Welcome back to the second chance trilogy everyone! Now like the Spoils Of War this will be a short story leading up to the events of Ruin To Redemption? Basically this story will tell the tale of the group of 10 seen at Wellington at the end of Going To Ruin?, as the 400 days group has been whittled down to nothing I thought it would be high-time to introduce some new characters who will all play a big role in the final story. Welcome to the tales of 5 new survivors across 2000 days!
Also, there are 4 references in this chapter to characters we have seen before, in this story I'm going to tie up a few loose ends that I missed in NGB and GTR, concerning character fates that weren't explained or only vaguely touched upon.
Enjoy their stories! I hope my OC's entertain you guys! (I'm quite nervous, because in GTR, the OC's only made a minority of characters yet this story and the next one they will play a much bigger part and I hope their on par with the surviving originals. Marisol and Kelly went down well, but even they were sort of side characters whereas the OC's in this fic and the next one will be main characters, so I'd love feedback on them and if they're good/bad/realistic etc...)
Day 2- Wilbert
"DAD! DEAR GOD DAD ARE YOU ALRIGHT!? IF YOU CAN HEAR THIS... YOU HAVE TO GET OVER HERE IF YOU CAN... THERE'S A DOZEN OF THEM CROWDING AROUND THE FRONT DOOR... WE... WE DON'T KNOW WHAT THE HELL THEY ARE! BUT... DAD I... I DON'T KNOW WHAT TO DO! PLEASE FOR MARY'S AND JJ'S SAKE JUST HELP US! DAD... I... I LOVE YOU..." The voice mail cut to static after this, the features on the sceptical old man's face froze in a state of shock.
"Son..." he called out blankly towards the phone, he wasn't up to date with modern technology but even he knew that his son couldn't hear him through that device.
"Fuck" he swore, his icy eyes lifting up the blinds to his mouldy wooden house, he peered out at his peaceful farm. Endless rows of sturdy corn crops stood as far as his aged eyes could see. The peaceful hum of the wildlife only added to the sense of harmony present on this large patch of land.
"It can't be true, It can't be..." the bony old man thought to himself, but that didn't stop him from pulling his dusty, worn overalls onto himself. Placing his own father's straw cap firmly on his head (he always wore the thing to protect him from the merciless rays of the sun out here), he stepped out into the comforting outside world, or else his isolated little world.
"Reports that the dead are rising, residents are advised to evacuate major cities, including Savannah, Atlanta..."
"Bullshit" Wilbert Jefferson swore, spitting on a clump of dirt to his left he'd know if something was happening in Atlanta. His son, daughter in law and annoying grandson all lived in the city and if something was going down his son would phone him to let him know. Not that Wilbert ever replied to his good-hearted son, Wilbert was a selfish, bitter old man who spent his days alone with his farm, avoiding contact with the outside world.
Quite simply, he hated people.
But that was a few hours ago, now that he had received that message... Wilbert's blood turned to ice. Of all the birthday's, holidays and events he had missed why on earth was he feeling guilty now? He still believed the whole "dead are rising" thing was bullshit.
"Modern bloody horror films, nothing but blood and fuckin' gore. Scaring the kids, prank this is, prank or something, either that... or there's some... some sort of riot going on" Wilbert grumbled to himself, panting between some of the words as he heaved his worn bones into his old red pick up truck.
He thought it was lies, he didn't care about his son and his family, so why on earth was he driving towards Atlanta now?
"Just wanna... make sure they don't get hurt. Bloody callin' for my help... I'll fucking whip these rioters to shit... son's gettin' fussed over bat-shit..." Wilbert (once again) mumbled to himself coming to his own conclusion once again. He had lived on this farm, all by himself for years now if something went wrong with the animals he always came to his own conclusions which were always right.
He revved the spluttering engie to life, as the truck's wheels crunched over the small rocks and dirt path of his farm.
"5 hour drive... as well... this had better not be nothin'..." Wilbert snapped to himself.
Sadly, he was right.
Everything looked normal, the roads and traffic were functioning just fine, people were smiling, laughing and generally being obnoxious assholes as they drove they're more expensive and flashy cars past Wilbert's weathered old excuse of a vehicle.
"Frickin asshats" was all Wilbert had to say.
