RUNNING BLIND
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Lilly watched the buildings pass by through the stained bus window, and watched them steadily change to greenery and open fields of the inland. Gregg was clutching to her side with his mouth sealed tight, and apart from the pungent hum of the engine and the occasional whimper from one of the four children . . . there was silence.
A silence Lilly had come to appreciate whenever they managed to get the tiniest sliver of quiet without having to run from the biters. But despite the tense peace it offered, there was something awfully upsetting about the silence. Something lonely.
It made her think of months holed up in that run-down apartment, waiting for the husband that deep down she knew would not be coming back. When Tara would leave to do some resources stocking, her father was laid up sick in bed, and Meghan . . . Poor, silent, little Meghan, who offered less companionship and risk than a brick wall, yet still managed to wind up chomped and shot before she could turn.
Pushing those thoughts away, she glanced up at Dwight, who was standing beside Thomas at the driver's seat and furrowed her brow in consternation.
The girl from before—Effy—despite her sheepish looks and attitude, was glaring daggers at his back, and her one-armed companion was fiddling with his arm stump uncomfortably. Lilly tilted her head back to look at the third member of Beth's party, the doctor, and stared at his distant expression and twitching lip.
He looked visibly distressed and was squeezing a large bulky bag pack he had raided from the stash to his chest. Whatever the pack contained was a mystery to Lilly, but she knew from the intensity of his hold, that is was something very dear.
Finally, Mark spoke up.
"I still can't believe we left 'im there," he muttered to her from the seat behind, obviously referring to his brother whom they'd upped and driven off without.
"He might've got out," she proposed.
"He might've . . . If we hadn't driven off without him and basically thrown him in the grave to rot."
Gregg shivered and Lilly's expression fell.
She passed another glance at the doctor and gave the little boy's shoulder a firm squeeze.
"He might've found a way out," she said, "It's not impossible."
Walking out of a prison field infested with biters wasn't impossible.
Mark sighed. "Even if he does make it out'a there, I just can't him take knowin' that I left him to die. Can't take knowin' myself."
"That's not why you left him, you did it so all these other people could live. You did it for the greater good."
The doctor's head shot up at that sentence and he looked directly at her.
His eyes held high levels of alarm, and he regarded her like a spooked animal, and Lilly felt uncomfortable too because of his severe expression. For some reason . . . her wordplay had unsettled him. And she didn't know why. She might never know why, and that unsettled her too.
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Saying the sewer system was like a maze would be an understatement, because its tunnels extended the capacity of any standard maze Beth had ever known, and for a while, she could have sworn they were running in circles. Shepherd ensured that they made no same turn more than twice in a row to avoid going in circles, so they couldn't be really. But it sure as hell did feel like it.
Time had lost its meaning, and there was no possible way of distinguishing how much time has passed since the beep! sounded to mark the eight minutes they had to get the hell out of the vicinity before they were burned to cinders.
Eventually, they came to a stretch of the sewer that looked to be growing lighter at the end, so they ran in that direction, trying to ignore the thuds and rumbles shaking from behind. The large pipe came to an end at an opening to harsh daylight, and Beth stopped just at the edge and looked down.
Seawater lay meters below, waves choppy and crashing against the rocks of the cliff to erupt into surges of thick, white foam that rose and splashed a few salty drops across Beth's cheeks.
"Now what'd'we do!?" Matty panicked.
"We could try goin' back to see if there's any—"
Morgan's suggestion was cut short by a loud rumble and shake of the ceiling.
The four looked up at the shaking concrete and watched as tiny particles of dust and soot began to fall, followed by larger clumps as the noises increased. The ground shook, and every hair on Beth's skin prickled at the awful sensation filling the air. The dreadful feeling that something was very wrong, and that they needed to get out.
"There's no time," she blurted, "We gotta jump."
Morgan and Matty regarded her with wide eyes, but Shepherd merely stared at her distantly, as if she were recalling some distant memory . . . Of rising flames, and swarming walkers, and falling hospital buildings.
We're gonna have to jump.
The image of old man Percy falling from the Grady building on his failed jump resurfaced, and Beth felt a pang of reluctance rise in her chest as it did.
Hesitating.
"We have to . . ." she breathed, and for a moment it felt like she was more so convincing herself.
Shepherd moved forward and stood beside her, the ground shaking with her every footstep. Morgan and Matty exchanged looks before joining them, and Beth stared down at the churning waves below.
Shepherd took her hand and squeezed it, and gave her a fixed look.
"I'm with you."
