Chapter Text
The city is a city like any of the rest of the dozen or so remaining in North America. Buildings tall enough to be out of reach of the infected, sealed off by quarantine when shit went south, survivors scrounging out a living on rooftops, all utterly convinced this is the last city on the planet and any rumours otherwise are just that – rumours. The Pilgrims call it Ottawa. The people living there call it the City.
Said people have built markets, bridges, settlements, UV lights dotting the landscape, as bustling as a city can be, with a population in the hundreds if what the guy he met a couple hundred miles back said was true. Aiden’s barely even seen more then five people at a time in the past year until he came here a month ago.
Another woman bumps into him in the crowd, glancing at him only briefly to apologise before continuing on to wherever she’s headed. City folk. All the same. Spike used to say people were like that in the cities even before the outbreak. The air here smells like sweat under the heavy smell of woodsmoke, close and thick, the windows shuttered to keep out the freezing air and bodies packed in to indulge in the heat from the large bonfire in the pit in the middle of the hall.
That’s how he’d describe the place: close and a damp kind of warm, enough to be cloying. Loud enough that it made him want to sprint out and find somewhere quiet to catch his breath, like most crowded places: perks of being a Pilgrim, he’d guess.
As it is, though, he’s got things to do. He elbows his way through the crowd to a stall selling dried meat and waves to the shopkeeper, fast enough to get her attention even through the blurring current of people he’s only just about on the edge of.
“How much?” He asks when she comes over, pointing to the strips of meat behind her. Different types, to boot: he’d guess goat, mutton and pork. Maybe even deer if they have people brave enough to go to ground level to grab the kill.
She doesn’t even blink, too used to him showing up to question if he has the money even if he’s a Pilgrim. “Same as last week, five for pork, ten for goat or mutton. Venison’s still out of your price range.”
He passes her the money for a dozen strips of pork and six of goat (he thinks it tastes better than sheep do) and she eagerly slides it beneath the table before taking down the meat. She’s even nice enough to wrap it in a scrap of paper first before handing it to him. Perks of regular patronage, he supposes.
Aiden takes the meat and heads out of the hall. It’s getting too close, too loud, the smell of humanity and burning wood making him dizzy and his fingers twitch with the urge to grab ahold of one of stall rooftops and climb out of the crowd before it pressed him to paste. He manages to walk out of the wide entrance doors before it becomes a need rather than an urge, the sky outside wide and blissful and dimming with the faintest edges of twilight, the chill in the air rising in a breeze as UV lights are just beginning to flicker on, and “a place to stay” shoots directly to the top of his to-find list.
The guards shoo him away (to put it lightly) and before long he’s hopping roofs and empty streets, groaning bodies starting to throng the streets and he moves, more and more purple light filling the streets as he walks past. He idly wishes he’d asked if there were any places for people without a place to stay before he left the market. No soup kitchens in the last few places he’d stopped by; people don’t tend to let strangers into their homes here. The churches were a good bet: either charitable sorts who don’t mind letting strangers stay the night in safety, or run by psychos who wouldn’t chase him too far into the dark. Skyscrapers too, to a lesser degree: plenty of rooms, people can’t be occupying all of them, especially chasing after people they don’t even know are there.
In the distance he spies a tower, lit bright against the rapidly-darkening sky in dim purple. Belltower or skyscraper, either way his new destination is found.
He skids to a stop on the roof tiles and twists around, hands grazing the ceramic only long enough to push him off towards the church. No one’s watching as he leaps an impossible distance across a highway, wind howling around him where it’s picking up into a gale, legs burning for only the faintest second before the rush washes it all away in a haze of thrill, smashed out of him when he hits the opposite rooftop and keeps on running. Easy.
A short jog further and Aiden drops onto a car roof in front of the church, hopping off and onto the pavement to walk across to the church’s front door. There are UV lights set up around the entrance, so he at least knows people are in there.
He knocks, and after a minute or so a person in a black robe cracks it half-open. “Sorry, we’ve got no more space here tonight.”
“You sure? I just need a corner to sit in.”
“Yeah, we look after a lot of people around here.”
Damn. “Do you know anywhere else I can go?”
The priest hems and haws over it for a little while, but eventually tells him, “There’s a tower a half-hour or so,” he points down the street on Aiden’s right, “That way. They usually have a spare room somewhere, just don’t fuck with the guards.”
“Thanks.” Aiden nods.
“Any time. Good luck.”
The door closes and Aiden turns away.
Half an hour. It should be enough time, especially if he takes a few shortcuts and doesn’t slow down on the turns. He looks up at the rapidly-purpling sky, and puts that judgement down to probably enough time. Northern winters (and probably Southern winters too when you get far enough): always taking you by surprise.
The tower proves easy to enter with a few jumps and a couple rope swings, hurling himself through a window and hitting the ground in a solid roll through an open doorway to a solid stop.
He looks up to a group of survivors huddled around a fire, all goggling at him like the damn Mothman just flew in rather than a scrawny kid with a grappling hook.