The old man managed to get his truck onto an open highway, although he had been driving for 4 hours now up the state of Georgia, the weather remained the same. The blazing sun remained locked in it's location in the pasty blue sky, the sweet scent of summer was thick in Wilbert's nostrils as he opened his window and inhaled deeply... people may have disappointed him in life, but the natural world never ceased to amaze him. (Not that he'd admit that to anyone of course).
VROOM!
Feeling his heart rate accelerate at the sudden noise that imploded through his ears, Wilbert's watery blue eyes locked upon the police convoy that had just zoomed past his car at light speed. A helicopter hovered above the rapidly moving convoy as they all disappeared into the distant silhouette of Atlanta city.
"FUCKIN' IDIOTS! YOU AIN'T ABOVE THE FUCKING LAW!" Wilbert bellowed from his open window, yet this obviously had no effect, no doubt they couldn't hear him from this distance, added to the deafening noise of their sirens...
Angrily clutching the steering wheel, the grandfather clutched his chest as he felt his heart duly ache from his chest. At his age... it was best not to strain it and get too angry and too stressed all to often. "All the more reason to avoid people in general" he thought to himself, it was good for his health to stay alone.
Facing nothing but the open road ahead of him, Wilbert let him mind drift back to times... he was a carefree child. He loved his childhood, growing up on the farm with his father, summer nights spent out in the open with his friends... but when he hit his teenage years, that's when things started going downhill for him.
The American South in the 1950's had certain traditions... some still in place today happier. Wilbert still spat at African Americans and threw the N word around as much as he liked, he was very limited in his use of modern technology, he fit the agenda of a grumpy old hermit. Except for one thing... one reason Wilbert hated himself and other people.
His parents practically forced him into the marriage to Betty, it was a short and unhappy marriage and Wilbert despised his wife, he wanted to be left alone. He didn't want her fussing over him, he didn't want her "You should pay more attention to me!" lectures. She got pregnant by some means, she had an ordinary son, but soon after the pair divorced. She went off to live with her family and found a new husband apparently, then they both died in a boating incident about 10 years ago.
"Good" Wilbert muttered in evil glee, when he found out.
Betty would always phone him when she was alive, saying he should come down and visit his son. Wilbert didn't want anything to do with his son or wife. He never wanted them in the first place.
"I'm a fucking old piece of shit! Stop fucking bothering me and live your fucking happy lives without me!" Wilbert wanted to roar to his wife and son, but he hadn't. After Betty died, his son (Joel) would carry on phoning him every so often. The only time Wilbert had come to visit his son was to witness the birth of his grandson, he hadn't been back to his family in 11 years.
Betty had time to pour poison in her son's ear, turn him against his stupid old man, yet Joel would always phone. Wilbert never understood it, why? What motivated him to act so kindly? His own father forced him into a marriage he didn't want, and he... he was quite frankly a shit person and...
VROOM!
Wilbert resorted to cursing under his breath at the second convey that sped past his car, trying not to get too angry at the sudden commotion as these scoundrels of the law all drove like headless chickens towards Atlanta. Breaking from his train of thought about his past, he snapped back to the present as his son's voice flooded his mind.
"Guess there is something goin' on" was Wilbert's conclusion, he felt more anxious, the dominant skyline of Atlanta looked more looming and intimidating than ever.
Then it happened.
There was a crash, Wilbert turned just in time, to see a police car on the opposite side of the highway had slammed into someone standing in the middle of the road, the car swerved violently before it smashed through the small railing on the side of the road and down a steep incline. The old man briefly saw an old police man in the front and the convicted African american man in the back thrash wildly in their seats before the car fell out of view.
"Well high heavens above..." Wilbert muttered shocked at what he had just seen, yet he didn't stop to investigate as he ploughed on towards Atlanta, certain an ambulance or police cars would come along to deal with the crash.
But why was that man standing in the middle of the road in first place?
Wilbert gulped, his fists getting whiter as he clutched the steering wheel even harder.
This wasn't an ordinary "riot".
It got worse.
The highway to Wilbert's side grew more congested with traffic, more and more people it seemed wanted to get the hell out of Atlanta, smoke plumes began to rise from Skyscrapers in the city as Wilbert's truck rolled into the shadows of these skyscrapers.
Despite not visiting his family in over a decade his son had informed him of all the times that he had moved and the address to his latest property lay stuck on Wilbert's windscreen. (Just in case of emergencies like this, when he had to visit his son) he didn't have that GPS, or any of that nonsense. No he relied on his good old fashioned map which gave a clear label of the streets in Atlanta, managing to locate the street on the map Wilbert had the thing plastered onto the empty seat next to him.
