queendilettante
🤍 Heart Problems 🤍
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Realistic or Modern Haven (Main)
queendilettante
🤍 Heart Problems 🤍
“Fuck, it’s hot,” Sybille groaned, stepping outside from her store and home, Rayney Day Mechanics. The sun had woken her up earlier than she hoped due to an unfortunately positioned broken blind on her window, and, naturally, Santa decided to capitalize on the opportunity to go for a walk. He had a habit of forcing her out of bed whenever she woke up at odd hours, and she mostly appreciated the distraction.
Mostly. On days like these, a scorching and incredibly humid day in late April, she found it hard to fight the urge to stay indoors.
Though, she'd no longer even have that option soon.
“Come on, babe,” she called to the dog. Santa immediately sprinted through the open front door and circled Sybille a few times. “Whoa-” she started, before nearly losing her balance and stumbling over. Same old same old with this pup. “Sit!” she cried out a bit louder than she wanted to. Santa seemed unfazed, though, as the dog immediately sat down in front of her with his tongue out.
“Good boy,” she sighed, hoping that’d be the only near death experience of the day. She’d normally have let the pup run, but the two had a destination this morning. It would still be a few hours until she met with the group she planned to leave The Mall with, but there was one person proving more difficult than she had hoped in convincing.
Sybille set off from her store toward The Mall's Inner Ring. Located in the outskirts of Mall territory, her shop was technically in the area most susceptible to danger. Bandit raids were rare, especially in recent years, with The Mall's quality of life far surpassing the ambitions of a two-bit smuggler. Still, spiteful or overly zealous detractors occasionally made passes at the outermost gates. Only one attack had so much as woken her up so far, though, so she couldn't be hard-pressed to care about the risk. Plus, in a few days, it wouldn't matter who attacked this place anyway.
Sybille and Santa passed through the gate to the Middle Ring with nothing but a half-assed "'Morning" from, Carlos, the Security Department officer on duty. He was a good kid - one that Sybille herself helped to train when he arrived as a scared teenager in 2032 - but it was no surprise to anyone that he ended up at the least important internal post.
Carlos - yet another problem Sybille couldn't help but consider in spite of her leaving; after all, it was essentially second nature. She's been at The Mall for nearly a decade and near as hell ran the place some of the time. Almost a third of her life had been spent in some refurbished Mall post-apocalypse, how could she not obsess-
She shook her head and leaned down to scratch Santa behind his ears. There was no point in dwelling on it. The real challenges had yet to even begin.
--
“Why the fuck is it so hot?” Sybille pleaded once again to no one but her dog as the two approached The Mall proper. Santa, of course, had not responded, but Sybille appreciated that part of him. When she'd go hiking with her wife, Claire, she couldn't help but whine about the heat, but it drove Claire completely crazy. Sybille smiled for a moment, but shook that thought from her mind like the others. Now wasn't the time to let ghosts have their say.
With what felt like the thousandth desperate wipe of sweat from her forehead, Sybille finally arrived at the hospital - a repurposed Target. Charlie, the Mall’s head medic and emergency doctor, had been the only person Sybille had been able to open up to since she arrived nine or so years ago. He wasn’t the type of person that Sybille would have gravitated toward before the world ended, in all honesty, but the apocalypse had a funny way of changing your perceptions. He was the only person at the Mall who Sybille unequivocally considered to be a friend.
He was also the only person she had asked to join her who didn’t want to.
“Charlie Charlie,” she called out as she entered the first floor of the hospital from the outside. “Any emergencies or can we talk?”
"Is that supposed to be rhetorical?" The doctor rasped back, hunched in a swivel chair over the customer service kiosk that had become his office. Yes, of course there were emergencies, and no, he really didn't want to talk, but alas. He leaned far to his right and unlatched the single batwing door for her before returning to his charts.
With the end of the month rolling around, it was his duty to write up a chief's report to send up to the brass: how many patients were seen, for what reasons, how many fatalities, etcetera. Out of the thousands of Mall Dwellers, Charlie was paid a visit by three-hundred twelve of them this April. Eighty-one of these were for traumatic injury, including twenty-six infected-related injuries. In total, only fourteen survivors had died this month, a significant decrease from March. He'd be sure to give himself a pat on the back for that one, eventually.
"What can I do for you?" He asked in the least convincing manner possible, propping his forehead up with the inside of his index finger and thumb.
Sybille fought the urge to roll her eyes, as if the doctor didn't know exactly what she wanted from him. With a single motion of her hands to get Santa to stay, Sybille sauntered into the doctor's makeshift office and leaned against the back wall. "You need to come with me, Charlie. I'm meeting with the others in a few hours outside the shop." She pulled her sunglasses down to wink at the man and gave him a nudge on the side with her elbow.
"No." Charlie swatted her arm away without looking. He was fairly certain he'd made his decision clear the last three times they'd gone through this conversation.
"That's twenty bucks for a consultation fee-"
"C'mon, Charlie! You have three whole days to work it out with the Founders before we head out."
He scoffed.
"Yeah, three days before I tell the nurses I'm going to get milk. Fuck off." This place wouldn't last two weeks without him. At least, he was fully convinced it wouldn't. Poor Noelle could keep it going for so long, but he wouldn't dream of leaving her in the position he was in for his first year at the Mall.
Sybille actually rolled her eyes that time. "Really, Charlie? Fuck off? Is that where we're at?" She let out a laugh before she could stop herself. How typical of him, truly - there was always a hill to die on. "Charlie, think! They have a fucking vaccine; we can get beyond this shit," she bit her lip before adding quietly, "we just have to make it East."
"Which part isn't making sense to you, the part where everyone here dies of MRSA or the part where you all get fuckin' shot as soon as you cross the Mississippi?" He finally acknowledged her presence by waving his arm to the side and swiveling towards her, if only for a moment. "I'm not joking, get that stupid smirk off your face... And I'm not coming."
Sybille instinctively grinned wider in response to Charlie's insistence she do the opposite. Angry men all seemed to remind her of her father - another ghost that she couldn't help but smile at. What a habit.
"Ever the optimist, Charlie," she quipped back. "Was it the zombies or the countless dead Mall residents?"
Charlie didn't answer.
She paused and lightly kicked at the wall she had been leaning against. Her one actual friend and the most capable medic she'd ever seen, yet hopelessly stubborn and, in Sybille's estimation, annoyingly shortsighted. "You know we'll die if you don't come."
"So you want me to die with you instead." Charlie sighed, leaning back. "Sybille, I don't think it's impossible, I really don't. If I was you, I'd be out the gate already. But I'm not you, I'm actually in charge of people, and if I decide to take that risk, I'm deciding for everybody else in this settlement. It's not fair."
"Charlie, who the hell do you think you're talking to?" Sybille nearly shouted. "I know you keep us alive, but I and everyone leaving pulls their weight here too." She scoffed, kicking the wall harder than before. "I'm the reason any of those damn trucks still run and you can even get your supplies to work with here." She kicked herself away from the man. "But yes, of course, you actually have responsibilities, right?" She walked out of the makeshift office and toward the exit. "Here I go, with my infinite selfishness, abandoning the thousands of people who depend on my mechanic work." She mimed a mocking curtsy at the doctor and kicked an empty bucket that she had left the last time she was there.
As she opened the door, she paused. "If you're cool with a never ending threat of infected and needless death to the people here, then fine. I hope you enjoy your complacency." She spit on the cement outside and put her sunglasses back on. "I'd like the end of the world to, you know, end, so I'm going to go meet with likeminded survivors."
Mostly. On days like these, a scorching and incredibly humid day in late April, she found it hard to fight the urge to stay indoors.
Though, she'd no longer even have that option soon.
“Come on, babe,” she called to the dog. Santa immediately sprinted through the open front door and circled Sybille a few times. “Whoa-” she started, before nearly losing her balance and stumbling over. Same old same old with this pup. “Sit!” she cried out a bit louder than she wanted to. Santa seemed unfazed, though, as the dog immediately sat down in front of her with his tongue out.
“Good boy,” she sighed, hoping that’d be the only near death experience of the day. She’d normally have let the pup run, but the two had a destination this morning. It would still be a few hours until she met with the group she planned to leave The Mall with, but there was one person proving more difficult than she had hoped in convincing.
Sybille set off from her store toward The Mall's Inner Ring. Located in the outskirts of Mall territory, her shop was technically in the area most susceptible to danger. Bandit raids were rare, especially in recent years, with The Mall's quality of life far surpassing the ambitions of a two-bit smuggler. Still, spiteful or overly zealous detractors occasionally made passes at the outermost gates. Only one attack had so much as woken her up so far, though, so she couldn't be hard-pressed to care about the risk. Plus, in a few days, it wouldn't matter who attacked this place anyway.
Sybille and Santa passed through the gate to the Middle Ring with nothing but a half-assed "'Morning" from, Carlos, the Security Department officer on duty. He was a good kid - one that Sybille herself helped to train when he arrived as a scared teenager in 2032 - but it was no surprise to anyone that he ended up at the least important internal post.
Carlos - yet another problem Sybille couldn't help but consider in spite of her leaving; after all, it was essentially second nature. She's been at The Mall for nearly a decade and near as hell ran the place some of the time. Almost a third of her life had been spent in some refurbished Mall post-apocalypse, how could she not obsess-
She shook her head and leaned down to scratch Santa behind his ears. There was no point in dwelling on it. The real challenges had yet to even begin.
--
“Why the fuck is it so hot?” Sybille pleaded once again to no one but her dog as the two approached The Mall proper. Santa, of course, had not responded, but Sybille appreciated that part of him. When she'd go hiking with her wife, Claire, she couldn't help but whine about the heat, but it drove Claire completely crazy. Sybille smiled for a moment, but shook that thought from her mind like the others. Now wasn't the time to let ghosts have their say.
With what felt like the thousandth desperate wipe of sweat from her forehead, Sybille finally arrived at the hospital - a repurposed Target. Charlie, the Mall’s head medic and emergency doctor, had been the only person Sybille had been able to open up to since she arrived nine or so years ago. He wasn’t the type of person that Sybille would have gravitated toward before the world ended, in all honesty, but the apocalypse had a funny way of changing your perceptions. He was the only person at the Mall who Sybille unequivocally considered to be a friend.
He was also the only person she had asked to join her who didn’t want to.
