Without Guilt

Chapter IV: With the Times

The rain had started up again by the time he reached the Financial District, the mismatched high-rise buildings providing some shelter against the freezing precipitation. The brick buildings were in bad shape, their colour bleached by years of exposure to the elements, but the glass towers were worse off with most of their windows displaying scars of the violence that the area had been exposed to.

He still remembered the last of the civilians who had rejected the Hunter set up in Pittsburgh hiding out in the buildings or desperately trying to climb the scaffolding to escape over the walls.

Most of them had been shot on sight. No final mercy – no offer of choices.

Otis had held Layla firmly by the arm to stop her from marching over and unloading onto the hunters as they lynched a mother and her three daughters, their bodies now nothing but bones and strips of fabric dangling like ghastly wind chimes from the trees.

No one had dared to cut them down, but the trees' branches had given out after the hangmen overloaded it with bodies like they were putting up Christmas tree decorations.

Some eager groups had then moved into some of the better off buildings, claiming them like landlords. Now those buildings were being rented out for parts and supplies, creating an economy that kept the district popular.

They'd cleaned out the bodies from the streets but not from his mind.

"Hey, T!" A man called him across the street, a broad grin on his face as he raised a hand in salute.

"Mason." Otis touched the rim of his jeep cap in greeting, briefly leaving the cover of the buildings to meet the man under the canopy of the concrete building. "How you been, man?" He asked, taking his offered hand in a firm shake.

"Ah, y'know. Things 've been too good 'round here recently, I don't even gotta go out no more." Mason bragged in good humour, squeezing Otis' hand. "Where you been? You hardly come by anymore."

Otis shrugged. "Not showing old reels, that's for sure." He gave a nod toward the bus shelter where Mason had taken to plastering large handmade posters for his makeshift theatre.

Mason laughed, clapping his hands. "Looks fantastic, don'cha think?" He nudged him.

Otis exhaled a misty breath; not entirely sure he could make out what the drawing was, but the writing declared it 'Night of the Living Dead'. "Very… trendy."

That set Mason off again, a belly laugh shaking the large man. Once his laughter subsided, he sighed deeply before retrieving his pack of cigarettes to pour one out. "What brings you 'round this time? Finally getting a place for you and that Arab chick?" He grinned at him cheekily.

"Where in the fuck did you get an idea like that?" Otis grimaced at him.

"What do you mean? You're totally hot on her, everyone and their mother could see that for miles." Mason replied, his eyes aglitter with childish mischief.

"Fuck you and your mother." Otis replied dismissively, his response drawing another laugh from the man. "I'm here for you, actually." He added, shaking his head to decline the offer of a cigarette.

Mason was hardly serious. "I don't mind a quick round – did'ja bring some lube 'cuz I ain't got any." He grinned at him.

Otis just stared at him.

"What? You ain't ever had a quick romp?" Mason asked, his face reddening when Otis still failed to humour him. "Okay, okay, I'll stop. What d'ya need me for? I still got a nice room or two, good view, if you ignore the one or two dead 'uns in the street the other side."

"I don't need a place."

"You sure? I can discount ya, y'know." Mason offered. "Ain't it about time you left that old place anyway? Will's not bad but his smell alone could kill every Clicker in a 5-mile radius."

Truthfully, Otis had considered it. He liked William but it was hard to ignore the man's increasing disregard for hygiene over the years. "Nice as that sounds, I ain't got the parts. Can't leave Simmons there alone either." He knew William usually wasn't the kind who would take advantage, but he didn't trust him as must when he was drinking.

"Shit. Yeah." Mason agreed after a moment of consideration.

"Besides, way I see it, he's not going to last long." Otis watched Mason closely.

Mason frowned in confusion. "Why's that? He caught somethin'?"

"Nah. Saw him drinking Isopropyl recently."

"What's that—" Mason began to ask.

"Rubbing Alcohol, Mace. The stuff they have in med." Otis told him, watching the realisation dawn on his face. "Either they catch him first or he dies from it. Fucked way to go either way."

