Afterlands

One year after the world met its end, Tommy Galloway felt as if eternities had passed him by.

The day of the end could scantly be prepared to its own prior depictions in movies, TV shows, novels, and video games; when the world’s nations unleashed hellfire on one another, and when the governments seemed to vanish into thin air, those few remaining alive were left to their own devices—which hadn’t changed now, almost exactly one year later.

Memories of a time far gone were all the company Tommy had, living alone in his old hometown of Edgeview, Alabama.

The thin, winding roads stretching throughout the tiny, isolated town once held peaceful routines and warm recollections for him—the routine of sauntering off with his best friend, Clay, as they both headed to work every morning, memories of stumbling home on the latest nights after an evening of heavy drinking, memories of helping Clay’s father to repair his fence on the roadside or tune up his car in the garage across from Tommy’s own home.

But now, one year later—the longest year of Tommy’s life—the road that once played host to his everyday routine, his townspeople and his kinfolk, now sat empty before his old friend’s dark, desolate house.

The road was no longer a home of memories and routines, no longer a simple path of normality for Tommy and his townspeople; now, it was a dark stretch of mystery, a pathway toward the dangers—and a path that led dangers to him. Never again would Clay march across that road to visit Tommy, nor would any car drive by, or any familiar mailman wander past. The road, and the town attached, had become less of a home and more of a prison sanctuary, an ironic jail cell Tommy hated to inhabit, and couldn’t live without.

And thus, over such time—when the town of Edgeview underwent a dark evolution—Tommy did much the same.

Once a simple, fun-loving southerner—the time, the danger, and the uncertainty of tomorrow slowly unraveled his very being.

Work became a hazardous chore, fun became a terrible game of cat and mouse between he and whomever challenged his safety, and that good old southern hospitality slowly morphed into a dark, animalistic wariness, a deeply-seeded paranoia that practically manufactured a whole new personality, one that complimented his new, awful world.

And now, across the southern region of the United States, some clusters of survivors—those who had passed by Edgeview before—knew to avoid the backwoods town of Edgeview, the home of a crazed and capable loner, someone the passersby nicknamed Tomahawk, known now as the Demon of the South.

The Renegades and the Montgomers knew of the whispers and rumors, as did a few sects of survivors in between—but on this day, the eve of the end’s anniversary, more raiders would arrive who doubted the danger they encroached upon.

Tommy was lost in a light sleep inside his RV.

Back in the old days, Clay’s father had generously given him the old RV to use as a first home, which he parked directly across from Clay’s house, up the hill and on the outskirts of Edgeview’s core. A wooden fence wrapped around the grassy property, manufacturing something of a yard for him, which was filled with scavenged items and makeshift statues made of scrap materials, bizarre works of art that he enjoyed creating in his downtime. In the center of his front yard was a clearing of dirt, a crater amidst the grass where charred sticks and a rotisserie resided, where he often cooked small hunted game. His RV was hooked directly into the pole at the edge of Clay’s old yard—and even after all these months, it was still supplying power, though he had no gas to use for his gas stove inside. So, most meats were cooked outdoors. Behind the RV was a thick conglomeration of trees, a heavy wooded area that sloped downhill, leading to a creek where Tommy often fished.

He’d stolen plenty of things from the abandoned stores in town, but nowadays, there was little left to be looted; when the townspeople first evacuated, they took much of their goods with them. What remained was taken by Tommy and the raiders who managed to penetrate his perimeter, although now, few of them dared to try anymore.

The reason for this wasn’t a coincidence; the entrance of the town was a narrow road beside a truck stop bordering the interstate, and while the truck stop was visible from the highway, the town itself wasn’t.

So, Tommy took the liberty of perching up a few of his victims on either side of the road’s edge, morbid decorations comprised of corpse parts and decaying limbs, which often worked to deter post-apocalyptic travelers from venturing up the hidden road.

It didn’t deter everyone, though.

On this early evening, when the sun began to set, and when Tommy was having one of his usual restless naps—vagabonds from areas beyond Edgeview drew nearer to the hidden town. Though as of now, Tommy had no way of knowing such a thing, despite the fervent jumpiness that often dictated his every move.

Down the messy hallway of the old, darkened RV, Tommy lay on his back in the master bed, the narrow floors on either side filled with piles of clothes, junk, and supplies. The nightstand sat mostly empty beside him, aside from the silver revolver nest to his head, always loaded and ready to fire. On his other side, atop the crumpled blanket next to him, was a curved, stylish tomahawk, complete with a leather grip in the middle, a thick black blade at the end, and a single Native American design etched in the long wooden handle.

It was a relic from the past, something left to his father by his grandfather, who was Native American, though you’d never know it by looking at Tommy Galloway.

