Silence had always been safe. When the pain of the migraines came, the noise, the stabbing agony of light, Five would hide somewhere dark and quiet. It had been her escape. But the quiet of midnight was dangerous now. She stared hollowly up at the corrugated tin roof.
Hordes of the undead clustered outside the gates of Abel Township every night. They were locked out, but their low moans filtered through the plywood walls of the bunkhouse and surrounded Five with hair-raising white noise. The only other sound was Runner Four - Jody - on the other side of the small room, occasionally mumbling something in her sleep. This was as close to silence as the world allowed now. Five's skin crawled.
She rolled onto her side on the thin mattress, grimacing as she tried to get comfortable. The mattress did little to pad the wooden bed frame, but it was a real mattress. There was even a blanket. It scratched, but it kept her warm in the clammy English night. Her rough hands, tucked beneath her head, stank of bleach – standard post-mission decontamination procedure from earlier that afternoon. Five wrinkled her nose. Better than taking zombie germs to bed, she allowed.
Five wasn't opposed to sleep. But for the last week, sleep had been… less restful than usual. She released a pent-up breath. Her run in the morning was a long one, and she needed to be ready before dawn. If she kept herself awake again tonight, her reflexes would be even slower, and she'd probably have a migraine. Five grimaced. Not a great combination. One wrong step and a sprained ankle could seal her fate. And then add in zombie evasion maneuvers while carrying supplies and a weapon... And what about technology – would the scanners be working?
The wooden bed frame on Five's left creaked, interrupting her grim thoughts. Jody was shifting in her sleep, mumbling out in distress, "No, no, not orange, the sweater's all wrong now..." Five rolled her eyes affectionately. Maybe she'd dream about sweaters tonight, too.
She stood alone in the dark in a grassy field, running shoes slick with mud. Rain poured thick and cold, plastering tendrils of hair to her face. The headset on her right ear crackled. There might not be signal, or the systems might be down, or maybe no one was on the other side. Fear tunneled Five's vision as a moan came from straight ahead. The crawler in the grass jerkily lifted itself to its feet, two paces in front of her. Five's legs were jelly with panic, and she was trying to run, but her steps churned in slow motion.
The creature shuffled closer, groaning a death-rattle of anticipation. It clutched her panting throat with skeletal fingers, leering at her with milky eyes as she struggled for breath. The next time I see your face, maybe I'll have to shoot you in the head. No one stays sane through this, Five. Its teeth tore into her neck, and she lurched upright with a strangled shriek.
Five leaned over the edge of the bed, gagging and dry-heaving until there was nothing left. She wiped her bitter mouth with the back of her shaking hand. Her breath came in shattered gasps as she tried to steady herself to here – Abel – bunkhouse – Jody – oh, damn it, Jody who was tensely awake in her bunk and staring at Five with pity in her eyes again and I know she just wants to help but don't you understand, Jody? You can't help, nobody can help, this isn't just a dream – we know it'll happen eventually. To all of us. She just wanted to sleep, and for her raw throat to stop hurting, and to never dream again.
"I don't mind," Jody murmured. "I mean, if it would make you feel better. Talking about it, I mean - or writing it down, or whatever. It always helps me to talk about it." Five's chest tightened. "I know it was horrible." Jody's big, sad eyes drilled into Five's. "And maybe, if you actually talk about it, you'd be able to sleep."
Five needed to move. Couldn't make words happen, couldn't bring that night close enough to talk about. And God, her head, her head, it was starting, the migraine was back. She lurched upright, icy concrete stinging her bare feet. She twisted into her sports bra and tugged on her running shoes. Jody's hopeful expression collapsed. "We – we can talk later, then. I'm here if you want to. And... I guess I'm still here if you don't."
Five paused outside the bunkhouse, swaying from exhaustion and adrenaline. The migraine was coming on fast. She could barely see, and her head was pounding too much to put words together. Her legs moved of their own accord, carrying her across the courtyard and into the training grounds. One lap around the track. Two laps. Four. Twelve. Five's mind distanced itself from the splitting agony at the back of her head and zeroed in on the steady in-out-in-out of her breathing, the soft padding of her shoes against the rough track, anything to shut out the groaning silence of the Abel night.
Minutes – or was it hours? – later, Five blinked in surprise as the door to the comms shack opened in front of her. Warm light streamed into the chilly night air, silhouetting Jack's tousled mop of ginger hair as he squinted into the night. The radio host looked Five up and down and gave a low whistle. "Well, shit. You better come in."
