A new chapter for All the little lost. Preview down below, full chapter at the link. Enjoy!
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The first of the flytraps was probably the worst thing Louis had ever seen, and he was aware of the competition in that category. They encountered it about an hour after their break as the survivors looked for a way back to the tram line. Centuries-old damage and acts of sabotage – not all of them on Four’s updated maps – blocked their intended route, forcing the survivors to go farther off-course. More than once they’d seen another of those smiling faces with party hats painted on the walls. More than one person had drawn them and several had been erased or painted over in turn.
It wasn’t just that they were pointing in the wrong direction of where the survivors were trying to go; whatever the ‘clubhouse’ was, someone there didn’t like potential visitors knowing about it. It was entirely possible that it actually was somewhere safe, set up off the beaten path to keep its presence as quiet as possible to avoid raids and other attacks. It was also possible that they might find an entangled dragon, rescue it from its bindings and in gratitude it would fly them back to civilization and safety.
Louis knew which one of those possibilities he felt was more likely. Given that they were doing everything they could to avoid going in the direction of those signs, he could also guess which one Four believed, too. He’d overheard Hayes asking Godfrey if she knew what ‘clubhouse’ meant. The Ghost shook her head. “Never heard of it,” the power-armoured woman answered. “Primal never left the docks. We stayed to enforce quarantine. Leviathan in air processing was the furthest anyone got that we heard about.”
“Great,” Louis muttered to himself. “I love forging virgin territory. That’s why I became a mercenary, to be the goat sent out to check for mines.”
“Oh come on,” the Silver Man scoffed as he checked feeds on his flamethrower. He only had enough fuel left for one good burst. As he tested the pilot light, flickers of orange shimmered across his armour. “It’s not that bad, is it? After all,” He raised his head to face Louis, his teeth catching the glow and shining through his visor, “you’re not dead yet.”
“I guess not,” the mercenary conceded. He didn’t remember when the Silver Man had joined them, but he also couldn’t remember when he hadn’t been there, either. Every time he tried, the thoughts slipped away. He’d been with them for a long time, though.
“And isn’t it better to just accept everything? You’re getting along with Three and Four again, the Ghost isn’t looking quite so hard in your direction. All that scratching and itching has eased up and, of course, you’ve got me watching your back.”
Louis nodded. The Silver Man was right. He knew how he was going to die. He was going to burn and the last thing he saw was going to be his own agonized reflection in the Silver Man’s helmet. He’d realized that back in the oasis. Everything had started to fall into place after that. Whatever Four was doing or not doing, whatever all those dark thoughts he’d been having had insisted, whatever that blood-hungry psycho Godfrey was planning… none of it meant a damn thing. He knew how he was going to die and there was no point fighting it. It was carved in stone, so he might as well just enjoy the ride until it happened.
He and the Silver Man were on point when he first noticed something was wrong, the soft beeping of movement on his motion tracker cutting through their conversation. “Got something here,” he reported. “Movement thirty meters south. It’s a soft read, could be something like a fan or some rats.” They’d seen a few of the things already. Three had done a full-body shudder when they moved some crates out of the way and a pair of yellow-eyed furry rodents had scurried out, vanishing into the shadows before anyone could react.
“Well,” Louis had joked as the creatures disappeared, “There goes tonight’s supper.”
Hutchins had just stared at him. “Don’t even, Nine. Don’t you even.”
“She’ll face down inhuman monsters without flinching, but something with four feet and whiskers makes her want to jump on a chair and shriek like a coddled housewife,” the Silver Man observed. “Explain that, can you?”
“We’re all wired differently,” Louis answered. “Three’s the coldest bitch I’ve ever met, but we’ve all got something that unwinds us.”
“Yeah,” the Silver Man had agreed, fingers tapping against the top of his flamethrower’s case. “We’ve all got that, don’t we?”
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