"Home sweet home," Jerome said, parking the truck next to the shortbus.
Ben hopped out before Jerome had even shut the engine off. At first, his heart dropped - usually camp was busiest at this time of day, with people finishing up anything that needed to be done before dark and getting dinner served. But now, camp was empty and the UTV was missing. Ben turned towards the Peterson's trailer and found Samantha's chair vacant, her rifle abandoned on the seat.
He frowned, but before he could fret too much, the dining trailer door flew open with a bang. Emma came hurtling outside, Rachel following without nearly as much speed or enthusiasm.
"Papa!" Emma leapt into Jerome's arms as soon as she was close enough. Jerome staggered under her weight, but laughed and whirled her around in a big circle before returning her to the ground. Rachel stood with her arms crossed tightly over her chest, waiting until Emma had stepped back to envelope her husband in a stiff hug. Her eyes were puffy and red, and Ben's suspicions that something was wrong briefly flared again, but he shrugged it off. She must've still been bothered by her and Jerome's spat that morning.
Marvin emerged from his trailer and said, "Glad to see you boys made it back okay."
Ben glanced around, making sure they really were the only ones present, then pulled the prescription baggy from his pocket. "It's not much, but it should last her until we figure out a more long term solution."
Marvin exhaled like all the air had been knocked out of him. His face crumpled, and he whipped off his glasses to pinch the bridge of his nose. "Oh God," he croaked.
In an instant, Ben's heart dropped. He could count on one hand how many times he'd seen his father cry. He couldn't bring himself to speak.
Marvin's breath hitched, then he said, "Kate's gone."
"She wandered off again?" He asked, knowing somewhere deep down that wasn't what he meant. "She's okay. We need to go look for her."
"No." Marvin solemnly shook his head. "No, son. She's gone. She...took her own life."
Ben wobbled backwards and put a hand against the bus for support. He trembled all over and his vision seemed to be getting black around the edges.
"I don't - I don't understand," he said, his voice sounding far away and unfamiliar to his own ears. He couldn't form any thoughts coherent enough to ask why or how. It didn't make sense, and he didn't want to understand. He didn't want to hear anymore.
"It's my fault!" Rachel blurted. She pulled away from Jerome, who looked as stunned as Ben felt, and started backing away from them all. Around hiccuping sobs, she said, "I was the one th-that was supposed to be keeping an eye on her, and - and…"
"That's enough," Marvin growled. As Rachel's despair took over her ability to speak, she returned to her husband's arms.
Ben's breaths came in short, fast puffs. He walked straight to his trailer and as soon as the door shut behind him, he didn't take another step.
He just stood there listening to the quiet that was too hollow, like the trailer itself knew Kate wasn't coming back. None of her soft snoring, no soft swoosh as she played cards, no hum of the shower.
Signs of her littered every inch of the space, the space they had shared for so long now. Some of her dirty clothes were piled up at the far end, the teddy bear from her childhood on the kitchen counter, her faded deck of cards on the table.
Ben's knees buckled and he fell to the floor but made no move to get up. Instead, he just laid there as the rest of the world fell away and he plummeted into the darkness of his new reality.
"She's dead...oh my God, she's dead." He curled his fingers into the carpet as his words faded to deep wailing. Tears flooded down his face and pooled in a cold puddle beneath his cheek. "Why, why, oh my God, why?"
While most of the group had gone to bed long ago, the Peterson family was restless inside of their trailer.
Courtney sat at the dinette booth, pale light from the lantern glimmering against her hazel eyes.
Dean walked over to the window beside the door and peered outside. Ben still sat at the campfire, his unblinking stare fixed on the low, flickering flames. One by one, everyone else had left, wholly unaffected by the day's events. At worst, they'd lost a friend. At best, someone they hardly knew had died.
For the most unfortunate, they'd been marred with a death sentence.
Dean shrugged off his jacket and peeled back the thick bandaging Rachel had fixed to his arm. He grit his teeth with the effort of not hollering and soon wished he hadn't looked at all. The bite had stopped bleeding, but loose bits of flesh still dangled from his shredded bicep. Perhaps worse than the pain itself, he'd never get used to the wound. It was ugly and unnatural, the kind of thing he never expected to see on his own body.
