Chapter 3
The Center for Disease Control was a large building surrounded by broken military blockades, dead bodies, cawing birds, and a descending dark of the city. Their hearts were in their throats as they sprinted. It was in the middle of Atlanta. The overgrown fields of the airport to the west were the perfect place for walkers to hide their motions in the flow of the air.
Eloise kept a spear pointed hunting knife clenched in hand as they neared the building. Their last hope for an end to the nightmare. Rick believed there was a cure. Some magic scientist team still working diligently to create a vaccine that would cure the ones lost. Or at least save the rest from the wrath of the dead.
But she knew better than to trust a hope as faraway as that. The world was gone. Sanity descended to madness, survival the only thought on everyone's mind. The new world was savage. It only awarded those who fought without abandon or morality.
The CDC did not have a lasting supply of power, water, food, and care. Eventually, things ran out.
Hope ran out.
"There's nothing here!"
"What are we going to do? We're trapped here. We have no place else to go."
Their voices echoed against the buildings, the empty streets, like a siren call to those who were hungry.
"Let us in!" Rick's fists pounded against the thick reinforced doors. "We're going to die out here!"
As if there was a person to care.
"Rick. Look around. There is nothing left," Shane shouted.
The rest of the group was frantic. They were trapped out in the open, unprotected, most were unarmed, cowered with the rest of them. Carl and Sophia, children, left as the most vulnerable in the open position they were in.
They formed a circle around Lori, Carol, and the kids. Andrea held out her pistol. Dale was there with his rifle, which wasn't much of use in a hand-to-hand situation. Shane was too distracted with the meltdown of Rick at the doors. T-Dog and Jacqui were together. Their hands held their weapons, widened eyes, trembling hands.
"We can't stay here," Daryl said. He swung in circles. Eyes stayed on the move for any glimpse of walker nearby.
"It's almost nightfall," Lori murmured.
The sounds of shuffling feet echoed in their ears. Hisses and groans of the walking dead moved closer, from all around.
Fading light made the moment all the more terrifying.
"Daryl." Shane said.
"I can't see 'em."
Eloise pulled out another knife from her pocket. She wielded the two blades in her fists. One sensation close enough would catch both, hopefully in a skull.
There was a screech and a mechanical groan. A light emerged through the dusk. It came from inside the building.
"Inside, inside." Rick urged. His steps the first to step inside the building.
Eloise and Daryl were the farthest. It was a rush to get inside. Light had attracted the walkers. Their quickening shuffles only prodded their feet faster.
It came obvious that they would not make it without a walker with them. It was too fast, too close.
Arrows were a limited resource. Daryl couldn't risk shooting and losing one. But a knife. Those were aplenty if she didn't manage to get it back.
She stopped, spun on toe, and lashed out with both blades. The walker, a sunken wrinkled thing with greasy limp hair down to its shoulders, bared its rotten teeth. Both of its arms swung at her. Eloise stepped closer. The downside of knives was that it was close contact. Close enough to be harmed in the way of administering their quiet power.
There were shouts of her name as she avoided the lashing claws of the dead.
Another walker came from the side only narrowly missing her leg. Eloise used her body to propel the knife through one skull, kicking the other walker off its feet, giving her the chance to muster up her energy.
"Come on!" They shouted. The doors weren't open forever. "Run!"
The walker rose to its feet. She pulled at the blade, but it wouldn't release. Caught on the bone.
It came forward. Bits of brown and yellow bile splashed from the open gash through its belly.
"Shit," she swore.
An arrow pierced its head in a quick burst. The body dropped to the ground.
Daryl stood near the closing door. "COME ON!"
Eloise ripped the arrow from the walker and ran as hard as she could until the momentum was so great, she tumbled into the wall of people around the door and dropped them to the floor. She tumbled away. The backpack on her back arched her back, an awkward position that took her breath away.
"God damn. You some kind of stupid?" Daryl growled as he rose from the floor.
Her chest burned. She held her hands close to her heart as the frantic pulse throbbed violently like it might rip through her skin.
"Walkers would have been in here with us if she hadn't," Shane commented.
"Yeah, and coulda been dead on that pavement, too."
It was a slow ascent. Her whole bicep ached.
The arrow still clutched in her fist. She thrust it toward the crossbow holder.
"You dropped this."
He scowled as he swiped the arrow from her hand.
"Least you could do since I saved your ass."
The welcome to the CDC was awkward by a singular man, who asked for their blood as a way to enter the building. The infected were obvious. Those who walked, talked, and were in a group typically didn't harbor those due to turn into walkers.
It was still the price they were forced to pay.
