Davy made breakfast that morning. It was just oatmeal, and Davy hardly ate any of it, but he did make it. Ronda ate a good amount, as did Heather. Since he hardly wanted to eat, Davy offered to feed George, who had woken up last night. Ronda had told them that this was a good sign.
George was upstairs, in one of the two bedrooms up there. He was laid on the bed, a cover hiding the lower half of his body. The room was bright and it made George look so pale. Sitting on the edge of the bed, Davy ate a spoonful of the oatmeal he had brought upstairs with him. Just to test it out.
It wasn't too hot but it wasn't too cold either.
"George?" Davy called out.
Time to wake him up. At first, Davy thought that George wouldn't wake. Maybe he had died in the night. But then his eyes opened and he let out a low groan.
"I brought you breakfast. It's oatmeal," Davy informed him.
"Delicious," George mumbled, half-heartedly.
Davy placed the bowl of oatmeal onto the bedside table.
"I'm going to have to prop you up, George," Davy said gently.
George shut his eyes but nodded his consent. Ronda had shown both Davy and Heather how to feed George and provide him water last night. Although he could use his arms, Ronda advised that he be as still as possible in order for him to recover quicker. Even if it didn't help, at least there was less of a chance of George popping stitches or anything.
Davy propped him up. George screwed his eyes shut as the movement hurt his side. Then, Davy picked the bowl of oatmeal back up. He began to feed George, who seemed more interested in going back to sleep than anything else.
"Is everyone else alright?" George asked after a few spoonfuls of oatmeal.
"Hmm?" Davy frowned, not entirely sure what George was asking.
"Everyone else. They okay? Tara, is she okay? Lyn? Micky?" George expanded, eating another spoonful.
Davy was glad he hadn't eaten. His stomach flipped and it took willpower not to clench his hands into fists. Pushing away the anger, the worry, Davy forced a smile.
"They're fine. Everyone's just fine, George," the lie slipped out easier than Davy would have expected it to.
Davy didn't want to outright lie to George. No, he hated lying, but… how on earth could Davy tell George that his sister was dead? That, out of all of them, Tara might be the only one of them who died? Davy just couldn't do that, not to George right now at the very least. But outright lying didn't settle well with Davy. What else could he have done though? George smiled at Davy.
"Good, that's good," he said, "Do… is it okay if I sleep some more? I'm just… very tired."
"Course, get some rest," Davy nodded his head.
He helped George lay back down, tucking him into bed before exiting the room. Going downstairs, he ran into Ronda.
"We must discuss today's tasks," she said.
"Okay," Davy was just glad to be away from George.
Ronda must have noticed something different about Davy, although despite the conflicting thoughts in his head, Davy didn't think he was acting any different.
"Is George alright?" she questioned.
"He's fine. He ate a little but mainly wanted to sleep. He… he asked about Tara and the others. I told him that… that they were all okay," Davy answered, "I just didn't know what else to tell him."
Davy expected Ronda to tell him off. Criticize him for lying to George. Yet Ronda didn't.
"I would have done the same thing," she told him, "He needs to focus on recovering. We can't stay here forever, not after what happened last time. If he knows about Tara or the fact that we're split up now, he will focus his energy instead on worry and grief. He will know soon enough. He will grieve soon enough. But for now, he must rest."
Ronda placed her hand upon Davy's shoulder and squeezed. Davy smiled at her, grateful for her reassurance.
"Guys! Everything alright? We should get a move on," Heather's voice drifted in from the kitchen.
"We're coming," Ronda called back.
When Peter woke up, he felt very stiff. In fact, not only did he feel stiff, but he felt sore and achey, all over. Peter felt horrible, but he knew that he couldn't rest any longer. Right now, he needed to get back to the others as soon as possible.
Sitting up, his back cracked, but he didn't feel dizzy. It wasn't like yesterday when he had woken up and the room had spun like some sort of circus ride. Though his whole body ached, there was still a dull pulse of pain in his left shoulder. The bullet graze. Peter realized that he wasn't wearing his own clothes.
The t-shirt and jeans he wore were most likely either Lawrence or Kitty's clothes. His own clothes must have been soaked and bloodied. Looking around, Peter finally had a good sense of where he was. In a furnished home, although neglected as where many of the homes these days. There were several mattresses in this room, what Peter assumed was the living room. Peter was sitting on one. Lawrence was curled up under a blanket a few feet away from him on another. Bunny and Kitty were nowhere in sight. But as Peter stood up and crept quietly to the hallway, he heard talking from the kitchen.
