Freshly fallen snow crunched softly under Jerome's boots. There were no biters, wind, or wildlife, leaving the street in a still silence. Jerome crouched low as he moved across the front lawn of the City Hall, all too aware of the broad windows on the second and third floors. Someone could've easily spotted him already.
He kept to the shadows as best as he could, darting behind half walls and withered bushes until he reached the building's stone exterior.
He pressed his back against the wall and took a moment to rest. Each intake of breath seared his lungs with painfully cold air, and each exhale produced a little cloud before his chattering teeth. The temperature had plummeted since the sun set, and Jerome wished Lauren had taken his coat. Up on that roof, she herself had probably turned to ice by now.
He briefly closed his eyes, bracing himself for whatever came next, and continued along the wall towards the back of the building, where Yuka had mentioned most of the guards kept watch.
Sure enough, as Jerome neared the corner, low voices drifted from somewhere close. There was a large parking lot before him, surrounded by a chain link fence. Several large trucks and a cylindrical fuel tank prevented him from seeing much else, but he did spot a familiar shape at the opposite end of the lot - Brandon's short bus.
Jerome's pulse began to race a little faster. His family had to be inside, and in order to figure out how to get to them, he needed a better view.
Whoever was talking was far enough away that Jerome couldn't make out any words, and he prayed their conversation was riveting enough he could sneak to the other side undetected. He took a moment to make sure the voices weren't coming any closer, then made a run for the bus, using the trucks for cover. He halted so suddenly once he was hidden from view behind the bus that he nearly toppled forward. Something metallic clattered at his feet, freezing him in place.
He didn't dare even breathe, half expecting the guards to come running. But their faint conversation didn't miss a beat, and as the seconds dragged on, Jerome began to relax. He finally looked down, and saw his lighter had fallen out of his pocket.
Jerome snatched it up off the asphalt and shook his head - he should've never started smoking again. He leaned forward to peer around the back of the bus, gripping the bumper with dirty hands.
A fire burned low in a barrel, casting an orange glow on the cracked, faded concrete where the warmth had melted the snow. Two men, bundled up in coats overtop camouflage uniforms, stood before a set of glass double doors. Rifles hung from their backs. Jerome was sure there were many more people and guns inside, all ready to do whatever they had to in order to keep him away.
Or maybe they'd just hold him hostage.
Either scenario ended with him in a position where he couldn't help his group, and he couldn't let that happen. He might've been their only hope, and that was a pressure that weighed so heavily on his shoulders, it was nearly crushing him. He couldn't let them down.
But what could he do?
Yuka's words rang in his ears. You'd be better off creating some kind of distraction and sneaking past them.
Jerome's searching gaze landed on the fuel tank. It was the kind that probably held a few thousand gallons, long and round. Dark lettering on the side read GASOLINE, FLAMMABLE, NO SMOKING. He pulled the lighter from his pocket and stared at it for a long moment.
This wasn't a situation where a simple brick through a window would keep the guards busy. He needed something that would consume their attention long enough for him to find the others and get the upper hand. An explosion would certainly do the trick, but was it worth it? He would definitely draw biters, potentially damage the building, maybe even render the vehicles useless...but he didn't see any other way.
Jerome whispered, "Holy shit, okay," and got out his knife. A sickening ache spasmed in his gut. In just a few minutes, there would be no going back. He swiftly moved to the fuel tanker while the guards were still wrapped up in their own chat, and brought the knife down hard. The blade made a high-pitched clang as it pierced through the aluminum, creating a narrow notch near the bottom of the tank. Gasoline immediately poured out and turned the thin layer of snow to yellow slush.
One of the guards said, "Wait, did you hear that?"
Jerome took a few steps back, edging his way towards the side of the building. He managed to flick the lighter and light a cigarette despite the trembling of his fingers.
In a terrible twist of fate, Jerome tossed his cigarette into the ever-expanding pool of gas just as the guards jogged past the corner of the building to investigate. The ground went up in a swarm of angry orange flames. The tank immediately followed, blowing apart in a roar of fire and smoke that swallowed the two men.
Their agonized, panicked screams were audible even over the booming, crackling blaze. They stumbled around and around in the parking lot, limbs flailing, desperately trying - and failing - to escape the flames. Everything from their clothes to their hair was alight with fuel-rich fire, and it was mere seconds before they collapsed to the cement in smoldering heaps of melted flesh.
For Jerome, everything else fell away. The blast had left him on his backside, half laying against the City Hall. He stared at the two men, dead because of him, with wide eyes. He choked on every smoke-filled breath as horror clutched at his throat.
"Oh God," he said, burying his face in his hands. "Oh God, no."
The heat of the ever-raging inferno stung every bit of his exposed skin and his ears still rang. He'd wanted to warn the men, tell them to run, but he hadn't had any time.
Someone screamed, "What the fuck!?"
Another two guards charged out the double doors and around the building with their guns drawn. They ran right past Jerome and shrank back against the fire. At the sight of their dead colleagues, they stumbled to a stop, their jaws dropping.
One of them, a tall man with sandy hair and a bruised face, doubled over and vomited.
"How did this happen?" The second man questioned in a wavering voice, turning his round eyes up to the swirling flames and black smoke.
Jerome shakily got to his feet. It was over. He'd blown his chance to help his group. Whatever they wanted to do to him, he deserved it, and he was ready to give in. He couldn't handle any more. "I'm so sorry," he said, stepping out of the shadows. "I had to...I had to...I'm so sorry."
The men whirled around with their guns drawn. The one with the bruised face questioned, "What did you say?"
"I-I'm sorry," Jerome gasped out around a sob. "I never meant for this to happen."
He dropped his rifle, allowing it to swing freely at his side by the shoulder strap, and stomped towards Jerome. There was a crazed urgency in his eyes that rendered Jerome unable to move, unable to breathe.
The man grabbed him by the front of his jacket and slammed him against the building. "Repeat exactly what you said," he ordered through grit teeth.
"I'm so sorry," Jerome said, gulping anxiously. He didn't understand why he seemed angrier by what he said than the two men he'd killed. "I had to."
The man blinked. They stood almost nose to nose. "That accent," he said slowly. "I know I've heard it before." He paused, and Jerome could practically see the gears turning in his head before a broad, knowing grin spread across his face. "You were at Fort McAdams, weren't you?"
Jerome stared back at him. That wasn't the smile of an old friend, someone that was happy to see him. It reminded him more of a shark. Cold and frightening. And the strange, dark look in his eyes matched. Time seemed to stand still as the puzzle pieces fell into place.
There was only one other time Jerome had ever uttered those words, and uttered them in such despair. At Fort McAdams, of course, when he stabbed a man to escape the ruins of a burning, biter-filled hell. He'd always assumed he'd killed him, but now he had to assume that was who was standing in front of him.
After a painfully long moment where it seemed his voice wasn't going to work, Jerome answered, "Yeah, I was there."
"Huh," the man said, strangely monotone. The hands clutching Jerome's jacket began to shake. His eyes chilled Jerome to the bone. They were the eyes of a savage, a wild man, a vibrant shade of blue that was void of any soul. He tipped his head and asked, "Did you have a knife?"
