Blackened Heart, pt1

Posted on Wed Nov 5th, 2025 @ 12:04pm by Survivor Devon McCadden
Edited on on Thu Nov 6th, 2025 @ 2:52am

2,617 words; about a 13 minute read

Mission: Winter's hope
Location: Haralson, GA
Timeline: Late July 2010 (BACKPOST)

Gray skies canvased the horizon, blocking the sun. Rumbling thunderstorms brewed from a distance. Devon's wary hazel eyes watched ahead, watching the dark clouds swirling. In her mid-twenties, she sported a strong, athletic lean physique after years of wilderness survival. Feeling humid and hot, she pulled her jacket off and set it against her bag. Gripping the strung traditional yew/hickory recurve bow, she crouched behind the bushes.

Her long dark chestnut hair lay across her shoulder blade in a braided ponytail. Beside her, she stroked the red fur of her Irish Aussietare. The mixed-breed pup whimpered softly and yelped. Gently, Devon stroked the nape of his fur, hushing him, "Shh. Stay quiet, Rory."

Behind her, several twigs snapped. Devon turned quickly, her guard increased. Seeing the well-built, strong male with blonde hair approach, he appeared recognizable. She lowered her guard, speaking, "Anything, Declan? Who are we facing? Cillian or Ronan?"

"Ronan," Declan declared, approaching her softly. Crouching, he patted Rory as he yelped softly, licking his hand. The former Sheriff replied, "I don't see Cillian anywhere. The band isnt big. Just a few sentries. At least five people inside. Maybe seven. He could have more in reserve in the basement. But I see Ronan sitting on his throne chair, admiring a buckler."

Diverting her attention onto the fortified barnyard, Devon inquired, "What kind of buckler? Does it have the coat of arms?"

"I can't be sure. His hand obscured most of the buckler," Declan mused, quickly adding, "But it could be any-"

Devon growled lightly. Notching a sharpened wooden arrow with the metal point, she slowly grew angry, interrupting his thought, "Bastard's touching my shield. He'll soon learn not to."

Declan spoke cautiously, watching her defined body tense up. He softened the edge of her vengeance, "Dev. Easy. Like I said, it could be any buckler."

Ignoring him, she shifted her position and tapped her notched arrow point on the ground with her gloved hand on the synthetic fletching. She whispered, "What's our tactical approach? Split up. Take out the sentries. Work our way inside?"

He studied her for a few seconds, concerned before adding, "We should. Storm's coming soon. The tactical advantage belongs to us. You take the sentries and sneak inside from the top and I'll walk through the front doors. Ronan might recognize you, but not me. I will distract him by offering my tactical expertise."

Devon nodded. Touching her Irish Aussietare's head, she whispered, "Rory. Stay."

Rory whimpered softly, obeying her by lying down against the soft, moist ground. Devon quickly but silently walked in a crouched position toward the north. Declan watched her sneak away and shook his head. Rory watched him and cocked his head inquisitively as Declan muttered, "Notice she had no hesitation or questions about my safety when I shared the plan?"

Rory barked softly as Declan patted him before headed towards the front end of the fortified barnyard.


At the north part of the fort, the two sentries looked around nervously. One of them spoke, "Looks like the storm's coming in, Pat. How far out do you think the Walkers are?"

Pat replied, "Hopefully more than five hundred miles from here. I hate those things, Mike."

Mike sighed, nodded, "Feelings' mutual."

He turned just as an arrow slinked through the sky, catching Pat on the forehead. His silent thump caused Mike to turn. He gasped, walking over to him to feel for a pulse. Another quiet thump made him turn to see a shadowy, well-built human figure hurtling towards him.

Before he could react, another silent arrow went through his thyroid as Devon rushed forward to notch her third arrow. She pulled the string and released as it impaled his chest, killing him as he collapsed on top of his friend.

Devon's quick movement across the grass hastened her towards a lower ledge beside the barn. Placing her bow across her body, she pulled up mechanically and crouched silently on the ledge. From her view, she spied several more sentries fifteen meters from her. Notching another arrow, she pulled and released several more. As they fell, Devon stealthily rushed towards the open window of the large barn.


A powerful but robust figure, Declan walked toward the fortified gate of the barnyard with an Excalibur recurve crossbow strapped to his back. Two guards watched him approach. He raised his arms as the guards pointed their weapons. "I'm unarmed. I seek an audience with Ronan."

One of the guards muttered, "Is he for real, Clyde?"

Clyde replied, lowering his weapon slightly but scowling at the newcomer, "Must be. Otherwise, who would be crazy enough to approach us while unarmed? Keep an eye on him, Dale."

Dale nodded as Clyde shouted out, "Who are you? Anyone with you?"

