Ben never did enjoy thunderstorms.
Claps of lightning illuminated the soaked streets and the walkers lurking through them. The young man could only guess that the undead were flocking all over the city, captivated by the deep rumbles of thunder. For Ben, however, the storm appeared to be doing more harm than good. Unlike the undead, Ben had limits when it came to bad weather, especially as the seasons grew colder. Rain soaked through his hoodie, and the fact that he had his hood up did little to keep his head dry.
The young survivor tried his best to control his shivers as he turned the corner into a nearby alley. He made sure no walkers were watching before kneeling down, his hands trembling as he opened up his backpack to reveal his latest findings.
Let's see…food, spare clothes, bullets. None of this is going to last long between me and Kenny. We should've gotten out of here once I got better.
Ben had no idea how much time had passed since he and Kenny had gotten separated from the others, but the boy did know it was long enough for things to go from bad to worse. The survivors had found little food in the house they held up in, and with each passing day, the supplies grew thinner and thinner. Ben took a deep breath to calm his nerves. This is the first supply run I've been on alone since…everything. I can't fuck it up. I can't. The last time Ben had gone searching for supplies by himself was back at the motor inn. Ben had wanted a chance to prove himself to the group back then, back before…
No. No, not those thoughts. Not now. To say that Ben had a long way to go in accepting everything that had happened was an understatement. The teen had lost count of the nightmares that had woken him up, and Kenny's comforting words could only do so much. For now, however, Ben figured the best thing he could do was focus on making it through one day at a time.
A rasping growl reached Ben's ears through the deafening roar of the thunderstorm. He quickly stuffed his findings back into his bag, head whipping in the direction of the noise. Just great. A welcoming party.
The trio of walkers staggered in the boy's direction, their jaws unhinged in anticipation of fresh meat. Ben reached over his back, hands wrapping around the leather handle of his machete. Kenny had found the machete buried in the head of an unlucky walker while on a previous scavenging run. Ben could still recall the way his heart quickened as Kenny gave the weapon to the boy. "You need to be able to hold your own out there, kid," Kenny had said to him. "I ain't gonna be able to lend ya a hand forever."
The familiar words made their way to the forefront of Ben's mind as he pulled the weapon out of its sheath. The teen stood his ground, willing his limbs to stop trembling as the walkers shuffled closer. Just breathe. You can do this. Just stay calm.
Ben gripped his machete tightly as the first walker approached, arms reaching out to grab the boy. Ben swung the weapon overhead, and a sickening crack resonated through the alleyway as the blade cleaved into the monster's skull. Ben's eyes flew to the fallen walker's comrades, and he quickly removed the blade to face the threat.
The teen barely had time to react as another walker lashed out, jaws gnashing together in an attempt to take a bite out of the survivor. Ben found himself pinned against the wall, the monster's gnarly limbs grasping onto his blade arm. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed the third walker shamble closer, eager to rip Ben's flesh out with its teeth.
Ben felt his breath hitch in his throat as he struggled to deal with his adversary. A fear of walkers wasn't something he was afraid to admit, especially with his near-death encounters with the undead recently. Kenny's face briefly flashed in his mind, and he gritted his teeth, pushing back against his opponent with renewed force. I'm not dying. I have to make it back. I have to!
The teen reacted swiftly, lashing out a foot in the third walker's direction. The blow caused the monster's weakened knees to buckle and send it crumpling to the soaked ground. Ben took the brief chance and swung his machete, the blade catching in between the teeth of the walker grabbing him. With a strong push, the teen pinned his adversary against the opposite wall. Ben kept up the pressure on the blade, and the walker's rotting skin soon gave way against the sharp metal. The machete effortlessly cleaved through the monster's jaw, separating the jaw from the skull and putting the partially headless corpse to rest permanently.
The final walker let out pitiful groans as it crawled towards the boy, its legs too damaged to help it stand upright. Ben gulped down air as he approached the monster, lifting up his boot to bring down on the walker's skull. Blood, bone and brain matter sprayed onto the teen's foot, signaling the end of the fight. He quickly checked himself over for bites, and let out a relieved sigh once he found none.
As Ben looked down at the aftermath of the skirmish, he mustered up the willpower to swallow the bile building in his throat. Blood was one of those things Ben had always been uncomfortable with. The teen's mind briefly recalled the time his biology teacher had given him and Travis the daunting task of dissecting the corpse of a cat. Ben shuddered as he remembered peeling apart the animal's innards, the smell of rot causing him and every other student in the classroom to gag. But the carnage he'd endured in the past few months—watching his classmates get taken and tortured by bandits, hearing Travis' screams as the walkers devoured him, Ben's own near-death experience in that alleyway—all of it made the cat dissection seem like a laughable attempt at a horror movie.
I can't let fear get the best of me. I'm not safe yet. With the thoughts flowing through his head, Ben snatched up his supplies, took a breath to steady his pounding heart, and continued the long trek back to Kenny's safe house.
