Reviews:
Guest- So am I! It's such a pleasure to read people's thoughts! And it's super helpful knowing what parts people are enjoying. Thank you so much for your lovely words, you're too awesome! :)
BabySlothXYaoi- Thank you, honestly it's a relief to use both of them! They truly do, it's really nice to write some calm and unimportant(ish) dialogue. I'm glad Tara is welcome! I love her and her sarcastic ass humour. I can't even tell you how many fist bumps are coming! Eugene can rock a mullet like no other, aha, and Rhys is definitely not keen on a hair cut. I'll tell ya, I didn't even plan for Glenn and Rhys to be walker slaying friends... it just happened, they did it without me! But yeah, I like the idea too!
The long since abandoned library gives off an absent chill as we step under its roof. Cobwebs spread from the water damaged ceiling tiles to the dust-covered bookcases, a musty smell lingering in the stagnant air.
After a thorough sweep, Abraham is handing out tasks to each of us in his usual, militaristic fashion. He puts Eugene and me onto starting a fire, something my frozen fingers are looking forward to. The winters here are weird. The days can go from giving you sunburn to frostbite in moments.
As I turn through isles of horror and sections of sci-fi, I begin to notice something strange about this place, something I've never seen before.
The library is untouched.
The layer of undisturbed dust on every surface gives the impression that nothing has been in here for a long time. The neatly arranged bookshelves and two packets of stale jerky sitting on a desk imply no one has been in here since the start.
I guess people don't check libraries for supplies.
I run my finger over the spines of books as I pass them, leaving a satisfying dust line along the row of reading material.
Treasure Island, and The Adventures of Tom Sawyer, sit side by side in the adventure-fiction section. Beside them is a grubby copy of Master and Commander. Accompanied by To Kill a Mockingbird, which sticks out slightly, its front cover is somewhat creased from being shoved where it doesn't belong.
I try to ignore it, but moments later find myself in the thriller section, To Kill a Mockingbird in hand, as I search for its proper home.
"I think that belongs in the coming of age section," Tara makes me jump as she rounds the corner, two tin cans of murky toilet tank water in hand.
"They haven't got one," I tell her, the thought already having crossed my mind. "I checked."
"Good job with those walkers earlier," Tara tries to continue the conversation as I slot the book I have in my hand onto some empty shelf space.
"Thanks..."
"So how comes you're so into books?" She asks, picking at a loose button on her sleeveless flannel.
"What makes you think I'm into books?"
"Dude, you're literally re-arranging the place," Tara chuckles.
I stop myself when I realise I'm moving books into alphabetical order on the mockingbird shelf.
"Someone I knew back at the prison was a big reader, kinda got me hooked."
"Is she-"
"Dead," I cut her off bluntly.
A look of guilt plasters her face as she pulls the loose button off her shirt.
"It wasn't you. There was a sickness before... She didn't make it."
Tara looks up at me, a mixture of relief and sympathy replacing her guilt.
"Come on," I tell her, prompting us to leave the isle of awkward conversations, "the romance section is this way."
"What do we need from there?" Tara wobbles in her confusion.
"Tinder for the fire."
To the tune of Abraham's humming, we get to work.
Eugene sets fire to a few pages of the crappiest novel I could find, using a battery and the power of his mullet that Tara is still positive exists.
Tara keeps the fire going with dismantled chair legs and subpar books, which Maggie hands to her when I deem them poor enough to burn. Meanwhile, Glenn and Abe wheel bookshelves about us to form walls around our indoors campsite.
With the fire lit and the toilet water boiling, I offer to go on watch, leaving the heat of the fire to watch walkers wander the streets through a dirty window at the front of the library. Finding myself amused by one of them trying desperately to reach for a plastic bag stuck on a utility pole.
"Mind if I join your dead man safari?" Abraham's voice brings me back to the library.
"Sure," I nod, wrapping my Poncho around me tightly.
Abraham thanks me, leaning against the cold glass, checking the stitches Rosita had put into his weeping hand.
We stay in silence for a long time until Abraham looks at me, a bushy, ginger eyebrow cocked, "I can tell somethin' is tugging at your ticker."
"My what?"
"You're head," he sighs, "or your heart. One of em' has something it needs to talk about."
I look at him confused, still not sure what he's saying.
He sees this, wiping his sweaty brow with a stitched hand, "Why'd you come on this mission?"
"Didn't really have a choice," I answer, watching as a walker makes its way towards us. Shambling down the abandoned street, not a care in the world.
"Bullcrap... Rosita gave you an out, but you came anyway," he began to tap on the glass lightly with the point of his knife, trying to catch the walker's attention.
There's another brief silence, in which I don't answer his question, not sure if I know how to.
Again, Abraham realises this, so he decides to answer the question himself.
"I know a man that's running from something when I see him," he points at me with his large knife, "You friend are running."
"Running from what?" I ask him, not sure what he's getting at.
