"Do you think I'm doing the right thing?" Ben cast his father a sidelong glance, the air around them still and hushed as they trudged through the snow back towards their trailer. "You know, with Jake, Carmen, and Samantha. Anchorage. More or less sending Clarence off." He gnawed at his lip, watching with mounting worry as Marvin frowned and seemed to be thinking hard about his answer.
"I think you've got a good head on your shoulders, better than anyone else," Marvin began slowly. "But you're out of your league here, son. You're gonna lose your marbles fast if you don't start letting other people have a say now and again."
Ben huffed. "Jerome was convinced for weeks we could stay here all winter when he damn well knows better," he said, counting examples on his fingers as he listed them off. "Brandon still thinks it's a good idea to go galavanting around the city looking for his sister. Peggy is...well, she's Peggy. Nobody else wants to have a say, as far as I know."
"I just think you're starting to forget how this all started. People looked to you because you took them in and you have experience taking charge...being the boss." Marvin's gaze dropped to his boots. "They need a leader now. There is a difference."
"I'm doing the best I can," Ben said, his voice low as he tried to hang onto his rapidly dwindling patience.
"You know when you ask me for my opinion I'm not gonna blow smoke up your ass, I'm gonna give it to you straight," Marvin retorted, jabbing a finger at his son. "So don't get mad at me because you got what you asked for."
Although they were walking side by side, physically together on the same path, Ben felt like he and Marvin were worlds apart. He was starting to get the sense it was him against everyone else, for their own good. Whether they trusted him or not was up to them, and the truth was it didn't matter all that much to him anymore.
If he was going to be really, truly, honest with himself, Ben had to admit he didn't really care about the missing trio, and no sooner than that thought passed through his mind in its own naked glory for the first time, a cold chill gripped his stomach.
That wasn't a good thing. Maybe he wasn't a good person. But Samantha had hardly been with the group for a month, Jake was often argumentative and uncooperative for the hell of it, and Carmen was one of the most unpleasant people he'd ever met. They just weren't worth wasting time and resources on, or risking the lives of the people he did care about. Brandon was right - it would have been different for Ben if any of the three were his family.
"I have something I should've given you a long time ago," Marvin said quietly.
Jarred out of his wandering, somber thoughts, Ben's head whipped up from where he'd been absently watching the snowy path go by under his feet and found they had nearly reached their trailer.
Marvin took a deep, shaky breath and pulled a crumpled paper from his coat. "There was just never a good time and I wasn't sure if you could handle it." Both men halted at their charred campfire remains. Ben's heart thumped steadily faster with each moment. Marvin said, "I'm sorry." He handed the note over with trembling fingers, then headed into the trailer.
Ben turned his attention to the paper. His breath caught in his throat as he unfolded it and recognized the smooth, elegant handwriting. "Kate," he said, somewhere between a whisper and a gasp.
Dear Ben,
I don't want there to be any confusion about why I took my own life, so I'm going to be blunt: if I can't survive independently, I don't want to survive at all. This may come as a shock to you but it has been on my mind for quite a while. As I write this, you are in Fairbanks. I'm not positive yet, but I think you only went to find medication for me. You have to know you'll never be able to keep me doped up, right? What's in Fairbanks will run out. Are we going to spend the rest of this disaster desperately running from place to place, trying to find enough pills to keep me functioning? That isn't how I want either of us to live. You can't be chasing after me all the time and I don't want you to. I knew the day we left home my day would come and I rather it be now, on my own terms, rather than at the jaws of some infected in another month or two.
This is about you now.
Please don't grieve me for too long. Don't let me stop you from thriving and helping people like I know you can. I'm okay. I'm not angry, I'm not scared, and I'm in my right mind. For the first time in months, I know what lies ahead and I know where I'm going.
I love you, I love you, I love you. Forever and always.
Goodbye.
- Kate
By the time Ben got to Kate's signature, his chest was aching from where he'd forgotten to inhale. His eyes stung with unshed tears.
It just didn't make sense. He couldn't understand why his father had waited so long to give him his own wife's suicide note, why he'd waited until Ben had just emerged from the dark shroud of grief to deliver a punch to the gut that reopened all of his barely healed wounds.
Ben numbly plodded up the steps of the trailer, opening the door to find Marvin sitting in the dinette booth with his fingers interlocked atop the table.
"How dare you?" Ben slung the note at his father. The creased paper whipped through the air and bounced off Marvin's chest, leaving the older man slack-jawed. His eyes bugged behind his glasses as he spluttered and stammered apologetically, but Ben over talked him. "How dare you hide that from me? Every hour of every day, I've been wondering why...and this whole time, you've had the answers in your goddamn pocket?"
"I was protecting you," Marvin explained. He swallowed thickly, but it didn't take the grit of regret out of his voice. "The day she died, after we found her, I found that on the counter. It tore me up, I knew you wouldn't be able to handle it. Can you honestly tell me I was wrong?"
Ben's head pounded, a brew of anger and shock fogging up his mind. "Who the hell do you think you are, anyway?" He slammed his hands on the table. It didn't phase him when Marvin flinched. "You were the one that wanted all these people here and now you're telling me I need to be their leader. You made them look to me for that, I never signed up for it. Then I busted my ass so hard to take care of them I forgot about my own wife's, she kills herself, and you keep her suicide note." Ben shook his head in disgust and took a few steps back. "Her last words, the last thing she ever wanted to tell me...you not only read it, you keep it for yourself."
