Joseph Ferrier

I awoke, peeling my face off the table, where the blood had dried, gluing my skin to the wood. For some reason, I expected to see a half-eaten Lo-Mein box when I opened my eyes. Just wishful thinking. My whole body was on fire. A hot sweat had coated my body in slimy perspiration I could feel had soaked into my clothes. I felt awful. But, I still had to move. Standing was trouble. I realized that as soon as my ass left the chair and my head spun. Throbbed, too, like a deep war-drum heartbeat in the depths of the earth. But it was all in my head. Just like the urgency. If I hadn't been so damn panicked, I might have made it.

The crying next door had stopped. I'd knocked over the rest of the gin while I slept. That sucks. At least I had my flask. I'd need it.

I packed up some essentials in an old duffel bag. By 'essentials', I really just mean a first aid kid, a lot of extra ammo, and some clothes. Odd that I, a free American with the resources to up and move to Canada, owns over twelve-hundred rounds of .45 ACP ammunition, and yet the only food in my kitchen is a single can of Vienna Sausages from god-knows-when. Breakfast. After eating my meager meal, I could think a bit more clearly. Except for the pain. That was still a fairly distracting factor. A couple swigs of gin later, and that wasn't an issue anymore. But, I also wasn't thinking very clearly anymore either.

I devised a plan. First, to loot the nearby apartments. I was certain that there was a good amount of food and supplies left over, if only not in my apartment. The first door I knocked on was the one I'd heard crying from the day before. No answer. I knocked again, a little louder. No answer. Once more, a full on 'cop-knock', three hard, solid raps on the door, and called out, "POLICE! Open up!" No answer. I knocked again, this time with my bootheel.

The door swung open as the frame splintered, the deadbolt tearing through the veneer like a little wrecking ball, and I entered the room, revolver ready in my left hand, my bandaged right held behind me, to keep it out of the way. It was pretty empty in here. Didn't even look like anyone had been there in weeks, it was so clean. It looked like a goddamn IKEA catalogue. Then I saw it. A red blossom, bursting up the pantry door, and a slumped body below, wearing a thick green oven mitt. There was a hole in the mitt, where an index or middle finger might be. The hole was ragged, a gunshot if I'd ever seen it. Well, that's why I didn't hear a shot. Her head was gone, torn off by what further inspection revealed to be a .357 Magnum revolver. Five full chambers. Off-brand. Absolutely no nonsense. If you gotta kill yourself with something, you could do a lot worse. I slipped it into the back of my waistband, and without even a trace of reverence, kicked the body aside and went to open the pantry. Something stopped me.

That 'something' was a wire coat hanger, coiled around the pantry's double doors. Oh dear. I knocked on the doors. "Police. Come on out-"

The doors stretched and groaned as something heavy hit them from inside the pantry. Something small. A child- The doors creaked and bent again, and the coat hanger screeched on the metal knobs. I stepped back, and raised my weapon. On the third impact, i fired twice, and the resulting thud within assured me of a good shot. I uncoiled the wire with difficulty, considering I only had one good hand.

Just then, there was a shout from the hall. "KNEES ON THE FLOOR AND HANDS IN THE AIR. I AIN'T FUCKIN' PLAYING." A man. As though I thought, perhaps, that maybe he was in fact playing, he felt the need to emphasize this with a shotgun pump. But I know the sound of an empty shotgun. And I know the sound of a bluff. And I heard both. Unfortunately, I am unfamiliar with the difference in sound of an empty or full bolt-action rifle. And that's what I heard next, accompanied by "Do what he says. We ain't playin'." A woman. I dropped my gun and knelt down on the floor, still unable to face my new 'friends'. "Go get his gun."

"Nah, you go get it."

I took advantage of their squabble to slip my hand inside my jacket. I only needed one thing.

"I got the fuckin' shotgun. You go get it."

"Give me the shotgun, and you can get it- HEY NO MOVING!" I dropped what I was holding, and it bounced on the floor, where it caught the light just right, reflecting gold and blue sparkles onto the ceiling. I took that opportunity to speak.

"I'm CIA. You're impeding a federal investigation." I heard a weapon barrel hit the floor as their jaws dropped.

"Oh, shit." That was all the time I needed. I tucked and rolled, snatching up my pistol in my damaged right hand as I went. The pain was blinding. I'd have to make this count-

BLAMBLAM! BLAM! They returned fire.

