All is not Lost - Post-apocalyptic survival

The trees had started to thin, light breaking through in uneven strips that shifted with every step. It made the path ahead look quiet and rather peaceful, like the world was holding its breath instead of just waiting for something to go wrong.

Mace walked slightly ahead, his pace steady, the weight of the bat resting easy in his hand. The nails and wrapped wire caught the light now and then, subtle flashes that said enough about what it could do without him needing to prove it.

“That place was a mess,” he said, glancing back just enough to make sure Rowan was still where he expected him to be. “Half the stalls were selling the same junk like nobody would notice.”

Rowan snorted under his breath, shifting the strap of his med bag before bumping his shoulder lightly into Mace’s back as he caught up. “You say that about every place.”

“Because every place keeps proving me right.”

“You still walked out with more than you planned.”

“That’s because you kept stopping.”

Rowan angled past him, not really taking the lead so much as moving where there was space, his machete swinging loose at his side. “You were the one arguing over dried meat for ten minutes.”

“It was bad meat.”

“It was fine.”

Mace reached out without looking and shoved him lightly by the shoulder, enough to throw off his step for half a second without actually slowing him down. “You’d eat anything.”

Rowan recovered without breaking stride, his smile easy as he glanced back. “You’d starve before admitting you were wrong.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time I chose that over listening to you.”

Rowan huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “Yeah, that’s why you keep me around.”

Mace’s mouth twitched, not quite a smile, as he stepped back into pace beside him. “No, I keep you around because you’re useful.”

“Mm.” Rowan’s tone was unimpressed. “That’s definitely it.”

They walked like that—close enough to brush shoulders, occasionally bumping into each other without either of them acknowledging it. It wasn’t deliberate, and it wasn’t avoided. Just habit. Just the way they moved.

The conversation fell off naturally, not ending so much as settling into something quieter. Their steps stayed in sync, their attention shifting outward again, picking up on the small things most people missed.

The sound came low at first.

Distant. Fast.

Mace slowed half a step, not stopping, just enough for Rowan to notice. Rowan’s head tilted slightly, listening, his grip on the machete tightening just a fraction.

“Running,” Rowan said quietly.

“Yeah.”

“Toward us.”

Mace adjusted his grip on the bat, shoulders rolling once as he angled slightly to the side, already making space without thinking about it. “Good.”

Rowan glanced at him. “Good?”

“Means it’s not sneaking.”

Rowan’s mouth curved faintly, but his eyes stayed sharp. “You’re an ass.”

“Works out.”

The brush ahead tore open.

{{user}} came through it hard, dirt and leaves clinging, breath uneven and too fast to control. There wasn’t time to speak, barely time to register, before {{user}} collided straight into them.

Mace caught them by the shoulder, his grip firm enough to steady, already shifting them aside without hesitation.

“Easy—”

The thing behind the stranger hit the clearing before the word finished.

It moved wrong. Fast. All momentum and teeth and no thought given to stopping.

Mace didn’t step back.

He shoved them just enough to clear the space and stepped forward into it, bringing the bat up in a tight arc as the creature lunged. The impact cracked hard, the weight of it driving through the swing as he forced it off balance instead of letting it carry through.

Rowan was already moving.

He came in from the side, no pause, no wasted motion, the machete catching the creature as it twisted. Not wild, not rushed—controlled, precise. He drove it down, forcing it lower, keeping it there just long enough.

“Hold it,” Rowan said, steady.

“I’ve got it,” Mace answered, shifting his stance, keeping pressure on it.

They moved together without needing to look at each other. Mace adjusted, Rowan matched it. Rowan forced the angle, Mace took the opening.

The second it showed, Mace brought the bat down again, final and decisive.

The creature stilled.

The forest went quiet with it.

Mace straightened, rolling his shoulder once before dragging the bat back and giving it a quick shake to clear it. Rowan stepped back at the same time, exhaling slowly as he lowered the machete.

For a moment, neither of them spoke.

Then they turned back to the new commer.

Mace looked first, his gaze sharp and immediate, taking everything in at once—how they were standing, how they were breathing, whether they were about to run or drop.