"Freddie called last night, before we picked up the fella," Bunny was saying.
"What'd Freddie want?" Kitty asked.
It sounded as if Bunny's words were news to him.
"Said he needed us to find someone," Bunny replied, "Special someone, a someone who is immune."
"Immune?" Kitty repeated, as if he didn't believe what Bunny was telling him.
"Yeah, immune. Guessing like to the whole infection thing," Bunny explained.
Peter's heart began to beat a little faster in his chest at the mention of himself, though neither Kitty or Bunny could know that he was immune. He hadn't told them. There was nothing that could give away his position.
"Why's he lookin' for an immune? Are there even immune people out there?" Peter could hear the frown in Kitty's tone.
"Freddie didn't say much about it, I don't ask questions," Kitty snapped. There was a pause after that.
"Sorry… I just… need a fix but… but Kitty, this seems important. If there is someone immune out there, and Freddie wants them, then maybe there really is someone immune out there. And that means that Freddie's doctor can do something to fix the world," Bunny said at length.
"Heavy," Kitty responded.
"Ass," Bunny sounded disappointed.
"What's your hang up man?" Kitty said in his defence.
"My hang up, man, is that you don't care. You get high, zone out, and it's me and Lawrence looking out for you and each other. Even when there's a shot that maybe, just maybe, this hell will be over, you're all gone," Bunny answered.
It struck Peter as unreal, this whole situation. For so long now, he had only been able to see things from his group's point of view. Never had it occurred to him to wonder what it must be like for other survivors out there.
"Mellow out, Bunny," Kitty giggled and then Peter heard footsteps.
Since Peter was in the hall, when Kitty exited the kitchen, he came face to face with Peter. The other, slightly smaller man broke out into a grin and clapped Peter on his good shoulder.
"Morning there, fella," Kitty greeted, unaware that Peter had been eavesdropping in on the previous conversation, "You should eat up, right. We're going on the road soon."
"Right," Peter nodded, although part of him wondered if perhaps he should slip away from these people.
Kitty just continued to grin as he made his way down the hall. With his presence announced at this point, Peter decided it'd be for the best to enter the kitchen now. So he did. Bunny had a mug in her hand.
"Is that tea?" Peter asked.
"Yeah, would you like some?" Bunny offered.
"Sure," Peter nodded.
He wondered if Davy was drinking tea right now. He hoped that Davy was drinking tea. That would mean that he was okay. Bunny fixed Peter a cup, handing it to him after she had done so.
"Kitty's waking up Lawrence now, we'll be leaving soon," Bunny informed him as Peter sipped at the tea.
Peter decided that Davy made better tea. It didn't matter that much now though.
"Where are we heading anyways, man?" Bunny asked after a moment.
"I'm… not sure. My friend's are back in the cul de sac, on Munro Street," Peter replied, looking down into the dark contents of his mug.
Tea was better with milk and sugar. That's how Davy made it. Peter needed to get back to his friends.
"That's not too far away. A few miles," Bunny gave Peter a strange look, "You ran a pretty long way from those guys. What'd they want with you anyways? You piss them off or something?"
"I didn't do anything to them," it wasn't exactly a lie, "They just came after me."
Bunny finished off the last of her tea, tossing the cup into the sink with the rest of the dirty dishes. Her hands then began to move and Peter turned to see that Lawrence had entered the kitchen.
"We'll be ready soon," Bunny informed him.
The long stretch of silence that was essentially the walk back to the house made Davy on edge. The silence made him feel as if he were going to be attacked at any moment. Maybe he was just still wired after the attack. He didn't know. The house itself looked empty, desolate. Davy wondered if it had always been like that.
Prior to the attack it had seemed so homely, warm and bright. It might have not been the pad, but Davy had felt as if it had become a second home. Now, however, it was just squatting there, doors open and several windows broken. Davy could trace their movements from the other night via the trail of blood George had provided.
Heather entered the home but Davy stood on the threshold. The younger paused in the kitchen, glancing over her shoulder at Davy.
"You okay?" she asked.
Earlier, back at the new home where George and Ronda were now, Ronda had protested Davy's accompaniment back to the home. She had argued that Davy needed time to recover from seeing what he had seen, but Davy had been stubborn. He wasn't a child. He needed to be brave.