Beth swallowed and reached for Morgan's hand too, who in turn reached for Matty's, effectively joining them together in a compressed line. They stared down at the waves and felt the town above shaking, and the heat of the blast began to grow . . .
After you, little miss blondie.
So they jumped . . .
And Beth felt the wind on her face—biting and cold—as they fell . . .
And her eyelids slammed shut because of it.
When they hit the water, her hands were torn loose from Shepherd's and Morgan's, and she shot down through the seawater, ironically, like a bullet . . . Sinking downward into darker depths of salt . . .
The water was dark and murky, and Beth found herself unable to see properly as she fell into a kind of daze. The gash on her arm had re-opened and was leaking thick red clouds that circled her, and obscured any vision even more, giving it an aloof, dream-like quality where one experienced a total loss of sight . . .
Ain't nothin worth seein' out there anymore anyway.
Unconsciously, Beth opened her mouth to suck in pockets of oxygen . . . only to inhale a mouthful of seawater. This snapped her out of the semi-trance and she jolted in a kind of spasm, and bucked backward to hit the cliff behind her.
The rock scraped along her neck and shoulders, and a blow to the head sent her crappy vision slowly fading.
Her lungs burned, screamed for air, and there was nothing she could do to answer their cry. Nothing but hope that like in every book and movie, someone would swim along and pull her ashore. But all she got was Gorman's smug grin and crude laughter ringing in her head.
You're not a fighter.
I can take care of myself.
Another laugh.
You can't, Bethy. You need your precious little posse to come along and rescue you. Or your man. Maybe if you'd gone and fucked him, he might'a had a reason to come save you. That's what you get for being so frigid.
Her fist collided with cliff and crushed her knuckles.
. . . Screw you . . . !
Things might have gone differently if you had.
A hand on her wrist.
Why can't ya be a good little girly? Like Joan an' Effy? Oh, Effy . . . Pretty little Eff. She wasn't a fighter either, y'know? So good . . . So pretty . . .
She struggled and kicked, more water flooding into her lungs.
You're gonna lose here, Bethy. Y'are. You're gonna float away like wreckage.
She coughed another mouthful of air, and her back hit the cliff harder.
You're gonna die.
He almost didn't get to finish his last word, because Beth drifted into unconsciousness after too many strikes against the cliff . . . And let the current grab her feet and selfishly tug her down, to a bed at the pit of the ocean on which she could maybe finally rest, amongst seaweed and creatures of the water that didn't bite . . .
Underestimated.
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She was pulled out of the semi-dream-like haze, by a pressure pounding on her lungs, and the damp breath of another against her cheek.
". . . Beth . . . ! Good Lord, Beth!"
Her body jolted upwards and coughed out a stream of seawater and acid saliva, and her palms were pierced by tiny sharp stones. Once done spewing spit and water, she wiped her mouth and opened her eyes.
Her eyes were greeted by rocky sand, damp and sharp, and she was soaked to the bone. There was a hand on her shoulder, and she turned to squint at the owner through sore eyes and found it to be Morgan. He stared at her carefully with his dark sunken eyes, and she groaned at the sudden weight on her head.
"Hey, hey. You're all right." he said, "You're alright. Just look to have hit yer head and scraped yer back up a bit."
Slightly coming to her senses, she blinked and looked around for Shepherd and Matty, who were missing.
"Where's . . . ?" she croaked.
"Where's who? The other two? They're right here, Beth."
Her brow furrowed.
". . . What?"
"Shepherd an' Matty. They're right in front of you."
"No, they . . ."
Yes . . .
Yes, they were.
In the place of empty beach Beth had just scanned for them . . . there they were, kneeled at her sides with Morgan, like they'd always been there.
Shepherd put a hand on her thigh and smiled, and Matty stared at her oddly. And all Beth could do was blink, bewildered.
"I didn't . . . I didn't see them!" she cried, "I didn't—!"
"Calm down," Shepherd cut her off, "You hit your head that's still recovering from brain surgery, it's not unnatural for something like that to happen. It's a standard occurrence. Don't panic."
Beth frowned. "When'd you become a doctor?"
She just laughed.
"When you spend most of your time in the apocalypse locked up in a medical hospital, you tend to pick up on a few things."
Beth bit her bleeding lip, winced at the pain, and let Morgan haul her to her feet. She wiped the blood on her sleeve and sucked at the puncture wound, the flavour leaking onto her tongue and staining her tonsils with the taste of old copper. Her knuckled stung, probably broken from the punch to the rock, and her head screeched white noise.