"I never meant to hang onto it this long," Marvin said, just above a whisper. "There just wasn't a good time. You've been struggling so much these past few weeks."
Ben laughed humorlessly. "You fuckin' think?"
"I'm sorry," Marvin repeated. He whipped off his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose. "I just wanted to spare you more heartache."
There were a million things on the tip of Ben's tongue, many of them unrelated to Kate's letter itself, and all of them more hurtful than anything else. So instead of throwing fuel on the fire, Ben simply clamped his mouth shut and retreated into the sleeping quarters. He slammed the door with such force that the whole trailer shook.
As Rachel prepared for the scavenging run, she couldn't ignore Jerome watching her every move. He was kicked back in a chair at the dining table with his arms crossed over his chest, staring after her with a narrowed, withering glare.
She tried her best to block him out, and instead focused on the supplies laid out on the counter - a pocket knife, a 9mm Beretta, and a type of 'shopping list' written up by Peggy, mostly including obvious things like food, medical supplies, hygiene products, and warm clothing.
"You might as well use my bag." Jerome reached underneath the table and pulled out a black backpack. Crusty patches of infected muck were still on the front from his trip into Fairbanks with Ben. Rachel couldn't remember where her own bag went. She'd had no need for one considering she'd rarely done anything in the past two months but cook, clean, and sit around waiting for someone to get a cut.
Jerome tossed a few wrappers and empty baggies from his backpack, then handed it off to Rachel. She flashed him a grateful smile and got nothing but the same brooding scowl in return. She sighed, a pang of guilt piercing her heart.
She said, "I'm sorry, honey, but I've got to get used to going out of my comfort zone."
Jerome shook his head and turned his attention to the window. "I get what you're saying, and why you're doing this, but it scares me to death."
"Lauren said we're not gonna go very far into the city, just hit a few neighborhoods," Rachel said, silently pleading that'd do something to settle his nerves.
Jerome lightly rolled his eyes. "Please just be careful and hurry back."
Before he or Rachel could say anything else, the door popped open and Emma entered. Her dark hair was separated into pigtails on either side of her head, partially concealed by an oversized beanie that had belonged to her father. The puffiness had yet to fade from her eyes, but at least it seemed she hadn't shed any new tears for a while. Rachel had never realized how much she'd underestimated Emma and Aaliyah's bond.
There was a long, awkward pause as the three of them glanced back and forth at one another, each at a loss for what to say. Then, Jerome forced a smile and bent forward to pat Emma on the shoulder. "It'll be okay, my chérie," he crooned. "Maybe after I get back from fishing, we can find something fun to do."
"Sure," Emma said, her voice blank and unenthusiastic. As Rachel started packing her supplies into the bag, Emma frowned. Her eyes tracked her mother's every movement, strikingly similar to her father. "What are you doing?"
"I'm gonna go with Lauren to look for more food and whatnot," Rachel said, careful to keep her tone light. Emma wasn't dumb, she knew the danger in Fairbanks, but Rachel was hoping that maybe if she didn't make a big deal of it, neither would her daughter. To her dismay, Emma's shoulders slumped.
There was a brief knock on the door, then Lauren walked inside. "You ready?" she asked. "Marvin says we're burning daylight."
"Marvin?" Rachel repeated, her pitch rising an octave higher than normal. "Since when is he going with us?"
Lauren awkwardly cleared her throat. "Don't tell me you guys are still at odds…"
Rachel brusquely swept the rest of the items on the counter into her bag and zipped it up. "How would I know? We haven't spoken to each other in a month."
Ever since Kate's death, Marvin had seemingly written Rachel off as dead too. The two of them hadn't exchanged more than two or three word sentences, always out of absolute necessity, since the day she died. And in the past couple weeks especially, he avoided even looking at her.
"Ugh, God." Lauren groaned. "Why do I always get stuck on these trips with two people who can't stand each other?"
"Well," Jerome began, turning excitedly to Emma, "If Marvin isn't going fishing then there's an extra pole…"
"I'd rather stay here today," Emma said.
"Alright, let's go," Rachel said. She tucked the Beretta in the waist of her jeans and concealed the grip with her shirt, then pulled on her backpack. Her words were met with dirty looks from both her husband and daughter. She kissed each of them on the cheek, then headed for the door. "Love you guys," she called over her shoulder.
Marvin imagined the house had once been warm, full of love and joy.
Nearly every tabletop was covered in smiling portraits of families, children, and even the occasional lolling-tongued dog. Each room was like its own museum, preserving a past beyond the outbreak.
The television at the head of a neatly decorated living room was small, boxy, and had dials, reminding Marvin of the one his parents had when he was a kid. He paused as he started down the hallway and noticed that the walls on either side of him were lined with more photographs, these ones black and white. One was of a man in a military uniform, another from a wedding.
Somehow, all of it seemed cold. All those smiling faces had probably been turned into monsters. This family had been torn apart like all the rest, and even if they hadn't, they surely weren't together. Things like television, weddings, and professional family portraits felt like history now, things Marvin wouldn't get to enjoy for a long time, if ever again.
He found himself staring at the smiling bride and was taken aback by how much she resembled his own late wife, Martha, on their wedding day. She had the same pointy shoes, mid-calf dress, and short, curled hair that was typical of the sixties.
