Black James!
Location: Newnan Gates, and what lay beyond
James held a determined look on his face as he eased his truck to Newnan's southern gate. The task set before him was of the utmost importance to the continued survival of his new home. He was tired, so very tired, but full of resolve to see this last task completed before he rested. Lowering the window, he called to the watchman at the gate, Jim. Nice enough guy, that Jim. Just now, he looked an awful lot like a man who had just seen Ed McMahon naked, save for his bifocals and a set of golden, sparky pasties and holding a three speed, humming cucumber - but a zombie. It was a mix of grotesque horror, sadness, and utter, shocked disbelief. It was a look that instinctively hurt his heart, as he had felt just that earlier today when he lost his troublemaking buddy, the lovely and talented Taco Belle.
Black James wasted no more time trying to speak with him, instead simply motioning for one of the men posted at the gate to open up on the quick and let him through.
The sun hung low in the sky, promising nightfall within the hour. If they were lucky, they would be done in about a half hour, and home before the last rays of the sun departed the walls of Newnan. The lady with the spiky bat pulled ahead James following suit to look for a good place to set up their first volley.
He spotted a wide intersection with optimal visibility out ahead of the horde, squealing his tires loudly with his truck's deceleration, both to draw the attention of the undead and their motorcycle riding companion. With as much care as a man can have, seeing as an army of rotting corpses was fairly near to their position, James hopped out of the cab of his truck and into the back.
"A'ight, ladies! Fun's starting 'bout nowish!" James picked up one of the spears in the back of the truck and slid it, pointy end upward, into one of the stake holes along the side of his truck's bed. He tied a quick overhand knot around the ends of the bungee cords, securing them together, and hooked the uberbungee around the head of the spear, on the blunt part just above the wings.
"Hey there, Red!" he called to Agnes,
"Hop on up. Do it just like this; we secure the line an' Miss Zoie'll be playin' Angry Bombs with the Dead'uns."
Bridgette Vinters
Location: With the wagon, in front of the Courthouse
It was a fair enough statement that their place looked abandoned. They had intended for it to look that way when they left. The two of them had even buried a plethora of non-perishables and tools, including the bulk of Bridgette's forge equipment. There was a treasure trove of things they had squirreled away, including a hidden stash of certain living agricultural goodies that needed almost nothing in the way of human interaction to flourish. The look on this Captain's face was ignorance. Even if they left the place wide open, there was a majority chance that things would be as they left it.
The plan was, as she and Astrid discussed it many times over the past year or so, to find people they could trust and bring them back to the fairgrounds, or alternately find a set location with decent folk that they could reinforce with their presence, their expertise, and their supplies. Looking at this place, she couldn't tell whether she wanted to settle down here, or recruit as many as she could and leave.
For now though, she would continue to act in the manner of a woman offended by the presence of her work in strange hands. True, Bridgette was not comfortable with it. The desire to reclaim her work and set them in their rightful place among her horse's tack or at her side was present. Not insurmountable, but present nonetheless.
She maintained her vigil sitting atop the wagon, stocked with the weapons and belongings of her companions. Rage painted her face, demonstrating a depth of emotion that she did not actually possess. Best to keep the people here slightly defensive. Not overly, not enough to warrant an expulsion, but enough to convince the guy in charge that she had a legitimate complaint that needed to be addressed.
The touch of irony in the situation was that this strategy would only work with more or less decent people. If she truly believed that these people were soulless plunderers, her actions might very well take the situation in a direction contrary to her continued safety. Walldick was probably a good guy. But Bridgette needed more than that before she let her guard down or gave these people an inch more latitude with her girls, at least voluntarily. Bitch Mode Engage.
It was at this juncture that she noticed Astrid return to their wagon. She looked quite like a mildly detached big sister expecting an explanation for the ruckus.
"Fuckers have been to our home, Astrid. Taken our supplies." She winked quickly, and gave a hint of a head shake. The tiniest corner of a smile inferred to her long-time companion that while their show cards were burgled, the main event was likely untouched and safe.
"We need someone on this spot, making damn sure more of our shit doesn't go MIA. Guy promised an explanation when they're done out there being heroes. They're not touching us or ours without a fight until."
"You talk to folks, or whatever. I'll call for you if I've got to piss." Bridgette, truly the negotiator of the group.
She did pause her facade of brewing rage for a moment, when she saw the look on Ash's face. He had just gotten troubling news on his radio, cracking his smug, self-assured exterior. She didn't catch the message as she was speaking at the time, but the look o his face told enough of the story. This was something personal, and very, very bad. Truth - Bridgette actually felt sorry for the man. Part of her wanted to help, whatever the problem was. But now was not the time.
Ashton Holloway
Location: Newnan Inner Wall, Southern Gate Post
"It's Alicia, sir. She's come home." Anyone with a walkie, or stationary radio tuned to their primary frequency inside Newnan just heard that piece of news. Ash's heart dropped. Damned near broke, all over again. For a split second, he made himself believe that she was alright, that somehow the crazy bitch had found a way out of her situation and was coming back home with the horde, covered in black blood and entrails, masquerading as one of the Dead. She had always been a survivor, it's what she did. Alicia would outlive them all.
