In which Kyle Crane goes to heaven.
Bread and circuses
The gate closed behind them, and Kyle smelled bread. Fresh bread. The baker 'round the corner at 5 AM fresh. And for a minute, his filter got distracted. Stupid— useless— piece of shit— what did it think it was, conjuring up buns topped with sesame and crusty loaves going crrrruuunnch.
Ugh.
Kyle swallowed and tried to set the thing back on straight. He noted the insides of the walls. Makeshift steps led up some sections of it, with nests for lookouts at the top, though all were empty. Took stock of the cramped, but well organized layout between three large barns framing a courtyard. They had a garage of sorts, too. Corrugated metal held up by struts, anyway, and under that parked a pickup truck, a tractor— and— a harvester? Whatever it was, it looked like it'd be hilarious to run through a group of Biters, albeit messy.
He scanned left, scanned right. Faces. More faces. Young and old alike, and everyone equally curious and busy. The kids raised wide eyes at them, the ball they'd been kicking between them momentarily forgotten. They were dirty, all of them, from the shortest one with his bright red shirt, to the leader of the pack, who stood almost a head taller than the rest, and gave Kyle a sort of glare that told him the kid figured himself grown up and responsible for everyone else.
Just like back at the Tower. Except this particular pack was out in the fading sun, earth under their shoes and fresh air in their hair. Not stuck in cramped hallways and overcrowded apartment units.
It showed.
Everyone else had a purpose, left the kids to being kids. Some worked the wall. Others drew water from a wide well, picked colorful clothes from lines strung up between wooden posts, or carried baskets back and forth. And then there were those sitting about sharpening blades and cleaning rifles. Oh— and a woman in a sky-blue dress feeding a flock of chickens. A big flock clucking about happily inside a large wire mesh cage, which presented another challenge for his filter: Chickens meant eggs. Suat hadn't been kidding, and the thought of fresh bread and eggs almost had him break down in tears.
But there was work to do, and he wasn't ten and mopey. Okay, so maybe a little mopey. More so still when Suat stopped them halfway between two of the barns and indicated them all with a wide sweeping gesture. Two of his men, along with his son, moved in a step closer.
"Please hand over your weapons."
Should have seen that coming, genius.
"We want to trust new people, but you understand…?" He let the words trail off. Didn't really need to finish them, because Kyle did understand.
Doesn't mean I have to fucking like it.
Which he didn't. Like it.
Meghan was first to turn in her rifle, way before Kyle had a chance to try and protest. He threw her a disapproving look. She threw one back that made him almost snap off a salute and get down to give her twenty.
Fucking hell, she'd only gotten scarier.
With a sigh that he didn't bother keeping down, Kyle stripped himself of all his favorite toys. The pistol. The hatchet. Even his crowbar, that shitty, beat up thing, as Fi liked to call it.
The same Fi that looked all thrown off kilter after she'd passed over her bow and quiver. She hugged her elbows. Fidgeted on the spot. Threw him a glance that told him she was unhappy, and made him want to beat up the bully who'd taken her lunch money.
Down, boy.
Kyle grunted at himself, kept the spooked Paper Tiger close, and continued following Suat through the compound.
The barns flanking them had their gates thrown wide open. Inside, he caught glimpses of straw and hay bales, all neatly stacked. Workbenches. Mounds of… grain? Corn? More benches, cluttered with tools.
"Crane." Fi tugged on his arm.
"Hm?"
She pointed at the other barn, at the backside of a— cow. A fucking cow.
Kyle's mouth watered again. Cheese. Milk. Steak. Never before had a walking burger's ass looked so fricking delicious.
"Someone restrain him, he's about to take a bite out of that," Meghan commented, which prompted Kyle to snap his teeth together and try very hard not to drool.
Harr-di-harr, the fucking lot went, and he felt bullied all the way around the barn, least until they rounded the last corner. Then all the mirth was sucked out of them, replaced by a mixture of awe and growing envy.
An idyllic, two story building sat in front of a wide, well-tended iron-wrought gate. Through it, he spotted a blue mailbox planted at the end of a surprisingly clean stretch of driveway, marking the original entrance to the farm. The little flag on it pointed up, as if they expected the postman to shamble by and pick up bundle of letters.
Kyle scoffed— though he did have to admit that the furrows in the ground meant the gate was still frequently used, and that some vehicles still moved through.