Then again, he wouldn't have to get used to it, would he? Thanks to the nifty painkillers Ben and Jerome brought back, he could coast for the next day or so without being in agony, and that was all he needed. Hell, that was probably all he had.
Dean sighed and lowered into the booth across from Courtney. "I think it's time we talk."
Courtney shook her head. Strands of hair from her ponytail stuck to the wetness on her face. "Maybe Grandma was right all along, maybe there's something we can do."
"We're not doing ourselves any favors playing wishing games," he replied. "Now, we know what this means and I don't know how much longer I'll feel like talking, so I want you to listen." Dean paused for a moment, trying to think of the appropriate way to get his point across. "Remember that time you were at our house, and your baby doll disappeared?"
Courtney nodded.
"I accidentally ran it over with the lawn mower and didn't have the heart to tell you." Dean smiled at the memory. "I made your Grandma distract you while I crawled around on my hands and knees picking up all the little pieces of Baby Josephine."
Courtney giggled, wiping the tears from her eyes with the back of her hand.
"Bad things happen with no rhyme or reason, and we always wanted to save you from as much heartache as we could." Dean swallowed hard, staring at his cold, pale hands. "But times like that are gone, Courtney. The times where I could pick up the pieces and tell you comforting lies are over."
Courtney buried her face in her hands and began to silently weep, the hitching of her shoulders the only giveaway.
"No, listen," he said, gently grabbing her wrist. "I'm going to be dead within the next day or two. It's just going to be you and Grandma, and I want you to rely on yourself above all else. You keep a knife or a gun with you at all times, even if Clarence or Ben tell you not to. Do whatever you have to, because this isn't the end."
His voice grew strained as a lump swelled in his throat. "This world, this mess we're in...I thought there was nothing left," he said. "But here I am wishing I would get to see what comes next. Something does come next, and I want you to be around for it, Courtney. You are strong, and too smart for your own good. You will get through this."
She just continued to cry, whimpering and hiccuping now.
"Try to relax, okay? I'm gonna go talk to Grandma." Dean stood from the booth and had to clutch the table to keep from falling over.
He walked into the sleeping quarters and slid the door shut. Peggy sat on her narrow bed, hands clasped in her lap. "Do you think that was a good idea, telling her to go against Ben and Clarence?"
Dean motioned to his wound. "Look what happens when people wander around without anything to protect themselves."
Peggy scoffed and turned away from him, staring at something beyond the window. "Why don't you give it some time? I can't believe you just told that girl you're gonna be dead in two days."
"Look at me," Dean snapped. "I mean really look. I haven't stopped sweating for three hours. I've never been this pale in my life, and I stayed back to puke when everyone was fixing up the shooting range earlier." He threw his good arm up in exasperation. "I think if I can accept this then you can."
"No," Peggy barked. "We didn't wait with Melissa, we are this time. If there's any chance at all that you can recover - "
"There isn't."
Peggy gave him a long, blank look. Then she rose to her feet, stormed through the trailer, and went out the door.
Ben didn't sleep that night. He wasn't sure he ever would again. He and Kate hadn't slept separated by anything more than a nightstand since the outbreak started. Before that, they shared a bed for almost two decades. Sleeping alone wasn't something he was prepared to face, so instead of heading into the sleeping quarters, Ben sat nestled amongst the boxes he and Kate had evacuated with.
Those boxes had seemed so important at the time, but they'd never gotten around to unpacking everything and now Ben couldn't even remember what was in them. Their marriage certificate was in one, he thought.
Kate's wedding band was clenched tightly in his fist. Marvin said he'd found it on the counter. She'd obviously wanted to leave it behind. For him.
Every so often, Ben would uncurl his stiff fingers and thumb over the inscription. Forever and always.
His nails were still caked with blood and he hadn't changed out of the filthy clothes he'd worn into the city, hadn't even taken off his coat. Marvin laid motionless under a heap of blankets in his usual spot on the kitchenette floor. Ben had worried from the start what sleeping on the floor was doing to a sixty-something-year-old's back, but now he was just glad he hadn't taken Kate's bed yet.
By morning, Ben's legs were completely numb.
He dozed off just long enough for the sky to go from indigo to orange, but he still wasn't really tired. Marvin's sleeping pallet was now vacant, and Ben knew at this hour, he had to be off helping put together the funeral.
