AN: Here we are at the last chapter of Tumbleweeds! Stay tuned for part two "The Humbling River." Enjoy!
In the fading sunlight Quinn crept along with knees bent, half-stooped to make herself as small as possible without sacrificing mobility. Her shotgun was warm in her hands, almost too hot to hang on to, forcing her sweaty palms to constantly re-adjust to hold on without blistering the already abused skin. She'd let go of it twice on purpose, hanging on with one hand so she could dip the other into the sand, using the gritty particles to dry and add grip.
They were in a staggered sort of pattern, Luz's group in the lead on the left side of the road, Rachel's just behind her on the right, and then Quinn's group on the left and so forth, all the way down the line.
It assuaged some of Quinn's fear, being able to see Rachel and knowing that Chevy was right behind, but in the lengthening shadows Quinn couldn't help but see blood-dipped monsters lying in wait and ready to pounce.
She'd barely been paying attention to those in her group - none of them a familiar face - and while she felt tied to them simply because they were like her, she didn't feel the same pull for them that she did for those she knew.
Not until a smaller shape stumbled and fell next to her.
Quinn reached down automatically, looping her arm around the small body and tugging it back upwards. It was only when she'd hitched the little girl onto her hip that what she'd just done out of habit smacked her in the face. What it was she was holding - and who it wasn't.
She jerked and looked down into wide blue eyes, startlingly clear and too frightened to be wary of the stranger that had scooped her up. It wasn't Beth, but in that moment Quinn was back on the beach with her little girl securely in her arms, sturdy and warm and alive asking about life after death.
"Hi," Quinn whispered, gripping tighter instead of letting the girl back down. It was awkward, her shotgun dangling perilously from one hand while her other arm held the girl to her. "I'm Quinn."
"Becca," the girl responded. She couldn't have been more than eight years old, all tiny body and big trusting eyes. Becca wasn't Beth, but she was looking at Quinn the same way - trusting in her to keep her safe, to be the grown up she could depend on.
Suddenly something clicked into place and Quinn eased Becca back down onto her feet, making sure she had her footing before they kept moving. They were now lagging a little behind the others, but Quinn didn't care. "You stay close to me, okay?"
It was painful, twisting her up inside and poking at the fiery coal that she refused to acknowledge if at all possible, but Becca also had given her purpose. She adjusted the shotgun back into both hands, ignoring the ache in her palms, and started forward, stepping slowly and more surely while keeping Becca in her peripheral, ready to catch her should she fall again.
They were within sight of the airfield, finally. Quinn could see the end glimmering at her, the overbearing sun flashing off the metal and glass of the Sea Stallions. Some were obviously not going to be salvageable but they only needed one. Just one.
Up ahead she saw Luz raise her fist into the air and she stopped immediately, swinging the shotgun over to one hand again and reaching for Becca with the other. She looked around, straining her ears and eyes trying to find what it was that had made Luz stop so close to their goal. A chill came over her, that feeling of knowing something was there but not being able to see it; it was the unease of a child scared in their bed at night, the form of a monster or ghost made real thanks to the combination of shadows and imagination.
She shot a glance across the street and saw Rachel similarly crouched and looking back. When Rachel saw that Quinn was staring at her in question she shrugged.
Quinn's anxiety skipped up another notch.
Rachel didn't see it either, but judging from the way she was moving - gathering the children closer to her, head swiveling in all directions – she felt it, too.
How stupid they were to think it could all be that easy. That they could walk in freely and take what they needed.
Everything was still and nobody moved, and Quinn was afraid to breathe too loudly for fear of triggering whatever it was that was bearing down on them, just waiting to explode.
All that was missing was a tumbleweed rolling through their midst.
"Runners!"
Chaos erupted at the scream; Quinn could almost hear an air-raid siren blaring as everybody jumped into motion. Luz's group took off at a dead run, sprinting towards the tarmac, and then Rachel's group was up to follow after.
