**I was inspired by The Last of Us to write this fic, specifically the total beauty of the animation and the landscaping of the game. Just seeing cities overrun with weeds and plants and all sorts of greenery leaves me in complete awe every time. Go check it out if you haven't played the game—yes, it can be depressing as fuck, but have you seen animated giraffes going for a stroll across a deserted city? Ah, breathtaking.
Anyway, here's alt-j's Lovely Day. Catch ya on the flip side**
Shards of wood flew from her hands as she whacked the creature in front of her the fifth time in a row. Another screech erupted from its black mouth, but it still hadn't lost consciousness. It turned its head at her and howled again, the sound resembling that of a rabid dog. But that's what it was, wasn't it? A rabid human being.
It was in the second stages of infection, when it had lost all sense of awareness, who they were and what they were doing. Their eyes were glassy, stuck on Annie and the healthy smell running off her in fat beads of sweat. Dark blood drenched its figure from head to toe and its clothes were withered and torn. Annie spotted a golden band wrapped around its left ring finger and the faded red letters "Best Dad in the World" on its grey T-shirt. This person used to be someone, a husband and a father, but Annie wouldn't be surprised if it ate its entire family.
It's in the second stage of infection, she reminded herself. It's weak and hurt. Should be an easy kill.
She tossed the shattered baseball bat to the side and pulled out her hunting knife from her back pocket. She then braced herself as the infected one ran up to her, unleashing a wild scream.
She effortlessly sidestepped its messy attempt to grab her. It stumbled forward, but she caught it with the blade of her knife, sinking into the space between its eyes. It squealed in agony until she rammed the blade further in, its limbs dropping. She let the body fall and turned her attention to the other monstrous scream coming up behind her.
Without another thought, she whipped around with a high kick, automatically assuming that the creature was taller than her (then again, who wasn't?) The heel of her combat boot came in contact with a nose and a small cracking sound followed after it. Another stage-two infected, another easy kill.
The body fell to the side; Annie hardly gave it any time to recover. She rammed her foot into its face again and, when that didn't finish it, she stomped repeatedly on its flat smudge of a nose until it wasn't moving and the sides of her shoes were coated in blood.
She allowed herself to take two deep breaths before raising her head and looking around. Her eyes met the next problem at the same time she heard him shriek.
Armin was lying on the floor at the back of the room with a stage-three infected towering over him. Annie's eyes widened. Stage-three infected were a bigger threat—they had been infected for weeks. The disease inside them had grown outward, decorating their bodies with tiny fungi and blooming flowers. Their veins turned into leafy vines and their skin turned into a sickish grey concrete color. Their heads shaped themselves into a colorful blob that appeared something like a Venus fly trap, except without all the feathery teeth. Because of this, stage-three infected became blind, their eyes melted somewhere into the trap, and they would make a terrifying clicking noise to see where they were going or where something was located like bats.
They dubbed them clickers and one was about to dive its claws into Armin's neck.
Annie scanned around her like a hawk searching for prey. Her eyes fell on Armin's crowbar on the floor, blending into the grey counters of the cash register. She fumbled for the weapon and then sprinted across the room. The clicker's throat reverberated with another set of searching snaps and its large head whipped in her direction when it heard her coming toward it.
Perfect.
Its clacking lips stopped abruptly when she swung the crowbar and smashed in its yellow mouth. Its weight tumbled backward and off of Armin, but that wouldn't be enough, Annie knew. She straddled over the clicker and then rained blow after blow upon the creature. She soon became blind with rage at the thought of this fucker taking Armin's life and her grip on the crowbar tightened. Her biceps were becoming sore and she could feel the warm spatter of blood sprinkle all over her. Her chest heaved with each strike, putting all her strength into this one abomination.
"Stop, stop, stop! You're done, it's done."
She felt Armin's hands wrap around her arm; she hit one more time before rocking back onto her heels. She glanced to her left and saw his disheveled head of hair and wide blue eyes peering through his cracked glasses. Panting heavily, she looked down at the clicker below her. There wasn't much to look at but the blackened brains and giant pool of dark fluids spreading out like wings. She waited for it to twitch, click, give some sign of life and, when nothing came, she breathed out and let herself slide off to the side.
The crowbar clattered on the floor next to her and the only sounds that could be heard for a while were her and Armin's heavy breathing. Annie decided to let him look around and see if the coast was clear; her eyes remained fixed on the pulped head of the clicker. She swiped the back of her wrist across her eyes and it came back in streaky reds. She could feel sweat rolling down her back and the bun on the back of her head sag like a wet mop.
"Okay, I think we're good," Armin eventually breathed out. She could feel his eyes on her. "You wanna look around for supplies?"
She hesitated before ultimately nodding.
"Alright then." He got onto his feet, walked around the dead clicker, and offered his hand down to Annie. She took it and when she was back on her feet, she threw her arms around his neck and hugged him tightly.
She focused on his breathing, pushing at her shoulder in big gulps. She pressed her chest against his and could make out the rapid beating of his heart. Her head burrowed into his green hoodie as she tried to calm herself down. Alive. He's alive.
She felt him sigh and then hug her back, arms locked around her ribs. He slowly swayed from side to side and she moved along with him. They stood there like that for some time before Armin mumbled in a pained whisper, "You're hurting me, Annie."
She flinched back as if he burned her somehow. Her eyes stared at his right shoulder, expecting blood. "I'm sorry."
"No, you're fine." He leaned down and plucked his crowbar off the floor and then wiped the shiny blood on his jeans. "I'm just not totally back on my feet yet." When her eyes refused to leave his shoulder, however, he offered a half-smile and pecked her cheek. "Seriously, I'm fine. I promise."
Some time ago, Armin and Annie were scavenging for food in a set of dorm rooms of a university. They soon came across a group of other survivors who were immediately hostile toward them and began firing away with their seemingly endless supply of bullets. They were close to escaping their clutches when a large blond man, muscles as big as watermelons, ram himself into Armin and pushed him over the balcony on the second floor of the dorm apartments. He then landed on a wooden bench which broke under his weight and there he laid, surrounded by glass and with a large share of wood pierced through his shoulder.
Running on pure rage and terror, Annie slaughtered the brute who knocked Armin over and anyone who got in her way. Once she came to him, she noticed that his gaze was stuck somewhere in the clouds and his hands clutched and unclutched near his chest, no doubt trying to find that wooden stake lodged in his shoulder. With other survivors still on their tails, Annie had no choice but to grab one of his hands and yank him out of the shattered bench. He let out a horrible groan as his blood poured out of his shoulder in rivers. Annie wrapped his good arm over the back of her neck and dragged him out of the university while shooting down all who dared to approach.
