SLIPPERY SLOPE — PART 10

Nick winced, stepping into the room Otto had commandeered. Empty cans and plates were on the floor and on the bedside table, beginning to stink up the place. Troy was lying down on his bed, and by his relaxed features, Nick suspected he had nodded off. Nick stood over him a bit, eyes narrowed, picking up signs: a bit paler than usual, darker circles under his eyes. It could be weariness or lack of sleep, but it could be what Alicia said.

Nick refrained from checking how warm Troy's skin was not to wake him, and quietly set out to pick the discarded trash and plates.

Troy heard the distant tinkling of the dishes, his eyes popping open, his head even heavier than it was before now that he'd given into the few minutes of rest.

"Nick?" Troy asked, his voice still annoyingly thick. "What are you doing?" It was taking him a few seconds to come to terms with what he was seeing. "Cleaning?"

"It stinks in here," Nick turned to smirk at him. "Did you leave that tidy all-in-order militia guy back in California? Or it only worked when you had your own place?"

"No it doesn't," Troy answered petulantly, sniffing and finding it difficult to smell anything. He sighed. "Just leave it. I'll do it later."

"When it's gonna be crawling with ants? It's not you, Troy. Just try to sleep." He picked up another can from the floor, wincing, and looked at Otto. "Your nose blocked?"

"No," Troy retorted. He sounded stuffy and was beginning to feel irritated. "You don't need to clean up after me." He didn't know why that was annoying him. He wasn't used to someone coming into his space to clean up his messes. The other stuff – sure—this, this was different. Troy gripped his pillow, tossing it at Nick with the intention of knocking the can from his hand.

Nick stepped aside as the pillow went past his arm and plopped onto the dusty carpet. He looked at Troy, amused. "Nothing wrong with me wanting this room cleaner. You shoulda seen the places I've stayed in my shady days. You'd appreciate the lengths I came."

"It's my room," Troy snapped. "Mine." He sat up, his hand coming up to swipe at his running nostril without thought. He was beginning to get a headache. He got to his feet and attempted to snatch the dishes from Nick, clumsily tripping over the pillow he'd thrown, cursing as he stumbled. He righted himself by propping himself against the wall with one hand, brushing off the humiliation that swelled through him.

Nick watched with a sort of wonder; even high as kite back at El Bazar, Troy had been more sensible. It wasn't a problem to avoid his advances, but it could get more out of hand. "No one claims your room, Troy. But if you can't smell shit, doesn't mean we have to. It's all right. Lie down before you fall down. Please."

Troy twisted around with some effort, finding that the exertion of trying to do anything was making his muscles ache. He knew Nick was right, and yet, Troy felt as if he should be better, that he should be able to shake off the feeling and press on so they could get shit done - cleaning was part of that duty. He pushed away from the wall, bending to pick up the pillow, tossing it toward his mattress. He followed it, flopping down onto the mattress face first. It took him a few seconds to roll over, finding it harder to breathe through his nose.

"Is this what you're planning to do today? Dust?"

Alicia entered with a small bowl of soup and a mug of tea. She hadn't found any real honey but the tea bag claimed to have a taste of it. Better than nothing, she figured.

She looked between the two boys and deposited the food on the nightstand. "We still have some paracetamol left. I'll get you some. Might ease your symptoms enough to get a little sleep."

"There are no plans until you shake this bug off, Troy," Nick said, setting the pile of dirty dishes and cans on the floor, and went for the closet in the corner. There was an extra pillow he brought to Troy, tossing it next to his head. "The less you fight your need to take it easy, the quicker you'll get back to fine."

Troy didn't bother to fight Alicia on her suggestion. He knew the meds were for the best and his throat hurt like hell. He reached for his water bottle.

"You should follow your own advice," Troy added, dropping the bottle onto the bed beside him, tugging the pillow Nick had thrown closer, fluffing it with a fist as he tried to add to the other already under his head. He didn't usually sleep with two pillows, but the ache in his shoulders and neck had increased and he was willing to try anything to alleviate it.

"When I feel sick, I will," Nick said, picking up the stack of cans and plates, and brushed past Alicia.

Alicia held two white tablets in the palm of her hand and extended them for Troy to take. "Just try to get some sleep. It'll help. We'll let you know if something comes up." She knew Troy well enough now to know he had a hard time letting his guard down.

Nick unfolded one of the blue trash bags he found in the kitchen drawer and deposited the cans in it, putting the dirty dishes in the sink.

"We'll need a thermometer," he said when Alicia came down. "Gotta know if or when the fever blows out of control."

"I guess I can check the houses nearby," she replied, leaning against the counter. "Logan mentioned something about a hospital, didn't he? They may have some stuff left."

"I'll check it – gotta take this shit out anyway," he raised the hand with the bag. "And don't worry, I'll take a car, so it's quick and safe."

Alicia's initial reaction was to argue, but something about having met Logan and knowing the settlers in the town were peaceful, her fears had waned ever so slightly. "Take a radio." She gestured to the table where they lay charging. "Just in case."

He picked it up, brandishing it at her with a smile, then approached her to plant a quick kiss on the side of her head. "It'll be fine. Just close the doors and open a window in his room, it's like something died there. And you know it's serious if I'm noticing." He went for the door, clasping the radio to his waistband.

Alicia snorted. "Be careful." She trailed her brother to the door and locked it behind him. A portion of soup awaited her for breakfast and she quickly devoured it, saving the rest for Nick's return.

She grabbed the second radio and headed back upstairs. Troy appeared to be snoozing so she moved on quiet feet, opening his window to let a little bit of fresh air inside without letting the sunlight pierce the curtains.


