A/N: I've been working around this idea for some time. I don't know how this ship got under my skin so bad!
Troy was never the type of person to do things for anybody, and why should he? Nobody ever did him favours either. Pain builds character, ease breeds the weak. That's how he knew that he would survive this, Troy was a man who was raised to survive alone. Poppa Otto once told him that some people were meant to be alone anyways, that always stuck with him. He knew that somewhere down the road that the thirst would be quenched, his hunger would subside and his anger would return. He wasn't angry in the moment, not really. He was too focused on the sun hitting his bare shoulders as he panted through the ruins between the Otto Farm and the main roads.
He knew the best way was to stop heat stroke was to cover yourself but late last night he had dropped his knife and cut his foot."If you could see me now." He muttered as he limped. Tears of his shirt were wrapped around his foot and the sun was more than affecting his capacity. Troy was lost in a complete daze, so much so that he tripped over something and stayed on the ground for an amount of time that would never be measured. He blinked as he looked up to the sky; it was as nice of a view as any, he supposed. He wished someone else was here to start his stop watch, then he remembered he had it. Maybe he wouldn't be able to count how long it took him to turn, but he could count how long he was turned for. Then if someone from the ranch found him they would know. Jake would be rattled with guilt and he knew that deep down it made himself feel good.
All the thoughts of knowing he would survive shifted into a petty final move. He patted his pocket and found his watch. As he attempted to slip his hand into his pocket, his hand hit against something. In frustration he banged his hand hard against the blockage, and when it moved so did he. He was suddenly a few steps lower then he was before. He sat up and it was quite painful but he yelled his way through it. He huffed in a shaky breath and realized that he was in a bunker and had been fighting the door. He reached for the flashlight on his belt and tapped it against his hand until it turned on. He broke out into a laughter as the bunker was revealed to him. He ran his light against the walls until he found a switch and flicked it on. It caused a dead head to come running towards him but the thing was jerked back and fell.
He realized now it was on a chain. He tilted his head and crossed his arms, looking at the thing in curiosity. "You were one ugly bitch, weren't you?" He wove his hand around his face, mocking the thing.
"She sure was, even before all this."
Troy looked back at the entrance of the bunker were a man stood. He was tall and Troy himself was tall. He never had to look up at a person before today. "I suggest you back the hell away." Troy demanded in a considerably even tone with his harsh words. The mans face remained rather calm, and that really annoyed Troy.
"Now son, you ain't gonna give me the heebie geebies when you look that good." He took a step down the step into the bunker, slowly but with confidence.
Troy clicked his tongue to the roof of his mouth and tittered nervously. "What are you some kind of homo? Locked up in a bunker with your hag." Troy spat. "Take another step in, try me."
As he took another easing step in, Troy gripped the end of his knife in warning. "You got some nerve kid." Troy pulled his knife out fully assured he'd win this fight. Instead the man took a leap at him and had Troy on his back in seconds. Troy groaned as the knife in his hand was kicked out. "Coming into my tent with that homophobic shit, insulting my wife, threatening me and thinking you could get away with it. Ain't no one ever taught you manners, boy?" Troy chuckled in absolute disbelief.
"Are you serious right now?" He laughed out.
"As serious as Jeremiah was when he turned us away. How is that old man now, Troy?" The man looked at him with an all knowing glace. The way he said both of their names made Troys skin crawl.
"Dead. So your revenge is as well timed as putting that thing out of it's misery." He looked up at him, he wasn't afraid to die but this certainly wasn't the way he wished to die.
"Perhaps I should put you out of your misery." He spoke with intent and alarm bells went off in Troys head. He squirmed now, distracting him by holding him still. He pulled the release pin on the dead heads cuffs and rolled, toppling her into the man. He was rolled over to the other side of the room when he yelled. He sat up in the corner and looked to where he had just been. The dead head was motionless on the ground and the man sat in a silent defeat.
Troy hesitantly slid up the wall and took a few steps, leaning over and swiping his knife in the process. When he got a better look at the man he had a bite mark on his neck. He looked at him with uncertainty and caution. "No cure yet?" He asked.
Troy shook his head. "No, no cure."
He nodded and pulled the woman into his arms and leaned against the wall. "Names Harrison, Terry Harrison." Troy sheathed his knife and stood idly. "This was my wife Elaine." Troy leaned against the wall beside him, still in silence. "Could you bury us? I really hate the idea of us rotting the world... yeah, you know I'd like to give back to the Earth." Terry looked up at Troy begging in his eyes.
Troy didn't know what to say. He was never good with this kind of thing. "Yeah man, sure." Troy slid down the wall and looked at him, the man was growing more tired by the second.
"You'll like... well I reckon you'll like what is behind... door three." He sounded like he was rambling now. Troy closed his eyes and listened to his rambles which descended into shallow breaths, and then nothing at all. Troy reached for his pocket watch and held his shaky thumb over the starter. He huffed and squeezed the thing tightly.
"You. Are. Not. A. Scientist." He directed himself. He pulled the gun from his holster, his one bullet. He brought the gun up to his temple and closed his eyes. He could go, just like his dad went. He clenched his jaw as he thought about his fathers death. He knew Nick was right, he died ready to let everyone die. To break his promises. Troy didn't want to be that way, not when he had one last promise. He lazily pulled the gun off his temple and glanced at the man. He reaffirmed his grip and shot the gun. Terrys' limp body moved with the gun shot but he wouldn't turn now.
He stood up after a period of time, a period of thought. He wished Nick was there, he was way better at this kind of thing. He took a deeper glance around the bunker. Now he needed to find a shovel.