Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It smells awful.  God, it reeks.  There’s little uncluttered room in here, but you’re sure that if you make a sound the zombies (or is it only one now; you can’t tell, time is bleeding together and you can’t remember if it’s been an hour or days since the outbreak happened.) will finally locate you.

You’ve barricaded the door, first putting a chair underneath the handle and then when your gut twists and churns, you shove an ancient desk in front of it.  The zombies didn’t like that.  The door had trembled and shuddered as they threw their bodies against it.

But it held.  

Maybe that’s why the spokesperson of your compound took this room.  Although now the resplendent (as much as it could be in the end times) and organized office is a scattered and disheveled space.  Drawers are open, papers scattered everywhere.  Blood has now dried on the walls, a splatter of dark red against the chipped beige wall.

Pressing your ear up against the door, you force your heartbeat to slow, the pounding overtaking everything else.  There’s some shuffling out there, the sound of a wet mouth chewing something that makes your eyes clench together.  You don’t want to think of who’s being consumed, though your mind helpfully flashes images of each of your friends and family and community on the body, each one decomposing, their mouths open as they scream for you to help them.

Thankfully the screaming has stopped.  That had made you want to vomit.  But you’re not sure if you want to take the screaming over the eating.  There’s so many sounds.  Of ripping flesh.  Of gnashing teeth.  Of new shambling feet.

You think you see the familiar shirt of your best friend, now bloodstained and ripped, out of the corner of your eye, but you don’t look.  Because maybe if you don’t, you can convince yourself you didn’t see it.

Though now you know there’s definitely more than one zombie walking around.

Wafts of blood and viscera from the door’s cracked frosted window fill your nose.  Eyes watering, you back away from the closed entryway.

Wood splinters underneath your footstep.  It’s like a gunshot in your ear.  You flinch, heartbeat hammering in your chest.

Footsteps near the door.  You flounder for something, anything to defend yourself (because most of the zombies gave up attacking the door after realizing what a hassle it was to open it).Your fingers wrap around a cool handle, as you brandish a letter opener at the door. 

The knob turns, something grunting against the other side.  But it doesn’t move.  A singular gray eye peers at you through the crack in the window.  The look is hard, almost steely.  Deep circles are under that eye, the skin looking almost concave in, almost skeletal. 

The eye flickers to the letter opener.  “You gotta find a better weapon, that’ll get stuck in a zombie’s head.  Might not even kill ‘em.”  The voice is more of a rasp, as though it hasn’t been used in some time.  

“You’re not a zombie.”  Your words are breathless, mixed with surprise and relief and exhaustion.

The snort you get is scornful.  “No, not yet.  But they’ve sure tried.”  In a flash, the sharp grey eye disappears and the sounds of metal repeatedly hitting flesh makes you flinch.  A body thumps against the floor.  You hate that you know instinctively what that sounds like.  Then they return to the crack, pupil dilated.  “There’s gonna be more comin’ soon, I don’t think they appreciate me whacking their friend.  Live meat and all that, y’know?  You wanna get out of here?”

At your hesitation, the voice turns sharp.  “Look, if you don’t want to leave and you wanna be eaten up by some rabid zombies, I’m not gonna stop you.”

“No!”  The thought of staying here fills you with so much dread it chokes you.  “Just…give me a minute.”  You shove the desk out of the way, sending it screeching in your haste.

With a grunt, your potential savior disappears from the crack in the window at the sound of shambling feet.  Snarling freezes you, your fingers clenched around the top rail of the chair.  A body slams against the door and you shudder, taking a small step back.  Another thwack and it’s silent again.

“It’s now or never!”

At this, you scramble to yank the chair from underneath the handle and almost fly out of the room.  You’re met with multiple bodies littering the hallway ground, though you can’t tell which ones are dead and which ones are waiting to turn.

A hand wraps around your wrist.  “C’mon, enough standing around, we gotta run.”

You meet her gaze.  Now out of the room, you see a young white woman in her late 20s with a shock of red hair that looks like it hasn’t been washed in quite some time.  A black eyepatch covers her right eye.  She watches you steadily, eyeing you up and down, before she huffs to herself.  The interest in her eye disappears.

“A fucking townie.”

You bristle, but before you can retort, the double metal doors bang against the wall.  “That’s our cue,” she says, gray eye sharpening.  She yanks you forward, before pushing her hand on your back.  “You just keep runnin’, I’ll be right behind you.”

And you do.

Your shoes slap against the concrete floor.  Rooms blur past as you run as fast as you can.  You shove open doors without a second thought, relying on pure instinct.  Your steps echo loudly as you fly down the stairs, grabbing the railing and swinging yourself to the second set.  The door above you bursts open.  

“Right behind you,” she calls out.  Something slides against metal.  For a moment, you pause, fingers still gripping the banister.  You peer over and up the railing as she flashes you a feral grin.  “Even in the apocalypse, a broom in the door handles is a great barricade.”  She jumps down the last remaining stairs, hair more frazzled.  New blood splatters her cheek and she wipes it off with the back of her hand at your look.

The now blocked door rattles, as the moans and hisses from the undead bounce weirdly off the stairwell walls.  “It’s not gonna hold them for long.”  She clicks her tongue.  But before she’s about to go down the next flight of stairs, you stop her.

“There’s an emergency exit on this floor,” you say, “down there’s” — you nod your chin towards where she was heading — “nothing but the barricaded front door.”

She raises her eyebrows, tips her head to the side, and nods.  “Good call.  Lead on.”

It doesn’t take long before you stop in front of a large beige metal door.  A scribbled stick person with angry eyebrows crosses their hands on the paper taped to the handle.  “Only for emergencies ” is written in big letters, most of them backwards.  Meeting her gaze, you shrug.  “The kids wanted to be a part of our safety precautions.”

You bat away at the thought that where they are right now, a pressure building in the back of your throat. They must have gotten away — no, they had to have gotten away.  It’s the only possible thing.

“Well, I’d say this is an emergency,” she mutters, before pushing the door open.

The light from the sun momentarily startles you, so used to being in low light.  You shield your eyes with your hand, tears pricking in the corners.  Wild flowers and brush swarm the ground as vines slowly grow up the sides of your compound.  It’s not what you pictured; you remember the Before Times, when the grass was greener and the sky was such a deep blue it reminded you of water.

Now?

Now everything looks dusty, perpetually grimy.  Even the wildlife has a brown tinge to them.  Although the virus seems to affect only creatures, you can’t imagine what it’s doing to plant life.  It can’t be good, that much is evident.

She paces the balcony, eye narrowed in thought.  Her knuckles turn white from holding a red bat that's by her side.  Perhaps it’s a way to hide how much gore covers it.  You suppress a shudder.

“Ok, what now?”  She pauses her impatient strides, whirling to face you.  “I swear if you’ve led us to a dead end…”

It’s when she points her weapon at you that something breaks.  “Don’t you go waving that thing in my face!” you snap, “If you’d hold on for just a moment, I’d show you where we need to go next.”  You march over to one side of the landing with your chin up.  In one fluid motion, you unhook the emergency ladder, pointing at it with raised eyebrows, as it clangs to the ground.

Her face flushes, before she sniffs and pushes a piece of hair out of her face.  “Right.  Er…sorry,” she mutters raspily.

The climb down is a bit awkward, as you fume silently. You don’t think you could’ve made it out of the compound by yourself, but did she have to bite your head off like that?  Sure it’s the apocalypse, but it can’t have gotten that bad that decent human empathy is also dead.

As you sneak around the place you’ve lived in for almost six years, you glance over your shoulders.  The balcony is empty, no longer filled with your favorite people hanging out, legs between the railing, swinging their feet.  Mottled dead blue and green hands grasp from the darkness of the compound.  You look away before you notice any familiar clothes.  Something twists, hot and heavy, in your stomach.

Your feet are heavy, as pressure begins to press behind your eyes.  You’re just so tired .  The ache in your chest begins to build, until it feels like something is squeezing the air out of you.  But there’s no way you’re going to cry in front of this waspish woman.  So you settle for surreptitiously wiping your eyes, trailing behind her.

Perhaps she sees your expression or perhaps she just feels nervous going about on her own, but she slows down to match your pace.  With her bat over her shoulder, she spins the handle lazily.  “You run pretty fast,” she awkwardly says, breaking the silence.

“I do when my life depends on it.”

She snorts.  In the sunlight, her skin looks sallow, deep frown lines are pinched between her eyebrows.  Your guess was right, she does look exhausted.  You’re surprised she’s able to stand up straight without falling over.  “Good,” she continues, meeting your gaze, “you’ll need it.”  She stops as you both get to a dirt road and she points to your right.  “We’ll be heading thataway.  There’s a place called Newmerica, a safe place for us.  Ever heard of it?”  After you shake your head no, she grunts.  “Yeah, we — I was heading up there, before I came across this compound.”

“They…they recently turned.”  You lick your lips.  “How’d you know that there were any survivors?”

“I didn’t.”  Steadily, she adds, “I was lookin’ for supplies.  Figured the most barricaded room would have the best chance at havin’ stuff not scavenged or destroyed.”

“Oh.”  So not your knight in shining armor.  An embarrassed flush crawls its way to your cheeks.  You’re not sure why it rattles you so, but it would have been nice to know that there was someone out there who knew you were still alive and chose to help you.

Moving past the momentary break in conversation, you ask, “Where’s Newmerica?”

“Canada.”

“Canada? ”  You freeze, turning to her with wide eyes.  “We’re in Nebraska.”

“Well, what’s left of it, but yeah.”

“OK, sure, but Canada’s ginormous, do you know where?”  As the seconds drag on, you ask, “No information?  No geographic whereabouts?”

