Chapter Text
May 2020
Somewhere in the Colorado wilderness
Makeshift shelters occupy the more passable areas of the trail Annie is on. Shanties from Before and hasty lean-tos from Now serve as temporary cover from the elements and the indefinable creatures that newly inhabit the area. Groups of travelers periodically huddle together within the walls of these structures under the guise of numerical, statistical safety.
It is in one of these structures that Annie finds herself resigned to rest for one night and one night only. She will pick up the next day and keep going, being both faster and quieter on the trail when unencumbered by others. Her small size, academy training, and inherent stealth allow her the speed and dexterity to navigate the crudely blazed Colorado trails. She had traveled for a few days with a young family earlier in the month, learning then of the dark, almost too natural way in which each member was picked off during their trek together. She was naïve then and she knows now to stop remembering the names and faces of her fellow travellers.
The rain starts around midnight and it’s a cold rain, drowning out the night-sounds and the twig-breaks of nocturnal movements. Three sentries triangulate their positions around the clearing, each with modest, struggling fires and weapons in hand. This particular settlement has three main cabins sectioned between traveling women, families, and lone males. These divisions happen almost unwittingly and certainly unspoken among the travellers. No talk really occurs at these places, nothing meaningful anyway, especially not as the sky darkens and the birds take roost. Mothers mumble soothingly to the smallest children; anyone over five years of age has learned the importance of becoming and staying quiet by nightfall.
The number of travellers is skewed this time. There are too many males. People are battening down wherever they can, regardless of gender or propriety. This unnerves Annie as it has become a pattern she recognizes and tries desperately to ignore. Families are dwindling in both numbers and completeness. Women are disappearing and she can’t shake the dark thought that this trend may be due to factors beyond flesh-eating creatures. She shudders as she pulls her sleeping bag closer to her chin, both saddened and terrified that there are some things (people) more evil than the monsters that were wreaking havoc across the nation (was it across the world now, too?)
Annie scans the dark pavilion of the shelter one last time for reassurance that it’s safe to close her eyes. Earlier in the evening she’d noticed three men, seemingly always in her periphery by the campfire or in the shelter. She occasionally caught the stare of one of them before losing it again when their faces dissolved into whispered mumblings. She is no stranger to the general unease that dangerous men can elicit, especially during times like these when any semblance of honor has vanished along with the social media coverage of it. A fleeting smile crosses her face as she imagines a Britta diatribe about dismantling the patriarchy, complete with animated hand gestures and hyperbolic misuse of “the facts, Annie, okay?”
A rumble of thunder reaches her ears as she burrows further into the corner of the room. Tightening her grip on the holstered blade on her thigh, she takes one last look around before letting sleep overtake her. Her last thoughts are of the rain, the fluttering of the tattered sheet in the open window above her, and the prying eyes of the three strange men nearby.
***
April 2018
Greendale, Colorado
“He seems nice, Annie.” Jeff says in a gravely whisper while shuffling his empty glass back and forth across the table. He straightens his tie and meets her eyes reluctantly.
“Aaaand…?” Her slow eyebrow raise sends Jeff’s gaze back down to the table.
“A-And I think you should give it a shot? Is that what you want me to say?”
Annie nods slowly, not as much in answer to what Jeff offers but in consideration of what she should say next. Jeff beats her to the punch in typical fashion with confidence in full swing.
“I mean, look at him. What’s not to like? He can keep up with those two goons.” He nods towards Troy, Abed, and Annie’s New Guy huddled together at the bar. “He must be smart because he likes you, and I’m sure he’s achieved like a Platinum Level card to all the Pokémon gyms.” His self-congratulatory smirk surfaces in response to Annie’s eye-roll. “In fact, I’m insulted that you think I wouldn’t even like the guy.”
“Can we, just for a moment, recall what happened with Vaughn, Rich...” Jeff doesn’t let her finish.
“Come on, Annie, you’re not helping your case.” He crosses his arm and leans back in his chair smugly.
“…David of Christmas 2016? Remember what happened with him?”
“That was deserved.”
“Oh yeah? He mentioned how he felt that analog timepieces were unnecessary in today’s tech-savvy world and you all but excommunicated him from the dinner table.”
“His generation doesn’t appreciate the intricacies of fine Swiss engineering.”
“You called him un-American.”
