"Cure save us? Cure good?" The eyes of the lifeless often had a sort of depth and darkness that left the ones who stared petrified, easing their status as prey to feast into. But what Clint noticed in Frederick's eyes right then was something else: a glint of hope, perhaps.

"Cure good." He left his retort short but with a reassuring smile. Patting him on the shoulder twice, Clint stood up, raising the bottle in his hand above the centre of the table. "To the cure, my friends!" Though only Jules managed to repeat the little chant after him, and the rest were indistinct but excited mumblings, he could feel things were going back to normal again. If there ever was a normal.

The night was one of celebration all around Charon's camp. From the very next day then, everyone on the site would start receiving their antidotes, and all of that zombie apocalypse stuff was about to be wrapped up for good. There was a part of Clint that wished the cure was developed earlier. Back when he met his sons for the first time and lost them.

But there was no time to stay miserable due to all that happened in the past. There was only time to be concerned about rebuilding what once was, even better than the way it was from the lessons learnt. A brighter future. Maybe, all of this was nature helping them set things straight-- Like floods that once cleansed it all, a virus that brought out the worst in each.

Clint grabbed another bottle, leapt over the bench and gestured for Jules to come over. Treading through the lifeless forms roaming around with newfound energy. one that seemed to give them wings, he settled down at the foot of the oak for the night. Jules, much slower to follow him, crashed beside him and let out a sigh. Both of them were yet to get drunk enough for a celebration, but what better entertainment than deep philosophical discussions for a good drink? And what company better than a man who always looked as if he had it with life?

"So," Clint laid down on his back, watching the night sky, "what now?" After enough grunting and shuffles, Jules settled himself too, "I guess I finally get to rest. Drink beer all day, live on a beach, maybe." They both let out a small giggle yet were unwilling to look at each other. Perhaps, if they did, the grown men would have broken down into tears knowing everything they did pay off in the end. That it was the right decision not to give up. So instead, they decided to crack jokes one after another, staring at the moonlit sky.

That was when all hell broke loose.

********

Every lamp in the basement laboratory went off in a quick flicker, leaving Dr Elizabeth Harlem in the creeping darkness. Right beneath the composed Charon and the fierce Margo, she used to feel this protective armour in the friendly camp until then, but something about the night felt off. Not even being in a healthy state to make a run, and the eerie silence from the floor above made her requestion the need of checking up on the well-being of her mutated friends. Ensuring that the regular creaking of the floorboard was not to leave the room, she slowly stepped her way towards the few samples of cure she kept away.

"So, you must be the infamous virologist, Dr Elizabeth Harlem." Elizabeth froze right where she stood. The stuttering, husky voice belonged neither to her sentient accomplices nor the unaffected ones. She couldn't turn back for her life, but the throbbing curiosity to identify the unwelcome intruder nearly unpetrified her senses.

"I read about you. A cure for the incurable virus." In the faint gleam of the moonlight that seeped in from the vents, she could see the silhouette of the tall figure making patterns inside the room. He was not attempting to come any closer, but he neither moved farther away, disallowing the tension to break free, "Who are you finding the cure for, Doctor? The mindless or the ones without a heart?"

Elizabeth sensed a lump against her throat, holding her back from uttering a word. Amassing all courage that she could, he shuffled her feet to confront the untimely stranger in the dark. The shadows in the room hid his frame above the chest, leaving her unable to discern his face, "Who are you?"

The silhouette let out a little chuckle, but it was soon cut short, almost on a note of despair, "For a woman of Science, mademoiselle, you are not asking the right questions." His trembling hands held one another tight, attempting to conceal his weakness, "Does it matter who I am, Miss Harlem? It hurts, though, doesn't it? To not know what's behind the shadows."

This was a game. A vicious game of cat and mouse. Elizabeth knew it, but her chances of escape were too trivial. She had to find another way. "What did you do to Margo and Charon?" She asked as she put one more step closer to the drawer of cures.

"Oh, your friends. I asked them to wait upstairs. Do you want me to invite them over?" Lizzie was right. Her worst nightmares had come true. Whoever this was, he had sentient control over Margo and Charon too. Even if she was to run away, she would be strangled to death by her own friends. She took one more step towards the drawer. Her only means of escape was curing three possibly barbarous beasts with her weak, injured physique. Only if Clint and Jules were here.

