I was woken the next morning by Nick, grumbling loudly about, who else, Francis. "Mark my words, that goddamn greaseball is going to get us all killed! If he doesn't do it himself, he's probably going to stumble into an alarm car or go haring off on some daredevil escapade!" Blinking open my eyes, I stared into Francis's back for a long moment, studying his tattoos. He had stalked off after his confrontation with Ellis, and I had found him lying by himself in a corner, sullen and angry. I slept next to him the whole night to comfort him.
I was only half-listening as Coach made a comment - half my mind was following the flames, the skulls, the curvaceous, bat-winged women inked into Francis's tanned skin. "Now, don't you be startin' nothin', Nicholas," Coach said gruffly. I could tell he was irritated. "If Ellis would just stay away from that Zoey girl, we wouldn't have these problems!" "Yeah?" Nick retorted, voice dripping with scorn. "Tell that to our hillbilly friend." I gently gnawed my lip in worry; internal tensions were the last thing we needed, especially with unresolved animosity still between Francis and Louis. It looked like our group was about to tear itself apart from the inside, as if the zombies trying to tear it apart from the outside weren't enough to worry about. Quietly climbing to my feet, I slipped into my shoes, quickly tying the laces. Throwing on my red sweater over my thin white T-shirt - it was damn cold up here in Canada - I turned, running a hand through my hair in a feeble attempt to restore order to the tangled mass. Francis claimed it was beautiful, but I honestly don't know what he sees in the greasy, gnarled mess. Honestly, my hair hasn't seen a shower or a comb in… weeks? Months? Who knew anymore?
Nick and Coach immediately halted their conversation when I approached, and Coach cheerily wished me good morning. I returned the gesture, and even repeated it for Nick, who repayed me with a monosyllabic grunt and the tiniest of nods. "There anything to eat around here?" I said, suddenly realizing that I hadn't eaten in a while. Coach grinned, withdrawing a few granola bars from his backpack and tossing two to me. Ripping the foil wrapping off, I tore into the meager food like a starved wolf. The two bars were gone less than a minute, and Nick raised a sardonic eyebrow at my performance, turning away and making a futile attempt to clean his jacket. Wiping my mouth with the back of my hand, I turned around to see Francis sitting up, wiping sleep from his eyes. "Mornin', darlin'," he mumbled, staggering to his feet. I grinned up at him, amused; even after all this time, Francis still was not a morning person. Reaching down, the big man retrieved and tugged on first his tank top, then his vest. I was a little sorry to lose sight of his toned, muscular chest, but said nothing as he dressed. After he was finished, he grunted, rubbed his temples, and mumbled "There any booze around here?" Coach gave him a disapproving scowl, but Ellis, all the way on the other side of the lawn keeping watch, perked up his ears. "Ya'll say somethin' 'bout beer?" he said, then shook his head, adding more quietly "Man, I could really go fer a cold one right 'bout now…" Francis scowled darkly at him, not having forgotten the confrontation of the previous night. Patting the big biker on the arm, I whispered "I'll see what I can find in the store." Turning, he grinned down at me, planted a quick kiss on my lips, and muttered "What would I do without you, babe?" Smiling back, I turned and walked off, feeling Ellis's eyes boring into my back like lasers.
The store was, at first glance, completely empty. Aside from a sole broken bottle, there was nothing at all in the freezer racks. Frowning, I planted my hands on my hips and scowled down at the spilled beer, biting my lip in frustration. "Damn, girl, who stole your wallet?" I whirled at the exclamation, hand instinctively flying to the handgun at my hip. My eyes rested on Louis standing in the door, and I blew out my breath in a sigh, letting my hand fall. Shit, I'm getting paranoid. Louis grinned his loony, over-cheerful grin, and started walking slowly towards me, looking around the store. "Man, someone really cleaned this place out," he said, looking around at the empty shelves. I was about to agree with him when from outside came a bestial roar.
My first thought was that a tank had found our camp, and was now charging us. This thought was reinforced as Ellis came crashing through the wall next to me in a cloud of drywall chunks and plaster dust, nose and mouth trailing blood. However, it was not a tank that stepped through the jagged hole in the wall, but Francis. He was livid with rage, eyes blazing like fires, jaw set, fists clenched. Ellis scrambled unsteadily to his feet, wiping blood from his face with one hand and reaching for his pistol with the other. As Louis and I reached for our own handguns, Francis took two huge strides forward and slammed an uppercut into Ellis's chin that sent the younger man tumbling backwards to crash into an empty shopping cart, going down in a tangle of limbs and metal. "Francis!" Louis shouted, pistol raised. "Calm the hell down, right now!" Whirling, Francis ground out "Shut the hell up, Louis! If you had any god damn idea what this kid just did…" he broke off, unable to find the right words to express his rage. Louis didn't lower his pistol, and, staring down the barrel at the huge biker who suddenly seemed five times larger and more intimidating, said "Fine, go ahead and tell me what he did, but for the love of god, stop hitting the poor kid!" I spared a moment to glance over at Ellis, who was currently hauling himself to his feet, using a nearby shelf for support. An ugly purplish bruise was forming around his left eye, his nose and mouth were still leaking blood, and he was dusted with plaster. He looked unsteady on his feet, and his face was twisted in a grimace. Goddamn, Francis really did a number on him. "That… that…" Francis was stammering, jabbing a finger at Ellis over and over again. Louis glanced around frantically for something, anything to calm Francis down with, Ellis spit out a mouthful of blood, and I glanced back and forth between the three men in an agony of indecision. And then I heard them.
They were coming from all around, attracted by the noise of our confrontation. I could hear them howling and snarling in anticipation of a meal, and I could hear the jagged bursts of noise as the other survivors outside opened fire. Louis, seizing the opportunity, said "Okay Francis, tell you what. I'll listen to your whole story later, but right now we gotta get out there and save Bill and the others." For a long moment, Francis didn't move, standing still as a statue with his shoulders hunched and his fists balled. Then, finally, he nodded stiffly, and growled "Okay. You win. Let's go." As they turned to leave, Louis yelled over his shoulder "Zoey, help Ellis get out of here! There's a first aid kit by my sleeping bag, you can use that to patch him up!" and then he and Francis disappeared out the door, leaving me alone with Ellis. I looked over at him, taking in his sorry state, his eyes locked onto mine with a silent plea in his eyes. Wonderful. Walking over, I offered him a hand, which he gladly took, and hauled himself to his feet. Draping one of his arms over my shoulders to support him, I started walking him outside, trying to ignore the feel of his eyes burning into the side of my face, his hot breath on my cheek. The only thing that would make this situation more awkward was if he asked to-… "Hey, Zoey, can we talk?" Shit. "Nothing to talk about," I said simply. I could feel him flinch as if I'd slapped him. He started to say "Zoey, I…" but broke off, looking away. Hell with it. Time to get this settled once and for all. Stopping walking, I turned until I was facing him, and put my hands on his shoulders. He looked up into my eyes, and I looked back into his. "Ellis, listen to me. I like you a lot - I really do. But I do not, I repeat, do not love you. I love Francis with all my heart, and you're just going to have to accept that." He looked like I had taken a knife and driven it to the hilt in his chest. I sighed inwardly. I do not need this right now. Giving him what I hoped was a reassuring pat on the shoulder, I helped him out the door, and made for Louis's sleeping bag as the gunfire and enraged growls of the infected redoubled.