1
Hakima leaned with her back against a tree and just stared straight ahead. She felt miserable, dirty, hungry and thirsty. Ever since Jake had thrown her against his car, her nose kept giving her trouble. She had some trouble inhaling through it, compensating by breathing through her mouth. It made her mouth dry.
All kinds of thoughts were on Hakima's mind. She was content with her decision to subject Jake to an eternity of suffering, even though she wasn't sure if Jake would still be there after his corpse turned. She hoped so.
The first day, Emily's death didn't bother her so much. People die. Hakima had seen it, acknowledged it and had filed it away. But as the time wore on, Emily's death started to weigh down on her. It had taken a lot to keep her affection for the minor inside when she had her last talk with Jake, and it had taken even more out of her to not go over to Emily's corpse and maybe say something heartfelt.
It wasn't supposed to go down like it did. In Hakima's addled mind she had imagined an emotional reunion between the two of them. She would close in on Emily and Emily would surrender to Hakima's stroking hands and impatient kisses. Emily would finally know how Hakima really felt about her and tell Hakima that she too, wanted nothing more than this.
It wasn't supposed to end like this!
Hakima blinked to make the stinging in her eyes go away. Emily's death was a jarring experience for Hakima. Not only was there the realisation that the minor would never be in her life again, but also the knowing that her feelings for Emily were wrong.
You can love kids, but you can't be in love with them or want to lay down with them.
Yet, it was that very wrong emotion that caused Hakima, in the middle of her mental meltdown, to retrace her steps to join up with Jake's caravan again. A journey that was conceived in madness and carried out in brutal reality with Hakima as the last one standing.
2
Hakima's three day journey from the bandit-camp to where she was now sitting at a tree had been rather uneventful. Walkers a-plenty, but living people she had not encountered. Hakima had been sustaining herself with the roll of sweets she had found in Cleetus' pick-up truck, sucking on the pastilles as long she could before swallowing the pieces down.
Already in a very unstable state of mind, malnutricion wasn't exactly helping Hakima's hesistant recovery to a modicrum of normalcy. But then again, what was normal in a world where the dead walk the earth and do everything in their power to turn you into their main-course?
Hakima had always known that she wasn't average. She knew she was a maniac since she was old enough to understand what her damage enabled her to do. She had embraced it, had revelled in it, had honed it and had made it her own. Nothing stood in her way and if something did, she merely stepped over it. Her stay with the Marines had given her the tools to hone her mania even further, to direct it and give it purpose. Totally ruthless as she was, her superiors let her get away with murder. Totally without boundaries as she was, her fellow-marines loved her.
Even though they hated Lieutenant Jake Deacon, they covered for Hakima on the occasions when she went AWOL to persue the sado-masochistic relationship she maintained with Jake Deacon. Jake Deacon loved her, against everything he believed in and stood for. Hakima had never loved Jake Deacon. In some twisted way, she loved that he was willing to do what she asked of him. To tear into her, abuse her hard and not to stop when she screamed 'when'. Anything to get rid of her desire to be with young girls sexually. Those feelings shamed Hakima deeply as she considered her pedophilia as her only flaw. The one line she didn't want to cross. Both Jake Deacon and Hakima were fighting for control over the same person. Herself.
3
Hakima ran her hand past her nose. Her nose wouldn't stop running after that run in with Jake Deacon's car. It annoyed her to no end, but she didn't dare snorting. She could see the silhouettes of several walkers between the trees. The walkers were relatively far away, but their slow swaying back and forth was uniquely theirs. When the breeze didn't rustle the leaves on the trees, she could faintly hear the walker's guttural growls.
In Hakima's mind she had come to an understanding with the walkers. She would leave them alone and they would leave her alone. If Hakima had killed a walker, it was because the the truce was broken by that walker. Killing walkers had become a 'been there, done that' kind of deal to Hakima. And with no one around to give her a slap on the ass for a particularly nice kill, what was the point?
Hakima got ready to get on her feet. Maybe there was a little town nearby where she could find food and shelter. Maybe even clean herself up, far as far as that was still possible. Just as she placed her Clint Eatwood-hat on her head, she picked up on a faint noise. Hakima instantly recognized the noise as a struggle and it was coming her way.
Hakima looked at the silhouettes of the walkers while keeping an ear to the sounds of the struggle. The walkers didn't react to what she was hearing. Yet. Hakima sighed. Almost without making any sound, she pulled her weekender close and retrieved her bayonet from it.