She wasn't sure how long ago that all happened, but it seemed like it was just yesterday. She spent months trying to bring him back to life—his chest was a terrifying shade of purple and black for the longest time and the puncture in his shoulder wouldn't stop bleeding at times. She used any and all medication she could find on him and he slowly regained his strength over time. But he would complain about shoulder aches often and he couldn't carry or pull much weight with his right arm (Annie carried the majority in her backpack versus his). So, whenever they'd go hunting around for supplies, medication and bandages were the first thing on Annie's mind.
Without saying anything, she waddled back to where the first infected had attacked her. The knife was still stuck in the middle of its face and she had to pull it out with two hard yanks. She smeared the blood on her ripped jeans, folded it, and put it in her back pocket. She noticed Armin slip the crowbar into his bulging backpack for easy access.
They then wandered around the room in desperate search for supplies.
While on their aimless quest for a safe destination, they came upon an old mall and figured that there ought to be something in there worth taking. Medication, of course, being on the top of the list, but weapons were always a problem too; things broke all the time and they needed range weapons such as guns or crossbows. It wasn't a requirement, but Annie really wanted a change of clean clothes—she had worn the same sweaty, bloody shirt for a straight week now and the black jeans for even longer. But now they were on the second floor of the mall and it was the fifth store they walked into (all the other ones had a shiny silver door concealing them, locked from the inside) and they couldn't salvage much.
They stood in a music store of some sort. Vinyl albums were scattered all over the floor and covered wooden counters. A deep blue guitar hung on a wall behind a shattered glass pane; there were other empty slots lining the wall, where other musical instruments should've been. Music sheets and posters of long-forgotten bands littered around the registers (which were open and empty). Nearly all shelves outlining the room were bare. Glass, plastic, wood, and other common debris were also dispersed around the small room.
Annie wandered over to the piles of music albums while Armin walked behind the registers. She crouched down and lightly shifted through the mess, careful not to cut herself with the million tiny pieces of glass. The glass crunched beneath her boots as she inched forward, but she didn't find anything of use. She stood up and peered around a shelf. Nothing immediately popped out at her, but she did spot an album tilted awkwardly on the floor. She approached and kicked the album out of the way.
There sat a small book, hardly damaged in any way. On the cover was a bright orange horse galloping across a field of yellow wheat. Below it were the words The Catcher in the Rye. She leaned down and picked it up. She wondered if Armin knew what this was.
"Annie."
She glanced over her shoulder. Armin was stationed by the dead computer at the registers. He was fiddling with something in his hands and grinning up at her. He motioned for her to come over and she complied.
Once she reached him, he wiggled a handgun and a box of ammunition in the air. "A 9mm Springfield handgun and a box of ammo," he clarified. "Both are already filled."
Annie's eyes widened in the slightest. "That's a rare find."
"I know. Makes me a little suspicious."
He unloaded the magazine and showed Annie all the ammunition stuffed to the brim inside. It was the only little piece of treasure they were able to find thus far; Armin really hit the jackpot.
"Where did you find that?"
"Way back in this cabinet here." He tapped his knee against said cabinet. "Makes me think someone placed it there not too long ago. Maybe someone else is here and had to leave in a hurry or something."
"Then they're dumb for doing so. Bad place to stay and it's even worse to leave your stuff behind."
Armin nodded in agreement and then clicked the magazine back into place. He offered both the gun and the box to her, but she shook her head. "You keep it."
"But I have a crowbar. All you have is a knife."
"I'll be fine. Keep it."
Armin frowned at her but stuffed the box in his backpack and the gun in the back of his jeans. He gestured to the book in her hands. "Whatcha got there?"
She looked down at the book and then handed it to him. "Do you know this?"
He took it and examined its cover. He flipped through the blackened pages. "I'm afraid I haven't, but looks like the owner of this book loved it. I'll take a look at it."
Whenever she came across a book, she would typically give it to Armin. If he liked it, he kept it (though he only had three on hand right now—two in his backpack and one in hers), and if he didn't, he placed it in a convenient place for another soul to find it like a kitchen table or a park bench. Reading brought him a kind of pleasure and if she could provide him with that in such a world as this, then she would pass along any book she could get her hands on.
Her eyes travelled along his facial features. A splotch of purple circled his chin and a scar ripped through his right eyebrow. His hair, dry and dirty, tickled his jawline. Little dots of blood painted his right cheek, most likely from that clicker Annie butchered. A single zigzagged line settled in the corner left frame of his glasses, cutting his ocean blue eye in half.
She leaned forward and slid his glasses off his round nose, studying them. Dirt was speckled all along the temples and she was surprised to find that all the necessary screws were still in place.
"We need to find you new glasses."
Armin stuck out his bottom lip and shook his head as if that was the very last thing on his to-do list. "Nah, I can still see through them fine."
"Still, these can't be comfortable for you."
"I'll be fine." He sent a charming smile her way. "Thank you for looking out for me, but I can take care of myself, too." He held up the book. "And thanks for the gift."
She gave a tiny smile back and slid the glasses back onto his nose. As she did so, he leaned forward and press a light kiss to her lips.
The two, after finding nothing more, left the music store (although a full handgun, box of ammo, and a book weren't too bad of a find itself). They moved quietly yet slowly, making sure they weren't leaving anything behind. Dirt, blood, and water stains coated the tiled flooring, weeds ran up the side windows, and the music of silence played endlessly in their ears. Annie found an abandoned suitcase tucked in a corner, but all that was in it were crumpled papers and a photograph of a richly dressed woman. Something crashed above them on the third floor—they stood frozen for some minutes, waiting for a cry or clicking sound, yet when nothing came, they both agreed to avoid going up the stairs.
They rounded a corner and came across a tiny square box with a curtain on the side. Annie slowed to a stop and Armin perked up, advancing toward it. "Ooh, I think I've heard of these!"
He analyzed the side of the box which was as tall as he. He then pushed the curtain to the side and a smile etched at the corner of his lips. "Yeah, these are called 'photobooths'. People would sit in here and a camera would automatically snap, like, four or five pictures in row and then it would print out a copy of the pictures from…" He looked around and then tapped a little blue slot near the curtain. "From right here."
"Didn't people have phones with cameras in them?" Annie asked. "Or cameras in general? What's the point of these?"
"Just for fun, I guess." He glanced at her, still smiling. "Wanna try it out?"
She peered around them and Armin chuckled at her. "Are you embarrassed to be seen with me or what?"
"I'm looking for clickers, smartass," she hissed at him.
"We'll hear them before they hear us. Come on, it'll be fun."
