Descent, p.1
Descent, page 1
Descent
Book 2 in the Of Brimstone & Halos Saga
The Of Brimstone & Halos Saga
Book Two
Isadora Brown
Contents
1. Everly
2. Walton
3. Everly
4. Walton
5. Everly
6. Walton
7. Everly
8. Walton
9. Everly
10. Walton
11. Everly
12. Everly
13. Walton
14. Everly
15. Walton
16. Everly
17. Walton
18. Everly
19. Everly
20. Walton
21. Everly
22. Walton
23. Everly
24. Walton
25. Everly
26. Walton
27. Everly
28. Walton
29. Everly
30. Walton
31. Everly
Newsletter Information
Did You Like Descent?
Acknowledgments
Chapter 1
Everly
I took a deep breath, the kind that made my chest rise high and my thoughts still for a second. The air was so hot it almost felt like it was burning me from the inside out, and sweat trickled in little trails down my back. I adjusted the rifle against my shoulder, trying to ignore how awkward it still felt in my hands. My finger hovered just above the trigger, and I tried not to flinch.
The heat made it hard to think clearly—but it wasn’t just that. Walton was close. Too close. And Silence was right beside him, her panting adding to the weight of the moment.
“Steady your breathing,” Walton said, his voice rough and serious. “Inhale slowly, then exhale. Feel the rhythm.”
I nodded and tried to do just that. In… and out. I let my breath follow his instructions, imagining myself like a reed in the wind—soft, swaying, calm.
“Good. Now, relax your shoulders. You’re too tense.”
I was. I knew I was. Every part of me felt like a string wound too tight. But I tried to loosen up, just a little.
“Think of it like hydroponics,” he said. “Precision, patience. You don’t rush planting seeds, do you, angel?”
That made me smile, just a little. I shook my head and let the comparison guide me. Slow and steady. Like planting. Like caring for something that needed time.
The Carrion Rat moved in the distance—a quick little blur against the dusty world.
“Find your target again,” he said, steady and firm. “Focus on its movement. Predict where it’ll go.”
I watched it closely as it darted back and forth, so fast I nearly lost it.
“Don’t chase it with your eyes,” Walton added. “Let it come into your sight naturally.”
I swallowed and adjusted my gaze, trying to follow without forcing it. I could do this. Maybe.
“When you’re ready to shoot,” he continued, “you need to be sure. There’s no room for doubt.”
My heart thumped loudly. I pressed my finger to the trigger, but it felt wrong—like I wasn’t ready.
“Everly,” he said more gently. “Trust yourself.”
I wanted to. I really did. I swallowed again and aimed the best I could.
“Now breathe out and pull the trigger gently.”
So I did. I exhaled, slow and careful, and squeezed the trigger.
The rifle jolted hard, and the crack of the shot echoed through the air. But the rat kept running. I’d missed.
“Oh no,” I whispered. Frustration bloomed in my chest, warm and sharp. I turned toward Walton, trying not to look as discouraged as I felt. I gave him a small smile. “I almost got that one.”
“Almost ain’t shit,” he said, flat and cold. “Not out here.”
I flinched. “You know,” I said, trying to keep my tone playful, “you really need to work on your lang—”
“I can’t always be protecting you,” he snapped. “I need to know that you can and will take a shot if you have to. And almost ain’t good enough.”
His words stung more than I expected. I bit the inside of my cheek, trying to stay brave, but everything about this moment felt heavy.
“I’m doing my best!” I blurted out. My voice cracked, rising without my permission. “It’s not like I’ve had years of experience like you!”
Walton’s eyes narrowed, and something in his expression darkened like a passing storm cloud. “Your best needs to be better,” he said, his voice low and rough. “Out here, there’s no room for mistakes.”
I flinched, hurt flickering through me. “Easy for you to say,” I replied, my words coming out faster than I meant them to. “You’ve had time to adjust. I’ve only been out here a few weeks.”
His gaze didn’t soften. “And every day out here is a fight for survival,” he shot back. “You think a Hellhound or a Marauder will give you a second chance just because you almost got it right?”
“Stop treating me like I’m a child!” I cried, my hands curling into fists at my sides. “I’m not helpless. And I’m allowed to make mistakes! Everyone is. Even you.”
His voice was like flint when he answered. “Then stop acting like one.”
The words landed like a blow. I stumbled a step backward, breath caught in my throat. Everything between us went so still it felt like the desert had hushed, waiting.
For a moment, neither of us moved.
Then Walton let out a sharp breath and turned away. “We don’t have time for this,” he muttered. “Get your head straight. Focus. Do it again—and this time, do it right.”
I watched his back as he walked away, the hurt flaring hot in my chest. It wasn’t fair, the way he spoke to me. It never was. But even through the sting, I knew he wasn’t wrong.
Out here, almost wasn’t enough.
I closed my eyes and inhaled, slow and steady. When I opened them again, I picked up the rifle with both hands, careful and calm, and lifted it back to my shoulder. My hands were steadier now.
