TRIGGER WARNING: This chapter contains mentions and descriptions of suicide. If this is in any way distressing or triggering to you, please do not read on. Remember this is a work of fiction and suicide is never the answer. Reach out if you're struggling, you're worth it.
By the time Ben and Jerome found a pharmacy, they had listened to both sides of the cassette and, at Jerome's insistence, played a downright rousing game where one of them named an actor and the other guessed what movie they were from. They had refrained from any more talk of survival, and Ben tried to keep the mood up, slapping on a smile even though his heart wasn't in it.
He pulled the rambling old truck into a free space and cut the engine, quickly scanning their surroundings. Forgotten papers and garbage littered the street. Several bodies were slumped against the pharmacy's brick exterior, but they were the only corpses in sight, dead or otherwise. Ben was sure he'd never get used to a city that was once so alive looking so totally abandoned, left to rot like the undead that had taken it over.
When he exited the truck he found the temperature considerably warmer than when they left camp. That was early Alaskan autumn; winter one minute and summer the next. A soft breeze ruffled his hair, but it was hardly a second before the foul stench of decay seized his nose. He glared disdainfully at the corpses against the building, festering in the sun for God knows how long.
"Which way do you want to go?" Jerome pulled his backpack on and came around the truck to join Ben at the tailgate. He was grimacing but didn't mention the smell, nor did he even glance towards the bodies.
Ben led the way across the parking lot and turned around the corner of the pharmacy, where a large drive-through window glared against golden sunlight. "Saw it on the way in," he explained, leaning down to pick up a loose chunk of concrete. "Step back."
"Wait, maybe we shouldn't - " Jerome's protest was interrupted by the window exploding inward. He scoffed and blinked at Ben, exasperated. "Are you sure you should have done that?"
"Ah, get off it," Ben grumbled. He used the thick sleeve of his jacket to sweep any remaining shards of glass out the frame then squinted to see inside. "If things magically go back to normal tomorrow, a broken window is going to be the least of anyone's problems."
"I meant because of the noise." Jerome pointed down the street, where a few walkers were shambling out from an alley.
"Screw 'em. By the time they get anywhere near here we'll be halfway back to camp." Ben climbed inside through the window, boots crunching against the glass.
The pharmacy was disappointingly small. Plenty of prescriptions had gone without pickup but there were only a few shelves. At the front of the room sat a desk, presumably where pickups happened from inside the store. Just beyond that, a floor to ceiling security gate was pulled shut. The rest of the store was too dark for Ben to make out anything besides dim outlines of shelves and discarded items on the floor.
Jerome laboriously pulled himself inside, struggling and cursing as his backpack got snagged on the window frame. He huffed once his feet were finally on the floor and started for the left side of the room while Ben went for the right.
"Thorazine, Thorazine..." Jerome sang softly, his French accent mangling the words into something barely recognizable.
Ben snorted and cut him an amused look over his shoulder. "Take everything." He removed his bag from his shoulder and tossed in anything that looked remotely useful. Now that they had a nurse around, Rachel would probably know what these fancy words meant and what they could be used for.
Jerome held a prescription bottle into a strip of sunlight and squinted to read, the crow's feet at the corners of his eyes deepening. "What if someone else's wife needs sulfur-meth..a-zeen?" He asked, oblivious to how heavily he had butchered the pronunciation.
"Every husband for himself," Ben replied. None of the sparse boxes in reach were Thorazine, but he took them anyway, clearing the wall far sooner than he had hoped. He moved to the next set of shelves in the center of the room.
Both men continued until the room was almost picked clean, but neither had any Thorazine. At the end of his last unsearched shelf, Ben angrily tossed a prescription laxative into the black void beyond the security gate. "This is stupid, isn't it?" He asked, mostly to himself.
"Come on," Jerome chided. He joined Ben at the service desk and set his backpack down to rearrange the items within. "This is only the first place we've tried."
Of course Ben never thought it would be easy. But reality was rearing its ugly head and snapping him out of the cocky trance he'd been in, blinded by the instinct to help his wife. "Even if we do find some Thorazine, what happens when that runs out?" He questioned. "Nobody is coming to refill her prescription. Once what's in Fairbanks is gone, it's gone. Then what am I supposed to do?"
Distinct rasping, gurgling moans answered from somewhere beyond the window.
Ben's breath caught in his throat. He and Jerome simultaneously drew their guns and started forward, stepping carefully around the glass and discarded packages. Ben motioned for Jerome to hang back and edged his way along the wall, trying to stay in the shadows.
Over a dozen walkers were ambling towards the window as fast as their decaying legs would allow. Their ravenous groans intensified at the sight of Ben, who hadn't hid as well as he had thought.
"Shit, shit…" Ben's heart thumped painfully in his chest. Three walkers reached the window at the same time. One of them seemed particularly motivated. Her stringy hair bounced wildly as she pushed through the other two, a guttural snarl tearing out from between her gnashing teeth.
Jerome had pressed himself up against the opposite wall, arms hanging by his sides, one hand clinging limply to the revolver. He stared, unflinching, as Ben shot two of their attackers, only for three to immediately take their place.
