When the Man Comes Around: Survive? Yeah, we survived the apparent end of the world. But, there's a lot more to surviving than just staying alive. When the world tries to take a bite out of you, sometimes you have to fight back. And you have to fight back with everything you have.
Disclaimer: I do not claim to have any ownership to any of the characters that may be recognized throughout this story. Several characters from the Resident Evil Universe are portrayed in this story, but they are in no way the main characters. However, the storyline does borrow from concepts presented in the Capcom creations, so please do not sue me! In addition, Kurt Morgan is a creation of a good friend of mine; I'm merely borrowing him.
Rating: This story is rated M+ for Mature Audiences only. Adult content including coarse language and a great deal of violence and gore. Please do not read if you are uncomfortable with zombie-related things!
Author's Note: Now we'll be introduced to our second POV with the quiet Anna. Her personality and outlook on life, or what's left of it, is completely different from Natalie's, so this ought to be interesting!
"Life is truly known only to those who suffer, lose, endure adversity and stumble from defeat to defeat." - Anaïs Nin
Chapter Two
(Anna)
"I'm hungry."
"I'm sleepy!"
"Yeah, well I'm gassy!"
A squeal echoed in the room as John leaned over and farted loudly, causing the other four kids to giggle incessantly. My hand drifted upwards and I massaged my throbbing temples idly as I eyed the gaggle of children. Zoey was the youngest at four and Vincent was the oldest at twelve. Brian, eight, Quincy and John, ten. Because of my experience with kids, I'd been placed in charge of their care unofficially.
Officially, I was the least combat-experienced person in the group and therefore referred to jokingly as the Mother Hen. I took care of the kids; made sure they kept close during dangerous situations, and did my best to diffuse anything that turned volatile. The only important thing I did was the kids' laundry - and boy, wasn't it just fun.
"I thought you guys wanted to watch a movie." The room quieted down immediately as I stood, hands braced on my hips in front of the large television. "Willie said you're allowed one movie, but the volume has to be kept at a reasonable level. Brian picked last time. John, it's your turn."
He released a barely audible squeal as he hurried forward on his hands and knees, springing to his feet when he was in front of me. I handed him the case of dvds warily, eyes narrowed as he flipped through the selection. We tried to pick up new movies now and then, as they seemed to be one of the primary sources of entertainment for the kids. All of us were relieved every time we managed to find a safe house that still had electricity. There was nothing quite like trying to entertain a bunch of kids when there was no power and no board games - nothing really to do at all.
"I guess this one," he muttered, tapping the DVD before backing up. He fell into the pile of children on the floor and seemed to squeeze between them as I eyed the DVD before slipping it into the player. As soon as the previews started, I turned the volume down to a reasonable level and took the batteries out of the remote before placing it on the mantle over the fireplace. "Aw! That ain't fair, Anna!"
"Life isn't fair, John." We were constantly reminded of it every single day, and yet the kids were the ones that seemed to always think that things should always go their way. If only. "I'm going to be in the kitchen with Eve. I will bring your dinner in to you so that you can eat and watch the movie. Understood?" Somehow, the teacher voice seemed to always work. Their heads bobbed in understanding and I released a huff of air as I spun on my heel and ambled toward the kitchen, head pounding.
Cortez, as was customary, was perched on a stool at the counter, a gadget or two spread out in front of him. He offered me a cheeky grin as I climbed onto a bar stool next to him, resting my back against the counter. "Tired, Teach?"
"Sure looks it," Eve offered. She was the oldest woman left in our little troupe, though it would be hard to tell just by looking at her. There was something oddly beautiful in the way her black hair was laced liberally with gray. Though there were several lines on her face, she was in excellent physical shape and could keep up with the men even better than I could. Which made a small part of me hate her. "Got coffee."
My nose twitched as she shoved a mug into my hands and my body quivered in anticipation. Coffee was a commodity we didn't often get, mainly because it was the one staple that we tried to ration. It was often saved for the more meeker of situations wherein those on guard duty needed to be fully aware and ready to move - hence the caffeine-laced concoction.
"Thanks." Sure, it wasn't a caramel macchiato with a shot of chocolate in it, but it was coffee. Honest to goodness coffee. "Something smells good."