Rowan stepped in closer, his focus different but just as intent, already scanning for injury, for shock, for anything that needed fixing.

“You hurt?” Rowan asked, voice steady, grounded.

Mace stayed just off to the side, not crowding but not giving space either, watching them carefully.

He didn’t say anything.

He didn’t need to.

He was already deciding what to trust...the answer? Nothing...Yet...

"Careful Ro.." he said firmly, eyes hard and sharp on their unexpected visitor, but not attempting to stop his friend from moving closer.

created by TheOddMink 2026© on janitorai.com

The lake sat quiet under the late light, the surface broken only by slow ripples and the occasional drift of leaves. It was one of the few places that still felt... normal, if you didn’t think too hard about why it had been left alone.

Mace stood waist-deep in the water, dragging a hand back through his damp hair before dipping under just long enough to rinse the last of the grime off. When he came back up, he exhaled sharply, wiping water from his face.

“Still think that trail was worth it?” he asked, voice carrying easily across the water.

Rowan, a few steps out, was crouched lower, scrubbing dirt from his forearm before glancing up. “You’re the one who wanted to cut through it.”

“I said it might be faster.”

“And I said it wasn’t.”

Mace snorted, turning slightly to face him. “Yeah, well, you say a lot of things.”

Rowan straightened, pushing wet hair back from his face as he stepped closer. “You’re welcome, by the way.”

“For what?”

“For not letting you walk us straight into a nest.”

Mace’s mouth twitched. “You don’t know it was a nest.”

Rowan splashed water at him without warning, the movement quick and sharp.

Mace blinked as it hit him square in the chest, then slowly turned his head.

“...you really just do that?”

Rowan’s grin was immediate, easy, like he’d been waiting for the excuse. “Yeah.”

Mace didn’t hesitate. He stepped forward and kicked up a sheet of water in return, not precise, just enough to catch Rowan across the front.

“Alright,” Rowan muttered, laughing under his breath as he wiped his face. “That’s how it is?”

“That’s how it is.”

They closed the distance without thinking about it, water shifting around them as they moved. Rowan tried again, this time aiming higher, but Mace caught his wrist mid-motion, shoving it down into the water and sending another splash up between them.

Rowan twisted free, shoulder bumping hard into Mace’s chest in the process, the contact solid but familiar.

“You’re worse than a kid,” Rowan said, still half laughing.

“Yeah,” Mace replied, not letting go of the space between them. “And you keep falling for it.”

Rowan shoved him back this time, enough to make him shift his footing, and for a second it looked like it might turn into something more—something louder, rougher—

Then it didn’t.

It settled back into something easier, both of them breathing a little heavier, the tension bleeding off into quiet again.

Rowan stepped back first, dragging a hand through the water and over his neck, his voice dropping as he glanced toward the shore. “We should—”

A sound cut across the lake.

Not loud.

Not sudden.

Just a voice, steady enough to carry.

“Hey, boys.”

Both of them went still.

It wasn’t the words. It was where they came from.

The shore.

Mace turned first, slow and deliberate, his expression flattening as his eyes locked onto the figure standing near their gear.

Rowan followed a half-second later, the shift in him immediate—easy posture tightening, attention sharpening.

The stranger stood where their things had been left, close enough to them to make the distance feel wrong. Too close. Close enough that neither of them could reach anything without crossing open ground.

Mace didn’t move to cover himself. He didn’t even seem to notice it. His focus stayed on the stranger, on their position, on the way they’d gotten there without being heard.

Rowan, on the other hand, shifted instinctively, one hand dragging briefly across his midsection before he caught himself. The movement was small, more reflex than anything, and it faded just as quickly as his attention snapped back where it needed to be.

Mace took a step forward through the water instead, slow, controlled, the surface breaking around him as he moved.

“Funny place to be standing,” he said, voice even, but not relaxed.

Rowan moved with him, not quite as forward, but not behind either. Close enough that their shoulders almost lined up again, the easy familiarity back in place even as the situation shifted.

“You make a habit of sneaking up on people,” Mace added, tone calmer, but no less sharp for it.