"Hey!" Ben hollered, struggling to hear himself think over the ringing in his ears. It took a few moments before Jerome's widened gaze met his. "Get that security gate open, I'll hold them off." Jerome dashed across the room and began pulling at the bars, leaving his gun behind on the desk.
Ben centered the walkers's heads within his sights and pulled the trigger again and again. No matter how many slumped to the ground, every one he took down was immediately replaced with another and soon, it became too much.
The gun slipped from his hand and clattered to the blood-slick floor. He ran to the shelf in the middle of the room, nearly slipping in the gunk splattered four feet in every direction. Once he had pushed the shelf in place before the window, Ben fell against it and used all his weight to keep it in place. His fingernails dug into the wood at either end, hanging on for dear life as the walkers beat and pushed against him.
This was the closest he'd ever been to the undead, and everything about it caused a fear in him unlike anything he had ever felt before. Skeletal arms with graying flesh reached through the shelves, just inches from his vulnerable back. Hot, reeking breath accompanied excited moans as a select few almost fit their heads through.
Now that he was facing the pharmacy rather than the window, Ben's heart sank as he saw Jerome hadn't made any progress with the gate. He was still running from one end to the other, yanking desperately on the bars.
"Jerome, come on!" Ben shouted, not caring his voice was many octaves higher than usual. Edges of the shelves pressed harshly against his shoulders. The whole unit lurched forward with him still attached more than once, and he had to slam himself backwards to keep the walkers at bay. With each passing moment, Ben felt more and more certain that it was just a matter of time before they plowed inside.
Jerome's trembling fingers knotted into his dark hair. "I think it was electric and locked inside the wall," he said, pausing to take a few deep, hitching breaths. "It's not going to open."
"What do you mean it's not going to open?" The world around Ben seemed to crumble. This just couldn't be happening, it couldn't. They couldn't die. It couldn't end like this. For a moment his strength seemed to completely fall away, and Ben was again shoved forward along with the shelf, but he quickly reared back into place. Over the increasingly loud chorus of moans, he shouted, "It fucking has to open, Jerome!"
"We're either leaving the way we came in, or we're not leaving." Jerome paced back and forth before the gate, hands still on his head.
"Figure something out," Ben snarled, a sudden burst of rage making his ears go hot. "I can't stay here forever."
No sooner than the words were out of his mouth, a pale hand slipped between the shelves and clamped around his shoulder. Ben gasped and tried to jerk himself out of its grip, but it had pinned him against the shelf. Overgrown fingernails pressed into his shoulder. Every muscle in Ben's body went rigid, his breaths quickening into ragged, wheezy puffs.
"Get it off!" He shrieked, imagining those yellowed teeth closing in towards his neck. "Get it off!"
Jerome was across the room in three bounds, knife in hand. He raised the long blade high and jammed it somewhere inches from Ben's head. Something slick and tepid splattered against the side of his face.
"Thanks," Ben croaked, his throat scratchy and dry. "Think you can do that twenty or thirty more times?"
"I guess we're gonna find out." Jerome's troubled brown eyes fluttered closed for only a moment as he took a deep breath, then got to work knifing skulls as they appeared through the shelves. Ben tried hard not to flinch as Jerome stabbed over and over again, never more than a few inches from him.
Each stab was punctuated by a squelch and a soft thud shortly after as the corpses slid to the ground outside. The stench of death and blood was growing stronger every minute. There never seemed to be more than a few seconds between them; as soon as one dropped, another took its place. It wasn't long before Jerome's stabs became sluggish, weakened by fatigue.
"How's your aim?" Ben asked. "Are you any good with that revolver?"
Jerome glanced towards the gun, still laying on the service desk, like he'd forgotten it was there. "Not really," he replied, wincing and grunting as he swung his knife forward and dropped another walker. "I shot a gun for the first time since I was fourteen yesterday."
"This isn't going fast enough. I don't think you'll draw anymore in if you start shooting. Just try to miss me, will you?" Ben cut him a look and edged towards the left, keeping his arms as low as he could to stay out of the walker's reach.
Jerome exchanged his knife for the revolver. He stepped closer to the shelf, aimed, and fired less than a foot from Ben's head. They both jumped, and Ben bit back a yell. His ears rang as if someone was blowing a whistle, and the side of his head was drenched, wetness heavy against his cheek.
Jerome tensed more and more with each shot. His face was stone, showing no emotion, but Ben could see the turmoil warring in his eyes. Just as he seemed to fall into a rhythm, and they'd stopped flinching when he fired, the bullets ran out. Jerome pulled the trigger twice, getting nothing but soft clicks in response.
He cursed and sprinted to the desk where he'd left his backpack, tearing it open. Two boxes of ammo seemed like more than enough that morning, but with what faced them Ben began to wonder how long it would last.
As soon as Jerome had removed the tray from the box, it slipped out of his hands. Fifty bullets scattered across the desk and the floor, some rolling as far as the blood and glass spill at Ben's feet. Jerome's head whipped helplessly from the empty box in his hand and the bullets strewn throughout the room. "Ah, fuck" he cursed, pausing for a few moments before he crouched down and started picking up the bullets.