********

Clint and Jules could barely feel their feet touching the ground, one after another, speeding away from the hordes of impending doom that chased them. They had no idea what induced the sudden switch among the mindless. It could only mean one thing, and that was a possibility they were not ready to reckon with yet. But it was the only thing that made sense: Something happened to Charon.

But what concerned Clint more was that the devastating consequences would be far worse. Charon and Margo were together. Things even Charon couldn't hold back against would have still been an easy drill for Margo. And if it was indeed something wrong with Charon, it could only mean one thing: It wasn't just Charon who went down. Margo did too.

And that was terrifying. All the way from the beginning, running away from things that barely made any sense, they could rely on Margo to appear out of nowhere and save the day. If there was something that even Margo couldn't hold against, it meant that all their battles and sacrifices were to be lost for the day that preceded the morning that would have set everything straight.

Clint could no longer hold all the thoughts in. Amid panting like a hound affected by rabies, he yelled at Jules that they needed to go back at once. Whatever it was that set everything wild, it demanded a confrontation. But leading a massive horde of zombies to a constricted house with barely an escape plan seemed like a definite suicide.

There was only one way. They had to split ways: One to distract the mindless, the other to brawl with the worst of them. It was suicide nonetheless, but it left a chance for at least one of them to survive. One of them had to be alive to protect the cure. They fought and defended too long to lose it all, only a few hours till dawn.

When Clint looked up at Jules, he knew, at once, that he wouldn't make it till the end of this run-- it had to be Jules who got the final brawl. A fragment of him wanted to seek revenge for all that happened in his life, but it was no time for decisions based on emotions. It wasn't something Jules would have accepted if they had any other choice, but it was apparent from his features that he knew it too, "I'll come back for you, boy."

********

The headlamps of the vintage Corvette lightened up the murky alleyway for a brief moment. And as soon as the wiper blades came to a standstill, the windshield turned misty by the light drizzle. Unfastening the seatbelts tucking him in, Cory stepped out onto the mild rain, a faint smile stuck against his facade. Fingers sliding smoothly over the hood of the vintage car, he walked over to where the crippled frame laid, shivering.

Pulling up the sleeves of his chestnut suit, he squatted on his knees beside the figure, rubbing his cold arms against each other, "Well, hello, Captain Raymond. Long time no see. Had fun?" Agitated, Clint tried to grab Cory by the collars, but he was too weak and slow to land a blow. Laughing out loud into the silence of the night, Cory took a few steps backwards from him, fully intending to further infuriate him, "The angrier you get, the faster the virus takes over, you know. Makes things easier for me."

Seating himself on top of the grey garbage can, Cory let out a deep sigh, "Did you seriously think that there would be a--" His hands swished in the air, seeking for the right word to fit right in the statement, "timeline where you and your little gang save the world?" He could not keep in his laughter, only pausing once in a while just to continue even louder, "Ah, such a mess."

Hands skimming over his glossy hair, he took a deep breath, putting on a mask of earnestness, "You would not have taken that ridiculous cure either way, would you have, Clint? You have things left to do." Leaping out of his seat, Cory started walking around his newfound prey in circles, "As calm as you pretend to be, you, Mr Raymond, are vengeful. You need to tear someone apart right from the core, but who? All those who were responsible for everything that happened to you-- they are all gone. But all that anger, all that spite, it's eating you away from the inside, isn't it?"

Cory, once again, squatted right beside him, offering him a chance at vindication, "But I-- I can help you. You know it. And I could use someone like you, Captain. We would set right what's wrong with this world. Together." Clint shuffled away from him, groaning in pain, seemingly striving his best to keep the manipulative monster away from him.

"It's useless, Clint, and you know it! Give in already."

Silence. Cory slowly stepped closer and closer to the weakling. Sitting beside him for one last time in the night, he stretched his arms towards the mangled figure. And when his hands felt the coldness of the once-righteous Captain, he knew he was closer than ever to his final triumph.

