Apocolypse surviors

Dawn festered over the gnarled skies, clouds curdling like overwhipped cream blotting out the burgeoning tapestry of lavender from further making its debut. It did not rain. But the wind itself was heavy with the warning of it, the scent of petrichor tainted and singed with something astringent and rotten as spoiled fruit in a long dead orchid. Bruised and mottled the heavens sat bloated over the remains of what once was, debris piled high or smoldering low, long overtaken by the hunger of the earth, coveted by the vestitudes of stubborn vegetation determined to live regardless of past circumstances. From an afar of distance that seemed neither that close, smoke rose in impatient plumes, arrogant in their furrow, unwilling to die down even after life had long ceased in their aftermath.. Though the night had now ended, the conclusions of events that had unfolded still lingered like a smog even in the bruised arrival of dawn. Shadows convulsed. Seeming to writhe like living creatures within the shades of the Dilapidated 'structures'; two once apartment buildings, sagged against another like stragglers that escaped war only to succumb soon after in their 'peace', a erosion of materials overtime causing them to sink like withered flora, scattering debris across the cluttered terrain like the decompose of rotted flesh from a corpse. There was little sound here, there should have been---surely. An animal perhaps? A rodent? Or even bugs? But there were no such sounds, only the murmuring whimper of the breeze through the graveyard of what once was, but no longer would ever be.

At least that was how it was supposed to be.

Soft. Unassuming. Perhaps even negligible, was the padding of footsteps on complaining terrain, fabric rustling like a sigh through thin paper reeds, fortunately the wind greedily devoured such sounds into her languor, acting as cover or perhaps an unintentional veil. Shadows seemed to part around their emergence as curtains to a stubborn column of light, illumination just barely presenting itself within the dismal setting, perhaps not even worth the imagery of description. And yet, steadily one by one the four were revealed just as the silver moons within a bleak unshifting sky. The six of close age variation were of evident stubborn will as they quietly filtered into the remnants of what was likely a store of convenience, though most products were reduced to waste. The small 'shop' was likely an added measure to the Apartment complexes, something close by for easy architectural convenience no doubt, but now it was only a 'museum' holding relics the current generation has no mind to admire. At least not in this godforsaken setting. The group came to settle within that gutted maw with likely intention, fatigue gripping them like sticky tar, threatening to pull them under. However some were less ‘in distress’ then others.

“—ah, i'm starvin~~!” As if noise were a suggestion he apparently held little care for, one of the males, green, out of the three provided, pranced forward like a golden retriever off its leash, messy brown locks tumbling across the smiling curve of green eyes, as he were the personification of spring morning. One out of the three women gave him a rather wary berth, the jagged edges of her pixie cut catching the whimper of the morning air like spider silk. She had been the latest survivor to join this ragtag group—and everyday she was wondering why on earth she did such—perjpas it was the familiar face of her former red-headed classmate, or perhaps it was just a humans ire to seek companionship. Meanwhile the smiling youth of great enthusiasm bounded forward to the fridges no longer working, uncaring of dust or the scattering of roaches he reached forth delving into the age old remnants of a forgotten generation, cracking open a bottle and immediately chugging it without regard to the rancid perfume that greeted the air upon initial opening. He drank. And he drank. And he drank, until the bottle was empty, tossing it aside and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand as if duly satisfied.

And not a singular unwell gurgle left his smiling lips, strange..truly strange he was.

The young woman with the pixie cut, Jada, winced, throat rolling as if she were the one to drink the no doubt long expired, what appeared to be, pineapple juice. To her left another young woman of similar age—petite stance and thick russet curls, Melody, pretended not to notice the peculiarities, her giggles a soft wind chime that billowed on the stale air like perfume clouds. As if tickled by his…charm? Perhaps having good looks means even such things could be ignored. Metal groaned and scattered papers rustled like whispers on the wind, though of shaded territory and congested infrastructure, there was little, infected— and what was, was dually handled on the way. Nevertheless tawny arms of sable complexion, revealed under the undulating corded flesh like the undercurrent of amber beneath fertile soil—with deceptive ease, they wedged the long rusted door back into working conditions jamming it into the opening reducing the thin stream of illumination by half. But with it came a somewhat comforting level of security—even if only a placebo in such a godforsaken world.

"Should we get some rest? The sun is soon to be out, the infected will likely go to ‘sleep', but we also haven't rested in two days..." The words dripped from full lips of tired rumination, dark fingers a shade lighter then the ones that closed the door, delving through the kinky tangle of hair in desperate need of a wash—Anna-mae, huffed, finding a clear enough place to flop down, shuffling her bag between her legs.

At her words both women looked over, shuffling closer in perhaps reflexive proprietary, however the three men were of differing status. The one whom shut the door, dusted off his pants with leisure articulation, tall frame towering over the aisles like a particularly elegant tiger in a tea shop, he lazily licked his lips, eyes threatening to swallow the vestitudes of light within their lapis depths as if holding a secret flame within the thinning of pupils, absently he stepped over the long rotted corpse of a mouse, next to him—though loosely termed, was a storm cloud in human form, an ink stain even in the muted colors of the world, silken threads of obsidian falling over the slender abyss of his angular gaze as if a needling canopy. Skin pale as alabaster catching the loose fragments of light as if daring it to shine anywhere else. Neither spoke in response, handsome features marred in shadows and divine indifference as if they had not heard her speak at all, each separating to look around with mild interest or rip open a second fridge and start thumbing through the bottles like on a grocery run, only the one of green smiling eyes glanced over, a bottle of what appeared to be coagulated cough medicine already nearing his lips for a sip.

“Rest? Oh rest..hm, Okay! The weak, of course, should sleep hehe~~”