WE ARE LEGEND II: A BALM IN GILEAD

Chapter 2

by

Lacadiva

Disclaimer: All rights remain in the hands of Jeff Eastin and USA. Au Revoir was not enough…how about a White Collar Movie? I'm just sayin'…

Rating: PG13/R for violence.

SUMMARY: AU – Crossover with I Am Legend: Neal, Peter and Elizabeth journey in search of the promised safe haven in Vermont, but it's a long, soul-shattering journey…and winter is coming fast…and so is El's baby. As if things couldn't get worse, Neal gets bitten by one of the infected. Can Peter pull the trigger to spare his friend before the painful, violent transformation begins? And, is what awaits our survivors in Vermont safer than what's beyond their protective walls?

~WC~

ONE WEEK AGO – MID NOVEMBER

They had held out in their fortified townhouse for as long as they could, but supplies were dwindling to nothing and finding more meant venturing out farther into dangerous unknown of darkness and shadows.

The infected Darkseekers were multiplying exponentially. Peter and Neal spoke in hush tones about the eventuality of finding a safer place, hoping not to worry El, but she knew what they were saying. They all knew that it was only a matter of time before Darkseekers laid siege to their home and tore through their barricade. Three against a bloodthirsty horde was the very worst of odds. And with the baby coming in a matter of weeks…

Salvation – or at least, the possibility of salvation – came in the form of a static-laden message that began broadcasting over police band radio.

Neal was the first to hear the broadcast. He was surfing shortwave signals on a jerry-rigged ham radio Peter had set up in the kitchen after the television and radios had stopped broadcasting and cell towers fell idle. Peter had long ago given up hope of hearing from police or government officials, or receiving instructions or directions to safe facilities. Every now and then Neal would check…hope…but things remained quiet after the fall of New York.

Then, after months of lying low Neal heard it…the announcement that began transmitting every hour over open frequencies. Even though it was a recorded voice echoing the same words every time, it was exciting to think – believe! – that someone was out there, people had survived, and they were inviting anyone hearing the broadcast to join them in Vermont. For the first time since the Krippen ordeal had begun, there was finally hope.

"Salvation was in Vermont," came the announcement, with a colony of survivors consisting of doctors, soldiers, scientists and civilians. Families! They promised food, medicine, protection, and community. Safety. This tiny fortified town in Vermont called itself Gilead, and without the Infected running rampant promised an oasis from the madness.

They didn't need to take a vote.

They had to go.

They packed whatever they could carry into sturdy backpacks – food, clothing, water, blankets, and matches. They strapped weapons to them, and with Satchmo at their side, they said goodbye to their townhouse, to the life they once knew, and began their trek at first light.

They found a car, and with extra gas siphoned from other abandoned cars and drained safely into jerrycans, they took to the road.

Their first few days seemed encouraging, almost jovial. Peter enjoyed driving, and Neal, El and even Satchmo relaxed enough to just enjoy the ride. They were making good time. Driving until the sun began to descend, then finding a safe place off the road to sleep. Their first week gave them great confidence, but it was horribly shattered on day eight.

It would only be the first of many tragedies.

Satchmo disappeared the first week on the road. He caught scent and sight of a deer and ran off to chase, as any dog should. They heard his agonized howl in the distance, and knew he had fallen into the hands of the Infected. But they could not make a sound, or dare go after him. To do so would have brought the angry vampire tribe down upon them, and their journey would have come to an abrupt and horrible end.

So Peter held El tightly and they cried, remembering the sweet pup that over a decade and a half ago had peed on their freshly laid hardwood floors as soon as the newlyweds entered their New York apartment.

What a wonderful companion he would have been for the baby…

The car broke down long before they ran out of gas, and they were forced to travel on foot for the better part of three weeks, taking long rest stops between towns, avoiding the main roads for fear of marauders, who, discouragingly, were just as dangerous as the Infected. Worse were the cannibals, who had to be avoided at all costs.

~WC~

Neal shook his shaggy head and kept walking, far ahead of Peter and El for at least a quarter of a mile. Far enough away that he could leave a warning carved in a tree, or, at worst, a trail of his own blood to advise them to turn around or take cover if danger was lurking ahead.

