Chapter Three: No Place Like Home

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"Rita, I'm only gonna tell you one more time: take the fucking gun NOW."

"You don't have to be an asshole about it…"

"I ain't playin' with you, take the gun!" Jeff barked, and I jumped in response. In the two years that I had lived with the man, never had I seen him raise his voice to this height or act in such an alpha-dog manner. I guess the fear in everyone's heart as of late was bringing out people's true colors, Jeff's included. He stood differently, even walked and talked differently, held a constant stony look in his eye that was a far cry from the Jeffery Dunn I thought I knew. I didn't know how to talk to this new Jeff, and Hank noticed. To Hank's credit, he would pull the other man aside and speak briefly with him, and Jeff would return in a calmer state.

You see, I had never held a gun in my life.

Growing up with a hippie dad and a socialite for a mother, guns were never supposed to have a role in my life in any way, shape, or form. So you could imagine my shaky introduction to having one of the world's most controversial issues handed to me. I was so keen on not holding the semi-automatic, Hank had to force my fingers to curl around the handle. I bit my lip, trying my best not to toss it aside. I can do this… I have to do this.

"Now see, that wasn't so hard, Rita-girl" Hank spoke softly as he rubbed my back, like he was comforting a child, and I suddenly felt stupid. "First, you're gonna learn the components of the gun. That's most important, okay?"

Hank himself was rather quiet these days they were training me. He'd make his input when he felt he needed to, and was a grim reminder to us and about the ever rising numbers of the sick. He kept himself and us up to date about everything he absorbed from the media, and as we soon learned, his personal encounters.

One day he came over in his work clothes, ink-shade blood splattered on the lower half of his shirt and pants, a ghastly look painted on his face. He managed a clothing outfitters store outside of Antreville, a town about a 20 minute drive away. He didn't have to say much for Jeff and I to put possible scenarios together as to what happened, but I later overheard him talking to Jeffery with his head lowered in his hands— he had chopped a little boy to avoid being bitten. The boy, now one of those things, had been gnawing on the corpse of a cat on the garbage dump side of the store. The boy came at Hank so quick, the man had no choice but to bash the kid's head in with a board that had multiple bent nails protruding from the end of the wood. He told the few workers that had showed up to go home and be with their families, for these were trying times, and we needed to hold onto the ones we loved most. He hadn't gone back to work since. In Jeff's case, he was fired when he refused to show up for the mechanic he worked for. Turns out that same boss of his, including some of his employees, were torn to shreds days later at his own shop. Jeff became even more silent and somber, realizing that being fired had possibly saved his life.

I felt like I was losing him.

Whenever I'd reach out to give him a reassuring touch, he'd flinch or brush it off. I'd wake up to the whines of the sirens at night, and when I'd tip toe down the hallway of our apartment, I'd see Jeff sitting at the coffee table staring numbly at the door, gun in hand.

My sister kept telling me he'd come around again. June and I spoke every night since my ordeal at the Medical Center, for I felt like she was the only one I could fully express my fears to. I told her I was afraid of these changes, afraid of being thrust into a future where I'd have to learn how to use a gun… a gun against people. Granted, they didn't behave like people anymore, according to Jeff, Hank, and the news. I hadn't gone outside in weeks. I was grateful not to have encountered one yet… Walkers, Jeff said the media had coined the term. Those who were infected passed on to the next life, only to come back again as a reanimated corpse. The ones that walked after death... Walkers. I once woke up from a nightmare, a replayed memory of that sick man I saw on the last day I attended work. I had the sinking feeling he had been one of them, one of these feared creatures.

I had possibly sentenced people to their death by bringing attention to him. I would try my hardest not to think about that, or why Darcy's phone was disconnected. Talking to my sister helped sometimes…

Only sometimes.

June would talk a bit timidly of Atlanta, assuring that it wasn't as bleak as other areas in Georgia. There were a lot of military tanks rolling in as of late, safe guarding from within the city; she and mom were nervous about being nestled on the outskirts. Apparently, it was safer inside the city. She and our step father were heavily considering moving further into the city, and I told her Jeff and I (hopefully Hank as well) might follow suit if things got any worse.

