This story was a combination of two things. The first was an idea I had about placing the eight survivors with a group of civilians. I did something similar in Law of the Gun with Kevin and Alyssa. I understand quite well that the Resident Evil series is about blood, gore, and horror, but I wanted to add a more human element to it. The second was from reading A Portrait of the Artist As A Young Man. There is a long passage where a Jesuit priest preaches that how all forms of sin can lead to endless torment in the inferno. After describing Hell in graphic detail, he pushes his listeners, a group of school children, to lead a completely pious life. I had to disagree. Humans sin everyday. It is because we are flawed by nature. Our imperfections make us beautiful, make us human. Perfection would make us machines, or nothing more than corpses. The first is a complete impossibility. The second throws away the ability to enjoy life.
"Move!"
"Hey, stop pushing me! I've been st—AH!" Cindy gasped as the man's body crashed to the ground. The flickering light from the towering, burning piles of sawhorses and furniture, as well as that of the empty oil barrels that had fires in them, illuminated the victim's face. It was a mask of terror at his fall, and betrayal at how a fellow human being could be so selfish. The man that had attacked him paid him no notice, rather he continued pushing his way through the poor excuse for a breadline, his eyes wild with hunger.
Cindy bit her lip as he headed in the direction of George, Jim, Alyssa, and Yoko, who were trying their best to wait. George flipped his wrist over to check his watch. Jim was fidgeting. Alyssa's foot was tapping. Yoko held her backpack at the ready. They hadn't heard the fight over the muttering, chatter, and general commotion of the rather imposingly sized "line." If this scoundrel caused a riot, the survivors' chances of getting food from this area would be slim to none. Considering the fact that this was the fourth day of the outbreak, they would need to take what they could get. If that meant accepting help from the Salvation Army in an area that was only sheltered for a short amount of time, then so be it.
Kevin ran up, and grabbed the perpetrator by the scruff of his neck. "Wait your turn, shithead!"
The gentleman on the pavement was kindly helped up by Mark. While the burly man was being thanked, Cindy walked up to the unfortunate soul to see if he had incurred any wounds. His jeans were torn from the fall, and his bare arms were covered in ugly-looking cuts and bruises. His face had suffered the worst. The man's straight nose was badly discolored, and his bleeding mouth had a chipped tooth. The waitress bent down and took out the bandage she dutifully carried with her. "Don't worry, this'll only take a moment."
The man, rather than accepting her generosity, waved his hand, the back of which sported a lovely gash. "Can ya at least let me have a little of my dignity?" At that, he rose and started to walk back to the line, out of which Kevin had yanked the troublemaker. David was currently giving the latter a well-deserved punch to the face. The returning man's head was down, and his hands were jammed in his pockets.
Cindy sighed, and pocketed the bandage. "I was only trying to help."
Mark folded his arms. "Don't let it get to ya. If he wants to walk around like that, let him," after a pause, he added, "Not that I blame him, though."
"What do you mean?" She asked, watching the line slowly advance toward the mal-equipped, open air kitchen.
It contained mostly workers in the prime of their years, but a few were middle aged. All of them were clad in faded, and rather dirty, aprons bearing the organization's symbol. Their faces were completely blank as they mechanically passed out loaves of bread and water bottles, or ladled weak broth into bowls. The sandwiches were long gone. It wasn't much, but it was enough. Cindy felt a sense of sadness as she realized that the elderly folks would not be helping. The virus had easily taken them, and the young children. She fondly remembered working alongside them once upon a time, back when bills didn't rule her life, and her time was her own. She did, however, see the age in the faces of the workers. A younger person looked past prime, and a middle aged person appeared old. To make the scene even more depressing was the fact that the Army was positioned directly behind these people. They were in full gear, their guns drawn. Cindy couldn't see their faces as well; they were out of the fire, and their helmets put them in shadow. Still, she was willing to bet that they were aged as well. Everyone was. A few trucks were parked nearby. Some were used for transporting troops, while others were for the workers and the provisions they carried. If it wasn't for the members of the Army guarding the little food dispensing outpost, it would have been completely raided. The agitator from earlier had been caught by Kevin before he had caused any real stir.
The veteran's eyes were distant. "Saw this in 'Nam all the time. When the world goes to hell around you, you try to cling to what you've got left. Apparently, this guy doesn't want to lose his pride in being above free handouts."