She tips her head back to watch the skin, eye narrowing thoughtfully.  “Middle part of it, I think.  No, wait.  Northern.  Yeah, northern for sure.”  There’s a bit of a smile that appears, teasing, before it vanishes.  At your disgruntled groan, she adds, shortly, “In my defense, I think it’s just gettin’ started.  There are a buncha outposts recruitin’ people.  One’s in Nevada.”

“So we’re not heading to Canada?”

“At least not yet, yeah.  We’ll go to the outpost first.  At the very least, that’ll be safe.”  She turns to you, eyebrow quirking.  “Unless you have a better plan…?”  Again, you shake your head no.  Then you realize she’s fishing for your name.  She nods after you introduce yourself.  “Nice t’meetcha.  Or well, I guess under better circumstances it’d be.  Name’s Addy.

“It’ll probably take us a couple weeks to make it there,” she continues.  “You ready for the long haul?”

You shrug, the pressure in your chest returning tenfold.  “There’s not much else waiting for me back there,” you murmur.  The effort to put energy into your words is exhausting, but you force yourself to.  “I guess Nevada is my next destination.”

Addy nods.  “Nevada it is, then.”

By evening, your clothes cling to your back.  A trickle of cold sweat rolls down your spine.  You wipe your forehead with the back of your hand, it comes away slick.  It’s a wonder how Addy keeps moving despite how long you two have been walking.  There’s a worrying set to her jaw, like if it’s possible, she’ll punch the ground to make you both travel faster.  The thought almost forces a laugh out of you.  Almost.

It has to be the sun that’s making you so delirious and exhausted.  Although air conditioning is a rather hard commodity to come by, you spent your time mostly inside.  After all, what else is there to do outside except to scavenge and hope a zombie doesn’t maul you when your back is turned.

There is, however, a time you remember when your parents (though you don’t want to think too hard about what happened and why they’re not here) encouraged you to go outside, to enjoy the weather and play with your school friends, instead of sitting inside.  You think it’s as good of a reason as one can get for why it’s smarter to hunker down somewhere safe.

Though you suppose that that didn’t work out too well, huh?

“Let’s head over there.”  Addy points to a rundown house in the distance, which you squint at.  “I don’t really wanna be hangin’ around out here at night.”  Her gaze rakes you over, her mouth pinching into a thing line.

Your shoulders raise in defense.  “What?” you demand.

She shakes her head.  Did she just sigh?  “Nothing.  C’mon, let’s go.”

Your teeth grind together, irritation clenching at your stomach.  It’s only a couple weeks, you remind yourself, and then you’ll never have to see her again.   You survived the first part of the apocalypse, what’s a little more time to get to a safe location?

The walk over is in silence, again.  Though you have nothing to complain about, as your body is screaming at you to lay down somewhere shady.  Or to just stop walking for a couple minutes.  The dirt path looks quite comfortable, now that you think about it.  But you trudge through the thoughts, holding on to the thin silver lining of being indoors, even if it is musty and gross.

Addy goes first, which you are more than happy to have her do; you don’t think you’ll be able to put up much of a fight with how drained you feel.  After a couple minutes, she calls out to you that it’s all clear.

It’s a small house, not four rooms more.  A living room sits off to the left side of the house, a dusty couch and a ransacked TV cabinet.  Oddly enough, the TV is gone; whoever took it is in for a surprise when they realize none of the channels are working.  Behind that room is the kitchen, the cabinets and drawers likewise raided.  A rickety white table and four chairs are in a corner, with plates that seem like they haven’t been cleaned since everything fell apart.  The plates are posthumously tossed and the cobweb covered windows thrown open.  You can’t help but gag even with the fresh air.  The last two rooms have beds in them, the sight loosening something tight inside your chest.  With a quick cleaning, the beds look less dusty, which is a plus.

As you hunker down for the evening, you keep your eyes on Addy.  Although a helpful (somewhat) stranger, you don’t feel that comfortable falling asleep near someone who you just met that day.  You keep that letter opener nearby at all times.

Even when she offers you food — dried crickets — you eye her suspiciously, before she makes a huge show of eating some without keeling over and dying.  The adrenaline from this morning has left you a shell of who you were not twelve hours ago.  You jump at every creak in the house, startle when the wind rattles the windows, and swear that you hear zombie hisses creeping up on the house.

Addy offers to set up traps around the perimeter, claiming that she’s done this before with her previous group.  When you ask about them, she goes quiet, and her expression darkens.  She never answers you, even when she returns.

When you do finally eat dinner, the atmosphere between the two of you is tense.  There’s not a lot you can talk about, and, really, is there anything to say after everything that happened to you today?  The loss of everyone you know and love (or is it now ‘knew and loved’, which sends you on a dizzying track of soul-crushing exhaustion and pressure, because the thought of even putting anyone in the past tense, even the ones you never got along with, sends you tipping to look into the abyss, which stares back at you, yawning widely for you to jump in)—

It exhausts you.

This sucks.  The apocalypse is the worst.

The crickets aren’t the most disgusting thing you've eaten, though.

Chapter Text

When you're in the apocalypse, you have to be comfortable with losing access to usual cleanliness.  It’s hard to take a bath when you don’t know if a zombie’s going to shamble over the bank while you’re still naked.  While you were with other people, you didn’t think much of it; some folks gravitated towards wanting to be defense, something you were more than happy to relinquish.  Do you know how to fight?  Of course.  You have to.  It wasn’t like you can always rely on your friends and family to protect you at all times.

God, but you don't want to be around the zombies; no one really talks about how they smell or even the sound of sloughing off skin that hits the ground as they stumble forward.  Not anymore, that is.  Now that it isn’t anything new.  Yeah, zombies smell, just like the sky is a gray-blue.  That’s just a fact of life.

Like the fact that something tastes like it died in your mouth last night.

It’s the first thing you notice, as you wake, slowly moving your tongue over your teeth.  You grimace.  The tangy residue of not drinking anything creates a nice accompaniment to your pounding head.  Sitting on the edge of the bed, you press your elbows into the flesh of your thighs, trying to massage the pain.

You must’ve groaned too loudly, because there’s a knock at the door.  Addy creaks the door open, her usual frown looking grim.  “You good?”

Waving your hand, you reply, “Sure, yeah.  I just need some water, that’s all.”

She raises her eyebrow, leaning against the doorframe and crossing her arms.  “Well, you need to drink as quickly as you can, we’re burnin’ daylight out there.” Her gray eye flickers to the window, her expression pinching.  “And…it looks like a small group of zombies triggered some of my traps last night.  There may be more comin’ and I don’t wanna be here when they do.”

You shudder, images flashing in your brain of windows breaking, as an almost tsunami of zombies crash into the house, burying you alive with the sound of gnashing teeth and clammy fingers pinching and pulling at your skin.  You rub your arms, goosepimples prickling.

Addy nods, and you swear there’s a faint glimmer of sympathy, before she hardens once more.  She says that she’ll meet you out front, before gently closing the door.

You slowly get changed, wincing as your body yells in protest from the long trek yesterday. You're not sure what hurts more: your calves or your feet. It gets worse as you realize your shoes look worse for wear.  There’s not a lot of places to stop nearby that you can think of that haven't already been ransacked.  In another life, Kearney is the closest big city you can think of.  But here?  You were lucky to hear about a new road being created in the Before Times.  You live in such a small town, everyone knows — though you suppose it’s ‘knew’ now — everyone.  Which made their turning into zombies all the worst.

The idea of an unnamed zombie isn’t the worst thing.  But when you need to take old Mrs. Grady out who used to feed the birds on her amble through the city park, it stings.  Perhaps it’s good you met this Addy woman.  At least you can tell yourself that maybe your friends and family are still alive, even after you have left. That maybe the zombies she whacked over the head yesterday weren't folks from your compound. Yeah. You shove that idea down, down, down, down.

You finally meet her at the front door.  She has her usual red bat out, which she spins idly, as she peers over the plains.  Moaning and groaning from the undead catch your attention.  Off to the side of the house, pits are dug, hiding underneath patches of dried grass.  Mottled gray fingertips brush at the pits’ edges.  The early morning’s rays alight on their dirt crusted fingers (and you hope that it’s just dirt).

“Won’t hold ‘em for long.” Addy follows your gaze, pausing her restless fidgeting.  Her fingers turn white as she grips her weapon.  With a sneer, she rasps, “But am I glad they’re not the sharpest tool in the shed.”

Almost stumbling, she strides forward.  You have half a mind to ask if she’s OK, but you bite back the thought, and follow after her.  Her gait is loose, though you’re unsure if it’s an act.  The fluidity is off, like a performance.

You barely get out of the town’s edge, before you pause.  The sound of loud engines revving bounce off the houses and buildings that still stand.  You narrow your eyes to peer past the rising dust clouds. What was indistinguishable figures now turns into a true cavalcade of pickup trucks, with varying levels of degradation.

The leader — a red shiny truck with a handful of people hanging off the side, whooping and hollering — roars past you and Addy.  Both of you shy away from the dust it kicks up.  Addy coughs loudly, waving a hand at the gas and dust.  One of the folks hanging off the truck turns to face you and, cupping his hands around his mouth, yells, “The zoo’s back!”

“What’s he talking about?” Addy asks slowly, once the noise dies down and it’s just the two of you on the dirt road.

You sigh.  “It’s not that interesting, honestly.  Some guy comes by, think his name is Burr, with a bunch of zombies.  He gathers ‘em all up and lets people feed them.”  Making a face, you add, “I just hope none of them give ‘birth’ this year.”

The look she gives you is flat, like she’s waiting for the punch line.

“He’s gotten it in his head that everyone likes babies, so he goes out and captures them before bringing them back and coating them in goo.  Has a whole section in his performance where the mother ‘births’ the baby.  Honestly I think the zombies are more surprised than we are at this point when it happens.”  Frustration spikes along your shoulders.  “He thinks we’re all stupid, falling for a trick like that when the baby doesn’t even look like the ‘parents’.”