The bandage covering her head had been ripped off by the tide, and Matty regarded the now visible view with wide, spellbound eyes.
"Woah. Is that . . . ?" he asked, gesturing to the scabbed up hole just beneath her hairline, that had gotten a good clean in the water, but stung like hell.
Talk about adding salt to the wound.
"Is that . . . a bullet hole? That's pretty fucking cool. You survived a shot to the head! Like literally, right near the brain! That's insane. Does it hurt?"
She groaned slowly, the intensity of his gaze added on top of the physical pain making her feel uncomfortable, and she lifted a hand to cover the ugly mark.
Morgan noticed her squirming and reached down to rip off a part of his shirt so that the lower part of his body was exposed. He moved closer to her and gave her a questioning look, as if he were asking permission. She granted it with her eyes and took the piece of cloth. Turning her back to them momentarily, she wound the stretchy fabric around her head and tied it in a tight knot at the side of her head. It looked sort of silly, but it was better than having that thing on show. She should have asked Shepherd to borrow her wool beanie, but it was too late now because that too had been carried away by the sea.
Selfish sea, she scowled. Luckily, it hadn't taken the pickaxe or all of their weapons, so they weren't entirely screwed.
"Shit. Would ya look at that," Morgan said, drawing her attention back to him.
His gaze was pointed across the bay and over the cliffs they'd jumped from . . . where a huge mushroom cloud of ash towered over the fallen buildings.
The cloud was enormous, big and angry, and for some reason reminded Beth of a face. An evil face, with snapping jaws and sunken eyes that were rotting into the bone. Like the face of one giant walker, gorging the town with its putrid teeth.
The setting was almost impossible to describe; a true portrait of absolute ruin. Beneath the huge cloud, through the layers of smoke and dust, laid crushed houses and stores, fire lapping at the with its flickering tongue. Debris fell over the edge of the cliff, rubble from houses near the edge crumbling to bits and falling into the water below with muddled splashes. The sewer pipe they'd jumped from was no more, collapsed in on itself and flowing black tar from the shattered roads and pavement. One particular house by the edge crumbled and toppled over the side, the whole establishment going down to be eaten by waves, turning the water brown and filled with sharp bits, turning the crashing waves to small, dirty tsunamis.
And the smell . . . Rancid, burning flesh; rotting.
The roasting of every undead that had walked or ran straight into that trap.
The blast was so intense they could feel the heat from all the way across the bay, and the smell of burning bodies reached them still. Shepherd and Matty brought their hands to cover their noses, Morgan crinkling his, and Beth just stared, unable to tear her gaze away from the destruction. She watched one considerably large flame rise and twirl like a twister caught on fire, and dance up to send the power plant towers crashing down. The inferno crackled and hissed, and Beth's heart thudded.
Her features settled into an expression of quiet ire, her brows drawn down and mouth pressed into a hard line. If she could see herself, she would see the dusty orange glow from the explosion lighting her face in a dangerous light—scars crisp, and bruises dark and swollen.
She looked older, the image of the little girl who danced with ladybugs and sung to piano music melting away into something else. Something harder. Fierce. Bolder.
Defiant.
Girl of smoke and fire.
Alive.
So she lifted her arm and held it to the sky, the other three watching curiously, and uncurled her middle finger from the balled fist and pointed it at the gigantic mocking cloud. A tiny smile tugged at Shepherd's lips, and she stared at Beth incredulously . . . before she too rose her own hand and pointed her middle finger at the burning town, helpless grin in place. Morgan's brow creased in confusion before he too joined, and eventually Matty did as well, though he had no idea what the meaning of the gesture was.
A warm wind blew down from the cliff then, blowing onto their faces and sending tiny embers along the breeze like leaves. Beth closed her eyes and felt the hotness stroking her cheeks, burning the scars, touching the hole in her head through the cloth, and her ponytail was thrust back when a stronger wind blew past, pushing it over her shoulders and spraying out behind like blonde smoke.
Her lips parted to suck in the blazing heat, and she re-opened her eyes to narrow them. And then she walked away, the others following behind in a sweltering silence.
You have to put it away. You have to.
Or it kills you.
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What a time to run out of gas.
Lilly watched Dwight and Mark fiddling around with the open engine, cursing loudly when something broke or leaked oil on them, and she sighed quietly. She watched the growing mushroom cloud of smoke in the distance, eating the town they'd made their home for so long now. The concrete towers of the power plant falling like the twin towers in 2001, flames circling the tall grey bodies and pulling them down. The air was hot because of the heat of the blast, the atmosphere sweaty inside the bus, and Lilly wiped her upper lip with the back of her hand.