The floor creaked as soft footsteps neared. Rachel reached the archway leading into the hall and stopped. She lingered there awkwardly, eyeing the photos. Marvin sighed and said, "Back when all this started...Ben lost his mother, but I lost my wife. I think he forgets I know exactly what he's going through."
Despite the rather grim topic, Marvin smiled wistfully. He swept a finger across the picture's glass frame, leaving a streak in the dust. Thinking about Martha still hurt, but memories were all he had left of her, and he was grateful for each one.
Rachel hadn't responded beyond a half-interested hum. Marvin took a deep breath and pressed his eyes closed, bracing himself for the inevitable. He was hoping once they were out together, their rocky history could be forgotten, but it didn't appear that would be the case.
"This is long overdue," he began, turning to fully face her, "but I want to tell you I'm sorry. I was out of line with how I treated you after Kate passed away."
Rachel swept past him to the nearest door. She rested her hand on the knob but didn't enter, and squeezed her eyes closed. After a moment, she said, "You were right. If I had just kept an eye on her like you asked me to, she would still be here."
"Rachel, no..." Marvin winced and wished he could kick himself. All of this time, that poor woman had been blaming herself for the death of her friend, because of him and his big mouth. "I'll admit I did blame you, but I was wrong," he said. "I should never have even asked you to watch her, it was the most selfish, stupid thing I've ever done."
Rachel chewed at her bottom lip. "Look, Marvin, it's a relief to know we can move forward without you hating my guts, but you're not gonna change my mind here," she said, pausing to give a resolute nod. "It's just something I have to live with."
"I guess that makes two of us," Marvin said softly.
Rachel spared him a sympathetic glance, then pushed open the door. She didn't make it but one step into the room before she stopped in her tracks, mouth agape and eyes staring at something beyond what Marvin could see.
He anxiously questioned, "What? What is it?" and didn't wait for an answer to raise his gun. His fingers gripped the forestock of his shotgun as he cautiously came to stand behind Rachel.
There was a single, gray haired walker laying on the bed. At first Marvin thought it was just a sleeping man, but then its sunken, cloudy eyes zeroed in on him and the growling started. An empty IV bag, still attached to the back of his hand, swayed on its stand as the walker began to slide over the side of the bed. Its legs dragged behind and didn't seem to be moving on their own accord at all.
The walker paid no mind to the shrunken, long-decayed form of a dog curled up at the foot of the bed and started to pull itself towards Rachel, yellow fingernails clawing against the wood floor. Around the same time, Rachel and Marvin both groaned and clapped their hands over their noses as the foul stench of rot reached them.
"Oh my God," Rachel whispered, her mouth turned downward in a sad frown.
"What's going on?" Lauren asked, strolling down the hall to join them. She stood on her tiptoes to peer over Marvin's shoulder to see for herself. "Oh," she said, her tone low with surprise. She slipped past Marvin and Rachel and planted her knife in the back of the walker's skull. "What a shame," she commented, scanning the room with round, somber eyes. Rachel hurried over to the bed and removed the blanket, then draped it over the corpses of both the man and dog.
"You think someone just left him here?" Marvin asked. He grimaced at what a terrible, lonely death this man must've had. It appeared he'd just laid in that bed and wasted away all alone, except for the little dog on the floor.
Lauren shook her head and crouched down to search the nightstand. "No, I really doubt anyone up and left this guy. I had just been coming to tell you, the pantry has got some good stuff."
"Thank goodness," Rachel said. She moved over to the IV stand and squinted at the bag. "Ciprofloxacin," she read. "Antibiotics, pretty strong ones. Too bad it's empty."
The foul smell only grew stronger as Marvin gingerly walked over to a tall, ornately painted cabinet. He pressed his face into the elbow of his coat - which honestly wasn't a whole lot better - and got to work rummaging through the cabinet with his free hand. Both drawers were completely empty, and the shelves contained nothing but a few towels and sheets.
"Nothing in here," he said, his voice muffled.
Rachel had moved onto the closet and shut the door with a disappointed sigh.
They continued through the house, checking every drawer and cabinet, and quickly discovered the only thing worth their time was the pantry. There were boxes of pasta, bags of rice, and enough canned goods to fill Lauren's bag, but it was still only a sliver of what they needed.
None of the neighboring houses had much to offer, either. Rachel managed to dig up a few pairs of gloves, but the street increasingly became more and more disappointing after that. If Marvin had to guess, he'd say whoever had been taking care of the old man had beat them to it.
The pantries hardly had a crumb, the medicine cabinets were all bare except for cough syrup and cotton swabs, and there wasn't a bottle of water to be found. Garages seemed to be the only thing left worth looking at, although the thought hadn't occurred to Lauren or Rachel either one.
Marvin practically had a complete toolset by the time they were heading back to the car. Wrenches, hammers, pliers, ratchets, even a partial mechanic set- they were all things that were better to have and not need rather than need and not have, so as far as Marvin was concerned, the trip was already a success.
Any hope he might've had of building up a good food stockpile, however, flew out the window when they reached the next street.
Overflowing trash bins sat at the end of almost every driveway. Many of the loose bags had been torn open, presumably by wild animals, leaving the street covered with papers, wrappers, and containers from a lifestyle long gone. Marvin walked over an empty potato chip bag and tried to ignore the nagging hunger burning in his gut that would've been satisfied perfectly by a handful of Doritos.
He followed Lauren into the first house and hung back while she went after a walker in the living room. She leapt forward and jabbed her knife into the walker's forehead, then allowed it to drop half onto a white couch.