He shrugs, turning back to the window and continuing his rhythmic tapping.
His casual dismission frustrates me. I feel like he was onto something, so I try to fuel the conversation.
"I killed someone."
Abraham turns back, interest returning to his droopy, light blue eyes.
"When we escaped Terminus, I killed someone, another prisoner. He came at me, and I stabbed him."
"So you're runnin' from ghosts?"
I shake my head no, "I once told Carl that no one is good and no one is bad. I said, 'we're all in between.' The trouble is, I don't think I believe that anymore."
Abraham doesn't say anything, and again this annoys me, so I continue, "When I killed that guy, it was so easy. Sasha couldn't put Bob down, and I didn't hesitate in offering to do it for her. Every walker I kill is easier than the last."
Abraham is watching me with his fixed gaze, causing my breath to hitch before I continue. "The guy I killed at Terminus, he's part of the reason that Gareth was... what he was. He told me, 'We're the same.' I'm worried he's right," I choke up on the last word, looking out onto the street to gather myself.
Abraham waits for me to look back.
I don't.
He opens his mouth. His heavy drawl is low and rough, "Gotten to the point where everyone alive is strong now... we have to be. You're either strong, and they can help you, so you help them. Or you're strong, and they can kill you, so you gotta kill them," he fiddles with a wedding band on his left hand.
I don't know how to respond, so I keep quiet. Neither of us are looking at each other now. Instead, we watch the walker that has heard Abraham's tapping as it roams towards us.
Abraham takes a deep and thoughtful breath, "Killing. I want to say it's never easy. That's not the truth. It's the easiest thing in the world now."
He looks back at me. I feel like a child small and ruled by his sad eyes.
"What does that make us?" I ask, my voice little more than a whisper.
"Who knows? All I can tell you is that running from the ones you hold nearest and dearest ain't gonna help. Truth is, they're the only ones that can."
"What are you running from?" I ask him, curious.
"Who says I'm running?"
I don't answer since I don't have one.
Abraham sighs an intense sigh, "I'm like you. I need the mission."
Then Glenn is here, telling me to get some sleep.
Sleeping is difficult thanks to the sound of Rosita and Abraham banging the night away. Eugene spends his time watching them from the self-help section.
But I do manage to sleep, dreaming of pirates and cannibals.
I awaken to the smell of jerky cooking over the bin fire.
Maggie sees my stirring from over the book she's reading, "Mornin' Rhys,"
"Morning," I yawn back.
"Saw you had a bit of a limp last night."
"Did I?" I try to sound casual.
She nods, not buying it.
"How's the leg doing?" She asks.
"Better."
"Mind if I take a look?"
I shake my head.
Maggie puts down the copy of National Velvet, handing me her half-eaten piece of jerky before rolling up the leg of my jeans. Luckily the jeans I got from the foodbank are baggy on me, only held up by my belt. Meaning I don't need to take them off for Maggie to reach the wound.
"Well, the good news is the stitches Bob gave you are holding," she tells me as I devour the jerky she passed me, "Bad news is you need some antibiotics for the swelling."
"The antibiotics that blew up in the bus?"
"The antibiotic on the bus," Maggie confirms, as she re-dresses the wound before unrolling my jean leg.
We hear arguing coming from the next room over, Rosita and Abraham's voices competing in volume.
We hear Abraham first.
"Every minute we waste getting him to Washington, people are dying."
Then Rosita.
"You think I don't understand that? After everything? You see, I want us to actually get there!"
"No, you want us to sit around! You want us to stop!"
The exchange is cut short when the rest of us enter the room. Abraham's sitting in an armchair annoyed, while Rosita scoffs, putting the last of the bandages she was using on Abraham's hand into her bag aggressively. Eugene is sitting in the far corner, reading a book by someone called 'H.G. Wells.'
Maggie reads the room like the books in it, "This town isn't in bad shape. This store wasn't even touched. We could make a good base here. We could spend one last day doing a sweep for supplies."
"We'll sweep as we go. We've done it since Houston. We're not stopping now," Rosita tells Maggie, her tune most definitely changed.
Abraham looks pleased, sitting back in the armchair, "You heard the lady. We're taking it north."
Maggie shakes her head in disagreement, "Rhys needs antibiotics. I'm sure that hand does too."
Abraham looks at his hand, clenching it tightly, clearly hating how it keeps getting used against him.
Tara, leaning against a book sale sign, backs up Maggie, "We tapped out the toilet. Broad River is five miles west."
She shakes her map in the air. Abraham's grumbles, getting louder.
"At the very least, we stock up there before we find wheels," Tara tries.
His fuse finally burning short, Abraham rises from his armchair, "We got a vehicle."
He steps to the window, pulling down a piece of cardboard to reveal a firetruck across the street.
"And it just so happens to have 500 gallons of water on it."
