Authors Note: I don't own The Walking Dead and the only part of this story I own is the original characters of Harper, Noah and Wyatt. This idea sort of came to me to write about three survivors who are completely separate from Rick and his group. It's more of a drabble in what may be the last moments of their lives and what they are dealing with. I may continue it further depending on what you all think, I hope you like it!
Desperation. It was a heavy and loaded feeling, one that Harper Qynn had not yet fully come to terms with. Up until this point, in the midst of all the chaos, frustration and terror she had never felt so helpless nor defeated. She is certain they will die and she has no idea what to do.
As she sits crouched down beside her brother, she ponders back to how they came to be here now. What crazed turn of events that landed them stranded with no weapons or supplies, all of them battered, beaten and defenseless. She lets out an exasperated sigh as she wipes the sheen of sweat from Noah's forehead, face and neck. On any given day his soft features would be handsome, despite the constant stern gaze he always seemed to have, but not tonight. No. Tonight he's in utter shambles, a crippled heap of misery and pain. His bleedings stopped, the bullet that had torn through his leg has been removed but she fears an infection may have set in already as he mutters incoherently in a sweat and nightmare fueled state of restlessness. It's the first time her big brother has slept in what feels like forever. And for this she is thankful.
Over the past few days he'd been growing weaker from blood loss and lack of food, she reasons that is why he started talking crazy. At first he went on and on about Claire, and how he missed her more than he could bear. This was nothing new, nothing to grown more concerned with or bother to fret about. She knew what the loss of his fiancée had meant to him. She was his world, his love and his life and she was gone; just like everyone else they had known. He grieved, and rightly so, but when he started muttering on about leaving him a gun and a single bullet, she had started to really fear. He would whisper how she wouldn't have to worry, that it would be alright and that she didn't have to fight for him anymore. He told her, his eyes grave and hollow, that she could leave with Wyatt and make a run for it. He says that the two of them can survive, that they were fighters and that they didn't need to be burdened by his current disposition. It was clear to her that he had given up hope, that he had given up the will to live.
But she could not accept this as his fate; if it wasn't for Noah, Harper and Wyatt would have never made it safely out of Nashville. They most certainly would be dead, or worse.
It's been four days, and the three of them have been held up in the town of Gideon, Georgia. She's beginning to feel the hopelessness sink in and slowly consume her. And even though she's trying to fight it for the sake of her family, for the sake of survival, she is beginning to believe that in the end it will overtake them all. She hates herself for feeling this way; she tries to push the doubt from her mind and continue on caring for her family but she can only handle so much. She had made a promise to her brothers and a promise to herself that she would get them out of this alive, no matter what it took. When she spoke this to them, in the back of dirty old pickup coasting down an old dusty road, she had meant every word of it. She didn't want to give up now, no matter how lost she felt or how seemingly impossible their survival seemed. She intended to stay strong for her family, even if beneath her defiant demeanor she still felt broken.
Noah groans beside her and it draws her from dark thoughts. He's muttering again. She swears she hears Claire's name and with that she needs a break. Watching him in such grief, both physical and emotional is taking a toll on her. She stands to leave, bowing down to plant a kiss on his sweaty brow and whispers that she'll be back momentarily. She turns to leave, stepping outside of the deserted office that once belonged to a mechanic; she goes to find her younger sibling. She won't leave Noah alone for long, not in his current condition and she knows that Wyatt could use a break from taking watch on the roof.
She makes her way through the dark and overly crowded garage, trying hard to not trip over engine parts and tool boxes. She can hardly see but she doesn't risk using a light for fear of drawing attention to them. She doesn't have far to go anyway, besides, it would waste what little battery life they had left for their flashlights.
Silently, she climbs a set of stairs that leads to an overhang above the garage, and eventually to the fire escape. It's a ridiculously small auto body shop that could barely fit two cars at once, but it provides the perfect fortress. The only entrance in is the heavy metal garage doors and the front entrance to the office. All of which has been sealed up tight with boards and nails, and in all honesty she's not too concerned about keeping Walkers out.
The window creaks as she pushes it open and she shudders when she's greeted by the cold summer air of a mild Georgian night and with little haste she shimmies up the iron ladder, barely making a sound. Silhouetted in the darkness is an almost meek figure. A slender young male, hardly a day over 19, sits huddled with a scratchy wool blanket around his shoulders. She can see his fit of chestnut brown hair, puckered up in its usual mess, rise as he can hear her footsteps against the graveled rooftop.
