Although Belle insisted on tripping over herself a bit more often than her head injury warranted, she and the neighborhood leaders kept drawing closer to the crowd of thirty or so that awaited them. There was no way she'd escape once she was over there, surrounded.
And she had to escape. Ludwig may have taken all of her gear, but she could send Arthur in to get it later or something. At any rate she wasn't more likely to get her things back if she was busy doing lesser things around here.
Knowing his grip was way too strong to break out of easily, she drew in a deep but silent breath and pivoted fast, driving her knee into his groin. He barely grunted, but she ripped her elbow away from him and turned to look for a clearing. Instead she saw Gilbert's fist crashing into the side of her head. Staggering sideways, she suppressed a scream as the pain echoed around her skull.
"Stay back," Ludwig warned, hardly turning away from his brother before he rushed Belle and drove a fist into her stomach.
Doubling over, she skidded back, losing her footing on the cracked asphalt and landing on her rear. Not letting the sudden lack of air in her system stop her, she pushed herself back up in time for Ludwig to easily grab her shoulders and ram his knee into her stomach. With a cough and a gasp, she twisted, slamming her heel into his left kneecap. Unfazed, he switched feet and drove his knee into her abdomen again. Loosening his grip, he threw her to the ground face-first, stomping one foot on her upper back and forcing her arms up behind her, his fingers clenched around her wrists.
Her jaw burning where the asphalt scraped against it, Belle struggled to escape or at least breathe but didn't do well on either front.
"Don't make me fight harder," Ludwig growled. "You won't survive."
Coughing, Belle let herself go slack as much as she could and waited for him to remove his foot. He didn't budge.
"All right," he hollered, turning his head toward the crowd. "Belle's being a bit stubborn, so I would appreciate it if you all would step a bit closer. The meeting will begin shortly."
Footsteps pounded and clacked towards Belle as she tried to think her way out of this. She flicked her heel back to kick Ludwig, but the effect—or lack thereof—was laughable. He just jerked back on her arms. She would have yelped in pain if she had the breath.
"I hereby call this meeting to order," he started as Belle quit trying to strain her neck looking at him. "As most of you should know by now, this morning I—"
His feet suddenly staggered away, releasing her. Gulping down air, she flipped herself over and hurried to get up.
She sat up in time to watch a fist crash into the leader's head. The hand unclenched and quickly grabbed for the shaft nearby, and Arthur ripped his arrow back out of Ludwig's neck. The leader staggered and gurgled a bit more before crashing to the ground.
Taking advantage of things while the followers seemed frozen, Arthur nocked the same arrow and turned to Gilbert.
"I'm sorry—did you hit her, too?" he said, putting a wide, crazed grin on his face. Given the blood-slicked arrow in his hand and his state of mind, it was really quite convincing.
As he started to pull back on the arrow, Belle stumbled over to Ludwig's body and slipped her gun out of its scabbard. Her shoulders still felt all out of whack, but firing a shot or two could help that for all she knew.
"Ludwig?" Gilbert said uncertainly, staring blankly at the fresh corpse.
Slightly disappointed at Gilbert's current lack of concern for his own life, Arthur nonetheless aimed for the pale man's heart and let the arrow fly.
With a shout, one of the brown-shirted men shoved Gilbert out of the way, taking the arrow in his forearm. He let out a cry of pain but steeled himself and turned to Gilbert.
"You're the leader now," he hissed, taking a step to put his whole self between Gilbert and Arthur. "Get somewhere safe while we take care of this."
The stunned look slowly fading from his eyes, Gilbert's gaze dragged towards Arthur in time to watch him loose an arrow. A sudden stain of red spread out from the middle of the dirt-colored shirt, but Arthur snatched both arrows back out of the man before the follower fell slack to the ground.
By then the rest of the loosely-uniformed villagers—a few were from the larger crowd—had gathered at the site, forcing Gilbert behind them.
Panting more from adrenaline than exertion, Arthur took a second to look over at Belle. Her duffel bag was over her shoulder again, her rifle ready.
"I guess you're all right, then?" he commented, keeping an eye on the dirty-shirted bulwark in front of them.
She rolled a shoulder back and winced. "More or less."
With a brief nod, he turned back to the men and women in front of them. White hands were pushing apart two of their shoulders, trying to force a gap in the wall.
"Move it!" Gilbert shouted, driving himself through. He stood, stiff but quivering, his eyes lividly wide and staring at Arthur. Meeting his gaze, Arthur smoothly wiped the blood off his arrows and pocketed them.
Without another word, Gilbert screamed in rage and socked Arthur in the jaw. Taking a step back to steady himself, Arthur threw his bow back in its carrier, swinging a foot at Gilbert while his arms were occupied. Gilbert grabbed the incoming ankle, jerking it forward, but Belle slammed her boot into his wrists. Both men stumbled to the side, but Arthur recovered his foot and lunged, his fist crashing into Gilbert's nose. His cry masking most of the crunch, Gilbert regained his footing and with another yell punched back.
