Chapter Text
The city was behind her, casting it’s pale green light up in to the darkening sky like thin, dying fingers. The snow had taken on a strange, ghostlike pallor under the glow, throwing angular shadows across the cold landscape in bruised, dark colours. A few feet from the wall, a stock of thin trees and the last remaining evergreens stood, marking the boundaries of safe ground. Beyond, there lay nothing but the vast waste and its scarred earth.
The moon was rising slowly in the distance, hanging low and fat, and the wind was picking up now she was out of the shelter of the wall. It tasted of ashes still, even though the burning had long since finished. The stain of it was in the air now. It came out of the ground, it coloured the water, it was in her veins. Arya gave the city one last cursory glance, checked the gun at her hip and started to walk out. Snow and ice lay thick across the earth, and broke crisply under foot. In a few short strides, she was in amongst the trees and then it was the only sound she could hear.
Out in the cold and the quiet, she felt a familiar stillness creeping back in to her bones. Soon, the ghost light from the city had all by died away and only the moon illuminated her way. Shadows became deeper here, cut sharp in to the rocks and under the falls of snow. The feeling of calm travelled upwards, until the chill had slipped up her neck and over her head, like falling in to cold water. She felt her breathing become even and slow, and her senses sharpen with every exhale. Even in the half light, she could close her eyes and know instantly what was around her just by the sound of the wind hitting her ear and the smell of the snow as it broke under foot. Nothing was alive out here anymore, save for herself and the skeletal trees like bone shards. But it was not the living she had come for.
The crack came from her left, somewhere beyond the slope that disappeared in to the darkness. In an instant, she was pressed against a slender trunk, belly flat against the pale bark. Her fingers curled downwards, finding the cold metal at her hip while her eyes darted across the black. Her mind worked through the steps slowly, deliberately, following a well worn path towards a singular purpose. Something glinted, like moonlight across frost, and she saw her target.
Blue eyes, unnaturally blue, like the true colour of ice, roamed the landscape. It was hungry, she could tell. It’s face was sunken and thin, so that the pallid flesh was forced to cling to the bone and its mouth opened and closed listlessly. It had no energy to be ravenous, although she did not doubt for a second that if it saw her, that would change. In the dark maw of its mouth, she could make out the blackened and broken teeth that still remained, now just jagged ruins. She had seen how they could rip and tear. Slowly, slowly, her breath steady and her eyes fixed, she squeezed the trigger. The sound rang out across the open space between them and then the thing fell with a thud in to the earth, a spray of black exploding in the place where it’s head had once been. As she watched it fall, her sense of satisfaction became a physical thing, tight and warm across her chest.
Something breathed behind her.
All at once, her senses began to scream their mistake, clawing at her mind to turn and see and shoot. She spun, but stumbled on the snow, falling backwards away from the tree and out in the dark. Blue eyes found the exposed skin of her neck, and the wide, bleeding gash of a mouth opened up with an eager hunger. Black hands, bloated with blood and decay, came forward from the darkness. The smell of rot burned her throat, forcing the air from her lungs as she tried to take a breath.
But she did not fall. Cold, clear focus took control of her body and found her footing. The gun came up in a sharp, upward swing, it’s barrel slamming in to the soft, rotten flesh under the creatures chin like a dagger. The mouth hung open in one last desperate, grasping lunge but the gun was already lodged deep in to its skull. Arya kept her eyes open until the last second, closing them at the moment she pulled the trigger. The blast knocked her back, hitting the snow hard. For a few dazed, motionless seconds, she could only lay there and stare up in the starless sky while her heart thundered in her chest.
There was a ringing in her head, like a distant siren, and the throb of it travelled down her spine to where she had hit the ground. Her face was wet and sticky, and something was running down her check and behind her ear. The stench of it was still in her mouth, like sour milk.
But she had no time to think on that.
With a kick, she was up and running. The wind whipped her face like knives, cutting at the wet skin and leaving its sting all across her. She ran fast, effortless even in the dark; her eyes had been trained for it and her urgency made them better. As she crashed through the last of the trees, the city wall loomed large and silent up in front of her and she skidded the last of the way on the icy ground, searching for her escape. The archway was cut in to the stone a few feet to the left; a pair of heavy iron doors, scared with bullet holes and the scratches of long dead fingers. She hammered her fist against it until the little hatch slid open and pair of dark eyes looked down at her through the grate.
‘Back so soon?’
Arya was in no mood for his games.
‘Let me in. Now.’
The eyes rolled and the hatch closed. The sound of metal scraping metal came from somewhere behind the door, and then slowly one of them slid open. Arya darted in as soon as the gap was wide enough, staring back out in to the darkness until it was shut again behind her. Only then did she become aware of the man staring at her.
‘Fuck, what happened to you?’
She looked down at herself. Her clothes were sodden, and ice had crusted in the folds of her jeans and jacket. Her boots were scuffed too, and dark, wet stains had splattered across her in thick, stringy lines. Her face felt hot and tight, and her breathes escaped her in ragged, shallow bursts. But when she raised her hands, there was no tremor there. She wiped her face with her sleeve.
‘Your sister won’t like it’ said the man, whose name was Emmon. Arya had been told that she had known him when she was younger, but she couldn’t remember. She had forgotten a lot, it seemed. Most of it was never coming back.
‘Then don’t tell her’ she said sullenly. Sansa had forbidden anyone from leaving the city at night, especially to go and kill walkers. Emmon gave her a slow smile, but she knew he wouldn’t spill her secrets; he would be in just as much trouble for letting her out. He tossed her a rag and with a little spit and scrubbing, she managed to wipe most of the stickiness away. When she was done, he offered her a slightly battered looking cigarette.
‘So how many you get?’
Arya took a long drag, eager to replace the bitter taste still in her mouth with something – anything – else. In the shadow of the archway, the man’s’ features were only half in light and the dark pits of his eyes glinted eagerly. She thought about that gaping, jagged mouth and the way the gun had punctured the skin so easily.
‘Two’ she answered coolly, taking another long drag. Emmon chuckled.
‘You’re slipping. Used to be you’d come back with five or six under your belt.’
Arya licked her lips and slouched back against the wall, not breaking his gaze.
‘Maybe there’s not many left’ she said simply.
Emmon laughed again and shook his head.
‘Maybe… maybe….’
He looked away then, back in to the city. The night had fully fallen now, and the streets were largely silent. The distant hum of the power station sung from over the other side of the compound, and the low, insistent buzz of electricity crackled in the power lines overhead. Only half of the streetlights were kept on, to try and conserve power, as all residents were meant to be inside now anyway. Sansa had enforced a curfew a month ago, to try and stop the street fights that were breaking out in the alleyways after dark.
‘Better hurry back, or they’ll miss you’ he said absently, finishing his cigarette with one last, long draw. Arya followed his gaze, shifting against the wall. The dampness had seeped in to the woollen jumper and the shirt she wore under her jacket, and the cold, clammy material was starting to feel uncomfortable. The cigarette was burning down between her fingers, turning to ash before her eyes. She didn’t really like to smoke. She’d had enough of the smell of burning to last her a life time.
‘No’ she said, stubbing it out against the wall. ‘No, they really won’t.’