[IC] Apocalyptica

[Zombiedude101]

Remmy’s chocolate eyes were drawn to study Coltrane’s reaction when the man set his beer down with a soft thump. It didn’t surprise the Cajun very much though his stomach twisted and turned into several knots causing him to shift to a more comfortable position. Not that it was possible. For a moment, Remmy’s eyes had a drifted look while he mentally thought about things he had learned during his undercover job as a sour lump came to his throat. He quickly realized he empathized with a few of the stories he had heard because like those who struggled daily to live, knew survival was the name of the game in Apocalyptica.

His fingers toyed with the beer’s bottle neck when he brought it in front of him before he spoke.

“Alright, but I’d rather go sooner. As the slavers, not all of them were monsters. At least one I knew wasn’t doing it out of greed, but rather to take care of his younger sister who had asthma. I think you can piece the rest together because we both know how easily it is to get medicine for something like that in this world. And the price required for it.”

His free hand shifted through his hair brushing the shame off his mind as he bit his lip when his comment ended. He couldn’t help but drift back to the current problem. “Well, where do you want to check when we start searching?”

“I reckon the diner would be our best bet before we check anywhere else.” Coltrane noted as he leaned forward from his recline, expecting the groggy Cajun to answer as he set a rugged old 38. special down upon the counter closest to Remmy, alongside a few spare cartridges which he’d managed to fish out of his old dufflebag. “Might wanna take this too, just in case anything happens for whatever reason.” Granted, the snub-nose wasn’t an ideal weapon but it was the only spare firearm that Coltrane had managed to attain whilst living in Chico, and with all the trouble which had been going on lately he figured Remmy would’ve preferred the comfort of being able to protect himself as opposed to facing the prospect of a second head wound. At the very least he figured that the Cajun would be able to conceal it under his waistline or something similar, like he did with his Glock.

Remmy nodded in agreement and seemed more relaxed now they were determining where to start. His eyes shifted to spot the old fashion revolver and a few extra cartridges Coltrane set down laid, his free hand reached and examined it carefully while he placed his beer by his foot. He held it in his hands to examine it closely for any flaws, noted only the outside was worn as his ears listened to Coltrane’s voice. It wasn’t ideal but it would do for now. Slipping it into the back of his pants, he reached to deposit the extra cartridges within his pockets then pulled up to his feet.

“Personally, I prefer a knife but thanks.” His tone was grateful in receiving the weapon then his eyes widened in surprise. Glancing down, he noted the darkened spot where his bandage seeped from his wound. He gently pressed his hand to his side and gave a little hiss, feeling the blood seep through. As an afterthought, Remmy then added. “Anywhere I can freshen up before we head out?”

“Water pump’s out back, but I think I’ve got something here..” Coltrane answered, a little disconcerted as the bandage’s colour gradually shifted from a faded white to that of a subdued crimson, and with that he quickly headed back over towards the cooler to see if there was anything else left. Fortunately for Remmy, there was - what had once been a large coke bottle was now filled three quarters of the way up with water, and after a little more searching he was able to find a dried out washcloth, nodding to the Cajun as he dabbed it with the end of the bottle.

“It isn’t the softest looking thing, but I keep it clean enough with booze that you won’t need to worry about getting it infected or anything. Here.” He offered, holding out the washcloth for Remmy to grasp.

Remmy shook his head in understanding. “I don’t mind. Better than nothin’ and thanks.”

Grunting a little, his hand reached for the offered washcloth and pulled back to rest against the couch. His side leaned one way and started to lift his shirt. Slowly he peeled it away as it tried to stick to his skin and pinned it high with his elbow, head leaned over to examine the results of his little accident. It figured the bandage had seeped through but overall, it wasn’t as bad as it could’ve been. His fingers started to peel away the bandage that made him hiss in slight pain when the tape came away revealing the once cleaned hole that went through and through.If one was to get shot, that was the best way to get it, nothing to have to dig out and healed faster.

He gently started to prod and clean off the blood until the washcloth was a rather nice red itself. While he tended to his wound, he decided chatter was needed with a few questions. “So, was that an example of the worse to expect or you’ve seen worse within the haven? If the welcome we got was any indicator, I think I’ll pass on the sight seein’.”

