THE EYE OF THE STORM — PART 1
Alicia woke when she heard the bathroom door close. She sat up, rubbing sleep from her eyes and went to investigate. Troy's room was empty. As was Nick's.
The latter had been expected and she quietly closed the door to his room, inhaling deeply and praying he would be back sooner rather than later. And in one piece.
Downstairs in the kitchen, she heated up what was left of Troy's chicken soup, refilled his water bottle, and prepared some more of the tea he'd found agreeable the day before.
She deposited it all on his bedside table and made a second return downstairs for a cup of tea of her own, spiked with whiskey to steady her nerves about Nick.
If she was lucky, Troy wouldn't notice his absence.
Ten minutes passed before Troy emerged from the bathroom. As much as he wanted to take that walk, circle around the garden or better yet, put an actual mile between himself and the mattress, he didn't have the strength. He returned to his room, the makeshift wraparound he'd been wearing on his arm. He tossed it toward his unmade bed, walking over to the bedside table, spying the contents.
That hadn't been there before.
He pressed a hand to the side of the bowl, found it was hot and cast a look behind him. Was Alicia awake now? Had he woken her? Or was it Nick?
He sat down to eat, forcing himself to swallow it all down and when he was done, took a sip of his bottle before heading downstairs to check.
"Thanks for the breakfast," Troy said, holding up his empty bowl as he hit the landing, walking over to the sink to rinse it, scanning Alicia as she drank her tea. He looked around to see if Nick was in the vicinity somewhere. "I assume you were the one who made it?"
"Yeah. Nick only just went to sleep. Restless night, apparently," Alicia lied smoothly, eyeing him. "How are you feeling?"
"Oh." Troy frowned lightly. She didn't mention his wound giving him troubles or anything like that, but Troy assumed it might be the issue. Or maybe he was feeling restless. God forbid. Troy understood his pain now and he'd only endured twenty-four hours. "My nose is open. My throat—it's still being a bugger."
He set the bowl to dry on the counter, pivoting to face her, walking over to the windows to check on their security. He hadn't been standing there long when he noticed his battery security wasn't attached to the door.
"Too much work to put it back in place?" he asked. "Or did the battery die?" He walked over to the black box on the floor behind the door, crouching beside it, finding that the simple act had exhausted him. He leaned back against the wall for support, silently begging his head to stop spinning.
"Hey–" She moved to his side, catching one of his arms in her hand for added support. "You don't get to worry about security details at the moment. You've other important work to do."
Alicia attempted to tug him towards her, to coax him towards the stairs. "Give it another day at least. If you make yourself worse by refusing to rest, I'll kick your ass."
The lightheadedness passed before she'd made it to his side, but the hand on his arm had been welcome anyway. He didn't shake her off, using both her and the wall so he could straighten up again. He was safer on his feet. He laughed lightly, glancing down at her, finding that in his state - she probably could have one over on him. Two. He didn't like that, either. He wasn't used to being in a position where he couldn't protect himself or his people. Alicia was by definition his people now. Whether she liked it or not. "I'm not refusing, trust me. I want this flu shit over and done with as soon as possible – I'm just… I'm getting a little cabin fever. I'm not used to this anymore." He pushed away from the wall with her help, steadying himself out, walking over to the couch. "Have you guys been watching any of the DVD's?"
"Haven't had that pleasure yet," Alicia admitted, keeping a hold of him for as long as he needed it, carefully watching his movements. "You wanna watch a few to make the time pass? I can carry the TV upstairs to your room," she offered. The television downstairs wasn't big, nor very modern. One of those old boxes that were as thick as they were wide.
Troy looked up at her from his seated position, considering his options and her willingness to help him. He never would have imagined she'd jump at his beck and call. Not that he was becking or calling. She just seemed to be that gracious. He also suspected that Alicia did it out of the kindness of her heart and not because she expected anything in return. What could she possibly get from him anyway? All he'd had to offer once upon a time was the ranch, and her mother had taken care of that. "Yeah, I guess… that's one way to get through the pain of doing nothing with my time. I'm beginning to miss the dead."
Alicia wrinkled her nose. "You're so weird."
She approached the TV and pulled it out from the bench it rested on, eyeing the wires she would have to unplug and reconnect upstairs. Shouldn't be hard.
"What do you want to watch?"
"What's there? Any recommendations?" He didn't mind the small talk. Troy had spent a lot of time on his own in the past, but the last twenty-four hours had been the worst. Old insecurities were cropping up, along with ghosts he'd thought were buried fourteen years ago.
Alicia crouched to eye the selection beneath the bench, running her finger along the spines of the DVD cases. "A few of the old James Bond movies." She remembered he liked those. "Various action-comedies, some straight up comedies, historical movies, westerns, and an assortment of My Little Pony." She smirked at him over her shoulder. "Preferences?"
"My little pony?" Troy grimaced. "Skip. James and his many double o's will have to do. Unless there's Saving Private Ryan? Or Die hard—" Troy was trying to remember what he'd seen before. He pushed up off the chair, his arms growing weaker, his legs feeling as if they were struggling to keep him up. He wanted a closer look. He scanned the tiles once more, settling on a western. "Legends of the fall." Two brothers falling in love with the same woman, going through years of rivalry and then later dying in horrible ways. The similarities it held to his own life didn't escape him. He tucked it under his arm, aware he'd probably be asleep before it hit the halfway mark. "Nick worried about something?"
"Um, he was checking on you a lot," Alicia said, inching her fingers under the television and lifting, choosing to go up the stairs before Troy since he was moving at a leisurely pace. "And his wound is still bugging him. It's going to for a while yet, I'm afraid."
"I'm sure he loves that," Troy murmured, trailing her toward the stairs. He paused before they got too far. "We should set the battery to the door." He couldn't stand the idea of them being exposed. They were already at their weakest and it's not as if the house was laden with intense security. "I'll be with you in a minute. Go on ahead - set it up." He walked over to the couch, set the DVD on the armrest and moved toward the door.
"Alright," Alicia murmured, displeased by his insistence to charge the damn doorknob with electricity. She would have to unplug it as soon as she could, so Nick didn't fry himself and end up with a heart attack when he came back.
She moved slower, as if the television had suddenly become heavier and she was struggling. But eventually she had no other choice than to either proceed to Troy's room or linger and make it weird.
The TV fit on the lone chair in the room and Alicia positioned it nicely so it could be seen from the bed, then jogged back downstairs to get the DVD-player.
Troy checked the cables to make sure there was still a charge. Sparks flew. What was their problem with his setup? It was easy enough to use and one of their simpler security measures. It took him a minute to set up again. He barely even felt winded.
Okay, a lie. He felt winded. A lot winded.
He braced himself against the wall with one hand, sucking in steadying breathes to calm himself down and double-checked his handiwork before going to collect his DVD. Alicia had returned for the DVD player and together they made their way to his room. He didn't try to help her with the setup of the TV's trimmings, his muscles screaming, his legs needing more rest. He dropped onto the edge of the bed, opening up the DVD to remove the CD from inside the case.
"Did you manage to sleep last night?"
"I did, actually." And she was genuine this time. The booze Nick had brought home had worked wonders and allowed her to doze off easier than usual.
He believed that. Alicia looked tired, stressed perhaps, but she didn't look as rundown as Troy and Nick did lately. She was beautiful. He wondered if she knew that, if she utilized it when she was in school and how many boyfriends she'd had beyond his brother. He didn't really know much about her, and Madison — for all her Nick stories — hardly spoke about the girl. What he knew about her, he'd studied himself.
