note: So this is where I kind of crossover with The Walking Dead. I don't plan to make this an exact crossover, though.
Don't own MSB or The Walking Dead or the title.
Enjoy!
under cover of darkness
by the ultimateSora
chapter two
days gone bye
"C'mon, Pheebs...sorry I've been such a dick...please wake up."
No, Ralphie, you haven't been a dick. It's all right.
"Love you...all that matters...you're all right."
I love you, too, Arnold.
"Wake up...need my big sister."
I am awake, Robbie. I'm right here.
"Mom and Mark...unable to get a flight...New Orleans shut off flights to Boston."
Wait...what? Ralphie, what's going on?
"So happy...she's all right...don't give a shit about my car."
Arnold, I'm so sorry I wrecked your car. You might be okay with that, but I'm not.
"Eyes moved...is she waking...c'mon, big sister."
I'm trying, Robbie, I'm trying.
"No brain damage...she's stable...thank God."
But my head is still pounding.
"Weekend in the Vineyard...you and me...easier for you to recover."
You know I love going to the Vineyard with you, Arnold.
"Been cleaning my room...Ralphie teaching me to cook."
That's great, Robbie!
"Still can't leave...even JFK and LaGuardia shut down...possibly the whole east coast."
Why? Tell me what's going on!
"C'mon, Phoebe...need to wake up...I love you so much."
I love you, too, Arnold!
Faint images of Arnold, Ralphie, and Robbie hovering over her. Could barely hear or understand them. Her body wouldn't move or respond, but her mind was very aware. So much pain, but then it would fade with a cool feeling going through her arm. More images of the boys. Dreams, maybe?
Ralphie holding pictures to her face, as if to remind her of who she was, who her family and friends were. Arnold bringing her roses of varying colors and then taking her hand as he asked her to wake up, please wake up. Robbie kneeling on the bed beside her and begging her to feel better, that he needed her since Momma and Daddy were still gone.
Images of doctors and nurses checking on her, not one saying a word directly to her. Rather, they spoke as if she were not there. Miss Terese's heart rate is at a relaxed state. Miss Terese's fever is still on the low side but no change. Miss Terese's blood pressure is very low. Miss Terese's catheter needs changing. Miss Terese needs another shot of morphine and a new fluid IV.
She had to have been dreaming. She would fully wake up at any moment and find herself in her bed, Arnold beside her as he still slept. Then she'd laugh to herself in relief that she had been dreaming, that she was safe and comfortable at home and not injured in a hospital.
But she never woke.
And the screams...the screams!
Why were people screaming?
She couldn't open her eyes or physically respond. She swore she heard Ralphie say everything would be all right, that she'd be all right, but then everything faded...the sounds, the smells, the images. Everything went black.
It seemed like only minutes went by. Her eyelids weighed a ton as she tried opening them. She smelled urine, among other things. Her eyes were fully open now. The ceiling was tiled and white. She managed to move her head, her stiff neck popping. So she was in a hospital.
The roses on her bedside table were dried and dead. She reached for them, the petals falling. She pulled herself up, groaning as her joints all popped. She realized the urine smell was coming from her. The bed was stained, as was her gown. There was no catheter or IV needle in her, nothing keeping her to the bed. Her head was pounding, and something was wrapped tight around it. She reached up and felt the bandage. She remembered the accident then...well, just the parts before impact.
Phoebe swung her legs around the side of the bed and noticed the clean gown and pair of panties on the chair. There was also a pair of her sleep shorts, her favorite yellow and white striped ones. She put her feet on the floor and attempted to stand, but her knees buckled. Bone met cold linoleum, causing her to yelp. She pulled herself to the chair and used it to get back on her feet. She was determined to stand.
Her knees didn't buckle this time, so she threw off the filthy gown and underwear, putting the clean stuff on. She put the gown on so it tied in the front, and she shuffled her bare feet to the door. How was it she was left in filth? Why was no one checking on her? She got her answer when she opened the door.
