chapter one:
the calm before.
ﾟ･*☆¸¸.•*¨*•*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ: •*¨*•.¸¸☆*･ﾟ

┏━━━━━•❃°•°•°•°❃•━━━━━┓

┗━━━━━•❃°•°•°•°❃•━━━━━┛

✧ SUMMER  ✧

TWENTY YEARS AGO LIFE PLUMMETED INTO THE DEPTHS OF HELL WITH A MYSTERIOUS CONTAGION plaguing the streets of a ransacked United States. Panic was ablaze among the land of the free; seizing even the most level headed of folk sending them into a madness induced frenzy.  

      Within only three days time, all forms of civilized society had collapsed; the world they knew shattered into a million pieces no one left alive could even attempt to glue back together.

Clement Steele remained one of the unlucky few inhabiting a world gone mad; and unlike her fellow comrades in the end of the world. For the past twenty years, she'd never doubted the lengths humans would go to — committing unspeakable evils — to save their tails.  Ensuring their own survival over that of the greater good.

      People were only playing pretend . . . modern life with all its accommodations and comforts allowed people to grow comfortable with their own lack of awareness on what laid beneath their skin. In the very fabric of their beings; people were asleep.

At least until the bombs hit — wiping out half of civilization in the span of one measly weekend. The survivors of the initial strike emerging Monday moring born anew. No longer blind to the darkest crevices of their souls.

       If there was only one silver lining to come from the destruction of the modern world, it was the realization that humanity was inherently selfish. Their biology made them such creatures, their desire for survival burned into their DNA.

Maybe Clement's own selfishness was the reason for her damnation? Maybe it was her salvation? Either way, she knew one thing, she was an agent of chaotic, working her way through the shit storm without any regard for the preciousness of human life.

     The world was filled with chaos. No rules, no morals, no society. Well . . . Until the remaining branches of the government woke up. Giving the last shreds of their power over to the Federal Disaster Response Agency; or more commonly referred to as just FEDRA. The force which guided everyone out of the shit show known previously as the United States of America.

         The American Dream — Clement scoffed. What a joke! Had she known twenty-six years ago when she first moved to the states this would be the end result. She would have stated in Cape Town with her mother . . . Well, no she wouldn't have stayed, but let a lady vent okay?

          So much chaos bestowed her in the states. Everywhere really, even when contact with the other countries around the world ceased after only a weekend. Everyone pulling ranks, and only looking out for their own people. Their own citizens.

          Joining FEDRA when she did, it gave her purpose — more purpose than she's known within the last twenty years. The organization had become a constant in her life. As comforting as a beloved blanket would be to a child — if that blanket had spikes, and poison seeping into one's skin every time they picked it up.

        No, it's true what the people of Boston QZ whispered about FEDRA. Their soldiers were known for ruthlessness and brutality more than hugs and kisses. Their reputation of being unruly dictators with a fetish for power was mostly true. At least among certain branches known for recruiting eager social climbers hell bent on securing power and resources for themselves only.

        Yet, people complained much more than Clement would have preferred. Sure, they were all those ugly truths, but they were also right. Power couldn't be left in the hands of the people, not when they were one crisis away from humanity's mass extinction. Not when only six QZ's still stood.

        The numbers almost dwelling down to five, with Atlanta on the brink of an all out war.  A militia group fashioning themselves the Brotherhood of Broken Dreams taking over more than half the functioning districts there.

        What a stupid fucking name, she decided. Face scrunching up with disgust. Idiots, all of them — how did they plan on surviving without FEDRA? Without the only organization focused on survival of its people. Their rules had to be harsh. Had to be nasty. In order to secure the future of the human race.

Without FEDRA everyone would be dead within the year. They protected the citizens from themselves. From what was left of who they were. From the hell outside of the walls. And no, Clement wasn't just talking about the infected. People out there? Without walls to harbor them? Well, they were the meanest, craziest bastards Clement had ever met.

Hell on Earth . . .

If the walls of the QZ were breached by raiders? Atlanta would fall within a ten day, and all the citizens there too weak or young to be of any real use. Killed or left for dead out in the dead zone. So FEDRA couldn't fall, ever — Clement dedicated her life to preventing it from happening in Boston.

        Well . . . that's what Clement told herself, on the days it seemed harder and harder to stand for FEDRA cause. On the days she stared at the starving children in the districts. Their skin and bones weary and ready to fall off. When it was declared once more there weren't any rations to give out to the people. After FEDRA took it all for themselves.