"Brilliant," Davy forced a smile and entered the house.
"Alright," Heather's tone indicated she didn't entirely believe Davy.
The house was a mess. Everything was out of place, broken, or smashed. The duo grabbed what food they could, stuffing them into bags they both had brought. Then, they made their way into the living room area. Same as the kitchen, it was quite a mess. But in all the chaos, something caught Davy's eye.
He moved over towards the fireplace, where he found two guitar cases propped up against the wall. Mike and Peter's guitars. Those church bastards hadn't taken them or had touched them. They were safe. Although Davy didn't believe much in fate or signs, he did think that somehow this meant that both of his friends were alright.
There wasn't anything to worry about when it came to Micky. That boy would be hard pressed to actually be killed. Thinking that made Davy smile. It really shouldn't have, but it did. It gave him a sense of hope.
"Davy, c'mon," Heather's voice was sharp, cutting through Davy's fleeting moment of peace.
"We have time, Heather," Davy reminded her, "We're safe for now, and we have to wait for the others to come back."
The young girl's brows furrowed together, not in confusion but rather it seemed to Davy frustration. Anger even.
"We need to get our job done," Heather stated before disappearing up the stairs.
Davy glanced at Mike and Peter's guitar cases again. If Micky were here, he could figure out what was going on with Heather. He had a knack with children, or not even children. Just younger folks. But Micky wasn't here. And both Davy and Ronda were growing more worried about Heather as each day passed.
With a sigh passing through him, Davy followed Heather up the stairs. It was more chaotic up here than downstairs. There was broken furniture, broken glass, empty firearms that had been abandoned. His stomach clenched as he entered the room in which Tara would be found. Heather was already inside. She was crouched next to Tara's body, her hand gripping Tara's.
"Heather?" Davy called out, pushing aside his own feelings of discomfort and grief.
Heather's hand slipped from Tara's and she stood up before turning to look at Davy. Tears streaked down her cheeks and once again Davy was struck by how young Heather was. She was just a kid. A kid being forced to grow up before she was supposed to.
"Davy… I… are we all going to die? We… we did everything right but it still got us. Death still got us," Heather's voice cracked.
Davy closed the gap between himself and Heather. He wrapped his arms around her and she clung tightly to him.
"It's going to be okay, Heather," Davy assured her, stroking Heather's hair as he did so.
"But it's not. How can it be? Lyn nearly got Micky killed, now Tara's dead. She's right over there, dead. And we don't know if George will make it. We don't know if the other's are okay. Peter could be dead," all of this came out of Heather in one long, shaky breath.
Davy pulled away from Heather so that he could look her in the eyes.
"Heather, I know-," Davy paused, breathing deeply in order to maintain his composure, "I know it's hard. I know it's scary. But it will be okay. Tara… knew what she had to do in the moment. She died protecting her brother. She wouldn't have wanted it any other way. And giving up isn't what she'd want."
Heather sniffled and Davy wiped the tears off her cheeks.
"I told something just like that to Peter. It seems like I did that eighty years ago," a small smile played upon Heather's lips.
"Then listen to yourself, Heather," said Davy, "I… you don't deserve to have to deal with any of this, Heather. You're too young for any of this. But you're strong. And you will get through this."
Heather glanced down at the floor for a moment, then she wrapped Davy into another hug. Davy waited until Heather decided that she'd had enough. Once she had removed herself from his embrace, he said, "Let's move Tara onto the bed. We'll have to bury her soon, but I'm hoping we can wait long enough for the others to regroup."
"That sounds like a good plan," Heather nodded her agreement, pausing for a moment before asking, "Will you be okay?"
Davy felt a little of the queasiness wash over him.
"Yes, no need to worry about me," he assured her, pushing away the sick feeling as best he could.
Both feeling an empty pang of sadness, Davy and Heather moved Tara from the floor to the bed. Her body felt stiff and cold, an odd heaviness that death had added. Davy hoped the others would make their way back here soon. It felt wrong not to bury Tara right away. Although he knew very little about corpses, Davy figured that decomposition would set in soon and with winter ever growing, the longer they waited, the harder it would be to dig Tara a grave.