He stepped into the box without another word. She sighed, realizing that she wasn't to get out of this one. She sauntered forward and peeked inside the booth. Armin, though small, sat cramped up on a smooth plastic bench, poking at the big, round buttons on a tiny screen. Huffing, she sat beside him and closed the dusty purple curtain behind her.
"Okay, this should do it," Armin muttered mainly to himself as he pressed another button. The screen flickered once, twice, and then it started to count down from five in big blocky numbers.
Armin, pleased with himself that he got it work, shifted around in his seat and turned halfway toward her. He smiled widely at her stoic face. "I know you hate this, but bear with me for twenty seconds, okay?"
"Whatever." She faced the tiny camera installed above the screen and waited until the screen reached zero.
For the first picture, she stretched her lips into her tight, teethless smile that she forced on for Armin's sake. She sensed Armin lean his head against hers and imagined he was smiling brighter than the sun. A snapping noise echoed in the booth and then Armin shifted into another position.
He pressed his face against her cheek, but he wasn't kissing her or smiling into her skin. Just staring at her. With a frown, she pushed her palm against his mouth and reeled him back just as the camera snapped again.
"Oh, come on!" he complained before quickly setting himself back into place. This time he looked back at the camera, tilted his head, and held up a simple peace sign. Feeling slightly amused, Annie decided to humor him and stick out her tongue at him. The camera snapped once again.
Armin glanced back at her, catching her slip her tongue back between her lips like a snake. He laughed and then cupped her right cheek and smashed her other one with his lips, making an obnoxious kissing sound as he did so. Her lips puckered out like a fish in his grasp and she tried pulling away from him, but the camera was quick to capture the moment.
The words "Thank you!" flashed across the screen after that. Annie wiggled out of his hold and stepped out of the photobooth, wiping his sloppy kiss off her cheek.
"Thank you for being so brave!" Armin called from inside the box. "You willing to get your picture taken is like asking someone to dodge a bullet."
"Shut up," she mumbled back, looking around the wide halls. Still no clicker.
Armin popped out of the booth and plucked the black and white photos that darted out of the black hole in the side of the box. He held them up and Annie peeked over his shoulder at them. They were a bit blurry, but you could still plainly see two dirty blondes messing around with a camera. She scrunched her nose at herself. She was an absolute mess with large bags under her eyes and her hair matted with dark blood. Armin didn't even tell her that a splash of red was sprawled across her face, starting near her hairline and curving down to her right cheekbone.
"Aw, I'm keeping this forever," Armin said, smiling down at the pictures.
"You're obnoxious," Annie muttered, walking toward the staircase.
"Love you too." He folded the strip of photos and stuffed them into the side pocket of his backpack, opposite his crowbar. He caught up with her and then they headed out of the mall with their riches.
The summer sun shone brightly in the afternoon sky, the hottest part of the day. Annie could see the heatwaves radiating from the black and green asphalt like wiggling translucent maggots. Tall buildings surrounded them, in the midst of being swallowed by Mother Nature. Just like clickers, the planet began taking back what was rightfully theirs and slowly began replacing civilization with greenery and vegetation. Grass poked out of every crack in the ground and olive green leaves ran up and down rusty structures and in and out of broken windows. Cars were rendered useless, their engines and tires covered in florals and shrubbery. The occasional tree grew through heavy fertilized roads and reached lengths as wide as semitrucks.
A mix of smells lingered in the air. The humidity made all the rotting corpses stink worse than usual and Annie could smell her own body odor (she couldn't remember the last time she took a shower). Flora floated through the air as well and it grew stronger with each gentle breeze that came their way. They waddled through large pools of water randomly gathered around the dead city, although it never got higher than Annie's thighs. The water (made up of sewage, rainwater, and many kinds of bodily fluids) was warm and now sank into her boots and clung onto her skinny jeans, along with all the other crap that stuck to her like superglue. God, how she'd kill for a clean change of clothes.
As far as they could tell, no other sign of life could be spotted throughout the empty city (besides the overgrowing plants, of course). All was silent, all was calm. No vicious growling, no terrifying clicks, no frantic gunshots. Quiet was nice from time to time, but it could also mean danger, so they decided to not stick around and keep trudging forward. They couldn't trust anything, let it be a silent city or another survivor. There were too many risks; they had to question everything, never let down their guard. Annie sighed to herself. All the lovely days were gone now and had been swapped with slices of hell.
Armin suggested that they head toward the suburbs, hoping there would be something of use there. They trekked onward for a considerable amount of time—it was always hard to tell what time was exactly. They measured time through events or seasons. Once upon a time, people could tell time through clocks and watches and cell phones, but all that stopped ages ago. What's the use of knowing what date it was when each horribly long passing hour was the same? All Annie knew was that their legs were tensed in dull aches and the sun had lowered when they reached the suburbs, turning the sky into a pinkish hue.
Their knuckles brushed against each other as they walked, their eyes taking in their surroundings. The tranquil neighborhoods weren't much different from the city, except they could see pieces of the life that used to be here more clearly. Children's toys sat out in the front yards, overturned and covered in moss. Grills and lawn chairs sat unused in backyards. A yellow sign with a black stick figure was planted in the ground with the words "Slow down, children at play" below it. Flags hung from porches, some decorated with bright colors and stars, others displaying some animal and its name underneath it (probably sports teams).
They came across a white truck parked on the curb with an oddly shaped cone atop it. The bottom of the cone was the color of sand and the top was a bright swirly pink. Pictures were papered onto its sides, showing something similar to the giant cone on top of the truck. Annie pointed at it and asked, "What is that?"
Armin scratched the back of his neck, studying the vehicle closer. "I think that's an ice cream truck."
She raised an eyebrow. She heard of the frozen treat (she probably had it once or twice in her lifetime) but didn't know there were trucks dedicated to the stuff. "A what?"
"People, for jobs, would drive around neighborhoods and try selling ice cream. It would play creepy music sometimes."
She narrowed her eyes at him, and he threw his hands up in surrender. "I'm serious. Kids would go up to some stranger in a truck and have their parents buy ice cream for them while creepy music-box music blared from its speakers."
She frowned at the truck. "That's the strangest thing I've ever heard."
Nevertheless, they left the truck alone and continued down the street.
Armin pointed out a smaller house on their left, blue paint chipping off the sides and only one story high. Compared to the other houses, this one seemed in decent shape with only one broken window next to the front door and no remnants of infected or clickers tearing apart family members. They walked up the driveway and Armin tried the doorknob. Locked, as usual.
He huffed and then glanced to the window on their left. "I can climb in through there and unlock the door."
Annie's shoulders tensed up. She hated whenever they split up, even if it was only for a moment, but she reminded herself that Armin wasn't an idiot and wouldn't wander around the house before unlocking the door two feet to the side. She swallowed any objection pricking at the tip of her tongue and took out the crowbar from his backpack.