He tossed the disc onto the edge of the bed where she could put it into the player and settled against his pillows, scowling when he felt pain in his back and neck.
He couldn't stand, couldn't sit, couldn't lie down… he wanted to break something.
Alicia cast a studying glance his way. "And you? You were restless when I last checked on you. Nightmares?"
"Yeah," Troy mused, wondering if he'd spoken in his sleep, if he'd done anything that gave them insight as to what and who he'd been dreaming about. "Nightmares. Memories. Sometimes they wash into one."
"Your dad?" Alicia guessed, her back to him now as she situated the player and the disc. He hadn't been speaking in his sleep. At least not with words Alicia could decipher. But she assumed his father's death may have caused some dread that lingered.
"Mother mostly," Troy said, surprising himself. He didn't usually talk to her. He hadn't spoken about her in the longest time - years. She was one of those things he'd been forced to shut down, to forget and push to the back of his mind so he could move on, and he had. What he couldn't understand was why she was hanging onto his consciousness now? Why her voice was ringing in his ears whenever he closed his eyes. She wouldn't leave Troy alone. "Do you miss Madison?"
Alicia breathed a soft laugh, wondering if Troy and Nick had discussed her Mom without Alicia present. That was the second time they'd asked her that question in the last twelve hours.
"Um, no, not really," she said honestly. "We struggle to get along."
No? Troy was surprised by her revelation. The only time he'd ever seen Alicia wanting to break away from her mother was after the ranch incident, and he'd chalked that down to weariness, not indifference. Nick, on the other hand, had relayed how trapped he felt by Madison a handful of times during their adventures. He never elaborated on why, how or when it started, and Troy never asked.
Alicia got her to feet after turning the TV on, throwing the remote to Troy and grabbing his cup of tea. "I'll be right back."
Downstairs, she silently unplugged the battery, peering out from behind the curtain to make sure no one was currently on their front step. When she found it empty, she headed for the kitchen, reheating Troy's tea and refilling her own with a good helping of whiskey.
Alicia wanted to keep an eye on him. Not just for the sake of his health but because she could only imagine the hell that would break loose if Troy discovered Nick had gone to the settlement. That moment needed to be prolonged for as long as possible.
So she settled on his bed, back against the headboard, stretching out her legs. She handed Troy his mug, sipping from her own.
"What was she like? Your mom?"
Troy considered her question, realizing for a moment that their mothers had a lot of similarities. He frowned. How had he not made that connection before? The blond hair, the casual detachment, the emotional manipulation and their ungratefulness in face of his sacrifice. Still, comparing the two felt like a betrayal to his mother. She was sick and hardly in control of her actions. Madison knew what she was doing – all of it.
"She was beautiful. Stubborn. A good cook. Avid reader of romance novels. Often made her own clothing. Mine too. She was caring." That latter wasn't as much a truth as it was a story he liked to tell himself. There had been times as a kid that Troy pretended to be sick to spend time with her, act that had become a habit, one he'd grown addicted to until it had stopped working and she'd started to push Troy away, bored of playing the dotting mother, overcome by her game of 'who can consume the most whiskey'. "She was also an alcoholic. Like Jeremiah. One of the few things they had in common."
Alicia listened closely, trying to imagine Troy's mother in the way he described. It was hard. Jake had described her differently. "How old were you when she passed?"
"I turned nine the year she passed. Were you close to your father?"
She nodded. "Yeah, we were. He and Nick too. He was more laid back than Mom. Easier." Alicia sipped her tea, the whiskey burning her throat. "But in the end he became distant. Guess there was too much on his mind."
"How old were you when he died?"
"Thirteen. Nick was fifteen. In rehab when it happened."
Troy's mind reeled a little. Fifteen and Nick was in rehab? Drugs? When had he started? Troy had to wonder why, as well. Was Madison really that bad or was it some genetic issue he and his father shared? Depression?
Alicia's gaze was on the TV, but she turned to look at Troy. "Jeremiah… Never got the impression you were close. Nor him and Jake really. What was he like before the dead started walking?"
"Pretty much the same as what you saw. All business. All expectation. The only thing that changed was that he went outside the walls less and allocated a lot of jobs to me. To Jake."
"What about school?" Alicia asked curiously. "You didn't want to go to college?"
"Want and able were two different things. Jeremiah thought I was best suited for the farm."
"But if you had gone, what would you want to study?"
Troy shrugged. He'd never spent much time mulling over what he'd missed in his schooling career, in fact, he doubted it would ever have been as fulfilling as the time he put into the ranch. He'd build something that survived the apocalypse. Literally. He also knew that if he hadn't destroyed it, it would have continued to thrive. "Nothing. I'm more a learn as I need to kind of guy. What were you studying before the world went to shit? Or were you still in high-school?"
"Just started my senior year. But I had already been accepted into college. Berkeley. Not sure what I wanted to major in. Mostly I just wanted to get out of the house." She sipped her tea, feeling all warm and tingly from the whiskey. A nice and welcome feeling.
"Out of the house or away from Madison?"
"Away from Mom. Travis. Nick. All of them," she admitted quietly.
"Why Nick? You too didn't get along before everything went sideways?"
"I only saw him when he came home to get money. Or when Mom dragged him off the streets. He didn't want to be there."
"What about Travis? How long after your father passed did he come into the picture?"
"About two years later. He moved in the year after that," Alicia murmured, shifting in her seat. "We didn't get along either. I didn't want to."
"Because of your dad?"
She shrugged. "Several reasons. Your dad never found anyone new after your mom?"
"He did. Jeremiah was never shy that way. Six months after a few of his church buddies set him up with the local widows. Unfortunately, by then, Jeremiah had no interest in getting married anymore and his tastes ran a little younger."
Alicia cringed. "Lovely." She was surprised; this was kind of nice. Sharing dirty family secrets with someone other than Nick. Troy could relate. Who'd have thought? "You and Jake, were you close as kids?"
"For a time. When we were younger. Then I became a burden to him." Troy didn't need his brother to admit that to know. Troy knew. Always knew. Of course he'd tried to change his mind, tried to please Jake, tried to be the person both he and Jeremiah needed him to be. That had gone on for years. Until it stopped.
"A burden?" That was an odd thing to say.
Troy nodded, studying her closely. "He never spoke to you about me?"
"Not about the past. He was very much future orientated, your brother." Alicia met Troy's gaze. "He loved you, though. It was easy to see."
Troy met her eyes. He could see the truth reflected there. Sadness engulfed him. He knew that what happened to their relationship in the end was his fault. After the world fell apart and Troy submitted to his darker impulses, he'd stopped caring, stopped trying to pretend he wasn't thriving in the chaos and had finally found a deeper meaning to his life. He fit. At least he had for a while. "He loved you, too."
She flinched, almost imperceptibly. But it was there. "He thought he did, yes."
"There's no thought – he did. Jake never went into relationships half-assed. And he had a few serious relationships."
Was it a relationship? Alicia wasn't so sure. It had been nothing like her time with Matt. "I… cared about him," she said because she didn't want Troy to think Jake had meant nothing to her. That wasn't the truth. But love? No, it hadn't been that. "He was very good to me."
"Jake was good. Certainly better than me." Troy scowled, surprised he was even sharing this much with her. What did he have to lose? Who was she going to tell? Besides, it's not as if she could use any of it against him.
Much better, Alicia silently agreed. At least she'd thought so since the day they'd met. Her first impression of Troy hadn't been all that good. Nor the ones that followed. But Alicia couldn't deny the more he opened up, the more she understood, the harder it was to hate him. "What made you two so different, you think?"
"Our mothers?" Troy laughed lightly at his joke, shrugging his shoulders. "He was born the golden boy."