CRACK!

Clouds of smoke and disturbed dust floated through the room, obscuring everything in a light mist. I could barely see what had happened, but the sounds clued me in. One of them coughed, wet, phlegmy coughs, that could only produce that sound through a lungfull of blood. I got one. The other dark figure lay on the floor, unmoving. I got em both. I stood, feeling like Bruce Willis, and approached, walking like John Wayne. I made up my mind right then to forget about looting. Clearly, it doesn't end well. The coughing one raised his hand, and I spit on his face, before raising my weapon to his forehead. I could see it in his eyes. He was begging. There was a rustle in the hall. I spun fast, barrel already seeking a target. But all it found was a little girl, less than three years old, sobbing silently. I looked back at my assailants. Same hair color. Same eye color. Her parents. I holstered my weapon, collected my bag and left them there, left the little girl to say goodbye, and left her father to choke on the words 'I love you'. The rules of engagement had changed, and not for the last time, either.

I shed little more than a few tears for that girl and her parents. They made their choices. I made mine. Mine just happened to be a lot faster.

The elevator was stuck on the floor above mine, of course, and I was left with two options. I could force the door with the 'EMERGENCY' button, and make my way down the shaft. It was sure to be pretty clear, but the dangers were great. For one, what if the elevator dropped? Or what if I slipped? The other option was the stairs. Sure, I hate stairs, but with only one good hand, the choice was clear.

Surprisingly, the stairs were clear as well. It seemed as though everyone in my building got out alright. There was a hole in the plate glass lobby door, probably how that little family of looters got in. How stupid do you have to be to bring a child out here with you? It seemed as though everyone got out alright, except for the mystery of a full parking lot. What happened here? I picked out a Jeep, an old maroon one, and raised my sidearm.

BLAM!

One round, through the window. I fumbled with the locks as the alarm went off. I slapped the hood release and made my way around to the front, feeling under the hood for the latch, peeking around, certain that someone was about to sneak up on my. I pulled up the hood, and yanked off the red battery cable. The alarm ceased, leaving behind an eerie silence. I reconnected the battery after counting out thirty seconds, and threw my gear into the passenger seat, before kneeling down to pull open the console. What was it? Yellow to red? Green to red? Blue to red? Yellow to blue? I took a guess at Yellow-red, and was rewarded by the sound of a starting engine.

CRACK!

A shot rang out. My windshield shattered. I ducked.

CRACK!

A hole in the open driver's door. They were in front.

WHAM!

From the side, a shotgun. I drew my .45 in my crippled right hand, and held onto the steering wheel with my left, propping up my feet on the car floor, so they couldn't see me from under the Jeep.

CRACK!WHAM!

Only two attackers. I can take these assholes-

POPPOPPOP! POPPOP! Behind me.

Stings in my back. I fell onto the pavement. My shoulder was on fire. I was bleeding. A young woman stood over me in a red leather jacket. She laughed. The pistol in her hands was small, but seemed enormous when she put it to my head. I could hear them unzipping my bag. I could feel them pulling my weapon out of my hands. They found my ankle holster, too.

"No food. Lotta ammo. Sickass guns."

"Who goes around with no food?"

"Hit pretty fast. Maybe he didn't have time. 'Least he got us a car."

The woman spoke. "He can still hear you guys."

"Jesus, put him down. Have some mercy."

Her rouged cheeks, her cherry nail polish, her jacket. Right before she pulled the trigger, I heard my own voice in my head, saying,

Red equals dead.

I choked out a laugh. The woman put a boot on my face and pressed. "The fuck you laughin' at?"

I slipped my good hand behind my back as I rolled, to move her heel to a more comfortable position on my cheek. My right leg tensed like a spring. I spit out blood and responded, "Red equals dead."

The scavenged .357 thundered as I whipped it out of my waistband. My right heel crashed against her ankle, throwing her shot wild. POP! POPPOP! One round hit my chest and ricocheted off my flask. Her left eye burst like fireworks.

BOOM! BOOM! My weapon roared like a lion while I laughed like a hyena and bled like a busted hip flask.

In the end, no one got the chance to shoot me again. In the end, she got the same funeral I would've. Her buddies left in my car. I crawled and bled, and crawled, and bled. And crawled, and bled. And bled.

The rules of engagement had changed. And not for the last time.