Slender and toned, Tommy lay asleep on the mattress, his face slender and sharp, spotted with dark stubble at the edge of his chin, which tried to curl around his mouth, only partly succeeding. He was as pale as most once were in Edgeview—except for Clay’s family, who were the only African American family in town back in the day. Tommy’s hairs were light and sandy at the ends, fading darker to the roots, much of it a bit longer in the middle with stringy hairs dangling about in the center, his hairline an unmistakable point, shaped like a long, sharp V. His face was etched with the faintest of laugh lines on either side of his mouth, though he couldn’t remember the last time a laugh of his was genuine with levity. His fingers coiled gently around the fabric of his stained white t-shirt, his knuckles bony and slightly scarred, his expression hardening in his sleep, morphing into one of deep perturbation.

Though he lived alone in the town—and he rarely saw trouble from outsiders now—he felt his anxiety spike with each gust of wind outside his RV’s thin walls, or with every smooth movement of the trees and shrubbery just beyond his bedroom windows. And as the wind gently shifted the treetops hanging above his home, his face grew more intense, breaking out in a light sweat in his sleep.

These days, with every tiny gust of wind, he heard more, felt more, as if the intensity of the first raid was happening all over again—he and Clay sitting on the hill after deciding to stay in town, chatting and talking normally, just when the gunfire erupted out of nowhere, and when Tommy staggered back—firing off shots before he could think, and watching as Clay crumbled in the wake of hellfire—

A bloodcurdling scream shattered the horrid memory—and Tommy found himself jutting backward, raising his hand and pulling the imaginary trigger, scrambling away as his back hit the window above his bed.

His scream ceased the moment he froze atop his mattress, heaving several rapid breaths as his heart hammered ruthlessly behind his ribs, his head light as he glimpsed around the darkness of his home, seeing no gunfire, no attackers approaching, no Clay falling dead at his feet.

For several seconds that seemed to stretch on for years, Tommy merely sat there, his hand shaking as he clenched his teeth with angry fright, his face stricken with disturbed recollection.

Slowly, his hand lowered, coiling into a fist as he glared directly forward at nothing in particular, the mild serenity of his environment slowly returning to him as the wicked memory—once more—slipped away.

Furious with himself and his fear, Tommy rocketed out of bed, not minding that the sun had set outside. It didn’t matter what time it was; he was certain he couldn’t sleep anymore right now.

So, he holstered his gun, grabbed his tomahawk, and shoved the side door open. He then strolled outside, pacing up and down his tiny yard and running his hands down his face, repeatedly combing his hairs back and shaking his head.

He switched between anger and laughter, not knowing why, but perhaps it was due to the sheer ridiculousness of his expectations. Clay had been dead for a year, after all—and Tommy had long since grown past the days of unpreparedness. He had no reason to fear the recent history repeating itself.

Still, it was once again a time of empty loneliness—as Tommy had his next two days of food stashed away in his fridge, and all of his traps and warnings around town were still very much intact, as he’d checked on them earlier in the day.

As of now, there was no work to be done—which was something he very much hated to face.

His downtime was the worst of his lonely existence, as there was absolutely nothing to fill it with, save for building his strange little art statues and yammering madly to himself as he did.

Tommy slowed to a stop, twirling his tomahawk around his fingers and glancing between the makeshift statues across his yard. The one nearest the fence was comprised entirely of small tires melted together, the largest and bulkiest of them all. The statue beside his RV’s side door was a thin one made of poles and wires, a basketball on top with a sharpie-drawn face on it. The most recent of the statues sat beside the spot where he usually lit his campfire, a crooked metal humanoid made of scrap metal and random items, with a toaster for a head with another marker-drawn face strewn across it.

His eyes fixated on the metal statue, glaring into its cartoony eyes.

“What? What?” Tommy breathed, hunching down and cocking his head at the statue challengingly. “I’m tired. I’m tired and I can’t fuckin’ sleep. I can never…”

He stood upright and began pacing again, running a hand down his face, fingers lingering at his chin, stroking it as his thoughts continued to whirl about beyond his control.

As was the normal routine of his bored and lonely nights, he was left with no tasks to distract him and nothing else to focus on, nowhere to go, and no one to talk to. And as he paced faster and faster, his mind racing with every possibility that might spawn from the shifting tree branches and the wind gusting by, he shook his head and swore numerous times under his breath, smacking his skull as if trying to physically force the paranoia from his mind.

Then, Tommy slowed to a stop again, chuckling exasperatedly as he shook his head even more.

He often wondered what he must’ve looked like from an objective view; his mannerisms would make others think he was completely insane, not that it mattered. There was no one around anymore, and for hundreds of days and nights, that terrible reality had never changed unless some random traveler felt like attacking him.

God, how that routine was getting old now.

“I don’t wanna wake up anymore,” Tommy muttered as he resumed his pace, glimpsing between the statues as he spoke, as if he expected a reply. “Not here… not here. I don’t wanna wake up here…”

He suddenly skidded to a stop, shooting a glare down at the metal statue and rounding on it.

“I don’t need you staring at me,” Tommy hissed, flicking the statue in its ink-drawn eyes. “I don’t need you—lookin’ at me—with them fake eyes!”

The statue wavered slightly, but of course, gave no reaction to his statement.

Tommy scoffed and straightened up, shaking his head and pacing up and down the small yard once more. He mumbled to himself and combed his hairs back several times as he walked to and fro, not knowing how much time was passing, and not caring.