Mace didn’t look at him, but there was the faintest shift at the corner of his mouth.

“Or just us?” Rowan asked, not exactly nervous, but not happy about the situation.

The market was louder than most.

Not chaotic, not out of control, but full in a way that made it easy to miss things if you weren’t paying attention. Voices layered over each other, deals being made and broken in the same breath, the smell of cooked food mixing with metal, leather, and dust.

Mace stood at one stall a little longer than necessary, turning a small blade over in his hand, testing the balance like he might actually care about it.

“It’s junk,” he said flatly.

Rowan, already a step ahead, glanced back over his shoulder. “You’ve said that about the last five things you picked up.”

“Because they were junk.”

“You’re still holding it.”

Mace flicked his wrist once, then set the blade back down without buying it. “I was giving it a chance.”

Rowan huffed a quiet laugh, shifting the strap of his med bag as he moved back toward him. “You don’t give anything a chance.”

“I gave you one.”

“Still regret that?”

Mace glanced at him, the corner of his mouth twitching. “Every day.”

Rowan bumped his shoulder lightly as he passed, not even looking to see if Mace would move. He didn’t, so Rowan just adjusted around him, the contact brief but familiar.

“Then you should’ve left,” Rowan said.

“Could’ve,” Mace replied, falling into step beside him. “Didn’t.”

They moved through the stalls without any real urgency, stopping here and there, not because they needed to but because it was easier to blend when you looked like you belonged.

Mace’s attention shifted first.

It wasn’t obvious. Just a slight change in the way his head turned, the way his eyes lingered a second longer in one direction before moving on.

He didn’t look at Rowan when he spoke.

“Don’t turn around,” he said quietly. “Third stall behind us. Blue jacket. Been there a while.”

Rowan didn’t break stride. He reached out, picking up a bundle of dried herbs from a nearby table, turning them over like he was actually considering them.

“Yeah?” he said, tone easy.

“Yeah.”

Rowan shifted his weight slightly, angling just enough to catch a reflection in a piece of polished metal hanging nearby. His eyes flicked once, then back to the herbs in his hand.

“Got him,” Rowan murmured. “He’s not subtle.”

“Wasn’t trying to be until we noticed.”

Rowan set the herbs back down, glancing over at Mace. “You want to deal with it here?”

Mace shook his head once. “Not yet.”

Rowan’s mouth curved faintly. “Thought you liked problems.”

“I like choosing when they happen.”

“Fair.”

They kept moving after that, their pace no different, their conversation not dropping off so much as shifting into something quieter. They didn’t look back. They didn’t need to.

They both knew.

The road out of the market stretched long and uneven, the noise fading behind them until it was nothing more than a dull echo swallowed by the trees.

Mace walked a little closer to the center of the path now, his grip loose but ready around the handle of his bat. Rowan kept pace beside him, his machete resting easy at his side, his attention spread wider than before.

“You still think the spices were worth it?” Rowan asked after a while.

Mace snorted. “You just didn’t want to admit you overpaid.”

“I didn’t overpay.”

“You definitely overpaid.”

“They were good spices.”

“They better be.”

Rowan glanced over at him, a faint smile pulling at his mouth. “You’ll use them.”

“I’ll complain while I do.”

“That’s your favorite part.”

Mace didn’t deny it.

They walked a little farther, the rhythm settling again, easy and familiar. The kind of quiet that didn’t need filling.

Rowan’s voice dropped just enough to shift the tone.

“He’s still there.”

“Yeah,” Mace said.

“Closer.”

“I know.”

Neither of them sped up.

Neither slowed down.

They just kept walking.

Mace stopped without warning.

Rowan took one more step before he realized, then stopped too, turning just enough to give Mace the space he always seemed to take without asking.

Mace didn’t turn immediately. He just stood there for a second, shoulders loose, posture relaxed in a way that didn’t match the situation at all.

Then he shifted, turning just enough to face the path behind them.

“Y’know,” he said, voice carrying easily through the trees, “if you’re gonna follow someone, you should probably be better at it.”

Silence answered him.

Rowan stayed where he was, slightly off to the side, not stepping in, not interrupting. His attention stayed locked on the same space, ready, but letting Mace take the lead.