Nick located a trashcan at one of the neighbor's houses and carefully deposited the bag in it. He didn't bother taking the Humvee and went with the Jeep they had driven here. It had just enough gas left to make a trip around and pick up stuff he needed. The first street he drove through, looking around without any direct goal in his mind and searching for guidance, brought him to DEVILS RIVER LIQUOR STORE. Nick pulled up and went in.

The store was not the coziest but breathed deep republican west and old-school attraction. "Welcome to Devils River Liquor Store," said the chalkboard in front of the door. The faded wooden counter was decorated with small commercial boards, a few in the shape of the state saying "1800 Tequila Texas" and "Crown Royal" with the said crown depicted on a purple pillow. SOUTHERN COMFORT was shining in white letters from the next dark red board. In the middle of the counter was a vintage-style canted board with a swimsuit poster girl with her mouth gaping in an exaggerated surprise. 'Life's a Peach,' said the red letters next to her, and 'Classic's American vodka' under her folded legs and a basket full of peaches. The whole right corner was taken by the bottle itself.

Nick chuckled and swept his gaze over the counter itself. The cash register wore a thick layer of dust, as well as the whole polished wooden top of the counter. Nick went behind it and through the inner shelves, picked a few plastic bags with the store logo, and collected the remaining blocks of Marlboro and a box of lighters in one of them. Deeper in the store he found a storage room with neat boxes of booze and rearranged the bottles to create a more diverse selection. With how things were and the amount of wounds and scratches they were getting, vodka would come in handy rather often, he reckoned. He took a whole box of it to the car, then returned for two boxes with variety, sweeping a small stand with tiny Four Roses bottles into the bag with cigarettes along with a souvenir map.

Back in the Jeep, he unfolded the map and tried to find the hospital. Driving around aimlessly would take more time. Turned out, it wasn't far. Nothing truly was in a town of that size.

He parked outside the main gate with LILLIAN M HUDSPETH MEMORIAL HOSPITAL stretched over it, and pulled out his trench knife when he walked into the inner yard. It used to look nice and welcoming, he imagined, with the neat lawn and a small fountain that was cracked and peppered with bullet holes now. Piles of old burned cadavers still lay under the balding trees and the central lawn. The windows were dusty and many of them smashed, as well as the glass doors of the main entrance and ambulance.

There were more bodies inside, some still on beds and stretchers, some caught where bullets got them. None of the dead seemed to be moving, headshots and old blood splatter indicating safe passage Nick followed, methodically searching room after room, filling a medical bag he had picked up from the ambulance reception closet with things that were useful. He found a few thermometers, a lucky stash of antibiotics, penicillin, painkillers, as well as boxes of bandages and first aid kits. He made a trip to the car to stuff the bags and boxes in the trunk, then went back for more tissues, IV sets, and bottles of glucose and saline. That should do it, he thought, starting the car, and making a U-turn, picking a street he hadn't explored yet. He planned a couple more stops for whatever necessities there were left and could be found.


Alicia left Troy's room behind and wandered into the bathroom, closing the door behind her. She was in dire need of a shower. The fact that need was one of mental wellbeing rather than physical at this point, considering she'd made use of the shower often over the past few days, didn't matter.

Troy was asleep, as far as she knew, and there wasn't much she could do for him but let that cold run its course.

She placed the radio on the sink and undressed, turning away from the mirror as soon as she caught a look at herself. Her reflection wasn't as pleasing as it once had been.

Alicia had never considered herself to be vain, at least not more than any other teenage girl, but seeing herself these days brought a small ache to her chest. Her eyes had lost a lot of their light, like it had been sucked out by all the trauma she'd witnessed and felt over the past few months. Her innocence had died. Whatever of it had survived the past years, anyway.

She supposed it was the same for most of the survivors. Everyone had lost something. Someone. No one had been left untouched.

The water beckoned her and she stepped under the stream in the shower, letting it fully saturate her hair, eventually reaching for one of the small bottles of shampoo Nick had managed to score the day before.

This was a luxury. One she felt they had earned. She would allow herself this. To reset. So she could walk out and face the day with her head held a little higher.


With a bit of gas left, Nick circled the town, surveying the territory with sharper eyes to lay out the story in his head. As far as he guessed, it went down here like it did back in LA. The army came like saviors and symbols of hope amidst the chaos, albeit short-lived. They fenced out a part of the town and cleared out everything around that section. The streets were as if brushed, all extra vehicles were moved onto the lawns or into garages to not be in the way of Humvees. There were no corpses lying around on the streets in the open, but on the outskirts like on the hospital territory, the leftovers of cleansing still remained. Nick saw a few piles in the prairie beyond the town limits as he drove around.

After the trunk and the backseat were filled with bags and cartons stuffed with necessities he was able to find in the stores and fast foods, Nick turned to their street, dropping speed, and flung an empty mini bottle through the open window onto one of the abandoned lawns. He took a swig of water, washed down a pill, and chewed a mint gum to throw off the trails of his sins. He radioed a message to Alicia that he "will be there in five", and did another circle around their area for extra measure before parking on their driveway.

Alicia released a breath of relief at the sound of Nick's voice as she dried her hair. With a towel wrapped around her body, she ventured on through to her chosen bedroom, scouring the closet for a clean shirt and a pair of socks.

Alicia with her impeccable timing walked onto the porch as Nick was carrying the first bunch of plastic shopping bags towards the house. "There's a lot, work for two," he said, setting the bags inside at the door for her to sort later. "He ate? Threw more pillows?"

She watched his haul with wide eyes. Looks like Christmas came early.

"He sleeps," she said, peering into the nearest bag, one brow raised in amusement. "Tampons and booze? We throwing a party?"

"We want everything we can get. Life's unpredictable." He waved a hand for her to follow and led the way to the car - its trunk was gaping stuffed with bags like after a Black Friday.

