Disclaimer: I own nothing (obviously) of this world, just my OC collection. Bless 'em.
Glenn had made a wrong turn. He had been so confident that he could tell all of the identical Mid-town Atlanta apartment complexes apart that he hadn't left himself a trail. Fuck.
In front of him stood a cinderblock wall, probably a good 20 feet high. It boxed the alley he had stumbled across into what had probably been a pleasant little courtyard for the apartment residents. Complete with potted plants and white wicker chairs. A charmingly Southern little space. If there was ever a moment that the young man wished that he had been graced with a taller stature, it was that moment as he faced the wall.
He was on a supply run, looking for ammunition like the hulked-out deputy had ordered him to. Glenn had wanted to be helpful in some way to the bundle of people camped at the quarry, and because he was small, fast, and familiar with nearly every detail of the city, this had seemed like his best option. Just in and out, real quick. Alone so that he could improvise without restraint. As easy as delivering pizza… Theoretically.
Panicked tremors started to shake his body when he heard them finally make it to the edge of the courtyard he was trapped in. Dragging feet. Rough, hungry groans. The dead were coming, drawn to the sound of breaking glass he had caused by accidentally shattering the storefront window of the hunting shop across the street. He should have at least grabbed a gun before he ran away; at least then he could have validated making so much noise.
Dark eyes darting around the courtyard for a means of escape, he ran through his options. The apartment windows on the first floor were barred, probably as a burglar deterrent and not as a signed and sealed death note too the young Korean, but he was offended regardless. Who cared about getting their damn TV stolen when people were trying to eat your flesh?
Not an escape.
The second floor windows looked more promising, but they were definitely out of his reach. His vertical certainly wasn't up to par with that sort of height, even with a running start.
There was a fire escape on one of the buildings that made up the alley, but it stopped at the second story, the last yards of metal ladder were pulled up and locked securely far above his head. Another damn burglar deterrent.
Didn't realize Atlanta was so dangerous he commented in his head.
The groans were louder now; a group of maybe 15 corpses was advancing quickly. He was thankful that was all he had attracted with his stupidity. He would probably be able to dodge by a crowd that small and dart the hell out of the city without having to do much fighting. Fuck the ammo for now, he would get it next time.
He raised the metal baseball bat he clutched nervously in his hands and swung full force as the first dead man made it into his reach. A little cloud of rotten blood erupted from the corpse's skull as it crushed under the weight of the swing. The body collapsed in a heap. One down, Glenn thought as he swung again, the next corpse immediately on him, paying no head to its fallen comrade as it dragged its dead limbs over the fallen body.
As the bat connected, Glenn was showered in what he could only imagine was a concoction of brain matter and expired blood. He spit some out of his mouth, squinting his eyes through the invading gunk on his face to continue his onslaught. He was again faced with gnashing teeth and reaching hands. Thankfully his baseball hat seemed to save him from being entirely blinded by the gore he was creating.
His bat was making too much noise.
The hollow metal echoing in the courtyard like a dinner bell as it collided with skull after skull. More corpses were appearing at the street-end of the alley; soon he would be fully boxed in.
Arms shaking with adrenaline, he kicked what looked to have once been a police officer away from him before following through with a swing of his arms and a resonating clang of aluminum on bone. His back was almost to the wall of the apartment building with the fire escape.
Maybe he could used the barred first floor windows to climb up and reach it. He was approaching desperation.
Glenn was close to vomiting from the stench of the dead, his mouth watered and his eyes stung as he tried to will his gag reflex not to react.
He couldn't take much more of this, his arms were weakening and his blows did less damage to the dead with each tired swing. Even a rotting skull was difficult to shatter. Dead for the sake of ammo, who'd have thought.
A soft 'clink' suddenly pulled his attention. The sound of boots landing on the fire escape above him. A firm voice sounded from above him, it was harsh, raspy, but definitely human. Thank God. "Kid, when I say jump, you jump. Understand." It was an order. He nodded quickly, still swinging his bat and kicking out to keep the dead at bay.
Boots thudded above him, and the voice from the fire escape growled, "Now." The order was followed by a loud metal clang, and Glenn ran towards the fire escape and jumped. He knew he couldn't reach high enough with just a jump, wondering briefly if he had imagined the voice so as to convince himself to commit suicide.