“Charlie Charlie,” she called out as she entered the first floor of the hospital from the outside. “Any emergencies or can we talk?”
"Is that supposed to be rhetorical?" The doctor rasped back, hunched in a swivel chair over the customer service kiosk that had become his office. Yes, of course there were emergencies, and no, he really didn't want to talk, but alas. He leaned far to his right and unlatched the single batwing door for her before returning to his charts.
With the end of the month rolling around, it was his duty to write up a chief's report to send up to the brass: how many patients were seen, for what reasons, how many fatalities, etcetera. Out of the thousands of Mall Dwellers, Charlie was paid a visit by three-hundred twelve of them this April. Eighty-one of these were for traumatic injury, including twenty-six infected-related injuries. In total, only fourteen survivors had died this month, a significant decrease from March. He'd be sure to give himself a pat on the back for that one, eventually.
"What can I do for you?" He asked in the least convincing manner possible, propping his forehead up with the inside of his index finger and thumb.
Sybille fought the urge to roll her eyes, as if the doctor didn't know exactly what she wanted from him. With a single motion of her hands to get Santa to stay, Sybille sauntered into the doctor's makeshift office and leaned against the back wall. "You need to come with me, Charlie. I'm meeting with the others in a few hours outside the shop." She pulled her sunglasses down to wink at the man and gave him a nudge on the side with her elbow.
"No." Charlie swatted her arm away without looking. He was fairly certain he'd made his decision clear the last three times they'd gone through this conversation.
"That's twenty bucks for a consultation fee-"
"C'mon, Charlie! You have three whole days to work it out with the Founders before we head out."
He scoffed.
"Yeah, three days before I tell the nurses I'm going to get milk. Fuck off." This place wouldn't last two weeks without him. At least, he was fully convinced it wouldn't. Poor Noelle could keep it going for so long, but he wouldn't dream of leaving her in the position he was in for his first year at the Mall.
Sybille actually rolled her eyes that time. "Really, Charlie? Fuck off? Is that where we're at?" She let out a laugh before she could stop herself. How typical of him, truly - there was always a hill to die on. "Charlie, think! They have a fucking vaccine; we can get beyond this shit," she bit her lip before adding quietly, "we just have to make it East."
"Which part isn't making sense to you, the part where everyone here dies of MRSA or the part where you all get fuckin' shot as soon as you cross the Mississippi?" He finally acknowledged her presence by waving his arm to the side and swiveling towards her, if only for a moment. "I'm not joking, get that stupid smirk off your face... And I'm not coming."
Sybille instinctively grinned wider in response to Charlie's insistence she do the opposite. Angry men all seemed to remind her of her father - another ghost that she couldn't help but smile at. What a habit.
"Ever the optimist, Charlie," she quipped back. "Was it the zombies or the countless dead Mall residents?"
Charlie didn't answer.
She paused and lightly kicked at the wall she had been leaning against. Her one actual friend and the most capable medic she'd ever seen, yet hopelessly stubborn and, in Sybille's estimation, annoyingly shortsighted. "You know we'll die if you don't come."
"So you want me to die with you instead." Charlie sighed, leaning back. "Sybille, I don't think it's impossible, I really don't. If I was you, I'd be out the gate already. But I'm not you, I'm actually in charge of people, and if I decide to take that risk, I'm deciding for everybody else in this settlement. It's not fair."
"Charlie, who the hell do you think you're talking to?" Sybille nearly shouted. "I know you keep us alive, but I and everyone leaving pulls their weight here too." She scoffed, kicking the wall harder than before. "I'm the reason any of those damn trucks still run and you can even get your supplies to work with here." She kicked herself away from the man. "But yes, of course, you actually have responsibilities, right?" She walked out of the makeshift office and toward the exit. "Here I go, with my infinite selfishness, abandoning the thousands of people who depend on my mechanic work." She mimed a mocking curtsy at the doctor and kicked an empty bucket that she had left the last time she was there.
As she opened the door, she paused. "If you're cool with a never ending threat of infected and needless death to the people here, then fine. I hope you enjoy your complacency." She spit on the cement outside and put her sunglasses back on. "I'd like the end of the world to, you know, end, so I'm going to go meet with likeminded survivors."
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Lixy
In Denial That I Have an Internet Addiction
“No,” Zana snapped again. “No, no, no, you’re not lifting it high enough.” She grabbed the young girl's ankle and pulled it up until it was horizontal with the make-shift barre. “You’ll never–” Abruptly, she stopped, whipping her hand back as if burnt. “I’m sorry, kočka.”
The young girl, Joey, smiled almost too sweetly, to hide the pained tinge. “It’s okay, I know you didn’t mean it.” Zana grimaced, walking over to the barre and squatting in front of Jo. “Honest, it doesn’t hurt anymore.”
“Joey…” she started, unsure what to say. When she’d agreed to leave the Mall, presumably for good, she hadn’t given much of a thought to her students. After all, it was merely a pastime for them and her, and she’d never had any particularly strong parental urges. Yet, as the idea started to crystalise into a plan, she’d begun to come to grips with the idea that she would be giving up her mostly comfortable life– along with the people in it.
“Zuzana’s going away soon,” she said slowly, carefully. “You will have to practice on your own.”
“When will you be back?” The fear that flashed across Joey’s face was familiar. Children learned quickly when adults said they were ‘going away’ that they may never come back. “You haven’t taught me lifts!” There was no point in lying.
“Maybe never, kočka,” she said simply. “But, we’re trying to bring back medicine, yeah? Good for everyone, no?”
Joey’s face scrunched and her fists balled. “That’s not fair!”
“Yes, well, life is terribly unfair,” Zana replied. “And every door swings on its hinges.” She straightened and pet Joey once on the top of her head. “You have things to do here, and I have things to do there. The lesson is over now.”
“But–!”
“Opportunities like this only come about once a blue moon. You want me to do nothing – just lying here, resting?” She wagged a finger, thinking of the way it had made her feel when her grandmother had done the same; she’d been crying, the apocalypse surrounding her, feeling like she was going to die. “No, we must do things. Now, lesson over, little beetle.”
It wasn’t yet time to meet with Sybille and the others, but Zana didn’t think she could continue to wait around and field questions from anxious children, so she departed nonetheless.
It was early when Zana arrived and she could see none of the others around; not that she was feeling particularly social. Her discussion with Joey had soured her mood considerably. She found a crevice between two nearby buildings and squatted, back to the wall, examining her nails. She pulled out a scrap of sandpaper secured to a thin strip of metal and filed at a chip on one hand.
Around the other wrist, a dull white ribbon was wrapped, secured with a bow. One of the ribbons from her long-since abandoned pointe shoes. A useless keepsake, but one she kept with her– a reminder of why she taught, why she still danced. Was this mission something worth abandoning her ambitions for? Possibly, possibly not. Baked pigeons don’t fly into your mouth. If she wanted to return home, she would have to try, or die a hypocrite, waiting for someone else to bake those pigeons.
The young girl, Joey, smiled almost too sweetly, to hide the pained tinge. “It’s okay, I know you didn’t mean it.” Zana grimaced, walking over to the barre and squatting in front of Jo. “Honest, it doesn’t hurt anymore.”
“Joey…” she started, unsure what to say. When she’d agreed to leave the Mall, presumably for good, she hadn’t given much of a thought to her students. After all, it was merely a pastime for them and her, and she’d never had any particularly strong parental urges. Yet, as the idea started to crystalise into a plan, she’d begun to come to grips with the idea that she would be giving up her mostly comfortable life– along with the people in it.
“Zuzana’s going away soon,” she said slowly, carefully. “You will have to practice on your own.”
“When will you be back?” The fear that flashed across Joey’s face was familiar. Children learned quickly when adults said they were ‘going away’ that they may never come back. “You haven’t taught me lifts!” There was no point in lying.
“Maybe never, kočka,” she said simply. “But, we’re trying to bring back medicine, yeah? Good for everyone, no?”
Joey’s face scrunched and her fists balled. “That’s not fair!”
“Yes, well, life is terribly unfair,” Zana replied. “And every door swings on its hinges.” She straightened and pet Joey once on the top of her head. “You have things to do here, and I have things to do there. The lesson is over now.”
“But–!”
“Opportunities like this only come about once a blue moon. You want me to do nothing – just lying here, resting?” She wagged a finger, thinking of the way it had made her feel when her grandmother had done the same; she’d been crying, the apocalypse surrounding her, feeling like she was going to die. “No, we must do things. Now, lesson over, little beetle.”
It wasn’t yet time to meet with Sybille and the others, but Zana didn’t think she could continue to wait around and field questions from anxious children, so she departed nonetheless.
It was early when Zana arrived and she could see none of the others around; not that she was feeling particularly social. Her discussion with Joey had soured her mood considerably. She found a crevice between two nearby buildings and squatted, back to the wall, examining her nails. She pulled out a scrap of sandpaper secured to a thin strip of metal and filed at a chip on one hand.
Around the other wrist, a dull white ribbon was wrapped, secured with a bow. One of the ribbons from her long-since abandoned pointe shoes. A useless keepsake, but one she kept with her– a reminder of why she taught, why she still danced. Was this mission something worth abandoning her ambitions for? Possibly, possibly not. Baked pigeons don’t fly into your mouth. If she wanted to return home, she would have to try, or die a hypocrite, waiting for someone else to bake those pigeons.
kočka
Translation: cat/little cat
Usage: kitty/cookie, used as a pet name or diminutive for children
beruška
Translation: ladybug/ladybird
Usage: something akin to poppet
Pečení holubi nelítají do huby
Translation: Baked pigeons don’t fly into your mouth.
Meaning: If you want to make money or achieve something, you have to work for it. Elbow grease, "put your back into it", pulling up by your bootstraps
Translation: cat/little cat
Usage: kitty/cookie, used as a pet name or diminutive for children
beruška
Translation: ladybug/ladybird
Usage: something akin to poppet
Pečení holubi nelítají do huby
Translation: Baked pigeons don’t fly into your mouth.
Meaning: If you want to make money or achieve something, you have to work for it. Elbow grease, "put your back into it", pulling up by your bootstraps
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Solar Daddy
Synthetic Nightmare
On days such as this, nothing was better than the cool breeze of the open air. Although the gear Lars wore was a bit thick for this type of weather, he'd always choose better concealment and protection over being slightly less sweaty. His poncho, covering his entire torso and bleeding over a bit of his shoulders and thighs, perfectly matched the locale around him. A mess of green and brown, complete with a few twigs and leaves to top off its camo. With his hood up, Lars could remain still and simply disappear into the backdrop should he need it. Lars chose concealment over cover any day. He'd prefer to be wherever his enemies didn't expect him to be. Though that didn't work terribly well on infected, it made Lars one hell of a combatant in firefights.