Jerome planted his hands against the man's chest and hurled him away. He ran past the fuel tank blaze, the heat pricking at his face, and headed towards the bus. Gunshots boomed, bullets whirring past him to ping off the surrounding vehicles.
The man hollered, "You had a knife then, but I've got a gun now, buddy!"
Jerome threw himself to the ground behind the bus and clutched his knife to his chest. He was sure he was going to die, and found he no longer wanted to. Not like this.
"Christ!" The second man exclaimed. "Lancaster, what the hell is going on?"
"Don't worry about it, Davis," Lancaster snapped. "This one's mine. And that's Captain Lancaster to you."
Gunfire rained over the bus, shattering the windows and slicing through the sides like a hot knife through butter. Jerome scrambled back and forth, trying to predict where Lancaster was aiming, and managed to make it through unscathed. The gunfire stopped, and Lancaster's heavy footfalls rapidly drew near.
Jerome shot to his feet and backed towards the front of the bus. His empty gun pressed hard at his waist, and he desperately wished he could've willed even one bullet into the chamber.
"This is a short bus and there's an armed man at either side," Lancaster said, coming around the bumper to join Jerome. He had his rifle tucked against his shoulder and aimed at Jerome's chest. "How do you think this is going to end?"
"Please don't," Jerome begged. "I-I never meant for anybody to get hurt. I just wanted to find my family."
"Ah, yes." Lancaster nodded. "My Sergeant told me we have other Fort survivors inside. I'm guessing they're your family, the brunette lady and the little girl?" Jerome didn't respond right away. Something told him it would be a bad idea, but after a moment, he nodded. Lancaster scoffed and said, "Well, trust me, you'll all be together again very soon."
A single shot rang out from behind Jerome. Davis cried out and dropped to the ground beside the burnt remains of his colleagues. He wheezed and gurgled blood as a crimson spot blossomed on his abdomen.
Jerome whirled around to see who had fired, and found Clarence standing just outside the set of double doors, rifle in hand.
Clarence yelled, "Jerome, get down!"
Jerome ducked and two shots were fired almost at the same time. Clarence hollered and dropped to his knees. While Lancaster was aiming for the killshot, Jerome lunged forward and tackled him around the waist. The rifle fell from his hands and clattered on the concrete below.
Jerome raised his knife, ready to stab him in the gut for a second time, but Lancaster swung his arm out and sent the blade skittering through the snow.
"Once wasn't enough?" Lancaster sneered, delivering an uppercut so vicious it sent Jerome flying backwards. He slammed against the ground, in a daze from the sharp, pounding pain in his jaw. Lancaster stomped over and kicked him hard in the gut. Jerome groaned and fought the urge to bring his knees up to his chest. Instead, as Lancaster loomed over him, he swung his feet out and swept the Captain's legs out from under him.
Lancaster grunted as he fell gracelessly to the ground. Jerome said, "It doesn't have to be like this."
"You are everything that is wrong with this world," Lancaster shouted, spit flying from his mouth. "And when the night is over, I will still be the one who has to make things right!" He raised his rifle again. Jerome shoved the muzzle downwards and managed to snatch the strap off Lancaster's shoulder, freeing the gun.
In a split second, Lancaster was back on his feet, and smacked it from Jerome's hands. Jerome booted it across the parking lot before he could get it back again. Lancaster gave a furious yell and punched Jerome hard in the throat, leaving him wheezing and hacking.
Lancaster turned and stormed after his gun. Jerome hobbled after him. When Lancaster bent down, Jerome sprang at his back and pinned him against the parking lot. Lancaster made a guttural sound of pain and flipped over to face him. He moved to punch Jerome in the stomach, but Jerome blocked the blow with his forearm and straddled the Captain's waist.
Before Lancaster had a chance to do anything else, Jerome wrapped his hands around his throat and squeezed, hard. Lancaster's eyes bulged. His skin rapidly turned purple beneath the bruises. Jerome stared straight ahead at the billowing plumes of black smoke, refusing to meet his gaze.
Lancaster weakly smacked at Jerome's arms and his legs kicked around like a dying cricket's. Flesh and tendons grew taut under Jerome's fingers, pushing against Lancaster's windpipe. His breathing was beginning to sound crackly and feeble. Jerome finally dared to look down. The Captain stared back at him, terror apparent in his ever wild eyes.
"It didn't have to be like this," Jerome repeated. Sorrow rose from somewhere deep inside him as he knew, distantly in the back of his reeling mind, there was no going back. This night, this moment, would be with him forever. No matter what happened, whether the world went back to normal or got even worse, Jerome was always going to carry the weight of taking another man's life with his bare hands. Tears stung his eyes and leaked out the corners, hot against his cheeks.
He grit his teeth, braced his feet against the slick, snowy cement, and bore his weight down on Lancaster's throat. What air he had left blew out in a brief, moaning rasp. There was a wet crushing sound that made Jerome's chest constrict.
Lancaster's struggles gradually grew weaker and then stopped altogether. The fire was mirrored in his blank stare and his mouth hung open. Jerome slowly sank back, uncurling his aching hands.
"Damn, French," said a familiar, feminine voice. "I didn't know you had it in you."
Jerome frowned and peered over his shoulder to see none other than Carmen Woods limp out of the shadows on the other side of the chain link fence.
"Yeah, thanks for the help," he said darkly, too stunned to ask any questions. It was as if fog had been pumped into his head. Nothing made sense. He couldn't believe any of it was real.
She smirked. "Well, here's a tip - you might want to take care of them," she said, pointing somewhere behind him.
Jerome stood and discovered that the two men he'd inadvertently burned to death had turned. One was already starting towards him, and the other had just begun to stir. They both looked like something out of a nightmare - charred, black skin, melted eyeballs sunken deep in their sockets, gnarled burnt claws for hands. And the smell...Jerome didn't think biters could smell any worse, but these two had a uniquely foul stench that only increased the more they moved.
"I'm sorry," he whispered again. He pulled the rifle out from under Lancaster's limp body and put them both down, then did the same to Davis, and finally Lancaster himself. He'd never even fired a rifle before. The shots pounded his ears, but he figured it didn't matter anymore.
And then, out of nowhere, a jolting realization sliced through his mental fog, and he remembered Clarence.
Jerome ran towards the back of the building without a second thought, around pieces of the exploded fuel tank, towards Clarence's still, curled form. His face held a myriad of dark bruises and his nose appeared to have been busted. There was a large sprawl of blood on his chest surrounding a small hole. More blood had puddled around him on the ground. At first Jerome thought he was dead, but then he noted the slight rise and fall of his chest.
"Clarence?" Jerome questioned, leaning down and shaking him.
The older man's eyes slowly fluttered open. He coughed and blood gurgled past his lips. "You...helped me escape," he rasped, his voice so weak Jerome had to crane his head down to hear him. "That big boom...got all their attention."
Jerome wasn't sure exactly he was talking about, but he nodded along anyway. "You saved me," he said, glancing at the bullet wound guiltily. By now, it was clear even for Jerome to see there would be no saving him. He'd already lost too much blood, and a bullet to the chest had to have done some severe damage. But Jerome had to wonder, if maybe he'd gotten to him faster...