Coltrane snorted half-amusedly at the notion, before shaking his head. "Never seen it this bad before, but then I've not been around long enough to see much else. Could be that things'll get worse with these military guys, uh... 1007th, assuming more of 'em show up.” Leaning over the counter, he drew the shades back just a little bit to catch a glimpse of what was outside, yet he couldn’t particularly make out anything that stood out amongst the rest, snorting once again, disgruntled. Another quarter of an hour of silence passed, before eventually the ex-con spoke up, slipping back into his jacket. “I’m gonna head out and see if I can find anything, rest up until you feel good to head out and I’ll see if I can catch up with you later, assuming neither of us find him. Don’t worry about the lock, it’ll be fine.” Checking once again to make sure he was carrying his Glock underneath his waistband, he subtly nodded to himself in reassurance, before throwing a nod towards Remmy and stepping outside. With any luck, Simon wouldn’t have gone far from where they’d left him.

[Fallenreaper]

Abbie

The glass clinked as Abbie's bent broom brushed it into the growing pile of discard, the now larger then before. It was a dirty testament to the the trio's seriously slacked housekeeping skills and currently seemed to mock the red haired girl without remorse. To be honest, it irked her off more then it should've just to see the evidence. I should've done better... Abbie thought slightly bitterly and tried to cast off the irritation that chewed inside, her mind unable to forget the nightmare which occurred earlier that morning.

It didn't help most the evidence made up her currently task, something that helped her mind waver from the present.

Crash!

After the bang, the window shattered into pieces and glass flew from the door's window. Her body pressed down by Sam as they were rained upon, her wide eyes jerked to spot Lacy under Toby's thankful. Her body felt her bow's end jabbed into her gut she stayed huddled under the older boy's body, her mind fought the urge to tremble with fear. Abbie hadn't even realized her breath had shallowed or Sam had gotten off until Toby's voice spoke and his hand gently touched her shoulder. Her head darted suddenly into his direction and made him jump, Lacy pulled towards the back, hidden in the house's shadows.

"Are you alright?" He asked, his eyes concerned at her reaction.

Abbie could only nod, her mouth too dry to speak as she pushed herself upright. Her knuckles had whitened upon the grip then pressed an arrow into the notch ready to fire. Sam was already staring outside. His body pulled to one side and gun cocked, loaded to kill, with his head peering outside. The hazy light filter through the open window and trailed to the cause of it: a brick.

Gingerly Abbie crept to Sam's side, her boots crushed the glass under foot in each step that brought her closer and closer. Her heart raced in her head even when she reached him. It seemed impossible to stop and had kept on, louder until it settled at her ears like tiny drums.

Her tongue thick and sticky, she still managed to talk finally. "H-how many are out there?"

Sam shrugged, his finger twitched about the trigger. He was tense, that much was clear to her and her eyes shift once again to Toby. His look seemed to have confirmed her suspicions more then movement caught her eye. Her breathe held for a moment and her face edged out only to dart back at the flash of a gun fire.

"Shit!" Abbie couldn't help but utter loudly, the sounds of someone retreating was heard before Sam moved.

His hand touched the door and slowly opened it, the hinges speak in their rustic protest. Abbie's jawline tenses as she hissed at him. "What do you think your doing?"

"I think they're leaving..." Sam replied but his hands held tightly to his gun. He didn't look like he too sure of what he was saying himself, his figure ridged and stiffened. Abbie almost expected to hear the echoes of a shoot and see him instantly drop. Out of instinct, her hand released her weapon and reached to touch Sam's shoulder. She faintly hoped to coax him back in when she spotted Toby had edged closer to do the same causing her snap.

"Toby! Stay with Lacy, now!"

Toby pulled back, his movement filled with hesitation to obey Abbie's request. Her focus returned to Sam who was a few feet out the door and now stood on the grimy steps. His next words had brought some comfort.

"They're gone."

Abbie shook the memory away. She returned to catch the remaining glass up with the bristles then directed it into the pile, finishing her chore. Lacy had cooped herself up in her room since the incident, her body firmly pressed into the with the blanket pulled over her own window. Abbie knew the young girl was frighten then used her own methods to feel safe. That morning had taken quite a bit from all them, most of all that feeling of safety and security they would never get back. It was possibility the most part about this whole thing to Abbie.

Her eyes looked about the room for the warped, metal dust pan. She listened to the two boys hammer away, the boards nailed in had started to overshadow the bright sun which filtered in through the cracks. In less then half an hour they would cover up the open window and leave only scars to heal.

Abbie's breath blew the stray bangs from her face and cleared her eyesight. Her finger pushed it around her ear when she spotted the dust pan not far, set by a few oil lamp candles made from small jars and cotton yarn wicks. They casted a soft glow of their own in the house's shadier parts as if trying to redeem that homely feel once again. It made her smirk briefly at the notion then bent down with the pan and swept up her dirt, her steps led her towards the kitchen where she dumped it.