"Everybody's got some darkness in them, Troy. Jake was no exception, I'm sure."
The truth was that the scenario didn't apply to Jake. He was the type to take the shirt off his back to give to someone in need. And had. Many times. Troy had ruined him. Jake had never been big on violence, and yet, in his final moments he'd actually threatened to kill Troy for the sake of the people at the ranch. Troy knew Jake wouldn't, that he didn't have the stomach to pull the trigger, but the inclination had been there anyway and at the time Troy had wanted him to.
Alicia sipped what remained of her tea. It had gone cold. "And you're not… all bad."
"High praise," Troy retorted.
Alicia shrugged, putting her mug aside. "I'm working on it."
"Your sacrifice is commendable." He smirked, saluting her lazily. They'd been talking for quite some time and the subject manner was beginning to wear him down a little.
"You ever seen this movie?" Troy asked, gesturing to the screen, driving the subject back to the superficial.
Alicia refocused on the television. "Don't think so. Doesn't look memorable. One of your favorites?"
"Not mine. My mother's." The movie was thirty minutes in.
He sunk lower, turning onto his side, pulling one of the pillows with him by tucking it against his shoulder.
He'd begun to grow tired again, and trying to fight the pull was increasingly hard. The fact that Alicia had stayed to talk, instead of making herself scarce like she had in the past, didn't escape him, either. Something was going on. Troy didn't care for the reason, assuming that it stemmed from loneliness and having limited options.
"If I fall asleep - feel free to stay."
Alicia turned to watch him briefly. "I will. I'll chase the nightmares away."
It was something Nick had said to her when they were children and still sharing a room. It had worked, too. Knowing he was close had always soothed Alicia's mind. Maybe it could do the same for Troy.
An unconscious smile curved onto his lips at her vow. Troy said nothing. He didn't know how or what. People didn't often make cheesy declarations for him. Not anymore. Not since long before his mother's death. And yet, it had its desired effect, soothing him, allowing him to relax enough to slowly drift off.
The town's cemetery lay a bit east of the airport zone. They picked a vacant spot beneath a tree and began to dig. When they finished, the sun was over its top perch, indicating something around 2 PM. They deposited the body in the grave, and Logan came back from the pickup with a canister.
"Airplane fuel," he said, undoing the cap. "No waste with no planes around." He hesitated a moment, perhaps finally letting himself remember it was the guy he knew for a while, then began to pour, strolling slowly around the hole as he did. He put the canister down and patted himself shortly, then looked to Nick, "Got any matches?"
"Just that," Nick brandished the lighter, and looked around his feet. He picked up a dry stick, Logan wet it from the canister, and they set it on fire and threw in.
Flames leapt up, enveloping the wrapped body instantly, flashing like a little piece of hell suddenly peeking through the ground. The plastic wrap melted, the sheet beneath flashed brighter, and they stepped back from the brim, watching in silence.
Nick observed the flames, transfixed, and recalled the heavy smell of soot and black walls around with the specks of white where he had started to clean them, and the voice asking, You know who you are?
He started subtly when a hand landed on his shoulder.
"You okay?" Logan asked, studying him. "Not feelin good?"
"Better than him," Nick murmured, looking back to the body in the hole. The flame had begun to fade, and Logan had added the remaining fuel, feeding its roaring breath.
The trucker nodded sympathetically. "Yeah, sucks. I wish I had it in my set of skills to throw some worthy parting words, but don think I got em in me."
Nick couldn't take his eyes off the blackened remains beneath the thinning flames. He had a lot of words in him, but his own voice was buried beneath many others much like the remains in front of him were about to be buried under heavy dirt. He felt as if he was burning from within, and his chest was getting tighter. You don't have to like what it is you need to survive, Madison said in his head. You exploit it. You turn it to your advantage.
I know I'm not that.
Not what I asked, son.
Look at what killing got us, Nick. Look at what it's done to you.
"I told you the truth about how I found him and how I knew what killed him," Nick said, watching the last of the flaming tongues die out. "But it's not all of it."
There was a pause, and he felt Logan's eyes on him. Then Logan found his voice, "What in God's Heaven does it mean?"
"I'm alive because he's not."
"Ye gonna have to give me more than that cryptic bullshit, Nick." Not yet angry, but worried and well on his way.
Nick found the restraints around the secret began to rip. "She kept me locked and drugged for days," he said with a faraway look, still gazing into the hole. "I tried to run, but she caught up with me, brought me back. I had the radio, and she listened to my sister call out to me, listened to her fear and soaked it in like a vampire. She brought me to some house, chained me to a chair. And I tried to talk to her, poke about her madness to see how deep it ran. She stabbed me, then made my friends listen to my screams. She told them to go to Texas if they wanted me back. I don't really remember what came next, except for pain. I do remember pain, and it was all there was. I was just waiting for it to end. She told them to find a truck leaving boxes on the curbs. She wanted the driver alive to exchange for me. She told them to hurry because I had little time left.
"In the end, Alicia couldn't go with it, and she slipped him her knife to protect himself. That woman saw it and, before telling them where to find me, she warned that if she ran into me again, I'd pay for that knife with my life."
He pulled in a slow, deeper breath, and his chest felt a bit looser. Nice feeling, if not for the smell coiling around the grave.
Logan said nothing, and he continued: "I barely survived, maybe she didn't expect me to, after all. And when I found Tom, he had that knife in his head – like a point made. Like she knew they'd return to the truck like criminals returning to their crime scenes. That's what the writing was about." Nick turned to Logan and met his sharp, attentive stare. "Tom's life was a price for someone he didn't know existed. Someone who wasn't supposed to live."
Logan thought it over, looking at him closely. Then he asked: "Who you tryin to forgive, you or them?"
"Can't blame them. I don't know what I would do. I hate to think what I'd do. I'm just… so sick of it all. How unfair it is." He glanced at the smoking corpse in the ground. "He had a purpose, and I don't even know the hell I'm doing here. It's fucked up."
"Jesus, man." Logan strolled past Nick and leaned against the tree trunk, arms folding over his chest. "What I was never good at is all that philosophy and high-moral bullshit preachers earn their bread with. I ain't gonna tell ya there's some kind of higher meaning or shit like that. Sometimes a cloud is just a fucking cloud and no message from great beyond. Like in that joke my old man loved: when a guy had everything that could go wrong go wrong in his life, his family dead, his dog run over, his house burnt, and he goes out and stares at heaven and screams Why, Lord? And the voice from up there tells him, I guess there's somethin about you that just pisses me off." He chortled, and slipped his cap off to scratch his head. "You don' get to know why you live – you just do. Make it work."
Nick slowly shook his head, watching smoke coil off the cooling remains. "I dunno how to live with it."
"When this all started, I had the same dilemmas. Like, what's the point if life went to hell and there's just shit everywhere you look. And my friend told me we can't change the world – it's impossible, no matter what them books and epic stories tell ya. But if you can change the world for at least one person, it's worth it."
"He did change it for many people. Me," Nick shrugged, "I never knew what I was doing, nor ever went out of my way to do anything for those who deserved it most from me."
"Tell you what, if there's anyone whose world gets better with yer just being present in it – it's that. For us simple humans, that shit is right about enough."
Nick looked back at Logan wistfully, coming up with nothing to argue it.
"You didn' kill him, Nick," Logan said, detaching from the trunk. "Your friends didn't. Shit happened, and you lived." He bent to pick up a handful of dirt, then put it in Nick's hand, curling his fingers on it. "Say the darn thank you, let's bury it to rest and get busy livin. Whatta ya say?"
