Prologue – The Split
"Kill all sons-a-bitches. That's my 'ficial instructions."
It had been something of a joke at first, but all too quickly that joke had become something of a way of life. In the security of the safe room, Ellis checked and double checked the clip in his magnum, eyes occasionally darting up to look at the barred metal door. Stood in front of it, in what must have once been a pristine white suit, was Nick. The silence that had fallen over the survivors was occasionally punctuated by the sound of Nick's pistol taking out another infected through the grill of the safe room door, and the dull thud of the body beyond falling lifelessly to the floor. At the opposite wall, the hulking high-school gym teacher, lovingly nicknamed 'Coach' (Ellis had yet to even think of asking the man's real name), sat on the floor with his back against the graffiti-covered wall as Rochelle, the groups only female survivor, was wrapping a bandage around the man's bicep securely, neither of them speaking.
The Survivors. That's what they were, and they were limited in number. The four had travelled together for some weeks now, encountering only one small group of three that seemed to be immune, as they were. The other voices they heard always seemed distant, to the point where Ellis wondered if his mind was making them up, just so they didn't seem so alone in the world. The mechanic (or perhaps that should be ex-mechanic, considering he didn't really have a job anymore) pulled his cap more firmly onto his head with a tug at the brim, sighing softly as he pushed himself up to his feet. It was too damn quiet when the place wasn't full of screaming zombies. "Y'know, this reminds me of this time that me and my buddy Keith, we did this vow of silence thing-"
"Let me guess... it didn't last long?"
It was the first time Nick had spoken in at least two hours. The man hadn't even taken his eyes from the door grill as he responded, but just continued to stare out of them into the darkness, shooting anything that moved past or towards them. "Well, I wouldn't say it lasted *long*, but it was pretty funny. Y'see, we ain't the kind t-"
"Maybe another time, Ellis."
"...Okay."
They never wanted to hear his stories, and for the life of him Ellis didn't understand why. None of the rest of them seemed keen on talking, and surely this suffocating silence was just as bad for them as it was for him? Stress, he told himself. That must have been it. People always acted weirdly when they were under stress, right? A little dejected, he checked the safety was on his mag, then pushed it muzzle-first into the pocket of his dark blue overalls, arms tied around his waist. Perhaps he should have kept the top half pulled up and buttoned, as perhaps his favourite yellow shirt would have been saved from the blood, sweat, acid and bile that all four of them seemed to have become magnets for. He pulled at the hem of his shirt, frowning down at the faded and stain Bull Shifters logo and realised with a small pang that the rest of the guys who were part of their little club and bore similar shirts were, more likely than not, all dead. Or worse than dead. 'Bull Shifters' was the name of the truck club that he and Keith had started up back in high-school, and the name just stuck from then on. He was, almost certainly, the last of the group that remained. It was a sobering thought.
"God these guys just never leave up," Nick breathed, mainly to himself as he finally lowered his aching gun arm, a lull in attacks leaving him with the hope that, for now, they were alone. He changed the clip in his gun for a fresh one, and backed away from the door, finally tearing his eyes from the world outside as he looked back into the room, Ellis catching his eye with a grin. Nick didn't return it. Nick didn't smile much, Ellis had noticed, which was a shame. The guy must've had his share of problems back home, wherever home was, for him to be such a serious character now. As he quietly watched the city slicker, Ellis's gaze followed Nick's own to the walls, where scrawled all across the plastered surface, notes and tallies written in marker pen, crayon, charcoal and pencil remained, a testament to those who had used the safe room before them.
"Sal, I've taken Ben and we're making a break for it with some others we've met up with. If you read this, head for Louisiana Air Base. We love you. Jeff."
As Ellis read the note, as he had so many others as they'd rested in safe rooms, he couldn't help but wonder the outcome. "Reckon Sal and Jeff ever met up again?" he asked as he re-read the message, written on the yellow wall in blue colouring pencil.
"Who knows," came Rochelle's response from the other side, followed by the deep voice of Coach, adding "Unlikely. We all thought New Orleans was a safe zone... And look at it. Doubt the air base is any better..."
Pessimistic, perhaps... but true. Not even Ellis was going to deny that the likeliness of Sal ever finding Ben and Jeff again was slim to none. Did Jeff himself think the very same thing as he wrote his message? Well, at least Ben and Jeff had had each other, right? It was more than Ellis had when he started out. The young mechanic from Savannah had gone from having almost everything he could want... to having no more than the clothes on his back. He'd lost everything: family, friends, home... but then, hadn't they all? None of them spoke much about who they'd lost or left behind, Ellis getting the impression that Ro' and Coach both had their burdens to bear... but Nick, who knew. The guy didn't seem like a family man, nor a friend's man, for that matter. Perhaps that was why he seemed to cope so well? Perhaps he had, quite literally, had nothing to lose when the infection hit?
