I don't know how I managed, honestly, but it happened. My nerves calmed just enough for a few hours of sleep. Sure, I kept waking up randomly throughout the night. Unfortunately, I couldn't even blame nightmares for that. It had been a dreamless sleep that I would have given anything to dive back into, but that was easier said than done. Sitting in that trailer, hearing the mumbles of passing infected, struck me with the same sense of dread I had since I'd first figured out what was going on in the world. And that makes it hard to get a good night's rest, let me tell you. The last time I'd awoken, I'd had enough and opted to stay awake, which only meant shivering against the warm air and hugging my knees. "I'll be okay," I muttered softly, nodding along with the declaration despite the fact that I wasn't entirely sure I believed myself. Maybe if I kept saying it, I would; that's how it works, right? "Yeah...yeah, I got this. I can do this-"
As if on cue, nails scratched along the siding right behind me, and I froze. After hearing the tank earlier in the day-yesterday, I suppose it would be, I was still on edge. I mean, if it were a tank lurking out there, the trailer would likely have been up-ended the moment I'd spoken to myself, so it was probably just some random zombie using the trailer as support as it walked. Still freaky as hell, but I could deal with it. I was just about ready to dismiss it as that when I noticed something by the door; a cluster of speckled green lumps poking through the bars, with muffled coughs and panting to go along with them. Come to think of it, I hadn't heard that smoker wander off. I figured he would have lost interest while I slept, yet there he stood on the wooden steps, inspecting the inner walls of the trailer with his one good eye. His deformed profile is hard to mistake, even in the dark.
"Well, good morning to you, too," I murmured, rolling my shoulders. The smoker shifted where he stood, pushing against the door until he could look upon me, and for a few minutes, everything had fallen silent, save for his occasional wheeze. Once upon a time, I'd hated that, silence. There always had to be some kind of noise-a TV, the radio, a fan, something-otherwise I felt like my skin was absolutely crawling. Now...well, I have to admit, it was kind of nice. If it dragged on too long, I'm sure that crawly feeling would return, but for the time being, I was savoring it. At that point, I scooted away from the wall, sitting cross-legged in the middle of the floor. "What were you doing out there all night?"
And it's at that moment, I realized I was talking to a zombie. That has to be somewhere on the checklist of 'symptoms of insanity'. The only way I could really justify it is the natural need for socialization that most people have, and seeing as it sounds better than the alternative, I was going with that.
The Smoker tilted his head, raising a hand to scratch at the largest lump on his face. Weird as it was for me speaking to him, it was probably just as odd for him to be spoken to. Considering most uninfected people probably either screamed or ran-or were wrapped up in that tongue, somebody just talking to him probably threw him for a loop. The fact that I had not shot at him was probably nice, too. Whatever the reason, he just stood there, as quietly as a wheezy smoker can manage, and regarded me with a weird curiosity. Tilting his head, following even the most subtle of my movements. I met his gaze and still he made no hostile move, like launching that tongue through the bars, nor did he shy away like he had the first time we'd made eye contact. Intriguing, but I was not going to dwell upon it. I released a breath, one deeper than I'd thought it was, teeth worrying my lower lip. "Why won't you just go away?"
In the distance came a rumble of thunder. A storm was closing in, though it seemed to be a ways away. That made it no less depressing. If there was one thing that bothered me more than silence, it was storms. Yes, I will suck up the courage to feed candy to a zombie, but I will hide whenever I hear thunder cracks. Kind of an old habit, I suppose. And, I'm a wuss; I'll be the first to admit that. The Smoker heard it too, as he glanced off in the direction of the crash before his nosiness brought him back to me. "...why haven't you killed me yet?" Not that I was complaining, of course, but...that's what they were supposed to do, wasn't it? Kill the normal people? "I really doubt all you want is my damn candy…"
All I received in reply was a quiet rasp. The smoker rest his misshapen forehead on the steel, his nasty leathery tongue audibly bumping against the door. I'll admit, this thing was starting to pique my own curiosity. As I have mentioned, prior to finding him, I had never encountered a smoker, but even so, I knew his behavior was...off. Reports had claimed they were skittish, quick to run when spotted or engaged, and deadly; if that tongue got a hold of you, it was lights out, unless someone else came along and saved your sorry ass. I am...inclined to believe that last bit, considering the fact that I'd watched him crush another infected.
