Without Guilt

Another's misfortune…

Chapter VIII: Begs no Revelry

"This is… a lot of stuff, K." Dominique noted quietly as she joined him in the living room where he was sorting through the boxes.

"Yeah." Kumi sighed, reaching for the bound journal among the cans and jars. "How's Dorothy?"

Dominique sighed. "Poor thing, she cried herself to sleep." She moved to sit down on the couch nearby.

"I didn't think Will was someone to be that upset over." Kumi scoffed, carefully opening the battered cover to avoid spilling out all the loose papers from inside. Something fell out though, hitting the coffee table.

"K. You know she's not seen much of the world. She cares about people." Dominique frowned lightly, not quite understanding what he was getting at.

Sure, William had been a sleaze, but he still came through when necessary, even if Otis had nearly taken his head off one time over the drinking issue.

"That's not what I'm saying." Kumi denied, it wasn't like he was making fun of Dorothy. He picked up the ring that had fallen out, frowning lightly as he turned it over in his fingers. It was thin, silver, pretty much worthless but it appeared to belong to a set since he'd seen Otis wear a matching one under his gloves.

"Then what are you saying?" Dominique asked patiently, her hazel eyes studying him. "Kumi." She called when he didn't respond, brushing her long box braids over one shoulder.

Kumi slid the ring back into the journal and set it aside, shifting to sit next to her and taking her hand. "I'm saying when I got there, William was already dead. Otis killed him, I'm pretty sure he did."

Dominique's frown deepened. "Why would-?" She began to ask.

"He said he was going to take care of him. When I got there, Dorothy already looked like she'd been crying." Kumi cut in.

She took these words in slowly, a little unsettled but the bigger part of her wanted to believe there was a good explanation for this. She knew that Otis and William had their differences and argued every now and then, but it had never gotten to a point where death had ever been a possibility.

They sat in silence for some time.

"I don't know what to say." Dominique admitted, reaching for the journal to look it over. She opened it more delicately, looking over the first page. There was a map drawn there, not of any area she recognised, some red markers probably marking looted locations. Or maybe other stashes.

"Say we were right to leave." Kumi told her.

Dominique eyed him. "Are you still mad at him?" She asked, light teasing in her tone.

Kumi was quiet, refusing to meet her gaze. Her smile faded as she covered his hand with her other one.

"K, I know you did what you thought was best…" She began delicately, lacing their fingers together.

"But it's still my fault, right? I did what I had to do for us." Kumi claimed with irritation in his tone.

"No, baby." Dominique shook her head, imploring him to look at her as she touched his cheek. "We both panicked, lots happened. Otis understands, but we left him in the dark. How would you feel if it was the opposite way?" She tried to reason.

Kumi turned on her sharply, snatching his hand. "He fucking wishes you were carrying his child."

Dominique was so taken back by the outburst that she just stared at him uncomprehendingly. "What are you talking about? I'm talking about the supplies you took, Kumi."

"I'm talking about the way you're always running to Otis for help, Dominique." He rebuked. "It's always 'let's ask Otis', 'let's do what Otis says', Otis is always right. He fucking tried to kill me-"

"Kumi, don't exaggerate." Dominique interrupted sharply. She was a strong woman and while she could be understanding, she would not accept being spoken to in this way. "He hit you because you broke his trust."

"He killed William. How long before he drops one of us if we're in the way, huh?" He argued, his voice rising.

"Lower your voice, Dorothy is sleeping." Dominique hissed. "That man you're talking about isn't a stranger, Kumi! We both owe him our lives; he's done more for us than anyone else was willing to do and if he killed Will then it was probably to help us!"

"That wasn't the tune you were singing before! What else do you feel we owe him, Dom, huh? What else do you owe him?"

Dorothy was woken by the sound of their rising voices, blinking her sore eyes open groggily. She didn't remember falling asleep, but she felt awful, her eyes swollen and red. "Dom...?" She called hoarsely, her throat dry from dehydration. She had a migraine.

She pulled herself slowly from the bed, feeling drained and sluggish.

Her heart was thundering against her ribcage, her stomach trembling with anxiety. What was going on?

"Dom?" She called again as she pushed the bedroom door open, fidgeting with her sleeve.

"Since when was that your opinion of me?!" Dominique was yelling at Kumi as he paced.

"I don't know, Dom, okay? I just didn't need this right now." He claimed.

"What didn't you need? Which part of any of this is his fault?" She demanded to know. "You and I are responsible for the life of this baby!" She pointed to her stomach.

"Then why did you go to him for help! It's not his business to know!" Kumi emphasised.

"You made it his business when you took his gear! What else was I supposed to do?!"

"Look what he's done! He killed William!"

Dorothy sprung forward. "He killed him for me!" She blurted out, her voice cracking. She couldn't bring herself to cry but there was a suffocating lump in her throat.

"Dorothy…" Dominique's expression melted with concern; her anger drained out of her.

Kumi brought his hand to rub his neck awkwardly at having gotten carried away to this point. He hadn't meant to upset Dominique, but one thing led to another, and he handled it about as well as always.

Dominique moved to console Dorothy as the woman's face scrunched up. She resisted the urge to cry though.