He kept on checking it, his memory was growing increasingly poor at his advanced age.
The old man tried to keep his cool as he navigated through the hectic streets of Atlanta, all around him people were screaming and running... from other people who walked slowly... these people groaned and their co-ordination was poor to say the least, gazing at some of these people faces...
"Stoners, Druggies..." Wilbert quickly muttered to calm himself, yet even he knew no matter what drugs were out there... they didn't cause white pupils and rotting skin...
The dead, can't have been rising, they simply can't have been. But here Wilbert was in the middle of the fray with corpses chasing the living... it felt surreal, it felt like a dream...
SMACK
Wilbert turned, one of these "things" had found his old red pick-up truck in the middle of the road and was smacking it's face and hands against the window to his left. Jolting his seat Wilbert reversed his truck, throwing the "thing" off guard before he took off once again down the road. It's then he noticed another figure sprint out onto the road.
The woman had a baby cradled in her grip as she screamed "PLEASE HELP US! STOP THE TRU...!"
SPLAT!
Wilbert ran over her and her baby, their blood blinded his vision for a few seconds as he swore and used the windscreen wipers to figure out where the hell he was meant to be going. Too numb in shock at what he was seeing to realise he had just killed an woman and her baby, their bodies lying flattened behind him, chunks of their flesh caught in the cracks of his tyres. Shaking his head he drove onwards, he was nearing his son's place...
Turning his corner he saw a group of "things" feasting on something, they were hunched over biting into... into flesh. Wilbert felt bile rise in his throat when he saw the stomachless remains of what was once a man, lean upwards and snarl at the bright sky. His eyes as white and lifeless as the "things" that surrounded him. Wilbert's blood ran cold, no words of denial could be uttered, because it was all true. The dead were rising, this is what his eyes were telling him, a man without a stomach and a group of dead people were stumbling towards his truck...
Pressing his foot down on the pedal, the truck revved forward and safely away from these things. Wilbert could only describe them as zombies based of the George A Romero films he had seen when he was younger. They looked like zombies, they devoured the living like zombies...
"Fuck... this is fucked up" Was all he could finally utter, Wilbert watery globes scanned the panorama around him, there was nothing but death, destruction and screaming all around him. Pricking at all of the aged man's senses as he gulped, should he have gone on? He could have turned and fled now...
No, there was no point. He had come this far, he wasn't leaving now. Not until he knew his family were okay.
His mind flashed back to the voice-mail he received, his son would be fine, he... he had to tell his son things he should have said years ago.
He was here.
He stood gazing up at his son's apartment, Joel lived on the second floor with his wife Mary and their son John who they liked to call JJ, "John Jefferson=JJ" was the apparent logic behind it. The kid had to be about 11 now and Wilbert only held him once, only to see the baby had his father's wild blonde hairs.
Wilbert opened the truck door, an explosion of noises crashing into his eardrums as he took a shaky step onto the grey gravel of the Atlanta pavement.
He looked up at his son's apartment, gulping audibly he jogged forwards, he wanted to get back to his truck as soon as possible, very wary of the threat of it being stolen in this madness. Sweeping a quick glance up the street he saw that nobody was around other than those... those things. Yet the screams of death and panicked yells of people running through the streets encompassed the old man as he wiped a layer of sweat from his forehead and dived into the small apartment block.
"Let's get this over with..." he muttered to himself.
Gazing at the entrance to these small apartments it appeared deserted and desolate, a few blood stains lay splattered on the creamy walls.
"It's nothin' there... there someone else's..." Wilbert thought to himself, trying hard to dismiss the warning signs laid out in front of him. He proceeded onwards, planting on shaky foot in front of the other, the lingering stench in the air of decay was impossible to blot out... no this wasn't happening.
His family were fine.
One good thing about all this, was that his son's family lived in Apartment 1C, located on the ground floor of this apartment, so the old man need not fear stairs. This bare-footed venture into the madness would be over soon, he would run back to his truck and everything would be fine.
and sure enough he was soon here... standing in front of Apartment 1C, the green door stood slightly ajar, it looked as though someone had forced entry into the room. With a feeling of dread building in the pit of his stomach Wilbert pushed on the creaky green door until it opened fully, revealing a dark narrow corridor laid out ahead of the old man.