He turns back to the room, looking at Maggie, "Go find the medicine and whatever other goodies you need. But be back within the hour. Once that trucks kicking, we're hittin' the blacktop."
Maggie and I split from the group in search of medicine and 'goodies,' while the others go to work on the fire truck.
We clear the streets of a few walkers before finding a pharmacy.
As we approach it, I peek inside shop windows, most filled with the dead, others just empty.
A few doors down from the pharmacy, we pass a Goodwill store, something catching my eye.
I ignore it.
Instead, trying to focus on the task.
Unlike the library, the pharmacy has been picked clean. The only things left are empty shelves and a full cash register.
Useless.
The pharmacy's storage room is locked when I try the handle, giving us hope of something inside. While attempting to open the door with a hairpin, Maggie sneaks me a smile.
"Missin' everyone yet?"
"Yeah... Some more than others."
"Carl?"
"More. Definitely more."
She chuckles at this.
Maggie looks likes she about to ask something but catches herself. Swearing at the door instead. Then she turns back to me as I sit on the counter, counting the money in the register.
$436.50
"What were you gonna say to Eugene?"
"Huh?" I put the money back.
"Before the crash," Maggie elaborates, "he was talkin' about working for T. Brooks something or other, and you had a look on your face."
I'd completely forgotten about this. Maybe I wanted to. Maybe, I just hate remembering.
"Yeah... um, my Dad worked for him."
Maggie stops.
"You're Dad worked for the guy who Eugene worked for?"
"Yeah, T. Brooks Ellis. That's the reason I'm in the States."
Maggie looks beyond confused.
"My Dad was an IP Attorney," I explain, "he was working for some fancy real estate company, building this coastal neighbourhood in California... it was called, uh... the Abigail Home Experience, something like that."
"Sounds... interesting?" Maggie says, going back to the lock.
"Yeah, I found it boring too," I smirk, "Dad started working for Ellis just before the outbreak. Me and my friend flew out from England to stay with him in LA, two weeks before everything happened."
"You were in LA?"
I re-count the money as I talk.
"Yeah... my dad left to work with Ellis before the riots started. My friend and I were safe, we even had this guy looking after us- Jasper -he was dad's driver. He got a heads up on the bombings and got us out of the city. We lost him after a couple of days... after that, we just walked."
"His driver?" Maggie repeats my words, "You're family sounds real' fancy."
I just shrug at this.
"Maybe he'll be in DC?" Maggie says with a hopeful resonance.
"Maybe. Honestly, I don't know if I want him to be."
"Family is all we've got, Rhys."
Her words are full of positivity, but her face abundant with sadness. Her mind likely on the family she's lost since prison.
"I know," I reassure her, "I've got a family, though. Right here and back at the church. That's all I need."
"Good to see you got your positivity back," she tells me, pounding her fist on the door in frustration.
"I didn't," I reply, "Abraham just helped me put it in perspective last night."
"Abraham?" She asks sceptically.
"Yeah, I like him."
"So do I," Maggie agrees, "But he can be a bit... impatient."
"He just needs a mission to keep his mind off everything else... I think we have that in common."
Maggie smiles encouragingly at me, hitting the door again when the hairpin snaps.
I finishing counting the cash, "four hundred and thirty-six dollars and fifty-four cents." I hold the money from the register in one hand, and in the other, a small, silver key, "Also this."
A grin creeps across Maggie's lips as she takes the key I'd found beneath the register's tray, slotting it into the heavy storage room door and letting it swing open.
Maggie finds what we need and more, the storeroom being well stocked.
"We should head back," Maggie says, clearing the supply room of all its treasures.
"There's just one stop I wanna make first," I tell her with a smirk.
"Where?"
We return to the others, who now have a running fire truck, and are soaked in water from head to toe, the firetrucks water cannon is dripping. Dead walkers surrounding them, also drenched in water, only their wash seemed to have been fatal.
Tara spots our approach, "Nice satchel," she calls out to me. Everyone else now noticing our arrival.
"Thanks. There was a Goodwill down the street, found some good stuff," I tell her.
"Don't suppose you found any dry shirts?" Glenn asks his dark hair now a wet mop, drops of water dripping from it onto the road below, where it sizzles away beneath the sun.
"Better," I answer with a smile. Opening my new satchel and fishing through it, "found some goodies."
I throw everyone a sample of what I found.
"No way!"
"How did you even-"
"These are welcome, considering the circumstances."
"Dude, have I mentioned you seriously rock!"
Abraham is the last to receive my gift, catching the pair of fresh socks in his bandaged hand.
Staring at them, he starts to laugh, eventually turning into full-blown hysterics.
"Much obliged, young man."
A/N
There you go! Some of Rhys' background revealed for yall wanting it!
This one was probably the hardest to write so far... but, I'm happy with most of it, especially the Abraham dialogue. Who knew he'd make a good therapist?
I think Karen would approve of Rhys' sock hoarding.
Review and Feedback always welcome!
:)