Bear with me.
I was jarred awake by stomping and extremely loud talking. "Look's like there's a body in here." A husky voice stated. To whom he was talking to I had no idea.
My head was still groggy from my frozen repose and I wasn't quite awake yet, so I couldn't find it in me, the strength, to move or alert them I was alive. How quickly they assumed I was dead. Did I really look that terrible?
"Oh, dear God..." A feminine voice sighed.
"Ellis," A booming voice demanded. "get rid of it while Nick and I patch ourselves up."
"Awh, shoot," A voice sounded from behind them in a southern drawl. "why d' I gotta touch a dead body?"
"You heard the man," The rough voice sounded again. "get to it, Overalls."
"They're not overalls..." I heard him mutter under his breath.
I was still struggling to resurface, to regain consciousness and get my body to move, but my muscles weren't working.
Footsteps came closer to me, and I saw through my eyelids a light flashing on my face. "Awh, she's cute, too."
Two warm, strong hands grabbed my wrists and jerked, pulling me along the floor. The tearing on my midsection and sudden movement of my frozen muscles compelled me to cry out. My eyes fluttered open, red spots clouding my vision, and the sickening noise that escaped my lips almost convinced me I had become a zombie.
"Jumpin' Jesus!" He stumbled backward in shock. "She's still alive!"
Four eyes were suddenly locked on me. It was only a couple milliseconds before the barrels of their guns were on me, too.
"Is she infected?" A man wearing a white suit asked the southerner anxiously.
"I ain't got no idea." He raised his hands defensively, still slightly startled. "Though, she ain't attackin' us..." He added.
"Check for a damn bite mark!" The large, black man demanded, he flinched as he wrapped a bandage around his forearm, which was immediately stained red.
"Let's not sit here discussing it like a bunch of assholes and just get rid of her before we're all infected!" The man in the suit offered angrily, cocking his shotgun.
The southerner stepped in, pushing the suit's gun down with his hand. "Naw, we can't just kill 'er! That's murder! That ain't right!"
Suit grew more frustrated, but turned it towards the southerner. "Everyone in the god damn world droppin' dead, and you're worried about your fucking morals?"
A black woman stepped in and looked at the man in the suit. "Nick, it matters. If she's not infected, what good would it do getting rid of her?"
I got rather tired of laying there, helpless and in pain, while they discussed my demise as if I wasn't there. The arm that was encircling my bleeding torso was stained with blood from my stomach, my other hand gripped the floor in pain. I looked up at them, their flashlights flashing across my face with my movement.
"No." I muttered through my teeth. "No, I'm not infected, I'm immune." I attempted to shout weakly. There were bite marks on my body as a testament. "I'm just hurt, badly. So, can you all please just shut the fuck up and either kill me or help me already?" My voice was shaky, wavering in pitch. I'd reached my limit, and it showed.
"See? I told you!" The southerner declared proudly, kneeling beside me.
The man in the suit, Nick, huffed indignantly and lowered his gun. "So, what? Is she going to stay with us?" He didn't exactly seem revolted by the idea, just naturally curious. With good reason.
I didn't hear the rest of the conversation because when the southerner gathered me in his arms I was digging my nails into his skin and trying not to scream.
"I-I'm sorry, miss!" He stuttered apologetically. "We need'ta fix you up, and I don't think it's gonna be pleasant, judgin' from yer hollers 'n all..."
The pain was rocketing through me. Every single vein was on fire. "I'm...I'm going to sleep now..." I mumbled incoherently into his chest. I felt him chuckle softly before I was pulled back under once again.
When I came to, I heard muffled conversation downstairs. I assumed I was put in an upstairs bedroom. On the bedside table next to me, I noticed a container of pain pills and a bottle of water next to it. Though I wasn't feeling any immediate pain, the relief wouldn't last very long. Upon extracting myself from the blankets, I noticed my tank top was removed, leaving me in my undergarments, and my stomach was wrapped completely around. I sat up carefully, laying my hand gently on my abdomen, wincing.
