SLIPPERY SLOPE — PART 2 (Chapter 25)
They reached Sonora. A ten minutes drive from where they'd been holed up, a town once populated by three thousand and eighty-two residents that could have replicated one of those seaside villages – only there was nothing attractive about this one. The buildings weren't broken down or rustic but everything, even the ground, was tinted in an unwelcome brown of dead grass and filth.
"We shouldn't have moved him," Alicia muttered shortly after Nick emptied the contents of his stomach on the jeep floor, certain she had seen blood amongst the mucus.
Troy pushed his discomfort aside, focused on the road and driving through town before eventually heading deeper, settling on a large house with three garage doors across from the strip gas station. He parked outside the house, cast a look back and got out. "Help me try and jimmy the door? I want to park us inside."
"Yeah," she said, casting one last look at Nick before heading outside, keeping her knife handy in case they'd run into the dead. Which they did once they reached the garage. There was only one, though, and she put him down with relative ease, allowing Troy to drag him out of the driveway and into the bushes.
They struggled a while with the doors but eventually managed to open the second of the three, and peered inside. The garage already housed one car, positioned behind door number one, but it was clear it had not been in use for a very long time. The jeep would fit with no problem.
Alicia turned to Troy. "Park the car? I'll do a sweep of the house if I can get the door open, make sure it's safe before we move him inside."
When the spasm subsided, Nick felt like a fish pulled out of water. Panting, he couldn't get enough of air as every breath cost him a bout of pain that seemed to be blasting in every corner of his body. His head was about to crack open.
He touched a hand to his screaming side, and it came away bloodied.
Shivering, he tried to still his body more to spare himself some pain, but instead, another spasm busted in his gut, eliciting more bloodied liquid out.
Black and red roses bloomed in front of his eyes, pulling him back to darkness.
Troy made a mental note to dispose of the dead even better when they settled so that there would be no reason for anyone to think that there were actually people here. He didn't want to take any unnecessary chances.
He followed Alicia out and watched her head for the house to find a way in as he hoisted himself into the driver's seat, looking back to see how Nick was doing as he rolled the jeep into the cutout space.
He got out, grabbed the roller door to slide it down into place and opened the back door, pressing a finger to Nick's pulse as if fearing he might have killed him.
Thankfully, it didn't appear that way.
He removed the fingers from his neck and murmured a reassurance, "It's almost over, one more move and you can hopefully begin healing properly."
The front door was locked and they'd have to either kick it down or pick the lock in order to get past it. But seeing as their 'door kicker' was currently occupied elsewhere, Alicia decided to head around back to check for other doors or potential entrances.
The backdoor appeared to be leading to the kitchen, but that, too, was sealed tightly. The window beside it, however, was open just a smidge. She took hold of it and pushed it up, struggling for a few long seconds before it finally yielded to her strength and slid into place.
Hoisting herself up with both arms, she crawled inside in a less than graceful manner, squeaking softly as she tumbled off the ledge and barely caught herself before she could faceplant the kitchen floor. She remained crouched down for a few moments, listening and watching for any signs of life, getting back on her feet once she decided it was safe, and began her trek through the house.
Other than thick layers of dust and a slightly unpleasant smell, the home was in good condition, and it seemed no one had been inside since the previous owners left. If the previous owners left.
The first floor was clear. The basement, too. She climbed the stairs to make sure the second floor was equally empty of the living and dead. To her surprise and great relief, it was. That was one thing going right for them, for fucking once.
Time ticked by slowly while Troy waited on Alicia's return, surprised in part that she hadn't stayed to babysit Nick. She'd felt guilty about moving him and had aired as much. He did, too, more so because Nick'd vomited and appeared to be in pain, but it was a fleeting feeling. The point was to get him away, to get him to safety, and that's exactly what they'd managed to do. Now, if it was good, they could hole him away for a few days and he could get back to his sprightly self. Troy wondered about the withdrawals and everything that came with it. How were they going to be able to help him with that and what were the risks involved? The serious risks? Alicia knew, and from what he could remember of her expression back at the hotel, none of it was good.
He leaned against the edge of the door, peering at Nick and the garage in turn. In addition to the owner's car, there was a lot of tools and other assortments of stuff. Soil, seeds, and sand – these people had their hands in everything.
Alicia headed back downstairs and unlocked the front door, hurriedly making her way to the garage. The gate was closed. Troy's work, she assumed. She gave it a light tap and stood back. "It's clear."
At the unexpected tap against metal, Troy glanced at the door and moved to open it, letting it roll back to its position above their heads.
"Did you get in?" he asked, assuming that she wasn't just talking about the outside of the house but wanting to double-check anyway.
"Yeah. Place is basically untouched," she said, moving into the garage and to Nick's side to check on him. He appeared to be out again and on closer inspection, she found he was burning up. That fever was a pain. "Let's get him inside first. There are beds upstairs but if it's gonna be hard carrying him up the stairs, we can bring mattresses downstairs."
"I'd rather he be upstairs. If someone or something does get through the door at least we'll be able to tell what is navigating the stairs." The dead were clumsy and strangers could be shot on the spot. "Let's haul him out the same way we got him in and try to keep the damage to a minimum," Troy suggested, gesturing to the other side of the car where she could get in the back with Nick and take up the push. Troy had him in his arms a few minutes later, not entirely comfortable but at least Nick was out to spare himself any more pain. Troy carried him outside and waited on Alicia to close the garage door, to lead the way they were heading in. "After you."
