It's for the best, she reminds herself over and over again. Every outcry, every desire to run into those arms and beg to be taken back, every burning ache in her heart – extinguished by her reasoning. It's for the best. It's for the best. It's for the best.
Trish stares up at the wooden ceiling of the place she's called home these past…Has it been three weeks? Four? She's lost count of the days, often staying up late and sleeping into the afternoon. Not that it matters much to her anymore – time is no longer of much relevance. She lives, no longer just surviving - her fear of the creatures pushed aside by a fear much greater.
The throaty growls serenading her throughout each day have become somewhat calming. In a way, they're her protection. Turning the threat into her shield, she managed to take her circumstance by the reigns. She climbed until she found herself back on top of the food chain – in control. At least for the most part.
Of course, she needed to hack off many a limb and unhinge dozens of jaws in order to attain this power. The pained gasps and guttural noises surround her, the stench of the chained-up creepers masking her own - keeping the others at bay. If one is to somehow get past them, she'd add them to her ever-growing collection.
Collection. She frowns. She's not quite sure what they are anymore, but they aren't hers. They certainly aren't people – not anymore. But they aren't her pets, or some kind of cattle. They aren't wild animals that can be tamed. She cannot afford to forget. She cannot afford to get comfortable.
Still, her concerns aren't centered on any of the undead. It's the living she fears. She prays no one would come around. For their sake. For her own safety, she's not as concerned.
Her recent dreams had been vivid – concocting ideas in her mind that she could never imagine herself. Lives in her hands. The thirst for control – for power. The strange sense of elation from committing such terrible acts. She wakes often wondering if it's just her mind playing tricks on her or her inner urges clawing their way out. Either way, she cannot risk contact. Not with the blood on her hands already.
Though human beings and isolation don't quite mix. She finds ways to fill the void. Whether it's conversing with her growling hoard, or with the air. Pretending there's someone there to hear it all. Sometimes she feels like there really is.
"Shut up, you doof." She rolls her eyes as she fixes herself up in the vanity mirror, carefully applying some red lipstick the previous owner of the household had left behind, scrunching her hair product-coated curls. "Flattery won't get you anywhere." Her mind fills the silence around her with a reply, to which she laughs out in response.
"You won't be able to find her if you don't rest." Dez flinches as the brunette rests her hand on his shoulder. She quickly pulls her hand away. "You need to sleep."
"I'm not wasting any more time." He grips the wheel tighter, his adamancy relentless.
"Dez–" the blond starts, groggily. He hadn't gotten much rest either, watching over Dez as he drives the semi. Falling asleep at the wheel is not an option.
"–It's been too long, who knows what could've happened to her by now?" the redhead interrupts, his bloodshot eyes unwavering from the road ahead of him. "Every day that passes without us finding her…" He trails off, not wanting to even entertain the idea.
"We will find her. But you not sleeping isn't helping anyone." Austin pushes against Dez's side, hitting the breaks and forcing the truck into park. Dez doesn't retaliate; instead he rests his head on the blond's shoulder, drifting off into a much-needed slumber. The blond rubs his back, then hoists him up, carrying him into the cargo hold to lay down.
"We're not going to find her…Are we? Not the way we want to find her," the brunette girl asks, solemnly, staring out the windshield as Austin takes the driver's seat next to her. Tears bead down her face – the rest of her, still as stone.
"Ally." Austin reaches over his hand and wipes away her tears. She remains still, eyes focused forward. "It's Trish. She's out there, alive. I'm sure of it. You remember all the things Dez told us about how she protected them both? We know how tough she is. She can't be far. She's out there, waiting for us." A smile pulls at her lips. Her boyfriend's always been such an optimist. His unwavering faith helped pull her out of her darkest hours, time and time again.
"I love you," she chokes out, throat still thick with tears. She leans over to give him a peck on the cheek. "Never change." The blond blushes, smiling down, bashfully, at his hands in his lap.
"I love you, too, Ally."
"As much as I love you both, can we please get moving? If I'm not driving, someone else has to!" Dez calls out to them from the back of the truck. He had only dozed off for a minute, his mind too wired to knock out completely.
"Go to sleep, Dez," Ally orders him, her tone firm. He's reminded of his mother, a thought he pushes to the back of his mind immediately. Worrying about Trish is more than enough. His mother has to be okay. She just has to be. So does his father and sister. Zombie shelter. They must be in the family zombie shelter. Thank goodness his father is so prepared.