"Just open the other box!"
Jerome nodded and moved back to his bag. He opened the second box of ammo, loaded his weapon, then snapped the chamber shut and started towards the window. He stopped short after only a couple steps, attention fixed on something behind Ben.
"What is it?" Ben asked, trying and failing to look over his shoulder.
"It's a kid." Jerome gulped.
"Well, it's not your kid."
Jerome gave him a long, dirty look and resumed his shooting stance. Once again, Ben cringed at the first few shots, heat whizzing past his ear with each one. Jerome quickly ran out of bullets again; he reached into his pocket, pulled out a handful, refilled the chamber, and continued.
Soon, Ben stopped hearing the thump of bodies sliding back out the window. The mounting heap of corpses outside must have finally gotten too high.
Jerome practically turned green at the realization that they had to be pulled back inside, and Ben assisted as much as he could, though that wasn't much with both hands still clinging to their barrier.
Daylight started to peek through the thinning sea of walkers, and by that time Ben and Jerome were ankle-deep in corpses.
Even after it seemed Jerome had taken down the last one, neither he nor Ben moved. Ben strained his ears to listen for any signs of undead beyond the window. He nearly melted in relief when he didn't hear a single thing.
"I think that's it," Ben said. He stepped forward and allowed the shelf to slam onto the body-lined linoleum floor.
Jerome wiped his hands down the front of his coat and deflated at the bloody streaks they left. "Let's get the hell out of here."
Clarence abruptly threw the UTV into a sharp turn.
Rachel shrieked and clung to the seat for dear life. Tree limbs cracked against the vehicle's frame as they hurtled down the path beside the creek. In the bed of the UTV, Dean reached forward and gripped the seats, eyes wide as saucers behind his thick glasses. Rachel tried to tell Clarence to slow down, but the chilly air seemed to lock up her lungs.
"Kate!" Clarence bellowed, peering through the trees on either side of the path.
The three of them must have already called her name a dozen times. Rachel couldn't help but fear the worst. Guilt was already swelled in her gut, giving her the feeling she'd swallowed a balloon.
She should've just listened to Marvin. She should've just stayed with Kate. Instead, Marvin found the trailer empty when he returned from hunting, and by that time Rachel hadn't seen Kate for over an hour. Nobody had even seen her leave. Somehow, to everybody's confusion, she'd slipped past Samantha on guard duty and everyone else filtering in and out of camp.
Two bulldozers, a backhoe, and other heavy machinery obstructed the path ahead. Clarence slammed on the breaks. The backend of the UTV skidded through the slick mud and gravel. Rachel knew this was as far as Red Fox 'territory' stretched, and it wasn't likely Kate had gone beyond this point anyhow, unless she'd traveled at a full speed run the entire time.
"She has to be closer to camp," Rachel said, taking deep gulps of air as she caught her breath. "We must have passed her."
"We've gone up and down this creek twice." Clarence ran a hand over his overgrown buzz cut, displacing the various leaves and twigs that clung to his coarse, graying hair. "I don't get it, where the hell is she? She wasn't in the scrapyard, she's not along the creek…"
Dean suggested, "Maybe Marvin found her on the other side."
"He would have radioed by now." Clarence's patted walkie-talkie clipped to his belt thoughtfully. "What is wrong with y'all?" he questioned, his burning gaze flashing to Rachel "Did you think we were gonna execute her on sight if we found out she was schizophrenic?"
Rachel winced shamefully. She had really screwed things up. Ben and Kate didn't want anyone else to know about her condition, but Marvin had been forced to tell the others. In an hour she'd managed to lose a mentally ill woman who happened to be her friend, and indirectly be the reason her biggest secret got out.
Realizing she wasn't going to respond, Clarence sighed. "Maybe we should check the scrapyard again. That's where she went last time and we don't even know when or how she left camp, so we might've gotten there before her."
"That's not a bad idea," Dean said. "I don't have any better ones."
"Then hang on." Clarence drove just far enough forward so he'd have enough room to pull a u-turn. Slower than before, they traveled back the way they came, then drove down an unmarked path.
Instead of dirt like the other path, this one was mostly undergrowth, flattened by tire tracks. Clarence slowed to a stop. The chain-link fence surrounding the scrapyard bowed under the weight of low tree branches and tall, climbing weeds. It was most likely silver at one time, but many years of exposure had left the fence a rusty brown color.
Rachel climbed from the UTV and followed Clarence through the creaky gate.
"Kate," Clarence called, then listened for any movement. When only the chirping of birds could be heard, he heaved a heavy sigh and turned to leave.
"Wait a minute…" Dean climbed out of the UTV and stopped at the gate, eyes narrowed and focused on something beyond Clarence. He pointed towards a long pile of junk near the very back of the scrapyard. A pair of feet were sticking out from behind a tall pile of spare car parts.
Rachel inhaled sharply and clapped her hands over her mouth. Those were definitely Kate's white tennis shoes.
Clarence said, "You two stay here," and charged forward.