Alicia took the lead, being cautious even if she was absolutely certain there was no one inside. She held the door open for Troy and Nick, then closed it behind them, slipping past them and up the stairs to the first bedroom on the right in the hallway.
It was clutter-free and didn't house anything other than a big bed, a dresser, and a nightstand, which saved them from having to do any major clearance before they could get Nick situated. She pulled the bedspread off the mattress, nonetheless, feeling more comfortable using the sheets they had brought and already aired out.
She helped Troy position her brother on the bed, deciding to keep him a little closer to the edge than the centre so he could reach his bucket during his next bout of sickness.
He'd bled through his bandages sometime during their ride and it became her first priority to change them as soon as they could bring all their supplies inside with them.
After they got Nick settled upstairs, Troy acquainted himself with the house to see what the security looked like and what they needed to make it better. The place was damn near perfect, better looking than what Jake's cabin had been, then again, Troy had to give credit where credit was due, this place came off as a ghost town whereas the camp had been overrun by demented Wicca witches. It had to have some flaws. Troy wondered how he'd have dealt with that situation and if he, too, would have been all complacent about what they did to Alicia – to Nick. Now that there was no more ranch and people they needed to put a show on for, who'd have come out on top? Troy? Them? He swiped a hand across the kitchen counter and searched the cupboards, inside were perishables stacked from top to bottom. Baked beans, sweet corn, saucy noodles, soup and others. The next cupboard was the same. And the next.
These people had gone out of their way to prepare for the apocalypse, but where the hell were they, and why would they just up and leave their supplies like this?
He smoothed an index finger over the line of cans in search of dust, pausing as he reached the end of the line and inspected it, it wasn't too clean but it also wasn't caked with a years' worth of grime.
Did that mean they'd left in a hurry, or just that they'd gone out and died somewhere?
He rechecked the house one last time to make sure they weren't hiding in some panic room, and then returned to the bedroom where Alicia was busy checking the damage to Nick's abdomen.
"I'm going to the garage to bring some of our stuff inside, is there anything you want first?"
"The box of medical stuff," she said, looking up to meet Troy's gaze in the doorway. "I think we're gonna have to stitch him up, otherwise the wound will reopen every time he moves."
She didn't like the thought of stabbing a needle through her brother's burnt and damaged skin, but what other option was there? When the withdrawals really set in, he'd be tossing and turning all day, unable to lie still for long, and his wound would never heal that way.
He nodded and hemmed sympathetically, then made his way outside, out the double doors in the kitchen and across the lawn, approaching the separated square of concrete he knew was the garage and the door he hadn't noticed before. He tested it, and smiled as it swung open.
He guessed, before it all went to hell, the family never had a reason to lock it, and why would they when there wasn't much that anyone would steal in there? That was all different now, and everything could be viewed as a weapon, but they might not have stuck around long enough to realize that before running off to wherever the hell they went. As long as they didn't return to complicate things, Troy was going to keep being appreciative of the change in luck.
He unlocked the jeep, removed the container that housed their medical gear and a clothing bag, and headed back inside, leaving the single door open so that he could return for the rest of the stuff.
He slipped back into the house and up the stairs, setting the container down beside the bed where Alicia could help herself to whatever she needed.
"I'm grabbing the rest and then I'll be back," he stated unnecessarily. But was it really unnecessary? Nick had disappeared while he was simply disposing of the dead outside of the church.
Troy didn't wait for her response and started back out again.
Alicia peeled the blood-soaked bandages off Nick's wound and cleaned it up the best she could to get a good look at the damaged skin beneath. It looked awful, and she imagined it hurt enough that Nick would start awake in a panic at the first touch of a needle.
She reached out to brush his hair away from his forehead, her hand moving to gently cup his cheek, trying to coax him awake. "Nick?"
He heard her voice, and then the pain was seeping back like sand through the cracks. Nick groaned, feeling sick again, although there was barely anything left in him to support that urge. "Just... shoot me..."
His request went unaddressed. It wasn't the first time she'd heard her brother say something like that during detox and withdrawals, and it wouldn't be the last time during the coming week. Didn't mean it didn't pain her to hear him wish for death and in this moment actually mean it.
"I've got your medicine," she said, reaching for the box of Subutex. It's what they always called the drugs his doctor prescribed to help him through his withdrawals. Mom had insisted, especially when in public, and after a while it had just stuck with them all.
All the pains his body harbored made it hard to breathe and register anything other than suffering. "Unless it's morphine... just shoot me..."
"Not gonna happen." She opened the box and popped one of the tiny tablets out. "Subutex for now. If you prefer methadone, I'll try to find you some. But for now, this is all we've got." She held the pill up between two fingers. "Sublingual – under the tongue, just let it melt." Information she wouldn't even have bothered telling him if he was fully conscious. He knew it better than her, but right now she wasn't sure how much of what she said he was able to process.
Her speech was reaching him in some wrong way, as though their connection was breaking up over the phone. He caught the name, and it took him some effort to register what she was talking about. "I'll choke on it... Alicia... I need something... liquid... I can't stay awake... for long..."
