Our pile of loot, if it could even be labeled a pile, sat in the corner farthest from the door. All except my Cheerios—no way was I giving him any opportunity to eat them. I had secured the door already, despite the sun still high in the afternoon sky. The more I thought about it, where were we going to go? Besides, I found a way to occupy myself. Since we had returned, I had been chasing my wonderful little buddy around the trailer. Ragged cloths in hand, I wanted only to clean the wound on his shoulder. Why? Well, my first instinct is to say "to prevent infection", but that ship has already sailed. What I could say is, it would make it feel a little better, and I could absolutely help with that. I wanted to.. Of course, he did not see it that way. To be honest, if he still knew how to give me the finger, I'm certain he would have by now.
"You were perfectly fine with me an hour ago. What's the problem now?"
I managed to corner him between a wall and the busted remains of a table common to the safe houses. Admittedly, that was not the most secure maneuver on my part, but at least he stopped running away. The Infected faced me, no trace of true fear or anger his disturbing eye, only a bleak weariness. He grabbed his tongue in both hands, turning himself away.
"It's okay," I murmured softly. "You know I'm not gonna hurt you…"
Moving with a slow impatience, I stood before him. His raspy breathing picked up, his unblinking eye never once focusing on me. With nowhere else to go, he had given up, which meant one thing: I won.
…or he was going to attack me. I was leaning towards the former, though.
I did give him a few seconds to brace himself. The more I thought on it, the more I realized how…odd? Endearing? Sad? I'm not sure exactly what to call it, but the notion that I stood before this mutated, infected human being, with the strength and built in weaponry to make my day especially shitty if he chose, and yet he almost cowered before me, like I was capable of harming him, even without my bat in hand. I guess I technically could. One good yank on that tongue, and I'm sure he'd be hurting, but I had begun to hope he realized that, if I was going to harm him, I would have by now. I'm sure the same was true of him. Then again, the fact he's allowed me so close without screaming in my face spoke well enough that, while we might not be at the finish line yet, so to speak, he was coming around at his own pace. Now, I was just going to give him a little push. Slowly, I reached towards him, and the moment I set a hand on his shoulder, his entire body flinched.
"Easy…" I whispered, sparing a glance up towards his face, to his unwavering stare, and noted he had yet to release the comforting hold on his own damn tongue. That's okay, I thought, let him have that.
Still speaking softly, offering every soothing word I could think of, I eased his jacket away from the puncture, cautious of any pressure I may accidentally put on the wound. Beneath he wore a simple, torn gray shirt smeared with dirt and blood, a mixture of his own and…well, I didn't really want to think about that. Claws had torn his clothes; I was willing to bet, judging by the four meticulous tears in the fabric barely the newest injury. I peeled the torn shirt apart, hearing him wheeze in brief disapproval, and stepped closer for a better view of the hole in his mottled flesh.
Got a face full of spores for my troubles, but what can you do. I just made sure to take shallow breaths. I know they're not harmful or anything, but they sure are IRRITATING.
Aside from the bullet still lodged beneath his skin, the wound was not horrible. The poor Smoker had had worse, no doubt, if the random scarring on his visible flesh was anything to go by.
He suddenly dropped both hands to his sides. Man, if he would stay like that, things just might stop bleeding, and I would be able to take care of it! Maybe. I had to be doubly sure that bullet was the worst of things, but as I examined closer, his chin bumped into my head, tongue grazing my arm again. The tip flicked against my elbow again, and oh my god. Let me tell you, it took every ounce of willpower not to squirm away. That still freaked me out. I tried to tell myself that it was an instinct on his part, a "smoker thing" that perhaps helped him assess a situation, but it didn't help. Still weird, still freaky, still gross. But to my credit, I kept my cool. Actually, I assumed he was trying to watch my actions, like a normal person would, which…can't say it made it better, but it helped with the whole 'keep my cool' thing.. The spores fluttering around seemed to grow even worse, too. Either that or I was simply noticing them more, and that was not okay either.
This poor man….