"Where did you find all this?" Alicia stared. "I'd have thought the settlement would have scraped this town dry."

She grabbed the nearest two bags and hauled them out of the car, carrying them back into the house.

"That's what's left. Lots of shelves and stores are empty, most of them are, but in some, there were storerooms with some stuff left. So it's lucky." He followed her with a box of expensive alcohol. "The army left in a hurry, and the settlers relied on the truckers more than they had to - all I can think of."

"Lucky for us," Alicia commented, depositing her bags on the kitchen counter. "We should probably hide some of this food for later. Before Troy starts feeling better and decides to replenish his strength."

"There's no hole you can bury anything to hide from him." Nick put another heap of bags on the floor next to the growing abundance. "Not when we ride in the same car and share the same house."

"Put it with the tampons," she smirked. "Might stave him off for a while."

"We don't know what puts him off except for booze," Nick smirked.

"Put some of that whiskey in his tea, might help his throat. Even if he lies and says it's not hurting." She unpacked a bunch of the medical equipment, pleased to see Nick had found a decent amount of stuff.

Nick put down the remaining bags of goods on the floor, rummaged in them a bit, and came back with a jar of raspberry jam. "I heard it's good for the throat or fever. It was behind the shelves, pure luck. As for whiskey – if he lost his smell, it's our best chance while he wouldn't know."

Alicia couldn't help but smile. "Spike his tea? Think he's a mean drunk?"

"I dunno, he refused to drink. Wouldn't hear about it. And it's you who suggested whiskey."

She shrugged. "Won't help him heal faster. Just might make the symptoms a tad more bearable." She held up a few pill bottles and read the labels. "Surprised any of these were left behind. Grateful though. Could come in handy."

"Yeah, the hospital wasn't cleaned out."

"Wanna go check on him? Food has probably gone cold by now if he's still sleeping." She threw the thermometer his way.

He caught it, staring at her with wonder. "I'm the worst nurse, Lisha, I dunno what to do. He rebels against my help."

"I don't think that's reserved just for you," she replied. "His pride gets in the way."

"I know. I can try, but I don't think his pride is yet surrendering." Nick shrugged and went for the stairs.

"Good luck," she called after him, starting to organize their newest supplies.


The soup was still sitting on his bedside table untouched, and Troy seemed to be asleep with both pillows under his head. Nick fiddled with the thermometer in his hand, looking wistfully between it and Otto's face. "Playing dead, Troy?"

Nick's voice came to him through the molasses of exhaustion, pulling and pulling until the rope snapped, and he blinked repeatedly to clear the mist. He'd been sleeping off and on. He sniffed, finding both his nostrils closed, inwardly cursing his friend for waking him up. "What's wrong?"

"You tell me. How you feeling?"

"Tired. Like I haven't slept. What time is it? How long have I been down?" Troy knew he could look at his own damned watch but he didn't have the energy to lift his arms.

"A couple of hours." Nick touched a hand to Troy's forehead and scowled. "You're burning up. Got any injuries you haven't told us about? Or it's really just the flu?"

"If I was bitten, do you really think I wouldn't tell you?" Troy wasn't scared of dying. He said as much to Nick once and he still meant it. Death was part of the game and this new way of life, his only wish and hope was that it wouldn't be for nothing.

"I didn't mean a bite, might be something else, I'm just asking to make sure. But in all honesty, your nose, and your voice tell the tale. We need to know how hot you're running." He brandished the thermometer. "Open up."

"Open up what?" Troy was confused, raising himself up on his elbows, staring down his friend. It was then he saw the thermometer in his hand. He lay back down and raised his right arm, gesturing for Nick to hand it over.

With a derisive smile, Nick handed it over.

Troy took the thermometer and slipped it under his tongue, closing his eyes while he waited the cursory two minutes for it to take his temperature.

"Don't doze off with it," Nick said, sitting down next to Troy's legs.

Troy opened his eyes and let them drift to Nick's face. He didn't talk until the allotted time was over and the device started beeping. He removed it from his mouth. "It's one-hundred-and-two."

That wasn't bad, but it also wasn't good. It was one degree shy of hospitalization.

Troy sat up, stripping off the shirt he'd put on earlier after his shower, wincing as his muscles protested the action. He dropped it to the floor and swung his legs off the bed. "I need to make a trip to the pharmacy."

"It's done. I've been there, we got what we need." Nick took the thermometer from him and stood up. "We got this, just lie down and under covers."

"How's he doing?" Alicia asked from the doorway, surprised to see Troy up and about. "Oh."

"A hundred and two is how we're doing," Nick said. "Need to warm that soup."

Troy sighed. He didn't have the energy to fight with Nick. "I'm not hungry. Tea. Hot lemon…" He got to his feet with a bit of a strain – now that he'd slept, it seemed he'd become even weaker, the sickness trying to weigh him down. "Do we have lemon?"

Alicia winced. "I'll see what I can do. Please get back into bed."

"Lemon will irritate your throat," Nick said, nudging Troy to sit back down. "Don't make it worse on yourself. You need to eat so the medicine works."

Alicia grabbed Troy's water bottle along with his untouched soup, heading back downstairs to refill and reheat.

"My mother—she used to—" Troy began as Alicia walked out, cutting the sentiment short, unsure of what he was trying to say and what he was trying to remember with regard to the lemon tea. His head felt foggy, heavy and despite his current position, he wanted to continue sleeping.

Before Troy knew what he was doing, he was undoing the button on his jeans and the denim was around his knees, clumsily being freed from his feet. He sat down to complete the job, unconcerned with his nudity, using his free hand to swipe at his forehead. He was sweating. When had he started sweating?

"What'd you find at the pharmacy?"