He doesn't say a word to acknowledge that he knows she's there, he only smiles and nods his head. She sits beside him and pulls her knees to her chest, their shoulders barely touch and with the smallest contact he looks over. When he looks at her, there's a flash of worry in his pale green eyes and a frown plastered on his lips. But its replaced shortly after with a quiet crack of laughter.
"Have you been cryin'?" He asks bluntly. For a moment she's thrown off guard.
"No." She wipes her face. "It's damn hot in the cupboard of an office. I'm sweatin' like Boss Hog down there." For the most part it's true.
"You ain't getting' soft are ya'? Dad would flip a tit if he saw you cryin like a little baby." She looks at him, eyes squinted and a firm scowl pressed into her face.
"Excuse me?" She sneers. "If I remember correctly, when you were just a kid you cried over eveything! Like when Bambie's mom got shot, you cried like a little girl." Forcefully she nudges him, musing at him with a playful yet mocking grin.
And he grins right back, he grins with that shit eating one he always has. "Fuck. I didn't cry durin' Bambie, I think your confusing childhoods or somethin'."
The fact that he still smiled and laughed and poked fun at her at any chance he could, gave her a small glimmer of hope. She was always in constant marvel at his courage, the way he carried himself with his strong, and not so silent, bravado. A boy so young shouldn't have to witness his family torn apart. He shouldn't have to watch them all run in terror, in fear that they'll be devoured by what was once their friends and family. If it wasn't for her kid brother, Harper didn't know how she could keep her chin up and fight back as hard as she did. Because of him, she found herself growing resilient. Even now.
She looks him over out of the corner of her eye, trying hard not to voice her worry for him. But she must confess, he looks as exhausted as she does. His eyes normally sparkled, always when he laughed or had some mischievous prank planned, even after the end of the world. But now they looked dark and heavy, they sparkle less than ever and she can see his concern. They were so alike, in the sense that they try so desperately to hide their fear from one another, but in this moment they are both so beaten down that they can't keep up the charade any longer.
"Go on and get some rest. I'll take over from here 'til sunrise." She says to him. Wyatt doesn't fight her, even though she makes it sound like an order. He stands up slowly and removes the blanket, gently he wraps it over his sister's shoulders and he leaves her to herself. He knows that Noah is just down below, likely asleep, and that's where he'll bunker down for the rest of the night as well. As he went to lower himself down the ladder, he called for his sisters attention.
"Don't forget to make the call. It's almost midnight." And with that he was gone without another word and she's alone now for the first time all day, curled up into herself on the rooftop staring off into the night.
Reality has already sunk in, and now she's left to wallow in it. Before she knows what she's doing, she hangs her head low onto her knees and she finds herself starting to pray to God. She's never been a holy woman or the praying kind, but she tries it anyway. She prays to God that Noah will make it through the next few days unscathed and infection free. She prays for Wyatt's safety and her own and she starts praying for some miracle, some kind of intervention and even for a savior. She doesn't need some prince charming to come and save her and her family, she just needs someone with a kind heart and humanity left and enough courage to help out a few drifters. She doubts there's such a person left in the world and she snickers to herself at the memory of the last people they turned to for help.
They seemed nice enough at first, said they'd help them out. Turned out they were nothing but liars and thieves who took advantage of a broken family. Six men had held them at gun point, stripped them of all their weapons, food and water and headed off into the sunset. She prayed to God that they got what was coming to them that someone did just the same or that Walkers got to them. She didn't believe in God but she sure did believe in karma.
Down below she can faintly hear the shuffling of walkers, the inhuman gargles and the rusting of bodies and it snaps her from thoughts and her frustration. There's not a lot of them down there, but their enough of a reminder to let her know what pickle they were in. She shakes her head and wipes her eyes. Wyatt was right. She was getting soft. It's a pointless gesture to God; people had been praying since their loved ones got sick, and look what happened to the lot of them. They were dead. All of them. Calling out to God hadn't done jack shit; the only way they were going to get out of there alive was if something had been done.
She started going over a plan in her head, maybe tomorrow if the road was clear she could slip out and find some food and maybe even medical supplies. It was all that she could do really; she could take a crowbar with her for defense. Blunt objects were quiet and effective and she had a mean right hook. Well at least that's Noah had said. There were a few times growing up that he had taken a beating from her.
It was a rough plan at best and Wyatt would pitch a fit, but they had waited long enough for recovery and rescue and it was time to take action. She'd talk to him about it in the morning, until then she'd look over the small town with the hope that maybe it'd be their lucky day and that maybe they could catch a break and a set of headlights would come barreling down the main street and they'd be saved.