Hakima couldn't remember where she had gotten the bayonet. Or who she had killed to get it. It was a long, razorsharp blade with brass-knuckle grip. Each knuckle had a sharp spike attached to it and could be srewed loose. Despite the bulky look of the bayonet, it was very wieldy and easy to handle. Hakima had small and delicate hands, but those hands were trained and had a power and grip that surprised everyone who's hand she shook. The bayonet was as deadly in her hands as it would be in the hands of 5feet5inch tall man with the same relevant training.
With the bayonet in hand, Hakima silently rose to her feet and moved towards the sound of the struggle. Whatever what was going, Hakima had to stop it before she herself was endangered. She didn't care who or what she had to kill. Hakima merely wanted it to stop.
4
Former police-sergeant Burt Williams was defending himself with all his might. His years as police-officer in Atlanta and his training has given him nerves of steel and very good reflexes. Before the outbreak just a month and a half ago, Williams was well liked by his peers, respected for his ability to never lose sight of the law regardless of the circumstances. Many called him rigid in his professionalism, but no one would pass up on the chance to work a shift with Williams. It was almost a gaurantee you would return home without so much as a scratch on you when you had Williams on your side. And if Williams wanted to throw the book at everyone and anything, so be it. Williams was one of those select cops who could be strict and make people understand why he was strict.
Maybe it was because Williams' face didn't sport that intense look like the younger police-officers had. He didn't sport a buzz-cut and took great pride in his goatee. There wasn't a stone-killer look in his eyes, but they would always underscore his words. Williams was a beat-cop through and through.
In all his years on the force, his only defeat had come from an arabic-american Marine who moved so fast, with such force and so efficient that Williams had stood no chance. He still remembered the little smile on that Marine's mouth as she even told him so.
It didn't bother Williams so much that it had happened to him, it bothered him that had happened at all. Even with all that was going on, the outbreak, his escape from Atlanta with his family of five and the weeks after that, surviving on the road with other refugees, he couldn't live it down.
Williams regretted that he had turned down an offer from one of his travel-companions to come along when he got ready to go hunting. They hadn't encountered a walker in a few days, nor had they spotted any sign of them. Williams' wasn't even sure if he could bring back more than a hare or two. He saw no need to bring a companion.
Now he had his left forearm to the throat of a walker and was pushing back with all the strength he had in him and two more walkers were closing in. Somehow, they had suprised him, come up on him while he was unawares. Williams had no time to think about it. The only thing he thought about was that he had been stupid. Lured to lower his guard because he thought it was safe enough to do so. While he tried to grab his duty-weapon, he fleetingly wondered how it could have been possible to so quickly forget about the danger the walkers posed.
It never rains when you carry an umbrella.
The walker upon Williams did not give up. Williams could not reach his duty-weapon because of it, he needed both his hands. The two other walkers were inching ever closer and Williams knew it would be over soon.
But he was determined not to go down without a fight.
5
Suddenly, someone drove a large blade into the walker's head and kept it there for a while. Williams did not immedeately understand what was happening, but was acutely aware that the walker had stopped fighting him.
He looked at the small woman who kept hanging on with her right hand to the bayonet while looking at the two walkers that were now uncomfortably close by. The woman turned her head sharply to Williams and placed her left finger on her lips to signal him that he should remain silent. Then she switched hands one the bayonet and easily pulled it free from the walker lefthandedly.
With light steps, but amazingly swift, the small woman closed the distance between her and the two walkers. With the bayonet still in her left hand, she drove it into one walker's mouth, while pushing the other walker over with her free right hand. As both walkers fell, she kept on walking for a few steps, then she turned around and retrieved her bayonet. She made short work of the last walker and then bounded towards Williams.
It all had happened so fast that Williams barely had the chance to register what was happening before him, let alone realising that the small woman was now coming at him. With a few steps left, she launched herself at Williams and the both of them went to the ground. Only Williams was a mess of flailing arms and the small woman was totally in control.
Williams landed painfully on his back and the small woman landing on top of him knocked the air out of his chest. He realised that the small woman was holding the bayonet above her head with both her hands and then, blindinly fast, was bringing it down.
Williams closed his eyes. It was all over.
He actually felt the cold steel brush his right-ear as the woman drove the bayonet into the ground dangerously close to Williams' head. Then he felt her hair brushing over his face and he heard calm and controled breathing in his ear.