Ben could tell something was off the moment he stepped inside the house. Usually Kenny would be laying on the living room couch or doing a patrol of the backyard. This time, however, the sight of the empty couch caused Ben to scratch his head in confusion. He said he'd be waiting for me when I got back. Where is he?
"Kenny?" the boy called out, hoping his loud voice wouldn't attract any unwanted attention. "I'm back."
The teen made his way over to the kitchen counter, where Kenny's own backpack lay. Ben raised a curious eyebrow at the rifle leaning on the counter. Wait…Kenny takes that rifle with him on patrol. He wouldn't just forget it, would he?
The sudden crash caused Ben to reach for his weapon on instinct. He turned his gaze towards the staircase leading to the basement. "Kenny?" he called out.
The only thing that answered Ben was silence.
The teen quickly made his way downstairs, the wood groaning underneath his weight. He turned the corner, expecting to find his only companion sprawled on the floor, injured.
Ben let out a breath he didn't know he was holding. Oh thank God he's not hurt. Kenny instead sat sprawled on the couch, a bottle clutched close to his chest. The older man took a swig from the bottle, the whisky running down his chin and spilling onto his shirt.
He's probably drunk out of his mind. Not good. Ben had seen Kenny like this before, and Lee had been the one to step in and pull Kenny together last time. This time, however, Lee was nowhere to be found. Well, guess snapping him out of it falls on me, then.
"Kenny?" Ben cautiously started, eyes glancing toward the bottle. "Are you okay?"
The older man let out a hiccup as he turned towards the boy. "Well, lookie here," he drawled out, the slurring voice confirming Ben's suspicions. "Good to see ya made it back. That storm's a rough one, ain't she?" He let out a chuckle, taking another long drink from the bottle.
Ben took a deep breath to mentally prepare himself. If Kenny didn't want to listen to Lee last time, he's likely not gonna listen to me either. "How much of that have you had?" the teen spoke up, inwardly wishing his voice could carry the same stoicism and confidence Lee's voice did.
"Oh…not much…" Kenny slurred. "Just…just needed a little somethin' to take the edge off while you were gone."
"Uh huh," Ben deadpanned, raising an eyebrow. "C'mon. I think that's enough for now." He saw the chance and took it, reaching for the bottle as he approached Kenny.
The older survivor shook his head violently, clutching the bottle close to his chest. "Leave me alone, will ya?"
"Kenny, seriously. You've had too much—"
"I said leave me alone!" Kenny raised his voice, eyes glaring daggers at the young man.
As Ben analyzed the situation before him, he tried his best to swallow the lump in his throat. The last time Kenny had raised his voice so loud had been back at Crawford, back when Kenny had wanted nothing more than to tear Ben limb from limb. This is different. He had every right to be mad then.
"C'mon, Ben," Kenny drawled, taking another swig from the bottle. "I've lost so much already. Please just let me have this…"
"I don't think you realize this, man, but getting drunk isn't gonna help us get out of here," Ben defended, shrugging his bag off his shoulders. He tossed it down in front of Kenny, allowing the contents to spill out. "This was all I could find all day, Kenny! We've got to do something!"
"And what do you propose we do, huh?!" Kenny shouted back, leaning forward in his seat. "We got no way out of Savannah. That boat was our only chance, and it's fuckin' gone! Lee and Clementine and the others are God-knows-where, and we barricaded ourselves in here after ya nearly died! We! Are! Fucked!"
"You know what?" Ben shot back, hands balling into fists no matter how hard he tried to control his anger. "You're right. We are fucked if we stay here. Those walkers can handle the elements. We can't! That rain is gonna turn to snow sooner or later, and we don't have enough food here to last all winter!"
Kenny took another swig of whisky. "Better in here than out there with the walkers."
Ben approached the drunk man again. "C'mon, man. Please just give me the bottle."
The boy was barely able to move out of the way as Kenny lashed out with his foot. "No!"
Ben took a deep breath and tried again, leaning over the top of his fellow survivor while reaching for the whisky. "Kenny, I said give it here!"
"And I said leave me alone!"
Ben was too close to his friend to avoid the second kick from Kenny's boot. The blow connected with his bad side. Ben gasped, collapsing to the floor as spasms of pain lanced up and down the site of the injury. He let out a wince, rubbing the tender area in a vain attempt to soothe the lingering ache.
The teen glanced up at Kenny, expecting to find the man's eyes filled with the same fire he'd shown at Crawford. What he found was much different. Kenny's face gradually softened as what little reason he had put out the rageful fire, allowing him to bear witness to what he had just caused.
"Oh God, Ben…I…" Kenny stammered out, mouth agape as he stared at the teenager crumpled on the carpet. "I'm so sorry."
The temptation to ignore the hasty apology whispered in Ben's ear, but he shoved the thoughts aside. Take a deep breath. It's not Kenny. It's the alcohol. This isn't who Kenny really is. "Kenny, c'mon," Ben tried again, climbing to his feet. "What's bothering you that you feel you need to turn to…that?" The teen gestured to the bottle.
