Apocalypse: Building And Hoarding My Way Through.
Chapter 135: The Real Danger Is People With Powers.

Chapter 135: The Real Danger Is People With Powers.

Scarlett’s words hung heavily in the air, and the group exchanged uneasy glances. Ethan’s gaze dropped to the ground, his shoulders stiffening with unease. Ryder’s face twisted into a mixture of guilt and worry, his fists clenching at his sides.

"What’s going on?" Scarlett pressed, her voice firm but tinged with a growing desperation. Her piercing eyes scanned the group. "Why can’t I sense Hunter’s power anymore?"

Ryder hesitated, his expression faltering before he raised a trembling eyebrow. "Don’t tell me... Hunter is dead too?" His voice was barely above a whisper, his body vibrating with a mix of fear and disbelief.

The question struck the group like a thunderclap, the weight of its possibility pressing down on them. Without saying a word, their shared realization spread like wildfire. They exchanged nervous glances, unspoken decisions forming in their minds. Then, as though guided by the same invisible force, they all turned and began sprinting down the mountain, their breaths labored, their hearts pounding with dread.

__________

In a desolate expanse of land, barren and lifeless, the sun blazed mercilessly in the sky. The scorched earth stretched endlessly, cracked and dry under the relentless heat. A figure lay crumpled in the dust, a man with messy, curly, burnt-brown hair, wearing a bloodstained white shirt and tattered trousers. It was Garvin.

His eyelids fluttered weakly, his lashes casting faint shadows on his pale cheeks. Slowly, painfully, his vibrant green eyes blinked open, the harsh sunlight searing into his vision. He groaned and raised a trembling hand to his abdomen, where a deep wound was bleeding profusely. The pain was sharp and unyielding, and he pressed his palm against it in a desperate attempt to stem the flow.

Where am I? he thought hazily, his mind swimming with confusion. His breath hitched as he struggled to sit up, his head spinning. His vision blurred, but he forced himself to focus.

It was then his gaze fell on a small tent nearby, casting a meager shadow over two figures, one male and one female. They sat under the makeshift shelter, their forms outlined against the fiery backdrop of the desert.

Who are they? Garvin’s heart pounded as unease crept over him. Where’s Scarlett? Where’s everyone else? What’s going on?

Before he could dwell on his thoughts, the woman from under the tent rose and began walking toward him. She moved with a slight limp, her walking stick kicking up small clouds of dust. Her red hair was cropped short, her face marred by a large burn scar that extended from her temple to her jawline. Her expression was sharp, almost indifferent.

"You’re awake," she said flatly, her voice surprisingly low and gravelly, almost masculine. "I thought you were dead. In fact, I figured you’d die any moment, so I didn’t see the point in saving you."

Garvin blinked, his jaw tightening as frustration bubbled beneath his pain. The woman, unfazed, gestured with her walking stick. "Come on. If you’re alive, then follow me."

Despite the agony in his abdomen, Garvin gritted his teeth and forced himself to his feet, mustering every ounce of strength he had left. He stumbled after her, his legs trembling with each step, until they reached the shade of the tent.

The woman lowered herself onto a crude wooden stool. Garvin collapsed onto the ground, gasping for breath. The shade offered little relief from the punishing sun, and sweat trickled down his face, mixing with the blood on his shirt.

His eyes flicked to the man under the tent. He was tall and heavily built, his muscular frame exposed by the sleeveless shirt he wore. A patch covered one eye, and scars crisscrossed his weathered face like a map of battles lost and won. He was hunched over a small fire, gripping a long sword that glowed red-hot at its tip.

The man lifted his gaze, locking his single eye onto Garvin. The intensity of his stare sent a chill down Garvin’s spine. Without a word, the man rose, gripping the hot sword tightly, and approached.

"W-what are you doing?" Garvin stammered, panic rising in his chest.

The man didn’t answer. He shoved Garvin onto his back with surprising ease, pinning him down. Before Garvin could resist, the man pressed the searing hot sword against his wound.

"ARRRGHHHHH!" Garvin’s scream tore through the still desert air, raw and agonized. His body thrashed violently, but the man held him in place with an iron grip.

The red-haired woman watched from her seat, her expression impassive. "You should be grateful," she said coldly. "If we hadn’t intervened, you’d already be dead."