But this wasn't one of those high octane days. No, instead Lars had casually laid against a tree among the crumbling ruins around him on the outskirts of San Francisco. He was nestled up, enjoying the shade and cool breeze with his feet propped up against a bent stop sign. Even though he looked to be lounging casually, Lars' eyes never once stopped scanning his surroundings. Even in a docile state such as this, Lars doesn't know the meaning of the word 'relax'. Especially not when his payout was moments away.
Then Hal crossed his mind. Ah, damn. He prayed she wasn't getting into any trouble back at the Mall. Even though her entire reason for existing was to give Lars grey hairs, he'd hoped just this once she'd make his job easy and refrain from finding a reason to make Lars worry. The mischievous girl seemed to make a point of daring tasks that had him always repeating the same line. "I made a promise Hal!" It was almost Lars' catchphrase at this point.
Lars tried to focus on the task at hand and push the thoughts of Hallie from his mind. He felt it in his bones. Soon, the snare just a few tens of feet away would constrict and bind the unlucky creature who crossed it. Despite not being Lars' preferred weapon, a bow rested idly in his lap in the event an animal avoided his trap but remained in his line of sight. Of course, he also had plenty of snares meant for the undead as well. He'd already heard two shambles of cans rattling to signal that one of his traps had been triggered in the distance. Two more infected he'd happily kill on his way back to the Mall after he was done his bout of hunting.
Another abrupt jingle from behind Lars had him snap around and check the entrance to the residential home behind him. An unfortunate ghoul had stumbled outside and gotten itself tangled in a mess of wire and mesh, akin to barbed wire. Lars' favorite trap to set for the apocalyptic abominations, as it rendered them useless when most of their limbs got caught up in the strings. The half faced, maggot ridden corpse groaned as it attempted to unbind itself with no luck.
The sound caused by the small noise apparently startled something ahead, as seconds later, his animal snare popped in much the same fashion. With no more reason to lounge about, Lars propped himself up and slung the bow over his shoulder. First order of business was happily removing another ghoul from the list of dangers in the area. With one hand, the trapper unsheathed a hunting knife, gripping it tight, while his other unlatched the gas mask from his belt and swiftly donned the item. Lars breathed in deep and enjoyed the familiar smell of the rubber, getting accustomed once more to the feel of being faceless. As the ghoul's arms stretched out toward him under the constriction of the ropes, Lars carefully but aptly gripped one of its arms, and promptly planted the dagger into the eye of the poor abomination. He withdrew the blade as quick as it pierced the ghoul's eye. Seconds later, it collapsed towards the ground, only making it about halfway down before the netting tightened around it and forced the poor thing to hang.
Next on Lars' list, to check the trap he was waiting hours for. Had it taken any longer to come across a catch, he'd have given up his efforts for the day. Luckily, he had just enough time for his trek back to the Mall for Sybille's little meeting. He went through the plan in his mind idly while readying his bow, and taking aim at the small deer bound in a snare. It tried to escape, but the ropes ensured no survival for it today. Lars let the arrow loose, and once he ensured the whining of the animal didn't attract any infected, Lars once again drooped the bow over his shoulder and rescued the carcass from his trap. He dragged the dear onto a nearby tarp that Lars had prepared beforehand, and began sledding the future food back in the direction of the Mall. He'd drop the deer off at Phil's butcher shop before waiting at the meetup point later, maybe find Liberty for a nice chat about their hunts that day, if she'd even gone on one. He preferred to be early to events such as this, and luckily his little excursion outside the Mall should still allow him the ability to arrive at least an hour before it was scheduled; so long as Phil didn't talk his ear off.
Was Lars really about to set off across the wasteland because he made a dumb promise to a dying man? He needed only a moment to conjure his answer. Of course he was.
But this wasn't one of those high octane days. No, instead Lars had casually laid against a tree among the crumbling ruins around him on the outskirts of San Francisco. He was nestled up, enjoying the shade and cool breeze with his feet propped up against a bent stop sign. Even though he looked to be lounging casually, Lars' eyes never once stopped scanning his surroundings. Even in a docile state such as this, Lars doesn't know the meaning of the word 'relax'. Especially not when his payout was moments away.
Then Hal crossed his mind. Ah, damn. He prayed she wasn't getting into any trouble back at the Mall. Even though her entire reason for existing was to give Lars grey hairs, he'd hoped just this once she'd make his job easy and refrain from finding a reason to make Lars worry. The mischievous girl seemed to make a point of daring tasks that had him always repeating the same line. "I made a promise Hal!" It was almost Lars' catchphrase at this point.
Lars tried to focus on the task at hand and push the thoughts of Hallie from his mind. He felt it in his bones. Soon, the snare just a few tens of feet away would constrict and bind the unlucky creature who crossed it. Despite not being Lars' preferred weapon, a bow rested idly in his lap in the event an animal avoided his trap but remained in his line of sight. Of course, he also had plenty of snares meant for the undead as well. He'd already heard two shambles of cans rattling to signal that one of his traps had been triggered in the distance. Two more infected he'd happily kill on his way back to the Mall after he was done his bout of hunting.
Another abrupt jingle from behind Lars had him snap around and check the entrance to the residential home behind him. An unfortunate ghoul had stumbled outside and gotten itself tangled in a mess of wire and mesh, akin to barbed wire. Lars' favorite trap to set for the apocalyptic abominations, as it rendered them useless when most of their limbs got caught up in the strings. The half faced, maggot ridden corpse groaned as it attempted to unbind itself with no luck.
The sound caused by the small noise apparently startled something ahead, as seconds later, his animal snare popped in much the same fashion. With no more reason to lounge about, Lars propped himself up and slung the bow over his shoulder. First order of business was happily removing another ghoul from the list of dangers in the area. With one hand, the trapper unsheathed a hunting knife, gripping it tight, while his other unlatched the gas mask from his belt and swiftly donned the item. Lars breathed in deep and enjoyed the familiar smell of the rubber, getting accustomed once more to the feel of being faceless. As the ghoul's arms stretched out toward him under the constriction of the ropes, Lars carefully but aptly gripped one of its arms, and promptly planted the dagger into the eye of the poor abomination. He withdrew the blade as quick as it pierced the ghoul's eye. Seconds later, it collapsed towards the ground, only making it about halfway down before the netting tightened around it and forced the poor thing to hang.
Next on Lars' list, to check the trap he was waiting hours for. Had it taken any longer to come across a catch, he'd have given up his efforts for the day. Luckily, he had just enough time for his trek back to the Mall for Sybille's little meeting. He went through the plan in his mind idly while readying his bow, and taking aim at the small deer bound in a snare. It tried to escape, but the ropes ensured no survival for it today. Lars let the arrow loose, and once he ensured the whining of the animal didn't attract any infected, Lars once again drooped the bow over his shoulder and rescued the carcass from his trap. He dragged the dear onto a nearby tarp that Lars had prepared beforehand, and began sledding the future food back in the direction of the Mall. He'd drop the deer off at Phil's butcher shop before waiting at the meetup point later, maybe find Liberty for a nice chat about their hunts that day, if she'd even gone on one. He preferred to be early to events such as this, and luckily his little excursion outside the Mall should still allow him the ability to arrive at least an hour before it was scheduled; so long as Phil didn't talk his ear off.
Was Lars really about to set off across the wasteland because he made a dumb promise to a dying man? He needed only a moment to conjure his answer. Of course he was.
Aeris
Dumb & Poetic
Hey dad,
I know I haven’t been on my own too long- I think it’s been a year since you left. But you’d be happy to know your daughter is still alive. You’ll be less happy to know I kinda, sorta, talked my way into your position with the scouts and maybe convinced Sybille to let me come with her across the country.
Before you kill me, I am twenty-three years old. I’ve spent a good portion of my life behind these walls. I barely remember what it was like before the apocalypse. Let me have this, please. Nothing will happen to me, if it does, then I guess I’ll be seeing you sooner than later (too soon?). I’ll be sure to write along the way so you know I am okay.
Love you, dad,
Hallie.
Hallie folded the paper in half before tucking it neatly inside an envelope. She labeled the letter, and addressed it to her father, Owen Moore, before sticking it in a box she kept hidden within a drawer. After all, you can't send letters to dead people. Hallie let her gaze linger on the drawer before focusing her attention on getting ready. It had been what? A year now? He had always told her "see you later Hal" before leaving their tiny unit. Neither of them knew that that day, those words would be a lie. Hallie refused to accept the truth until his body had been recovered. The letters were never meant for anyone's eyes, the last thing she ever wanted to do was explain why she wrote letters to her dead father.
Despite it being god knows how hot out, Hal slipped a pink flannel over a plain white tank top. It was more of a self-conscious habit if anything. The vague memories of kids making fun of her freckled body came to mind, though her dad had told her not to worry, they were just jealous. Hallie understood now of course, but the habit was hard to break after so many years.
With one last look around to make sure nothing had been forgotten, Hallie exited the unit and began making her way to Rayney Day Mechanics. She had not been out for five minutes before a voice caught her attention.
"Hallie, please tell me you're not actually going out on that mission."
The young woman rolled her eyes slightly before turning to greet the source of the voice.
"Yes Marie, I am, but I'll be okay." She moved to begin walking again, frowning only slightly when she heard the older woman's footsteps following her. "Marie, I promise, you don't have to follow me." Hallie knew she meant well. After all, Marie had been her designated babysitter the first few years at the mall. The older woman had watched her grow up, and, when Owen passed, stayed with her for a couple of nights. It had been Marie's idea for the letters as a way to better cope with her father's passing.
"Hal, Owen wouldn't want you going out there. It's dangerous. Please, reconsider."
"My dad stopped having a say in what I do with my life when he died. I'm going Marie, I'm not changing my mind." Hallie picked up her pace slightly, letting the footsteps fade away in the background. Maybe she had been a little too harsh, but it got tiring hearing people tell her the same thing after a year. She would be fine. They would all be fine.
By the time Hallie arrived at Rayney Day Mechanics, the conversation had been all but forgotten.