Nick curled the fingers tighter over the dirt, looking back into the grave. "Thank you," he murmured, and tossed the earth in.
They picked up their shovels and went to work.
When his soft snoring made it clear Troy had fallen asleep, Alicia turned to watch him, taking this rare moment to inspect his face and features freely without worry of him knowing.
Like Nick, Troy looked deceivingly innocent when sleeping. Men turning to little boys in the span of minutes. Free of all macho bullshit and carefully constructed walls to hide who they truly were. In this state, Troy looked close to cute.
Time passed and once the movie came to an end, Alicia started it over, allowing it to play in the background with a barely there audio, hoping the low drone of voices would lull Troy to stay asleep for a while.
She carefully climbed off his bed and searched the pile of his clothes on the floor, coming away with his gun. After checking the clip for ammunition, she took the weapon with her into her own room, slipping it under her pillow for safe-keeping. Just in case.
Judging by the position of the sun in the sky, it was approaching early afternoon. Alicia had expected Nick to be home by now. She tried not to worry, but when she returned downstairs and found all three radios present and charging, she couldn't help but curse under her breath.
"Damn it, Nick!"
Had he left it behind on purpose so he wouldn't be interrupted while he was with Logan? Or had he simply forgotten? Either possibility was equally plausible but none of them made her feel any better.
"Give him time," she told herself quietly. "Trust him to handle himself. Give him time."
"Will you go? You decided?" Logan asked on their drive back as Nick washed a pill down with a sip of water.
"Maybe."
"Better don tell em what you told me."
"I wasn't going to."
"Look, there's still some fuel to gather for our crew, so I'll come back in two days. I'll be at the site, come see me so I know yer fine. Deal?"
Nick smiled. "Thanks for giving a shit."
"Like I said, every friend in this hellhole counts."
The gate began to slide open when they exited the pickup - the guards were on the lookout.
"Hey, guys," Todd said. "All done?" They nodded, and he turned to Nick. "How 'bout it, son? Ye pondered?"
"How do you want it done?" Nick asked.
"Oh, well, we getcha a suit and—"
"No."
Todd blinked, "Pardon?"
"I do respect whatever you believe in, you can use it if it makes you feel better, but I'm not wearing it."
Todd huffed an exhale, rubbing his forehead under his hat. "Darn, son. Didn't expect that. But if ye gimme a minute here, I'll consult the doc." As Nick waved a 'go ahead', he went. Two masked guards stood, unmoving, holding on to their rifles strapped across their chests.
Todd returned after about fifteen minutes, and he wasn't alone. It was hard to tell with the suit and mask, but by the leaner, shorter stature Nick thought it was a woman. She was carrying a bag with her.
"This is our medic," Todd said when they approached. "She will have a brief examination to make sure it's safe to welcome you in. We good on that?"
Nick wasn't, but nodded. He and Logan stepped back as the grid gate opened.
"I'm gonna leave ya fellas a minute," Todd said. "Got an announcement to make. Will be with ya in a few. And, uh… thanks, son. We appreciate the cooperation." He went back, and the doctor woman stepped out; the guards moved to get a better view, their hands flexed on the rifles.
Eira was smiling under her mask, watching her new patient with intrigue. It had been so long since she'd seen someone new – anyone who weren't stuffed into the fenced off community with her the day the military took over.
"Hi," she greeted, stepping up to face the newcomer. "I'm Eira. What's your name?"
He was considering her with slightly narrowed eyes. In the world where your life depended on reading people, a mask was not helping. The blue eyes above it had the same air of sharp attention Troy's possessed. "Nick," he said. "You really a doctor?"
"Nah," Eira shook her head, dropping her bag to the ground. It would have to be rubbed down with disinfectant anyway. "But close. I was a med-student when everything went to shit." She bent at the waist and reached into her bag, pulling out a non-contact thermometer. "But I promise I am qualified to check your temperature. Just stand still for me a second." She held the thermometer to Nick's forehead like a gun and pushed the button. "Would you look at that… a perfect 96,8 F." Eira grinned. "How you feeling, Nick? Any fever in the last week?"
"Only that from the stab wound and other pleasantries Tom's kidnapper's put me through a few days ago. Have to take painkillers for that – and so I'm fine for now." He looked at her with a cunning squint. "You afraid of flu or think you can inhale some death outside your fences?"
Eira put the thermometer away and moved close, slow so she wouldn't startle him. She put her gloved fingers on either side of his throat, gently feeling his lymphnodes. "House rules. I'm not the person in charge." She shrugged, checking his eyes next. "The truckers tell us the virus isn't airborne. That true?"
Nick cast a glance at Logan who hung around his pickup watching them, and nodded, going with a simple Yes this time.
"You know how it spreads?" Eira stepped back, giving him a little space.
"If anyone knew, no one told us," Nick said, both amused and still baffled at how clueless a group can be four months into this mess. "But it's already spread. Everyone's infected."
Eira tilted her head to the side like a curious cat. "Everyone? What does that mean?"
Nick had to smile. Just when he thought nothing could surprise him anymore, this was amazing. "It means you're infected. And every single one within these walls. And every single one out here. We're on equal terms, all of us. Bites are just a way to die faster and ugly, but not the only way to start hunting the living after you check out."
"Interesting," she mused, her gaze roaming past Nick to Logan and to the streets behind them, half-expecting to see the dead walking towards them. It took her a moment to snap out of it. "Well, let's go inside, shall we? You're clear. I clear you." Her hand signed a cross and she smiled. Once the bag was back over her shoulder, she turned on her heels and started for the gate.
Nick looked to Logan, who raised a hand in a wave, then jerked a thumb over his shoulder, indicating the site. Nick nodded, raising his hand in return, and followed the doc as Logan slipped into the pickup and started the ignition. He drove away when they walked past the gate, and it slid closed behind them.
"Now what?" Nick asked, feeling as though the metal clanging of the closing gate was a trap's door snapping shut.
"I'll take you to the infirmary," Eira said, twirling to watch him before continuing on her way. The people who were out on the streets watched Nick like he was a ghoul. "Try not to breathe on anyone. They worry." She was smiling again – her little secret. They walked briskly until they reached their destination; a large single-story house with a white picket fence and a red mailbox that was still standing. Eira opened the door and silently invited Nick to go inside.
The street looked neat, clean, and just as if there was no end of the world going on outside. He could see now how easy it was to remain living in a dream when all around you there was normalcy. He smirked at the mailbox, and strolled past it and inside the house. It looked like a mini-hospital there, with a desk not far from the door and an examination room beyond.
Eira set her bag down on the side of the counter where unsterilized equipment stood. She was eager to get out of the mask and suit, already hot and sweaty. "The council will need some time to ready themselves. They'll let us know when it's time. Want some water?"
Nick remembered the dreadlock nemesis and shook his head a no, taking in the room. Then he shot her a cunning look. "Didn't scare you to find out about the infection. You knew?"
She removed her gloves and threw them away, moving to the sink to wash her hands. "Had no idea, actually. But if it's true, it could be a great relief."
Nick's eyebrows shot up, "How so?"
"Would be nice not needing this whole getup." She turned and faced him, gesturing to her current outfit. "And I wouldn't mind getting out."
Nick shrugged, smiling. "Well, in that sense, I dig you."
She grinned. "So, what's it like out there? Is getting stabbed something that happens to you often now, or...?"
Nick looked up, squinting, pretending to think about it. "Stabbed, poisoned, shot, chased around with guns, threatened, nearly blown up, nearly drowned… Yeah, just another day in paradise. How's your life been?"