“Gross.”

“That’s one way of saying that.”  Your headache pulses between your brows and you close your eyes for just a moment.  “Everyone goes because going along with theatrics is more fun than anything.”  Gesturing towards the now off in the distance trucks, you say, “Lots of folks come in from out of town to see it.  It’s this whole thing.”

Addy shakes her head.  “Only in the apocalypse.”  You have to agree with her.

You can’t stop the hope in your voice when you say, “We can skip it, if you want.”

“I mean, zombies I can deal with.  I was honestly expecting you to say that he had a whole buncha cages of animals and was showin’ them off.”  She scoffs.  “That’s how you get folks killed, a whole horde could show off from the smell of trapped live creatures.

“But a zoo full of the undead?  Now this?  I gotta see it.”

“It’s honestly not that interesting,” you say, hurrying after her quick steps, “What if it’s in another direction?  Shouldn’t we be heading towards the camp as soon as we can?”

Addy pauses and you run into her.  Frowning, she glances over her shoulder at you.  “Why’s this got you so riled up?  What’s so bad about this zoo?”

You bite your lip, shifting your weight.  How to explain this to someone who’s never seen it…  Finally, you mumble, “It’s not the zoo.  There’s just something off about this Burr person.  I’ve only gone to it once before, and he’s just—“  Your words break off, before you finish lamely, “slimy.”

“Someone being reprehensible in the apocalypse, color me surprised.”

“I’m being serious, Addy.”  Maybe it’s the way you say her name, but her smirk flickers.  For a moment, you stare at each other.  “He’s weird to parade them around like that.”

“They’re zombies.”  She fully faces you, her eyebrows furrowing. “What’s the big deal?”

You throw your hands up.  “Sure, when they’re someone I’ve never met before!  But he brought a family friend once.”  Your teeth grind together and your fingers curl into fists.  “It sucks when you see someone you loved being controlled like that.”

There’s an emotion too fast to read that crosses her expression.  Finally, she turns back to the long dirt road ahead.  “So what, you wanna roll up to his zoo and free all the zombies?”

With a scoff, you reply, “No.  No, nothing like that.  It’s not like that’ll change the fact that they turned, and I’d rather not unleash hungry zombies on the folks visiting.”  The twisting in your gut tightens.  “And even if we put them to rest, he’ll just find some new ones roaming around.”

She taps her bat against the ground.  “There’s somethin’ about that name that seems so familiar…”  Her words taper off, the tapping becoming insistent.

“Burr?”  Addy makes an agreeable noise.  “Is that a good or bad thing?”

She grins sharply, resting her weapon against her shoulder.  “Not sure.  Definitely not a good thing; I’d remember the name of someone who did me good.  ‘Burr’ though?  Now that rings a rusty bell.”

She tenses like she’s about to move, before her gaze fixes on you again.  There's a couple moments of silence, as she stares.  You meet her look with a raised chin.  Then, she sighs, brushes a piece of red hair behind her ear, and relaxes her shoulders.  “But you don’t like him,” she mumbles, half to herself.

Straightening herself, her demeanor shifts.  “Look, we gotta work together.  We’re a team until Nevada, so we gotta compromise.”  It’s almost like she’s reciting words from someone else.  “I promise that we’ll stay towards the edges, I just wanna get a good look at this guy.”

“And if he turns out to be a bad thing?”

Addy shrugs.  “We’ll go from there, I suppose.”  She tips her head to the side.  “You don’t have to do anything though.  A civilian like yourself shouldn’t put yourself in harm’s way.”  You can almost hear the unspoken “because you’ll get in the way” rattle in your brain.

Sniffing, you brush past her and reply, “It’s the apocalypse, there’s no such thing as a civilian anymore.”

Her raspy chuckle trails up your spine.

It takes a couple days to see any sign of the zoo.  Hitchhiking is a lot easier when you have someone by your side who has clearly seen some things.  Not a lot of people deal with the silent type, especially nowadays.  She doesn’t talk, which you quickly fill in; though you’re not sure if it’s the silence getting to you or the need to talk to anyone friendly.  Perhaps they’re the same.

You hitch your last ride with a kind couple.  Penny, one of the women, is the talker between the two of them.  A curvy white woman with full cheeks that, despite the world, still have deep smile lines.  She keeps calling you “sugar”, something that her partner, Jocelyn, an Asian woman, and Addy both snort at.  Addy gets a nod and small smile from Jocelyn, which causes her cheeks to flush.  There’s a quiet strength from the driver; her short cropped black hair is almost military-like.  Though her white button up is askew, rumpled, with dark stains on her beige pants.

Not that you’ve been staring.

“Sugar, please tell me you have a plan,” Penny says, her voice butter smooth, catching your attention. “Now, I don’t like the fact that two young women are out an’ about in the middle of the night.”  Penny clicks her tongue, untwisting and retwisting her blond braid.  Her green eyes zero in on you and she frowns.  “Especially not with you both heading to that damned man and his ridiculous zoo.”

You jerk your head towards her, eyes widening at Addy.  See, it’s not just you.  She waves you away, crossing her arms and leaning into the seat.

“An’ don’t you start,” Penny continues, pointing an accusing finger at Jocelyn, who takes her hand off the wheel and raises it in silent surrender,  “I had a bad feelin’ about him since I first laid my eyes on him.  An’ what does he do first?  Shows off those zombies like—”

“—a club’s new stripper,” her partner finishes for her.  Curling back up on her chair like a content cat, Penny nods, like it’s final.

“We’re not going to get too close,” you reassure her, leaning towards them.  “We just want to check on something, and then we’re planning to head straight for the camp.”

There's silent communication between the two women.  The easiness between the two of them causes an ache to bloom in you; how Jocelyn keeps her arm across the back of Penny’s seat, how Penny leans into her when they talk with such a gentle smile.  How they managed to find each other during such a weird time, you can’t explain it.

Penny clicks her tongue again, before sighing, as a small smile twitches Jocelyn’s lips up.  Turning back to you, Penny says, “You don’t gotta explain yourself to me, sugar; look at me, mom-ing some random girl I just met.”

The car slides to a stop.  A bit aways is a large circle of vehicles, loud jeers still audible even from the women’s thick windows.  A haphazard cloth sign reads “Burr’s Zoo”, which serves as the entry gate to that roundup. 

You both thank them, as you jump out, causing little clouds of dirt to puff.  Jocelyn calls Addy over in her low voice, and the two of them have a quiet conversation.  

Penny leans out her window, smiling.  “You two take care of each other, y’hear?”  You murmur your agreement, which she nods at, looking pleased.  “She looks capable.”  It’s such a simple statement, but you hear the probing question.

You shrug.  “I guess so.  I don’t know her that well; we met less than a week ago.”

She makes a sound as though she got another piece of the puzzle.  Her smile turns sad.  “Yes, I suppose we all gotta be comfortable putting our lives in strangers’ hands.”  Penny thumps the side of the car door.  “Well, I guess that means we hafta to see y’all in Nevada; us strangers gotta stick together.”  She holds out her pinky, which you lock with yours.  The two of you shake, and she beams.

As the car rumbles on, she waves and yells, “We’ll see you there, sugar!”

Waving goodbye at them, you lean towards Addy and ask, “Do you think we’ll see them in Nevada?”

“Stranger things have happened.  I know a pair of morons who are somehow still alive.  Last I saw them they were trying to win an election to be the next president of the United States.”  At your look, she chuckles.  “Conmen, the two of them.”

Despite her words, there’s an edge of hesitant fondness in her voice (which you’re surprised to hear that kind of tone in her voice, snapping at people seems more her speed).  Even if these two managed to do hairbrained jobs, at least they seem as consistent as cockroaches.  In a world like that, maybe there’s some peace in knowing they’ll always show up.

Her chuckle fades, as she turns serious at the receding car.  “But those two?  No idea.  They seem like nice people, but the apocalypse tends to chew up and spit out niceness.”

As the two of you head towards the makeshift zoo, you ask, “What were you and Jocelyn talking about?”

Sighing, Addy shoves pieces of errant hair out of her face.  “I was hoping they’d have seen someone I’ve been looking for.  Jocelyn says that there may be someone in a nearby town up ahead, towards the Rocky National Park.”

“Did you want to stop there?”  When she freezes and stares, another prickle runs up your spine.  “I mean it’s on the way,” you say, slowly, “isn’t it?  Wouldn’t it be easy to just swing by real fast?”

You swear there’s a flicker of embarrassment that flashes across her face.  A small victorious thrill squeezes your chest.  Kill them with kindness, right?  Maybe if you could guilt trip her into listening to you, then you may not have to be out on the road for too long.

Because if her being distracted by this bozo is any indication, you worry how long it’ll take you to get to the camp.

Chapter Text

The sounds of jeers and laughter echo in the cluster of random cars. It's becoming a bit cooler, now that the sun is setting, and you shiver as cold sweat trickles down your back. You know that as soon as you step underneath the sign, the heat from other bodies, crowded and pushing to vie for a view of the zoo's pit, will cloy and choke you before long.

Though as you make it to the tattered cloth sign, you realize that Addy isn't stopping. There's a determined gait to her steps that creates a pit in your stomach. You hiss between gritted teeth, "Addy, be careful. Stick to the plan." Your fingers snag her tan jacket, warm to the touch and softer than you expect; it's been worn for a while.

She brushes you off, snatching her elbow away from you. "'M always careful," she all but grunts. Thankfully, she does veer back towards your path around the edge, grumbling all the way. You ignore her.

Gesturing for her to huddle behind a rather dusty Jeep, you peer over the hood. Addy sidles up beside you, pressing her arm against yours as she steadies herself. When you stomp on her foot accidentally, as you shift, she stifles a groan, her mouth pinching into a thin line. You whisper out an apology, which, then, quickly devolves into the two of you shushing each other.