It didn't seem like he had fully understood what she'd said, but she decided not to give him the Subutex while awake. It would do better if he didn't panic and try to swallow it.
She put the box aside on the nightstand and reached for the liquid Paracetamol, pouring the required amount into the cap, no more than a shot. It would dull his pain a little and hopefully help break his fever. And that was a good start.
She positioned one arm beneath his head and shoulders to help Nick up in a slightly better position, straining as she held him there, placing the tiny plastic container to his lips and letting him take the medicine little by little.
He had no steam to argue about what to treat him with and swallowed whatever nasty thing she gave him.
His acceptance made her feel so relieved she could cry. She needed a win, no matter how small.
Troy made three more trips to the car, stacking their luggage in the corner of the room as they might have done at the cabin had they decided to stay. He checked the taps in the kitchen and smiled as it hiccupped and coughed and then shot out the nozzle. All this place needed now was solar panels for electricity and they'd be set. He rinsed his hands in case the water would run dry, and turned it off, swiping his hands dry on his pants before testing the lights. They glowed a soft yellow where they sat in the ceiling, illuminating nothing since the sun was still shining through the windows. He flipped them off and then switched them back on as if he didn't believe what he was seeing. He did it a few more times to test it and then left it off, checking the lock on the front door and the back door he'd come in through, and then headed upstairs to check on how Alicia and Nick were doing.
"Where are we?" Nick uttered, noticing the change in interior. There was a vague recollection about him being in the car. And being in as much pain as he was in now.
"A house in Sonora. The motel was too close to the highway. Too exposed. I'm sorry we had to move you."
Alicia replaced the cap on the bottle of Paracetamol and gently dressed Nick's wound with a new, clean bandage. Stitches would have to wait. She was worried the pain would be too much while he was awake, that it might send him into shock.
Nick had no idea what highway or Sonora she was talking about, nor did he care much. "Nowhere's safe. Especially around me. You should've joined Mom."
"I'd rather take my chances with you, thanks."
He was right, though. Nowhere was really safe. And that included being at Mom's side. Didn't really matter anymore who you were with, or if you were alone. Trouble would find you sooner or later. All you could hope for was to find a reason to live, other than your instinct of self-preservation. One of her reasons was Nick.
"You thirsty? Hungry?"
"We've a whole shopping store downstairs," Troy chimed in to support Alicia's offer. "We also have running water and electricity. The latter I suggest we use only when needed."
Alicia looked up at Troy, pleasantly surprised by the news. It seemed too good to be true.
Nick considered Alicia's questions to the best of his limited ability. "I'm down for Oxy, but anything else I can't take. Except if you shoot me. I'll be happy with that one."
"Don't have Oxy," she said calmly, gathering the soiled bandages and getting to her feet, looking for a place to dispose of them. "And can't afford to waste ammunition."
Troy frowned slightly and settled on the bed beside him, propping himself against the wall, a spare pillow tucked beneath his elbow. "You should eat, you need to keep your strength up."
"I'd rather not have any strength," Nick commented, closing his eyes, wincing as the shivers kept hurting him more. "I wanna pass out…"
Alicia didn't comment on that, throwing the old bandages away in a wastebasket beside the door. "I'm gonna go wash up and change," she said, information mostly directed at Troy since it meant he was now on Nick-duty. "I'll try to be quick."
He gave a nod and watched Alicia go. "Just take whatever the fuck she gives you, Nick, you're not helping anyone if you wallow in your pain. Besides, this place actually has running water and possible heat, you sure you want to miss out on that before everything goes to hell?" Troy made a point of sniffing himself. Even though he'd tossed the clothes he'd bloodied, he could still smell the dead clinging to his skin and hated it. "But in all seriousness, your sister seems to know what she's doing, you should be less of a backseat driver and more of a cooperative patient. She's worried about you. We both are."
"I'm not exactly a novice in it myself, Troy," Nick murmured, wincing. "I know what I need to get over it and how I'll respond to what she tries to give me."
"I never said you were. I also know you've been shot, stabbed, poisoned… I'm not even talking about the drugs and the withdrawals, I'm referring to the general overview and the fact that we only have what we have. You need to work with it so it can start doing what it does and stop pushing against it, you can't afford to be picky. Help us, help you. Now, what do you need? What's that thing she was trying to give you?"
There was no point in arguing with Troy about who knew best what he, Nick, needed. Nick had no strength for any debates. "What thing?"
"What was she trying to give you before?" Troy sat up, peering to the side where she'd been busy with the medical supplies. "You should take that before you pass out again, you're already on thin ice." He eased off the mattress and moved to the other side. "What was it?"
Nick groaned, grimacing in another bout of pain coiling in his side. "I can hardly recall my name now, and you want me to make a list of her suggestions or something? Just let me die in peace."
"So dramatic," Otto teased with a languid smirk, trying to lighten the mood despite Nick's discomfort, picking up what medicine was closer to the bed. "Is it this?" He held up the box of Subutex, index finger prodding at the corner, bringing it to right above Nick's face so he could see the name. He had to know, right?
Nick didn't bother to open his eyes and look at whatever he sensed Troy was brandishing in front of his face. The throbbing and jerking in his side was getting out of hand, and everything hurt and burned within him. Troy's voice drifted in and out of his ears, like he was someone on TV with flawed sound.