"Yuck," she groaned, wiping her weapon off on the cushion.
"I guess that's a good sign," Rachel commented. "I doubt he's been eating the food." She squeezed past Marvin and headed for the kitchen.
Marvin figured this must've been the home of a young couple. Brightly painted walls, video game consoles, abstract art - all of it too modern for an old man like him. He went up the shiny wooden staircase, shotgun held low, and paused once he reached the second floor. There was a small, dim hallway with five doors, all closed except for one at the end of the passage that stood open, revealing a bathroom.
He entered the room slowly and shielded his eyes from the near blinding glint of sunlight. There was a small window above the toilet, with lacy curtains pulled back on either side. Two squirrels were chasing one another around and around the trunk of a huge oak tree in the backyard. The ground was covered in leaves and there were shriveled brown flowers in the garden and an empty stone bird bath.
Nothing of note, and yet, something about it all was so overwhelmingly familiar that Marvin couldn't tear his eyes away.
Another house stood beyond the tall privacy fence and Marvin could only see the back porch, but it finally clicked as soon as his eyes landed on the decorative log that laid in an overgrown flower bed.
The name WALLACE was carved into the wood in big letters.
Shortly after the others had left for their run into Fairbanks, Jerome and Brandon set off in search of the stream. They were joined at the last minute by Courtney, whose blank, bored face had lit up at Brandon's invitation for her to come along.
The thick gray cloud cover thinned as the morning went on, revealing a blue sky and bright rays of sunlight. Most of the snow had already melted except for a few patches here and there. Jerome eyed the remaining white clumps as the UTV whizzed past them and pensively chewed at the inside of his cheek.
Freak warm days like this were rare once winter weather started. Back in the days when Red Fox Creek was still an up and running placer mine, he and Ben would've been ready to do a happy jig. The longer freezing temps were kept at bay, the better for productivity, both then and now.
Even though he'd never been there himself, Jerome knew of the general area Marvin had circled on the map, so he found himself in the driver's seat for the first time since he first arrived in camp.
He drove past the long-abandoned backhoe that normally marked the edge of their territory and continued for another couple of miles, only half listening to Brandon and Courtney's cheerful conversation. His mind was elsewhere, mostly on Rachel. Where she was that moment, what she was doing, whether or not she was safe.
The stream seemed to appear out of nowhere, the glistening, sun dappled water suddenly visible through the thick sea of trees.
"Looks like we're here," Jerome said, stopping the UTV a few yards from the bank. The stream was twice as big as Red Fox Creek and the waters rushed twice as fast.
The three of them climbed out of the vehicle and went around to the bed to retrieve their poles. The conversation had come to a stop as they walked over to the bank and cast their lines, each of them focused on doing what they could to catch something. But it wasn't long until staring at a piece of twine got boring, and Jerome's mind began to wander.
"I'm sorry about your sister," he said, glancing at Brandon. "I know it must be hard."
Brandon nodded, gratitude softening the gloom in his dark eyes. "Thanks," he said. A long moment of silence stretched between them as they watched the thin twine dance against the murky water's current. "I thought she'd always be okay," he admitted, his eyebrows furrowing into a somber frown. "No one here got to really know her. Maybe she wasn't the friendliest person in the world and she was always in and out of trouble back in the day, but she was there when I needed her."
His lips pressed together into a thin line and his gaze didn't rise from the makeshift fishing pole he had in a white-knuckle grip. "I was nineteen when Adrian was born and he was hardly old enough to walk when his mother walked out on us. Carmen was the only one who stepped up to help."
Jerome found himself struggling to come up with a response. He didn't wish the girl any harm, but she had made one hell of a first impression on him and never did anything to amend it.
Carmen had gone out of her way to be cold and distant during her time with the group after that, too. She did the bare minimum to pitch in and nothing more. Any attempt to include her was met with scoffs, eye rolls, or rude retorts. Was it really any wonder why no one was jumping to risk life and limb to look for her?
Jerome gave Brandon an apologetic look before he said, "I wish there was something we could do, but I think Benny's right. It's too dangerous to look for her." It wasn't a total lie; he did wish they could find her, for Brandon's sake if nothing else.
Brandon's face fell back into a frown as he slowly guided his fishing pole up and down, sending the cloth 'lure' dancing through the water. "Feel free to ignore this question if it's too much, but me and some of the others have been wondering...where's your family?" He bit his lip and hesitantly added, "Besides Rachel and Emma, of course. Everyone else either has relatives here or has mentioned them...except you."
Jerome's eyes widened at the revelation that people had been wondering about his family. Nobody had ever shown much interest in his background beyond Fort McAdams. "Well, both my parents died decades ago and I was an only child," he explained. "Any other relatives I might have are back in France."
"When did you come to America?" Courtney asked, leaning forward to look at Jerome curiously.
"My parents moved us to Chicago when I was thirteen," Jerome answered. He chuckled. "Believe it or not, I was kind of a city boy growing up, but I don't miss it." When the somewhat confused, but mostly intrigued expression on Courtney's face didn't lift, Jerome continued, "My Ma and I wanted a change of scenery after my father died. He was a lineman, one of those guys that works on power lines and whatnot. One of his colleagues screwed up and got him electrocuted."
Jerome paused as Brandon's mouth dropped open, expecting some commentary, but none came. "The worker's comp money flooded in and off we went. Ma loved Anchorage," he said, smiling. "She only got to enjoy it for a few years before she got sick, and well…" Jerome trailed off with a shrug, allowing them to fill in the blanks.
