When I awoke next, the sun was just beginning to set behind the array of cars and buildings outside. A chill was already setting in, and I made a mental note to search for a blanket of some sort next time I went out. The parking lot around my haven was silent; no mumbles, no screams, not even footsteps on the pavement. That alone was inspiration enough for me to turn over and stretch my stiff muscles. No Infected was a wonderful thing to wake up to. Or, rather, no HOSTILE infected. There was still one lurking around, but that one, I didn't mind.
Mick, on the other hand, appeared much less at ease. He stood unmoving at the door, occasionally turning his bulbous head to check this way, or that, still seemingly in the same spot he'd been in when I first fell asleep. I wondered if he had left his post at all, although I was pretty sure I already knew the answer.
Slowly, I straightened myself against the wall. "Hey, you."
That was just enough to make me more interesting than whatever had his attention outside, if there was anything at all. For all I knew, he was just being paranoid and keeping watch. A cough and quiet growl were his quick response as Mick hobbled across the flimsy floor to stand before me, and I dared to meet his glassy stare. While I did so, it occurred to me: do Infected people play dominance games, like some animals do? Was me staring back at him some sort of threat? If that was what was going on every time he looked my way…well, I just hoped I was winning.
"If you're guarding the door, I REALLY hope nothing saw you running away from me before. Doubt they'd find you very intimidating."
Unless he opts to scream at them. It's so bizarre; this skittish infected runs away from everything, but I swear to God that yell of his will stop anyone in their tracks. Either that, or I'm just a wuss. It could go either way.
Suddenly, he knelt to the ground in the most ungainly manner I had ever seen, landing hard with a loud whump on the plywood. And to think, I was originally worried his relentless wheezing and hacking would draw attention to us when really it will probably be his sheer and utter grace that would give us up. He was on my level again, though, and somehow that made him a little less intimidating. I wrapped my arms around my folded legs for added warmth. "Aren't you freezing?"
No response, of course, not even his trademark head tilt. He simply observed.
"I think we need more stuff in here. Not just food." I sighed, shaking my head slowly with a trace of a humorless smile. "Blankets, a change of clothes, maybe something to lay o– " I paused as Mick suddenly shifted in place, scooting himself a little closer until he was just within my reach. "- well, hi."
Back in the day, when things made sense, I used to find comfort petting Jazz, my wonderful little Munchkin cat. I'd ramble on and on about whatever might have been bugging me, usually while she ignored me and slept in my lap, and somehow I figured things out. It's weird how that kind of silent companionship can be so…consoling. I think that has a lot to do with why I hadn't kicked him to the curb yet. Companionship is companionship, and that was something I'd been severely lacking before he came along.
I reached out slowly to Mick's bumpy face, keeping to the same side as his wary eye. Maybe if he could see my movements, he wouldn't flip, and it seemed I was on to something, as he did not pull away, even as I made contact. His skin—I still cannot honestly say I enjoy the feeling of it. It's in an uncanny valley all its own, where it almost felt okay and normal but there was still something off, something spongy and foamy right beneath the surface that threw the whole thing off. However, I was not as weirded-out as I had been the first time. Maybe I'd started getting used to it, or at least I knew what to expect. The same could be said for Mick, it seemed.
I rest my palm against his cheek, my fingers idly stroking along the hinge of his jaw, just beneath his ear. His wariness seemed to fade as the seconds ticked by, as that eye fluttered closed as if he were dozing, only for it to shoot open again and stare at me. Rinse and repeat, and eventually, I noted the way his blinking had slowed. So calm and peaceful where moments ago he'd been so suspicious, and now look - he was enjoying this!
Gradually my hand began to drop lower, down to his neck, and I think for a brief instant I froze in surprise as he actually tipped his head away, but not in a way that made it seem like avoidance. If I wasn't mistaken, he was giving me more room to do whatever I pleased. Maybe that shouldn't have warmed my heart like it did, but it absolutely did.