"Good afternoon everyone!" She smiled brightly as she approached the destination. As of now, she appeared to be the second person to arrive. "Thank you for letting me tag along Sybille!" She smiled, knowing darn well it had taken a lot of convincing and a very long pro/con list before she had agreed. "I promise I won't let you down!"
I know I haven’t been on my own too long- I think it’s been a year since you left. But you’d be happy to know your daughter is still alive. You’ll be less happy to know I kinda, sorta, talked my way into your position with the scouts and maybe convinced Sybille to let me come with her across the country.
Before you kill me, I am twenty-three years old. I’ve spent a good portion of my life behind these walls. I barely remember what it was like before the apocalypse. Let me have this, please. Nothing will happen to me, if it does, then I guess I’ll be seeing you sooner than later (too soon?). I’ll be sure to write along the way so you know I am okay.
Love you, dad,
Hallie.
Hallie folded the paper in half before tucking it neatly inside an envelope. She labeled the letter, and addressed it to her father, Owen Moore, before sticking it in a box she kept hidden within a drawer. After all, you can't send letters to dead people. Hallie let her gaze linger on the drawer before focusing her attention on getting ready. It had been what? A year now? He had always told her "see you later Hal" before leaving their tiny unit. Neither of them knew that that day, those words would be a lie. Hallie refused to accept the truth until his body had been recovered. The letters were never meant for anyone's eyes, the last thing she ever wanted to do was explain why she wrote letters to her dead father.
Despite it being god knows how hot out, Hal slipped a pink flannel over a plain white tank top. It was more of a self-conscious habit if anything. The vague memories of kids making fun of her freckled body came to mind, though her dad had told her not to worry, they were just jealous. Hallie understood now of course, but the habit was hard to break after so many years.
With one last look around to make sure nothing had been forgotten, Hallie exited the unit and began making her way to Rayney Day Mechanics. She had not been out for five minutes before a voice caught her attention.
"Hallie, please tell me you're not actually going out on that mission."
The young woman rolled her eyes slightly before turning to greet the source of the voice.
"Yes Marie, I am, but I'll be okay." She moved to begin walking again, frowning only slightly when she heard the older woman's footsteps following her. "Marie, I promise, you don't have to follow me." Hallie knew she meant well. After all, Marie had been her designated babysitter the first few years at the mall. The older woman had watched her grow up, and, when Owen passed, stayed with her for a couple of nights. It had been Marie's idea for the letters as a way to better cope with her father's passing.
"Hal, Owen wouldn't want you going out there. It's dangerous. Please, reconsider."
"My dad stopped having a say in what I do with my life when he died. I'm going Marie, I'm not changing my mind." Hallie picked up her pace slightly, letting the footsteps fade away in the background. Maybe she had been a little too harsh, but it got tiring hearing people tell her the same thing after a year. She would be fine. They would all be fine.
By the time Hallie arrived at Rayney Day Mechanics, the conversation had been all but forgotten.
"Good afternoon everyone!" She smiled brightly as she approached the destination. As of now, she appeared to be the second person to arrive. "Thank you for letting me tag along Sybille!" She smiled, knowing darn well it had taken a lot of convincing and a very long pro/con list before she had agreed. "I promise I won't let you down!"
Pipsqueak
<3
Smoke drifted hypnotically from the tip of the cigarette hanging from Noelle's mouth. She watched it lazily, hardly aware of the irony of the hazards in the action while on duty. Her dark eyes stared past the fog, almost into it, at something unseen to anyone but her. A laughing face construed messily by the trailing smoke that reminded her very much of her wife. Bailey and Eliza were still out there, but they might as well have been dead. The feeling was all the same.
"Ain't that dangerous, Mrs. M? Smokin' and all that?" Noelle grinned, spinning in her swivel seat to meet the intruder's gaze.
"Yup. Want one?"
"You know I don't smoke."
"No? Id've been fooled with all that knowledge of the dangers of these little things." Her sarcastic comment was followed with a warm smile that crinkled her eyes. That had become second nature recently- A quick wave of her hands to push those painful memories away. No need to cry about it now, especially not in front of these guys.
"How've ya been, Cole?" The young man was a regular here, not that most of his visits were ever warranted. He was always hyper-aware of any pain he deemed dangerous, including the paper cut a month ago. Though Noelle had to find more and more clever ways to ease his anxiety, she enjoyed his company. Cole was a good kid, if not a little quiet.
"Oh ya know," he shrugged, leaning a little too casually on her desk, "Been better."
"I'll bite, but you best park yourself in that seat over there. Still a patient, Mr. Barnes." He smiled but complied.
"So? You gunna make me ask?" There was a pause, as if he was actually considering risking his evening here with a lecture on time management instead of treatment. But thankfully he shook his head.
"Nah, nothin' that needs medical attention at the moment Mrs. M. Just been wonderin' about you, actually. You really gunna head on that trip with Sybille and them?" Another drag on the cigarette. Noelle looked critically at him before snuffing it out on the desk.
"You're not here to try and dissuade me too, are ya?"
"No! Not at all, just curious."
"Worried, more like it. I can see it on your face sweetie, no need to beat around the bush. And for your information, I ain't that old, okay? Me goin' on this little trek of theirs is no more dangerous than smokin', if ya think about it." Cole grimaced at that, shaking his head.
"I don't think that's true."
"It's as true as I want it to be. Don't spend your time worrying about me, you'll keel over if you have one more thing on your mind I swear it. Speaking of, I better get goin'. I think they're starting." With a huff Noelle finally stood after what had felt like an eternity. Her knees cracked and groaned in protest as she made her way over to the boy.
"Really. I'll be just fine honey bee. I've got my best nurses here to take care of you every time you walk through those doors. And-" Holding up a finger, Noelle dug through her purse, "I got you those little candies you like so much to take home with ya. Don't tell Michelle about that though, you know how protective she is with these things." Yea, the journey was going to hurt. This had been her home for thirteen years. She'd known Cole for five of them, some of the nurses even longer. They'd have Charlie, if nothing else, which had given her comfort in the days leading up to this. He was a great doctor, and a good friend. She had said her goodbyes to him the night prior, without actually ever uttering the word "goodbye". That was just fine with her. They'd all come back eventually with the cure, and she'd make sure of it.
"You be good, don't get into trouble, yada yada." Noelle placed a wrinkled hand on his. They shared a look, but it was clear Cole was a bit too choked up to talk, so she gave him a nod and turned to meet the group without looking back. If she did, she might've stayed.
"Ain't that dangerous, Mrs. M? Smokin' and all that?" Noelle grinned, spinning in her swivel seat to meet the intruder's gaze.
"Yup. Want one?"
"You know I don't smoke."
"No? Id've been fooled with all that knowledge of the dangers of these little things." Her sarcastic comment was followed with a warm smile that crinkled her eyes. That had become second nature recently- A quick wave of her hands to push those painful memories away. No need to cry about it now, especially not in front of these guys.
"How've ya been, Cole?" The young man was a regular here, not that most of his visits were ever warranted. He was always hyper-aware of any pain he deemed dangerous, including the paper cut a month ago. Though Noelle had to find more and more clever ways to ease his anxiety, she enjoyed his company. Cole was a good kid, if not a little quiet.
"Oh ya know," he shrugged, leaning a little too casually on her desk, "Been better."
"I'll bite, but you best park yourself in that seat over there. Still a patient, Mr. Barnes." He smiled but complied.
"So? You gunna make me ask?" There was a pause, as if he was actually considering risking his evening here with a lecture on time management instead of treatment. But thankfully he shook his head.
"Nah, nothin' that needs medical attention at the moment Mrs. M. Just been wonderin' about you, actually. You really gunna head on that trip with Sybille and them?" Another drag on the cigarette. Noelle looked critically at him before snuffing it out on the desk.
"You're not here to try and dissuade me too, are ya?"
"No! Not at all, just curious."
"Worried, more like it. I can see it on your face sweetie, no need to beat around the bush. And for your information, I ain't that old, okay? Me goin' on this little trek of theirs is no more dangerous than smokin', if ya think about it." Cole grimaced at that, shaking his head.
"I don't think that's true."
"It's as true as I want it to be. Don't spend your time worrying about me, you'll keel over if you have one more thing on your mind I swear it. Speaking of, I better get goin'. I think they're starting." With a huff Noelle finally stood after what had felt like an eternity. Her knees cracked and groaned in protest as she made her way over to the boy.
"Really. I'll be just fine honey bee. I've got my best nurses here to take care of you every time you walk through those doors. And-" Holding up a finger, Noelle dug through her purse, "I got you those little candies you like so much to take home with ya. Don't tell Michelle about that though, you know how protective she is with these things." Yea, the journey was going to hurt. This had been her home for thirteen years. She'd known Cole for five of them, some of the nurses even longer. They'd have Charlie, if nothing else, which had given her comfort in the days leading up to this. He was a great doctor, and a good friend. She had said her goodbyes to him the night prior, without actually ever uttering the word "goodbye". That was just fine with her. They'd all come back eventually with the cure, and she'd make sure of it.
"You be good, don't get into trouble, yada yada." Noelle placed a wrinkled hand on his. They shared a look, but it was clear Cole was a bit too choked up to talk, so she gave him a nod and turned to meet the group without looking back. If she did, she might've stayed.
Ha_lfLife
Resident cynic
You know, it was funny watching people who lived in the Mall. They were a group of thousands who all shared a drastic mutual trauma, but one that was barely ever spoken about. Aside from the young ones, most everyone here remembered where they were before all this started. What their quality of life was like. Did they have a two-story house with a pool and a waterslide? A teacup shih-tzu? Maybe they had a near-uninhabitable San Francisco studio and six-figures of unconquerable debt. None of that mattered anymore, really. People who came here brought what they could carry and whatever skills they had learned beforehand. There was this recognizable look that came over folks’ eyes when they remembered the before time. A dissociation, a ghostly expression that often either ended in looks of grief or longing. Either they reveled in memories of a happier time, or replayed of the worst moments of their lives.
For Tom Caldwell, it was always the latter. It was always the same few moments, playing over and over again in his head. September 1, 2022. Him and Haley had just finished breakfast with the rest of the folks who’d retreated to the Community Center for refuge; they’d lived there without too many incidents for over a year now, pretending at being normal while being walled off from any news of what was happening with the outside world. They kept the infected at bay, slowly wondering what would be done when their stockpile of supplies finally ran out. There were only fifteen or so folks who’d lasted till now. They were diminishing it slowly, but nothing lasted forever. They’d seen through the windows what kinds of people were making the inhuman noises they kept hearing, but they still understood very little about what was happening.