"That needs to come out," I said, not daring to turn my head. I was already pushing boundaries. Shoving my face in his, accidentally or not, hardly seemed a wise decision, so I simply stared at the wound, carefully packing the cloths I carried against it and drawing a startled grunt from him. It was the best I could do, seeing as I had no tools to work with and like hell was I planning on digging that bullet out with my fingers. That's a horrible thing to do to anybody, for one, and I'm pretty sure he'd retaliate for the attempt. And I would not blame him, at all. However, with or without tools, there was another barrier to breach, and it just so happened to be the skittish smoker himself.
"And you're not gonna let me do that…" He barely let me touch him! Like he would honestly stand there and let me jab him with stuff, even if it was for his benefit. "Are ya?"
I stepped back, giving him a soft, albeit tight smile. I was hoping some part of him recognized gestures like that. The cloths stuck for the time being, much to my relief, so at least they would keep more crap out of the wound. For the time being, it was all I could do.
Honestly, being allowed so close, I almost wanted to push my luck and inspect him further. As I believe I have said, I am a fairly curious person, and his patience was rather encouraging. However, by that point, those little spores floating around his head we're bugging the hell out of me, so with a sigh, I hesitantly distanced myself and claimed a spot in the creaky plywood, well away from the door. While I sat there, I would occasionally catch him tenderly poking at his shoulder, or attempting to look at the cloth stuck to his skin. I honestly expected the infected to pull it off.
Or eat it.
After a few minutes, though, he lost interest, and shuffled over my way. At first, he stared me down, standing before me and wheezing in his usual fashion, and I raised an eyebrow. The Smoker cocked his head, limping towards my left side, and then slumped his back against the wall barely an arm's length from me, sliding all the way down to the floor, where he rested his knobby arms on his knees. I think I froze when he settled into place. The way he was sitting there was just too…human for my liking. It is hard to remember that I was sitting beside a monster when he did things like that-
-no. No, my mind chided. It wasn't a monster there next to me. He WAS human. A human with a horrific illness that messed with every fiber of his being. I had to remember that, no matter how difficult it could be at times.
As my initial shock slowly wore off, I noticed that I was sitting that exact same way; legs tucked in, knees up, elbows propped. He was…mirroring me. Alright, now that was…I don't even know what to call it.
Time to change it up, though. I wrapped both arms around my legs, turning a curious eye to him. "You…God, I can't figure you out. You freak out and attack me, you follow me around, you steal my candy…then you go and save my ass when we both know you shouldn't have. Seriously…what is goin' on with you?"
The Smoker watched me with his head leaned back on the thin metal planks. I couldn't help but laugh under my breath, slowly shaking my head, and as an after-thought, I whispered, "I don't even know what to call you…"
Was there a need to call him anything at all? Probably not. I wish I knew his name, even though I knew it meant nothing to him anymore. Still, it'd be nice to humanize him that way, if that makes sense. Maybe he still had some ID on him, but somehow, I doubt that rooting around for it wasn't going to inspire confidence. He was iffy about me touching his shoulder, imagine if I'd gone looking for a wallet in his back pocket or something. So, for the time being, he was just a nameless infected, horribly sad as that is….I eyed him for a second.
Okay, so I may never know his actual name, but l could always give him one…
Immediately all manner of stupid, cheesy aliases floated through my head. You know, the ones EVERYONE calls EVERYTHING because they think it's cute, or cool - whatever just came to your mind, that's what I'm talking about. But no, I thought he deserved something better than that. Besides, I was naming (or nicknaming) a zombie, not an animal.
…There's something else I never thought I'd say.
"How about…" I narrowed my eyes at him with a sidelong glance. You know how some people just LOOK fit for a name? 'He looks like a David's, 'she looks like an Emily's, and so on? Yeah, well, that didn't apply here, meaning I basically needed to pull a name out of my ass, for lack of better ways to phrase it. Something short and sweet, that wouldn't sound like I was calling a dog when I spoke to him. Something HUMAN…
"How about Mick?"
He choked a few times in his usual fashion, struggling for a moment to catch a shaky breath. Safe to say, he did not care. I will admit, it made me feel better telling myself that he did, and that he approved, even if I did not believe it. In any case, Mick it was.