If Kate was hurt, Rachel wanted to be there. She hurried behind Clarence and tried to get around him when he abruptly stopped and threw his arm out. "Let me see," Rachel snapped, frantically bobbing up and down to try and get under his arm. She finally pushed past him and instantly froze.
Kate lay unmoving in the dirt. Blood ran in trails down both of her arms and had begun to pool on the ground. A kitchen knife laid beside her limp hand.
Shock and despair almost brought Rachel to her knees. Of all the ways she expected to find Kate, this scenario never even entered her mind. Why would she do this to her husband, her father-in-law, and her friends? Why would she do it to herself?
"Oh my God," Rachel croaked. Her face crumpled and she folded her arms over her middle as she began to sob. There was nothing to be done. She'd seen enough people like Kate dragged into the emergency room by their distraught family members to know it was far too late to save her.
"You don't need to look anymore," Clarence said firmly. He took Rachel by the shoulders and steered her away, then unclipped the walkie-talkie from his belt. "I'm going to tell Marvin we found her and to come back to camp, and that's all I'm going to say. He needs to hear about this face to face."
"Shouldn't we cover her up or something?" Dean asked, frowning sadly.
"This is a family matter. We'll let Marvin decide what to do until Ben gets back."
Tears blurred Rachel's vision and she almost tripped more than once on her way out of the scrapyard. Her chest was tighter than ever and with every breath, she felt it would be her last, but another was always ripped from her lungs by a sob.
Nothing felt real, like she was living a nightmare. Rachel gasped and hung her head, silently pleading whatever higher power was listening to turn the clock back once she opened her eyes.
Of course, her prayers were not answered, and Rachel only wept harder as the weight of the situation settled over her. Once Clarence and Dean joined her in the UTV, Clarence drove much slower than before. The sense of urgency was gone, replaced by a nearly palpable cloud of misery that left all three of them without anything to say.
Marvin was waiting when they pulled into camp. He paced back and forth across the thin grass before the trailers, drumming his fingers on the picnic table as he passed. He hurried over and stood at Clarence's side as soon as the UTV was parked.
"Well?" He demanded, his confused glare flicking to each of the passengers in turn. "Where is Kate? You said you found her." His gaze doubled back to Rachel's tearstained face, getting a good look for the first time. Barely above a whisper, he repeated, "Where is she?"
Dean climbed out of the UTV and glanced anxiously behind him. All of the group had assembled at the news of Kate's disappearance, and now they stood nearby, waiting expectantly. Lowering his voice, Dean said, "She's gone, Marvin. We found her at the scrapyard. She, uh...took her own life."
The breath caught in Marvin's throat. Ever so briefly, his bottom lip quivered. Then, just as quickly as the emotion came, it went. He sniffed and asked, "Did you just leave her where you found her?"
"We didn't think we should do anything until we talked to you," Clarence said.
"Just tell us what you want done," Dean offered quietly. "You shouldn't have to deal with this so...intimately. Think of us as morticians."
Marvin nodded once. Those gathered began to separate and Rachel couldn't fight the feeling that this wasn't right. There had to be more. Kate deserved more than a shallow grave in the woods, and it didn't seem right to leave everything up to Ben and Marvin. "We should do something," she said. "A headstone, or - "
"You stay out of it," Marvin snarled, the change in his tone so ferocious and hostile that anyone that had started to walk away turned back, eyes wide. The fire in his voice left no room for argument and Rachel wasn't about to try. Her feet felt like they were rooted in place, and it was as if she'd shrunk to the size of an ant when Marvin jabbed a crooked, trembling finger at her and spat, "You have done enough for Kate."
They wasted no time leaving the pharmacy, and Ben drove until there wasn't a single walker in sight. When he found himself on a residential street, Ben hastily parked beside a curb.
Although the neighborhood was free of walkers, it was pitiful. Several of the houses had boarded up windows. All of the lawns were knee-high and filled with withered weeds. Toys and lawn furniture lay throughout the neighborhood, faded from the relentless elements and sunlight.
Everything that happened there was still at the front of Ben's mind. Especially just how close they came to dying. None of his previous expeditions had taken such a bad turn, and he felt similar to when he killed a walker for the very first time. Lost. Hopeless. Unsure where to turn.
Only this time, he had the added guilt to deal with. If he turned around and went back to camp empty handed, what would happen to Kate?
"I think it's the explosion." Jerome said, jarring Ben out of his musing. Whereas on their drive to Fairbanks he'd sat upright the whole time and seemed rather optimistic, he now slouched in the seat with his head resting against the window, staring out towards the street.
"What about it?"
"If noise is what gets their attention, you can't get much noisier than an explosion," Jerome explained. "That pharmacy was only a couple blocks from the plaza."
Ben sank against his seat as the puzzle pieces fell into place, equal parts shocked and intrigued. He hadn't given the explosion a single thought on the way into the city, chalking it up as a one-time thing. Certainly nothing that could affect him, nearly a day after it had happened. But Jerome was right. Something as simple as a raised voice could get their unyielding attention. An explosion really must have riled them up.
