Back at the Vipers' base, life continued its grim, methodical pace. For Sammy, however, her days had settled into a strangely insulated routine, a quiet existence within the bustling, guarded compound. It was a routine born of necessity, a way to keep the encroaching madness of the outside world, and the anxieties of her own situation, at bay.
Her day would always begin the same way. The first pale light of dawn filtering through the reinforced windows would rouse her, not with a jolt, but with a slow, gentle awakening. She would freshen up as best she could, using the limited water rations and basic supplies provided. Every movement was deliberate, a small act of reclaiming normalcy. Even after the world ended, personal hygiene offered a sliver of dignity. Throughout this, and indeed throughout her entire day, the knife that Tara had given her was always within arm's reach. A constant, cool weight against her skin, a silent promise of defense, a grim reminder of the friend she had lost and the world she now inhabited.
Breakfast was a quiet affair, typically delivered to her room. As Cobra's "guest" – or hostage, as she bitterly understood her status. she was afforded certain privileges. She didn't have to work around the base like the other survivors, laboring in the makeshift fields, risking her life outside to Scavage for resources or patrolling the perimeter. This left her with an abundance of time, a double-edged sword that could either lead to spiraling despair or focused introspection.
Most of her day, therefore, passed within the confines of the base's small, surprisingly well-stocked library. She devoured every book she could find, her hunger for knowledge a welcome distraction from her troubled thoughts. She didn't seek out fiction, but rather practical, grounding texts: survival guides, dusty volumes on different medical herbs found in nature, manuals on basic engineering, or anything else that offered tangible, knowledgeable information. Each page turned was a small victory against the chaos, a way to arm herself with something other than steel. She learned about foraging for safe edibles, identifying poisonous plants, rudimentary wound care, and the mechanics of various engines. These were skills she might never have considered in her old life, but now, they felt vital, a potential path to usefulness, perhaps even survival, beyond her current predicament.
In the afternoon, the routine continued. Dinner was eaten in silence, often alone, or with a few of Cobra's less intimidating subordinates who sometimes brought her food. She would try to glean any snippets of information from them, anything about the outside world, about her friends, but they were tight-lipped, their faces unreadable. After the meal, she would retreat back to her room, the small space a familiar sanctuary.
It was a simple routine, monotonous in its repetition, but it was precisely this predictability that got her mind off the problematic thoughts that otherwise threatened to overwhelm her. The fate of Jack, Maarg, Henry, Tara and Mark remained unknown. The constant threat of zombies, the overarching questions of what Cobra truly wanted, and the lingering trauma of what she'd witnessed, all these were pushed into the background by the quiet rhythm of her days. She read, she learned, she waited. And she kept Tara's knife close.
The only person she truly lowered her guard around was the librarian. An elderly woman who clearly had years of experience in handling a library, she was a calming, consistent presence. Everyone called her Beth. Beth was an intelligent and observant lady, her gentle demeanor belying a sharp mind. She was too weak to fight or perform heavy manual labor, so Cobra had assigned her the duty of taking care of the base's growing collection of books. According to Beth, Cobra respected knowledge and wanted to preserve as much as he could, which was why he maintained such a functional library within the base. Beth often mused that a library was an essential part of any civilization, a place where people could learn new things, and since schools no longer existed, it would become a hub of knowledge for the future generation. Seeing that Sammy was the only person who regularly came to the library and showed genuine interest in its contents, Beth would often engage her in quiet conversation, offering insights and a much-needed human connection amidst the cold efficiency of the Viper base.
"Hey, Samantha," Beth said, her voice a soft, rustling sound like turning pages. She looked up from dusting a shelf, a charming smile gracing her kind, aged face. "Remember you asked me if we had the Historia Plantarum?"
Sammy, who had been engrossed in a text on basic wilderness survival, immediately perked up. "Yes?" she responded, her face lighting up with genuine interest. "I once read online that it contains a lot of information about the history of botany, medical herbs, and info about different plants." She rattled off the facts she had absorbed from a pre-apocalypse online article, surprised she still remembered them.
Beth's smile widened, a crinkle appearing at the corners of her eyes. "Well, you're in luck, dear," she announced, a rare note of genuine excitement in her voice. "One of the scavengers came back from the resource runs yesterday, and he found the book!" With a flourish, Beth reached beneath the counter and placed a thick, leather-bound volume, clearly old and well-loved, onto the desk in front of Sammy. Its spine was cracked, and some of the pages were dog-eared, but its very presence felt like a miracle.
It was the first time Sammy had genuinely smiled during her entire stay at the Vipers' base. A true, uninhibited smile that reached her eyes, pushing away the grim reality of her captivity, even if only for a fleeting moment. She gasped softly, her fingers trembling slightly as she reached out to touch the worn cover. The rough texture of the ancient leather, the faint scent of aged paper and dust, was intoxicating. This wasn't just a book; it was a tangible link to a world that valued knowledge, a world before the dead walked. Her mind, so often plagued by fear and uncertainty, filled with eager anticipation.
"Oh, Beth! This is incredible!" Sammy breathed, carefully opening the book to a random page. The intricate, hand-drawn illustrations of plants, delicate and precise, instantly captivated her. "I can't believe it. This is... it's amazing. Thank you!"
Beth chuckled, pleased by Sammy's reaction. "You're welcome, dear. It was quite the find. The team that brought it back, they were out near the old university district, a few days' travel east. Said they had to clear out a particularly nasty cluster of shamblers from what used to be the biology department. Lost a good man, actually, Miller, trying to secure some of the archived texts." Beth sighed, her expression momentarily clouding. "But they managed to salvage quite a few things, including this gem. Cobra was particularly pleased. He believes such knowledge will be vital when we finally start rebuilding the proper infrastructure."
Sammy absorbed the information, her mind already cataloging it. University district, east, a few days' travel. That gave her a rough directional sense of the Vipers' current scavenging range, and perhaps hinted at areas where her friends might not have been. The loss of a scavenger named Miller was a grim reminder of the constant danger, even for well-equipped Viper teams. But the fact they were still actively seeking out academic resources, risking lives for books, reinforced Beth's assertion about Cobra's surprising reverence for knowledge. It was a detail Sammy filed away, another piece in the complex, unsettling puzzle of the Viper organization. She ran her hand over the page, already planning her deep dive into the botanical history, a small beacon of normalcy in the heart of the apocalypse.