"Damn, I'm sorry." Brandon shook his head. "That sounds rough as hell."
Jerome shrugged again. He had surprised himself with how easily and willingly he'd talked about his parents. More often than not, he liked to leave the past in the past. "I never expected to be all alone in the world at twenty one, that's for sure. But things got better. They always do."
For the next fifteen minutes, the conversation took a lighter turn as the topic changed from long gone family members to what they hoped to enjoy again soon. Jerome kept his rather grim and all too real answer of "peace" to himself, and instead said he missed barbecues - it wasn't the farthest thing from the truth. There were a whole lot of things he'd have sacrificed right then and there to know he could go have a juicy, seared steak for lunch instead of whatever God-awful disaster Peggy was probably preparing as they spoke.
Courtney said, "To tell the truth, I miss mashed potatoes more than electricity," and Jerome couldn't believe how foreign his laugh sounded to his own ears. Really, he missed moments like this more than anything else. Sharing a moment of joy with other people that wasn't related to the fact they were all simply still alive. It was precious, and rare.
Even with the safety of Red Fox, every day was still bleak and full of stress. But for now, the sun was warm, the talk was good, and Jerome was happy even if the fish weren't biting.
As the morning dragged on and it became apparent they weren't going to catch anything, Jerome stepped back and jammed his 'fishing pole' into the muddy bank. "This is about like watching paint dry."
"No kidding." Brandon pulled his line in and flicked the soggy strips of cloth that hung from the end. "I guess these fish are too smart for Marvin's trick."
"I'm sure there's something we can hunt around here," Courtney said, dropping her fishing pole in the grass. "Why don't we go look around?"
"You go ahead," Brandon said. "We'll finish up here. Just don't be gone long."
"Okay." Courtney nodded. She walked over to the back of the ATV and pulled out the sleek, bolt action rifle that had belonged to her grandfather, then started off into a thickly wooded area.
Her footfalls were light and methodical, and before long, Jerome could no longer see or hear her. His eyebrows inched up his forehead. "She really knows what she's doing, huh?"
"I think that kid was born in the woods with a gun in her hand," Brandon said. He plopped his line back in the water and unenthusiastically guided his pole back and forth. "Dean taught her well. That day I tried to go hunting with Marvin, I had no clue what I was doing. Pretty sure I was the reason we didn't get anything, actually."
Jerome snorted and walked leisurely down the bank, scuffing his boot along the smooth pebbles. "Not like I'm any better," he said. "I tagged along with my dad on a hunting trip when I was fourteen and it was probably about the same."
"No way you shot a cute, furry, innocent animal," Brandon said, snickering light-heartedly. Jerome only pursed his lips and glared at him over his shoulder in response. "Oh, damn!" Brandon exclaimed, laughing harder. "I'm right, aren't I?"
"Hey," Jerome said defensively. "They put on Bambi like religious broadcasting when I was little then expect me to shoot a deer. It wasn't right."
"Jesus, dude." Brandon grinned and shook his head. "I would not go around telling people that."
Jerome sheepishly shoved his hands deep into the pockets of his coat. "I suppose I'll have to change soon."
"Yeah, maybe Marvin can…" Brandon's words gradually faded away, then he hissed, "Oh, shit! Walkers!"
Jerome whirled around and counted five biters staggering towards them from various parts of the woods.
"No...no, no," he whispered. He pressed his eyes shut.
They didn't have to worry about biters at Red Fox Creek. He was probably one of the only people left in Alaska, maybe the country, who could say he hadn't seen one in months, but now that safety net was shattered. Snatched away in a single instant. And if they were out here, who was to say there weren't more lurking near camp, or God forbid, in camp, where Emma and Adrian had only Peggy to protect them?
Every decision they had made for weeks suddenly seemed unspeakably stupid. Nobody on guard duty, half the time none of them carried weapons anymore, leaving one adult in camp….
Jerome slowly started moving backwards. The sound of his own fast, shallow breathing was somehow deafening. He reluctantly pried his eyes open, half expecting to see all five biters coming after him. Instead, Brandon's face was mere inches from his own, mouth moving rapidly. He could faintly hear Brandon calling his name, as though there was a wall between them.
Then, Brandon's hand collided with Jerome's face in a mighty smack that made him stumble a few feet to the side.
Brandon hollered, "Snap out of it! I'm gonna need your help!"
Jerome fumbled with the layers of clothing at his hip to locate his knife. The biters had spread out some, but they were closing in. His attention zeroed onto the nearest one, just a few yards out - a young, dark-skinned woman with sunken cheeks and half her scalp missing. He raised his knife defensively, but it was as though his feet had grown rooted to the earth.
Brandon charged forward and gave the biter a hearty shove, sending her flying to the ground. He grabbed a handful of her remaining hair and slammed her head against the hard-packed dirt, finishing the job with a stomp.
The deep boom of a gunshot rang out and another biter fell to the forest floor in an unmoving heap. Courtney ran over, skirting around trees, her rifle held low. Her wide-eyes took in the remaining three biters and she gulped, but came to a steady stop beside Jerome and raised her gun.
Another appeared beyond the others, swaying out from behind a large tree. "I've got it," Jerome said faintly.
He trudged deeper into the woods and found himself slowing down as he neared the biter. Fortunately, this one was a good foot shorter than him, so Jerome grit his teeth, leapt forward, and drove his knife into the top of its head. He tried his best to ignore the disgustingly wet squelch his knife made as he yanked it free and turned back towards the stream.