Abbie's growling stomach demanded food as she remembered she nor Lacy hadn't eaten that morning. Not with the chaotic event that went on. She placed the dust pan and broom to the side then began to rummage through the cabinets, hands pulled them open one by one to examine the contents. Mostly it was just a few unlabeled cans here and there which had been restocked with the meager gatherings from the marketplace. It reminded Abbie she would have to go shopping soon.

Her hands closed the pantry then inhaled, her stomach rather relent in its hunger but she was hesitate to eat little they had. She wasted little time to return to the living and spoke to the two boy finishing their work. "Toby, Sam. I'm heading out to see if I can grab a bite to eat at Chuck's work place, anyone wanna come with?"

Toby's hand waved her off, his face lingered over Sam a little longer then she thought possible and two and two clicked. She raised her hands up in defeat, her lips turned into a small little smile then moved to Lacy's room. Abbie's heart leapt into her throat she when her hand gently rapped upon the door. Her voice called out, inwardly noticed it hadn't opened, to ensure Lacy was still there.

"Lacy? Honey? I'm heading out to grab a bite to eat, do you want to go with me or rather I bring something back for you?" Abbie asked in the softest and calmest she could, her side pressed against the door's hard surface. No answer, not that she had expected one. She hid the slight disappointment within her with her next words. "Alright. I'll bring you something back then."

When she pulled away from the door, her hands reached for her things. She checked upon her wrist to see if her corded bracelet and multitool, which took weeks to barter for, were still there. Her eyes settled for a few moments on the faded neon cord and the semi rusted tool before she reached around to check her pocket, her knife's familiar shape bulged against her fingers. The last things she grabbed was a plastic water bottle that crinkled in her hold and a thread worn jacket, a worn red, before the screen door snapped behind her.

[Nib]

Bottles clinked together as an arm emerged from a black mass in the dark workshop and attempted to find something on the workbench, groping blindly for a few minutes before a head emerged from the same black mass and looked in the direction the arm had been groping in. A second later the arm found what it was looking for and pulled a chain on a lamp, illuminating the workbench and small sphere around it in a pale golden light from the bulb of the lamp. The grizzled, middle-aged man blinked in the sudden light and rubbed his eyes and stubbly chin; groaning, he arched his back and twisted side to side, causing a few small pops in his back then got to his feet.

He looked around the workshop, taking in the piles of junk here and there and then the places where he had his guns disassembled for cleaning and had his tools. He walked from the workshop to his small dingy kitchen through the doorway connecting his house to his workshop and grabbed two brown glass bottles of beer. Cracking one open, Dante walked back into his workshop and said back down in front of his disassembled revolver. He set his beers down and began to clean his revolver.

He knew the weapon well, and had it cleaned in about five minutes. He examined all of the parts after cleaning them to make sure they weren’t rusted or anything and then proceeded to put the handgun back together and then set it aside on the workbench with the cylinder open and ready to load. He went to work on his rifle next; it was a Winchester Model 70 bolt action made of a dark polished wood. Not having built his rifle himself, it took Dante a little longer to clean it than it did his revolver.

When he was finished cleaning the rifle, Dante once again looked around the workshop, taking long swig from his opened bottle of beer. He took in the motorcycle a few feet away from him; it had a few things wrong with it, and he didn’t have the tools necessary to fix it, but he thought he knew who might; his son, who was one of the guards at Chico had mentioned a woman who needed a partner to go outside of the walls with, and she might have the tools Dante needed. Plus, he needed to make a trip out of the walls anyway. He finished off his beer and started on his other one on his way to his front door. He finished the beer at his door and put on a faded red ballcap and made his way to the house he was told the woman lived.

[Zombiedude101]

Faces from the mob earlier that night popped up here and there. A few came still red in the face, but the diner’s owner threw them out immediately. Within minutes the incident repeated itself -- this time young man escorted the unwanted with a shotgun in hand. The boy remained outside the door with that weapon and watched new patrons. Simon noticed another belligerent pacing the area, but the sight of the boy turned them away. Fortunately, the kid didn’t seem to pay him any mind.

The night was still relatively young when Coltrane appeared. His ebony skin glowed in the diner’s light, neither warm nor cold, and his smile felt oddly genuine. Simon raised a hand to wave as he stood to greet him.

