The sun was setting, painting the horizon in hues of gold and pink. The colors danced across the sky, licking at the clouds that drifted lazily through the breeze. The spring air was wet in my lungs, the humidity lurking in the late hours when the sun began to set. The springtime brought back so many memories that now roved through my wandering mind.

  Memories of school days coming to a close, nearing the summer months where we were free from the burdens of education and able to live the lives we wanted. I can still remember tramping through the woods with my friends, pretending to be knights on an adventure or soldiers marching through a foreign land. How young and carefree we were.

  Fonder memories floated to the surface, memories of young love refused to subside. My first relationship, sitting at the edge of the lake as we chatted for hours into the night, my hand drifting onto hers. The smell of her sweet perfume mixing with the earthy smell of the sloshing lake water. The algae blooms swimming on the surface, our feet dangling in the water as the greens stuck to our skin. What a time to be alive, what an experience to have, even if it only lasted a few months I could still look back on the experience and appreciate what I had.

  Still fonder yet I recalled the times at my house with my friends. The night air was still cold as the warmness of summer had yet to arrive, but the fire that burned brightly before us warmed our bodies. Songs of summer played through a cheap speaker as we drank down beer and ate plenty of pizza. Laughter and crude jokes bounced between the group, as the nights continued the drunkenness rose with a crescendo before falling as the pizza soaked up the alcohol, dulling the buzz. Those times were easier.

  There were so many memories to reflect on, so many memories to reminisce on, so much that I took for granted.

  But ultimately that’s the way life goes, you never realize you’re in the ‘good old days’ until they’re just the past.

  What I’d give to go back, do things differently, hell even to just relive-

  “They’re here,” Patrick said, snapping me out of my reminiscence.

  I looked down the road, spotting the group he was talking about. Only four of them, haggard and weary. Four figures, three looked to be men and the last was a woman, judging from the way they walked and the orientation of their group. They were in a rough diamond shape, with the woman at the rear.

  “Any intel?” I asked.

  “Negative, they seem to be coming from Wally’s realm, but other than that we got nothing.”

  Four figures from the husk of an old Walmart five miles out. Outcasts, deserters, or just passing through. It was risky to chance an encounter, but they weren’t going to pass through our domain and not touch anything. They were on the edge of town, if they were scavengers they’d loot what they could and move on, but if they weren’t they could pose a threat. Hell, even the scavs nowadays were usually a problem, our resources weren’t infinite.

  Our scouts were scattered throughout the town, slowly funneling supplies back to the ‘castle’ as we called it, our headquarters. The majority of our group lived out of The Castle, the remnants of a grocery store and drugstore that were now connected, located on the edge of town.

  It was a good spot to keep our people held up in, unsuspecting to a degree with plenty of room for expansion, plenty of room for growth, plenty of room to survive.

  The scouts roamed the town, collecting useful supplies while keeping an eye out for danger. They were the reason we had an inkling that a group would be headed this way. One of them had heard some gunshots that sounded closer than normal, we sent a scout ahead to check it out and they spotted this group moving towards town.

  Usually Patrick, our scout leader, would handle outsiders encroaching on our territory but I needed some time away from The Castle, needed to clear my head.

  “Take a look,” Patrick said, handing me his pair of binoculars.

  I grabbed the rusting things, peering through the lenses to look at the group more closely. Getting a more detailed look I could tell they were even mangier than I previously assumed. Their hair was filthy, sticks and dirt filled the nests of puffed out greasy hair. The three men had overgrown facial hair that lacked any sort of care, and every one of them had open cuts along their arms like they’d just pushed through piles of thornbushes.

  Each one had rifles, and at least two had handguns strapped to their legs. Machetes hung from each of their hips, different makes and models each. Generic loadouts that are common nowadays. The weapons looked well-worn, paint chipped and probably never cleaned.

  If my father were to see the way they cared for their weapons he’d have an aneurysm, I chuckled to myself at that. I wish he could still have that aneurysm, as grim as it sounds.