Then—a faint noise caused him to freeze mid-step.

His heart skipped, his muscles tensing, his ears perking.

Tommy fell deathly still in the middle of his yard as his adrenaline began to rise, and he slowly, cautiously turned his head, eyeing the tall wooden fence that separated his home from the road of dangers.

The noise occurred again—fainter than a butterfly’s wings, but he knew he wasn’t mistaken.

That sound belonged to a shoe, the sole of a shoe meeting the surface of the pavement in distant, rhythmic taps.

Footsteps.

Then—as his dark, silvery eyes rested fixedly on the wooden fence—another noise occurred that sent his heart plummeting into the pit of his stomach, the sound of distant, growing voices, two of them, twin sets of soft steps on pavement, slowly drawing near.

He was certain, two of them, no more or less…

“Look—see?” one of the strangers said to the other, his voice low and gruff. “There ain’t nobody here. I told ya’ there wouldn’t be.”

“Are you serious?” the second stranger gasped, his voice higher than the first. “With all that crazy shit set up down the road? You really think nobody’s here? I told you, man. This is where Tomahawk lives.”

“And I told you—I don’t believe in all that Demon of the South bullshit,” the gruff man stated as the voices grew louder. “That’s what happens when people see two dead bodies strung up on a back road—they spread bullshit rumors and exaggerate the whole situation. I bet there ain’t no Tomahawk. I bet there never was.”

Tommy easefully moved across the grass, silent as a shadow, his eyes glaring directly through the thin cracks of his wooden fence as his heart began to painfully pound.

“Okay,” the light-voiced man said. “What’s gonna happen if you’re wrong? What if Tomahawk is here? Then what’re we gonna do?”

“We’re gonna kill the fucker,” the gruff man laughed as if he’d simply told a joke. “Same damn thing we always do. Kill ’em and take their shit.”

Tommy’s heart felt as if it had stopped entirely, the primal fear thoroughly washing over him.

Moving back from the fence, he stealthily headed across his front yard as quietly as possible, trailing along the side of the fence until he reached its corner.

At the corner, many plastic bottles were duct-taped to the top of the fence, all of them pointing crookedly to the sky at slanted angles, aiming for the area above the heart of town. Each plastic bottle had a few bottle rockets inside, and Tommy slipped his lighter out of his pocket, hurriedly lighting each fuse and backing away as the sparks began to fizzle off the fireworks.

Then, one by one, the bottle rockets shot out of their containers and showering sparks in their wake—soaring over the heart of Edgeview and erupting loudly in the air, tiny little explosions of light popping off one after another.

The gruff man and the skinny man—who were both walking directly in front of Tommy’s fence now—skidded to a stop and whipped around, gazing over the town of Edgeview and watching in surprise as the fireworks went off somewhere behind them.

The moment the two men turned their backs—Tommy emerged from behind his fence, stepping silently out of his yard and gripping his tomahawk viselike.

The skinny man turned back just in time to see Tommy raise his weapon—the stranger’s eyes widening and mouth dropping open in alarm.

With a powerful swing—Tommy planted the thick bladed tomahawk into the gruff man’s head sickeningly, his skull caving into a fresh crackled crater of broken skull and blood.

The large man buckled to the ground when the skinny man let out a terrified yell—and at once, the two lunged at one another.

The skinny man swung a crowbar—Tommy jerking back and narrowly dodging the swing. As the skinny man hollered and swung again—Tommy let the adrenaline take him, light on his feet as he hopped swiftly away.

Instantly frustrated—the skinny man barreled at him at top speed.

Tommy smirked wickedly—and he fell backward the moment the man swung.

The skinny man found himself falling overtop of Tommy—who grabbed him by the arms, planted a boot in his stomach, and launched the man over himself—sending the skinny man rolling and tumbling awkwardly down the hill.

Tommy was on his feet before the man managed to stop his long tumble—and he strode toward the skinny man with his tomahawk held high, clenching his teeth as the skinny man rocketed up in a final desperate attempt—

CR-SLSH.

Tommy’s blade sank directly into the skinny man’s forehead, his skull caving in with a revolting snap of bone, blood pouring in thick streams down his horrorstricken visage.

Sparing a split second to glare down at him, Tommy’s expression warped with rage as he ripped the blade out—then struck again, then once more, furious and lost to it all, bashing and slashing ruthlessly into the man until he could no longer be recognized as a human from the neck up.

A long, terrible silence fell over Tommy as he stood over the mutilated corpse, his cheek spotted with faint spots of blood, his face hardened with fury as his chest rose and fell with every hot, rushed breath.

He wiped his face with his non-bloodied hand, his head light from shock and adrenaline, though he was accustomed to the sensation by now. He rocked slightly in his stance, a low, mad chuckle escaping him, followed with faint, breathless laughs.

“Whaddoya want from me…?” Tommy exhaled, giving a slight shrug and smirking strangely at the corpse before him.

Then, as his smile of victory faded, and grim reality began to return, Tommy upturned his head, directing his question to the skies now.

“WHADDOYA WANT FROM ME?!” he bellowed in a rage, bashing his fists to his chest and scowling furiously up at God.

