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ˏˋ°•*⁀➷the wider city of boston
CASSIE O'MEARAHAD CLAWED HER WAY THROUGH HELL'S MOST VISCOUS FLAMES IN THE NAME OF SURVIVAL — still, it never got easier. Willingly descending into the pits of danger, in which endangering your life was the price of admission, had never ceased to make her shattered heart pound within her chest, and ignite her veins with adrenaline. But, as she gazes upon the towering, red-brick building of the museum, she stares not only into the eyes of potential fatality, but a fate far worse — infection.
Sprouts of greying, ashen fungi creep from the cracks within the decrepit walls, snaking around the bricks like a predator, suffocating its victim. An off-shoot of the dangerous growth consumes the building's entrance; its wraith spreads out and tainting the scorching-hot concrete of the world beyond. Cation dousing her every movement, Cassie nudges the fungi gently with her boot's toe, causing it to crumble beneath her touch. "It's bone dry."
Joel's scabbed-over knuckles flex rigidly as his hand stretches, clamping firmly down on the cool metal of the stolen rifle from the now-deceased soldier. His dark eyes glare uneasily upon the towering walls of the museum — its shadow cast jaggedly upon them. Brows furrowed together, he voices, "It could mean they're finally dead in there."
Even the most ignorant of survivors could sense how even Joel, himself, held doubt within his own words — this edge of uncertainty acting as gasoline to the fires of dread scorching Cassie's mind. Still, no other option was before them, meaning if they wished to move forward — to get closer to finding Tommy — they'd have to journey through the depths of hell once more. Reluctance slowing her actions, Cassie's hand wanders into the side-pocket of her back-pack, retrieving the flashlight she's placed within it.
Following the lead of the young woman, Joel gingerly lowers himself into a crouch — his aching knees popping lightly as they bend. Rummaging through his bag, his movement ceases when a vaguely soft material brushes against the calloused skin of his fingertips. He needn't look to know it was bugs. Despite the lack of obvious necessity it withheld when venturing into the vast wastelands of the world, he reasoned with himself that, to protect what'd become one of his most important possessions, he had to bring it along for the journey.
He'd tried — oh how he'd tried — to convince himself to leave such a novelty item behind, yet, he simply couldn't.
Casting a side-glance upon Cassie, and ensuring she hadn't caught sight of her old plush toy, Joel swiftly retrieves his flashlight, before firmly zipping his bag closed. Raising to his feet once more, he notices how the youngest amongst them had yet to hold a flashlight of their own. Gesturing drastically with his own device, he remarks, "Marlene pack you one of these, or just sandwiches?"