Quinn didn't think about it, didn't question her decision the minute it happened upon her. She dropped her shotgun to the side, swept Becca up into her arms and raced after Rachel, somehow catching up with her as though the distance separating them hadn't been that great and the weight of Becca against her chest hadn't slowed her at all. "Rachel!"
Rachel - bless her - stopped without a skid to a halt or stumble, body swaying forward as her momentum tried to keep her going. She whirled around, no question in her expression and not a word passing her lips. One look at the girl in Quinn's arms and she was reaching out, taking Becca into her own and then heading off again, staggering a little at the first few steps until her pace smoothed out and she was gone, barreling flat out after the others.
The relief was short lived as Quinn whipped back around instead of running after Rachel. She spied Chevy nearby crouched behind a flattened and burnt out shell of a car. He grunted when she crashed into him, hissing in pain as her abused knees hotly protested her using them to soften the blow of the Earth when she fell.
"Oh, hey, nice of you to join me," Chevy drawled with a calmness that Quinn loathed and loved about him. "I see you didn't bring anything to the party; how rude."
He fired two shots in quick succession, setting her ears to ringing dully. Her hands gripped around nothing, her shotgun still laying where she'd abandoned it and she'd never felt more naked in her entire life. More gunfire sounded from around them, the few brave souls that had stayed behind to hold the line and give Luz a chance at finding them an escape hatch dropping a few of the snarling, foul smelling, once-humans that were stampeding towards them like a herd of elephants.
Behind the ever ambitious runners a seemingly endless mass of walkers shambled ever forward with mouths open, eyes unseeing but pointed in the direction of the noise, ready to pick over anything left over from their faster brothers and sisters.
Adrenaline slammed into Quinn like acid in her veins, sharpening things like she'd suddenly switched over to HD with every vivid detail burned into her memory to be replayed over and over in her nightmares later.
One runner caught up to a straggler, the roughly gurgled scream and splash of red so horrifying that Quinn couldn't look away.
"Fuckers," Chevy swore viciously next to her and adjusted, rifle firing again, too little too late as the bullet hit its mark, blowing out the back of the feasting zombie's skull. It didn't matter - as soon as it dropped two others were in its place, swarming over the carcass like carrion birds on the African plains.
Alex hit the car next to her with enough force to earn a shriek from the twisted and charred metal. "Q, you should have gone with the others... where the fuck is your gun?" He didn't wait for a response, holding out a replacement for her that she didn't have the guts to wonder where he'd acquired it from. She took it and aimed without pause, reveling in the pain as it bucked into her bruised shoulder as a reminder that she was still alive.
"There's too many; we need to move back," Alex said, pulling his eye away from his scope to shoot Quinn a grim look. "Move back!" he shouted to the other few still with them.
They didn't have to be told twice, but Quinn didn't watch them go, far too focused on dropping as many zombies as she possibly could, chanting "one shot, one kill" over and over in her head as she carefully picked her targets and took her time in finding her aim.
"Get down," Chevy announced flatly, yanking something off his vest. Quinn barely had time to realize it was a grenade, before he was pulling the pin, flinging it over the car, and reaching for her. The blast was close enough for her to feel the shockwave, the steady ring in her ears turning to a dull buzz that made her think she was underwater for a couple of woozy seconds. Something struck her in the forehead, the sting snapping her back into reality. She swiped at the hot spot on her skin but didn't have time to see if she was actually bleeding, Chevy already tugging her up and then they were stumbling, running towards the others. The drone of the zombies called out to them, a crowd of lost souls beckoning, begging.
Through the sticky slide of blood dripping down into her eyes Quinn saw Rachel. Just a speck, a silhouette in the distance, but Quinn knew it was Rachel waiting for her. Watching for her.
She forced her wobbly legs to move faster.
Rachel watched, heart in her throat, as several figures rushed out across the tarmac, her eyes drawn to the trio at the far back - two men and a woman between them, her blonde hair lit up like a flame under the sun.
