For Alice

"If you must go, then at least take a full team with you, Achilles," Shaka pleaded with him for what seemed the thousandth time.

Achilles paused in double-checking the supplies strapped to the mule, "I will not risk anyone else's life for my failure."Achilles shook his head before Shaka could begin the same denial he had been uttering since The People had left that small town. "It is my fault that Claire Marie was captured. She was my Initiate and I underestimated her misguided attachment to that woman. I let my guard down and she snuck away. You can't blame a child for their parent's inattentiveness."

Shaka clenched his teeth against whatever angry words he had been about to utter and settled for growling, "You're the example we hold up high for all to see. You set the bar for us all. What are we going to do if you never return?"

Achilles sighed and rested a hand on his friend's shoulder, "What The People always do, friend. The best we can until we can no longer."

Shaka grinned ruefully, "You always were better at the fancy speech than me, Malcolm."

Achilles laughed, "I would trade my words for your legs right about now."

Achilles smiled tightly at the memory as he crouched behind a tree beside what some maniac may have called a road on the side of a steep valley wall.

Odd. I don't even think of myself as Malcolm anymore.

Achilles shook the errant thought away and focused on his immediate situation. A soft moan, muffled, cased him to turn. He rushed over to Claire's makeshift stretcher and worriedly checked her temperature with the back of a dirty hand.

Still burning up, he thought as he slipped his glove back on. Goddamnit! I hope they have a doctor.

Achilles quickly went back to his tree-side position and raised the binoculars to his eyes. They were older models, no batteries required, but they served his purpose well. There was a tiny community at the bottom of this small valley, centered around what could be politely called a town, but the dwellings all looked too recently converted if the inhabitants had resided the entire winter.

I estimate the count at thirty individuals. All adults, between twenty and forty, no children, no elderly. No reason they all couldn't pool resources and manpower to convert that Pizza-Hut and grocer far better than they have. Achilles lowered his binoculars and rubbed the chin-cup of his helmet thoughtfully.

Achilles had passed several burned-out homes as he descended the valley wall. He had thought nothing of it at the time. He had come across the like countless times as people faced a long winter without heat or electricity. That was usually found in areas closer to major cities, especially when it happened en masse. Rural communities were generally better at old-fashioned methods of heating a home without burning it down.

So, you know what the likely reason is, don't you? Achilles asked himself silently because he really didn't want to admit it. Fucking raiders. They're probably squeezing the locals for food, maybe coal, maybe women. I just hope they didn't take my theoretical doctor and whatever supplies they have.

Achilles returned to the mule, secured the binoculars, and checked the bindings of Claire Marie's stretcher before taking the reins and leading the mule down the road. He needed to find and clear a domicile soon because the sun was starting its slow journey downward. Not only were there zombies to worry about but he was fairly certain he was in bear country.

Achilles mind quickly attuned to what he thought of as travel-mind. His perception of the world within a ten meter circumference increased three-fold. He became one with his surroundings, just another predator, not a man at all.

But aren't they one and the same? Achilles pondered that philosophical musing as he searched for a suitable dwelling.

Hours later, he had neither the inclination or apparatus to care how long he had walked, the Warrior-Hunter came upon a two-story home at the top of a gravel driveway that had seen better days. The house was mostly intact, a tree branch had gouged a large hole in the roof, and that was Achilles' prime concern at the moment. There was a portable storage shed still standing approximately ten meters from the house. It was shaped like a barn and definitely would hold Claire Marie's stretcher. Achilles opened the door and was not surprised to find it empty. The former occupants had probably relocated to town. Achilles quickly transferred Claire to the inside, gave her some water, and replaced the gag. He mopped her drenched face before bowing his head slightly in sorrow.

I'm sorry, Claire Marie, the Warrior-Hunter stood with a grimace.

Achilles locked the door as best he could against zombie intrusion with the mule's reins. He turned toward the house and sucked in a deep breath around his mouthpiece. Clearing a domicile alone was something Warrior-Hunters were forbidden to do unless absolutely necessary and with good reason. Achilles had done so many times, much to the other Leaders' displeasure, and it had only served to make his legend grow.

It still bothers me... everytime, Achilles thought with a mental grin. Okay, no time like the present. Time for battle-mind.