There would be no coffin or even a headstone. No, Kate was going to be buried out in the woods, surrounded by people who hardly knew her in a place she never liked to begin with.
The thought of his wife being buried in such a cold manner, tossed in a hole like an animal, made the acid in Ben's empty stomach froth. And as terrible as it was, that was still better than his mother had gotten.
They both deserved so much more. Real memorials and celebrations of their life. Something for future generations to remember them by.
More than anything else, Kate and Marcia Wallace deserved to be alive.
The front door squeaked open and sent a strip of honey colored sunlight through the gloom of the trailer. Dust swirled through the beam as Marvin stepped inside. He stood a little straighter at the sight of Ben. "Oh, you're up," he said. "Have you had anything to eat?"
"No." Ben picked at a loose thread on his shirt, not looking up. He didn't have to see himself to know his eyes were bloodshot. They stung with every blink and ached as the cold air fell over him.
"Keisha fried up some Spam if you - "
"I'm not hungry, dad."
Marvin nodded. "Well...we've been making arrangements. We're ready when you are. Take as long as you need."
"Where'd you put her?" He hoped someone had been sensitive enough not to bury her in the scrapyard. Beggars couldn't be choosers, but when did anyone ever get buried in the same place they died except in warzones?
"The shooting range," Marvin answered. "We fixed it up real nice, made sure everything was handled as, uh...as nicely as possible."
Ben gave the ring within his fist one last squeeze, then slipped it into his pocket. "Okay. Let's go." He climbed to his feet and braced a hand against the wall to keep from toppling over as the sensation of pins and needles surged up and down his legs.
"Now?" Marvin's brows inched upwards. "Are you sure?"
"Is there something I'm supposed to wait for?"
"Of course not." Marvin pushed his glasses back up his nose with one finger. He opened the door and allowed Ben to exit first.
They walked side-by-side out of the bright, vacant camp and along the murky creek. Ben kept his eyes straight ahead, but he could still see his father taking nervous glances at him every few seconds.
The earthy scent of freshly upturned dirt filled the air as they neared the shooting range. Ben pressed through the thicket of bushes, holding the branches aside for Marvin to follow.
All of the practice targets had been moved to a heap on the side. Everyone was already gathered in clusters, chatting quietly amongst themselves. Some gave Ben pitying glances and sympathetic smiles.
His focus turned to the patch of disturbed dirt to his left. A two-foot by six-foot plot had been dug and the dirt that hadn't been packed down blew gently on the breeze. At the head of the plot sat a large rock. Somewhere underneath all that lay Kate. This realization, though he'd known it all along, sent a coldness through Ben as though someone had dumped a bucket of ice on him.
Knowing he would never touch her or be close to her again made his heart race and his head pound. Before he could go over the edge and fall apart again, Jerome came to his side. Emma continued past them and placed a bundle of brightly colored weeds at the base of the headstone.
"I don't know what to say," Jerome said softly. "I'm sorry for your loss...it doesn't feel big enough."
"You know I'm not much for words anyway. They don't help a damn thing."
The Evans family approached him next. Keisha slipped her hand into his and gave it a squeeze. "I'm so sorry. If there's anything I can do, please let me know."
"Take as much time as you need to rest and grieve," Clarence added. "Don't worry about a thing."
Ben nodded, finding he had less and less to say.
As the others moved closer and huddled around the grave, Marvin cleared his throat. "Should we all share a few memories or thoughts about Kate?"
Only a few people actually had anything to say. Keisha gave a short and tearful speech about loss and what a generous person Kate was, but Ben figured she was the kind of person that cried at funerals no matter whose they were.
Rachel said, "Kate was unapologetically Kate. She was fire and ice, and she spent her life trying to spread what good in the world she could."
There's not enough time in the day to properly honor her," Marvin said. I've known her for so long, she's like my own daughter." He hung his head for a moment, composing himself. "There's this poem that keeps popping into my head that I think really fits here. Even after everything that's happened, no matter the way she left us...I know she wouldn't want us to stand around and wither away in her absence."
His mouth turned downwards as he took a trembling breath. Then, he recited, "Do not stand at my grave and weep. I am not there, I do not sleep. I am a thousand winds that blow, I am the diamond glints on snow. I am the sunlight on ripened grain, I am the gentle autumn rain. When you awaken in the morning's hush, I am the swift uplifting rush of quiet birds in circled flight. I am the soft stars that shine at night. Do not stand at my grave and cry; I am not there. I did not die."
