Patrick smiled broadly as he saw a familiar wooden structure in the distance. About half an hour ago they had left the asphalt road for another one of these structure less dirt roads. Everyone else was bored, wondering where they were actually going. To Patrick, these roads, with every little change in direction, every little rock, were a celebration of recognition! He could practically drive this road blindfolded while driving a glass truck filled with eggshells and nuclear explosives.
Emily stared at him, a bit confused.
"Why are you smiling like that?"
"This road. It's means but one thing. I'm going home!" Günther, in the back of the vehicle, noted to himself that he had never heard Patrick be so…cheerful. He was never a too grumpy person, however, this level of cheer was quite something different from what he had expected. His "professionalism" was something that was both sincere, and false to him. He was a loner, even though his social skills were good enough to expect at least a closer type of bonding then the one he sought to maintain within the team. He seemed to act professional even though he seemed to be quite prone to dropping it all and tossing jars of piss at others.
But if he was anything, he was a survivor. A determinator. He would do anything and everything to improve his chances of survival, to the point of trying to blind enemies with a flashlight or again, the piss. A worrying thought crossed his mind. Were they all just assets to him? People to help him survive the apocalypse, instead of a team.
Günther thought back at the days in 2Fort, about how he started bonding with pretty much every member of the team outside of the pyro, spy, and sniper. Also, Scout, but that was more because Scout was just intolerable in his bragging and his complaining. But with others he definitely started to start something that he would describe as a battle-induced friendship. You don't fight amongst others, go into these stressful situations and come out without any semblance of friendship. Only those that refused and kept others away remained nothing more than colleagues.
The Spy refused, and Patrick refused to interact with others more then the bare minimum outside of the battlefield. Even the scout, as annoying as he was, made for quite a fun drinking buddy along with the Demo, and Ludvig. Each would have their own tales from the battlefield or from beyond. Scout never stopped bragging but with some beer it at least became bearable.
Sometimes, even Soldier joined in. He was not a fan of alcohol, preferring to drink water in stead. " If the sneaky RED's think about attacking at this hour I must be ready! Ready without having my mind scrambled by the micro machines inside beer that cause you to become drunk!" Most of the time he would just go on these insane rants that would make Scout's bragging tales seem plausible. But still, there was this…at least, mutual appreciation of each other. The Soldier did feel a kind of pride towards them, and in rare occasions you could glimpse through his utter insanity to see some who was kind towards his friends and a hell for anyone he didn't like.
The spy, and in extension, Patrick, never gave off anything. All kept inside. While Günther could see some aspects of their non-controlled behavior on the battlefield (did he mention the piss yet?) they both preferred to keep themselves to themselves.
Günther was so deep in thought that he barely noticed that the van had stopped driving.
"Doc, you coming?"
"Heh…Ja, ja."
Günther stepped out of the van and stared at the wooden structure. It looked like something right out of a painting, so very quaint and farmer like. Though, the ground around it lay bare, coloured dirt red, just like the region they had been driving through for the last few hours.
fs71/i/2012/207/0/1/middle_of_nowhere_courage_the_cowardly_dog_by_
"Welcome to my home. This is Yarrawin, or as my parents used to call it, the middle of nowhere. "
Patrick seemed quite excited in showing off this simple farmhouse.
As he approached, though, his heart sank. Günther saw it instantly in the way he seemed to freeze into place. He couldn't see why, but he assumed that Patrick noticed that his parents were gone.
"Bugger." Dad's car was gone. The windows Mom used to keep clean were dirty. The closer he walked, the more he noticed how it was all empty.
He reached for his kukri, as he stamped down the door. It was all the same as he remembered it. Not all. He first noticed the many different pictures of Courage, their family dog. They hadn't been there before. Among the pictures he saw ones that must have been taken 10-15 years ago. Pictures that had been stuffed in a photo book ages ago, now framed and placed on the walls.
Patrick smiled, yet it faded quickly. Memories that rose quick disappeared with the question "What now?" As he walked through the house he couldn't help but feel defeated. His parents were gone. Most likely they ran out of supplies, went out to get some new ones, and promptly ran into a horde of zombies.
Patrick fell to his knees. A feeling of hopelessness, uselessness overtook him. It was all pointless. They had died, and he had been unable to protect them. He was crying, though none of the feelings appeared on the surface. He just sat there, caught between rage, shame, and grief.
"I assume zat…"
"Pissoff."
"Vhat did you just say? "
"GET OUT OF MY FUCKING HOUSE!" Patrick didn't even bother to look at Günther. His mind was running in circles. Memories appeared in front of him, only to dissipate moments later. Nothing coherent seemed to form. For a while, he just sat there, on his knees.
Then the music formed in his head. A record he had been listening to at night. It was only 2 years old yet he often listened to it…when he was alone. He realized that he had not herd the music in ages, or at least, it felt like ages. As he remembered the lines of the song, the first tears started flowing, and his mind filled in the music
Patrick fell on the floor, not wanting to move again. He couldn't even remember the last time he cried like that. In fact, he was pretty sure he had never, ever cried in his life.
"Get yourself together, you pathetic fuck. " Quickly he wiped the tears from his eyes and stood up.
"Fuck me that was horrible."
Angry, upset and confused he walked out the back door of the house. Strong, determined, and a badass motherfucker that nobody wanted to mess with. He was going to show up, tell the bunch that his parents are gone and then figure out what they were going to do next.
In his state he hadn't noticed that he was walking right towards a stone in the distance. It was flat, and had 7 letters rudimentarily carved into it. "Courage"
Patrick immediately turned away, fearing he would break down again. He had obviously seen it coming. Courage was an old dog, almost 16 years old since the day they got them. Of course, he left home around the time that mom found the pink dog with black dots. It was so odd, and they never did manage to get the pink dye from his fur. But the animal seemed quite scared of everything, a trait which mellowed over time. While Patrick didn't grow too attached to Courage until years later, still he seemed to be one of the things that made him want to return home every so often (along with Mom). He smiled, thinking about the simpler days of him returning home, talking to mom, playing with Courage and arguing with Dad all day. Good times.
Good times that were never coming back.
He had failed. He had been to slow. Too unorganized. He had been wasting valuable time on a fucking beach, and some fucking DJ bitch. His parents were gone, certainly dead. And he could have stopped it. He could have….
He felt someone's hand on his shoulder. The subtle sound of a glove scratching against his shoulder meant that it would either be Dell or Günther.
"Patrick. You have been standing here for half an hour, frozen solid in front of this grave. I don't want to…rush your process of grieving. But it's midday, and you may just wanna…get a drink. And something to eat. Clear your head a bit. "
After a minute of waiting for a reply, Dell tapped on Patrick's shoulder.
"What!" Patrick blurted.
"I lost my wife and daughter on the same day. Miscarriage."
The words hit deep. Patrick turned around and stared Dell in the eyes. He sighed.
"I assume you're not really the type to get attached to people. I also assume this is pretty much your first real loss. All I can tell you is that it takes a long time. C'mon, son." With a forceful pull Dell managed to drag Patrick along to his van. "You need to grieve on a full stomach."
And with that, Patrick and Dell walked towards the convoy without goal. The sun was setting rapidly, and a fire needed to get going anyhow. Patrick felt lost, beyond hope as the loss weighed heavy on his shoulders. Dell on the other hand, was determined to get him through this. They would set out a new course soon and leave the Australian subcontinent behind them. After all, tomorrow's another day