"Pills and bandages," Nick muttered, watching him undress with mild wonder. "You need to lie down and under covers, man. Sweat it out, you'll get better sooner. Trust me on this. Come on." He nudged Troy down on the bed with a hand pressing to his chest, then pulled the plaid from under him and covered him up to his chest. "I know it's hot, but you gotta bear through. It's worth it."

There was no lemon. Alicia had known that already going into the kitchen. Fresh fruit of any kind was a rarity.

But she did manage to locate lemon juice on a bottle. From concentrate. Not truly the real thing. But the mere taste might provide Troy some comfort. If it was what he craved, she'd give it to him. As long as he drank something.

She reheated the soup and made a new mug of tea, refilled the bottle, and stuffed it under one arm so she could make it back upstairs with everything in one go.

Annoyance spiked through Troy as Nick pushed him onto the bed, swaddling him like a child in his mind. He fucking hated it. He gripped the plaid blanket to his chest, studying his hands, scowling as he noticed how they trembled. His teeth were beginning to chatter. He rolled over onto his side, turning his back on Nick, unintentionally giving him another view of his bare ass.

"This is a fucking nightmare," Troy mumbled.

"Tell me about it," Nick jibed, yanking the blanket down to cover him.

Alicia put the food and drink down on the nightstand, trying not to smile in amusement at the boys. "I'll go grab something to help you cool down. Try to drink something."

She headed for the bathroom, grabbed a plastic basin from under the sink, and filled it with cold water to dip a cloth in. Back in the room, Alicia took a seat on the edge of Troy's bed, wringing out the washcloth and gently placing it on Troy's shiny forehead.

"Try not to let the food and drink cool down," Nick said, stepping back from the bed to give Alicia space.

Troy hadn't gotten very far with Alicia's request for him to drink something, only making it as far as his back, the plaid Nick had shifted tucked beneath his hip, exposing more than both had asked for. But only by half. He touched a hand to the washcloth on his forehead, frowning as if he didn't understand its purpose, while similarly feeling relief.

"I still feel hot," Troy complained unnecessarily as Nick stepped back, the washcloth falling off his head, pushing even more of the plaid from his hips as he reached for the drink and tried to replace it. He gripped the mug clumsily with his other hand, spilling a little on the edge of the mattress and across Alicia's lap.

Alicia hissed in pain as the warm tea splashed across her thighs, swallowing an annoyed growl. "Hand me that cloth, Nick?" she gestured to the rag that had fallen to the floor.

Nick tried his best not to laugh and succeeded. The grin, however, he couldn't restrain, as he did as she asked.

Troy brought the mug to his nose and scowled when he couldn't smell the scent. "Fucking nose," he grumbled, sipping at it, a smile touching his mouth at the hint of lemon. It didn't taste like his mother's did in the past, it also was lacking sweetness, but it was good. He swallowed it all down, unmindful of how hot it was. Like his mother, he liked it piping hot, too.

Alicia grabbed the cloth and dipped it in the water, wringing it out again. She didn't immediately put it to Troy's skin this time, waiting for him to finish his tea.

"Maybe you can fit in some soup, too?" Nick asked, still amused and partially relieved to see Otto accepting the drink.

Troy set the mug back on the bedside table, the plaid practically non-existent now that he was moving around. His throat felt a bit scratchier. He attempted to clear it and lay back down, glancing at the soup with disdain, as if it had insulted him.

Another second of debate, and he forced himself into a sitting position, almost clumsily head-butting Alicia in the process.

Alicia narrowly avoided Troy's big swinging head as it came for her, slowly getting to her feet. Sitting was apparently a true danger in his presence.

He muttered an apology, unsure how close he'd truly gotten or how far he'd been, and then reached for the bowl. He brought the rim to his mouth, drinking the soup down as he used to the last dregs of his cereals milk as a kid.

The Clarks watched him devour the soup, and Alicia prayed he wouldn't throw any of it back up. At least he was getting those fluids in. "Nice. Now just try to get some more sleep. I'll give you some more painkillers in a few hours."

"Painkillers?" Nick echoed. "Shouldn't it be something for the fever?"

"Paracetamol is anti-inflammatory as well as a painkiller, Nick. Don't worry; I'm not touching your stash." Alicia rounded the bed, took the bowl from Troy and placed the cloth back on his forehead. "Keep it there a while," she warned in her stern voice. "It'll help."

Troy swiped the wetness from his mouth and chin when he was done, preparing to set the bowl back on the bedside table when suddenly disappeared from his hand. His hand replaced hers on his forehead and he lay back down. He was full now, his throat was still sore and his tiredness only seemed to have worsened in the ten minutes he'd been awake.

"Thank you," Troy muttered, regarding the both of them with bleary eyes. He watched them for a bit, his eyes beginning to droop, struggling to stay open.

"It's not about the stash, just checking," Nick said, taking the empty bowl and mug. "I'll clean that, and you make him keep the blanket on if you can. It's getting colder outside." He cast a glance at the open window on his way out.

Alicia gave a pinched smile, hurriedly rearranging Troy's blanket so it at least covered the middle of him. If he was still hot, he wouldn't like the blanket much, but sensations during a fever could quickly change.

She didn't talk, deciding not to disturb Troy further, waiting until she could be sure he was asleep and wouldn't do anything stupid.

Nick made a quick job of doing dishes, then wiped his hands on a towel hanging on the wall next to the sink, and gave a long sigh, staring at the floor in thought. Then he went back upstairs.

"Lisha," he whispered not to wake Troy, who seemingly dozed off or was close to it. "I… wanted to talk to Logan before he drives off for good. Think you'd be all right here for a bit?"

Alicia ushered Nick out the door and into the hallway, whispering: "At the settlement?"

"No, at the oil place. Where he said he'd be today, fueling up for the drive."

