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!
"Divorce in a young-adult novel means what being orphaned meant in a fairy tale: vulnerability, danger, unwanted independence." - Caitlin Flanagan
Chapter Seven
(Anna)
"We're operating a multi-grade school currently," an older gray-haired woman explained. I'd already forgotten her name, but it was something like Mary or Wanda, or Wart. Something. "You said that you were formally a teacher?"
"Elementary teacher," I responded softly, feeling more than a little awkward sitting in what looked like a receptionist's office. "Two years teaching third and then four teaching kindergarten."
"Uh huh." She was busy pecking away at a little hand held computer, and something told me whatever she was typing about me wasn't favorable. "Well, the good news is that we're looking for another teacher or two. We've got about sixty kids, ranging from infants up. Bad news is that we already have four teachers for the little kids, but haven't been able to find any for the bigger ones. You got any other skills?" she asked, lifting an over-plucked brow in my direction.
I stared at her blankly, hands clasped in my lap. Like the other survivors, I was dressed smartly in jeans, boots, a long-sleeved shirt, and a light jacket. Sure, I wore a hip holster and carried a semi-automatic handgun, but that didn't mean that I was like the Army guys I'd seen stalking around the Outpost.
"Not particularly." Did playing softball in high school count as a skill? I'd been in a sorority in college, so I knew how to throw a good kegger and I had killer legs. Or I used to. I glanced down at my feet and wondered when my legs had last seen a razor. "I was a teacher and a mom."
"I see." But she didn't see. She didn't see that I was all that was left of my little family. There was no Henry. There was no Lindsey. There would never again be Saturday morning pancakes and walks to the neighborhood park to play. There would never again be a trip to Disney World or even snuggling on the couch together on Sunday evenings while watching a movie. "Well, do you feel comfortable in any one subject to teach the older students?"
I thought about it for a minute before I shrugged. "I minored in History in college, but that was just because -"
"Perfect!" She pushed away from the dingy metal desk and clasped her hands together. "We have a lot of textbooks and a lot of school supplies, but so far the kids have only been reading through the texts. I'm sure they'd love real instruction. Here's your official ID - be sure to keep it on you at all times. It keeps track of all of your personal information as well as your food rations, your shower time, and your other personal rations such as clothing and the like."
I blinked at her as I stood, arms hanging loosely at my sides. She assisted me by draping the thin chain and the ID around my neck and smiled - a real, full on smile. "Thanks." I think. I hadn't thought about teaching in so long that I found it impossible to even recall any of the dozens of courses I'd taken in college. "I - uh."
"Smith and Willie will be showing everyone their living quarters," she explained as she gathered up five more IDs. "These are for the kids, but they're only temporary. We have a lot of families around here that would be willing to take them in, you know. In fact, there are about a dozen women whose sole purpose is to act as house wives. Don't ask me how they got off so easy, but there you have it. I suppose it's mostly because they're looking after two or more little ones. Takes a lot of work, that."
"Right." I didn't know what to say. There wasn't much to say. The whole situation was too surreal.
When Fred had arrived, solo, an hour before dawn, Coop had remained calm while I'd been hyperventilating. Sure, I'd never been close to either Ranger or Natalie, but they were one of us - they were part of the family. When I'd thought the worst, I'd immediately imagined what would happen to our ragtag group. Although nobody wanted to admit it, Ranger, Coop, and Nat were the heavy hitters. They were the ones that carried the big guns.
We all had our own roles. Willie kept order and was the strategist. He had a back-up plan for his back-up plans. Eve kept everyone's feathers smoothed out and made sure we ate, and she kept our supplies in order. Sometimes I wondered what Cortez did, but everyone claimed that he was ace at electronics and set up electronic perimeters wherever we went. And Coop - well, Coop had served in the Marines and was a no nonsense kind of guy that shot first and asked questions later. As far as I knew, his primary concern was irritating Natalie on a daily basis. Fred was new, and all I knew about him was that he had a tendency to scratch his crotch at the most inopportune moments. Then there was Ranger, of course. He never said much but he was strong, resourceful, and scary as hell. Nobody knew exactly what he did before the Infection, but I had a feeling it hadn't been legal.
And then there was Natalie.
I hadn't even known Natalie's last name until Dr. Quenton had slipped and used it. In fact, I was pretty sure I wasn't the only one that had been surprised. Not that any of us preferred to use our full names; something told me that most of them didn't even use their real names. What I did know about Natalie was short and to the point. Her family had owned and operated a sight-seeing business for tourists in Florida. Fishing boats, scuba diving, helicopter tours - you name it. I knew for a fact that she could fly a helicopter, fought like a madwoman, and knew enough about cars for the others to trust her to dive elbow-deep under the hood of our few and precious vehicles.
The moment I'd heard about Whiskey Outpost, I'd been relieved. We'd been wandering around for a year, moving from place to place so often that it was pointless to unpack anything but extra ammo. The mere idea of staying in a place long enough to air out my bag was appealing.
While Whiskey Outpost seemed a little overwhelming, it was a welcome change. We weren't just a small ragtag group of survivors, a small family of people struggling to survive - we were now part of a community.
The woman shuffled me out of the little building and I found myself nearly stumbling into Eve. She grinned broadly at me as she looped her arm through mine, startling me. "Come on, let's see where we'll be staying."
Instead of arguing, I sighed and trudged along beside her, feeling less and less relieved with every step I took. Whiskey Outpost was huge and I knew no one - and from the curious looks we received along our trip, I wasn't sure I'd be making new friends anytime soon.