He zipped up his tattered hoodie to ward off the quickening winds. There was a distinct chill in air that told him always of two inevitabilities – winter was faster approaching, but even sooner, was night.

He adjusted the strap of the black Ambush 300 hunting rifle around his shoulder and put a hand on the hilt of the knife he had nicknamed Dundee, which was attached to his belt. Neal never liked violence, but this world, this new world had taught him to be willing to do whatever it took for the sake of survival. He was already a crack shot. He taught himself to be equally impressive with Dundee.

He still didn't like it.

He looked up at the sky and knew by the slow absences of turning leaves and smell of the air that these were the last few days of fall. Night was coming faster and colder each day. Soon the wind would penetrate his once white now dirty and blood stained hoodie like a blade through infected flesh, and he would shiver until his bones rattled.

He wondered how his friends were faring and spared a quickly look over his shoulder, wishing he could see them ambling along.

Poor El. A sad smile crossed his face when he thought of how Peter would teased her gently, calling her his little Subaru, hoping she would not notice, despite the baby, how thin she had become. Women were supposed to gain weight with babies on board, Neal had always known. But El was thinning, just as he was, just as Peter was. And that couldn't be good for the baby.

Every scrap of food he foraged and found he made sure El received first. Next, he insisted Peter take what was left. He and Peter often fought over who should eat what. Most band of survivors, Neal knew by the bodies he found along the road, dispersed or destroyed one another over greed and fear of not having enough. These three fought to make sure the other had plenty to eat. This self-sacrificing was the only thing that helped them keep their humanity through these most inhuman circumstances, Neal often told himself.

As a consequence, Neal was literally fading away. Sometimes he'd come across an abandoned car, and if the window wasn't too dirty he would spy is wraith-like reflection. Were it not for the quick brightness of his blue eyes, he might not have recognized himself at all.

Gone was the well-coifed hair in favor a shaggy mane that no longer respected the control of a comb. And despite the fact that he was still well under the age of 40, gray hairs were slowly attempting to dominate the dark ones. His clothes were nearly falling off of him. And he smelled to high heaven, though he did what he could to combat the odors caused by living a shower-free existence as best as he could. Rain had become his best grooming buddy.

He made it his job not just to scout for danger, but to also find food and clothing for the three of them. Peter had enough on his plate caring for El as her unknown delivery day raced closer. Neal was always good at finding whatever they needed. He could slip in and slip out of anyplace. Only, these days, there was so very little left with which to slip away. He'd spent his "career" stealing priceless art, art that meant absolutely nothing now that the world had changed so drastically. A pair of hiking boots that didn't give him blisters was more wonderful then any Renoir. He'd give a King's ransom for a wool scarf or heavy blanket right now.

These were the new priceless items, the new objet d'art of this strange world, he mused.

Right now, he needed to find himself and his friends some form of shelter for the night, or they would all be exposed by the time the sun went down. Not just exposed to the cold, though.

Dark night was when the infected came out to hunt.

~WC~

"Tell me more about Vermont, hon," El said as she walked awkwardly, supporting her swollen belly, and being supported by the still-strong arms and hands of her husband.

"They make the best maple syrup…"

"I think the Canadians would argue…if there are any Canadians left."

"El…"

"Maybe if Vermont doesn't work out we could head to Canada."

Peter's exhaustion was getting the better of him. He hadn't slept in days. Instead, he kept watch so that Elizabeth could sleep without worry. He knew if he didn't stop and rest soon though, he was going to be of no use to his wife. He needed to be sharp, needed to be alert if he wanted to protect her and the baby.

"Sure, we can do that…head to Canada. But I think this whole Vermont thing is going to work out just fine. You heard the broadcasts. They've got survivors just like us. They've got doctors, lots of doctors, which you're gonna need obviously, and soldiers, guns, and tanks, and real beds and fresh water…"

"And food!" she reminded him. "What I wouldn't give for a hot meal. Steak and a green salad. Mac and cheese. I'd even eat succotash."

"Seriously? You hate succotash."

"I'd fight you for it!"