“Sorry about disappearing like that. I’ve, well, there’s a lot to think about. The soldiers and everything,” Simon bit his lip, then glanced toward the diner’s door. “You hungry?”

Coltrane initially rose his palm with the intent of waving away the offer, but a sudden pang in his stomach made him reconsider. "Now that I think, I've not ate much these past couple days." In truth, the beer he'd swallowed down earlier hadn't done him any favours either.

"Anyway, things were a mess back there. Your guy, Remmy, he got knocked over the head and I had to get him back to my place," He rubbed two fingers against the spot where Remmy had been struck. ”Don’t worry though, he's rested up now and I passed him a little something to keep close if he ever runs into any trouble."

“He seems a little country to me. Tell me you gave’em a crossbow,” Simon said with a smirk.

The two approached the diner eying the boy. Slow was the pace, as not to surprise, but not so much to suggest they had something to fear. It was a balancing act that felt all too close as the boy’s eyes began to dart. Up close Simon could clearly see the apron bound around his torso covered in smears of various colours. Obviously the kid was not the main cook since he played the bouncer, so maybe a jack of all trades. All trades but recognizing a threat, anyway.

Offering a gentle smile, an act notably difficult now, Simon tilted his head. “Are you closed? We’re starving. Me more than him, really. He looks pretty hungry though, right?”

In an instant the boy snapped into action. His shoulders dropped and knees bent like a cat caught by surprise. The barrel of the shotgun arced from his shoulder to just under Simon’s chin, then as if to make a point, the boy pulled the pump. Yet, despite all the reactions the weapon trembled. Fear or inexperience or any other whys didn’t matter, because what frightened Simon more than a trained threat was an emotionally distraught kid with a weapon.

A tear rolled down the boy’s chin as stammered his apology. He choked, cried, coughed, choked a bit more, but the shotgun remained fixed. The boy just apologized over and over to kid, Danny. Simon considered how quickly he might grab the shotgun without killing Coltrane or himself -- then the boy said another name. Winni.

“Wait, who?” Simon exclaimed, his voice commanding and more harsh than intended. But the boy kept going in his nonsense. Simon set his jaw, a heat growing in his chest. “I said who! What happened to her? What happened to Winni? What did you do?”

“Woah, hold on!” Coltrane recoiled with surprise as the boy planted the shotgun against Simon’s chin, frozen for a half-moment as the sight triggered the resurgence of a childhood memory from half a lifetime ago. Yet, when he noticed Simon’s temper unexpectedly flaring and threatening to make throw the situation into the meat grinder, he quickly regained his composure and took on a calmer, more sympathetic tone, pressing a palm against Simon’s shoulder as he addressed the boy. “Calm... calm down, alright? Nobody needs to get hurt, we’re not after any trouble, just put the gun down...”

The firm hand did more for the boy than Simon. When the shotgun lowered, Simon still felt his heart beating hard at the top of his throat. A fire that intellect denied, but spirit embraced wholly. He glanced at Coltrane’s feet in shame.

“Shi...ah... I’m sorry,” the boy whimpered before composing himself. “I’m confused. No excuse, but that’s all I got. Ever since guards took my kin life’s been hell. Only way I can see her is in that fortress-hospital, even then with a buncha guns pointed at me. Then I come home and bricks are flyin’ through our windows, riots in the street... I just... I don’t know. I miss Danni. I miss Winni.”

Just like that Simon’s eyes went wide. “I can’t believe it,” he laughed, too awe-struck to care about appropriate reponses. “I remember you. You were with us at the camp after Riley. The tent camp, remember? I’m Simon. That’s Coltrane. Winni and I...” He scrunched his brow and paused. “... talked. Listen, why don’t we all sit down. You give us the details, alright? Maybe we can help. That cool with you Trane?”

Coltrane gave his answer with a nod. “Yeah.”

[Fallenreaper]

Remmy

It was nighttime when headed towards Elone Medical Center, the chief makeshift Hospital and medical facility within Chico. One of the few to survive the infected's tidal wave across the USA. A massive yellow stone building with red roof, concrete paths winded around buildings and other trees leading up to it like silent sentinels in the night air. A few dim street lamps casted their faint light across the pathways leading towards the large center as Remmy made his way from shadow to shadow.