I pushed the thought aside and swallowed a few pain pills, followed by me sucking down the entire water bottle. I hadn't known how thirsty I was.
There was a mirror across the room, but I decided not to look in it, somewhat afraid of who might be looking back. Instead, I settled with running my damp hands through my hair, pulling it back into a ponytail, to settle the mane that had sprouted overnight.
On the armchair in the corner were my clothes, folded and clean. Clean. For the most part, at least.
I didn't know why it bothered me that they had cleaned my clothes, but they were the only things I could really call mine. I slid into the stale, slightly damp cotton and laced up my boots. Usually my pistols were right beside me, if not in my belt already, but now they were nowhere in sight.
If those god damn people had even touched my weapons...
I felt rather guilty towards myself growing so angry with strangers, leave be the fact that they were strangers who'd pretty much saved my life...and washed my clothes.
I almost didn't want to go downstairs and face them. They saw me at my weakest. And for some odd, unfathomable reason, that bothered me. The apocalypse was not the time to look weak, let alone leave your life in the hands of total strangers.
The stairs creaked loudly beneath my feet and I kept a courageous look on my face as I made my way down. They were all in the kitchen. Four of them, whose faces I could now see better in the morning sun beaming through cracks in the barricaded windows.
They stared at me and I stared back, everybody sizing me up, and I them. This mini-showdown lasted all of few seconds before I discontinued it amicably. "I've noticed you took it upon yourself to wash my clothes..." My words came out more sour than intended.
The pretty black woman was about to speak up, instead a southern drawl drowned her out. "Well, y'know, they were awful dirty. 'N nobody likes dirty clothes...Unless y'do, a'course. In which case, I'm sorry." He babbled awkwardly, his full lips pulled into a half smile.
Rochelle shot him an amused look before her eyes drifted back towards me. She extended her hand and we shook. "I'm Rochelle."
Another hand replaced hers, a thick hand, more like a paw, clad in leather, fingerless gloves. I looked up to meet his eyes. "Friends call me Coach."
I nodded, and looked at the next person. The man in the white suit stood beside Coach, the one who was just so darn happy to have me here in the first place, who was so eager to dispose of my still warm and very much alive body without at least kicking me or poking me with a stick. I didn't hold it against him, though, I probably would have done the same thing. I extended my hand towards him, and a sly smile played at the edge of his lips. "Nick." He stated simply.
"'N I'm Ellis," A warm, sturdy hand grabbed a hold of mine. Our eyes met and a breathtaking smile stretched across his young face. He couldn't have been much older than me, though this whole apocalypse had probably aged him. His personality was still just as bright. He continued awkwardly. "Some people call me El, but I think that sounds like a girl's name. Though, you can call me El, if you want...but I'd prefer Ellis."
Oh, southern hospitality. "I'm Zoey." I said to all of them.
His hand clasped mine longer than necessary before Rochelle piped in awkwardly. "Zoey, it's not exactly gourmet, but would...you like something to eat?"
I could practically feel Nick's disapproving glare. But the thought of food quickly overshadowed that.
I dropped my hand to my side, and turned towards Rochelle. "There's...food here?"
Rochelle smiled. Nick and Coach had retreated to the table, Nick spreading cards and seemed to be lecturing Coach on the dynamics of poker. Coach shook his head impatiently, to which Nick slammed an irritated fist on the table, half-shouting, "It's not that god damn hard, Coach!" Coach shouted back. "You know what's hard? Football!"
Rochelle answered my question. "Sure, if you want to call it that."
The pessimistic side of me protested, wanting to get a move on and just go somewhere. But something else told me to stay. To shut up and enjoy the rarity that was company... It couldn't hurt, right? Besides, I didn't have a plan. I didn't even have a set destination. "Yeah." I answered despite myself. My stomach was so empty it was gnawing away at itself.
Rochelle nodded, her gaze shifting wearily towards the two men at the table before she turned and disappeared behind the counter. Ellis and I stood awkwardly for a moment, before I turned and wiped the dust from a stool and taking a seat at the breakfast nook. Ellis leaned on his arms, facing me.