Alicia hesitated. "Alright," she replied eventually, ignoring how her stomach dropped in discomfort. "Take the radio, okay? And a weapon." She paused again. "What do you wanna talk to him about?"

Nick shrugged with a hint of sardonic knowing in the brief curve of his lips. "He might know things we need to know. This is one of the Proctors' states. If he heard about them, we need all the intel we can get. I feel he might be more open with one than three at once staring at him. I wanna try."

"The Proctors. Joy," Alicia breathed. The motorcycle gang hadn't crossed her mind for quite some time now. Too many other threats to worry about. "Then maybe we should make our way north next we're on the move."

"We don't know what's up north, either. We know little to nothing, so I wanna see what he's willing to tell."

She nodded. "Alright. Just be careful, okay? Let's try and keep our infirmary to one patient at a time." Currently, Troy occupied that position. "Check in every now and then, if you're gonna be long."

"I'll try – I mean, I'll tell you when I'm going back. I don't think it's a good idea to break the conversation – if we get one – with my reporting on still being alive. I'll try to be quick, an hour, two max." He jerked his chin towards Troy's door. "Close the window and try not to let him get out of covers. At least for the sake of your eyes." He grinned and made to go for the stairs.

Alicia rolled her eyes in response. "I can handle Troy." At least she hoped she could.

A lot of the fear and distrust she'd felt for the boy had faded over the past few weeks, but she knew that was because Troy had been behaving exceptionally well. If that would change and he turned back to who he had been at the ranch, or God forbid the military base, she wasn't so sure.

"Don't forget the weapons," Alicia called after her brother as he disappeared from view.


"Hey there! Nick, is it?" Logan grinned, waiting as he approached.

"That's right. This baby's out of fumes," Nick jerked his thumb back at his Jeep, "and I thought there could be some gas left around here – if that's all right with you, of course."

"Sure, why not, no problem. I'll show you around." He invited Nick to follow, heading toward a line of small trucks. "There are some extras in canisters in the trunks you can take."

"Thanks."

"No problem. You guys doin' all right?"

"Sure, why?" Nick pulled one of the five canisters stored in the trunk.

"Yer alone."

"They're back in the camp, resting, enjoying the comfort while they can. Not much of it left out there, if any. How's it work, by the way?"

"Well, far 's I know, the grid fell before the army came." Logan pulled the cap off to scratch his balding head. "There's some gas facilities 'round here we were able to use for power, and later one of our guys found that storage with brand new solar panels I believe the local authorities were gonna set up before it all, so we brought 'em, and they installed them inside. Some houses on the outside still feed on the gas, but that's near depleted."

Nick gave him a squint, "You found and you brought them."

"Uh-huh."

"They come out at all?"

"Yeah, well, it's complicated."

"So I noticed. What's with that?"

Logan set the second canister he carried for Nick in the trunk next to the first one and sighed. "Look, it's not in my habit to discuss how other people choose to be, but since ye seem decent, hope ye don' use it against them or somethin'."

"No, of course not! Come on, man, there's three of us, and we're moving around. It's just my… I dunno, curiosity, wonder, surprise, you name it. Those masks they wear, the robes… like it's a week after rather than months."

"Yeah, I know whacha mean, weird to our outside eye, but things are as they are with 'em.

"We came across them early September, the army was gone, and their supplies runnin' out. Their sole protection was a look-through security wire fencing army left 'em with. They talked to us through it, never let us in, said they had protocols to keep the zone sterile or whatever. Well, we didn't fight 'em on it, hell, we were there to help. Shared supplies, swept the town for leftover food and stuff they needed, gave 'em all we found. They were grateful and asked to visit every now and then. In return two of them, Tom included, offered their help in what we did. Tom had a girl here, but they had to meet outside – they didn't even let 'im in after. They were still figuring it out, as they put it. Cindy, the poor soul, sat on quarantines after their dates. The second one, Jimmy, he had no one left of kin, so he relocated to us, still drivin' his truck."

Nick was fascinated; over four months into the end of the world, Sonora seemed to have been stuck in time. "Quarantine for meeting her boyfriend? What are they afraid of? Herpes?"

"They're just overly cautious. I guess when they had doctors aroun', no one explained shit – jus' like to the rest of us out there, ya know. And then all medics took off with them soldiers, and they're left wonderin'. Their medic girl ain't a scientist, but since no one's allowed out, she has nothin' to work with. We've been their only outside contact, and hell, we ain't doctors – haven't even met any proper ones to bring aroun' for them to ask stuff. So that's just it." Logan put the third canister in the trunk while Nick undid the cap of his one to fuel the car.

"I dunno what to say, man," he admitted, pouring the gas. "I've met people, been to settlements and such, and it's all different versions of set-ups, but never anything as sheltered. There's the highway, how they were able to stay below radars of any shit is beyond me."

"Same worries here, man, same. Won't last, is what you mean. I'm afraid it won'."

"They're all gonna die if they don't learn how to fend for themselves."

"Think we haven't told them? They just…"

Nick smiled sardonically, screwing the cap back on the canister. "When people feel as sheltered, they don't wanna hear it's gonna end soon."

"Nope."

Nick put the halved canister in the trunk, shut it, and looked to Logan. "Lemme help."

"Ye sure? How's your injury?"

"Pills, bandages, rest, and I can't just sit and wait. I'm fine while I'm fine. Whatcha doin'?"

"Fuel, mostly. 'Kay, just no heavy lifting."

Nick smiled, following the man. "Deal."