Eugene sat at the desk, chatting into the microphone. "Listeners, looks like we have a visitor to break up the late night – mm, actually early morning – monotony. So here's a song for your sleep-deprived selves until we come back in a minute." He cued up the music, muted the mic, and spun around in his chair to welcome the unexpected visitor. As he noted Five's drained posture and the sweat trickling down her flushed face, he raised his eyebrows. "Jesus. Need help hiding a body?" Five shook her head, one arm grasping the doorframe for balance as the world tilted. Jack reached out to steady her, but she tensed and shied away. Jack glanced back to Eugene, who nodded toward the threadbare orange couch at the side of the room.
"Hey, listen." Jack retreated back to his chair. "It seems like you might be... not doing all that great. I get it. Totally normal. Especially after that – that night – it's normal." He smiled tightly and indicated the couch to Five with a shrug.
"We do get it." Eugene rested his hand on the stump of his left leg. "And sometimes sleep just makes it worse. I know. But hey, if you need company, you're in the right place!" He gave Five a sunny smile.
Five walked a few steps to the couch and paused, guarded eyes evaluating the two men. Jack and Eugene exchanged a sideways glance, and then turned back to the radio equipment.
"Welcome back, listeners," Jack chirped into the mic. "Turns out our visitor didn't want to stay and chat. Just popped in with a song request and left. You know how it is when you've got a song stuck in your head, but you can't quite remember the next line… we've all been there."
"Definitely," Eugene nodded gravely. "Or when you actually do know all the lyrics to a song, and someone else comes along and thinks they know all the lyrics, and they've got a line wrong, and they'll fight to the death, thinking they're right…"
Jack shot Eugene a dirty look. "That was one time! Nobody in their right minds actually knows all the lyrics. You just sing it! That's what songs are for!"
Eugene heaved a sigh. "Here's the story from A to Z. Nowhere in the song does it mention alcohol."
"'Slam your body down, the wine is all around!' It's a great party anthem!"
"More like 'pass out and sleep through the beginning of the zombie apocalypse, the wine is all around,' am I right?"
Five slipped off her running shoes and curled up in the far corner of the couch, tucking her chilled toes between the couch cushions.
"I'll have you know," Jack reminisced to any potential listeners, "I was actually respected on the dance floor. Unlike this radio show. I could really break it down."
"Oh, I'm sure you would break it down. Wheezing and sweaty and doing a little step-clap, step-clap while you tried to catch your breath." Eugene coughed out a laugh and ducked out of arm's reach as Jack tried to slap him. "All I'm saying is you could stand to go out with the runners now and again! The only exercise you get these days is walking to the latrines."
"Well, Mr. Look-At-Me-I-Know-Stupid-Lyrics, your sedentary lifestyle and steady diet of baked beans isn't doing you a world of favors either."
"Sedentary lifestyle?" Eugene's eyes narrowed. "Let me tell you about sedentary, Mr. I-Have-Two-Legs-But-Could-You-Get-Me-A-Refill…"
As Jack cued up the next song, Eugene glanced back at Five. He elbowed his partner, who squawked in protest and turned to look as well. Jack stood up, unfolding the crocheted blanket from the back of his chair and draping it over Five's unconscious form. Eugene shook his head. "Look at us. Gone soft. Let's take up bingo and set out a candy dish for the grandkids."
Jack rolled his eyes, but played along in an old-woman quaver. "Yes, that one's a granddaughter to be proud of. Gets it from my side of the family."
They kept up their banter through the wee hours of the morning until their shift on Radio Abel was over at six. Jack switched off the mic and slumped back in his chair, overtaken by a giant yawn. "Oh, don't start that, it's contagious," Eugene grumbled. "Neither of us will be good for anything today if we-" He covered a similarly massive yawn with the back of his hand.
"Speaking of no good today," Jack nodded toward Five, "I don't want to be the one to tell the grandkid naptime's over."
"I'm sure they can spare Five from today's mission. Maybe." Eugene frowned. "I guess I have no idea how that works."
The door clicked open. Sam Yao's sleep-rumpled hair stood rigidly at attention on one side of his head. He blinked, looking from Jack to Eugene and back. "Did I miss something?" His voice was thick with sleep. "I was so sure I was on at six this morning."
"Of course you're on now. We're just finishing up our shift." Jack tilted his head. "Is anything wrong with that?"
Sam tucked his hands in the pockets of his maybe-used-to-be-dark-green hoodie and slouched against the doorframe. "Well, I wouldn't say anything is wrong with that," he grinned, "but given that you've never not ducked out early from a night shift, I'm just a little surprised to see you here and awake and not engaged in… questionable behavior."