Wilbert tiptoed forward, weakly calling out "Son" in which he gained no response.
Yet he saw the bloodied fingerprints that littered the wall, he heard the snarling and the groaning from the kitchen area, along with a constant slamming noise...
Slam... Slam... Slam... it was if the groaning things were slamming on a counter or something.
Wilbert didn't want to enter the kitchen but... but he had too.
Time seemed to pause, he weakly called out "Son!" again in desperation and this time his son turned around in response.
Joel's skin was rotting, his eyes were white, a giant bite mark was ingrained into his neck. Next to his undead form was his wife Mary, she suffered injuries similar to her husband both looked like they had been ripped to shreds... blood was everywhere. The undead couple had been banging on a kitchen cabinet before they both picked up the sound of Wilbert's voice and turned around to snarl at him.
"Oh... Oh... I was too late... I..." was all Wilbert could pant to his shock. His world seemed to spin... everything felt cold as his whole being went numb.
Joel and Mary... or what was once Joel and Mary were closing the distance between themselves and the shocked old man. Wilbert... he couldn't move... he... he couldn't breathe. He was aware of his eyes falling on a fallen baseball bat on the floor near to his feet, next a shattered photograph. Glass and bits of décor littered the tiled kitchen floor of the apartment, he didn't know how the hell it happened.
But a less than a minute later, his arms were searing in agony, warm blood droplets trickled down his worn old overalls. The baseball bat was clutched tightly in his fingers, Mary and Joel lay on the ground... unmoving. Their brains leaked from their fractured skulls, Wilbert's whole form was drenched in sweat at how suddenly he had exerted himself, his heart thumping in his chest and aching worse than ever. His throat sore, had he been shouting when he smashed their heads in? He didn't know, it happened so fast he forgot.
All he knew is that... he couldn't. He couldn't see his son like that, he had too...
"Oh God... God fucking God... Fuck... I..." Wilbert heard the dull clunk of the baseball bat as it bounced of the kitchen floor, he was aware he had dropped the thing. His grip going slack as his grip on reality slid away, his legs gave way as he fell to his knees. He wheezed as he gazed at the ground, picking up the photograph that lay amongst the shattered glass.
It was Joel, holding his newborn son JJ, Mary smiling brightly by his side. Betty and her husband looked like the caring grandparents but yet there was Wilbert too. A tall, bony, scowling shadow in the background of the photograph, even ten years ago he was still in his overalls and straw hat. He barely looked any different.
"Boy... I... I never wanted this for you" He spoke solemnly his eyes darting from the photograph back to his son's corpse.
He found to his disgust... he couldn't cry. His body was too numb, he just felt an overwhelming sadness as he sat slumped there. He may not have wanted to care for his own son in life, but now he was dead... it only confirmed something to Wilbert. He was beyond redemption, his son was good hearted young man and maybe one day Wilbert would make the effort with his son right some of his previous wrongs, or just leave his son alone to live a good life without shitty him there. But he never got that chance, his son was dead.
and Joel had done everything right, he was right. He had a wife who he loved.
Wilbert was wrong, he was born wrong.
He sat there mulling in his own misery awaiting one of those things to come and finish him off, he was an old man he was close to death anyway, he had no purpose and no point to go on.
Until that is the door to the kitchen cabinet creaked open a few inches.
"Dad?" came a small voice from inside.
Wilbert head perked up slightly at the small southern tinted squeak that came from the cabinet. He watched in mild disbelief as a boy squeezed himself from the small space.
"Dad... Mum..." the boy called out blankly, his golden orbs locked upon the corpses of his parents.
"They... they died boy. Those... those weren't your parents. Not any more... I did what I had too" Wilbert found himself speaking up, the boy jumped back in shock when he realised that there was a strange old man crouched in the corner of the kitchen. Dressed in overalls and a straw hat, the old man stood up straight and looked down at the boy, he could have barely been 10 or 11, he had maple coloured eyes, tanned skin and wild, messy blonde hair that stuck out in every direction.
"Who... who are you!? Who...!" The boy exclaimed in shock, falling backwards, as he gulped and managed to shout "I... My folk told me not to speak to strangers..." it was the word "strangers" that caused Wilbert to flinch, of course he own grandson had never seen him before. Not since he was a squealing baby, something about this made the situation very real to Wilbert, as he steeled himself for his next goal. He couldn't protect his son, he had failed.