"But he accepted one from you, and he's accepting one now. That doesn't add up," she replied as she watched the agitator scamper off with a black eye, and several other prominent injuries to his flesh.
"Don't you even think about coming back!" David yelled after him. His shout was punctuated by the rock he lobbed after the retreating male. It bounced off the pavement once, twice, three times, and struck an over-turned trashcan before coming to a halt. Cindy at first wished that Kevin and David wouldn't have been so violent, but reminded herself that there hadn't been a choice in the matter.
Mark shrugged. "It's different for everyone, Cindy. The food, I can understand. It's a necessity. As for yourself and me, I guess we'll never know. Besides, we've got more important things to worry about." He pointed toward the four survivors that were returning with the provisions. Each looked relieved to finally be out of line. Yoko carried quite a few bottles in her backpack, and a bowl in her hand. Alyssa was grimacing at the two bowls in her hands. Cindy guessed from the lack of steam rising that the broth was cold, but she didn't care. Jim was carrying a massive load of bread, and was using his chin to keep it in place. George had about four loaves of bread under arm, and four water bottles under the other.
Mark took some of Jim's load off of his hands. Kevin, who had rejoined the group, offered to carry a bowl for Alyssa. Normally, the reporter would have refused, but this time, she did not. She actually looked glad to be having some assistance, and Ryman couldn't help but grin at that. Cindy gathered that Alyssa's brief change in character had something to do with the fact that waiting in line had worn her down. "No, no thank you. It's okay. I can manage." Yoko sheepishly responded as David offered to carry her backpack for her. She was blushing quite a bit as she hugged it to herself. An embarrassed smile was on her face. King simply gave a nod, and Lennox thought she saw a slight smile on his face as he let the student do as she pleased.
As Cindy slowly helped to remove George of half of his burden, her fingers lightly brushed against his. Her face felt as hot as the fires near them, and she cleared her throat, her head down. "Sorry."
A reassuring hand was laid on her shoulder. "Nothing to apologize for."
As the small group walked away, the breadline continued on and on, the people it was feeding shuffling in a grumbling, groaning mass. The flames distorted their image into one shadow, one endless entity. It seemed to the end of time, they would wait for their needs to be fulfilled.
XXXXXX
"David, I can take the watch. Why don't you get some sleep?" Cindy asked as she leaned out of the open doorway. The response he made was the shake of his head, and the drumming of his fingers on the fire escape rail. He silently reviewed the barren street below him with a figure that was as straight as an arrow. David's gun, although held by his side, was clenched tightly. The only lights were from those of the fire escape, and the streetlights. Abandoned cars sat in a lonely state on the cracked pavement. It was the fifth day of the outbreak. Not a soul, save for the survivors, was around. Not that they were complaining; they had yanked up the ladder to the fire escape as a precaution. The wind softly stirred his jet black ponytail. Cindy felt the strands of her own hair moving as well.
Her high-heeled shoe clicked on the grating. Her hand was held out to her friend. When he turned suddenly, she retracted it as if frightened. "I—I'm sorry," she whispered.
His expression was tense, his blue eyes icy. This slowly fell away, however, and he sighed, his shoulders sagging. "No, I should be," after a moment, he added, "Thank you, Cindy." She nodded dutifully before heading back inside of the apartment. David turned back around.
Jim was sprawled on the couch nearest the doorway through which she had just reentered. The much-patched blanket he had grabbed was sliding off his sleeping form. Cindy tugged it back on with a slight smile. He didn't even stir. He was completely out of energy from the plight in the subway. Jim had earned David's respect down there with his mad pipe swings that took out multiple zombies at once. This burst of strength had been coupled with his burst of courage. Yoko was dozing in a tastelessly colored, plaid-printed armchair. Cindy adjusted the pillow so that she wouldn't hurt her neck. The small girl had proved herself to be anything but a damsel in distress earlier on. David was still beating himself up over the fact that in the moment he had left the Asian girl alone, she had literally been jumped and knocked down by a massive flea that had been hiding in the shadows. The bug hadn't just become bigger; it had also grown smarter. Yoko, however, had thought on her feet. She'd still been holding a scrub brush, but had needed to aim it correctly. In order to do this, she'd had to distract the bug. Seeing no other option, she'd bit down on its leg. "Something I'd never want to do again," she'd later muttered to the group while spitting profusely. The plan had been a success. The flea had reeled back in pain, and she had then wriggled free.