---

Jean and Sammy had started their trek with trepidation, carefully travelling through the suburban streets. They were currently following his own knowledge of the streets, navigating through areas the Ivorian was familiar with. They had just started down the road but there was an ominous feeling in his gut. He didn't feel good about any of this, how they were travelling on foot and how they were currently exposed on all sides. They kept to walking as quiet as possible on the sidewalk pavement but any ambushes from their sides or from their backs could potentially split them up. He kept with his friend as close as possible, keeping his eyes to the front and sides while her eyes watched the flanks.

He ran his hand along the Bennelli in his hand, trying to even his breathing. He was starting to panic, the eerie silence worried him. He gripped his weapon harder, trying to keep calm. He had to. He glanced back at Sammy, trying to restrain the concern he had for her. He didn't mean to sound so… distant when he told her to pack her things. He was still grieving over his friend but he had to focus on his living ones for now. The beer in his bag would be for later. He stamped down on any regrets and guilt, burying it to focus in the task at hand. Survival. That was what was important. He needed to zone everything out, to protect the both of them. Already, he was placing a weight on his shoulder that he couldn't bear but he didn't comment. He didn't say anything. He just smiled at her before facing forward again, keeping his finger near the trigger.

As her gaze floated over the ominous houses lining either side, Sammy thought about Connor. She thought about Flyback Joe. Sammy had personally killed two of Jean’s rugby team. When would that set it? She felt like there was a sword over her head and would snap at any moment- the guilt and the remorse would split her down the middle. Blood everywhere.

The wooden baseball bat was gripped tightly in her hands. Her fingernails had remnants of red fingernail paint on them, like the baseball bat had remnants of black wording on it. Something about a high school. She frowned at the thought of children. Where were they all? Would a baby crawl towards us at any moment, clawing at our ankles? She glanced down at her feet- two white and blue sneakers, a little gap of skin, and then blue jeans all the way up to her white t-shirt. She found her eyes on the back of Jean’s head. Did he resent her for killing his friends? She couldn’t imagine seeing someone you know like that. Her mind tried to conjure up a horrible imagine of her parents undead and moaning, but is simply failed to register. Impossible.

She shook her head and her black ponytail swished to the sides- lagging just a bit behind. Have to focus. She went back to staring at the ominously dark windows of the dead suburbia around them.

The Ivorian peered at a dark shape in the middle of the road, his eyes tearing up a little as he focused on it. It was difficult to make it out but as it and them came closer to each other, he began to recognise things. A head. Legs. A face. Eyes and a mouth. He raised his shotgun, not directly at the person but pointing at the man’ feet. He halted but failed to mention it to Sammy. As a result, the woman had to stop suddenly into him. She wondered what was going on, when someone broke the silence.

Once in reasonable talking distance so he didn't have to be loud Hunter spoke. "I come in peace, don't shoot me please." He tried to say quietly with a calm comedic tone. Truth be told he was scared shitless and he didn't want to die, but he was too scared to go it alone now.

Samantha jumped at the voice breaking the silence. She readied her bat, glancing at Jean. He was gripping his shotgun tighter, his eyes in the direction of the voice. Before she could say anything, the oddly awkward looking man continued.

"I'm..." Hunter thought about his answer, he could answer anything he wanted too and no one would know the better? This could be a new start! "Henry. Wait... dammit... I meant to say Hunter..." And just like that, the new chance was gone.

There was a tense silence. The rugby player eyed him warily, keeping his muscles tense in case of hostilities. However, after deeming him as “potentially friendly”, he began to speak while keeping the shotgun at the ready ”Hunter, right? Look, I'm sorry we aren't very trusting right now but-” He paused, hesitating to speak for the both of them but continued on ”But we don't know you. Who are you? Why did you come out? It's dangerous out here, those monsters are out here.”

Sammy was eager to make new friends. Despite what happened at the house, she felt like banding together was the best option. What else is there? Live on your own forever and die? No thanks. But Jean was right. She bit her lower lip, tightly holding the baseball bat with both of her hands. Her left hand was on the base of the bat, and her right hand was about halfway up. She reassured herself Jean could take him. Because Jean had a shotgun. She’d have to run a good 40 feet and whack him with a bat. Hard pass. The sooner she could get her hand on a gun- afraid of them as she was- the better. She continued to say nothing when Henry responded.

