Valarie POV

Things are getting bad. As I walked through the makeshift camp we constructed, people looked at me with a combination of awe and fear. I preferred the latter.

The Red Queen was right - it is far better to be feared than loved. It gets things done, and I needed things to be done.

The amount of Freaks were growing exponentially. I've seen more and more of them on the streets during daylight. Yesterday, there were twenty-six on Chariot Avenue - which was very far from this camp - which was in sector C. Today, when I went back to the avenue, there were fifty-three.

I'm not scared of the Freaks. Their flaming-red, peeling skin. Their milky-green eyes - no doubt blinding them. Their affinity to bite chunks out of any living thing.

None of it frightened me anymore.

A greater amount of Freaks means a greater requirement of fighters. Simple logic. I have 148 people depending on me to keep them fed, clothed and safe.

A hundred and forty-eight human shields if things go South.

The camp was located out of town - ways off a highway. It was a farm with one house on the premises. The grass was a comforting green that surrounded the entire area. More weeds than grass. It was optimal, it would do for now. He located it. After that, makeshift fences were put up, a few of the camp members were engineers. They were located hiding in their apartments, wobbly men unsure of how to react - what to do.

The duty was placed solely on them to construct boarders against the outside world. It took a while but eventually a 3 metre, thick, wooden wall was constructed around the farm. It was later fortified with solid steel beams scavenged from a scrapyard the scouts found. The beams were dug into the ground, leaning against the wooden wall that was nailed - excessively - to solid wooden beams. The wall encompassed the entire premises.

Now there was a sense of safety. I haven't told anyone about the increasing number of Freaks - I'm not obligated to. I am in charge now, I make the decisions and they all know it. Everyone here has a job. A man who does not work, has no right to eat. I had forty-seven guards, eight stationed around the perimeter and the rest wandering through the camp, maintaining order and cooperation. The others had varying jobs to do, cooking, teaching how to survive, taking care of children, etc. At around the age of fifteen, children were regarded as adults and thus were assigned duties - put to work.

Unfortunate but necessary.

Once inside the house - wooden floorboards, dusty beige walls, pictures of an old couple and their family, nothing special - I went straight to the living room. That was the 'command centre'. The men in the room stood to their feet and saluted in unison, "Sir!"

I suppose it's natural to them - to show respect to their superiors. Military tradition.

I didn't care for it.

I ignored them and walked to the city map pinned on the table. Areas were crossed off as danger zones. There were too many Freaks there. Currently the red zones were at Saint Claire's Hospital, MediPharm Hospital, Angela Clinic, the business district and several smaller - yet populated - areas. Like police stations. The first place people would go during the initial phase of the... affliction.

"Where are they?", I asked.

I saw the soldier - currently occupied with studying human anatomy to figure out what the infection is - stiffen and turn to face me. The book - the encyclopaedia - slammed shut and tucked under his left arm.

"I do not understand the question, Sir", he said in an unsteady voice.
I huffed in irritation and slammed my sword sheath down, the other soldiers in the room flinched from the blunt sound.

"You were aware that three teens went out training today, yes?"

"Yes, Sir."

"So... where are the teenagers training today," I hissed out. Time is precious, I don't like it wasted. Combined with the fact that the teens were three hours late made my mood overly sour.

Immediately the soldier answered, "In sector B, Sir", he sound more confident this time - more precise.

I turned on my heel and marched out of the house onto the field. People were planting, watering, digging - slick with sweat from the unrelenting sun. Doing their duty. None of them noticed my presence. That's as it should be - focus on the task at hand.

I walked passed a groove dug by a tractor - stepping over it - and arrived at the gate to the premises. The guards at the outpost shared one glance at me and pulled on the ropes that raised the solid gate open.

I would have to reprimand them for not asking for identification and, most crucially, the password.
The gate - made of fortified zinc and iron plates - rose slowly. The ropes strained under the weight. As soon as I was out, the gate slammed down - shut.