        But what could Clement do? She could only secure the survival of herself. There wasn't any room in her heart for mercy for anyone else. Not anymore.

"Well this boring," Sergeant Josie Diaz said, picking at the skin on her fingernails. "There's no one here!" She kicked the dust in front of her, as if to make her point. The particles sinking far below the depths of the ocean. Never to have eyes laid upon them again.

The two of them stood guard at one of FEDRA many checkpoints into the city. Their main objective, watch out for any suspicious activity, but really watch for any suspicious individuals who may be affiliated with the fireflies; the terrorist organization hellbent on blowing up government property and recruiting young and impressionable minds; easy targets for their lunatic leader's silver tongue.

Truth be told, the side of the wall they were stationed at rarely saw any action. With its primary front consisting of water, and a tiny plot of sand that one would miss if they blinked.

"Just be patient, they will come," Clement soothed, inhaling the air which hung heavy above the two with anticipation. "They better . . . "

Her favorite shifts were those conducted on the side of the QZ facing the ocean; one of the perks of being stationed in Boston, if you were to ask her.

Her nostrils filling with the sweet salty smell of the ocean, almost close enough she could feel the tiny drops of water upon her lips. Taste the salt and seaweed on her tongue. Her ears filling with the soft melodies of a seagull's song.

The ocean itself, absolutely breathtaking. Stretching out far beyond the rose gold horizon, sparking a soft baby blue, the one constant in Clement's life — Seagulls, unbothered by the decaying world behind them. Their one focus on the sky in front of them, and the ocean beneath them. Swan-diving into its depth to capture their next prey.

A wave of jealousy washed over her, enviously of all those creatures lucky enough to have been born to the ocean. Instead of on land; the once mighty kingdom of god's favored creatures crashing down by a new sort of enemy. An infected sort of enemy, with a virus which didn't just kill, but transform its inhabitants into something else.

One recognizable to the humans left, but different all the same. Their thirst for human flesh marking these infected as dangerous predators to those once atop the food-chain. It's no wonder they were grossly unprepared for the arrival of these creatures, now referred to as infected.

No, the ocean was the one patch of earth left completely unchanged by the virus; while the crumbling societies around suffered to no end. The creatures of the ocean were lucky indeed, and so was Clement on the days she was able to steal away for a dip in the water. For a moment of calm before the inevitable storm of her life and her duty to the QZ.

Yet today was different, its waters, which often raged a war beneath, remained still that day. Waves that crashed upon the man made wall most often, drawn back, only reaching as high as the deck's poles.

The calm before the storm... Clement's father always used to tell her, when he arrived home late from one of the expeditions on his own navy boat. Young Clement, eagerly awaiting his arrival, and the tale he would no doubt spin for her of the sea, and the respect one must have for it.

He'd tell her all sorts of stories of the ocean's wrathful nature, it's one desire to dominate everything that dared touch its waters. How storms carried on for days, sucking everything up into the depths of the water, never to be seen again. How'd he'd lost countless friends and comrades to it before he'd learn the telltale signs of a storm on the horizon.

"How do you know papa?" she would ask him every time, the blankets pulled up to her eyes as she listened intensely to his stories.

"I can feel it in my bones," his deep honey eyes bore into her matching one. A serious look only a man who's seen too much could have at his tender age of thirty-seven.

"There's an old shiver that sets into my skin. Goosebumps settling in. But the most important sign is the way the water stills. How you can hear the quiet for miles - that's when you know it's time to go. It's her way of letting us know we've overstayed our welcome upon her surface, and it's time to leave. God help any man or, woman that doesn't heed mother nature's warning."

And if ever the opportunity arose... Clement Steele, in her forty-two years of life — almost half of which was spent in the end of society — Would allow the ocean to swallow her whole. Welcome its centuries old embrace like one welcomed an old friend. Like the ocean welcomed her father home all those years ago. The dangerous game he played finally catching up to Mother Nature's fury. Swallowing his ship up into her embrace . . . Welcoming him home.

She sighed, watching as the wave retreated. Called back to the depths of the ocean's mouth. Yet still close enough to feel the splashes of water upon her skin. Almost close enough to touch. All she would have to do, inch closer to the edge of the deck. Dive into its icy water, sinking to the depths with all her gear, and finally being welcomed home.