"See? I told you I'm not so bad." At first, I didn't realize it, but as it turns out, I was smiling ear to ear. "I'm starting to think I can say the same about you."
Of course, I still had to be smart about this. Just because he hadn't hurt me didn't mean he never would. My mind kept telling me that, and yet there was a tiny part of it that steadily grew louder and told me I could trust him. Maybe not entirely, but enough. How could I not? He'd had plenty of opportunities to do me in, and he hadn't taken a single one. The only aggression he'd shown towards me was during our first meeting which, again, was understandable seeing as I smacked him with the door. Plus…the way he was starting to lean into my hand right then was oddly sweet. How long had it been for him, I wondered, since he'd been on the receiving end of any sort of tenderness and comfort?
I should kick him to the curb and move on, I knew. Safety should be one of my top priorities. That, and finding one of those camps all the wall-writings talk about. According to scribbles I read in the mall bathroom, there was one just a few miles outside of the city. I knew the area it was supposed to be in. My siblings and I used to fish in the nearby lake all the time.
Suddenly my hopes rose; maybe Mom and the kids headed out that way!
But…what if they didn't? My mind delved further into that terrifying thought, picturing the three of them trapped in a barricaded room, injured and scared, desperate for help that would not come. Or worse, what if they were all dea—
I shook the thought from my head. Mom was not the type to panic and do something stupid. She would find a way to keep Maria and Daniel safe, even if that meant simply boarding up the house. Still, I had to know for sure.
Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed Mick watching me, brow creased in what I assumed was curiosity. All I could do was give him a soft, sad smile and drop my hand, earning a wheeze that honestly sounded disappointed. Good, maybe he'd remember that next time I tried
. "You know…" I said quietly. "I can't figure out what your deal is, but you sure as hell seem like you're sticking around for the long run. Not gonna lie, I kinda hope you are. I mean, I know that's not exactly how things are supposed to work, but…well, here we are, huh?"
Slowly, I pushed to my feet, sparing a minute to brush debris, dust, and random crap off the back of my jeans. "I need your help. I need to know where my family is, and…there's a chance they might be in the house still. That's where I wanna look first, and I really don't want to go alone."
Mick stood with all the grace of a bag in the wind, choking on who knows what—spores, or maybe just air, it could be anything. Thinking about it, his near-constant noise might have annoyed most people out there. Hell, at first it annoyed me, but now it was, dare I say, endearing, kind of like those snoring bulldogs. Something you learn to live with and adore once you're used to it. I might even call it a weird sort of comforting, as it meant he was still around. I was grateful for that.
The Infected stared at me in what might constitute as SILENCE for a smoker, then lowered both his head and his gaze. Was…was that some sort of gesture? Was it just one of those little things smokers did, kind of like the coughs? I had no idea. The bit of time we'd spent together did not make me any sort of expert on reading him. I had learned a lot, don't get me wrong, but that was still beyond my grasp. Whatever his reasoning, it didn't seem like a threatening behavior in the slightest. Quite the opposite, it seemed more like…submission was the wrong word. Like…Acceptance? Maybe that was it. It still didn't feel like the right word, but it was damn close.
Nonthreatening and vaguely friendly - I could work with that. I can blame part of this on curiosity, testing how I should react to such an action by how HE did so, so with a cautious eye on him, I did the same thing. He'd mimicked and mirrored me enough; now it was my turn.
Mick fiddled with the hem of his dirty shirt, making a low noise that resembled a gritty laugh far too closely for my liking. He threw his head a little, quieting to a croaky gasp, before doing it once more. I still wonder if that was excitement on his part, at least to some degree. And all for simply bowing my head in return. He's an easy one to please, apparently. As he finished…whatever the hell he was doing, he looked at me almost expectantly, panting loud enough that I was sure anything mulling about outside would be able to hear him, head tipped, still wringing his shirt. It was kind of…ah, hell I'm just going to admit it. It was CUTE AS HELL, and that was an instant mood boost.