Past the pretty house, ranging back to the far end of the compound, squatted small shacks. Most looked recently built, and while some leaned against the wall pulled up around the new section of the compound, none of them seemed particularly shabby. If anything, the majority stood in fairly straight lines, with a path in-between just wide enough to allow a man with a wheelbarrow through.
Like the one pushing said wheelbarrow along right now.
A lot of the shacks even had doors, and those that didn't, had blankets and curtains covering the entrances. And someone had gone batshit with colours all over.
Well. Fiery ones, anyway. There were reds. Oranges. Yellows. Ribbons of them had been stretched between the shacks and hung from trees, the gentle breeze shifting them in the dying light of Harran's tired sun. Then they'd painted in swathes on the otherwise clean, white face of the main building, even drawn a woman in a blood red dress, fires leaping up around her and a bright halo flowing from her face. She reached for the skies with open arms, while at her feet, small people gathered for worship. Or something.
It was a little creepy, he had to admit.
(There was a vegetable garden too. Plus, a fire burning in a hollow ditch, men sitting around it, drinking. Oh, and a table loaded with food — bread and fruit and, oh God was that actual cheese?)
"Might want to put a muffler on that." Meghan. Again. Talking about his stomach this time, and Kyle shot her a desperate glare. She smiled back.
But any scowl he might have tried to work up quickly died. Absolutely powerless, his heart a lumpy mess, Kyle watched as the dog he'd seen out in the fields trotted up to them, its tail wagging with friendly enthusiasm.
A kangal. Tall and wide shouldered in stature, with soft, well-tended thick fur. Which Kyle knew because he went down on his haunches the moment the dog sniffed his way, got his hands into the fluff around its neck, and scratched as if his life depended on it.
Its tail took off at light speed and a wet tongue found Kyle's neck and ear and oh shit, he was in heaven. Forget the food. The heavy smell of fresh bread wafting from the door. The lack of biters. This was it, and fuck anyone who'd—
Cough.
Cough.
Kyle glanced up. And squirmed a little under the gaze of one mightily amused Zofia Sirota. The dull grey of her eyes had sharpened, and he just downright loved the light crinkle around them.
He smiled. Ruefully. Gave the dog one last scratch around its ears, and got back on his feet to follow Fi into the house.
Russel and Matt they left outside. Russel, who picked up where he had left off and got all cozy with the dog. Kyle frowned. Lucky bastard.
They were… perfect. Crane and the dog, that massive thing that Zofia figured she might have been able to ride if she tried.
Totally perfect, much like everything else around here. A sort of perfect that nibbled at the back of her mind with tiny, sharp teeth. It brought hesitation and minuscule doubts, and they went on to snack on all that hope she'd so carefully fostered ever since they'd left the stinking tunnel behind to trade it for fresh air.
She sniffed. Her stomach coiled. Inside the house, things were orderly and clean, and smelled of nothing but bread.
When was the last time you seen bread? Proper bread. Not pita baked over an open fire, made from flour found in the back of a cabinet.
Or ate some, for that matter. Her eyes snapped to a large tray carried by a heavyset man passing between two adjacent rooms. Not just hers, she noted, since Crane's neck swivelled along as if he'd had his nose attached to it by a string.
Their guide, Suat, noticed too. He chuckled, called out to the walking bread, and plucked two foot-longs of golden treasure from the tray. Both Crane and Meghan got one each, a warning of "Still hot," passed along with the gift.
Crane promptly bit into it anyway, tore off a whole mouthful, and chewed with his eyes half screwed shut. And then he broke the rest in half to hand her her own steaming snack.
"Ta."
Wink.
Considering Zofia had more manners than the gangly lout by her side, she took her time. One small bite. Two small bites. Three- and then Crane choked down a laugh when she stuffed the rest down her gullet one greedy, massive chomp at a time.
Fine. So maybe she'd not dug up her manners alongside all that hope, or they just needed a little more time to regrow.
Suat led them through the bottom floor until he reached a simple wooden door. Red ribbons hung above it, and the otherwise white hallway laughed at her with fiery colours unravelling like flames from a sun.
He knocked.
"Jasir—" and that was all she understood, since she still hadn't picked up enough Arabic to catch on.
Hadn't really tried, to be fair— and why was the bread out? Zofia frowned at her empty hand. Wiggled her fingers. Frowned some more.
