Night.
The time in Earth's cycle when the land is thrust into overbearing darkness.
Under the Crescent Moon's glowing glare, and heaven's star-studded scene, Abigail and Trevon take a stroll on a rough forest trail, far outside the safety of the hill composed walls of their town.
The torch Trevon holds blazes a lively firelight, casting long shadows behind the towering trees and surrounding shrubbery, giving the couple a bubble of light amongst a blackened void. Outside this warm bubble, it's anyone's guess as to what's out there. It's what Abigail's thinking about, and it's worrying her.
Trevon doesn't seem the slightest bit worried.
"And then… Bam!"
He yells, simultaneously yanking out his rather rustic flintlock pistol from the shadows of his leather trench coat. He levels the pistol dead ahead, pulls the trigger to release the mechanism, and jerks his forearm up, pretending to fire the weapon with a metal scraping click.
"I blasted that skeleton with pure lead, straight into his bony noggin!"
He draws in the gun and pretends to blow smoke billowing from the barrel, the goofiest grin possible pasted on his dark-skinned face. Abigail lets out a sigh, as her fears of monsters, and pent-up giggles from her boyfriend's cute performance; clash together in her consciousness, fizzing out into an exhausted temperament.
"Hey, not wanting to kill the mood, but do you really think it's a good idea to be out here late at night?"
Abigail asks beside herself. Trevon drops the smile, giving Abigail a concerned side glance that could mean a multitude of things. As a professional nurse and bedside assistant, Abigail is usually good at determining someone's feelings and concerns. Dolgen and Bill are easy enough, they are either as happy as can be, or act like they just watched their favorite beer get slowly poured into a ravine. Eugene is almost always in a grumpy attitude, and Adam is just a child, he wears his emotions like a badge on his chest.
But Trevon? Trevon's different.
He likes to play sly and speculative around Abigail, but she's accidentally seen him on more than one occasion thinking he's alone. For Abigail to sum it up, it seems that he's carrying a lot on his mind. So, the concerned look could be a number of things. He might be worried about Abigail's safety, might be thinking he did something wrong, or maybe he's disappointed that she didn't appreciate his story. She doesn't know which, and Trevon doesn't give her time to ask or think about it any further.
"Oh, don't worry about it."
Trevon says playfully, a smaller and less grandiose smile spreads across his face.
"If any zombies come our way,"
He brings his pistol, the one thing he seems to treasure more than his friends or attire, close to his face, its shining metal parts make a contrast to his slick black hair.
"I'll make sure they don't come back from the dead twice."
Abigail's worries lose the battle in her mind, and she returns the smile, giving Trevon a big hug.
"Oh you."
Both have stopped walking, and Trevon stuck his Torch into a crevice of a nearby tree, freeing up his hands to embrace Abigail back.
"You know me baby, I would slay the Gods if it meant I'd be protecting you."
Sappy, and maybe even a little cheesy. But Abigail adores it, Trevon knows it, and so they both embrace it.
"Thank you."
She says quietly, following the flow of the atmosphere the two have created. It's one of romance, trust, and joy. Like the torch, it's a light of gleeful emotion, one that shines in this dark and unforgiving reality. She wishes they could stay in this moment, and it's probably the reason why she keeps coming back to him.
It's a straining relationship, but both want to repair it again. So, she takes the moment for all its worth, raising her head to look Trevon in the eyes. He was already looking back, and she could feel sparks. Maybe. She thinks to herself, admiring Trevon's eyes as if they were the most gorgeous gems. Maybe it will work this time.
Almost on cue, coming in to ruin the moment, a noise sounds out from the darkness, a low and gurgled groan.
"Aaaaaahhhhhh…"
A lifetime of living fearful of the shadows ceases over Abigail, and she unconsciously jerks away from the source of the noise, clutching onto Trevon hard enough to probably strangle him if her hands were around his neck.
"Eek!"
She lets out a choked gasp, Trevon tenses up. Without a second of hesitation, he loads his pistol in a set of motions that preaches his near decade of training. A second later, and he has the pistol aimed at the darkness, his onyx eyes set and determined. They both know that noise all too well, many that live on this planet know.
The undead.
"Get behind me."
Trevon says evenly, dislodging the torch and handing it to Abigail. Despite her terror, Abigail tries to be helpful, holding the torch out as far as her bravery can muster. The groan came from out in the grasslands. Trevon walks slowly in that direction. It comes again, long and drawn out, like the moans of dying soldiers. Abigail watches, waiting for the telltale signs.
Pairs of beady white eyes, like alabaster stones reflecting in the torchlight. The shuffling of a decaying body, shifting through grass and stone as a mauled leg is dragged along. It would mark the presence of a zombie, and it would usually mean there's more than one.
She searches and listens diligently… Nothing, dead silence except a low groan. Trevon keeps his head on a swivel, Abigail follows close behind.
"Where do you think it is?"
Abigail whispers, fighting the urge to run. Trevon takes a second to answer, his trigger finger twitching on the side of his pistol.
"I don't know."
He glances around, eventually getting to the ground.
"It sounds like… holy hell."
Trevon stops dead in his tracks, Abigail peeks out from behind his shoulder. Partly obscured in Trevon's shadow, lying bloody and beaten on the ground, is living man.
"Oh my Gods!"