Achilles training regimen had always included Zen no-thought exercises to help him focus and overtime it had developed into a hyper-aware state of being. The difference between it and travel-mind was that his purpose was singular within the battle-mind.

To kill.

One, Achilles counted his small hops silently,... two, three, four, five...

Then he began to move. There was no need for extraordinary caution. They would know he was here soon enough if there were any in the house. Achilles tried the door, of course it was locked, but there was another way in. The climb to the roof was accomplished in seconds and clambering through the hole took little time. Clearing the house of zombie infection was accomplished almost as quickly.

The home was relatively clean and didn't have the stink of zombie rot. Whatever had happened here had not been zombie related. A harsh neighing snapped Achilles' head up and had him sprinting for the door. The lock was simple and he was standing on the front step almost as if by magic.

Three zombies were pushing the mule out of the way, or trying to, because the Hector-trained beast was having none of it. Several more were making their way out of the woods on remarkably sturdy legs. Achilles sprinted off the steps toward the approaching zombies. Such was his speed that his target, a zombie nearly six feet tall, didn't turn until Achilles was upon him.

Achilles jumped, thrust his boot out, and hit the zombie in the chest with all of the terrible momentum he had built up. The zombie jerked back as though he had a bungee-cord strapped to him. He rolled several meters away as Achilles landed in a crouch. The Warrior-Hunter twisted, drew his tomahawk, and picked the skirted zombie charging him up in a shoulder-toss. The tiny female careened nearly straight up and Achilles spun to smash her gnarled face in with his tomahawk while she was still in mid-air.

Movement on his left made Achilles turn his head to see two more coming at him. He jumped, side-kicked the leading zombie in the chest, and twisted his body straight as the zombie's momentum transferred to him. Achilles floated a meter back and stabbed downward with the spike of his spear-club into the top of the other zombie's skull. He landed hard but managed to roll the zombie over in order to extract his weapon with a harsh crack that opened the hole wider.

The first zombie he had kicked was coming at him again. Achilles ducked under the standard grabbing attack and whipped his tomahawk into the vulnerable knee. The joint instantly deformed and the zombie flipped forward onto his face. Then the three at the shed finally realized there was easy-access food available.

Each was a runner.

Achilles raised his spear-club and let the second zombie he had kicked impale itself on the spike as it came at him from the left. The impact barely moved the Warrior-Hunter and he could tell the spike had reached the brain by his undead foe's twitching. He jerked the spear-club out and let the zombie fall. The first runner to reach Achilles was stabbed up through the neck and nearly out the back of his skull. Achilles pushed the convulsing thing into the next, messily extracting his weapon, and thrust-kicked the "dying" one in the chest. The final one was on him before he could raise his weapon. She grabbed his shoulders and came in to bite his throat. Achilles met her teeth with a head-butt to the nose. The zombies head tilted back and Achilles struck again. This blow sent the zombie into seizures as cartilage fragments pierced her brain.

Clean-up took less than a minute and Achilles stood victorious once again.

"Turn around, real slow-like," a thickly accented voice spoke nervously from the shed.

Achilles sheathed his weapons and turned to find a sickly-thin woman holding his MP-5 on him.

"Never thought Hoag'd be dumb enough to send scouts out alone," she said, her glasses made her face seem tiny, " Course, that armor's new... and weird. And why didn't you use these beauties, huh? Well? Say somethin'!"

Achilles started walking towards her and, to his shock, she pulled the trigger without hesitation. The woman continued to impress him as she dropped the weapon without a look and drew a huge hunting knife from her leather belt. Before Achilles could remove his faceguard the woman was coming at him with a banshee yell.

The Warrior-Hunter couldn't have that.

Achilles stepped into a wild swing, she was no knife-fighter, and planted a knee in her sternum. She folded and dropped her weapon. Achilles chuckled silently, the battle-mind fading, and kneeled to pick up the blade.

She's smart and courageous, but definitely not a fighter. She could be though.

Achilles held out the knife for the woman and, after she caught her breath, the scraggly redhead snatched it.

"Who the fuck are you?" she asked breathlessly as he removed his faceguard.

"I am Achilles."