(October 6th, 2021, Wednesday Morning)
Flipping the page of his comic, Chuck read out loud, "'We just said that's the wrong name!'" He took a breath, changing the tone of his voice a bit. "'No, it's not! When I made him that shrine, Solaris was so happy! He'd wanted it for so long! It can't be wrong!'"
Eyes flitting to the next page, Chuck continued. "'Or he wouldn't have cried like that...'"
He sighed, closing his comic and setting it beside him. He didn't need to turn the page to know what came next. Muttering, he recited the words from the next few pages because he had them memorized. "'Geronimo! Wheeeeew... Welcome back, Solaris.'"
Hazel eyes shut as he leaned back on his mattress, staring up at the fluorescent lights that didn't work anymore. "This is so boring," he moaned to himself. He had read his tenth volume of 'Night Fang' twenty, no... twenty-one times before today.
'If only I had the other volumes. Maybe then I wouldn't be so bored.'
Shifting against his bed and covers, he tried to get comfortable for a nap. However, the sound of a female's voice captured his attention. "If it's so boring, why do you keep reading it?"
Jolting, Chuck looked over towards the door to see one of his oldest friends, Vivian Shaw. Her long hair was pulled back into a thick braid.
"It's still a good book," Chuck reasoned, sitting up on his mattress until his back pressed against the wall. "It was just better the first few times I read it. Now nothing's a surprise." Threading a hand through his curly locks, he felt a few tangles towards the ends. He needed to run a comb through it later.
"It's a comic."
"Anyways..." Not wanting to lose the comic vs. book debate... again, he changed the subject. "What's up?" Looking over to the door, he found it propped open. He swore he closed it earlier so Jolly couldn't escape. "Actually, when did you get here? I didn't hear the door open."
Walking over to him, Vivian bent over to pull at a wire hanging by his face, effectively plucking the earbud from his ear. "Maybe that's because you have these in your ear." She pressed it to her ear to see what he was listening to, frowning when she realized there was nothing coming from it. Pulling on the cord, she saw his cellphone fall from his pocket. Nothing happened when she pressed the home screen button.
"It died a little bit ago."
"You didn't charge it?" she asked, setting the device back on his mattress.
Chuck shrugged before yawning. "I did, but then Katy started crying this morning."
"Ah," Vivian nodded, already understanding what happened. "Game or movie?"
"Movie." Chuck pulled the other earbud from his ear before wrapping it around his phone. "I mean I know 'Big Hero 6' is good, but how many times can she rewatch it?" The same question could be applied to Chuck and reading his comics, but he didn't touch that topic again.
Vivian sat on the tile floor, looking towards the windows above the bookshelves. "Better than letting her watch your horror movies."
Chuck couldn't help but agree. He didn't want to give the girl nightmares, especially with the world as it was now. "True."
"Speaking of movies, I was wondering if you wanted to come over tonight. Daniel and I are having a movie night in our room."
Not having anything else going on tonight, Chuck nodded. "Sure. What movie are you thinkin' of?"
"We're not sure yet. We were going to go through the DVD wallet they found last week and see if there's anything interesting. Is it okay if we borrow your car inverter?"
"Sure. It's on my bookcase on the top shelf." Chuck nodded towards the three bookcases. One was his, the other his roommates, and the third was vacant now. He tried not to think about it too much seeing as it upset him every time he did.
He watched Vivian collect the item before he returned to her spot on the floor. The inverter would let her use a car's 12-volt socket to charge something. It wasn't strong enough to power up a toaster -Chuck had tried and failed, but it was perfect for charging a laptop.
Chuck tried relaxing on his mattress, but it wasn't as comfortable as the one he had back in his apartment. 'At least I'm not sleeping on the floor anymore,' he thought, relieved he had something to sleep on that didn't hurt his back.
Cocking his head in her direction, he saw she was still sitting there. To his knowledge, she was supposed to be at work. "So, was that it?"
"Actually, no." Vivian shook her head. "I almost forgot; they need you to go off base."
"What?" Springing up, he looked at her with wide eyes. "Why? It's my day off!"
Vivian sighed, frowning. He could see the confliction in her eyes, knowing she hated when any of her friends left the base. "I know, but Max hasn't come back yet. He was supposed to be back yesterday."
Chuck's lips parted, stunned silent for a moment. "He didn't come back?"
