The truck bumped into the yard and Andrea hauled hard on the wheel, bringing it to a halt in a spray of gravel.
She was out of the driver's seat at once, tugging her shotgun from the well between the seats and shrugging the cartridge belt over her shoulder and around her neck. The heat from the plant was fierce, tightening the skin on her cheek, and she shied back, fanning her hand in front of her face to drive away a lick of smoke. When she recovered, she backed away a little and craned her neck up, turning left and right, her eyes wide with panic.
Every single window at the front was gone, and tails of flame were fluttering from the shattered frames, scorching and blackening the bricks above. It was clear that the building had been gutted, but Andrea picked up her feet and rounded the corner, searching for another way in. As she did so, she almost stumbled over the corpse of a walker. She quickly corrected this conclusion as the thing turned its head, weakly, and growled at her. It was trying to get up, but after retreating a little and watching it for a second or two more, she realised that its back was broken. Some instinct had her glancing up at the roof, and then she looked back down, cocked the shotgun and shot the crippled creature in the face without further consideration or the smallest hint of emotion. She then exhaled harshly and turned around to get her bearings.
The side door was a tornado of smoke, but she could see no flames, and she was just about to draw a deep breath, just about to walk into that Stygian gloom, when Rick caught up with her and closed a restraining hand on her elbow. She turned and tried to pull away, but he tightened his grip in response.
"We're too late," he said, pleading. "You gotta accept it."
Andrea's brow furrowed defiantly, and she was preparing to fight her way out of Rick's grasp when there was a sharp clatter from the fire escape nearby. She swung around just in time to see something land in the gravel beneath the ladder, and she jogged over to see what it was, slowing her pace as it became clear that it was Diana's axe, clotted with blood from one end to the other, hardly an inch of the handle or the head left untainted. Instinct had her raising the shotgun and looking up at the fire escape, and at first she couldn't see clear, but then understanding dawned and her heart leapt into her throat.
Hoffman was making his way down the rusted, clanking iron ladder, slowly and awkwardly, carrying something – no, she amended that thought – carrying someone over his shoulder. Andrea pressed her palm to her mouth for a second as she caught sight of long, bedraggled blonde hair, then the detective turned, hopped down the last few feet of the ladder and knelt to lay the girl on the ground, cupping one hand behind her head and staring into her face at close quarters. He pressed the fingers of his free hand into the soft flesh beneath the angle of her jaw. After a second, he grunted something savage yet inaudible and then snapped his head up, seeing Andrea and Rick at last.
"She's not breathing," he said, simply, his voice sounding rough and almost dead, and then set Diana's head back down and bent, closing his mouth on hers and breathing into her lungs. He drew back a little, watching her face, but there was no response, and Andrea dropped to her knees at the girl's side as he swore softly and tried once more. There was still nothing there.
Andrea watched helplessly, her eyes aching with tears that threatened but remained unshed. Hoffman growled and made another attempt, and this time, when he pulled back again his face was twisted in fury. He raised his hand and delivered a brutal slap to Diana's face, leaving a vivid mark on her white cheek.
"Come on, you stupid little bitch," he spat. "Wake the fuck up!" He followed this with another breath, and this time, when he sat back, Andrea heard a rasping hiss from the girl's throat, which turned into a brittle, barking cough along the way. Her eyelids fluttered up, but her gaze seemed unfocused, and her head fell to the side as a thin trickle of dark fluid ran over her lower lip. The detective's eyes were rooted to her face, and he reached out as the girl's eyes closed once more, checking her breathing and her pulse, but after a second, Andrea heard him loose the softest, tiniest sigh.
"Just passed out," he said, almost to himself, and then he slipped his arms beneath Diana and struggled to his feet, swaying a little beneath her weight but recovering his balance with considerable effort. He cast the briefest of glances at Andrea, but before she could read this, he had walked away, turning the corner of the building. In the wake of this, Andrea bent to recover the axe and shot Rick a look of pure confusion, and then they both followed Hoffman.
When they found him, he was pulling open the rear door of the truck and laying the unconscious teenager on the back seat. He half turned, fixed the others with a deadly sober look and held out his hand for the axe. Andrea passed it over without thinking, and watched him place it alongside Diana's still form. Finally, he turned away once more, and when he did so, Andrea saw a smile pass across his face for a second. It shocked her; for the first time, it seemed to be a genuine smile, without pretension, and would have been almost innocent had it not been for the circumstances. As it was, this expression filled her with bitter foreboding. A question rose in her throat in spite of her attempts to subdue it.
"You're not comin' with us, are you," she said, knowing as she spoke that she'd been wrong. It wasn't even a question. It was a prediction, and as she watched Hoffman's eyes, she knew it was accurate. She reached out without looking and took his hand, and though she wanted to be wrong, she couldn't deny the evidence as she felt blood flowing free over her searching fingers. Fresh and undeniably human blood.
His blood.
"I can't," he said, holding her gaze. She didn't dare look down. Didn't need to look down. She kept her hold on Hoffman's hand as a fresh crimson rivulet dripped from his sleeve and trickled down slowly but inexorably, warming her cold skin as it went. He raised his free hand and touched her cheek for a moment, but said nothing.
"There must be something we can do," said Andrea, though she heard these words in her head and knew just how futile they were. She was grateful that Hoffman didn't bother to contradict a desperate plea that was born of denial, but now there was something else on her mind as well. She averted her eyes for a second and looked at Diana, then returned her attention to the detective.