########

Well, that was way longer than I intended it to be. To be honest, I was struggling to finish even a single paragraph when I began writing this chapter. But then... something happened. However, there might be a bit too many grammatical errors up in there, but bear with me, won't ya (: I hope you guys enjoy the chapter! Love y'all ^-^

Cover Image: https://media.istockphoto.com/photos/zombie-hand-holding-old-wooden-board-empty-space-for-text-or-draw-picture-id1166085591b=1&k=20&m=1166085591&s=170667a&w=0&h=gLTbukgnaRJAnMoOh8CADejzDz5uEuIMv8ODexRhHss=

I don’t want to be a bother

I’m not trying to be a creep

I pick my words so carefully,

but what I sow, I reap.

I don’t know how to say this

without sounding like a fool

or whether it’s received

in a way where I’m a tool,

but I heard so much about you

that I couldn’t help myself

and when I read your written words

it was then that I could tell

He said it was alright

since it’s you, and he agrees

but I have no ill intentions

I hope you’ll trust in me.

I am truly well and able

to shut it down on your command

but it’s a little crush, just a bit

I hope you understand.

Five brave heroes.

Hundreds of goblins.

Thousands of undead warriors.

One great dragon.

Unlimited treasure.

Dare to take an adventure?

I haven't done a challenge or written anything on Prose in several months, but this one said, "You need to respond."

The world by itself is anything but stupid. Actually, it is brilliant. The world, created by God. How can we call it stupid?

It has beauty. Oceans, mountains, grass, beautiful scenery, minerals that are vital for human life to sustain.

As we have given nature a nickname: "Mother Earth", she can be dangerous. Flash flooding, tornadoes, earthquakes, monsoons. hurricanes, blizzards, and droughts. These are weather patterns that are good for the environment but bad for human beings,

We live in a generation of change. Well, we all have since humans evolved. And that is where the real danger lies. The world isn't dangerous any more than it has been for centuries. The real danger lies in what roams the world.

Human beings. Those homo sapiens that run their countries. Those people who drive drunk and kill bystanders. Those people who murder for profit or sport. They take from the needy. Rape, pillage, and plunder. There are those who call themselves scientists who study the world and do excavational work to discover more mysteries without thinking of what they are doing to the eco system.

If we were to eliminate these types of people, the world wouldn't be dangerous and at the same time, we rid the world of stupid people who could no longer make our lives difficult.

Let the world run its course of natural events. With stupid people out of the equation, Perhaps the world will allow us to see even more beauty awaiting our eyes we have yet to experience.

One can only hope.

We sincerely thank you all for joining the challenge. There were some great stories that made their way in and there were some with great potential. but, there were stories that stood above the rest, and here they are in no particular order

WINNERS

Snowed In by QueenRhea (prose name) You'll gain access to the psyche of the main character as they process the happenings around them

{We made it to the cabin with no trouble and luckily with little of the perma-snow getting into our boots. Sitting on a tree stump that I’m using as a make-shift seat-- while pine needles try to find their way into every crevice of my clothes-- I can see what Jed meant when he said that everything is clearer when you’re up here. The sun pierces through the clouds and illuminates everything around us, enhancing the changing color of the leaves, the branches on the ground and even turns the greyness of rocks into a happier hue. The air is colder up here, but that just seems to make it more bracing.}

The Cost of Freedom by BristerXD (Prose name) In this, we are told the tale of one Tyler Bindweed as he navigates through life with the hand he'd been dealt

{At what point do you know what fear truly is? And what I mean is, fear in all of its means and iterations. Terror, horror, dread, creep, anxiety, and all possible ways of describing one of living nature’s most primal senses. Most attempts at understanding fear only go so far as to cheaply replicate its effects by cheaply imitating its triggers. Drawn up pictures of grotesque beings, fiction written from the point of view of corrupted minds, numerical statistics of cancer likelihoods and death tolls. Even as these come close to the true root of fear, many choose to walk free of them, the societal machination in which they are born in offering many avenues to turn away from their natural calls to the void.}

Half of Me by WritesSy (Prose Name) This story deals with the struggle of acceptance from the side of the Main Character that has been stricken with a unique dilemma.

{It was a brisk winter morning by the lake the last time I met the demon.

He appeared as he always did: unexpected but with the subtle, foreboding twinge of cold twisting my stomach. Shivering, I pulled the heavy uwagi coat tighter over my kimono--the demon offered his Montbell down jacket. I declined.