Alicia grabbed a few items of clothing from their collection before heading to the bathroom, throwing her current ones into the washing machine for now. They probably wouldn't do laundry while being here, but it seemed a good a place to keep her bloodied clothes as any.
The shower was heaven. Absolute heaven and she had to force herself not to spend more time under the spray of warm water than what was necessary. She made use of the soaps and shampoos the previous owners had left behind, and when she finished, she felt like a whole new person. At least until the euphoria dissipated and the severity of their situation began to seep back in.
She dried off and dressed in her new clothes, tucking the oversized button-down shirt into her jeans and rolling the sleeves up before stepping back into her trusty, not-so-comfortable boots. The mirror had fogged up, so she opened the window a tad, welcoming the fresh air inside as she combed through her wet hair with her fingers and snooped in the cabinets and drawers the bathroom had to offer.
Whoever had lived here before had to have left in a hurry, because all their belongings seemed to still be here, including intimate hygiene articles, makeup, and even medication. Not that any of it was of much use.
She did briefly consider spritzing on some of the perfume she found, but eventually decided against it. If Nick was already feeling sick, perfume would not help him keep his water down.
Instead, she peeled the already loosened Band-Aid off her forehead and threw it away, then exited the bathroom.
In the hall closet, Alicia found clean towels and cloths, as well as some small plastic washtub holding cleaning articles. She emptied the container, grabbed a few cloths and towels, and made her way back to the bathroom to rinse the former out and fill it with warm water and soap.
She returned to the bedroom to find Troy brandishing the box of Subutex at her brother, who looked as if he was wishing for death again.
"Shower's free," she told Troy, setting the washbasin down on the nightstand and throwing the cloths into the water. Nick's face and torso still carried traces of dead blood, and there was no way they'd get him into the shower at this point. A quick wash would have to do.
Troy could see that he was losing Nick again, that the pain had overwhelmed him and that there was little in the way that Troy could do to help him. He set the box aside, regarding Alicia. "Right."
He cast a final look at Nick and then exited the bedroom, giving her the privacy she needed to play nursemaid.
Nick's eyes seemed unfocused, either unable or unwilling to settle on her face as she perched on the edge of the bed. It wasn't unusual for him to drift in and out the first day of withdrawals, so it didn't worry her too much. What did worry her was that he still had a fever, even if his temperature felt like it'd fallen slightly from the last time she'd checked.
She reached into the washbasin for a cloth and wrung the excess water from it, using it to gently clean Nick's face of blood, grime, and sweat before moving to do the same with his hands and arms. She didn't speak, but kept a close eye on him, aware there were times he'd feel like even the slightest of touches to his skin would be like poking a bruise.
Something rang in his ears, as though his blood pressure either dropped or rose abruptly. With all the aches and twinges overlapping each other, he barely noticed the cloth at first. But after a few seconds, it was too much. Shivering from cold and heat washing over him in a disarray of waves, Nick opened his eyes to look at Alicia. Her face was a bit out of focus. Like he was dreaming all that.
"It's getting worse," he murmured. "I don't think I can do this with that wound. It's like a mini-hell in there."
She stilled her ministrations, dropping the cloth back in the basin to give Nick her full attention. "I know," she said, trying to keep her concern from showing too much. "But we don't have Oxy. We don't have morphine."
And even if she had been against giving him that in the first place, it now made her feel guilty. As if she was failing him when he needed her most.
She scrubbed a hand over her face, then shot him what she hoped was a reassuring smile. "I'll find you some, okay?" Troy had cleaned out the medical centre, but there had to be something of use in the houses on this street. Some leftovers from bored and pill-popping housewives?
Nick's eyes caught hers. "We do have Oxy. It was in the baggie in the med kit. Ever since we been at El Bazar."
Alicia frowned. That was Oxy? He'd been indulging in those pills every now and then after what happened with the trailer people, but she hadn't realized what they were. Had thought it was some generic painkillers that you used to buy over the counter.
Her jaw clenched and she felt her anger rising, but she forced it back down. That, and questions like "Where did you get it", and "How much have you been taking"? It wasn't the time for confrontation and judgement. It wasn't even as if any of this was his fault. He hadn't fallen for temptation and given in to bad habits, he'd been forced. An assault to his body.
She rose from the bed and crouched next to the box of medical equipment, seeking out their trusty old kit. The clear bag was where Nick said, and she briefly held it up for inspection before returning to the bed with a bottle of water.
She removed one of the pills and held it to his mouth, waiting for him to either accept or reject it before she would help him with the water.
Nick shook his head weakly. "Grind it on a spoon, add a bit of water, heat it over a lighter, then make an injection. I can't take it as a pill now."
Alicia squeezed her eyes shut, a new sense of dread settling over her. Turning away from him, she placed the pill on the nightstand along with the bottle of water and left the room.
Down in the kitchen, she grabbed a plate and a spoon, moving as if she was in a daze. She hated him for asking this of her, for making her do this when he knew better than anyone how wrong it could go. But she didn't know what else to do. If he didn't get the painkillers in his system, the pain would soon take him.