Ben's cheeks burned as the silence mounted, knowing his time had come. He was supposed to have something to say, as if he could stand there in the middle of the woods less than a day after she died and find the words.
"They say speak your heart," he began, swallowing thickly. "Well, my heart's gone. She took it with her."
TWENTY FIVE DAYS LATER, SOMEWHERE IN FAIRBANKS…
"Damn thing," Jake muttered. He squinted to see through the frost-covered windshield of the Peterson's truck, arms braced against the steering wheel. No matter how many times he flipped the switch, the windshield wipers refused to move. "Piece of shit," he said, grumbling a few more curses to himself. "If this snow gets any heavier, we're gonna have to leave early."
They had no way of knowing that the first snowfall of the year would occur on the third day of their scavenging excursion, and although she'd never say so out loud, Samantha thought they couldn't leave soon enough.
To her right, Carmen pressed herself against the door as closely as possible. Every time Samantha looked at her, she would roll her eyes and return to staring out the window.
Between Jake and Carmen, literally, Samantha was constantly on guard. The comment Jake had made weeks before about her 'not pulling her weight' had stuck with her ever since and she jumped at the chance to tag along. She'd fudged the truth about her capabilities, assuring Clarence she'd been in Fairbanks plenty before joining the group just so he'd let her go.
Steam billowed from Carmen's mouth in a little cloud as she sighed. Her silky raven hair fell in tangles around her shoulders; grooming was the last thing on anyone's mind but Samantha didn't think she'd ever seen the woman run a rush through her hair.
Carmen side-eyed Jake and demanded, "Do you even know where we are?"
"Yes, Carmen." He pulled the keys from the ignition and dropped them into the pocket of his coat, then turned in his seat to face Samantha. "There are a lot of places for something to sneak up on you around here, alleys and whatnot," he said, holding her gaze firmly. "Keep your eyes peeled, alright?"
Samantha nodded fervently. "Of course."
"Let's get this over with," Carmen grunted. The rickety truck creaked when she slung the door open and hopped out onto the cement sidewalk. She stretched her arms high above her head and yawned obnoxiously.
Samantha scooted across the seat and stepped out of the truck, then eased the door shut.
A string of old, gold rush era attached buildings stood on either side of the street. Samantha eyed the alley that separated them here and there and gulped, pulling the gun from her waist. She passed the weapon through her hands and could feel the cold of the plastic even through her knit gloves. Most of her limited firearms experience was focused on rifles, but Jake said they were too bulky to carry in Fairbanks.
According to Clarence she had a Glock 45, but all she knew was it made her palms hurt if she fired more than three times in a row...and with her aim, she always had to.
The goal was to find enough food and warm clothing to get the group ready for winter. Those who didn't have boots, heavy coats, hats and gloves were beginning to feel the arctic weather that had settled in the week before and refused to leave. Those things were much harder to come by than Samantha had expected. Most of the stores they checked were stocked only with summer clothes and anywhere with food had been thoroughly picked over.
At Carmen's insistence, they had resorted to breaking into houses and apartments where they found winter clothes deep within abandoned closets. The bed of the truck was accumulating a small heap of clothes and boxes of food, protected from the elements by a tattered blue tarp.
Jake beckoned for Samantha and Carmen to follow him with a flip of his hand. He led the way to the first building on their right. An ornate sign hung out from the bricks that read Giancarlo's Italian Restaurant & Pizzeria.
"Windows are intact," said Jake, tapping his knuckles against the glass. "That's a good sign." No sooner than the words were out of his mouth, two walkers shambled around the corner. They started sluggishly towards the living, panting and scuffing their feet.
If there were any perks to Alaska's crippling climate, this was it. Lauren had announced after the last run that the infected were slowing down. Peggy was the one who suggested it was because of the cold, citing how stiff the weather made her joints, and if what Samantha had seen was any indication, she had the right idea.
Jake pulled a knife from his belt and waited until one of the walkers was within reaching distance to charge. He took it by the shoulder and pushed it up against the building's brick exterior. It hardly had time to react before he'd jammed the knife through a matted mane of blonde hair and twisted.