"Clear the glass at least," she mumbled. Armin stood back while she circled the bar around the window, knocking off the rest of the sharp edges sticking out like shark's teeth. They did a quick sweep down the street to see if anything heard them and, when nothing came, she stuffed the crowbar back into Armin's backpack.
"Be careful," she told him as he grabbed the edge of the windowsill.
"Always," he responded. He hoisted himself through the small opening, glass crunching underneath his weight on the other side.
She hurried back to the front door and waited for him to hear the clunking sound from the other side. One moment passed, and then another, and then another. Her lips pursed in anxiousness and she tasted the all-too-familiar flavor of iron blubbing across her tastebuds. She was about to stick her head through the window when the knob twisted slightly and the door creaked open, a pleased Armin standing on the other side.
"This place isn't as bad as other places we've stayed at," he said.
She stepped through the doorway and he closed the door behind her. Her gaze swept the living room and was surprised to find it relatively clean. The only sources of disarray were an unidentified stain on the floor near the TV and crooked picture frames hanging on the wall. An armchair and sofa were turned askew, and a smashed coffee mug covered the table by the small TV. A black bookshelf was positioned on the opposite wall, although homey nick-nacks like clocks and portraits littered its shelves rather than actual books.
Armin and Annie ventured into the kitchen across the way. Not much chaos in this room either. Armin opened up cupboards and found plenty of dishes, but not a lot of food (he did manage to find, however, a family-sized box of cereal and two cans of beans). He also opened the fridge but shut it immediately when the strong smell of spoiled milk and rotten meat wafted out.
"Ugh, electricity is out," he coughed.
Annie flipped on the faucet in the kitchen sink and was delighted to find a cool splash of clean water burst through the valve. She grinned back at him. "But we have water."
Armin smiled back. "That's the best news I've heard in quite a while."
They then proceeded to fill up their stainless-steel water bottles up and chug it down and fill it up again. Not having to worry about saving water for when absolutely necessary was one of the best feelings in the world, according to Annie, and the sensation of cold liquid running down her throat was a close second.
They scoped out the rest of the house and discovered all sorts of other rare valuables: clean clothes in the bedroom, a bottle of shampoo in the bathroom, a pair of scissors in the kitchen, washcloths in the closet, an unopened pack of batteries underneath the bed. Annie thought for a while that this was trap, all these little specks of gold tucked into the same place would make good capture, so she tracked down any running cameras or possible boobytraps. Armin ceased her desperate hunting, saying that they've spotted no other survivors ever since they stepped into the neighborhood, in fact the whole city.
"I feel really good about this place," he added. "I think we should stay here for the night."
She frowned, still not entirely convinced.
"It's better than most, you've got to admit. And we can't stay out at night—it's always more dangerous at night." He shrugged. "And I'm giving you permission to shoot me if I'm wrong."
She rolled her eyes, but if he was saying stuff like that, then he must've felt confident in these four walls and the ceiling over their heads. Armin wasn't wrong about most things. She eventually nodded and she helped him move the bookshelf in front of the open window (in case any clickers decided to waltz right in).
He grinned. "Great. I'm going to take a shower." He then lumbered down the hall and entered the bathroom on the left. In another moment, she heard a waterfall running.
Annie collapsed onto the sofa, a deep sigh escaping her lungs. She stared at the motionless fan hanging from the ceiling for a bit before sitting up and removing her boots. Her toes were still damp from sauntering through the sewage water earlier and the sides of her feet were bright red from being cramped up in those boots for days at a time. She rotated her feet around in circles, her ankles clacking like old gears turning.
She scrunched her nose. She could not wait her turn for a shower she'd been craving for weeks now.
Slipping out of her heavily stained tank-top and unbuttoning her pants, she marched toward the bathroom. She opened the door and noticed Armin's clothes littered around the floor and his glasses resting atop the sink. The shower curtain was still pushed to one side and she saw Armin leaning his forehead against the slick tiled walls, letting the cool water wash down his scarred body.
"I knew you'd be standing there, doing nothing," Annie muttered as she tossed her tank-top with his clothes and wriggled out of her sticky jeans.
Keeping his forehead attached to the wall, he turned his head toward her, peeking through his sodden blond fringe. "I knew you wouldn't even give me two minutes in here."
"It's a shower, Armin. It's like the fountain of youth: you can't keep that to yourself."
She stripped off the rest of her smelly, stained, and soaked clothes onto the floor and undid the rubber-band that held together her bun of the back of her head (her dirty, clumpy hair still stayed in place for a moment or two, anyway, as if she never took it out). She then stepped into the tub, knocked against Armin, and felt the satisfying rush of water drown the mud and blood.
She awoke to the sound of thunder and the rain patting against the windowpane like bullets.
She jolted, her eyes darting around the room. Where am I? What's going on? She then remembered that she was in a little suburban house, safe enough to sleep in. She was lying in the master bedroom and it was as dark as the midnight sky. Apparently, there was a storm brewing outside; she could see a light shadow spread across the bedsheets with little dots inching down—the rain on the window.
She frowned into the pillow and clutched at the bedsheets tighter. She absolutely loathed thunderstorms. It was one thing she couldn't control—she couldn't stop the earth and the sky from acting on its own. It wouldn't go away with the stab of a knife, the bullet of a gun. And the earth was a powerful thing; it could crush her if it tried hard enough.
Her eyes then flew wide open. Where's Armin?
She sat up and looked around the room. He wasn't beside her in bed nor tucked in a darkened corner nor standing by the broad dresser by the door. She noticed his unzipped backpack leaning against the wall on her side of the bed, but no other sign of him could be spotted anywhere in the room.
Another bright crack of lightning flashed through the room and the thunder's scream soon followed. She flinched again and quickly crawled out of bed and hurried toward the door.
Wearing only a pair of underwear and an oversized university shirt, she slithered out of the room as quietly as she could. The living room was two or three steps to the left and she still didn't see Armin. She whispered his name, but it would be impossible to hear that over the sound of pouring rain right outside the window he snuck in earlier that day. Like a sneaky spider, she stuck close to the wall and tiptoed further in, looking to round the corner that lead to the kitchen.
Her eyes stayed glued to her toes and only looked up when absolutely necessary. She casted a quick glance toward the covered window in the living room—rainwater had leaked in around the bookshelf and left a large stain along the wall and floor. It didn't appear terribly windy outside, and Annie was thankful for that.