Mid-flight he felt two firm legs close around his right elbow and he grabbed on as he was swung upwards powerfully. Limbs flailing, he was thrown onto the fire escape. Bat still miraculously in his hand. The metal of the landing he now sprawled on creaked as his savior climbed back onto the safety of the escape. Panting with exhaustion he closed his eyes and laid his head back on the metal, hoping to slow the rise and fall of his chest.
He was fairly certain a pair of thighs had just saved him, which was a new tactic. But hell, he was alive.
"The fuck were you doing alone in the street?" came the voice from above him. Calm, but stern.
Glenn felt a boot prod his right shoulder gently, the action caused an unexpected sharp pain and he hissed through gritted teeth, "Ow," eyes watering immediately. Now his shoulder was throbbing, how had he not noticed that earlier? Damn adrenaline.
"Damn, I must have dislocated your shoulder when I swung you. Sorry, bud." Came the reply. It was softer then all previous tones he'd heard his savior use, making the voice sound surprisingly feminine.
Glenn flicked his eyes open, his breath finally slowed enough to function, and peered over at the person crouched to his right. Thick black military combat boots, dirty and worn, met his eyes. They were smaller then he thought they should be though, a woman's size. Glenn shot a look to the face of the person.
Blue eyes, tanned skin, and an abundance of freckles speckled across sharp cheekbones and delicate features sunk into his vision. A young woman, maybe late twenties. Jeans that had probably once been clean, blue, and unscathed were tucked in to the tough combat boots on her feet. A gray long sleeve shirt clung to her leanly muscled body in a similar state of disarray. Discolored in a combination of blood, dirt, and sweat from the intense Georgia heat. Some sort of eagle symbol was embroidered on the chest, but Glenn was sure not to stare at that area long enough to recognize it. That voice was a woman's?
She was speaking again, in a quiet rasp. Sounded like she had spent several days straight yelling with how harsh her voice came out. Glenn quickly focused on her face. "Look man, we need to move. Those corpses below are noisy as fuck and they're going to draw the whole damn city. My stuff is up on the third floor, there," she pointed towards an open window directly above them, "Once were in the apartment I'll try and fix your shoulder. Roger?"
Her elbows were rested on her thighs as she crouched and watched him process her, one dark eyebrow cocked. Thighs that could probably crush a man's head, or dislocate a shoulder… Jesus. He eyed the handgun holstered on her hip, and what looked like two very large knives' handles poking out from either side of her waist. She was fairly terrifying. A small noise left Glenn as he choked back a nervous laugh. "Roger," he finally returned his mouth breaking into a smile.
Finally he spoke. She had been worried he was in shock when he had just been gawking at her, and she had briefly thought she would have to carry him, which would have been a difficult task given the state of his shoulder. Oops.
Quinn tossed her long messy braid over her shoulder and pushed herself back to her feet, reaching out a hand to help him up she cracked a smile to the young man. Teeth flashing white against the general grime of her appearance. He took the offered appendage and yanked himself to his feet. He was still visibly shaking from his fight with the dead, but at least he was upright and speaking now.
It was time to move. Quinn headed for the ladder leading to the next landing on the fire escape, and the window to her brother's apartment. Glenn fell in line right on her heel, not about to be left alone with the courtyard full of corpses again. She made quick work of the 15 feet of rungs, but when she reached her brother's window she turned to check the kid's progress, ready to help. It was difficult to do much of anything with a dislocated shoulder, so climbing a ladder was no easy feat. Quinn had a brief flash of a memory of trying to climb a rope at the Academy with her shoulder out of place, not a task she cared to repeat. She exhaled forcefully, her brows knitted together in frustration; there was no more Academy, she had heard news of its turn during her mad dash to Atlanta. How many of her fellow sailors were dead. How many of her own men.
Glenn let out a little groan of pain, his shoulder clearly causing severe discomfort. The sound drew the brunette sailor out of her thoughts and she moved to crouch above him on the landing, offering a small and callused hand as he approached the final rungs. "I gotcha bud." She stated in hoarse tones as he took her hand with his good arm and allowed her to pull him to the landing. She was careful not jerk him too much, leveraging her lower-body strength to counter his weight, not wanting to jostle the shoulder injury.
Quinn leapt through the open apartment window and slammed it shut once her companion clambered inelegantly through it. He stumbled across the room and fell into her brother's armchair, looking pained and exhausted. Her eyes shot to the front door, keen to see if it was still double bolted the way she had left it when she started hearing the sounds of an aluminum bat.
