In the suffocating darkness, two figures stand amidst the gruesome remnants of a horde of the undead. The stench of decay fills the air as an eerie silence takes over the landscape. They had fought valiantly against the relentless tide of ghouls that threatened to breach the gates of the beleaguered village. Now, as they assess the aftermath, sweat-covered and weary, they ponder their next steps in this unforgiving world.
Just then, the solemn stillness was broken by the creaking of the heavy wooden gates of the community as they opened, their age-old hinges groaning in protest. Torches flickered like restless spirits, casting wavering shadows over the scene. In the dim light, a small group of men emerged, their silhouettes stark against the darkness.
Most were armed with bows, the tips of their arrows glinting in the torchlight. Others clutched various hand tools, axes, picks, and sharpened stakes, their wide and alert eyes scanning the darkness. They left the safety of their walls with the anxious shifting of their feet, each step carefully placed to avoid the remains of the undead coating the roadway in a grotesque slick of putrid liquid. A cool evening breeze rustled leaves in the distance as it wafted the stench of the undead away from the town.
An older man, his bald head glistening with sweat in the torchlight, steps forward. The flickering firelight accentuates the deep lines carved into his weathered face. A thick, gray beard frames his features, enhancing his rugged appearance. He wears faded brown cargo pants and a green button-down shirt. The rolled-up sleeves reveal arms covered in tattoos and sinewy muscle earned by manual labor rather than the gym. His body language is cautious but grateful as he extends a calloused hand to WilyKit. "Thank you," he says, his voice low and sincere. "I don't know what we would have done if you two hadn't shown up."
WilyKat hesitated momentarily. His time on this planet had taught him to conceal his striking amber cat eyes beneath the shadows of his mask, but tonight, he met the man's gaze directly. His eyes shined brightly in the reflected firelight. The older man's eyes widen in surprise, but it quickly passes as fast as it appears. "You're welcome," WilyKit responded, his voice calm but resonating with strength and leadership.
"Please, come in," the man urged, "We don't have much to offer, but we'd like to repay you somehow."
WilyKat's hesitated, his instincts telling him to leave this place.
Seeing the tension, the old man glanced uneasily into the creeping darkness. "We really should get in before any more of them decide to show up," his eyes scanned the night.
With a determined nod, WilyKat stepped forward, "Lead the way."
A relieved smile spreads across the old man's worried face, crinkling the corners of his eyes. "Follow me," he says.
As WilyKat followed, he looked back at the black-clad stranger; with a slight huff, he stood and followed them inside.
Once inside the village, the gates close with a thud as a giant crossbeam is dropped securely into place, spreading a sense of relief over the villagers.
"I'm Chuck," the old man introduces himself, sweeping his hand toward the surroundings. "This here is Brightwood. What's left of it anyway"?
The village appeared to comprise little more than a dozen homes at the end of a culdesac. Once a middle-class neighborhood made up of Cape-style homes with small one-car garages, some attached with breezeways between the home and garage lined either side of the street, the asphalt here looks as new as the day it was installed. The village houses showed well-planned reinforcements. All the first-floor windows were covered with brick or thick plywood, with shooting ports. Fighting positions made from stacked bricks and sandbags were on either side of the main gate.
Now, the condition of the homes outside the wall made sense. The occupants had been using the materials to bolster their community.
As the trio stepped further into the village, a handful of sharp-eyed residents emerged from the homes, like spirits summoned from the rubble. Children were among the men and women, a rarity in the post-ZomPoc world. Their eyes reflected a complexity of emotions: fear, distrust, tentative relief, and something WilyKit couldn't quite name.
It took a moment for him to realize they weren't looking at him but rather his companion.
A burly-looking man with a crooked nose stepped forward. Deep-set eyes glinted from under a heavy brow, and muscles rippled beneath his skin like a coiled snake readying to strike. The AR-15 slung to his back appeared almost comically small against his massive frame. WilyKit guessed he stood two inches taller than his new companion and boasted at least 20 pounds of muscle over him. The man's predatory gaze tracked his every move. A hint of wickedness hid behind the look. "You're Wildcat, aren't you?" he asked, his voice low and filled with intensity.