"Shit, Jerome." Ben pinched the bridge of his nose. "Why didn't you think of that before we drove into it?" Jerome shrugged and didn't say anything further. The quiet dragged on for several minutes, uninterrupted until Ben gave a long sigh. "Listen, man...around the time you had to dive across the room and pull that thing off me, I realized I never should have asked you to do this in the first place."
Jerome's head whipped towards Ben, his brows furrowed. "I knew the dangers. I do not regret coming or anything."
Ben shook his head and thumped a fist against the seat. After everything they had been through, Jerome still hadn't caught on. Ben used him, just like he always had. "I only asked in the first place because I knew you wouldn't say no," he admitted, feeling a rush of relief at getting the truth out in the open. "And...and it's not the first time I've done it."
To his surprise, Jerome didn't react at all, which led him to believe he already knew. Of course he did. Maybe he always had. Ben looked away as he continued, "I've realized over the past couple months that I was a shitty boss. How much extra work did you do that I didn't even pay you for? How many winters were you and me the only ones that didn't leave the mine? It wasn't right back then, but you could die because of something like that now."
"Don't be so hard on yourself. I meant what I said. I don't regret this one bit."
Ben pressed his lips together tightly, wondering whether he should just leave the conversation where it stood or say what was on his mind. He was starting to think there was a bigger picture here, one he hadn't realized that morning. Everyone had changed in some ways since the outbreak. Ben himself knew he wasn't nearly as trusting or sympathetic as he once had been. Jerome, on the other hand, seemed to be the same kind hearted, generous man as he always had been. In Ben's experience, those kinds of people got eaten alive at the beginning - literally.
"Jerome…" Ben began, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. "You're a good guy, but - "
"Don't say that." Jerome's voice was too quiet for the fire in his words. "Don't ever say that, alright? Good guys don't do the things I've done."
Ben scoffed. Assuming this had to be about killing the walkers, he rolled his eyes. "Hey, killing all them like you did just is what it is. That doesn't make anyone a bad person, it's self defense."
"I'm not talking about that." Jerome shifted so he was facing the window again. "I left some parts of my story out last night. When we were trying to leave the Fort, one of the National Guard guys grabbed me. People were shooting and screaming...I could barely hear him. He just wouldn't let me go." Jerome puffed out a slow breath. His next words came out in a tumble, like the faster he said them the sooner this torture would be over. "I stabbed him. I stabbed him right in the guts."
For a moment, Ben was speechless. He would have never guessed in a million years that Jerome Dufour, of all people, would be the first person in his group to take a human life.
Once he'd found his barings in the wake of this news, Ben said, "I said it once, I'll say it again...it is what it is. You survived. Nothing else matters."
Jerome sank further into his seat. "Let's just get going, alright? Onto the next one."
Before he could stop it, one thought hit Ben hard enough to take his breath: he's not going to make it.
Brandon pulled the UTV into the scrapyard and tugged on the pair of gardening gloves he'd borrowed from Keisha.
With all the drama surrounding Kate's death, he figured the least he could do to help out was deal with the body. Among everyone in camp he had the least connection to her, which he hoped would make this 'mortician mission', as he had decided to call it, that much easier.
He stepped out of the vehicle and went to the bed to retrieve a large tarp. Pulling it out of the UTV was awkward and noisy, but with Dean's assistance he made it all the way to...her. He'd seen plenty of dead bodies over the past few months, but there was something especially sad about seeing someone who had been walking around perfectly fine the night before. Her exposed forearms were sliced extensively, from wrist to the crook of her elbow.
Brandon looked away and shook his head. He had to think of this as a job...a very weird, depressing job. "I'll lay the tarp out then we'll put her on it and go from there, okay?"
"Alright." Dean pulled a pair of gloves from his back pocket and took a shuddering breath. "Let's get this over with." He braced his hands under her armpits while Brandon got her legs. Their trek to the tarp was stilted and when they finally reached it, Brandon's muscles trembled with the effort of lowering her gently. Dean hovered for a moment, then awkwardly crossed her arms over her abdomen. When he noticed Brandon's confused expression, he explained, "It seems more professional than just tossing her on there and rolling her up like a burrito."
"Whatever floats your boat, dude." Brandon worked quickly, taking each corner of the tarp and pulling it across her until she was mostly covered.
One of them had to walk backwards on the way back to the UTV, and Brandon decided he was probably the more coordinated of the two. He and Dean reclaimed their posts and lifted the body. Brandon kept his arms firmly under Kate's knees, unable to stop himself from cringing every time her feet hit him in the ribs. Brandon peered over his shoulder periodically to make sure he wasn't going to trip over or run into anything.
Right as they went through the gate, Kate's legs shifted. Brandon halted and looked her up and down. If he didn't know better, he'd swear she moved. Not that her legs were simply jostled as they transported her, but she moved. But that couldn't be...anybody whose wrists looked like that had to be long dead.
"I felt it too," Dean said quietly.
A raspy intake of breath from within the tarp accompanied more movements, and this time there was no mistaking that Kate was the cause.
"Put her down!" Brandon dropped her legs and reached for his gun, growling when his hands found nothing but his own hip. At Clarence's insistence, he and Carmen handed in their guns the night before.