Tommy then stormed down the road again and turned behind his fence, marching across his yard and muttering angrily, smacking his hand to the wall of his RV several times before he resolved to pacing again.

Eventually, he found himself leaning on his wooden fence, sighing heatedly and glaring up at the sky once more.

“The only people who come here,” he glowered through gritted teeth. “Wanna kill me. You… took… everything. So what more’s there to take? What more’s there to take? Whaddoya want from me? What—?”

He stopped dead—a noise meeting his ears and making his heart skip yet again.

Tommy took in a sharp breath, biting his lip and freezing up for a moment, remaining entirely still as he listened.

It was the same noise as before, but only two rhythmic taps along the pavement.

Two feet walking—one person approaching. Only one.

His hand trembling, he tightened his grasp on the tomahawk and slowly began to turn, pressing his face to the wooden fence and glaring out at the darkened road through the largest crack between the planks.

He was just able to see the lopsided body of the gruff man lying across the pavement, a pool of blood forming beneath his corpse—and seconds later, another figure appeared on the road. This one was smaller than the previous two, and didn’t appear to be carrying any blunt weapons like the others.

As Tommy squinted through the darkness, he scanned over the stranger intently, reading every inch of her—a girl, not a man, with short black hair, straight and silky, combed-over bangs tenting over her face as she hunched over the corpse to examine it.

Tommy inhaled slowly as he stared through the fence, feeling utterly shocked and overwhelmed, and now, also confused. He’d only ever been visited by raiders—crazed men who came here looking to kill folks and steal their belongings.

But a girl?

Tommy’s mind raced for a course of action, thinking of none.

All his preparations were designed to kill or distract any raiders who might wander into town, and the two weapons he carried served the same purpose. But never once did he truly expect a non-threatening person to wander into town.

Then again, what if she was a threat?

Just because she didn’t have the look or the gender of the average raider didn’t mean she was harmless. In fact, she must’ve been armed and hardened to the world, at least to some extent. She couldn’t wander around like this in the new world otherwise.

The girl seemed to have a small build—at least from what he could tell, as much of her was covered by a dark combat jacket. He couldn’t tell if she was armed or not. She could’ve had a wide variety of small weapons concealed by that coat of hers.

Then—the girl whipped around, facing the fence and practically meeting his gaze.

Tommy took in another sharp gasp and quickly jerked away, clasping his mouth and pressing his back to the fence again, his heart jumping with a sudden anxiety.

Seconds later, he heard the girl’s footsteps approaching the fence just behind him.

Tommy’s breaths grew thin and quick yet again, and he gently turned his head, eyeing the gateway of his fence and waiting for the fateful moment when the girl would appear before him—his hand clamped around his tomahawk, his pulse skyrocketing with anticipation.

The girl leaned into his yard and, and she spotted him.

Tommy scrambled back, shooting her a warning sort of look and holding his weapon high.

“I’m not here to fight,” the girl said calmly, her shiny blue eyes resting on his dark silvery ones.

Tommy continued to glare into her uncertainly, every part of him tense and braced for battle.

The girl slowly raised her hands. “Seriously… I’m not here to fight. I just heard a fight break out up here, and I figured I’d poke around for some good stuff on the losers. But… if you want dibs on the loot…”

“Who are you?” Tommy barked warily, taking a cautious step back.

“Ivy,” the girl named Ivy replied, easefully lowering her hands. “Are you…?”

Her eyes wandered downward, spotting the bloodied weapon in his grasp.

“Oooh,” Ivy uttered, slowly nodding. “You’re Tomahawk.”

Tommy gulped, taking in several deep breaths and eyeing her intently.

Ivy returned his stare with a blank and vacant one, seeming oddly unfazed.

After what felt like an eternity of silence, Tommy finally thought of a response.

“Issat what people call me…?” he murmured faintly.

Ivy smirked and nodded at him. “You can’t kill a bunch of people and decorate the neighborhood with their bodies without getting a rep, dude.”

Tommy stared at her in bewilderment, slightly lowering his weapon, though he didn’t loosen his grasp on it.

“I… who…?” he uttered, totally lost. “Who’s left out there to spread a reputation?”

Ivy’s smile faded. She paused, tilting her head and surveying him closely.

“Oh… man,” she muttered. “You’ve never left this town, have you?”

Tommy swallowed, mildly shaking his head.

“There are still good people out there,” Ivy informed. “The good people actually outnumber the bad… few settlements, and a few traveling traders… and there’s the biggest one around here, Montgomery. Haven’t you ever heard the Montgomers on the radio?”

Tommy shook his head quietly again.

Ivy narrowed her eyes at him thoughtfully. “So… you haven’t left this town since it started? You’ve never seen any other survivors before?”

“Jus… just,” Tommy stammered, motioning loosely toward the fence with his tomahawk.

“No—I don’t mean raiders,” Ivy said, shaking her head. “I mean like actual people. Like, civilized people. People like me.”

Tommy inhaled heavily, and once more, shook his head in response.