Mason nodded in agreement, taking a long flaring drag of his cigarette. "You gonna take the place?"

"You know, Mace, I find that real funny. You didn't say nothing when I said I couldn't leave Simmons alone." The taller man mused.

"Whatcha want me to say?" Mason adopted that jumbling of his words whenever he hid something, taking great interest in some grass growing between the pavers at his feet. "You two dating or somethin'? Look, forget what I said about Layla, I didn't mean no disrespect-"

He whimpered when he found the sharp end of a shiv pressed firmly against his gut. "Come on now, T, you know we don't gotta talk like this." He moved back until he was pressed against the wall, Otis towering over him.

"Does it feel good knowing you're retiring on my back, Mace? Huh?" Otis rumbled; his expression deathly calm but his grey eyes pinned Mason in place even when he withdrew the shiv.

"I didn't know, I swear. C'mon, T, you know me, you've known me since forever." Mason reasoned. "They came to me like dead of the fucking night, alright? I thought it was weird, seemed like they were worried someone would find out. It was lots of stuff, okay? You know it's expensive to keep this place going." He rambled.

"You didn't think to ask why?" Otis rebuked him, shutting him up immediately.

Mason was quiet, his eyes wide as he tried to read the man's mood. It was impossible, he was like a Greek marble, sculpted so strikingly in his stoicism. "I did, but he threw some more in like hush money."

Otis moved out of his breathing space, his warmth withdrawing with him but leaving Mason all sorts of flushed as he tried to regain some of his dignity. "Sorry, Mace." He apologised. "It's your right to get what you can."

Mason was just as baffled by the change in tone, but this was more familiar to him. "You alright, T?" He asked, rubbing his tingling abdomen from where the shiv had pressed against him. He'd not been hurt, but he knew Otis was.

"Fuck if I am." Otis exhaled, retrieving a new packet of cigarettes to hold out to him. "I know it ain't much-"

"It's fine. Look, I can't part with the supplies, but I can maybe spare you something." Mason told him, covering his held out hand. "You keep that."

"Nah, it ain't fair on you. You're better off staying here than going out again." Otis told him. "I need you here, Mace. Be my eyes, I got a bad feeling about what's happening with Dom and K." He admitted, turning their hands to put the cigarettes in Mason's hand before withdrawing his own.

"What do you think's going on?" Mason questioned.

"Fuck if I know. Recently I feel like I don't know anything." He responded, rubbing his face. He had his suspicions, but it wasn't like him to share his thoughts often.

"Otis, you look like you haven't slept in weeks. Come inside, lay down for a bit." Mason told him, grabbing his arm loosely.

Otis tensed like he might react aggressively, but the tension wore after some moments. He was quiet, sliding his hands into his jacket pocket and dipping his chin into his scarf. "Are they upstairs?"

"Yeah, but it can wait, get an hour." Mason pushed, guiding him inside by the arm after a quick look down the street. "Don't think they'll be going anywhere, 'specially if they hear you're back. Look, whatever it is, they didn't run outside." He reasoned, closing the door behind them.

Otis would free his arm from his grip as they reached the lobby. "Simmons said Dominique was sick."

"She didn't look it." Mason told him. "You know I check everyone, don't want a repeat of Leslie. Took me fucking months before I could get new tenants after that bitch. Not that kind of sick anyway. She looked a little pale, so did he though." He shrugged, unlocking a door into a lounge room.

It was spacious but all the windows on the street level had been boarded up leaving it dim even in the daytime.

Otis studied the room briefly, taking in the multiple sofas and armchairs set up around tables. Some were covered in dust sheets to keep them clean, cards and board games occupying the tables.

"She hasn't been outside the walls." He agreed after some moments. "Where are they, Mace?"

"Forget about it for just a little, T." Mason told him, smiling as he indicated a sofa in the corner where some blankets were draped. "This little space here is my personal slice of heaven. I keep it clean, no one else comes in here."