She returned to the bedroom, rifled through the box of medicines again until she found a wrapped clean syringe, bringing it with her to the nightstand. He didn't really have to give her instructions. She already knew how this worked, had seen him do it several times before.
She took a seat on the edge of the bed, opened the packed syringe, placed the pill on the plate and crushed it with the head of the spoon, over and over, rearranging the powder and making sure every bit of it was finely grained. She carefully scooped it onto the spoon, leaving it on the plate as she poured some water into the bottle cap and added some of the liquid to the powder. Setting everything aside but the spoon, she reached for the lighter in her back pocket and the syringe, uncapping it and slipping it in between her fingers to hold before she brought the flame to life.
It took a little while before the mixture on the spoon began to bubble and she watched morosely as the powder blended neatly with the water until nothing but liquid form remained. She set the lighter aside and put the needle to the spoon, drawing up the entire contents.
Placing both the empty spoon and the syringe on the plate for now, Alicia undid her belt and pulled it free of the loops on her jeans. She made a tourniquet on Nick's arm (the opposite of the one where she had placed the IV), and searched his skin for an available vein, gently poking and prodding with her fingers until one appeared.
She held her breath as she injected the Oxy, gaze flitting between her work and Nick's face, her own expression blank, revealing none of the horror and trepidation she felt on the inside.
His temples were throbbing so sickeningly Nick kept his eyes shut, trying to refrain from letting the nausea send him into another bout of agonizing spasms. He heard Alicia's movements through the haze, only opening his eyes when she fastened a belt around his arm. Her face was stone-cold inscrutable - whenever she was mad, it always was.
He scarcely felt the shot. It was lost among the torment bouts.
"I'm sorry about all of this," he muttered. The blanket of warmth was starting to muffle the blazing twinges in his side already. His eyelids were too heavy, and her face was fading away.
She didn't reply. Didn't think there would be a point. He was already fading. She stayed at his side for a while after undoing the belt, keeping two fingers pressed to the inside of his wrist, comforting herself by feeling his pulse and listening to the sound of his breathing. She pushed his eyelids back to check his pupils and hovered a hand close to his mouth to feel his breathing, trying to feel soothed by the fact that there were seemingly no negative reactions this far.
She stood, pocketed the bag of Oxy and put the cap back on the needle, throwing the box of Subutex back in with the rest of the medicines, and moved them all out into the hallway.
The door to the next bedroom over was open, and she stepped inside, closed it, and took a seat on the neatly made-up bed. That's when she started to cry. Not the frantic sobbing she'd fallen into back at the church when Nick had first gone missing, but silently, tears streaming down her face without any intent of stopping in the near foreseeable future, fueled by her doubt, fear, anger, and self-loathing.
Troy ventured through the house idly, checked out the second bedroom and the view it granted of the backyard or field, trying to see if there were other people moving around out there when there was scarcely even dead. Were the three of them really the only people here? He didn't believe it, it couldn't be with running water and electricity, someone had to maintain the sub-station. Discovery mission he would undertake tomorrow to make sure whoever they were wouldn't roll up on them and bite them in the ass like that crazy woman did.
He heard Alicia walk down the narrow corridor and disappear down the stairs to the kitchen. He listened to her rummage around, and then slipped into the bathroom. Unlike the bath at the cabin, he spared no expense with the soap as he showered, scrubbing at his skin and hair until one was a pinkish hue and he was sure that he no longer smelled like the walking dead.
He emerged twenty minutes later, redressed in his clothes, and peered in at the bedroom door, walking over to check Nick's pulse out of habit since he'd given in to unconsciousness.
His heartbeat was still steady, thankfully.
But where was Alicia? Troy expected her to be sitting at his side, as they tended to do when one or the other was hurt, babysitting like clockwork, this was a strange pattern for her.
He backtracked toward the doorway, eying the opposite door now closed to the room he'd been in a bit ago and walked toward it, pressing an ear to the wood. "Alicia, you cool?" He gave her a second and then swung open the door.
Oh, hell, he wished he hadn't done that; she looked a mess, tears were quite clearly streaked on her cheeks.
"Is he dying?"
Alicia wiped at her face with the sleeve of her shirt as Troy barged in before she could tell him to fuck off, resentment that faded slightly at the look in his eyes and his following question. "I hope not," she said, then shook her head, more forcefully this time. "I don't think so. I'm just… tired." And not the kind of tired sleep would fix. It was something deeper than that, something that had latched onto her soul from the moment Nick had gone missing, and refused to let go ever since. It was the fear of him being ripped away from her for good.
That was a relief; like with Jake, Troy wasn't sure he'd be ready for something like that, although he knew it was an inevitable thing, and that they were treading water – all of them were.
He dropped onto the edge of the mattress beside her with a sigh that matched her look of exhaustion. The last couple of days had been hard on them, especially her since she hadn't slept for most of it, and they were now forced to rehash an ugly past.
Troy didn't get the big deal. Nick did drugs with him, had been doing them at the arena, and although Troy wasn't fond of it, it had happened and carried on for a while – had they stayed, Nick'd still be doing them. The problem was that it wasn't on tap here. "Do you need anything from me?"
Alicia didn't know how to answer that. There were several things she wanted, and most of them seemed to conflict with one another. On the one hand, she wanted to hurt him. She wanted him to feel what she had felt in that cellar, how it cut her up inside and stole away a piece of her she could never get back. She wanted him to be tormented by the memories of the people he had killed, both directly and those whose deaths his actions had caused. She wanted him to feel regret. To be sorry.