Ivy sighed, sparing him a sympathetic look. “Jesus. Just cooped up alone, fighting people off… that must’ve been…”

“Where… ah… who else is out there?” Tommy asked, feeling a spark of hope deep inside, something he hadn’t felt in what seemed like an eternity.

“Well… lots of different kinds of people,” Ivy replied. “But the biggest, best, and safest place is Montgomery. It’s kinda far, but it’s still the best place anyone can go. It’s the only real stronghold in Alabama.”

Tommy let his tomahawk hang by his side, his mouth drifting agape and his eyes sparkling with wonder in a way they hadn’t in forever. He glimpsed quickly between his RV and the girl before him, flashing a faint, crooked half-smile.

Throughout the longest, darkest, most difficult year of his life, Tommy always thought that the rest of the world had fallen entirely—that everyone left alive was a crazed raider, that there was no structure and no civility whatsoever.

But now, despite the grim murders that had just taken place, and despite the darkness of the summer evening, he felt as if a black, murky glossing had been lifted from his eyes, revealing the world in full color and brightening his reality in a manner he thought utterly impossible by now.

“I wanna go,” Tommy breathed.

Before Ivy could reply, Tommy jumped and stepped back again—as the familiar rhythmic noise caught his attention once more. He jerked around, eyeing the fence and listening closely as the distant pitter-patter of footsteps approached yet again—and then, his smile vanished entirely, his hope instantly flickering out like a flame.

Tommy held up his blade and jutted it threateningly at Ivy, visage changing to one of angry distrust, taking a wide step forward and advancing on her. “Who is that? Hah? You think that’s gonna fly? You think your little buddies can send a distraction my way and creep up on me? No—hell no! Nice try—!”

“I don’t know who that is!” Ivy whisper-yelled, her eyes widening in alarm as she too gave the fence a wary glance.

Both of them paused, staring at the fence anxiously as the footsteps drew closer.

Inhaling and bracing himself yet again, Tommy shoved past her and stepped onto the road, spotting a figure approaching from down the hill.

The figure slowed to a stop when Tommy appeared in sight.

The newcomer was about Tommy’s size, perhaps an inch or two taller, with a caramel complexion, wavy black hair, and a white doctor’s coat draped over his clothes, a satchel bag at his side and a large trash bag slung over his shoulder. The man gazed uphill at him in surprise.

Tommy glared downward, returning his stare with a grave, dark expression.

The doctor man gulped and stepped back—and Tommy broke into a run, soaring down the hill at breakneck speed as the doctor spun around to escape—

Ivy stepped out of the fenced-in yard just in time to see Tommy tackle the doctor to the ground, mounting him on the pavement and raising his tomahawk high.

“Don’t—please!” the doctor begged, holding up his hands and gesturing frantically for Tommy not to attack. “I’m not a threat!”

“Yeah, big man,” Tommy fumed, grasping the man crookedly by the face and digging his fingernails into his skin.

He leaned downward, craning over his face and baring his teeth like a predator to prey.

“Whatever you say. Now you think real hard before lyin’ to me, boy. You ain’t the first life I’ll take, and you ain’t gonna be the last. Just another notch in my belt. It ain’t nothin’ to me.”

“Hey!” Ivy panted, sprinting up to them from behind and swiping her bangs aside. “Hey, Tomahawk—I seriously don’t think he’s a raider. He looks like a Montgomer!”

“I am! I am!” the doctor cried, nodding vigorously and looking up to Tommy. “I’m not a raider—I’m from Montgomery!”

“Keep talkin’ boy,” Tommy demanded, pressing his stained blade to the man’s throat.

“M-my name’s Rajiv,” the stranger called Rajiv explained, wincing as Tommy’s knee dug into his stomach. “I was a—a college student in Montgomery—until a year ago. Now I’m a physician in training there.”

“Bullshit,” Tommy snarled. “What the hell’s a guy from Montgomery doin’ way out here?!”

“I—I was with a team of collectors,” Rajiv told him. “We all went out to gather all the medication and medical supplies we could find across Alabama. But as soon as the chopper landed in the first town, Renegade raiders started spilling out of the hospital. I was the only one who got away alive, so—now I’m just—just trying to find a way back home.”

“You have choppers?” Tommy scoffed in disbelief. “Bull-fucking-shit.”

“Well—I don’t, but the local government does,” Rajiv insisted, staring up at Tommy without a hint of deception in his eyes. “Montgomery is the real deal.”

Tommy glared down at him hotly, still holding the blade firmly to his neck. “You lyin’ to me?”

“I’m not lying,” Rajiv insisted, gazing upward and returning his intense stare in full.

Tommy leered into him for several more seconds, glancing between Rajiv and Ivy, looking and feeling deeply conflicted to his core.

He couldn’t know if such hopeful news might be true. For so long, it seemed impossible to hope, unthinkable to imagine that any places or people out there might’ve still been intact.

But—here before him were two people who appeared perfectly, reasonably sane, the first normal people he’d seen since the dawn of the world’s end.

That alone was evidence of civilization beyond the town of Edgeview.

Tommy leaped swiftly to his feet, backing away and holding out his tomahawk toward Rajiv, keeping his eyes locked on the man as he slowly separated from him.