Troy walked tirelessly, strolling for days without direction through the harsh deserts that surrounded his home, the sun sweltering, blazing down on him like invisible fire, and coloring his skin a deep shade of punishing red that stung. He was sweating so much his skin clung to his bones uncomfortably. He ached. He couldn't breathe. The heat overwhelmed him. He sat down to write, scribbling nonsensical words in his journal that didn't fit together in his usual narrations and flew off the pages, disintegrating like dust that formed a series of disapproving faces. His mother, Jake, Mike, Jeremiah, Nick, and lastly Madison among them – haunting him. He'd fought the latter in every form. He hated that she was the strongest of them all and the most intense. As soon as he'd thought it, the book was replaced by Madison's touch to his forehead, and whispers of needs he knew were lies, underlined by actions that suggested he deserved his misery for turning her son against her. He denied her, brushing her concerned hands away, pushing her from him, watching as she barreled off the side of the water's dam and disappeared. He knew she wouldn't die. She couldn't. She was a parasite, one that lived inside him, eating at him as most exploits did. He repeated this dream off and on for however long his eyes had been closed, fighting to distinguish between his dreams and reality.

Troy felt sick – too sick. The itch at the back of his throat made him realize that he was no longer part of the hazy disarray and back in reality. His muscles tensed as he blocked the cough, swallowing it with a rattle, knowing that once he started he wouldn't stop. He rolled over, grappling for the mug Alicia had placed on the nightstand, doing his best to control his fit. The action was clumsy and all he found was air. One of them had done their maid thing and cleaned up after him. The exertion had been too much and when he sucked in a tired breath, he started to cough.

"It's here," Alicia said, having come through from her own room and into his once she'd heard the coughing fit begin. She pushed the pink water bottle into Troy's searching hands.

He snatched the bottle from her unintentionally, his face reddening as he drank, struggling to breathe through both his mouth and nose. He grunted after it became too much and flopped back onto his bed, gulping in mouthfuls of air. The fact that he'd been on his feet at all this morning seemed a miracle at this point. "I've never felt more tired in my life."

Alicia squinted at him. "Have you never been sick before?"

"Not recently. Not since—" Troy tried to think back and found his mind to be a total blank. "When do I take the next pill? I want to nuke this cold into the ground."

"I'll bring it to you now. It's about time. I just didn't want to wake you," she replied, leaving the room for a moment and re-entering with the pillbox. Since Troy no longer had hot liquid in his hands, Alicia braved taking a seat on the side of his bed again, popping out the pills and handing them over. "It's gonna take some time. You've been overdoing it for a while now. This is your body telling you it needs to rest and heal."

"Appreciated," Troy commented. He was grateful the coughing had stopped, that he was able to speak without doing it again and that this time the water had helped. He glanced at his body as she walked out, realizing he was still naked, and hauled the plaid blanket across his lap, straining his arm a little as he did. When Alicia returned, he sat up, took the pills from her outstretched hand, and swallowed them down with water. "Yeah, I guess," he answered, lying back down, his back feeling immediate relief. "Being shot feels better than this." He stared up at the ceiling, blinking, each movement becoming slower and slower than the next the longer conversation took to flow until eventually his eyes didn't open again and he'd begun to snore softly.

Alicia scoffed as Troy tumbled back into the land of sleep. "Men are such babies," she murmured, testing his forehead with her hand again. Still warm, but the sweating seemed to have eased up a little.

She took the bottle from him and placed it back on the nightstand, leaving the box of Paracetamols on the opposite one, and exited the room.


TAKE WHO YOU NEED, TRADE WHO YOU OWN.

Eira, the Sonora settlement's very own medic, stared down at the fading words scribbled across Tom's hollowing face where he lay on her table. The boy had only just crossed the threshold into adulthood a few months earlier, yet his decomposing corpse now made him resemble an old man. His waxy skin carried traces of discoloration, bug bites, and damage done by the sun. Almost unrecognizable from the boy he had been in life.

Eira dropped the sheet she was holding with one hand, allowing it to fall back and cover Tom's face again.

"I want to see him, Eira," Cindy demanded, her face wet with tears, her jaw trembling. It was visible even behind her mask. But her eyes were determined. Resolute. "I won't believe it until I see for myself."

Both women were equipped with pale yellow coats over their clothing, reaching them to their feet and tied at the back. Facemasks, gloves, and safety shields were mandatory accessories.

"Are you sure?" Eira asked with a hint of reservation. "I have to warn you; he doesn't look good."

Cindy stared at the blonde medic, hands in fists at her sides. "I have to."

Eira sighed and withdrew the sheet again, just enough to reveal Tom's upper half, including his worn chequered shirt that now carried splotches of blood.

Cindy gasped and let loose a wail of sorrow, rushing forward as if to throw herself atop her dead boyfriend.

"Don't!" Eira exclaimed, holding out a gloved hand. "No touching! You know that."

Cindy stopped in her track, looking torn between understanding and resentment. "It's him," she whispered finally, eyes wide and brimming with new tears. "It's really him. Is he gonna–...turn into one of 'em?"

Eira shook her head slowly. "I don't think so. It probably would have already happened by now if that was the case."

"Can you be sure?"

Eira shrugged. "Not entirely," she admitted.

Cindy sniffled, arms wrapped around herself. "What are you gonna do with Tom? We have to give him a proper burial."

Eira braced her hands on the table before her. "You will. I just need to look him over first. Wanda and Todd want to make sure what those kids who delivered him said about his death is true."

Silence ensued. Cindy stared at Tom. Eira stared at Cindy. Ten seconds passed before the medic opened her mouth again: "Can't have you here for what comes next."

Cindy shuddered, a new sob tearing through her slender body as she turned and pushed away, half-jogging to the door, the sterile full-body suit swishing loudly with every move.

Eira sighed and returned her attention to the corpse, watching his glassy eyes with fascination before turning his head to the side, peering down at the slim wound at his temple where blood had dried and caked in his hair.

She lit the lamp above her and illuminated Tom in bright light, making it near impossible to miss a single detail about his injury.

