Chapter 3: General Humvee
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Extra Warnings for Chapter 3: Drug use.
When life becomes hell, you must try to find heaven in the everyday or else you'll go mad with indignation.
-Author Unknown
A wide passageway runs down the length of Georgia State while much like branches sprouting from a tree, narrow and windowless hallways sprout off in every direction. Just confusing enough to make you scratch your head and wonder whether or not that door looks familiar, darkened corridors spread with no sense of logic or direction. For any given place you wish to end up inside GSP, there are nearly endless different ways in which to go. Even simply going from the entrance to the kitchen, there are twenty-one different ways to do so. There are no markings, no room numbers, no directories - just a seemingly random 6-didgit serial number painted above each door, of which none are barred. Every door inside is a thick slab of steel painted warm ivory, of your peeling and dingy variety, with a thin sliver of a window cut down the center. Not a single bar, not a single window wider than five-inches – except for in the main hallway. While every other square foot of Georgia State is dismally dark, the main hallway is bright as there is no wall above six feet – just thick glass that stretches up to the ceiling.
None of the windows are open yet the space does not feel like a sweat box. Stepping into the entrance room, you are greeted by a rush of graciously glacial-feeling chilled air. A faint hum flows throughout, a subtle movement in the air – a direction with which it flows; It's air-conditioning at its finest.
Standing under an air vent, thoroughly enjoying the missed luxury, Daryl thinks a two-syllabled damn to himself as he holds his arms above his head, cooling his arm pits.
Stretching all the way down the wall, charcoal outlines affixed with a shiny clear varnish depict an intricate landscape, realistically drawn so that if it were not for the lack of colour it would seem there was no wall there at all, but rather just one giant window overlooking a beautiful vista of lush hills and wildflowers, tall mountains jutting up in the distance.
"That's cool." Glenn comments, running his fingertips along the mural.
"It's beautiful." Andrea stares at the wall also with a faint smile on her lips, amazed by how realistic the charcoal sketchings are. She can't even remember the last time she saw something so beautiful, let alone the last time she was able to afford time enough to marvel at art. Daryl looks at it briefly then lets out a vague murmur of apathy, not really caring or even interested in the custom artwork.
"Yeah, that's Alice's work." Heath points down the distance of the hall to an average-sized woman with vibrantly colourful tattoos running down both of her bare arms. Alice stands back from the mural where it abruptly ends, looking at the still blank wall from behind a pair of cat eye glasses, deep in thought as she smokes a cigarette. Her hair is held into a low sloppy bun with two pencils shoved through wavy light blonde tresses smeared with streaks of black running in sets of five, one grouped streak for each finger. She wears a dark grey tank top and denim shorts, her feet shoved into a pair of unlaced Doc Martin boots with maroon leather, smudges of black charcoal residue found constantly throughout her legs, her arms, her cheeks, everywhere. It almost looks like she feel into an ash pit. A young artist native to Berlin, she was in Georgia to authenticate some supposedly lost works by Alfred Sisley when the apocalypse hit and credits her survival during the apocalypse to dumb luck.
Alice looks up with hazel eyes when she hears them, having to peer over the top rim of her black cat eye glasses that have slid down her petite nose. She silently looks at them for a moment, locking eyes with Daryl for no more than a second before slowly shifting her attention back to the wall. Encroaching closer and closer, it becomes extremely clear from the potent scent that it is not a cigarette she smokes, but rather a joint that smells skunky and sweet, reminding Daryl of home, Glenn of the endless nights he spent delivering pizzas and causes Andrea to fondly reminisce about her college days.
"Hey." Heath greets Alice. Lost in her own mind, she merely nods with her chin in the subtlest of ways, her hazel eyes red and glossy yet completely focused as she mentally draws on the wall. Outstretching her left arm inked with vivid orange coy fish swimming in deep aqua waters and waterlillies, she holds the joint out for Heath to take while blowing out a thick cloud of smoke up through the corner of her plush lips.