The boy hadn't had a wink of sleep all week, and very little overall since they had found him lying by the side of the road. He had been fighting his body far too long. "You know I can't do that," he finally responds. "What if–"
"–Dez, just stop." Ally's tone carries vehemence, holding back an overflowing dam behind her lower lid. She's sick of it all. Of this nightmare of their condition. Of worrying. Of hearing countless what-ifs regarding the life of someone she loves so much. She can't bear it. She'd rather pretend. Dez quiets himself. Austin pulls over to the side of road, and the other two gaze up at him with questioning eyes.
"Why did we stop?" the brunette and redhead speak up, nearly simultaneously. They glance at each other before looking back up at the blond. Austin wastes not a moment, and hops out of the vehicle, Dez and Ally following suit on the passenger's side.
"Well?" Dez asks again, hands out. Austin bends down, picking up a pair of tweezers. The redhead falls silent, taking it from the other boy to inspect it.
"You stopped for a pair of tweezers?" Ally rebukes him with a hard shove to his shoulder, her tears now breaking through. "Tweezers?!" The blond catches her hand before she could shove him again.
"Ally, calm down, I just…I just thought it could be a clue, that's all," he tries, folding his lips, a guilty look on his face. Ally relaxes, burying her face into his shoulder.
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I just…" She continues sobbing.
"I know, Als, I know." He wraps his arms around her little frame, rubbing her down her back.
"It's hers." The couple look over at their red-haired friend.
"W-what? How do you know?" Ally steps out of Austin's embrace, taking another look at the metal object.
"We found a pair of tweezers at that old factory and kept it. It had this same logo." He points at the little purple zigzag on the base.
"Are you sure? Cause there could be tons of those out there."
"I have to be. It's the only clue we've got." He gazes up at the trees in front of them. "Let's go." He pushes on forward into the trees without a second thought. Austin follows him without hesitance. Ally climbs back into the truck to grab her backpack and take the keys from the ignition, then follows behind them.
"No. Bad. Bad zombie." Trish speaks to the creature as if it was her pet dog. "Hold still for a second, will ya?" She finally manages to get the lasso around it - this one taking a bit longer than usual. She expected to find some tricksters eventually. They are but few, but they're out there. So far, she hasn't seen any brutes about, thankfully. She isn't quite sure how to deal with the larger ones, which could probably run right through the walls of the cottage.
She pins her captive to the ground, quick to tie the rope around it. She locks her hand onto its jaw firmly, before the creature can bite. The softened, rotting flesh and bones of some of the creatures made the task much easier for her. Others, newborns as she called them, still had yet to rot to that level, which meant that tools were necessary. Taking a deep breath, she pulls at the jaw, dislocating it in one swift movement, the creature howling in response. She pulls with more force, ripping the flesh along with it, until the jaw breaks free completely. She picks up her pair of pliers and proceeds with extracting all of the teeth left over on the top row, just to be safe.
She blows out a steady stream of air, wiping away the beads of sweat on her forehead with her arm, careful not to get too much blood – among other things – on it. She'll have to remove the creature's arms later. It'd been a long day - her already having done this to several other of the living corpses, all with varying bone strength. She tightens the rope around the struggling creature and secures it to a nearby tree before retreating towards the cottage. The sound of crunching leaves and snapping twigs puts her on edge. She clenches her fists, nervous, and carefully listens. No dragging, no scurrying - and what sounded like conversation. Not that she could make out the words.
People.
Alarmed and unequipped to handle the situation, she flees into her new home, frantically looking about for a safe place to hide until they leave. If they leave. She recalls that the last time her heart raced like this was right before and right after the Etta situation. Never again does she want to feel like that. The memory of it all has been more than enough.
She decides on a closet at the back of the house, partially hidden behind some furniture. She takes a seat, hugging her knees close to her chest, trying to calm her breathing - trying to distract her mind. It always finds a way to go back to dwelling on her violent dreams - of her own violence. She wouldn't let the bloodlust take control. She wouldn't let her panic turn her into that monster again. She covers her face with her hands, which does little to stop her hyperventilating.