Carmen took care of the other one, opting to swipe the legs out from under it and slam the claw of her hammer into its forehead. She jumped back right before blood spurted out towards her face.
Jake stepped over his kill and cupped his hands to the large window on Giancarlo's. "There's only one inside," he said, stepping back to extend his knife to Samantha. "You handle that one."
Samantha searched his face for any sign he was kidding and was dismayed to find nothing but sincerity. She pushed down the urge to say hell no and took the knife before her hesitation became suspicious, tucking the pistol back at her hip. Dealing with walkers in such close range made her heart thump ever harder against her ribs but she couldn't take Jake and Carmen thinking she was any more useless than they already did.
Carmen looked to Jake and huffed, shaking her head.
Samantha anxiously ran her tongue along her chapped lips and gripped the door handle. She took a deep breath and whipped it open. From the doorway she could just barely make out the shadowy form of her target at the very back of the restaurant.
An older female walker alerted at the sight of her and moved slightly faster than the previous two. Hoop earrings swung from its ears in tandem with its jilted steps. Low groans escalated to raspy noises of desperation as it maneuvered around the various chairs laying throughout the room.
"Go on," Jake ordered impatiently.
Three sets of eyes watched her every move. Two sets waited with bated breath for the moment she faltered, and the third was zeroed in on her, hoping she could be its next meal. Samantha's window to strike ebbed with every second she allowed the infected to wobble closer. Ignoring the voice in her head screaming at her to run, she took four large steps forward.
Just as she swiped the knife at her the walker's blank face, it surged towards her with snapping jaws and missed her forearm by no more than an inch.
Samantha shrieked and stumbled backwards only a couple steps before she found herself backed against the staircase railing. The walker followed her every move. With nowhere to go but forward, Samantha fought against the bony hands reaching for her face. Her momentary courage lapsed into terrified panic as it closed in, gnashing teeth not even a foot from her face.
"Push her off and finish her," Jake called.
She caught the walker by the chest and shoved, sending it spiraling backwards into the circular dining tables. The undead woman slid overtop a checkered tablecloth and thumped to the floor before clambering right back to her feet.
Samantha's chest heaved as high-pitched, breathy wheezes slipped from her mouth. Done risking her life to impress her companions, she slammed the knife down and pulled the Glock from her hip.
"Don't you dare - " Carmen's snarled sentence was interrupted by an ear-pounding BOOM as Samantha pulled the trigger. She grazed the infected near the ear, but must have nicked the brain because it finally dropped to the ground once and for all, dark brown muck leaking from its skull.
"God dammit!" Jake barked, his voice thunderous. "How many times have I told you not to use your gun unless it's an emergency!"
Carmen held up her hands and shushed Samantha before she'd even thought of a response. Getting the feeling that she was supposed to be listening for something, Samantha craned her head in the direction Carmen was staring - towards a set of double doors beyond the seating area. She strained to hear over the soft ringing in her ears.
What started as a faint rustling grew into the all too familiar sound of walkers moaning as half a dozen of them pushed the doors open.
They grew rabid at the sight of the living, nearly frothing at the mouth in glee and stumbling around each other. More sluggishly pounded against the windows at the front and side of the restaurant.
Samantha's bottom lip trembled. She backed towards the stairs and darted up them, reaching the seventh step before she realized no one was following her.
Jake waited a moment too long before he rushed towards the approaching herd. He just barely escaped one infected's grabbing hands, then skirted around another, before finally reaching the table where Samantha left his knife.
Carmen yelled something inaudible to him and took out two of the closest walkers with well-aimed headshots. Jake snatched up his knife and lunged backwards - only he should've looked where he was going.
One of the many overturned chairs sent him to the floor. No matter how quickly Carmen fired, for every walker she killed, two more appeared from the swinging double doors that led from the kitchen. They were quickly surrounding Jake. He clawed frantically at the nearest table and pulled himself to his feet. The knife had been knocked out of his hand when he fell and now he was in hand-to-hand combat with a male infected nearly twice his size.
Every vein in Jake's neck bulged with the effort of fending it off. His hands were wrapped so tightly around his attacker's forearms that some of its skin had begun to slough off, hanging in flaps off the bone. As the two of them grappled with one another, fighting dearly for what they wanted, another walker circled the table and grabbed Jake's arm.