"You didn't notice?" She glanced over to the other mattress in the room. "He's your roommate."
"Doesn't mean I know where he's at all the time," Chuck said, his tone defensive. He wasn't Max's keeper. "Besides, I just got off watch this morning. I assumed he already went to work."
Chuck had overnight duty last night, which meant he watched over the base from five in the afternoon until five in the morning. It involved making rounds to keep the perimeter secure from possible threats. By the time he went to duty last night Max still wasn't back yet, but he assumed he was running late, nothing more.
"You didn't notice he didn't come through the gate?" Vivian asked, raising a brow.
"I assumed he came back while I was making one of my rounds." Chuck frowned, realizing he should have asked if anyone had seen Max come in. "Where'd he went?"
"Section six."
Chuck groaned, dragging a hand over his face. "That's like the worst one!" Standing up, he walked to his bookcase where his clothes and personal items sat.
"At least it doesn't have many undead," Vivian pointed out, only for Chuck to huff.
"It also has no supplies left either. It's a waste of time to go there."
Section six was picked clean by their group a month ago. There was nothing left but straggling undead who happened upon that area after they cleared it out. "Why was he even going there?"
"If I was told correctly, they wanted to give him an easy area just in case he couldn't handle being a clearer."
Chuck nodded, understanding that logic. Max was a janitor here, the job assigned to him because he said he didn't feel comfortable leaving the base. Lately he'd been talking about becoming a clearer for more action. Advising him against it proved ineffective since Max never listened to him anyway.
"I should have gone with him for his first time."
He started lifting his shirt. "Dumbass," he groused. Clearing wasn't so difficult when you had a partner who knew what they were doing. Chuck was good at it, but apparently Max couldn't wait the extra few days until he was ready. It was a simple job, but still dangerous.
A clearer left base for the better part of the day to kill zombies, making it easier for runners to go look for supplies. When all the undead were killed, the clearer would then move the corpses out of the way to make room for vehicles driving through. Sometimes they used the dead bodies to block areas where more undead might come from.
They had a few areas blocked off with bodies alone. It was gross and smelled horrible, but it was effective. Plus, it helped cover the survivor's scent from the undead.
"What are you doing?" Vivian asked when she saw him take off his jeans, leaving him in only a pair of black boxers and white socks.
Glancing back at her, he raised a brow. "I'm not goin' out there in my good clothes."
Vivian looked at the torn white shirt Chuck folded. His definition of 'good' had dropped since the outbreak. Everyone's had.
Her eyes raked over the tan skin stretched over his firm muscles. Chuck was one of the lucky ones not as affected physically by everything going on around them. While most people started to lose muscle mass, he gained it.
Not only did he work out in his spare time, but he also went on a lot of runs. While off base, survivors were allowed to eat whatever they found to stay alive, whereas those on base had to stick with their rations. It was one of the perks runners had since they risked their lives every time, they left the base to scavenge more supplies.
As Chuck put on his tennis shoes, Vivian remembered after the outbreak her college credits were worth nothing, but at least her wedding to her long-time friend, Daniel, would stay a fond memory in her mind, something to think of when times get tough. Which lately, seemed to happen more often than not.
While Chuck put on his black cargo shorts, she noted the cuts and scars on his torso and arms, some healed but others were recovering. A nasty one in the shape of an 'X' on his hip was stitched, but it looked mostly healed.
"Don't bust your stitches open," Vivian warned. "You know Annie will kill you if she has to sew you up again."
"Yeah, yeah," Chuck groaned before folding up his shirt. It was supposed to be white, but the lack of a proper washer machine left the thing a little dingy. The rips in the material didn't help either, but he refused to have the 'laundry detail' touch it. He could wash it and sew it on his own -whenever he got around to it.
Chuck grumbled to himself as he applied some deodorant. "And I just took a shower yesterday." Aggravated, he placed the cap back on the stick of deodorant a little too roughly. He knew he would sweat, making his weekly shower less effective.
"It's cold outside. You should wear pants," Vivian said, then laughed when she saw him narrow his eyes at her.
"You know I don't get cold." Despite his words, he grabbed the black material with zippers around the top. Sliding them over his legs, he attached them to his cargo shorts to make them pants. "You're like a damn mom."
"I can't help it," Vivian teased. "You and Tyler act just like children."