"What?" I mimicked his position as best I could, laying my chin on my arms to watch him. "You wanna come in here, too, huh?" The smoker only shifted as the sky above him clouded over, turning his head just so and his bloodied tongue inside. It's obvious that he cannot respond to me as a normal person would, and there's no guarantee he would if he could, yet it appeared as though he was hanging on my words. I can't really describe it-sort of like a dog, when you talk to them. They cannot understand you entirely, but they give the impression that they're enjoying every word that comes out of your mouth. Every time I spoke, his head would tip and tilt, or that eye would open just a little wider than usual. Creepy as it is, it's kind of...neat, in its own right. "Sorry, big guy. If I knew for a fact you wouldn't rip me apart, we could talk about it, but I think you're spending the night out there."
Now, in general, I am one of those people that try to look on the bright side of things. There are two sides to everything, and I can usually find the good stuff. Usually. A few of my friends used to call it 'obnoxious optimism', but hey, I was pretty proud of that. Since this all started, that optimism has faded. In the dragging minutes to follow, in the back of my mind, I started to wonder exactly WHY it mattered if he would attack. Even if I survived the night, what did I have to look forward to? What was there for me-or anyone else, for that matter-anymore? Zombies, zombies, dead bodies, and….oh, hey, more zombies. Yep, that's worth it. Definitely sounds like something worthy of my paranoid caution.
Outside, the rain began to fall. Had I not heard it hitting pavement, I would have know as soon as the wind picked up, as it blew some of the droplets through the bars. The smoker shoved his hands into the pockets of his dirty jacket, wet hair sticking to different places on his head. It wasn't cold out there by any means; I honestly think he did not appreciate being soggy, and I couldn't blame him. Anyone familiar with that feeling knows it is not the most pleasant in the world. Being drenched in the rain only made it worse; I knew that well enough to actually feel bad for that poor thing, especially when he could see me inside the trailer; nice and dry, not exactly comfortable but more so than he was out there-
Call me stupid. Go ahead and call me suicidal. Hell, I was doing that a little bit myself, if I'm honest. Even with my exhausted, rattled brain, I knew it was a horrible idea, but still I pushed to my feet with all the speed and grace of someone climbing out of bed first thing in the morning. It was still enough to startle the smoker outside, apparently, as he took a quick step back, hands shielding his head from the rain drops (or, so it seemed), a nervous yell penetrating the storm's ambiance and echoing through the trailer. "Shhh…" As if that would shut him up. I inched over to the door, hesitated, and...lifted the bar holding it shut. I knew that smoker could tear me apart if he really wanted to, but here's the thing: deep down, I don't think I really cared. When you look out at the world and see nothing but mutants, death, destruction, and abandoned life all around, it really doesn't give you much of a reason to care, let me tell you. Pretty sure it's one of those things that can kick-start depression into high gear. It certainly did for me. Add that to the fact that, at the time, I did not have my family to keep me grounded, as they always did-that was my rock, so to speak, and I wasn't doing well without it-and it doesn't bode well for my mental state. If the infected decided to kill me, I would have almost considered it doing me a favor.
Almost. I hadn't quite reached the point of no return, but taking a risk like that was the first step down that road, isn't it?
I tugged the handle of the door, leaving it open a crack, and backed away slowly. If this smoker wanted in, then he could have it-and once he had it, I was locking up behind him. There was no way in hell any other infected were coming in. One roomie was enough for me, and I needed to re-bolt that door. With another step back, a familiar crackling caught both our attentions. A Rolo had been flattened under my muddy shoe, and suddenly I remembered the bag was still there, lying discarded on the ground. I reached down to grab another piece, and out of the corner of my eye, I saw the smoker straighten, taking an eager stride towards me before hesitation grabbed the reins again. I only scoffed, folding my arms over my chest as he came a little closer. Points to him, he'd managed to find the courage to climb the stairs, pausing on the very top step with his hands laid upon the door. "Alright, look, I'm giving you one shot here. Either come in, or go away," I said, for all the good it would do me. "I really don't want any of your friends bargin' in, too."
Still he stood there. Watching, observing, and I thought I realized the problem.
A few slow steps to the right moved me away from the door. This guy seemed pretty jumpy for an infected; it's almost comical, come to think of it, considering I had seen him-heard him, rather, crush another in the coils of that nasty tongue of his, but it seems my presence near the door did unnerve him. Once I was out of the way, a tense moment passed (I assumed he was making sure I was out of the way) before the door slowly creaked open. The smoker stuck his bulbous head in, gaze locking on me before drifting down to the smashed candy on the floor. His eye narrowed at it, like it had given him the surge of determination he needed, and he squeezed the rest of his body inside. Meanwhile, my heart threatened to leap out of my chest. There I was, standing straight across from an infected, a goddamn smoker, like he was some common, harmless dog I'd stumbled upon in my travels. My stomach tied itself into knots, every fiber in my body expecting to be wrapped up in that tongue any second-but he, apparently, had other plans, which involved ignoring me to peel the candy off the floor and limp over to the back wall, as far from me as he could manage indoors. He knelt down, hunching his body over his folded legs, and leaned on the broken wood. Inside for all of a minute and his entire being screamed 'happy to be out of the rain'. And my entire being couldn't blame the poor thing.
