Chapter Seven
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ARKAS SPENT A FEW HOURS whittling away on the oak branch. It seemed to be taking the shape of a female, which was new. Usually, he carved animals and birds. The inactivity eventually got to him and he headed inside to put the carving in the attic for now.
“Sitting around and waiting is getting old,” the knight complained. He returned downstairs, rubbing the back of his head. He could still feel something on the edge of his radar. It had felt like it was getting closer, then had suddenly become almost undetectable.
He decided to head to the closest town and scope it out just to have something to do. Opening the front door, he immediately felt like he was being watched. Pausing, he scanned the area with his senses and frowned.
Closing the door behind him, he crossed to the bonfire to check on the bodies. The bones were charred and nothing else was left. His sense that he was being watched was even stronger now. He could almost feel someone, but couldn’t lock onto them.
“That’s strange,” he muttered beneath his breath. “I almost wish it was one of Rahab’s minions, so I can have someone to fight.” Even a battle to the death would be better than all the nothing he’d been doing since his arrival last night.
He walked down the driveway and followed his instincts to the left.
Jogging to get used to the sneakers, he sprinted once he was sure they wouldn’t fall apart on him.
Arkas ran until a small town came into view, then halted on the outskirts.
He could hear people moving around. Some were searching the stores.
Shifting position, the warrior stayed out of sight as he angled to get a better view of the survivors of the Rapture. Or maybe rejects would be a better word for them. The main street came into view. Dozens of bodies littered the street and sidewalks.
“They massacred each other,” he murmured, shaking his head at the madness that must have swept through the settlement. Most of the corpses were old, but some were far fresher.
“Move along!” someone shouted, making him jerk in reaction. The comment was directed at someone else. Arkas peered around the corner of a building to see two men confronting each other. They were standing in front of a convenience store.
“I got here first!” the second man said. Both were middle aged, had raggedy beards and looked gaunt and hungry.
Arkas could see through the broken windows of the store. The shelves were empty, so they were fighting over nothing.
“I’ve lived near this town for fifty years,” the first man snarled. “Your family only moved here twenty years ago. You’re interlopers!”
“Interlope this,” the second man said, then lifted his rifle and fired off a shot. He missed and his opponent ducked and ran for cover.
Arkas watched the humans hunting each other. Both were hellbent on murder. “How did they manage to survive this long?” he asked in amusement. They were both terrible shots and kept missing each other.
Finally, the first dude shot his opponent in the chest. Roaring in triumph, he raised his gun over his head in victory.
A few people were watching from a safe distance, unwilling to challenge him.
He searched the dead guy’s pockets, found nothing and entered the store.
“There’s nothing left!” he exclaimed a few minutes later.
“What a shock,” Arkas said sarcastically. He ghosted closer until he could sense the human’s soul. To his complete unsurprise, it was black.
Adept at avoiding humans, the knight continued his search.
He crept close enough to scan all of the people who were skulking around the town, desperately searching for supplies.
They all had black or gray souls. Some were working in pairs or in groups.
He doubted their alliances would last for long.
Starvation would make them turn on each other sooner or later.
He hadn’t seen much wildlife so far. The plague had killed most of the animals and birds in the area.
Crows and rats hadn’t been affected as badly.
He could see why the humans were searching buildings that had long ago been ransacked.
Where else were they going to get their supplies from?
He suspected some of them had turned to cannibalism by now.
It wouldn’t be the first time people had eaten each other during his lengthy lifetime.
Some ancient tribes had worshipped dark deities of their own invention that had demanded human sacrifice.
They’d eaten the raw flesh of their chosen victims.
“This era is way more chaotic than usual,” Arkas said as he continued his search. Order was going to have less sway this time around. Fate had to be working her butt off trying to balance the war in the knights’ favor.
He spent several hours trying to find even a single human who wasn’t evil or morally compromised and came up empty.
“Just as I expected,” he said in disgust when he gave up on his quest. He’d worked his way to all of the occupied houses in and near the town.
There were only a couple of hundred survivors left now.
At the rate they were killing each other, they would all be dead soon.
Arkas cut through the town on his way back to his pale blue base.
A wooden carving in a store caught his eye as he blasted past the boutique.
Stopping abruptly, he backtracked and stared through the huge window.
The carving was almost as tall as he was.
It was a giraffe that had been sculpted to perfection.
Peering around, a grin tugged at his lips when he saw all kinds of animals on display.
“I’ve got to take a closer look at them,” he decided and tried the door.
It was locked, so he gave it a hard shove to snap the bolt.
Stepping inside, the warrior looked around in sheer wonder. His wooden carvings looked pathetic in comparison. He was observing the work of a true master. It was probably someone in their sixties or older who’d spent an entire lifetime honing their skills.
“They’re beautiful,” Arkas murmured, looking up to see a variety of wooden birds hanging from almost invisible wires.
Deer, rabbits, horses, lions, elephants and all sorts of local and exotic animals were crammed onto shelves.
One stood out from the others. He crossed to the pedestal to examine it more closely.
“It’s pricy,” he said when he checked the price tag.
The artist had carved a stag with a magnificent rack of antlers.
The beast’s head was lifted and it wore a wary expression as if it could sense it was being watched.
Only a foot tall, it was small enough for him to take as a souvenir.
“I’m definitely taking this with me,” he decided.
Why was a mystery, since their wars didn’t usually last very long.
None of the knights could take anything back to the Void with them.
Arkas reverently picked up the stag, tucked it under his arm, then left the boutique. He sped back to the property a few miles away, disappointed that he still hadn’t sensed his commander yet.
He stopped in the front yard and sent his senses into the house. It was devoid of intruders, so he let himself in, then locked the door. It was a paltry defense, but would give him a split-second extra time to flee if the soldiers located him first.
“This will look good right here,” Arkas said, placing the stag on the coffee table in the attic.
He admired the perfectly smooth dark wood and keen detail, then glanced at his own carving.
“I suck,” he said in dejection. Still, he picked up the oak branch, sat down on the sectional and began whittling again.
He got up long enough to find a wastebasket to catch the shavings in, then resumed his work.