Declan slowly approached, keeping his hands up as he replied, "Just me. I'm here to join your gang."

Clyde shouted angrily, "We are not a gang. We are the Trenchcoat Raiders!"

"Formerly," Dale whispered.

"Shut up," Clyde hissed, quieting him, "He doesn't know that!"

He turned as Declan came a few meters away and replied, "Yes, the Trenchcoat Raiders. I was hoping to be in the right place. I hear great things about Ronan. I assume they are accurate?"

Clyde studied him carefully, assessing his build and the authenticity of his character. He replied, "It depends on how accurate they are. Who did you say you are again?"

"Declan. Take me to your leader!" He spoke directly, offering an air of urgency.

Before they could react, a soft thump sounded behind them as someone fell into the bushes. Declan looked up to see a dead raider fall into the bush followed by his niece attempting to sneak across the roof. Dale turned suddenly toward the sound as Clyde lowered his weapon to hiss, turning his head to look at Dale, "Huh?"

Declan grabbed his weapon, wrenched it out of Clyde's grip, and punched his throat. The guard groaned, nursing his throat as Declan used his gun to bash Dale. Dale crumbled against the wall as he kicked Clyde on the stomach and rammed the broken weapon against his head. As Clyde dropped onto the ground, Declan turned to the stunned Dale. His medium cut blonde hair obscured his face.

Stunned by the blow, Dale groaned, crawling on the ground with his hand digging into the soil. Flipping his hair back, Declan approached him and stomped on his head with his tactical combat boots. With both guards down, Declan looked straight at the ledge where his niece snuck into a window. Wiping his hands off and dusting his shoulders, he whispered, "Careful Dev. Watch your back."

Adjusting his Excalibur Recurve crossbow on his back, he cautiously walked along the dirt path toward the slightly open barn doors. Passing the barbed wire defenses of the fortified base, he opened the door slightly and entered. Above the rafters, Devon quietly edged along the narrow beams. Placing her tactical ballistics sunglasses on, she observed her surroundings carefully. Balancing herself cautiously above the ground from the second floor of the barn, her bird's-eye view of the place improved. She spied five raiders arguing on a table plus two additional sentries guarding the back end of the barn. Dust from her feet settled and shifted, falling from the rafters toward the ground beside Ronan's throne chair.


Ronan sat on his barbed-wire throne chair, the buckler with the McCadden coat of arms in hand. With his other elbow on the armrest, he rested his chin on his fist and exhaled, bored out of his mind. He watched five of his raiders argue across the discussion table. Their voices audibly shouted across the table, clearly frustrated with each other. Ronan opened his mouth as a quick yawn threatened to escape.

Lazily looking across the room toward the slightly opened door, he noted a well-armed stranger enter. Quickly, he hissed sharply at his people and pointed at the stranger, "Who are you?"

They looked at the newcomer and quickly pulled their weapons as Declan offered his two hands, "I come in peace. Your guards let me in."

Gripping the buckler, he leaned forward and pushed himself off while narrowing his eyes at the stranger with suspicion, "Strange. Clyde should have been the one to inform me."

Declan offered a surprised look, shrugging, "Oh, he was preoccupied and let me go talk to you. Promised I wouldn't make trouble."

"Hmm," Ronan mused as his raiders spread out into formation while pointing weapons at him. He raised his hand into the air, speaking, "Let him in. I'll hear you out. Who are you? What brings you here? You take his weapon."

Keeping his hands open to negotiate for his sake, he replied as the raiders lowered their weapons to let him walk towards the table. "Declan Walsh. I'm here to offer my tactical expertise. I have experience guarding fortifications and scouting."

As one of his people cautiously removed the crossbow and the quiver of bolts from Declan's back, he approached his leader. Ronan kept his guard up and replied cautiously, "Anyone can guard fortifications and scout. What makes you special?"

Declan refined his story and replied, "I worked as a military contractor for various companies, protecting vital products and certain intelligence. With my tactical expertise, I can offer my assistance to improve the base's security and possibly recruit more people for the Trenchcoat-."

"Stop. Trenchcoat? Who told you that?" Ronan gripped the handle of the buckler and walked down several steps. Approaching the table cautiously as his guard placed the quiver of bolts, he accepted the offered crossbow and inspected it. As he listened to the newcomer, he whispered into his guard's ear. The guard nodded, quickly exiting the room to run outside.

"Uhh, I assume Clyde?" Declan carefully questioned.

Ronan growled, narrowing his brows with irritation, "Clyde? He said the Trenchcoat? After I said no a million times. Its a stupid name."

Declan raised his hands and replied, "Yes. I agree. Trench-"

Ronan growled, interrupting him, "No, you don't understand. My brother and I have been debating this since the fall and for months. He wanted to name the group Cloigeann Dubh"

Curious, Declan leaned back and crossed his arms, replying, "Black Skull?"