  A mangy bunch, wandering into our territory. Judging by their demeanor and the distance they were keeping from each other they weren’t too close to one another. So what could have transpired that ended up with them traveling together? Who knows, only them I suppose.

  “What’s the protocol from here?” I asked Patrick.

  I knew the protocol, just as well as he did, he was part of the council that approved it, I was the one who drafted it.

  “Send in a litmus test, see how they react.”

  A litmus test was how we determined how to handle new wanderers, seeing how they react to stimulus to gain a basic understanding of their temperament and demeanor. The litmus test had a sliding scale depending on how armed or dangerous the wanderers appeared.

  The litmus test was one of the first systems approved by the council — part of our protocol to maintain peace without being reckless.

  “Send it,” I confirmed.

  I wasn’t here to act as the field commander but being the leader of our group it was natural for the others to look to me for guidance and confirmation, something that wasn’t always ideal.

  Patrick's radio beeped as he pressed the transmit button, “Freya, go for litmus.”

  “Copy,” the radio crackled back.

  Some of the commune thought we were pseudo militants, which was partially true. They thought our system was almost barbaric, which if they knew the whole truth was closer to reality than it seemed. But it was necessary. We kept the order, we made sure everyone had food and water, everyone had shelter, and everyone was cared for.

  A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  I only ever pushed for efficiency, and if being efficient meant we were sort of militant then I’d take that tradeoff. Our radio usage was one example that our opposition used, saying that we were pretending to be soldiers in the field. This wasn’t exactly wrong, but we weren’t strict with the usage. If we were actually militant we’d be using confirmations in our copy transmissions, but we didn’t.

  A scream erupted from the house across the street. Following the scream came cries of help, originating from Freya. They sounded desperate, more so than was necessary but it didn’t hurt.

  I watched through the binoculars gauging the reaction from the group. The three men had mirrored reactions, emotions flashing across their faces in quick spurts. You could see the worry as they gripped their rifles tighter. This worry then gave way to curiosity as they looked back at one another. Then this curiosity turned to something unreadable but so recognizable.

  I shifted my focus to the woman, who was looking at the men with apprehension, her body subconsciously shifting further away from the trio that were now looking more unified than before.

  I let out a sigh, calculating the cost to reward ratio of the gear they were carried. It was performative in all reality, I’d already made up my mind.

  “Drop the three, bring in the girl for questioning.”

  “Overwatch, come in,” Patrick spoke into his radio.

  “Overwatch here, copy.”

  “Drop the three men.”

  He switched channels, “Freya, move for interception on the woman.”

  “Freya, copy.”

  Overwatch was the team of two that were on either side of the road, hidden in tree stands wearing camouflage to hide from any prying eyes. It was things like this that gave more credit to the militant label.

  A muted hiss cut through the air. The first man crumpled before his brain registered he’d been shot. The second followed, his rifle slipping from his grasp as he hit the pavement. The third looked around in fear, the hunger and lust in his eyes vanishing in an instant. The fear didn’t last long, a round dropping him next. The woman looked around for the briefest second, turning on her heel to run.

  “Drop your weapon!” Freya shouted, emerging from behind the house she had been screaming from, rifle raised in the woman's direction. The woman barely registered the words, but the shouts continued.

  “Drop your weapon, get down on the ground!”

  Freya was aggressive, which was why we had her on these types of jobs, she was what we classed as an enforcer. Usually more hot headed than others, capable of outbursts like this. The majority of them just needed someone to look to as a leader and they performed quite well.

  The human psyche is a complex thing, but once you understand parts of it it becomes easier to take advantage of.

  For instance, this woman is obviously weary from her travels, she’s most likely hungry and thirsty, which would mean her mind is already struggling. Her trek seems to have been difficult based on her general appearance, and she just watched all three of her traveling partners drop dead in front of her. Even if she had no real affiliation with them this would be mind numbing.

  Freya’s authoritative voice and demanding shouts broke through this haze, the uncertainty of what she should do was lulled by the resolute orders that were being shouted at her. She went defensive, for her sake that’s a good thing, and she slowly complied.