"Not nearly as interesting as that the past few months," Eira confessed. "I've mostly been in here tending to cuts and scrapes. Colds." Her eyes fell to Nick's side. "That where it is? Want me to take a look?"
"No need. Hopefully it stops being a bitch to me soon enough." He surveyed the shelves with instruments, all tidy and clean. Nothing in common with the hospitals they had raided, all turned over and with blood spatter all around. "Did anyone ask you about the infection, what it is? What did you tell them?"
"Sure, they all ask. All the time, actually. Like I'm doing weekly conferences with the rest of the medical community." She smirked, slowly removing her suit. "I told them the truth; I don't know any more than they do. All I could provide was the information of how to reduce the risk of picking up diseases."
"I bet the thing they wanna know is how to reduce the risk of picking up the walking dead disease." He watched her emerge from the suit with subtle interest. She certainly was nicely built. "If you got any elderly around, you'll have to be careful. When someone dies within a clueless group, it's the end for most, or all."
Eira hung up the suit the be cleaned at a later time, removing the face shield and mask as well now she no longer had any plans on invading his personal space. She needed a breather before the meeting. "How long does it take after death? Is it immediate?"
"It differs. No way to tell for sure." She was quite a pretty blonde in her twenties, he estimated. The mask had left traces on her flushed face. "It varies from mere minutes to hours. No one been bit around you, either?"
She shook her head, leaning back against the counter with her arms folded across her chest. "Nope. We've seen a few of the dead outside the walls but there have been no breaches. This town was mostly cleared out before the military left. They burned bodies for days. The scent sticks to your memory." She looked him over. "I guess you'd know."
"I do. You guys are a marvel. Haven't seen any untouched place like this before. It's like a fantasy land. And fantasies tend to crush against reality. People need to know what they're dealing with, or they all will die as soon as one of them does. You do understand that, don't you?"
Better than you think. "I do. How lucky we are to have someone willing to share his knowledge." Eira smiled and moved on through to the kitchen where she found herself a bottle of water. "Not going to be easy to convince the others, though. They like this life. The community. The sense of safety."
"You don't look that uninformed to me. It's rather your knowledge they don't get to reap the benefits of yet." He let on a small jibing smile. "Why? Panicking people are harder to keep in check, eh?"
Eira spread her arms to the sides, guileless. "Like I said, I don't know more than anyone else here. I make guesses, of course, but theories aren't facts." She took a sip of water. "Are they truly dead? Like a parasite wearing a human shell?"
She was trying to fool him. To what benefit, he wasn't sure, but she was being elusive as an eel. Not that their camp's safety was any of his business. "They're dead, all right. There are no parasites. It's whatever you can think it could be – virus or bacteria or alien fungi, doesn't matter. What matters is, the personality is gone when you die. Whatever animates the body is in the brain, and it doesn't know who the body used to be. It just wants to eat you."
She latched onto that information like a leech, working it all over in her head. "And how do you put them down for good?"
He had to smile, as if she was having him on. He opened his mouth to answer when the door opened, and a guard stepped in, a mask and a plastic coat on under the rifle belt.
"The council is ready for you."
Eira watched the guard – Robin – with a look of displeasure. But it faded as soon as it had come. "You better follow," she told Nick. "I'm right behind you." Only she had to pick up a new mask first. She wasn't in the mood for a lecture from the older council members.
Troy's eyes opened and the first thing he noticed was that the movie was over, the second was that he was alone. Alicia he assumed had gone back to her own room. She'd kept her promise and chased away the nightmares.
He'd slept better than he had the night before.
Troy reached for his water bottle, drinking greedily around the sting in the back of his throat. He set aside the empty bottle, swiping at the corner of his mouth and his chin to clear away what he'd spilled.
He sighed with relief, comforted by the first signs of a recovery and closed his eyes, trying to keep the momentum going. Why break the cycle? Unfortunately, it wasn't as easy to do. Now that he'd taken water in and his brain had enough rest to kick into drive, it refused to shut down on a whim.
He lay still for as long as possible, knowing that as soon as he moved another muscle it would be over and the cabin fever would set in again.
Five minutes passed, then ten—fifteen. He still hadn't fallen asleep.
At the sound of someone downstairs, Troy rolled from beneath the blankets and made his way downstairs on bare feet, water bottle in hand.
Alicia was heating something in the kitchen.
"I would kill for a steak right now," Troy commented, settling his elbows on the kitchen island to support his weight. "Rare bloody steak."
"Really?" she said, one eyebrow raised dubiously as she stirred a pot of beef stew. "Would you even be able to taste it properly?"
"Probably not," Troy stated. "What are you making? More chicken soup?"
"Stew." She eyed the tin. "Got beef, potatoes, carrots, some kind of sauce. Think you can stomach some?"
"Yeah. I'll take a little." For all his bluster about steak, the actual idea of the spice less canned goods wasn't fueling his appetite.
Alicia gave it another minute on the stove before she grabbed two bowls and spooned out their portions. She left a little behind for Nick.
"I'd offer you a beer but I hear you're not big on drinking. Also, probably wouldn't help your immune system." She got herself one out of the fridge, though.
Troy walked over to the sink to fill his water bottle. He claimed one of the two bowls, returned to the kitchen island and sat down. "Have you two spoken about what to do about Madison?"
"Nick is reluctant to do anything at all," Alicia said, stirring her stew with a fork. "And I understand his reasons. Contacting her on the radio leaves us vulnerable. Other than Crazy Lady there are also the Proctors to worry about. They apparently have bases up and down the coast south-side."
"Proctors? How'd that come about? Where'd he hear that? Logan?" How had they even had enough time to talk about that? And in what context had it come up?
"He was worried even before we met Logan, I think. Now that we've had time to slow down a little." Alicia took a long drag of her beer, swallowing. "He's not wrong. Nick screwed them over. The only good thing is that they probably assume he died. I mean he should have...would have...if not for you.
"Me, Mom, and Strand, however–..." She let the silence hang there.
Troy was sick, slower than usual, but it hadn't escaped him that she'd steamrolled his questions and provided an explanation that didn't make sense to what he'd asked.
"I can see where you're coming from. Where he is coming from. It's possible there could be some serious blowback. Don't you think that's all the more reason why you should reach out to her – warn her – let Madison know you two are okay?"
"How can I?" Alicia asked, leaning one elbow on the kitchen island. "She's not even in range. If she was, I'd have heard her on the radios."
Troy didn't care about Madison anymore, but he knew that if she pushed, kept seeking out her children, she'd become a nightmare about it. She'd also blame Troy.
"What if we gave your brother's friend Logan a message? They're helping people, right? If he happens upon her – he could let her know."
"That's actually not a bad idea," she said, somewhat surprised. "We could even write her a note he could pass on. She won't believe his word alone."
"She'll believe the note?" Troy asked curiously. He peered down at his stew, realized he hadn't taken a spoon and got up to get one from the cutlery drawer.
"She'll recognize my handwriting." Alicia paused. "Um, or Nick's."
"Did you write her very many handwritten notes as a kid?"
"No, but she used to correct my homework for a time." Alicia shrugged, almost sure. "She'll know."
"It's worth a try," Troy stated, returning to the counter. He hunched over the bowl as he ate.
Alicia ate in silence, pondering what the note should say. But in the end, she hadn't made a decision. She needed to talk it over with Nick first anyhow. He was the one who had made friends with the trucker.
"You feeling better?" she asked Troy, watching him eat with greater speed and eagerness than he had the day before. He also appeared to be shielding his bowl as if we worried Alicia was going to snatch it from him at any moment.