The thought of cremating Tara came to Davy. They could make it nice and Davy had learnt in school years ago about how ancient warriors used to view that sort of funeral as a good way to send off a respected warrior. Which specific ancient warriors they were, Davy couldn't remember, but he did think that perhaps Tara would like that sort of burial. He made a mental note to talk to Ronda about this. For now, he had to focus on Heather. With their primary job completed, Heather and Davy moved out of the room and went back downstairs.
"Heather, can I ask what's been up with you?" Davy prompted, feeling a little out of his depth.
Yet he did care for Heather, and talking about how you felt was an important step in surviving this whole mess. Davy had learnt this the hard way. Heather looked at the fireplace, staring into the day old ashes. It felt like forever, but Davy knew that only a day or two ago, that fireplace had been home to a warm and comforting fire.
"I don't want anyone to get hurt," Heather said after a moment, "I… when Peter got infected, I thought it was all my fault. He'd die and I'd be blamed. I made a rookie mistake, a childish mistake, and I didn't want to make the same mistake again."
"I can understand that, but things… they worked out, didn't they?" Davy tried to puzzle out where Heather was coming from.
The discovery of Peter's immunity was only a few months ago, yet without a solid track of time, it felt to Davy as if it had been years ago. Certainly Heather would have recovered from such nasty thoughts about herself in regards to this incident. Right?
"I lucked out, but I knew I needed to be more of an adult about things. Then we came here and Lyn's… Lyn's such a baby. She… she kidnaps Micky thinking her mom's still alive. And when they got back, I knew that there couldn't be two babies in the group. I had to grow up," Heather continued, as if Davy had never interrupted her.
"Heather, you aren't a baby. We all make mistakes," Davy tried to offer the young girl comfort.
"But you can't make mistakes in this sort of world. Lyn made a mistake and almost got Micky killed. I made a mistake and if Peter hadn't been immune, he'd be dead right now," Heather retorted, an edge of frustration creeping into her voice.
"You don't think Mike and Ronda haven't made mistakes before? Myself, Micky, even Isaac?" Davy questioned.
Heather's gaze shot up to Davy's, torn away from the fireplace in confusion.
"What do you mean?" she frowned.
"Mike and Ronda, they might take roles as the leaders of our little family, but they certainly don't know what they're doing, no matter how confident they seem. Micky's one of the most clumsy people I know, even now, he's always dropping something or breaking it," Davy explained, "And I… even when I'm trying to help you, I don't know if what I'm doing is right. We're all playing this by ear, Heather. Trying to survive together."
Davy felt a tremor in his hands. It was only a slight nervousness, but Davy didn't want to make things worse with Heather. Perhaps he could live with her being cold and cynical, but anything worse would be unbearable.
"When will any of this be over? When will those things leave us alone? Stop ruining our lives?" Heather sighed and rubbed her arms with her hands.
Davy approached her, keeping a respectful distance.
"I don't know, Heather. But we'll make do," Davy comforted her.
Heather shut her eyes and she stood holding herself for a stretch of time. Then she opened her eyes and looked at Davy. There was an odd smile on her lips.
"I turned twenty last week," Heather's voice took on a defeated lilt, a bittersweet tone so to speak.
This was news to Davy. It had never occurred to him how important time was. For so long it had been unimportant. How could he have forgotten about birthdays?
"Really?" Davy frowned.
"Yeah," Heather chuckled, "I've never told Ronda or Isaac when my birthday was, so neither of them knew. And I didn't tell anyone else either. I just… never thought anyone would care."
"Of course we care! You should have told us, so we could celebrate," Davy told her.
"It doesn't mean much, I'm a year older is all," Heather shrugged.
"Happy late birthday, Heather," Davy said.
"Thank you," Heather said.
There was a long stretch of silence then. Davy didn't know whether or not to make an issue out of Heather's birthday. Judging on her reaction to her birthday, Davy decided to inform Ronda of this revelation and then go from there. For now, there was another questions that was pestering the Englishman.
"How do you keep track of time?" Davy inquired.
"I have a calendar," Heather replied, "I keep it in my backpack."
"What's the date?" Davy asked, curiously.
"December 15th," Heather informed him.
"Wow, it's already December," Davy could hardly believe it.
He wasn't entirely sure why he could hardly believe it, time did move on, yet he was so used to just living day to day without a thought of dates entering his mind.
"You know," Davy added, "My own birthday is coming up. So's Mike. We were born on the same day, actually."