Dean lowered Kate's torso to the ground, but when he went to stand up, an arm reached from the tarp and stiff fingers latched onto his sleeve. Dean shouted and jumped backwards, dragging Kate with him.
Brandon grabbed Dean by the back of his coat and heaved him backwards. Rather than separating the two like he hoped, all three of them tumbled to the ground. Kate crawled from the tarp, her lifeless yet ravenous eyes zeroed in on Dean. Before he could right himself, Kate was on top of him, her face a mere foot from his. Dean caught her around the throat and squeezed, only quieting her moans to a gurgle.
Brandon scrambled to his feet and surged to the nearest junk pile. He grabbed the first thing he saw, which was an old fire extinguisher. He took it by the hose and swung as hard as he could towards the back of Kate's head. The canister rang loudly when it connected with her skull, but Kate barely faltered.
"Do something!" Dean wailed. He wrapped his legs around Kate's and tried in vain to get an advantage over her.
Brandon returned to the pile, his eyes darting around wildly for anything heavy. All he saw was scrap. Small pieces of metal, old machinery and things he couldn't even identify. Nothing that looked remotely blunt enough to crush a skull. When he finally spotted an old, rusty engine wedged at the bottom of a scrap heap, he dropped the fire extinguisher and ran over to it.
He gripped the engine tightly and lifted it up in one swift move, tottering from side to side under the weight. He turned around just as Kate sank her teeth into Dean's bicep. Dean screamed louder than Brandon had ever heard anyone scream. Kate reared her head back, a hearty chunk of his flesh and muscle dangling from her mouth.
She was just about to go back for seconds when Brandon dropped the engine with a deep thud, charged forward, and grabbed Kate by the hair. He yanked her backwards and sent her to the ground. She was only stalled for a moment before she found her footing and stood once again. Brandon rushed back to the engine block and grunted as he heaved it upwards, level with his hips. Kate started towards him and he swung his leg into hers, knocking her flat on her back. Brandon allowed the engine to tumble out of arms and drop onto Kate's face.
Her skull folded in on itself like a rotted pumpkin. Brain matter sprayed out in every direction, and she did not move again.
Brandon staggered around the mess and fell to his knees at Dean's side, wheezing and shaking. The older man was writhing in the dirt, moaning pitifully. Beneath a thin layer of torn denim, most of the flesh had been ripped away from his arm, exposing tendons and bone. Loose tendrils of skin hung from Dean's bicep, and intertwined with the strips of his coat.
"Oh my God," Brandon moaned, his voice cracking. "Why didn't they tell us she was bit?" He wiped a hand down his face, only smearing the slick blood that had splashed onto him. He untied the bandana around his head, releasing the mane of shoulder-length black hair it had kept at bay. He said, "Here, let me…"
Dean held still while Brandon wrapped the makeshift tourniquet around his wound. He was paling rapidly and seemed unable to form words.
"Can you stand?" Brandon asked. He rose from his crouched position and waited until Dean had nodded to offer his hand and help him up. "Rachel said she was a nurse, maybe she'll know something that will help."
Just as quickly as they arrived, Brandon and Dean were back into the UTV and hurtling back towards camp.
He felt like they were under a spotlight as soon as he drove into camp, instantly garnering the concerned gazes of anyone and everyone nearby. Both of them were covered in fresh blood and for Dean, the source was obvious. The bandana around his arm, absent from Brandon's head, had become oversaturated with blood on their short drive.
Behind the half-circle of trailers, Adrian and Carmen sat beneath the spruces, making a town out of rocks and sticks; Carmen was using a tall pine cone as a doll. At the sight of Brandon, Adrian abandoned the game and ran over, his sneakers leaving imprints in the loose dirt. He was at his father's side before he could even step out of the UTV, looking him up and down with big eyes.
"Daddy, did a monster get you?".
Brandon glanced at the muck covering his frontside and grit his teeth. "No, I'm fine. Don't worry," he said, pulling Adrian into his arms and holding him on his hip as he stood.
Clarence, who seemed especially troubled by this comment, stormed over with a distinct 'what now' expression that quickly morphed into one of shock when he saw Dean's arm. His mouth fell open, but he said nothing.
Sweat had already begun to bead on his forehead, and his voice was strained as he spoke. "Kate turned when we were carrying her to the UTV."
"That's impossible." Marvin shoved away from the picnic table, eyes widening at the sight of Dean's wound. He frowned and gave a few small shakes of his head. "No...it can't be. S-she wasn't bit or anything, she hasn't even seen a walker in months."
"That's not exactly true." Clarence pursed his lips and clapped Marvin on the shoulder. "There was one at the fence when she was in the scrapyard yesterday. If she was bit, that might explain why she - "
"Right, at the fence." Marvin jerked away from Clarence. "How dumb do you think me and Ben are? We shared a trailer for God's sake, don't you think we would've noticed?"
"Well, what other explanation is there?" Clarence asked, hands planted on his hips.
"Might be more than you think." Carmen strolled across camp, a curious twinkle in her eye. To Brandon, she said, "Do you remember that crazy old bag we met back in Palmer?"