"Aw- hey. Here." Another piece of bread popped into view, the one with the big bite missing: Crane's.
She looked up and got punched right in the heart by a soft smile.
You don't want it? was what she should have asked, but she'd good as swallowed it whole before her brain had any chance to catch up.
"Come, come in—" Suat opened the door for them, let them file in, first Crane, then Meghan (who'd shared her bread with Camden), and eventually the doctor and her. Camden hadn't touched his treat yet, while Meghan's had long been reduced to sad crumbs.
They'd walked into a living room. Or what'd been one, back when. Now it reminded her a little of the Tower's headquarters, except a lot more organised. Tidier.
A man sat behind a table near a big window, the evening light filtering through halfway open curtains. He wore a red vest over a puffy, long sleeved white shirt, and a simple brown cap. Jasir, she guessed. Friendly enough looking, with his face weathered by the sun, laugh lines edged into his features and a thick, bushy beard that valiantly fought to retain its black colour while the grey was obviously mounting a full scale attack.
Zofia slowly shoved her last piece of bread between her teeth and shuffled a little out of the way of things— of everything, her back to a wall and Crane only a sliding step away.
Jasir looked at them when they entered. Two more men were in here with him, and when he indicated them with a jut of his chin, they got up from the chairs in front of the table and filed out.
Zofia tracked them, her eyes catching on another hallways leading out of the living room. There was a bedroom back there, and a staircase going up.
Then came the introductions, though her focus was on everything and everyone, and words were uninteresting. Besides, Crane did all the blabbering anyway, since that's how this worked. He'd talk. Draw attention. Help her be invisible, because someone had to keep an eye out for— well— anything.
Like the maps on the walls. The marks on them. Other farms? Safe areas? Was that a dam? She squinted. Tried to read the scribbles, but they were in Arabic anyway, so she might as well have been trying to decipher hieroglyphs.
Crane introduced himself first. Meghan came next. For Camden they failed to mention that he was a doctor of sorts, and she was just Fi. Her hand came up. Her left one. Waved a little, the stubs of her fingers drawing Jasir's eye, and then quickly having him avert it and go back to smiling and Crane.
He smiled a lot. Jasir. Almost like he was happy, and Zofia wondered when she'd last seen someone happy in the Quarantine. Really happy. Not I haven't died yet, happy.
Hm. Collin looked jolly enough most of the time.
I miss Collin.
After the introductions, came the bad news.
"He's dead," Jasir said, and the room fell quiet.
Least until Crane opened his mouth. "Shit. God fucking damnit."
His reaction drew Jasir's brows up, and brought on another smile. One a lot less carefree, she noticed, and almost apologetic. Though also just a tiny bit off, and her stomach pinched like she ought to have paid better attention, because she'd clearly missed something.
"He caught a fever, died a little over two months ago. I'm sorry that you had to come all that way for nothing."
Crane exchanged a look with Meghan. "What now?"
She shrugged, her lips pulled together tight, and set her hands on her hips, as if scowling would make the unfortunate turn of events reconsider, and the dead scientist would come walk right— Zofia glanced to the stairs— down those steps.
Which wasn't all too unlikely these days.
"You should stay here," Jasir put forward. "Stay and recover from your journey, we have room for you, your friends."
Zofia bristled. There was someone coming down those stairs, alright. Footfalls. Quiet and careful ones.
"Food, too. We really don't often see people from the city—"
Bla, blah, she thought as a pair of feet in white socks padded into view. A girl, dressed in simple blue jeans and an oversized, dark shirt that hung from her frame like a tent. She'd done her hair up in a pretty, complicated looking bun, pink highlights popping boldly into view at the front. A piercing, silver and stubby, sat under her bottom lip.
The girl couldn't be older than eighteen, if even that. And she was certainly not happy.
Scowling, the young goth sunk down to sit on the steps. She looked them over once, met Zofia's own curious glance with one of her own, and then returned to scowling at Jasir.
Oh.
Zofia knew that sort of glare, had worn it often herself: a daughter's deep seated disappointment.
"—Antizin."
Her thoughts rubber-banded back into place, just in time to catch the tail end of Crane offering Jasir Antizin in turn for their hospitality. Because owing people favours, that could get you into trouble right quick, so he always tried to get that in the butt before any kind of dept could pile up.
"Ah—" Jasir waved the offer away with a dismissive swipe of his hand. "We don't need Anti-anti-zen."