It was, thankfully. They were safe for another moment.
The sailor sunk into the couch across from the armchair, kicking her dirty boots up on the coffee table. An action of sheer spite towards her sister-in-law, who didn't allow shoes to be worn in the couple's overly neat little apartment. Quinn crossed her arms across her chest and let her eyes fall on the kid. " What's your name?" she requested.
The young man's soft brown eyes drifted from the floor to her face, he paused as if analyzing her trust-worthiness. Eyebrows creasing slightly as he struggled with what to do, idly rubbing his shoulder and limp arm. "Glenn," he responded eventually, finding no malice in her delicate features, she had just saved his life after all.
"And yours?" Glenn asked, looking more confident in his situation.
"Name's Quinn." The sailor responded in her rasp of a voice with a friendly smile."Now how about you finally tell a girl what the fuck you were doing out there alone, Glenn?" Her eyes were on his, the look in the blue depths was bordering on suspicion. She slid one of her knives out of its sheath deftly and started scraping dried blood from her nails with it.
Glenn's eyes widened almost comically, and he started stuttering. Keeping his gaze focused on the lengthy combat knife. Quinn laughed to herself when she glanced up and saw the look on his face, the sound was light and musical. A stark contrast to the gravel in her voice.
Eventually the kid spit it out "I was on a supply run for my group. I've done them before without an issue, just real quick trips. Usually for food." He explained."But this time they sent me in for ammunition, and the hunting store across the street apparently had a very delicate storefront window," he laughed a little at this, taking his cap off with his good hand and running his fingers through his hair, "The glass drew quite the crowd of walkers, so naturally I ran the hell away. But, I turned down the wrong fucking alley!" He exclaimed, thoroughly exasperated.
Quinn laughed softly at his frustration. Poor guy.
"Did you know this one is blocked with a wall? What bullshit is that. Anyway then you ninja'd me to safety and popped my arm out its socket…" Glenn trailed off, looking down at his shoulder then back at the brunette across from him, his eyes now falling into their best puppy dog impression. "Can you fix it?" he asked hesitantly, "You said earlier you would."
"I can, but it'll still hurt like hell 'til we get you some anti-inflammatory pills, or at least some pain meds." She warned, "But I guess you won't be much use on the retreat with a limp arm flopping around, so this is the only option really." Glenn made a face when she mentioned 'flopping around,' but nodded his consent all the same.
Quinn hopped off the couch and stashed her knife safely at her back. She pointed at the coffee table, "Sit on that and face away from me." Glenn obeyed, quickly plopping himself on the short table in front of her.
The sailor dropped her hands to his shoulder, "On three," she felt him tense under her touch, "One… Two…" 'Pop.' She caught him off guard, knowing it would hurt more the tenser he became.
Glenn let out a pained groan and rubbed the now properly situated shoulder. "But you said on three!" he whined from his seat on the table. Quinn shrugged and winked at him, a broad smile gracing her features, revealing the dimple she shared with her brother.
The kid released a sigh and mumbled a "thanks." He would need to rest for a few minutes, so the sailor sunk onto the coffee table next to him, drawing her legs onto the table to sit cross-legged.
"Happy to help. My bad for ripping it out of its socket in the first place, man." She responded.
They sat in silence for a while, both allowing their thoughts to drift to the people they missed. Glenn wondering worriedly if Shane would be mad at him for this hiccup in his mission. The man could be a bit intense.
Eventually, Glenn threw her own question back, "So what are you doing in the city on your own then?" he asked, somewhat cautiously. She was an intimidating figure, and he wanted to be careful not to push the wrong buttons. Hopeful to make a new friend.
The brunette woman thought for a moment, deciding how best to explain her tale. "Well, this is my brother's apartment," Quinn stated, gesturing at the room, "Unfortunately, the ass didn't wait for me to come get him like I asked him too. I blame my sister-in-law. She always gets her way."
Glenn was nodding, sincerely glad that she was just a person looking for her family and not a psychopath. Reassuring.
The sailor continued, deciding to keep the details she shared to a minimum: "I live in DC so I had to drive through 640 miles of parking lot traffic and resurrecting corpses to come down here to find them."
The guy let out a gasp, "You drove from DC! That's fucking insane! Why didn't you guys just meet somewhere in the middle!"