Sergeant Diaz did not share her comrade's appreciation of the ocean. A frown etched on her lips as the water splashed upon her. Every part of her body being touched by its misguided hand.

Her hands shot up to her dripping hair, pushing down atop her dark head to stop the frizz of her curly locks from activating. Her body fuming. "Unless they can turn into fucking dolphins, and climb a forty foot wall, no one is coming."

Unfortunately, The day to be absorbed by the ocean was not today, and that day wouldn't come for a long while still. Not when there was still a job to be done. A mean old life to live.

"They better come," she confirmed, more to herself than Diaz, yet the woman's jaw clenched all the same. Her hands flying out in exasperation. Resembling more of wet dog than a person.

      "Your informant was wrong, Ariel."

"Ariel?" Clement chuckled dryly. "I'm more the sea witch than the princess. Don't you think?"

She shock her head, twisting her finger around one wet curl. A faint image of a smile hanging upon her lips. "I don't know. I never actually read the story."

"I did, once when I was a kid... but the ending was terrible, and I didn't want to read it again." Clement stopped, watching the waves move back in forth in a tranquility rhythm for a few moments.

She'd crossed her arms, staring up at her father in disbelief as she realized Ariel wouldn't go home in the end, she wouldn't even get the prince. "That's it?" She said to him, confusion written plainly in her tone.

"That's it," he confirmed, closing the book.

"I don't like this story. The ending was stupid. If it is a real fairytale she'd get to keep it all, the legs and the prince too. She'd get her happy ending, Papa."

"Life is rarely a happy ending though isn't it?"

"But that's stupid..." she remembered saying. "If ya gonna tell a story, why not tell a happy one?"

"Well, what would you have done differently?" He asked her, listening thoughtfully for her answer.

"I'd make all the bad stuff go away. Fight it until I got my happy ending."

He chuckled, eyes creasing at the sides. "Of course you would. Go to bed now, and we'll read another story next week when I return."

"Promise," she asked, yawning slightly as he tucked her in.

"Promise... goodnight Clement."

"Goodnight Papa."

"I hate sad endings," she decided, the words sticking to her tongue like rotten fruit.

"Me too," Diaz said softly, "Though I'd rather go down swinging than simply rolling over and accepting my fate."

"Me too," Clement parroted back.

The sun dipped below the horizon, its soft pinky glow illuminating the ocean's surface. The darkness would soon encompass the world, a more dangerous time than before the fall; the infected for reasons unknown to Clement, thriving in the damp dark climate of nighttime. Often slithering out of their undiscovered holes to feast upon the unlucky souls without safe harbor. Without a Quarantine Zone to hold up in.

A more terrifying thought than in the years past, with only six known zones still standing. Many of which were under cease by one organization or another. The fireflies, the chosen menaces of this one

Diaz whistled faintly through her nose, gaining the attention of Clement. "Looks like your informant was telling the truth after all."

Clement darted her head in the direction of Diaz's stare to find two lone figures etching along the south side of the wall. Pushed up against its cracks in an attempt to remain unseen. Which would have worked too if they waited another hour for the full cloak of darkness. The waves crashing against them as they weaved through the narrow bridge.

Old man's oasis, the bridge had been nicknamed. On account of the amount of people who had slipped into the ocean, drowning instantly against its posts. Some of the older people of the fishing district had heard such stories, taking it upon themselves to leap from the top into the crashing waves beneath once they were tired enough of life. Once they deemed themselves too old to be of any use in the apocalypse. Clement had been called many times to collect the bodies. The name etched in the back of her eyes along with the bodies.

The soldier sighed, reaching for the automatic rifle roped around her back. "Good, I won't have to kill him, then."

"Yet you mean." Diaz laughed as she pulled out her own rifle, a glimmer to her eyes that wasn't there before. "You think they're fireflies?"

Her question gave notice to the unnerving excitement in her tone. Practically foaming at the mouth every time the moment arose for her to pull the trigger.

      "Don't get too excited. Could just be smugglers."

"Psh, smugglers aren't usually stupid enough to get caught in a whirlpool," Diaz pointed out, reloading her gun.

True, Clement thought. Smugglers, although very much present in the black markets of the city, operated by a strict code of secrecy, and an even stricter survival instinct. Which permanently barred them from making idiotic rookie mistakes like sneaking past armed patrol during daylight hours.