One of the men, a taller guy, broad for the kind of place he’s scrounging out a living in is the first to recover enough to start “Can we help y-?”
“I’ll be on my way.” Aiden quickly interrupts. “Sorry.”
The hallways of the building are narrow and decrepit, fallen floors and debris cluttering it and meaning he has to jump farther than a human should be able to more than a few times. Only a few people see him as he passes, but he sees more huddled together, sleeping in shifts, crowded around fires. This place could be a settlement all by itself.
He finds a larger room, full with people that don’t huddle together as much beyond in smaller groups with a few taking up posts on the edges and in the middle. People who know each other only in passing, but willing to trust in people’s determination to survive. Some are keeping an eye on the lights; the rest are keeping an eye on the entrances. When the one posted on the door he walks through points her gun at him with snake-quick speed all he has to do to defuse it is raise his arms in “I’m not armed” before she lowers it, just a fraction, and gestures him over.
“You looking for a place to sleep?”
Aiden nods. “Yeah. I have my own things, just need a place to put them.”
“Good. Find a spot and it’s yours for the night.” She motions him away to the wider room.
He walks off between the huddled groups to find a bare corner that’s not too close to any of them. More than a few eye him distrustfully as he passes by, pulling each other closer until he’s moved on. Most are still eating their dinner, huddling around cooking fires or electric hobs, passing bowls or pieces of bread around their small circles. Even though this seems to be a community space the people inside certainly don’t all regard each other as that “community”.
Eventually he finds a corner between one group and the wall. A little harder to escape if something goes wrong, but only one group to figure out the acceptable amount of distance from. They don’t seem to mind too much beyond closing ranks as he sets up his sleeping mat and picks out a couple pieces of jerky and a bread bun from his bag.
Then, a pair of curious, bright eyes pokes out from over the shoulder of a woman in the huddle next to him, watching him like a particularly curious hawk.
He waves a little and they immediately drop out of sight, only to come back up a few moments later, this time with a the hood of cloak pulled over their head. For sneakiness, maybe. He waves again and this time they cautiously raise their hand to wave back.
The piece of jerky he was chewing on gets quickly polished off as he tries to remember what he can about shadow puppets. Kids like those, right? And he’s pretty sure he remembers how to do a rabbit.
He puts the food back in his bag and holds up his hands (easy, show they’re empty first) before placing them back to back and moving his fingers into position, holding them up so the light of the huddle’s campfire casts the shadow on the wall behind him. The kid’s eyes go wide, and he wiggles the rabbit’s ears.
They get both of their arms over their parent’s shoulder and start trying to copy him, little fingers trying to figure out how he did it. He wiggles the rabbit’s ears again and the kid huffs in frustration.
The shadow their hands cast somewhat resembles a rabbit after a minute or so, and he hops his rabbit over to theirs in celebration. They laugh, and then the huddle notices what’s happening. The kid is abruptly pulled out of sight and someone sits up to glare at him.
He raises his hands in apology and goes back to his food.
“Hey, do you-”
Aiden yelps and almost hurls himself away at the sudden speech, as it is just quickly twisting around to look at them.
“Sorry, sorry!” The speaker, a man in worn-looking clothes, raises his free hand in apology. “Just – do you want some water? It’s clean.”
Aiden breathes out slowly, carefully. “...Thanks, but no.”
“Alright. Sorry for bothering you, have a good night.”
The man turns away and almost leaves Aiden to his food, only to turn back at the last second.
“And, uh-” This time he’s speaking a lot more quietly as he gestures to the group next to them both. “Don’t take it personally. They’ve just lost people lately, they’re more protective of each other than usual. Especially Ruby.”
Aiden nods and the man smiles before walking off for real this time.
He idly wonders if he’ll wake up to someone trying to rob him in the morning.
Hours later he does not, in fact, wake up to someone trying to rob him. He wakes up starving hungry with no idea where his stuff is and a knife pointed at his neck.
Whispers come from the crowd around him, accusatory, “-saw how fast he ran-” “-probably came to eat us all-” “-broke Cassidy’s arm without even waking up-” and Aiden slowly recognises the familiar, dawning realisation that he fucked up really bad by deciding to sleep here.
Only one guy seems to be on his side, trying to shove past the guards and talking about “-didn’t even hurt anyone! ” “- by himself, you guys started shit with him- ” “- maybe the folks were seeing things, probably just a Bolter or a Volatile- ” Whoever his white knight is, while he appreciates the effort he really doubts it’s gonna do much.
The crowd comes to a decision, heads turned towards others twisting around to lock onto him as the current turns to press him backwards, towards what the morning sun on the back of his neck and breeze ruffling his hair tells him is the edge of the building. He struggles, tries to twist and writhe and grab for a handhold but he’s tired and hungry and it’s like trying to hold onto a writhing fish fresh out of the river.
The small part of him not laser-focussed on not getting thrown off the roof realises that he is, by all accounts, probably going to die here. He’s not sure how high up they are but chances are he won’t have time to get his glider open, if he even still has it (it’d be a pretty bad lynching if they didn’t even bother to take his stuff), and if he survives the drop he’d be a sitting duck for the infected. Would’ve been nice if they’d let him eat first, he could actually do something then.