"Well…" Clarence let out a wheezing, rattling hack. "At least...l'll die a free man."
Jerome winced and shook his head. "I'm sorry," he said quietly. "Is your family inside?"
Clarence gave a barely perceptible nod. "Please...g-get them away from here."
"I will," Jerome said.
"Y-you better hurry," he advised. "There'll be more comin'."
Jerome's chest swelled with determination. He'd come there in the first place to find his own family, and he was damn well going to do it. He was going to get them all out, and there would be no more death.
The fence rattled as Carmen laboriously climbed to the top, mostly using only her right leg, and dropped onto the other side. She limped around the bus towards the two of them.
"I'm with you," she told Jerome, gently pulling the rifle from Clarence's limp hand. "My brother and nephew are in there and I'm not leaving without them."
Jerome wasn't sure how she knew that, or where she'd been for the past couple weeks, and there wasn't time to ask. A guilty pang pierced his heart as he realized she still had no idea her brother had been bitten, and he wasn't about to tell her - he needed her help, and she had to be thinking straight.
"Let's be as quiet as we can," he said. He took one last look at Clarence, whose chest no longer moved, and started towards the doors.
He and Carmen entered the City Hall side by side. They stood in a darkened foyer that, oddly enough, smelled of soap and disinfectant. A small lantern sat on the desk, producing a white hue. Voices drifted down the stairs.
"I know what he said, but we've waited long enough," said the voice of a sheepish woman.
A man firmly replied, "There are four of them out there, whatever's going on, they can handle it."
"You might be scared, but I'm not," the woman said, but her tone had an unconvincing waver.
"Look, even the Captain's pet has to follow his orders," the man sneered. "Know your place."
There was a pause, then she said, "Screw you, Hill."
More than one set of heavy footsteps started down the stairs. Jerome and Carmen fled to the back of the foyer and slid in the shadows of an empty snack machine opposite the staircase. A young woman with her hair pulled back in a bouncing ponytail raced past the desk and outside. Two men followed her, one dressed in civilian clothes and the other in a camouflage uniform.
The uniformed man snapped, "Get back here, you dumb bitch," as the doors swung shut behind him.
Jerome stared after them. There was something familiar about the woman, but Carmen elbowed him before he had time to think why.
He nodded to her, and they wordlessly started for the stairs.
Rachel stood with her face pressed up to the boarded up windows of the room that had become her prison cell, trying desperately to see out.
All she'd caught since the explosion rocked the building was the occasional flash of orange, and she'd heard a lot of screaming and gunfire. Aside from that, there had been no clues as to what was going on outside.
She had an overwhelming feeling that whatever was happening, it went beyond walkers. Every muscle in her body was on high alert, tense and ready to spring into action. She still couldn't believe how they'd ended up in such a situation. No weapons, no way out, no hope. They were completely at the mercy of malicious, greedy people who shot on sight.
Any hopes of resting had vanished long ago, so Rachel wasn't surprised when she turned and found all three kids sitting up, awake, tears in their eyes. She crossed her arms tightly over her midsection. It sent a warm wave of fury through her to see them so scared. All of their fathers had been ripped away from them, and now here they were fearing for their own lives.
Ben sat far from all the others, even Marvin, with his head resting against the wall. His eyes were closed, but Rachel knew he wasn't asleep. There was a gash on his chin and a scrape on his arm from where Lancaster had thrust him back into the room earlier, so forcefully he had no way of catching himself and crashed into the floor. She still didn't know what he'd done to piss the Captain off; he hadn't even said what he wanted him for in the first place.
Footsteps rapidly approached the door. Rachel bolted across the room and sank down in front of Adrian and Emma. She had no idea what to expect, and if anyone wanted to get to them, they were going to have to go through her first. Keisha did the same with Aaliyah, guiding the wide-eyed little girl behind her back.
She and Rachel shared a knowing look. They may never have been close when they were at Red Fox Creek together, and they had little in common besides motherhood, but that was enough. Whatever came next, the children came first.
The doors swung open and revealed two people, a man and a woman. At first, Rachel hardly recognized them, but there was something familiar about the man that kept her attention on him. A rifle was slung over his back. He was covered in blood, both fresh and dried, and one side of his jaw was red and puffy. But the smile that lit up his face when their gazes met said it all.
"Papa!" Emma tore away from her mother and ran to him. Jerome swept her up with one arm and extended the other to Rachel. As her shock melted away, she was across the room in two seconds flat and melted into his embrace.
So many unanswered questions fired rapidly through her brain, but she didn't have the presence of mind to vocalize them. Deep down, she thought she'd never see him again. But there he was, looking down at her and their daughter with so much relief it was nearly palpable in the air. Death and smoke clung to him like a second skin, but she didn't care one bit.
Ben had shot to his feet when the doors opened and stood slack jawed, his round gaze bouncing from Jerome to Carmen. He started to say something, but his voice was drowned out by the others' rapid questions.
"How in the world - " Marvin began, shaking his head.
Peggy asked, "Where's Lauren?"
"What's going on?" Keisha asked. "What was that boom?"
Rachel's delirious glee at seeing Jerome had momentarily blinded her to Carmen's presence. She was promptly brought back to reality as Adrian ran across the room, weeping, and threw his arms around his aunt. He cried, "They killed daddy!"
A hush immediately swept over the group, extinguishing any remaining words that may have been burning on their tongues.
Carmen stiffened and her gark gaze swept over the group, as if she expected one of them to be the culprit. "What?"
Ben sighed and reluctantly explained, "Your brother...he was bit. One of the guys here finished him off."
Carmen's face hardened. She gently guided Adrian off of her and brought her gun around, held low. She asked, "What did he look like?" No one gave her an answer. They all exchanged similar glances of reluctance, nobody wanting to be the one that sent her off a rampage. She shrugged and began to leave. "Nevermind. I'll just take out every last fucking one."
"Don't," Jerome said firmly. "Adrian needs you."
Adrian stood wringing his hands, staring after her sadly. Carmen hesitated a moment longer then finally stepped back into the room, her shoulders slumped. "Alright," she sighed, patting her nephew on the head. "I'm not going anywhere."
Jerome looked to Ben and said, "I'll explain the rest later, we've got to leave now. They're gonna be up here any minute."
Keisha said, "Please, you have to help me find Clarence. That Captain Lancaster took him off somewhere and I haven't seen him for days."
Jerome hung his head and took a deep breath. He pulled away from his wife and daughter and moved to stand right before Keisha and Aaliyah. Keisha's face fell, sensing that something was wrong. Jerome cleared his throat and said, "Clarence...he broke out after that explosion distracted all the guards. Lancaster shot him and he...passed."
Keisha's face contorted horribly with despair. Her legs began to fold and Jerome caught her by the arms. Deep, mournful wails tore out from deep within her.
"I can't tell you how sorry I am," Jerome said, his voice strained. "He saved me, he shot one of them. And he asked me to get you out, so that's what I'm going to do."
"No, no, no," Keisha wailed incoherently, sinking to her knees. Aaliyah's cries came more high-pitched. She dropped down beside her mother and buried her face against her.
Jerome stared at the two of them helplessly, then looked to Rachel. "We've really got to go..."