But he would right his wrongs, and protect his grandson. No matter what.
Wilbert picked up the photo from the ground and approached his wide eyed grandson, "John Jefferson, your known as JJ, I'm no stranger boy, I'm your granddaddy" before the boy could deny this, Wilbert had already shoved the photo in his grandson's hands, JJ made the link as he looked back from the tall form of his never present grandfather in the photograph, with his straw hat and overalls and the old stranger in front of him. The dots connected in his mind.
"Granddaddy? I've never seen you before... I..." his face was beet red as he stuttered to a halt and finally muttered "I.. I apologise Granddaddy I..."
"Don't apologise" Wilbert cut him off instantly "I've been a bad grandfather to you, your daddy, your mummy. I never came to see you, I... but now I'm here. I'm sorry about your folks boy but I'm going to take you somewhere safe now. It's what they would have wanted" he informed his grandson who nodded before looking down at the corpses of his parents once again.
"I knew they were dead" he muttered blankly, causing Wilbert to gaze at his grandson.
"They told me to hide in the cabinet and that they loved me... and then I heard them zombies come in... and mum and dad screamed. It was..." he shuddered at the memory "They... they were banging on that door for hours... I was so scared but then they went quiet and..." he gulped before he went silent. Placing a comforting hand on his grandson's skinny shoulder, Wilbert uttered "It's okay boy, I know... it's horrible, I..." he didn't know what else to say, he wasn't good at comforting people.
"Can... can we bury them?" JJ asked.
"No time, I'm sorry. We have to leave soon before more of those things turn up" Wilbert told him matter of factly, yet he felt a slight twinge at his cold heartstrings seeing his grandson's face crumple in disappointment and the saddened "Oh... okay" that came out of his mouth did little to help Wilbert feel any better.
"Can I... get a few things then, just quickly?" JJ begged of his grandfather.
"Make it quick" Wilbert told him sternly
The 11 year old blonde boy rushed out of the room and towards his bedroom no doubt, as Wilbert was left alone in the kitchen, letting the image of his dead son and daughter in law crash over him. Yet no matter how much he was supposed too... he couldn't cry. He simply couldn't, he didn't know what the hell was wrong with him.
"Joel. I... I'm gonna look after your boy now, I promise that" he told his son's unmoving, bloody, cadaver. With nothing else left to say Wilbert took one last sweeping glance at the kitchen before he departed down the corridor and towards his grandson's bedroom, he barely knew his grandson so a quick peek into his room should have told him something about his son's son.
"Boy are you done yet?" Wilbert asked poking his head inside of the door, JJ's room was plastered with pictures of racing cars, sports players and various trophies... he seemed to have the stereotypical interests of an 11 year old boy, he liked racing, he was part of sports team that had won small school tournaments, he probably liked watching football on the TV with his father.
JJ was a spitting image of Joel, right down to the bone, the eyes, the face, the attitude, it was identical. This only furthered Wilbert's sense of duty to protect the boy.
"Done" JJ replied, he had just finished zipping up a small backpack, as he slung the thing over his back looking up at his grandfather innocently, awaiting for him to speak next.
"Let's go" was all that needed to be said by Wilbert.
Closing the door to the Apartment 1C, Wilbert walked on ahead only to realise that JJ was lingering behind slightly, the 11 year old waved shyly at the green door of his apartment and muttered "Bye house... bye mum and dad..."
"Come on!" Wilbert yelled to him, yet this shout drew the "thing" that appeared out of nowhere. Wilbert felt the thing clamp it's freezing hands on his shoulders, "SHIT!" Wilbert bellowed at the rotting thing's head, wishing now more than ever that he had brought that bloodied baseball bat with him.
JJ screamed as the thing tried to lunge for Wilbert's neck, his teeth missed Wilbert's wrinkly skin by centimetres, a snarling Wilbert managed to use his new found strength (more like an adrenaline rush) to shove the thing to the floor.
Panting heavily, he ran towards the door to the outside world, it was then he noticed that JJ was still frozen in place. Gazing in horror at the thing that was slowly getting to it's feet.
"JJ! GET OVER HERE! NOW!" Wilbert screamed.