My father, on the other hand, had nothing but complaints. Southerners and people from the Midwest were crowding into the western states, California especially. There wasn't much of a fuss over the outbreak there, but he sounded nervous. With these migrated people came the possibility of the sickness travelling with them. He expressed his need to have me back over there, and I considered it… but something was holding me back. Maybe because I had everyone over here in the South to think about, people who I cared for that were here and I knew wouldn't be welcome into my conservative father's home. I told him if worse came to worst, I'd make my way to Sacramento. He sighed and replied the very thing we were all hoping: "I pray it doesn't get to that point."

Xxx

Gun training was going from a fight on my part, to a daily chore. I never actually shot the gun, but I learned everything that made the weapon tick, how to take it apart and put it back together, how to reload… took quite a while, but after some time, it came a bit more naturally to me. Aim, on the other hand, was a bit more difficult. "Don't shoot at the target, shoot through it" Jeff instructed, pointing to red marked dot on a cutesy poster he picked up from the market. The red mark had to be between the puppy's eyes, didn't it?

I cocked an eyebrow. "What does that even mean?"

Hank chuckled and as usual, came up behind me to position me better. "It's not mandatory to close one eye, by the way. If it helps ya, then by God, go on ahead 'n do it. But I prefer to shoot with both eyes open."

Day after day, I'd learn something new. I learned how to work with guns besides Jeff's semi-automatic, including various types of handguns and shotguns. Hank wanted to teach me how to use a rifle, but I refused—I honestly thought I knew too much about the damn weapon as it was, and I didn't feel the need to learn any further. I practiced constantly with what I had been taught, though, and pretty soon neither Jeff nor Hank had to supervise me around any of the weapons. It'd been just over 2 weeks since that last day of work, and with nothing more to do than to train with the guns, stockpile on supplies, and tend to the apartment, it wasn't a wonder why I learned things rather quickly. Jeff refused to let me leave anywhere by myself, and he and Hank were left with the task of going out and bringing back what was needed, which wasn't much besides water, food, sometimes clothes or other nick-knacks. I didn't dare ask about what they'd see out there.

I was honestly getting comfortable. As each day passed with no disturbance, I felt the need to head towards Atlanta slipping further away, and I didn't mind one bit. It sounds pretty messed up, but with all our essentials at hand, I was no longer perturbed by the empty street I'd see every time I looked outside, nor was I feeling cooped up. We had everything we needed here, and were in very reasonable distance to get whatever else we might need at any other given time. It seemed everyone within our apartment complex was either locked in their space, or had fled… all was quiet, just the way I liked it. Hank didn't even go home anymore: he grabbed a trash bag, filled it with clothes, and brought all his supplies over. He was crashing on our couch every night, which added to the comfort level. As it had been said in the years long before us, safety and a sense of light-heartedness came in numbers. Despite everything that was going on, Hank and I managed to make each other laugh… We'd pass the time telling one another of childhood stories, in which his and Jeff's were 10 times more interesting than mine. Catching frogs and slurping up creepy crawlies on dares, sneaking off with Mr. Prior's gun to shoot at the chickens and getting his ass beaten for it later, losing his virginity in the back of his older brother's car… Growing up on very rural farmland surrounded by thick, humid woods, both boys learned the art of being a Class A gunman at the ripe age of 14, and had acquired skills any hunter would garnish with pride. These stories of happier times seemed to keep us all in a peaceful frame of mind, even rubbing off on the most somber of our trio. Jeff was doing just as my sister said he would, and was coming around bit by bit... I could see the glimmer of his old self in his eyes, and I couldn't have been happier. Hank and Jeff kept tabs on their families, who assured all was well as long as they kept their houses unlit and locked up when darkness fell.

As grim as things looked elsewhere, this little apartment in Abbeville had no complaints besides Jeff's snoring.

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I chewed nervously on my fingernail as I stared at the door, the two plates sitting across the table from me stacked with lukewarm food and no occupants in the chairs.