"It's up and down," Troy said between mouthfuls. He finished the stew in record time. Now that he'd eaten he wasn't feeling so great. He pushed the empty bowl away. "I know Nick said he went to the drugstore. I don't suppose he found any flu meds?"
"Other than the ones I've been giving you?" Alicia gave a lopsided smile. "Afraid not. You should take some of the pills I left on your nightstand if you haven't already. Two."
"Oh. They're flu stuff? I thought they were painkillers." He hadn't been sick in so long that he hardly paid attention to what was what anymore unless it took the edge off an injury. "I uh… haven't—I'll do that when I go back upstairs. I'll need another DVD. Mister Bond this time—"
He wouldn't watch that, either, but it didn't matter. Troy got to his feet and wandered over to the shelf, scanning the titles, plucking free Golden eye as soon as he'd spotted it.
"Thanks for—" he checked his watch, "—a late lunch."
"No problem," she told him, gathering their used bowls and utensils and setting to clean them. The fact he was sick was the only reason she'd allow him to get away without doing his own dishes.
Troy made his way toward the stairs, tossing a habitual glance at the front door, pausing when he saw the cables weren't attached to the doorknob. He frowned. Had Alicia gone outside? Taken some fresh air? He didn't think so. His heart flipped into his throat.
"Where's Nick?"
There was a second's pause before Alicia answered. "Sleeping. I told you."
Troy gestured to the door and the useless cables beside it. "You went outside?"
She looked up and winced. "Went out for a cigarette. Forgot. Sorry. I'll do it now." Alicia dried her hands on a dishtowel and headed for the door.
Troy prided himself on reading people, on following his gut instincts. Something was off.
"I know the entire set up comes across as a chore, that Nick sees it as unnecessary and as if I'm blowing things out of paranoid proportion, but I'm only trying to keep us safe."
"I know," Alicia said as she knelt before the door. "I'm just not used to it. Keeps slipping my mind."
He stared down at her thoughtfully. Maybe Troy was being paranoid. What good would it be to lie to each other? What reason did Nick have to go out? The corpse and settlement were taken care of and Nick needed to rest, too.
Of all of them, Nick was the one that needed it most.
Troy forced himself to relax, to stop overthinking and remember they were on the same team. He scrubbed a hand across his face irritably, his right nostril closing back up, exhaustion seeping its way in like an unwelcome wave.
"I'm going to go and sleep a little more. If you need me—" Troy gestured in the direction of his room, "—you know where to find me." He moved to climb the stairs.
"Alright. Don't forget the pills," she called over her shoulder, turning away from him to fiddle with the battery and its wires.
Alicia hated lying. It made her skin uncomfortably hot and flushed her cheeks in a pink hue that would have been flattering did she not struggle so hard to hide the guilt in her eyes.
Please come home before he wakes again, Nick.
The guard led them around the block and to the next one over, glancing over his shoulder every now and then to make sure Nick was still in tow.
They reached the council house soon after. It wasn't quite as spacious as the infirmary, but the garden was lovelier, the flowerbeds tended to.
Todd was waiting on the porch, the red walls behind him creating an ominous backdrop to match his severe face.
"No gun on ya, son?" he asked, looking down at Nick's belt holding the trench knife. As much as Alicia tried to remind him, he left the gun behind. "'Kay then. Come in."
Inside was a long desk with two women and a man sitting behind it, all in masks and suites. That had to be crazy to do it indoors, and there was no fan to help them any.
"Our Mayor, Wanda Shale," Todd said, gesturing to the woman with the hair dyed red. She nodded, so did Nick. "And the council members. This is Nick…" He turned, expectant.
"Family names don't matter outside anymore," Nick said.
"They still do here, young man," another woman said.
"I'm not from here, am I," Nick smiled.
Todd had to leave it alone. The guard set a chair next to Nick to sit facing the table, which made him feel he was on some exam. In a way, it's exactly what it was. Only stakes were higher.
Eira remained in the background, leaning against the wall closest to Nick, looking between him and the council.
"We thank you for agreeing to come, Nick," Wanda said graciously, her hands folded in front of her atop the table. "Not many would bother with such kindness in this day and age." She paused, shared a look with the people beside her and slowly continued: "Would you please tell us how you found our Tom?"
Nick didn't bother honeying them up with returning the niceties – he'd be here for days if they had to go on like that – and went down to business. He recited the official abridged story of how he met the woman with dreadlocks and how he came upon the dead trucker and decided to find his crew. The whole story took all but ten minutes or so, and when he was done, he looked between them expectantly, wondering if it'd be the easy way and they let him go as promised, or it had to be something else that Troy would never let him live down if Nick actually lived.
"How did you escape this maniac, son?" Todd asked gruffly. Most of the others in the room didn't look surprised by Nick's story – it was the same that had been passed on by Logan. More or less.
"I didn't," Nick said. "I tried, and then she caught up with me in the desert. She stabbed me and left me to die inside a police car with a squealing siren and the dead crowding it while I was out cold and dying. My friends only found me because they were driving around looking for me not far from there. I think she wanted them to find me dead or get bit while trying to fight their way through that crowd."
Another shared look rippled down the line of council members, but it was Eira who spoke. "Why you? Why did she take you? You had no affiliations with Logan and his people, right?"
"We were cleaning out a church in a small town to spend the night. There were people inside who died recently, and outside where we dragged out the bodies, I saw a walking dead man with words on his face. She snuck up on me while I stared at him. I guess their deaths were her job, and I just happened around her latest crime scene."
"So, just in the wrong place at the wrong time?" Wanda asked, squinting slightly. "Unfortunate. And your friends? They were of no interest to her?"
"They were checking other streets. It coulda been either one of us. She never let me debate her motives with her. When I tried, she stabbed me, and then shoved a red-hot knife in it."
"Really?" Eira perked up. "Cauterization? How crude."
The room fell silent for a while and when she noticed, Eira slunk back against the wall, mouthing sorry to the elders.
Todd cleared his throat. "Thing is, Nick, we're in a bit of a pickle. There are people here who just don't believe that story. And it would really help us out if we could get some proof that's how it all went down."
There it is, Nick thought with a kind of cold calm that surprised him. His face stayed impassive as he met Todd's stare. "What proof would it be? You had the body, Logan has the truck. It's not a CSI show where we can dust stuff for prints and analyze DNA."
"It just seems a little implausible that there's a psycho killer out there and no one has yet caught her," Mary piped up, almost copying Cindy's statement from the night before.
Eira was smiling behind her mask again, a tad amused, and had to pull herself together when the woman continued. "It's a very convenient story to tell when you want to gain someone's trust. How do we know you and your group weren't the ones who killed him?"
Nick couldn't hold back a slow, sardonic smile. He felt stuck in some surreal dream - one of those thrilling trips where he knew he was rushing toward death and couldn't stop himself until he woke. A part of him wondered if it was Oxy's doing. "We don't need your trust. We sought out the guy's group - the Truckers - to inform them out of consideration we wishes to be extended our way if the roles were reversed. It was Logan who told us Tom was from here. Had we killed him - no one would ever know. It's how it is out there now."
"You're looking for a way to calm Cindy," Eira said, eyeing the council. "You had none of these worries before she came up with this story in her head yesterday. She's grieving. Not in her right mind."
The council members all regarded the blonde with looks of displeasure and annoyance. Eira's word was always valued, but only when it pertained to medical knowledge. Not so much in this situation.
"Cindy's concerns, though maybe a tad misplaced, are not entirely without a good point," Mary shot in. "One of us is dead. Are we to let that go without seeking justice for his murder?"
