Chapter 157: Hardship in the stone village.
The Stone village on Westbrook Mountain was already adjusting to the new normal. Most of the villages were glad to fall in line and do what was expected of them. The only ones that wanted to be exceptions to this rule were the prodigal Quinns.
They had managed to survive the acid rain and joined the village. But just as it was when they first arrived, the villagers did not welcome. It did not help that they were yet to provide the supplies they had promised.
So, they were offered shelter in a stone house belonging to an elderly man that had made it through the acid rain but nothing else was given to them. No reverence. No deference. No special treatment.
The villagers lived on the land with recent changes; they did everything as community. Everyone patched walls. Everyone went foraging for wood. Every young man and woman hunted. Everyone took a turn seeking herbs.
For the Quinns, it was hell.
Nora Quinn for example, dragged her feet each morning, cursing beneath her breath as she hauled baskets of damp cloths to the drying racks.
She was muttering about that even now as she cleaned the fur of some goats that had been slaughtered in the morning. A young boy named Phil was supervising her from the distance because her laziness was known to all.
"I just don’t understand why they do not get washing machines. And why the hell do we wash clothes as a community, it’s exhausting!" She complained quietly. "And this goat skin stinks. I don’t get why they are making me clean it. It is not like we can eat it."
"We should be grateful that we are still alive. Where else can we go?" Brigitte replied flatly, sweat glistening on her temples as she bent to lift bundles of washed vegetables for sun drying. Her voice was stern but tired. "You should not forget, mercy keeps us here, not our worth."
Nora scowled but said no more. She knew Brigitte was right, though resentment coiled tight in her chest. They should have been in Westbrook with the rest of the Quinns, living it up.
There were also other bases around. Why did they have to slump it here with the cave people?
"Fucking Sunshine." she cursed.
Outside one of the houses, Aven and Damien whispered of ways to get rid of the village leaders as the scrubbed acid residue from the stones of the houses.
Their desperation was climbing each day that passed. It was not the village chief that rattled them the most but the chief’s son, Morris.
Morris watched them like a hawk all the time, suspicious of every move, every hushed conversation. He didn’t hide his disdain for them. He was bold enough to say it before the others: Outsiders could not be trusted.
And now with the acid rain gone, Morris made no secret of his belief that the Quinns had overstayed their welcome. It was his father’s hand that restrained him,
This was because Damien had mentioned some of the disasters that were coming, knowledge he had learned from Moon and Pastor Salem’s live streams before the apocalypse begun.
The prodigal Quinns were lucky that the people in the village lived mostly primitively. Many did not have phones, so they never watched the livestreams. They learned about the acid rain because Hades had sent soldiers to warn them ahead of time.
But they did know what else was coming and the village chief was choosing precaution. He was constantly reminding the villagers that the Quinns had knowledge of the apocalypse, knowledge worth keeping them in the village.
But Morris’s eyes burned with warning whenever he crossed paths with any of the Quinns. He had told Damien directly that he should not give him the opportunity to catch them doing something questionable. If he did, he would throw them out no matter what his father said.
Damien loathed Morris a lot. Not just because the young man made him feel unwelcome but also because very mocking glance from Morris felt like an insult carved into his skin. He wanted it ended as soon as possible.
In fact, he wanted all of the villagers dead, and the village would belong to him and their group. They would spare some villagers to do the chores of course. Only a small manageable number.
That afternoon, the village gathered in the square as hunters prepared to set out. Spears were strapped, bows strung, knives glinted in leather sheaths. Smokes from cooking fires curled upward, carrying the smell of dried meats and herbs.
Damien’s jaw tightened as he stood with a hunting team, his fingers grazing the hilt of his blade. It was finally time to put his plan into action. After this hunt, they would not just survive but they would rebuild.
Stone village would be their foundation and steppingstone. When they accumulated enough strength, they would retaliate against Hades and his bitch of a wife.
The village chief believed in ancestors and the old ways. He also believed in the mountain god. So, he was saying a word of prayer for those going to hunt.
Morris stood proud, eyes fixed coldly on Damien. He smirked as if daring the man to slip.
Aven who was staying back to guard the village, placed a hand on Damien’s back and whispered a warning into his ear. "Do not make Morris’s death suspicious. We still have time and the trust of the village chief. If there is no opportunity today, there will be another.
Be rational and keep your eyes open. Remember that we have nowhere else to go right now and snow is already falling. If things happen as Moon predicted, we cannot afford to be on the road when people start freezing."
Morris sneered in the direction of the men. He knew they were planning something. He could smell the bad intentions they had. No matter what they planned, he would not let them succeed.
Aven’s words ran through Damien’s mind as the hunting party left the safety of the stone village and made its way into the dense woodlands which had survived the acid rain. They were not to return for at least two nights.
What Damien did not know was that Morris had similar ideas to his. He was also planning to kill off Damien Quinn.
The forest swallowed them in shadows and sound like the snap of twigs underfoot, the rustle of unseen animals, the roars of hungry predators and rustling of grass as things slithered or jumped through undergrowth.
Damien and Morris walked shoulder to shoulder, none trusting the other to walk ahead of them.
"Too many eyes, be patient." Damien silently voiced to himself.
But he kept imagining a hundred ways he could kill off Morris: a slip of his foot near a ravine, a push disguised as an accident, he prayed for a wild beast to lunge from the bush aiming for Morris’s neck.
As they ventured deeper into the woods, Morris and Sunshine’s faces interchanged. They were two people he wished death on the most in the world. No matter how long it took, he would end them.