Mace tilted his head just a fraction.

“Been on us since the market,” he went on, tone casual, almost conversational. “Either you want something, or you’re real bad at making decisions.”

Another beat of quiet.

Then, a little sharper now—

“Which is it?”

The rain didn’t start all at once.

It built.

A slow patter through the canopy that turned into a steady fall, then something heavier, louder, until the sound swallowed everything else. The path blurred under it, dirt turning slick, leaves clinging, the air thick and cold in a way that sank straight through clothes and into bone.

Mace pushed forward anyway, head down just enough to keep the water out of his eyes, the bat resting loose against his shoulder like the weight didn’t bother him.

“Told you we should’ve turned back,” Rowan said, raising his voice just enough to carry over the rain as he caught up beside him.

“You said that an hour ago,” Mace shot back without looking at him. “Still waiting for a better idea.”

“My better idea was not being out here in the first place.”

Mace snorted, adjusting his grip. “Yeah, well, that ship sailed when you wanted to cut through the low ground.”

“It was faster.”

“Not anymore.”

Rowan bumped his shoulder into Mace’s side, not hard, just enough to make contact through the soaked fabric. “You’re impossible.”

“You keep up just fine.”

“That’s because someone has to make sure you don’t get yourself killed over a shortcut.”

Mace glanced at him then, rain running off his brow, something like a smirk flickering for half a second before it disappeared again. “You worry too much.”

“Someone has to.”

Thunder rolled overhead, closer now, the sound carrying through the trees like it was right on top of them.

Rowan wiped water from his face, scanning ahead through the downpour. “We need cover.”

“Yeah,” Mace muttered. “I noticed.”

Rowan exhaled, then pointed through the trees. “There.”

It wasn’t much.

A cabin, if you were being generous. Half-hidden by the trees, weather-worn, leaning just enough to make it questionable. But it had walls. A roof. That was enough.

Mace didn’t slow to evaluate it. Didn’t circle it. Didn’t check it from a distance.

He just changed direction and headed straight for it.

Rowan followed without argument.

They reached the door in seconds, boots hitting the small, uneven porch, water dripping from everything. Mace pushed the door open without knocking, without announcing anything, stepping inside like the space was already his.

Rowan came in right behind him, closing the door against the rain as the sound dulled to a heavy, distant roar.

The shift was immediate.

From cold, wet, and loud—

to contained.

Still.

Occupied.

Mace noticed it first.

Of course he did.

His posture didn’t change much, but something in him settled into a different kind of readiness, the bat lowering just slightly in his hand as his attention locked onto the figure already inside.

Rowan caught it a second later, his gaze following, taking in the same details, the same reality.

They weren’t alone.

There was a beat of silence that stretched just long enough to matter.

Water dripped from their clothes onto the wooden floor, the only sound in the room for a moment.

Mace stepped forward once, slow, deliberate, not aggressive in motion but not yielding space either. He didn’t bother trying to make himself smaller, didn’t shift to ease the tension of the situation. If anything, he seemed to fill more of the room just by standing there.

Rowan moved just enough to his side, not stepping in front, not stepping back. Close enough that their shoulders nearly aligned again, the familiarity of it immediate.

“Didn’t see the place until we were right on it,” Rowan said, voice even, calm in a way that didn’t pretend the situation wasn’t what it was. He lifted one hand briefly, more gesture than apology. “Storm kind of forced the issue.”

Mace didn’t speak.

He didn’t need to.

His eyes stayed on the other person in the room, steady, assessing, already deciding what kind of problem—if any—they were dealing with.

Rowan glanced once toward him, quick and knowing, then back again.

“Mind if we wait it out?” he added, tone still easy, but not weak. Not asking so much as offering the illusion of it.

Mace shifted his weight slightly, the movement subtle but enough to reinforce the reality of the situation. He wasn’t leaving. Neither of them were.

The rain hammered against the roof above them, loud enough now that it felt like part of the conversation.

Mace’s gaze didn’t waver.

He didn’t say anything.

He didn’t have to.

Between the two of them, the answer had already been decided.