Whenever Hank and Jeff stepped out, it was for a few hours at the most. They never stayed out longer past 3 hours. I always timed them, and they never went past their said marker. Today, though, I had heard no rustling of keys from Jeff, no humorous, secret soft knock from Hank. Neither had returned from their venture to Jeff's family farm, which in itself wasn't too far. I had asked to go, but Jeff insisted I stay and tend to the apartment. They were only running to go check in on the Dunn house since the phone lines went down and he had no other way of communicating with them. He implied he might bring his parents and older sister home, if things weren't right over there... It'd be crowded, but how could I say no? Hank and I had more to be nervous about, since his family land was an extra 30 minutes further past Jeff's, and my family was miles away. We spoke nothing of it though, trying our best not to be reminded of the constant wondering of their well-being.

It was nearing 5 hours, though. They should've been home by now.

I stood with a frustrated sigh, gathering their plates and placing both in the oven to keep them warm. It'll be fine, Rita. Deep breathes.

Another reason I hated when they were gone: I talked to myself.

I spent time practicing a bit more with dismantling the semi-automatic, then putting it back together, a process I quickly grew tired of. It wasn't until I heard the thump, thump, thump of heavy footsteps echoing in the hallway outside my door that I perked up. I set the gun down on the table, waited a moment, but nothing; just the continued thump, thump… I stood up slowly, brows furrowed, and walked over to the door. Hesitating briefly, I looked through the peep hole, and saw nothing, and my shoulders slumped in disappointment. Then there it was again: thump, thump, thump… This time, it sounded further down hallway, and I heard a door creak open. What the fuck?

I could've sworn Jeff, Hank, and I were the only souls left on this floor, possibly in this whole apartment complex. I hadn't heard the shuffling of another person in quite some time. Then I thought about the epidemic as of late, how I still hadn't seen one of these terrifying things myself. But how likely was it that a 'Walker' was here? None. This was the third floor of the complex. Maybe it was a person from the streets taking shelter here?

Deciding it would certainly be the latter thought, I made up my mind and cracked open the door—only to see the backside of Mrs. Jenkins turning the corner down the east corridor. I'd automatically recognized the washed-out nightgown attire of the very sweet elderly woman Jeff used to play plumber for, her fuzzy blue house shoes thump, thump, thumping further away. I suddenly longed for companionship, needing to fill the gap that was Jeff and Hank's absence. I thought maybe to invite her in for dinner, ask her how she'd been faring in the latest nation-wide freak out. What she doing out in the hallway by herself, anyway? Maybe she had her family here with her.

I stepped out, leaving the door slightly ajar behind me. "Mrs. Jenkins!" I called out softly, hoping she was close enough to hear me. "Mrs. Jenkins?" I tried again, padding down the corridor after her. I stopped at the end of the hall where she had turned, now having her in plain sight. "Hey Mrs. Jenkins, I-" I began hesitantly, only to shut my mouth as quick as I had opened it.

I hadn't seen it from her left side as she trudged around the corner to the east hall, but now that I took in the full appearance of her prone exterior... Her skin was sallow and grey, veins bulging and visible with the sinister blue hue of death. I could see the rivulets of dark blood originating from an open wound on her right arm. The blood had long since stopped circulating, but it dripped down from her arm to her fingers, hitting the floor and creating a dark, inky trail in its wake as she walked on… a trail of blood I had failed to notice as I foolishly stepped out of the safety of my apartment.

I realized all too late the grave mistake I had made.

Walker. Walker. Walker.

Mrs. Jenkins turned slowly to face me, a moan escaping her withered, gnarled mouth. Her face was as unsightly (if not more) than her backside, and my panic kicked in to overdrive. Don't let her get into the apartment was all I could think of.

I took off down the opposite direction of the east corridor, hearing the immediate scuffing of her house shoes following suit, attempting to gain on me. Thump, thump, thump… she rasped incoherent, animalistic noises, and it pushed me to run faster. C'mon, Rita! You're a fatass, but you can and you will outrun and elderly corpse! Get to it!

Sometimes, self-degradation helped.

I swerved to the right of the corridor, heading back west, trying as fast as I could to map out the third floor in my head. Why hadn't I taken the time to get to actually know my neighbors, goddammit? I heard the thing that used to be Mrs. Jenkins stumbling awfully close behind me, and I forced myself to move faster, faster, to think of something, something…! Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted the door to another apartment left ajar, no doubt carelessly vacated, and quickly dove inside. I attempted to slam it shut behind me, but Mrs. Jenkins threw herself against the door fast, practically breaking it off its hinges. I held steady, fighting against her weight on the door with mine, pushing back as hard as I could all the while avoiding her discolored hand that swiped to grab a hold of me. "N-no!" I wailed helplessly, feeling my resolve weaken as she continued to relentlessly snarl and thrash against the wood. I turned my back to the door, leaning on it from that angle in the hopes it would somehow help: it didn't. My feet slid on the carpet, and for a moment, I felt something in my chest fall away. I shut my eyes, trying my best to hold the tears back.