Each arm was laid out for his use. Child, adult, man, woman. Their blood was placed in test tubes and labeled with their name. Then there was a strange tour of the protected lower levels of the building. All automized. It was voice controlled, temperature controlled, stocked with food, medical supplies.
Then came the excitement.
"Did he say hot water?"
A hot shower. What a luxury that ended up being.
All those years before, when hot water was wasted and showers were avoided in favor of a nap, looped in tragic irony. Now, a shower was a reward they'd kill for.
The group split into open doorways. Each was fitted with its own bathroom.
There were only a select number of rooms, though. They filled quickly as people stepped inside and placed their belongings together, smiling.
Eloise stood in the hallway, left alone, as she was an outcast of the group. Her hands stayed dug into the straps of her backpack.
The women split into their own groups like they knew where to go. Who went with who.
"Guess this is what's left." Daryl set his bow inside the bare room. He, the only other who remained outside the inner workings of the rest of them.
Her eyes glanced inside the doorway. A simple cot rested against one wall. It was wide enough for about one person.
Eloise shifted. "I can take the couch in the rec."
"Nah. You can have the cot," he said gently. "I'll go."
She paused. The rest of the group had their own rooms. A bathroom to use, a shower with their very own hot water. It was not fair that he be denied that right. Judging by the way he smelled, he could use it more than she could.
"The floor in here is just as good."
His blue eyes lifted from the floor.
She shrugged. "I'm grown. I can handle sharing a room. Besides, you'll need to use the shower. Makes it easier if you just bunk in here."
The happy chatter through the hall carried through the atmosphere. Heat rose. Gurgling surge of water as showers were cranked on, squeals of joy at the downpour of warmth over their bodies the very essence of glee.
Carl and Sophia jogged through the halls. Their excited giggling filled the faces of everyone.
How long it'd been since they felt safe enough to smile, laugh, feel their hearts settle in normal tune.
The tip of Daryl's boot kicked the edge of the door closed. His gear dropped to the floor.
Neither said a thing as they settled into their room. Not permanent enough to unpack, but enough that their thoughts kept them nervous at the other in the space with them.
The sound of water rushed through the walls. They turned in notice of its woosh.
"Guess we'll be showerin' later. Damn hogs usin' it all up."
The wait was torturous to endure. Especially as the rest of them filtered into the cafeteria with fresh clean faces, damp hair, and smelled of soap.
New clothes, not strewn with walker guts and filth, were an addition to the meal.
"There's plenty," Dr. Jenner said. "Help yourselves."
"It's been a good long while since we've had a decent meal," Rick commented.
They went beyond a decent meal when the table was laden with trays of hot bubbling food. Fluffy mashed potatoes adorned with bits of salt and garlic. A bowl overflowed with green beans. Carol had popped a pan of bready rolls into the oven so they were toasty warm. The puff of steam that rose from the napkin when it was lifted from the bowl caused a flood of salvia in their mouths.
Eloise savored each bite of the bread. It was the one thing she missed most. A good warm bite of bread, a sandwich, bread sticks or cinnamon rolls on a Sunday morning.
"Mmm." She hummed as she took another bite.
"Hey. Look what I found stashed up in the pantry there." A pair of long necked bottles were boasted in Daryl's long fingers. "And not just these two. Couple cases."
They howled in excitement.
A glass of wine. None would have risked the enjoyment of alcohol at camp. The protection of the CDC loosened their inhibitions to remain alert and focused.
Daryl poured a round into everyone's glasses. His voice was loud, as if he'd already taken a few swigs himself. An actual show of thrill in his demeanor, the opposite of what the man was outside those walls.
Eloise pictured what kind of man he'd been in the real world. She guessed it was much of the same as he was with them, since every mention of it was a depressing rerun of what he'd endured in his childhood.
The hardened, blunt edge of himself was abrasive for a reason. It kept him separated.
His eyes caught hers from across the table. He'd glanced at Glenn and poured the deep red wine to the rim of the wine glass in Glenn's fingers, with a softening to his pale blue eyes. A smile directed at her.
The bottle was raised in her direction.
She shook her head.
"You won't drink with us?"
A glass was between the fingers of everyone at the table, apart from the two children. Even Jacqui held a swallow of wine in hers.
Shane glanced at her. "Can't trust a woman who don't drink."
T-Dog howled up from his side of the table. "Go on. Let loose a bit."
The elder of the group sat at her left. He patted her hand.
"Join us for a toast," Dale pressed.
The bottle slammed to the table. It was just within her reach. A half inch of wine remained at the bottom of the green bottle.
Eloise chewed on her cheek. "I've never been much of a drinker."