"Get down!" Addy yanks you to a crouch, as a couple passes by, cackling. Her grip is like iron, fingers digging into your shoulder. When the two pass, she releases you and breathes out a sigh of relief. You grimace from where she grabbed you.

"Alright, looks like— What's wrong with you?"

"Oh, I don't know, some weirdo just tried to wrench my arm out of my socket," you snap.

She gently smacks her forehead against the Jeep. Then, after a pause: "You know what, you're right." Turning to you, she gives the most strained smile you have seen; eye wide and teeth bared. "That was rude of me. Next time someone swings by where we're hiding like — can I just say? — whackadoodles, and you can explain why we're crouched behind a car—"

"SUV."

"What?"

"It's an SUV,"—You gesture to it—"not a car."

"What the hell's the— You know what?" Addy points a finger at you, glaring daggers. "I am not having this conversation with you right now."

She scampers towards a silver car, glancing between the bumpers and over the hood. Her red bat strapped to her hip bounces against her thigh, the tip of it covered in a haphazard plastic protective cup. She continues, "All I want to do is find out if I know this guy or not. Afterwards, you can talk my ear off about semantics."

It bothers you how certain she is that you'll follow her; she barely raises her voice. You do, but that's not the point.

The folks visiting the zoo cheer, and you flinch, before you force your shoulders to relax. You peer around the car's trunk, making a face at Addy when she gestures for you to stay low to the ground. Through just a sliver of visibility, you see an array of colors in almost everyone's hands, reds and grays and dark browns. Some toss the meat chunks lightly, while others pelt it into, what you assume to be, the pit. Underneath the rancorous laughter, moans and groans from the undead can be heard.

You shiver and shift to lean against the car.

"I have no idea where they think they're going to be able to wash their hands," Addy mutters, "that'll be disgusting to have to deal with afterwards." She clucks her tongue, her mouth curling, rocking back on her heels.

Swallowing your disgust, you focus on the point of all of this: finding this Burr person. You peek again. Just as frustration builds in your throat (because of course the day you decide to go out on the plains is the day that the sun is in full force, not a single drop of rain), you catch sight of that memorable red and gold accented coat. The black top hat completes the gaudy ringmaster's shtick.

You gesture for Addy to come closer, jerking your head towards him.

He has to be sweating in that long jacket and black pants, there's a clean sheen of perspiration on his ruddy cheeks. Despite this, his big smile flashes at everyone gathered around. He paces the circle, encouraging the people to enjoy "while supplies lasted". Disgust coats the back of your throat; flashes of your old neighbors and friends, now zombified, being treated like animals makes you sick.

For a beat, he pauses, and takes off his top hat to smooth down incredibly coifed brown hair. You have no idea where he gets the time (or products) to keep his hair smoothed down like that.

For a moment, she watches him, and you study her. Her eyebrows pinch together as she thinks, the frown lines on full force. She twirls her bat, twisting its corded loop back and forth.

Then, she nods, gray eye fully focused on you. "I think I know who he is."

"So, what's the plan?"

Addy grins. "We kill 'im."

You stare at her, mouth agape. Then: "What do you mean 'kill'?" Your voice comes out cracking and strained.

"Look," she says, growing serious, "you were right, this guy is really weird and skeezy." She puts her hands on your shoulders, leveling her gaze on yours.

"If this is the person I think he is, he almost got one of my friends killed." She jabs her finger towards him. Her cheeks are flushed red, not just because of the hot sun. A bead of sweat runs down her forehead and she shakes it away like a dog. "I can tell you more, afterwards, but you have to trust me. He is not a good man, and I think more folks will be hurt if he continues to run around."

In one fluid motion, she's on her feet. You stare up at her. "You don't have to come with me, if you don't want to." Then she's off.

You scramble after her, as she stalks underneath the sign. It's atop one of the many rolling hills of dried golden grass, and you leave a trail of crushed grass under your hurried steps. "And how do you suggest we do that with everyone else hanging around?" you demand. She pauses at the word 'we', her steps faltering. "I mean, we'll have to do it twice: human first, then zombie version."

As you both get closer to the group, you lower your voice, talking faster. "There's nothing around here for miles, who knows if anyone's going to hang about afterwards and sleep in their cars."

You're surprised when you realize she's listening to you; although she keeps her pace fast, she has leaned in closer, angling her ear to hear better above the loud cheers from the crowd.

She nods, breaking you from your thoughts. Her gaze flickers to the pit and she cocks her head to the side, a slow smile appearing. "Accidents happen all the time, yeah?"

Before you can ask, clarify, because you don't know if it, what you think her plan is, will be fool proof, someone blocks your way. He's a wall of a human being, so much so you have to crane your head to look him in the eyes. "Can't come in without payment." His sweat-slicked tan face barely moves as he speaks.

You pat your pockets, before Addy nudges you out of the way. She holds out some ammo, a smattering collection of cartridges. "How's this?"

His fingers pick a couple up, looking them over, before shoving them into his dirty white apron. "Good enough." He jerks his head towards the crowd, stepping aside.

The two of you are in lockstep, and you whisper, "Was that a good idea to hand ammo over to someone whose boss we're planning to, you know…"

"We're gonna make it look like an accident. Don't worry."

This, unfortunately, has the opposite effect. Your stomach twists. Although you really don't like this Burr man — that clenching feeling of revulsion constricts you once more —, you've never had to kill anyone before. Life in the compound meant, a lot of the time, the bodies you saw were zombies. But a human body?

Burr makes another turn around the pit, trying to encourage more folks to stay, offering a discount for the next meal they throw. Some wander back to their vehicles, as the novelty begins to wear off.

The large man wanders his way over to Burr and pulls him aside. They have a quick conversation with each other, before Burr is pointed in your direction.

Before you can say anything, Addy flags him over. When he notices her, there's a brief flash of a frown and his head cocks to the side, so quick you'll miss it. Then he is all smiles, arms spreading wide. You're surprised he doesn't have a cane for the theatrics. "Welcome, welcome, ladies! I do apologize if I made y'all wait, it's the busy season, y'know?" He winks at you and you force a small smile and nod. "Would you like to buy some meat? They're nice an' fresh, makes them go nuts for it."

"Could you tell us more about this place?" Addy asks instead. She pitches her voice up half an octave, beaming at him. You do a double take and she side eyes you, jerking her head towards him. "This is our first time and we don't really know what to expect."

His smile turns megawatt, as he steers the two of you towards the hole. He doesn't touch either of you, though keeps himself in between you both. You glance at Addy and she subtly shakes her head. It feels weird to not be so close to her, after almost a week of traveling together.

"Although we are a small operation"—he adds too many pauses between syllables, as though proud he knows that word—"we are proud to announce another exhibit." With a slight chuckle, he adds, "Though we'll get to that in a moment.

"Now, this is our pride and gem. We call it the Pit." As he pauses for dramatic effect, Addy looks like she's trying her best to not roll her eye. You swallow a chuckle. "This is where lovely folks such as yourself can come an' feed the wildlife."

He nudges people out of the way, getting you right up to the front. The scent of rot and mold hit your nose, and you almost gag. Taking deep breaths to calm your racing heart makes it even worse. Your eyes water. Reflexively, you hold your arm over your nose.

You count almost a dozen zombies feasting on the meat, snapping, snarling, and grabbing at the others' food. They almost stand shoulder to shoulder with each other. The tops of their heads poke out from the hole, and you realize just how haphazard this pit was dug; the sides aren't straight like Addy's traps had been. The sides of this one are sloped slightly, and you notice small dugouts for foot and handholds. The zombies seem to preoccupied with accessible meat, than planning to climb their way out.

Your eyes wander back to them, before you make a slight noise. Addy tenses. At their feet lay dead bodies.

"Trampled to death," Burr answers your silent question, as he follows your gaze to the bottom. You think he's trying to look ashamed, but his gray-green eyes remain flat. "Unfortunately, we had some extras show up, seemed attracted to the meat an' all." He waves vaguely in the direction of the hole. "Fell in, an'— well, you see the rest."

"Is that common?" Addy asks, her face steely.

He takes a pocket square and dabs at his forehead. "I've been doin' this for, oh, I'd say half a year at this point. It's a hazard of the job, I'm sure y'understand." He shoves it back in his breast pocket with a shrug. "It's a staple; everyone wants to come out an' feed 'em.

"But," he concedes, "you don't look like any ol' folks am I right?" Burr gestures towards the tall attendant with the dirty white apron. "Jameson over there told me, you gave a very lovely donation to my zoo. As such, I would love to give you both a sneak peak at our new attraction coming up soon."

Towards the back of the zoo is a large white camper with unlit electric lamps nailed to the side of it. It looks like something was painted on the side of it, though it's now coated awkwardly in multiple different shades of cream and beige. You glance behind you to see Jameson and another man start roaming the circle, offering buckets of meat to the remaining attendees.

"We wanted to also include the lil' kiddies who may come up t'visit us," Burr says, talking over his shoulder, "we wanted to make a real showstopper for them to come back, y'know?"

"Gotta make sure they return," Addy replies, though you're not sure she's totally involved in the conversation; her gaze flickers to everything that moves.

He grins, a shock of white teeth that almost blinds you in the setting sun. "Returning costumers are happy costumers, my dad always used to say." Pausing right at the back door to the camper, he dramatically turns around, holding the handles shut behind his back. "And this, in my honest opinion, will be why they return. But I do have to insist, you not tell a soul about this to anyone else, ya hear?"

You weakly mime zipping your mouth closed, while Addy crosses her arms over her chest, eye narrowing. Burr seems content with that response and, without further ado, he pushes the doors open.