Rachel hurried over and gently took Keisha by the elbow. "Come on," she urged, not sure the older woman could even hear her. "You know the last thing he would ever want is for something to happen to you two."
Keisha continued to sob, but after a moment, she shakily stood back up. She took Aaliyah by the hand and kissed her on the cheek. "We've got to go, baby," she croaked, hiccupping and gasping all the while.
Rachel heard a stampede of people tearing up the stairs. Samantha, Sergeant Hill, and Keith stormed down the hallway towards them, all wielding guns. Jerome spun around and raised the rifle that had been hanging from his back. Carmen did the same.
Rachel stared at her husband in shock. She never thought she'd see the day he aimed a gun at another human being with no hesitation.
As soon as Samantha laid eyes on Carmen, she shrieked. She stopped dead in the middle of the hallway and pointed her pistol at her. "You! You bitch! You left me for dead!"
Carmen calmly stared down the sights of her rifle. "Seems like you've done pretty well for yourself."
"And you," Samantha screamed, turning to Jerome. Her hand shook so severely, Rachel was surprised she could even keep a grip on the gun. "You did this, didn't you? Neither of you are supposed to be here and now you've ruined everything!"
Sergeant Hill yelled back at her, "Would you shut the fuck up already?"
Keith shoved his way in front of them and snapped, "Enough, both of you. It's done."
Samantha broke down sobbing. "It's n-not done until th-they pay," she blubbered, hardly clear enough to understand. "S-she left me for dead and now they've ruined the l-last thing that had any h-hope any of us h-had."
Snot and tears dripped down her face. She stomped towards Jerome. He slowly lowered his gun, but she didn't stop until her pistol was pressed against his chest.
He looked down at her with rounded eyes, not daring to move a muscle. "He's right, it's done. This isn't going to change anything."
"It's done?" She laughed and it was a harsh, feral sound. "No, this is just the beginning, Jerome. The Captain's dead and this place is over, but what's happening out there is just a taste of what's to come." She shook her head and gasped out a wet sob. "And I'm not made for it. I know I'm not. And because of you, now I've got nothing left."
She moved the gun towards her own head. Nearly everyone in the room cried out pleas to stop, except Carmen and Peggy - and if Rachel was being honest with herself, she only did because she didn't want the kids to witness any more than they already had.
Samantha froze. Her whole body shook with the force of her weeping. Ben slowly pushed himself between her and Jerome and held his hand out expectantly, nodding to the pistol.
"This isn't how we move forward," Ben said. "Maybe you're right and this was the last stand of what we knew, but we can still make things better for ourselves."
She sniffled. "How? You have no idea what I've been through, how I barely survived after that bitch left me for dead." She glared at Carmen, who still stood with her rifle pinned firmly on Samantha. "It was p-pure luck, like winning the lottery. The Captain took me in, he proved there was something left worth fighting for, worth living for, and now…" she trailed off and continued to cry, letting her arms hang limply by her sides.
Ben gingerly crept forward and pulled the pistol from her hand, and she let him.
Sergeant Hill, who'd been silently standing in the doorway watching, snickered and shook his head. "This is real cute and all," he said, "But I for one am still pissed and believe somebody here needs to pay."
Keith quietly said, "Look at them, Sergeant. They already have." His brows furrowed as he took in the broken group - grieving wife and daughter, heartbroken little boy, man with a swollen jaw and a faraway look in his eyes. "Give it up already. We're all that's left," he went on. "Lancaster, Arnold, Davis, Mayer, Koneak...they're all gone."
Jerome's head whipped towards Keith. "Actually, I found your man Koneak," he said. "He was bitten and had me amputate his arm. He's in a house back on East Fifth Avenue and didn't look great when I left, but...I did the best I could. He might still be alive."
The Sergeant seemed stunned for a moment, then scoffed. "Well, good for you, but we've got enough to deal with here."
"You mean you're not going to go get him?" Jerome frowned.
"The last thing we need right now is a one-armed drain on our resources," Sergeant Hill replied.
Keith turned his firm gaze on the Sergeant and said, "What do you say? Let's set these folks free and focus on doing what we can to keep this place afloat through the night." He paused as Hill appeared to be thinking it over, then added, "It's on us to protect and provide for these poor people we roped into this pipedream."
Sergeant Hill shifted from foot to foot, like he was itching for a fight. After a moment, he fully relaxed and pointed his gun towards the floor. "Ah, hell," he grumbled. "Go on and go. It'd just make more of a mess if I dealt with you, anyway."
Rachel almost collapsed with relief. She squeezed Emma against her side and smiled as everyone started for the door.
"Wait," Keith said. He rooted around in the pocket of his khaki pants, then brought up a large key ring. "Let's see, Buick and bus...there's a blue pickup that belongs to you all too, right?"
"My truck?" Peggy questioned, looking to Samantha for confirmation.
The defeated girl nodded, staring at the floor. "We'd found a lot of good stuff before everything happened, so they went back for it."
Peggy chuckled. "I'll be damned." Keith slid a key off the ring and tossed it to her, then removed two more and handed them to Ben. Peggy demanded, "Well, what about all of our supplies?"
Sergeant Hill quietly answered, "Not all of it was even brought in yet, but what was is downstairs in our supply room."
"Everyone wait for us downstairs," Ben said, then he pointed to Rachel. "You, dad, and Jerome can come help grab what you can."
Jerome hummed a noise of disagreement and said, "I think I should make sure it's all clear outside first."
Ben hesitated, then shrugged. "Okay."
"Come on." Keith motioned for the rest of them to follow him. "I'll lead the way."
As Jerome feared, he hurried past the others and through the foyer to find Clarence had already turned. Jerome slowed as he went outside, back into the biting arctic air.
The mountain of a man staggered across the parking lot with the sort of uncoordinated trudge only a biter could manage, leaving a long trail of scuffs in the snow behind him.
Jerome hung back by the doors, trying to come up with a way to take care of Clarence before Keisha and Aaliyah saw him. Clarence was too big for him to easily pin down and get with his knife, but firing his gun would be too obvious and probably garner unwanted attention.
He observed him for a minute, breathing hard. Clarence still hadn't noticed him. He staggered towards the fire, growling softly. Jerome glanced behind him, back into the foyer, and saw the others were already descending the stairs. He cursed under his breath then started forward, sticking close to the building. He stepped lightly and followed Clarence at a distance, then reached for his knife...and his fingers found nothing but his own hip.
For a heartbeat, Jerome was very confused, then he remembered his knife was still laying on the other side of the parking lot. He exhaled heavily, wondering if anything was ever going to be simple again, and brought his gun up instead. He quickly found the back of Clarence's head in his sites and pulled the trigger, before he lost his nerve. Jerome flinched as Clarence's head burst apart. It made him sick to his stomach in a way that he could just barely suppress. He'd never actually seen anyone he knew reanimated before, let alone had to kill them.
He shook his head, trying his best to not become too lost in his thoughts, and jogged over to where Clarence's body had dropped, close to the flames. Jerome grabbed him under the arms and tried to drag him backwards. His vision began to darken at the edges with the effort, and he'd hardly moved Clarence a foot.
"Shit, you're heavy," Jerome grunted under his breath.