"Todays the day to start," Daryl declared.
He poured the contents into her glass. It swished against the sides as it rose higher and higher.
Crimson red. It was deep and luscious. The smell was divine beneath her nose.
"Don't smell it." Carl shook her head. "It makes it worse."
The table burst into laughter. The first and only taste Carl took of alcohol was at that very table with a small sip of wine that he promptly spit back into the glass.
"It's a good year," the doctor commented from his quiet corner of the table.
Eloise took a breath. Her fingers tapped against the crystal-clear glass. The weight of the liquid inside the cylinder pressed against her palm as she held it in her hand.
Dale playfully elbowed her arm. "One swig won't hurt, will it?"
One swig was enough. It showed on all their faces. A growing blush of red at the tops of their cheeks, down their necks. The smudge of red on their inner lips. Impressions of their lips pressed at the rim of their glass.
There was a cloud in their eyes. The haze of contentment, a forgetful air, that filled their minds with ease in spite of what they knew laid outside those thick walls. It was not about what clawed for their flesh on the outside that mattered. It was inside. The safety of those who they depended on most was a better tune to hum.
That emotion felt untouchable. It, just beyond the reach of her fingers.
The yearn to be. One of them.
Eloise tilted the glass back and drank until nothing but air filled her mouth. It earned more than a few raised eyebrows. T-Dog laughed. He raised his glass.
The rest of the night faded into the blur: dancing the Kid 'N' Play with T-Dog, showing off with her running man moves as he stood there and attempted, more wine, laughing until her side hurt, Glenn turning into a nonstop chatterbox.
It died down after dinner. Exhaustion after a full stomach caught up with them. It being the first in a long time since they had their fill.
Daryl and Eloise went back to their room. The bread started to fill her blood stream, the lifting of her drunk to just a thick buzz, with Daryl still taking long pulls off a wine bottle. His hand rustled through the short cut of his sandy brown hair. He walked undeterred by the amount of alcohol through his blood stream while she became leaden and top-heavy through the rising clarity. It was too thick to shake. Her body swam with warmth. Dry red wine the taste of bubbly shiny lights and the swimming pool through her thoughts.
She stumbled into her cot. Daryl chuckled as the door hinge swung back to the frame.
"Thought you city girls knew how to drink."
Her eyes lazily found his. "What makes you think I'm a city girl?"
He scoffed. His throat went quiet. The narrow rim was placed against his pursed lips. A horizontal line of pale pink wine drifted through into his mouth where it was swallowed without a taste across the tongue.
The label was silvery with white script. It looked fancy. Fancy meant little in a world of survival.
"I mean, just look at you."
"What about me?"
His two hands went to his chest. "What 'bout me makes me a hick? My cheap clothes, how slow I talk, the way I act. Y'all judge me just the same. Like I'm some deviant. Good for nothin'. Nothin' but a trailer trash white boy."
Eloise shook her head. "I never thought that about you."
He scoffed. A twisted desire of want and restraint in his eye.
The cot on the floor for Daryl was nothing more than a faded maroon sleeping bag, flannel plaid on the inner lining. His preferred weapon – a crossbow – rested at the head. It never left his sight. Cracked, brown leather boots slipped off his feet near the door. Their edges near apart at the soles.
A pair of white socks covered his feet, apart for the hole at the big toe of his left foot.
She watched him sink to the floor. He lost himself in a deep swallow of alcohol, a desire to keep himself lost inside the thick haze of a buzz than the crashing question of what it meant to be inside the CDC now that they were there.
The wall rested against his spine. His two knees were raised, the bottle hanged between them as he stared at the dwindling liquid inside its glass.
"Before this," he mumbled lowly. His lips moved apart from his mind like their innermost thoughts birthed to air without consideration of being kept inside. "What kind of man do I think I was? What kind of music did I listen to?"
Eloise exhaled sharply. "Most would guess country. Or the bike might make them think metal. But those don't fit you. They aren't your style."
He slid farther against the wall. A cursory glance at her atop her cot.
"Then what is?"
"I can see you jamming to classic rock on a chopper," she hummed softly, "cruising down the interstate. Blaring some good ole Johnny Cash, Pink Floyd, Sabbath, Roses, Ozzie."
Daryl exhaled. The back of his head lulled against the wall.
He sat a while. The only sound of his breath as he breathed against the bottle. Eloise sprawled out on her cot. The weight of the wine pressed against her eyes. They became heavier and heavier as time went on. Pure silence. Not a thought or concern to what closing their eyes might bring.
A sudden whoosh surged through the wall. The slosh of water through the pipes like a reminder of what amenities awaited them.