Gregg was holding something when she looked back at him, but he quickly tucked it back into his coat before she could see what it was. She gave him a questioning look, and before she could ask what it was he had . . . Someone cried out in distress.
"Jackson's bit!"
Before Lilly could spring over to the panicked huddle at the back of the bus, the doctor―whose name she now knew was Dr. Edwards―beat her to it. He practically leaped up when the exclamation was still in the air and bounded over to the back.
Jackson was sitting with his arm clutched by Brenda, the bite mark on his hand deep and gushing blood all down his arm. Edwards took the arm, ignoring the frown he got from Jackson in response and studied it. He told everyone to clear out while he operated, and sent them all to the other side of the bus where the children had begun to cry.
Effy and Tanaka came to his aid, and Lilly watched them converse earnestly over what to do, before turning to look at Gregg firmly.
"Gregg?" she said, "Gregg, listen to me. I'm going to help those people over there, I'm going to help them save Jackson. I need you to go with the others and get off the bus so you're out of the way. Can you do that for me? Okay?"
Gregg nodded sheepishly and darted off to Terry, who lead everyone off the bus except her, Jackson, and the trio discussing what to do with him.
Shoving her gun back into its holster, she ran to the back and stood behind Effy.
"What can I do to help?" she asked.
Edwards turned briefly before digging out some medicinal matters from his pack.
"Just go out and stand with the rest," he said, "I'm a doctor, I've got this covered. Besides, I have help."
Lilly regarded him with irritated shock and put her foot down, something she wasn't used to doing before she'd lost her entire family that day outside the prison. Being tough was necessary now, a lot more than just every so often.
"You may have been a doctor before all this, but I was a nurse, and when I say I can help, I can."
He turned back again and regarded her, the intensity of her firm statement making him fidget ever so slightly before he finally gave in.
"Fine, fine, come over here and give me a hand with steadying his arm."
"Why're you steadying my arm?" Jackson snapped.
"Because I'm going to cut it off."
Jackson freaked and thrashed in the seat, understandably really, and Lilly came and squeezed his knee.
"Jackson," she said, "Jackson, look at me. You're gonna be fine. The bite's on your hand, you don't need your hand, if he doesn't take it off soon, you'll die."
"Don't need my hand!?" he screeched.
"I'm doing just fine without mine," Tanaka remarked, gesturing to his arm stump, "He knows what he's doing, he's done this a million times before. You'll be fine."
"And what if I'm not fine? What then!?"
Edwards pulled out a coil of metal wire and began unwinding it. "We don't think about what happens then," he answered, "We think about now, and what happens if we succeed."
Jackson didn't have a retort to that, so he just writhed in the bus seat uneasily, hand oozing blood and dripping onto the rotting cushioned fabric. Lilly gave his knee another encouraging squeeze and watched Edwards uncoiling the wire. She pushed her hair back behind her ears and exhaled, taking Jackson's other hand in her own and clasping it tightly.
"Dr. Edwards?" Effy asked delicately, "What should we do?"
"Effy, I need you to not panic on me and hold these bandage wrappings ready for when his hand is off. And Tanaka, I need you to get a hold of some water."
"Dwight isn't going to just hand over to you some of our limited drinking water to pour on a wound he might not even recover from." Lilly said, "You're going to have to get water from the sea."
"Saltwater!?" Jackson yelped, "Are you kidding me!?"
"Saltwater will actually be better for sterilising. It'll hurt like hell at first but it'll be better in the long run. I will need some normal still water to clean it up though."
Tanaka left with the mission of gathering the seawater, and Effy beginning her work at ripping up the bandage cloth into strips.
Edwards looked at Lilly.
"What's your name?"
"Lilly."
"Lilly . . . If you want to help me, try to get us some clean water. Not a lot, just some will suffice, if you want him to make it, that is. Please."
She blinked and looked at Jackson, who was staring at her with pleading eyes, and she nodded.
"Yeah. Yeah, I can do that."
She got up and ran to a bag at the front, which she pulled out a blue flask from and then darted back. She handed it to Edwards, and he unscrewed the cap to find it half full with clean water inside.
"This . . . isn't yours, is it?" he muttered knowingly.
"Just use it sparingly and no one will know."
He looked up and met her gaze, and gave her the sincerest of expressions Lilly had seen in a long time.
"Thank you." he said.
And then he got to work.
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