"Whoa, that's so cool," Heather gasped, this particular piece of information apparently catching her interest, "When is it?"
"The 30th," Davy smiled, although his thoughts were only briefly touching upon what should happen when the 30th came about.
After this split up, and with a burial looming so soon, Davy wondered if a party would lift morale in the group. They could celebrate his and Mike's birthday, Davy moving focus more onto Mike since he seemed to be the one who needed a bit of a party more than Davy did.
"We should celebrate," Heather suggests, as if she had read Davy's mind.
"Maybe we will."
Isaac had found a map in the front office. Now Mike and Micky crowded around the map as well, watching Isaac map out how far they were from the house.
"It shouldn't be too difficult to get back," Micky commented as Isaac finished drawing out a thin line from where they were currently to where the others were.
"Yeah," Mike agreed, "We'll head up and then head down."
Between the three men, they had agreed that the next course of action, after of course regrouping with the others, would be to return to the pad in California. Mike was insistent on this and Micky wondered if Mike wasn't just a tad bit home sick. But then again, Micky did see the reasoning in going back. For one thing, that was home.
Micky figured that at the end of the world, it was better to be in a comfortable, familiar place like your own house. And it was true that the pad seemed to be easier to defend then the house they had stayed in, or even to an extent the cars they used for travel.
"When should we head out?" Isaac asked.
"Soon," Mike replied.
"We can leave in thirty minutes, how about that?" Micky suggested, "That'd give us enough time to scout this place out, make sure we aren't missing any other supplies."
"That sounds good. And it will also give Lyn more time to sleep," Isaac agreed.
"Alright," Micky nodded, "Mike and I will make another round of the motel, you stay here with Lyn."
Isaac folded up the map, stowing it away in his bag. He then moved over to sit in the chair that faced the bed Lyn was sleeping in. With most of their stuff still in the Monkeemobile, Mike and Micky exited the motel room. They started at the last room, breaking the door open to see what was inside. Most of the rooms had little to offer.
Micky was able to find a couple of wrenches and hammers and pliers in a closet in one of the rooms. It must have been used as a supply closet of sorts. Mike picked up the few toiletries that were in the bathrooms, such as the little packaged bars of soap and leftover shampoo bottles that were abandoned. They went from room to room until they reached the front desk. There wasn't anything in the front desk though. It seemed that most of the supplies were already gone.
"I hope that there are still supplies back at the house," Mike commented, picking up the phone that was on the front desk's counter.
There wasn't even a dial tone. Mike put the phone back onto its cradle.
"I'm sure there will be stuff left," Micky assured him.
"We'll pack up and go home," Mike continued.
Mike felt Micky's eyes on him. It made him feel uncomfortable, but he was too tired to truly care. He glanced over to see what Micky was doing. The drummer was crouched down and was rummaging through a cabinet.
"I can't wait to go home," Mike commented.
"Don't sweat it, babe, we'll be home soon," Micky turned over his shoulder to give Mike a warm smile.
Mike smiled back, but he wasn't feeling a sort of emotion that would pair well with a smile. He wondered what would happen when they got home? What did Mike expect? That at home, everything would be better? The infected would cease to exist? Ever since Micky and Davy brought back Isaac, Ronda, and Heather, things had been changed. Some for the better and some for the worst. Mike couldn't take any of that back. None of them could.
Author's Note:
Thank you for reading! I hope to get this fic wrapped up by Jan. 25th, 2016. This probably doesn't mean anything to you guys reading, but I just thought I'd throw that info out there. Thank you to everyone who commented on the last chapter.
Also, to answer dolphinrain's question: I'm not really sure. From a Western perspective, since I'm American, I've seen it as a sort of trope in the horror genre. I think it's because Christianity is the main religion in America, therefore it's easy, I suppose, to make Christians the "nut jobs". I don't think this is a statement and I personally did not use the trope as a statement. I took creative license with the rapture and worked it into my story because when I was planning the fic I thought that'd make some good conflict. In no way was that supposed to be a statement, there are a lot of good Christians out there. :)
Thank you to everyone who's been reading this fic! It's reached 1,000+ hits and I've never been happier. I appreciate every comment, question, critique, and hit that I receive and I owe it all to you guys, the readers. I hope this chapter was enjoyable & please look forward to more soon. Feel free to leave a review! :) Have a wonderful day!