"Found some canned chicken in the cupboards," Eve explained airily as she lifted the lid off of a kettle and gave the appealing concoction a gentle stir. While she wasn't officially our cook, she took the occupation to heart. She was in charge of keeping track of our supplies, a task she did religiously, and ensuring that we always had at least something on hand to keep our bodies working. Sure, sometimes the food we ate looked and tasted like dog turds, but it kept our energy up. "There was no broth, so I had to make do with water, but the veggies sure smell good."
"Si," Cortez murmured as he leaned toward me, smelling heavily of grease and chewing tobacco. There was something off about the Mexican-American that always left me sitting on edge, but he'd never been anything but courteous toward me. "You just missed Nat. She, Ranger, and Fred are heading to the Merchant."
"I thought we were going to meet up with the other group soon?" I muttered, sipping the coffee slowly. I wanted to savor it, but part of me wanted to chug back the cup and at least three more - never knew if I'd get a chance to drink another cup. "Don't tell me." I winced at his pained expression.
"The radio's been silent the past two days." He seemed sad as he pushed away his current project and fisted his hands, eyes focused on the counter angrily. "We're still going to the location, but I'm not sure what we will find when we get there."
"Jesus Christ." Eve sucked in a sharp breath as I glanced over her, following her gaze and taking notice of the small and faerie-like figure of none other than Zoey. I grimaced as I shoved my coffee into Cortez's hand, remembering too late that she'd been separated from her father months before - and he was supposed to be with the other group. "I'll get the kids fed," Eve promised over her shoulder as I scooped up Zoey and headed to one of the bedrooms.
I ignored the door on the left, knowing that Jo would be inside, probably reading. She wasn't much of a talker unless it was her sister, Coop or, surprisingly, Ranger. I slipped into the smaller room on the right, the one that was decorated for a young boy. For a moment, I stared at the border on the wall, eyes watering at the sight of the baseball-themed blue and white wallpaper. When I managed to inhale, I carried Zoey over to the bed, avoiding bags of gear, and sat down, her on my lap.
"Daddy's dead." Her voice was dull, void of emotion. Zoey reminded me a lot of Jo - and that scared me. The other kids were still, at the core, kids. They laughed, they cried, they whined about wanting to go outside and play and did their damndest to drive me crazy. But not Zoey. She played in the corner by herself, she was always polite and quiet and slept so light that it only took someone farting in their sleep to wake her up. "He's dead, ain't he?"
As I rocked back and forth, I wanted to cry. It wasn't fair. None of it was fair. Part of me loathed the way that Zoey curled around me, the way that she smelled so innocent and pure. She brought up memories that were too hard to deal with, but impossible to push away.
For a moment, I thought back to a time when things had been normal, when I'd been happy teaching. A year had passed and yet some mornings I still woke up thinking I was going to be late - that I needed to hurry if I wanted to get breakfast on the table for Henry and Lindsey. Sometimes I still remembered what it felt like to fall asleep with my head on my husband's shoulder, what it felt like to have him link his fingers through mine.
But, the good memories were clouded by the bad - they always were.
Sometimes I'd think of Gwen, my next door neighbor of five years and best friend of three. She'd been so funny and smart and simply kind. Her daughter, Stacy, had been around Lindsey's age and they'd been practically inseparable. Sometimes, I'd relive the day from hell over and over again in my dreams - every single aspect of it.
I still recalled how confused I'd been when I'd walked next door, the newspaper in one hand and a cup of coffee in the other. Lindsey had stayed over the night before and I wanted to make sure things were okay since it was going on ten in the morning and she still hadn't wandered back home. Henry had said that he would go over next door and check - and I hadn't realized until hours later that his car was still in the garage. But, I hadn't expected the front door to be open a crack.
I immediately thought about the flu epidemic. A strange and volatile bug was storming across the world and taking its occupants by storm. I wondered if they were sick, if I needed to call a doctor. My stomach clenched tightly as I hovered in the foyer, stunned by the silence. After a moment, I made my way through the first floor, checking in the kitchen, the guest bathroom, the utility room, and even the sitting room. But, no one was there.
A muffled sound echoed from the second floor and I distractedly dropped my newspaper on the table near the stairs before running up the stairs, three at a time. The second floor landing was quiet, but I followed the muffled sound to the master bedroom.
