Sleep came harder these days.
When there were others—live people who felt and thought and were the same as she was—it was easier to let herself fall under the Sandman's spell. It was comforting knowing that someone was always on watch, keeping an eye out for danger, putting their life on the line to protect you and the people you were with. Early on everything had been fine, or as fine as things could be. She had made it out alive and for the most part unharmed, of course there was some emotional baggage attached to seeing children walkers and never knowing if the people you loved were safe. But there weren't very many people that she loved, sure her family, but they were never a nuclear bunch, often separated and relieved when Christmas came around and they weren't pressured into seeing each other. Her new family had been much nicer, and much more convenient. As a woman she had had to do certain things to guarantee that the group that found her would let her stay, but she didn't mind. No one was ever mean, or forceful. She was always more than willing, some men just look better all bloodied and battered. She always tried to do her best to make people happy, that stuff was nothing. For a while she was happy, surrounded by people, who albeit didn't really pay her any attention. She was safe, and had a good thing going.
And yet, as every good thing tends to do, her group collapsed. Under the weight of fear and loneliness and grief.
Slowly people had died off-as everything seemed to do in this horrible fucked up world-leaving the survivors heartbroken and empty. Some of her impromptu family had taken the easy way out: they felt no real desire to live in this fresh hell, they had decided to quit the living. They chose death over living. Or well, in her mind they chose not to survive.
She couldn't fault them in that, it was easy to decide not to survive when the world was so harsh but she felt a pang of cold angry towards the dead. They did not have to go on living in fear and squalor, hiding in shadows, eating mice and insects to get by. Always afraid they'd never see tomorrow. She was angry and felt, somewhat irrationally, like the dead had betrayed her. Left her alone to fend for herself. In part her angry was directed towards her own incapability to die. She had always been the weakest member of every group: gathering instead of hunting, opting for the easy domestic requirements of camp life, and being subpar at even those. She had never even held a gun, only equipped herself with a small dagger the length of her forearm. Her strongest and weakest faults were one in the same: she had an insistent need to help others, be the nice one, which often got her into trouble because she tried so hard to make other people and she got nothing in return for her troubles. She was usually the quiet one, with a nice smile holding back a white hot rage. But she was ashamed of that fury, she wanted to be liked by people, wanted to be protected, to be loved, to be spared unhappiness.
Funny though, she couldn't even spare herself the misery of living.
So she came to terms with living, and lived her life as kindly as possible: mercy killing the animals she caught and even being awfully polite to the walkers that milled around the building; refusing to kill any, though that might have stemmed from her uncanny ability to sneak around, silent on small feet. In fact, the one boast she held dear to her heart was that time she had played hide and seek with her sisters only for them to presume her missing after hours of searching. How 'heartbroken' her family must have felt, and how silly when their mousey middle child came crawling out from under the cracked foundation to complain of hunger.
Even now she hid. Squirreled away in some strangers abandoned apartment in Atlanta. It was oddly soothing and intimate being in this house, she could only hope that the person had made it out with all of their loved ones. Well at least she hoped, but a mean voice in the darkness of her mind reprimanded her. Why did this person deserve to have a better life than her? What makes them so worthy of happiness? They're probably out there right now: hidden away shamelessly like you or one of them. The constant shuffling of walkers in the hallway outside her barred door were endlessly lulling her into a peace less state. Giving her constant unending anxiety as she imagined herself walking among them.
She wedged herself deeper on the love seat in this persons studio, a dirty and foul place to live even before all hell broke loose; it was a small and dingy place reeking of moldy drywall and fungus. The apartment consisted of a small kitchenette and a 15 by 17 living slash bed room with an odd little half bath near the only window. Complete with a twin mattress on the floor adjacent to an old floral love seat, there was a certain aura of claustrophobia and comfort. To say the least it was a dump; littered with empty cans and bottles and faded newspapers. Mice crawled around under the couch and on the counters in the kitchen. She hadn't been there more than a week but she could feel the asbestos ruining her lungs. It was going to be one more night, then she'd collect her shabby belongings into a rucksack and try to make it further in the city. But as she finally found herself in a comfortable place among the dirty pillows and comforters, she felt perturbed and listened to the night. Crickets and mice ignored her warm presence and went about their business, making a ruckus and scurrying around. But something was missing. The usual dull snarls coming from the other rooms and outside had quieted.
