Once again, so sorry. Time caught up with me. Here you go.
Fudgie
Cold. Dampness. She could only hear voices, and her body throbbed. It was the worst pain imaginable, ten times worse than her wisdom teeth being removed. She felt sticky, and absolutely disgusting. Her eyes refused to open, though. Only voices.
"She's coming back to us now." Rochelle. Harley could tell her light, feminine voice from the others.
"Oh thank god." Nick said. Harley could vaguely remember being mad. She was in too much pain to be angry.
Her eyelids felt like super glue had been drying inside. She pried and pried, finally popping them open. A rush of light. She was staring at a ceiling dripping with water. She took in her surroundings. Nick was crouched next to her, grabbing her hand. Rochelle had paced away, murmuring to Ellis. Coach was asleep.
"What… What happened?" Harley tried to sit up.
"Don't move. You tried to fight a witch and got cockblocked by a spitter." Nick explained.
"After that?"
"You went unconscious, she tore your chest up pretty fucking bad." His laugh was bitter.
Harley tried to laugh, but searing pain shot through her abdomen. Instead, she relaxed her head on the ratty pillow underneath it. Instead of focusing on the pain, Harley counted all the water drips that pattered from the ceiling. 2,140 drops. Nick gave her a meager ration of pain meds. The drops were blurry, but she could still hear them. 6,609 drops later, the sky darkened from a fuzzy gray to midnight blue. Rochelle shut the lights off in the safe room.
"What time should we be out by?" Harley asked no one in particular.
No answer. She fell asleep shortly after.
The rain hadn't let up when she woke up. The medication made her drowsy, and she finally felt the pinching sensation of an IV in her arm. No wonder her pain was bearable. Rochelle was up making breakfast, the smell tantalizing. A gas powered stove, a godsend. Coach was up, his gashes healing quite well. Ellis and Nick were nowhere to be seen, which worried Harley.
"Where are they?" She croaked.
"They saw a pharmacy a couple blocks down, went to loot any sort of meds."
Harley rolled her eyes. That was one of the first places to be cleaned out. Druggies could horde all the pain meds they wanted, and off themselves with a massive overdose. At first, she thought it was a cowards way to go. Now, it didn't seem so bad. 10,535 drops later, Nick and Ellis returned.
They were completely soaked. Ellis still had the optimistic goofy grin, but Nick looked like hell. Ellis was rambling to Coach about how much supplies they had found, ripping open a new backpack. From what she could see, a medical grade first aid kit, numerous orange bottles, and even a bottle of Jack.
Nick was in the corner, stripping away his soaked clothing to dry. Harley couldn't help but stare at his toned backside, biceps rippling as he pulled his shirt off. He dressed down to his boxer shorts before climbing into his sleeping back. Harley could hear his chattering teeth from all the way across the room.
Ellis cared for her all day. Feeding her, changing her dressings, and dispensing medication. He made sure to keep it light, as apparently she mumbled in her sleep about her addiction. The fuzzy feeling became normal again, launching her into the past once more.
Green, blue, and red lights pulsed to the beat of the music. Bodies rippled with the music, a harmonic movement resembling a wave. The bass shook the shitty warehouse, which smelled like sawdust and marijuana. Harley was sitting on a crate in the back, guzzling down a beer while smoking a cigarette. Peyton was somewhere in the mosh pit, grinding on some underclassmen.
"Hey, I remember you!" A male voice slurred.
His face was familiar, but Harley couldn't put a name to it. Shaggy brown hair, a scuff like face, and chocolate brown eyes under the light. His pupils covered most of the color, though. He wordlessly opened his palm, a tiny sheet of paper in the center of it. Harley raised her eyebrow, waiting for the catch.
"How much?" Harley wasn't about to get ripped off.
"Free, on me. You'll like it so much you'll come back." He winked.
She shrugged, plucking the sheet from his hand. Placing it on her tongue, the acid seeped into her saliva. The lights turned into different pulsations, every color a new animal slithering around. Harley had never had a trip so intense, where every sense was stimulated. Her beer suddenly tasted like wheat, the gum she chewed an explosion of strawberry. Too much, yet so good.