Once she reached the wooden threshold, she gripped it tightly and peeked into the room. A wave of relief washed over her when she found him sitting at the kitchen table, wearing black sweatpants and a white T-shirt. He was in deep concentration of whatever he was doing. She peered closer. Using the dim light of the moon, he took apart the scissors they found earlier and was wrapping the blades around a long piece of wood with duck-tape that Annie kept in her backpack. She spotted one of the kitchen chairs lying on its side, now missing a leg.
She swallowed. "A-Armin?"
He looked up. His eyes were incredibly wide for second, but they blinked in relief when he realized it was her. "Hey."
"What are you—?" She was cut off by another brilliant clash of lightning and thunder. The house rumbled in response, the small chandelier hanging over the table trembling at it did so. A tiny squeak erupted from her as she fell to the floor and grabbed the chair with three legs, as if that would protect her in any way.
She heard Armin drop his makeshift weapon on the floor and hurry across the kitchen floor toward her. "Hey, it's okay, you're okay. We're safe in here. It's just some thunder, it'll pass eventually. Everything's alright."
He took hold of her arm and hand, trying to unlock her grasp on the chair. Once his touch—his gentle, warm, sincere touch that she alone lived for—settled on her skin, she snapped like a rubber-band and latched herself onto him. She clawed at his shoulder blades and used all her weight to bring their bodies close together; Armin nearly toppled on top of her but luckily caught himself just in time.
"Hey, okay, let's go back to bed," he tried again, speaking directly into her ear so she could hear him over the sound of surging rain and her own panicked breaths. "Everything's fine, everything's fine."
She let him half-carry, half-drag her out the kitchen, through the living room, and into the master bedroom. She blew heavy breaths into his collarbone and every time a crack of thunder echoed throughout the house, she cringed into his narrow chest, her jaw clenched, her arms tight. Armin, a bit distracted, mumbled some more "Everything's alright" and "We're almost there" under his breath as he struggled to keep her from slumping to the ground. This wasn't the first time she'd panicked over a thunderstorm.
Once they reached the bedroom, Armin half-turned and locked the door behind them. He then pushed back the crumpled covers on the bed and dropped Annie in the middle of it. She kept her lock tight on him, though, and he ended up going with her, collapsing on top of her. He muttered a "Shit, okay" into the soft bedsheets and then sat back up, crawling around so that his back faced the one window in the room, so she wouldn't have to see the blinding white crack flash across the pitch black sky.
He then twisted around so that their heads were upon the dark blue pillows and then pulled back the covers over them. He plucked his glasses off and set them on the nightstand beside the bed. She felt his arms wrap around her again, smoothing her back and brushing back her strands of hair.
"The storm can't hurt us in here," he murmured like she was a five-year-old, afraid of the monster under the bed. "It'll pass eventually."
Another round of lightning and thunder, but it wasn't as loud as the last couple of times. Yet she still cowered into his chest, tugging at his shirt and concealing her face into his neck. He laid a hand across one of hers, near the side of his shoulder.
"Okay, ease up on the grip a little, please."
Reluctantly she obeyed, burying deeper into the sheets like a mole in a garden. A few moments had passed of rain hammering away at the window and Armin planting gentle kisses along her hair, cheek, jaw, and neck. When she felt her throat open up in the slightest, she managed out between raspy breaths, "I fucking hate this."
Armin's hand came to a rest at her hip, his thumb lightly digging into her side. "Storms can be scary sometimes."
"No, I mean all of this. I fucking hate all of it." She pulled her face out of the sheets and rested the top of her head against the side of Armin's neck. "We were born into a world of survival. We can never just relax or act like how things were before the world went to shit decades ago. We can't go shopping in a mall or chase after a creepy ice cream truck or go to a bookstore or do anything that doesn't require fighting for your life. I hate this life, this world. Nothing good exists anymore. There's no good people, no good days. There's nothing but blood. I fucking hate it."
A silent sea drowned them both for a while, filling up with all the rain pounding outside. She could tell that Armin was thinking of what to say by the way his touch slowed down and his body went stiff. She let out a little sigh. She shouldn't have said anything.
He then moved around some more, tucking an arm underneath her head and placing his chin in his palm as he stared at the grey wall behind her. "Well," he said in his light argumentative voice, "I think there are some good days in this world."
She frowned into his chest, but he couldn't see her expression, so he went on: "Like today was pretty good. You found that book for me and we took some pictures in a photobooth and we saw an ice cream truck, even if the idea of it is kinda strange." He chuckled. "And we found this relatively nice home and we found a working shower and a change of clothes—I know you've wanted those for a while—and we found some food and other useful things. I'd say it was a pretty good day."
"We're still not living, though."
He sighed. "Well, no, I guess not. But in a world like this, it's typically the little things that keep you going. Yes, people are harsh, but they're just like us, looking to survive. We're all different but all the same." He paused and then added, "The world is cruel, but beautiful. You just have to look a little harder to see the beauty."
She snorted sarcastically. "What beauty could there possibly be?"
"Well, you, first things first."
She mentally shook her head, half-tempted to dig her finger into the hole in his shoulder. Either he wasn't receiving the annoyed vibes from her or he was completely ignoring them because he then smiled into her forehead and said, "Every day with you is a lovely day."
"Okay, I'm done," she grumbled, rolling onto her back and away from him.
"Why are you so mean to me?" Armin laughed, shuffling closer to her like a curious yet persistent kitten.
"I'm done. Get off of me." Suppressing a smirk, she shoved his face away and rolled onto her side.
He followed her, tucking his head under her chin and shaking like a wet dog, his soft locks tickling her skin. "Annie," he whined with the voice of an old toy, low on batteries yet still able to make jerky movements. She couldn't contain the giggles that bubbled in the back of her throat.
They spent the rest of the stormy night tickling each other, telling jokes, and talking about the near future before sleep eventually overtook them.
Annie was awoken again later, but this time sunshine streamed in through the window and the sound of footsteps and muffled voices replaced the booming thunder.
Her eyes peeled open and first landed on Armin sleeping soundly beside her, his lips opened ajar and his arm stretched out beneath her head. She glanced at the closed bedroom door and waited for more noises to rumble, just in case it was her own dreaming that woke her up. But within seconds she heard heavy boots clank across hardwood flooring and masculine voices talk over one another.
Slowly she sat up in bed, her gaze locked on the door, her heartbeat already picking up speed. She listened closely but most of what the intruders said was muffled. She half-wished it would've been a clicker—at least those things couldn't think of plans. She did, however, managed to catch "This place seems nice" and "Where did you learn to pick locks?"
At that last remark, she whispered a long "Shit" under her breath and then turned to Armin. She laid a gentle hand over his open mouth and whispered his name into his ear. His eyelids fluttered and then shot open in fright, most likely freaked out by her face so close to his, seeing only one wide blue eye and her blonde hair spilling around him, shielding them like a curtain. She then whispered that someone came into the house. The fear in his eyes didn't subside.