Brandon seemed to be holding his own, grappling with a walker against the UTV. Courtney was staring down the sights of her rifle at another, but was apparently oblivious to the one lumbering up behind her.
Jerome yelled, "Behind you!" but not soon enough. The biter reached for Courtney's back with both hands and was moving with such force that she was knocked to the ground. Courtney shrieked and the rifle flew from her hands. The gun skittered along the slick bank and dropped into the stream, instantly swept away by the fast-moving waters.
Courtney rolled onto her back just in time to plant her foot against the biter's chest, its grabby hands clawing at either side of her leg.
Jerome darted forward, took the biter by the shoulders, and hurled it away from Courtney. He shifted uneasily from foot to foot, waiting for a chance to strike, but none came. The biter recovered and got back to its feet almost immediately. Before Jerome could think of another way to take it down, Courtney let out a feral, enraged growl and tackled the walker around its waist, sending them both back to the ground.
Her boots gouged into the slushy, snow covered turf as she moved to straddle the biter's hips, then reached over and yanked Jerome's fishing pole free from where he'd stuck it in the dirt. Jerome flinched at the ferocity of Courtney's stabs as she drove the stick into the biter's head, again and again, sending blood and brains flying. Nothing was left but a pile of brown mush when she rose to her feet, chest heaving.
Gurgling, desperate grunts grew ever louder behind Jerome. He turned and found one of two remaining biterss limping towards him, one foot dragging along at an unnatural angle. Jerome ducked beneath its outstretched arms and led the way backwards, clutching his knife so tightly he was surprised the wooden handle hadn't cracked.
When it had followed him a satisfactory amount, Jerome leapt forward and pinned the biter against a nearby tree, pushing his blade into its temple.
Brandon groaned through grit teeth as he finally got the upper hand against his walker, then slammed its face into the side of the UTV. The walker's frantic noises ceased in an instant as it slid down the vehicle, a large, deep gash glistening on its forehead.
"I think that's it," Brandon said, dragging the body away from the UTV.
Courtney fell to her knees beside the stream and slammed her blood-caked hands in the mud. Her voice wavered as she said, "My grandpa's gun…"
"I'm sorry," Brandon said. "And if these bastards hadn't shown up, I'd say we could go look, but we've got to go."
"I know," Courtney said quietly. "There could be more coming." She hung her head as she got back to her feet, casting one last sorrowful look at the stream.
The three of them piled into the UTV and were off in the blink of an eye. Nobody was too eager to stick around and see if more biters did indeed turn up, least of all Jerome. Sweat prickled at his chest within the warm depths of his coat.
Brandon drove at breakneck speed until they had reached the familiar territory of Red Fox Creek, then he began to slow, and eventually stopped once they reached the Wallace's trailer.
"You take it from here," Brandon said, stepping out of the UTV. "I'm gonna let Ben know what happened."
"Good idea." Jerome scooted over to the driver's seat and headed towards camp without further hesitation.
He was halfway up the path when he realized Brandon would have to walk back to camp unarmed; he probably should've offered his knife. For all they knew, the woods could've been crawling with biters this whole time and their paths just hadn't crossed. There had been one at the scrapyard the day Kate died, why had they been so ignorant as to believe biters just avoided this little patch of earth when the rest was infested?
"Thank you," Courtney said.
Jerome hardly registered her words, and even once he had a few moments later, he still wasn't clear what she meant. He glanced over at her, brow quirked. "What?"
"You pulled a walker off me," she explained slowly, as though she was talking to a confused child. "Thank you."
"Yeah. Of course." He tried to smile, but one look at the side-view mirror told him it was more of a grimace.
Neither of them spoke again, and as soon as Jerome pulled into camp, he cut the engine. The clearing was empty and no one was on guard duty; he'd figured as much, but his heart still thumped a little faster.
He jogged over to the dining trailer and threw the door open. Emma, Adrian, and Peggy were all inside. The kids sat on opposite sides of the table, the board game Candy Land between them.
"Thank God," Jerome whispered. He crouched beside Emma's chair and enveloped his daughter in a crushing hug.
Emma's muffled voice questioned, "Papa?"
Jerome sank back but kept a hold on her shoulders. "Do not go anywhere without a grownup anymore, you understand?" He looked firmly into her big brown eyes and urged, "Understand? Not to use the bathroom, not to look around in the woods, not to play…"
"Christ, Jerome, scare the kid to death." Peggy scowled behind her book, but didn't look up. "What's going on?"
"There were biters in the woods," Jerome answered. Emma gasped and he gave her a reassuring squeeze.
Adrian asked, "Is my daddy okay?"
"Yes, bud." Jerome nodded to him. "He just wanted to let Ben know that the woods aren't safe anymore, he'll be here soon," he said, then turned his attention back to Emma. Nearly frantic, he begged, "Please. I know you're not gonna like it, but it's very dangerous for you to be out alone. If you see any biters, you run inside the closest trailer."
When Emma only stared back at him, her mouth slightly open, Jerome demanded, "Promise me."
She stammered, "P-papa, don't worry. I promise I'll run if I see any."
"And don't go anywhere alone," he repeated.
Emma nodded fervently. "I won't, I swear."
"Okay. Good." Jerome wasn't entirely convinced that she was grasping the severity of the situation, but he'd done what he could for the time being. "Continue your game," he encouraged, standing up.