Peyton was suddenly beside her, laughing about something that probably wasn't funny. A face emerged from the crowd, warping into a snake before popping like a balloon.
Too much.
Harley woke with an audible gasp, and she was too slow to clap her hands over her mouth. Everyone but Nick seemed to be snoozing. We were beat, cold to the core. She tried to shake off the memory.
"Nick, can we get drunk?" Harley whimpered.
"That sounds like the best idea in the world." He groaned.
She forgot he was down to his underwear. Her eyes travelled greedily down his abs, to the happy trail peeking out of his boxers. She didn't blush, she wasn't embarrassed to look. The bottle of Jack was in his hands, the lid popped off.
"We've sure gone to hell, haven't we?" Nick said after a swig
Harley answered by downing a good 2 shots. The buzz was instant, mixing with her meds like honey. It wasn't long before her head was draped on Nick's shoulder. His arm automatically wrapped around her shoulder, like second nature. They sat like this for a while, enjoying the simple luxury of being drunk.
"Can I tell you something?" Nick asked after a comfortable silence.
"You don't have to ask, dumbass." Harley nudged him playfully.
"Shut the fuck up, Har." He sighed. "I'm just, fuck, I'm happy I met you."
Harley paused. Nick had never really explained why he was so friendly with her. He never seemed to utter more than a sentence or two to the others, and tended to follow her protectively when they were fighting the hordes. She smiled softly, noticing how much the pain had receded in her abdomen.
"How bad is it?" She asked, nodding to her chest.
"We can probably head out later tonight, they were pretty shallow but bled a lot."
"They don't hurt too bad right now. They were stinging pretty bad, did I get acid in them?"
"Mhmm. We stitched you up, so don't go and rip them anytime soon."
They once again went quiet, sharing the bottle and numbing their demons. After awhile, Harley became restless. Her body itched for comfort, something that came around scarcely.
"Can we go now?" Harley mumbled.
Nick nodded silently, standing up to rouse Rochelle, Ellis and Coach. When Harley got up, her body felt sticky with sweat and dried blood. Her chest protested, but barely. The group was looking at her with awe, which pissed her off.
"I'm not some damsel in distress." She spat, getting the eyes averted.
The safe room door led them into a back alleyway, the cobblestone road brought them to a deserted tourist trap. Harley noticed the zombies enjoyed the rain more, and were much more dormant than the ones in Savannah. Nonetheless, as soon as one spotted her, the horde ensued. The backfire of rifles echoed throughout the narrow street, attracting all of the once passive infected. They screamed and howled, ringing in her ears. Pushing one off of her, she felt a stabbing pain in her chest. Damn stitches.
"I hear a hunter!" Ellis howled over the now subsiding horde.
Harley's ears perked up, hearing the telltale screech of a special. Her eye caught on the rooftops, a hooded figure balancing on a flagpole. Harley whipped her gun out, quickly getting the hunter in her scope. With one squeeze, the hunter was no more.
The group was on edge as they scoured the streets, coming across a dead end. The road had caved in, zombies face down in the muddy water. Some congregated inside the drainage pipes. Ellis was the first to shoot.
"Fuck, Ellis!" Nick shouted.
"Quick, through here!" Coach pointed to a broken window into what seemed to be a pub.
Harley tried lifting herself through the window, to no avail. Her stomach burned and she could feel blood starting to seep into her wet clothes. Ellis noticed her flailing, and the incoming infected. He scooped her up bridal style, and yanked her through the window. She only had moments to scramble for her gun before the horde poured though the windows.
She took cover behind the wooden bar, setting her sniper on the counter to steady it. Coach stood guard in front of her, getting any straggler that tried to bite at her. Harley realized she attracted them, as fresh blood was basically a flashing sign.
A jockey found his way inside, the manacle laughing too much to bear. It leapt on top of Rochelle, trying to drag her outside.
"Fuck, jockey on Ro!" Ellis hollered, he was too preoccupied with the commons.
