Title: Perserve
Author: smolder
Disclaimer: I own nothing. Joss owns Buffy the Vampire Slayer. Walking Dead is by Robert Kirkmen. I repeat, I own nothing.
A/N: Reviews are Good. This has been a subtle hint from the author - Please return to your regularly scheduled reading
Squeals of a certain decibel, once reserved for finding a first edition limited release comic book, were now given to salt. Ordinary table salt. Andrew had never given the common supplement the appreciation it deserved but now he understood its supreme importance.
Because he had an army of Slayers to feed and food – well, food had become a form of currency for them.
It was not difficult to make the girls fight. Oh no, there was never any contention over the fighting. There be zombies. There be Slayers. Slayers kill zombies.
The chores were another matter entirely.
When dealing with somewhere around a thousand girls (he had to remember to ask Dawn for the official number) traveling on foot and living outside, there were practical matters to consider.
Weapons were always primary on the Slayers' mind and once acquired, gladly most didn't need much push to be reminded to maintain them. They were necessary. And the girls seemed to feel that deep down in there bones.
Clothing was another important one though. Everyone started this with the clothing on their back. And even by now, through quite a few runs through malls, no one had many changes of clothes. What you did have was well worn from many battles, hand-cleanings and repairs with needle and thread.
They started using the tents more, instead of only during bad weather, when it started getting colder. The problem that arose with this was carrying. The weight wasn't an issue but most found it a hindrance especially since it took time to remove it and join the attack if zombies were felt close by.
Carrying anything really was something the Slayers seemed to loath. It took the most pushing to get them to remember to drop their packs in a safe place before they went off screaming into the group than everything else combined. Once they spotted the opposing horde, spotted prey, everything else became secondary.
But food, food was all important. If they didn't eat they couldn't survive to fight. As they travelled those that knew how to hunt in the classical sense – hunt animals that is – or who had knowledge about edible plants they could forage, would spread out into forests and such surrounding area. These girls were coming to be teasingly known as Artemis'.
There were also certain other Slayers who were surprisingly skilled at some things that were unexpected. He remembers seeing Buffy just standing and watching in amazement as a circle of the girls who were lopping off heads earlier made new clothing by hand from some fabric they had run across in those warehouse by the docks – hands flashing with quick tight stitches while keeping up a steady stream of conversation.
(Warehouses always seemed to be a boon to them. The zombies had no reason to go near them and no one else seemed to have the idea to loot them. But growing up in Sunnydale, a town that seemed to have consisted of two sections – graveyards and the warehouse district (with just some room thrown in on the side for such inconsequential things like homes, schools, etc.) it was obvious where they might get a lot of their supplies.)
But not everyone had a proficiency that was useful in this post-technology world they were living in. And there were plenty of things such as digging latrines or gathering firewood that no one really enjoyed doing.
So, the thing they stumbled across to enforce everyone's participation was food.
It was an odd sort of set up they had. You could sign up for certain chores, certain things you were good at and consistently doing those things would get you points. And the shittier jobs garnered extra points. The person with the most points got to choose what food everyone ate from the choices they had available or they could pass and hope they ran across a better old supermarket with non-perishable items at a later date or someone shot fresh bison tomorrow.
(He also had a fresh appreciation these days for how much meat was on a bison. He always had a vague feeling they were big but...damn.)
So, while every time they looted an abandoned house, while the others would look for clothing, weapons, ammo, blankets, books, or soap. He goes straight to the kitchen's spice cabinet every time. He looks for rosemary, cinnamon, cloves, garlic, oregano, pepper, basil….
And salt. He always searches for salt.
As his hand closes around a container of cayenne pepper he has to smile. Iara, a little Slayer from Brazil, one of the girls who actually seemed to enjoy helping him with the cooking, name was coming up. She always lamented the food was too bland. Now he couldn't wait to see what the others thought when it was her turn to choose.
Andrew remembers a quote once that an army marches on its stomach. He's never seen Slayers march, they're not really the sort. Even now, all in a group, as close to an army as they've ever been they still can't be contained by those human terms - more supernatural than not a lot of the times. Tracking their prey with something beyond the five sense available to the normal homo sapiens.
But normal has changed. This is his is normal now. And his group of superheros is going to fight, full and happy, for as long as he has any say in it..