Brandon nodded, knowing right away who she was referring to. "Yeah, the one who said it doesn't matter how you die, you turn. I thought she was off in the head, but heck…" he trailed off as Clarence and Marvin both turned to him with their eyes wide with disbelief. That same woman had also claimed to speak to Jesus and drank mouthwash, so where was the line?
"You really believe that?" Marvin demanded, his nostrils flaring up at the edges.
Brandon set Adrian back on the ground. This topic was getting a little too dark for his taste. "Go play," he urged quietly, guiding him towards where Aaliyah and Emma were chasing each other around the trailers. He faced Marvin and shrugged. "Last I knew, bites and scratches are what do you in. But there's no question Kate turned. Something had to have caused it, and if she wasn't bitten or scratched, I don't know what to believe."
"In any case, she took a nice chunk out of my arm," Dean said. He used the vehicle's frame to pull himself up. No sooner than he was on his feet, a faraway look came to his eyes and he staggered to the left.
Clarence gasped and leapt forward, catching him just as his knees buckled. One hand landed on Dean's wound. That brought him back. Dean shrieked, tore himself out of Clarence's grasp and stumbled backwards, cursing and moaning. Overtop Clarence's repeated apologies, Brandon heard two sets of footsteps storming towards them.
"Grandpa?" Courtney stopped so suddenly she almost toppled over herself. Her face was slack with the beginnings of hysteria. Her attention was cemented on the crimson stained bandana tied around his bicep. "No," she moaned. She hiccuped twice, then dissolved into long, gasping sobs.
Just behind her, Peggy's stormy blue eyes were equally wide for only a moment, then her expression settled into her usual mask of stone.
"Dean, seriously, go see Rachel," Brandon said softly. Even if there was no saving him, there had to be some way to spare him any more pain.
If Dean heard Brandon, he didn't show it. Instead, he hobbled forward, swatting away Clarence's hovering hands, and extended his good arm to cup his granddaughter's tear-stained cheek. "I'm still here."
Jerome trudged behind Ben into yet another pharmacy. This was his third one in just over a day, and he was certain he could die a happy man without ever stepping into another one.
This building wasn't as picked over or vandalized as the others had been, but it was small, with just one room not much bigger than the parking lot. What few items remained on the shelves weren't worth taking, and after all of five minutes inside, Ben had already moved to the wall of abandoned prescriptions.
"I'll be right back," Jerome said, tossing Ben his flashlight. He walked to the back of the shop, where the restrooms were, and pushed the men's room door open. The only light came from a small window above the stalls, and it was so eerily silent that Jerome was sure he could've heard a pin drop.
After finishing his business, he headed to the sinks; having brains, guts, and blood all over him was something he didn't think he could ever get used to. He quietly hummed a tune and turned the faucet on. A weak, pathetic stream of water trickled out until it waned to just a few drips then halted completely.
Jerome stopped humming and stared at it in disbelief. He tried the other two sinks and received similar results. He frowned at the pitiful puddle for a moment, then returned to the main part of the pharmacy. "How long has it been since the water stopped running?" he asked, coming to lean against the reception desk.
Ben sniggered, turning a prescription bag over in his hands. "Just since you went to piss," he replied, cutting Jerome an amused glance that faded as soon as he saw the confused, dismayed look on his friend's face. "Well, everything has been dark for a while now. No light, no water...gas has been pretty screwy too, but I suppose you know that. For the first few weeks, it just depended on where you went but whatever kept things running that long is gone now."
Jerome nodded, finding once again he was lost for words. Why on earth did he think there would be running water? He knew good and well that Fort McAdams only had water because of reserves and electricity because of generators. Shaking his head shamefully, he moved to the nearest aisle even though he'd already combed it over once.
"We really didn't know how good we had it at Fort McAdams," he said, looking over a few items but not really registering them. It was bad enough he was two steps behind everyone else in terms of survival, but the realization that he was also naive as all hell was a bitter pill to swallow.
"Don't sweat it," Ben said. "I'm hoping we'll be able to find some generators for the next place we settle. We can make our own Fort."
Jerome's eyebrows shot up towards his hairline. He whirled around so quickly he had to brace himself against the reception desk to avoid toppling over. "Next place? Why would there be a next place?"
Ben blinked, regarding Jerome with an expression of solemn irritation. "You didn't think we were staying at Red Fox all winter, did you? What's gonna happen when the temperature drops to twenty below, and we're all sleeping in tents or trailers? When we can't get to the city to find food because we're snowed in?"
Jerome's shoulders sagged as the realization settled in that his faith in Red Fox had been for six people, not over a dozen, and he had hardly given winter any thought at all.
"There's no need to worry about it right now," Ben went on. "I figure we won't have to start really looking for somewhere new for a few weeks." He took another prescription off the shelf, and he grinned as soon as he saw the label. He pulled a bottle of pills from a paper baggy and shook them at Jerome. "Look what I found."
"Is it the Tryptophan?" Jerome asked hopefully.
"Thorazine," Ben corrected with a laugh. "No, but close enough. This is what the doctor recommended when me and Kate were going to try - " he stopped talking and his smile faltered for just a moment. "I'd forgotten all about this, it was so long ago. The important thing is that I've heard of it, and I know it'll work for Kate."