"Can I ask you what happened?" He inquired hopefully.
"No." I answered immediately. He seemed taken aback, and I quickly corrected my tone. "It's...quite a long story."
"I ain't got nothin' but time, sugar." He prodded.
"I don't think we're quite at that level of intimacy yet." I stated, ignoring Ellis' reaction to my choice of words.
He raised his eyebrows, asking without words. Persistence just so happens to be one of my pet-peeves. But I decided to let it slide, considering we'd just met.
I just shook my head fervently. Ellis sighed, his warm breath splashing across my face. His eyes shot to the side, where Nick and Coach were playing cards. Or, Coach was trying to... Nick was staring at Ellis, one eyebrow raised suspiciously, before looking at me. He chuckled and whispered something to Coach, who laughed rather loudly, before looking at Ellis and nodding in agreement with whatever Nick said.
I caught Ellis' blush before he looked down, the brim of his hat covering most of his face. I tried to hide my amusement, but it was futile. When Ellis looked back up at me, I was smirking.
"What is it?" He asked, somewhat irritated, but smiling nonetheless.
I shook my head again, smile fading as the moment passed.
Ellis hurried to change the subject rather hastily, "How old are you?"
"I'm 20." I answered immediately, as if I'd rehearsed it.
"Shoot, really?" He looked genuinely surprised. "If I hadda guess, I woulda said you was older than that!"
"Really?" I asked, rather intrigued. "Why?"
"Idunna, you seem...y'act, older." He shrugged indifferently. "From what I've seen so far, I guess." He added.
"And how old are you?" I leaned forward on the counter.
"I'm 23." He stated proudly, as if he'd worked his whole life to be able to answer this question.
Rochelle placed something in front of me. I didn't know what it was. It definitely came from a can. I sniffed, it smelled alright. Edible, I hoped.
"I...don't have a fork for you." Rochelle said, trying not to chuckle.
I just shook my head, brushing it off. My taste buds were dormant for such a long time I doubt they even worked anymore. I tilted the bowl against my lips and swallowed it's contents. It was cold, but satisfying nonetheless.
"Jesus, you hungry?" Ellis commented, watching me swallow almost the entire bowl.
Immediately, I felt rather ashamed of myself being so animalistic in front of him but hunger replaced manners. "It's just...been some time since I've had some decent food." I shrugged.
"Really?"
I nodded.
"Were you always alone?" Ellis asked me, his eyes narrowing.
I choked on the blob I was chewing, forcing myself to swallow it. It took everything I had not to throw it all up onto the counter.
"You okay?" Ellis asked, arms out. As if he would slide across the nook and perform Heimlich maneuver if I gave him the green light.
"No," I swallowed roughly. "no, I wasn't always alone."
"Can I ask what happened?" He face was expectant. "To your friends?" He added.
My eyes were glued to my unfinished bowl of goo, which suddenly didn't look so appetizing anymore. I shook my head slowly, not looking up into his eyes. From his silence, I could tell he knew not to ask any more questions.
"I'm sorry..." He began, lowering his head to meet my downward gaze. "I didn't mean to hurt yer feelins' by askin..."
I rose robotically, pushing the stool away with the back of my legs. I just shook my head dismissively at Ellis, looking at him for a brief moment before turning towards the three who were seated at the table.
"Where are my weapons?" I asked, interrupting their boisterous conversation. For some reason, I was suddenly, viciously angry. At Ellis, at Rochelle, at absolutely anything and everything.
Nick shot me an irritated look for interrupting their game, Coach looked at me then around the room, probably wondering the same thing, and Rochelle stared at me, her face dripping with sympathy.
"Why?" Rochelle inquired, shifting so that she was leaning out from beside Coach.
I dug my fingernails into my palm. Who did she think she was? "Look, I appreciate what you did but I'd like my guns so I can be on my way. Where are they?" I half-shouted through gritted teeth.
"Oh, sweetie, you can't leave with that gash on your belly! You oughta stay here another night..." Rochelle attempted to compromise.