Rajiv sat upright, coughing and straightening out. As the doctor reached his feet, he and Ivy glimpsed at one another, then at Tommy, all of them remaining silent for nearly a full minute.

Then, Tommy’s eyes shifted suspiciously between the two of them. He jabbed the tomahawk at either of them individually. “Y’all know each other?”

Ivy and Rajiv looked to one another again, examining each other and shaking their heads.

“No… I came from the northeast, up near the state line,” Ivy told them.

“I’m from further south, down in Montgomery,” Rajiv stated.

“Really,” Tommy uttered breathlessly, his eyes narrowing into slits. “Y’all both just show up at the same time… just by chance? Right after some raiders? Really?”

“I guess so,” Ivy figured, giving him a shrug. “Coincidences do happen.”

“Hold on,” Rajiv uttered, turning and squinting at Ivy. “Northeast…?”

“Nah—nah, I don’t buy it,” Tommy griped, shaking his head and motioning at them with his weapon. “Y’all are screwin’ with me. You’re tryinna get my guard down—”

“Hey—look at me, Jethro,” Ivy said flatly, taking a brave step forward and pointing at both her eyes. “You’ve killed a lot of those raider people. You’ve seen who they are and what they’re like, so tell me, honestly. Do I look like one of them? Do I look like somebody who goes around killing everybody I see just for the crap they carry around?”

Tommy reared back, looking torn as he glared into her with uncertainty.

It’d been so long since he’d been in a proper conversation—and nobody had ever directly challenged his cautious nature before. Now, he found himself pondering on it, surveying her closely and glancing at Rajiv with the same investigative stare, truly understanding that neither of them fit the bill of a raider at all.

“No,” Tommy murmured faintly.

Ivy nodded and pointed at Rajiv. “And does he look like one?”

“No,” Tommy mumbled again.

“Then calm down,” Ivy requested. “I understand why you’re jumpy as hell, but not everybody in the universe is out to get you. I don’t really give a damn about anyone—but I’m not a big enough asshole to go around raiding and killing everyone, either. Hell, half the buildings out there still have power and water, and you can still find canned food if you look hard enough for it. It’s not that hard to find food and water. Raiders are just lazy assholes who don’t wanna scavenge, or purify water, or hunt food, or anything. Trust me—plenty of people out there are above that.”

“I, uh… I can second that,” Rajiv muttered, slowly raising his hand. “Granted, I come from a whole city of those people, but still… I think that’s the whole point. The world hasn’t fallen. It’s just… been wounded, I suppose.”

“Yeah, what he said,” Ivy nodded and folded her arms.

Tommy swallowed, still glaring at both of them with heavy, cautious skepticism etched across his visage.

Quite honestly, he wanted more than anything for them to be telling the truth—but he wouldn’t drop his guard just based on that hope alone. He damn well knew better than that by now.

Still, he couldn’t ignore the strange spark of happiness that had spawned deep in his core. The sight of two new people—people who seemed to have no interest in attacking him—it was the most delightful thing he’d laid eyes upon since the end came to be. That joy seemed to be colliding with his every wary instinct now. He gnawed his bottom lip thoughtfully as he examined the two of them, longing to try, to take a chance on the newcomers, though every paranoid instinct screamed for him not to.

Ivy stared into him with an unwavering expression, waiting to see how he would react.

Rajiv glimpsed between them both, spotting the conflict on Tommy’s face and sighing heavily.

“I think we all need to calm down… and speak civilly, here,” Rajiv suggested, making a ‘simmer down’ gesture and giving each of them a serious look. “We need to clear the air and clear up whatever misunderstandings are hovering between us right now. Let’s talk.”

“No, I… I don’t wanna talk,” Tommy grumbled, shaking his head and looking down at the pavement, only just remembering where he was standing. “Not here. Not here…”

“Yeah… we’re kinda out in the open,” Ivy uttered, glancing around as well. “Let’s go back up to your yard, Tomahawk.”

“Don’t call me that,” Tommy griped, marching past her and heading toward the RV.

“Demon of the South?” Icy called out behind him.

Tommy halted instantly, slowly turning and eyeing her strangely. “What?”

“That’s your other nickname,” Ivy told him. “People call you the Demon of the South.”

Tommy glared at her oddly for a moment, then scoffed and shook his head again, turning and strolling toward his RV once more.

Ivy and Rajiv exchanged faces before following suit. Rajiv was quick to snatch up his large trash bag of scavenged goods before marching up the hill.

Tommy stormed across his yard and sat on the concrete blocks that served as stairs to his RV’s door, Ivy and Rajiv standing in front of him. Both of them glimpsed around, observing the bizarre little statues up and down the small yard before meeting their owner’s eyes again.

Tommy forced his racing mind to simmer, running hands down his face and staring up at the two of them.

“My name’s Tom… Tommy,” he told the newcomers, giving each of them a nod. “Tommy Galloway. And I ain’t a freakin’ serial killer, I jus…”

“You’re a survivor,” Ivy shrugged with an odd nonchalance. “I get it. But people out there exaggerate. It’s probably the décor around here.”