What scared him, really scared him, was how much he wanted to believe that. Ash was almost committed to the lie, the sheer, utter denial of what he thought he had emotionally processed earlier. The core of him, the part that was truly himself no matter what else happened to or around him, fought hard for his sanity. Forcing himself to believe the ugly truth about his lost love, tearing away the sweet, delightful blanket of lies he almost convinced himself of.
Somewhere deep down, he knew that if he made himself believe she was alive, his mind would crack beyond repair when he actually saw her. He had to hurt himself to stay sane. Any minute now, the horde would change direction, if Zoie and Co. had any success whatsoever. He had to move now. His heart felt like lead. He didn't know how much longer he could stay strong, or even if he was anymore. Just one more push. One more difficult task to perform today, and he could stop. He
owed it to Alicia. Hell, he
owed it to Caesar.
A voice, his, sounded clearly inside of his own skull. It was the Soldier, the part of him that keeps moving forward, doing what must be done, regardless of how much the world around him had turned into chaotic shit.
"Give the order, Captain!" it screamed.
"One foot in front of the other, you worthless fuck. You promised to take care of her. This is your responsibility. You deserve this. You deserve this." Ashton thumbed on his walkie, addressing whomever had the sniper tower's radio. His voice was unnaturally calm, but had a strange edge to it. It was difficult to place. It was frightening.
"Tower, send down Alicia's M24 immediately, full ammo. You have fifteen seconds." There was a gravelly nihilist's quality to his speech. Caesar would have been proud.
The rifle was down in less than ten. Ashton traded Leann's carbine out for it, and pointed toward the Armory. The girl that James had given his walkie to just a minute before made the trade, turning heel and running for the Armory as if the devil himself were breathing down her neck. But Ash wasn't the devil. At that moment, he might have been close.
"Time to go, Captain." rasped The Soldier in the back of his psyche.
"Don't give yourself an excuse to fail. Move your narrow ass up that post, now." Ash ran to the gate and ascended the post. Jim, present and attentive, took the rifle from the Army Engineer and gave him a hand up the last two rungs of the ladder. Jim didn't say a word, merely pointing in the direction he needed Ash to look and stepping out of the way.
Ash's breath trembled slightly as he raised the scope of Alicia's sniper rifle to his eye. The first couple seconds of his search were met with a feeling of rabid futility. He was terrified that he couldn't find her, even more terrified that he would, and yet still more terrified that he would miss his opportunity and hate himself forever, dooming her to an unlife, not sure if any part of her was cognizant of her state. He didn't want to see her, but he had to.
A few seconds' worth of pulse pounded in his ears, deafening to Ash. Those seconds were what he required to find the object of his search. It was a sorrowful kick in the teeth. A pain, actual and almost debilitating, ripped through his chest when he saw her, finally confirming the raw horror of the report James had given him earlier in the day. Alicia was dead. Ripped open, defiled by corpses. Her abdomen was destroyed, its contents spilling out but still attached inside, threatening to trip her up with every gruesome step. Her eyes were fixed and dull, visible only at this distance through the scope of the rifle Ash appropriated from the tower. Alicia's rifle. The very weapon Ash would use to put her back down.
His conscious mind repeated the obvious truth of the situation to himself, over and over again, as if he needed convincing. She was dead. Alicia was dead. A woman he had come to love was gone, but that didn't mean that this world was done with her. Alicia was dead. She was dead, but trying to come home.
It was an act of love, giving her this gift. Truly he knew it. Ash waited another heartbeat before exhaling slowly an squeezing the trigger. Almost silent leaving the barrel of the weapon, it flew toward its intended target faster than one could blink. The bullet hit, tearing part of her face away.
"You have to want to help her, Captain. Wipe your fucking tears away and make it happen." bolstered The Soldier, being quite the chatterbox inside of his braincase today. But he was right. Ash inhaled sharply through his nose and began exhaling slowly through his mouth again, determined to make this shot count.
He lined it up, pouring whatever karma or chi or divine favor he had at his disposal into the shot. The voice was quiet, confident that Ash was putting his all into the task at hand. He put pressure on the trigger, making microadjustments to his position and aim. When his moment came, he whispered into the air, as if his words could be projected through the scope to his target below,
"I will always love you, Alicia. And I am so very sorry." Her body dropped bonelessly to the ground. For a second, Ash considered putting the barrel of the rifle under his chin and kicking the trigger. He felt such relief, and such agony.
Ashton Holloway found himself walking back up the road, half in a daze. He climbed into the driver's seat of his Hordebuster and closed the door behind him. Alicia's rifle leaned against the passenger's seat. He stared at his walkie, waiting for news from the Distraction Team. Otherwise Ash was an emotional blank, sitting in his truck, overlooking the scene in front of the Courthouse, alone in the quiet, incapable of complex thought or feeling.