"Hey," Chuck sneered. "Don't compare me to that creepyzoid!" He took his frustration out on Tyler seeing as his absence made him an easy target.
"Sheesh! If he's your best friend and you talk about him like that, I'd hate to hear what you say about me."
Chuck mumbled under his breath exactly what Tyler and him said behind her back many times, but when she asked him to repeat himself, he shouted, "N-nothing!"
"That's what I thought." Vivian stood up, heading for the door. "Well, I have to get back to work. Let me know if you find Max. I'd hate to see another friend go."
"Don't worry about it." Chuck secured his headlamp on his head, then shoved his cargo pockets with a wireless doorbell and remote, his keys, a lighter, and his damaged pack of cigarettes.
"I wish you'd quit." She disapproved of his smoking, but there wasn't much she could do when he was twenty years old. It was legal for him -even if legal rules didn't seem to apply anymore.
"You and me both," Chuck said before walking over to a small animal sleeping in the corner of the room. "I'll be back soon, Jolly." Petting the beige feline, he smiled when the cat purred back at him. Looking at the empty food bowl, he frowned. "I'll find something you can eat today," he promised before standing back up.
Currently his cat, Jolly, was eating whatever scraps Chuck could find. They'd already gone through all the local houses and picked them clean of cat food, leaving no more suitable food for his feline friend. It didn't help that Chuck wasn't the only one on base with a cat.
Glancing at the opened window of the classroom, he decided to leave it open in case Jolly wanted to use the bathroom outside while he was gone. It allowed the cold air to drift into the room, but it was better than letting Jolly piss or shit inside.
Popping a pill, he swallowed some water from his water bottle. He had horrible motion sickness, the medication soothing his stomach. If only he had more, seeing as he had a few left now.
By the time Chuck was ready to leave his room, Vivian was already gone. Deciding he didn't want to bring his phone with him, he left it behind. Not only was it dead, it would be a distraction.
Distractions were the last thing he needed when off base.
After locking up the classroom, he turned on his headlamp so he could see where he was heading. The second floor was dim, the minimal light coming from the large window at the end of the hallway. He could use that light to guide his way, but his flashlight worked better.
Trying to leave the second floor without any attention proved impossible. Frowning, he heard a door open to reveal a raven-haired woman smiling at him from across the hall.
"Hi Chuck," she said, her voice almost like a purr.
Chuck tried his best to not look uncomfortable. "Hi Sherry."
She leaned against the door, jutting her chest out. "When are you going to pay me a little visit?"
Chuck merely chuckled at the implied offer. "No thanks." The world might have gone to shit, but that didn't mean he wanted to have some release on some random girl. "Sorry," he said, lacking an apologetic tone, "good luck!"
Before she had a chance to say anything, he started walking past her classroom and to the stairs leading to the first floor. Chuck sighed, glad he got through that one more time. She'd been propositioning him for a while now, but he said no every time. He didn't want to have sex just for the heck of it. A lot of the survivors' hook-up to keep distracted from the world they now lived in, but that wasn't for Chuck.
He hoped Sierra, Sherry's little cousin didn't do that when she got older. She was fourteen, but he didn't know how long social norms would last with the world falling apart around them. As long as her and Wendy stayed away from that stuff, he was happy. Those two were good girls, and he'd be damned if he saw them trying to pull the same stunt when they got older.
Walking down the hall of the first floor, he headed towards the arena. It was a new addition to Burbank High, built two years ago for the school's basketball team. After the outbreak it was converted for more suitable means. Since it had the only electricity -generated by the solar panels on the roof- it was the perfect place to boil water for drinking and showering.
The 'kitchen detail' used it to make breakfast and dinners, but the area was also used for people to hang out during their days off. Being a runner most days, the thing Chuck associated the arena with the most was the processing station.
Before making his way outside, Chuck headed into the male's bathroom to take a leak. Once he finished relieving himself, he zipped up, then grabbed the bucket of rain water. One splash was enough to rinse his piss down the drains to avoid stinking up the place.
Females had to use more water to cause the toilet to properly flush. This was their alternative since they didn't have running water anymore.
Finished, Chuck left the bathroom to head to the side doors. He clicked his headlamp off as he exited the school.
Yes, their base was a school, Burbank High to be exact.
It was an old building, used for over thirty years before the outbreak started. The main building didn't have power, but they made due with flashlights and lamps. Some people -like Chuck- used candles to keep their rooms bright at night when they needed to see, but he used his more for the smell.