A post-apocalyptic scene greeted her in the hallway. Lights flickered, paper and glass littered the floor, bullet holes and blood stains marked the walls. There were some dead bodies on the floor, Phoebe careful not to step on them or go near them. The bodies were rotting, but the clothes indicated doctors, nurses, patients, and police officers. She went down the hall, hoping there would be someone.
The double-doors at the end of the hall were locked with a chain, and someone had spray painted DON'T OPEN. DEAD INSIDE. Phoebe backed away when the doors moved, and she jumped when a gray, bony hand reached through. She tried moving her weak legs as fast as she could in the opposite direction.
The stairs! she told herself. Look for the stairs!
Thanks to the "2" marked by the elevators, she knew she was on the second floor. She just needed to go down a floor, which was better than if she were on the fifth floor, way up on top. She found the door to the stairs. Emergency lights made the stairwell dim, but it was light enough for her to find her way down. The emergency door leading outside was unlocked, and she closed her eyes, knowing her eyes wouldn't be used to the bright sunlight. Still, even behind closed lids, the bright light hurt.
That's when the smell of decay hit her. She had smelled rot back in the third grade when they went in that log, but that was nothing. That rot still had a bit of an earthy scent to it, a smell she'd never forget, but this rot and decay...this was from the rows of dead human bodies laid out in front of her. She couldn't hold in whatever was left in her stomach. She threw up bile and water. She continued to heave, despite her stomach being empty, and that only made her feel worse. Her head felt ready to pop. She moved her feet as fast she could away from the bodies and out of the hospital lot.
She crossed the lot and found herself in the middle of a military encampment. Tanks and helicopters were parked by tents and armored trucks, but there was no sign of anyone alive. What the hell was going on? She had to get home, had to find Ralphie and Robbie. If what she remembered was true, her dad and Suzette were still in Baton Rouge, unable to get a flight back to New England.
The hospital wasn't too far from home. At least they had kept her in Walkerville, rather than sending her to Providence. Though, she might have been better off in Providence. No, she needed to keep her focus. Just get home, find Ralphie and Robbie.
Phoebe left the hospital complex and towards the main road towards her neighborhood. The town was dead. Nothing stirred. No people, no animals, nothing. Cars were where they had been left. There was an occasional dead body, most with bullet holes to their heads. There was a bike left on the grass outside one of the neighborhood parks. She picked it up, noticing the remains of a woman...well, half of her remains. Phoebe set the bike down, curious as to what happened to the woman, but just as she came close enough, the woman threw an arm up and lifted her head.
Her rotted teeth, milky-white eyes, and rotting facial wounds sent Phoebe jumping back in shock. The woman pulled herself towards Phoebe, snarling and growling as she tried to grab at her. Her organs hung out of her severed torso and dragged behind her as she continued to pull herself. Phoebe hurried back to the bike and quickly got on, pedaling away.
What the hell was going on?
She didn't come across any more half-corpses as she rode through the neighborhood, but the emptiness made her chest clench. She had never seen her street so quiet. She dropped the bike in the front yard when she reached her house, and she called out for Ralphie and Robbie when she went in. As an afterthought, she shut and locked both the storm door and main door. She ran to the back to make sure the door leading to the driveway and the back door were both locked and secured. They were.
"Ralphie? Robbie?"
The house was still. She noticed some pictures were missing from the built-in shelves on either side of the TV. Odd. She went upstairs to Ralphie's room first. His closet doors were left open, most of his clothes gone. She went to Robbie's room to find his closet was also open, clothes gone. They left. They were gone.
"Good," she sighed. Maybe that meant they were safe at a shelter or something.
She went to her room and found that nothing had been touched. She took out a pair of jeans, a gray tank-top, a red plaid blouse, and her brown Doc Martens. They were tough, hi-top boots, which she figured might come in handy if she were to go out looking for her brothers. She threw off the gown, shorts, and panties she was wearing and went to take a shower.