She stopped herself from taking that thought any further, there she goes again praying like a damn fool. She looked over at the small table Wyatt had set up, scattered about were bottles of water and candy wrappers, their only flashlight a flare and an old CB radio. It was a scrapped up old radio, they had found it buried amongst old papers and shop rags in the garage. It had a strong signal and still worked just fine. When they found it buried in the office they nearly cried. They were certain it would save them.
They had thought there would be broadcasts, telling survivors to head to safe zones and migrate to places like Atlanta and Fort Benning, but of course they had no luck at all. There were no stations or broadcasts of any kind. It was dead silent except for the constant static and white noise. Yet everyday they turned it on at the beginning of every hour and they sent out their own broadcast in hopes that maybe someone would hear them. They repeated their distress calls every day, and then they waited another hour for a response before they stopped broadcasting. In four days, they hadn't had a single response. But they still tried anyway.
She only had a few minutes before it was midnight and she grabbed the walkie and fiddled with it in her hands as she idly stared at her watch. It was 11:58; only two minutes til midnight. And she waited with patience until the minutes ticked away.
Their S.O.S always started out the same, it seemed like a routine to them already. Tonight it shouldn't have been any different.
"This is Harper Qynn, again." She started. "It's day four and we're still here. Still alive. We are holed up in the town of Gideon, Georgia, it's a podunk little shithole only a few miles south of Macon if y'all know where that is. We've taken shelter in the Sid's Garage. The only mechanic shop in this dumb so you can't miss it." She gave a dry laugh, she felt crazy talking into the radio as if someone would hear her. She knew the truth, she knew that no one would hear their plea for help. No one would come, but she still tried.
"There's only three of us now, we're all that's left from our group. My brother, Noah, he's hurt real bad and we can't move him." She almost choked on the words and the memory. "He's not infected, just shot. The walkers ain't much but we've got hardly any food or water left and we've got one gun and a few rounds. It ain't enough to get us all out. " She clutched the walking in her hands, her knuckles almost white. She could hardly keep herself together by now, her green eyes were shut tight and she could feel tears burning at the corner of her eyes again. There was a faint crackle of static between every pause and that's when it really hit her and boy did it hit her hard. She was talking into nothing but dead airwaves, there wasn't anybody alive on the other side. They were going to die there, or at least Noah was. But that was beside the point. They weren't leaving anytime soon. Not the three of them and they weren't going to leave Noah behind to die sick and alone. They could make him comfortable in the next few days that he maybe had left, but that was all they could do for him.
She counted this as her one and only moment of weakness. The one time she would allow herself to break down let out the anguish that was brewing inside of her. She started talking like there was someone on the other end, listening with bated breath. "I'm gonna be honest with y'all, I don't know what to do anymore, I don't even know how help them. If Noah doesn't get any antibiotics he won't last till the end of the week." She paused, she couldn't bear the thought of clutching her brother as he slips in and out of consciousness, pale and sickly. "It's gettin' real difficult to try and keep it all together. I'm tryin' so hard to stay strong for my family, but goddammit it all just seems so hopeless." She raked a hand through the messy curls that feel over her shoulders and into her face in distress. "Please, if there is anyone out there, anyone at all please help us! I'm begging you. I just…I just don't know what to do anymore, I sure as shit know that I don't wanna die!" With that she choked out a weak sob, she wasn't certain how much more she could take.
There it was, that feeling again. Desperation. It sunk into her head and heart like a virus and it crawled in there and made its bed. Dug right in like a tick on the hide of a dog. Through angry sobs she finished the call, ended it just like the always had.
She cleared her throat and tried to hide any evidence that she was crying at all. "We'll call out on the beginning of every hour. We'll call again every day, every hour and we'll wait for a response. If anybody is there just let us know you're alive." She paused and cleared her throat, trying to rid herself of her emotions. "Once again this is Harper Qynn and this is our call for help. I'm signing off. I'll be back in an hour." With that she dropped down the walkie and set it back on the table top.
The town of Gideon was dead silent, say for the low hum of static from the radio, and once again Harper was left to her thoughts. She'd wait until it was 1 before she cast out another broadcast; it was their only hope until morning anyway.
Harper Qynn was raised better than to give in and back down. She was brought up to be a hell raiser, raised to be a fighter. The three of them had never once had it easy in all their life. So she held to the notion that it shouldn't be any different now. She sat in the dead calm of the night and went back to planning what she'd try and make a run for in the morning to occupy her mind and keep her from losing her shit again. Tonight she'd sit on that old roof, completely disregarding the stars and moon and look onto the horizon, to the edge of town with waiting eyes. She'd be damned if they stayed helpless for much longer. This couldn't be how they'd die, not after everything they'd been through.