The breach was fast. When the windows started breaking, and the creatures falling over into the halls from the outside showed themselves to be fast and vicious, panic took over among the survivors. Tom and Haley found a breakaway point, through one of the broken windows, and got outside. The midday sun was bright and brutal. That’s when he saw the blood on his daughter’s shoulder, the deep indenture in her skin. He hadn’t seen one of the infected turn before. So quickly did her whimpering turn into a feral, shrill moaning, and he realized that the hand she’d just held out to him in fear was now trying to grab on to him. The rest of the memory came in sporadic waves, a loosely strung series of images that came and went as they pleased – holding his palm against her head at arm’s length, pushing her flush against the trunk of a tree, feeling her thrashings growing stronger and more rabid. Grabbing at the switchblade in his pocket and unlocking it. Hesitating, looking his girl in the eyes, not wanting to do it. Having to do it --
---
“Is she dead?” Travis. That kid’s voice was so pitchy, it could shake anyone out of a day dream. Travis Flowers had just turned thirteen two weeks ago and had the lankiness and the cracking vocal cords to show for it. Travis started working for Tom just under a year ago, though his nineteen-year-old brother, Mark, had been Tom’s right hand man since the spring of ’30. Tom took a second to rejoin reality, his eyes readjusting to the creature laying still in the hay next to where he’d squatted down. Bluebell. A gentle creature. A strong and faithful mare that they’d had around for years.
She was a good horse. But four days ago she’d found herself snared in the barbed wire of one of the border fences, her leg held between two lines of the wire that tightened like a vice whenever she thrashed. Tom had to cut her out of it and spent most of that entire evening replacing the lines of the fence that he’d had to tear down. Most animals bounced back from wounds like that, but Blue just got sick with infection. There wasn’t a lot to do when animals got to that point. Maybe in the before time, a vet could’ve cured it. But Tom didn’t really reckon that Charlie would be too keen on lending out precious antibiotics for a horse. Even if the mare did miraculously recover, it wasn’t like she’d be of working caliber again. What use did the Mall have for a lame horse? Tom was sympathetic, but he was also pragmatic. Horses cost grain, fresh water, grasslands. They couldn’t afford to let any creature stay without earning its keep. He’d made up his mind the night before, but let her rest for one more night. He got her some fresh hay, even brought her a packet of sugar he got in the mess hall at dinner that night. When the sun shone over the mid-morning, he took up his captive bolt pistol, petted her sleek, black mane once or twice, and unceremoniously put the weapon to her head. It was easy and bloodless.
“Yeah, son, she’s dead.”
Tom stood and with a sigh, he holstered the air pistol on his belt, patting the kid on the shoulder. “Go on, go help your brother with the troughs.” Travis exited somberly, leaving Tom alone with the horse again. He had shown Travis a few times how to harvest from an animal, even having let him take the lead on the last cow they’d slaughtered. He probably should’ve left the kid to do Bluebell, too. Tom knew that the eldest Flowers brother could run everything just as well as Tom himself, but he needed to finally let himself trust the two boys to actually take over. He’d be leaving soon for good – just a few more days from now. It wasn’t in Tom’s nature, though, to use the excuse of his leaving soon as a reason not to put in a hard day’s work. He’d have time to finish Bluebell, working fast against the hot weather that made everything spoil so much faster, before having to get to that meeting at the shop. Tom made quick work of the task, taking care in shearing off the mane and braiding the hair into wafts; the uses for horsehair in a society like this were endless. He stripped the hide to tan for leather, though he’d be long gone before the process ended in something useable. He would’ve liked to save the meat, too, since fresh meat of any caliber was a precious thing in a place like this. But with the infection having gone on for as long as it had, the chance of the meat festering sickness was too great.
He then set out on the short distance between the stables and the shop, thankful for the break. Even though there wasn’t much breeze, being able to move around in such stifling heat was better than standing still. As the open grasslands that expanded over the outermost layer of the compound slowly gave way to more and more ramshackle establishments, Tom made the occasional nod or hand gesture acknowledging the faces he’d seen before but didn’t know too well. He did notice one that he was slightly more familiar with as his path fed into the Middle Ring. “Morning, ma’am,” he nodded to Sybille, slowing his long-legged page to accommodate hers. He didn’t know her intimately, and had only had more than a sentence-long conversation with her a handful of times, always about horses. But he knew of her reputation. She was something of a marvel to people here, and that demanded some amount of respect in kind. He picked up on the aggravation in her face from her previous encounter, and decided in that blunt way of his, that going ahead and spilling the news was better than cushioning the blow with niceties: “Well, looks like we’re down a horse for the road. Had one die on us this morning.”
As they walked, Tom fumbled with pulling something out of his shirt’s breast pocket – a cow’s jawbone that he’d saved from a slaughter yesterday. Usually, they saved all of the bones from the carcasses, cleaning them off and passing them on to the kitchen staff to use for broth. But taking one from the pile wasn’t a crime, and he’d seen before how that dog trailed along with Sybille everywhere she went. With a look to Sybille that seemed to silently ask permission, he tossed it out to the dog. "There you go, boy."
For Tom Caldwell, it was always the latter. It was always the same few moments, playing over and over again in his head. September 1, 2022. Him and Haley had just finished breakfast with the rest of the folks who’d retreated to the Community Center for refuge; they’d lived there without too many incidents for over a year now, pretending at being normal while being walled off from any news of what was happening with the outside world. They kept the infected at bay, slowly wondering what would be done when their stockpile of supplies finally ran out. There were only fifteen or so folks who’d lasted till now. They were diminishing it slowly, but nothing lasted forever. They’d seen through the windows what kinds of people were making the inhuman noises they kept hearing, but they still understood very little about what was happening.
The breach was fast. When the windows started breaking, and the creatures falling over into the halls from the outside showed themselves to be fast and vicious, panic took over among the survivors. Tom and Haley found a breakaway point, through one of the broken windows, and got outside. The midday sun was bright and brutal. That’s when he saw the blood on his daughter’s shoulder, the deep indenture in her skin. He hadn’t seen one of the infected turn before. So quickly did her whimpering turn into a feral, shrill moaning, and he realized that the hand she’d just held out to him in fear was now trying to grab on to him. The rest of the memory came in sporadic waves, a loosely strung series of images that came and went as they pleased – holding his palm against her head at arm’s length, pushing her flush against the trunk of a tree, feeling her thrashings growing stronger and more rabid. Grabbing at the switchblade in his pocket and unlocking it. Hesitating, looking his girl in the eyes, not wanting to do it. Having to do it --
---
“Is she dead?” Travis. That kid’s voice was so pitchy, it could shake anyone out of a day dream. Travis Flowers had just turned thirteen two weeks ago and had the lankiness and the cracking vocal cords to show for it. Travis started working for Tom just under a year ago, though his nineteen-year-old brother, Mark, had been Tom’s right hand man since the spring of ’30. Tom took a second to rejoin reality, his eyes readjusting to the creature laying still in the hay next to where he’d squatted down. Bluebell. A gentle creature. A strong and faithful mare that they’d had around for years.
She was a good horse. But four days ago she’d found herself snared in the barbed wire of one of the border fences, her leg held between two lines of the wire that tightened like a vice whenever she thrashed. Tom had to cut her out of it and spent most of that entire evening replacing the lines of the fence that he’d had to tear down. Most animals bounced back from wounds like that, but Blue just got sick with infection. There wasn’t a lot to do when animals got to that point. Maybe in the before time, a vet could’ve cured it. But Tom didn’t really reckon that Charlie would be too keen on lending out precious antibiotics for a horse. Even if the mare did miraculously recover, it wasn’t like she’d be of working caliber again. What use did the Mall have for a lame horse? Tom was sympathetic, but he was also pragmatic. Horses cost grain, fresh water, grasslands. They couldn’t afford to let any creature stay without earning its keep. He’d made up his mind the night before, but let her rest for one more night. He got her some fresh hay, even brought her a packet of sugar he got in the mess hall at dinner that night. When the sun shone over the mid-morning, he took up his captive bolt pistol, petted her sleek, black mane once or twice, and unceremoniously put the weapon to her head. It was easy and bloodless.
“Yeah, son, she’s dead.”
Tom stood and with a sigh, he holstered the air pistol on his belt, patting the kid on the shoulder. “Go on, go help your brother with the troughs.” Travis exited somberly, leaving Tom alone with the horse again. He had shown Travis a few times how to harvest from an animal, even having let him take the lead on the last cow they’d slaughtered. He probably should’ve left the kid to do Bluebell, too. Tom knew that the eldest Flowers brother could run everything just as well as Tom himself, but he needed to finally let himself trust the two boys to actually take over. He’d be leaving soon for good – just a few more days from now. It wasn’t in Tom’s nature, though, to use the excuse of his leaving soon as a reason not to put in a hard day’s work. He’d have time to finish Bluebell, working fast against the hot weather that made everything spoil so much faster, before having to get to that meeting at the shop. Tom made quick work of the task, taking care in shearing off the mane and braiding the hair into wafts; the uses for horsehair in a society like this were endless. He stripped the hide to tan for leather, though he’d be long gone before the process ended in something useable. He would’ve liked to save the meat, too, since fresh meat of any caliber was a precious thing in a place like this. But with the infection having gone on for as long as it had, the chance of the meat festering sickness was too great.
He then set out on the short distance between the stables and the shop, thankful for the break. Even though there wasn’t much breeze, being able to move around in such stifling heat was better than standing still. As the open grasslands that expanded over the outermost layer of the compound slowly gave way to more and more ramshackle establishments, Tom made the occasional nod or hand gesture acknowledging the faces he’d seen before but didn’t know too well. He did notice one that he was slightly more familiar with as his path fed into the Middle Ring. “Morning, ma’am,” he nodded to Sybille, slowing his long-legged page to accommodate hers. He didn’t know her intimately, and had only had more than a sentence-long conversation with her a handful of times, always about horses. But he knew of her reputation. She was something of a marvel to people here, and that demanded some amount of respect in kind. He picked up on the aggravation in her face from her previous encounter, and decided in that blunt way of his, that going ahead and spilling the news was better than cushioning the blow with niceties: “Well, looks like we’re down a horse for the road. Had one die on us this morning.”