Because how else was she going to be able to forgive him?
But on the other hand, she wanted to let it all go, to sweep it under the rug and pretend it never happened. Because it would be easier on a day-to-day basis. It would smooth things over, suppress her anger to the point it might disappear completely.
And it was tempting because she needed him. She needed him now to be her partner in this, to have her back as they did what they could to help Nick. And she needed his companionship, to be able to speak without having to guard her words, to worry he'd somehow use them against her should the opportunity arise. And for that there needed to be trust.
Neither of them was all too willing to give that away freely.
Alicia swallowed, wiping at her face one last time, her tears having ceased for now. "I'm so angry at you," she said eventually, gaze fixed on the wall in front of them. "And I don't know how to make that stop."
Troy could tell that the question was no longer on the physical spectrum he had meant it, and that whatever had set her off was making the wheels spin inside her head. She wasn't saying it, but it was in her body language and the way she'd tensed slightly was picture enough. He wasn't sure he liked where this was going, but if he said he wasn't expecting something to happen or some kind of explosion, he'd be lying, as whatever this was had been coming for days. The cabin had been found, and then, as things settled and, he supposed, she had more time to stew and think, after a while, they were back to reaching an accord that was bordering hostility.
Would have been nice if the conclusion had been in form of sexual tension instead of tears, Troy had no fucking clue what to do with tears or this.
"I get why you're fucked up, what happened down in the pantry was pretty intense, and I saw the aftermath, I saw what you did for them… but they chose that – you chose that. I can make an apology for the mental scars, Alicia, if that'll make you feel better or allow you to get over it, but that's all that I can do. Unless, you know, you'd like to take a swing at me?"
Alicia could tell he felt highly uncomfortable, and that sort of brightened her day a little. But it didn't solve anything, and if she was completely honest with herself, she wasn't sure exactly what would. The prospect of violence was briefly tempting, though.
"But you wouldn't mean it, would you?" she asked, giving him a knowing look. "The apology?" She was silent a beat before continuing. "Not sure it would matter. What I need from you I can't ever have. And there lies the problem."
"No, I wouldn't mean it," Troy supplied honestly. He wasn't keen on lying and knew that placating her would only resolve the issue temporarily, he wanted it over and done with. "What is it you need from me and can't get? For you to go back in time and kill me? To run instead of fight? What? What's done is done, Alicia, you can go on hating me, go on thinking about it until the day you join them or you can help me help you find a way to get over it. And you need to get over it. As much as I love a good rumble, this sort of emotional hostility is completely new terrain for me."
"Really?" she asked, eyeing him skeptically. He was unused to emotional hostility? Seemed unlikely. Maybe others had just been more subtle than she was being now.
She shook it off.
"I don't hate you." Not right now, anyway. It was easier to remember that when her anger wasn't blazing fiery hot. "It's hard to hate someone who's saved my life. And Nick's life. And I don't want you dead. I want you sorry. Because then I might actually be able to forgive you. But you're not sorry. I have no illusions about that. And so I'm just stuck."
Troy nodded slowly after she laid out her predicament. She was totally right. He couldn't give her what she wanted, not sincerely. "I'm sorry that Jake died," he supplied after a moment, realizing that his death was the one thing Troy'd have tried to waylay and avoid if he'd been presented some magical chance to do so. "He deserved better. You did, too. Do." And that was also true. The more he got to know her, the more he understood why his brother had formed an attachment. They were very similar in nature and belief, and despite how many friends Jake'd had before the apocalypse, they appeared to drain out thereafter. At least where it mattered. "Which is why—" he started, pushing up off the mattress so that he could move to stand in front of her. "I think you should hit me a few times. I won't hit you back."
Alicia blinked, genuinely surprised by his statement of her deserving better. She would have thought he was bullshitting her if it wasn't for the fact Troy had never lied to her. Not that she knew of. Not even when it would have been easier.
And he was right — Jake had deserved better. Better than his fate. Better than her. And she was tempted to tell Troy that until he stood up, surprising her once again.
This time she couldn't help but laugh, finding the idea preposterous and funny, assuming him to be joking. "Mm, even if you wouldn't hit me back, I have a feeling I'd still end up the one injured."
Troy gave a short shrug and took a step back so that she could stand if she did decide to take him up on his offer. "You need me to teach you how to throw a punch first?"
"I'm not going to hit you, Troy." The idea was ludicrous, especially now her anger wasn't at its peak. She wasn't a violent person by nature. She didn't solve conflicts through fighting. It just wasn't how she was wired. Didn't mean Troy hadn't brought out that side of her on occasions. It seemed he had a talent for it.
"You're not making any sense, you just said you hate me, that you don't know how to get over it and I'm trying to bid a solution that's at least sincere. So… come on, you'll feel better."
Alicia considered it a moment, she really did. It would have felt good in a moment of ire, just like it had felt good trying to wring the radio from his hands when Nick was missing.
But that wasn't what she was currently feeling, and this version of Troy, the one who stood before her now, was the one she could tolerate. Appreciate even, because at least he was trying. Hurting him now seemed wrong.
