The pounding of his strides against the asphalt could only be paralleled by the beat of his heart. Utter terror is great for cardio.
Disregarding most of what's around him, he runs. The gasps and snarls of creepers and stalkers he'd caught the attention of along the way, the unattended vehicles possibly stocked up with supplies, his lungs ready to explode from the exertion – all ignored. He runs, mind one-track.
Finding her. That's all that matters.
"Trish!" He cries her name out repeatedly. "Triiiiiish!" Over and over until he could no longer hear the sound of his own voice. Being someone with such short legs, how far could she have gone? He's certain she'd gone this way. The small trail of breadcrumbs she left were the only thing he'd been paying attention to. The dainty footprints she left in muddier parts of the road, the water canteen he's positive is hers…The fresh blood. Which is what ultimately drove him to a sprint. He isn't certain if it's hers, but that does nothing to calm him.
She could be out there. Bleeding. Injured.
And it would be on him.
Why couldn't he have just reprimanded her? Sending her away, to face this world by herself…He might as well have killed her himself. He shakes off the thought. She's strong, resilient – she's got this, he reminds himself. She's the reason he's still alive, after all. He owes her nothing short of everything.
"Trish…" he tries again, his strained voice barely making a sound. His legs sore, and his chest aching, his body finally seizes control from his mind, and he falls to his knees. Ignoring the pain in his joints from the landing, he slips his water bottle out of the side pocket of his backpack and downs a few gulps. "Trish…" he repeats, setting the bottle down beside him. "Tri-" He moves onto his hands and knees and vomits. There goes some of his water supply.
Getting himself up off the ground is no easy feat; legs shaking, back aching. He wipes his mouth, picking up his bottle and sliding it back into its designated pocket. He winces, focusing his sight down the long, empty road ahead of him. No sign of her. Perhaps the trail she left was meant to be a distraction; to mislead him? Would she have had the time to purposely lead him astray? Not a minute after discovering her disappearance had he hesitated. Had he sat their sobbing for that long?
Though his pursuit of her had given him the time he needed to process. It gave him a chance to reflect on what the girl had done. Everything happened so fast at the time, he wasn't quite sure how to react – hadn't even begun to sort it out. And he pushed her away.
Self-defense; Trish was protecting them both. The darkness in Etta's eyes resurfaces in his memory. The way she honed in on them. The way she approached Trish, as if one of the dead – starving for her flesh. Why had he been so ready to push his friend away? His fear was what had drove him to protect her – yet that fear came back around to seek protection from her. As if she would ever hurt him.
"Damn it!" he shrieks through gritted teeth, clenched fists tightening to the point his nails dig into his palms. He slams them down onto the asphalt, wincing and whimpering from the throbbing. He wipes his watering eyes. No time to wallow in regret. He steadily picks himself up again, experiencing vertigo from the torrent of emotion, as well as the overexertion.
A few hours had passed in his search, and although he had welcomed the cool of the night after sundown, he knows that he can't continue wandering about in the open after dark. Though he hasn't a choice.
"Dez." His name on her lips first thing in the morning. She stirs in her sleep, wakening to the raspy melody of the dead. What she doesn't hear is his steady heartbeat. She was so certain he'd been there by her side – or was it all a dream? Had she not fallen asleep, curling up against his chest? Had he not lulled her as he played with her curls?
She hoists herself up, the bleak start to her day weighing her down. Her body begs her to collapse, but she knows she cannot afford to let herself rest too long. Not with death lurking about her, ready to take her soul at any given moment. Not when there's supplies to gather and spiked fences to build.
Despite all that she knows she must get done, her mind wanders to the boy she had left behind. He's out there, alone, with minimal protection. What reason does she have to even believe he's alive? He counted on her. He counted on her, and she let him down. Regardless of what he'd said, she should have stayed. That's what a true friend would have done. The hurt she'd felt, feeling betrayed by him for not understanding why she did what she had done, did not warrant a death sentence on him.