Hunter had a few thoughts at mind, one of them being his planning skills were still less then great. Another being that the people he just met were not only armed, but scared as hell of him. Granted he was armed too but his guns were either on his back, or not in a good position on his hands to use. Granted, they had reason to be scared, he was too. But he figured they would be more grateful, or at least less tense. He figured a good start would be too at least answer the man’s questions. That’s always a good start right?

Hunter put the shotgun on his back as well and began to speak. “Well, to answer your first set of questions my name is” He stopped himself this time to make sure he said the right name. “Hunter. Hunter Monroe. As for being outside, I can’t start my car because I don’t know where the keys are. So I am walking. I figured I’d get to the government protection area sooner or later. Despite my lack of knowhow for Kilometers.” He eyed the girl with the bat, cute, but he worried about his skull if he spoke wrong. The guy on the other hand was like an ox, well built, the kind of person Hunter would avoid fights with, and in the lighting was hard to see well. That is a nice trait to have nowadays. Hunter was so pale that you shine a flashlight on him in these lights he would stick out like a glowstick. Part of him wished he spent more time outside, even dirt would help at this point.

”You headin’ to the apartments too?” Jean stowed his shotgun away, the sparking tension was dulled now. He looked back at Sammy then at the man. The man was armed but if befriended, that rifle could be a valuable weapon. The shotgun was close-ranged and couldn't be aimed very well. All in all, he would have to come up close and personal to take the monsters out, creating a danger for himself. While he liked the nitty gritty combat, he would prefer it if he could keep his limbs intact. He raised a hand in Hunter’s direction in a pausing motion before turning to face his companion.

Jean scratched his neck, glancing backwards every now and then to make sure the pale man didn't pull anything. ”What are you thinking Sam? We take him with us?” He was usually one to take charge but he wanted to make sure that his friend approved. After all, maybe she could see more in the guy than he could. He wasn't the best at dealing and interpreting emotions.

Sammy gave a comically “mean” glare to try and intimidate the man or something like that. That’ll show him she means business. Even though he had a gun and she had a bat. Still, it was some rule of business that you couldn’t let your opponent know how much you wanted something. She really wanted a new friend. The more the merrier. This time it would be different.

He looked harmless. Really pale. Yeesh. Probably never went outside too much before this happened. Doesn’t look like some kind of craze serial killer (but she wouldn’t particularly know that.) A guy who wanted to kill them probably could have killed Jean from the shadow and then killed Sammy. She shuddered at the thought, reminded of everyone’s mortality. What if he had done that? But he hadn’t. He had them totally outgunned just with that rifle.

”He looks nice, Jean. I think we could... She looked down briefly, before looking back up at Jean.

”I mean, we can’t alone forever, right? The more people we get, the better, I think. If he was going to...you know…”

She paused, and her smile wavered. ”Kill us, he could have done it already. With that rifle. I’ll keep an eye on him, if you’re worried he might steal something. Steal one of the things we don’t have.”

She inhaled for once and decided to shut up so Jean could say something. Don’t want to go on like her mother does.

Jean nodded, turning towards the pale man and indicated that they were coming towards him. He trusted his friend’s decisions and her call was final. He led her through ruined cars and came to a halt in front of Hunter, swapping his shotgun to his left. He looked straight into the man’s eyes and placed a hand on his own chest ”I'm Jean and this-” He indicated towards his companion [color=660099][b]”Is Sam.”[/color] She gave a small wave. “We’re heading to the government enforced area, like we said. Decided that some extra company won't hurt too much.” He then eyed the rifle and shotgun combo on the man’s back, raising an eyebrow.

”That's some serious hardware you've got there. Where'd you find it?” He was genuinely curious. They were valuable “assets” as it were, especially if Hunter could actually shoot with the thing.

Hunter motioned to the rifle on his back. “I got the rifle a few months back so I could go on a hunting trip with some family. I wasn’t able to get a lot of practice in with it since I got it but I know how to shoot it? I was actually on my way to meet my dad and uncle for the trip when...” He motioned around them. “All this fun stuff happened. The mechanic took my keys on the way so now my car won’t start.”

Hunter pulled the shotgun off his back, it felt different in his hands compared to his rifle. “This on the other hand, I found while looking for food. Not a lot of ammo but it’s easy to use. I think everyone that can hold one knows how to shoot one in my family? And with the right loads they make good distance. Hard to say on this one but I think the choke allows to about forty yards with the pheasant shot loaded inside of it? I never fired this one off yet but the chamber is clear so it should work fine based on how I found it.” He looked at the gun in his hands thinking. “...A rifle is still better for range don’t get me wrong, but pointing and shooting is nice when you need to get a shot off within ten feet,” did a quick look around to make sure his immediate area was safe. It would suck to die just because he was too busy talking. Seemed clear so far though.