Jeff’s smirk morphs into a toothy grin as he nudges Annie’s shoulder. She can’t help but return the smile as her eyes travel down to Jeff’s full(er) beard, briefly admiring the salt and pepper hues bordering his mouth. She decides that this is a good look for him. She thinks of him back in 2009 with his strong jawline and ever-present pointy features, of how handsome he was then and how his age has only served to make him more so. His grin falters as he looks to her eyes and then down to her lips.
He clears his throat as his voice descends another octave.
“You know the best offer I can give you is a lukewarm acceptance of any guy you bring home.”
Annie’s throat constricts at the word ‘home’ and her brow furrows for a nanosecond.
“Why?”
“Because none of them will ever be good enough for you.”
It’s at that moment that Mike of Spring 2018 saunters over with Troy and Abed, hands filled with various alcoholic beverages for the group. Annie, transcended into a deeper level of loneliness, accepts her drink and makes room for Mike at the booth. She avoids Jeff’s eyes for the rest of the night.
Mike of Spring 2018 doesn’t make it to Summer of that year.
***
May 2020
Somewhere in the Colorado wilderness
Annie’s not sure what wakes her first, the crash of thunder or the leathery hand that clamps violently over her mouth. She then notices the weight of legs pinning her body down against the ground when a second leathery hand goes to her throat. Her thoughts immediately recall the men that had been lurking in the corner of the pavilion as she drifted off. She should never have stayed here.
She cannot scream, both because she can barely breathe and also because those things are out there and they will come.
She brings her arms up to push against her assailant as his left hand moves from her mouth to her wrist. She feels a crushing grasp on her right wrist as she reaches her left hand down to her thigh. She reaches down to her leg, unbuttoning the sheath of her knife. Overwhelmed and disgusted by the smell of alcohol and poor hygiene, she wretches as she feels his rancid breath on her neck. In one swift motion she frees her blade and drives it up through her sleeping bag and into the man’s thigh.
He screams. Annie for the win, she thinks.
It’s at this time that her hearing is now fully functional, and she hears more screaming in and around the compound. Intermingled with the cries of the travellers are the howls and shrieks several frequencies above what is humanly possible. They are here.
The man sits back on his haunches in frantic realization that a sizable blade now juts out from his leg. Annie wants it back. She wrenches the knife out of his flesh as her attacker hits her left cheek with a right hook. The world around her temporarily darkens, but she is ripped back into alertness as two long, slender, talon-like arms reach through the window above her head and latch onto the man who is now covered in blood. What comes out of his mouth redefines “blood-curdling,”-a sound akin to the death-cry of a desperate animal. The creature’s talons pierce through his back and protrude through his chest as he is extracted from the pavilion and into the night.
Annie lets out a breath she didn’t know she had been holding and makes for the back exit of the structure. She stops in the doorway, remembering her pack, and looks back under the window where it leans. It took days, weeks to accumulate the things in that pack. She would die a slower death without it than if she risks her life now to retrieve it. That thing is busy outside under the window; she hears the crunching of bone and the wet mush sounds of eating raw meat. She grabs her pack as quickly and quietly as possible with knife in hand and exits through the back, leaving her sleeping bag behind.
It’s not much better outside. The sounds of frantic footfall and anguish are replaced by agonal breathing and anguished moaning. It must be a few more hours before sunrise and later still due to the rain and cloud cover. Annie hoists her pack on her shoulders and takes off up the slope, grateful that the things are preoccupied. While her pack is heavy she realizes the benefits of being a petite human as her footfalls are quiet and swift. She cannot see but knows that sight is not necessary in order for her to keep moving.
She hightails it for about thirty minutes before weighing the benefit of getting as far away as fucking possible from the compound versus stumbling upon another feeding frenzy. She finds a suitable tree and jumps up to grab the lowest branch, holding a rope attached to her pack. She pulls herself up and nimbly climbs as high as she can before leveraging the pack up to join her at her temporary resting place. She ties the rope around the pack, herself, and the trunk before taking stock of her new situation. Annie has discovered that those things are poor climbers. The angles of the hooked talons make it difficult for vertical ascents. This is where she will stay for the rest of the night until the light is back. She trails a trembling hand across her throbbing face with a hiss before letting it drop into her lap. She forces her eyes closed as she falls into the limbo between sleeping and wakefulness. The thunder rumbles on.