As they walked, Tom fumbled with pulling something out of his shirt’s breast pocket – a cow’s jawbone that he’d saved from a slaughter yesterday. Usually, they saved all of the bones from the carcasses, cleaning them off and passing them on to the kitchen staff to use for broth. But taking one from the pile wasn’t a crime, and he’d seen before how that dog trailed along with Sybille everywhere she went. With a look to Sybille that seemed to silently ask permission, he tossed it out to the dog. "There you go, boy."
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queendilettante
🤍 Heart Problems 🤍
Sybille was angry as she left the Target hospital, but that wasn't all that surprising. Charlie was as stubborn as he'd always been, and he was insistent to die that way, it seemed. Sybille would have to learn to live with that fact. He wasn't the first to abandon her and he wouldn't be the last, but she'd know better than to let it hurt her again. Within a week, Charlie would be a ghost like the rest, only able to torment her after sundown.
She stopped in the parking lot briefly to entertain Santa. From her backpack, she pulled a ball that he liked to chase and a pack of hand-rolled cigarettes. There'd be no one to nag her about smoking anymore, so why not? Still kneeling in the hot sun, she lit her cigarette and started throwing the ball across the parking lot for the dog. April wasn't a particularly busy time of year for The Mall, so there weren't many stalls for her to worry about him barreling through.
She played with the pup for a few minutes, but the heat was unbearable. "Come on babe!" she called to the dog, giving him apologetic scratches behind his ear. "It's too damn hot for this bud," she consoled. She tossed the ball back in the army backpack she looted from a corpse quite a few years back, put her cigarette out on her jeans, and put a second one in her mouth. "Let's head on back."
--
Less than a block into the Middle Ring, she ran into Tom, the Mall's local rancher and "horse guy." She hadn't expected him to be this early, but farmer types seemed to be on a different internal clock than the rest of them; it seemed that some things didn't change with the apocalypse. "Hey Tom," she mumbled through her cigarette, shooting the taller man a curt glance from behind her sunglasses. "Ever punctual, I see."
Sybille stopped for a moment and took a long drag of her cigarette. "How convenient," she grumbled, smoke pouring from her mouth. "We seem to have had one die on us as well." She shrugged at the man and kept walking toward her shop in the Outer Ring. Rumors of numerous important Mall figures departing at once had been circulating for a couple of weeks, but Sybille had neglected to formally announce it to any of the Founders. She wasn't too keen on an overzealous SecDep officer eavesdropping before she was ready to spill it herself.
"Let's talk at the shop, huh?"
She stopped in the parking lot briefly to entertain Santa. From her backpack, she pulled a ball that he liked to chase and a pack of hand-rolled cigarettes. There'd be no one to nag her about smoking anymore, so why not? Still kneeling in the hot sun, she lit her cigarette and started throwing the ball across the parking lot for the dog. April wasn't a particularly busy time of year for The Mall, so there weren't many stalls for her to worry about him barreling through.
She played with the pup for a few minutes, but the heat was unbearable. "Come on babe!" she called to the dog, giving him apologetic scratches behind his ear. "It's too damn hot for this bud," she consoled. She tossed the ball back in the army backpack she looted from a corpse quite a few years back, put her cigarette out on her jeans, and put a second one in her mouth. "Let's head on back."
--
Less than a block into the Middle Ring, she ran into Tom, the Mall's local rancher and "horse guy." She hadn't expected him to be this early, but farmer types seemed to be on a different internal clock than the rest of them; it seemed that some things didn't change with the apocalypse. "Hey Tom," she mumbled through her cigarette, shooting the taller man a curt glance from behind her sunglasses. "Ever punctual, I see."
Sybille stopped for a moment and took a long drag of her cigarette. "How convenient," she grumbled, smoke pouring from her mouth. "We seem to have had one die on us as well." She shrugged at the man and kept walking toward her shop in the Outer Ring. Rumors of numerous important Mall figures departing at once had been circulating for a couple of weeks, but Sybille had neglected to formally announce it to any of the Founders. She wasn't too keen on an overzealous SecDep officer eavesdropping before she was ready to spill it herself.
"Let's talk at the shop, huh?"
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kaito9049
Perpetually Cold
Joseph Park was working, which was a little suspicious.
For one, despite being at the Mall for a few years, no one was really sure what his job was, exactly. It wasn't uncommon to see him running with the maintenance teams, helping clear debris and repair barriers. But he also sometimes tagged along with the group of workers collecting lumber and firewood. Hell, one of his colleagues had even gifted Joseph a sharpened axe from the storage closest. The rumor was that Joseph had helped the other man get out of a bind with his supervisor, though a few claimed Joseph had threatened to report the man to his supervisor for some unknown offense.
There were a lot of those rumors when it came to Joseph. Whenever someone asked about it, he'd just laugh in that easy way he did — like the two of you were best friends telling each other a joke — and say something like, "It's not really my business to tell. You know how it is." And then he'd ask about you, about your spouse's health and whether he could send you a couple of fresh steaks for dinner — completely free, of course. He just happened to have a friend at the mess hall who could get them from time to time. It was always nice to have friends like that, wasn't it? Friends you could depend on. Friends who could depend on you.
Joseph had about as many of those conversations as there were rumors about him. If anyone had the heart to complain about him (few did, for reasons unclear even to themselves) it was that he seemed to talk more than he worked. That was another reason some of his dependable friends from the maintenance crew were surprised when they found him at B&N, hauling crates off a pallet. Beads of sweat dripped from his short, dark hair as he moved quickly from the pallet to a farm equipment storefront. Setting the box down with a grunt, he looked up at the two other men approaching him. Names, birthdays, and hobbies immediately came to his mind.
"Hey, gents!" Joseph said in a booming voice as he stood up, the wide grin on his face practically beaming. "What, did Mr. Glenn finally grow a heart and give you guys the day off?"
The others chuckled heartily. Their boss was notorious for keeping his workers busy, sometimes assigning them to the most mind-numbingly menial tasks when they had nothing else to do. Joseph worked one of those shifts once. The next day, a bottle of eye-bulgingly expensive wine appeared in Mr. Glenn's office, with a kind note. Changes to the schedule were made.
Still, Joseph took the time to crack jokes at his manager's expense, just like his colleagues did. He was, after all, one of them.
One of the maintenance workers — Brian, Joseph recalled, a man of about four decades who had sworn away nicotine for the third time — tested the weight of one of the crates, only to drop it back on the pallet. "What are you moving?" he asked, tapping the box with his foot. "Anvils?"
Joseph shrugged, leaning against the store's glass window with a casual motion. The boxes hadn't seemed so heavy to him. "Feed bags, I think." He knew his friends would come this way on their break, of course, and he'd already run through a dozen different conversational scenarios for the topic ahead. If they seemed angry or upset, he'd go meek. If they appeared worried, he'd play that up just enough to make them think he needed help. And if either of them wanted to join him, well...he'd need to shut that down one way or another.
Elliot, a younger man who had a deep-seated and very useful love for pre-Crash memorabilia, got the ball rolling. "Why are you here? Mr. Glenn said you were supposed to help us get the signs repainted."
Joseph gave Elliot his best deer-in-headlights impression, then struck his own forehead with his palm. "Oh, geez," he replied, his voice just a pitch higher than normal. "I completely forgot. I promised Ms. Perez that I'd help her restock today. That's my bad, guys."
Peering past his hand, Joseph watched his coworkers' reactions carefully. They shook their heads with mock chastisement, but neither seemed sincerely frustrated. After all, Joseph was known for forgetting things. He was big and smiley — and therefore he was probably stupid, too. Harmless.
"Tell ya what," Elliot said. "You can make it up to us by asking your friend to get us another movie for the break room."
Joseph winced and folded his hands, as if in supplication. Here it was. "Actually," he said, keeping his voice soft, "I may not be around much longer to help out with that."
He glanced up, making sure he saw the surprise register on his listeners' faces. Then he looked around as if worrying someone was listening in, and stepped closer to the pair. As if under a spell, they reciprocated, forming a tight circle. "I'm heading out soon," Joseph whispered. "A group of us are trying to get to the East Coast, get the vaccine. I haven't told anyone else yet."
That was a lie. He'd told four other people in the past week — people he could trust not to pass on the news, and who'd feel flattered by being trusted. He wouldn't miss them. He wouldn't miss anyone, at least not enough to keep him at the Mall. But if things blew up and he needed to retreat to the settlement, he wanted people who'd welcome him back with open arms.
Joseph's coworkers looked as if he'd told them he was dying. Elliot even looked like he was tearing up. That was a good sign. But it wasn't the only reason he'd planned this "chance meeting." He turned his gaze to Brian, keeping his eyes soft. Brian nodded and clapped Joseph on his shoulder. He, maybe more than any of them, felt a special bond with Joseph. After all, when Brian had gotten into an argument with Mr. Glenn and needed to blow off steam, it was Joseph who just happened to have a few spare cigarettes in his pocket. And when the inevitable post-relapse shame came to terrorize Brian, it was Joseph who provided a listening ear.
So it was fitting that, when Joseph was about to leave their little group of friends, Brian freely volunteered his own generosity.
"I just got a new backpack," he said. "Barely used — tons of pouches. It's yours, if you want it."
Joseph's eyes widened, stuttering to convey shock. "No, I—that's too much. I can't—"
Elliot jumped in, like Joseph knew he would. "I've got a half-full box of .357s. You can have 'em. I mostly shoot with my .45, anyway."
Joseph looked down and shook his head. Damn, he was good at this. It was a gross emotion, perhaps, but he had a right to be proud of a job well done.
"Thanks, guys," he said finally. "You're better friends than I deserve."
The men parted ways with a few more jokes — the type you laugh at to distract yourself from the oppression of imminent tragedy — and promises to share at least one more meal together. But when Brian started walking toward the mess hall, Elliot stayed behind.
"Hey, uh, I'm not sure what the situation is, exactly," Elliot asked Joseph softly. "But whoever you're going with, if this would be OK, could you ask them if they'd be willing to take another guy?"
Joseph raised an eyebrow. This time, the surprise was genuine.
"You know I'm good with my hands," Elliot continued quickly. "And I'm a decent shot. Life here's good, I know we're lucky, but I'm tired of waking up every day thinking I might turn into a runner. So — and like, only if you're OK with it — would you be able to put in a good word for me?"