"Say hello to the newbies, Alice - this is Glenn, Andrea and Daryl." Heath introduces, appropriately gesturing to each person at the mentioning of their name. Heath takes in a casual hit, letting the delicious taste linger on his tongue.
Alice's eyes flicker from the wall to the newcomers for a brief second, "Hallo."
Visibly holding in his breath as well as containing a coughing fit, Heath holds the smoldering joint up, silently offering it to anyone who wishes to partake in the pleasure.
Daryl is the first to snatch the joint from Heath's massive hands and bring it to his own lips, quickly taking in deep, relaxing inhale – visibly surprised at the high quality of the bud rolled inside the paper. Bar-none, this has to be some of the best grass he has ever has the liberty of smoking; it is smooth and tasteful, a perfect intense potency that relaxes him a great degree.
He hands the joint off to Glenn who graciously accepts the gift as if it is the holy grail, his dark brown eyes wide and filled with child-like wonder, "How do you guys have pot?"
"This chick has a magic green thumb," He clamps both his hands on Alice's wide shoulders, making her jump from surprise, "we found some plants growing in the woods then brought them back here and I shit you not, the very second Alice here touches them, we had plants fucking taller than I am."
Alice smiles with pride, a gleeful – yet somehow mischievous – twinkle in her glossy eyes, "I know my Scheiβe." Her accent becomes more prominent; a harsh-sounding distortion of her otherwise airy voice that is just high-pitched enough to be overtly feminine.
Glenn exhales, lazily smiling as he finds his head buzzing at the end, "Wow." He mouths silently.
Glenn goes to pass it to Andrea who holds up her hand, declining participation with a polite, "No, thank you."
Considering it is now rightfully her turn in the rotation, Alice instead takes the joint from Glenn and breathes the smoke in deep, filling her lungs with gloriously skunky smoke then again passes it off to Heath, who takes a quick hit before handing it off to Daryl.
Heath exhales in the circular way, with smoke-rings that flutter up towards the ceiling before dissipating into the chilled air. Then he licks his lips, an enthralling thought visibly settling on his mind, "I'm hungry. Who wants food?"
Like a young, eager student in school, Glenn raises his hand – which causes Andrea to snort a poorly withheld chuckle, which in turn causes Glenn to blush faintly with embarrassment. Heath gestures for everyone to follow him as he begins off down a seperate hallway in search of food, Andrea and Glenn quickly falling into pace behind him after saying quick farewells to Alice. Daryl goes to give Alice her joint back but she instead pulls another one out from behind her left ear, holding up a fattie rolled with expert skill in the sunlight that beams in through the windows, thus letting Daryl know he can retain possession of the one he has.
"Want to get absolutely fucking faded?" Alice asks, feeling the need for a break in her sore arms and stiff neck. It does not bother Alice to be alone when her mind is solely focused on her art, but aside from those times she has a bit of a phobia over being left alone. Something about solitude greatly bothers her, there is something about the quiet and the lonliness that she cannot stand.
"Hell yeah." Enthusiastically, Daryl agrees. With a dopey smile he takes another hit and looks at the wall again, this time with interest, finding a sudden appreciation for Alice's mural, but more correctly, the perfect view he has of Alice's supple and shapely ass as she bends down to pick her water bottle up from the floor.
"I fuckin' love this place." Daryl sighs happily to himself.
Meanwhile...
Lou skips down the front steps of the prison in such a rapid way that the metallic clinking of her dog tags jingling becomes audible – tink tink tink tink - all the way down the stairs. Rick and Shane follow behind her, their guns casually held by their sides. Wearing her fatigue shirt open with the sleeves rolled up to her elbows, Lou digs an old wrinkled red and white pack of Marlboro's out from her shirt pocket, pulling out a hand rolled cigarette that she quickly lights up inside cupped hands regardless of the fact there is no breeze anymore.