Kenny's breaths came out in shudders. He shrugged his shoulders, allowing his head to fall into his hands. "I'm sorry…it's just…" he sputtered, taking a moment to set the bottle in his lap before continuing. "There's not much we can do. We've lost…so much. Lee, Clementine, my family, Omid and Christa, that stupid boat! All we got is this fuckin' house, and those fuckin' walkers!"
Ben cautiously moved to sit down next to his friend. "Kenny, I…" he started, his jaw momentarily hanging as he thought of what to say next. "I would give anything to see Lee and Clem again. And I can imagine what it's like to lose…pretty much everything."
The boy's thoughts drifted to his own family. If he closed his eyes, he could almost imagine himself back home with his parents and little sister, the last time he saw them. He could smell the chocolate chip pancakes his mother had made that morning, hear Julie's laughter as Ben found time to push her on the swing before leaving for school. He could feel his father's hand on his shoulder, wishing him and the rest of the marching band good luck when they performed at the football playoffs.
"But that's why you and I need to get out of this city while we still can," Ben continued, reluctantly shoving the memories back into his mind. "We can't help ourselves if we stay here."
Kenny scoffed in response. "What about out there, kid?" he asked, hints of worry hidden in his drunk tone. "Those things are just gonna be waitin' to gobble us up for dinner."
"Well yeah, there's gonna be walkers out there," Ben agreed, silently willing himself to swallow his own fear of the undead. "But you're always the one telling me to outlive my demons. To never give up. Well, I don't want you to give up, either. If you did, then…well, I don't know where I would be."
Kenny reached for the bottle again. For perhaps the first time in his life, Ben knew how to respond. He carefully grabbed ahold of Kenny's arm, preventing the older man from bringing the whisky to his lips.
"Please, Kenny," Ben softly said. "You're better than this."
Kenny swallowed the lump in his throat. Even under the dim light the candles provided, Ben could make out the tears trailing down his friend's face.
"Could you…God, I don't know how to ask, but…" Kenny stuttered. He lifted his head to look Ben in the eyes, and held up the bottle of whisky. "Do you want a drink, at least?"
Ben raised an eyebrow as he thought it over. Kenny's drunk enough as is. I don't know if I should. On the other hand, maybe doing so might help me get that bottle out of his hands.
The teenager shrugged his shoulders. "Sure, I guess," he hesitantly said, taking the bottle from Kenny's shaking hands. "It's just that my parents always made it a point to keep beer and stuff like that locked up."
"Well, your parents ain't around to lock this up, are they?" Kenny reassured, leaning back on the couch. "The police died with the rest of this city, kid. Believe me."
The moment the whisky reached Ben's lips, the boy's eyes nearly bulged out of his head. The bitter taste made him all too eager to spit out the alcohol, droplets flying everywhere as he struggled to get the taste out of his mouth. Kenny burst out laughing at the sight, and Ben turned to cast a snide glare toward the older survivor.
"How in the hell are you able to drink this?" the teen rasped out, wincing at the bitterness still lingering on his tongue.
"If it helps, that ain't the shit I normally drink," Kenny spoke, pausing to catch his breath before another laugh escaped his lips.
Ben took the humiliation as his cue to screw the lid on the bottle. He stood up, placing the whisky in his bag along with his other findings. I'm not sure if I can trust Kenny around this stuff.
"We should wait until the storm passes," Kenny spoke up. "I think we both need time to rest, anyway."
Ben nodded his head in agreement, slinging his bag over his shoulders. "Go on and get some rest, then. I'll keep watch."
"You sure? No offence, but you're not the best combatant here."
"And you're not the most sober person here," Ben quipped back. "I'll be fine. This is me making up for what you did for me a few nights ago."
Kenny took that as his cue to lie down on the couch, one arm hanging off the side. Ben let his demeanor drop for a brief moment as the memories came back to haunt him. As he trotted up the stairs in search of Kenny's rifle, Ben tried his best to clear the dark thoughts from his head. No matter how hard he tried, however, he still couldn't shake the lingering pangs of guilt. It's obvious why he's turning to drinking. I got lucky that time. Who knows how he might react next time he sees me while he's drunk? The boy cast a worried glance towards the basement. I never got to properly apologize to him. He deserves that more than anything.
Ben reluctantly shook the thoughts from his head for the time being, instead heading into the kitchen. He grabbed the rifle and slung it over his shoulders, reaching down to dig around in Kenny's bag for any spare ammunition. Here's hoping he doesn't mind me borrowing his stuff.
The young survivor took a deep breath to calm his frantic nerves, before opening the door to the backyard. Ben knew he had work to do before the day was done, work that would determine whether or not he and Kenny got out of Savannah in one piece.
Don't worry, Kenny. I'll get us out of here…even if it kills me.