"I can't stay here anymore." My voice cracked, "I have to leave." My hands, balled in tight fists, began to shake. "Where are my pistols?" I demanded. I could feel Ellis' heavy silence a few feet behind me, still standing by the counter.
Rochelle seemed utterly unphased. Coach was staring at Nick, whose eyes were glued to me. He watched the debacle with humor in his eyes.
Rochelle shook her head slightly. My face grew hot, my underarms prickling.
"Fine, I don't need any weapons!" I turned on my heel and stomped through the kitchen, flinging my fist out before me and toppling over a pile of heavy boxes that was stacked beside the fridge. What was in them, I didn't care. It felt oddly releasing when I knocked those over, being able to bestow even an iota of the anger and pain -not just at them, but the world in general- that I'd felt inside.
Why did this have to happen? Why did they have to be taken from me? All I could do was ask why. There was no justifiable reason for any of this, this shit of an apocalypse.
I stood there, in the middle of the kitchen, everybody's eyes burning holes in my back, with seven large boxes scattered at my feet, blocking an immediate, dramatic exit and granting me with an awkward, stumbling one. My palms had crescents embedded in the soft flesh after having dug my nails so hard into them. My breathing was heavy, my heart felt as if it weighed a ton.
A quick look over my shoulder assured me that they were indeed staring at me like I was a mad woman. The look in Ellis' eyes almost made me regret my behavior. It wasn't fear, of course not. It was pity.
Instead of apologizing and acting my age, I stepped over the boxes, trying not to trip, and progressed towards the exit.
Behind me, I heard Rochelle mutter heatedly to Nick.
Just as I reached for the bar securing the steel door, an iron grip enclosed my bicep, jerking me away from my destination.
"What the-?" I demanded, stumbling to regain my balance.
"You're not leaving, doll." Nick whispered into my ear. I twisted in his grip towards him and tried to pry his fingers off of my arm, to no avail.
"Why?" I shouted. "Why can't you guys just leave me alone?"
"Listen here, kid." Nick stated, with some hostility. I suppressed my urge to fight against his hold on me, but instead stood still, staring at him. He continued in aggressive whispers, obviously fed up with my antics. "No way are you goin' to survive out there on your own. Now, we don't know what happened to you and frankly I don't care, but you're here now. And as long as you're here, you're stayin' here." I opened my mouth to protest, but he hushed me. "This is the apocalypse, get it? Not prom night gone wrong. You gotta stick together, whether you like us or not." He was referring to the himself and the other three, who watched us with a mixture of intrigue and indifference.
With that, he released my arm and shoved me slightly. From his pocket he pulled a cigarette and a lighter, puffing the smoke in my face before retreating to the table. I stood there, shaking in anger and pain, facing the four people who hated me yet wanted me here at the same time.
This is as good as it's gonna get, I told myself.
After a few silent seconds, I found it in me to talk. I stuttered at first, trying to think how to phrase what I was feeling at the moment. The best I spat out was, "I'm sorry..." Before turning my back to them and bounding up the steps, into the room and bed that I woke up in this morning.
"Francis!" I shouted for him when his hand slipped from my grip, holding onto the ceiling of the helicopter for dear life. It was starting to spin uncontrollably in the air, the ground coming closer every second. My hair was whipping me in the face, so it was rather hard to see, but I saw enough.
The guns that were perched beside our seats slid out the side of the helicopter, along with bags and boxes. Both of my hands were gripping the safety belt of my seat so tightly, my fingers ached. What the hell was going on?
I was practically hanging out of the helicopter, sliding around left and right which each twist of the chopper. "Francis!" I shouted helplessly.
I finally lifted my head and was greeted with an appalling sight. Louis and Francis were wrestling with a zombie, Bill seated in the pilots seat, pushing buttons and pulling levers, trying to figure out how to work it.
The pilot was infected, yet he still extracted us for evac. "Francis!" I yelled again. His arms were out, holding the zombies face away from his while Louis held his lower torso tightly, to keep him from moving.
"Zo, hold on!"