No point in asking. He'd never get an answer. Out of everyone, Nick was the survivor that Ellis knew least about. He knew Ro' had worked for a news station from Ohio and was sent to Savannah to cover a story on the outbreak, and that Coach had been the health teacher at one of the schools in Savannah (not Ellis's own, though Coach had probably taught a few of Ellis's friends in the past). Nick was a mystery. He was a city dweller and a gambling man, but that was all they knew of him. When asked, he either refused to answer, or changed the subject.
"So, what now? The safe zone clearly isn't here, so unless we're planning to settle down for a new life in New Orleans, we gotta figure where we're moving next?"
Coach had always been the kind to want to keep on the move, taking them further from home with each passing day... and with no-where else to go and a target to reach, none have them had felt inclined to argue. But now that New Orleans had proven to be a lost cause, and with no other safe zones that they knew of, what were they meant to do now? Ellis looked around the group, Nick still gazing at the wall as if reading the graffiti (though his eyes weren't moving), Coach looking between them all for a response, and Rochelle looking down at the floor, teary-eyed.
"I want to go home."
All three men turned to look at her at once as Rochelle quietly muttered the five simple words. "Home? But Ro', Ohio's lost! We seen it on the walls! Ain't gunna be no-one there left to greet ya.." Ellis argued, but was cut off again by the young woman, her voice a little harder this time.
"I don't know that. We're immune, aren't we? There's got to be others! And if not... well, I'd rather survive back home than keep wandering forever. Let's face it: whatever safe zones there may have been, they aren't safe anymore..."
"There's going to be somewhere out there with other survivors," Nick cut in, gaze returning back to the wall.
"Are there? Why? We don't know that! Since leaving Savannah, we've seen only a handful of people, and they were all looking out for their own. If... If we're going to be wandering until we find somewhere safe to settle, I'd rather settle back in my own home town."
Silence fell again, and for once Ellis didn't feel the need to break it. He took his gaze from Rochelle, walking across the safe room to sit on some empty storage crates stacked up in one corner, vaguely aware of Coach slumping back against the wall, and Nick eventually taking a seat on the floor as well. Rochelle was the only one who didn't move, sat a short distance from Coach, her arms wrapped tightly about her knees as she pulled them to her chest, eyes fixed on the floor.
"I'll go with you."
The silence may have stretched for an hour, or perhaps it was only minutes, but Coach's deep voice brought them all back to reality, Ellis's jaw dropping, and Nick barely moving. "But.. but ya can't just go wanderin' off! We gotta stick together, right? Strength in numbers!" the mechanic exclaimed, but Coach shook his head.
"Or just makes us more of a target. Something tells me Rochelle isn't going to change her mind on this, and I can't let her go alone. Besides... I'm tired, guys. I can't keep this up the rest of my life. You guys go on and see what else is out there. Hell, if you get rescued, try sending a chopper our way, yeah?"
Ellis continued to protest, thinking of every reason under the sun why this was a bad idea, but Coach, and eventually Rochelle when she reclaimed her voice, shot him down at every point. The debate went back and forth for lord only knows how long, punctuated only when they heard noise outside, at which they'd suddenly go silent, before continuing their arguments in hushed tones which swiftly increased back to normal volume. Ellis was starting to run out of reasons when Nick, who'd remained uninvolved the entire time, finally decided to have his say. "Ellis and I will carry on. You two go Ohio way, and.. maybe we'll meet up. Leave messages in the safe rooms. If we ever come looking, we'll follow the trail."
Ellis couldn't believe what he was hearing, and he certainly wasn't going to accept it without a fight. Nick's decision had kick-started the young man's fervour once more, and he pushed for the rest of the evening to keep everyone together, but as the hours slipped by, he knew he was fighting a losing battle. He wanted to keep moving, but to do so... it'd be him and Nick, alone. By the time he ran out of steam, his eyes were red from blinking back tears, and his throat felt dry. He finally announced that he was tired and they'd talk about it in the morning, pushing himself off the crate and moving over to the far corner of the room, laying down on the tiled floor with an arm beneath his head as his pillow, and eventually fell into an unpleasant sleep. Everyone was just tired, he told himself. They'd be more optimistic in the morning. Yeah, everything would be better when the sun came up.