Aphmau's POV

*Play Song*

Don't listen to strangers. Or don't accept anything from anybody you don't know, my mom would say. Its what any logical person would advise. 

Yeah, what if I'm in the middle of a zombie apocalypse heading to somewhere supposedly safe with a hunky bodyguard?

Yeah, Mom, I might just rebel a bit.

Damn it...Mom.

Maybe, in a way, there's a silver lining after all to this world disaster. I haven't had the time nor energy to truly mourn my parents yet. Or the fact that all of this was because of them.

And maybe that was for the best.

The stranger had leads us through an abandoned neighborhood, stopping at the large mansion at the end of the block. I'm sure it was beautiful and manicured once, but those kind of things didn't exist in the now.

A wall of barbed wire, reinforced with tin and other metal scraps, stand erected around the property, with wooden guard towers at every corner. We walk up to the front gate. 

The stranger signals something up to the guard tower, as if he needed any other confirmation that it was him. How could you mistaken someone who looks like that?

Stop it, Aphmau. Superficial thoughts like those are best left in the past. No time. No energy.

Just survive. 

We enter through the gates to find a small community of people on the extensive front yard. Not walkers, but actual people.

There were people pulling carts and others manning stalls. Some were sorting canned goods and others were...cutting vegetables?

The idea of it stirs a forbidden hope in my gut. These people...were able to carve out a portion of this desolute world for themselves, despite all odds.

I'm sure the rest of the girls feel the same, all of us walking on cautious toes. Overwhelmed by a flurry of emotions and sounds. 

Then we enter the house and all thoughts empty out of our heads.

What we saw in Katelyn's basement that night felt like child's play compared to this.

The walls were covered with weapons. Guns, bows, swords, daggers, even damn sling-shots. It was all here. 

The people here must've ravaged the nearby military base that we had checked yesterday to no avail. Now we knew why. 

Maybe hope needn't be so forbidden, as I let the kindling flame of it flare and crackle.

*

The damp washcloth is like heaven against my sunburnt face. I had scavenged sunblock at one of the houses along the way, but in the heat of battle, you didn't always remember to reapply.

I was in one of the upstairs rooms, washing the blood and grime from my body like shedding a layer of skin. I change out of my dirtied clothes into some cargo pants and a tan tank top. 

Luckily, the first thing they had done when we entered the house was feed us, so at least my stomach wasn't yelling at me. 

I wring out washcloth back into the bowl, catching a glance of myself in the rusted mirror opposite me.

Despite the cleanse, I still looked like shit. I still felt like shit, and I had a feeling neither would be going away anytime soon. 

Because despite this little sliver of heaven we've discovered, it changes nothing. We are still going to Elysium, as my parents and Eric wanted. Even if we were to remain here, what kind of difference would we be able to make?

In Elysium, my friends and I would be safe. We wouldn't have to live every moment on guard and  fight for our lives on the daily. We could live again. 

My gaze finds my diamond blade propped up in the corner of the room, looking like it needed a a proper sharpening.

I strap on the dull-ish sword to my back and exit the room, finding myself on the long indoor balcony overlooking the ball room below, which was now outfitted to be a training room of sorts.

I make my way down the steps and over to the girls, all also in new, clean clothes. They were huddled in a circle near one of the training areas.

Although, as I come closer, I see that the girls aren't huddled in a circle at all, but half a circle, all facing the nearby training area, where there were two individuals going at it.

One of those figures is the stranger. Shirtless and sweaty, with the bandanna still strapped to his face and the same black cargo pants from before.

His physique was almost as I had expected. Powerful and unapologetic from head to toe, a man built to withstand the apocalypse. A warrior. A protector.

And I couldn't help but lose myself in the artwork of his body. The way his muscles rippled with his movements. 

He didn't seem real. Then again, nothing has felt real in a long time. 

As I approach the girls, I could see that the stranger was undoubtedly winning said fight against his opponent. And only seconds later, the opponent throws out his palms, begging for mercy. The stranger doesn't hesitate, pulling his punch before offering a hand. Once the opponent is up, the stranger claps him on the back, seeming to give some pointers before dismissing the lad.

The stranger is then pulled aside by a young woman at the opposite end of the ring. She looks about my age, with pale purple locks tied up in a neat bun. She adorns a blue formal dress robe and—

She is looking at me. Uh oh. This can't be good. 

"Hey." 

I look up, the Stranger crossing over the ring to us, padding the sweat from his bare chest with a rag. "Our witch wants a word with you."

*

The girls and I follow the stranger through ballroom and out into the courtyard. There, we find two rusted basement doors at a 45-degree angle.

The stranger, unfortunately now with a shirt on, grabs the handles jutting out from each door and swings them outward. He moves out of the way for us to descend through them.

I peer down through the doors, seeing a dark descent of stairs with only ineffective torches lighting up small patches of the darkness below.

Of course, the witch lives in a sketchy basement.

I can see the walker's newsletter now: "A group of young women gullibly tricked into hot stranger's basement."

But hell if this seemed like the beginning of a horror movie. I was already living in one. 

I descend down the stone steps, hearing my friends follow close behind me, until we reach the bottom landing. There, we go through another door to find what appears to be the basement. A blend of cobblestone and mossy stone make up the walls, and everything in between boggles my mind.

Its undoubtedly a witch liar. With floor-to-ceiling wooden shelves against each wall, riddled with potions of every color and uses of every kind. Some shelves were even being overcome by plants and vines that had impregnated the cracks in the walls.

At one of the numerous wooden tables, stands the woman I saw talking to the stranger before. Her luscious locks are a bleached purple, though I notice strings of silvery light crackling in her hair.

Her back is turned to us, but since she was a witch, of course, she could sense our very presence, and apparently, our full names.

"Aphmau Phoenix. I've been expecting you..." She angles her upper body so she can meet my gaze, and let me tell you, it does not send the best feeling throughout my spine.

Her piercing stare causes me to shiver. Her eyes have no pupils, looking like the pearls freshly plucked out a clams.

Suddenly, she laughs blissfully, the graceful sound echoing gently throughout the room. I blink.

"Ah, you kids these day's are so uncultured. Really? Don't you get it? JAMES BOND PEOPLE!" She exclaims, wiping her hands on a dishtowel before waltzing over to us.

Then Crystal jumps up and down in realization. "OH! THAT DUDE! THE MAN-WHORE!"

Always leave it to Crystal to do...that.

As the witch gets closer, I notice her features were rather soft, clashing with her razor-sharp glare.

"Jokes aside," The witch says, voice lowering. "There's a reason I brought you down here, Ms. Phoenix."

I stop her right there."No offense, but I don't even know you. How do you know my last name, and why am I being singled out?" I complain, like a spoiled brat. But a confused spoiled brat. 

The witch's kind smile wavers into a frown. She starts to circle me, her gaunt fingers tracing different parts of my small body, like a shark circling its prey.

"I have met demons, witches, walkers, and many other imaginative creatures." Then her voice darkens even further, a small tornado of suspicious wind warping around us, despite us being 10 yards/meters underground.

"But never...have I met a goddess."

Have a nice day my crystals!