"You'd lose! I like succotash."

"You like deviled ham, too, so there's no accounting for taste."

"If you're hungry, I've still got half of that Odwallah bar…"

"We're saving that for Neal. Remember?"

"You know he's not going to take it."

"You'll just have to insist, then. Use your gun. He's getting way too thin. I'm worried for him. And for you, too."

Peter smiled, hoping to be reassuring, tightening his grip around to her to support her every step.

"You always said I could afford to lose a pound or two. I call it the Krippen diet."

"That's not funny."

"I know."

They walked in silence for a few beats, noticing the wind picking up, and watching the leaves dance spookily like dervishes in tiny funnels along the road.

"Do you think we'll make it to Vermont," El ventured, "before the baby comes?"

"I do," Peter lied, and prayed silently that his words were true. If El were to go into labor now, in the middle of nowhere, they'd be far too vulnerable. He castigated himself once again for convincing his beloved wife and friend to follow him on this fool's journey. But then, they were as anxious to go as he.

Fear gripped his thoughts every now and again along the way: What if they got to Vermont and nobody was there? Worse, what if they had all died, or the walled compound that promised protection and safety from the Infected was actually filled with infected inhabitants?

Worse, what if El suffered some kind of complication during delivery? Peter had read and studied every obstetrics and midwifing book he could get his hands on, quizzing himself, teaching Neal even as he taught himself, about every possibility surrounding the birth of his child. If he were somehow incapacitated, or worse, absent, by distance or death, he wanted to be certain that El, Neal and the baby would be okay.

"You're worried," Elizabeth said, slowing down to look up at her husband.

Peter stopped, brushing hair back from her face, touching her smudged cheek with his own dirty fingers.

"I am. I won't lie to you."

"I'm not worried. Things will turn out well, or they won't," she said calmly, matter-of-factly, and reached up to touch his thick beard.

Then she wrapped her arms around Peter and looked into his once bright eyes.

"Regardless of what happens, I've had the best life, with the man of my dreams, the man of my heart, and I'm having his baby. Not under the best of circumstances, maybe, but still...

"And for the record, Peter Burke, in case it ever crosses your mind…I have never doubted you. And I never will. Neither of us knows what's going to happen, but I do know this: whatever happens, I'm grateful beyond measure that I get to be with you."

Peter breathed in a ragged breath, nearly overcome by emotion. He pulled his wife closer to him and kissed her, felt her warmth, and felt the roundness of her belly against him. The world was falling apart, but moments like this rescued him from the brink of madness. Moments like these were all that mattered.

"We should pick up the pace," he said finally. "The sun will be setting in a little over an hour, and I'm betting Neal is getting anxious."

They continued their journey, with Peter monitoring her every step and breath.

~WC~

Neal was grateful when he found a small fresh water creek and no sign of dead animals or Infected nearby. He quickly filled the small canteen he kept at his side and made a mental note to boil it later before drinking, just in case. The only reason the three of them stayed alive was by being extra careful.

When Neal spied the roof of a house just over the trees he hoped it would be what they so desperately needed. It turned out to be an old but sturdy place, a traditional American Foursquare. There were maybe a few more windows than he would have preferred, but most of them were already boarded up and he and Peter could secure the rest in an hour or so if they worked fast.

He made his way toward the house, senses alert and attune to his surroundings. There was an abundance of trees, which could be good and bad. Great cover for him, or hiding places for marauders or Infected.

He also searched the treetops for anyone who might be lying in wait above. He prayed aloud that no sniper's bullet would find him tonight. He still had a scar on his lower left back where a bullet tore away a few layers of flesh a couple a weeks ago, but thankfully, the bullet did not penetrate. Still, he was sore for days and it had bled as if the wound were deeper.

And the smell of fresh blood was a sure-fire way to attract Infected.

When he came upon the porch, he stood still and listened, and watched. Was there movement other than in the trees bending in the wind? Were there eyes watching him? All seemed safe on the surface. He would not know until he entered the house, or checked out the land on the other side.