Walking backwards and blowing smoke straight up as opposed to in the faces of Rick and Shane, "So, did Heath show you around?" Lou asks. Having the layout of the entire 40-acre compound memorized, she continues to walk backwards, expertly leading Rick and Shane to the separate garage behind the prison that was previously a storage shed but has found a new life as a workshop for gear-heads Kevin and David.
"He told us about the landmines and had some," Rick coughs, "very choice words about the warden over there." Rick says, waving his index finger in the general direction of the wardens house.
Louisiana waves her hand as if swatting at an unseen fly, "The landmines are nothing to worry about, if one accidentally gets triggered – and you will feel it – any one of us knows how to disarm them. Kevin's the best though, but then again, bombs are kind of his specialty... And as far as Marshall goes…" Charlaine pauses, detest clearly written on her round face, "Just don't. That man is racist pig stuck in 1792."
"So," Lou restarts with vigor, "over there is the power hut," she waves a finger at a brick one-story building over in the southwestern corner of the compound, "Georgia State gets all its energy from solar panels and methane still underground from way back when this land was a pig farm, most everything is still operational – hot water around here is shoddy at best, but you get used to it."
"Hey, any running water at all sounds fantastic." Rick says, genuinely smiling as he begins to feel at ease in the face of modern living.
Coming around the side of the prison, the garage is now in sight. A relatively large building dwarfed by the impressive size of the prison itself, the garage is contained within a barbed wire fence all of its own, making it the perfect makeshift armory. Nearly every weapon in the collective possession of Lou's unit is contained within, assault rifles and RPG-launchers locked away from untrained hands that would undoubtedly do more harm than good if armed with such. Georgia State is thirty miles from an abandoned National Guard station and the unit has made numerous trips there to obtain as many weapons as they could transport. Within the garage a virtually limitless supply of guns and miscellaneous explosives intermingle with torque wrenches and scrap metal. Only one weapon resides on the lawn within the fence – a howitzer majestically looms over gutted cars packed tightly into the relatively small junkyard. An impressive feat of modern engineering, the extremely effective long distance weapon is intimidating all by itself – instilling a sort of awe-inspiring fear in Rick. Not fear of the weapon or fear of the people in control of it, but a dumbfounding sort of fear where the ex-Sheriff finds himself feeling an empathizing fear for whoever – or whatever – is on the receiving end of such a weapons artillery.
"Is that a howitzer?" Shane asks in utter disbelief at the new definition these people give to prepared.
Lou nods, a dangerous smirk playing on her lips becoming a grand soliloquy about her lust for firepower, "Damn right it is."
"You're pretty heavily armed, are there a lot of walkers around here?" Rick asks.
Lou's head subtly bounces from side to side while one side of her face scrunches up, mentally flip-flopping between saying yes and no.
"Not really," She finally decides upon, "I mean, there are walkers in the woods but they aren't anything we can't handle."
Considering the fact that it appears this group can handle quite a lot, Lou's answer is not really an answer at all – and that slightly worries Rick just enough for it to show. Noticing this, Lou stops walking and looks at Rick, making an especially direct point of looking him in the eyes so as to cement the reassuring nature of her words about to come, "Look here, including myself, there are four Marines living here and we know what we're doing. We have protected this prison and everyone inside for almost five months and not once has a single walker ever even breached the perimeter. Nothing is ever getting through those gates and none of us will ever let anything happen to anyone here. Trust me when I say that this is the safest place to be right now. " Her words drip with an overflow of effortless and unshakeable confidence that is only further enforced by the no-bullshit demeanor with which Lou always carries herself.
Sighing silently with a relief that washes over him, Rick nods in acceptance of her assurance. Lou then nods once herself, curtly so, her vibrant eyes lingering on Rick for a moment before she resumes leading them to the garage.
"You ever see any action?" Shane asks, curiously infatuated by the entirely new species of woman Louisiana seems to be. Somewhere in the back of his mind, a thought passes by – without meaning to think so he is willing to bet that she is not the type of woman who needs to be told how a light switch works.