"Help," One of the figures yelled out, waving over Clement and Diaz.

The pair carefully making their way along the narrow bridge. Careful to not fall into the water themselves. As the young man's friend must have, her head sinking below the water's surface, as the other hung onto the a post on the side for his dear life.

His waving ceased as the women grew closer, replaced by a panicked shriek when he saw their uniforms, and more specifically the FEDRA name tag sewn into its padding. The drowning of his friend less important than making himself disappear in the face of FEDRA soldiers.

"Definitely fireflies," Clement said. No one else would rather face death by drowning than accept the life persevere thrown their way. Not unless they knew the atrocities which would bestow them in the hands of FEDRA. Tales fireflies spread to their new recruits like ghost stories over a campfire.

"Yup," Diaz sung, pushing her way in front of Clement to get her hands upon the two fireflies first.

She nodded, there was a reason Diaz was their go to torturer, she gained more knowledge from people than anyone else dreamed of. Other people's worst nightmares weren't as creative as Diaz's techniques.

Clement pressed her body up against the wall to allow her room to pass. Better than to risk falling in, the mountains of equipment and fabric of their uniforms making drowning a very real possibility. They'd be fine so long as they stuck to the wall, pushed up against it to not fall in.

"Hey," Diaz yelled, as to be heard by the two fireflies. "Stop right there!" She leaped onto the platform below, using the ladder to climb the rest of the way down. Her boots caught the waves. Engulfing its fabric in the salty water. She reached out for the man, pulling him by the collar toward the shore.

"No, no, no," he cried, clutching tightly onto the pole, his knuckles turning white from the effort of holding on. Diaz was stronger than he was, even without the exhaustion of holding out against the waves; she would get him in due time.

Clement held back, rifle positioned on her shoulder as she scanned the ocean for any more fireflies. His friend's head broke surface one last time, before sinking underneath to face the wrath of whatever hellscapes lied beneath.

Perhaps whatever creature she encountered would be more merciful than man. Than FEDRA.

"No dying yet," Diaz replied back to him, grabbing hold of the man, and pulling him off the pole. She yanked him up onto dry land, as he coughed up more water than Clement would have thought possible.

Yet, his ability to breathe was the least of Clement's concerns when she took notice to the pendant dangling from his neck. The same one fireflies wore, written with their name, and their ridiculous motto. 

      "Look for the light." She always found the slogan to be stupid. Corny as hell, as she once called it.

        Infecting the minds of the people of Boston QZ. Poisoning them against FEDRA. Training them to bite the hand that fed them.

"Wow, so we caught ourselves here a firefly." A cruel smile mustered upon Diaz's lips. "Didn't anyone ever tell you swimming against the current will pull you under. You'll drown. Just like your lady back there if I'm not mistaken."

He coughed, blue eyes staring into her's before they harden into a glare. "Fuck yo-you, you stupid bitch." He spit in her face, venom oozing from his lips.

Diaz wiped the spit from her eyes. "Big fucking mistake buddy," she said calmly, before she took her gun, using the back to clock him across his head; twice. A loud crack to accompany his now bleeding nose. The blood, poured to the floor quickly. Rendering his face unrecognizable.

Diaz pulled out her knife; the blade as precious to her as children or pets would be to another. Along the side of his cheek, she slid her knife, deep enough to break skin, and leave a scar. Yet not enough to kill him. No, she knew the importance of this mission. Of securing the location of the fireflies.

The only recognizable feature on his face were his eyes. His eyes, as blue as ever. As blue as the ocean. Held the same hatred as before. He would rather die for his cause than give anything up.

Why blue eyes? Did the universe intend to torture her? Blue eyes, it was always blue eyes that haunted her dreams. Ever judging and cruel.

"We need to take Mr. Sawyer in for questioning," Clement said, reading the name tag upon his pendent. "Cap will want to see him."

      Her knife drew a sharp bloody line across his cheek. A whimper escaping the prisoner's lips.

       Clement had no interest in torturing the firefly just yet. "He won't talk now. Not hungry and desperate enough yet."

       Diaz sighed, twirling her knife in her hand. Debating her next move. How rich was her desire for bloodshed? How likely was she to disobey a direct order?

      "Now Sergeant." Clement's voice rumbled across the small bridge. Loosing its might once it hit the wind. But Clement had no use for yelling. A clear calculating tone was all she needed to spark fear in the hearts of those under her charge. The firefly should be terrified. Clement was not his ally.