"Welcome, my wonderful visitors, to the latest and greatest of the Burr legacy: paintball."

"No fucking way." Addy's hands drop to her side.

Inside the camper in the back, are a handful of zombies, still in their civilian clothes, chained to the ground. Towards you is a wire wall rack of plastic guns in varying states of disrepair. At the sound of the door opening, the zombies try to lunge forward, ignoring how the chains cut into their throats and wrists.

You take a small step back, wincing at that rattling noise of chain smacking against metal flooring. Addy, however, steps inside towards the rack of paintball guns. She brushes her fingers against the barrels, before rubbing her fingertips free of the grime that comes off them. "These are old," she slowly says, turning to look at Burr, "where'd you find them?"

He shrugs, rocking on the backs of his heels, clearly pleased with her reaction. "I know some folks that're good to me; they came back from a trip towards DC, said they had some toys for me." He grabs one of them, twisting it in his grasp. Addy ducks out of the way of the swerving barrel.

At this, Burr laughs, waving it around more erratically. "Now, don't you worry, they're not loaded. Not yet, at least." Sighing, he places it back on the wall, ignoring the frantic moans and groans from the chained zombies. "We don't have a lot of paintballs, these are the ones we've found." He pats a small sewn fabric bag dangling from the rack. "Unfortunately they're hard to come by, an' we haven't had much luck with findin' some sellers."

With a shake of his head, he beams at you both. "But that's enough of my woes." He beckons you out of the back of the camper and closes the door once you two are out. "We don't plan on havin' the actual event back there, it's too hot for the tykes. But what did you think?"

You surprise yourself by saying, "Well, it sure is something different."

Turning to you, Burr nods quickly. "Yes, that's exactly what I was thinkin'! I think we all know how difficult everything has been for everyone, so I thought 'Gee, what do kids like? Oh, of course! Shootin' things.'" He snaps his fingers, scrunching his eyebrows together. "It's like that, uh, shooter game all the kids like to play in the Before Times. But this time, it's in real life! An' they don't have to worry about hurtin' anyone. We'll be using the wildlife like you saw back there."

For a brief flash, you space out as Addy and Burr continue to talk, their words muffled. It's not like zombies are technically alive (can they even feel pain?), but it sounds almost like torture to shoot paintballs at someone without any kind of protection. It doesn't feel right, but you don't think talking about any of this to the person running this horror show will be open to constructive feedback.

Before you know it, she's leading you away, heading towards the Pit once more. She says, quietly in your ear, "We'll wait until night and grab his camper once everything's done. You still in?"

You nod ever so slightly, and she squeezes your arm.

As night begins to fall, fires are made and lanterns are turn on for the remaining folks. There's barely a handful of vehicles left. Although you shiver, you force yourself to keep moving, paying for extra slabs of meat (and you know that you'll be scrubbing that hand for days once you leave). Addy, meanwhile, chooses to sit at one of the makeshift tables — more so an overturned wooden crate — watching Burr as she sips on the offered drinks, sitting so stilly you're sure she's turned into a statue.

Finally, as the last couple groups are leaving, she's suddenly by your side and she jerks her head to leave, waving off Burr's attempts to ask if you need a ride. As you crest the hill, Addy ducks below the lip of it, motioning for you to follow.

The both of you peek over the ridge, and your heart pounds in your chest. He and his attendants both turn back to packing up everything, snuffing out lights, and tossing the remaining meat into the hole. The lights on the side of the van turn on, some blinking with weak energy.

One of them yells that they're going to take a leak, as the others start boarding the camper. In the lowlight, you can barely see Addy's outline as she motions for you to follow her.

Burr's back is to you as you sneak up on him, as he takes his coat off near the side of the RV. Quick as a snake, Addy clamps a hand over his mouth and yanks him backwards into the darkness. He flails his arm, scrabbling against her shoulders, grabbing at her face, trying to push her away. She holds firm, as you quietly direct her towards the hole.

A low moan builds in his throat, movements becoming more frantic, as the zombie groans get louder. He elbows her in the gut. She doubles over, gasping for air.

She teeters on the edge.

You surge forward, arm outstretched.

The smell of rot invades your nose and you choke back a gag. Dozens of hands from the pit reach out towards her, the hungry gnashing of teeth overtaking all sound in your ears.

Your fingers wrap around her wrist. With a solid yank, you pull her back to solid ground.

For a brief second, the two of you huddle together, hands wrapped around each other's elbows.

Then: "Help! Help! Someone tried to kill me!"

Addy swears under her breath and full on sprints towards Burr's stumbling form.

You gulp in air as you try and keep up. Your ears roar with the pounding of your heart. Adrenaline rushes through your limbs, and despite the couple of times you almost trip in the dark, you manage to catch up with them.

She tackles him to the ground and they fall in an ugly tangle of limbs. His voice is muffled, like something clothed is wrapped around his mouth.

The door to the camper swings open, with an attendant jumping out. One levels a gun, glancing around in the darkness. "Boss?" she calls out.

You and Addy both heft Burr up, staggering towards the hole once more. Gunshots ring out and you muffle a little yelp, as they crack against where your foot just was. You almost lose your grip on his legs a couple times, as he continues to thrash, kicking your arms, which you're sure that they'll bruise if you manage to make it out tonight, because you're not sure if you will if that woman continues to shoot randomly into the night.

You hear another attendant yell at her to stop, a flashlight flickering on. It spotlights you, just as you and Addy stand over the Pit.

"This is for 10k, you piece of shit," Addy hisses, as she throws him.

There's nothing to see in the darkness, but his muffled scream still ricochets in your body, rattling your teeth. Addy yanks you away.

Another gunshot crackles like thunder. Addy pulls you forward and you almost careen into the dusty earth. Your ear grows hot, before an explosion of pain sends you gasping. You cup it, your fingers becoming sticky and warm.

"Fuck, the Pit!" one of the attendant screams. The flashlight dashes off you, as footsteps thump towards it.

"Now's our chance," Addy says, steering you towards the camper. She shoves you inside, scrabbling for the keys. Your fingers shake, as you take them away to see them stained ruby red.

She lets out a frenetic whoop, as she turns the ignition. Her foot slams on the accelerator, your head bouncing against the back of the seat.

You glance at the rear-view mirror, watching as the attendant with the flashlight runs after you, screaming obscenities, becomes a small flicker of light. Then, they vanish as you crest a hill.

"We did it," Addy crows, slapping her hands against the steering wheel. "Holy shit, how you doin' there? Feels great to finally get rid of him, yeah?"

Her voice fades into the background as you stare at your blood soaked fingers. You shake, and shake, and shake.

Chapter Text

Time passes you by in a blur. You're not sure how long it's been. Addy's voice is a frenetic buzz in your ear; it's the most she's talked since you met. After she realized you were injured, she handed you a piece of cloth (it smells like gasoline).

Just as she's about to start up a new tirade, you break in with a though that's bothered you since the Pit. "Who's 10k?"

At your question, she sucks in a breath. You can't see her expression in the darkness, all you hear is her fingers tapping against the steering wheel. After a beat of silence: "Friend of mine." Clearing her throat, she adds, "He ended up tangled in Burr's previous scam."

Your eyebrows raise. "Previous scam?"

"What you think a guy like him only comes up with one?" Her scoff is sharp. "Nah, he owned a town, called it Burrtown." When you snort, she makes a pleased noise. A smile enters her voice, as she adds, "Not the most creative man, I'll give you that.

"We were tryin' to go down the Mississippi when we hit a huge zombie jam, don't-don't ask about it. I'm not even sure I understand what happened. When we finally got to shore, he was gone." In the dim light, you see her head turn towards the window, her dark outline sharp and rigid. The steering wheel's cover squeaks under Addy's grip.

Then, she seems to get a hold of herself and she lets out a low, breathy sigh. With forced levity, she continues, "Thankfully, we found him a day later. A little banged up, but he's as good as anyone can be in the apocalypse."

"He got a 'little banged up?'"

The following silence hangs heavily the air, and you shift.  More than a week has passed since she dragged you from your old compound, and you know next to nothing about her. Swallowing, you turn to face her. You shoulders tense, anticipation roiling in your gut.

"I mean," you start slowly, "it doesn't really seem like a good reason to kill a man. You don't really seem like the kind of person who would do that without a thought."

It's like she's having a silent argument with herself.

Then, she makes a quiet noise, barely heard above camper's engine. She readjusts the rear view mirror, before settling back in her chair, resuming her rhythmic tapping on the wheel. "No. No, at least I hope I haven't become that kind of person," she murmurs. You feel her heavy gaze on you, and even though she can't possibly see in the dark, a squirmy feeling squeezes your stomach.

"I just want to know what kind of person I'm traveling with." She keeps herself under lock and key so much so, why wouldn't you be curious?

"So you know how not to get thrown in a zombie pit?"

You huff a laugh, though it turns into a pained wheeze as you accidentally drag the cloth against your wounded ear. "It's important information, in light of recent events."

Addy laughs raspily.

There's another beat of silence, and you have half a mind to break it, though you swallow your words back down. Then she says, grabbing your attention, "10k got stuck in some kind of scam — remember the two conmen I told you about? Yeah, it was their hairbrained idea. Couldn't tell you what it was. All I know…" Her words trail off.

She sighs slowly. "All I know is that some girl comes runnin' up to us just as we're about to continue down the road, sayin' that some guy with goggles is on trial. He and the two chucklefucks are found guilty, sentenced to hang. We roll up, just in time, buncha heroes, right?"

It's like a dam is broken; her words tumble out of her mouth, her brain unable to match pace. "He couldn't talk for a couple days; ugly, ugly bruising 'round his neck for weeks. Voice was all fucked up. And he usually doesn't talk a lot real quiet kid."

