New Story! I'm missing Linstead just as much as you guys. So this is me coping with it. Enjoy!

Big thanks to SoFeelingTheLove for Beta'ing this and being a great soundboard.

I own nothing.

Erin's POV

Prologue:

They say the war tore a hole in the sky and that's why Earth turned into a wasteland. The viral outbreak that followed only made things worse. Healthy world order went to shit and so did our central government. But as luck would have it, a cure was found in the blood of a handful of people who were immune to the virus. A simple blood transfusion from an immune person (donor) was enough to combat the disease. The remaining governing factions took advantage of this and began hunting and harvesting donor blood. 'Sacrifice the few to save the many,' was their slogan. But let me be clear, no one was interested in saving anyone; they were only interested in power, and donor blood equaled power.

But that's all about to change.

x

Year 2057

The sun blazes a furnace on my face as it beats down from overhead. The sky has no color to it. The unfiltered rays leave everything seemingly bleached-out, over-exposed. Sweat trickles down my temples and my throat feel as dry as dust. I look up and see sand stretched out in every direction. Hank once told me there used to be a lake here, a shimmering sea of silver and blue. In my mind, oceans and lakes are only dreamlike wonders. Most of them dried up long before I was born - as if someone, from below, had pushed it up until it leveled with anything else. On scorching hot days like today, I like to imagine myself jumping feet first into one.

I've been scavenging for nearly three days and I'm beginning to feel every bit of it. The air is so dry it hurts to breathe. I unwrap the linen clinging to my face and it is damp with sweat and gritty with sand. I just want to stop and take a break, but I know better. The Hunters will be out patrolling soon and I can't afford to get caught. I readjust the scarf over my face and quicken my pace through the hot, desert plain.

I walk a few more miles along the warped and broken asphalt. The road is strewn with burned-out cars and debris from a world long dead. Down a small hill I spot a small shack made out of scrap metal and wood. It seems to still have a working door and only half a roof but it will give me a few minutes of shade. I cock my gun, just in case, step into the doorway, and push open the door. It swings open on its one remaining hinge before splintering away from the frame and crashing to the floor in a cloud of dust. The shack is Empty. Another dead place. Flies buzz in the still, dank air. Everything is covered in a thick layer of dust.

I slump on a what I think used to be bench and pull my canteen out. I take a sip, but the tepid water doesn't do much to kill my thirst.

"Lincoln 5021, anyone there?" I rasp into my radio. "Lincoln 5021. Anyone copy?" I try again.

Nothing.

The radio has been silent for the last two days now. It's not like I expected anyone to be this far out anyways. I lean back, close my eyes, and I find myself drifting into fantasy land. I think of the lake. The water so clear and blue you can see pebbles glistening at the bottom. I imagine the surge lapping against my ankles as I take slow steps inward. The water feeling cool and refreshing against my skin. I see myself swimming, going deeper and deeper to the bottom that may never come.

A shuffling noise from somewhere underneath the floors grabs my attention. I jump to my feet and slide my gun out from my holster. I stand still listening for movements, but nothing. Then I hear it again - rustling of dirt and debris underneath the floorboards.

"Who's there?" I ask.

The racketing continues until I see one of the floorboards being pushed up from below. I point my gun straight at it. "I have a gun. Think twice before doing anything stupid," I warn.

The light filtering inside the shack is not enough to chase away the shadows. I strain my eyes and slowly begin to a see the silhouette of a man pulling himself up from underneath the floors. His movements are slow and strained. I can see how grueling it is for him to simply haul himself out. He doesn't seem like a threat. Still, my gun is cocked, but lowered slightly.

He steadies himself on his hands and knees, but keeps his face is cast down. He mumbles something, but it's incoherent. He repeats the same jumbled sound over and over, until I finally realize what he is saying.

Water.

"Who are you?" I ask, my gun still aimed at him. "Where'd come from?"

"Wah-ter," he croaks out and pushes himself on his knees.