Without running water, showers were scarce, meaning people smelled worse than before the outbreak.
It wasn't terrible. As long as everyone went to work when they were scheduled, they earned one ten-minute warm shower every week in the arena's locker rooms. It wasn't an actual shower. Camping showers did the trick well enough. Considering the alternative was living off base, it seemed like a fair trade.
Chuck walked the short distance from the school to the arena, gawking once again at the oversized building. It cost the school over ten million dollars to build it, but he felt they could have used that money to buy something more useful.
Like better school books or desks.
Chuck couldn't count how many times he opened a book to find dicks or foul language drawn all over the pages when he used to attend this school. Sure, he like some sports, but they already had a nice gym. The arena was a waste of money.
Walking up the concrete stairs, Chuck entered the arena. He wasn't surprised to see people coming and going, enjoying their free time in the arena. He couldn't blame them since it had large windows to provide light and a lot of room to run around. Not to mention the large bleachers on both sides, giving people a place to sit and talk indoors without using flashlights.
They didn't turn on the regular lights since it would take too much electricity. Solar panels could only store so much. The only lights turned on in the arena were in the processing station, the weapons room, and the kitchen where the stoves and microwaves were set up. Luckily, the large windows in the arena provided enough natural light during the day.
Chuck headed straight for the weapons room, which used to be where the school-themed merchandise was sold. A guard patrolled the area, eyes on Chuck as he went to the window in the wall. Ignoring the guard's gaze, he rang the little bell, waiting until a short guy with a long pointy nose came up to help him. "Yes?"
"Chuck Bartowski. I need my knives."
Nomer, a guy Chuck wished he didn't know, cocked his head. "Why'd you introduce yourself every time? I know who you are. We went to high school together for fuck's sake."
Barely holding back, a groan, Chuck lied. "Just tryin' to follow protocol." He didn't want him to think they were in any way friends. Nomer's crude sense of humor rubbed people the wrong way. Chuck told inappropriate jokes too, but his were a lot less offensive.
"Do you want both of them?" another guy asked, popping into the conversation.
Chuck nodded; thankful someone was doing their damn job. Nomer turned, shouting, "Grab him a backpack too in case he finds something while he's out."
"No need!" Chuck hollered, hoping the other guy heard him. "I'm taking my truck." He pulled out his keys to show him in case he wanted visual representation as well.
Normally Chuck didn't take his truck, but he wanted to get this over with as soon as possible. It was his only day off this week, and he felt tired from the lack of sleep last night. He wanted to find Max as soon as possible, bring him home, then pass out until dinner time. His truck would make things go by a lot faster, even if he was pressing his luck with gas. He had about a third of a tank left, so he hoped he found Max quickly.
"Are you going to look for Max?" Nomer asked, a slight smirk on his face. "I heard he didn't come back last night."
Eye twitching, he nodded. "Yeah." He hoped he could get his weapons soon, already getting a bad feeling crawling up his spine.
Nomer shouted over his shoulder, "Hey! Grab him a tarp too!"
Chuck frowned, regretting his next question before he asked. "Why would I need a tarp?"
"It's for Max's body when you find him."
The frown on Chuck's face deepened as his eyebrows darted in. "Shut the hell up!" He gritted his teeth, barely holding back the urge to punch Nomer in the face. "I'm finding him alive!"
"Sure," he snickered, making Chuck's stomach twist.
Before he could do anything, the other guy came back. He held out a belt with two knives attached, a tarp, and two cans of spray paint.
Accepting his belt, Chuck wrapped it around his hips and threaded it through two loops before securing it to his body. He took the two cans of spray paint, one black and one red, but hesitated when offered the tarp. As much as he wanted to find Max alive, he had to prepare for the possibility of not being so lucky.
He grabbed the tarp reluctantly, then scowled as he made his way out of the arena and towards the parking lot. A guard followed him until he made it to his truck, making sure Chuck didn't go anywhere he wasn't supposed to while carrying a weapon.
Weapons weren't allowed on base for safety reasons.
Unlocking his truck, his battery still working. Once a week he started it and drove around the parking lot. It was enough to keep the battery alive and the fuel from settling.
As Chuck started his truck, he looked up and over at the school. The school's flag waved from the flagpole. The symbol in the center was supposed to represent a bat coming out of cavern in a mountain, but Chuck thought it looked more like a poop emoji than a mountain.