Quietly, she finishes, "I don't really think he expected to die to something so mundane; freaked him out for a while. He had multiple nightmares, pissed off a lotta people in our group, woke 'em up everytime."

You wonder if she comforted him.

Hesitantly, you reach out, gently placing your hand on her wrist. She tenses ever so slightly under your touch. "Is that who you're looking for?"

"No, no." She laughs. "I haven't seen 10K in two years at this point." You must've made a noise, because she shakes her head. "Long story, don't worry about it." Her voice turns pensive, like she's talking to herself, as she says, "Hopefully he's still alive, I wanna see what number he's at."

She clears her throat and you startle a bit, hurriedly removing your hand; you didn't realize how long you were touching her. With a snort, she settles back in her seat, before sobering. "The person I'm looking for is still alive, I just don't know where she could be." There's so much certainty in that statement. Something like jealousy squeezes your chest; there aren't many folks you can confidently say you'll see again.

But you keep these thoughts to yourself; you don't think telling her she's lucky that she's able to cling to hope will end in anything positive.

"Look, we might be getting close." Addy shakes you awake, pointing out the front windshield.

As you groggily sit up and rub your eyes (you're not entirely sure when you dozed off, there wasn't a lot of things to look at), you ask, "Where are we?"

"Allen-something." Defensively, she adds, "The sign was more rust than words, couldn't really see anything other than the first part."

Yawning widely, you try your best to stretch your arms as far as you can without hitting the camper. "Is this the place Jocelyn was telling you about?"

She grunts, taking a sharp right. "S'right. Hopefully we'll be able to…" Her words trail off and she sits up.

"Shit."

What must've been the entrance to the small town is now a large makeshift barricade of different colored scrap metal. Weak light from the gerry-rigged bulbs cast a pale, sickly yellow about the area, flickering every now and then. Two folks stand guard at the gate, straightening as the two of you crawl to a stop.

You realize Addy has grabbed her bat, a sickly look on her face. She stares down the two guards, blood draining from her face.

"You alright?" you ask.

As though she forgot you're there, she jumps. Swallowing thickly, she fidgets with the bat's handle, before she responds, "Yeah, sorry. C'mon, let's go introduce ourselves."

Although you're not entirely sure if you want to meet anyone who freaks her out, you nevertheless follow her out of the camper. You mirror her slowly raising hands, as you both walk towards them.

"Who're you?" one demands, tightening her hold on her pistol.

"I heard someone who lives here may have some information I'm lookin' for." Addy keeps her hands raised, though you can't but notice how much the relaxed stance is a show; her jaw ticks despite her cool tone.

"You from Murphytown? I don't remember seeing you 'round there." The second guard tips her head to the side, her piercing gaze solely focused on Addy. Her red bandana is a shock against her black curly hair.

A bigger crack begins to form in her facade, and she gives a derisive snort. "Fuck no. The less I'm associated with him the better." Real irritation crackles in her words.

The guards glance at each other.

Pistol shrugs. "I mean, if she doesn't like him, she's good in my books."

Sighing, Red Bandana turns back, jerking her chin towards the camper. "Whatcha got in there?"

As Addy opens her mouth, she freezes. Cautiously, she asks, "Random question, but how're you all with zombie zombies?"

At another point in time, preferably one that's way past midnight, you probably will have asked why the specification is needed (aren't all zombies, zombies?). But right now, the exhaustion is getting to you, and you want to just sit and rest in a bed, you hope. The floor with my blankets and pillows is also a good second.

With a yawn so wide that usually would embarrass you, you shake your head, trying to focus. Addy notices and stops her quiet conversation with Red Bandana.

She puts a hand on her hips, nodding at you. "More than happy to give you more information," she says, "but would you mind takin' my friend here inside to see someone about her ear and a place to sleep? We can pay if needed."

Red Bandana eyes her, before relenting. "Sure, but just so you know: no weapons inside." As Addy stares her down, she continues, "Look, we gotta make sure we're safe. If you don't like the rules, you're more than welcome to keep goin' down the road. Dunno how long it'll be until you reach another safe spot."

There's a pause, then Addy relents with a nod. She tosses her bat on the ground, letting Pistol pat her down. Once she gets the OK, Red Bandana turns towards you for the first time in the conversation.

"What about you?"

You fish in your pockets, pulling out the letter opener from your old compound. "Just this." You gently place it on the ground, and Pistol pats you down as well.

It's weird how hollow you feel as you stare at the opener. There isn't anything else tying you to your old compound and it's now getting covered in dirt.

Forcing yourself back to the present, you catch the tail end of what Red Bandana's saying, "—once you leave, you'll get it back. Unless you want to stay here." She faces Addy when she says this. "I'm more than happy to give a recommendation to—"

"No." Gentler, Addy continues, "I'm good, I just need the information from…?"

"Genevieve," Pistol offers. "She'll probably be able to answer whatever you're looking for. Tomorrow, though. She's asleep right now." After a beat: "Probably."

Red Bandana jerks her head at Addy. "Let's you an' me see what's happening in the camper." Calling over her shoulder, she says to Pistol, "Bring her inside to Rome."

"He's not gonna be happy about it."

"Well, he should've figured that he'd work weird hours."

Addy grabs her bat, but stops near your side, her gray eye probing you. Her voice is barely a whisper, as her breath tickles your ear. "I'll be in shortly. I don't think they'll do anything, but scream if anything happens."

An unknown feeling makes you warm. Reassurance is the closest you can guess. At the very least, you've seen how ruthless she can be taking someone down.

Once you nod, she leaves your side, answering Red Bandana's quiet question.

Pistol motions for you to follow her, once she picks up your letter opener. Although she doesn't say anything, it's a relief, honestly. You don't entirely know how to interact with folks who have taken one of your main forms of defense; who knows if (when) they'll turn on you and kick you out.

It's not like you're being frog marched, so there is that.

More of the cobbled together scrap metal partitions curves off from the beaten path. Towards this area, the wall curves up higher with a metal catwalk on top, in complete darkness. As you approach, Pistol holds out an arm to stop you, almost clotheslining you, before she knocks out a beat on the metal. On the catwalk, someone stomps back a response.

She leads you forward, her grasp tight. Your shoulder where Addy grabbed you twinges in sympathy and you wince, as you stumble in the dark.

Finally, she lets you go, knocking a new rhythm. After a beat, the door opens, and someone grumbles, "We have got to oil those hinges."

Pistol snorts and you are, once more, dragged forward. You blink and all of a sudden you're deposited in front of a shack that's seen better days. She raps an unending knock, until someone flings the door open.

"What? We better be under attack or I swear—" A gangly young man, Rome, stands in the doorway, glasses askew and clothes rumple. His scraggly beard is a patchwork against his scarily pale skin.

"We have a couple folks staying the night. They wanna talk with Genevieve." They both share a look. Pistol then gestures at you. "This one got injured and needs some attention."

He squints at you, fixing his glasses, then grunts. "Well, are you coming in, or do you just wanna stare?"

You flush, though you do follow him inside. In the center is a long operating table with a ratty cloth draped over it, though none of the stains seem to be blood, and you're not sure if that's reassuring or not. On a wheeling tray sits multiple medical utensils and an almost empty bottle of hydrogen peroxide. In one corner is a recliner with a blanket thrown over it, beside it a washing tub.

"Sit." Rome turns his back to you, pouring a jug of water over his hands and quickly rubbing them with a piece of soap that's barely a nub. Once he's done, he walks back, not bothering to hide a huge yawn. "What happened to you?"

As you explain the fight you got into, he pulls the now bloodied cloth from your ear, clicking his tongue. He has you follow his finger with your eyes, walk with one foot in front of the other, and takes a flashlight to look at your eyes (which you feel like is stronger than the medical flashlights you remember in the Before Time, but you keep your mouth shut).

"Well, looks like you got lucky." Rome peers over his glasses at you, leaning against the wall. "Lucky for you and me, the damage just looks superficial."

"But I bled a lot," you say, bristling a bit at him brushing you off.

"The body tends to do that when it's shot," he deadpans. "More than happy to give you a slip so you can get more food and water, but you really just need some bandages."

You're very quickly ushered out of the shack, once your ear is bandaged up, with him asking — almost begging — you to not get hurt again. Before you can respond, the door is shut and you're left to glance around, a bit lost and dazed, with a scribbled note clutched in your hand.

Thankfully, just as you're about to start wandering around, Addy jogs up to you, looking naked without her bat on her hip. "C'mon, our tent is over here." She frowns down at the note poking between your clenched fingers. "What's that?"

You shrug, giving it a bewildered glance. "A note for food and water, I guess."

Addy tips her head to the side, pursing her lips. She waves her hand dismissively. "You know what, I don't want to know right now. That can be a later issue."

Her pace is fast, as she winds her way through the tangle of tents, beaten up chairs and tables, and still standing shacks. It's like she's been here previously; even in the low light, her steps are confident.

The tent is a well-worn army green and the zipper catches a couple times as Addy tries to open it. Two cots sit on opposite sides, with not much else. But the sheets look clean, and despite the rust on the hinges that you can see, you don't think that there's ever been a more comfortable bed.

"Heard that bathing's in the morning," Addy says, flinging her jacket near the pillow. She stares at it, before sitting on the edge of the cot. For a moment, she's silent, staring into nothing. Then she lets out the deepest sigh you've heard, wearily putting her head in her hands.

Should you go up and comfort her? What was there to say? A 'Hey, I know this place seems a little weird, but at least we're still together and now you'll get the information you need' may be a bit weak, especially with how often her fingers drift towards her now bat-less hip.

She makes the decision for you, straightening her shoulders and meeting your gaze. "I'm exhausted and I'm way too tired to be worried that they're gonna come in and kill us." You have to agree with her. At the very least, you hope that if they did, they'll make it quick.