"Better get myself in there before it's all used up," he mumbled, half to himself.
Eloise's eyes lulled closed. Her head fallen back against the thin cot pillow. Soft, subtle breaths escaped her chest, a slight twitch to the ends of her fingers.
A time later, a door slammed closed. Her body leapt up. Heart in her chest, she reached for the knife at her side, when she saw the antiseptic walls of the CDC room with hazy LED lights above her head. The throb of fear died down. She settled back down to the warmth of her cot. It was the best sleep she'd had.
The room was silent. Like she was alone.
A single eyelid peeked over the edge of the bed frame. The sleeping roll on the floor was absent of an occupant.
Through the quiet lull of the night in an actual building not defiled with death and dirt, a familiar tang found her nose. She groaned when she realized where it came from: her.
It was pungent. Long baked body odor, sweat, dirt with a hint of decay all swarmed her nostrils.
Her limbs sprang to life as she swung her legs over the edge. The idea of a hot shower was blissful. It'd be a welcome sensation over the thick crusted flesh of her torso. A soapy lather might rid the dirt and dust and blood and guts and sweat from her person.
She unclipped her belt holster as well as each individual thigh holster. Her fingers trembled against the last remaining blade as it was set away, off her person. The palpable leap to her heart filtered loudly to her ears.
A weapon was a lifeline. In the life on the run in the overrun land of zombies, to be caught without a weapon was a death sentence.
Eloise glanced to the crossbow propped near the doorway. Daryl's permanent accessory, a thing he'd be caught dead without. His own worry stone to grip when anxiety crossed his mind.
She gulped as she released the knife.
The outer layers of her clothing shred, only the simple under things remained as she slinked into the steamy warm room of the bathroom.
"Oh!" She gasped.
A naked torso cut through the steamy fog. It was pale white only hindered by a woven green plaid waist of a pair of boxers. It was marred by white lines. Ancient scars cut through the stretch of a spine, slashed diagonally every which way.
Her eyes blinked repeatedly, flushed with heat. "I thought you'd left."
Daryl lifted his gaze through the reflection in the mirror. A white foam between his lips.
He leaned over and spit it out. "Just finishin' up."
"Sorry," she mumbled.
She shifted her eyes away, hiding her gaze and embarrassment at walking in. It was a juvenile action. Meant for rude, lustful teenagers rather than a pair of respectful, albeit exhausted, adults.
Her lips mumbled a self-depreciative comment. The sound of running water carried it too low to be heard.
"'Sall right." His voice was soft and kind. It was absent of its usual harsh tone.
He finished brushing his teeth. His belongings were gathered up in his arm, toothbrush, pants, damp towel.
"It's all yours," he said.
The slap of his feet against the tile retreated. It echoed through the emptiness.
An absolute freedom to stand in a fully functional bathroom with warm water and toiletries, disregard of the plague outside, safety of walls and friends together. Food, not a question or the roll of a stomach as they stared down at a pile full of squirrels meant to be consumed. All threats to their continuity so far removed.
It was a semblance of normal life. The closest touch to what it was like before, the last shred of what remained, never to be seen again.
Opportunities like it were not to come for a lifetime, perhaps longer.
She stalked back to the room. "Can you show me?" She asked. Her breath full of need. Not quite thought through in what she was doing. "The shower."
His actions slowed. The blare of his blue eyes shined bright below the artificial light. The contents of his arms dropped into a heap atop his sleeping bag.
"Sure," he answered.
There was a familiar look in his eye. Caution. The blue mixed with a milky haze as it watched her, crept down her body for a split second in a guarded glance he thought she'd not notice. Whether it was doubt of his safety or in what she wanted, there was no tell. Though the loosened muscles at his jaw spoke to the former.
Daryl led the way through the locker room style bathroom to the shower stall where a frosted glass door sat. A wisp of steam poured out as the door swung open. A shower head mounted in the ceiling above. The chrome controls were on the wall, a single fixture with a knob.
"Pull it out to turn it on. Spin it around to the red. That's the hot water." He scratched the back of his head. "That's all there is to it."
Heat consumed her face. "Right. Simple."
She reached over and pulled the knob, turned it to the red. Water sounded through the pipes before it rained down in the center of the stall. Billowy clouds of steam rose. The smell of soap spread throughout the atmosphere as it bounced alive from the tile floor.
Their bodies were off center away from the stream. Only small droplets splashed against their shins.
"Looks like you've got a handle on it…"
He moved toward the exit. Fingers dragged against the condensation of the glass when her fingers touched his shoulder, a gentle pressure, that turned his attention back where she wanted it. His fingers cut downward. Their touch of the door, forgotten.