Following the creaking bamboo grove on my left and keeping the demon between myself and the reflections of the orange sunrise over the lake to my right, we shuffled along the marked trail, our breath misting the air and mingling between us. With falling snow coating our tracks behind us, we walked a good hour in silence before his graveled voice carved through it.}

The Nature of Heroes by sflydon (Prose name) This read has you follow Jack Owinsson, a farmer with dreams of glory and fame.

{Jak Owinsson stood upon the edge of the forest looking down on the military encampment below. He had finally made it. After two days of travel, he had found the camp of the Battlehawks; the most respected mercenary company in all of Kendar. He would finally be able to join the war and leave his boring farm life behind.

In his sixteen years of life, he had always dreamed of becoming a hero like the ones from the stories. So far, it had been an uninspiring beginning. On his two days of walking from Harnan Vale, he had encountered no bandits, no damsels in distress, not even so much as a wagon stuck in the road to start Jak on his way to herodom. But, then again, he supposed not every story had to begin with epic action and auspicious signs.}

We hope to see more participants in the next challenge

I've often lost a piece of me.

It's always so very hard to keep.

I say something I didn't mean.

Forgetting about "look before you leap".

The stormy words coming rushing out!

I say what I am thinking,

I yell it with an angry shout.

But once it's said, I feel ashamed,

I should have held my tongue.

Sometimes the song of anger

Is one that should not be sung.

I'm miserable the rest of the day

As I hide my guilty face.

For forgiveness from those I hurt, I pray,

And hope that it's offered to me.

To keep what I've lost is my daily goal

What have I lost?

My Self-Control.

"Have you ever wondered why?"

"Have you ever wondered why?" "Have you ever wondered why?"

"Why what?"

"And who?"

"Who what??"

"And.. When?"

"What?"

"Exactly! Now you're getting it!"

"You aren't making a lick of sense."

"Of course, it doesn't make sense. That's why it's a question. Needs answering, ya know."

"But what on earth is the question?"

"You already know the answer to that!"

"Alright, I'm leaving."

"Answer this, first! Why are you asking me about the question when you know what the question is?"

"I still don't follow, dumb it down for me for heaven's sake."

"I asked you only three. Why, who and when. You added what, how very wide a scope! Your brain filled out the rest of the questions for you, did it not? What did it say?"

"Many things."

"Expected. The world is full of a lot of mysteries, is it not? But what stood out for you, really?"

"I wondered... Why I am like this, who could ever love me, when will they come and what I am doing here, alive and all. Happy?"

"Very! We've got our questions, now to wait for the answer to fall upon our heads, eh?"

"You are a silly one."

"And you hate asking questions. You like to pretend there isn't a thought behind those brown eyes and keep struggling to stay on the mouse wheel, in the rat race, and so and so but there are so many questions in that complex mind of yours that you are curious to solve but too scared to think of! The problem isn't half solved but at least now you know it exists! Do more! This is so exciting! Isn't it exciting?"

"Alright, I'm out of here."

"No, wait, we're having such a fun time together-"

“The sun shines on the fields,

And crops grow in its heat.”

I stopped walking, and smiled in the early sunlight. I had wondered if I might find her here.

“Aurora.”

I whispered her name softly. I found myself wondering how much she had changed in five years.

I told myself that I had left of my own accord, on her seventh birthday. But in truth, I felt I no longer belonged there. The rest of her family had grown colder than ever toward me, and for some time I had been detecting rejection in even Aurora’s pretty eyes. So therefore, on the night of her seventh birthday, I quietly took off down the dusty road.

And up that same road I was travelling now. I felt that, somehow, she needed me; that the clock was ticking, and I didn’t have many more moments to spend with her. So I decided to come back, to see if we could still share the same connection, before we ran out of time.

I stepped off the road now, crunching my way through the thick scrub and bending down to pass through the old hole in the fence.

And there she was. Aurora Summers. As pretty as ever.

My goodness. I had been away far too long.

“The sun shines on the fields,

And crops grow in its he-eat.

As he walks down the ro-oad.”

She was singing again. That song, those strange three verses, over and over. Nobody knew where or how she had learned it; in fact she had probably been born with the words inside her head.

Aurora looked up now, and her eyes dilated in pleasure. “Hello,” she spoke, and I smiled, asking her how she was. I received neither smile nor answer in return, and looking closer I discovered traces of tears on the girl’s cheeks. I reached out to wipe them clean, but I then remembered how Aurora liked her personal space, so I withdrew my hand. Aurora sniffled, and resumed her singing.

