An (Incomplete) Guide to the Zombie Apocalypse: Chapter 6
March 13th, 1999 - 3:30 am
Tom is on watch in the middle of the night when there's a noise behind him. He's immediately on alert, knife in hand, when he hears a soft chuckling from the van. He turns around, breathing a sigh of relief when he sees it's just Rachel, quietly extricating herself from the pile of sleeping bodies, grabbing a small crate, and walking over to him.
"What are you doing awake?" he asks, and settles back on the ground by the fire. He's discovered that being on watch is the most nerve wracking thing he's ever done, because if he lets something slip past him, or he's not paying enough attention, then everyone could die. He's thankful that they had at least managed to set up a crude alert system, created from sticks, rope, and empty metal cans. They'd tested it out, and discovered that if anything passes the rope, it would make a noise loud enough to at least alert the person on duty, and might even wake up everyone in the van.
"Too cramped in there," she says, and sets a pot of water over the campfire to boil. And then, as she settles down next to Tom in the dirt, "And I can't stop thinking about Eric."
"Me either," Tom admits, and runs a hand through his hair. "He's either all alone out there, or he's..."
"Dead," Rachel finishes, and Tom nods.
"Yeah. That."
They're silent for a long time. Long enough that the pot of water boils, and Rachel pulls two mugs and a box of tea out of the crate she'd brought with her. She pours the water into the mugs, and then drops a tea bag in each, handing one to Tom before speaking again.
"I hope and pray he's alive," she says, and swirls her teabag around in the water nervously. "But... it would be easier, and more peaceful for him, if he weren't. I want him back, but I don't want him to be suffering. Does that make sense?"
Tom nods; he understands perfectly. "Yeah, I get it."
"I just wish this hadn't happened," she whispers. "I wish Kara and I had stayed closer to the van, or that we'd noticed when they'd gotten out. We didn't even notice, Tom. How could we let them slip past us?"
"Shit happens," he says, and takes a sip of the tea before wincing. "Oh dear God, this is awful."
Rachel chuckles, smiling in a way that causes dimples to appear on her cheeks, and Tom is immediately certain that he needs to make her smile more often. She reaches out a hand, as if to take the mug of tea from him, but he holds it out of her reach, frowning at her.
"No, this is mine. You gave it to me. Even if it tastes like shit it's warm," he says, and takes another sip. The second sip tastes even worse, if possible, and he takes the teabag out so that it can't further poison his warm water. He drops it into Rachel's cup and she uses her finger to mix it in, smiling softly down at her tea.
"It's my favorite tea," she says wistfully. "I used to drink it with my mum."
Tom hums, sipping the terrible liquid and wondering if he should ask about her mother. Surely she wouldn't have said anything if she didn't want to share with him, he thinks. He decides to take the leap, and turns so he's facing her. She meets his gaze and smiles shyly, looking down at her mug a moment later, and Tom thinks he might be in trouble, because he's known her for less than two days and her smile already makes his heart race.
"Tell me about her," he requests, instead of asking if she's dead, because she probably is. Almost everyone is dead, and Rachel's mother is probably among the lost.
Rachel hums, and stalls for a moment by taking a long sip of her tea. She wants to share with Tom, to tell him about her mother. It's an odd feeling, because she's spent months with Kara and Danny, Tex and Eric and Katie, and she hasn't felt the same pull that she feels now. She wants to be close to him, physically, and to talk to him, to share her worries and her fears and the terrible weight of responsibility with him. He feels safe, and it's a nice feeling.
"She died when I was nine," she begins, and Tom sits up straighter, all of his focus on the young woman in front of him. "Malaria. My father was catholic. He said... he told the doctors that, if it was God's will, she would survive. Which was utter shit, because nearly 100% of cases of cerebral Malaria are deadly if not treated. Sure enough, she died a few days later."
Tom wants to say something, to comfort her in some way, but he doesn't have the words for this.
Well, he has one word.
"Bastard," he says, with feeling, and Rachel laughs.
"Yes, quite," she agrees, eyes twinkling for a moment before becoming serious again. "That was why I had to get away from him. I was emancipated on my fifteenth birthday, and on the same day I began applying for college and went to the doctor to have them vaccinate me for everything they possibly could. It's because of my mother that I decided to become a doctor."
"She'd be proud of you," Tom says, and Rachel blushes, biting her lip.
"I hope so," she whispers. "I loved her so much. I miss her every day. She was... an amazing woman. I remember dancing around the kitchen with her, barefoot, to our favorite music. She taught me to cook. She taught me to read. She ... she helped me see, from an early age, that not everything my father said or did was right. She loved him dearly, but she saw his flaws, and when she was dying, she held my hand and asked me not to blame him. But I did. I do. I would have done anything for my mother, anything... anything except that."