Unease twisting her stomach into knots, she gently lifted the cover from her head, half expecting to be attacked the moment she exposed herself. But there was nothing. Her eyes, adjusted to the darkness saw nothing. And more worrisome she heard nothing, not a shuffle of dead feet or the low moan of hungry walkers. Even cocking her head to toward the door she heard nothing. The absence of noise was unsettling, but needless to say it was better than the alternative; those creatures trying to get to her.
Resolved that she was safe in her hellish little haven, she fluffed her pillow and allowed herself a hearty sigh. Content to sleep, she closed her eyes and pulled the covers over her head. It would be a peaceful rest, somewhere some higher power was watching over her. Giving her one last good rest before leaving her to her own devices in this new world.
It was one of those black dreams where it feels like you've just settled down when you wake up. A dreamless REM-less sleep. A few hours long and more serene than most nights, and yet she woke up with a start, irritable and groggy. Frustrated she was even more tired now than she had been hours before and the sun would come up soon.
Hours before. The strange disappearance of the walkers. With dread settling in the pit of her stomach she realized it wouldn't be safe in the apartment anymore if a majority of the walkers were missing and presumably milling around in the dark abandoned rooms. She had to move, get away and get past the city. But as worried as she was her head was in a fog and her eyelids felt heavy. There was no way she'd be alert enough to get through the building tomorrow in the state she was.
Fuck it, she thought. I'll spend another night here and get some R&R. Laughing to herself she squirmed back into her pillow nest.
"A little TLC", she said aloud. Her eyes closed and a smug grin playing on her lips she whispered to the gloom, "Let them get me, I'll be fast asleep."
No sooner had she started softly snoring did she feel a resounding crash in the hallway outside her hideyhole. On edge she gently pulled back the covers and silently slid off of the couch. With her dagger within reach she snuck towards the door and the eye hole she had made of the mail slot. Peering out she saw nothing unusual in the gloom, a few splatters of blood but she couldn't tell if it was fresh of if one of the walkers had done it. That sense of dread was again settling in quite comfortably in her gut.
She slid her hand up and slowly unmatched the door, stopping and wincing every so often as the hinges squeaked. She should have oiled them better. She stood up from her crouch and pulled the door to her, ignoring the door's noises of disagreement. Freezing in place as something let out a large exhale. Walkers didn't do that.
With her head between the door and frame, knife in hand, she braced herself; squaring her shoulders and bending her legs, arms bent in front of her. And opened the door all the way.
Standing in the dark doorway she lowered herself to the floor and moved her eyes across the hall slowly, not wanting to be caught off guard. Her eyes landed on a black lump huddled in front of the studio down the hall to her left. It moved but it was lethargic, whatever it was was hurt or turning. She was withdrawing back into the apartment, assuming it was dying, when the hinge squeaked again, loudly.
Cringing visibly she swayed, trying to remain motionless and silent, but the thing down the hall was stirring, drawn to the noise. Her worst nightmare, a walker now knowing that something alive was dwelling nearby. But to her astonishment, a low raspy voice whispered to her.
"Someone ther'? I ain't bit but I could use a lil help here," the voice breathed. It was male and gravelly, with a wetness that betrayed the owner and told her he was hurt. Bad.
Flummoxed she tried to draw away again, but he seemed to sense how the mood had shifted.
"Please man! There are a bunch a fuckin' biters down there! I barely got out, alls I'm askin' for is a-a lil assistance" he had a slight southern drawl and spoke fast, urgently. She felt pity for him but also a horrible foreboding, this man could get her killed, or worse.
This world is fucked up, Maeby, that doesn't mean you have to be, she told herself. Leaving this man out here could kill him. He could help you!
With some resignation she opened the door and sighed, "I'll help you, on one condition; you have to help me get out of this city. If that's not good enough for you...th-then that's too bad!" Maeby was proud of the strength behind her voice.
The man wasn't impressed though. He laughed at her! A breezy wet kind of guffaw, loud enough that she shrunk back against the wall.
"Sssh! Please! Don't be so loud! Now do we have a deal? I'll help you if you help me," Maeby kept her eyes peeled, scanning all the nearby doorways and dark corners. She would not let this guy get her killed. She refused.