They could confine themselves upstairs, to one room, two if necessary, he thought looking at the upper level. Should it rain, as the cooling humidity in the air made him predict, they could keep warm and dry for the night. If the area was safe, perhaps they could stay an extra day to just rest. Certainly Elizabeth would appreciate the break from the road.

Fresh water source…securable structure…high windows for keeping watch. Neal let himself smile. But now was not the time to celebrate.

He knew he should wait for Peter and El. They'd be along shortly. He could meet them halfway and explain his find. They'd clear the place together, the three of them. That was the plan, always they plan. They'd have each other's back as they crept through the darkness, searching for dangers in the shadows, among the dust motes and rats scurrying for cover. It was routine, clockwork, second nature, the way the three would go into potentially harrowing situations, hearts pumping and adrenaline fueling them.

Neal reached for the old rusted doorknob and stopped himself. He knew he needed to wait for Peter. If something were inside, something crouched and waiting beyond the door, he knew he wouldn't have a chance at surviving it alone.

The sun was getting low. A cold bead of perspiration ran down the middle of his back.

He prayed that Peter would hurry.

~WC~

Peter was good at checking signs along the way, warning signs left by Neal. It could be a subtle as three tiny rocks in the middle of the road, or two sticks stacked like an "x" or bark carved out of the side a of tree. It was important to make use of their natural surroundings, to call as little attention as possible to where they were going.

Peter was busy looking for signs when he heard his wife groan.

"Hon?"

"It's nothing. Just a little pain…"

"What kind of pain?"

She could hear the sudden elevation of anxiety in his voice.

"Not a contraction," she said hopefully. "Just a little muscular something," she said, fighting not to let Peter know she was starting to feel concern.

"You sure?" We can stop…"

"We can't stop. It's almost sundown."

Peter looked up and saw that there was very little light in the trees, and the road was starting to take on a dusky tone.

"We need to find…"

At that moment Peter saw Neal, tiny in the distance, heading their way. Relief washed over him and he found the strength to quicken his pace and encouraged Elizabeth to do the same.

Neal ran and caught up with them, walking alongside, never taking a moment to catch is breath.

"Found a house…two stories…attic...stream….water looks good…no sign of Infected."

"How far?" Peter asked.

"Just ahead. El?"

"I'm okay."

Both men were staring at her.

"Okay," she confessed, "I feel a little something."

"Let's move," Peter demanded, then, "Sorry, El."

Instantly Neal and Peter scooped up Elizabeth sedan-style and moved down the road as fast as they could.

"Guys, this isn't necessary…"

"Just sit tight, and enjoy the ride," Peter encouraged her as they raced to shelter.

GILEAD

"Why are you smiling?"

Neal was bothered by the way Janice was staring at her hands and smiling as he told his story. This wasn't a particularly humorous story.

"Forgive me," Janice said and cleared her throat as she cleared the memory. "I was just remembering something that happened when I was a kid."

"What?" Neal genuinely wanted to know, anything to distract him for a moment, and rid himself of the knot forming in his gut.

"I was seven," she said, "and playing in a tree with my sibs and a few kids from the neighborhood in a little park not far from home. I fell, really hard, and hurt my leg. Broke it, actually. I remember crying so hard I thought I was going to throw up.

"My big brother was there, but he was kind of a skinny kid. He tried to pick me up to take me home, but he didn't quite have the strength, not yet. So a friend of his, about the same size, they carried me home the same way you and Peter carried Elizabeth. Sedan-style. Your story reminded me, made me smile."

"I'm glad. There's not a lot to smile about these days. What happened to your brother?"

"He was military. He died on the Brooklyn Bridge that first night, trying to stop people from stampeding before they closed the city."

"I'm sorry. And the friend?"

"I married him. He died two days before we made it to Gilead."

Neal felt as if his throat was swelling. He sat back and thought about all the people he had also lost along the way. June. Mozzie. Jones. Diana… What was happening in London? Was Sara safe? What if she'd become one of the…

"Are you okay to continue, Mr. Caffrey?"

"Yes!" he said quickly, pushing back all the feelings of loss and anguish.

"Could we back-track for a moment, for clarification?"

Neal nodded as he wrung his hands, feeling the thinness and boniness that wasn't there when this ordeal began.