At the time, I was convinced I was slowly figuring out a way to communicate effectively with him. I wasn't sure exactly what I was saying, but he seemed to appreciate the effort. Still he was noisy and, of course, I wanted him to quiet down again, so I had another idea that kind of kept to the theme I was working on; communication. Another wheezy cough came, yet another alert to his noisy presence, and I hunched my back, like some of the common infected do. And, in an attempt to say "stop it" in a way he might understand, I gave him my very best zombie growl.
His eye instantly went wide, and he took a small step back, cocking his head back and forth from one side to the other. I thought I sounded pretty good! Hell, I'd been hearing those damn things every single day. I better be able to mimic them. Now, how well I actually did in the eyes of another infected was another story. Mick gave me that strange, heaving laugh noise again, gasping as if he had suddenly ran a marathon or something. That was nothing new. It seemed as if making noise either sucked all the air right out of his lungs or got stuck in his throat during his frequent coughing fits. It's normal for him, so instead of worrying, I changed my tactic. I tried to mirror HIM instead of your everyday, run-of-the-mill zombie, complete with heavy breathing and exaggerated wheezing. Doing so made me cough for real, and once again, I understood Mick's deal. Poor thing.
His gritty yell suddenly echoed off the trailer walls, scaring the every-loving shit out of me, if I'm honest. Smokers are LOUD - not just noisy, they're LOUD, and to have relative quiet pierced with that howl was jarring, to say the very least. He shifted from one foot to the other like an anxious man, hands clenching into loose fists at his sides, and in perhaps the first intelligent move I had made since this whole situation began, I took that as my cue to stop.
"Shh, SHHHHHH!" I raised both hands in a mock surrender and waved them around in an effort to get him to shut up. No more screaming, my ear drums couldn't handle it. Save that for outside, when he really needs my attention - or to spook some wayward infected. "I get it! I'm done."
Mental note: Don't do that again. Ever.
To be fair, it was entertaining for a while, a lovely distraction before my mind started slipping to darker, sadder places. But now it was time to get my mind back on track. Stop pissing Mick off, and think about what's important.
Glancing briefly out the bars, I noticed how dark it was. I wanted nothing more than to leave that trailer, even through the cover of night. The sooner I began my search, the better, right? The thought of my baby sister out there among this mess—really, what more motivation did a person need? I'm twenty-four, and I'm a wreck; I can't even imagine how well her 10-year-old brain is processing everything. And Mom—I remember one day she and I sat around joking about zombies. The shambling, undead kind, not these guys. Danny, my little brother, had been in on it, too. He thought it would be cool, the zombie apocalypse I mean, though I'm going to take a shot in the dark and say his stance had most likely changed.
Mick suddenly inhaled sharply, drawing me away from my worries. He made a few odd growls - grunts, more like it, and gracelessly claimed a spot on the floor again. I wondered if he was finally growing tired. Since he had been following me, I had not seen him sleep once. Rest, yes, I suppose. He had his spot in the trailer, where he'd often just sit and chill, but he never actually slept, as far as I knew. So, maybe he was tired. He then tilted his head up to me, gushing and grumbling at me almost frantically.
"If you're trying to tell me something, you have to be clearer than that." I leaned against the wall beside him, only for Mick to huff at me, choking on air for his effort. I had a feeling I knew what his issue was this time. Outside, activity had begun to pick up. Where it had been quiet, now there were groans and mumbles, scuffling shoes on pavement, and among it all came an unfortunately familiar screech echoing in the distance. I knew that one – jumper…leaper…no, it's a –
"Hunter," I whispered to myself. And that right there was the reason I would fight the urge to go outside and start my search. Mick heard it, too, as not a moment after the echo died down, barely a second after the word left my mouth, he answered with a scratchy call of his own. The hunter screamed again, and so did Mick – an infected pissing contest, apparently, and that wasn't going to fly. I flailed at the smoker, startling him just enough to stop him from answering the next screech that came.