"She shouldn't have asked you to forgive him," Tom says, and Rachel shrugs, reaching up to brush a hand over her eyes. She's not crying, but she can feel the moisture pooling, the heat, and knows that she's close. She's always close to crying, when she talks about her mother.
"She loved him. She saw his flaws and forgave him, but I never could. I haven't spoken to him since I was fifteen. I have no idea if he's even alive."
Good, Tom wants to say, but doesn't. He knows that his anger at her father won't help the situation. Instead he reaches out and wraps his arm around her shoulder tentatively. She sighs, every tense muscle in her body relaxing, and leans into him, settling her head on his shoulder and scooting her body closer to him until they're pressed together, shoulder to knee.
"Thank you, for telling me," he says, and she nods against him. "And for the tea. Even if it's terrible. I know it's important to you."
Rachel doesn't respond, but that's OK, Tom thinks. The silence isn't a bad silence, this time. It's comfortable. There are no sounds of zombies, and the wind is blowing softly. He's calm, for probably the first time since he woke up.
He wants to share something with her, to show that he trusts her, too, but it doesn't seem like the right time. He also doesn't know what he would share. His mother had died, too, but it was a completely different situation. He could share about how he joined the Navy to piss off his father, but that seems like a story for when the mood is lighter. Tonight they're contemplating death and loss, and the only thing that seems right in the moment is to hold her.
So he does, and she lets him, and he thinks that maybe not everything about this new world is bad.
March 13th, 1999 - 7:30 am
Their wake up call the next morning comes all too soon for Tom. Tex, who'd had the last watch shift, rouses them all when the sun finally rises, and Tom wakes to find himself even more exhausted than the night before, if that were even possible. The hard floor of the van, cushioned only by the sleeping bag he was given, had not been kind to his scrapes and bruises, and he aches all over.
"Do we have any Tylenol?" he asks groggily, dragging one eye open to search out their resident doctor. "Fucking everything hurts."
Rachel makes a noise of sympathy, and then moves to the back of the van before tossing him a bottle. He checks the dosage, and then swallows three of them dry. Rachel gives him a concerned look when she sees how many he takes, and shuffles back over to him.
"Take your shirt off," she commands, and Tom grins widely. She cuts him off before whatever inappropriate comment he'd been about to make comes out of his mouth, however, a knowing smirk on her face. "I want to check your injuries."
Tom winks at her but doesn't comment further, reaching down to grab the hem of his shirt. He pulls it off over his head, and Rachel is just moving around to his back when Tex whistles and comments, "Sock on the door, man! When we're all in close quarters like this, you have to live by the rules of hooking up."
Tom throws his shirt at the older man, wincing when he pulls on his sore muscles. Dive bombing under a car maybe hadn't been his brightest move, but it had seemed the quickest way to get from point A to point B at the time, and if it saved his and Katie's lives, he doesn't regret it.
"Shut up, Tex," Rachel says, and the older man walks off, cackling to himself. Rachel runs her fingertips over Tom's skin, and he tries not to shiver. She's gentle as she probes at a few of the nastier looking bruises, but he still winces from the pain. "Stay here," she says softly, and then moves away to grab the medical kit before coming right back. She digs through it for a moment, making a noise of accomplishment when she finds what she's looking for.
Tom groans when her hands return to his back, something cool on her fingers. She presses the salve into his bruises and spreads it over the cuts and scrapes, and Tom closes his eyes, the relief sudden and overwhelming.
"What is that?" he asks, and then moans when she takes her hand away. He would be ashamed of the noises coming out of his mouth if it didn't feel so good.
Rachel chuckles and then passes him the tube.
"Capsaicin cream, prescription strength," she says, and Tom wants to hide the tube and keep it all for himself. "These must have hurt badly yesterday," she continues when he doesn't speak. "Why didn't you say anything?"
Tom shrugs. He's not used to telling others when he's in pain. He's used to just sucking it up and dealing with it. Thanks to the military and his rather strict upbringing, he's good at hiding pain, both physical and emotional. He's a little surprised to find that, with Rachel at least, he doesn't feel the need to hide his pain.
"Not used to anyone caring," he finally lands on, and Rachel presses her warm hand to his back for a long moment, letting her fingers trail along his skin as she moves away from him.
"I care. Next time, let me know. I'm a doctor, Tom. I can help."
Tom nods and smiles at her before leaning forward, resting his elbows on his knees and letting the air from the open van door caress his back. The cool air, plus the cream, is doing wonders to make his aches and pains fade. He drops his head, sighing, and then looks back up to see Rachel watching him. She's biting her lip, her eyes on his scars again, and he's about to reach for the shirt he'd thrown at Tex when she speaks.
"I might have something to help your scars, if you'd like," she says, and his head snaps up, self-consciousness suddenly forgotten.