It took her a good thirty minutes to undress him completely and search every inch of Tom's body for other signs of harm, but she always returned to that blatantly obvious cause of death located on the side of his head.

"Take who you need, trade who you own," Eira whispered, idly prodding the dried-up wound with a gloved fingernail.


Nick clicked his beer against Logan's, then both settled back, sitting against the truck's walls on the edge of the cargo body. Canisters and cans with fuel were stacked behind them, leaving just the space to sit and catch a break.

"Didn't know beer was a part of your humanitarian drops," Nick said, clicking his tongue in appreciation of the taste.

"Not much, but when we can, we do. Sometimes a bottle of beer is all a man needs to feel somethin' familiar, somethin' that makes 'im wanna live, ya know."

"True," Nick smiled. "Very accurate. You smoke?"

"Been a time, but not for long. Worn out, I s'pose. But hell, one won't hurt more than the dead risin'." He nodded his thanks and lit it from Nick's lighter. He took a drag and grinned; they were silent awhile. "You three travel a lot?" he asked after another swig.

"I wouldn't call it a lot. We've been to places, with groups, alone, and, to be honest with you, it all seems alike."

"Lost the groups?"

"Yeah," Nick exhaled a cloud of smoke, glancing at the prairie beyond the station. "When a group settles down, it never ends well. Not that I've seen. And I admit we haven't seen all that much, but the settlements I've been to have fallen eventually."

"Same reasons?"

"Well… there are hordes of the dead that can overrun an unprepared group – or even prepared ones, depending on numbers. And not to forget that if you get yourself something nice and cozy, there's always some assholes to show up and want what you have, taking no prisoners."

Logan spat and shook his head, "Lot of that goin' around. And it's just the beginning."

Nick studied him. "You seen some like that? In your travels?"

Logan puffed out smoke. "We try to stick to smaller roads for a reason. Better to be off the larger radars, 'cause bigger roads are easier to roam. Especially when you got the right set o' wheels for it.

"Some folks joined us since the world went to shit, and they bring stories with 'em. Why I asked you about yours – helps to share and know what's happenin'." He gave Nick a curious look. "Where ya from?"

"LA."

"Traveled south, I take it?"

"Yeah, sort of."

Logan looked confused.

Nick finished his smoke and took mercy on him. "We met this guy who had a boat, a yacht. He took us with him when they started bombing the city."

"A boat, huh," Logan grinned. "Well, I'll be damn'! Must be the safest place to be."

Nick smirked. "You'd think so, but the world was rotting fast. There are people out there tracking boats and killing everyone on board. Like pirates. We avoided a tragedy by a hair. Came to Baja, there was that villa. Stone fence, secure and secluded. Nice people."

Logan's thin mouth stretched into a slow lopsided smile of knowing.

"They didn't put their dead down," Nick continued. "They believed they weren't dead, but rather… what comes next. Some twisted evolution. They kept them locked and fed."

"That's some twisted shit."

"Yeah, well, one of us thought so and set it all on fire in some neurotic fit. The villa burned, we moved on. That other place kept their dead as a live fence to protect the entrance. Drug cartels wanted their shit, and they kept their colony hidden. Until the day when they were found. Had to flee, which didn't end well, either." Nick gave a shrug and took a swig of beer. "The other place was a farm in southern California. A bunch of settlers, about two hundred people. Had their own militia patrolling the area to clear out the dead."

"Sounds too good. What happened?"

"A bunch of Indians certain that the land was theirs unleashed the partisan feud, and then the weakened bunch was overrun by a horde – too big to handle."

"No happy tales, I take it."

"Are there any?"

"Some happier than others." Logan shrugged, finished his beer. "There's some group settling in Oklahoma, close to border. Never saw it, but heard from some folks we saved – they were headin' there. Others joined a group livin' in a theme park – cowboy town. We leave some boxes for 'em around their area. Heard of cults running amok in Arizona – ya know, witches, sacrifices, some bullshit. Mexicans… mostly farmers, nice people, but those cartels you mentioned – lot of talk 'bout those, as well. Not somethin' you wanna face. Lots of gangs of thieves and murderers who want what they don't own – as you said, 's all there.

"And then there's that merry band." He squinted at Nick. "Ever heard of motorcycle clubs?"

A cold jab of electricity traveled through Nick's spine, but he kept anything but mild interest off his face. "Knew a guy from one back in the day, but not closely. I know they've a code or something that's important to them."

"I tried myself in one back in the seventies. Not one-percenter, mind you, but tight, like brothers. Never had any as close in my life before or after. And then, life happened and I had to get my feet back on the ground, and they all stopped knowin' me. Just like that, I stopped existing.

"As for those who got their hands dirty – well, son, you don' get to leave alive, I tell ya."

"So, you're telling me there are still bikers around?" Nick smiled. "Throttling around on bikes teasing walkers?"

"You betcha. Got this guy with us – came from southern California, through the Mexican border, and then east. He said there are trading posts owned by the gang called Proctors. Says they chain people to fences to fend off the dead day and night to pay debts or some crap. Says they deal drugs, weapons, explosives, sex, you name it. Hell knows how many, but they don't stick to just their outposts, far as we know. Some people told us they're stretched from California to Texas, along the gulf up to Houston here. So we stick to small roads and away from the deep south, just in case. Not that they got any bone to fight us over – we're small fish and they play big, want big places and big assets. We hear they fought some group over a water dam near the border, and it got blown up in the process. Tell you what: don' want any part o' that. Those one-percenters, once they got on their war, they never stop, not until either side's wiped out clean off the earth."


Alicia had settled on her own bed with a worn-out copy of a book she'd found downstairs, a small glass of whiskey in her hand. The door was open in case Troy stirred.