Garvin’s rage flared, but the pain in his abdomen drowned out his retort. His screams turned to whimpers as the man finally removed the iron, leaving the wound cauterized and smoking. Garvin lay there, his body trembling, his breaths shallow.

The man didn’t stop. He uncorked a bottle of antiseptic and poured it over the wound.

"ARGHHH!" Garvin cried out again, his fists clenching as the burning sensation tore through him. The man ignored his protests, methodically cleaning the wound before beginning to wrap it in clean bandages.

"We leave the desert once you’re strong enough to move," the man said, his voice gruff and unyielding. He crouched down and struck Garvin’s chest with his knuckles, a harsh greeting that sent a dull ache through Garvin’s already battered body. "No place is safe anymore. Staying in one spot too long is a death sentence."

"Thank you..." Garvin rasped, his breath coming in shallow gasps as he finally realized the hot sword was not to kill him. Sweat trickled down his forehead, stinging his eyes. He forced himself to sit up slightly, his hand instinctively clutching his bandaged wound. "But what happened exactly? Where’s Scarlett? Where’s everyone else? How the fuck did I end up in this mess?"

The red-haired woman chuckled softly, her scarred lips curling into a smirk. She leaned closer to Garvin, her shadow falling over him like a shroud. Her sudden proximity made him flinch and inch backward until his back hit the ground. She reached out and placed her calloused hand on his forehead before quickly withdrawing it.

"No fever," she muttered, her eyes narrowing as she studied him. "What’s this? Are you suffering from amnesia or something? You seriously don’t remember how you ended up here?"

"I don’t!" Garvin’s voice rose, his frustration evident. His green eyes widened with desperation as he struggled to piece together the missing fragments of his memory. "What happened? Please, tell me! The last thing I remember was being in the cave with Scarlett and the others. How did I get here? Why am I not with them?"

The woman’s smirk widened, and her eyes glinted with a mix of amusement and curiosity. "You really don’t know, do you?" she said, her tone dripping with mockery.

"No!" Garvin shouted, his fists clenching at his sides. "I don’t fucking know! And I don’t know how I got this injury either!" He gestured to the bloodstained bandage on his abdomen. "The only thing I remember is the cave. How the hell did I end up here?"

The man, who had been silently watching, finally spoke, his voice as rough as gravel. "You were half-dead when we found you," he said, sliding bullets into the chambers of his gun with methodical precision. "No Scarlett. No cave. Just you, lying face-down in the dirt, bleeding like a stuck pig. If we hadn’t found you, you’d be buzzard food by now."

Garvin stared at him, his heart racing. "I was... lying on the ground? Alone? How? What about Scarlett? What about the others?" His voice cracked as panic clawed at his throat. "I don’t understand. How could I not be with them? What happened to me?"

"You’re asking the wrong questions," the red-haired woman interjected, her tone sharp and impatient. "Instead of worrying about them, you should focus on yourself. Be grateful you’re even alive. That’s more than most people can say these days."

The man let out a low chuckle, the sound dark and foreboding. He snapped the chamber of his gun shut with a loud click. "Victor and his men are back," he said, his expression grim. "They’re sweeping through the area, killing survivors, blowing up everything in their path. If we hadn’t dragged your sorry ass out of there, you’d have opened your eyes in hell or heaven, if you’re lucky."

Garvin’s heart sank, his chest tightening as the weight of their words began to sink in.

The woman’s expression turned deadly serious, her smirk replaced by a cold, hard glare. "Victor isn’t the only problem," she said. "There are other groups like his, all of them hunting people without powers like us. They’re using the monsters from this apocalypse to turn humans into monsters."

"These bastards are using the apocalypse as their own twisted game. They let monsters devour people, turning them into mindless beasts, then kill them for rewards. To them, humans like us are nothing but prey." The red haired concluded.

The man nodded, his jaw tightening. "The monsters that started all this? They’re just tools now. The real danger is people with powers. They’re the ones hunting us, using the monsters as weapons."

"And you’d better get used to it. Because out here, it’s not just about surviving the monsters, it’s about surviving the humans who’ve become worse than monsters." The red haired chimed in with a serious expression on her face.