Chapter 17: The Burial

Chapter 17: The Burial

Val stepped quietly through the manor’s main doors and into the open fog. The world beyond was eerily calm, the fog swirling gently around her as dawn crept into the sky. She carried Ellie in her arms, holding her close against her chest, shielding what little warmth remained.

They emerged onto a wide circular driveway and a pristine stone courtyard that looked untouched by time. The grounds were immaculate, the cobbled path bordered by trimmed hedges and polished black fencing. At the center stood a lavish fountain, tall and elegant. Its waters no longer flowed, but Val imagined what the spectacle might have looked like.

Scanning the grounds, Val’s eyes caught sight of a small structure in the distance to her left, partially obscured by the fog now illuminated by the morning sun. The shape was squat and rectangular, with a sloped roof and double doors, perhaps a garage or a groundskeeper’s quarters, she hoped.

As Val walked toward the distant building, her eyes drifted down to Ellie’s lifeless face. The burned-out sockets where her eyes had once been stared blankly skyward, hollow and haunting. A knot tightened in Val’s chest. Was this her fault? Could she have saved her? Was there another way? The questions clawed at her mind, each step forward weighed down by doubt, guilt threading its way through the cracks in her resolve.

And the helm… why had it spared her but not Ellie? If the blight coursing through her veins had taken hold a moment sooner, would she have met the same fate? Was she truly different… or simply lucky? Her thoughts turned to the object nestled in the pack strapped to her back. Whatever it was—unholy or divine—it had power. Power enough to save, to kill… or perhaps, to do something far worse.

Reaching the small building, Val slowed. Just beyond it, tucked beside a low hedge, was a patch of freshly turned earth, untouched by rot or ruin. A narrow row of red and violet flowers lined its edge, swaying gently in the breeze.

Kneeling, Val placed Ellie down among them, cradling her head as if afraid to let go. The flowers bowed in the wind, brushing against Ellie’s motionless form as if nature was comforting her in her passage.

Turning her attention to the building, Val approached and swung open the unlocked doors. Inside, the space was modest but clean. Several rows of narrow bunks lined the walls, their blankets tucked with militaristic precision. A small kitchenette stood at the far end, complete with a sink and an aging fridge beneath a cabinet. To her right stood a single door slightly ajar leading to what looked like a washroom. Towards the back of the building stood another door, grey with a silver latch.

Acolytes’ barracks, she thought grimly. Or whatever passed for soldiers in this nightmare.

Val moved cautiously through the room, making her way toward the kitchenette while glancing over each bunk as she passed. The beds were bare save for neatly tucked blankets, no pillows, no personal belongings, no signs anyone had actually lived here.

At the kitchenette, she opened the fridge. A warm, sour wave hit her nose. No power here either, she thought. Whatever powered the lab in the manor didn’t reach this far.

Inside, spoiled vegetables sagged in plastic containers, a half-empty bottle of milk had curdled in its jug, and a few sealed water bottles were tucked away in the back.

She grabbed one of the waters and twisted the cap off, drinking it down in one long pull. The water was lukewarm, but it might as well have been nectar. She hadn’t realized how thirsty she was until it was gone.

Throwing the empty bottle into the sink with a hollow clatter, Val turned and noticed something to her left, a small desk tucked next to a bunk. Above it, pinned to the wall, was a map. Curious, she stepped closer.

It was a world map, yellowed at the edges, its surface marked with careful precision. Thirteen red pins were scattered across it, each pressed firmly into a different region.

She counted them silently.

The United Kingdom. The United States. Canada. China. Japan. Brazil. Australia. Russia. Spain. France. Italy. Hawaii. Africa.

Thirteen points. Thirteen targets?

Val stared at the pins, unease blooming in her chest. These weren’t random. She prayed that whatever was happening here hadn’t already spread.

The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

Lowering her gaze, her reflection faintly shimmered in the glass of the desk’s surface—tired, scared, hollowed by grief.

Where am I now? she wondered, looking at the now-healed bite wound on her face. I can’t have been unconscious long… but without GPS, without any point of reference besides this cursed manor, I could be anywhere.

Her thoughts circled tighter.

How was she supposed to find Sam in all of this? The world was falling apart, and her only lead was a masked phantom who could be anywhere by this point.