Joseph had to stop himself from rejecting the other man outright. It would be good to have a loyal face in the group, someone who looked up to him. But what worked with the work crew might not work with this different team, and Joseph didn't want Elliot to realize how drastically his friend's personality could change. Besides, Elliot was young and naive — enough that Joseph could easily see himself put in a situation where he'd have to leave Elliot if he slowed the group down. Neither of them would want that.
One more lie, then.
"I'll see what I can do," Joseph said with a practiced smile. "I'd love to have you come with us, but the person who's organizing this is kind of — well, they can be a bit strict. But know I'm pulling for you."
Elliot returned the smile with a grin of his own, then fist bumped Joseph before leaving him alone with his thoughts and half a pallet of crates. Joseph took just a couple of moments to collect himself before resuming his task. He couldn't spend too much time patting himself on the back.
After all, there was always work to be done.
For one, despite being at the Mall for a few years, no one was really sure what his job was, exactly. It wasn't uncommon to see him running with the maintenance teams, helping clear debris and repair barriers. But he also sometimes tagged along with the group of workers collecting lumber and firewood. Hell, one of his colleagues had even gifted Joseph a sharpened axe from the storage closest. The rumor was that Joseph had helped the other man get out of a bind with his supervisor, though a few claimed Joseph had threatened to report the man to his supervisor for some unknown offense.
There were a lot of those rumors when it came to Joseph. Whenever someone asked about it, he'd just laugh in that easy way he did — like the two of you were best friends telling each other a joke — and say something like, "It's not really my business to tell. You know how it is." And then he'd ask about you, about your spouse's health and whether he could send you a couple of fresh steaks for dinner — completely free, of course. He just happened to have a friend at the mess hall who could get them from time to time. It was always nice to have friends like that, wasn't it? Friends you could depend on. Friends who could depend on you.
Joseph had about as many of those conversations as there were rumors about him. If anyone had the heart to complain about him (few did, for reasons unclear even to themselves) it was that he seemed to talk more than he worked. That was another reason some of his dependable friends from the maintenance crew were surprised when they found him at B&N, hauling crates off a pallet. Beads of sweat dripped from his short, dark hair as he moved quickly from the pallet to a farm equipment storefront. Setting the box down with a grunt, he looked up at the two other men approaching him. Names, birthdays, and hobbies immediately came to his mind.
"Hey, gents!" Joseph said in a booming voice as he stood up, the wide grin on his face practically beaming. "What, did Mr. Glenn finally grow a heart and give you guys the day off?"
The others chuckled heartily. Their boss was notorious for keeping his workers busy, sometimes assigning them to the most mind-numbingly menial tasks when they had nothing else to do. Joseph worked one of those shifts once. The next day, a bottle of eye-bulgingly expensive wine appeared in Mr. Glenn's office, with a kind note. Changes to the schedule were made.
Still, Joseph took the time to crack jokes at his manager's expense, just like his colleagues did. He was, after all, one of them.
One of the maintenance workers — Brian, Joseph recalled, a man of about four decades who had sworn away nicotine for the third time — tested the weight of one of the crates, only to drop it back on the pallet. "What are you moving?" he asked, tapping the box with his foot. "Anvils?"
Joseph shrugged, leaning against the store's glass window with a casual motion. The boxes hadn't seemed so heavy to him. "Feed bags, I think." He knew his friends would come this way on their break, of course, and he'd already run through a dozen different conversational scenarios for the topic ahead. If they seemed angry or upset, he'd go meek. If they appeared worried, he'd play that up just enough to make them think he needed help. And if either of them wanted to join him, well...he'd need to shut that down one way or another.
Elliot, a younger man who had a deep-seated and very useful love for pre-Crash memorabilia, got the ball rolling. "Why are you here? Mr. Glenn said you were supposed to help us get the signs repainted."
Joseph gave Elliot his best deer-in-headlights impression, then struck his own forehead with his palm. "Oh, geez," he replied, his voice just a pitch higher than normal. "I completely forgot. I promised Ms. Perez that I'd help her restock today. That's my bad, guys."
Peering past his hand, Joseph watched his coworkers' reactions carefully. They shook their heads with mock chastisement, but neither seemed sincerely frustrated. After all, Joseph was known for forgetting things. He was big and smiley — and therefore he was probably stupid, too. Harmless.
"Tell ya what," Elliot said. "You can make it up to us by asking your friend to get us another movie for the break room."
Joseph winced and folded his hands, as if in supplication. Here it was. "Actually," he said, keeping his voice soft, "I may not be around much longer to help out with that."
He glanced up, making sure he saw the surprise register on his listeners' faces. Then he looked around as if worrying someone was listening in, and stepped closer to the pair. As if under a spell, they reciprocated, forming a tight circle. "I'm heading out soon," Joseph whispered. "A group of us are trying to get to the East Coast, get the vaccine. I haven't told anyone else yet."
That was a lie. He'd told four other people in the past week — people he could trust not to pass on the news, and who'd feel flattered by being trusted. He wouldn't miss them. He wouldn't miss anyone, at least not enough to keep him at the Mall. But if things blew up and he needed to retreat to the settlement, he wanted people who'd welcome him back with open arms.
Joseph's coworkers looked as if he'd told them he was dying. Elliot even looked like he was tearing up. That was a good sign. But it wasn't the only reason he'd planned this "chance meeting." He turned his gaze to Brian, keeping his eyes soft. Brian nodded and clapped Joseph on his shoulder. He, maybe more than any of them, felt a special bond with Joseph. After all, when Brian had gotten into an argument with Mr. Glenn and needed to blow off steam, it was Joseph who just happened to have a few spare cigarettes in his pocket. And when the inevitable post-relapse shame came to terrorize Brian, it was Joseph who provided a listening ear.
So it was fitting that, when Joseph was about to leave their little group of friends, Brian freely volunteered his own generosity.
"I just got a new backpack," he said. "Barely used — tons of pouches. It's yours, if you want it."
Joseph's eyes widened, stuttering to convey shock. "No, I—that's too much. I can't—"
Elliot jumped in, like Joseph knew he would. "I've got a half-full box of .357s. You can have 'em. I mostly shoot with my .45, anyway."
Joseph looked down and shook his head. Damn, he was good at this. It was a gross emotion, perhaps, but he had a right to be proud of a job well done.
"Thanks, guys," he said finally. "You're better friends than I deserve."
The men parted ways with a few more jokes — the type you laugh at to distract yourself from the oppression of imminent tragedy — and promises to share at least one more meal together. But when Brian started walking toward the mess hall, Elliot stayed behind.
"Hey, uh, I'm not sure what the situation is, exactly," Elliot asked Joseph softly. "But whoever you're going with, if this would be OK, could you ask them if they'd be willing to take another guy?"
Joseph raised an eyebrow. This time, the surprise was genuine.
"You know I'm good with my hands," Elliot continued quickly. "And I'm a decent shot. Life here's good, I know we're lucky, but I'm tired of waking up every day thinking I might turn into a runner. So — and like, only if you're OK with it — would you be able to put in a good word for me?"
Joseph had to stop himself from rejecting the other man outright. It would be good to have a loyal face in the group, someone who looked up to him. But what worked with the work crew might not work with this different team, and Joseph didn't want Elliot to realize how drastically his friend's personality could change. Besides, Elliot was young and naive — enough that Joseph could easily see himself put in a situation where he'd have to leave Elliot if he slowed the group down. Neither of them would want that.
One more lie, then.
"I'll see what I can do," Joseph said with a practiced smile. "I'd love to have you come with us, but the person who's organizing this is kind of — well, they can be a bit strict. But know I'm pulling for you."
Elliot returned the smile with a grin of his own, then fist bumped Joseph before leaving him alone with his thoughts and half a pallet of crates. Joseph took just a couple of moments to collect himself before resuming his task. He couldn't spend too much time patting himself on the back.
After all, there was always work to be done.
guac
amole
Hazel leaned against Todd’s scrap metal booth, as she had a dozen times before, idly twirling her bat in the air. He was one of the Mall’s many itinerant merchants, and Hazel had taken an interest in him the moment she first laid eyes on him. Something about the way his hair fell in his face, or maybe it was his care-free attitude, was endlessly attractive to her. He lived somewhere outside the walls, she assumed, and only set up shop in the parking lot when he had enough wares to sell. She made a point of always checking for his booth on the way to Sybille’s shop, and hanging out when he was in.
It was boring sometimes, but Hazel was playing the long game. Sure, Todd wasn’t her biggest fan at the moment, but she was confident she would grow on him if she hung around long enough. That was usually how it worked.
“Jesus Christ kid, will you quit swinging that thing around?” he whined, “You’re scaring away my customers.”
Hazel stopped, turning around to face him with a sheepish smile. She often forgot about the effect her bat full of rusty nails (Stella, she had named it) had on people.
“Oops, sorry.”
At least he was speaking to her. He rolled his eyes, going back to polishing a piece of metal-something he no doubt found in some abandoned building outside the walls.
“You know,” Hazel began, setting down Stella and resting her elbows on the counter, “I’m not gonna be around here for much longer.”
“Oh yeah, why’s that?” Hazel had hoped he would at least look up at the news, but Todd sounded as disinterested as ever.
“I’m leaving, with Sybille. We’re going East.”
Todd shrugged. “Well, have fun I guess.”
That one stung. When Hazel imagined this conversation, Todd had been much more interested in the subject of her departure. She figured he wouldn’t beg her to stay, but she hoped he would at least feel the smallest tinge of regret for not appreciating her while she was there.
“I could die, you know.” She huffed. He shrugged again.
“Only if you’re stupid.” He replied.
Hazel was taken aback. Only if I’m stupid? She looked at the man in front of her, really looked at him, for what felt like the first time. The tragic fuzz on his upper lip he called a mustache, the apathy in his hooded eyes, the ever-present grime under his fingernails – what had she seen in him, exactly? She could no longer remember.
“Guess I come from a family of stupid, then.” She picked up Stella and slung it over her shoulder. “Hope it’s not hereditary.”
She spun on her heels and walked off, hoping the anger in her words had not betrayed the hurt. She was probably late for the meeting at Sybille’s anyway, so she hurried in the direction of the shop.
