They rounded the corner of the shed as walkers came closer to the tower, ducking off and heading back to the ridge. Troy forewarned Nick that they had about eighteen to twenty-three minutes before the alarm auto-resets, or the flashlight batteries die, whichever comes first. He knew a lot for someone who only seemed thick with problems, not information.
They made their way back to the Camry, and Troy backed it down the road quietly, until they reached the slope that led down to the barn and behind the barn, the bunker.
Troy shifted into neutral and cut the engine, poising his arm on the side of Nick's seat while he watched out of the back window and slowly coasted down the slope backwards.
Nick applauded him sarcastically and he rolled the car to a stop behind the barn.
"Come on," Troy said, popping the trunk and opening all of the doors. Nick followed him around the back of the barn, knife at the ready. There were only three walkers left milling around the entrance to the bunker and they dispatched them quietly.
Troy and Nick pulled open the bunker doors simultaneously, Troy popping his head inside for a moment before waving Nick on. All along the floor there were bodies. Some dead, some undead. They took care of the roamers and set their sights on the shelves that were still semi-filled with boxes and buckets.
Troy walked into the weapons cage and grabbed an armful of duffel bags from under the table. They started loading supplies into them. MREs, canned goods, rice, flour, flints, iodine pills, trauma meds, antibiotics, first aid kits, a box or two of condoms, a few empty clips, some with a few rounds, seven automatic rifles, three handguns and several different types of blades.
They toted three duffels each up the stairs and loaded them into the car. The alarm seemed to still be working so they started the car back up and drove onto the road that led to the Otto house. Troy was going home. At least one last time.
"You okay?" Nick asked, cutting his eyes over at his friend. Troy didn't speak, just nodded as he exited the vehicle. Nick followed suit quietly, wanting to give Troy whatever time or anything he needed. He could see through Troy's bullshit more often than not, and this was hard on him.
They walked in the house and Troy immediately went up the stairs and into the second door on the left. Nick had never seen Troy's room.
He followed behind him and entered the room, light blue walls with only three or four pictures lining them. The rest of the walls had a few posters from different classic, thriller/slasher movies. Nick innerly applauded his taste. There was a good-size telescope leaned down on a tri-pod in front of the far window.
He'd had a full-size double bed with beige and blue checkered bed clothes on it.
Troy walked over to a dresser that sat against a wall and started rifling through the drawers, tossing clothes onto the bed behind him. Nick leaned up against the door frame. He watched him move. Troy switched drawers, slightly bent over, tossing clothes up and behind him, not paying his observer any attention.
Nick liked the focused look on Troy's face. It pulled his brows down and made him stick his tongue into his cheek slightly. Troy caught Nick staring.
"Well, you can at least pack. We'll both be wearing these 'til we find some more," Troy quipped and tossed a shirt at Nick's face. Nick almost caught it, but grabbed it as it slid down his face, noting the wood-burn, citrus-y smell of Troy he got from the shirt. Nick smirked slightly and rubbed the fabric in between his fingers a moment before heading to the bed and stuffing clothes into one of the duffel bags.
They finished in the bedroom after Troy hit up his desk and got a few pads of paper and a pack of pencils. Nick didn't ask, because he knew Troy had a thing for writing things down. Taking notes, doing algorithms, hell he could be the poet and Nick wouldn't even know. He found that ironic, Troy's nickname for him and all.
They made their way downstairs and Troy stopped at a portrait of the Otto family. Jake and Troy looked about ten and seven respectively whenever the portrait was made.
He slid the picture at an angle and revealed a safe behind it. Afer a few moments, he turned the dial one last time and it clicked open. Inside were several envelopes and an ammunition container. "Yes, Nick, its money," Troy noted, seeing Nick eye the envelopes. "Like that matters now anyway. And these are rounds for my M16."
Nick nodded and slung the duffel over his shoulder, turning and starting for the front door.
"Just, give me a minute?" Troy asked suddenly, causing Nick to stop and turn. Troy's face was guarded; he looked down at the floor by Big Otto's desk. Nick nodded, even though Troy couldn't see it and turned back for the door.
"Don't go," Troy said quietly. Nick sat the duffel in a heap beside him and leaned against the pillared entryway into the study. He watched as Troy walked slowly around the side of Jeremiah's desk, pulling his chair back and running his hand down the worn leather. Troy took a seat, sliding his fingers along the edge of the blood-stained desk.
He opened a drawer and fingered a bottle of tequila his father had stored away. It had about two cups gone out of it and Troy pulled it from the depths of the drawer.
Nick looked on silently, arms crossed; he wanted to give Troy the time he needed.
Troy opened the lid and sniffed deeply before recoiling at the stench. He didn't drink. He didn't like alcohol, but still he took a big swig and slammed it onto the desk and stood. Nick took a step forward in an attempt to console the older boy.
Troy grabbed the bottle and began dousing the desk and floor and chair and any thing in the immediate vicinity before the bottle ran dry. He opened the drawer opposite him and pulled another bottle. Scotch, this time. He did the same here, drenching the alcohol onto the walls and curtains, the family portrait, the stairs.
He walked to a buffet table and pulled a drawer, retrieving a box of fireplace matches. He lit one and dropped it into the box, holding it while the fire caught and tossed it at the base of the stairs when it became too hot to hold.
Then Troy picked up Nick's duffel, full of their shared clothes, slung it over his shoulder and walked past Nick and out of the door.
Nick followed quietly, getting in the passenger seat and closing the door behind him.
Troy loaded the duffel and got in the car, turning the engine over. He looked down for a brief moment.
Nick didn't speak, but still wanted to console Troy. He raised his left arm and set his hand on Troy's shoulder, squeezing gently. Troy reached up then and laid his hand covering Nick's.
They sat there like that for a second, in silence.
Troy squeezed Nick's hand, thankful for the warmth and the gesture. Nick brought his own hand back to him and rubbed the slightly warmed skin.
Troy then put the car into drive and coasted down the road, away from the only home he's ever known, now just dust and flames in the rear-view.