You say as much, and she laughs. "It'd be the kindest thing to do, yeah." Turning serious, she continues, "We'll make our plan tomorrow, I really hope that this 'Genevieve' woman has what I need, and we can be back on the road."

Once you settle in, staring up at the tent, you whisper, "Night, Addy."

A couple seconds later you get a very quiet, "Night."

You close your eyes and try to wrangle a new worry that is now gallivanting around in your brain in the quiet night: what happens if the person Addy's looking for is in the opposite direction of Nevada?

Chapter Text

"This Genevieve woman cannot be this busy," Addy snaps at the guard in front of the door to, what you assume to be, Genevieve's house. Without her bat, Addy looks like just a cranky young woman, though it doesn't mean she stops trying to be intimidating. Her red hair is a tangle today, pulled back in a loose ponytail, and strands stick to her sweating temple and cheek.

You self-consciously wipe the perspiration from your own brow and swallow, grimacing as your throat stings. Despite the fact you were given more water than Addy that morning from the note Rome gave you, the sun beats down on you relentlessly. Although trees line the path to a log cabin, where you assume Genevieve lives — and you hope you haven't wasted your time —, they're not enough. Soon, your mouth tastes like dry cotton.

When the guard merely shrugs his shoulders, she takes a step forward. "We need to see her. I was told by—"

"Look, I dunno what to tell you, lady, it's the same as when you were here last." He chews on a toothpick that needs to be thrown out and he crosses his arms. A dirty scarf wraps around his neck, and you feel your neck burn as you stare at it. How is he surviving in the heat with it still on, still? "Like the second time you were here," he says, snapping you out of your thoughts, "and the third…" Toothpick counts on his fingers, and you swear if he continues, Addy's going to break some of her teeth, she's clenching her jaw so hard.

"We haven't seen anyone come in or out for a couple hours," you begin, stepping in between the both of them, "our chat can't take any longer than — what? — half an hour?"

Flashing your best, winning smile, you try to put as much empathy in your words. "We know how suspicious it is for us to ask for her time, after we've already taken some camping spots, water, and food." You put your hands up placatingly.

His eyes flicker between the two of you, suspicion darkening his hazel eyes. Addy's hard stare prickles the back of your neck, but you refuse to look at her; you have the feeling she's staring at you as though you sprouted two heads.

Then, ever so slowly, the guard nods. "We don't get a lot of outsiders," he mutters, narrowing his eyes at you.

"Of course not. We're in the middle of nowhere, it's only fair for you to be suspicious." You pause for a moment, your heart thumping in your throat; you don't know if this is the right thing to say, but from how Red Bandana and Pistol reacted to what Addy had said…

You have to take the gamble.

Squaring your shoulders, you continue, "After all, you gotta watch out for folks from Murphytown."

Addy stiffens beside you and you feel the ghost of her fingers brushing against your elbow, as though trying to stop you. The guard's expression is inscrutable, though he doesn't move a finger towards the stun gun slung in his pocket.

"And what do you know about Murphytown?" He wrinkles his nose at you. "You're not like us, so I doubt you've been there."

"You're right, I haven't." Your reply catches him by surprise, and you wonder if you should have lied just then. Plowing on, you continue, "But every time someone even mentions that place, everyone flinches. I mean, we got inside because we hate him."

Truthfully, you're not sure who 'he' is, but based on the way the guard relaxes just a smidge, you figure you said the right thing. You just hope no one asks who 'he' is; maybe if you just keep swinging that pronoun around, it'll work.

Snorting, Addy adds, "One way of sayin' it." For a moment, she sizes him up, before she crosses her arms, tipping her chin up. "But seriously, if shouting to the rooftops about what a dick he is will let us talk to Genevieve, hand me a megaphone; I'll lose my voice before I run out of things to say."

He eyes her curiously and fidgets with the edge of his scarf. "You know him?"

"More than I could ever want to know."

"How?"

"There's a long story I refuse to repeat." Addy scrubs her face, the weariness you saw last night returning, making her look years older. "Let's just say I knew him before Murphytown."

"So you know how we could take him down." His voice gets louder, becoming animated for the first time. "Why didn't you tell me sooner? With your knowledge, we can prepare our confrontation. I mean, it's not like we can just let him walk free after everything, right?" His toothpick falls to the ground, though he hardly seems to notice, as he begins pacing. "There's gotta be something different, right? I mean, I heard he was bigger than life after he and Dr. Merch—"

The door bangs against the wooden side, startling all three of you. A woman stands in the doorway, her large glasses making her brown eyes look owlish. Not even bothering to give either you or Addy a glance, she pins Toothpick down with a stare. She leans against a hand-carved wooden cane, as she walks towards him, who backs up.

"Thomas, what did I say about raised voices?" Her own is deathly calm.

Although he's twice her height at her hunched over form, he flinches. His white skin flushes a bright red, as he shifts his weight from foot to foot. "Sorry, Genevieve," he mumbles.

Her nod is sharp, satisfied, before she wheels around on the two of you. Her frizzy white hair is a cloud that bobs whenever she moves. Adjusting her glasses, she glances at the two of you, before she does a double take at Addy. For a moment, they both stare at each other, before Genevieve nods once more.

"Please come in." She raises a bushy eyebrow, as you hesitate. "Come now, we don't have all day. You have been wanting to speak with me, yes?"

Addy throws you a look, before stepping inside. You trail behind her after a beat.

The log cabin is triple the size of Rome's rinky-dinky medical shack; riotous colors from the furniture and the hanging glass decorations make your eyes water, as you adjust from the green and brown from the outside inside this living rainbow of a room. A crisply made bed sits on one side of the room, nary a pillow out of place. The kitchenette — more of a wood fire stove and a baby blue mini fridge — smells like it was cleaned recently (you let out a slight cough, trying to cover your nose as the harsh cleaning chemicals make you gag).

Genevieve gestures for the both of you to take a seat at one of the many couches and chairs that clash with one another, before she grabs a kettle from a cupboard. Back still turned, she says, "I was quite surprised to hear we allowed others into our little society. Usually we don't get many visitors, not many want to be near Rocky; changed bears and all that."

Beside you, Addy shifts. You glance at her; she's ramrod straight and her face has turned a worrying sheen of gray. "Zombie bears?" Her words come out strangled.

Seemingly unaware of her sudden tension, Genevieve shrugs, sitting down in a chair across from the both of you. She crosses her legs, tapping a gnarled finger against her knee. "Oh, yes. Though they should really be worried about the changed elk. We lost a couple good people during an outing." Her gaze turns soft, as she clicks her tongue and shakes her head.

"Anyways." She shakes her head, waving her hand dismissively. "Let's get into the meat and potatoes of this, shall we?" She leans her elbows against the chair's armrests and steeples her fingers. "What kind of information do you want?"

Addy swallows, that pained expression disappearing into a veneer of relaxation, and leans forward. "I lost someone; I've been searching for her for a month now. I was told you're pretty good at finding certain folks." She glances at you for a brief moment, and you raise your eyebrows, giving her a bewildered look.

Licking her lips, she continues, "She's related to Murphy." The old woman doesn't flinch, but her eyes narrow. Based on just the heavy silence, you wonder just what this 'Murphy' person did. Hurriedly, as though Addy thinks she's running out of time (or goodwill), she adds, "She's not like him; she hasn't even named a town after herself."

Oh, OK, so Murphy from Murphytown like Burr from Burrtown. Gotcha. Incredible that you have managed to swing two for two in the weird town name department.

"And you want to find her?" Your eyes flicker to Genevieve; underneath the mask of skepticism, you see something else. Fear? Concern?

Addy replies, breathlessly, "Yes." With more confidence: "Any information you have on her, at this point I'll take anything: previous location, people she's with, footprints—" Swallowing, she takes a breath, fingers digging into the flesh of her thigh. "I know she's out there, I just don't know where." Despite the strong start, her words crack at the end in a desperate plea.

And there it is again; that pang, which feels so much like jealousy, tightens in your chest, as Addy talks about this woman. The dogged determination to reconnect is blinding. Loneliness curls in your stomach, a lead ball, as you watch — you can't help it, not when she looks so hopeful — Addy stares at Genevieve as though she's a lifeline. You chew the inside of your cheek to stop the feeling from growing further; pressure in your throat builds. What would it be like to be on the receiving side of such loyalty?

Your thoughts bounce around so much, you miss part of what Genevieve has to say. "—last heard, she was spotted near the Texas panhandle; seems they were heading towards the northeast."

Silence.

A whirlwind of emotions crashes across Addy's face. Does she want the both of you to double back now? Do you want her to drag you along with her? You're so close to Nevada (so close to being around other people); all you want is to not travel across multiple states for at least a week. Even though there is the idea of distance, the squeeze in your gut feels tighter than just hesitation over backtracking.

Determination squares her shoulders, eagerness alighting her words as she asks, "When? When did you hear about this?"

"Recently." The kettle whistles and Genevieve gets up. As she rustles about in her kitchenette, Addy waits, fingers clutching her knees, gray eye following her with hunger.

"I also know for a fact," Genevieve murmurs, "that she's traveling with Murphy and his group." She hands you both tea, before settling back in her chair. For a moment, she stares at the steaming drink, eyes unfocused. "And has been for at least"—she winces—"a month."

All the wind in Addy's sails blusters, a disbelieving laugh huffing out of her mouth. She waves her hand with a fragile, wavering smile. "No. No, you have your information wrong, lady. We—" Her throat bobs as she swallows. "We couldn't have been so close to them back…" Words trailing off, she all but slumps over and she puts her head in her hands.