Samantha screamed, "Jake!" But her voice was small compared to Carmen's gunfire and the continuous, collective gasping and moaning of the walkers. Samantha raised her gun and tried to get a clean aim at one of them, any of them, but the vicious trembling of her hands wouldn't allow it.
In the blink of an eye, the infected sunk its teeth into the crook of Jake's neck. His face went slack with shock for only a split second before contorting in agony. Blood spurted from the wound as the creature reared its head back and ripped out a large chunk of flesh.
Jake screamed a deep and horribly guttural scream and that was the last thing he ever did before the walkers swarmed on him. One went for his arm, another latched onto his neck, and a third attacked his face. His screams gradually quieted until the only sound was the wet smacking of lips and grunting as they devoured him.
Samantha was left staring in horror, unable to wrap her mind around what had just happened. Her mouth hung ajar and she slowly lowered her arm. Jake couldn't be dead, not like that, not when he had been standing there perfectly fine all of thirty seconds before.
She was jarred out of her shocked stupor when Carmen shoved past her, running upstairs. "You better move," she said. Three infected came around the railing and started up after her.
Samantha raised her gun and fired twice, missing both times. There was no point in fighting; her instinct was always to run anyway. She hurried up the rest of the steps and joined Carmen at the top. They were in another small seating area, though this one was free of infected Carmen went over to a nearby table and started dragging it towards the stairs. Samantha got the idea and jogged over to help.
Together, they moved the solid wood table over to the stairs and shoved it down, sending their three assailants flying back to the bottom. Carmen said, "That's not going to hold them for long and we're gonna run out of tables." She rested with her hands on her knees, panting. "How much ammo you got left?"
Samantha stared blankly at the gun in her hand, trying to recall how many shots she'd fired. "Three or four, I guess."
Carmen popped the clip from her gun, and counted the rounds. "Same here," she said, popping it back in. The table below creaked against the straining railing and wall as the walkers rose to their feet again. Carmen grit her teeth, an uncharacteristic look of uncertainty on her face. "Go upstairs, see if there's a way out."
Samantha did as she was told and trotted up the next flight of stairs. Rather than another seating area, she appeared to be on one of the apartment floors Jake had mentioned.
The hallway was short and windowless, with two doors on the left and three to the right. She was just about to turn back and tell Carmen the bad news when she noticed the closest door was different. While the rest were wooden and had doorknobs, this one was metal and had a push bar.
Stepping closer, Samantha squinted in the dimness and saw a sign on it that read 'FIRE EXIT'. She slowly pushed it open, just far enough to see out. A metal flight of stairs leads downward. In the alley below, a few walkers wandered about, oblivious to her presence. A chain link gate with barbed wire on top kept another half dozen walkers at bay and separated the alley from a parking lot.
They were going to be fighting for their lives either way, but going outside seemed like their only chance.
Samantha hurried back to the middle floor just as Carmen shoved another table downstairs. It thumped noisily all the way down and collided with the other table already at the bottom, further wedging it against the wall.
"There's a fire exit up there," Samantha told Carmen, pointing towards the ceiling.
Carmen didn't even spare a look in her direction as she barreled past her and started up the stairs.
Samantha added, "We'll have to get past more walkers, I'm not sure how many there are," and again received no response.
The door squealed a long, ugly sound that garnered as Carmen pushed it open. Three flights down, the walkers started up the steps, shambling around one another as they funneled into the narrow staircase. At the end of the alley, more pushed and pulled at the parking lot gate. Their bony fingers clung to the chain link and a few of them pressed their decaying faces against it.
Carmen stepped out onto the fire escape while Samantha hung back in the doorway. Carmen's shoes tapped nervously against the metal as she shifted anxiously from foot to foot. "Alright. Shit," she breathed, giving a growl of frustration. "We're gonna jump."
She turned to Samantha with a look of determination in her dark, almond shaped eyes, then nodded across the alley.
Following her gaze, Samantha realized Carmen meant they were going to jump from one fire escape to the other. Twenty feet away and three storeys up, across an alley filled with walkers. An icy cloud of dread bloomed through Samantha. She shook her head, eyes round with terror. "I-I can't," she stammered.