Peggy's voice was uncharacteristically soft as she commented, "I thought they were slower in the snow."
"I don't think it's cold enough today," Jerome said. "A lot of the snow has melted and what's left is just slush."
Normally, a warm front in November would've been celebrated. But now, even sunny days were a problem. Or at least they had better hope that was the case - if Lauren had been wrong about biters slowing down in the snow, they could kiss the potential safety of winter goodbye.
Jerome slowly walked over to join Peggy in the kitchenette. "Courtney's fine," he told her.
"I figured." Peggy shrugged and turned a page in her novel.
In the hours following his and Marvin's argument, Ben did a lot of cleaning.
Usually, he would've been glad to do absolutely anything else, but he wasn't in the mood to talk to anyone. He certainly didn't want to go back to camp and risk running into his father, or worse, someone else with another complaint, so he spent the morning sorting laundry, scrubbing counters, and sweeping the floor until his own trailer was almost unrecognizable.
It hadn't been this neat since Kate tidied up two months ago. As his wife popped into his head for what must've been the hundredth time, Ben gingerly pulled her letter from his pocket. He knew he shouldn't keep reading it, and he already could've recited it word for word, but he just couldn't help himself. This time, however, he was interrupted by a series of rapid knocks on the door.
Ben quickly tucked the note away, grumbling to himself. Please don't be Dad with another apology, he thought. He opened the door to find Brandon on the steps and his eyes nearly doubled in size as he took in the muck splattered all over his torso. "What happened?" he demanded. "Is everyone okay?"
"Yeah, everyone's fine," Brandon said. He entered the trailer and slid into a seat at the kitchenette booth. "We were just about to head back from fishing when a bunch of walkers came out of nowhere," he explained.
"How many?"
"Six, I think," Brandon answered.
"Ah, damn," Ben said. He released an irritable huff of breath and shook his head.
"Listen, dude," Brandon began, picking nervously at a thread on his coat, "I didn't want to do this but I've gotta tell you, Jerome's freaking me out."
Ben resisted the urge to roll his eyes. He really didn't need this today, and almost didn't want to know. He dropped into the seat across from Brandon and said, "Alright, what did he do?"
There was a heavy silence between them as Brandon searched for the right words. He fiddled with the curtains hanging from the window beside him. "It's hard to explain," he said. "But all these walkers were coming at us and it was like he just shut down." Brandon's voice grew softer as he reluctantly added, "I had to slap him to bring him back, and even then something was still off."
Ben briefly closed his eyes. Just the other day, Jerome had been wandering around far from camp by himself. If those walkers had found him and he froze like that then, he would've been done for. It was the same thing he did at the pharmacy, and it couldn't continue. He asked, "Did he at least help kill them?"
"Yeah, eventually," Brandon huffed. "Ben, I hate to say it but I think he's dangerous. If he reacts like that again when we're on the road…I might not always have time to smack some sense into him, you know?" Brandon sighed and dropped his gaze to the floor. "Man, I feel like an asshole."
"Don't," Ben said, raking a hand through his hair. "You're absolutely right."
Brandon tilted his head dubiously. His mouth opened and closed a couple times before he finally questioned, "Really?"
Ben nodded. "Yep. I'm gonna go talk to him." He thumped his hands on the table decisively and stood up.
"Whoa, what? Right now?" Brandon shot to his feet and followed Ben across the kitchenette. "What are you gonna do?"
"I won't mention your name if that's what you're worried about." Ben grabbed his coat off the counter and pulled it on. "I won't have to, I've already been getting onto him about this shit."
"Oh." Brandon's stiff posture relaxed some at that. "Maybe take it easy on him...he hasn't seemed all that stable lately."
Ben gave a flippant wave of his hand and headed out the door. He stormed down the steps and started towards camp with fast, determined strides. Enough was enough. Someone was going to wind up getting hurt if Jerome didn't get it together, and Ben refused to let that happen. They were all going to have to step up when they left Red Fox Creek. Nobody could afford to be worrying about whether or not Jerome was gonna be able to perform the most simple act of survival. It wouldn't be long before Rachel and Brandon weren't the only ones to notice Jerome could potentially pose a threat, and Ben definitely didn't want to deal with that.
Although he had half a mind to ream Jerome on sight, Ben took a deep, steadying breath. It wasn't going to do anybody any good if he started out ready for a fight.
The thick, withered bushes around camp brushed up against Ben's legs as he entered the clearing. Jerome was perched in the camping chair atop Peggy's trailer with a shotgun in one hand and a cigarette in the other.
"I thought you quit smoking," Ben commented as he approached. Jerome simply shrugged and returned his attention to the treeline. "I heard you're willing to go to Anchorage now," Ben said happily. He figured he might as well start out slow and begin with his and Rachel's conversation from the previous day.
Jerome paused mid-inhale from his cigarette and pinned Ben with a suspicious, narrow-eyed scowl. "I guess you talked to Rachel," he said, his voice gruff with an underlying irritation.
Ben sighed and climbed up the ladder to join Jerome on the roof. He stood before him and crossed his arms over his chest, bracing against the chilly wind that ruffled his short, strawberry blonde hair. "So...was it just something you said, or are you really okay with leaving?"
Jerome took a long drag off his cigarette and chewed thoughtfully at his cheek. Then he blurted, "What if there's a cure?"