Todd looked uncomfortable. "Justice is all good and well, but we can't take our fear out on someone innocent. We don't have enough evidence to condemn Nick and his group."
"Man's got a point," Eira smirked.
"I know how it looks," Nick put in, a calm semi-smile touching his mouth. "I'm not stupid, I knew all along. My friends knew. They weren't happy with my wanting to find the Truckers, but they let me, because I wanted to do something that was right, the way I see it. But when it tied to your camp here…" He spread his arms shortly in a 'now you see it' gesture. "They don't know I'm here. I hope it stays that way for your safety. If I walk away, no one gets hurt. I wouldn't want that."
Wanda and Mary straightened in their seats, looking affronted. "Is that a threat?" Mary breathed.
Wanda held up a hand to silence her. "We mean you no harm, Nick. But you must understand our side of all this." She looked to Mary and Todd. "Perhaps it would be best we keep him detained until the military returns? Surely they will know how to work this out?"
Eira licked her lips, gaze momentarily on her feet. Most of the people left in Sonora still believed the authorities were coming back to provide more help. Eira had thought so too, until week after week passed and no one showed. Her hope had waned long ago.
"Nick says he was greatly wounded a few days before Tom died," she said, cutting off the discussion that had started at the table. "If that's true there is no way he would have been able to overpower Tom. He would have bled to death in the mere attempt."
Everyone regarded her now.
"If Nick would be willing, I can examine his wound. Put a time on how long ago it was inflicted. Prove he couldn't have done it."
"His friends–" Mary started.
"Aren't here," Eira cut her off again. "Nick is."
"I'm not threatening you," Nick said, regarding the council members - a faceless jury. "But I certainly don't want to die for a good intention, nor stay here in your detention. You need to get something straight: army ain't coming back. No one's coming. The government and police are gone. You're on your own. And have been since the first month. There is no law and order out there anymore. Only a whole lot of trust issues and relying on kindness of strangers when there is no other way."
Everyone fell quiet, as though Nick had reached over and slapped each and every one of them. They stared, wide-eyed and with a hint of panic.
"He's lying," Wanda said, though it sounded more like a question than an outright statement. And suddenly it seemed as though the topic of Tom faded to the possibility that Nick was right. They put their heads together in furious whispers.
Eventually, Todd came up for air and fixed his eyes on Eira. "Take him for the examination. Keep us posted."
Nick had yet to agree to any examination, but Eira pushed away from the wall anyway. "Let's get out of here," she murmured to Nick, gesturing she follow him out of the house while the council continued their harrowing discussions.
"I know you wish I've lied about it," Nick said, getting up. "But deep down each of you knows it's true."
He turned and followed Eira out of the council hall.
Alicia did hook up the battery to the doorknob, but only after leaving a note tacked to the front door: Knock.
It was meant for Nick in case he should wander back anytime soon. Hopefully he'd understand why and not try the doorknob. Alicia also made sure the door was locked.
He'd been gone for five hours at the least, and the tiny knot of concern that had appeared in Alicia's stomach when she'd noticed Nick had not brought his radio, had now grown into a chaotic tangle of dread. In that moment she hated her brother a little for putting her in this position again – for making her worry. For making her wait. Not to mention what Troy would do once he found out. And she imagined it was only a question of time before he did.
Would he rush out in panic? Take the car and drive to Logan's place with the intent of murder? Charge the settlement right here in Sonora? It would be a bloodbath.
She checked to make sure Troy was fast asleep again before she took his boots. The pair had been stuffed into one of the kitchen cabinets along with the guns they currently owned. It would stall him for at least a few minutes.
And in her restlessness, Alicia had taken to organizing the medical supplies Nick had looted from the hospital the day before, arranging everything by use and size. When she'd stumbled upon a bottle of Midazolam, she'd counted her lucky stars and filled a capped syringe with the sedative. She slipped it down the side of her boot and felt her courage grow ever so slightly.
Just in case, she told herself once more. Just in case.
"Words do very little to convince them of anything these days," Eira said once they were outside. Robin the guard trailed behind them with his rifle over his shoulder.
"They're scared. Always. Imagining the worst case scenario."
"It is the worst case scenario," Nick said. "They'd be right to imagine that, and yet they're sitting around waiting for the army to save them. This is outright delirious."
"I meant you," she said with a small smile. "Tom's girlfriend freaked out yesterday after she saw his body. Managed to convince herself she'll feel better about it all if she can find someone to pin it on."
"I get it. But they got the wrong guy. Catching the guilty in this new world is near impossible, because everyone has killed somebody by now, for one reason or another. There are no innocent left."
Eira eyed him closely. "Who have you killed?"
Nick returned an impassive look. "You don't know them."
She chuckled. "Well, obviously. Considering your knowledge, I will assume you've killed some of the dead. Though can you truly kill what is already dead?"
"You put them down. It's not a murder when they're dead."
"How?" Eira asked immediately, leading him into the driveway of the infirmary. "Bullet to the head? Stake to the heart? Silver-knife dipped in lamb's blood?"
"Brain damage," he said, pulling the door open to let her in first. "Bullet, knife, stick, your boot - whatever works best for you."
"Regular old zombie style then." She stepped inside and headed through to the examination room, removing and disposing of her mask. "Still reluctant about that exam?"
"Do what you have to do," he said, walking into the living room turned infirmary like an idle tourist into a gallery.
Eira grabbed a pair of blue latex gloves and slipped them on. "Show me." She hit the light switch with her elbow, awakening a bright lamp overhead.
Nick took off his jacket with a brief wince, put it on a chair along with the knife belt, then his shirt followed. The wound throbbed as if in protest. He turned to the blonde, "Where do you want me?"
Eira regarded him and the placement of his wound. "You good to stand for a bit?" she asked, moving closer, gaze already fixed on the side of his abdomen. Crouching in front of him, she gently peeled the bandages away. They weren't soiled and informed her they'd been changed recently.
What hid beneath was an ugly wound. More circular than Tom's had been.
"What did she use?"
"Her sharpened stick. The first thing she had on her when I pissed her off too much."
"Not a co-operative prisoner, eh?" Eira smiled, gaze steady on the wound as she gently grazed the skin surrounding it. The edges of the wound had gone black, probably from the homemade cauterization. It was a miracle not more of him had been permanently damaged.
"Well, it seemed she wanted you dead. Just not at that moment. What she did set you up for is a greater risk of infection. You're lucky her attempts seemed to have failed."
"Lucky," he mused. "I didn't feel lucky. I felt dying. When the pill runs out, I still do."
She rose to her feet and moved to one of the cabinets, rummaging through the supplies until she returned with antiseptics and clean bandages, as well as a tube of ointment. "What are you taking?"
"Whatever we were able to find. Currently it's Oxy."
"Good for pain. Bad for addicts." She looked up to meet his gaze knowingly, before refocusing on the wound to clean it. "What'll you do when you run out? Is it easy to get more out there?"
"Not easy at all," he said, smiling a little. "But I don't like to worry about tomorrow. It's also something that died with the world. We're only left with Now."
"That's kind of refreshing." She cleaned the wound and threw the cotton away, holding up the unopened tube of ointment for Nick to see. "Betadine. It'll help keep infection at bay and stop the necrotic skin from spreading to the healthy tissue. Apply some every time you redress the wound, okay?"
She gently rubbed some on the injury itself, well aware it would sting, so she worked as quickly and cautiously as possible. She slipped the tube down his back pocket before grabbing the new bandages.
When the worst of stinging began to dissipate, he found himself amused. "I might not need it if I don't get to walk out of here."