A chilling thought; one which forced Clement's eyes from the scene, back toward the tranquility of the sparkling blue water below.

"Come on," Diaz said, shedding her knife and grabbing hold of the firefly's collar. "I think jail should suit you well . . . My torture chamber as well."

      The man did not cry out. Blinking back the tears as they handcuffed him and Clement radioed for the truck. He to his credit didn't plead for help as people watched them take him toward the truck. Their eyes hollow and bellies empty.

         Not that any of them would help him. No one publicly disobeyed FEDRA. No one smart at least. Knowing the rebellion would end in their hanging, as it had for so many others before them. Bodies left to hand off the walls of the QZ as a reminder to the people.

          Yet, unrest was growing. People were becoming bolder, more restless, with the prospect of a new regime. One where the citizens didn't go without. Yet, the fireflies, weren't interested in helping the people. Only causing civil unrest.

       A storm was upon them, when it struck she didn't know. Yet it would come all the same. Her intuition hadn't done her wrong before, and it wouldn't start now.

The calm before indeed.

~~~~~~~~🌊~~~~~~~~

The QZ was ablaze with fury as they drove past. Curfew having been in effect for over an hour, but it was one of those weeks. One of the weeks where the citizens went without. Not enough ration cards to spare to the people. After the fireflies raided yet another warehouse. Taking what they pleased and burning the rest of the supplies to the ground.

       Clement's jaw locked as the truck pushed her forward. Deja driving over a particularly nasty bump. The fireflies were using starvation to turn the people against their government. Recruiting the most desperate of folks. Those who would rather turn against the nation than starve to death.

         The poorest of zones. Often the fishing district, Clement and her two other soldiers were driving out of now, went without food for the longest. It's people the poorest and most useless of citizens. Lacking skills and resources to live in one of the more prosperous districts. To acquire work where their fingers weren't worked until they bled and fell off. Their friends dropping dead from heat exhaustion.

        They had been going without food for four days now. The people lining the streets as the FEDRA truck passed them by. Ridden with a hungry induced madness, as they pushed up against the car. Banging on the windows. Screaming profanities into the tinted windows, and bullet proof glass.

       Deja, a newer recruit of Clement's unit, clenched the steering wheel with white knuckles. Her eyes open wide and about to shed tears at the state of the district. Clement had told Kumar she wasn't ready for job, but him being him, brushed aside her suggestion. Announcing it was his team, and he would recruit who ever he wanted.

      Now she was stuck in a truck. The driver, a child on the cusp of adulthood, and about to steer their car into a wall instead of hitting one of the people surrounding the truck . . . And they knew that too. More and more of them surrounding the vehicle. Attempting to flip a six hundred pound tank.

"More unrest lately," Diaz hummed, watching the broken dirty faces of those pounding against bullet proof glass. Screaming for more food, more water. A chance to live.

"They're going hungry again," Clement told the younger woman. Closing her eyes as she leaned back further into her seat. The smell of the hatred those pounding on the truck overwhelmed her nostrils. Shaking Clement down to every bone in her body.

         Diaz's eyes darkened. Staring at the bodies crying out they were just driving past. "Thank you fireflies."

        The unfortunate truth was that many went without during these war times. The zone turning over more and more fireflies by the day with the stricter rules FEDRA had to enforce in response to their rebellion. Yet the people, rarely saw it that way. Instead, FEDRA was the evil agency taking away their rights, and the fireflies, rebel princes to save the people from their torment.

Of course in these times, more FEDRA soldiers would be lining the streets. Keeping the peace of those hungry and desperate enough to create unrest, but with more and more attacks on the units. They were spread thin, and couldn't spare the man power to do so. Instead, they traveled in groups — always in a truck for transportation from one zone to another.

         A younger version of Clement would be disappointed with the woman who turned a blind eye to the suffering of the people. Who'd rather listen to authority and power of the few.

This version of her was unable to make the distinction. There was always someone starving. Always someone needing more. Always someone else taking too much. War times weren't pretty, and suffering was to be expected . . . right?

The young do-gooder, sergeant Deja Wyatt disagreed with Clement's take. The scoff in her voice enough to go off of. She clenched the steering wheel between her fingers. Deja maneuvering her way through the mob with unsteady hands and a waring mind.

"Careful Wyatt," she warned. Reaching out to grab onto the handle bar above her head. "Steady hands or we're going to drive through a wall."