Eugene's eyes sparkled. "Oh, I don't know about that. This is a hostage situation, after all."
"Who's the hostage? Have you got the Major tied up under the desk? That'd be pretty funny, actually. Or – guys, if you've done anything with my Marmite, I'll–"
"More exciting than your contraband Marmite," Jack sneered. "We've drugged your favorite runner." Sam's eyes widened. "I expect you want to know our terms… You can't come in unless Five gets the day off." He waved a hesitant Sam into the shack and pointed toward the couch.
"And we didn't drug her, of course," Eugene continued with a straight face. "Unless you're counting the opiate effects of stimulating conversation and quality music. Jack was just getting carried away with his role as evil mastermind."
"I think it's my calling," Jack nodded.
Sam stared at Five. "So, I mean, she's fine, right? Just… doing her best burrito impression in the comms shack, because that's a perfectly normal place to sleep, especially when the person sleeping doesn't actually work in the comms shack..."
Eugene smiled crookedly. "Don't worry about keeping your voice down." Sam flinched, eyes darting to Five's slack face. Was that… drool? "Five stumbled in here around three this morning, looking like she'd seen a ghost –"
"—and ran from it," Jack interjected.
"Yeah. Wasn't doing so hot. Seemed like she had a migraine, didn't really say anything. So after Jack lunged at her—"
"—she was about to keel over!" Jack scowled. "It was fine, I had it under control. Don't look at me like that!"
"We gave Five some space and she just curled up like that. I think she fell asleep pretty quick. Hasn't stirred. I mean, other than breathing. Still doing that, at least."
"And with that, it's time for breakfast," Jack announced. "Say goodbye to the nice hostage, Eugene." Eugene rolled his eyes as he gathered his crutches and moved outside.
Halfway out the door, Jack looked over his shoulder. "Seriously, I don't know how much leeway you get with this sort of thing… but it seems like she might need as much sleep as she can get. Might not have gotten much since that night."
Sam nodded, giving the two a little half-wave as they trooped away to the mess hall. Five was supposed to be reporting for duty right now. She was the first runner scheduled today, but it was a routine perimeter circuit. Long, but easy, and nothing exciting had been popping up on the scanners the last few days. It couldn't hurt to ask Maxine if they could, well, not and say they did. Or not and say they didn't. Either way, he owed it to Five. He glanced at her with a sigh.
The blanket had slid up around her ankles - her bare toes had to be freezing. He tugged the hem of the blanket back down and tucked it around her feet. Much better. He shut off the light, leaving Five in darkness as he went to bargain for her day off.
Dr. Myers was, unsurprisingly, in the hospital. She sat cross-legged on the floor, sorting the few medical supplies runners had picked up the day before from an abandoned pharmacy. She had paused, a bottle of Pepto-Bismol in her hand. "I don't know. It is routine, but it's routine for a reason. We can't afford to let our guard down, even when it seems quiet out there."
"You know how badly Five needs the sleep. How much more ibuprofen can you spare?" Sam eyed the nearly-bare shelves against the wall.
"That's playing dirty and you know it. And yes, she was in bad shape. But the abrasions are healing up well." She hesitated. "You know as well as I do how short we are on runners."
Sam knelt down, his grim eyes level with hers. "Five is not okay, Maxine. She's been getting slower this week. I mean, not slow slow, but I – I'm worried. She hasn't said anything in days. She's in a fog, and sometime soon, it's gonna get her in trouble."
"I know... I've seen it too. Sleep deprivation, probably night terrors. Especially after being lost out there. And the speech difficulties with her migraines, of course. But she's bouncing back well, relatively speaking. Could have been a lot worse." Sam looked away.
Dr. Myers stared vacantly at the bottle in her hand. "Honestly, who isn't traumatized these days? Some people exhibit physical symptoms – ulcers, migraines, chest pain. For others, it comes out in panic attacks, OCD, addiction, night terrors. Some people–" she glanced at the jumble of supplies surrounding her – "throw themselves into their work.
"You can have Runner Seven do the patrol," she continued after a moment. "He's been on shorter, harder runs a lot lately, so a long easy run will be a nice change for him. He should be awake – just page his headset."
Sam bounced to his feet. "I know the protocol, Maxie. I'll send him out and it'll be a gloriously boring twelve miles."
She scowled at the nickname. "Oh, and have Runner Five check in with me later today. There are some anxiety management skills I want to teach her. Should help her sleep, at least a little better. Might help with the migraines, too."
Sam beamed and backed out of the room, leaving Dr. Myers in peace with her loot.