"You will." Eira was almost certain. Almost. "The people here… they're not killers. Not yet. And despite their talk of justice, I've never seen anything in them that indicates they're eager to take said justice into their own hands. We've been letting everyone else take care of everything." She fastened the new bandages, carefully smoothing down the edges. "First the military, then Logan and his crew. There are very few here who are eager to change that."
He observed her, trying to see beyond masks or cunning this young woman most certainly possessed in abundance. "Do you like being here?"
"It's comfortable. We always have food and water. High walls. Soft beds. Medical supplies." She gestured to their surroundings as she got to her feet again. "You can get dressed now."
"Wasn't what I asked," he said with a meaningful smirk, and turned to get his shirt.
Eira rid herself of her gloves and washed her hands. "So what else can you tell me about life on the outside?"
He donned his jacket on after fastening the knife belt around his waist. Her elusiveness was getting more obvious, and it felt surprisingly entertaining. "You think I came here to give lectures and get my questions skirted? Think again." He settled in the chair, propping his elbows against the armrests, observing her.
Eira smiled – a dazzling white smile that made her eyes twinkle with mischief. "Your answers are far more interesting." She grabbed the bottle of water she'd started on earlier, conceding. "Place is nice but I'm starting to feel a little..." The word escaped her, she tried to find it, gesturing with one hand to her throat.
He nodded, observing her with a curious eye. "You Swedish? Came to study and got stuck?"
"Norwegian, actually. Much better," she teased. "And no. I was here visiting my aunt. Came about a week before everything shut down."
"That's unfortunate. I'm sorry. And sorry about Swedish – just came to my mind first."
She shrugged. "Doesn't matter. Where are you from? You don't have that Southern drawl."
"The City of Angels. Not that it ever housed any true ones."
"Ohh, Hollywood? Ever sleep with any famous people?" She flopped down in the only other free chair.
He laughed. "It may come as a surprise, but LA wasn't small enough for us all to know each other personally."
"Bummer." She wet her lips with her tongue, watching him closely, fixating on the warm brown of his eyes.
"So… tell me what you've seen out there."
"You'll have to be more specific."
"How's life? Is everyone travelling now? Looking for…" Eira gestured to him, "whatever it is you're looking for."
"Big cities got bombed after the armies withdrew from the safe zones. So survivors were scattered, some bunched up in groups, some stuck with families or friends, some were on their own. Some groups became marauders and murderers, taking what they want from people they meet and killing them after. Some people have the fenced camps and stick to them like your people here. Some people want that and try to take it when they come across one. Some people find a place and try to build something safer."
Eira inhaled the information like air, resting her elbows on her thighs as she leaned forward. "Which one are you?"
"Traveling kind. For now, at least. We only had to stick around for longer than a day because we had to – so I could heal."
"You and your friends? Todd said there was another boy and a girl."
He nodded. "The girl is my sister. They both are my family."
"Family above all," Eira mused silently. "Won't they worry? You said they don't know where you are."
"Of course they will," he regarded her with a calm of stating the obvious. "What I said to the council wasn't a threat – it was a warning. If they worry, it won't end well for either party. I want to protect my own, but I wouldn't be happy with anyone getting hurt this side, either. To avoid it, your people should let me go."
"They should," Eira said, equally calm. "We'll have to wait on their decision. Thrilling stuff."
"Scared people tend to make the wrong decisions."
"Then we must convince them otherwise," she said, slowly getting to her feet and heading for the front door. On the other side stood Robin, keeping watch. "Go tell them Nick's injury prevented him from doing harm to anyone. Tell them I have made my assessment and that this is the result."
He hesitated, looking over Eira's shoulder to Nick. "If you say so." He meandered away reluctantly, continuously watching the space where he had just stood as if not wanting to leave.
Nick stared down at the floor, his ear cocked to the short exchange at the door while he assessed the situation. By the way they communicated with the blonde Norwegian student at the council, he felt her word was not the one to overpower theirs, unless they would find it hard to agree on what they were scared of most. If they chose to call him a threat or make an example of justice, she wouldn't stop them.
He searched himself and found no fear or worry, not for his fate. Troy would protect Alicia, he had no doubt about it. And Nick would take whatever came his way. The familiar kind of thrill was coursing through his veins along with the calm he welcomed.
"Hungry?" Eira asked as she twirled to face Nick, slipping past him and through to the kitchen. The infirmary didn't stock much food; there had been so few overnight patients. But Eira made sure to have enough snacks to keep herself going.
He smirked, "Not gonna drug me, are you?"
"You sound almost hopeful." Eira grabbed two red apples from a bowl on the kitchen counter, returning and throwing one Nick's way.
He caught it, wincing at the stab of pain in his side, and looked at her, evaluating, but said nothing and bit into the apple, leaning back into the chair.
Eira perched on the examination table, taking a bite of her apple as well. "What was your poison of choice?"
His eyes narrowed slightly, but he wasn't surprised. She wasn't stupid, either. "Opioids."
"Heroin? I saw the track marks." She gestured to his arms. "Not very noticeable on you, unless you look closely." She took another bite. "My mom liked painkillers. Washed them down with vodka. To keep it classy, you know?"
His expression said sure, he did know.
He's not a very talkative person, Eira thought. Not like most Americans who loved hearing their own voice at all times. Eira didn't mind his silence. She just watched him. And ate.
That had to be one of the most anticlimactic stories he ever heard, but she looked so damn good in the dimming lights and with that curious glint in her eyes taking in his every move, like a naturalist watches a newly discovered species, and it made the bait about mother unimportant.
When she'd eaten all but the core, Eira finally spoke again. "How many of the walking corpses are out there? We've hardly seen any in this part of town."
"With how many people there were to begin with and how fast it all spread, I'd say the dead outnumber us greatly. After the army cleared out your town, you got lucky to have seen few. But one of these days a horde might be passing through, and if they hear or smell you out here, your walls will fall."
"And hunger is all that drives them." He'd said something of the sort before. Eira placed her hands behind her on the examination table and leaned back, a faraway look in her eyes. "I wonder if my parents are still alive."
They could be, Nick thought. Or one would want to assume so to give oneself less of heartaches and grief. It was always better to assume they were okay other than wallow in worry. He knew firsthand, and was quite positive she did, too. He tossed the core into the wastebasket in the corner. "Were you close?"
"Yeah." No. It had been complicated. To think all that complication may be over was a strange thought. "My father is a doctor. He's the one who inspired me to study medicine." Absently, she scratched the inside of her wrist. "Are yours still around?"
"He was gone before all this. Car accident."
She nodded absentmindedly. "Your mom?"
"I don't know."
They shared that unknown, then. How wonderfully intimate. "What was it like being kidnapped? Were you scared?" Eira's mind was moving quickly, from one topic to another she wanted information on. She craved to know more about him, about the outside world and all it now had to offer. And she feared he would disappear before he could give it to her.
She began to fascinate him with how her mind worked. For someone who had been studying a profession of great concentration, she seemed to be scattered. And yet, the ever brightening spark of eagerness in her stare made him think of an excited little girl on Christmas morning who doesn't know which pretty box to open first. He was considering an answer when the door opened, and a guard peeked in. Nick couldn't tell with the mask, but seemed like another guy.
"The Council awaits you, Eira. The boy stays in here and shouldn't try to step out until further notice." The guard shifted his rifle to make a point, and disappeared from the doorway.
"Well, you'll get to find out whether their decision was the smart one," Nick said.
"I think I already know," Eira replied, smiling sadly before slipping through the doorway. She reappeared a second later, fixing Nick with a look. "Don't steal my drugs. I know exactly how much I have in inventory."
A small unreadable smile played across her lips as she went.