Trial By Fire- Maxwell's Return to Hell

[Coyote]

Maxwell plops himself on a rock, in the seeming middle of nowhere, surrounded by trees. Out of breath, he places his hands on his knees, hunching over as he breathes deeply. He shakes his head and looks up. The last rays of daylight are licking the leaves around him.

“great, now I really AM lost..” he mutters to himself. He carefully pulls out of his pockets a partial, tattered map. His hands shake as he glared as it, and tosses it to the ground in disgust. “Looks like I’m on my own.” He berates himself. He’d spent so much time in this country, how could he not know where he was? He closes his eyes and listens. No noise. No footfalls, no brush moving, not even wind. He slowly slumps to the ground, leaning his back against the rock, recalling the recent turn of events that led to his current predicament.

 

It was a “normal” day in hell for Maxwell, when things were turned upside-down once again.  Resting in his hideout, an old school that he had partially fortified, Max was recovering from the wounds of a firefight.  Eating a can of beans, he could hear crying outside. Children’s cries.  Curiosity got the better of him. He finished his beans, and began scanning the windows.  How long had it been since he’d seen a child? Were there even any left? Had his mind been playing tricks on him?  He spotted movement. A small figure darting into a house. More crying.  Convinced, Maxwell climbed down his safety ladder gingerly, and made his way to the street, his sub-machine gun at the ready, as he scanned the area.  He followed the crying, carefully entering a house.  He searched the house.  The whimpering came from the bedroom. He entered the bedroom, and spotted the child. 

Dirty, wearing torn clothing, the small boy stood up from his refuge in the corner. His dirty-blond hair matted to his head from sweat. He looked up to Max with dull, hazel eyes.  He seemed oddly unafraid, as if he knew that Maxwell was not one of the infected.

“P-please! I’m scared. My sister is stuck!” The boy cried out, as he ran to Maxwell’s side frantically. “She is trapped in a house and those things are all over!” The boy looked up to him, pointing down the street. Desperation in his eyes.

“Are you hurt, kid? Are there any adults around?” Maxwell looked concerned, then looked around the house, out the windows, before returning his cold gaze to the boy, placing a finger on his lips. “Whisper…”

“I’m not hurt!” The boy’s voice only slightly more quiet. “She’s just down the street! We need to help her!” The boy ran from the room and poked his head out of the front door, looking down the road.  Maxwell quickly followed and pushed the boy back, edging out the door, as he glanced around.

“Okay.. It looks clear.. Lets hurry, and be quiet. I’ll help get your sister out if I can, then you two need to find someplace safe.” Maxwell instructed as he headed out onto the street. The small boy went running down the road. Maxwell ran to catch up, trying not to shout and draw any attention.  No infected appeared to be around, thankfully.   The boy finally came to a two-story house. He ran to the front door, attempting to open it, but struggled.

“ugh! It’s locked or something.  Please open it!” The boy pointed toward the door. Maxwell looked around. There was no noise, no evidence of Infected.  He calmly approached the door and pulled at the handle. It wouldn’t budge.  He slowly placed his shoulder against the door, attempting to ram it.

“Are you sure she’s in here?”  Maxwell grunted as he peered through the door’s small window.

“I know she is! Keep trying!” The boy frantically tried to peer through one of the boarded-up windows. “Please!”

“I’m trying, kid.. this is bolted up good…” Maxwell prepared to once again ram the door, as he felt it weaken, hearing some splintering, as if the door was boarded up from the inside.  He put forth his shoulder, and prepared to ram the door once more.  A sharp pain in the back of his head. Everything went black.

“Put him in the back with the others.”

*Some Russian chatter*

“No, please. Where are you taking us?”  A woman’s pleading voice.

*some muffled cries*

 

Maxwell sat back up on the rock, listening for any sort of noises to tip off the danger. It was getting darker now, and colder.  Thinking about the way he had been tricked filled him with anger once again. He clenched his gloved fist.

“Those fuckers..” He was angry. Both at himself, for being so easily tricked by listening to his one shred of humanity to help a child, and angry at the monsters who used a child to set him up in the first place.  He began thinking about what had happened after that.  Nothing but flashes.

He recalled waking up in the back of the jeep, alongside two other captured “prisoners.”  He remembers the chatter of the Russians.  The compound he found himself in.  Survivors beyond the Russian border, past the mountains.  He remembered the hard labor and torture that he endured. Fortifying the structure, risking his life for supplies and retrievals while unarmed.  The woman was given hard tasks as well, but had medical experience, and thus, was put to work nursing and feeding the survivors.  The other man… he gave up the fight early on.  Maxwell remembered the conditions of his “prison.” He began memorizing routes as he was sent to scavenge, under the close eye of armed guards. 

The Russians, who appeared to be ex-military, or something similar, left when things weren’t looking good.  Food was scarce now, and ammo was low.  It was the opportunity Maxwell needed.  The rest of the survivors, a few, speaking English, now remained.  They were weak. They were lamb. Lamb that had a caged wolf in their backyard.   Maxwell began to use his rather charismatic and manipulative personality.  He recalled turning a few of the teenagers against the adults.  He had found himself freed of his binding.  He had even convinced one of the weaker minds to board up the exits, and begin a fire.

It was not easy to escape.  The boy did a better job than expected.  The fire was intense, accelerated by the stockpiled gasoline.  Where were the children now?  Cries for help.  Maxwell began his emergence from the facility.  He suffered severe burns on his already feeble body.  Maxwell was strong.  He was the wolf, who no longer was a captive by the sheep. He emerged from the embers of the burnt compound. 

Maxwell looked to his hands.  They trembled slightly. He remembered the pain, as he hoisted the burning support beam from his body. The black leather bubbled and melted to his hands. It was excruciating.  Nerve damage to a few parts of his body. A hot ember burned his cornea, leaving him blind in his right eye.

He was a survivor.  He was strong. The mark on his cheek was always proof of that.

Maxwell stood up quickly.  He took a deep breath and looked around.  He was alone, but he was no loner.  He missed his friends. He missed the men he knew as brothers.  He missed her.  Maxwell looked down to the rock, then back up to the darkened sky.  Were they still okay? Of course. They were strong.  Maxwell began walking, knowing soon he’d find his way again.  After all, this hellish country was his home.  The chaotic land that was Chanarus really was a world which he inherited.  He grinned feebly as he picked up the pace, thinking to himself.

“I’m back…”

[Chinchilla]

Back for a day and already throwing us the D like we're at Prom.

Awesome read D. Glad you're back!