Title: Be Righteous Still
Fandom/character: Dawn of the Dead (2004), Ana
Prompt: No. 1 – Beginnings
Rating: PG
Author's Notes: It seems to be fanon now that Michael carried Ana across the broken glass when the group first got to the mall. What happened after that?
"You coming?"
It was The Tall Guy – that's what she'd named him – speaking to her. He stood on the glass-covered platform, his brows furrowed, his fingers shifting on the blue tire iron in his right hand. The others – The Cop, Trigger Happy and Near Term – had already exited the shattered store window and stood now in the mall proper, blinking at the bright lights and scanning the closed shop fronts.
Am I? she thought. Her head pounded, and as her immediate fear subsided all she really wanted to do was go home and lie down.
Can't do that, an inner voice mocked. As much as she didn't want to, she remembered why. Remembered it with a clarity her training had told her wouldn't come immediately after a tragedy. The voice came again. Luis is dead! Luis is dead! Luis is dead! She shook her head to clear it.
"Yeah," she answered with a look down at her bare, scratched feet. There was blood on them, flaking and browned. Not hers. No, no, no. Not yours. "Let me just find something…"
At the edge of her vision she saw Tall Guy look her over and snort. "I'm an idiot," he said, the glass crunching under his shoes as he returned to her. "Here, hold on to this."
The tire iron was shoved into her hands and before she could protest he had picked her up. A strangled, surprised sound escaped her as she grabbed at his shirt, almost dropping the iron.
As he carried her across the broken threshold, it struck her that Luis had done this when they bought their house.
Luis is dead! Luis is dead! the voice screamed. Then a different voice: He always wanted a bigger house.
She giggled, then sobbed once, unable to help herself. Tall Guy slid a nervous glance at her. "I'm Michael, by the way."
"Ana."
"Nice to meet you, Ana," he said, setting her back on her feet. The tile was cold under her soles. " Too bad it's not under better circumstances." He flashed a badly faked smile. "Why don't you hang on to that." He indicated the tire iron with a nod.
"Okay."
"We'll find you some shoes when it's safe," he said, already turning his attention to the others.
"Safe," she repeated and he glanced her up and down again, the furrows back in his brows. The tire iron hung loose in her hand and as Near Term started to move she simply followed, concentrating on putting one wobbly foot in front of the other.
She managed to push her hair from her face and look around, as the others did, but wasn't seeing anything. What she saw was Vivian, her own face destroyed, tearing out the throat of the man she jokingly called Uncle Louie. And she saw Luis, dead yet running, crashing again and again through the bathroom door.
"Hey," a voice said behind her, and she half turned, still lost in thought. It was the tall guy – Michael?
"Ana, right?"
She didn't respond, but did hear his irritated huff and his footfalls speed up to catch her.
"Look, I don't know what happened to you," he began, stooping a bit to look at her face as he fell in beside her. She stared back at him blankly so he continued. "But we've got to keep it together until we make sure there're none of them in here. If you can't use that," he indicated the iron, still dangling from her fingers, "Then give it back to me."
You sure as fuck don't know, the voice whispered. Did he know her world had just crashed down around her? Did he know Luis was dead? Oh, God, he's dead! Dead, but running around like a rabid dog? With a sound of disgust, she sped up, anger reviving her. She tightened her grip on the tire iron, resisting the irrational urge to whack him with it.
"Oh, I can use it," she replied.