She pulled away and he slowly sat up. He shoved his glasses onto his face and quietly shuffled through his backpack. Annie cursed herself. She recklessly left her backpack in the living room; she was weaponless.
She tiptoed around the bed and squatted beside Armin on the floor. "My backpack is out there," she said quietly.
Armin tried not to show his frustration, but instead handed her his crowbar. "Take this."
She nodded her thanks. They both stood and snuck up to the door with Annie by the doorknob and Armin by the hinges with the handgun in his hands. Their eyes switched from the wooden panels in the door to each other's rattled stare as they listened to their visitors wander around the house.
"Someone's been here recently," said a deep voice.
"Guess we should be extra careful," replied another, another masculine tone.
Footsteps clacked around for a while before a feminine voice shouted out, "Hey, guys! Look at this weird thing I found!"
"What is that?"
"It's like a baseball bat, but with scissors on the end."
Annie saw Armin shake his head at himself when realization dawned on him.
"You gotta be sick-minded to come up with something like that," remarked the deep voice.
"Right?"
As soon as the last comment was made, the doorknob to the bedroom began shaking. Armin and Annie stared down at it in shock, holding their breaths.
"Ugh, great," muttered the voice on the other end. A pause and then, "Hey, Connie. There's another locked door here."
"I got you, bro," replied another voice.
Sparks of dread exploded from her heart like the tossing of a log into a campfire. She looked up at Armin who gave a gestured glance at his crowbar in her hands. She nodded and held it up, ready to strike once the door creaked opened. Armin also readied his gun, though his hands trembled slightly.
The man on the other side, Connie, fiddled with the locked doorknob while whistling to himself. Though it must've been only seconds, it felt like eons to Annie, just waiting for the fight to come to them. She watched the lock click back into place and twist and then the door creak backward.
"Here we g—wah!"
Connie tumbled back as Annie slammed the crowbar down, narrowly missing his big head by a few inches. The end dug into the carpet, but Annie ripped out of the floor no problem. Connie shot up from the ground and Annie swung again. He ducked just in time and now the crowbar was stuck in the bedroom door. Chips of wood flew out and this time it wasn't as easy to pull out.
"Wah, ah! Crazy lady, crazy lady!" Connie, a short, ratty-looking man, called out in panicked shouts. He held up his little lock-picking tool at her—which really appeared to be a tiny version of a corkscrew—and Annie took her opportunity. She left the crowbar in the door and then rammed herself into the man's small torso. The corkscrew went flying back, and so did they, landing hard on the living room floor.
"Gah! G-Guys! Help me—" Connie's desperate cries were cut off by Annie moving up and wrapping her arms around his neck and her thighs around his torso. Her ankles crossed themselves at the center of his ribcage and began digging themselves into his lungs and vocal cords, squeezing the life out of him. He choked out nonsense, weakly slapping at her calves and grabbing at wrists.
Annie heard thunderous footsteps coming her way. She looked up to find a tall, slender man with long sandy hair pulled back into a tight ponytail with a rifle across his torso run toward her from the kitchen. Fire was in his eyes and he pulled back his foot, ready to kick her in the head.
"Get off him, you bit—!"
A small explosion sounded throughout the house and, distracted, the man lost his footing and ended up ducking his head. A powdery white dust sprinkled onto Annie and Connie's face, and it was then that Annie knew Armin had shot off his gun.
The ponytailed man whipped toward Armin by the opened bedroom door. Annie looked at him too—like a frightened rabbit, he stared wide-eyed at the mess before him, his gun trembling in his grasp. The man fidgeted with his rifle and then pointed it at Armin.
"Put the fucking gun down, wimp!" he shouted. He periodically switched his aim from Armin's head to Annie's on the ground, Connie still feebly struggling in her grasp.
"You put yours down!" Armin hollered back. "We can talk this out still!"
"Talk what out, you piece of—"
"Whoa, whoa, whoa!"
Suddenly another tall, dark-haired man popped into the room, sliding from between the wall and door from down the hall. Armin jumped in surprised and then pointed the gun at him, which only angered Ponytail more. They all argued over one another, demanding that the other put his gun down. Annie's gaze peered between Ponytail's legs and into the kitchen. In the shadows, she spotted a girl with Armin's makeshift weapon in her hands. She too had a ponytail, but she was no where near as brave as the man standing above her. She had a terrified look on her face and her gaze kept shifting from her to Connie in her chokehold.
"Jean, put your gun down now."
Annie looked back at the newcomer to the situation. His hair was short and dark, and freckles were scattered all over his face like sprinkles. He had a babyface, similar to Armin's—a bit round and eyes the size of saucers. He wore round glasses and had on a plaid shirt, rolled up to his elbows. His hands, surprisingly large, were spread out between Armin and the man above Annie, presumably Jean. He was acting as a barrier, a peacekeeper, and Annie had no idea what to think about that.
"Put my gun down?" Jean retorted. "He shot first!"
"I don't care. Put it down right now." There was a grave tune in his voice; he was serious, he wasn't fucking around.
"Well, tell her to let go of Connie!"
"Put your gun down first."
"Jean?" came the uncertain and terrified voice of the girl sitting in the kitchen.
"Goddammit, Jean, put the gun down!" the freckled man hollered with more force than Annie anticipated.
Armin, still aiming his gun between Jean and the freckled man, looked just as confused and scared as Annie felt. More loud arguing went on between the two before Jean ultimately dropped his rifle (though it still dangled from the strap hugging his back and Annie still didn't feel entirely sure of her or Armin's safety).
Freckles then turned back to Armin. "Okay, I'm so sorry about the confusion. We thought the house was empty."
He didn't respond. His gun was now targeted at Freckles, but Annie knew there wasn't much certainty in his grip.
Freckles began talking fast, forcing on an occasional grin. "We, uh, came looking for food, but if this house is taken, then we'll drop whatever we found and leave you guys alone. Period. Dot. We'll get out of your hair and you'll never see us again." He shifted his weight around nervously. "So, uh, could you please put the gun down?"
Armin hesitated for a long while. Annie watched the gears spin madly behind his glasses, observing the situation at hand, scrutinizing every possibly fatal detail. He was taking a serious gamble, no matter what he did. But he eventually lowered his weapon, slow like a slithering snail.
"Okay, thank you. Thank you very much." Freckles nodded his head and then peeked at Annie over his shoulder, hands still up in defense. He turned back to Armin. "And, uh, could you tell her to let go of our friend? Please?"
Connie was losing strength quickly—his hands became sluggish and Annie could see his face turning as red as a cherry. His full body weight slowly lowered onto her stomach with each passing minute, his fate fading in and out like a ghostly mist.