"Gwen? Jacob?" Last I heard, Gwen's husband Jacob had been on a business trip, but maybe he'd returned earlier than anticipated. I pushed open the door slowly, breath leaving my body at the trail of blood on the ruined white carpet. Vomit rose in my throat, but I swallowed it down as I jerkily slammed the door the rest of the way open, eyes wide and body shaking. "Jacob?"
I'd known the man for years, and yet he looked like an absolute stranger kneeling on the large stained and bloodied bed with the prone form of his wife slung across his lap. He glanced up and I bit back a scream at the sight of his face - it was scratched and bloodied.
"Get out of here, Anna! Get out!"
"Oh my God." I stumbled forward, sliding on the blood and nearly toppling over. I slammed against the bureau and stared at Gwen's bloodied form, wondering if her bathrobe had always been a sickly crimson color. "Jacob? Jacob, what happened?"
"I don't know!" he yelled, sobbing as he rocked back and forth. "Gwen wasn't feeling well last night. This morning, I got up early and was downstairs in the kitchen when I heard screaming. Oh God. Oh God, Anna." He turned his head sharply and looked at the open door, pale face bright under the overhead lights. "Henry barreled up the stairs and swung Gwen out of the way and she hit her head, hit it good. It stopped her but - but it didn't stop it."
Confused and terrified, I stepped forward, hands shaking. I wasn't sure whether to comfort him or call the police on him. But - then it occurred to me that there was far too much blood for what he spoke of. "Jacob - where's Lindsey? Where's Stacy and Henry and Lindsey?"
"I'm sorry." He sobbed as he lifted his hand, drawing my gaze to the shining silver pistol in his hand. He pulled back the hammer as his eyes met mine and I realized that one was bloody - had he blown a pupil? "I tried to stop them - I did. But - it's my daughter." His lips trembled and a bit of blood slipped out of his lips, trailing down his chin. "I can't do it. I won't do it."
A gasp of horror left my lips as the shot echoed in the room, causing my ears to ring. Bile rose in my throat and the coffee slid weakly from my grasp as I leaned over and emptied my stomach of its contents, eyes squeezing out tears. I don't know how much time passed before I could right myself, but I was eventually able to stand without feeling completely woozy.
The house was silent, settled. I stared at the dead forms of my friends for what felt like hours before I realized that I was hearing something. I don't even remember grabbing the gun and running over the slicked floors, but I did. Somehow I found myself standing outside of the door of Stacy's room, staring at the closed door in confusion. My hand was on the knob a second later and I pushed the door open, simply staring.
Henry lay on the floor, curled around Lindsey. If it wasn't for the blood and the fact that there was a gaping hole in his chest and guts spilling out of his abdomen, it might have seemed sweet. Lindsey's face was bloodied and there was a huge hunk of flesh missing from her arm - but it was her.
I stumbled into the room, the gun dropping from my limp hands. I didn't notice the blood and the guts as I fell to my knees and threw myself over them, sobbing in confusion as I realized, without a doubt, that they were gone. They were gone and they were never coming back. I don't know how much time passed as I sat there on my knees, draped around my husband and my daughter, grieving, before I heard the noise again.
When I glanced up, I blinked at the closet in confusion. My blue eyes followed the trail of blood from the closet to my family and something in the back of my mind told me that it was a trail of some sort. A cold clarity raced through me as I crawled toward the door, palming the pistol before I pulled myself to my feet. Like an automaton, I stalked toward the closet door. I didn't even notice the blood on my hand as I turned the knob and pulled it open.
I jerked as I squeezed the trigger twice, body beaded with sweat. Silently, I closed the door, leaving Stacy dead in her large closet.
"Miss Anna?"
I jerked slightly, nearly toppling off the side of the bed as Zoey stared up at me. I'd gotten so lost in my thoughts that - I swallowed thickly and offered her what I hoped passed for a weak smile. "I'm not sure if your Daddy is dead," I answered truthfully, wondering why the words tasted like ash on my tongue. "No matter what we find out or what happens, we'll stick together. We're survivors, right?"
She blinked, her thickly-lashed eyes glazing over with tears. Mutely, she crawled out of my lap and curled up on the bed, thumb inserted firmly in her mouth. It struck a nerve inside of me that made me choke back a sob. Weakly, I lay down next to her, curling against her back and hugging her close to me.
After a few minutes, I realized she was humming something under her breath.
It sounded a lot like 'I Shot the Sheriff'.