Harley tried to line up her sight, but it was too risky. Shooting Rochelle would kill her. Nick grabbed Rochelle's hand, using the butt of his gun to slam the jockey off. He killed it with three bullets to the head. The commons had suddenly disappeared, leaving them a moment to rest. Harley noticed her buzz was still very much present.
"Guys?" She tried to keep the slur out of her voice.
"Awh hell no." Coach cursed.
They all looked at him with confusion. "What?"
"She's shitfaced. Surprised she could handle her gun." Coach's stern glare could melt ice.
"I'll watch her." Nick stood protectively in front of her.
They scoured the bar, finding an upstairs and basement. Harley went upstairs, her gun holstered. Nick had insisted on taking the lead. Damn him and his overprotectiveness. They walked into a makeshift bedroom, a mattress pulled into the middle of the room. A suitcase filled to the brim with cash, and a few pistols.
"Sweet!" She exclaimed. They looked much more powerful than her side arm.
She swapped them out, as well as stocking up on pistol ammo. She was running out of sniper ammo. Luckily, the suitcase was filled with all sorts of bullets. A magazine of rifle bullets was a godsend. They heard Coach let out a shrill whistle, a sign to regroup. They found him at a door leading out of the bar, into a tour of the "Historic Underground River." It was clear how much of a trap it was. Wooden bars were pried off of the staircase down, and water was pooled up below it. It smelled like a mixture of feces, rotting flesh, and mold.
"You're kidding." Nick groaned.
"Theres a safe house past this, look." Rochelle pointed to a spray pained symbol, a house with a plus sign in it.
Harley let out a moan. She didn't want to get her wounds infected. "What about my stomach?"
"We can't let that get infected, shit." Ellis rubbed his hair under his hat
"I can carry her, if you keep us covered." Coach suggested.
"No, I got her. You're one of our best shots, Coach." Nick commanded. He wasn't the unspoken leader, but when he got his mind set on something, they didn't argue.
Coach nodded. "Well lets go, when it gets too deep Nick'll carry you."
The "Tour" consisted of soggy wooden boards floating over rainwater. Condensation dripped from the concrete walls, and the dampness made breathing hard. Apparently the infected loved the humidity, and flocked inside. Harley stayed more in the back as the zombies were sprayed with bullets. Her head hurt, the stitches stinging. She bit her lip until she tasted blood.
"Shh, spitter." Rochelle muttered.
Harley wasn't paying attention, and basically shoulder checked the spitter. It let out a surprised squeal, trying to scratch into her skin. Nick suddenly had her by the waist, hauling Harley out of the way as Ellis killed it.
"You okay?" Nick asked, holding onto her still.
"Yeah." She said through gritted teeth.
He arched his eyebrow. "Stay behind me."
She nodded, her pain blinding her usual sass. She stayed quiet, not really taking in her surroundings. Her eyes weren't cooperating. A smell hit her like a brick, the smell of feces and sewer water. Nick stopped, groaning. The walkway had fallen into the sewer, behind a locked gate that surely would set an alarm off. There was a small pile of ammunition by a decomposed body. The group picked over the body, finding packages of cheetos and a pack of cigarettes. Nick took those.
"Well, you guys all ready?" Coach asked.
Nick suddenly pulled Harley off of her feet, holding her body close to his chest. She felt like such a baby, but her wounds were almost unbearable. Nothing that she had ever experienced.
"We're almost there, Har. Just hold on." Nick mumbled, before kissing her hair.
She felt her head flush, the area where his lips were burning hot. Coach hit the button, but she hardly noticed the noise. All she felt was his lips on her hair. The infected scratched at her body, the water lapping at her backside. The smell became so bad, it overwhelmed her senses. A hunter narrowly missed her, screeching right in her face. Rochelle slammed it onto the side of the sewer wall, the butt of her gun lodged in its brain.
"C'mon, 'Chelle!" Coach bellowed.
Harley was fading fast. By the time they reached the ladder out into the saferoom, her breath was shallow.