They were so close. She smelled the mint of his toothpaste through the tangy sour of the wine at the back of his breath.
Her eyes dropped to the line of pink lips so near. They were full, not too large, just lined with a bit of sheen from moisture.
He drifted closer. Eyes centered on her own lips before he raised his fingertips to brush the length of her bicep. It moved with intent and caution, an unending question in his gaze that never left.
Too slow.
Eloise pushed through the gap between them. Hot breaths joined to one. Lips pushed against his, gentle and unassuming, chest to chest, each palm pressed against a shoulder socket, fingers curled over the edge to his back. The breath in his chest was slow. It only changed when her tongue flicked at the closed walls of his mouth.
The opening of his lips welcomed a new sensation to fill their bodies. Dense air choked the thought of caution from their minds.
Daryl staggered backward into the falling water. She, still attached, followed him inside the cloak of heat as it poured down overtop their skin. It soaked through the thin fabric with ease. Boxers drenched heavy and clung at his hips with the last bit of strength to remain in place. The pale fabric of her bra exposed the definition of her breasts.
He pressed deeper into their kiss. The flushness of exposed skin. His eyes shuttered closed.
The height of his shoulders lowered beneath her touch like the crushing weight of desire was stronger than the constant high of being trapped in a nightmarish world.
It was gentler than Eloise expected. The pressure only grew against her lips when she dragged her hands along his clavicle up the soft flesh of his neck. Gentle pricks of stubble were the only sharp edge to the endless smooth of his skin.
Through the cascade of heavenly warmth like the strength of a midday sun through a summer rain, the caress of fingertips at her sides moved in slow motion from the middle of her thigh to her waist. The faint touch of him on her. It flooded her veins with need. She clutched at his jaw. The sharp sting of his outgrown facial hair against her palms through the bliss of the moment fought her eyelids alive.
They shuttered open to find his in probing need of her gaze. Pure intensity poured through.
His lips dropped down to the inner flesh of her throat. A soft rasping moan radiated through the steamy air. It ruptured through her throat without thought.
Touch played peek-a-boo with the elastic band of her bra. It toyed with a slight pull, a gentle question of permission. The stronger the touch became, the quicker her breath came. Finally she lifted her arms in agreement at the furthering of what their bodies wanted.
Neither wanted escape from the moment. It was a way to forget what it meant to be there.
The removal of her bra quickened the pace. Daryl's strength drove her back against the wall. His cock rose inside his boxers with a swollen end hard at the stretch of the fabric. It faintly touched the wet of her panties.
Sensation below the waist filled her belly with tension. Hot stretching of muscles primed high. Her heart raced.
Memories played through her mind like the icy waters that doused hot fires. It splashed against her lust in a shocking stop.
Her hands violently rattled against his chest. Fear stung her eyes.
Daryl glanced down. Her hands couldn't stop quaking.
One look brought a withdrawal from her person.
"Sorry," he said. "I didn't – I shouldn't -."
She shook her head. "Don't be. I wanted to…I thought I could…" Her palms hung midair. Still shaking. "My body just isn't ready."
"There's no rush. Looks like we'll all be here a while. Plenty of time to figure it out."
Eloise gave a small smile. She liked that he stayed close. The touch of another person, it was so foreign like it'd been years since she found herself against the flesh of another.
A world that thrived on separation left them all starved for touch.
Her lips placed a gentle kiss against his cheek. "Sorry…about getting you all wet."
"It'll dry," he replied quickly. Bits of smile wanted to peek through her face. She knew it was stupid to take stock in what a man said to find his way into a woman's pants. There was no shortage of example. Still, she allowed herself to let the tiniest bit in. Just for a moment.
Daryl gestured to the water. "Better get some before the rest of them hogs get it."
She remained against the wall as he left the shower stall. A hearty breath combusted inside her lungs. The relief flooded her body. Trembles subsided. Memories faded to newer ones with kinder feelings. The hold of men's arms on her lifted to the faint touches of his fingers on her thigh, the hesitation at the touch.
The rest of the shower was delightful. A welcome relief of time alone in reflection as suds of soap rolled down her hair, along her spine, dripped to her calves and finally down the drain. The filth of the world cleaned with ease despite the long mental stain it left.
She emerged later to a dark room. Her toes crept quietly to the cot.
Total silence, dark, absence of sensation.
Her body relaxed into the comfort embrace of her cot ready for a steady slumber when a gentle sound split the air.
It whispered through the softest voice. "Good night, El."
A bubbling of touched tears went to her eyes. "Good night, Daryl."