Phoebe managed to remove her dirty head bandage, seeing that the stitches on her forehead were already coming out. The healed wound went from the left side of her forehead, across her eyebrow, and down the side of her cheek. A large, noticable scar, bright pink against her pale, freckled skin. She took a deep breath and gently pulled on the stitches to remove them. She tried not to scream, and she felt the warm sticky blood start to roll down her face.
There was no hot water, but with her sweating and the house being hot and stuffy, the cold shower felt refreshing. The cold also relaxed the stinging from her bleeding scar. After she was clean and dry, she put some clean bandages on where she took the stitches out.
No power meant no hair dryer, but she was all right with that. Her hair was short but long enough to pull up in a small pony tail. She went back to her room and put her clean clothes on. She grabbed a duffle bag and backpack from her closet, filling her duffle bag with clothes, jackets, panties, socks, and her feminine products. She also threw in her own framed photos and some small albums she had. First-aid supplies went in her backpack (and with Suzette being a doctor, there were plenty of supplies around), along with some bottled water and what non-perishable foods she could find and fit.
Gas would be limited, so she opted not to take the Jeep, especially since it didn't have much fuel. The Lexus didn't have much either, so she'd have to go on foot. She put the backpack on and shouldered her duffle bag. She didn't care if she never came back to the house or not, she locked up anyway. She put her keys in her backpack and walked down the driveway. Maybe going on foot was a bad idea, but it was her only option. The Jeep and the Lexus would both run out of fuel soon. Then she had another idea, one she didn't like much. Then again, these cars were abandoned. It wouldn't be stealing, would it?
Phoebe looked through the dirty windows of cars that didn't have much damage. No keys, no fuel, dead body...but that's when she saw it. Someone just left a beauty like that just sitting on their driveway? Clearly someone had customized their 1968 Honda CB350 motorcycle, the bike black and shiny with some additions to it. Thanks to her uncle Tommy, her mother's younger brother, she knew a thing or two about vintage motorcycles...such as how to ride one.
There was a luggage rack on the back of the bike, and when she opened one of the saddlebags, she found the bungee cords. She tied her duffle bag to the luggage rack with the bungees, and she looked around for a helmet. Considering she woke up in a hospital with a head injury, the last thing she needed was to fly off a motorcycle without a helmet. She left her backpack by the bike as she walked to the partially open garage. There was a black, full-face helmet on a shelf. She looked it over, seeing that it looked clean, and she went back out to the bike. She put on her backpack and the helmet, and she started the bike.
Off to find Ralphie and Robbie.
There was no one and nothing in Walkerville. She saw the occasional walking corpse, but she'd drive away from them. She assumed if the boys went anywhere, it would be to Providence. Boston and New York were other options, but for now, she'd head to Providence. She drove the farm roads towards I-95, but she knew they only went over the highway, not give a way to merge onto it. She rode to Route 102, knowing it would get her to 95.
Her heart fluttered when she saw the I-95 sign, but there was graffiti on it,
95 NORTH
PROVIDENCE
WARWICK
DO NOT GO! MAULERS!
She wasn't sure what "maulers" meant, but she opted to go north anyway. She noticed the abandoned cars on the southbound side of the highway, while the northbound was empty, save for her. She was in Warwick soon enough, and she slowed when she noticed the graffiti on the large I-295/I-95 junction sign.
MAULERS IN PROVIDENCE
TURN AROUND NOW
MAY GOD HAVE MERCY TO ALL WHO ENTER
Her stomach clenched, but she continued on. As the downtown skyline came into view, she stopped. The buildings were burned, as if a massive fire had ripped through the city some time before. There were no shelters or anything here. There were no people here.
More highway signs had been tagged with similar messages of maulers and to turn back. She was so far from Walkerville, but she would have to turn around. Telling by where the sun was, it was late afternoon. She had no idea of the time, let alone the day or the month. If she left now, she'd have to find somewhere to sleep for the night on the way back.
Anywhere but here.
She kept to the smaller roads back to Walkerville. Hopefully, these...maulers...kept to the cities and towns and highways.