Armin locked gazes with her and he nodded his head once. "Annie, let him go."
She gritted her teeth. She couldn't believe he was trusting these people. They were strangers, killers, thieves. Who knew what kind of horrible deeds they'd done throughout their miserable lives? When she refused to comply, Armin gave her a grave yet disappointed stare. His words from last night then rung in her head like church bells: They're just like us, looking to survive. We're all different but all the same.
She grudgingly let go of Connie and the boy breathed in a giant gulp of air, coughing uncontrollably. He rolled to the side and crawled away like a frightened baby turtle. He collapsed in the girl's awaiting arms in the kitchen, who tried squeezing life back into him with tight, warm hugs.
Annie got onto her knees and looked up to see Freckles stretch out a hand toward her as if he wished to help her get on her feet again. Without casting another glance at him, she stood up and rushed over to Armin and embraced him. He hugged her back, swiping the drywall dust out of her eyes, breathing out a quick, "You alright?"
She nodded and then turned back toward the odd group, holding onto Armin's right arm like a shy child. She kept a mental note that the crowbar was still stuck in the door right above her.
An awkward silence settled in the air between them and Annie felt the gaze of nearly everyone in the room eye her bare legs. She felt an angry knot form in the pit of her stomach. Were they really self-conscious about seeing a half-naked woman defending her life? She still had underwear and a T-shirt on, for Christ's sake. This wasn't like that time when she went bathing in a river and then got ambushed by two clickers. She single-handedly killed them with her hunting knife and a couple of rocks. In the end, she was covered in blood again and she told Armin to keep a lookout before turning around and going back in the river.
She took this time to really observe these new survivors. All the men had a bit of scruff dotted around their cheeks, chin, and jaw (the one named Connie had only the ghost of a mustache above his upper lip, however). Ponytail, or Jean, had the most, but she'd be giving him too much credit to call it a beard. His dirty ponytail tickled the nape of his neck and he wore a heavy red flannel, despite the scorching heat outside. His knuckles were bright red and a few cuts nipped at his fingers. He gave Annie a sharp glare as he angrily tapped his foot against the hardwood floor.
Connie, who was still trying to catch his breath, let the girl stroke the side of his face like how you would a kitten. A grey beanie covered his egg-shaped head. He had on a white T-shirt with a cartoon character on it, the fabric shredded in several places and mud caked the hems. The left knee in his denims was completely torn, revealing a bandage beneath.
The girl, still unnamed, had long auburn hair tied in a ponytail on the top of her head. Her big golden eyes darted around the room like flies over a corpse. Her grey tank-top had sweat stains underneath her armpits and a smear of dirt or blood over her stomach. Her matching grey sweatpants had forest remnants on her knees and lower calves. A blue backpack hugged her shoulders and Annie spotted a little cat keychain dangling from one of the zippers.
Freckles had glasses similar to Armin's, but they were in better shape. However, he had a black patch over his right eye and Annie could make out pink scars zigzagging across his forehead and slinking behind his patch. He obviously suffered a major injury of some sort. His black fringe was long, but not as long as Jean's. His backpack sagged against his spine, most likely not carrying much or something very vital. His fingers were black, probably from digging through the dirt, and his tennis shoes sported the same color and texture.
"Uh, sorry about all that," Freckles said, clearing his throat. His lowered his hands, placing them on his hips. "Didn't mean to scare you guys."
"Fucking scared the shit out of me," Connie rasped from the kitchen. "Like, literally, I think I shit my pants."
"We weren't expecting anyone, either," Armin admitted.
"Of course you weren't, of course you weren't," Freckles agreed. "Um…" He looked at Armin and Annie, and then back at his own group. Jean seemed to know what he was thinking, and he narrowed his eyes, shaking his head curtly. Freckles lingered on Jean for a moment before disregarding the look and turning back to them.
"My-My name is Marco," he said, gesturing to himself before pointing at Jean. "That's my boyfriend, Jean. And over in the kitchen is Connie and Sasha."
Connie lifted a hand in greeting. "Uh, yeah, what's up."
Sasha waved a feeble hand, still pretty freaked out.
"I think I caught your name earlier," Marco said, motioning to Annie. "Annie, wasn't it?"
She merely stared back at him, unresponsive.
"She's not too fond of strangers," Armin explained like he was clarifying to a neighbor why his dog keeps shitting by his mailbox. "But she has a right to be, we all do." He lifted his hand, shifting around Annie's grasp on him. "I'm Armin, by the way."
Marco nodded. "Armin, hi. So, um, my group and I have been having a rough time of trying to get some food lately—"
"Marco, don't do this," Jean hissed through his teeth, crossing his arms defensively.
He whipped toward his boyfriend and hissed back, "What? What else can we do?"
"Uh, fucking leave. Let's just leave, Marco. I'm done here."
"I second that," Connie coughed from the kitchen. "I don't feel like wrestling anyone else today."
"Come on, guys!" Marco pleaded, both frustrated and desperate. "It's been days. I think it's time we ask for help. We can't go much longer if our pace doesn't pick up soon."
Armin and Annie exchanged a look. Behind his cracked glasses, Annie could see possibilities running like an old movie film. She wasn't buying it, though. The living, in her opinion, were always more difficult to deal with than clickers. They had the opportunities to betray and steal and lie in order to get what they want while you always knew what a clicker wanted and what you needed to do to stop them. She frowned to show her displeasure and Armin copied the same action.
Just listen to what they have to say, his look told her. They technically haven't done anything wrong.
"I say we take our chances elsewhere," Jean said, firm and hostile. "This place is obviously taken, let's just go."
"Um, we aren't staying here," Armin piped up and Annie felt her stomach drop to the ground and her eyes roll back to the ceiling. An irritated huff escaped her lungs.
You better know what you're doing, her dramatic sigh replied.
Marco and Jean and Sasha peered up at him (Connie's eyes were squeezed shut as he rubbed at his torso). Armin swallowed and continued: "We, uh, just got here yesterday. We don't plan on staying long; staying in one spot can be too dangerous."
Marco nodded slowly. "Do you have a destination in mind?"
"No. We just want to be safe is all."
"Yeah, everyone does," Jean commented in a sarcastic growl.
Marco nudged his elbow and looked back at Armin, his gaze steady. "Well, like I said earlier, we're having trouble getting food. We haven't eaten in almost three days now. Luck has not been on our side, but now…I think since we ran into you guys, and you haven't killed us yet, I'd say it's starting to pick up again." He chuckled nervously. "Um, would you guys be willing to trade? You wouldn't happen to have some food on you that you're willing to spare?"