"Don't move. If you do anything stupid, I won't think twice before putting a hole in your head."

He raises his hands in surrender and slowly lifts his head up. The little sunlight that shafts through a window illuminates his whole face and his eyes, though red-rimmed, are deep, deep blue. Like what I've envision the ocean to be in the midst of a storm. It is so disarming that I momentarily lose focus.

"W-Where did you come from?" I find myself asking, seeking anything that will keep his attention while I recover mine. He slowly stands up and his eyes widen briefly when he finally looks at me, but says nothing. He stands there for a long moment - all tall and lean. His hair is mussed and his skin is pale and sallow. I look past the filthy on his clothes and see that he is wearing a blue jacket with a red stripe on each side - a guard's uniform. "What's a city guard doing this far west?" I question.

He shakes his head and looks down at the jacket he is wearing. "Not a guard. I just… can I have a sip of water?"

Then the thought crosses my mind: he was probably banned from the city because he is infected.

"I'm not infected," he says as if reading my mind.

"Show me your hands." I demand.

"I'm not infec-"

"Show me your fucking hands!" I repeat.

The man holds his hands outstretched, palm faced downwards. I watch it closely for any sign of ticks or tremors, but his hands remain steady.

"I'm not infected." He repeats. He glances up at me, just barely, but the raw pain in his blue eyes shakes me to the core and I feel my center of gravity shifting slightly. "A small sip, please?" He adds under his breath.

I look away and take a deep breath. I can feel him watching me, his eyes following my every move. Against my better judgment, I unclip the canteen from my backpack and throw in his direction. The man dives for it and guzzles the remaining lukewarm water so fast it splatters across the front of his shirt. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and looks back up at me with eyes filled with gratitude. I think I see a hint of a smile pulling at the right corner of his lips.

"Thank you," he utters.

"Don't thank me yet. I haven't decided what to do with you," I tell him curtly – don't want him thinking my guard is down. "What are you doing here?"

"I could ask you the same thing," he retorts.

The nerve. "Except, I'm the one holding the gun," I remind him.

"Look," he stares at me calmly. "I'm not looking for trouble."

"Listen here…" I begin, but the sound of a car engine rattling in the distance startles me. We look at each other wordlessly and without warning the man swipes the gun from my hand, hauls me inside the hole he just crawled out from, and secures it. He hoovers above me covering my mouth with his insanely warm palms. I try to push him off, but he brings a finger to his lips, motioning for me to be quiet. I grit my teeth and, in another futile attempt, try to push him away. He leans over me and presses me down against the ground, stilling me.

"Hold still, for God's sake." His rumbling voice is gentle, but I'm too panicked to realize it.

"No! Let me go," I say, but my words are muffled against his palm. I try to squirm, move a leg, pull my arms out, something, but he is holding me so tightly, surprisingly not hurtful, but I still can't budge.

"Hey." He leans steadily closer, until I can feel his hot breath against my ear. "I'm not going to hurt you."

His proximity sucks all the air from my lungs. My nerves tingle and I shudder as if an electric shock shot straight through me. It renders me motionless. I lie still and the silence between us amplifies the clatter of the engine approaching. I feel his grip loosen.

"I'm going to remove my hand from your mouth. Please don't scream." His voice is calm, but barely audible.

Slowly he takes his hand away from my mouth and I'm struck with silence. We gape at each other as the raucous of the engine draws nearer, then stalls. A car door screeches open followed by the sound of footsteps crushing the broken pavement outside. The man hovering above me inches forwards just slightly and says, "Hunters." For a moment his eyes rest upon mine. Pale, limpid blue, much paler than I've ever seen on anyone before. They look into mine and my whole body lights up, and frankly, it scares me.

"If they find us, you run and I will-" He starts, but his words are cut short by the sound of approaching footsteps.

A voice calls out, "There's nothing here."

From the cracks on the floor I can see blue uniforms with yellow stripes. Definitely Hunters.