I'm going to die.

I took in deep breaths, preparing to just let the door go and have her tear me apart, for this was a fate I brought on myself because I was so stupid. I opened my eyes to take in the scene in front of me… and my heart skipped a beat. This apartment was identical to mine in that it had a kitchen right next to the doorway, with a sort of bar to separate the living room from the kitchen. Among the open drawers and the tossed about items, I saw a pair of scissors gleaming at me from the kitchen floor, taunting me almost, seeing as it was out of my reach. There has to be a way…

And then I had a memory. A flash of memory so simple, a quaint reminder of the times before this monster version of Mrs. Jenkins was wheezing and thrashing against the door behind me. I leaned against the door of my high school History class, talking bashfully to the all-around California boy Andy Witlock who had the misfortune of being paired with me for a project… only to have my history teacher open the door and have me tumble on through, clean off my feet.

Huh. Strange, the things a person could think of before they could die.

This could seriously backfire on me, but I wasn't looking at any other option. I summoned every ounce of strength I could muster, and pushed back with a defiant cry, seeming to infuriate Mrs. Jenkins further. One… breath… Two… breath…

I jumped away from the door, and Mrs. Jenkins crashed to the floor as it swung open. I heard the impact as her rotted face met the ground, but I knew I didn't have much time before she got back up. I dashed into the kitchen, snatched up the scissors, and shut off the small voice in my head that told me I had lost my fucking mind. I clamored back to the doorway, and just as old Mrs. Jenkins rose to her knees, I plunged the blades of the scissors straight down into her head. A moan caught right in her throat as the sickening sound of object meeting flesh echoed on the quiet floor of the complex, and she slumped to the floor.

I stared down at Mrs. Jenkins' body, my chest heaving at a painful pace. One… breath… Two… breath… Three… breath… Four…

I don't know how long I stood there out in the open. I was tuned out from everything else, frozen to the spot, my eyes never leaving Mrs. Jenkins. Her blood was spattered on my clothes… on the floor… the wall… even on her fuzzy blue shoes.

I could feel nothing, nothing but the suffocating space and the dread in my stomach at having killed someone. An old woman who had once doted on my best friend, for that matter. A murderer… did this make me a murderer?

I suddenly heard my name. My name was being called, over and over, and I could not react. I wanted to go… go to it. But another part of me told me that maybe I was imagining it.

And then I heard the thump, thump, thump... This time, it wasn't menacing. It was beautiful, so damn beautiful, because it was fast and I could hear ragged breathing, and my name again...

"Jeff, I found 'er!" Hank was suddenly in the doorway, looking down at poor Mrs. Jenkins, then back to me. "Aw, fuck, Rita…" he whimpered, running his hands through his long hair. He side-stepped her body, approaching me with slowly. "Rita…" he practically cooed, his hand reaching out to touch my shoulder. I didn't flinch at the contact; instead, I finally pulled my eyes away from Mrs. Jenkins, and looked up at him. He hesitated, wincing at whatever he saw on my face in that moment. "Rita-girl, you weren't… you, uh… you weren't bit or scratched, right?"

Wordlessly, I turned fully to face him, holding out my arms on either side of me. He took note of the blood spattered on my clothes, and from a place within me I did not know, words fell from my mouth. "The head."

Hank's eyes flicked up to me, away from his inspections. "What?"

"You said the head, right? When they're like this, the only sure-fire way to kill them is the head. It's the head. The brain."

Hank paused, then nodded his solemnly, suddenly pulling me against his chest. If I weren't so numb, I would have enjoyed this. "C'mon," he whispered into my hair as I heard Jeff's footfalls coming up fast from the hallway, "we're leavin' Rita-girl."

xxx

A/N: FML, this chapter was hard to write. Next should come a bit more easily to me. Review, guys! Tell me whatcha think!