Behind her she heard Luz barking orders and the sound of metal scraping along the ground, the hasty clinks and crashes as every person with limited knowledge of mechanical things hurried to repair, to save their now thin hope for survival.
If they couldn't get it working soon it would all be for nothing.
She couldn't help with the chopper; her only experience with a wrench was holding it out to Finn when he asked for it, and half the time she handed him the wrong tool anyway.
All she could do was stand there with the group of children pressed tightly behind her, watching as the horizon filled up with walking death.
"You've had that the whole time?" She heard Quinn shouting, and wavered on her feet. Quinn sounded annoyed and that meant that she was okay.
"I was saving it for a special occasion!" Chevy snapped back.
And then there they were.
Quinn may have sounded okay, but she looked like something out of a horror movie. Rachel might have appreciated the irony of if she wasn't too busy fighting down the urge to be sick. Blood was flowing freely from a cut above Quinn's eye bathing her face in red, but it didn't matter because the second they were within arm's reach Rachel was stretching out for her. She gripped hard at Quinn's biceps, fingers digging in harder than she'd intended.
"You've got red on you," Rachel commented softly, surprising both herself and Quinn if the goggle-eyed expression was anything to go by.
"We're revisiting you quoting Shaun of the Dead later," Quinn said, swiping at her face with her dirty sleeve and wincing before she spit out a mouthful of bloody saliva. "Now's really not the time – here they come."
There wasn't time to say anything else; there was never enough time when Rachel wanted it or needed it.
She didn't even have time to ask if Quinn was okay because she was already moving away and turning around, wiping at her face again and then stretching out on the ground at Rachel's feet, one leg curled up, backpack slung off and then the rifle balanced on the pack as Quinn started sighting in on the walkers steadily moving towards them.
Rachel turned around and knelt facing Skyler and the others that had gravitated towards her like baby ducks behind their mother. "Skyler, this is important - stay close to the helicopter. If it – if the monsters get to where I am I want you to take the other kids and run. You hear me? You run."
Skyler nodded solemnly, then leaned forward and hugged her tightly, burrowing into her shoulder for the briefest of moments before he was backing away, taking Becca's hand and waving at the others who followed after him obediently.
She couldn't watch, swallowing back tears and blinking her eyes clear. They wouldn't survive and she knew that. She knew that Skyler knew, too. It just meant that she hadto give them a fighting chance. All of them.
Pulling her rifle around, she slipped the sling over her head and then turned again, maintaining her kneeling position. Elbow propped up on one knee she settled in with Quinn just beside her, picked a target, and fired.
Bolt back. Brass flying. Chamber another round.
Fire.
She tuned out everything else: the clink of brass bouncing, Quinn firing beside her, more shots down the line, behind her the yelling and clatter of the others working on the Sea Stallion. It was just her and her own ragged breathing that she was forcing herself to smooth out, the world seen through the iron sights on the old rifle. Her arms were trembling and her hands aching, but that couldn't matter either.
Not until she heard the stuttered cough of the engine turning over did she glance up, sharing a look with Quinn before they both turned to see the rotors waving, turning just the barest of amounts.
Eyes locked again with muddied hazel Rachel opened her mouth to try and find the right words to convey everything before they…
The chopper sputtered again and then the engine turned over, the turbines started to whine and Rachel's hair swirled up into the air.
"Get in the chopper!" Several voices shouted at once.
"Rachel, go!" Quinn ordered and Rachel shook her head adamantly, returning her cheek to the stock to fire again. "Rachel!"
"They're too close! They need time!" Rachel shouted back. She picked off another walker and then choked as from the back of the crowd a runner came charging up, fumbling over the body Rachel had just dropped.
"Quinn!"
Quinn didn't answer, nor did she fire, instead lifting Rachel up off the ground and shoving her towards the open hatch of the helicopter. "Now!"