"Tell me the truth, Mark," she said, quietly. "What's it matter now?"
He shifted fractionally, uncertain, and then dipped his head, his expression grave.
"Her name's Diana Gordon," he said, and his eyes flickered back and forth as he searched her face for a reaction. Andrea started to frown, but no sooner had puzzlement had arrived than it was gone again, fleeing before a small but critical memory. Her lips parted a little, but it took a few moments more to compose her thoughts.
"Doctor Gordon's daughter?" she asked, at last, and watched him nod.
"Don't blame Sidney," he told her. "She was just trying to protect the kid. Probably didn't think you'd understand."
"I ain't sure I do," said Andrea, but she looked around at Diana once more, and set her shoulders. "We'll take care of her," she added, and in spite of everything, and in spite of what felt like more grief than she could possibly bear, she heard fresh conviction in her own voice.
"Good," said Hoffman, and once again she saw that gentle smile cross his face for a fraction of a second, and wondered if he was even aware of it. "Now get going," he said, withdrawing his hand from hers. His face was perfectly still now, and she knew, in that moment, that the sight would be with her for the rest of her life. She looked around to see that Rick had been watching them from a discreet distance, but now he moved forward and touched her shoulder before turning to Hoffman.
"Thank you," he said, his tone strangely peaceful, and then he hung his head.
Andrea tried to move, but a sudden thought stopped her, and she unhooked both her shotgun and her cartridges and handed them to Hoffman, who took them in silence. She tried to match his gaze once more, but this time, it was too much. She bit her lip, handed her keys to Rick and climbed into the back seat of the truck, lifting Diana's head and settling it in her lap, where she ran her fingers through the girl's hair over and over, the movement mindless and repetitive. She kept her head down as Rick started the truck, but as he pulled away, she turned over her shoulder to look at Hoffman through the rear window.
He was walking away from the plant now, and as Andrea kept watch, she saw the building collapse in the midst of a titanic explosion, the walls folding in like a house of cards and fresh flames spilling out over the ruins. A glaring yellow fireball lurched into the sky, rolling up in a shroud of smoke, and she saw it ruffle his hair, but he didn't flinch and didn't look back.
At last, Andrea turned away; and then, as quietly as she could, she started to sob.
(everything'll be okay)
(believe me you have to believe me I'm sorry)
Diana's eyes snapped open, and it was as if consciousness had sprung upon her, claws out. She fought it for a moment, railed against what she knew she would find on the other side, but eventually submitted to its embrace. Sight and sound flowed back, bringing with them a multitude of troubles and doubts and a not inconsiderable burden of physical pain, most of it in her chest, which felt scalded and raw even as she tried to breathe as slowly as she could.
She struggled up, untangling herself from Andrea's arms and then promptly slumping against the window of the truck as a sudden wave of dizziness broke over her head. She allowed this to run its course, pressing her cheek against the cold glass, and then looked around very slowly.
Andrea was watching her carefully and, just as she'd suspected, the woman's face was suffused with guilt and a weight of unhappy knowledge, as well as being deathly pale and marked with the tracks of fresh tears. Diana found nothing unexpected about this, and she realised that the truth of the matter was already gestating at the front of her mind, but she cleared her throat and asked anyway, purely for the record.
"Where are they?" she said.
"Honey, I'm afraid I got some bad news," Andrea began, but Diana held up a hand for a moment to stop her.
"It's been nothing but bad news for a long time," she said, "so you may as well get it over with. Whatever it is, I'll deal with it, so please?" Andrea seemed shocked at this statement, but it was both mild and fleeting, and eventually she nodded before continuing.
"Sidney and Mallick are dead," she said, and then swallowed heavily, closing her eyes briefly; Diana found room for a stab of sympathy, but made no further interruption. "Detective Hoffman was bitten. We had to leave him behind. He saved your life, and he..."
It was at this point that Diana stopped breathing entirely for a second as her mind slipped sideways. She was dimly aware that Andrea was still speaking, but it no longer registered. She held a hand to her head for a second, trying to think, battling a sudden spasm of confusion so strong it was almost nauseating. Then, a tiny scrap of memory pricked at her and she jerked her head back up, head clearing at once, lips moving in silence for a second, before refocusing on Andrea.
"No, that's not –" she said, and then sank her teeth into her lip and changed direction, leaning over the driver's seat and tapping Rick's shoulder. "Pull over," she said, urgently.
Rick drew the truck up by the side of the road before turning around in his seat, staring at her in undisguised bewilderment. She smiled at him as gently as she could and then, without a further word, she grabbed the axe and wrenched the door open, scrambling out onto the road and starting to walk away as soon as she'd hit the ground. She heard footsteps behind her, and then Andrea took her shoulder, turning her around.
"What are you doin'?" she asked, her eyes filled with frightened concern. Diana lowered the axe to her side, thought for a moment and then hooked her arm around Andrea's neck, pulling her into a tight, impulsive hug and speaking close by her ear.
"I'll be fine," she said, very softly, "and so will you. Take care of yourself, okay?" This said, she drew back again and looked around at Rick, who remained by the truck, one hand pressed to the back of his neck. He didn't say a word, but after a while, Diana watched him nod at her across the space between them, and she returned the gesture. It said everything she felt needed to be said.
Then, with one last, infinitely fond look at Andrea, she swung around and broke into a run.
