Los Angeles defector

Reason

At noon, a solitary camphor tree stood by the winding path, its graceful canopy gazing at the sunlight as if waiting for something.

Fate's experiences sometimes overlap. On a rainy night a day ago, Old Blackskin had sat here to rest, and now it welcomed its second visitor.

Jason swung the rifle from his back to his chest, unfastened the dry food bag on his back and tossed it aside. Inside were over a dozen sweet potatoes baked that morning. He sat on the ground leaning against a tree trunk, turning his head to look in the direction he had come from. The sounds of artillery fire continued to come fiercely; the vampires had started their attack on the Balona Creek, where the 108th Division and the military headquarters were located. This was the task for the second day of the 67th Army.

Now none of this mattered to him anymore. After staring blankly for a while, Jason turned his face, grabbed the name tag on his chest, ripped it off abruptly, and casually tossed it to the ground.

Now none of this mattered to him anymore. After staring blankly for a while, Jason turned his face, grabbed the name tag on his chest, ripped it off abruptly, and casually tossed it to the ground.

A gust of wind swept by, lifting the square white cloth with a blue border, white background, black letters, and a red stamp in the middle. It read: "Soldier Jason, Third Platoon, First Company, 638th Regiment, 107th Division." Caught in the swirling wind, it rolled and slipped into a ditch, gradually submerged by the muddy water, slowly drifting away.

Closing his eyes and resting against the camphor tree, Jason quietly savored the moment, able to faintly smell the scent of camphor wood. Saying goodbye to the military and officially becoming a deserter didn't seem to make him feel at ease. The empty path lay before him, signifying nothing but the chance for survival, as he had no future.

That woman... by now, she must have left that village as well, right? She should be on her way out; I have untied her ropes. Sooner or later, the advancing vampires will sweep through that place, she should know that. Did I make a mistake? Since the incident occurred, from the moment he hastily left that room, Jason had asked himself this question countless times. Did I make a mistake? At the very least, she killed the foolish boy, she should pay the price. It seems like the only acceptable reason. Is that really a reason at all?

A gentle breeze passed by, brushing the solitary camphor tree and carrying with it a hint of fragrance, drifting towards the distant g*n smoke. Jason resumed his journey along the path, gradually fading into the distance, becoming insignificant.

Although the weather had cleared up, the ground remained muddy in large patches because this wasn't a road; it was the wilderness on either side of the railway tracks. Now, the wild grasses were trampled into the mud, covered with a jumble of overlapping footprints. Compared to a few days ago, the area along the California railway was more bustling and noisy, no longer just a gray flow of people. It was now mixed with a variety of colors as hordes of refugees also joined this surging "river of people," slowly moving westward.

Almost everyone's expression was numb, mechanically moving forward. Some sat in the mud crying, while others lay in the wild grass gasping for breath. This vast stream of people seemed like a single entity, yet at the same time, it consisted of numerous cold hearts. No one cared about those around them.

Squeezed by passing mule carts, Isabella stumbled and fell into a muddy pit, still wearing the same mud-stained plain gray robe, now with an old oversized coat she had found in the village layered on top. Climbing out of the pit and standing up again, she felt a sharp pain, almost falling once more. A twisted tree root had cut Isabella's delicate ankle.

None of this could stop her from moving forward. Isabella lifted her hands, covered in mud, wiped the sweat and dirt from her cheek, and continued to stagger ahead. Despite carrying a dozen or so dollars, the reality was different from what Isabella had imagined. Here, no one would give up food for dollars. Isabella didn't know how much further her weakened self could go. Perhaps she could hold on for another day, and then, like many others, she might no longer be able to get up, becoming a body in the mud.

However, Isabella had no regrets. She had been prepared for this sacrifice since joining the organization. Her cherished purity was taken away by a despicable deserter, leaving a deep wound in her heart. Yet, it did not crush Isabella's will; instead, it ignited her stubborn character. She still had faith, driving her forward. The documents must be delivered to the organization!

Buzz—The shadow of the plane appeared in the distant sky, its drone heralding the arrival of the plague. The once slow-moving crowd suddenly erupted into chaos, recklessly colliding, trampling, screaming, wailing, only to be drowned out by the sound of explosions.

Staggering Isabella was once again knocked down by the surging crowd of panic. The intense pain prevented her from standing up again, so she could only curl her legs to the side, sitting in the mud. Unwillingly, she turned her head, watching the steel monster flying low overhead, emitting a strange roar as it approached. Its wings continuously flickered with tongues of fire, casting two rows of continuous blood mist along the crowd, getting closer and clearer...

The terrified citizens had no idea how to evade this flying reaper; they just ran forward frantically, clutching their heads. Soldiers who had never experienced strafing simply lay down on the spot, unaware of whether they were in the plane's flight path. The two lines of deathly gunfire extended wantonly along the crowd, harvesting numb souls and creating a trail of wails.

From the moment he heard the sound of the plane, Jason's head suddenly began to ache, and the surroundings started to dim, losing their color. It felt like a tumultuous storm inside his head. He stopped in his tracks, standing on the sleepers between the railway tracks, staring as the plane approached. Knowing it would fly over the heads of the crowd below the embankment, Jason didn't panic and follow the crowd to evade it. Instead, he stood numbly on the high railway embankment, gazing at the surreal gray landscape around him.

In an instant, Jason's gaze locked onto a figure among the muddy crowd, both unfamiliar and yet familiar—a beautiful silhouette. The once smooth, disheveled bobbed hair, the now dirt-stained fair face that used to be so pristine, and those sorrowful dark eyes that had once cried in front of him, now exuded defiance and reluctance, gazing quietly in the direction of the approaching reaper. Through the gaps in the rushing crowd, a constantly flickering image formed, intermittently entering his narrow eyes, repeatedly assaulting Jason's heart. For the first time in his life, Jason discovered that his heart could become fragile, vulnerable to a blow, and with a touch of guilt added, it immediately shattered.

Time seemed to stand still, yet Jason became clear-headed amidst the stillness, no longer feeling numb. His once aimless heart finally found a purpose. Whoever she may be, she is already my woman; willing or not, she is mine. I am not just a deserter; I am also a man.

People say that love is a very complicated thing. Perhaps it is, perhaps it's not, who knows. In the tumultuous years of fate, in this cold and numb gray world, within Jason's long-wandering heart, he thought this was love. At least his numb heart had broken. Whether it was due to guilt or instinct, it didn't matter. At least Jason had found a reason to live on for himself again.