Tommy let out another scoffing noise, which might’ve been a laugh.

“Well, I… I already told you two the gist of my story,” Rajiv said, shrugging sliding his hands into his pockets.

The moment the doctor’s hands vanished into his pockets—Tommy reeled back in his seated position, stiffening up and glaring daggers at the doctor.

Rajiv stopped, spotting his sudden alertness and slowly revealing his hands again, holding both of them upright. “Easy. I’m not armed… and I’m not gonna pull a piece on you. Don’t worry.”

Tommy glared at him for a moment, slowly allowing himself to relax.

“My turn,” Ivy offered. “My name’s Ivy, and I’ve been living with some friends of mine until we had a falling out, and I decided to go my own way. I’m actually on my way to the great crown jewel, same as you.” She gave Rajiv a nod. “Seems like the only destination that makes sense, so… there you go.”

“You armed?” Tommy asked, his eyes locking onto her.

Ivy hesitated. Then, she slowly pulled out the side of her dark combat jacket, revealing a holster and a shiny black revolver on her hip.

“I wasn’t about to make a journey this long without some protection. But don’t freak out—I only use it for self-defense,” she told him honestly. “Okay?”

Tommy gulped and slowly nodded, turning to Rajiv again. “You probably oughta be armed, too. Ya’ can’t survive out here without weapons.”

“Well… to be honest, I didn’t plan to be stranded,” Rajiv replied with a breathless laugh. “I had armed guards accompanying me and the other medical personnel. But, our info was faulty. The place wasn’t empty like we expected, so…”

He trailed off, staring downward and wearing a grave visage for a moment, seeming to be reliving an unpleasant memory. Then, he quickly shook it off and raised his head again.

“Point is… I expected to be visiting empty hospitals and clinics in a chopper,” Rajiv disclosed. “Not walking across the wasteland lost and unarmed.”

“Okay, Tom,” Ivy said, smirking and giving him a nod. “Your turn.”

Tommy stared between the two of them, still feeling as if he was living through a lucid dream rather than an unwitting reality.

The year that passed felt like a decade of isolated insanity, playing cat and mouse, hunter and prey, jumping at every noise and fearing every dark corner and every unseen roadway—but now, two perfectly sane people stood before him, delivering the greatest information he could’ve ever expected on a silver platter. Part of him still expected it to be a trick of some kind, a clever way to make him lower his guard so the strangers could ambush him…

But as he scanned over each of them intensely, he could see no hint of deceit in their eyes, nor any subtle movements that might allude to a predatory ulterior motive. And Tommy knew all about those; he’d seen those little tells in all the people who’d targeted him before. These two, however—Ivy and Rajiv—they had no tells, no subtle movements to reach for their weapons or deliver messages to each other through gestures or eye contact.

And—their gazes shone with a sense of transparency he hadn’t seen since his old best friend was still alive, their eyes calm and genuine, not at all lit with the bright fires of insanity like all the people who’d arrived in Edgeview before them.

So, Tommy inhaled deeply and spoke.

“Been livin’ here all my life,” he told them. “Mum and Dad died in a car crash when I was little, so me and my buddy just kinda looked after each other… up until the town went crazy. Everybody else packed up and bugged out. Me and my buddy decided to stay, but… then, he died, so… I just… stayed here alone.”

There was a grim silence following his words, Ivy’s expression unreadable as she observed Tommy, Rajiv now looking troubled.

“So,” Rajiv said softly, raising his brows at Tommy. “What do you plan to do now?”

“I’unno,” Tommy sighed, hanging his head. “I never know…”

There was another pause.

Then, Rajiv straightened up, his eyes shifting between the two of them as he sparked an idea.

“The people I represent are connected to the new Alabama government,” he informed. “The medical wing of the new government, more specifically. People with medical training—or undergoing medical training—are considered of great import in Montgomery. So, if someone were to escort me safely back to the city, then I’m sure they’d be compensated well upon their arrival there.”

Ivy turned to him, her eyes lighting up.

Tommy slowly raised his head, examining the doctor and remaining deep in thought.

“Plus, it… it sounds like Ivy was planning to go there, anyway,” Rajiv added. “And you, Tom… well… I can’t imagine you wanna stay here, do you?”

Ivy and Rajiv both stared at him expectantly, awaiting his answer.

Tommy inhaled a heavy breath, pondering on the issue and wanting to spring to his feet, to pack up everything he could carry and rush off to this fabled paradise—but he swallowed every hopeful urge, glaring into them with a deep feeling of caution coursing through him, the very instinct that had kept him alive during this long, painful year.

His instincts and his desires were now waging war inside him, and he couldn’t know which of them should win the battle.

Rajiv read his expression intently, slowly moving forward and sinking down to his knee, leveling his eyes with Tommy’s. He easefully reached into his coat’s inner pocket—Tommy taking a sharp breath and tensing up again—but when Rajiv revealed his hand, he was holding no weapon. Instead, a thick leather wallet was in his palm. He flipped it open, revealing a newly laminated ID, complete with Rajiv’s own portrait. It was a type of ID Tommy had never seen before, and at the bottom, a single phrase was visible in bold black letters. The label read:

Montgomery Physician in Residency.