"Okay." Carmen glanced over her shoulder to look Samantha up and down, as though she was something stuck to the bottom of her shoe. "Suit yourself," she added with a shrug, tucking her gun away. She strode up the railing that stood thigh-high and climbed up, one foot at a time. Samantha's breath caught in her throat as she faltered forward before bracing both of her hands against the railing, on either side of her feet.
Carmen took a deep breath, then sprang off. Her arms and legs flailed wildly as she sailed through the air. She slammed into the fire escape railing of the other building and pulled herself all the way over. Once her feet were firmly planted on the landing, she squinted across the alley and gave Samantha a thumbs up. "Piece of cake."
Something thumped against the window behind her, causing her to jump. She whirled around and scoffed. A walker was pounding against the glass, poking its face through the sheers and staring at Carmen hungrily. In the alley below, the walkers had become focused on Carmen and started towards her fire escape. She said, "If you're coming, you better do it."
Samantha gripped the cold railing and forced a few shuddering breaths from her tightening chest. What choice did she have? There were already a couple walkers ascending the final stretch of stairs towards her, and there would be twice as many if she went back inside.
She climbed onto the railing and didn't allow herself to hesitate before launching off. She came about six inches short of the mark and slammed into the railing chest-first. She wrapped her arms around the bars and managed to keep herself from plummeting down. "Help me, Carmen!" she pleaded. She swung her legs and tried to find purchase on the landing but her boots slipped against the slick, frosty metal. Carmen grabbed her by the back of the coat and gave her a good yank, allowing her to get her footing and step over the railing.
"The truck keys are still on Jake," Samantha groaned as her gaze landed on the Peterson's truck, still parked beside the curb and now surrounded by walkers. "What are we gonna do?"
"Don't worry about it," Carmen said.
They both flinched when the window beside them began to crack against the walker's relentless pounding.
Those below had reached the set of stairs just below Carmen and Samantha. Slowed by cold or not, they moved closer and closer with every painfully slow second. The parking lot gate was beginning to fold under the weight of another half-dozen of them, and even more ambled around in the alley, just looking for a way to reach them.
"Fuck it," Carmen said. She cocked her gun and turned towards the window, then fired her last three shots in quick succession. Samantha scrambled backwards and almost toppled over the railing. She pinned herself in the corner, as far away as she could get. Glass sprayed outward and fell at their feet. The walker inside dropped only to be replaced by another, which pressed through the remaining glass and attempted to step onto the fire escape. Carmen shoved it back inside by the head, then picked up the largest shard of glass.
When the walker inevitably reappeared, Carmen gripped its scalp with one hand then drove the shard into its milky, soft eye. It slumped over, hanging half inside the apartment and half out. Carmen unclenched her hand and allowed the glass to fall away, leaving a deep, bloody gash across her palm.
She simply grimaced and pressed her hand against her coat. "Stay here," she told Samantha, using her free hand to drag the walker out of her way. "I'm gonna look inside."
"No, wait," Samantha protested, but Carmen had already stepped through the window.
The leading walker below finally reached her level, sunken eyes set firmly on Samantha. She raised her gun but hesitated a moment too long before she pulled the trigger. Her bullet sliced through the walker's shoulder, doing little more than stunning it.
By the time she'd recovered from the pistol's harsh recoil, the walker was overtaking her. It lunged just as she fired again and wasted her last bullet. She was still pressed into the corner where the railings met and yelped when the walker's hands narrowly missed her face. The gun slipped from her hands and clattered to the concrete alley below. Her hands met her attacker's cold, mushy forearms.
For a corpse, it sure had a lot of fight left in it, and the two of them grappled with one another for what seemed like an eternity. Yellow, snapping teeth neared her face one too many times and she used the last of her strength to thrust the walker away. It toppled over the railing and landed on with a distinctly crunchy splat.
There was no time for Samantha to revel in her triumph. There more walkers were mere feet away from cornering her when a hand clutched onto the side of her coat and jerked backwards. Samantha screeched and tumbled through the window, smacking her face against a carpeted floor.
She hurried to her feet, preparing for another fight, but her terror ebbed into surprise when she saw Carmen was the only other one in the apartment. "Oh. Thanks," she said, watching with round eyes as Carmen started pushing a wheeled television stand across the living room.