"I'm not hitting you," she repeated and got to her feet as well, slowly moving towards the window to put some distance between them. "I don't… work that way."
Women were confusing creatures, especially this one. One minute they were working together and the next they were snarling at each other for half a week straight.
Troy stared at her as she stood at the window, contemplating, trying to gauge the best way to approach this subject without coming off like a naggy husband, and then walked up behind her, cautiously sliding his arms around her waist from behind, a feeble imitation of what he'd done — in part — when she'd cozied up to him during her high and thought he was Jake. Troy didn't say anything, didn't make any of the lewd suggestions like he did in the church, and merely held her. Not that he expected it would last more than a few seconds considering the last time he'd touched her intimately, but hey, maybe it was the incentive she needed to throw that punch.
Alicia heard him approach and expected some tirade of how contradictory she was being and how women should just handle their shit the way men did – with their genitals and their fists. But when his arms slipped around her as if this was something he did on the regular, she started.
She froze in his embrace, holding her breath for a few seconds, trying to gauge whether this was some sort of attack or if it was just a hug. She felt torn between pushing him away and letting herself relax against him, paranoid and wanting at the same time. Because it felt nice to be held, to feel the warmth of someone else's body against hers to remind her she wasn't alone. It was probably exactly what she could have used back at the church, but he'd taken it too far then. Way too far. Now, though, he didn't move at all. Didn't make her feel like he was fishing for something more.
She chose to interpret his actions as nothing more than comfort offered from one human being to another, and for a very brief time, she accepted, leaning back against him, taking a few deep breaths to try and rid herself of her earlier tension. To restart her head.
"I should go check on Nick," she said after a few more seconds, and gently untangled herself from his arms, heading for the door to do just that.
Troy hadn't hugged very many people in his life: Jake, Nick, Mike and then there was that one time when he and Madison were hashing it out after she'd driven him away from the ranch; but that had been more of a battle of wills, as it always was with her. He'd expected a similar reaction this time, wrestling or maybe another hit to the groin, but neither came, and for a time, they both just relaxed into the embrace although one of them did so a little slower than the other.
Him.
When she finally untangled herself from his arms it wasn't with revulsion or scorn and had a weird yet awkward kind of esteem to it, like they'd briefly shared something. He watched her go, and then slowly followed, deviating toward the stairs to head for the kitchen to help himself to some food.
Once more Alicia returned to the bathroom to empty and put the washbasin away, rinsing the cloths and hanging them up to dry over the shower-doors.
Back in the bedroom, she tidied away the syringe and spoon, throwing the former in the bin after ensuring there were still clean and unopened needles in the box in the hallway.
The spoon she rinsed and brought back to rest on the plate.
She lay down beside Nick on the other side of the bed, careful not to touch him, scared it'd bring him more discomfort and pain.
"Do you miss him?"
Her fingertips lightly graze his closed eyelids, trailing across his cheek and down along the jawline; her breath caressing his forehead. Gloria has a wondrous gift to relay all the care and warmth Nick has been lacking everywhere else in one touch, one embrace. Her arms around him make him feel at peace, sheltered from the storm outside. Even if temporarily.
"I shouldn't."
Her finger stops momentarily. He imagines she frowns, and there's that tiny wrinkle appearing between her eyebrows. "Of course you should. You loved him, it's normal to grieve."
"I missed him before he…" It's still hard to say it. It still brings up a big lump to the base of his throat, and tears warm up his closed eyes. He tries to will them back, but with her hands on him, that aura of compassion she wraps him up with makes it close to impossible. There's also anger looming behind the grief. "What's the point in missing what's g— … It won't change squat."
"When you acknowledge that you feel that way, it makes things easier," she reasons gently. "Makes it easier to breathe."
He rolls onto his back, out of her tender touches, because he wants to try and be angry. He doesn't want to hurt. He'd want him to hurt for what he did to Nick. To them. "He never acknowledged jack shit. I'd like him to. I want him to feel what he left us with. Feel to the fullest. But he just avoided it, like everything else." Like Nick tries to do for years, and the parallel makes him a little sick. He wants to push it away, but it's adamant to stare him in the face. Like father, like son. Mom loves to throw that one around when she thinks Nick's not there to hear.
Gloria rises on one elbow, looking down at him with the same tender understanding that makes him want to weep. He looks away, but she doesn't. Her warm palm caresses his shoulder.
"Maybe this is why," she says quietly. "It gets too much, and we all deal with it differently. You and I are here. Again. And he had nowhere to go. No one to go to."
Nick sucks in an abrupt breath and covers his face with his hands, battling tears and pent-up pain in his chest. Her arm lies over him as she leans in, holding him.
"You need to forgive him, Nick. You need to."
He turns into her embrace, unable to fight it and find any more bricks to get the wall up. It's not working. He hides his face in the crook of her neck and lets the tears go.
Whether she's right or wrong, he wants to be able breathe. He still does.
Nick groaned at a twinge in his side, stirring. His head was buzzing. He still had a fever or something similar. His bladder screamed at him, urging him to get up, whether he could or not. Daylight was fading slowly behind the window.
Alicia watched him, mindful to keep her concern from showing. "Hey."
Nick turned his head to look at her beside him, seemingly tired as hell. He believed she was. She hardly had let herself sleep yet. "You need rest, Lisha. You can't go on like that."