He didn’t need to know how much his words had shaken me.
There was no room for mistakes. Not in this world. Not if I wanted to find Elise.
My jaw tightened. I didn’t like how Walton got under my skin—how quickly he could stir up all these messy feelings I didn’t understand. I’d felt unsure before, scared even. But this burning knot in my chest? That was new. That was anger. And I didn’t want to feel it.
So I breathed, just like he taught me. One slow inhale. One slower exhale.
The Carrion Rat appeared again, darting across the sand like it didn’t have a care in the world. I pressed the rifle tight to my shoulder, letting the rhythm of my breathing guide me.
The rat paused. Just for a second.
Now.
I squeezed the trigger, gentle but firm. The rifle kicked back into me, the crack of the shot breaking the silence.
The rat squealed—then dropped, motionless.
A quiet swell of relief filled my chest as I lowered the rifle. I’d done it. It wasn’t perfect—but it was better. And for the first time, that felt like something.
“Fucking finally,” Walton said, his voice gruff but… maybe a little approving? “Good girl.”
His praise sent warmth rippling through me, an unfamiliar flutter that settled low in my belly. I swallowed quickly, trying to ignore the dry ache in my throat. It had been like this for weeks now—this strange mix of nerves and… something else. I didn’t like how jittery I felt around him, how every look made my heart do odd little stutters.
He crouched beside the fallen rat, inspecting it with careful fingers. “Right through the skull,” he said, almost like it impressed him. “You’re getting better.” Then, after a pause: “But your better is still shit.”
I let out a soft sigh, lowering the rifle. “You really should work on your motivational skills,” I murmured, not quite meeting his eyes.
But when I finally did, his gaze locked with mine. Red and unblinking. It made me feel exposed—and yet somehow safe. I didn’t understand how both could be true.
“I ain’t going to coddle you,” he said.
“I wouldn’t dare expect that,” I replied quietly.
He nodded toward the distance, where another Carrion Rat skittered out from behind a crumbling rock. “Let’s see if you can do it again.”
I lifted the rifle slowly. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen this many rats in the desert,” I said, more to myself than to him.
Walton exhaled a long stream of smoke, his eyes scanning the empty horizon like he could read the land. “We’re close to a ruined city,” he said. “No one remembers its name anymore. They just call it Ruin.”
Ruin. The word echoed in my mind as I looked at the remnants ahead—ghostly shapes of buildings long forgotten. They seemed to whisper stories I couldn’t hear, bones of a world that once was.
Even the rats knew. They scurried here more than anywhere else, drawn to whatever scraps time hadn’t erased. I could feel it too—like the air was heavier here, filled with things we couldn’t see.
“You get another one,” Walton said, taking another drag. “And we’ll eat. Think you’re capable?”
The idea of dinner—even if it was rat—made my stomach grumble. I nodded, lifting the rifle again.
This time, I let go of the heat, the ache, and even Walton’s looming presence. I thought only of the rifle and what lay ahead.
The rats moved fast, unpredictable and skittish. But I breathed slowly, timing myself with their rhythm. Precision and patience—just like hydroponics.
Then, out of the corner of my eye, I saw it. Elise’s ring. It caught the sunlight, its small infinity symbol gleaming quietly on my hand.
I felt my breath hitch.
She was still gone.
This was why I was here.
My heart clenched so tight I thought it might stop. I blinked fast, trying to stay present.
“Don’t lose it now,” Walton said, his voice cutting through like a tether pulling me back.
I sucked in a breath, deep and grounding. I couldn’t think of Elise. Not now. Not when every ounce of me needed to be here. Alive.
And still, I hated that he could read me so easily.
The Carrion Rat reappeared, its path slower, more predictable. I lined up my sights, let my breath go in a soft, steady exhale, and tightened my finger on the trigger.
With my breath steady and my hands calm, I squeezed the trigger the way Walton had taught me—soft, sure.
The rifle kicked back against my shoulder, and the sound of the shot cracked across the open air. The rat dropped in an instant, its little body going still in the dust.
“Good girl,” Walton said, the words drifting through the smoke curling from his cigarette.
Heat bloomed across my face, brighter than the sun above us. I lowered the rifle slowly, hardly daring to smile—but I did. It wasn’t just the thought of dinner, though I was hungry. It was the proof. I could do this. I could survive out here.
Walton flicked his cigarette into the sand and gave me a short nod. “Go on, then. Get your take.”
I exhaled, setting the rifle down with care, grateful to let its weight go. My shoulders ached, but it felt different now—earned. As I crossed the distance to where the rats had fallen, I tried to hush the swirl of thoughts in my mind. Out here, tasks had become a kind of prayer. He taught. I listened. We endured.
Even now, I could feel him watching me—his gaze always sharp, always there. Heavy.
I crouched beside the first rat and moved my fingers over it with careful practice. It helped, having something to do with my hands. It kept my mind from drifting too far into doubt or fear.