The moment she's been dreading arrives all too soon. Of course they would check the cottage out if they see it. Anyone would, given the circumstances. Supplies, security, a roof over their heads. She prays that they wouldn't stay.
She overhears their conversation, significantly clearer now, but still somewhat inaudible. No doubt they were shocked by what they had seen before entering. At least a dozen growling creepers – armless, jawless, and toothless – chained up around the perimeter. She would be, too, had she been in their place. She hears their footsteps getting louder as they approach the room she's in. Don't look in the closet. Don't look in the closet. Don't look in the closet, she mentally chants. They continue their conversations. Their voices…So familiar. Her eyes expand at the realization. She shakes her head.
No. It can't be. It can't. All three of them – together? What are the odds?
She wraps her arms around her body and holds herself, rocking gently. I must be slipping, she decides. It's been only – what? A month in isolation? It cannot do that much harm to her, can it? She bites down on her lip, in an attempt to keep in any possible whimpers or other sounds.
If it is them – if it is the impossible, and her three closest friends had somehow, against all odds, found each other in this nightmare, then it gives her all the more reason to stay hidden. Sure, perhaps they'd be broken for a while, but they'll move on, right?, she insists to herself. Better for them to be broken than dead. She stares down at her hands, the darkness surrounding her making it difficult to see them, but the sliver of light shining in from the cracks around the door are enough to outline them. Her hands, alone, are reminders of the damage they've done. She will not let herself be around anyone – especially not those she loves. What kind of friend would I be? To put them in that kind of danger?
She jumps a little at the sudden shouting. It wasn't angry in tone, at least not entirely. It sounded frightened, frustrated – maybe even a bit forlorn. The loud, familiar voice continues as the other two familiar voices speak softly, trying to calm the other down. She could make out some words at this point. The voices soon become clear as crystal as she hears the footsteps enter the room. She slides back further into the closet, careful to not make any sounds as she does so. She hides herself among the hanging clothes. Her legs stay exposed.
The closet door opens, the tall redhead looking in quickly, amidst a heated conversation with his two friends, and slams the door closed. Trish quietly releases a held breath. He didn't see me.
It takes a few seconds for the image of what he'd seen in the closet to fully register in Dez's mind. He stops speaking mid-sentence, then turns back around to face the closed closet door, start to tremble. Trish holds in her breath, once again.
"Dez – what is it?" Austin inquires, worry building in his voice. What could he have seen in there? Ally grabs ahold of the blond's arm, bracing for what might be revealed. Dez takes a step towards the door, his quavering hand gripping onto the door knob, turning it slowly. He holds his breath as he steadily opens the door, his heart all but crashing to the ground as he recognizes the shoes. He falls to his knees, in despair, the shaking getting much worse. It's her legs, he's certain.
What about the rest of her? Dare he move the hanging clothes aside? Surely, if this is who he thinks it is, she'd have recognized their voices and revealed herself already, right? Or if she'd been asleep, he'd hear some kind of sound. Light snoring, exhales – something. The lack of any response at all had his chest feeling tight, his heart still soaring to the ground. This isn't how he wanted to find her. Austin and Ally peer in over his shoulder – and immediately wished they hadn't.
"No…" The brunette buries her face into the blond's chest, with him doing the same into her hair, holding her tightly. Dez, barely controlling his shaking, fresh tears spilling over his cheeks, and his breathing erratic, he bites down on his lower lip and braces himself as he moves the coats aside.
He's met with a sudden kick to the chest, sending him falling backwards onto his rear. The girl in the closet pushes past him, and past the embracing couple who, alarmed by the sudden action, pull apart promptly. The three in the room glance at each other for no more than a second then chase after the girl – their friend. Their friend that they had, just moments before, thought they'd lost forever. They aren't sure whether to feel relieved, or confused.
Dez and his long, limber legs manage to catch up, and he takes a dive on the girl, sending them both flying into some furniture. A couch, thankfully. He pins her down underneath him as he tries to catch his breath. Trish struggles to break free. She hadn't ever known him to use this much force.
"Let me go!" she demands with ferocity. Austin and Ally enter the room, hands over their mouths and noses, relief in their eyes. The redhead examines her, brows puckered.
"Trish," he begins, slowly. "You're alive."
"Let me go," she repeats. She continues with her attempts to flee, squirming under him. His grip on her wrists is strong, and his legs remained locked on top of hers.