The only way he managed to make any progress was by throwing his weight back and heaving Clarence's body along with him. He got Clarence behind a nearby truck, and that was enough for him - as long as his wife and daughter didn't have to see him like that, that was what mattered.
Jerome fully stood, his back twinging after being hunched over and under pressure for so long, and wiped his hands on his pants. It killed him to know Clarence and Brandon neither one would have proper burials.
The smiling face of Brandon, the young man who'd driven directly into a disaster zone full of walkers to save strangers and had always been willing to lend a helping hand, lingered in the forefront of Jerome's mind. The news that he'd been 'finished off' had hit him hard, but he hadn't been able to show it, or even really recognize what it meant.
With the kids present and Carmen ready to go off slaughtering anyone she saw, he felt like he had to be a voice of reason, present calmness. Inside him, however, was a torrent of grief and shock and anger.
He had just started to head back when movement caught his eye. There behind the truck, partially concealed from the overwhelming brightness of the fuel fire, he could see past the lawn of the City Hall.
Many shapes moved in the dark as one, an endless wave of rippling shadows. The moon's soft glow blanketed another wave to the left. Their quiet rasps sang a haunting chorus as they approached. Dozens of dead eyes stared back at Jerome.
"Oh no," he breathed. His heart pounded faster and faster within his increasingly tight chest. He stumbled a few steps backwards, then bolted towards the foyer.
Keith swiftly unlocked a room at the back of the foyer and stood aside to allow Ben, Marvin, and Rachel in. Tables covered in all types of useful items lined either wall. Guns, knives, flashlights, food, medicine - everything that was worth more than gold in a world crawling with the living dead, there for the taking.
All of Ben's attention was consumed by the things before him, like a starving dog who'd spotted a rabbit. He'd have given anything to take every bit of it.
"So, where do we start?" Rachel asked, her wide eyes sweeping over the room.
"Uh…" Ben cleared his throat. "Just start taking the stuff you know is ours, I guess." Some of the tubs that had been on the bus were just inside the room. They hadn't even been unpacked yet. He pointed towards them and said, "Dad, go ahead and slide those out into the foyer."
Marvin placed one tub atop another and dragged them out past the threshold. Keith moved as he passed, the lantern in his hand swaying and twisting the dim light on the wall. "Some of this was in the truck Samantha left behind," he said. "You might as well grab some extras. They were meant for your people."
A gunshot sounded outside and Ben was abruptly brought back to reality. They needed to leave, and fast, before anything else escalated or more people died. He grabbed a nearby duffel bag and got to work quickly sorting through the closest table.
A clothing rack stood between two of the tables, mostly containing coats and jackets. Several pairs of shoes and boots sat on the floor below. Rachel went over and began hastily browsing through the clothes. "I have to know," she began, peering over her shoulder at Keith, "What the hell happened to Fort McAdams?"
Keith was quiet for so long, Ben didn't think he was going to answer. Then, finally, he said, "Lancaster and some of the other men tried to take the Fort from the civilians. They did not succeed. Everyone lost."
Nobody had much to say after that. Once Marvin returned, the three of them combined their efforts and swept through the room, snatching up everything they thought they'd be allowed to take. Despite the horrors of the day, the weight of the bag in Ben's hand brought a smile to his face. Now they would have a decent shot of making it.
Ben started out into the foyer, where the others stood huddled by the staircase. Their mouths fell open at the sight of all the things he, Rachel, and Marvin carried.
Courtney hesitantly asked, "We can really have all that?"
"That's what the man said," Marvin replied, a loaded backpack slung over his shoulder.
Keith shrugged. "It's a lot more than we could use right now. You need it more than we do."
The front doors flew open with a bang as Jerome barrelled inside. As he clutched his chest, fighting to catch his breath, he wheezed, "B-biters...they're coming."
Ben's brief moment of joy fell away in an instant. "How many?"
"A lot," Jerome answered. "Forty, maybe more. And they're close."
"Shit." Ben shook his head. To no one in particular, he ordered, "Alright, let's go. Grab what you can here and head straight for the vehicles."
Peggy grabbed Courtney by the sleeve and said, "We'll follow in the truck."
"Alright." Ben nodded and headed for the doors.
"Wait!" Keith caught him by the arm and said, "Take the north exits. I know they're out of your way, but we mainly blocked the southern and eastern roads. Find a clear north exit and you'll be good to go."
"Thank you," Ben said, then briskly started out across the parking lot. He squinted at the dancing flames that cut through the night sky, and the two scorched bodies nearby. "What the hell happened out here?"
Jerome hurried alongside him, struggling to keep up. "I'll explain it all later," he said. "Right now, I need to take the car and go get Lauren." At the mention of their missing member, those within earshot smiled and voiced their pleasure at the news that she was alive.
"So, she didn't get hit too bad?" Marvin asked, keeping pace on Ben's other side.
Rachel frowned and adjusted the stack of boxes in her arms. "Where is she?"
"Her wound didn't look great," Jerome answered quietly. "I had to leave her to get here, but she seemed alright when I left."
As they reached the bus, Ben stopped at the front and set his bag down by the wheel. Rachel, Marvin, Keisha, Aaliyah went past him and hurried onto the bus. He watched thoughtfully as Rachel pushed through the remaining supplies between the seats to open the back door, allowing those still outside to hand their bags and tubs up to her and run back to the foyer to grab more.
Just past the tall chain link fence that surrounded the parking lot, Ben could see the shambling, dark figures of walkers drawing near. He turned back to Jerome, who was staring expectantly at him. Emma was glued to his hip now, her slender arms wrapped around his waist.
The thought of Jerome going out there alone, again, so soon after he'd barely survived being shot at and left behind, didn't sit well with Ben. Before he could say anything, however, Jerome beat him to it. "There's someone else I have to pick up too," he said quietly.
"What?" Ben blinked at him, wracking his brain to figure out who else was missing. Then the answer came to him like a smack to the head, and his shoulders slumped. "It's that Koneak guy, isn't it? Oh, Jerome…"
Jerome turned his eyes to the ground and opened his mouth to reply, but Samantha came bustling over and cut him off.
"Can I come with you?" she asked meekly. Her eyes were still puffy and bloodshot, and she barely even glanced at Ben. "This place is nothing without the Captain."
Ben snorted and crossed his arms. His first instinct was to send her packing. After the way she'd melted down, he wasn't eager to have someone that unstable around. His decision was almost made for him as Carmen walked around them, hand in hand with Adrian, and started onto the bus.
Samantha's face went ghostly white, and her mouth dropped open. "Oh," she said snidely. "She is going with you?"
"I guess so," Ben said, picking his duffel up and following Carmen. He hadn't thought much about it, but if she wanted to come along, he couldn't turn her away. After what happened to Brandon, he owed it to him to help keep an eye on his son, and if that meant his crazy sister had to come along too, he supposed that was just something he'd have to deal with.
Especially after Brandon had told him in the first place he believed his sister was still out there, and Ben refused to let him look for her...it was all too much to ignore.
Samantha was right on his heels, half stumbling up the steps. "She left me behind," she repeated, her voice rising. "She's a traitor. Do you really want someone like that around?"
