few years. Talking like that... how long had it been?
"I guess you're right. Everyone is lost, some more than others. Some cling to hope and die; others have nothing and live. It's ironic, a cruel joke, but nonetheless, it happens. The living carry the weight of the dead... or at least those who harbor regret still do."
She watched the way his fingers tapped against the revolver he always kept on, the gun hidden underneath the clothes.
"What do you carry?"
The question slipped from her lips in a twisted moment of curiosity, striking something that surgeons wouldn't dare touch with the finest tools. Steel tensed, jaw clenched. The seconds passed like years, agonizing, slow...painful.
He spoke up, one single, unwavering sound.
"Blood on my hands."
Instincts pushed her hand to the hilt of her sword, which she grasped firmly, but Steel made no move—not her way, not away, not anywhere. He just sat there, in the same way, a putrid stillness to his body.
"Whose blood, Steel?" she questioned, walking closer, looming over him like death incarnate. He sat there, unfazed, welcoming whatever may come. Their gazes met as he opened his mouth, letting the dry confession slip.
"I forgot..." he whispered.
Stillness, putrid like the undead that roamed the lands.
She gritted her teeth, forcing her jaw to a painful, bitter clench. The tension left with a sigh, her sword now free from the strength of a trained grip.
"You forgot... it's convenient, isn't it? Some get to forget while others must carry on."
She walked back to the couch, lying down, sword placed on the floor within reach.
"Yes," he answered bleakly. "You see it as liberation... I see it as hell."
With that, Steel got up and made his way back upstairs, trying to catch some sleep, a meager moment of rest for his haunted mind. Acheron watched him go, trying to still her mind for a few moments, enough time for fatigue to crash into her and drag her away from reality to a precious respite.
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The morning light scattered in every direction, reaching in through the cracks in the barricades with twice the vigor shown by the moonlight. Acheron stirred, sitting up despite her body pleading for another moment of sleep. It was a luxury to have even slept without worrying too much about an undead crawling in.
The morning fog that kept her vision blurry faded, revealing Steel at the table, eating from a can with tiny movements, silent.
'He must have tiptoed around, else I'd have heard him.'
For a few moments, she stared at him, well aware that he did catch her in the corner of his eye.
"Are you going to remain silent?"
Steel glanced at her, putting the empty can aside.
"Yes. Got nothing to say," he answered curtly, standing up.
Acheron stretched, hearing the soft pops in her body, feeling how each muscle tissue strained and moved, following her movements. Steel quietly began undoing the barricades, opening both entrances instead of one—which would've been enough for them to leave.
"Why are you freeing both entrances?" she questioned calmly, taking a seat at the table for the same reason that Steel had.
"Making sure someone could enter from any door. It's not much, but it might save someone."
"That's rather unlikely, don't you think? It's an isolated cabin in the middle of a forest."
Steel stared at her, quiet for a few moments, simply moving his jaw around.
"Unlikely, but not impossible."
Acheron shook her head, finding his words to be illogical. There was a certain basis to what he said, but the event itself taking place struck her as impossible. With a little push, her fork went in, tearing apart a hefty chunk she chewed on slowly, making sure to savor the moment, even if she had to force herself.
He watched her quietly, picking up his backpack, lighter than it had been before encountering Acheron. It went up with ease, resting on his shoulders in its familiar spot. The couch molded to his form as he took a seat, elbows resting quietly on his knees.
Acheron did recall the previous night's events, the way her questioning led to a dead end plastered with a simple message: I forgot. The mere thought sickened her, churning her stomach with boiling anger.
'What an easy way to toss away your burdens. Forget them and live without knowing the atrocities you committed. If only everyone had that choice.'
Her glare settled on him, watching with subtle disgust. Steel made for a good companion in his own way—quiet, resourceful, capable—and yet, Acheron found herself hating him for those simple words. At first, she thought his lack of memories came from trauma, a moment in which the brain chooses to forget to preserve what little sanity was left. Now... now she learned that there was more. He was aware of having done something bad, but he conveniently forgot.
'It's not the act I hate, but the way he gets to avoid the entire burden.'
She knew little as to why her mind kept rationalizing the choice, yet it did so. It made bearing her own actions no better.
"You done?"
The question brought her back to reality, her gaze focusing on the now empty can still clenched in her palm, fingers tightly wrapped around it.
"Yes. Let's go."
The chair slid on the wooden boards, remaining as nothing but a testament that someone had used it once more, giving it purpose for possibly the last time.
Sword at her hip, her backpack had once again gained some weight, feeling like survival was in reach. Steel walked out, looking around as Acheron shut the door close.
"Where to?" he asked bluntly, looking around as if the trees would move aside and give him a farther line of sight.
"Back where we came from, point where we continue following the forest's edge."
Steel nodded, falling in step with her, silent. It didn't last for long, however.
"Any destination in mind?"
She scoffed, stepping harder.
"What do you think, Steel? There's no destination left."
He stopped, staring at her with muddy eyes. There was no light in them even if the sun shone right against his iris.
"Yet we travel. At one point, there will be a destination. Let's hope for a good one."
"Quite the hopeful comment, coming from you. It's a good end so long as death is swift."
She crossed her arms, letting the intensity of her own phrase fall over Steel, perhaps trying to nudge the wounds he'd covered.
"Swift death as a good death... yet living is the better ending..."
He didn't elaborate on that, instead taking to the remnants of the path they had taken the day before, leaving their conversation in the past—same as many other things. She followed, hand moving to its familiar spot on the sword.