Cindy treaded toward the back wall of the room. George was sitting against it. His knees were drawn up, and his arm was lying over top of them. His head was down on top of the arm. She thought he was asleep at first, but after a few moments, she realized that his body was shaking. Cindy sunk to her knees, and in a defeated tone, whispered, "Oh, George."
He was crying. She hadn't seen him cry since the night at the bar when this had all happened. He'd been so upset over his wife leaving him. Once the incident with the strange customer occurred, however, the doctor had straightened himself right up. George never did verbally refuse the fact that he'd shed tears, but his high amounts of courage spoke volumes. He was ashamed to show such an emotion, especially since others depended upon him. The group depended on Cindy, as well, but she was a different case. She wasn't formally a nurse. Still, she tried not to allow herself to break down. She had, however, reached her breaking point at the subway station that day. The survivors had run toward it as a means of escape.
Alyssa had tripped when her heel had broken. She had fallen behind, and screamed at the others to go. Mark had refused her commands, saying that he would not accept doing such a thing. Advising the others to continue, and reinforcing it with a warning shot in their direction, he'd remained with the reporter while the zombies had closed in on them. The image had been more than enough to turn a stomach.
After an hour of waiting underground, the survivors had been forced to admit that Alyssa and Mark were gone. David, Yoko, and Kevin had taken it the hardest. David had bashed nearly everything in sight out of the anger of losing his two friends, causing Jim to yell at him about damaging subway property. Yoko had completely clammed up until the flea attack. She'd looked up to Alyssa as a sister figure, and now she was gone. Kevin had begun to venture off on his own more and more. It hadn't been a secret that he'd cared for Alyssa very much. Cindy had wondered if he had been looking for her in the dark tunnels, but shook off that notion due to the madness it had merited. His wandering had sealed his fate. When the queen of the fleas had attacked the subway car, Kevin had been near the window. The remaining survivors had run after him, but it had been too late. He had become dinner for the fleas.
No one had had time to react to the deaths properly; the need to find shelter had been too great. For Jim and Yoko, it would still be a while; they were too tired. David wasn't just mentally abusing himself over Yoko being in danger, but also the survivor's guilt over losing the others, particularly Mark and Alyssa. It was self-destructive, but it was best to leave him alone. Cindy had been walking in darkness the entire time. She'd fought to survive, but couldn't remove the feelings of futility from her heart that had been embedded when Will had been killed. Her friends were falling from her, and the only way to keep them was to let them know she was there. She knew she would be an insomniac, but how else was she to deal with this? George was having a mental breakdown. He'd been a few feet from Kevin when he'd been grabbed. It had all happened too quickly for any intervention to save Ryman's life. The doctor had befriended the man, and now he was gone. Added to that the other two deaths of the people that had depended on him, and it was no wonder that Hamilton was in such a state.
George's head shot up in surprise at Cindy's words, and he vigorously wiped off the tears on his arm. "Don't worry, I'm fine," he muttered in a voice that was too off-tone for his message to be taken at face value.
Cindy's fingers softly curled around his arm. She didn't try to pull it away from his face, but it slowly fell to his lap. As he stared at her, his eyes slightly puffy, Lennox transferred her gaze down to their hands. Hers had moved down to his, and was squeezing it. She noted to herself how much smaller hers was in comparison. Cindy shakily sighed. "Mark told me yesterday that people cling to what they still have when the world collapses. It's kind of silly, seeing as how quickly those things can be lost," she conscientiously raised her head, feeling herself blush once more, "but I guess…that's what keeps us human."
George didn't say anything in response, and his expression was hard to read. A moment of silence passed, and Cindy felt a sort of tingling sensation from how physically close she was to him. Finally, he let out a soft sigh, and reached forward, his hand brushing the strands of her hair before coming to rest on her cheek. His lips pressed against hers, and she gripped his hand tightly. George's hand squeezed hers back. Cindy wrapped her other arm around him, but he didn't advance on her any further. This was enough.
She drew out to study his face. He was far from smiling, but he looked considerably less miserable and utterly beaten inside. "Please, tell me you feel at least a little better." She was answered with a nod and another squeeze on her hand. Ignoring her body's rather embarrassed reactions to this intimacy, she laid her head on his shoulder. A few moments later, his head came to rest on top of hers. Sleep was still a long way off, but that was passable. Their insomnia, and the reason behind it, proved they were only human.