"Right? I said no. I didn't like it. We argued. Drank beers and celebrated. Then, argued some more. We also couldn't decide how to form the group. He wanted to grow and expand. Attack cities and towns to raid for more resources while I just wanted a nice, small section just out of the way. We had different ideas. Eventually, we decided it would be best if we split so he took about the entire group with him, leaving me with a few sods loyal only to me." Placing the crossbow on the table, he gripped the metal buckler and exhaled with frustration.

Declan listened curiously and nodded, "Sooo, Trench-"

Ronan interupted him with a quip, "And then Clyde just sidelined me with Trenchcoat. Trenchcoat??? What are we? British?"

"Ah, clearly not," Declan agreed, "Might I make a quick suggestion to resolve any issues on the names?"

Ronan sighed, nodding, "Do that and we'll talk more about your position in my clan. If we can't come up with a resolution, I'll shoot you in the head and leave you for Walker food. Nothing personal."

Keeping his arms crossed, Declan shrugged, "Hear me out. Mactire. Or Mactire Clan if youre clearly looking for a nice, respectable place"

"Wolf clan?" Ronan mused, nodding, "Son of the land? That actually has a nice ring to it."

Leaning onto the table, he harrumphed, muttering, "Alright. I actually like that. All you sods who agree on the name Wolf Clan say aye. Say Mactire Clan

He casually pushed himself off the table while the majority of his people shouted aye. Ronan smiled, nodding, "Alright that's settled. Now, before I let you join the newly titled clan, first talk to me about this weapon of yours. It looks like a recurve crossbow."

Declan casually approached the table, eyeing his crossbow, "Excalibur Exomax. Powerful. Reliable. Shoots arrows very fast. I use it to take down walkers quickly and silently. Pretty light."

Notching the bolt into the crossbow, Ronan nodded, clearly amused, "And how does it compare against the Horton Scout?"

Declan thought for a few moments as Ronan strung it. He replied, "The compound crossbow? With moving parts and serious precision, it's pretty good. However, it might break down, leaving me without a good sidearm. Some parts can't be replaced. I prefer the recurve. More reliable and I can repair it on the run. What if the Horton Scout breaks down in the middle of the fight?"

Ronan narrowed his eyes on the newcomer and gruffly replied, "Why don't I set up a range and you eyeball it?"

Before Declan could speak, the barnyard door opened wide as the guard shouted, "Clyde and Dale are dead. The sentries are gone!"

Ronan stopped for a few seconds and grew angry, growling softly. He pointed at Declan, "I knew it! Kill him!"

Before his people reacted, an arrow cut down the same guard. Ronan looked up to see Devon notching two more arrows. She fired, taking out the other sentry but missed the second sentry as Ronan shouted, pulling up his buckler for defense and grabbing the loaded crossbow. "Take her down! Kill them all!"

As they raised their weapons to fire, Declan grabbed the nearby guard and pulled his gun. Elbowing him on the face, he opened fire as the remaining four people scattered. Some opened fire on him as he ducked, while the other fired before Devon fired an arrow, taking down the one that Declan elbowed, who attempted to retaliate.

Devon turned and jumped to another rafter as the guns exploded behind the rafters she had leapt from. Barely getting into cover on the ledge, she rolled while notching another arrow. As the second sentry popped up into view, pointing his gun, she fired while crouching. It impaled his face as he fired the gun, missing her by a few inches. The bullet scattered, harmlessly deflected from her military ballistics eyeware when she shielded herself. Taking another arrow, she notched her bow and ran towards the gunfight.


Ronan grabbed his quiver of bolts and ran to the middle of the floor between the table and the steps. Crouching, he raised his buckler for defense and held onto the crossbow. Four of his surviving guards fired at Declan as he immediately ran to find cover. Holding the weapon he stole from one of the guards, he checked his magazine and silently cursed. Only a few rounds were left in the rifle he carried, which was enough for a couple of shots.

Ronan whistled at his guards and directed them, "You two, take out Declan. You two, circle the area and find the other one. She can't be close."

Before they could react, Devon popped out of hiding and fired. She took out another guard as he fell, as the other one scattered. She notched another arrow and aimed it towards Ronan. He raised his shield as the arrow streaked through the air and deflected. The leader put the shield down to grab the crossbow. He aimed it with a smirk as Devon's eyes widened.

She ducked out of view as the bolt fired from the crossbow and impaled the wall with force, neatly missing Devon by a few inches. Touching her quiver, she counted five left out of fourteen she carried. Removing her eyeware while cursing silently, she rested her back against the wall and exhaled softly.

TBC

 

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