Quinn was scraping blood from her fingers again with her knife, trying too keep herself from worrying about her family. "My sister-in-law, Claire, she's pregnant. Wes didn't think it was safe to move her through highly infected areas. He's a doctor, the big bro, so naturally he thinks he knows what's best. To them it was better to stay close to Atlanta." Quinn paused, looking over to Glenn with sorrow in her blue eyes, "That's why I had to come, I knew they wouldn't be safe in the city but they wouldn't leave. So I came to protect them."
Glenn thought about asking what she did for a living that made her prepared enough for this nightmare they were living in to want to come running into one of the biggest danger zones, but between DC and the silver chain around her neck he had a good assumption. Soldier.
Black boots hit the floor and Quinn rocked off the coffee table onto her feet. "It'll start getting dark in a few hours, and we need to be the hell out of the city when that happens," she rasped.
Glenn looked up at her curiously before standing himself, "What happened to your voice?" He asked, "No offense, but I feel like someone who looks like you shouldn't sound like Daryl."
Quinn quirked an eyebrow at the guy, a smirk on her lips. "Who's Daryl?"
"He's just a guy I know, don't worry about him." Glenn said quickly. Last thing he needed was the redneck ruining his chances of bringing back this Laura Croft in the flesh to camp.
"Sure, man. Whatever," the woman laughed, "I spent my journey from the North yelling at terrible drivers, dead people, and just the world in general. It's a good stress reliever, yelling. Kept me from panicking about Wes and Claire. Although I suppose I probably looked like a maniac the whole way, just yelling to myself," She explained as she walked towards the kitchen, Glenn in tow, "But I'm always a bit hoarse. Job hazard." The male was nodding again, he felt like he'd been doing a lot of that motion, but her answer made sense. Apocalypse traffic was intolerable; he knew that for himself from his time in the RV.
Quinn threw an arm around his shoulders, leading him over to the kitchen counter where she had been pouring over a city map before she had rushed out onto the fire escape. "So," she started, "We are here," she moved a finger to a spot on the map, "I cleared the stairwell of this building up to the floor we're on now about four hours ago, so it's probably still fairly corpse-free. They struggle with stairs. But the streets around the building are a whole different ball game; the action in the alley brought a whole herd stumbling our way." Quinn moved her finger to a spot off the highway just out side of the city, "This is where my car is. If your group is desperate enough for ammo to send a man in on his own, I can spare a bit. I cleared out a few gun stores on my trip from DC. Most of the boxes don't match my arms anyway." She commented.
Glenn was nodding along again as she spoke, still under her arm. It was an easy position, as their heads were an even height. "They would definitely appreciate the ammo. But, honestly if you would just come back with me that would be even better" Glenn offered hopefully, "You're military or something right? We have women and children back at our camp, and only a few of the men know how to handle weapons. The more people who are confident with guns the better. You never know when a walker is going to stumble into camp."
Quinn murmured "something like that," under her breath, not ready to divulge her identity completely. She looked across her shoulder at Glenn. He was a good kid, and she was willing to bet he wasn't running with anyone overly dangerous.
A glint off of the Fridgidaire caught her eyes, drawing them to the pictures of her brother that covered its face. Smiling, blonde, carefree Wes. The last lines of her brother's note ran through her mind: help any folks you find along the way… She let out a soft sigh; Wes would have gone to help these people. She would go, she may not be a doctor like her older brother, but a well trained SEAL could make herself useful when there where people to protect. "Yeah, yeah, alright I'll go with you... Well, I'll at least drive you back to your camp."
The young Korean man smiled happily and did a little fist pump, showing his youth. He let out an excited "sweet!" He headed over to the armchair where he had discarded his backpack and pulled it onto his shoulders.
Quinn folded the city map and tucked it in her small pack.
"So it'll be a good two mile run through the corpse jungle back to my car. You ready for this shit Glenn?" The sailor asked as she swung the pack onto her shoulders, buckling its straps across her chest and hips so it wouldn't jostle as they ran.
He nodded, wringing his hands together with nervous energy. "Fuck yeah, lets run."
With one last look around her brother's empty apartment, Quinn flipped the padlocks on the door and wrenched it open. She slid one long knife out from its sheath, blade facing her elbow, letting her muscle memory take over. Knees bent, knife arm up and ready to strike. Hooyah.
Glenn gripped his baseball bat, raising it to the ready. He fell into step behind Quinn's vigilant form as they crept out of the safe zone, trusting her to lead him. Just like her men always had.