The dim light before sunrise helped him pick his way across the yard of Janine's farmhouse, past the radio tower, and up to the door of the comms shack. Opening the door as quietly as he could, Sam slipped into the dark room.
A moan froze his blood and he fumbled for the light switch. No undead lurked in the suddenly bright room, but Five was tangled in the blanket, eyes clenched shut, chapped lips parted by ragged gasps. Sam lurched forward and knelt next to the couch, one hand hovering awkwardly above Five's shoulder.
Five was mumbling now, the first words he'd heard from her in a week. "I'm still–" what was it – "don'close the gates, still alive–" oh God. "Don't shoot me, Sam!" He blanched. Five's eyes were rolling back in her head, and Sam didn't know what to do, she'd wake up on her own, right? But she wasn't waking up.
He lowered a timid hand to Five's shoulder and tapped – nothing. He grabbed her clammy arm and shook her. "Come, on, Five, time to wake up." It was like he wasn't even there. She was definitely hyperventilating now and that couldn't be good. "Please, just wake up, Five, wake up, wake up" – he was shaking her hard with both hands and pleading and Five sat bolt upright, lips drawn back in a feral snarl, wrenching Sam's right hand in a vise grip that had him writhing on the concrete floor.
"Don't fucking touch me," she spat, as Sam gasped and twisted away from the pain.
Five paused. Blinked. Uncurled her fingers. She stared at him in alarm as he knelt on the cold concrete and cradled his hand, breathing quick and shallow. He slowly looked up, dark eyes meeting her horrified gaze. Five bit her lip.
Sam shuffled backwards and lowered himself into his chair. He flexed his hand experimentally and winced. Nothing too bad, but it'd probably be purple in a few hours. He stared at the floor.
Five sat on the edge of the couch, heart still hammering against her ribcage. She folded the blanket and set it to her left, then bent down to tug on her shoes.
She moved toward the door. "Don't… don't worry, Five," Sam stammered. "I'll leave you alone. I won't – God, I won't touch you, I won't shoot you, I promise. I'm sorry." Stupid. Don't make promises you might not be able to keep.
He couldn't stop the words now, though. "Jack and Eugene said you had been sleeping fine while they were here. I shouldn't have left. I should have kept the lights on for you. I shouldn't have shook you that hard, I don't know, maybe that's dangerous, I didn't know what to do."
His voice was tight. "And that night – I shouldn't have said those things. I was so scared I'd lost another runner, and all I could do was wait and wait and watch the scanners and know that the next time I saw you I might have to– just like I had to with– with my parents–" Sam inhaled shakily as the bottom half of his vision blurred.
"Sam," Five snapped, looming over the computer chair, "stop. It was just a dream. You got me home."
Sam forced a brittle smile up at the runner. "Well, Five, from what I heard on this end, that 'just a dream' sounded an awful lot like a replay of your run last week, where, if I remember correctly, the scanners were down, and I couldn't do my job, and because of that, you were trapped out there all night in a lovely homemade horror movie. Or maybe let's just pretend nothing happened, because that's working so well for you."
Five icily stepped back, crossing her arms.
Sam raised his hands in surrender. "Okay. Fine. We won't talk about it. But you were sleeping great this morning – at least until I messed it up." Silence.
"But, heeey," he tried for a watery grin and a subject change, "I wrangled you the day off. That can be my apology gift. It should come with a – a wilted bouquet and a little notecard that says 'Dear Runner Five, sorry I turned the lights out while you were asleep, like normal people do.'"
Five's eyes narrowed. Sam nodded in affirmation. She exhaled roughly, slumping back down on the couch. "Shit. I'm sorry for snapping at you. You work so hard for me… for all us runners. That's the thing, though. I'm a runner?" She looked away. "I couldn't run, at first – it was bad. You saw. You and Maxine worked so hard to train me... now one run goes south, and – I can't sleep without hurting someone." Her jaw was clenched. "I'll work in the mess hall. Or one of the farms. You deserve a better Runner Five. Someone to do the job right. I won't get in the way anymore."
Sam leaned forward, knuckles white on the armrests. "Don't you dare, Five. We were so desperate before you came, right after… Alice. Then bam, you fell out of the sky. Like actually. Real life. And God, you managed to run here, didn't you?" His voice raised in disbelief. "When I finally got you on camera you smiled at me, Five, you were bleeding and concussed and you couldn't talk it hurt so bad, and you had the guts to smile and wave with a horde of fast zombies on your tail!" Sam realized he was in front of the couch, towering over Five. He took a self-conscious step backward, running a hand through his unruly dark hair.