Crane's mouth froze. His eyes got all funny, right before they refocused. Like someone had gone and pulled the plug on an important piece of equipment in his skull.
"You what— what do you do with your infected? Throw them out?" His right hand pumped into a fist and the tendons on his neck jumped with tension yanking on them. Crane didn't like it when people got left out to die. And he was clearly cranky from being up all day and not having enough food.
Jasir's brow crinkled and he frowned. "No, of course not. Here—" The frown evaporated, made room for a warm smile as he indicated for the girl by the steps. "—Ezgi. Ta'alee hora."
Her scowl deepened, but she pushed herself up and made to stand by the table. A nod and a faint twitch of her jaw was all she gave them in greeting.
"This is Ezgi, my daughter. She was bitten two weeks ago."
"Two week- wait- wait-" Crane looked to Meghan, then to Camden, and everyone had started staring. Even her. "You're telling me she's bitten, and she hasn't turned?"
Jasir nodded. "We're fortunate. The God of the Sun protects us from the afflicted, while the Mother blesses us against their plague. So as you can see, we have no need for your gifts, although that doesn't mean you aren't welcome to stay the night. And—" Jasir cut Crane off as he pulled in air, ready to ask You said what now? "—we will answer all your questions in the morning."
This was downright ridiculous. God of the Sun? Blessings? No Antizin?
Zofia sucked in her bottom lip and tried not to trip over her own feet as she followed Crane out the house and back into the fresh air. Russel and Taylor stood waiting there, right along with Suat. The dog was nowhere to be seen.
"What's the story then?" she heard Taylor ask the moment they'd all fallen in step, following Suat as he led them to God knows where. Eyes turned to them wherever they went. Cautious. Curious. All those things you'd expect from an apocalypse.
"He's dead," Crane replied, flatly. Then, with a half huff, added: "This stinks. The whole we don't need Antizin spiel and the Stepford wives act. I don't like it." He kept his voice low as to not get Suat's attention, though she could tell he struggled with the concept.
They found themselves deposited near the back of the house, by the vegetable garden and a crackling fire. The table they'd passed earlier was loaded with food still, and Suat gestured them to sit and told them to "Eat— eat— you must be hungry." before he sat down himself and picked up a pretty red apple. Zofia fidgeted, waited for Crane to plant his ass, and only once he'd picked a spot did she settle down next to him.
And had her first proper fresh meal in much longer than she cared to remember.
There were meats. Rabbit and deer, Suat reassured them. Juicy apples. Tomatoes. Watermelon, and she couldn't get enough of that. More bread, too, and even cheese, though she couldn't get to that quick enough before Crane had wolfed down the two slices left on the plate. He grinned at her with a cheeky, rueful curl of his lips.
For a while, they didn't talk about the dead elephant in the room, or how it meant they'd come here for nothing. Risked life and limb for nothing— except to find a fairy tale, because clearly, that girl couldn't have been bit and been fine.
Could she? Zofia wondered about that, and judging by how Crane's brow sort of crinkled, she thought so did he. They wondered about it quietly though, right under a purple sky with ribbons of dull pink woven through. Which meant almost night, almost time to get antsy, despite all the thick walls around them. Her eyes wandered to said walls, and so did Crane's, especially as a hollow thunk popped through the air. UV lights. Heavy duty ones from the looks of it, and a lot of them. They ringed the whole place, and—
Crane gave a low whistled. "You keep that whole place running with just that one windmill?"
Suat shook his head. "No, friend, we have electricity from the dam. It feeds our lights, and we feed it."
"Uh huh…" Crane stuffed a carrot into his mouth. Chomped it up like a bearded rabbit, his eyes keenly cutting through thickening shadows.
Meghan picked up after that, talked about the city when Suat asked, who got a little less chipper the more he heard. At least until it was apparently time for them to turn in, since they'd eaten all the food anyway.
At that point her stomach had decided to flop about funnily. Complain that she'd fed it too much— that it didn't know how to handle it all, which meant she burped not once, but twice, and earned herself an approving clap on her shoulder from Russel.
Which she only flinched away from a little, though Crane still shot him a look that made Russel's hand fly right off and summoned an apogoletic smile.