He eyed the shotgun the new duo had. “I don’t suppose either of you know how to use it? Because the only thing less safe than someone who knows how to shoot a gun is someone who doesn’t...” He stopped for a moment thinking that he may have come across as rude. “Not to say you’re not safe or anything but…. If you don’t know how to use it I can give you the basic runthrough I went through a few years back?” He was trying to be helpful, that and he didn’t like the idea of getting his back blown open because of lack of firearm safety instructions.

She listened to Hunter’s explanation of his miniature arsenal, and when he got to the end, Sammy rubbed her rubbed the vague ache of her shoulder at the mention of gun safety. ”I think we’ll be fine, thank you very much.” She said unhappily. Jean nodded, gripping the shotgun a little tighter in his hands. He eyed the bruise on her shoulder concerningly but was waved off. He turned back to Hunter and nodded at him, indicating to follow before leading the way to hopeful salvation.

The three of them got moving as the sun crawled towards it zenith- emptied rain clouds dotting the blue sky. Whether the government complex was to be salvation or not, time would tell and luck would decide. Peering eyes stared at them from the dark.

---

05:45 | The Smith Household

---

Current Weather: 23°C and overcast, scattered showers.

---

Right, left, right, right, left, right, left, left…. The two wooden drumsticks bounced off of Lizzy’s legs gently as she made an attempt to entertain herself. Her mother had insisted to wait until morning before leaving and while she was most certainly bored out of her mind, Lizzy was glad they were choosing to wait. Impatience was certainly not a good excuse for getting yourself killed.

She looked up quickly as the faint sound of gunshots echoed through the silent streets. “Mom...we should go...they could be coming this way…” she whispered, glancing over to the window. Her curiosity almost screamed at her to look, but she resisted temptation and remained still.

Tick, tock. The clocks monotonous ticking seemed deafening in the utter silence of the Smith residence. She was getting restless, how long was it going to be until they left? An hour? Three? Or would they die the moment they stepped foot outside? Lizzy’s mind went through every possible worst case scenario, every possible way they could die. She couldn’t take the silence anymore. A few moments later, she put her earbuds in and drowned out the nothingness with a bit of Rage Against the Machine, drumming along with the main riff of Killing in the Name on her legs.

She didn’t care that her mother may have been trying to talk to her. She didn’t care that the gunshots may have been getting closer.

She needed to escape.

---

---

August 29th, 2018 - 20:13 EST

rainymood.com

---

"I-I’m -- I’m so sorry... I -- I-I tried to save her, I did! I tried - and it’s... It’s all my fault." -Francis

It had been several punishing minutes since Francis had taken the final, finishing round to Rebecca’s crown to prevent their undead afterlife from burdening the world - and his conscious. He had taken to riding down the fire escape with his duffel bags slung over each shoulder; his emotions were arised, his common sense blinded... He had to leave, he had to escape that blasphemous building, run for the outskirts of town to have somewhere quiet and natural to mourn. He had went on a slow, militaristic jog down the empty alleyways, avoiding the majority of the infected and ending the two he came into contact with via his knife embedding into their skulls.

After a solid half hour of powering through sleep-deprived, heavyweight-carrying, physically exhausting run, he finally collapses in a nearby plain field to gather what breath he could from the workout. He couldn’t move, couldn’t stand, couldn’t talk - not even enough to think about what had just happened... “Are- Are you Will?” A voice hesitantly rising from a voice unknown to Will... “Wi-....” He wheezed out from his coarse voice, having vigorously strained himself by carrying nearly his wait in ammunition and equipment. It was foolish of him to drain himself of his vitality by such a need to flee from the scene, forcing him to take a pair of minutes to gather the energy to even coherently speak; “Y... y-yeah. H-how did you...?” He tried to lean up his head to see the woman in question, but the weight of his fatigue outweighted his interest; the back of his cranium meeting with the rain-softened soil and caking with a thin puddle of mud. The droplets pitter-pattering on his face from the abyssal black night’s sky, teasing him with the movement he’d want - but couldn’t retrieve from his body. He laid there, temporarily helpless and left to listen to the woman in question.