        Down a particularly nasty turn they went. Deja's arms locking, as she frantically spun the wheel. The people, sensing her cowardice, ran forward. Surrounding the truck — blood curling screams pounding against the truck's exterior.

        Goosebumps lined Clement's skin as she took in the faces of those most vulnerable. Of the skin and bones many of them had. They were starving. They were desperate. They would tear the women in the truck apart if it came to it. If Deja, who was cracking under all the pressure couldn't get them out.

       Why couldn't anything in Clement's life ever go smoothly?

       "If you fucking kill us, I swear —"

"Stop," Clement glared at her. Unlocking her own seatbelt to climb into the front next to a shaking Deja.

       A piece of shit got thrown at the window, Deja practically jumping out of her skin at the motion. She moved toward the window wipers, Clement catching her hand mid action, and shaking her head. "Don't, you'll smear it across the window and then we won't be able to see anything."

       "You better take over. I can't do this," she told the older woman. Eyes latched onto the window in front of her. Practically bulging out of their sockets.

          Clement sighed. Of course she couldn't handle the heat. She was too young. Too inexperienced. All of them were. Those who had been raised behind QZ walls. Naive to the true dangers of the world. Even those that lay in their backyard.

           The world was cruel, and people often died. She needed to understand, to adapt. Or else it would pull her under — kill her on impact.

         "No," she told her. Voice firm.

   "Clement, she's going to drive us to our deaths —"

  "I said no," she snapped, shutting both of them up. "You signed up for this unit. You did the training and now you do the work. No one is taking that wheel from you."

       "I can't drive through them," she said.

       "You won't have to. Step on the gas, they will move."

       "And if they don't?" Diaz asked from the back, but the look Clement shot her had her locking her seatbelt. Grabbing onto her own handle bar.

      Move or die. The choices at hand for the growing mob. Diaz underestimated the instinct of survival. The panic encompassing those closest to death. The time the human body fought the hardest. Every organ working over time. Every muscle flexing. Every blood vessel pumping blood.

      They'd move. The ones who didn't, well that was an unfortunate but necessary sacrifice.

       Deja did what was instructed of her. Slamming on the gas as they flew straight toward the crowd of people. Right on cue, many of them dodged out of the way of the barreling truck. Unearthing the path forward. The one Deja propelled them toward.

      "Oh god, it worked," she said, grinning wildly as the sped back toward base. From the backseat, Diaz laughed, pounding on the wall leading to wear the prisoner was hooked up for transport.

     "I gotta admit, I didn't think it would," Diaz tells them. "I'll never doubt you again Clement." She leaned forward, grabbing onto Clement's shoulders and shaking her with relief.

      Clement leaned back in her seat. Fighting the urge to get the hell out while she still could. To listen to the traitorous beat of her heart. The small soul judging her. Disappointed in her.
      
        Finally the truck pushed into territory Clement was familiar with. Enough to fill her with a sense of ease. All the other FEDRA trucks lining the road. The Military district, where all their laws were set in place. Execution's were held. And soldiers living quarters were stationed.

         They unloaded quickly, handing the firefly off to the soldiers on duty. Diaz lighting up to interrogate him for any locations on where Fireflies were. She hopped out of the truck, practically skipping on her way to the interrogation chamber. While Clement held back, squeezing Deja's shoulder softly.

        Deja slammed her head against the steering wheel. Taking deep breaths to collect her thoughts. The young woman was still shaking from earlier. She wouldn't soon forget what happened that day. What was done.

      "I'll deal with the prisoner. Why don't you just go home for the night. We're need you tomorrow," Clement told her, focusing her attention on unbuckling her seatbelt.

Deja nodded at her, hanging her head limply as she hobbled out of the truck. "I'm sorry I choked back there . . ."

        But Clement doesn't answer her. Too concerned with hoping out of the truck herself. What would Deja's apologies get anyone? It wouldn't stop the world from swallowing her up and spitting out her cold limp body. Wouldn't stop her from becoming a killer. From wishing the world had done her in when she was still young and hopeful.

        Deja nodded, expecting the brush off Clement had given her. She closed her dark eyes, steadying herself for the journey ahead. Then on tired heels, she spun toward the apartments housing soldiers.

       "Wyatt," Clement called out to her retreating form. The girl turned around, a hopeful look in her eyes. Clement swallowed. "There are no second chances in this unit. Pull shit like that again and it won't matter what Kumar says. I'll have you thrown out of the force faster than you can blink."

       "Yes ma'am," she answered, the hopeful light fading from her eyes once more.
     