  She lowered the rifle that shook in her hands, placing it on the ground.

  “Put your hands in the air!” Freya shouted, as the woman complied.

  You would think Freya had been a police officer before, the way she commanded the situation, disarming the woman, zip tying her hands together as she removed her handgun and machete from her hip. But to my knowledge that was not the case, she worked as a cashier at one of the hardware stores in town.

  “Castle, this is Scout Leader, come in,” Patrick spoke into his radio.

  “This is Castle, copy,” the radio crackled back.

  “We need a scavenge team out at the intersection of Webster and 58. If there’s an adjudicator around, send one out.” the junction that was just ahead of where the dead men lay in the road.

  “Copy that. Scavenge team being dispatched, available adjudicator has been notified, will be en route if available.”

  The scavenge team would come out, strip the bodies of anything useful, and toss them into the woods. We could just leave the bodies and wild animals would take care of them, but it was better practice to not leave human remains in the middle of the road. We’ve all done some terrible things in a world like this, but it’s important to retain our decency.

  The adjudicators were a select few that were used as interrogators, a newer position that we had recently developed. Being too open and too welcoming to strangers had bit us too many times in the past. Adjudicators were skillful in social manipulation, and seemed to have an eerie ability to determine if someone was lying or not.

  “Scout Leader, come in,” Patricks radio crackled, Freya’s voice.

  “Scout Leader, copy.”

  “Ready to transport the woman back to The Castle.”

  “Copy, proceed.”

  “It’s a shame it had to end like that,” I commented, looking out at the still bodies that lay in the road.

  “They made their choice,” Patrick replied dryly.

  “Do you think they would have chosen differently if they knew what was at stake?”

  “Does it matter?”

  Does it matter? Truly, it doesn’t, but I still can’t shake that optimism that lurks within me. I want to see the good in people, in all people, but the more I’m forced to make the hard calls the more I’ve realized that there isn’t good in all people.

  I’d always known that people were corrupt in essence, human nature is self serving. I mean it makes sense, if you have a choice to protect someone you don’t know or yourself and you can only save one the majority of people will choose themself. Sure there are those that would spring for self-sacrifice, but it was a lot easier to say you would sacrifice yourself in a hypothetical than it is to throw yourself in harm's way when there’s a gun pointed in your direction.

  When we were thrust into this situation we had to adapt fast, figure out what needed to be done and make it happen. That’s where I stepped in. It’s hard to know who can remember the details from those threeish years ago, but hopefully they don’t remember anything too specific.

  I’m sure if the realities of what transpired back in The Castle were to come to light, hell even some of the tales from our earlier excursions were to come to be shared there would be an uproar. There’s a reason things were kept secret, not shared around to everyone.

  The only ones that know the truth of what went down are the council and those who partook, my closest confidants. It fills me with disgust to think about what we did, but we had to. Someone had to make a move, and I damn sure wasn’t waiting for it to be someone else. Way back when, in the spring of 2025 when shit hit the fan.

  “Scout Leader, this is Freya, clear for transport,” Patrick’s radio crackled.

  “Copy, you’re clear,” Patrick said with a click.

  “Does she always refer to you as Scout Leader over coms like that?” I asked, prodding my friend.

  “It’s because you’re in the field with us today, she wants to appear proper,” he replied.

  “So then what does she usually call you?” I asked, partially out of curiosity, I already knew the answer, I just wanted him to confirm it.

  Judging by the way his face blushed I could tell I hit my mark. He looked off to the side of me, embarrassed. I smirked at him, he all but confirmed my suspicions. He had a thing for Freya he was trying to hide.

  Usually the teams would refer to their team leads by their codenames, in case teams had any similar sounding names this would eliminate any confusion. But I thought I could sense some sort of tension between the two of them. Relationships within teams were generally discouraged, but that wasn’t a rule per say. Besides, who was I to intervene?

  “Come on, let’s go see which adjudicator is on duty today.”