Hearing the man’s voice, she cringed and slowly took another step towards him. She wasn’t blind; she could see all of his equipment that he had on hand. If this wasn’t the person she was looking for….she definitely did not want to irritate him more than needed. Chelle took a moment to look him over before his voice cut through her thoughts, confirming what she had previously questioned. She couldn’t describe the feeling that overcame her, knowing this man was another part of her sister. One who she never in this lifetime would think that she’d ever get to meet. As he succumbed to his fatigue, she quickly hurried over and dropped to her knees next to his head. She scrunched her nose slightly at his demeanor before carefully propping up his head to lay it back onto her lap. Looking down into his face, she took a shaky breath before the words started pouring from her mouth. “I can’t believe you’re here. I can’t believe I found you. What are you doing in Canada? You came at a really horrible time, you know.”

“Was here t-.. T-to visit her...” Francis muttered as the droplets upon his face collected and gathered; two streams gliding down from the sides of his sockets to spill onto her lap, tears hidden amongst downpour. The more he began to recognize the familiar woman that cradled his head, the more he began to face the reality of the moment; Rebecca was gone from his life, and there was nothing more he could do for her. The guilt and shame made itself overt upon every wrinkle and inch of his face, unable to be withdrawn as he had no safe retreat for his mind to be occupied by. Silently sobbing at the lost that not only he had felt, but Rachelle as well. He hiccuped now and again, a habitual mannerism that struck whenever he found himself trying to find reprieve from his body’s demand to mourn and tear. His eyes traversed to Rachelle’s face, beckoning an answer through a quivered breath; “W-who... w-who are you?”

The rain was pelting at the back of her neck as she continued to look down into the face of the man her sister had loved. She could feel the chill sinking into her back and hair as everything quickly grew more damp. Sniffling, she looked around at their surroundings. Nothing except a clear meadow. They needed shelter from the rain, from the infected...There had to be somewhere they could go. Chelle squinted her eyes to try to take in everything better. She could barely make out buildings a couple miles from them. They had to make it there. When the man shook, it brought her attention back to him. He looked so incredibly sad. Did he know? How did he know what happened? Rebecca had only just been killed. He couldn’t know. But- Her eyes widened as the realization hit her. She first saw him at the apartment. He knew. He most definitely knew about her sister. Tears filled her eyes once more as she searched his face, a sob racking her in her chest. “I’m Rachelle...Rebecca, she...She’s…”

Francis’ ocean-colured eyes widened as the revelation clicked in his mind. Who was this woman? How could she possibly have known who he was? Who Rebecca was? Her face seemed so familiar, as did her name - and that’s when it dawned on him who she truly was. The pained expression he wore heavily stuck on him to a point where nothing could further express his sorrow, other than the tears that now made themselves clear as her head shielded his from the droplets. His eyes averted to the side, trying to avoid her gaze that would overwhelm the dam; he couldn’t handle any more of the disappointment in himself, much less the mind in tact to handle Rebecca’s own blood mourning the loss with him. His face turned to nuzzle weakly and pathetically into her lap, admitting his self-loathing as he begged; “I-I’m -- I’m so sorry... I -- I-I tried to save her, I did! I tried - and it’s... It’s all my fault.” He couldn’t begin to understand the pain that Rechelle was suffering; this was just a girlfriend, but to her? This meant something significantly stronger. This was her sister, her family, her blood. How could he hope to think that she’d forgive him for his inability to save her. The anxiety, the fear, the self-hatred all piling in.

The pain this man was feeling was evident. She couldn’t remember the last time she had witnessed a man crying from complete despair- yet, here it was. He must have really cared for her sister. Her beautiful, loving, carefree sister. Thinking of her only brought on another flood of pain and sorrow. Why did it have to be her sister? Rebecca was the good one. She was the one with her head on her shoulders. Chelle was an idiot; she threw her life into some silly dream that seemed so miniscule now. Why couldn’t it have been her? She couldn’t afford to turn into a blubbering mess with this stranger. Yes, she knew a few details that Becca had shared with her, but he was still mostly a mystery to her. And yet she couldn’t help but to react to his pain. As he turned his head towards her lap, she sniffled and gently ran her fingertips over his jaw to comfort him. His words created suspicion, however. He tried to save her? What was his fault? She tried to remember back to when her sister had been bitten. A gunshot rang in her head. It was him. He was the one who shot her sister, her mentor, her role model, in the skull. Sucking in a quick breath, she quickly wanted to hate this man. Her brows furrowed and she shook her head violently, shaking some of the raindrops from her hair. “No...No...You killed her...You killed her! You killed her…” Her anger quickly gave way to more sobs as she hung her head, her entire body shaking.