"Yes, please," he says, and she chuckles at his enthusiasm. She returns to the medical kit, which is honestly more of a medical box, as big as it is, and searches for a few moments before handing him a second tube.
"Silicone gel," she explains, and he opens it and begins to spread the gel over the rougher scars on his chest. The worst ones are over his pectorals and branching down to his stomach. The scars on his collarbones, shoulders, and lower stomach are less red, and they don't hurt as much. As he applies the gel, Rachel continues, "Compression wraps can also help. They help reduce inflammation, and can lessen your pain considerably. We don't have any right now, but I'll put them on the list."
"Thank you," Tom says sincerely, handing both tubes back to her. She nods, and takes them, letting her fingers linger on his for a moment. She's about to turn away when Tom grasps her hand in his, bringing her attention back to him. He meets her eyes, lets her see how serious he is. "Thank you, Rachel," he repeats, and Rachel blushes, her lips parting as she takes in a shuddering breath. "For everything. For welcoming me. For caring. I keep thinking what it would have been like, if I had been alone when I'd woken up. But instead I found you guys, and ... it makes everything a little bit easier."
Rachel smiles at him, not breaking eye contact for several moments. Her cheeks turn a darker pink, and that's the only warning he gets before she lurches forward and kisses him on the cheek, a brief press of dry lips against his skin, and then she's pulling away.
"You're welcome, Tom," she says, and moves to climb out of the van, not looking back. Tom sits in shock for a few moments before reaching up and touching his skin where she'd kissed him. He grins, shakes his head at himself, and then follows her out of the van.
She's already giving the others orders, and Tom joins them while pulling his t-shirt back on. He stretches, arms over his head, and catches Rachel's eyes following the movement, lingering on the skin of his stomach, and struggles to hide a smile.
Apparently he's not the only one that's been affected, he thinks.
"We're going to give ourselves until four in the afternoon," Rachel is saying, and Tom forces himself to listen rather than let his thoughts linger on the way she'd kissed his cheek. "We will widen the search, expand it a few miles. I know you all hope... I hope, that we will find Eric. But we can't stay here forever," she says, and bites her lip. "That herd was... terrifying. I've never seen that many in one place, and we can't stay here indefinitely."
"So we just leave him?" Kara asks, and Rachel turns to her, giving her a sympathetic smile.
"I hate the idea just as much as you do," she assures her friend. "I do, believe me. But if we haven't found any sign of him by this evening, then there's a very high likelihood that we won't, and you know that."
Kara nods, though she still looks upset, and Tom watches as Danny takes her hand, squeezing it comfortingly as Rachel continues to talk.
"Teams of two, and someone stays behind with Katie at all times. We can switch out, so everyone can take a break. I put together kits this morning with some granola bars and other snacks, water, and two flares. Everyone gets a kit, just in case you get separated from your partner. Do not use the flares unless it's an emergency. If you set off a flare, it's a signal for everyone to head in your direction immediately. I have put red flares in your kits. Whoever stays with Katie will have blue flares. If you see a blue flare, you are to return to the van as quickly as you possibly can. I've also added walkie talkies to the list of look-fors for our next supply run. God forbid this ever happens again, but we need a way to keep in contact if we're apart."
"Aye aye, Captain," Tex says, chomping noisily on a piece of gum. Tom glances at over him and wants to laugh. He's pulled his hair back in a ponytail and is wearing a backwards baseball cap. He looks ridiculous, but somehow it works for him.
"All right. Smother the fire, Danny. Tom, help me gather the cooking equipment and then we'll head out."
Tom helps her load the pots and plates they'd used the night before, and then tucks the campfire grill into a corner behind the food crates. Rachel doesn't look at him while they work, and he can sense that she's nervous about his reaction to her kiss, chaste as it was.
"Hey," he says, and puts a hand on her arm to stop her movements. She glances over at him and he smiles, trying to put her at ease. He lets his hand slowly wander from her arm to her cheek, and caresses the soft, heated skin with his thumb. She lets a small smile tug at her lips, and then puts her hand over his, leaning into his touch.
He's debating on whether or not he should lean forward and kiss her for real when there's a loud thump on the outside of the van.
"Ready to go, boss!" Danny calls, and Rachel pulls away from Tom, the moment broken.
"To be continued," she says, her voice low and filled with promise, and Tom nods.
"I'll hold you to that."
She gives him one last, tender look before moving to the front of the van and climbing in the driver's seat. Tom stays where he is, leaning against the food crates and watching as the others pile into the van.
He doesn't anticipate that they'll find Eric today. At least, not human or alive, anyway, and whatever hopeful thoughts he'd been having when he was with Rachel slowly begin to evaporate as the drive toward the area of highway that Eric had disappeared in.