“Been ’way too long to see, her grow.

He laughs and play-ays, all day-ay.

But all too soon the night appears.”

Trying to cheer her up, I picked Aurora some wild blossoms to tie in her hair. Some time passed, and she was laughing again, like she used to. I had always been able to make her laugh. We had yellow corn for lunch, plucked from one of the many such fields her family owned. The juice slid easily down my throat, and the skin of the kernels became stuck in my teeth. I saw Aurora smile, and I could see she was in the same predicament.

“Walking through the field, after her…”

She insisted on singing. Her mother complained that it wasn’t good for her; however, I had always believed the opposite, and so I let Aurora sing to her heart’s content. Although I never got her to explain why she always sang the same three verses. Never had I heard her sing anything else.

“He’s too blind to see,

And deaf to hear…”

The sun was lower now. Aurora beckoned me, asking me silently to escort her home. I grinned and jogged slowly on behind her.

“The night veiling…her face.”

Her orange hair billowed out as she skipped in the light of the sunset. The purple flowers in her tresses appeared like miniature rainbows when the light caught them. Aurora paused momentarily to pick something up and slung it over her shoulder.

This puzzled me, for upon closer inspection it appeared to be a hunting bow. Aurora had never been a physical person, more often than not shirking her duties on the farm and spending that time with myself. Nevertheless, there before my eyes was a real bow! I opened my mouth to ask about it, when she began to sing again.

“The target looks over, green fields,

And cries at its, existence.

As the archer be-hends down.”

I was flummoxed. I had never heard this verse before! The tune was the same she had been singing forever, albeit a little slower than normal. Her voice sounded forlorn, almost miserable. I caught up to her to ask her about the new verse, but she spoke first.

“I’ve been singing the same verses over and over, because it wasn’t yet time for the rest of the song.”

“And, that time is now?” I asked her. She halted, and looked at me with her big blue eyes. Sometimes I swear she could see right through me.

“Tick, tock,” she said, and bounced away.

“Hold on!” I cried, catching up to her again. “Tick tock what? Why did you say that?”

She skipped on as she answered. “Time is nearly gone.”

I inquired further, but she ignored me and started singing again.

“Her breath inva-ades, the co-old.

Her light breaks through, the ni-ight.

And cold will ki-ill…the war-arm.”

Suddenly, she stopped still, head cocked. I heard it too.

Her mother’s cello.

Aurora’s mother always played the cello when she was upset. The sounds emanating from the attic window of the Summers house were quick and screechy; very unlike any way Mrs Summers had ever played before. The large number of hired men about the place, and also Aurora’s small half-sob that she let loose when she saw her little garden, further heightened the feeling of general distress that lay over the whole little vale. Before this morning I had never seen tears on my little Aurora’s face. Something was definitely wrong.

“Can you take me to see your parents, please?” I asked my little companion. “I need to speak with them.” She nodded in silence and lead me by the hand into the house.

“Been ’way too long to see, her grow.

He laughs and pla-ays, all da-ay.

But all too soon the night appears.”

“Aurora? Is that you?”

“Thomas is here, Stella!” the redhead called happily.

“Oh no, Rora,” Stella groaned, sticking her head out the door. “Why did you have to bring him back?”

I said nothing. I was used to this attitude from my little friend’s family. Aurora asked, “Where’s Daddy?”

Mr Summers came down the stairs at that moment, wiping his tired face with the old red handkerchief he always wore around his neck. His tired eyes lit up when he spied his daughter, and he gathered her into his arms.

“Where have you been, Aurora? I haven’t seen you all day, sweetie.”

“I was out playing with Thomas,” she answered, and pointed to where I was standing.

Her father sighed. “Well, Thomas, I appreciate you being here, but now is a really bad time. The Rangers have been threatening to attack the farm all week, and even with the hired men we don’t stand much of a chance against them.”

“I’ll help you,” I declared. “I can shoot a gun.”

“Thomas will help us,” Aurora echoed, looking at me gravely.

Her father shook his head and sighed. “Honey, listen…”

An explosion interrupted the talking. Glass shattered and mud splatted the side of the house as shouting came from outside. Aurora’s father yelled up the stairs for his wife and rushed downstairs, followed by his two daughters and myself.

