Chapter Text
Fog surrounded him, thick between the trees and a scattering of abandoned vehicles. It was getting dark, as far as he could tell through blurred vision as he sat up and took in his surroundings. Cars, piled high as houses, leafless-lifeless trees and an unsettling amount of crows peered at him from all directions. Curious and hungry, watching as if ready to fly off and report his every movement.
"What the fu-rrgghk" he choked, as if his voice was being silenced, squeezed out of him and all he could do was gasp when the..all he could describe it as was a grip on his voice ceased.
A sudden booming crack of gunfire shot through the trees causing Ruairidh to whip his head around behind him, towards the distant sound. "What the fuck was that?" he asked internally as he slowly pulled himself up to his feet. He felt around his pockets, finding his pocketknife to be missing but... a-hah! His cellphone, if he pulled up the map he could find out just where he... The phone wouldn't power on. He pressed the button on the side of the device twice more before holding it in, desperation for the thing's screen to light up with its familiar welcoming logo and chime. Nothing. He opened the back of it, check the battery hadn't shifted when he had... fallen? At least he thought he fell, but he couldn't remember how he got to here. Slipping the back cover off, he quickly discovered that the compartment for the cellphone battery was empty. He threw his head back and cursed silently within himself as he rubbed over his scruff of stubble, sighing. Better to make some movement. If someone had a gun in this.. junkyard? Then he definitely didn't want to be caught trespassing here. That bullet might just go through him next. He took some tentative steps in the opposite direction towards what looked like a gas station in the distance, which if it weren't for the inconsistent flickering of light coming from the sign he would have assumed it to have been abandoned long, long ago.
GAS HEAVEN, read the sign as it flickered on and off like a candle in a breeze, buzzing loudly each time the neon light came back to life. The sign donned angel wings and a halo. Ironic, Ruairidh thought as he trudged through the thick brush of grass towards what he could now confirm was a gas station, the place sure seemed the opposite of a "heaven". The closer Ruairidh got to the station, the more he noticed how run down it seemed. If it wasn't for the overhead light being on at the fuelling pump then he would have said for sure it was abandoned. The paint chipped and peeling off the walls, the metal framework and corrugated roofing was more rusted than the heaps of scrap vehicles that were littered around and piled high as far as the eye could see into that damned fog, and the glass pane windows had at least a quarter of them smashed. He shuddered as a chill ran down his spine and another loud crack of gunfire startled him enough that he about lept two feet in the air and turned around. That sounded closer. Much closer. Clutching his hand to his chest to try and calm his racing heart he stepped past the fuel pumps and into the building's open door, eyes everywhere as he looked for an attendant. The place was in darkness and his hope dipped again when he saw how trashed the place was. Windows boarded up with planks of wood, shelves lay almost bare with merely a few open cans of food, scraps of paper, and dated magazines and red gasoline canisters on show. Refrigerators once filled with drinks now sat empty and without power. Ruairidh lifted one of the cans which oozed with mouldy red sauce and what he guessed were beans to check for a date, it would give a rough idea of when this station was last in service, right? He looked the can over when out of nowhere a huge black crow swooped at him, its screaming caws ringing in his ears as he dropped the can and watched the bird fly out the door he came through and into the gloomy grey murk of the night. And that's when he saw it. A tall, looming silhouette emerged like a black shadow from the fog. The figure stopped and stood unmoving with two glowing, golden orbs staring right in his direction and as far as he could make out, a rifle or a harpoon in his hands. Unsettled, Ruairidh cursed into himself as his heart began to hammer in his chest like a beating drum. Something wasn't right here. Something about whoever that was wasn't right. He took a step back, and then another two, his jade eyes never leaving the figure beyond the trees and scrap cars until his back pressed against one of the shelves, knocking one of the gasoline canisters and a few tins off the shelf with a sharp clatter as he panicked and tripped over the corner of the unit, landing on his backside, and when he looked back to where the figure was through the doorway, it was gone.
A silent sigh of relief escaped Ruairidh as he closed his eyes and rested the side of his head against the shelves he had tripped over and mulled over everything that had just happened. He couldn't place just what didn't seem right about that person... if anything, he should have been glad to see anybody. Since he came to, that was the only living being he had seen with the exception of the crow that had taken a dive at him when he first got into the gas station. It could have been the attendant for all he knew, returning from their break. "But..those eyes.." he shook his head as he tried to croak the words out loud, but still his voice wouldn't come. Was he sick? He didn't remember being sick, but it wasn't that uncommon to lose the ability to talk if your throat was sore enough when you had the flu. He rubbed his throat as he pulled himself back to his feet, and bent down to lift the items he had knocked over and place them back onto the worn shelving unit. It did feel a bit raw, maybe if he could find some water... He raised his head and looked towards the fridges against the wall and came face-to-face with a bespectacled man in his 20s, with dishevelled dark brown hair and wearing a dirty, wrinkled shirt with a striped tie. The man stared at Ruairidh wide-eyed and pressed a finger to his lips before whispering "Don't make a sound." through a shaky breath and looked just past the copper-haired man before motioning for him to follow him down an eerie flight of stairs leading to what had to be the store's basement. Ruairidh, putting his trust in the stranger, followed, but kept his guard up. This guy didn't seem to be the person he saw in the fog before. His eyes were dark (and NOT glowing) and he didn't seem to have a gun on him. He didn't get an instant bad vibe from him like he had the silhouette before.