"Not really," Ben replied, slamming his bag down at the back of the bus and whirling to face her. "I don't want nutso crybabies who pressed a gun to my best friend's chest around either, but that's where we are. We're in this shit together now. So if you can suck it up and handle being with her on this bus, you can ride along." He paused, staring firmly into her rounded, teary eyes. "But that's all you're getting - a ride. Once we get to Anchorage, you're out on your ass."
Samantha's bottom lip quivered and she gulped. "Okay," she whispered.
"Does that go for us too?" Carmen questioned. By pure coincidence, she'd chosen the same seat her brother had spent the last hours of his life on. If Adrian was aware, he didn't show it, and sat tucked against her side with his head resting upon her shoulder.
Ben knew he probably should've cared more that she left Samantha behind, but the truth was he wasn't all that bothered by it. The two of them should never have been on a run together anyway, and after seeing how Samantha was when she was scared, he had to admit he probably would've considered the same himself.
Carmen had a temper and may not have been a very pleasant person to be around, but she was a survivor, and that was what they all needed more of.
"No," he finally answered, nodding to Carmen. "If you want to stick around, you can."
Jerome poked his head inside. "Ben," he said, "The keys?"
Ben sighed and swept a hand down his face. "I know we can't leave Lauren behind, but how the hell do you think you're going to find us? You don't know your way around here very well."
"I'll go with him," Marvin offered, stepping away from the back of the bus where he'd been helping Rachel load up. "I know this town like the back of my hand."
Jerome hesitated, sharing an anxious glance with Ben. "Are you sure? You don't have to do that."
Marvin rolled his eyes and said, "I'll be fine. I want to help."
"Okay, thank you." Jerome dipped his head gratefully. To Ben, he added, "Just head for the northern exits like Keith said. We'll find you."
Ben plodded back down the steps to rejoin him outside. "Here," he said, placing the keys in Jerome's outstretched hand and briskly pulling him into a hug. "You managed to make it back to us once. You damn well better do it again."
"I will, I will." Jerome patted him on the back. He turned to Emma next.
She sniffled and clutched at his hands, as though she could anchor him there and prevent him from leaving. "Please be careful, Papa," she begged.
Jerome pressed a kiss to her forehead and smiled. "Of course, my chérie. I'll see you soon."
Marvin squeezed outside behind Ben and gave his son a quick, one-armed embrace, then wordlessly rushed along Jerome towards the Buick that sat waiting across the parking lot. Rachel hopped off the back of the bus and ran to catch up to her husband, kissing him goodbye.
The whole moment set off alarm bells inside Ben's head. His father hadn't been in the city without him since the excursion with Lauren and Rachel, and before that not since this whole mess had begun. And Jerome...well, as much as Ben didn't want to admit it, he hadn't really expected to see him again after Arnold drove them away from the intersection, not unless he went back and found him himself..
As the Buick rumbled to life and sped out of the parking lot, steam puffing from the exhaust pipe, Ben couldn't help but think they were just testing fate at this point.
The glowing red tail lights shrank as the distance between the Buick and the City Hall grew, and once Ben's eyes readjusted to the dark, his heart plummeted. Shambling figures filled the space in the road where the car had been moments before. A writhing wall of walkers stumbled into the parking lot. Some of them seemed interested in the fire, but almost all of them had their sights set on the living.
Keisha, who had been helping bring supplies out from the foyer, dropped the box she was carrying and shrieked.
Ben raised his pistol and started firing. Between shots, he hollered, "Everyone hurry, we have to go!"
Jerome sat hunched close to the steering wheel and drove, on and on, swerving around wandering biters and glistening icy patches. Neither he nor Marvin had uttered a word since they left the City Hall, but Jerome had a feeling they were in similar headpaces.
They both saw the biters in the rearview mirror as they left, marching towards the parking lot with purpose. Towards Jerome's wife and daughter, and Marvin's son, and a dozen other people who didn't deserve to die by the savage bite of the undead. There was a strange tightness to Jerome's throat that had nothing to do with the punch he'd taken earlier.
Not for the first time, he found himself questioning if he was doing the right thing.
Familiar, old-fashioned houses came into view as Jerome turned left, retracing his journey to the City Hall in reverse, and he found himself on East Fifth Avenue. A neighborhood without streetlamps, without a single illuminated window, was a whole new world of eeriness.
Jerome slowed as he continued up the street, squinting towards the right to try and spot the house he'd left Yuka in. He could vaguely recall the numbers on the front when they'd gone inside, but it didn't do him much good now.
And then it became very obvious, very fast. The house stood just ahead, corpses strewn throughout the yard and blood splattered on the snow, the front door slightly ajar. Jerome slammed on the breaks.
"That's it," he said quietly, cutting the engine. Turning to Marvin, added, "You might want to stay here."
Marvin huffed. "I'll be fine, Jerome. I came to help."
Jerome twisted and reached into the back seat to retrieve his rifle - or Lancaster's rifle, rather - and gave a short sigh. He'd never forgive himself if something happened to Marvin, but he did need the help.
"This street was loaded with biters when I left," he explained, bracing the gun against the steering wheel and staring at it blankly. He had no idea how to tell if it was out of bullets, or needed to be cocked, or...how to use it in general. The three shots he'd fired off at the City Hall had pounded his shoulder, giving him the impression he didn't know how to hold it properly either.
Clearing his throat to cover up his hesitation, Jerome continued, "Uh, I don't know where they could've gone. There were a few in the house too."
"We can handle it." Marvin arched his back against the seat to reach his hip and grunted as he pulled a pistol free. "I wish we could've found my rifle."
"Wanna trade?"
"Nah." Marvin wrinkled his nose. "That's a little too much power for me."
"Alright." Jerome slipped the gun's strap over his neck and stepped outside. He and Marvin eased the doors closed as silently as they could.
The street was clear of all undead, and there wasn't so much as a cricket chirping. Jerome strode to the house and crept onto the porch, half expecting the inside to be crawling with biters. He motioned for Marvin to hang back as he pushed the front door open as far as the couch on the other side would allow, and slipped inside.
It was even darker than before, which sent a rush of anxiety up Jerome's neck, cold and hot all at once. He could hardly even make out the furniture in the living room.
Marvin slipped inside behind him and said, "Aw, man. Why the hell didn't we bring flashlights?"
Two growls sounded from opposite ends of the room. Jerome gasped and raised his gun, but he couldn't see a thing. Uneven steps scuffed along the wood floor towards him.
"Where are they?" he asked, looking to Marvin with wide, desperate eyes, just barely able to make out the older man's silhouette a few feet away. "Do you see them?"
Marvin fired three shots towards the ceiling in quick succession. White flashes blasted from the end of his gun and captured the slack face of a biter for only a split second. "There's one," he said, aiming where he'd seen the face and firing. The soft, wet thump of a body hitting the floor quickly followed, only a few feet away.
A hand brushed up against Jerome's back. He cried out, leapt forward, and whirled back around so quickly he almost fell all. "Where is it!?" he demanded, sending a couple shots towards the door. In the brief muzzle blast, he saw the biter was heading towards Marvin now. Jerome directed his rifle towards the general area that the biter was imprinted in his memory, and fired off two booming rounds. The moans ceased, and he heard another thump.