Armin shifted his weight onto one foot. Annie's frown deepened. Bad sign, he was letting his guard down.
"Well…um…" he stuttered.
"What do you guys need? We can trade with, uh, flashlights or matches. I have a Swiss army knife you guys can have. Um, we got some ammo—"
"Medicine!" Annie blurted out.
They all looked at her sudden outburst; it was the only thing she said thus far. She could feel Armin's eyes and she tried not to meet his gaze, a little afraid of what she might see. Instead she squeezed his wrist, looked down at their toes, swallowed her anxiety, and glanced back up at Marco's curious eye.
"You guys have antibiotics?" she asked quietly. "Or some painkillers?"
Marco paused for a moment before looking over at Jean. He peered back with a threatening stare that dared him to say what was on their minds. Marco took a deep breath and looked back at Annie with a subtle grin creeping on his chapped lips. Jean growled "Marco—" but he couldn't get any further than that.
"I have a bottle of penicillin if you want," Marco declared. "It seems like you have a great use for it, so I'll let you have it."
He then walked over to Sasha and Connie who had risen back on their feet. He unzipped Sasha's backpack, the little black cat swinging wildly from side to side. Connie mumbled something to him, but Marco was mainly unresponsive, fishing around Sasha's stash.
"See?" Armin whispered to her, his eyes locked on the odd group before them. He suppressed a smirk. "There is some beauty in humanity. Just gotta look a little harder."
Annie huffed again, combing her fingers through her long fringe. "Your health is the utmost priority. That's all."
She felt his eyes linger on her as Marco came back into the living room with an orange bottle in his grasp. He stopped about two yards in front of them and gingerly held out the bottle to Annie. With careful yet desperate fingers, she snatched it and peered through the orange cage. The bottle was about a quarter full of little white tablets. A wonderful rush of relief eased into Annie's shoulders.
"So, you guys got some food?" Marco asked.
Armin nodded with a small smile and made an effort of showing his gun, wiggling it in the air as it were a mere spoon, nothing of real harm. He then walked into the bedroom beside him, placed the gun on the bed, dug through his backpack, and came back with the box of cereal and two cans of black beans.
He stepped toward Marco and rested the treasures in his waiting hands. "They're all yours. Thank you."
Marco looked down at the items as if they were made out of magic and unicorns. Sasha and Connie gasped in wonder, and even Jean seemed to lose his stubborn composure for two whole seconds. Marco gazed at Armin and Annie as if they were gods and thanked them profusely. He walked over to Jean, and Sasha and Connie jogged up to meet him. Connie grabbed the cans and examined them while Sasha already began stuffing her face with the honey oats (Jean batted at her hands and took both the box and cans from them).
Annie pressed the medicine into Armin's palm. "You should probably take one a day."
He grinned. "I will. This should do the trick."
He stuffed it into his sweatpants pocket when Marco spoke up again: "Hey, you guys are, like, what I read about in books. You're very rare to come across."
Armin looked up, interest clearly peaked. "What do you read?"
"Whatever I can find, really. I like finding out about what life was like before…" His hands gestured all around them. "…all of this. Did you guys see that ice cream truck down the street?"
Armin nodded his head like a bobblehead in a runaway car. "Yeah! Isn't that amazing?"
"That's what I said!"
"Man, ice cream sounds so good right now," Sasha gushed through her stuffed mouth. "I haven't even had it, but I bet it tastes like heaven."
"Who in the hell would let their kid take sugar from some guy in a giant white van with creepy-ass music blaring from it?" Jean added.
Annie couldn't help but agree.
"It's all a part of the magic," Marco insisted. "Just like that Disney World place."
Armin's torn eyebrows crinkled together in confusion. "What world?"
Marco turned to Armin with a giant smile on his face. "It's in this travel book I found. It's, like, one of the top things to see in this country."
He then slung his backpack onto the floor and dug through it like a dog digging through a garden. He pulled out a fat book with blackened edges and a tattered cover. Annie caught a picture of a green lady holding a torch and the words "Things to Do" but the rest of the paper-cover was torn off. Marco flipped to a page he had bookmarked and showed off a black and white photo of a giant castle with "Disney World" in funky font positioned above.
"According to this," Marco read from the page, "Disney World was a giant amusement park dedicated to a bunch of movies. Granted most of them were designed for children, Disney soon became a worldwide phenomenon, and the park is one of the most visited places not only in this country but in the entire world. It was apparently, and I quote, 'the happiest place on earth.'"
Annie listened to Marco explain the "Disney" concept. It was crowded with roller coasters, restaurants, giant spinning teacups, masked characters, ice cream stands, and a huge castle stood in the middle of it all. She didn't understand it, but Marco spoke of it like it was a literal heaven, descending angels and all. He sounded like how Armin talked about his own books.
"I wanna try all those mouse treats!" Sasha exclaimed with a big smile on her face.
"No, 'Mickey-Mouse' treats," Marco corrected. "You're making it sound like they're actual mouse treats."
"Whatever. I want to get a view from that castle." Connie put his fists on his hips and grinned at the bullet hole in the wall as if he were really peering out one of the castle's many windows. "Ya think there's some gold hidden in the basement or something?"
"What does gold matter now?" Jean asked. "Not like it's worth anything anymore."
"Why you gotta rain on my parade? Don't you wanna know what it's like to be happy again?"
"Shut up, Connie."
Marco turned back to Armin and Annie, his eye bright with possibilities. "It might be too much, but you guys are more than welcome to come along. I mean, yeah, the world sucks and we're bound to run into trouble on the way, but there's still stuff to see and do. So…" He shrugged one shoulder. "It's up to you. You guys just seem like good people."
Good people? There was no such thing in a world like this. They were all liars and thieves and murderers; what kind of people were they running into that made him come to that conclusion? Annie's eyes drifted to her toes and then up to Armin's face. She saw that sparkle in his ocean eyes, the wonder as bright as the summer sun. He was easily tempted, yet she wasn't sure what to think about such a drastic offer.
He then looked down at her and something in her stopped and pushed away the prickling fear of people for a moment or two. Everything that he needed to say was there in his eyes—desperation, hope, yearning, gratefulness. There's something more to life besides running, surviving. She could hear his voice in her head like a bell or a tuned violin, a note that made you pause in your tracks and lead an ear. There are sights and smells and sounds of precious gems that we haven't even heard of. There are goals and desires and destinations that we thought didn't exist anymore. There's so much and we've been looking the other way this entire time.
The world is cruel, but beautiful—every day is a lovely day.
At the slightest, Annie's lips tilted upwards and Armin knew he received his answer. He then faced Marco again and smiled as bright as the stars in the blackest night. "We'd be honored to join."