        She pitted people like Deja. Those with kind enough hearts and lucky enough breaks to have been in a Quarantine Zone the whole time the infection had taken over the world. She was soft because she hadn't known any differently. Haven't seen the light drain from a loved one's eyes, the infection taking root in their body. Hadn't held someone bleeding out in her arms as raiders surrounded them. Looming over her. Waiting for the opportunity to strike, and kill her too . . . Or worse.

Clement blinked away the memories. Turning toward the headquarters. A courthouse, where all manners of law in the QZ was dealt with. The depths of the courthouse was turned into a prison. Wet and dreary. A place people went to die. A place right at home for the snake Clement had become over the years.

As she pushed open the double doors — once a golden color; now chipped and weathered — a large figure rammed into the door. Throwing her off balance and almost on the floor.

The figure reached out clumsily, grabbing hold of Clement and steadying her. Joseph Knapp, she realized. Staring into the round freckled face of another member of her assigned team.

With rosy cheeks and slick back hair, curling at the edges. And a button up flannel, accompanied by worker boots. Joseph smiled at her, stepping back in an instance to allow the older woman space.

"Your shift done?" Clement asked him, using her hands to straighten any wrinkles in her own uniform. Joseph nodded, an already distant expression on his face. One of a man eager to get home, and forget whatever horrors he committed inside that building.

"Cap wants to see you, said he wants the radio up and running by . . . " he squinted down at his watch. Fifteen minutes off from the actual time, but then again, no one knew the exact time. Everything, including time was altered with the plague. "8 o'clock."

      Clement pinched her brow. Messaging the headache away. "Wonderful, I'll just be in three places at once."

       "You could always tell him to fuck off," his eyes lit up with mischief. "Though I guess you already . . ." His voice trailed off. Freckles standing stark against the pale canvas of his skin. "Never mind. I'd stay and help you out, but it's Alex's birthday, and Lisa wants me home early. Says it's of the upmost importance on account of the cake she bought."

         "Cake huh? How'd she manage that one?"
 
        He chuckled. One of those full belly ones no one managed anymore. "Not a cake really. More like bread and frosting but I guess it's better than nothing — traded in a bunch of ration cards for it."

      "You should be careful with those. There aren't endless amounts of cards you know." Clement's words hung in the air. Slicing straight through the confetti his spirit threw all over the concrete.

The joy in his face faded. His body going rigid. Ice water poured down his back. Head darting around, watching for any listening ears before lowering his voice. "Why? Have you heard something?"

      Clement clicked her teeth together. Straightening her spine in response. God, she was getting a headache.   "No, but it's wartimes Joseph. We all have to be careful."

He nodded. Color returning to his face as he readjusted his weight. "You heading up to the academy after your shift?" Shivering after a particularly cold gust of wind. A clear marker of approaching fall.

"No," Clement froze, turning round to face him. Her mind going blank on mention of the academy. "Why would I be going there."

"I don't know. Might be nice —"

But Clement cut him off, feeling the cold weather more bitterly than before. She'd need to start wearing a thicker jacket soon. Winters always being worse in Boston than California. "Is there a holiday I don't know about?"

"Umm, no . . ."

"Is it the end of the quarter? Ration cards out already?" She mocked, voice shaking ever so slightly. Which she covered up with a bored tone.

"Also no," he told her.

"Then there's no need. Is there?"

Joseph held his hands up, backing away. "Hey, you do you Steele. I was just wondering is all."

"Yeah, I know . . ." She pivoted, hovering near the door to go back inside. Her icy tone enough to scare anyone off from asking, but Joseph had known her a good many years. Known the version of her fresh off the streets, broken and unable to stomach the sight of food. Of happiness. "Hey, you have a good night alright? Tell Alex happy birthday from me. What is it? His tenth?"

"Eleventh," he smiled widely. "He's growing too fast. But feel free to stop by after your shift. Lisa says I don't bring the team home enough, and she likes you a lot more than Kumar or Diaz."

"Low bar, but I'll take it. See you tomorrow Knapp," she told him, pushing open the door, and welcoming the warmth of the indoors.

He waved, shooting finger guns at her. Before turning around. A skip in his step no one else in the unit had. No one else had the family Joseph had, she reminded herself.

For the rest of her shift, she did her best to ignore the pestering feeling in her gut she wasn't doing enough. Wasn't keeping the promise she once made to a friend long since dead. A friend she tried not to think about much on account of the pang of guilt accompanying her face. Her laughter.

Clement sure would be going to hell . . . There was no escaping that fate. Not for a woman a cruel as Clement Steele. Oh well, the only thing she could do was prolong the fate as long as possible.

