Seth and Blake crest a final, dusty ridge, their horses heaving under the weight of the long ride. Below them, a cluster of abandoned irrigation silos emerges from the scrub brush like stone sentinels. The sun is a bruised purple bruise on the horizon, bleeding the last of the light across the plains.
Seth
Blake:ID_NONE
Seth grips his reins with his remaining hand, his prosthetic blade glinting as he points toward the silos. He knows the light is dying, and the plains are never safe after dark. He can already hear the faint, rhythmic shuffling of a distant herd carrying on the wind.
Seth
We have to move, Blake. Those silos will give us the high ground and a roof before the temperature drops. Keep your eyes on the treeline, not the horizon.
Seth
If that herd catches our scent in this wind, those silos are just a tomb with better walls.
Blake
I see them, Dad. But look at the base of the middle silo... those aren't just shadows moving.
Seth squints into the gathering gloom. A dozen silhouettes are clustered at the base of the nearest structure, their movements erratic and sluggish. The mission has changed from finding a camp to clearing one before the night claims them both.
+ Scene Quest Added
Clear the irrigation silos of zombies
“We decided to sit and watch the sunset go down together while just talking about are new world together”
SUCCESS (Superb Willpower, rolled +1)
The wind dies down, leaving the plains in a heavy, unnatural silence. Seth and Blake slide from their saddles, tethering the mounts behind a thicket of brush to keep them hidden from the dead at the base of the silos. They find a patch of tall, dry grass on a slight rise overlooking the irrigation complex.
Seth
We want a place where a kid can grow up without looking over his shoulder every ten seconds. A real school, Blake. Not just learning how to survive, but learning why we’re fighting for it.
Blake
I want that too, Seth. It feels like a dream, but looking at you, I think it might actually be a plan.
Seth
The weight of his belief is a heavy burden, but it beats the alternative of just letting the rot take everything.
The sun drops below the horizon, bathing the world in a deep, melancholic indigo. The silhouettes at the silo base begin to moan, their aimless shuffling intensifying as the darkness offers them cover.
“A share a drink of whiskey with my boy Blake as we watch the sun go down and I tell him about all the people I lost along the way and I tell him about my best friend John who gave his life to save me and explain he's the only reason I'm still here”
SUCCESS (Superb Diplomacy, rolled +0)
Seth
John held that door at the rail yard until his knuckles turned white. He didn't ask for a thank you. He just told me to build something that mattered.
Seth pulls a worn silver flask from his bomber jacket, unscrewing the cap with his steel prosthetic hand. The metallic clink rings out softly in the cooling air. He takes a long pull, his eyes fixed on the darkening silos, before passing the flask to Blake.
Blake
He saved more than just you, Seth. If you build this, then John’s life bought a future for a lot of people who haven't even arrived yet.
Seth
The whiskey burns, but it’s the only thing keeping the chill of the graveyard shift out of my bones. John would have called me a fool for dreaming this big, but he’d be the first one building the walls.
The moan of the undead grows louder, shifting from aimless wandering to a rhythmic, hungry thrum. A figure at the edge of the silo pack stops, its head snapping toward their rise, its jaw slack and dripping with rot.