"You mentioned marauders. They were survivors, like you. Do you know if any of them were immune, or just lucky?"

"I never asked."

"Did you ever come into contact with marauders?"

Neal closed his eyes, ground his teeth.

"Were you attacked by marauders?" Janice asked.

"Were you?" Neal countered.

Janice bristled at the hostility in Neal's voice, and hesitated before answering.

"Yes. And you?"

"Yes," Neal said, and sat back in his seat. This was a hard memory for him.

He went for his coffee, noticed it had gone cold – had they been talking that long? He took a sip, and prayed she could not see that his hand was shaking as he lifted the mug to his lips.

"Is this necessary?" he asked finally. "I don't think it's relevant…"

She merely nodded, hating that it was relevant, as much as she hated it.

"They are despicable individuals…I know…but if they're out there surviving, and they're immune, we need to find a way to reach out to them."

"You reach out to them, you'll have a bloody stump where you hand was."

"They may also be the answer to Krippen, Neal. Please…"

He didn't want to tell her. He didn't want anyone to know.

"I'll make a deal with you," Janice said. "You tell me, I'll go find out how your friends are doing."

"How about you let me see Peter, talk to him?"

"That's not the deal."

"I'm altering the deal."

Janice crossed her arms. She would not be moved.

"You'll tell me the truth, tell me if they're okay, or if…if they're not?" Neal pushed.

Janice nodded.

He sat back and felt a chill go through him despite the heat radiating from the wood-burning stove.

"Three days out…we were taking a main road, hoping to make better time. Night was coming fast, as it usually did. We were out in the open.

"Six of them. Five men, one woman. Dirty, starving, raggedy. Savage. Came up on us begging for food and water, and then they jumped us. One of them held a knife…"

Neal mimed holding a large knife…held his head back a bit and placed the make believe knife to his throat.

"He held it to Elizabeth's throat…like this…"

Neal dropped his hands had upon the tabletop. His shoulders stooped, his face in turmoil, as he continued.

"They didn't care that she was pregnant. Peter and I tried to fight him. They were going to…"

"Going to what?"

Neal fought to steady his voice. If he had to say it, he wanted to be understood. He never wanted to have to say it again.

"They were going to rape her. Then, kill her…cook her…and eat her. They were going to tie up Peter and me, and save us for later."

Janice sat back, but did not take her eyes off of Neal. She crossed her arms, as if fighting against the urge to shudder.

"One of them knocked Peter unconscious. El was terrified, screaming for Peter. I was afraid she'd go into labor right there. There was nothing I could do…until I remembered…I had a deck of cards in my back pocket."

"A deck of cards? Like, playing cards?"

"Gotta have a deck of cards for the end of the world, right? I got their attention with a game of Find the Lady…Three Card Monte. They couldn't find the queen to save their lives. I kept them occupied so that El could slip away. Sometime during the game, Peter came to, and off they went."

"They left you?"

"I wanted them to. I knew they'd be waiting for me somewhere close by. All I had to do was find a way to distract the marauders and run. A couple of the freaks got into a fight over the game, and I had my chance. I took off. But they weren't far behind. I guess I really pissed them off..."

Neal stopped and stared at the table top, not wanting to remember. His body jerked, once, hard, as if he'd been shocked, if the sharp memory had stabbed him in the gut.

"I woke up a couple hours later…a knot on my head the size of a peach…El and Peter found me, but not before…"

Neal stopped again. His eyes took on a murderous look, even while filling with tears. His jaw became tight, body tense.

"Peter said, it was probably a good thing I passed out from the head injury. The memory of what they did to me is fleeting at best, like a remnant of a senseless nightmare. Undefined but still there…"

Neal balled up his fist and banged it hard on the table. Janice jump with the fury of the gesture.

More quietly, he said, "Better me than El."

He kept his eyes averted for several moments.

Janice reached out a pressed "stop" on the recorder.

"Let's take a break," she said, then left Neal alone to deal with his damaged soul in the silence of room.

END CHAPTER TWO

Thanks for reading. If any part of this story moved you at all, please tell me in a review. Candy corn smiles for everyone!