Jerome didn't move from where he stood and tried to listen over his own shallow breath. His straining ears, temporarily half deaf from the gunfire, were met with nothing but silence. "I think that's it," he said.
Marvin replied, "Let's get on with it then."
Jerome felt his way to the stairs and started up, one hand sliding along the sleek wooden railing. He stopped at the final step and, to his relief, found that the hallway was clear.
"He's down here." Jerome motioned towards the faint outline of a door at the end of the passage, forgetting Marvin probably couldn't see him.
"Be ready," Marvin warned him. "We don't know if that amputation nonsense worked."
Jerome was all too aware. The ten feet he walked to the door felt like ten miles. His hand hovered above the knob. He almost didn't want to go inside. He didn't want to find another person dead because of him. Taking a deep breath that made his battered ribs ache, Jerome opened the door and pressed his weight against it.
The desk barricading the other side slowly slid out of the way, creating a gap big enough for him to fit through.
Cold air flooded in through the open window, and the soft glow of the moon outlined Yuka's still form on the floor. He was surrounded by a dark pool of blood and his detached arm remained by his side. Jerome gingerly crouched down and reached for his wrist, feeling for a pulse.
It took a moment, but there was a weak throbbing against his fingers. Jerome smiled and said, "He's alive."
Marvin moved to stand by the foot of the bed, but didn't come any closer. "Have you thought this through?" he questioned, crossing his arms. "Another mouth to feed, another body for Rachel to try and nurse back to health..."
"I know," Jerome said, his tone a little gruff with defensiveness. Yuka wasn't a stray dog they were taking in, he was a severely injured human being. One who'd all but been abandoned by the people he'd almost died trying to do his duty to, at that.
Jerome slid his hands under Yuka's shoulders and pulled him into a sitting position. "Marvin, will you get his legs?"
Marvin wrapped his arms around Yuka's calves, then the two of them hoisted him up. Marvin grunted and said, "This isn't gonna be fun, getting him down the stairs."
"Just try not to drop him, he's got enough problems." Together, Jerome and Marvin slowly inched their way out into the hallway and down the stairs.
One step at a time, excruciatingly slow to the point the muscles in Jerome's arms were trembling by the time they reached the living room, they managed to get Yuka downstairs.
Marvin shifted his weight from foot to foot. "Now what?"
"To the car," Jerome said, carefully walking backwards to lead the way out the door. "We'll put him in the backseat."
They slowly moved out on the porch and across the yard. Jerome's foot slipped off the curb as they reached the street and he almost dropped Yuka, earning a less than amused look from Marvin.
Once they had gently lowered Yuka into the back of the Buick, Jerome began to close the door, but stopped.
Marvin asked, "What's the matter?"
"Well, for one thing," Jerome began, "One of us should probably sit back here and keep an eye on him." He chewed at his lip. "And I'm just now realizing...I can't remember exactly how to get back to where I left Lauren."
"Oh." Marvin scrubbed at the stubble along his jaw thoughtfully. "Can you remember anything about the area?"
"It was an auto shop," Jerome said. "Joe's or Jim's, something like that. But I can't remember where it was." He dipped his head, a cold chill rushing through him. He'd never forgive himself if something happened to Lauren because he was dumb enough to forget where he left her.
Marvin drummed his fingers atop the car for a moment, then hummed. "I think I know what you're talking about. Orange letters on the outside, two doors on the front?"
"Yeah," Jerome said hesitantly, "But doesn't that describe every auto shop?"
"Nah, not around here." Marvin motioned for Jerome to get in. "Come on, I'll drive. You keep an eye on him."
Ben found the northern exits Keith mentioned with little difficulty. They had escaped from the City Hall by the skin of their teeth and to the sound of hands pounding against the bus's thin, bullet riddled exterior.
It must've been twenty minutes before Rachel's breathing went back to normal. Even if it was the new normal, as she suspected, she would never get used to being surrounded by walkers like that.
Ben pulled the bus over to the side of the main road, just outside of where it merged into the exit, then quickly headed outside with Carmen and Rachel to make sure the area was clear.
To everyone's relief, there wasn't a single walker in sight. Rachel still hoped they wouldn't be stuck there for long.
Abandoned cars sat haphazardly as far as the eye could see, blanketed in a thin layer of snow. While Carmen returned to the bus to be with her nephew, Rachel and Ben lingered outside. Ben stood leaned up against the back bumper with his arms crossed, watching the road with wide eyes.
Rachel sidled up beside him and mimicked his posture. "They'll be here soon," she said, but without any of her usual confidence.
Ben smirked. "You know, I remember a couple months ago, my dad almost ripped my head off for even considering coming into town after dark."
"Do as I say, not as I do, huh?" Rachel forced a smile. "Well, I'm very grateful to Marvin for going with Jerome. He didn't have to."
Ben shrugged and said, "That's dad for you."
Rachel felt like their voices could've carried for miles. It left her on edge. She shoved off from the bus and quietly said, "I'm gonna look around again, double check things are clear."
"Good thinking," Ben said.
Rachel drew the small flashlight from her coat pocket and directed the beam in front of her. Her mind wandered as she strolled past the bus, thinking about what Jerome had said. He'd taken the time to amputate a stranger's arm while she and her daughter were being held hostage. And not just any stranger, one that had been shooting at him.
Whether it made her a worse or better person was debatable, but she couldn't help but think had the roles been reversed, her focus would've been completely on her family. It always had been. In the very beginning, when the only signs that something wasn't right were weird news stories and unusual patients in the emergency room, Rachel risked everything she'd worked for and left her job without a moment's notice to be with her family.
She had a feeling if it was Jerome who had her job, he'd still be in that hospital, trying to save somebody. That was who he was and always had been, and she loved him for it, but she couldn't begin to understand.
A thick line of white-laden spruce trees just off the road rustled. Rachel halted. A lone walker pushed out from the branches, all bone and taut skin and scraggly hair. Rachel immediately reached for her gun and stopped herself just in time - she couldn't risk that noise.
However, she had never killed one with a knife before, and she wasn't about to start now. Not in the pitch black dark, when she was exhausted and had hardly eaten anything all day.
"Ben," she hissed, backing towards the bus. "Ben!
He jogged past her, and in an instant, drew his knife and planted it in the side of the walker's head.
"You know," he said, wrenching his weapon free and flicking gunk from the blade, "I think you're all due for self-defense training."
Rachel pursed her lips. She'd already been kicking herself for not taking Clarence up on lessons. "I know."
"Maybe we should keep looking around," he said, eyeing the sparse woods. "If we missed that one, we might've missed more."
"Why don't we both stay out here and keep watch for a while?" She suggested.
Ben shrugged. "I guess an extra set of eyes couldn't hurt, but aren't you tired?"
Rachel snorted. "As if I can sleep with my husband out there." She shook her head and started around towards the other side of the bus. "Just let me look in on Emma and I'll be right back."
Almost everyone on the bus was dozing, but there were a few sniffles and whimpers amongst the snores. Rachel hovered on the steps, not wanting to wake anyone. Keisha and Aaliyah both sat awake near the front, crying quietly. Adrian dozed with his head in his aunt's lap, who was also resting.