Before you can try to comfort her, she springs to her feet and begins to pace the length of the couch, drink all but forgotten. "OK, OK, this is fine." Her tone is strained, as she fidgets with her hands. It doesn't sound, to you, that it's fine, and based on the look you and Genevieve share, there's a mutual sense of nervousness. "This is great, it's the best outcome out of everything, right?" She doesn't wait for a reply before continuing, "Even if he's still there, she still has—"

With a frantic lunge at Genevieve, Addy traps her in her chair, hands braced on the armrests. "Was there an older woman with them? Wears all black and looks like she has a stick up her ass— sorry, language." As the silence drags on, she snaps, "Is she still alive?"

Sniffing, Genevieve nods and takes another slow sip of her tea. The clink of the ceramic glass hitting the saucer is the loudest sound. She folds her hands neatly on her lap as though people cornering her is normal. "Yes," she replies, words chosen with care, "Roberta Warren was seen with the group."

"Well that's great, then!" Addy crows, pounding a fist against the chair. Her grin turns frenzied as she resumes her pacing. "This saves me so much time. So, I can go…and then maybe…but I need to—" She freezes and turns on you, pointing an almost accusing finger at you. "You."

"Me?"

She grabs your shoulders, crouching down so she's eye-level, and says, "I'm still gonna follow through with my promise, alright? We're still gonna go to Nevada and I'll drop you off and then I'll be off. We're stickin' with the plan."

"O—kay? I mean, I would hope the plan's still on?"

It's like she doesn't even clock what you said, as she rounds on Genevieve. "Would it be possible for me to come back and check t'see if you have anything new about where she is?"

As the two of them go back and forth between new arrangements and payments, you lean into the couch, staring up at the ceiling. It's been almost two weeks since she found you in your old compound. Two weeks of the only consistent thing in the changing states being Addy. This is so much more different than seeing the same people day in and day out while you did your chores, ate meals with loved ones, and slept in a crowded room with snores ricocheting off the concrete walls. You tell yourself that this is just another change in your now constantly shifting life.

Because isn't this what you wanted? Did you not just wish to not go on another road trip, at least for a bit? Why are you now hesitating like this? You trace the whirls of the wood grain with your eyes, confusion pressing against the back of your head.

There's going to be so many positives with getting to the outpost. You'll be one more step closer to reaching Canada (' Northern.  Yeah, northern for sure ' a voice sounding eerily like Addy's helpfully supplies). And there'll be no more sleeping under the stars in a ratty sleeping bag (you're more than convinced there's still bugs squirming in the dark crevices despite the amount of times you've put it inside out and beaten it against rocks). The cot here is just the beginning. There has to be actual beds there, right? It can't be called a "safe haven" if there aren't amenities like beds. God, you hope that you don't have to sleep on the ground. Something elevated, that's all you're asking for.

Instead of swirling down this new line of worries, you imagine a nice bed, sheets like Genevieve's, that are cleaned daily.

Maybe you'll even have your own room.

You glance at the two of them still murmuring, before shivering. Your fingers clench around the cup, the heat scalding. No. No, you don't think you want to sleep alone.

Everyone around the firepit seems amused at Addy's new vigor. She launches into story after story about her old ragtag group, the "Westward-Bound Survivor Group" — said with so much pride it makes your teeth ache. Although you sat near her, as the stories continue, you are pushed further and further from her. After a while, she stops glancing at you. Now known to have traveled with "the Murphy" (and you're not sure if his name is spoken with more awe or horror), she's surrounded by a curious audience.

You grow tired of listening to his ever shifting attitude towards the group and how that inevitably sends them careening to their next escapade, and wander away. The stares you get are curious, though not unkind, as you wander around the settlement, and, thankfully, you do get a couple nods in return as you pass them.

In the dim light, you stumble towards the metal wall of the outpost, not really sure where to go; the idea of heading into a cramped tent makes your skin crawl. So, instead, you clamber up the rusty and squeaky ladder as the cool night air ruffles your hair.

Just as you reach the top: "What're you doing here?" It's Pistol's voice. She shifts, alert.

You jump, grasping at the lip of the ladder, and let out a strangled yelp. Cursing under your breath, you take a moment to calm your racing heart. "I didn't think anyone'd be up here."

With a snort, Pistol relaxes, turns to look out into the inky darkness. "You 'n me both." She neither tells you to get lost nor moves over to give you room on the lip of the top of the wall. With a start, you notice she's out of her beige guard uniform from last night; instead, she's wearing a white tank top and black pants, with a flannel shirt wrapped around her waist. Her short cropped black hair is hidden underneath a black bandana. Skin puckers just around her shoulder and you glance away, not wanting to draw attention to you staring; apocalypse wounds and all that, right?

Rousing your courage, you force yourself to balance precariously on the lip and settle down with more grace than you expect. Pistol hums when you sit, pours a shot of something in a plastic cup, and offers it to you.

As you eye it, she scoffs. "It's corn-liquor, not poison," she says.

Despite your hesitation, you do take it. Sniffing it, you pull a face, your eyes already starting to water. "You're sure this isn't poison?"

Her laugh is more of a bark. "Yes, I'm absolutely positive." She waggles a wineskin at you. "I'm drinking the same thing you are; so I hope I didn't grab the poisoned alcohol." When you don't join in laughing, she raises her hands, looking like she's struggling to keep a straight face. "Kidding, kidding."

She raises the wineskin in a mock salute, before she sips at it and hisses. With her eyes squeezed closed, she shakes her head. Coughing, she beckons with her hand for you to hand over the cup. "If you're not gonna, I will."

"Yeah, maybe later, when I'm not this high up." You hand the drink back to her, which she gleefully takes. Based on her reaction, you're more than confident that this was not the best batch. You remember folks tinkering with corn-liquor before, one thing led to another and the singular thing you remember is waking up in the early morning to the sound of someone retching in the corner. Although the doctor was called and she did end up saving her sudden patient, you can't get rid of that memory sound.

Pistol grunts, gesturing with the plastic cup at the expanse. A hint of reverence enters her voice as she replies, "Well, this is the best spot in the whole place. You get to see everything up here."

Then, she pauses and looks at you, eyes squinting as though seeing you for the first time. "Did they tell you what's on the other side?" When you shake your head, she fishes in her pocket, a sad look taking over her usual cocky exterior. "Well then, I guess I have the honor of welcoming you to our holding zone."

Wielding the flashlight like a spotlight, she swings it to the now illuminated field. You suck in a deep breath, before slowly releasing it. Around the thirty mark, you lose count of how many zombies are here; all of them wander about, bumping into each other. A low groaning buzzes in the air, and now that you're paying attention, it hums in your bones. They look in varying states of decomposition; some look fresh and others are just hanging on (both in terms of their limbs and vitality).

"I like to come up here," Pistol says, "to check in on them, make sure they're doin' OK."

"What're they doing here?" Anticipation curls your fingers; another zoo situation? You don't see any spots for visitors to come gawk at them, and there aren't any signs pointing any traveling folks here.

Pistol takes another sip of her drink, her hiss less forceful this time around. "We're tryin' to save 'em." Jerking her head back towards the encampment, she continues, "Genevieve thinks she's close to a cure."

"Is she?"

"God, I hope so; she spends so much time in her cabin, I'm convinced at times she's died." Pistol snorts to herself, lost in thought, before she shakes her head. "Anyways, the plan is to cure everyone here"—she makes a big, sweeping gesture at the zombies—"and hope that they're ready to be integrated back into society."

You hum a thoughtful sound, pulling your legs up to your chest. Tipping your head to the side, you ask, "And is the testing making them this docile?" This is the first time you've ever been able to be this close (disregarding the height of where you are); even when you traveled with Addy and she encouraged you both to avoid the zombies in the wild, there were still times you had to try and help beat them back.  You think the zombies could tell you were easy pickings, with how often they tried to corner you.

"You'd think that they'd be champing at the bit to get closer inside; I'm surprised there aren't a lot of dents of repairs you all have to do being this close to them.

The lip of the cup freezes at Pistol's lips, and she frowns at you. "No?" The two of you stare at each other.

"What do you mean 'no'?" A disbelieving scoff escapes your mouth. "This is weird behavior from them; they should be thrashing and scrambling to get in here. I've seen and heard zombies break through metal before."

Her cup drops from her hands, the liquor splashing. Your "Hey!" goes unheard and you wipe your now rubbing alcohol smelling arm with your clothes. You flinch as you look back at her to see she's still sitting, gaping at you.

"You really weren't told anything, were you?" Her words are full of awe.

A deep flush makes you burn, and you snap, "OK, yes, I don't know anything that's happening, can we please move on from this?"

She gets to her feet wordlessly and you have to crane your neck up to look her in her eyes. "What are you—"

"Look, I maybe shouldn't be the one telling you all of this. There's for sure other more tactful folks out here that could sit you down and walk you through all this. But, girl , this is the apocalypse; you gotta know this, it's crucial." You can barely track what she's saying, as she takes a step closer to the ledge.

Your heart jumps in your throat and you scramble after her, your ears roar and thump with your heartbeat. "Wait! Wait, please don't do this, you have to be careful!"

"Trust me," is all she says, before she swings over and down.

You lunge over the edge, your fingers just grazing hers. With horror making your chest squeeze and tighten, your mouth fills with saliva, tasting like acid. You squeeze your eyes shut, muscles tensing to hear that usual gnashing of teeth and nails on the chalkboard moans and limbs ripped apart and the wet sounds of meat and skin and blood being—

Nothing changes.

You still hear the sounds of shuffling feet and the constant low hum of the zombies.

Opening your eyes just a crack, you stifle a gasp.

Pistol stands, surrounded by zombies who pass her by as easily as each other with looks of such placidity. You scurry to grab her flashlight and fumble with it in your haste, before shining it down on her. Other than a couple spots of dirt on her knees, she looks fine.

You barely hear her when she says she'll be back up soon. Moving as far away from the lip to the zombie enclosure, you hug yourself. A new pressure crushes your throat.

What the hell have you gotten yourself into?