"STOP THAT." To my scolding, he just blinked. "I don't want your friends hanging around here, too, okay? Now, hush."
Okay, so, apparently the infected moved around a lot at night. Either that, or I just found the night owls of the apocalypse. Mick didn't seem too antsy, though. In fact, he seemed quite content right where he was, which was great. I don't think I would open that door, even if he wanted to go out. There was a hunter out there somewhere. I'd dealt with one already; I really don't want to deal with another, especially in the dark.
Remember that neighbor I mentioned a while back? The one with the giant swimming pool? Yeah. I went over to find out what was going on (namely why no one in the neighborhood was anywhere to be found), and instead of meeting me at the door like usual, he came sailing off the garage roof and landed on top of me. Thankfully he only managed one swipe across my forearm before someone—another neighbor, knocked him off with a shovel. I don't remember how they killed him; I assume they just beat him to death, but I didn't really see. All I know is that when someone dragged me to my feet, he was dead, laying in a puddle of his own blood. What really stands out to me, though, is not so much the attack; rather, it was the infected man's eyeless stare, and that wicked shriek.
So, Hunters? No, thanks. Oddly enough - and I swear to god, universe, this is not a challenge or request - I'd rather bump into a Tank. At least I would be able to out-run it…for a little while.
"All right," I said. "In the morning, we'll get outta here. My house first, maybe hang out there for a bit, if it's still safe. Then we can…um.."
What? Head for a camp? And then what, waltz in there with an infected on my heels? Any guards would shoot him on sight, or they'd try capturing him for tests and whatnot. How was that fair to Mick? What a wonderful 'thank you for keeping my ass alive' that would be. Besides, I saw how nervous he was around me, and I meant him no harm at all. I couldn't imagine how he would be around people yanking him around, poking and prodding him…Infected or not, he did not deserve that.
I shook my head slowly. First things first. We had to get to my house. "I'll just figure it out as we go, I guess."
Mick drew a rare, smooth breath in a soft sigh. He shifted a bit, like he was finding that one comfortable spot on the unforgiving ground…and then proceeded to scoot across it to sit right at my feet. He looked up at me once, then leaned against the wall like usual. Calm, as quiet as he could be, and relaxed. Before I could stop myself, I reached down and ran my fingers through his hair. The softness of it still baffles me; it made absolutely zero sense! Maybe those obnoxious little spores had something to do with it.
I kept it brief, and as I pulled my hand away, he grunted his disapproval. I guess he was slowly becoming accustomed to being touched again, and I dare say he's enjoying it. If he's not, he's been surprisingly tolerant. All in all, I was just happy he didn't immediately run away anymore. A few quiet moments passed between us, the only noise being his crackling breaths or a moan from across the lot. Not even crickets dared to chirp anymore. I think that was part of what made me so uncomfortable, the lack of familiarity. Crickets always sing at night.
A sharp tug to my jeans startled me. When I looked down to the source, one glassy eye met mine. Mick gushed a few more odd (and kind of gross) sounds, tugging downwards on the fabric bunched in his hands one more time, much gentler than the first time. And then he dropped his hand back to the ground, just observing me with what I can only describe as curious expectation . I decided to humor him and took up the spot at his side, staring at the opposite wall. His gaze never left me, though. I felt goosebumps prick all over my skin. Honestly, that unwavering stare is equal parts sweet in its curiosity and creepy in its intensity.
"When the sun comes up, we'll head towards the river. My house is just over the Main Street bridge. It's gonna be a bit of a walk, but…I think we'll do okay."
Mick growled like he knew what I had just explained, though I know he didn't. It was most likely answering the sounds I made with the ones HE made. Oh well, the feedback was appreciated anyway. I dropped my head back against the wall, closing my eyes. "G'night, Mick. I have a feeling tomorrow's going to be a really long day."