He turned to look at me straight on. I guess he knew when I was talking to him, even if he understood absolutely nothing that was coming out of my mouth. His whole body suddenly shook in a violent series of coughs, and as it subsided, he drew a deep, calming breath. "Unless you tell me something different, I'm taking that as a yes, but…"
If he would have done so right then, I think I would have had a heart attack.
"You know …" As I spoke, he tilted his head, watching me intently. I was starting to wonder if he wanted me to just shut up, or if he genuinely enjoyed hearing another's voice that wasn't screaming. That was me hoping for the latter. "I should have gone with those three earlier. I mean, the guys were douchebags, but like…I dunno. They were PEOPLE – not that you're not or anything. It's just…diffferent. "
Over his wheezes, I sighed, shaking my head. "This is all wrong…" I held my head in my hands. This whole situation—I should not even be alive, let alone sitting around talking to a Smoker. A Smoker that I had named, on top of that. "God, part of me hopes those guys don't make it to a safe house Do you know how fucked up that is?"
Watching him made me feel a little better; something about the way he was listening to every word I said, and rather intently at that. Whether he understood hardly mattered. All that mattered was the was there, paying attention.
"Of course you don't…" Seeing other people should have given me strength. However, there was only one thing I could think about, and it shook up any little bit of vigor I might have had. "I had a family. My mom, my brothers and sister. I keep thinking about them. Where they are, if they're okay. "
There, I fell quiet for a few minutes, and in that time, the two of us merely stared at each other, and a thought hit me. "I bet you had family, too, didn't you? They're out there somewhere, probably worried sick about you, or thinking the worst, just like mine probably are."
The thing is, I could go back to mine. When I returned, they would see ME, whereas Mick didn't have that option anymore. That was taken from him by this goddamn virus. Granted, if he were to come across them, part of me doubts he would remember them, nor would they be able to recognize him in his current state, but it was still a terrible thought. This poor thing had lost literally EVERYTHING, and while everything I had might be distant at the moment, there was the possibility that I could have it back one day. He couldn't, no matter what he did. If that isn't the most heartwrenching, lonely thought in the world…
My eyes burned with tears threatening to fall. Thinking on his situation in combination with my own worry for my family – it was too much to handle. And it only got worse, the more I sat there dwelling upon it. I mean, in my house, we were not exactly equipped to handle a zombie apocalypse. Our only line of defense was the array of knives in the kitchen, and okay, they would be great against a single, common assailant, but what if someone was grabbed by a smoker, or surrounded by a horde, or pinned by a hunter? Knives weren't going to do anything for them. But then, my mind took a twist and went, what if they had turned, or had been—I shook my head. No. I was not going to think like that, not going to allow it. And I sure as hell was not going to cry.
Hell, it'd probably scare Mick if I did.
I shuffled to stretch out on my side, facing away from the smoker who still sat watching me.
"I'm taking a nap,." Oops, my voice was shaking, and he seemed to notice, if the curious growl was anything to go by. "Wake me up in an hour, will ya?"
If he did…well, again, I was going to lose my shit.
My eyes had not closed for two minutes when I suddenly heard rustling behind me. I waited for a harsh touch, or the prickle of those little spores, thinking maybe his curiosity was getting the better of him, but that was not the case. Instead, footsteps retreating to the opposite side of the trailer. I held still, maintaining the air of sleep while cracking one eye to see what in the world he was up to now. What I saw was Mick leaned against the doorframe, peering out through the bars. Both hands hung loosely at his sides as he looked this way and that, craning his neck to inspect the parking lot outside. I could hear approaching infected; by the sounds, it was just a couple commons if I was not mistaken. Their mumbles and groans were easy to distinguish, especially compared to the howls of some of those Specials. He pressed his face against the metal for a better view, though even I could tell they were no threat. As long as I stayed quiet, and no one opened that door, I was safe. I assumed the other Infected would pay little mind to his noises.
He seemed to realize that, too. Given a second to assess the situation, Mick relaxed against the wall again, eye watchful of everything going on outside. It was almost as if he was standing guard, and you know what's really crazy? I was actually grateful for it. The last thing I remember before dozing off was grinning to myself, realizing I was now considering myself safe in the presence of a Smoker.
Good Lord, I am going absolutely insane…