With a flip of her hair over her shoulder, she pulls herself together. She ties her curls up loosely with a scrunchie, slipping her machete out from underneath the pillows. She would have been lucky to find any shelter at all – but an abandoned cabin is far more promising. Clearing it out had been easy enough, as the creepers within had lost some appendages already. Keeping others from coming in will prove trickier.
Spiked fences, barricades of sharpened logs, are something she picked up from watching one too many zombie-related shows. Surely they're prove to be useful in her situation. However, some of the ones she's seen herself were far craftier than anything she's watched on screen, and others too large to let anything get in their way. Spiked fences cannot hold them all off. But it's a start.
Already having begun, after taking down a few small trees in the vicinity with the axe she found on the property, the beginnings of the fence look promising. Though only two spikes set in thus far, she's getting the hang of it, sharpening the next one even quicker. Though not exactly the best tool for the job, her machete gets it done.
A few low growls puts her on alert. Apparently she hadn't cleared the area as much as she thought she had. She was hoping that the scent of the decaying bodies of creepers she had taken care of earlier would mask her own scent. Apparently there aren't quite enough piled up yet to do so.
The tiny invader peeks its head out from behind the bushes, then makes its way towards the armed girl. Trish's jaw falls, machete slipping out of her hand from the gut-wrenching sight.
A child.
"No…" she whimpers. Thus far, she hadn't seen a single infected child. A few older teenagers, sure – that alone was difficult enough to deal with. She had hoped this meant that children were somehow immune, or that the dead did not pursue them for whatever reason. She makes not a single move as the little one approaches her, foot dragging behind it, its wispy greyish-blonde locks hanging loosely from its scalp. "No..." Trish bites her lip, tears already spilling over and running down her cheeks. She can't kill a child. She can't.
The tiny hands wrap around her arms, and Trish holds the little one away, keeping it at bay. The small jaws snap in her direction, arms now flailing. Her tears do not cease as she picks up her machete with one hand. The tiny little creature continuous to snarl as Trish raises the weapon in the air above its head.
"Austin, hold on!" Ally demands the blond, setting her hand on the wheel.
"That's enough stops! At this rate, we'll never make it to Miami!" he whines, putting the truck in park, all the same. "It's supposed to only be three hours away from Orlando, but we've been on the road for what? A week now? All because of these detours and stops. We need to get home, Ally." The girl gives the boy a stern look before continuing.
"Austin, there's someone lying on the road there, look!" She points at the figure, a good five hundred yards ahead of them.
"Maybe it's a zombie."
"Or maybe it's a person."
"Okay, but what if they're a person that's' dead already?" Austin shifts in his seat uncomfortably. "We've seen enough living dead. I don't wanna see any non-infected people dead, too."
"We should at least check it out. Maybe they're a person, and if they're alive and need help–"
"–And if we don't help them…" he trails off, staring at the steering wheel for a good few moments. He turns to her, gives her a nod, then clicks open his seat belt.
The two make their way towards the body, being mindful of the creepers headed in their direction, likely attracted by the easy feast laying on the side of the road. As they get closer, their paces slow, the figure lying on the ground looking more and more familiar. Austin squints his eyes at the body, now only a few yards away. "No…"
"Oh, my God…" Ally's eyes now gaping wide open, knees buckling as she identifies the form.
"Dez!" Austin cries out, now sprinting towards the body, Ally trailing closely behind him. He turns the redhead onto his back, relieved at the lack of bite marks and blood. He hadn't been bitten. The slight rising and falling of his chest gives the blond immense relief. Still, this is not quite the reunion he'd hoped for. He gives the boy a shake, and two slaps across the face. No use. "Ally, h-he's alive. Get some water! Quick!"
Ally, still shaken, wordlessly obliges and heads back over to the truck – relieved isn't even close to a good enough word for how she feels. They had found one of their friends. They had found him barely holding on, but still alive. The worst-case scenarios that had been bubbling up in her mind hadn't come true. At least…Not in Dez's case. She returns with a few bottles. Austin proceeds to douse Dez's face with the water, the boy finally opening his eyes, letting out a yelp as he awakens.