The ire that drew from Rechelle only fueled the ire he held for himself; he knew no matter the explanation, no grave the matter, it fell onto his lackluster combat reflexes that ended in her sister’s death. He had no excuse, no moral rebound to defend himself. All he could do was suffer the guilt of his consequences and give in to shameful admittance; “S-she was bitten, I -- didn’t want her to suffer...” He gritted his teeth, begging any god there was to alleviate him from this world, this terrible fate that he put onto himself and his lover’s sister. How could he endure this? The whole reason he was here, the whole reason he left Ireland to visit, the whole reason he even bothered to break into the Outdoor Store for protection - to find her. And with that failed, he had nothing left that to accept his fate. “I -- d-didn’t want to become o-one of them.. S-she deserved better..”

Taking several breaths to calm herself, she continued to shake her head as she looked away from him. It wasn’t in her to pull away from him- Becca wouldn’t want that from her. She’d want to still help him, no matter what he had done to her. “I could have helped...Could have gotten to a doctor...I should have been able to find a doctor. Why aren’t there any people to fix this?!” In her heart, deep within her heart and mind, she knew he had done the right thing. He had shown her mercy instead of allowing her to suffer a fate worse than death. It still hurt, nonetheless. Who in their right mind could put a gun to their loved one’s head and pull the trigger? She looked back down into his face and she witnessed his torment. Her face scrunched as she forced back another tremble. He must have really loved her, to be able to do that for her. As he continued to speak, she shushed him and nodded, her fingertips once more trailing along his jaw and cheeks. “It’s o-okay...It’s okay. You did the right thing.”

The drowning man sinking in the ocean of sorrow took hold of her suggestions, silencing himself upon the request of her shushing. The drag of her finger along his jaw and cheeks soothing his racing heart to a gradual stead; it worked, and rather well at that. Every little sensation, every little tingle he could receive to quell the burden was more than appreciated to be received; her words bringing him the life ring he needed to stay afloat for just the moment. Again - unable to begin to comprehend how she’d cope with him of all people in this world. “T-thank you..” His tears came to a halt, finding himself more restful by the moment; he forgot about the world around them, the infection, the horror. His mind drew to a blank, opening itself to his senses more than his thought. He took any relief he could, in any form. In a calm, hoarse voice he’d speak on; “T-there’s a -- tent in my backpack. I-it can fit two, if w-we share. I -- can’t go much further, I’m sorry.”

Bringing her head up to look at the night sky, her face and eyes were stung by the continuous downpour. They couldn’t stay here- it was in the middle of nowhere. Their tent would be easily spotted by anyone who came near them. Chelle looked back down into his face and knew he was speaking the truth- he wouldn’t be able to make it to the next building. The longer they stayed in the rain, the longer the both of them would be susceptible of catching an illness. Nobody could afford to get sick at a time like this. With a quick nod, she eased his head down to the ground before moving to his pack. She quickly opened it and pulled out the tent before going about setting it up. It was a bit difficult to secure it in the wet dirt, but she had gone camping several times with her father to know her way around the spikes. The work was done in no time and she turned back to him. “Do you need help getting in?”

“N-no, I can -- do that much. T-thanks..” He grunted as he’d lift his shoulders with the duffel bags still resting upon the muddy ground; they were waterproof thanks to having practically robbed the outdoor store of its best survival equipment that he could manage to take. The coffin tent held enough room for the two to hold, though having to unfortunately share the same roomy sleeping bag; he did the best he could to remove the his outside articles to prevent the inside bag from becoming covered in mud and muck. Thankfully still adorning a tank-top and briefs to prevent any further awkwardness than he was already forced into. “S-sorry, I’ll try to -- give you as much room as you need.” The words leaving in a submissive, nearly broken tone, as he’d scoot as much as his ensemble allowed him to the edge of the tent’s tarp and faced away from her. He truly meant it, not wanted to make it any more unbearable than the situation had permitted; to be half-naked, sharing the tent with his deceased girlfriend’s sister? How much more of his pride and honour could be left after everything done tonight?