"Why are you running away? Are you still mad at me?" He feels his body weakening. He can only put up such strength for so long. She's always been stronger than he, and had much more endurance.
"Let me go!" she orders again. "Let me go, let me go, let me go!" she chants until she's in tears, herself. "Please!" He winces as he watches her break down underneath him. He can feel her body relaxing all tension, no longer fighting to break away. "Please," she begs.
"Trish." He releases her wrists, moving his hands to grip her shoulders and sit her upright as he moves off of her. He slides his hands down her back and pulls her into his arms.
"You need to go. Or I need to go. It's not safe," she urges him, her forehead now resting against his chest. "You all need to go. You need to. You have to. You can't stay." Austin and Ally glance at each other in worry – both wanting to embrace the girl, themselves, but completely taken aback by her words. Not safe?
"What the heck are you even saying? Why?" Dez pulls her away from himself only to face her, his eyes and cheeks now reddened from the previous tear-shedding. She can't bring herself to look.
"It's not safe."
"What? What's not safe?"
"Me. I'm not safe." She pushes away from him. He remains befuddled.
"Don't you think you'd be safer with all of us?" He scoots closer towards her.
"You don't get it!" Her sudden rise in volume sends him crawling right back. "I'm not safe. You're not safe with me. You all need to leave!" she cries, moving off of the couch.
"What?" Austin speaks up. "Trish, is this about that Etta lady?" Dez had informed them what went down, and from what they've heard, it sounded as if Trish left because she was angry at him for not believing her. This, on the other hand, is something else entirely.
"You did what you had to do," Ally attempts to reassure the girl as she walks towards her, offering her outstretched hand. Trish backs away.
"Please, Ally, I don't want to hurt you. Please. Please go." Her tone softens, now pleading. "You can't fix this. You can't fix me. I don't want to hurt you. I don't want to hurt any of you. I can't trust myself not to." She continues backing away. Dez stays alert to this.
"I trust you." Dez picks himself off of the couch and approaches her. "I'll never not trust you." As much as Ally wishes to correct him on the double-negative, she stays quiet upon realizing how misplaced that would be in the situation. Old habits die hard, but perhaps that's a good thing. Austin moves to stand beside her.
"We all trust you, Trish. What you did…It was self-defense," Austin tries to reason with her, his mind and body still trying to sort out everything that had just happened, everything he had just heard.
"No, no, no, no, no…" she continues backing up. "You don't get it. You don't get it. You don't get it." She cannot bring herself to explain. Explaining would take time. The more time she spends around them, the more nervous she gets. The more likely she could have another meltdown. The higher the chance of her rage and bloodlust consuming her. Inhibiting her control. And here they are – three of the people she cares about most. Here they are, between her and her potential warpath. I can't do this to them. I won't.
She makes a swift turn, taking a stride towards the front door as a pair of arms wrap around her middle and pull her back. The same arms that had wrapped around her earlier. She's already spent in her struggle. She doesn't fight this time. Instead, she crumbles – falling down to her knees in hopeless anguish, her face wrapped up in her hands as heavy sobbing ensues.
Dez's arms remain around her; he kneels down and holds himself against her. He runs his fingers down through her hair, attempting comfort. He'd found her. Alive, yet broken. Breathing, but lost. Safe, and in pain. He blames himself. He nestles his face into her hair, holding her tighter, and tighter still.
The other couple look at each other again, the sight of it all so bizarre – it's Dez and Trish, after all – but heart-breaking. They figure they must have missed out on a lot more than what Dez had told them. They probably wouldn't have believed him if they hadn't seen this for themselves. The two lean on each other, their emotions flowing back and forth between anxiety and relief. But their friend is safe. That's all that matters.
The chorus of snarls outside continue as the four friends remain still, quiet – outside of Trish's soft weeping. Dez stays on the floor with her, his arms securely fastened around her. It eats him up; the thought of her alone. The thought of her taking herself apart. She'd been alone for too long, especially when considering what happened prior. She had no one around to reassure her. To tell her what she'd done was not beyond what any other person would have done in her place.
To let her know she's still human.
The undead creatures around them are monsters. Those mercenaries that had kidnapped them, also monsters. Maybe even Etta and the people she worked with, if they'd been kidnapping and testing people under the guise of "the greater good"? Sure, monsters.
Trish? She's no monster.