"Check the cabinets. Maybe there's something we can use," another voices chimes in.

The floor creaks above me and tiny dust particles falls on us as the men scamper across the floors from one end of the shack to the other. I hear them ransacking the place, stuffing their bags with whatever they find. I feel the man press his body closer to mine. My heart races and I'm not certain it is motivated by fear.

"Come on. Let's get the hell out of here. This smell is making me want to retch."

"Indeed," a voice agrees. "He couldn't have gone far."

The blue eyes above me locks with mine, the weariness in them tells me what I already reckoned: these hunters are looking for him. But why? I suddenly feel drawn to him like a moth to a five thousand megawatt bug zapper.

Gradually, the footsteps retreat outside. We hear a car door slam, and its tires screech as it speeds away. We don't move and suddenly he is everywhere – all around me, overwhelming my already heightened senses. I need to put some distance between us because for reasons unbeknownst to me my skin is ready to jump off my body. I start to move and he takes the hint and we begin to haul out of the hole. To my surprise, he reaches behind him and hands me back my gun.

"Sorry. Had to act fast." He says. "You okay?"

The deep concern in his voice catches me off guard and irks me a little. "I'm fine," I answer, my voice clipped. "Why are they hunting you?"

For a fleeting instant I see a glimpse of something deeper in his eyes. However, as quickly as it appears, it dissipates and is replaced by a hard stare. "The less you know the better off you are."

I take a few steps forwards and holster my gun. "Who are you?"

He shakes his head. "Nobody."

His ambiguity shouldn't unsettle me, but it does. "Explain to me why are Hunters all the way out here looking for a nobody?"

He heaves a long sigh, looking at me with those ice blue eyes that seems to be as deep as the ocean itself. As if the ocean itself was focused on me.

"Look, I don't want to put you in anymore danger than what I already have," he says and pulls a bag from underneath the floors.

"Where are you headed?" I hear myself ask.

"West," is all he says. "I'm looking…" He shakes his head and leaves the sentence unfinished. He narrows his eyes and looks me up and down. "Where are you headed? You're not a hijacker and you are too put together to be a drifter. You live around here?"

"No," I tell him.

When I don't elaborate, he gives me a little head nod and throws the bag over his shoulders. "I guess I'll be on my way then."

He gives me a meaningful look. I feel momentarily stymied. Then I blurt out, "You don't have water, and I bet you don't have food either. You won't survive another day out there."

"I guess that will make one of us happy," he tells me with a lopsided grin. "But it doesn't matter. I know I'm close."

"Close to where?" I ask.

He looks at me searchingly, as though he is trying to read my thoughts, as if he wants to know he can trust me. Then, after a beat of silence, he says, "I'm looking for the Refuge."

I blink, taken aback by his statement, but only momentarily. "W-Who told you there is such a thing as a Refuge?" I hear the misplaced bite in my own voice and I cringe. "It's an old wives' tale," I say and put a touch of levity into my tone as I gaze at him.

He pauses. His eyes briefly leaving mine and his stare turns empty and opaque. "I heard about it. Thought it might be true. Can't blame a guy for hoping, right?" He shrugs. Then, "I was told I would fine someone named Hank Voight there."

At the mention of Hank's name, I go for my gun and point it at him. He's taken aback and stumbles a few steps back. "Who are you?" I ask.

"Wait… Do you know who Hank Voight is?" He questions, narrowing his eyes. I can see hope ballooning in them.

"Who sent you?" I inquire curtly, taking a few steps forward. "Why are you looking for Hank?" I ask.

"You know Hank Voight." This is no longer a question, but statement. He inches carefully forward. "I need to –"

I don't think twice before pulling a tranquilizer gun from my waistband and shooting his leg without a second thought. He falls to his knees and his eye slowly shut. However, I'm still haunted by the blue in them

Thanks for reading. More chapters coming soon. Let me know what you guys think! Cheers!