~~~~~~~~🌊~~~~~~~~
Minor Smut ahead 18+
{italics}
~~~~~~~~🌊~~~~~~~~

The nippy night air was a welcomed feeling to Clement as she exited the courthouse. Long after her shift had ended and the last soldier went home for the night.

Her bones ached as she climbed the three flights to her studio apartment. Skin painted in blood and tears of those unfortunate souls committing crimes in the QZ. The list of names destined for hanging in the morning would have once laid heavily on her heart, but now after so many years of making such a list. Has no real effect on her mood.

How was she responsible for their idiotic actions? How was she meant to feel guilty for following the laws put in place by another? By those keeping the QZ from falling . . . she wasn't.

The door was unlocked when she entered her apartment. The bumps on Clement's skin sticking up. Someone was in her apartment. A shadow moving over by the bed enough to go off of. She grabbed her knife stationed in the drawer nearest the door. Clenching the blade as she tiptoed further into the enclosure.

"You didn't come see the radio," a voice rang out from somewhere in the shadows of the room. Clement huffing, and lowering her knife at the familiarity in the tone. "Did Knapp not find you?"

Clement unbuttoned her bulletproof vest, hanging it up on the hook along with the other recognizable one. "How'd you get into my apartment? I don't believe I'd given you a key."

Captain Eric Kumar slithered out of the shadows. A hungry look on his face as he approached Clement. "I have my ways . . ."

"Illegal ways," she challenged as he grabbed hold of her waist. "Aren't you meant to uphold the law? Not break it?"

• • •
"Light Smut Ahead"

His response was the ravenous kiss placed on her lips. Pulling her body closer to him, until they were pressed up against each other.

His hands explored her body with renewed intensity. Pitching ever so delicate skin as the fingers grazed over sensitive areas. Soon, he found her breasts. Hands snaking under her shirt. Clement moaned into his mouth, rubbing her body up against his in quickening motions. He bit her lip. Clement moving to unbuckle his pants. Reaching down to grasp him.

Kumar twisted her neck, bitting at the soft skin there. Sucking on the pinkish dots adoring her skin. Before throwing her down on the bed. Ripping off her clothes as he took her into his arms. Their naked forms pushed up against each other in heat.

They fought for dominance; neither willing to submit to the other. Sex between Clement Steele and Eric Kumar was hardly a loving act. Neither being able to stomach each other's presence long enough to ever call it that. It was an alliance born from the need for something physical. To take their minds off of the horrific realities they faced daily.

Clement Steele would never love Kumar. She enjoyed sleeping with him (against her better judgement mind you) but a love match was out of the question. The part of her able to love anything had died a long time ago. Turned sour with age and trauma.

And as her kisses grew hotter. Her body more frenzied in her movements, she felt nothing for him. No warmth. No affection at all. For how could she? How could she ever allow herself to love another soul again. She couldn't.

Love was a loosing game. One Clement Steele never intended to play ever again . . .

~~~~~~~~🌊~~~~~~~~
Author's Note
~~~~~~~~🌊~~~~~~~~

Hi everyone,

If you skipped the scene above. A bit of a recap; Captain Eric Kumar was in Clement's apartment and they slept together. Clement remarks on how she feels so sort of love for him which is why she perused sex with him. As she's loved before and never plans to again.

What do we think of the chapter? I've definitely updated the FEDRA storyline and gave all the soldiers more of a personality (they were very one dimensional before). As well as changing Clement's personality a bit. She's a lot more cold and bitter than she originally was.

Anyway, for those of you wondering. There will be more smut in this book. Just not a lot in part I. But these scenes are purely 18 + and will be given a warning as well as a recap of important conversations for anyone who wants to skip them. They probably won't ever be super explicit and won't happen that much, but for anyone uncomfortable reading them. There will always be warning present at the start of the chapter and right before the act.