"Yes ma'am I'm thinking we just about have ourselves a deal. Now girlie ple-e-e-ase come help me get my sorry ass outta this damn hallway," she could tell by his low grunts that he was trying and failing to lift himself up.
Keeping her eyes strained on the end of the hallway, she backpedaled up to him. With one last sweep of the vicinity she bent down and swiftly shoved her arm under his. With a little help on her part, Maeby was able to pry him off the floor. She let go of him when he was standing and let him say against the wall, breathing heavily and huffing his breath in an effort to hide how exhausted he was. Guess you can't really show weakness to anyone these days, she thought.
Maeby moved in front of him, her body lowered and tense, "Okay it's this way, are you safe to move on your own? I don't wanna be caught out here. Feels vulnerable."
"Humph you feel vulnerable? Girlie you don't even know the meanin of tha word" He took a hesitant step forward and stumbled into her, he rested, catching his breath, his body leaning heavily against hers. "Sorry girlie looks like I need more help than I thought" She could feel how tense his muscles were, how they spasmed every time he talked. She could only imagine how contorted with pain his face had to be. How he must be clenching his teeth. Her heart went out to him.
Without turning back, or slowing her pace, Maeby told him, "Maeby."
He slouched against her, his weight boring down on her shoulder and side. Poor man was really beat up, he could barely shuffle towards the door on his own.
"What? Speak up gadammit," He sounded pained and obviously was but that didn't excuse his attitude.
When she didn't say anything he just scoffed under his breath, "Lucky me, I found a brave lil mouse"
Maeby cleared her throat nervously and lead him into the studio, guiding him with her hands on his shoulders. When he had safely been deposited on the love seat she tossed him a pillow and went back to the door. She didn't know what to say now. Could she trust him? Would he help her? Could she possibly help him? It was too dark to tell how severely he was hurt and the extent of his injuries. She had to be prepared in case she couldn't help him and he turned on her.
"Maeby. That's my name," Only a decibel louder than before and with her back to him, Maeby continued, "How hurt are you? It smells like burned rubber, I mean you do, your hair and your clothes,"
The man on the couch have her a dry laugh, bitter and thankfully not as loud as the one before. "Not even a full two minutes and yer smellin' me?"
"No! That's not what I sai-you know what I meant!" Maeby was grateful it was too dark for him to see her blush, her face felt hot against the cold wood of the door. She could practically feel his smarmy grin.
Maeby shut her eyes, his pained chuckle echoing in the small room.
"Merle,"
Maeby opened her eyes, her forehead up against the door. It get nice to have something solid keeping her up. She turned her head to him, careful to be quiet.
"What?" She was afraid he was making fun of her, she had known men that sounded like this one. Cruel and mean and cold. God she wanted, wished he would prove her wrong.
"M'name is Merle. We might as well be on first name basis if we're gonna be spendin' some time togetha'" His tone was rough, but not unkind. He seemed just as afraid as she was.
Maeby didn't know what else to do so she went into the kitchenette, grabbed a packet of Saltines, dusted off the mouse droppings and dust and underhanded it to him as she walked back into the other room. Merle caught it clumsily and without a word of thanks dug in. Maeby didn't mind she was exhausted and he had to be too.
"Sun up in a few hours, I'll look at your wound then. As for the meantime, you get the couch I got the mattress. Understand?" She didn't care if she sounded harsh, he had interrupted her rest and could have compromised her hideout.
In response he stopped chewing and just grunted affirmation. They both didn't seem much like talkers, and he was starting to feel the effects of sun exposure, dehydration, and blood loss. Merle gave a rat's ass if this girl could help him, or of helping her. Every man for himself he always said. He was just thankful for a reprieve of any sort. He was just tired enough that he could probably fall asleep without having to get high, not like he had much of a choice anyway.
His mouth full of cracker crumbs, "Mhm yes ma'am. First light we can blah blah blah,"
He heard her snort fro the floor, not an attractive noise but he was just tired enough to laugh with her. It wasn't what was said that was funny, it was just the awful feeling of desperate camaraderie they both felt. And the realization that by first light one could be dead, both hoping it wasn't them.