Suat brought them to one of the barns, which looked to have been divided into sections on the inside to provide a little privacy. Zofia thought this might as well have started out here, as some attempt to give families a little space of their own. A door connected their room— unit— thing— with the next, but all in all it looked like they could easily fit a family in here. There were even some cots. Not enough for them all, though even that had been taken into consideration, and someone had gone and left a few rolled up sleeping bags by the entrance.
The place smelled so much of straw and hay and animals, Zofia almost thought she was eleven and on vacation at that farm her dad liked to take her to.
You wish.
Suat bid them goodnight without much fanfare. Shuffled out of the barn. And Zofia glanced about, at the light fixtures on the walls. At the old, wooden wheel hanging there, too, its spokes covered in cobwebs. Up a little higher. At the windows there. Her brow furrowed. Her bladder pinched.
"Crane?" she heard Camden ask.
"Yes, Doc?"
"I think not all is lost yet, even with Fraser dead. If we head over to the old laboratory Meghan mentioned, I could always try to find useful information worth extracting. They must have left some data behind."
Meghan hummed. "Worth a shot, though they were pretty thorough when we cleared out."
Barred.
The windows. They were barred.
"Okay— alright— future us have a plan for tomorrow. Great. I'd really like to ask them about that whole blessing shit too though, because come on, that can't be—"
Zofia turned to him. Started for the door. Almost made it past him, her fingers sliding against his arm, wanting to catch there and drag him out.
"Fi, what—"
The door fell shut. Slammed into its frame with a loud clap of wood on wood. Thick wood on thicker wood, to be precise. Behind it, something slid into place. A deadbolt.
"You're kidding," Russel blurted. Got to his feet, since he'd been the first to plop down on a cot.
And Crane was by the door before her, what with how his legs were longer and whatnot. He barrelled into it. Bounced right off. Tried again and again, Taylor and Meghan by his side, while Russel tried the second one.
Also closed. Also locked.
They started hollering, and all that noise almost made her miss it: the drone of engines. Big ones. Trucks? Lorries?
Either way. They were drawing near.
Zofia's ears popped. Filled with the rush of blood. Panic, hot and quick, slammed her heart into her ribcage, and while Crane knocked his fist against the door, screaming profanities, she ran to a corner. Grabbed a hold of a straw bale on the way, the string tying it cutting into her fingers. But she pulled and she pulled, until a hand grabbed her shoulder and made her stop.
Meghan. "Come on. I'll get you up."
Zofia's lips twisted grimly and she nodded. She dropped the straw. Outside, the engines came closer and closer. Slowed, and she could hear people now. Especially since Crane had stopped being so damn loud and they'd started sticking their heads together trying to find a way out. Or so she hoped.
Really hoped.
Meghan turned her back to the wall. Stapled her fingers in front of her, and lifted Zofia the moment she'd stepped on them. It was almost enough, though she had to plant her feet on Meghan's shoulders and grab onto the metal bars on the windows to pull herself up the last bit.
Zofia squinted through dirty glass into an equally dirty night. Her nose itched. She sneezed. Dust and straw and hay all got into her nostrils and eyes, and she blinked a few times to try and see better.
Though then she wished she hadn't. Which was irrational. Stupid, and she almost cried out. Or maybe she did. Or she inhaled air too quick. Gasped. Made some noise at any rate, because down behind her, Crane went: "Fi? What's wrong?"
What's wrong.
Because being trapped in a barn, that wasn't wrong enough.
No.
Out there, rolling through the gate, were three cars. Low and thick wheeled, painted green. Military. They had a lot in common. For one, they frightened her. Made her blood run cold, even if she didn't quite know at first why they had her wish she could throw herself off Meghan's shoulders and burrow under a rock somewhere. Their hoods all looked the same too, painted with swirls of screaming, fiery colours, as if someone had dropped a handful of suns and they'd all started unravelling.
The trucks came to a stop, tires crunching loudly. Doors flew open. Same doors on them, too. Each one with three swathes of dirty yellow on them. A beast's claim to its mark.
She recognised him the moment he pulled his frame from the front most car.
Wasn't hard to, since he hadn't changed much. Maybe he wore red now, and maybe something ugly had twisted one half of his face, knotted it into a gnarly mask. But she'd never forget. Couldn't forget.
How she found her voice, Zofia had no idea. She shouldn't have been able to, with how her tongue lay heavy and useless in her mouth, and her throat had filled with scalding hot dread. Hands wrung it shut. Unseen and unkind.
Felt a bit like his.
"Rais—"