"Tag. You're it." whispered the woman after a little while, followed by a pleasant giggle, "You can open your eyes now, schoolgirl."
Williams opened his eyes. The small woman was still sitting on his chest. Much of her face was hidden by her Clint Eastwood-hat and her hair, but Williams recognized her instantly, now that he didn't had to fight for dear life.
"You! I-"
The woman quickly placed a dirty hand on his mouth, "Quiet, fool.", she whispered, "There are more walkers in the trees. If you need to prattle nonsense, at least don't get me killed for it. Allah!"
As she removed her hand from Williams' mouth, he took a second to try again, "You're the Marine that attacked me in Atlanta, aren't you? What was your name again? Hakima Gunay, wasn't it?"
Hakima didn't answer Williams, but instead reached for her bayonet and wrestled it free from the earth with remarkably little effort. Then she brought her face close to Williams' and the ripe smell of her unwashed body washed over his senses.
"All I see is a man.", Hakima whispered, "And men took my Emily away from me. You're an animal. Do you have anything to eat?"
"I'm terribly sorry for what must have happened,", Williams whispered back, ".., but I was no party to what happened to this Emily."
"Still, the only reason you're alive now is because I recognized you before I was going to kill you.", Hakima argued, "The only thing worse than walkers are men. Do you have anything to eat?"
Williams resigned. He didn't have to ask anything further about this Emily Hakima was talking about and how that related to men being animals. It made him sad that in these trying times, a fight with a walker was a lesser evil than the struggle to avoid rapegangs. The world had become an even more dangerous place than it always had been, moreso for women. Not that he counted Hakima to those women. Hakima, he figured, would just kill her attackers and call it fair play. Williams decided to answer the question that he could help Hakima with.
"There's food in the camp, an hour's walk from here."
Hakima involuntarily tensed up and Williams became uncomfortable under the force her legs excerted on his ribcage.
"Stupid fuck!", Hakima whispered, "You're doing it again, Jake! You don't see a walker and think that it is safe to play happy camper. You'll get everybody killed. Stupid fuck. Stupid fuck. Stu-"
"HEY!", Williams said sharply and then lowered his voice to a whisper again as he noticed that Hakima was tightening her grip on her bayonet, "I'm not Jake. All right? I'm not Jake. I'm Burt. Easy does it. Easy now. Easy... Way better. We haven't seen walkers in days, this is the first time I ran into a group of them."
Hakima blinked, "You're not Jake...", it sounded confused.
"I'm Burt. You just saved my life. Hey, look at me... Are you feeling okay?"
Hakima tensed up again, "Don't even try..."
"Look, Hakima, can I call you Hakima? Hakima, I'm not going to hurt you. We have food in the camp. And a RV with a shower. God knows you need a good scrubbing.", Williams paused to let it sink in with Hakima and then summarized, "Food? Shower?"
"You don't want to understand.", Hakima said while fighting against tears, "I've seen this before. I..."
Hakima suddenly rose to her feet and stepped away from Williams. Williams rose to his elbows as he watched Hakima shrugging and making helpless getures with her lefthand. Her Clint Eastwood-hat and curtain of caked raven hair made it impossible to gauge her face.
"Your group is dead, Jake! You're going to kill them again, aren't you? Aren't you?", Hakima spoke softly, but Williams feared she was close to screaming. And again this Jake-fellow. It was obvious to Williams that Hakima had a deeper understanding of the walkers, or at least knew something he didn't knew yet. It could also be that the traumitized woman was merely projecting past events and was living in some surreal mix-up of past and present.
Williams ungraciously rose to his feet and dusted his hands off. He addressed Hakima with a hushed voice, "Hakima, look at me... hey, overhere. Look at me.., that's it. I'm not this Jake you keep talking about. I'm Burt. Burt. And please, stop giving me that horror-movie creepy girl peeks through hair look."
Hakima seemed to think about something, Williams couldn't tell. It seemed like an eternity had passed when Hakima suddenly started moving again. It startled Williams.
"I left my gear behind when I came over to save your ass. I'm going to get it now. You really have food at your camp?"
Williams couldn't help but smile at that, "...and a shower, soap and I think we have a girl in camp your size too, so clean clothes shouldn't be too hard to find too. If you don't mind unicorns and rainbows."
Hakima froze and Williams already regretted the remark. Hakima was like a minefield to him. But Hakima set herself in motion again and beckoned Williams to follow her. For now, he seemed to be in the clear.