Ben waited for him to crack a smile or laugh, show some sign that the question had been some stupid, misguided joke, but the brooding mask upon Jerome's face didn't budge. Well, there it is, Ben thought. He's hopeless. Nobody in their right mind could believe there was any chance for walkers to be healed. Not after everything they had seen. At a loss for words, Ben stared at Jerome expectantly, waiting for an explanation.
Jerome scoffed as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. "You don't know what started this, why do you think you know what could or couldn't end it?"
Ben grit his teeth and made an effort to keep his tone level. "A cure takes a lab, people, supplies, research...who do you think is left to do all that?" he asked, raising his brows quizzically. "We know Alaska got a late start to this mess, and I think it's safe to assume if the lower forty-eight were doing any better, we'd have heard something by now." Ben scoffed and added, "Besides, half the walkers are skin and bone, wandering around with their guts hanging out. There's no curing that."
"Not all of them are that far gone," Jerome retorted. "There has to be someone out there who's figured out something. How to prevent people from turning, how to stop it altogether, just something." He briefly pressed his eyes shut and fervently shook his head. "Y-you're all just abandoning civilization too fast. It's like you've given up, it's like you don't even care." He huffed and paraphrased Ben's earlier words with mock cheer. "Bashing skulls and fighting for every scrap you can get are just part of life now, right?"
Ben's eyes shot wide open. He blinked rapidly, struggling to come up with a response, and any he might've had fell away when he really looked at Jerome for the first time. The dark circles and bags under his eyes, the vicious tremble of his hand that was making the cigarette dance in his fingers, the aggression that was so totally not Jerome that Ben still didn't know how to deal with...he had a much bigger problem on his hands than he thought, and with that realization, his heart dropped.
It seemed his best friend was about to fall apart under the pressures of the new world, and he hadn't even seen the half of it yet. They had no idea how Anchorage would turn out or what the winter held for them. Jerome was the only person in the group who could say his family was intact, and yet...
Anger blossomed inside Ben like a flaming flower, sending him over the calm edge that he'd been teetering on so precariously. What was Jerome's problem, anyway? That he was scared and worried for his family? That he didn't want to deal with walkers and face what the world had become?
Ben snorted and slowly ran a hand down his face. "You know what," he began, pinning Jerome in an icy glare, "I knew from the moment you got here that you weren't gonna make it. God how I hoped I was wrong, but you just keep on saying and doing shit that everyone besides you can see is gonna get your ass killed."
Jerome went slack-jawed but quickly recovered, pressing his lips together into a thin line. He tossed his cigarette to the ground and stuck his hands out expectantly. "What exactly do you want from me?"
"I want you to live," Ben snapped. "You say we have given up, but you're the one hanging onto a life that's gone. You're the one refusing to adapt."
All of the anger seemed to leave Jerome in an instant, like someone had flipped a switch. His shoulders sagged and he laid the shotgun across his lap, then buried his face in his hands. He was quiet for a long moment, making the afternoon birdsong seem especially loud, then he mumbled, "I'm sorry. I just...I just don't know if I can do it."
"You're gonna," Ben said matter-of-factly.
The low rumbling of an approaching vehicle stole his chance to say anything else. Jerome dropped the shotgun onto the roof and clambered out the chair. He stared towards the road, his eyes wide and desperately hopeful that his wife had returned. Knowing their time to discuss the issue any further was rapidly dwindling, Ben came to his side and playfully punched him on the arm.
He said, "You know, you're the brother I never had. Or wanted." At first, Jerome seemed too intent on the road to hear his words. Then, he gave a short chuckle and turned to Ben with a stunned, slightly amused expression. "We'll work on this," Ben continued. "I know it's hard, especially after being at that damn refugee center, but it just takes time."
He crossed the roof and descended the ladder.
Lauren waved from the driver's seat as she drove the Buick into camp. Ben stopped dead in his tracks at the sight of someone else in the car - his father.
"What the hell?" he said to no one in particular, throwing his hands up in the air. His sixty-seven-year-old father had not only gone into Fairbanks, but done so without his knowledge or permission, and had been gone for hours without Ben even noticing. That was just great. As soon as Lauren had parked the car in its usual place behind the bus, Ben stormed over and yanked the back door open. "Welcome back," he said, his voice practically dripping with sarcasm. "Have a nice trip, dad?"
"None of us are bit or anything, by the way," Lauren said, pursing her lips. "Thanks for asking."
"Why did you let him go?" Ben demanded, his exasperated gaze bouncing from her to Rachel. "You both know he's not to leave this camp and why."
"Hey, I'm not his keeper," Rachel said. She hopped out of the car and jogged across camp to greet her husband and daughter before Ben could say anything else.
Marvin rolled his eyes and pushed his glasses back up his nose. "You act like I've got one foot in the grave," he said. "I wanted to go and I wasn't gonna take no for an answer." He reached across the seat, grabbed a small blue book, and thrust it into Ben's hands. "Besides, I think it was worth it just for that."
Ben scoffed dubiously - there was nothing worth him going into Fairbanks for, least of all a damn book. He flipped the cover open and the anger fell away as he was met with Kate's smiling face.
He remembered the day the photograph was taken well. It was Kate's thirtieth birthday, and where the memory had become rather fuzzy and vague in his mind, the picture was clear. Kate wore a pink tiara and had an arm around one of her friends. Ben looked up, realizing then that tears were in his eyes.
"We came across your house," Marvin explained quietly.
"Thank you," he whispered.
