Title: From the Potter's Ground
Fandom/character: Dawn of the Dead (2004), Ana
Prompt: No. 50 – Spade
Rating: PG
Author's Notes: This is one of the first installments in a 100-story challenge from Live Journal. Much like my old college creative writing class, we are given 100 words and a topic and free reign to riff on them. Some of these stories will follow the movie canon, some won't; some will be long, some short; some may even follow in sequence. Ratings, timelines, tone will vary. They all will focus on Ana and the people around her.
The ground was hard, so the digging was difficult. Ana leaned on the shovel with all her weight, hoping the earth would be softer after she got through the first layers. She knew she wouldn't be able to dig the hole six feet deep, but she wanted it to at least be deep enough to keep the animals away from the grave.
She paused, winded, and listened to the inhuman wails in the distance. She knew they couldn't touch her here, not so long as she kept digging.
She glanced at the body on the ground beside her, focusing on his hand -- his fingers were curled, his arm bent, and if she pretended, she could still feel his arms around her -- because his face was too painful to look at. And if she looked at his face she would see the gaping, still-weeping bite that had ended his life.
The blood on his hand was starting to dry, as was the blood covering her pajamas and skin. Clinically, she had known he would die from the instant she saw his wound. Still, she couldn't believe he was gone.
A stumbling figure passed her by, the huge, gray-haired woman ignoring her as she continued digging. Just as long as she dug, she was safe – it was once Luis was in the ground she would have to worry. The digging became easier, the earth flying off her spade, and soon the hole was complete.
Luis' death was too recent for rigor mortis to have set in, so maneuvering his corpse was more difficult than it might have been. Every muscle straining with the effort, she pulled his dead weight toward the grave. She didn't have time to scream when the loose earth on the edge gave way.
The body fell on top of her, and she was struck with a sudden flash of their last night together -- his weight pressing into her, his lips on hers. She wept, scrambling to get away from the corpse of her husband. Terror then paralyzed her limbs, and she wondered if would be easier to just go with it, to wait for the end.
Luis awoke with a snarl, the fires of hell flashing in his empty eyes and this time Ana did scream. She struggled ineffectually against him, his hands pinning her arms as his teeth closed in on her.
"Ana!" he shrieked her name, foamy blood flying from his lips in the instant before his teeth sank into her.
She awoke still struggling against the hands on her arms, her feet scrabbling against the leather sofa. The copy of "Worst Case Scenario" she had been reading, flew from her lap as she kicked at the half-seen figure holding her down. Her tennis shoe connected with something solid and she heard a grunt.
"Dammit! Ana, wake up!"
Ana snapped back to reality in an instant. Panting, she stared into Michael's worried eyes.
"You okay?" he asked, releasing her arms and backing away a step to rub at his thigh.
Guilt immediately set in. "God, yeah, I'm sorry," she mumbled, indicating his leg with a wave of her hand as she tried to sit up and regain her composure.
"It's okay," he said, picking up her book and handing it to her. "I just wanted to check on you after…" She saw his eyes dart toward Alias, the store where hours before they had heard Kenneth shoot what remained of Frank. "You looked like you were having a bad dream. I couldn't get you to wake up."
"Yeah," she whispered, tears returning to her eyes as the dream replayed in her mind. She studied the book in her hands, unwilling to let Michael see her cry. In the two days she had known him, he had shown nothing but level-headed practicality, and hated to let him see her lose control.
He sat down on the coffee table across from her, leaning toward her, but careful to not touch her. He cocked his head to catch her eyes. "Want to talk about it?"
Ana met his eyes and shook her head, barely holding in her tears. He held her gaze for a moment, searching her face with a slight frown, then looked down.
"Okay," he said simply, and backed off. She watched him close his eyes and sigh as though he was fighting down his own emotions. She studied his unshaven, slightly careworn face as he shifted uncomfortably on the table.
"I was my husband," she began, and he opened his eyes. They were dark, like Luis', and she felt a stab in her gut. "He was bit by a neighbor. I saw him die, and I saw him come back. Well, I didn't see him, I was trying to call 911, but, you know…" Her throat closed as her sobs overwhelmed her. "H-he tried to kill me."
"I'm sorry," he said, and she heard the rustle of movement, but failed to register it until he was on the sofa beside her, his arm around her shoulders pulling her into a light hug. She stiffened, wondering at his nerve, but as quickly as he had hugged her he had moved to the other side of the sofa.
Still slightly annoyed that he had presumed to hug her, she watched him warily out of the sides of her eyes. She wiped at her face, wishing she had a tissue and knowing she looked a mess with her snotty nose and red eyes.
"I have to go to the bathroom," she started to say, but cut off when Michael started to talk.
"I was stuck in traffic and I heard screaming," he said quietly, settling his elbows on his knees and staring straight ahead. "The woman in the car next to me was attacking the guy driving. I tried to help, but it was too late." He shrugged, glanced her direction. "Then there were two of them, and all I had was that tire iron. I tried to get to the kid in the back seat, but …" He closed his eyes, and she saw a tear run down his cheek.
Her irritation at him melted away and she felt slightly ashamed. He had just been trying to comfort her, after all, and he had been through just as much as she had. Scooting closer to him, she took his hand, twining her fingers with his and leaning against his arm slightly.
He looked at her in mild surprise and she smiled a small smile. "Hey, at least you tried to help. My neighbor tried to shoot me. He was from Milwaukee, so I guess I should have expected it."
He snorted, a surprised, mock-horrified smile on his face. "I'm from Milwaukee," he said, laughing as her face turned bright red.
"God, I really know how to help, don't I?" She laughed, shaking her head and pulling her hand from his.
"Yeah, you do," he said, joining her laughter and catching her retreating hand to give it a quick squeeze.
She gazed into Michael's dark eyes again, this time remembering how Luis' eyes had sparkled very much like that when he laughed.
"You too," she said, standing up. She was very ready to leave the stuffy bookstore. "Let's go get some coffee. I hear Terry makes a mean soy latte."