CHAPTER 5: DREAM DREAM

July 29, 1993

5 AM, Harlan's alarm went off again.

Bleary-eyed, he rolled out of bed and put his glasses on. He flicked the radio on and peeked out the front curtains. An automated voice listed the day's highs, lows, and tomorrow's forecast. Nothing of note. Once the voice fizzled into static, Harlan turned the radio off and made his way downstairs to find Anthony doing push-ups on the hardwood floor.

"Good morning." He said between reps.

"Morning." Harlan replied, "Breakfast?"

"If you're cooking." Anthony kept going.

"Oookay." Harlan pulled a dozen eggs from the fridge and fried them over a fire outside. It was a clear early morning with a slight chill in the air. The streetlights above the fence went out, leaving Harlan lit by the meager morning sun and the fire he built.

His thoughts wandered as he scraped the eggs around the non-stick pan. Part of him wondered if it was even safe to use with an open flame.

Before he could deduce that, Anthony slipped down the rope. He was shirtless, a thick patch of curly black hairs decorated his chest. Harlan tried to look without looking like he was looking as Anthony sat next to him.

The two ate in silence as the sun rose, burning off the morning haze and revealing a clear sky.

"Hey," Anthony began in between bites, "Do you think they have sunscreen at the supermarket?"

Harlan laughed, choking on his eggs.

"What's so funny? Skin cancer is still out there man." Harlan banged his chest and coughed up a bit of food.

"It's not- no, it's," he took a breath, "I think we have slightly more pressing matters at hand." He pointed past the chain link fence, a lone corpse stood in the fire department's yard watching the two men. Thin and gaunt, maybe from the decay, she had a 'heroin chic' look that would've turned heads. Anthony scrambled to finish his food.

"You ever wonder why they do that?" Anthony looked over at Harlan, who continued, "They just stand there and stare at you, slack-jawed. Like she knows she can't get us so she just shuts down."

"I never stopped to look at 'em much, honestly."

"I've had the luxury of relative safety here. They're weird when you stop and observe them."

"They're the walking dead, Harlan, they're very fucking weird."

Harlan shrugged and finished his meal before both men got to work on the remaining wall. After about an hour of hammering, the backyard was finally safe. Or safe enough, Harlan surmised. Anthony, shirtless and sweaty, held his hammer aloft victoriously.

"HA! All in a day's work, eh?" Anthony slapped his other hand on Harlan's back, catching him off guard and knocking his glasses off. Harlan scrambled to grab them from the grass as Anthony continued. "What's next?"

July 30, 1993, 02:34 AM

In the pitch blackness of night, Harlan woke up to yelling from downstairs.

He bolted out of bed and bounded down the hall, axe in hand, still in his underwear. Downstairs he found Anthony on the couch, lit by a nearby candle.

"What happened?!" Harlan asked, axe in hand as he scanned the first floor.

"I uh," Anthony sounded embarrassed, "I had a nightmare, I'm sorry. It happens sometimes."

"Happens to me too… sometimes." Harlan laid his axe against the wall and sat in an armchair. "What was it about?"

"Oh you know, death, violence." Anthony thought for a moment. "It was weird. I was back home in my apartment, but those things were banging at my door. I tried leaving through the fire escape but I kept fumbling with the window and couldn't escape. Then the door burst open and I started screaming," He took a deep breath. "Just another dream."

"Just another dream." Harlan sang aloud, Anthony laughed.

"Didn't know you were into Cathy Dennis."

"Into her?" Harlan laughed, "She's inescapable." Anthony pulled his blanket down to his lap revealing his bare chest, Harlan tried not to notice.

"What kinda clubs were you going to?"

"Oh, places." Harlan ran a hand through his hair, "Life was a blur back then." It was a blur alright, bright lights and warm lips smeared with booze, sweat and powder. Hungry hands looking for flesh. Longing for what you don't have. Harlan briefly thought of Mike, what happened, how he's doing, but his brain moved right along with the conversation.

"I'm sure it was," Anthony started, "I went wherever my coworkers took me. There was this pub around the corner we'd all pile into after bad days, missed deadlines, terrible managers," he laid out on the couch again. Harlan wanted to trace Anthony's happy trail with his finger, but kept that to himself. Things got quiet.

"There's a spare bed upstairs, you know."

"There is?" He sat up again. Harlan led him upstairs and to the spare room in the back of the house, where Anthony promptly moved his things before the two returned to sleep.

[A/N: Bit of a short one this week, I promise more blood and gore soon!]