The 11 year old couldn't, he was frozen in terror as the thing got to it's feet once again and stumbled towards him. Wilbert could only watch as it was about to fall on the boy he promised to protect...
and then JJ whizzed past the thing, ducking under it's waving arms and clamped hands as he ran up to his grandfather. Sighing in relief Wilbert glared down at a pale JJ.
"In future, stay close to me" he instructed the boy. Yet he had learned as well not to let this boy out of sight.
Parenting for dummies, Wilbert was learning the basics.
"Okay" JJ mumbled, his gaze averted to the floor before him and his grandfather stepped back into the outside world.
To his relief, Wilbert's truck was still where he had parked it, rushing inside (with his grandson taking the seat next to him) he revved the engine to life. As he did he noticed another truck zoom past him, nearly knocking into his truck.
"FUCKIN' ASSHOLE!" Wilbert yelled helplessly after the truck. The driver...the man with a red cap and moustache didn't hear the old man's grumble. No he continued to drive onwards like a madman, his blonde wife cowering in the seat next to him and their brown haired son lay silent in his mother's protective grip.
"Why's everyone driving so crazy?" JJ asked of Wilbert.
"Everyone's panicking boy, everyone wants to get out of here. They aren't thinking straight" Wilbert explained to the boy who gazed out of the window. Just as the truck began to move he smiled and pointed to his left "oh... look granddaddy, there's a family coming towards the truck. They have a little girl and a baby with them" Wilbert saw them too, out of the corner of his eye. A family of five running towards his truck.
"HEY! GIVE US A LIFT! PLEASE!" The father yelled.
Wilbert put his foot down on the pedal, his truck sped off leaving the stunned and defenceless family in the middle of this madness. But even more stunned was JJ who gazed at his grandfather in shock at what he had just done.
"You're... you're going back for them... right? You didn't just...?" The boy asked in disbelief.
Wilbert didn't respond, he kept his eyes on the road ahead of him.
"They needed help! We had room! Why did you drive off!? Did you panic!? Were you thinking straight!? Are you a crazy driver too? Are..."
"JJ!" Wilbert snapped, this brought an end to the barrage of questions leaking from his grandson's mouth. Wilbert sighed "Listen here boy, we didn't know who these people were. They could have stolen the truck from us, we... we can't trust them. Not here. It's too dangerous..."
"They looked nice! If my parents were here they'd have helped that family..."
"You're parents are dead, boy. I'm all you have now" Wilbert told him harshly.
"I wish you fucking weren't" JJ snarled back to him, a very dangerous and harsh tone quickly replaced the boy's usual, happy southern drawl.
"Language!" Wilbert roared like an alarm, even though the old man himself swore like a trooper.
JJ said no more, but shot his grandfather a look full of hatred before he slumped against the window gazing at the madness outside as Wilbert took every measure to avoid the stumbling things and people in general. Some of them ran towards the truck but Wilbert drove on... JJ raised no more complaints. By some strange means they reached the highway unscathed. JJ had been absorbing the horrid sights around him like a sponge, yet now he was whispering something to himself under his breath as he clenched his eyes shut.
Wilbert hadn't noticed it at first, but he realised it when his grandson's whispering got louder and he started clenching his tufts of wild blonde hair tightly. Almost as if he was trying to rip out his own hairs, driving on the clear side of the highway (even though it was the wrong side, but there was a lack of cars, so they were safe for now) Wilbert was glad his grandson's eyes were shut.
Because just as he passed a pit stop, two convicts dressed in bright orange jumpsuits, came sprinting towards the truck, one of them was an Asian man with greasy black hair and another was a darker skinned man with dark hair.
"Hey man! Stop the truck! We need a ride!" the Asian man yelled.
Suffice to say, Wilbert left them behind, if he could leave a family behind and not bat an eyelid than he was fine to leave two convicts behind who would no doubt, kill or rob his truck and hurt JJ...
Speaking of the boy...
It sounded like he was muttering "Don't break... Don't break..." under his breath, Wilbert had been ignoring his grandson for as long as he could. Yet now he had to ask the mandatory "Are you alright?" in which JJ's little ritual seemed to stop, he let his hands fall to his sides, he stopped whispering and he opened his eyes and looked up at this grandfather.
"Fine, I just... couldn't we have done anything to help them?" he inquired of his granddad. Wilbert knew he would have to answer honestly.