I jogged further down the highway until I reached the shed. It's been abandoned long before the apocalypse. Inside the dingy, dusty, wooden shed was my motorcycle. I pulled the sheet off of it and got on.

Not many Freaks wandered around the highway. I suppose it's because there's hardly any form of life. I passed two, standing still as statues. 'Staring' at nothing in particular. They heard my motorcycle and snapped their head in my direction - breaking out into a sprint. It wasn't significant, I simply continued on.

I rode until the city limits and stored the bike in a tollbooth. From there I went by foot. The red zones gave us a navigation system: Snt. Claire was sector A, Angela Clinic was sector B and MediPharm was sector C.

The highway from the farm to the city led to sector C. I need to get to sector B and find out whether those kids are dead.

I found the first tall building I could - a gallery - and walked calmly up the stairs to the roof. Freaks were attracted by obvious human sounds. Just as an owl is attracted to a rat's squeak. To Freaks, my footsteps could simply belong to another Freak stumbling around.

Thus, I attracted no attention on my way to the roof. Once I got there, it was a simple matter of hoping rooftop to rooftop until I reached sector B. I noticed the commotion on the street from the roof of a law firm.

The three teens were struggling against a group of nine Freaks infront of a fancy manor - not a mansion - but it belonged to a wealthy person. A heavy, black iron fence grounded by slabs of sandrock secured the precipice of the premise. Beyond that was a well kept lawn and on either side of the manor were more average houses.

I scowled in anger as I watched the teens attack the torso of the Freaks - not doing what they were taught. I heard rapid, hard footsteps approaching me from behind. I swiftly spun around, drawing my sword at the same time, and swung my blade in a calculated manner. The Freak kept running, its head falling on the ground from my strike, until it's body dropped to the ground.

I sheathed my blade again and promptly made my way down to the pavement. I strolled to where the group of Freaks were crowding around the teens and came to a stop outside the high, iron fence. I stood and watched them struggle; no better teacher than experience.

However, I didn't predict the Freaks to drop one by one by flying knives puncturing their heads. Knives coming from behind me - behind the fence. I turned around and was met with a man, clad in black except for the hole in his pants by his inner thigh. He had a teal scarf wrapped around his mouth and neck and had on a black coat.

He looked like someone who did not want to be found.

"That was very impressive but we didn't ask for your help", I told him. I bore into his sharp blue eyes searching for what was clearly hidden there. In some way, his eyes were sharp yet...dull. He simply turned around and made his move back to the house.

He could be useful. I like useful.

In a flash I climbed over the fence and landed solidly on the ground. The moment my feet touched the ground he swung around, his last knife rested between his two fingers - ready to be launched at me. Yet he didn't throw. We stood there, sizing each other up.

I nudged my head at him, "What's your name?"
He seemed to consider the question, " Does it matter?" His voice was cold - distant.

"You're right, it doesn't and I don't care what it is. Are you alone here?"

His eyes bore into mine, trying to intimidate me. It wouldn't work, it doesn't work anymore.

Finally he answered, "Yes I am."
I carefully scrutinized his expression - I don't fall prey to lies. Once I determined he was being truthful I nodded my head. Without turning back to look at the teens I said, "Come."

They scurried over to the fence.

"If they touch the ground I will kill the-", I cut him off by clicking the safety off my revolver and aiming it at him. I don't respond well to threats and I do not let valuable resources - him - get away.

I saw in his eyes that he was considering throwing that last knife that was still ready to be launched.

"You can throw that knife and I will pull the trigger in return, effectively killing all of us. Or, you can let us come inside and talk. Your choice", I cooly stated.

He was unafraid. Definitely useful and...finally relatable. He picked up on what I was thinking by the glint in his eyes.

"I like you. You show no fear. Now put the knife away and let's go inside", I lowered my gun and started walking toward him with the three teens behind me.