The camp wasn't too far outside of Walkerville, on the way to I-95. The survivors had to make sure no one ventured into Providence, so they made sure to mark warnings along the highway.
The white and brown 1978 Winnebago Chieftain was the unofficial guard post outside the camp, acting not only as a post but also as a barrier. There were always at least two people on watch on top of the Winnebago, and right now, it was the Li siblings. Wanda laid on her stomach, watching through her rifle's scope for any maulers, while her thirteen year old brother William scanned the area with his binoculars as he sat on a lawn chair. The Winnebago had been their grandfather's, their mother never having the heart to get rid of it. At least it came in handy now.
"I swear I heard a motorcycle," William said.
"Shut up, no you didn't."
"I did, ass."
Wanda continued to look through her scope. "You're getting more goddamn annoying than usual, and I'm holding a rifle. Shut. Up."
She saw Arnold and Ralphie return from their hunt. They didn't have anything big, but she was ecstatic to see Arnold. She shouldered her rifle and climbed down the Winnebago. She ran to him as he and Ralphie walked in to the camp, and he almost dropped the squirrels he was carrying when she jumped on him.
"Hey to you, too," he said, smiling.
"You know I worry when you're out there," she said.
She finally had him. He was hers. There was nothing that would keep them apart, not even maulers. Sure, it sucked that his girlfriend being dead was the reason she finally had a chance with him, but that was over a month ago.
"I need to go put these things with the other meat," he said. "I'll come back by the Winnebago, okay?"
She gave him a deep kiss. "Don't keep me waiting."
"I'll try not to."
Arnold went after Ralphie to put the squirrel meat with the other kills that would be cooked that night. He kept his distance, knowing how much Ralphie hated this new relationship he had with Wanda. He nearly beat the crap out of Arnold when he had found out.
"She hasn't even been dead a month!" he had yelled. "A month! And you're already sleeping with- with Wanda!"
"Hey, I grieved for Phoebe! I went through my mourning period, but you and I both know there isn't time to mourn for long when there are maulers everywhere!" Tears had welled in his eyes. "I lost the girl I wanted to marry, and I lost my parents! I'll find comfort where I can, okay?"
That had shut Ralphie up, and since then, their friendship had been strained. They still went out hunting together, but that was about it. Arnold went to his tent after he dropped off the meat. He picked up the largest tent he could find when he and the guys went scavenging in the sporting goods store for supplies. It was a cabin-style, four-person tent that was tall enough for him to stand comfortably in. He also got a queen-sized cot that had an air bed built in. He might have to live in the woods now, but he was going to be comfortable.
His tent was furnished with whatever camping furniture he could find, such as tables and folding chairs, and he had a couple of lanterns, some on the table and by the bed, the other hanging from the middle of the tent. The most important thing in his tent wasn't the fancy bed or his clothes or his watch or even his glasses. It was the small photo album he kept under his pillow. Phoebe may have been gone, but at least he'd never forget her smile. All of the pictures in the album were of just her or of him and her together.
Arnold laid on his bed and took out the album. Wanda was a great comfort to him, her company easing his pain, but she wasn't Phoebe. No one could replace Phoebe. Tears rolled down his cheeks as he looked through the album for the umpteenth time. While part of him was relieved she didn't have to live through the constant fear of being bitten by a mauler, he still wanted her with him, beside him every night in bed as they talked until they fell asleep, sitting against him by the campfire while roasting what meat they had, stealing kisses during guard duty.
He had to believe Phoebe was in a better place, a paradise far from this post-apocalyptic hell-on-earth. She was at peace while he lived in constant fear and paranoia. She was happy and free while he hadn't properly showered or had a decent meal in weeks.
Still, the selfish part of him knew he could endure all of it with her at his side.
Phoebe pushed the motorcycle down a dirt path through the woods as she tried to find a decent place to camp for the night. The sun would be completely down soon, so she didn't have much time. She wouldn't need a fire, since it was summer. At least she wouldn't draw any unwanted attention. She took a jacket out from her clothing pack and decided to use it as a blanket for later in case it did get cool.