And stir he did, some forty minutes after she'd opened the book. She poked her head into his room and found him struggling, closed eyes moving rapidly back and forth, his breathing shallow, a few groans of protest straining from his throat. Caught in a fever dream.

She grabbed the washbasin and went to refresh the water, returning to once again perch beside him. The beads of sweat on his forehead and the flush to his cheeks spoke of overheating again. As gently as she could, Alicia patted his skin with the cool wet cloth. His face, throat, and the top of his chest all got some attention, as well as the insides of his wrists.

This was the part of playing nurse where Alicia felt entirely confident. She'd done this most of all while volunteering at the hospital after school. She'd sat with the sick and dying, watched over them as they slept. Holding their hand, wetting their lips, whispering words of comfort and reassurance when they briefly woke.

She'd sat with a man who had murdered a little girl in a drug haze and tried to end his own life by putting a gun in his mouth. It had failed. It had left him with severe brain and nerve damage. He'd done something horrible. But there, on his deathbed, it didn't matter.

These moments had been memorable to Alicia, had encouraged her to consider studying medicine when the time came. She'd loved watching the doctors and nurses tend to their patients with such care and devotion.

It didn't matter who they were or who they had been before. Everyone got the same treatment. There was no "deserve" or "earn". There was just compassion and dignity. And Alicia wished other aspects of life could have been that way.

It wasn't hard for her to tend to Troy now, even with their unpleasant and complicated history. She could put their differences aside long enough to help him heal, to regain his strength. He'd done the same for her once. And in a way, it felt good to repay the kindness he'd shown her then.


Nick lit another cigarette while Logan locked the doors. "Going back to your crew?"

"Not yet. Sonora – they gonna bury Tom and asked for help. Gonna hang around for another day and then go back. Radioed back to my people earlier."

"They let you stay in? Sonora?"

"Hell no. Fending for myself as usual." He waved a hand at the line of lighter trucks. "Taking one of those, picking the truck later. Just gonna store it in a hidey hole around here."

Nick thought it over. "They bury their dead inside?"

"See, that's the point." Logan shot him a cunning look, folding his arms as he leaned against the truck's hood. "Their first. If they asked me to stick aroun', means they intend to make it my business – outside."

Nick stared at him in disbelief, fiddling with his cigarette. "No one died around them since the lockdown? No sick or old in there?"

"Hell if I know, but hardly there's not one old, as for sick – well, what can I say." He gave a shrug, glancing in Sonora's direction – they could see it far down the road – then looked back to Nick, his expression turning shrewd. "Who was your first risen?"

Nick took a drag. "My girlfriend."

Logan grimaced. "That sucks, sorry I asked, but for the sake of the point: how did it happen?"

"We were in a group, hanging out at an abandoned church. I woke up, and no one was around. When I went looking, she was there…" He exhaled smoke, watching the smoldering tip of his cigarette. "When she turned around, I just knew she was dead. Sickness or virus never crossed my mind. I just saw it. Death."

"Then what happened?" Logan asked in a softer tone.

"I ran. I was so sure I was losing it. A small part of me wished it was a dream, even though I knew."

"Not everyone sees it like you did, Nick. Many don't understand, and it gets them killed. Those folks behind the fences, they have no idea. Without having seen it, they don't believe it's how it is. Hell, if I was told five months ago, I wouldn't believe it, either. But here we are, as deep in this as it gets."

Nick stomped out the smoking butt. "With their fear of infection, they'll probably want him burnt."

"Probably. Gonna be my job, I reckon. I'm spry, all right, but no spring chicken. Think your pal can help out with the body?"

"Nah, he's got some bug – stuffed nose, a cough. Staying in bed today, and probably tomorrow. I'll help."

"Don' wancha bleedin' out."

Nick simpered. "Not planning to."

"Well, in that case: I dunno when they decide on it, but they promised a word tomorrow noon. Think you can meet me at their gate?"

"You got it."


"How do I look?"

Strand took it all in, from her wet jeans, stained worn tank top (almost soaked enough to put her on the wet tee-shirt contest) to her damp dark hair. She was crumpling the stained towel in her hands, waiting on his resolution, her eyebrows raised. He smirked.

"Looks strange on you, but then again…" he shrugged and shook his head, rubbing his neck in frustration.

"Strange is good, that's the point." She began to dry her hair again. The used color tube and a torn carton from it lay on the ground next to the bucket she had been using, with water barely an inch from the bottom. They were lucky to find a swimming pool in one of the houses' backyard. The town was small, and those were a luxury.

"It's still madness," Strand said, his features pinched. "What if someone recognizes you? What if something goes wrong? Everything can go wrong! The whole idea is preposterous! You have no clue whatsoever where to find that girl! She might not even be there at all! Mexicali is not a small village, Madison. She might've lied to Nick about it, and you know that, too. Please, come to your senses before it's too late."

"It's too late." She picked up the empty tube and box, wrapped them in the towel passing by him. He watched her go with a pained face.

"I can't let you go like this alone."

"Whatcha gonna do, come with? Shine your face all over their territory?" She smirked, tossing the towel in the bin next to the back door leading into a kitchen that used to be cozy once upon a time. "Relax, I'll be fine. Follow the plan. You love a plan, so stick with it."

"How much time?" he demanded, his arms folded.

She turned to face him, regarding him ironically. "As much as it takes. Hole up where I said, I'll radio in. If you won't respond, I'll know you relocated to where we decided. It's gonna be fine. It's safe."

He bit his lip, holding in a few perfect curses pushing their way out, staring at her with narrowed eyes. "You're one crazy-ass woman, you know that?"

She let on a slow smile. "Sweet-talking never got too far with me, but I appreciate the attempt." She started back inside the house, ruffling her renewed brown hair as she went. He looked after her, no trace of a smile left on his face.