"Yeah," Wildcat replied, standing a touch taller, hands relaxed at his sides, feet shifting almost imperceptibly.
The man extended his massive, calloused hand, a jack-o-lantern grin spreading across his face. "I watched all your fights. I'm a huge fan." He shook Wildcat's hand firmly. "Did some fighting myself," he reached unconsciously for his crooked nose as if remembering another time. "Never rose to your level. You're a legend."
"Thanks," Wildcat replied, a trace of humbleness breaking through his gruff exterior.
WilyKat looked at his companion, the name Wildcat rolling around his mind. He thought, "Wildcat. Clearly, he's human, yet he is the ally the Sword of Omens revealed to me. Could he really be part of the next generation of Thundercats?
"C'mon, let them be," Chuck interjected, stepping forward to shoo the giant survivor away. He turned to WilyKit and Wildcat, and his demeanor was that of southern hospitality. "Let's get our guests some iced tea," he gestured for them to follow.
"I could use some iced tea," Wildcat added gruffly. His eyes lingered on the big man as he walked away.
Silence fell among the trio as they walked away from the entrance. The only sounds were the quiet noises of the villagers drifting through the air. Tom stopped in front of a small home that had seen better days. Once, it had worn a coat of bright white paint with blue shutters; now, the paint had chipped and faded in some spots, revealing the wood beneath. Only one shutter remained attached, while the others had been used to reinforce the lower windows. The small front yard had been converted into several raised garden beds, a green haven among the decay of time. A white picket fence, though missing a few pickets, still wrapped around the property.
"Wait here," Chuck said, opening a small gate that squeaked in protest. He walked up the creaking steps of the porch and returned moments later with several folding chairs. Wildcat swung the gate for Chuck, and they arranged the chairs on the cracked concrete on the battered sidewalk.
Just then, a young man, possibly a teenager, approached with a pitcher of iced tea and several plastic cups held carefully in his hands. "Here you go, sir," he said respectfully, his voice barely above a whisper as he handed them to Tom.
"Thanks, Jimmy," Chuck replied warmly, but the young man's eyes were glued to the newcomers. "You run along now, Jimmy. Go take a post on the tower. We can't afford any more surprise," he added, giving the boy a reassuring pat on the shoulder.
"Yes, sir. Sorry, sir," the young man stuttered before hurrying away, casting glimpses over his shoulder as he left.
"Nice kid, that one," Chuck remarked, watching the boy disappear into the shadows of the village." He lost everyone in his family," he began. He poured the tea over real ice, a luxury at the end of the world, offering one of the cups to WilyKit, "It's gonna be awful hard to drink through that mask, son."
"I'd rather keep it on," WilyKat replied.
"It's okay, son. We heard about you," Chuck assured him. "You're that cat man, aren't ya?" He pressed the cup into WilyKit's hand. "You just saved our asses, son, won't be no judgment here."
"Thundercat," WilyKat corrected with pride before carefully removing his mask. "Name's WilyKat." His caramel-colored facial fur shines under the pale orange glow of a tiki torch unceremoniously stuck in the ground. His sharp canines glinted as he spoke, and he shook his head, ruffling his majestic mane of rich red and cream-colored fur, two streaks of black running through the middle. His ears perked up, finally free from the confines of the mask.
"Shit, son, you ain't no lil' cat," Chuck said, a hearty laugh escaping him as he took in the majesty of WilyKat. Rob raises his plastic cup, "Here's to new friendships." Wildcat raises him as the pair looks at WilyKat, who slowly raises his own. "Cheers," Chuck says as he taps his cup against theirs, then sips his tea.
They spend the next hour sharing stories of their lives.
WilyKat regales them with tales of growing up on Thudera, the treacherous escape, crashing into Third Earth, and their eventual return to resettle on New Thudera before the attack that destroyed Third Earth as they visited. Absent are stories of the trip through a Stargate that spit the Thundercats out on Earth.