The place was mostly empty. The city's curfew was slowly being out into effect after the increasing riots, the streets slightly more lonely then they had been the day before as Remmy's eyes shifted around. Glimpses of flirting darkness brought the Cajun an intense wariness and alert. His fear was quelled by the weighed comfort of his borrowed piece pressed against his back small and the few rounds in his pockets. His form made his way to the soft jingling sounds from one of the blue CDC tents in the hot, humid air. It's tarp outside faded and aged from the relentless time that passed since the infection broke out.

Gently, Remmy pulled away the tent entrance and sighed. It seemed empty. Where the hell was she? He thought bitter as he frowned at his contact's absence, his gaze shifted to the seeping, shitty patch up job. The blood, now dried and crusted, plastered to his side. Leaning upon the tent's entrance side, Remmy inhaled softly. Inwardly he cursed his timing before suddenly a hand gripped his shoulder and jerked him inside. Surprised and unable to brace himself, Remmy's balance topples. He fell inside the tent and smacked the ground, the pain for his landed side rippled through his side.

"Shit!" Remmy cursed from the ache, his arms wrapped about his sides. A failed attempt to chase away the flames licking up his form.

"Hush, keep it down you idle brained brat! You soft in the head? Or you aimed to get arrested and tossed away?" An auburn haired and Caucasian female spat, her blue eyes fixed upon the lankier man. Her hand raised the flap to peer out, her eyes turned from Remmy. "The streets aren't safe since the 1007th have been coming around to Chico. Not with rumors of a cure running rampant like wild fire and causing riots to break all over the city."

Her head looked out for a moment longer then she jerked the flap downwards, her figure dressed in a skimpy jean shorts and oversize tee. Hair braided up in a messy style while Remmy twisted to spot her glaring expression, followed by her outstretched hand. He took a bracing breath before he placed his own into hers, hauled upright to his feet with a flinch. A soft hiss erupted out of his lips and commented upon his rough reception. "Awe, Cher. Easy on the greetin', not that I don't me it rough. I take it you're Gil?"

"Yeah, what of it?" The woman, in her middle twenties, said as her hand mounted her tilted hips. Her other reached and tugged Remmy roughly to a table, where she gestured for him to sit. She then turned to one of the medical cases on the floor and unzips it, her body hunched over and picked out cleaning supplies. "What's cha got? Wot type of wound?"

"Gunshot, right through. It just needs a stitching." Remmy casually admitted, his hand propped his descent onto the table's surface. Slowly he peeled away his shirt to revealed his wound and sloppily done patch job.

"Geeze." Gillian Graham said eyeing it then pulled out a thread and stitch, her body pushed upright once more. "Painkiller is sparse, so you'll have to do without it. How you're a tough guy, nothing more pitiful then a fully grown man crying over a bit of stitching."

She pulled closer and wiped away the blood, the thread hooked to the needle and readied for the skin. Remmy's body tensed when she began threading up the hole. Trying to aid her effort, he started to chatter. "Tell me about the current situation of Chico. I rode in, thanks to a friend, on a 1007th chopper this morning. I've heard rumors and sayin's whispered before I came here but I want to know the facts."

"Mostly rumors, fights and problems about this so called cure. From I've gathered it's some young girl but other then that, I couldn't tell you much more. I do know another woman was arrested under the crime of hiding an infected within the city and is currently being treated since she lost the baby. Turns out she was with the young kid when everything went south. The 1007th got word of it and they started to arrived lately. They've been meeting with those in charge, mumbles about Legion and military aid. It'll likely end up as it did in Evergreen." Gillian said somberly while she managed to pull the skin together, her hand worked quickly as she talked. Her eyes fixed upon the wound's condition and minded Remmy's hissings. When she finished, he watched her pull away to dispose of the needle in a bowl on top a metal tray. "There. That should hold for now and if doesn't, I'll have to stitch it up again."

"Thanks." Remmy managed to say fairly steadily and added more. "I need you to send a message to my pod, D-13."

"Oh? Fine, here," Gillian replied then passed Remmy a piece of handmade paper and old pen. "Write it there and I'll have it delivered."

Remmy began to hastily scribble out his message, his chicken scratching danced across the rough texture. Once he was done, he rolled it up then passed it back to Gillian. "Thanks, darlin'. I appreciate it very m-

Gillian's hand shoved him a bit and took the paper, stashed into her pocket. "Shut up with your flattery and hit out of here. Now."

She shoved a smiling Remmy right out of the tent and nearly on his ass. Shaking his head, the man started his way back to the trailer park where he would wait for Coltrane there. He had a lot to share with the man when came back.