"I'm not going to lie boy, we could have done a lot more to help them. But they could have hurt us, they might not have done. But they could have. I couldn't take that chance, I didn't want you to get hurt. A lot of stuff you see now is going to upset you and I'm going to do a lot of mean things. But just understand this... I do it to keep you safe. It's what your dad would have wanted and... it's... it's what I feel like I need to do. To make it up to you for being a bad granddaddy" he explained to his listening grandson.
His grandson nodded, yet looking out of the window once again Wilbert caught sight of an old man letting two blonde women (who looked like sisters) into his RV. JJ gave Wilbert a look in which Wilbert sighed.
"I'm not perfect, I know that. But..." he trailed to a halt. He couldn't say anything else, he had just been proven as a bad person by some random old guy with an RV who had more compassion than he would ever have.
"Granddad?" JJ suddenly spoke up.
"Yeah" he replied.
"Back there, with that thing... I... didn't know what came over me. I just froze, it was like that with Mum and Dad I just froze, I didn't even cry even though I loved them. I... don't want to be weak, I'm not weak, am I?" He inquired of his listening grandfather.
"It's okay to cry if you're upset, ain't no shame in it. You just lost you parents, you've seen horrible things, now you're stuck with your horrible, stinky old granddad. I ain't gonna stir up a fuss if you cry. You're 11 aren't you? (JJ nodded) "It's normal for 11 year old's to cry at cut's and bruises, yet alone this... you can cry away boy. I know you're upset" Wilbert's words crashed over JJ, who titled his head to the side and sighed, yet he didn't cry.
Wilbert wondered if that whole whispering act about the "Don't break..." thing had something to do with his grandson trying to put on a tough front and hiding what he really felt. He seemed to shrink into himself when angry or frightened and gave the impression he was on cloud nine most of the time. Wilbert knew this, Joel was quite similar in personality, but even Joel would cry by now.
He couldn't get JJ to cry, but... but he was starting to worry for the boy.
"Where are we going?" JJ asked to fill up the silence in the truck.
"Back to my farm, it's a five hour drive. We'll be far away from the city and other people, it will be safe there. Tell me, have you ever worked on a farm before?" he asked of the skinny boy to his side. JJ sadly shook his head.
"Born and bred city boy, I'm gonna have teach you how to live in the country..." Wilbert chuckled slightly to himself, as JJ nervously looked up.
"What... what if those things find the farm granddad? What if nasty people do...?"
"They won't. We'll wait this out. It can't go on forever" Wilbert concluded, (and usually his conclusions were right) JJ remained silent on the matter, as he slumped against the window to the truck once again.
"So... I hear you like racing and cars then?" Wilbert asked to try and build some bridges between him and the blonde boy.
"Um... yeah, I like big monster trucks! and watching races on TV! It's so cool!" JJ piped up, his face lighting up as he discussed the things he loved the most.
"Well, that's good. Did you... erm... like sports too?" Wilbert ventured further into his grandson's past.
"Yeah! I liked watching football on TV with dad! and I played for my school's team!"
JJ was quite skinny, he couldn't imagine him as an american football player when he grew older. Yet again Joel had buffed up after he left school. Wilbert had always been skinny and lanky even as a young man. It was hard to tell whose genetics JJ would take after, his father or grandfather's.
"Joel loved sports, guess it runs in the family" Wilbert told JJ.
"Yeah, my middle name is Joel you know? After dad..." he trailed off their sadly. Yet Wilbert tried to keep the conversation light, as he muttered "So you're John Joel Jefferson..."
"John Joel Jefferson Junior, I know four J's" JJ muttered impressed as Wilbert laughed to himself.
"Wilbert Gary Jefferson, Although you can call me Bert if you want boy. It's what my daddy always called me" The old man found himself opening up to someone, it had been the first time in years he had spoken with a sense of happiness.
"How old are you?" JJ asked, intrigued by his grandfather and willing to learn more about him. Besides the small talk distracted them from the smouldering ruin of Atlanta behind them and the bad memories interlinked with the city...
"67 and counting..." Wilbert responded.
The truck drove onwards and back to Wilbert's farm. Unknown to both Jefferson's there was a long and dark road ahead. Yet Wilbert found out that he could continue to survive travelling down this road, as long as he had JJ by his side.
It wasn't much, but helping one boy to survive... To Wilbert...
It helped right, so many of his wrongs.