Louisiana snorts a solemn scoff that darkens her expression, "It feels like I haven't stopped seeing action since 2007. We were only back from the sandbox for two weeks before all this shit happened." It is obviously a bitter subject preferred to be left alone and Shane leaves it at that, not saying anything else, reserving himself to looking over the junkyard. The Humvee itself is covered under a blue tarp that is just a little too short, revealing its thick, deep treaded tires that can cover just about any type of terrain. A bump on the roof very clearly outlines Ma Deuce, the .50 caliber browning machine gun mounted on the roof that can either lay down automatic or semi-automatic firing that can also be adapted to be a sniping rifle. Indeed, Ma Deuce is just about the most versatile weapon around that can bring down zombies and entire civilizations alike.
They come upon the garage's fence, causing Louisiana to fish a ring of keys from her baggy jeans pocket, instantly honing in on the one which opens the massive padlock chained around the fence. Slipping the key into the slot, she gets the lock off and pulls the chain with thick, heavy links out from the diamond-shaped holes in the fence. As she drags the gate open, causing a loud rattling as it skips over the bumpy ground, Kevin and David pop their heads out from under the hood of a stripped-down F-350. Dirty and sweaty from working outside all day, Kevin wipes his filthy hands on a dirty rag already covered with chalky black grease – saying something brief to David before walking towards Lou, Rick and Shane.
"Kevin, this is Rick and Shane." Lou introduces, gesturing to Rick and calling him Shane, while gesturing to Shane and calling him Rick.
"Actually, I'm Shane-"
"And I'm Rick."
"Close enough." Lou mutters under her breath, unheard by any of the men in her immediate vicinity.
"Hi," Kevin does not shake their hand, but rather holds up his dirty palms – Rick and Shane both understanding that he simply does not want to transfer grime.
Kevin is about to say something, but as his green eyes follow Lou's trail over to the Humvee, they suddenly become as wide as tennis balls, fearful of something.
"Lou – Wait! Before you do that-" But he is not fast enough, only catching Louisiana just as she gains a firm grip on the tarp and yanks it off with one great tug.
As the tarp flutters to the ground, "Oh. My. God." Louisiana deadpans when she sees the Humvee.
The Humvee had been repainted; instead of the typical paint pattern of desert camouflage, the sturdy Humvee is bright orange with large athletic-style block numbers 01 painted onto the door in black.
"Why is our Humvee painted like the General Lee?" Louisiana asks, still deadpanning as her face remains void of any disscernable emotion, which is perhaps even scarier than any rage one could hold.
Grinning like a damn fool, David interjects, "Isn't it awesome?"
She blinks once. She blinks twice. But she does not say anything. She just keeps staring at the Humvee, face blank but mind reeling as she angrily wonders why Kevin and David felt the need to paint their safest vehicle like the fucking car from Dukes of Hazzard.
Kevin nods, "It is pretty awesome, Lou. Can I get a little help on this?" Kevin asks, turning to Rick and Shane for support.
"Don't get in involved." Lou says quickly, suddenly snapping out of her own mind. She then glares at Kevin, extremely unhappy with the Humvee's paint job but doing her very best to contain her anger.
"Where did you even get the paint for this?" She asks.
Kevin gently scratches the back of his sun burnt neck with his dirty hand, turning his reddened flesh black, "We took it from that auto detailing shop in town."
Louisiana looks from Kevin to the Humvee and then back again before letting out a long sigh that acts like a pressure release – freeing her pent-up discontent and calming her down.
Shaking her head, "Whatever." She finally says, greatly exasperated.
"Really? That's it?" Kevin asks, surprised.
"Yeah, that's it." Louisiana nods, still sounding tired and worn, "Get in." She says to Shane and Rick, swooping her arm up and flicking two fingers towards the Humvee's doors in gesture.