[Fallenreaper]

Abbie

Abbie felt a heavy weight release her when fresh air entered her lungs, her hand let the back porch door slip from her fingers and clank shut. Her eyes glanced back for a moment at the ripped, repeatedly repaired screen. Heavy scents of grass and dew chased away memories and the painful fact their home no longer felt safe. That sense of security was gone. Period. And there was no way to get it back as she started walking off the cracked porch.

Abbie couldn't rid herself of the bitterness her sense of safety would never return. It wasn't fair. That thought had been so strong, the need to leave threatened to eat her alive unless she escaped the cause. It was the driving force behind her hasty retreat to the small backyard.

Her hands tightened the jacket about her form and held it close. In her back pocket, the knife was only a slight comfort, a minor pressure, while she continued on the crooked sideway leading to the garage. She was careful to avoid the jutting cracks, torn apart by the weather and time, as she drew closer to followed the gates' at the yard's rear. They had years of rust which presented themselves more dominate in key spots and had been mended just as often.

Abbie was just about to exit the gate when her eyes caught movement in the edge of her vision. She stopped abruptly. Inwardly, she fought the urge to jump and instead delayed her reaction. Ba-bump...ba-bump... Her heart raced within her ears, her body turned on heel to face the figure stalking just outside her sight. Her expression flickered in surprise then relaxed. She recognized the owner, familiarity brought a slight comfort to her causing her face to soften. Abbie casted away her discomfort by gently patting her jeans, dusting off both the nasty sensation and dust.

She forced her voice to keep even and normal, something she found it more difficult then she first thought. "Hey Mr. Reese. I didn't see you there until now. A...are you here to check up on everyone?"

Mr. Reese reminded her of Kurtis, a lot. In his late fifties or early sixties, he was hunched over and pure white hair thinning at the top. His bright, blue eyes stared at her for a few moments before he spoke. "Yes. After the commotion this morning, I thought there was something I could do to help."

Abbie's hand reached and rubbed her neck slowly. "No, we've already got the mess cleaned up and everything's al-"

"Abbie..." Mr. Reese interrupted with a gentle yet firm tone, his eyes softened in worry. "You're not. If you're human, then nothing's alright after what just happened. Would you like to talk about it?"

"No, to be honest I don't." Abbie sigh in defeat when Mr. Reese's intensely staring eyes saw past her defenses. A bit too easily to her. She had been trying to cast away the sickness which swept inside her, her middle still twisted itself into knots over and over. She didn't have any luck in winning against it. A moment passed before Abbie just gave up, unable to shake away the feeling, then started to talk. "

Without warning, Mr. Reese pushed forward and brought himself closer to the gate's edge. His path stopped only by the waist height fence between them. In a soothing gesture, an aged hand reached out to rest on her shoulder causing her head to face his eyes not fooled by her mask. "You're not alright."

A simple phrase. One not far from the truth and that fact disgusted her, unable to peel away the sensation. She inhaled deeply letting the breath smooth over rattled nerves. Maybe it was because the man was a stranger or the fact she knew he wouldn't leave, any number of reasons raced through her head to why but even they didn't make sense. Only one did. The need to release her emotional storm was too strong and battered down her defense until she found herself spilling words out. Pure. Honest thoughts within her mind.

"Mr. Reese," Abbie slightly struggled to keep her voice even, "it was just a brick. Nothing compared to the trips I take outside Chico every week. It wasn't some undead pounding at our door, desperate to get in and devour us. Just some jerks-people- just stirring up trouble."

Mr. Reese seemed to study her face a moment. Her eyes were unable to face him for a moment while his lips frowned enough to make the wrinkles deep more noticeably around his mouth. "You think because the world ended that there aren't pieces left behind? People are always able to do terrible and scary things, even in a grim life like this. Sometimes... It's the living you need to fear more then the undead, Abbie."

His hand release his grip, his arm fell to his side once more. He waited. She noticed his hesitation, considerate and worried, the same sad eyes given to a victim capable of self maiming until Abbie presented a soft smile. Her words seemed to determine his choice, sealing it finally.

"Thanks Mr. Reese."

He nodded then hobbled from the back gate around to the front door. The tip tapping of his cane made an odd sound to each step when he shambled past. His reply back was a soothing one. "If you need anything, then you know where I'll be. Now, I think I'll check on the others and see how they fare as well."

She waited until his steps faded completely, leaving her in silence. Shaking away the creeping dread, Abbie unlatched the gate and pushed off towards Chuck's work. Too bad she wasn't twenty-one. She could've used a drink right now.