"Wha-!" He sputters, some of the water spilling into his mouth and going down his windpipe. Laying him on his side, Austin gives him a few pats on the back. The boy coughs up some more water.
"Dez…Dez you're alive…" the blond whispers to him, pulling him up by the shoulders into a sitting position. Ally sits herself down beside them, taking note of the signs of malnutrition on the redhead's face. The dark circles around his eyes, the redness at the corners of his nose and mouth. The cracked, flaky lips. She winces, finding the sight difficult to bear.
"Dez, we were so worried," Ally speaks up next, gripping onto Austin's shoulder and giving it a squeeze as if wanting to check and make sure that this is all real. She had dreamt of them reuniting, several times, only to wake up to another excruciatingly long day of worry.
"Tri…Trish…Trish…" Dez utters repeatedly, his breathing erratic. "Trish…" It's apparent to the couple that he isn't entirely in his senses.
"Dez?" Austin tries again. The sickly boy doesn't even lift his gaze to face him. He continues chanting the girl's name, as if in a trance. A symphony of snarls heading their direction starts building.
"Let's uh…Take this reunion back to the truck…" Ally offers, wary. Giving his girlfriend a nod, Austin lifts the other boy, proceeding to carry him to the truck. The weight difference is noticeable. Austin had carried Dez plenty times before – it now felt like he was carrying a twelve-year-old. His grip on Dez tightens, as if frustrated – furious. Angered at the world, and at himself for not being there with his best bud. If they had found him a moment too late…
It's something he'd rather not think about it.
Ally takes notice of his aggravation and joins him, taking hold of his arm. The small gesture is all he needs to calm himself.
They aren't stupid.
They knew very well the chances of finding either of their friends – alive – in this mess was slim. Yet, by the grace of what ever higher power that could possibly exist, they had found their friend. Barely clinging on, but alive – mere minutes from the jaws of death – be it dehydration, exhaustion, or walking corpses.
After giving him the enough provisions and care, they had let the boy rest up for a good while. Soon enough, the redhead's strength had – at least partially – returned to him. Cue proper, emotional reunion. Tears a-plenty and tales exchanged – they now had each other. All is not lost, yet…
"So…She just…Ran away…" Austin repeats after his friend, his relief from finding Dez sullied by the news regarding Trish. "You told her to go, so she left. And now you can't find her…" He continues repeating, as if trying to piece the situation together in his mind.
"…I know, I know. I wasn't thinking clearly, o-okay? Sh-she killed that woman – just like that, just killed her. Pushed her in a pit full of them – full of infected. I-I know why she felt she had to do it, but I just…I wasn't thinking, I was upset and scared, and I…" He plants his face in his hands, his strained and muffled sobs heard through them.
Ally sits idly in the passenger seat of the truck, staring off at the sky through her window – not another word spoken. Austin observes her, knowing to a great extent what his girlfriend must be feeling, as he can relate. But this is her best friend. The girl Ally grew up with, who had been with her through everything,to the moon and back. Knowing Trish is out there…Alone…Unsure of whether or not she was able to make it…
"We'll find her," the blond reassures the both of them. "Whatever we have to do…No matter how long it takes, we will find her." He reaches a hand out and rests it on Ally's shoulder, the other hand settling on Dez's. "I promise." Ally rests her hand atop his, giving her boyfriend a feeble, but thankful smile. Her watery eyes reflect her pain, though they continue to glisten with hope. Dez, however, shrugs off Austin's hand, removing his own from his tear-streaked face.
"This is my fault. I have to find her. You two should keep heading home," he asserts, tears now falling silently. "When you get there, head to my place. My dad has an underground shelter with plenty of water and tuna. It's in the backyard, you'll be safe there."
"Stop saying that!" Austin shouts back, his level of exasperation rising to its maximum capacity. "We are not leaving you alone, Dez! We'll find her together – and we will find her. None of us are going home without her. And we're definitely not going back without you."