“Stella, Aurora, stay inside! You hear me?” Stella nodded, but I knew Aurora would not obey. She was singing again. I could barely make out the words above the battle sounds that were coming from the other side of the door.

“The target looks over, green fields,

And cries at its, existence.

As the archer be-hends down.”

The ground shook again, and more sounds came from outside, drowning out the frantic shouting: drums. Drums beating steadily. One-two-three-four-five; one. One-two-three-four-five; one. It was the Rangers. Nobody who fought them came out on top, barely a few even survived any of their raids. The Summers farm was well defended; Mr Summers had made sure of it when he bought it, and had added on to its defence over the years, but nothing stood in the way of the Rangers.

“Her breath inva-ades, the co-old…”

I looked at Aurora singing, as pretty as ever, despite the death and destruction that was threatening the vale. She had been right before, I realised, about the ticking clock. For I knew there was nothing much we could do against the Rangers. Aurora and I had only a few precious moments left together.

And I knew I was going to protect her until my last breath.

“…And the cold will kill…the warm.”

As soon as Aurora handed me a gun, things started to go hazy. One minute, we were inside; the next, we were crouching in the mud, Aurora and I, there together. As we always had been. I couldn’t remember a time when I did not know her.

She was singing again, a new verse this time.

“The red corn never saw again;

The eyes that watched were soaked…”

Time slowed, and I felt a cold bullet pass through my shoulder. I swivelled around and shot at him. Three bullets, each of which should have been fatal.

But they were not. The Ranger paused, probably from confusion, and aimed his rifle at Aurora, but one of the hired men finished him off before he could pull the trigger. I turned back to Aurora.

“My gun…it’s not working! It’s useless!”

“Don’t worry. I’ll try my bow and arrows.”

And try she did. Using her weapon, Aurora took out five Rangers, singing softly all the while. Her father, crouching in a hole, spied us hiding behind a shed, and called out for his daughter.

“And cold will ki-ill…the warm,” she sang as she looked at her father. He called her name again, and she stood up, starting to run towards him. I heard a squelch from behind me, and began to turn around…

A shot rang out, loud and clear…

I watched Aurora fall to the ground…

And everything burst into light.

It was a piercing bright light, like the harsh orange of an early dawn. It emanated from where Aurora fell. A reddened corn cob hit the toe of my boot as I fell over backwards, shielding my face like all the other people nearby, Rangers and farmers alike. Cries of pain and fear now dominated the battlefield, but I discovered the light did not hurt my eyes.

“Her light breaks through…the ni-ight…”

I followed her voice, crawling through the dirt, as the drums ceased. One moment more… then the brightness faded away, and I could see my Aurora.

Lifeless.

At least, she appeared to be. I could still hear her voice, singing that same tune, but it seemed I was the only one. Mr Summers was cradling his daughter’s body, Mrs Summers was crying brokenly over her cello strings, and even stoic Stella was weeping. They did not even listen to me when I tried to explain that Aurora was not dead, that I could still hear her; not even a single glance did they spare me.

Thoroughly frustrated, I stomped into a bathroom to wash myself. Aurora’s voice still rang in my ears, the unknown meaning of her words haunting me.

“The red corn never saw again;

The eyes that watched were soaked.

Save for the one who still can hear.

The one they all…forget.”

Hang on. Was she singing about me? I cocked my head, listening for more.

“Time is gone.

Now look ahead…”

And I did. I looked ahead of me, into the mirror.

There was nothing there.

My…goodness. There was nobody there. Was I even real?

I swallowed as I recognised the truth. No wonder I could not remember a time without Aurora; no wonder I could not recall those five years apart from her; no wonder her family had never paid the slightest attention to me. And that would explain why I could still hear her after her death.

I was not real. And, like Aurora…my time was up.

“Time is gone.

Now look ahead.

The clock has stopped…

Goodbye, my friend.”

Joy stood on a bluff overlooking the sea. She came here because it was where she went when chaos entered her life. Seagulls screamed above her, and the waves lapped at the sand. Joy wondered how it could be so peaceful here when she was so unhappy. The wind dried her tear-stained cheeks and whipped her dark hair around. It snatched the letter from her hand and chased it down the sand dune. Joy calmly watched it go; making no move to recover it. She didn't care, since getting back the letter wouldn't bring back Thomas. He was gone forever.