She sat down, her back against a tree, and she reached in her backpack for a snack and some water. If she could endure all that she did as an eight year old- from being blasted into space to chasing dinosaurs to being turned into a bat and a bee and a salmon and a plant and a mussel and a fox and a sea anemone and a shrimp and a remora- she could endure this.
Those memories then made her think of Arnold. Was he all right? He might have gone to his grandparents' home in Jamestown or their summer home in Martha's Vineyard. He could have been with his other grandparents in Manhattan. Her chest was hurting now. She wanted him safe, but she also wanted him with her. She reached in her duffle bag and took out one of her small photo albums. It was labeled with a red heart, a black "A+P" written in the middle.
Tears rolled down her cheeks as she looked at the photos of Arnold. Some were of him, some had her with him. They were all painful to look at. She hoped he was safe. Hopefully, if- when- when she found Ralphie and Robbie, they'd have some idea where Arnold was. She put the album back in her bag and covered herself with her jacket. Just as she closed her eyes, she was kicked awake.
"Up!"
She opened her eyes, and had she had enough to drink, she would have peed herself. Two figures in black hoodies held their rifles down at her. She held up her hands, using the tree as support as she got to her feet.
"You got any weapons?"
She shook her head. "None."
One of the hooded figures went through her bags anyway. He tossed her bags down to her feet. "Get your shit."
She put her things back in her bags, and she shouldered both bags, opting to leave her bike by the tree. The two hooded figures kept their guns aimed towards her as they escorted her further down the dirt path. They stopped at a large barn that had armed guards at the door, both also wearing black hoodies.
"We found her at the edge of the property," one of her escorts said. "No weapons or anything."
"Still, she's a trespasser," the other said.
One of the door guards nodded. "Take her in."
They opened the doors to let the three in. Warmth hit Phoebe, which woke her up a little more that being kicked awake had. The inside of the barn was bustling with all kinds of people, young and old. Her heart raced a bit in hopes Ralphie and Robbie could be among them. Everyone stopped when they realized a new person had walked in. Memories from childhood hit her, the first time she was a new person.
A tall, middle-aged man with brown hair walked out and came over to Phoebe and her armed escorts. There was something familiar about him, but maybe he just looked like someone she knew. He held himself with great authority, which made her think he may have been a police officer before...this.
"Who's the girl?"
"We found her at the edge of the property," one of her escorts said. "She's not carrying any weapons."
"She have a name?" the man asked.
"Phoebe Terese," another man in the crowd said.
She definitely knew this man. There was no way she wouldn't recognize her second grade teacher.
"Mr. Seedplot?"
He came into view and smiled when he saw her. "Hello, Phoebe."
The man turned to him. "You know this girl, Archibald?"
"I used to be her teacher. She's no threat to us. She just looks lost."
"I'm looking for my brothers," she blurted. "If- if I could just get a place to sleep for the night, I'll be gone in the morning."
"A reasonable request," Mr. Seedplot said to the man. Seeing them side by side had her wonder if they were brothers.
The man nodded. "One night, then she's gone in the morning. We can't take on any more people."
The man walked away, and everyone went back to their business. Her armed escorts left her, and Mr. Seedplot came over to her.
"What is this place?" she asked.
"A refuge," he said. "It was far enough away from maulers and large enough for our group of survivors." He put his hand on her shoulder. "Are you sure you don't want me to find a way for you to stay longer?"
She shook her head. "I have to find my brothers. I'd know if they were here, but they aren't. Also..." She choked back a sob. "My boyfriend. I have to find him, too."
"What about your parents?"
"Daddy and my step-mother were in Louisiana when all of this happened. They couldn't get a flight back- I think." She put her hand on her head and shut her eyes. "Truth be told, I was in a coma when all of this started."
His brows raised. "What? Well, first, let me get you to a cot, then I want you to tell me all what happened with you."
She nodded and followed him to the back of the barn. He remained standing as she sat down on the cot.
note: Chapter title from the TWD episode and TWD comic volume of the same name.