Val closed her eyes for a moment, steadying her breath.

There would be time to figure that out later, she told herself. First, she needed to take care of Ellie. Turning from the map, Val made her way to the back of the barracks and opened the back door.

Inside was a small garage, dimly lit by narrow slats of sunlight leaking through high, dust-streaked windows. In the center lay a massive heap of clothing, torn and stained, folded in on itself like a collapsed bonfire. Victims, she guessed. Survivors who had come here and never left.

She shivered.

Only then did she realize how cold she’d become, the night air having crept into her bones during the long ordeal. She’d been running around all night without a coat. Sifting through the heap, she searched for something to fend off the chill of the fog.

Eventually, she found a long black duster, thin canvas and worn, hanging just above her ankles when she tried it on. It wasn’t warm, but it looked weatherproof. Good enough.

She slid it on, the fabric surprisingly light, but the fit snug and comforting.

To the side of the clothing pile stood a small collection of gardening tools, spades, shears, a rusted rake. And next to them, leaning casually against the far wall, was something far more useful.

A dirt bike. Old, but intact.

Beside the bike sat an old red gas can, the paint chipped and the handle rusted. Val gave it a sharp kick with the toe of her boot, and it shifted slightly with a metallic slosh.

Not empty. She had a vehicle now, if it still worked.

Val took a shovel from the corner and made her way back to where she had laid Ellie among the flowers. The sun filtered through the fog, casting long rays across the courtyard as she began to dig. The soil was damp and resistant, but her muscles and new found strength made quick work of it.

By midmorning, the hole was deep enough. Val climbed out and carefully lifted Ellie’s body into her arms. She descended with care, placing her gently in the grave, then paused for a moment. No prayer came—only silence, and the weight of grief. She pulled a clean sheet from the barracks and laid it over Ellie’s body like a shroud.

“I’ll find him, Ellie,” she whispered, her voice steady despite the crack in her heart. “If it’s the last thing I do on this cursed earth, I’ll find Sam.”

She spent the rest of the morning finishing Ellie’s grave, packing the earth with care and fashioning a makeshift cross from two pieces of wood she’d found in the barracks. It was simple, but just enough to mark the place where someone lay that had mattered.

As she stood there in the quiet, the wind shifted slightly and she heard it, low at first, but unmistakable. The sound of aircraft engines. Val’s head snapped up. It wasn’t just background noise; it was growing louder. Approaching.

She backed toward the center of the courtyard, eyes scanning the sky through the thinning fog. The sunlight had done little to improve visibility in the thick fog, but she could make out silhouettes—faint, swift. Then she saw them clearly for just a second: two jets cutting through the sky, low and fast. Harriers, she thought. Their sleek frames sliced the air like razors, and the roar of their engines tore the silence in two.

Their contrails created momentary channels in the fog, revealing parts of the manor’s roof before the mist swallowed everything up again. She lost sight of the jets quickly, but a minute later came the unmistakable sound of explosions in the far distance, their deep, rhythmic booms echoing like thunder. They were bombing something up ahead.

Val’s heart pounded. She didn’t know what their target was, but one thing was certain: there were still people in the fight. She wasn’t alone.

As the final booms of the bombing run echoed away, she listened to the aircraft circling back, their engines fading into the distance, heading for whatever base they’d launched from. Then something caught her eye, a flicker of orange light in the sky. It cut through the fog like a warning flare.

“What is that?” she said.

She narrowed her eyes, trying to peer through the haze. The flicker grew into a blaze, the outline of a burning fuselage descending rapidly. Her breath caught. One of the Harriers was coming down.

The flaming wreck hurtled through the mist and smashed into the ground less than a hundred yards from the manor, detonating in a violent fireball. The shockwave slammed into her chest, and the heat washed across her skin in a sudden, searing wave. The flames roared skyward, licking at the fog, and Val stood frozen, watching the twisted metal blaze in horror.

End of Chapter Stats

Name Val Occupation Combat Medical Technician (CMT) Health 65% Hunger 70% Thirst 20% Gear Light Clothing, Lighter Backpack Helm of the Valkyrie, Water Bottle ×2 Weapons Glock 17, Engraved Dagger Ammo 9mm – 41 rounds Skills Battlefield Medicine, Standard Weapons Trained, Enhanced Strength Kills 18