Abigail yells, running to crouch to the man's side, mindlessly tossing the torch to Trevon, who nearly gets his face singed. Abigail looks over the man, her fears burn away again, once her passion, and purpose presents itself. Her nurse heart begins to beat quickly, could she be excited?
She gingerly moves her fingers over the man's lacerated skin, hovering a hand over his mouth, pressing two fingers to his wrist. A pulse, he's breathing too. She feels some relief, but now she's worried. He looks to be in a terrible condition, he may have staved off death for now, but there's no telling how long that might last. She suddenly has more care for this injured man than her own safety, what nurse wouldn't?
"Hey, can you hear me?"
She asks, assessing the rest of his mangled body. Signs of internal bleeding, and what looks like what used to be broken bones, though it looks like the bones have been forcefully pieced back together, much to the distress of his dermis layer and muscles. There are also strange holes in him, like he's been shot multiple times. Yet the wounds are cauterized, perfect little burnt holes, as if he were impaled by red hot needles.
"Hello? Can you hear me?"
The man's eyes are closed, but not in a peaceful way. They're squeezed shut, and wincing. He's in a lot of pain, but it's a sign that he's still functioning. Trevon has stayed where he is, he hasn't joined Abigail at the side of this injured man. His hand still grasping his gun, watching the man's bloody face with quiet contempt.
"Abigail."
He says. Abigail isn't listening.
"He's alive, but it looks like he's anemic."
She checks around his neck, finding that at least the cap of his spine is still intact, and his skull isn't damaged for the most part. But whatever did this to him, it must have been an aggressive encounter.
"I think we can move him."
The man lets out a moan, one that's long and gurgled, as if he was trying to breathe underwater. "We need to bring him back to the village, Trevon, there's blood in his lungs, and his organs might be punctured."
"Abigail."
Trevon says louder, taking a half step forward. Abigail leans over.
"Sir, if you can hear me, we're here to help, just stay with us!"
He answers with a groan, Abigail gets to her feet.
"Hey."
Trevon says louder, with an undertone of anger as he tries to catch Abigail's attention. She has her head turned, her eyes not leaving the man even when she's turned to him. It apparently rubs Trevon the wrong way, because he shouts her name, the torchlight casting shadows on his face.
"Abigail!"
Abigail jumps, finally looking at Trevon since they found the man.
"What?"
Trevon searches for the right words, biting the inside of his cheek.
"Abigail, don't you think it's strange? Is this guy not the least bit suspicious to you?"
Abigail knits her blonde eyebrows together, watching her boyfriend skeptically.
"What's that supposed to mean?"
Trevon sighs and adverts his gaze. Whatever he's feeling, it seems to be guilt, and something deeper.
"We don't know who this guy is, and those aren't regular wounds."
He looks back at her, his expression says a million things.
"He might be dangerous, and if he isn't, then whatever did this to him might be close. I think we should turn back; pretend we never saw him."
Abigail crosses her arms and speaks with her best understanding voice she can manage.
"Trevon, you know I love you."
Trevon gives a familiar reaction to Abigail's words; she's used that phrase many times before. Almost never for any positive reason.
"But this man needs help. He could die if we leave him here."
The Arms Dealer hopelessly sighs, holding up his hands in a lax form of pleading.
"But Abigail. He's a stranger, a suspicious one at that."
"Are you crazy? How is he suspicious to you?"
The Nurse waits impatiently for Trevon to answer. If she interrupts him further, he usually throws a fit, like he's always stressed or something. But time is of the essence, she wants to help this stranger. Her doting boyfriend is getting in the way.
"Look around us, it's the middle of the night right now!"
He says, putting on a tone of disbelief.
"There are undead and floating eyes everywhere Abigail, there's no way this guy would be spared this late into the evening unless he's not what he looks like."
Trevon gives the man behind Abigail a second glance, she instinctively inches to block his view. Those eyes he has on aren't friendly.
"Plus, I can't help but get a dangerous feeling from him. He is bad news, believe me."
It's Abigail's turn to be in disbelief, she leans her head forward.
"Excuse me, what!?"
She speaks quickly.
"I'm not about to let a poor soul die because you have goosebumps Trevon, stop being so selfish for once and help me, will you!?"
It's not true, but it does the trick. Abigail feels like she just wounded a puppy. But this puppy is a stubborn one, he will get over it.
With Trevon's reluctant help, Abigail crafts a makeshift stretcher, composed of three thin logs locked in a triangle, with Trevon's trench coat tied in the middle. They hoist the unconscious man onto it, Trevon stops and looks back where the man was resting. The two of them see it, and it only strains the situation further. There is a sword, one that looks out of this world. Trevon gives Abigail an aggressive "told you so" look, but doesn't rub anything in.
"Well, get your patient's luggage."
He says mockingly, heaving one of the triangle stretcher's edges onto his shoulder. Abigail goes and picks up the sword, and it nearly brings her to the floor.
"Hup!"
She involuntarily grunts, gritting her teeth, as her arms strain. Why is thing so heavy? It feels like it weighs as much as a horse; it's as long as one too. Everything in her body begs her to let go, but she doesn't give up.
Partly because Trevon's watching.
Trevon begins to leave without her, taking the torch and Abigail's only light with him. The man being dragged along at an angle on the stretcher, with guns and ammo that were stashed in Trevon's coat piled around his sides. Abigail plants her feet, and begins to trudge along, her high heels being left behind after the first few steps when the stems completely embedded into the ground and snapped off from the weight.
It's going to be a long walk home.