Otis' gaze followed him as he moved about piling some pillows onto the sofa.

"I got the good stuff too, you gotta try this. Layla's group brought it in, but you know how she is, doesn't wanna touch alcohol, which is fine by me, more for us, right?" Mason stopped at the mini bar, disappearing out of view as he ducked down to access the safe he hid there. "Ow, fuck!"

"What's the matter?" Otis asked, moving over to check on him.

"Banged my head." Mason rubbed his afflicted skull as he appeared again, holding up his prize.

Otis stared at him blankly.

"Hot chocolate liquor!" Mason announced, by way of explaining the bottle. "Make yourself comfortable, I'll cook it right up." He set the bottle on the bar before drawing out some mugs.

Otis sighed, dropping himself into the sofa and just sinking there for a few moments. The furniture was old but plush enough to have him melt right there. If he wasn't so exhausted, he would have taken those stairs right up and checked door by door for Kumi.

He didn't yet know what he'd do with him.

He'd contemplated taking an eye, a permanent reminder for his trespass, but Otis took no particular joy in leaving that kind of shame bearing mark. On the other hand, letting him walk away from it was too passive. It was an established rule to repay someone who wronged you, otherwise there was no difference between you and a doormat.

"Well, fuck. You look like a man contemplating murder." Mason remarked.

Otis blinked, finding him in front of him with a steaming mug. He reached out to take it quietly, not entirely sure how he'd zoned out like that.

"So… What're you gonna do?" Mason asked, sighing as he sank into the sofa beside him.

Otis shrugged, leaning on his knees as he sat forward, the mug cradled between his hands. "He left a note. Said he wanted to talk… so I guess we'll talk first." He watched the steam rise, letting its warmth caress his face. He was tired and it was starting to take its toll on him.

"T." Mason gently brought an arm around his back.

"I'm fine." Otis groaned, covering his face with a hand.

"No, you're not. You need to relax."

He was only half aware of Mason taking the mug from his hand so that he wouldn't spill it, finding himself being pulled over to lay back on the man's lap.

"This is fucking weird." Otis complained, though his energy had been sapped truthfully, bleary eyes studying Mason's face hovering above him. His side hurt and he only partially shifted in an attempt to lessen the strain on his bandaged wound. He wanted painkillers but he had nothing to trade for it – painkillers and antibiotics were like gold dust and worth a whole month's rent for two pills.

"Don't think about it." Mason chuckled. "My kids would sleep on me like this back then. Jerry on the left and Ben on the right."

"I didn't know… you had kids." Otis mumbled, letting his eyes flutter shut, dark lashes kissing bronze cheeks.

"Military took 'em. Hounded the whole lot in some compound and called it a school. Never seen 'em again after that. Bet they wouldn't recognise me neither. Wherever they are, I just hope they ain't been strung up like those FEDRA bastards over here." He reflected.

"… Yeah." Otis didn't want to think about it either.

The military had taken many away, their faux government institutionalising the children to raise loyal soldiers.

Many of the QZs he'd passed had either been over run or deserted – the Springfield QZ in Illinois had been abruptly abandoned by FEDRA after the supplies had run out.

Not willing to risk a civilian uprising, they'd made off with the rest of the supplies after curfew and left the gates open. When Otis had reached it, half of it had been overrun by Infected from the surrounding area, the few survivors having no weapons and no knowledge of how they were going to make it through.

He'd left. There wasn't much he could do there, though a small group had opted to follow him in an attempt to find somewhere else to settle. They were more willing to take their chances on the road than an abandoned and half overrun town. They'd made the better decision, but many of them had been so comfortable that the reality of the world had hit them too hard.

Each QZ was an unfortunate shard of the past, frozen in time while the rest of the world decayed, fought, and moved forward.

To survive, you had to adapt to the world as it evolved.

Otis fell asleep with nightmares behind his eyelids.

Please R&R!