The pair trod carefully, but quickly, down into the dark basement. It wasn't what Ruairidh had expected. Instead of boxes and shelves full of stock, maybe even a small kitchen for staff to take a break, the only things he could see in the basement were a few red lockers and some.. what looked like wooden gibbets like you would find at a gallows for execution, but with a large metal hook in place of a noose. He furrowed his brows as he inspected it. He jumped slightly when the stranger he had followed down here touched his arm to get his attention. "You.. p-probably don't want to be looking at that." he said in a hushed tone and wandered to the corner of the room. Ruairidh swallowed, his throat burning as he gulped, trying to lubricate with whatever saliva he could get together in his mouth. God, he needed a drink. "What--" he managed to croak. Finally! he thought, he had feared that his voice may never return. "What the fuck is that doing in.." he lightly tried to clear his throat, taking a pause, but the dark-haired man could guess where that question was leading to.
"Yeah, that.." sighed the man, "is just one of many. I don't know what is going on, or why or where.. All I know is we gotta find a way out of this junkyard." he said as he fumbled with a small, wooden chest that rest on the floor in the corner of the room. Ruairidh came up beside him and watched as the other man opened the chest and took out a first aid kit. A bit strange to keep something like that locked in a chest like some sort of pirate's treasure, he thought, but it was probably the least strange thing in this whole situation. The dark-haired man stood up and turned to face Ruairidh, extending a dirty hand to shake. "Dwight. You?" Ruairidh blinked blankly before shaking his head slightly, his brain slow to process what the other man was saying. "Oh, uh. Ruairidh." he replied, taking Dwight's hand in his own and shaking firmly. He could feel a faint tremble in the other's grip, pulling their hands back from each other as a single boom of gunfire rung out from above them. Both men froze on the spot and stared up at the ceiling, then at the stairwell they had ventured down. Dwight grabbed Ruairidh by the arm and dragged him to the lockers at the back of the basement, opening one and getting inside. "Hide!" he urged Ruairidh, ordering in a hushed but urgent tone as he climbed into the locker and pointed at the one directly opposite for him to do the same. At the sound of footsteps running from the floor above, Ruairidh opened and got into his own locker without hesitation, quietly pulling the door shut just as he heard another explosive shot of gunfire, followed by a loud, dark chuckle in a man's voice, and the scream of a woman in agony.
Dwight held his breath and gripped the med-kit close to his body as he slid his body down in the locker. There was no way he was going to risk being seen through what little space there was in the slits in the locker door. Ruairidh, however, tried his best to peer through the gaps in his door, eyes on the entrance across the room as he heard the heavy tread of boots thump-thump-thumping down the stairs accompanied by the defeated sounding grunts and moans of pain. And that's when he saw it. Him. The figure he had seen when he first got into the gas station, the silhouette with the glowing eyes in the night. His appearance was grim. A slack-jawed bearded man with long, straggly, grey hair and a shredded, scarred cheek as if he had been mauled by a wolf. He looked like a cowboy, something Ruaridh would only ever see in old western movies on TV as it wasn't typically something you would see in his Scottish homeland unless it was a movie or Halloween. But it wasn't October, in fact, it was around late March and the screaming woman that the cowboy carried on his shoulder was shedding *real* blood. His heart hammered in his chest as he watched the man carry the woman to the hooked gibbets in the centre of the basement and without hesitation slid her into his hands and hung her up on the hook like a slab of meat in an abattoir. The woman screamed, louder than before and her eyes shot wide as her hands gripped the end of the hook that protruded between her shoulder and her breast, blood dripping down her hand and quickly staining her shirt where she hung. The lanky man stood before her, staring her down and chuckled, savouring her pain and helplessness before taking his gun in hand and reloading. He couldn't see everything as the man had his back towards the lockers that Dwight and Ruairidh were hiding in, but he could make out enough that told him that the man had what appeared to be a bayoneted gun with a harpoon attached by a long chain. After a few moments which felt like a lifetime, the gun-wielder turned around, facing the direction the two men were hiding and stepped closer. Ruairidh held his breath as the man approached and stopped dead between the two lockers. He could hear the heavy breathing and a moist sound as the man loosely rolled his jaw from left to right, the sound of teeth clacking against each other. The Gunslinger's glowing eyes darted to the open chest on the ground before turning and facing Ruairidh's locker for what seemed like an eternity, listening to the silence beyond the woman's whimpering and shaky hyperventilating breaths, before stepping away, past the lockers, past the hooks and back up the stairwell.
Ruairidh's breath came heavily, shuddering violently through his body as he gasped for air. The footsteps faded off into the distance and he cautiously stalked out of the locker and briskly walked to the hook and lifted the woman off. He was a paramedic, he knew that it was dangerous to remove an impaled object as it was a serious risk of bleeding out and damage to the nerves and blood vessels, but it was the only option right now. It wasn't like he could call for an ambulance with his dead phone. "You're gonna be okay." he said as calmly as he could muster to the woman, taking the woman's hand in his while his other hand touched her earth-toned forehead as Dwight came out of his locker, and rushed over as he opened the med-kit.
"Oh, God, Claudette.." the geeky man said in a panicked state as he pulled the gauze bandage and liquid antiseptic from the kit. Ruairidh took the items from Dwight and went about treating Claudette's injury as she stood there, hunched over and almost on her knees with pain, wincing and trying to calm her breathing. "Listen, Claudette?" Ruairidh spoke, his voice still hoarse and dry, hoping to get the woman's attention. She glanced up at him from behind blue-framed glasses. Too shocked for words, but she gave him her attention as Dwight helped Ruairidh tend to her wounds. "We're going to be okay."