She watched as he slowly brought his body closer to the tent, then turned away when he started to shed clothing. Taking in a sharp breath, she looked down at her own mud-covered, soaked clothing and knew she wouldn’t be able to sleep in them. Rachelle wasn’t a prude by any means, nor was she any kind of harlot. This was Rebecca’s boyfriend, for crying out loud. Yet it needed to be done. She needed to get warm, and the only way to do that would be to shed her outer clothing. Quickly ridding herself of the soaked t-shirt and denim jean, she was left in modest, black undergarments. At least they matched, she thought to herself. Her thoughts gave way to shivers as she quickly made her way under the sleeping bag. As she laid there, her body continuing to tremble, she glanced over at him. She could feel the body heat radiating off of him. Biting back a whimper, she grit her teeth to talk through her chill. “W-we need to be n-near each o-other. We n-need the w-warmth from our b-bodies.”

“I -- a-alright..” Without question, he obeyed Rachelle’s word to the letter and begun to turn around as he could. Scooting on his side closer to meet her in the middle of the sleeping back to weakly embrace her against her figure; the body radiating from his body was rather abundant, seeming to be not as affected from the weather from his weather-treated clothing. He remained silent, only exhaling a bloom of visible hot breath from his nostrils now and again. His hips were backed away from hers, not taking any chance of discomforting Rachelle by having such a part of their bodies meet; the last thing he needed to do was give any thought that he’d ever have lascivious incentive - now of all times. The faithful man kept true to his borderline sainthood innocence, closing his eyes after a few moments - and obeying any other suggestions that she would give.

As he neared her, she could feel the hesitation come from his body. The thought almost tugged a small grin at the corner of her lips. Even in her sister’s death, this man was loyal to her. It made Rachelle respect him immensely- if she had known nothing else about him, it would be enough to make it known that he was a good man. The heat from his body soon collided with hers and the shivers began to die down. Her eyelids drooped to a close as sleep overwhelmed her body and mind. Reaching out, she lightly placed her fingertips and the palms of her hands against his chest. She leaned her forehead close to his before allowing her body to give way to slumber.

“S-sorry....” The submissive, subservient husk of a man muttered as he’d lay there, silent and otherwise immobile to mitigate the moment; he was far too deep into the realm of regret and restlessness to bother moving, even if he had wanted to. Once his body took to rest, it would remain there. The only comfort he could find was within the warmth build between both their bodies, and the remembrance of the sensation of her finger that dragged along his cheek and jawline; it was a pathetic and silly memory to hold dearly to, but any comforting thought was enough - enough for now.

The warehouse was dark, the power having been severed months before. It was cold, as was the water around the island. Ice floated up on the beach sometimes this time of year. The nearby town had closed up some six similar buildings in the past ten months, having discovered drug shipments hidden among the legitimate merchandise.

The investigation first hit the shipping company. Then, the warehouse workers. Then, the foreman. Eventually, the police had run such a ragged circle that the case was dropped and the buildings shut down.

A man in a dark brown leather jacket and jeans entered. A big red plastic keyfob swings from his jacket pocket, likely keys to a boat. He was a white man, foreign to this area. His hair was long, unkempt, as was his beard. He held in his hands a rifle of the M16 class. On his back was a large hiker's backpack, apparently packed to the seams. His eyes flitted back and forth. A nervous sweat formed on his forehead. A click echoed through the building as he hit the safety and raised his weapon.

CLANG!

Something in the darkness! Footsteps!

CLACKCLACKCLACKCLACKCLACKCLACK!

In the gunfire he can see it. It looks like a person.

"RAAAAUGH!" CLACKCLACKCLACKCLACKCLACK!

Shell casings flew. One hit his cheek. It burned. He didn't flinch.

CLACKCLACKCLACKCLACKclick- click

"RAAAUGH!" It still charged. He responded,

"DIE!" and slung a savage kick forward into the dark, seemingly using the weight of his bag for extra momentum.

CRUNCH.

He screamed, and it gasped at him, still trying to roar. Its fingers wiggled feebly. His foot had gone right through its rotting chest, severing its spine. He raised his weapon, stock down, and dropped it onto his crippled assailant's head over and over and over.

Finally, the skull broke, and the jaw stopped moving. He pulled his leg out with a sickening sucking sound, and fought down vomit.

He managed to cough out three words: "They're here, too?"