Wildcat told stories of his prestigious boxing career, the curse, his time with the Justice Society, the heroes he fought alongside, and the villains they thwarted.
Chuck has other stories to share, including his time serving overseas during Desert Storm, Operation Iraqi Freedom, Operation Enduring Freedom, and countless other locales. He tells of his recruitment onto a special operations team, G.I. Joe, where he served as lead Combat Engineer.
"Well, gentlemen, I think it's time for me to hit the hay," he shakes each man's hand as they stand. "You'll find beds in the house across the street. No one else is using it currently." He nods to a tan house, a mirror image of his own.
"Thank you, Chuck," WilyKat says, his gratitude clear.
"Don't mention it."
Chuck turns to make his way inside. As he pulls open the protesting gate, Jimmy comes back clearly in a rush. "Sir," he takes a deep breath. "Sir, something is out there."
Chuck freezes, "More zombies?"
"No, sir. Just some people, standing at the edge of the shadows."
Chuck turns toward WilyKat and Wildcat, raising an eyebrow questioningly.
"We'll check it out," WilyKat offers.
"I'll come with you," Chuck offers. "Just give me a second." He walks up the squeaky steps to the porch once more. When he returns, he has a giant sledgehammer, "This here is Ol' Betsy; she's seen some stuff."
WilyKat nods in understanding. They walk the short distance back to the gate.
Waiting for them is the imposing figure of the giant survivor from earlier. Now, he stands proudly, his muscular frame bare except for two spiked, studded belts that cross over his broad chest. A massive serpent tattoo coils intricately across his back, its sinuous form etched in dark ink. He wears blue camouflage pants, the fabric rugged and showing signs of extensive wear, tucked into polished black boots that gleam in the moonlight. In his left hand, he grips an intimidating-looking helmet, spikes running down the center of it.
At his side, a little girl, no more than five years old, clings to his right pinkie finger with a grip full of innocence and affection. Her wide eyes, sparkling with admiration, love, and fear, gaze up at him.
"Daddy," the single word, holds layers of meaning and emotion.
The big man kneels before her to meet her eyes, "Don't worry, darling. You go with mommy. Daddy's new friends will make sure I stay safe." His voice is deep and reassuring as he plants a gentle kiss atop her head. In response, she grabs him, wrapping her small arms tightly around him in her best attempt at a bear hug, squeezing as much love as possible into her father.
Nearby, a woman steps forward, her auburn hair neatly pulled back into a tight braid that accentuates the beauty of her face. Her chestnut eyes shimmer with unshed tears as they flicker between her husband and their child.
He places a large hand on her shoulder, the warmth and strength of his touch meant to reassure her, "It'll be okay. I promise."
In a swift, tender motion, he lifts the little girl in his arms, pulling his wife into a firm embrace that speaks volumes.
The little girl giggles, her laughter cutting the tension of the moment. "Family Hug!" she squeals in delight, her joy infectious.
Her mom gently takes her from her dad's arms, saying, "Come on sweetheart, Daddy's got work to do. " She encourages her daughter and leads her back to their small home.
Chuck glances at the towering man beside him, "You sure about this, Bob?"
Bob's expression is resolute, "If you're going, so am I."
With a nod, Chuck pivots and raises his voice, commanding, "Open the gate."
The gate groans as the heavy bar is lifted, and with a reluctant creak, it swings open to reveal the empty road leading out into the darkness beyond.
The four men step out into the cool air, their breath forming misty puffs in the darkness. Jimmy, trailing behind, points out into the inky blackness, "We saw them down over there."
Chuck turns slightly, "Thanks, Jimmy." He squints into the night, catching the faint glimmer of golden eyes peering back from the shadows. "Close the gates," he commands.
The heavy gates thud behind them with a finality that echoes in the quiet night, the sound of the massive crossbar dropping into place signals their departure from safety. The four stand exposed on the open road, adrenaline coursing through their veins once more, stealing their wits to face whatever is staring back at them through the darkness.
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