Slowly, so not to startle him, I pressed my back to the opposite wall near the door, sliding over inch by inch to push the door closed. At that point, his attention split; part of him was concerned with the candy in his hands, the other was intent on me, watching my every move, studying me, perhaps for signs of aggression. I tried to ignore him, which is so much easier in theory than it is in practice, and lifted the bar back into its position to lock up for the rest of the night.
"What the hell am I doing…?" Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him cock his head. That, I took as a good sign. Curiosity was good, right? Aside from that, he did not pay me much mind, far more concerned with shoving the smashed little Rolo down his throat than listening to my ramblings, so I opted to take a seat again, kneeling just a little closer to his chosen position. For a few minutes, I merely watched him, just as he would occasionally glance up and watch me, and that was enough for a while. However, that was the night I was positively full of stupid ideas, as the longer I knelt there, the stronger the urge became to….wow, looking back, I still have to wonder how I made it as long as I did….
I rose up on my hands and knees, which gave him a start. Not the best start of things, I know. Scaring the infected very well may provoke aggression, and that's about the last thing I wanted right then. "It's okay," I murmured softly, crawling towards him at the most unhurried pace I could manage, despite my screaming shins. Plywood hurts, alright. "You and I both know I can't hurt you…" Or, at least, I knew that. The smoker seemed less convinced. He shot to his feet, towering over my crawling form, and screamed, pressing himself against the wall in a vain effort to put some distance between us. I stood up as well, halting my advance, holding my trembling hands in front of me. "Easy,easy! I'm sorry! I didn't...I didn't mean to scare you." Rachele...are you out of your freakin' mind?!
I gave him (and me; I'm not ashamed to admit that) a second to calm down, and my approach resumed. Another step in his direction, I reached a hand out, palm up, but he still wasn't having any of that nonsense. Instantly, he jerked and limped his retreat to the corner farthest from me. At that point, I started to wonder if he wanted out, but never once did he go near or even look at that door, so that suspicion was quickly put to rest. Whatever his issue was, it wasn't getting any better now matter how much I tried to soothe his fear, so I gave up, merely shaking my head at the infected. "You're just a huge wuss, aren'cha?"
He responded with another gravelly yell.
Of course, I flinched. I'm sorry, but when an infected screams at you, it's pretty hard not to. But, I recovered pretty quick, too, waving a dismissive had at him. "Fine, fine. Hide over there. Just remember, you can't hurt me if you won't even come BY me. It's only fair."
On the bright side, I figured if he was going to kill me, he would have done it already. There had been plenty of opportunities, both before I'd let him in and within the whole...what, ten minutes he'd been inside. All of the latter were my fault, yet he hadn't acted on a single one. Maybe it was gratitude for getting him out of the rain; probably not, I know, but I had to justify it somehow. Besides, I was pretty proud of myself for helping him out of the storm, honestly. Maybe I shouldn't have cared; he's infected, right? Who knew how many people died because of him, and here I'm sheltering him? That doesn't seem right, does it? I took a deep breath, running a hand through my greasy hair. Old habits die hard, I suppose. Prior to this whole mess, I was working my way to become a nurse. Always had been a dream of mine, and now it's coming back to kick me. You can't go through so much training and not expect to feel at least a little sympathy for the sick-which is exactly what he is. A sick human being. Right?
...technically, yes.
However, there is much more to being human than the DNA. The mind has to remain intact, as well. All things considered, that was one thing that he, and all the other infected, lacked, to varying degrees. But, I would be willing to bet he has more wits about him than, say, the mumbling folks I hear outside. No doubt they would have attacked, had I offered shelter to them instead-whatever. Mulling over details and trying to warrant my brainless actions made my head hurt.
I dug in my pocket for another piece of candy, rolling it in my palm until I caught his attention. At that point, I claimed a spot on the wall farthest from him and rolled the bite-sized prize across the floor towards him. My eyelids kept drooping despite my nerves, but I was so certain I would never be able to sleep with him being so close. Instead, I settled for reclining uncomfortably on the wood to observe, and from the look of it, he was still planning to do the same...after he'd retrieved the peace-offering, of course.
The last thing I remember from that night was seeing that pasty eye staring at me-through me, it felt-before my exhaustion finally managed to overpower me.