"Besides," Ally butts in. "Wouldn't it be better if more of us are looking for her? We can cover more ground that way." As reasonable as the two sound, Dez remains obstinate. Everything they say makes sense, but the weight of his guilt blurs his sensibility.
"I lost her…" His voices starts quavering again. "She had my back, she was there for me the whole time, through every damn thing – not just with the infected or those meathead mercenaries, but everything." He licks his chapped lips, eyes concentrated on his hands as the memories of their travels floods his thoughts. "She kept me together, she kept me sane. The only reason I've lasted this long is cause of her. I would've just let those creatures take me by now if it wasn't for her." Austin and Ally glance at each other, exchanging looks of worry coupled with horror. The red haired boy's tone suggests not a hint of exaggeration. "I lost her…She protected me – hell, she nearly let herself get killed just to protect me. And I lost her."
"Dez…" At this point, all that could be said had been said. All Ally can do is offer him some comfort. She sets herself down by his side, wrapping her arms around the boy. Austin follows suit, taking the both of them in his arms from the other side. Dez sits idly between them, staring at the floor of the truck before him as he focuses his thoughts and pulls himself together. Snap out of it, you doof! The fiery girl's words still ring in his ears. He shifts around, causing his to friends to release him from their hold.
"Okay, okay, enough hugging already!" He lifts himself up and slips into the driver's seat of the vehicle. "Let's go find our Trish."
"He's such a doof, y'know?"
Snarls.
"I can't believe that – after all we've been through – he still doesn't trust me. I did what I had to do – for us, for him. Whatever I've done throughout this whole ordeal was done to protect him – and this is how he repays me?"
Growls.
"I know, I know. I mean, I did…Sort of…Kill someone." She rakes her fingers through her matted curls, struggling to get them to smoothly glide through amongst the tangles.
"But she was going to do far worse than kill us. I'm sure of it…Whatever she wanted to do with us, it wasn't any good. It couldn't be." She glides her fingers gently down through the little creature's wisps of hair. It attempts to take a bite out of her hand, but she restrains it with her other one. The thin ropes around its arms and legs may loosen soon enough with all of its struggling. She'd have to find something stronger.
"Easy there, easy," her gentle tone and strokes somehow mellow the young creature. "I was just protecting him. That's all I wanted. I just wanted him to be safe. Why couldn't he see that?" Her lower lip had bloodied from excessive nervous biting and peeling. "I-I'm not a murderer – I'm not." The trembling of her voice maintains that she believes otherwise. "I'm not a killer, I'm a good friend. I'm not, I'm not a killer. I'm…I'm not." Her breathing picks up pace. "I'm not…I'm not a killer, I'm not."
The creature's snarls amplify – as if calling out 'Liar!'
"I'm not!" She lets out a shrill cry, machete suddenly at home in her hand, once again. The creature's volume rises with her own. Mid-shriek, the sound is silenced by the edge of her blade. The little one's head falls beside her feet – her machete soon dropping by it as her hands move to cover her mouth. She rubs them over her face, letting herself breathe slow, shaky breaths.
Blood. She had seen plenty of it. Much of it was on her hands. Though up until recently, none of it from a non-infected. None from anything she'd consider human. She's not sure whether or not she should even label Etta that, with what she was planning to do to them. No. She wasn't human. She has to believe that she wasn't. She didn't take a life, she saved two. Repeating these words to herself does little to mitigate her conscience.
She remembers his face. The expression the boy wore. Sheer terror, as if he assumed she was lusting for his blood. As if she was no longer anyone he knew – or anything he knew. As if he didn't want to know her, let alone be anywhere near her. As if she was no longer his.
She examines the small, decaying form before her. Its decomposing flesh had already attracted a small swarm of flies. Its eyes stare back up at her, frozen – warning her. She nudges the lifeless body with the tip of her shoe; no response. She shakes her head clear.
There's no warning. There's no message being sent from beyond. It wasn't a child. It was an infected. It was a creature. Nothing more.
"I'm not a killer…I'm not."