While Shane and Rick pile in, Louisiana yanks open the driver's side door and hoists herself up into the cabin, settling into the seat there. With one hand resting curled around the interior door handle, she looks at Kevin, willing to let the entire General Humve-Lee incident go if he is willing to do something for her, "If you got paint for this, you're going into town and getting Alice some paint for that mural she's been working on."
Kevin smiles, "I already got it. I'm just waiting for the right moment to give it to her."
"You're such a fuckin' sap." Louisiana jokes lightly. Kevin shrugs, admitting as much and not caring in the least. It is no secret that he has a thing for the young pot-smoking artist, at least not to anyone who has two eyes and sees first-hand the way he looks at her.
"Whoa – wait a minute," Kevin says, visibly snapping into reality, "Where the hell are you going?" He asks.
"They've got five more waiting at a camp up river, gonna give 'em a lift." She responds, jerking her head slightly to the side as she references Rick.
"Be safe." Kevin says with a meaningful stare.
"Always am." Lou smiles reassuringly, the sound of her voice drowned out as the engine roars to life.
Dale sits atop the RV, switching between scanning the distance with binoculars and drinking water to quench his insatiable thirst. He wipes the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand, letting out a breath through pursed lips. It almost feels like he is boiling, that is how hot it is. Down below, Carol and Lori stand with their feet in the river, both of their pants rolled up to the knee. They chat about random things while cooling their heels and keeping a watchful eye on Carl who swims in the slow-moving river. Inside the RV, T-Dog naps, still recovering from the infected cut on his arm that is finally starting to heal properly. T-Dog has a chronic snoring problem, and from the roof Dale can hear his bear-like snores that seem to rattle the old Winnebago.
Spotting a moving object in the distance that rises over the crest of a hill, Dale picks up the binoculars that hang from a strap around his neck. He brings it to his eyes and peers out – only confusing himself further upon inspection.
"What the hell…" He mumbles quietly to himself. He lowers the binoculars from his eyes and looks out, then brings them back up again, absolutely perplexed until the object comes a little closer and he realizes that the object in the distance is a Humvee painted neon orange, a confederate flag painted on the roof where a machine gun is mounted.
"Hey, Lori, come look at this." Dale calls down, cupping his hands around his mouth to magnify his voice – which by doing so, he must have woken T-Dog because his snoring abruptly stops.
Lori holds a flattened hand to her brow, shading her eyes so she can see better as she rises from her chair, gazing into the wide-open field that bursts with the bright pinks and purples of wildflowers. Carol, who sits beside her, glances over her shoulder – instantly recognizing the front end from all the military documents her late husband watched, which in turn was the only thing that she ever really watched… aside from Bear Grylls.
"That's a Humvee." Carol confirms.
"But it's bright orange… Oh my god, and there's a giant gun on the roof!" Lori exclaims. Never much being one for guns, not as a general fear but the sort of fear for the inevitable, the fear of it – as they say – falling into the wrong hands.
Carl strains his neck to try and see the sight that his mother, Carol and Dale gawk at, but from the middle of the river, he can't see anything so he begins to swim for shore.
T-Dog throws open the RV's door, descending down the retracting steps a little shakily, still half-asleep. He rubs the dreams from his eyes with a balled fist and then looks around, noticing that everyone is looking out to the field – forcing him to observe the distance as well. When he sees the bright orange Humvee painted like the General Lee, he sighs a deep sigh and climbs back into the RV, muttering harsh words about rednecks under his breath.
Just as Carl gets out of the water he is able to see the orange Humvee bounding over the hilly field, quickly approaching their camp – instantly grinning wide as he recognizing the tell-tale paint design. One of his favourite movies of all time is the 2005 movie based on the very same 80's television show, Dukes of Hazzard, from which the Humvee's paint design comes from.
"That's awesome!" Carl exclaims. Lori looks at him from the corner of her eyes, inwardly groaning.
"What the hell has that husband of mine gotten us into this time?" Her soft-spoken question rendered completely rhetorical, Lori sighs while shaking her head faintly from side-to-side, all the while feeling an intense headache settling in.
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