Samantha sat with her knees pulled up to her chest, her breathing even with the rhythm of sleep. Emma was curled up by herself at the back of the bus, and even though she didn't look to be in a very restful sleep, Rachel was glad she could finally check out from the day for a while.
And then, two bright beams of light sliced through the bus. All of Rachel's courtesy towards those sleeping flew out the window as relief, as pure and overwhelming as she had ever known, fell over her like a warm blanket.
"They're here," she said, her voice high enough with joy to be a squeal. "They found us!"
The Buick swerved over to park behind Peggy's truck, and the car had hardly been at rest for more than two seconds before the doors swung open. Jerome emerged from the back, a sheepish look on his face.
"You've got two patients," he said, greeting Rachel with a kiss.
At first she wasn't sure why he was so withdrawn. Then, with Marvin's help, Lauren came staggering out of the car, mumbling under her breath and cursing the whole time. Her face was shockingly pale, and she had dark circles beneath her eyes, but there was a firmness to her expression that showed she still had plenty of strength.
"Ben," she called, her voice low and hoarse. He was approaching with a smile, one that fell away as soon as his and Lauren's gazes met. "What the fuck, huh? Am I really supposed to sit beside the guy that ambushed and shot me?"
Peggy came from her truck with a grunt, slamming the door all too loud. "Well, now that you've put it like that," she said, "this doesn't make much sense to me either."
"You've got to give him a chance," Jerome pleaded. "He's not like them."
"How would you know?" Peggy demanded. "You've known him for what, half an hour?"
"Enough," Ben snapped. "What can we do now, besides leave him on the side of the road?"
No one had an answer to that, though nobody looked any happier, either. Rachel wasn't too bothered herself - she trusted Jerome's judgement, even if she didn't understand it - but she could certainly see why some of the others were upset.
Ben shook his head and said, "Look, this has to stop. I don't want to make every decision on my own, but we're not always gonna be able to sit down and talk things over."
Marvin readjusted the hold he had on Lauren to keep her upright and quietly said, "I'm sorry, but I don't understand why he has to come with us either. Doesn't it make more sense to drop him off back at the City Hall?"
Jerome huffed, and Rachel could tell his patience was thinning. "You heard them," he said, "They don't want him."
"You are so goddamn infuriating," Lauren snapped, shoving Jerome's shoulder so hard she almost toppled over. He stumbled back a couple steps and stared back at her, mouth agape. She barked, "He shot at you too! And you went out of your way to save me, only to take your sweet time while I was freezing to death on a roof to help our attacker." Her expression twisted into one of disgust. "What is wrong with you?"
The silence that followed her rant was practically a physical force, a black cloud of silence that enveloped those gathered on the cold, moonlit highway and sealed their mouths shut.
Jerome blinked at her, his eyes hopelessly tired and lost. "I don't know," he finally answered, then stalked off towards the bus.
Rachel watched him go with a heavy heart. They hadn't even spoken about what had happened yet, but she knew whatever had taken place throughout the night was steadily cracking the strong foundation he'd been trying so hard to project, and Lauren might've just finished him off. Rachel turned her frustrated gaze upon the younger woman, but could only be but so mad...she was injured, and scared, and had been sitting on a roof above a bunch of walkers alone for the past several hours.
That was when Rachel realized they were waiting for her direction to begin helping the injured. She cleared her throat and said, "Okay, Peggy, will you go get the med bag off the bus?" The older woman set off at the fastest pace her arthritic hips could manage, and Rachel turned to Ben. "Why don't we clear out the bed of her truck so I'll have somewhere to work on them?"
"Right," Ben said, nodding. He motioned to Courtney, who'd been standing in the shadows watching everything unfold. "Give me a hand."
The night was all but over before Rachel's work on Lauren and Yuka was finished. By pure coincidence no doubt, Jerome had left behind enough flesh on Yuka's arm for Rachel to stitch it overtop the wound and create a proper stump, with no exposed tissue. It wasn't pretty, and she definitely saw an infection in his future, but he was stable.
He even briefly woke up once, moaning and narrowing his dark, soulful eyes. Rachel could tell he was disoriented, and introduced herself as Jerome's wife, which seemed to calm him. He nodded and quickly passed back out, his head thumping softly against the truck bed.
It was for the best, and was par for the course with all the pain meds and antibiotics Rachel had pumped into him. For now, he needed rest more than anything else.
Everything seemed typical of her experience with amputees - the thready pulse, shallow breathing, slight fever. She was sure if she had a way to monitor his blood pressure, that would be low too. The nerve-wracking part was it all seemed awfully close to someone about to turn, so Ben resolved to locking him in the Buick for the night, with those on watch periodically checking in.
Lauren was actually the better-off of the two, although she certainly had a long recovery ahead as well. The bullet had gone clear through her thigh and missed the femoral artery. Jerome hadn't managed to stop the bleeding, but his belt did slow it enough that Rachel wasn't worried about her dying of blood loss. Like Yuka, she simply needed to rest and let her body do what it was designed to do.
Only time would tell how much permanent damage her leg suffered, but Rachel was optimistic she'd be left with a slight limp at worst.
All in all, Lauren was extremely fortunate. Rachel had seen people in similar condition come into the ER and wind up in the morgue because they were shot with a larger caliber of bullet, or were hit an inch higher or lower. Lauren was simply shot in the right place, if there was such a thing.
Not that it didn't hurt - Rachel was sure they were going to run through most of the painkillers within a week.
Even after she'd done what she could for Yuka and Lauren and they were down for the count, Rachel still didn't sleep. Neither did Jerome, or Ben, or Keisha. Jerome insisted on keeping watch, both on their surroundings and on Yuka. He lounged on the hood of the car for most of the night, his back pressed against the windshield, staring off at the thin, dark woods with blank eyes.
Once, Rachel tried to get him to talk about what happened. She slowly walked over to the car, mentally going back and forth on whether or not to say anything, and ultimately deciding she had to know. "So…" she began, coming to sit beside his legs. "What happened at the City Hall?"
"A lot," he said, not meeting her eyes.
She knew she probably should've taken that as a sign he didn't want to get into it, but she decided to push her luck. "Did you cause that explosion, and kill those men?" she asked, the thoroughly scorched bodies of those two things hardly recognizable as human flashing in her mind. And then there was Captain Lancaster, laying dead with a slim hole in his head.
"Yes," he said, and left it at that.
The simplicity of his answer jolted Rachel, a wave of shock numbing her brain. She had expected it, but to actually hear him confirm it was a whole different thing. There was still so much she didn't understand, things only he could tell her, but she knew it wouldn't be tonight. She forced a smile and carded her fingers through his hair, dirty as it was. "I love you."
"I love you too."
As the first light of dawn glowed orange on the horizon, Rachel and Jerome joined Ben and Keisha in front of the bus. Keisha had spent the night alternating between sobbing, and pacing around outside under Ben's watch. Now the tears had dried, leaving obvious streaks down her dark face, and she eyed the rising sun with an eerie sense of calm.
"Today's a new day," Ben said. "We'll rest up and siphon some more fuel. Then tomorrow...we're off to Anchorage."
