A present for Jynx. Weirdly enough I think this is the most canon-relevant Edgar I've ever written.
You all knew I was going to have to do one of these AUs eventually right? It picks up just before Edgar would have been kidnapped in the cannon timeline.
Well it hurts down here on Earth Lord, it hurts down here on Earth,
It hurts down here 'cause we're running out of beer
But we're all gonna die some day!
-Casey Chambers
Jimmy, who had been considering changing his name for a while now, was the sole defender of the last enclave of civilization in this brave new world. Anyways, that was how he liked to put it in his head—the truth was he was pretty sure there were like a dozen other scraggly groups of survivors holed up just inside the city limits. He'd heard gunshots coming from inside the mall a couple days ago, so unless walkers had recently figured out how to shoot, it was a pretty fair bet somebody was living in there.
The Last Enclave of Civilization in This Brave New World happened to be a convenience store in the middle of downtown. It was pretty much the ultimate in post-apocalyptic gourmet—hostess cakes, soda, beer, twizzlers—and it was closed in on three sides by the neighboring, much taller buildings. All you had to do was keep the shambling dicks out your front door, and you were set. Since the convenience store came with bars on the windows and everything, you pretty much couldn't go wrong.
Jimmy had been pretty pissed drunk for a good day or so, but he'd misplaced the beer (all of it) in the middle of his giggling stupor, and he'd been nursing a bitch of a hangover for most of the morning in consequence. The current plan was to wait out the headache long enough to stand without keeling over and then go look for more beer.
This stubborn lack of foresight characterized most of Jimmy's plans.
He was starting in on phase two of that plan when what remained of his life changed forever. There was a knock at the window.
Jimmy squinted across the candy isle towards the barred opening, past the partially shattered glass, and out onto the mild-looking face of what was apparently another human being. Knocking. On his window.
"I don't want to sound pushy," the man called out, "but if you could let me before I'm eviscerated I'd really appreciate that."
Jimmy looked down at the lone beer bottle he'd managed to uncover—stashed in the bargain-bin candy barrel, under those orange peanuts nobody ever eats—then climbed over the top of the isle and kicked his way to the door. A can of soda exploded in his wake. He pushed it open and yanked the stranger inside.
"Thanks," the guy said, adjusting his round glasses. There was a miniscule speck of blood on the lens.
Jimmy shoved him up against a wall. The fact that he had roughly two inches on Jimmy and could probably kick his ass in a fair fight was apparently deemed irrelevant.
"Are you infected?" Jimmy demanded; his forearm formed half a vice around the guy's neck. "Did they bite you? Any open wounds?"
"Not that I'm aware of," the man replied, a little amused.
Jimmy jerked him forward and spun him around, running his hands up under the sports jacket and down the sleeves in search of something sticky and red. No gaping wounds here, or there… not even a paper cut. Jimmy slunk back a few inches, defeated.