Tommy glanced between Rajiv and his ID several times in disbelief.

Rajiv flashed a faint smile, pocketing his wallet again and giving him a nod. “The only thing… the only thing I’ve been trying to do this past year is help everyone I possibly can. You know I am who I say I am, and you know I’m telling the truth now. You can search me if you like. I’m unarmed, and I’ve got no way of working at an angle, here. Not to mention, you’ve already proven you can take me in a fight, so I don’t think you have much to worry about. So… how about it? How about you finally find some peace? Because judging by the looks of this neighborhood, I’d say you’re well overdue for that by now.”

Tommy suddenly felt like an abused feral animal of some kind, tense and braced for a fight even when it wasn’t necessary, gazing into the man before him and searching every inch of his expression for any hint of untrustworthiness.

But Rajiv’s smile was the most genuine one he’d seen since the days of Clay Greene, and his eyes were the same big, shiny brown ones his friend once had, no trace of deception visible anywhere amidst his face or his mannerisms. When he glanced up at Ivy, she too was wearing a warm, hopeful smile, clearly excited by the idea of traveling to Montgomery as a group.

Then, Tommy’s gaze ventured to the ground, where Rajiv had placed his large trash bag. He stared at it for a moment, then met the doctor’s eyes again.

“What’s in the bag?” Tommy inquired. “And why were you coming up the hill?”

Rajiv straightened out, reaching behind him and sliding the bag toward him. “Take a look.”

Tommy spared him a glimpse, then opened the bag and began rifling through it.

Inside were countless bottles of medication, a stethoscope, a briefcase containing tweezers and several scalpels, numerous small first-aid kits, bottles of peroxide, a few tubes of antibacterial cream, and two bottles of alcohol.

“I intended to do at least part of my mission, stranded or not,” Rajiv informed. “I was exploring the rest of the town because I noticed a few vehicles left behind. I was hoping I’d be lucky enough to find one that still worked, and still had gas.”

Tommy nodded silently, placing the items back into the bag and glancing up at Ivy. “What about you? Why’d you come into town? You coulda just followed the interstate toward Montgomery. This ain’t a pit-stop you should’ve needed to come to.”

“Well… at first, I came into town for the same reason he did,” Ivy admitted. “I was hoping to find a car, or a bike, or something. But then, I saw fireworks, and I heard people screaming up here, so…”

“So… you decided to investigate,” Tommy determined, narrowing his eyes at her. “Why?”

“I told you… loot,” Ivy shrugged casually. “Usually, whenever a fight breaks out, somebody dies. Which means there’s loot to pick up.”

“If somebody dies in a scuffle, that means the other person killed ‘em,” Tommy pointed out, slowly reaching his feet and staring deeply into her. “So… you wandered up here, knowing that the winner of that fight was still alive, and you expected to pick up the loot without the winner of that fight gettin’ in your way?”

Ivy gulped and took in a long breath, falling momentarily silent.

Rajiv turned and eyed her as well, he and Tommy both now giving her a long, skeptical stare.

“Fine,” Ivy said vacantly. “I heard the fight—and then I heard someone screaming bloody murder up here, so I wanted to come see if somebody needed help. You happy now?”

Tommy glared into her, scanning her face and finding no trace of deceit once again. He then sighed and gave her an odd look.

“Why’s that so hard to say?” he asked honestly. “Why not just tell me that in the first place?”

“Because I don’t usually give a damn,” Ivy replied coldly. “And I don’t want everyone I meet to just expect me to all the time.”

“Oh… you’re one of those people,” Rajiv murmured, scoffing out a laugh.

“What? One of what people?” Ivy retorted, rounding on him.

Rajiv chuckled. “One of those people who acts like they don’t care about anything, even though it’s a complete lie. I have a friend just like you back home.”

“Yeah—you tell yourself whatever you want, fuckboy,” Ivy griped. “All I care about is getting to Montgomery. So, is that what we’re doing, or not?”

Tommy’s gaze moved between the two of them—and somehow, by some grand divine miracle, the simple casualness of their conversation seemed to lighten his heart dramatically.

His mood lifted, and he revealed a half-smile, his crooked little laugh lines suddenly visible rather than his usual disturbed grimace. It’d been so long since he’d heard a normal conversation or a funny insult, and both of them felt like a true gift from God…

“My God,” Rajiv muttered, squinting at Tommy’s face. “Are you smiling?”

Tommy let out a dry, breathless laugh. “God help me, I am…”

“Is that a yay or nay?” Ivy asked.

Tommy met her beautiful cerulean stare, and suddenly, he could no longer stop himself from letting the hope arise.

Perhaps he might regret it, and maybe he’d even face the same hell out there that he’d been forced to face here—but right this moment, he simply didn’t have the energy to care.

All that mattered was this; at long last, a beacon of hope had arrived on his darkened doorstep.

“I say yay, girl,” Tommy smiled wonderfully. “I wanna get the hell outta here.”