Somehow, Dahlia had ended up back here, where it began.
Now, as she stood outside the ruins, grey and rusted, of the superstore, she could all of a sudden see just how much she had changed. The last time she had been here was almost ten years ago — she had been twelve when Claire had rescued her , and innocent, pure as a daisy. Never killed a man in her life. Oh how that had changed… The apocalypse had changed her, and since, she had killed many a man — undead and alive alike. It had changed everyone, and that was precisely why she had killed.
Twenty one now, and all alone this time, Dahlia pushed open the door and stepped inside the store. Shelves were still intact for the most part, as were what she assumed were the remains of Jacen. She stepped over him delicately, scanning the area with her gun, but as she did, she heard nearby movement. She spun on her heel, turning in seconds flat, a conditioned and smooth reflex developed in the several years since she had escaped from Arcadia. There was a low groan from a little way off, the sound of someone in pain, but alive.Probably bit. She thought to herself, bitterly. All the same, she kept her gun drawn and walked towards the sound, confidence in her step. She had developed in her shooting skills, and rarely missed her mark except on occasions when the target moved too fast for her to aim properly.
Dead things had gone from hunters to hunted in the last year with the 'accidental' release of another weapon that counteracted the original virus and turned its infected into carriers of a parasite. This parasite took the undead and reversed the effects of the T-Virus, taking the undead and turning them into the dead. It took up to three months to complete its job, but all the same, as it did, it made the host weaker and easier to kill. While some around her chose to make attempts at resuming a normal life complete with electricity and houses, wives and children, dinner at a table with candles, Dahlia had chosen another path — She became a hunter. Cold as she had become in the time without her Claire, she was better off not being around people.
On several occasions, she had fallen in with one group or another, but never stayed for long. Without Claire, she really had no purpose but that of revenge. There had once been a time when everyone who saw her would smile and Claire would pull her close, saying 'Isn't she beautiful? She's my angel, my light.' but no longer. Claire, she assumed, had died on the ship with the others, and Alice as well was long gone, a ghost without a trace. Disappeared as sudden as she had come, and once again in a fury of flames. Both had caused a change in her. She had become cold, nothing but a useless killer. A light without a dark, a virus with no antidote. Her hazel eyes had become tired and lifeless like scuffed glass.
Rounding the shelf, Dahlia found two figures slumped against the wall, so layered with blood and dirt that it was only through seeing their clothing that she came to the conclusion that they were female. Keeping the gun level at ready, she aimed between their heads and took her foot, roughly kicking the other's legs.
'You bit?' She asked — her greeting of choice since she'd been on her own. It was best to know right away, so she didn't waste her time and try to save someone who was a hopeless cause anyway. The figure stirred, shaking her head. Most of the skin on both of the survivors' upper halves was bared — arms, necks, upper chest — and Dahlia could see no primary bite wounds. There were no prominent bloodstains seeping through either's clothing — none of the blood they were covered in was their own. This was a good indication that she was telling the truth — neither of them were bit. Dahlia nodded and holstered the gun, dropping to her knees to sift through her back. Likely, all they needed was water, and though she preferred to keep her supplies to herself, especially something as vital as water, she felt she could spare some for these two people — she remembered, still, what it had been like to be trapped in here herself. If she could get them well enough to walk, she could take them with her, and drop them off at one of the Havens where they would be safe. She held the metal canteen out to the one who had shaken her head, offering it to her.
'Drink.' She said firmly. The survivor reached out, taking the canteen, and Dahlia's heart stopped. She grabbed the woman's wrist, roughly, and the canteen fell onto the floor with a loud crash, startling the second survivor awake. On the woman's wrist was a bracelet of many colors, much like a flea-market rug - faded shades of what had once been bright reds, violets, blues, yellows, and browns. Her stomach flipped and lurched and she dropped the woman's wrist, reaching out a hand to push her chin up so she could see her face. Familiar sea-blue eyes met her own, tired and filled with hurt, but recognizable all the same. All at once, Dahlia had scrambled over to the other of the two and had brushed the matted hair away from her face.
Piercing green eyes, the color of the dreams that kept Dahlia alive these days, found hers, and she stopped breathing, shaking where she knelt. Her hand gently cupped the woman's cheek, and as she pulled it away, it was covered in blood and dirt. A smile found the eyes as they continued to observe the young woman, and a tear slipped down her cheek, leaving a trail of pale skin as it fell.
Dahlia sat in shock for only seconds before she threw her arms around the woman's neck, burying her face in the dirt-smelling fabric of her shirt. It didn't matter that she was now filthy and bloody. Nothing mattered. 'I almost shot you…' she whispered, sitting back again to once again look at the other woman's eyes. 'I almost killed you both.' A hand reached out weakly to take her own, squeezing it gently.
'But you didn't, K-Mart.' The tired and barely there voice replied. The tears took over Dahlia's eyes, and everything went blurry, but she didn't wipe them away.
'Where were you? Why didn't you find me?' She asked, feeling much like a child again as she finally swatted tears away from her vision. The redhead shook her head. It was something they would never discuss, not then, and not after. It didn't really matter in the end, anyway. They had returned now, her savior and her hero, after a long absence. 'The prodigal lover returns.' Dahlia nearly laughed, choking back tears as she leaned in to kiss the ghost of her past. From beside them, she heard the other woman speak up as she took a sip from the canteen that she had picked up.
'It's very nice that you two have found each other again, but are we just going to sit here and wait to die, or do you have some kind of car?' There was the tone that Dahlia had missed from the brunette, the tone that held everything and nothing at once — she was joking, of course, and she had never much been one to act like a bitch, but in a tough situation like this, all she ever tried to do was make the younger girl smile. And indeed, as Dahlia pulled back from her lost companion, she smiled at the brunette. Already, she had taken a shirt from the younger girl's bag and cleaned some of the dirt off her face, and it was a sight for sore eyes, the scars and the light in her eyes. She took the shirt back, giving the brunette a mock fake glare.
'That's my good shirt.' She replied. Then she dove for her as well, wrapping her in a tight hug. Both of them, Claire and Alice, were hers and she was theirs. And now that she'd found them again, she wasn't planning on ever letting them go.