Samantha darted over to the other end and helped Carmen push it in place before the window. They managed to secure the television stand just as the walkers reached the landing and bony, gray arms poked through the gaps. It wouldn't hold forever, but hopefully would give them enough time to figure out what to do next.
The apartment had an open floor plan with nothing separating the living room and kitchen. A door sat ajar at the other end of the apartment, exposing a messy bedroom. Samantha trudged into the kitchen and leaned against a granite island. Her knees were shaking so hard, she thought for sure she was going to end up back on the floor.
"What now?" she asked, fretfully following every move Carmen made.
Carmen walked past her to the sink and tore some paper towels off the roll. She pressed them to her sliced hand and winced. Blood blossomed into the white, oversaturating it in an instant. She was quiet for so long that Samantha was beginning to wonder if she'd heard her at all.
Finally, after a few more tense moments of silence, Carmen sighed. "I've looked around and we have to go back down to the street. We're gonna have to fight through that swarm unarmed and I'm gonna have to hotwire one of those vehicles." She tossed the crimson wad of paper towels aside and pressed some fresh ones against her wound. Her eyes flicked up to finally meet Samantha's gaze as she told her, "I've got to go without you."
Samantha's breath caught in her throat. "Y-you can't leave me," she croaked, slowly shaking her head.
"I'll bring someone back to get you."
"No," Samantha insisted. Tears welled in her eyes. She gripped the edge of the counter just to keep herself standing upright. The logical part of her could see Carmen had already made up her mind, but the thought of being left alone was unimaginable. It was simply too cruel, even for someone as cold as Carmen. Samantha's voice warbled as she pleaded, "Don't do this to me."
"Shut up," Carmen snapped. Her eyes seemed to blaze with fury as she stormed forward and pressed Samantha against the island. Their faces were all of a foot apart. "Let me tell you how this is gonna go," she hissed. "I'm leaving. Me. And if you try to follow me, I'll kill you myself. Some useless little bitch like you is not going to be the reason I die today. You got that? Or do I need to write it down for you?"
As Samantha simply stared on with her mouth hanging open, unable to move, Carmen turned away and started rifling through the kitchen drawers. "I told my brother joining this group was a goddamn mistake," she muttered. "We should've left the French one and his dumbass family in that plaza. I should've insisted we leave you in camp. But no, everyone else thinks they know better. You just wait…" the rest of her rant was inaudible, spoken under her breath. Carmen pulled the largest butcher knife from the block on the counter and headed towards the front of the apartment.
Samantha trailed after Carmen like a toddler that had been separated from its mother, weeping and pleading incoherently. "Please, please, I promise I won't get in the way, Carmen, please," she wailed, her voice growing more panicked and desperate with every step. She fiddled with her hands and watched with mounting anxiety as Carmen went over to the window, tore the curtains from their rod and tossed them aside. It was as though Samantha was no longer there, and she wished with all her might that she wasn't.
Walkers dotted the street below. Carmen picked up a nearby lamp off a table and smashed it against the window. It only took one strike for the glass to break. At the other window, more walkers had gathered and the television stand began to creak under their shoving.
"Back off," Carmen spat through grit teeth when Samantha stepped closer. She pointed the knife menacingly towards her and warned, "You better get away from me."
She waited until Samantha had retreated into the kitchen area to stick one leg out and sit balancing on the window. She tucked the large knife away somewhere in her coat and wiggled her way outside, gripping the ledge tightly. She lowered herself down as much as she could, then let go.
Samantha ran over to watch, gasping as Carmen fell twenty feet to the sidewalk and landed awkwardly on her left leg. The limb folded upon impact and she cried out in pain, riling the walkers even more.
She laboriously climbed to her feet and pulled the knife from her coat, half staggering and half walking as she made her way towards a dusty, drab car across the street.
"Carmen, please," Samantha moaned once more, knowing it was no use. She pounded her hands against the window sill and began to sob as Carmen made it to a car and wrenched the door open, practically falling inside. Walkers were instantly pawing at the door. By the time Carmen turned the engine over, the alley walkers had swarmed on the car, surrounding it on all sides.
The vehicle lurched forward, mowing down any walkers in its path, and sped up the road until it was out of sight.
Samantha sank down the wall and collapsed onto the floor, both so the walkers wouldn't see her and because her knees had finally given out. Her chest heaved as quiet sobs stole all the air in her lungs.