Rachel bit back a reply and struggled under the wash from the rotors to do as told – she couldn't waste time arguing. She was half way up the ramp when she turned back to see Quinn standing straight up, feet planted firmly, barrel of the rifle tracking as the runner came at her. "Now, Quinn, now. Quit playing around," she whispered.
Something was wrong. Quinn turned the rifle over in her hands, pounded at it, raised it again… and then tossed it on the ground.
She saw Quinn pull the knife from her belt and that was all Rachel needed for her legs to unfreeze, diving into the belly of the Sea Stallion to scramble through various packs that covered the floor, digging desperately until her hands hit something smooth. She lifted and found herself holding Quinn's shovel, of all things. There wasn't time to look for anything else or to demand someone give her a weapon, and before she realized it she was already running back out the hatch, just in time to see the runner collide with Quinn, knocking her to the ground.
Quinn was stabbing it; she could see the frantic thrusting motion of Quinn's arm, the blackish blood spilling freely, and Quinn straining to keep her wound out of the mess and her face away from the snapping, rotted teeth of her attacker.
"Hey!" Rachel shouted, feeling déjà vu wash over her as she repeated Quinn's own words what seemed like a lifetime before. When the zombie twisted and snarled up at her she swung the shovel as hard as she could, teeth clicking together and arms vibrating with the force as it clanged against the zombies head. It fell to the side of Quinn who was staring up at Rachel, chest heaving and splattered with blood, pale and panicked.
Rachel stepped over her and swung the shovel again and again until there was nothing but bloody pulp spread all over like rotten pumpkin guts.
"Would you two get in here!" Chevy yelled, waving frantically.
Rachel stooped and held her hand out for Quinn, leaning back as Quinn pulled herself to her feet. She pulled Quinn's arm over her shoulders and wrapped her free hand around her waist, helping her hobble along up the ramp.
The second their feet were over the hatch it started to close and Rachel pressed Quinn up into the side of the aircraft, stripping her jacket off and starting to wipe at the blood and muck on Quinn's features, trying not to be furious.
Thumps and scratches sounded from outside the safety of the walls surrounding them and Rachel ignored them, looking instead for CJ who was already shuffling through the various people and packs towards them.
Beneath them the Stallion bucked, sending Rachel's stomach up into her throat to drop right back down.
"We're out of here!" Ollie whooped from the cockpit. A round of cheers went up around them but Rachel was too busy trying to decide if she should slap Quinn or kiss her to join in.
Quinn smiled weakly, as though she maybe could sense the direction of Rachel's thoughts, and then she was falling, limply sagging and sliding to the cold metal floor with Rachel trying to help her down as gently as possible. "I'm kind of tired," she said thickly.
"What am I going to do with you?" CJ wondered, ripping off a strip of her own shirt and wetting it with her canteen. Quinn's eyes closed as the damp cloth moved over her face, grimacing when CJ's hand got too close to the fresh cut.
"You stubborn, pig-headed, annoying, suicidal bitch." Rachel pinched Quinn's arm and glared when Quinn opened up one eye. "You promised."
"Ah, maybe I'll just leave you to her; that seems suitable punishment," CJ joked. "This will need stitches, of course, but I think that may have to wait when we're back on semi-stable ground."
"Thanks, Cindy," Quinn said, raising an eyebrow at CJ who chuckled warmly and shook her head. "Damn, thought that was it for sure. Cynthia?"
"One guess per day," CJ said, smoothing a bandaid just over Quinn's eyebrow. "You've reached your limit." She turned to Rachel and pointed at Quinn. "Keep her awake."
Rachel nodded and squeezed herself into the space next to Quinn, ignoring the pitching of the world as Luz flew them in what she hoped was the right direction. She grabbed hold of Quinn's arm and pulled it tight to her chest, unabashedly snuggling into Quinn's side. "I'm very angry with you."
"Finally," Quinn mumbled, head drooping backwards as she sighed. "My life is back to normal."
TBC...