Burbank High, home of the Hell Bats. The symbol was jokingly called batshit, but most people couldn't get to that part, laughing too much that their mascot was a bat that defecated. Their leader -the old principal- decided to name the base 'Batshit' in honor of the symbol.
The guard kept his hands on his rifle as Chuck drove to the gate. He didn't pay him any mind, knowing he wouldn't get in trouble as long as he followed the rules. Driving to the gate, he waited until the gate guard opened it for him. Right now, it was just a chain link fence, but they were working on reinforcing it with whatever they could find.
The gate hadn't seen any zombies in a few weeks, but that was due to the constant clearers they sent out every day to get rid of the approaching zombies. As long as everyone did their part, the base would stay safe.
Chuck drove down the spray-painted roads, heading towards section six. He decided to listen to music for the time being. If he kept it low enough for him to stay alert, not that it was really necessary.
The streets were dead, literally.
Cracking a window, Chuck lit a cigarette. Groaning, he saw he only had two left. He used to smoke half a pack a day, but now he was forced to use them sparingly. Trying to quit left him moody and restless, so he smoked when he could.
Inhaling deeply, he filled his lungs with smoke before blowing it towards the window. Lung cancer was the least of his worries now, not when there were other things trying to kill him. For his sake, he hoped the only undead he might face would be walkers. He didn't know if he had the energy to face a sprinter.
Or worse, multiple sprinters.
Shivering at the thought, Chuck turned down a street that went specifically to the center of section six. If he wanted to find Max, that was the best place to start looking. He drove for a couple of miles, seeing houses and littered streets. There were bodies lying on the ground, but most had their heads smashed in.
That was the best way to kill a zombie. The movies got it right, it was a headshot. Any severe damage to the brain or brain stem would permanently kill them. Chuck didn't have a gun, so he used his two-military issued Ka-Bars. He got them from a frat buddy as a present for his birthday.
The outbreak started a week after summer break, leaving a bitterness in Chuck's heart whenever he thought about how his life was supposed to go before the world ended.
Still, he made the most of it.
Chuck wanted a gun, but they wouldn't give him one. They asked him one simple question, and he answered wrong. Apparently saying 'no' to 'have you ever fired a gun before?' was the wrong thing to say. The leaders at the base wanted to keep the firearms in the hands of those who actually knew how to use them. Since ammo was precious, they didn't want to spend the time teaching someone how to shoot.
After a while, Chuck accepted the decision. He'd never fired one before, and he didn't want to waste ammo. For now, his knives were enough, especially since they had kept him alive so far.
Chuck's heart beat a little faster when he got his first clue to Max's whereabouts. In the middle of a street there was a backpack. Seeing two cans of spray paint next to the backpack, Chuck knew it belonged to someone from Batshit.
"Shit," Chuck cursed, parking the truck. He climbed out to inspect the bag. It had a flashlight and pack of matches inside, but no weapon. He sighed, hoping that was a good sign. If Max could defend himself, he should be fine.
Chuck tossed the backpack in the passenger seat, then glanced around. All the houses in the neighborhood had red X's on the doors. That was part of Batshit's system. A red X meant the house was tapped out of supplies, but a black circle meant zombies were trapped inside. If a door had both, it meant just how it sounded, no supplies, but zombies inside.
Chuck only saw red, so he felt relieved. Walking around, Chuck listened for anything that could be useful. He heard birds chirping and the wind brushing against the trees, but he didn't hear a person or zombie.
He looked around houses, checking inside a few. Luck didn't seem to be on his side. Tall grass brushed against his legs as he continued his search. After twenty minutes, he found something promising.
Near the edge of the neighborhood, the street turned into a dirt road. Section six was in the urban part of Burbank, meaning less people and less supplies. A few feet into the dirt road, Chuck noticed two things.
Drops of blood and footprints.
Multiple sets of footprints.
Chuck cringed when he realized Max might have found some undead after all. He raced back to his truck. Climbing inside, he started it up to head down the dirt road, taking note of the black line spray painted across the path.
A black line meant that was as far as the survivors went, anything beyond that was a mystery.
Gulping, Chuck hoped he wasn't being led into trouble. He had one goal in mind: Get Max. However, he didn't know how successful he would be after he started driving towards the unknown.