Someone grabbed Belle's shoulders. Jerking, she wrenched herself around, aiming her gun at the dirt shirt responsible. He froze, putting up his hands and backing away. Snorting, she stepped over until she had a decent view of all of them, keeping her finger near the trigger.
After exchanging another few sets of blows, Gilbert and Arthur took a second to recover. Blood decorated their heads, though most of it was just from their split knuckles. A few gasping moments passed before Gilbert drove a fist into Arthur's stomach. Coughing, Arthur slammed his knee into Gilbert's ribs and fired a punch at his chest. Bringing his forearm up to block, Gilbert snapped a kick to Arthur's kneecap, the leg buckling. Growling, Arthur quickly shifted his weight and bashed Gilbert's jaw.
Gilbert stumbled to the side, and a dirt shirt woman helped him upright. Arthur swung a fist, but he dodged; Gilbert's knuckles connected with Arthur's ribcage. Arthur smashed his fist into the side of Gilbert's head, sending the pale man crumpling to the ground. Two of the followers pulled him up, but he had gone limp.
The line of dirt shirts adjusted, barring Arthur from another strike as two of them hurried away with Gilbert. Arthur, wobbling so much Belle scooted over to support him, didn't pursue him.
"So," Belle started, eyeing the rigid line of underlings and angling her gun towards each one as she did so, "I seem to be missing some of my supplies. I don't suppose you'd mind finding them for me?"
Arthur withdrew his bow and an arrow to back her up. Though some swelling near his eye and plenty of bruises already started to show, his stern expression left little doubt as to whether he could still shoot or not.
Though their eyes were no longer set with determination, the group stood as they were until a younger man near the middle dipped his head.
"I-it got split up between the mess hall and the medic's house," he said, not meeting her gaze. "So it'll be quicker if we split up." With that, he looked at the woman standing next to him.
The two started to pull away from the line and, after a moment of regarding Ludwig's body, the pair's weapons, and the absence of their new boss behind them, the rest split off and hurried to reclaim the supplies.
Belle kept her rifle ready as the uniforms disappeared, leaving only the crowd lingering a short distance away. Some people were talking and some seemed unable to, but everyone kept casting glances at Arthur and Belle. One child shuffled closer to see what was going on, but a gaunt woman lunged to pick him up and, with a wide-eyed glance at the rifle, fled to the back of the crowd.
Averting her gaze, Belle quietly lowered her gun. She wasn't about to put it away, but she certainly seemed like more of a threat to these people than they were to her. No one looked armed, and while most of them had some meat on their bones, few could be considered anything close to bodybuilders. They hadn't survived the apocalypse by their own strength.
And the one who watched over all of them was just killed. Maybe their second-in-command, too.
The weight of Arthur's back against hers subsided, and she turned to check on him. He stood, an arrow nocked, but his form was rather slack otherwise.
"You doing okay?" she started quietly.
He took a moment to register the question before turning towards her a bit. "Yeah." He wiped away the blood stemming from his nose and nodded. "Um, I'm okay, yes."
"Good." She cut it off at that because her head was pounding again.
Neither the armed pair nor the villagers moved much until the squads of dirt shirts returned. They presented Belle with her backpack, stuffed with all of the jerky—she counted the pieces out just in case—and the bottle of iodine. The medicine kit, with a few complimentary gauze pads thrown in, made its way back to her duffel bag.
Belle and Arthur said goodbye and headed through the woods again, constantly checking their backs till they were far past the last stretch of concrete.
They dragged their feet all the way to another neighborhood before their legs threatened to give out without any further notice. After searching a few battered houses that had only skeletons, they settled on one with completely empty drawers and closets but two beds in the same room. Even the covers were intact on the things, and Belle was too eager to rest for the thought to give her chills. She peeled back the uppermost, dust-covered layer of cloth and settled down. Gently lowering her head onto the pillow, she curled up and closed her eyes.
A minute later she reopened them. Arthur wasn't on the bed across from her, and was in fact hovering by the room's window.
"You need rest, too," she mumbled. "Go lie down already."
Without looking back at her, he leaned against the windowsill and said, "There could be other people here, there could be other zombies here, there—could be..." He trailed off, swaying on his feet.
Belle slowly sat up. "If you just mean someone needs to be on watch, I'll do it. You're in worse shape than me."
He didn't respond, so she said, "How about we push some furniture over the doors, just for a quick fix? We're close enough to the other village they probably took in all of the people from here, anyway, and the sparse infecteds these days don't tend to put too much effort into breaking into places."
She shuffled her shoulders, cringing at the bolt of pain it sent across her back. "It would be a lot safer than one of us attempting to stay alert for watch."
At that last addition, Arthur finally turned around and nodded. Aside from a few bruises, his face was a lot paler than she would have liked. Still, she helped him move the splintery chairs and tables, as well as a television, to the entryways before again demanding he go lie down. He finally obeyed, claiming the farther bed, and Belle climbed back onto hers.
Making sure her loaded rifle was within arm's reach, she closed her eyes and slipped into sleep.