He thought of getting up and felt sicker. But there was no way around it. He braced himself, gnashing his teeth, and pushed himself into a sitting position.
"There better be a bathroom somewhere near."
Alicia sat up when he did, wincing as if his pain was her own. "There's one just outside in the hallway. But I can find you a bottle. You shouldn't get up." She eyed his side, fearing and expecting to see the white, clean bandages becoming soaked in new blood.
His body shared her opinion, but he wanted to try. He needed to see for himself whether he was going to make it, or it was all a drag before he burned out.
"I need to move. At least a little."
He pushed off the bed, staggering while his head swam, then started for the door.
Troy opened the cupboards, scanned the labels and helped himself to a can of tomato noodles. He opened it, took a mouthful with his fingers and eyed the microwave. He pressed a few buttons on the panel, heard it beep and buzz and then dumped the rest into a bowl, slipping it into the machine to warm up slightly. He smiled watching it whirl around like a rare movie. The device beeped again and then switched off. He removed the bowl, enjoying the slight burn as it bit into his fingertips, and set it down on the counter to cool slightly as he searched for cutlery. When he found it, he kept it close to the chest, switching on the few electronics around, a radio, TV, making sure that each and every one was low on sound and wouldn't attract attention while he marveled at the fact that they were actually working. These small factors used to work at the ranch, but since its destruction, he'd found nothing of the same. He set aside the bowl, went to their bags, and scrambled around in search of the radio and the batteries that had been dead for so long so that he could finally charge it.
Alicia got up as well, moving behind Nick, but refrained from actually touching him like Mom undoubtedly would have. Hell, if Madison could've carried him, she probably would.
"That door there," she said, gesturing to the bathroom to save him the hassle of having to search for it, watching him until he'd safely crossed the doorway, then moved away to give him his privacy. She didn't really want to stay and listen in at the door.
The working electricity was a wonder on its own. Nick couldn't linger on it, however, and attended to his pressing matters. He was still dehydrated, and having not eaten for the last couple days or even more made him feel on the brink of passing out. He suspected he wasn't far from it. As he reached to flush, sickness surged, and he bent over the toilet, coughing up some more bile mixed with blood. His side exploded in a fiery agony, his knees wobbled. He grabbed onto the bowl, shaking, as his stomach spasmed.
He flushed and turned on the taps in the sink, holding on to it to it. He reflected in the mirror like a corpse. Like he shouldn't be alive by now. His side was throbbing hotly beneath the bandage, red soaking it gradually. He cupped a hand under the tap, rinsed his mouth, swallowed a couple of handfuls. It made him feel slightly better, like he could hang in there for another few minutes.
He habitually looked through the drawers and medications left in there. Everything was useless, and he almost gave up before noticing a bottle in the very back. It wasn't seen until you bent to look deeper, as it was hidden behind some crumpled rag.
Lortab.
Nick felt so shitty he didn't even fight himself over it. He shook two pills onto his hand, threw them into his mouth, and washed it down with another handful of water. He put the bottle back where it was, pushed the drawer closed quietly, then washed his face with cool water before turning it off. He stood over the sink for a moment, bracing himself for walking back. Gauging if he was going to be sick again on his way.
Eventually, he went back to the bedroom.
Alicia waited out on the landing, frowning briefly in confusion at the faint sound of voices and music coming from downstairs. It was so unfamiliar that for a moment she thought something in her brain had snapped, but when sense returned and the memory of their current electricity privileges resurfaced, she assumed it was just Troy playing with the various appliances.
She turned to the bathroom door when it opened and Nick appeared, looking paler and sweatier than he had before. And as she had predicted, he was in the process of bleeding through his bandages. Fuck.
"You able to eat?" she asked as she followed him back to the bedroom. "There might be soup."
His stomach spasmed at the mention of food. He winced, lowering on the bed. "I'd be lucky to keep water down at this point. If I were a horse, Lisha, I'd be put down."
"Lucky for us, you're not," she responded, moving to the other side of the bed to fluff his pillows and stack them better.
He chuckled weakly, despite himself, and sucked in a breath at a twinge that followed. "I don't feel lucky. At all."
"You're alive. You've got me. You've got Troy. You've got a nice, warm bed. Things could be much worse." She brushed her hair back from her face, one hand on her hip as she contemplated his situation. "Want more blankets? Less?"
"I don't even know, anymore. It's hot, then it's cold, and everything just hurts. I'm not sure blankets are gonna fix anything. Just leave it as it is. And go sleep."
"Slept earlier." She left the issue of blankets alone, and headed out into the hallway to check what they had left of bandages and antiseptic cleansers and ointments. They'd be good for a time to come yet. She brought some into the bedroom and left it on the nightstand for easier access later, still contemplating the possibility she'd have to stitch him up. It was out of the question right now, but maybe during his next Oxy high. Unless she could get her hands on some local anesthesia. But what were the chances of that? Minimal.
Nick closed his eyes, trying to coax himself to sleep or pass out. After a bit, it started to feel better. As some pains dimmed slightly, feverish tremors didn't ease up, pushing his heart to speed up.
It could be an overdose, but he didn't want to think about it. His side was giving him too much trouble compared to some quickened pulse.