Both men jumped when a biter threw itself against the window behind them. Jerome had to assume this had once been a business woman, judging by the beige pantsuit now full of bloodstains and rips.
Ben shook his head, scowling at her in disgust. "We might as well go. I doubt I'm gonna find any more of this."
"Are you sure?" Jerome side-eyed the rather small bottle. "How long is that going to last her?"
"Long enough, until I figure something out." Ben fished the truck keys out of his pocket and tossed them to Jerome. "You drive."
Marvin plopped down on the steps outside his trailer and held his head in his hands.
He hadn't been able to bring himself to go inside yet. He wasn't ready to see all of the things Kate had left behind. There hadn't been time to process anything that had happened, and he still had trouble wrapping his mind around the fact she was dead. Really, truly gone in every sense of the word. If Carmen's claims were true and everybody turned regardless of how they died, that was scary - and the fact that he couldn't think of any other explanation was even scarier.
Marvin lifted his head as a gust of wind swept through camp. Leaves swirled through the air and settled throughout the clearing. Though he felt like his day had just started, the sky was already tinted orange with the beginnings of sunset. His heart steadily hammered faster as he thought about Ben and Jerome being stuck in the city after dark, and how in any case, he would have to tell his son the worst news of his life when he returned to camp.
"Hey, um…" Brandon's hesitant voice snapped Marvin out of his musing. He wrung his hands together and took a deep breath. "I'm sorry about Kate and coming back to camp like this," he said, motioning to the now dried blood splattered up and down his torso. "I just didn't know what else to do. She was going to tear Dean apart."
Until that very moment, it hadn't occurred to Marvin that the muck covering Brandon came from Kate. His eyes scanned Brandon from head to toe, taking in the red splashes and chunks. He clamped his mouth shut and slowly shook his head, the sensation that his stomach was doing flip-flops only growing stronger. He placed his hands back over his face and murmured, "Just make sure you're wearing something else by the time Ben gets back."
"No problem," Brandon said. As he backed away, Marvin's gaze landed on something else. Clarence, Jake, and Lauren were across camp, huddled together by the bumper of the bus. They talked so quietly that Marvin would've never known they were speaking at all if not for their mouths moving. Every time Lauren said something, she glanced over towards Marvin. Marvin narrowed his eyes, and after a few more minutes, the three of them headed his way.
Clarence stopped a few feet from Marvin and shoved his hands in his pockets. "How're you holding up?"
Marvin scoffed. "Just great."
"Well...forgive me for being bold here," Lauren said, "But are you absolutely sure that walker didn't get Kate?"
"It never touched her. She was not bit or scratched. Period."
Clarence shared an exasperated look with Lauren. "Marvin, you'll understand if we don't believe you, right? You and Ben both have been pretty dishonest in the past few days."
"Dishonest?" The bottom dropped out of Marvin's stomach. In that moment, his worry and grief fell away only for rage to fill its place. Heat rushed up his neck, pounding away at the cold. "How dare you," he barked. "I'm sitting here trying to figure out how to explain all of this to my son, when or if he gets back tonight, and you're gonna call me a liar?"
"Listen, man, you do not get to be the pissed off one here," Jake said. "Your story doesn't hold up. The way I see it, you were harboring a ticking time bomb in your trailer."
"Kiss my ass, kid." Marvin sniggered and stood up. He'd just got his hand on the doorknob when someone touched his arm. He yanked his elbow out of their grip, almost stumbling off the steps. He snapped his head around to see Clarence retreating, hands raised in surrender.
"Guys, come on!" Lauren said, her gaze bouncing frantically from Jake to Marvin. "If you really want to settle this we can go look her over."
"Look her over?" Marvin repeated incredulously. "That's my daughter in law laying out there!"
An indignant, mirthless smirk spread across Clarence's face. His fists clenched, and when he realized his, he stuffed them back his pockets. "I'm tryin' to be nice here given what you've gone through today, but clearly that's not gonna work, so I'm just gonna say it."
Lauren warned, "Clarence…"
He continued as if she hadn't spoken. "None of this would have happened in the first place if you and Ben hadn't been keeping secrets. Your say in what goes on around here is done when it concerns my family, and this concerns every last one of us."
"Then what?" Marvin demanded. "What exactly are you gonna get from poking at her corpse like she's some specimen in a laboratory?"
"Peace of mind," Lauren said. Her brows knitted together sympathetically, and when she spoke again, her tone was much gentler. "If what you say is true, you can't just pretend there's not something weird going on. Kate was my friend, I think we owe it to her to figure out how she really died."
"Haven't you ever heard of letting the dead rest in peace?" Marvin questioned, though much of the venom had left his voice. He hadn't considered what Lauren said before. Maybe he did owe it to Kate - and Ben - to learn the real story.
His grip on the doorknob was so tight he was surprised it hadn't fallen off in his hand yet. As he realized Clarence, Lauren, and Jake had all fallen silent and were staring at him as though waiting for an answer, his shoulders slumped.
"Fine," he finally conceded. "Go ahead."