"And when you started training to be a runner... God, you worked. No, listen to me," he growled as Five glanced away. "I saw you out there on the track every night, killing yourself to be able to run one mile.
"We're all just embers trying to survive here and – and then you come along. You're made of fire. You're so alive." He looked up at the ceiling before barking out a bleak laugh. "And you – you want to work in the mess hall? Sure. Go ahead. You will be so. Bored. I'd give it a week. Maybe two. You've gotten a taste of saving the world, now. Of saving – us."
He crossed his arms, right hand tapping a staccato pattern on his bicep. "But things go wrong. Like that run. And things will go wrong again. I can keep you safe from a lot of things if I do my job right, but… I just don't want to lose another runner. To zombies, or to Carla in the mess hall.
"Honestly, though, I just want you to be able to sleep, and – and to feel safe. Ha, isn't that what everyone wants?" He smiled bitterly. "But obviously, listening to me run my mouth doesn't help anyone feel safe. Do what you need to do, Five. It's been an honor being your operator. I'll see you in the mess hall."
He stiffly sat back in his chair, switching on the communication systems. "Runner Seven," he snapped into the mic, "Report to the main gates. Routine perimeter run." Seven confirmed the order and gave his estimated time to the gates, his rich voice distorted by the tinny speakers. Sam's shoulders lowered as he slipped back into his role as operator. "Yeah, that's fine, I'll have them ready to cover you by the time you're there."
He jabbed a button, connecting him to the gate intercom. "Prepare for covering fire, runner heading out in just in a minute… Alright, raise the gates –" the familiar alarm blared – "covering fire –" scattered gunshots cracked into the woods near the gate – "and run! I know you've got this under control, Evan, and there's been nothing on the scanners, so I'll flip on some reggae for you. I'll keep an eye on the cams and check in in fifteen minutes, okay? Excellent." Sam switched off the mic, cued up the music, and leaned back in the chair with a harsh exhale.
"You're right," Five murmured. "About a lot of things." Sam turned around, eyes wary. "You're my operator. And… I'm your runner. For the easy runs, and the awful ones too." She hesitantly met his gaze. "And the sleeping thing… You might be right about that, too. The lights. Maybe if it's not dark, it wouldn't be so bad? And if I'm not… by myself."
Sam leaned forward. Was she blushing? "Definitely blushing." Five tilted her head in confusion. Oops. "Sorry, that was supposed to just be a thought. Not out loud. But you are blushing." She scowled and looked away, leaning back into the couch. "But – hey, it's fine. I just haven't seen you do that before. Not really a surprise, I guess, since we haven't really ever talked. Like actually talked, just you and me. Like... this.
"And for the record, Maxine and I were talking about you earlier. I mean, the whole I-can't-sleep-zombies-will-eat-me thing." Five stiffened.
Sam scooted onto the couch next to Five. He leaned in close, his voice husky in her ear. "And you know what, Five? She thought... it was... totally normal!" She flinched at his sudden exclamation. "I mean, God, this is the actual, real-life zombie apocalypse!" His hands flailed in emphasis. "Anyone who isn't at least a little traumatized is worth keeping an eye on, and probably locking up or something." Five rolled her eyes, and Sam could swear he saw a ghost of a smile.
"Anyway, Maxine wants to talk to you this evening – says she knows some techniques you can use to help with anxiety, and the migraines, and to help you sleep better… I wouldn't mind learning those myself, actually. Might have to tag along. Group therapy session.
"But as far as your theory goes—" Sam grinned— "You've got the day off." He spread his arms across the back of the couch, one elbow on Five's shoulder. "And if you promise to try to sleep, I promise to leave the lights on and chatter on about nothing all day long."
An actual smile crept onto Five's face. "Sacrifice noted." Sam unfolded himself from the couch and settled back in his chair, and Five kicked her shoes off. As she pulled the blanket over her shoulders, a smothered yawn slipped out.
"Yes!" Sam cheered, "that's the spirit, Five, you can do it! And – oh crap, Evan!" He spun back to the forgotten scanners and caught his breath, switching on the mic.
"Runner Seven, I've been paying really close attention, super close, this whole time, and there's a couple zoms just ahead of you, they look slow and you should be fine but you need to change course. Bear left on my mark – now! Ooh, great burst of speed, Evan, that's it, you're past them! And really, honestly, the scanners do look clear except for those two…"
Five burrowed down into the couch, blanket up to her chin. She was not alone. She was not in the dark. And Abel was in good hands while she slept.