A soft sound pricked my ears—light steps across the sand. I looked up just in time to see Silence approaching, her movements smooth and quiet, like she belonged to the shadows.
Her red eyes flicked toward the second rat.
“Go ahead, Silence,” I whispered. She didn’t need my permission, but it felt polite. She darted off, swift and sure.
Walton always said she found him first, and I believed it. The way they moved around each other—it was like they shared some invisible thread. And I didn’t mind it. It made me feel safer, knowing they had that bond. Somehow, it made me feel included in it too.
We all looked out for each other.
When she came back, she carried the rat gently in her jaws, her muscles rippling with quiet strength. She dropped it at my feet with a small huff, her eyes meeting mine briefly. There was something in her look that almost seemed like… approval.
“Good girl,” I murmured, reaching out to scratch behind her ears. Her fur was coarse and warm beneath my fingers, and though a sliver of unease still lingered in me around her, I was grateful for her.
She growled low—not unfriendly—before settling beside me like a silent sentinel.
Then Walton joined us. He crouched beside the rats, his every motion steady and focused. His red eyes scanned the bodies with unnerving care. He turned one over, inspecting the wound like it held a secret only he could read.
“Not bad, angel,” he said, rough but not unkind. “Clean shot right through the skull. You could be good at this…” He paused, and I braced for the rest. “For a Bunker Rat.”
I didn’t mind the jab. Not as much as I might’ve a week ago. Because today, I’d hit my mark.
I swallowed hard, doing my best to ignore the way his praise made my heart skip. It always happened around him—this fluttery, breathless feeling that seemed to tighten my chest from the inside. I didn’t know exactly when it had started. Maybe it had always been there, just waiting for me to notice. But now it pulsed quietly beneath everything, a warmth I didn’t understand and didn’t quite want to face.
Walton’s skin shimmered faintly in the harsh sunlight, that strange red glow like the faded memory of a burn. In the stories we were told as children, demons were terrifying—God’s warnings wrapped in sharp teeth and fire. But Walton didn’t feel like a story. He was real. Solid. Dangerous in a way that made the world around him disappear.
“Good size on these rats,” he muttered, his voice rough like it had to drag itself out of his throat. “They’ll make for a decent meal. Don’t find ‘em this big too often.”
I nodded, quiet. I watched him as he worked, his hands moving with an ease that made me feel clumsy just by standing near. He peeled back fur and skin with steady fingers, completely focused. It was… hard to look away. Strange, the way something so uncomfortable could be so absorbing.
“See here?” he said, pointing to a small spot along the rat’s side. “Healthy critter. Means it’s been feedin’ well. Probably on scraps from the ruins.”
His voice had lost that usual sharp edge. He sounded almost… curious. Thoughtful. Like the anger that usually bristled off of him had slipped away. It made him feel more human, like maybe he remembered being one once.
The heat pressed down on me, heavy and unrelenting, but it wasn’t just the sun that made it hard to breathe. I felt it again—that tightness in my chest, that strange pull deep inside that I didn’t know how to name.
When had everything shifted?
Three weeks ago. Ironedge. That party. I bit the inside of my cheek at the memory, trying not to squirm. There had been too much to drink, too much noise, too much of me letting go when I shouldn’t have. I’d embarrassed myself. Worse, I’d embarrassed him. And after that… something had changed.
We hadn’t gone back to how things were. We couldn’t.
It wasn’t friendship—not exactly—but it wasn’t this either. This coldness. This quiet.
I hated the distance, but I couldn’t bring myself to close it. Not again.
“We’ll eat when we make camp,” he said, rising to his full height.
I nodded and began gathering the rats, slipping them into the patchwork sack we’d made from whatever fabric we could find. The silence between us stretched thin—tight and fragile.
“I can hear you thinkin’ from here, Bunker Rat,” Walton said. His voice wasn’t unkind, but it still made me flinch a little.
I let out a sigh and glanced at the ground. “It’s been three weeks,” I said softly. “Other than the ring, we haven’t found anything. No sign of Elise—”
“Don’t tell me you’re losing faith,” he said, and for a second, a faint smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “And here I thought your faith in your God was unwavering.”
“It is,” I said quickly. And it was. But…
I looked down at my uniform—the once-white fabric now dirt-streaked and fraying at the seams. It used to mean something. Purity. Hope. I used to believe it was armor.
Now it just felt like another thing I was trying to keep from falling apart.
Walton’s eyes narrowed as he looked at me, like he was trying to see past all the doubt I hadn’t spoken aloud. “Look, sweetheart,” he said, and this time his voice was serious—calmer, like something weighty rested beneath the words. “This trail we’re following? It’s not just about that ring.”
I lifted my eyes to meet his. I wanted to believe him—I did. But sometimes believing was the hardest thing of all.
“A group of scavengers isn’t terribly common,” he continued. “We’ve got solid intel from survivors passing through. You know that. We’re on her path.”
