Disclaimer: Buffy The Vampire Slayer was Created by Joss Whedon and is property of many companies but not me. The Walking Dead was created by Robert Kirkman and the show, which is the world I am referencing in this, is shared with Production Creators Frank Darabont and Angela Kang.
Arthur's Note: Thank you to all who have read! Love seeing so many visitors and to anyone has checked out my other stories in response to this one I have not forgotten them the characters of those stories are just being stubborn. As always I continue to acknowledge I have horrible "tense" relation in my writing but I when I try to correct it, it comes out worse so I appreciate your bearing with me.
[4]
The people in the camp were good, strong, not like the people Theodore had been attempting to rescue before he'd been run out of Atlanta. Driving around a crumbling city he had transported as many aging residents as he could before the hoards had become too much, even then he couldn't stop himself from picking up the gangly Asian kid he'd seen biking out of the center of town, keeping just a few pedals ahead of the dead on his tail. Now he was watching that same man climb back into the van he'd picked him up in to go back into that mess and had turned him down when he'd offered to go with him.
"Mmm, you did more than enough offering. If he wants to go back in town, let him, don't let it bring you down," beside him Jacqui stood watching with folded arms as Glenn stepped inside the door, the woman waiving when Glenn spotted the two of them and waived their way.
"That ain't it." The man ran his hand over the top of his head and down his face in habit, letting his arms hang down from where his elbows were perched on his knees, seated. "I spent years of my life, out on the field, hustling for my folks, for my family and this is what it is." Leaning back his broad shoulders stretched the back of his shirt, braced on the stump acting as a chair, "Always helping people, but I've never done so directly as I was out there."
Posture as straight as his mother, Jacqui's hand felt just as light as her's on his shoulder, reassuring, "There's still plenty help you can give without putting yourself back out there."
[Break]
Walking inside the gate, Anya looked out at the small field that separated the Armory from the factory district, where her man had been working to expand their perimeter. Looking at Xander's successful construct she put her hand over her chest, feeling her heart swell with pride. She knew it was silly, imagining it was growing bigger – she understood that wasn't actually the case, but she certainly felt that way. Her man had provided for her and their kids, and it was a good place with thick walls, a surveillance system and it's own power. If they had livestock, she would summon that ludder Rannveig and show her all the things she had accomplished following the flyfille's interference in her first marriage, then she remembered that would mean seeing the bar maid and nixed the idea all together.
The area around the field was circled with concrete barriers 32" high, Anya usually found them obnoxious things that took up too much room on the highway when they were working but guarding their new home, she almost wished them taller. Xander and the short little man, Jonathon, had first positioned the barriers on their own but after discussion had decided to add cars as an additional layer to that. Beyond that, Anya knew today they were moving the school buses into position along the streets closest them to redirect the creatures from their area, her husband had even spent the night out in preparation to ensure the dead were attracted to the opposite side of town. She wished she'd been able to see it, whatever he'd decided to do so she knew Xander had made it through the night, that the bus moving was actually happening rather than waiting at the fence for a sign it was ok.
The door to one of the buildings opened, Jessie's gold mop of hair stirring in the breeze where she stood, "Mom! Cece isn't sharing!" Anya threw a quick glance in all directions, a habit quickly developed but happy that nothing was found within their ring of safety before heading to the door to shoo her in, scolding.
[Break]
The dead milled restlessly around the spent Jumping Jacks that lined the street on the opposite side of town from the Armory, every now and again one of the shambling figures stepping onto an unspent PopIt and snapping the group back to attention. In the distance a bus was pulling away from the school and turning down the street without gaining their fancy, it's driver and sole other passenger letting out a collective sigh of relief at their final transport of the day. Jonathon leaned forward in the seat, chest free of a belt in the large vehicle used to deliver children to an from their formative years, "How did you know to make those?"
Xander chewed his upper lip, grinding his teeth over the soft skin as he stared at the cluster growing smaller in his rear view, glad the road in front of him was pedestrian free for his lack of forward aimed focus, "Before, on the rare good day, my dad talked about the fireworks he use to ship. It was something we could talk about for a while that didn't piss him off." He didn't add that the "rare day" had become fewer and fewer over the years until there were none, or that he'd learned how to make them from the sole book he ever went to get incase his dad ever did have a good one again. That dream had been crushed sometime after his 12th year.
Jonathon nodded, most the Sunnydale High alums were aware of the Harris household even if it wasn't talked about, "Smart thinking." Leaning back against the PreVaill upholstery, the warlock looked out at the deserted streets for the brief ride to where they were parking it a block or two from the armory, "Have you an Anya talked about if you're planning to stay?"
The soft chin's movement stopped as Xander released his lip again, head tilting as he looked at the other man, pulling to stop after he backed into the desired position, "I thought you had come back to watch over the Hellmouth?"
Jonathon nodded at first, agreeing before rubbing the back of his neck, hand dropping into the other palm, "Well yes, at first. But other than them it feels quiet, and I don't know if you noticed, but all our food was imported. Sunnydale is a food desert. Once the cans are gone that's going to be it."
Xander's inner teen wanted to roll his eyes but the older man with a family to support thought it over, frown puckering his brow not having considered it before, "We'll cross that bridge when we get to it. Right now, we're the only 5 people in the city. We're ok for a while."
Jonathon nodded, repositioning himself, considering. Knowing the look from working with the other man before Xander questioned what it was he was withholding. A little more animated than before, the shorter of the two leaned forward again, "Sunnydale is a lot better off than the places I've seen, we could take it back." He held out a hand stopping him from interrupting, "We filled one street with the majority of dead in town, everyone else was gone – sure maybe some are in some of the buildings, but how many people had left before this? If we can clear the dead we already know about, build something blocking the entrances to Sunnydale, and then take care of what's left that'd be it."
[Break]
The patient was showing signs of improvement, enough that now both the endotracheal and nasogastric tubing were removed. Checking the man's bandages, Dr. Macones noted the lack of infection and continued wound closure in the man's chart. The officer had started responding to stimuli the past week, at first only to pain but recently as yesterday to speech though he did not maintain consciousness very long. The woman was hopeful that within the next month she'd be seeing him enter a minimally conscious state that would proceed his awakening, if so, it would certainly help with the Physical Therapy she had begun administering.
Hanging a new IV, the woman paused at the flowers at his bedside looking at the vase with its water long since evaporated and considered not for the first time throwing them out. Despite their brittle petals and growing scent of decay she continues to leave them as a reminder that someone out there had cared for him. As the days grew, she became less sure if that was for him, when he awoke, or herself, for motivation. Fighting the thoughts back, she patted his hand and took a seat, cracking open one of the cafeteria's pudding cups from its dwindling supply.