"The boss gave me my ration allowance early," Her voice trembled as she spoke. "So, I got excited and went right h- home. But William was drunk and he… he started making me uncomfortable. So, I hit him. I don't know how, but I hit him, and he got mad- he got really mad, and he grabbed me." She stuttered as she spoke, her words cracking as she covered her face.

"Shhh, darling, it's okay." Dominique assured, bringing her into a hug. Her eyes sought out her partner, apologetic.

"I didn't mean for him to kill him… I really didn't." Dorothy protested, her voice barely above a whisper. "But what else was I supposed to do?"

Kumi couldn't bring himself to voice his agreement with what Otis had done.

"It's not your fault, Dory." Dominique continued to sooth, not daring to say she supported what Otis had done after her recent argument with Kumi either.

"You should stay here for a while, Dorothy." Kumi moved on. "Get some water, try to eat a little."

"Where are you going?" Dominique asked him as he picked up the journal from the table, dumping it into the crate and taking it towards the door.

"To see Otis."

Dominique opened her mouth to protest. She didn't want him to pick a fight.

"Gotta give him his things back."

The can opened with a soft hiss, foam rising at the mouth and threatening to spill over.

"Ah man, mine's flat!" Layla complained when she opened her own, pouting at the faded Coca-Cola can.

"It all tastes the same anyway." Otis replied, offering her his can in exchange.

She perked up, eagerly swapping the cans like a kid. "No, it doesn't. You have no taste." She teased, nudging his arm.

Otis managed the faintest smile, sitting hunched near the fire barrel. His hunting rifle was resting against his shoulder, but he seemed stiff like he'd taken a beating. His failure to come up with a smart remark like usual though made her take pause.

"What's the matter, T?" She asked, leaning forward to try and catch a better look of his face from under the brim of his jeep cap. "You're not looking so good."

He shifted back from the light of the fire, straightening up in the metal chair which creaked under his weight. "You think I'm good looking?" He replied, failing to deliver it in his usual tone. It was a bit breathless, exhausted sounding.

Layla still laughed, lightly nudging his shoulder. "Geez, when did you care?"

He shrugged. "Word is, you and I have something going on. Not that I even knew."

Her laughter picked up, ringing out over the crackling of the flames. She covered her mouth to stifle her laughter when another pair of Hunters on patrol looked over curiously. She continued to giggle, shifting her chair a bit closer. "That's hilarious. Who the hell says that?" She asked.

"I don't even know. Mace told me." Otis admitted.

"He's got his eyes on you." Layla smiled with that knowing glint in her eyes. "He was throwing bait in to see if there was other fish in the water." She claimed, wagging her finger at him.

Otis rolled his eyes. "Y'all're too curious for your own good." He sighed, unable to lift the can to his lips to drink. He was feeling numbingly cold and hot at the same time, the night air caressing his face but doing little to cool the feverishness.

They were perched in the fifth storey of a building, overlooking the highway that snaked through the city. It was about twenty minutes out from the camp, a dead zone for the most part but a good sniper's nest to spot any activity in the area. Military convoys sometimes passed through, though it had become increasingly rare after the last big altercation ended in FEDRA losing a Humvee to the Hunters. Occasionally, there were tourists who took the route, or some Infected for target practice, but otherwise it was just a makeshift watch tower to ensure that the settlement beyond it was protected.

The Pittsburgh Hunters had expanded their territory outside the QZ, reaching as far as the inner city, but the main camp stayed within the safety of the original walls.

Layla liked this patrol shift. It gave her the opportunity to get some fresh air away from the camp, and since it was increasingly quiet as the years passed by, she didn't have to worry about encountering the living.

Some people accused her of cowardice, but those who knew her could attest to her steel nerves when faced with the Infected. She was merely devout to her beliefs and that was something that afforded her much respect as opposed to scorn.

"You ever thought about giving him a chance?" Layla asked after some minutes of quiet, sighing as she pushed out of her seat to move towards the hole in the wall where she could look across the city.

It was incredibly dark. The clouds blotting out the stars. The streetlights in the area had long given up too, mostly because of the flooding from burst underground pipes that faulted the electric wires.

"What kind of chance?" Otis asked in return, slowly lowering his drink to set it down. His limbs were incredibly heavy.

"Oh, you know… He likes you." Layla glanced back at him.

"You don't know that." Otis denied.

"You're not saying no because he's a guy." It wasn't a question, but it didn't matter if it was because Otis' state was becoming difficult to ignore. Something was wrong. "T, you need to go back to camp." She decided, moving towards him.

He didn't hear her, holding his head in his hands.

"T? Did you hear me?" She ducked down beside him, gently pushing back his cap. His head lulled, eyes glassy with delirium. "T, look at me. Are you okay?" She touched his face, almost wincing from how hot to the touch he was. "You're burning up!" It didn't take much to push him off the chair either, her arms moving to support him so she could lower him to the ground more gently.

He mumbled something incomprehensible as she unzipped his jacket, though it didn't take her long to spot the blood spreading through the fabric of his shirt.

"Oh my God, Otis, we have to get you to Med—hey, some help over here!" She called to the two others.

Please R&R!