He’s shoved backwards even further, the edge of his heels slipping into open air as he scrambles for purchase.
Faintly over the roar of the crowd he hears White Knight yell something like “Oh fuck it!” and sees an unremarkable pair of raised fists in the sea of two dozen others, but it’s what happens next that really catches his attention.
There’s a crash, and a shockwave, and for one absolutely pulse-pounding second he thinks a Goon somehow fucking snuck in to the tower because the feeling of that wave flowing throguh the ground is so familiar. Most of the crowd draws back like grease in water when you drop soap in, slipping away to the shadowy corners of the room. The guards themselves were bowled over by the shockwave and are lying dazed on the ground.
The central pit of the shockwave is centred on White Knight, who’s standing back up again with grit-spattered fists and a scowl that quickly turns into a similar realisation to the one Aiden had earlier. Misery does love company and all that.
He thinks he hears a muttered “oh shit” from the other guy as the crowd goes still, before he darts for Aiden, yanks him upright and drags Aiden along with him as he fucking bolts.
Superpowered White Knight drags him through the narrow corridors and down what must be half a dozen flights of stairs like a natural, at least until he starts to flag and Aiden wakes up enough to take the lead. It’s a few more flights and dragging him out of the skyscraper and down enough streets to be (probably) safe, but eventually he and the other man are doubled over in an alleyway, both catching their breath. In the process Aiden realises he still has his bag, strapped to his shoulders like he left it last night. Amateur lynching, huh.
White Knight is still catching his breath. He’s tall, the earlier side of middle-aged and well built in a way Aiden’s pretty sure most people could appreciate in a way more than they would a sunset or a warm meal, even with the ragged jacket and trousers he’s wearing – is he the water guy from last night? Besides that, Aiden has something a little more non-physical to appreciate him for though: he couldn’t have gotten out of there alone without killing anyone, and this other guy (infected?) like him managed to and even got him out to boot.
“Thanks. For saving me back there.”
The man waves him off with one hand, still breathless. “No, it’s no problem. They were gonna fucking kill you just for being there, I- I had to do something.”
There’s a long silence as they both catch their breath. White Knight passes him a can of liquid (not water) at some point after downing one himself, which Aiden takes and stuffs in a pocket for later to the other’s quiet snort before passing him a protein bar.
Eventually, White Knight breaks the silence. “My name’s Ryan. What’s yours?”
“I’m Aiden.” Another brief silence that Aiden breaks it this time. “You, uh… you were involved in the experiments right before the outbreak?” Ryan looks confused in the way of someone not knowing what exactly you’re referring to, and concerned in the way of someone thinks you might be referring to something you absolutely shouldn’t know about, so Aiden tries to clarify. “Yknow, with the whole super-strength? The experiments with the Harran virus?”
Unlike most people Aiden’s met who know what it is, Ryan’s expression clears the second Aiden says Harran. “No, no, I was just in LA during the outbreak there, about, uh, twenty years ago?” More to himself he adds, “Fuck, am I really that old already?”
Aiden hasn’t heard of any LA outbreaks. Or what LA is. “Sorry that happened to you. ...Uh, you been back since?”
“Oh, yeah. Settlement there’s home now. I found the only other folks like me and we stuck together, ‘cause it’s not like the human survivors were down to stick too close when they saw what we could do, you know?”
Aiden gets that. He really gets that.
Ryan must see the look in his eyes, because he adds, “You’d be welcome there, if you wanted. It’s down in Cali, got a good place there, good people.”
“Why are you all the way out here if LA’s so good?”
Ryan freezes before looking away, seeming to struggle with the question for a long few moments, starting to fiddle with a hangnail on his pointer finger. Aiden considers asking if he has another of the canned drinks but decides against it.
“I… don’t know. Itchy feet I guess. You’re a Pilgrim too, right?” Not like Aiden can deny it. “So you’d get it. They’re good people, but I couldn’t just stay there forever, doing the same zombie-killing day in, day out.” He chuckles a little. “Needed a little change of scenery.”
Aiden shrugs, and the two go back to sitting in silence.
With how fast news spreads in settlements like this, chances are the entire city will have heard at least a rumour or two about him and Ryan’s abilities by the day after tomorrow. Enough time to grab some stuff for the road and get some distance, but not enough to deal with any unfinished business besides.
If Ryan’s smart and as old as he looks he’ll already know that, but… “You got a way out of here?”
“You need one?”
“I asked if you had one, not me.”
Ryan smirks briefly and raises his hands for a second in mock surrender, or maybe a down-boy motion. “Yeah, I got one. Do you?”
“Yeah.”
Everything he’d spent his life trying to do was done in Villedor. All he’s being doing since is wandering from place to place, trying to help before someone always found out about his infection and he had to leave: this is just the latest in a long line of them. Maybe a new goal wouldn’t be the worst idea.
“Where did you say LA was again?”