When Sybille shared her plan with Hazel (well, actually she had been sharing it with Charlie, as Hazel not-so-subtly eavesdropped), she was surprised by how much the mechanic sounded like her father. The hope shined in her eyes just the same as it had in his all those years ago, when he talked about the Channel Islands. It was terrifying.
Sybille’s plan ignited a primal panic in Hazel – at the time it had taken everything in her not to run back to her apartment and hide under the covers like a kid. But she couldn’t let herself close her eyes to it. It was clear Sybille wasn’t staying, and Hazel couldn’t lose anyone else – she would not lose anyone else, she refused. If Sybille was leaving, so was she, panic be damned.
But still, in Hazel’s experience, people on a mission rarely lived to see their destination. It wasn’t like the old movies they sometimes showed in the entertainment center. Maybe in the olden days Steve Carell and Abagail Breslin could just get in their stupid yellow van and drive wherever they wanted, but the world was different now. Hazel tried her best to make her peace with it, but the fear still gnawed at her. She had tried to convince herself that death couldn’t be any scarier than living, but every time she was met with the image of the terror on her father’s face, inches from hers, right before the end.
She found herself thinking of her family a lot more lately. Frequently, her day would be interrupted by flashes of blood, of screams, of inhuman growls – it was fucking annoying. She shook her head, her blond pigtails lightly hitting her face, to clear her mind of it.
She was nearing the first wall now, Hazel realized as she came back to her senses. It was quite the trek from the Mall proper out to Rayney Day Mechanics, as Hazel made sure to complain to Sybille every chance she got. As she was waved through the checkpoint by security, Hazel felt a pang in her chest.
For the past three years, Hazel had felt safe inside these walls. Sure, she still carried Stella with her wherever she went, but it was more of a habit than a precaution these days. The thought of venturing back out there, not just for a supply mission or a patrol as Hazel had done many times, but to really go – well it was nothing short of terrifying.
Hazel quickened her pace. No good would come from dwelling in fear. Her mother had told her something like that once, maybe. Hazel couldn’t quite remember, if she was being honest with herself.
One more checkpoint, and she was through to the Outer Ring. As she neared the shop, she spotted Sybille walking with a tall man she didn’t recognize.
Oh thank god, I’m not late. It had taken quite a lot of smooth talking to convince Sybille to let her tag along on the journey, and Hazel couldn’t risk looking irresponsible now. As scary as it was to think about leaving the safety of the walls, scarier still was the thought of being left behind.
She broke into a light jog to catch up with them.
“Hey, wait for me!”
It was boring sometimes, but Hazel was playing the long game. Sure, Todd wasn’t her biggest fan at the moment, but she was confident she would grow on him if she hung around long enough. That was usually how it worked.
“Jesus Christ kid, will you quit swinging that thing around?” he whined, “You’re scaring away my customers.”
Hazel stopped, turning around to face him with a sheepish smile. She often forgot about the effect her bat full of rusty nails (Stella, she had named it) had on people.
“Oops, sorry.”
At least he was speaking to her. He rolled his eyes, going back to polishing a piece of metal-something he no doubt found in some abandoned building outside the walls.
“You know,” Hazel began, setting down Stella and resting her elbows on the counter, “I’m not gonna be around here for much longer.”
“Oh yeah, why’s that?” Hazel had hoped he would at least look up at the news, but Todd sounded as disinterested as ever.
“I’m leaving, with Sybille. We’re going East.”
Todd shrugged. “Well, have fun I guess.”
That one stung. When Hazel imagined this conversation, Todd had been much more interested in the subject of her departure. She figured he wouldn’t beg her to stay, but she hoped he would at least feel the smallest tinge of regret for not appreciating her while she was there.
“I could die, you know.” She huffed. He shrugged again.
“Only if you’re stupid.” He replied.
Hazel was taken aback. Only if I’m stupid? She looked at the man in front of her, really looked at him, for what felt like the first time. The tragic fuzz on his upper lip he called a mustache, the apathy in his hooded eyes, the ever-present grime under his fingernails – what had she seen in him, exactly? She could no longer remember.
“Guess I come from a family of stupid, then.” She picked up Stella and slung it over her shoulder. “Hope it’s not hereditary.”
She spun on her heels and walked off, hoping the anger in her words had not betrayed the hurt. She was probably late for the meeting at Sybille’s anyway, so she hurried in the direction of the shop.
When Sybille shared her plan with Hazel (well, actually she had been sharing it with Charlie, as Hazel not-so-subtly eavesdropped), she was surprised by how much the mechanic sounded like her father. The hope shined in her eyes just the same as it had in his all those years ago, when he talked about the Channel Islands. It was terrifying.
Sybille’s plan ignited a primal panic in Hazel – at the time it had taken everything in her not to run back to her apartment and hide under the covers like a kid. But she couldn’t let herself close her eyes to it. It was clear Sybille wasn’t staying, and Hazel couldn’t lose anyone else – she would not lose anyone else, she refused. If Sybille was leaving, so was she, panic be damned.
But still, in Hazel’s experience, people on a mission rarely lived to see their destination. It wasn’t like the old movies they sometimes showed in the entertainment center. Maybe in the olden days Steve Carell and Abagail Breslin could just get in their stupid yellow van and drive wherever they wanted, but the world was different now. Hazel tried her best to make her peace with it, but the fear still gnawed at her. She had tried to convince herself that death couldn’t be any scarier than living, but every time she was met with the image of the terror on her father’s face, inches from hers, right before the end.
She found herself thinking of her family a lot more lately. Frequently, her day would be interrupted by flashes of blood, of screams, of inhuman growls – it was fucking annoying. She shook her head, her blond pigtails lightly hitting her face, to clear her mind of it.
She was nearing the first wall now, Hazel realized as she came back to her senses. It was quite the trek from the Mall proper out to Rayney Day Mechanics, as Hazel made sure to complain to Sybille every chance she got. As she was waved through the checkpoint by security, Hazel felt a pang in her chest.
For the past three years, Hazel had felt safe inside these walls. Sure, she still carried Stella with her wherever she went, but it was more of a habit than a precaution these days. The thought of venturing back out there, not just for a supply mission or a patrol as Hazel had done many times, but to really go – well it was nothing short of terrifying.
Hazel quickened her pace. No good would come from dwelling in fear. Her mother had told her something like that once, maybe. Hazel couldn’t quite remember, if she was being honest with herself.
One more checkpoint, and she was through to the Outer Ring. As she neared the shop, she spotted Sybille walking with a tall man she didn’t recognize.
Oh thank god, I’m not late. It had taken quite a lot of smooth talking to convince Sybille to let her tag along on the journey, and Hazel couldn’t risk looking irresponsible now. As scary as it was to think about leaving the safety of the walls, scarier still was the thought of being left behind.
She broke into a light jog to catch up with them.
“Hey, wait for me!”
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spottednewt
perpetual hot salamandrid summer
Particles of dust shimmered like glitter as they floated along the room, catching in the light cast a crack in the wall. A sudden crash from down the hall pulled Liberty from the deep depths of a nightmare; still echoing in her head as heavy eyes pained to study this new source of light.
“You ain’t ever come back,” The voice still sounded just like him - feeling like both an embrace and a blow to the stomach - ever-thick with his deep southern drawl dressed up in an innate sense of hurt and cold despair. She could still remember the way that the bass of her father’s voice would vibrate in her chest as a little girl, and the way that it made her feel so very small and so very safe at the same time.
Head pounding and mouth dry, she gave a clumsy kick of her feet to combat the concrete in her veins and the sheets that tangled her legs. The beam of manufactured light spilling over from her neighbor’s room was such an oddity that it did nothing but add to the tightness in her chest and the knot in her throat. The walls here were thin, and noise carried from one tiny room to the next with an ease that created a hum of life in the row of Dillard’s dressing rooms that Liberty had come to call her home. The sounds of life had become a new comfort after ages spent haunted by nothing but the lamenting of the dead, a comfort that now threatened to drown her in her own sleep-deprived dizziness. –But in her haze, it still felt like he was there, working himself into a froth, fretting over his only child and the husband that had been little more than a memory for years.
The booming nature of his voice was something she’d spent a lifetime getting used to.
Seeking it out for reassurance with tiny grasping hands as a toddler with no other sense of direction but his.
Later, pleading with him to temper it –make it smaller– in the tense whispers of an awkward teenager.
Finally, trying to match pace with it as an adult who had come into her own - who was finally learning her right to take up space just like he’d always been trying to teach her.
He had always told her that “People like to look at art, too,” while holding hands with James Archer on a Sunday stroll through town; all salt-and-pepper hair and eye-wrinkling smiles. Hardened by years of rude comments and wandering eyes, the Bill Archer that raised her had always been unapologetic. He was big, bold, and never paid attention to “rubber-neckers” –and she had all but boxed him up and put him on a shelf when she left their RSA quarters for the last time.
The Bill in her dream was smaller, frailer, pressing her about why she had to go and kill his little girl from the discomfort of a sunken, cattywampus wheelchair.
Scant sleep clothes clung to the sweat on her body as Liberty Jane heaved herself upwards and out of bed. The air was hot and thick, but she leaned into the displeasure of it - forcing the dream from her mind by way of her morning routine; leaning into the way the dirt stuck to damp limbs as she did yoga on a tattered rug. By the time she emerged from her room, she felt more like herself. These days, she wore her military fatigues less like armor and more like a scarlet letter; having removed the sleeves and swapped the reinforced, tan t-shirt for a generic pink tank top. It suited the green terribly.
As she passed her neighbor’s room, she craned her head to spy why he’d needed so much light. Like anywhere else, this part of the mall was wrought with struggle, and visibility was expensive. She was met with a flash of movement through the crack in his door before another loud crash that she took as her cue to move along. As a newer, somehow stranger addition to the mall, Liberty had never caught his name, and now it was likely that she never would.
Pressing on and out into the sunlight, bloodshot eyes betrayed the pleasant smile on her face, especially as they struggled to adjust. By now, the Security Guards had learned not to question her for much of anything; lest they be politely bless-your-heart-ed into oblivion. It was a luxury that she’d enjoy today, especially as she still had two checkpoints between her and her meeting at Rayney Day Mechanics.
“You ain’t ever come back,” The voice still sounded just like him - feeling like both an embrace and a blow to the stomach - ever-thick with his deep southern drawl dressed up in an innate sense of hurt and cold despair. She could still remember the way that the bass of her father’s voice would vibrate in her chest as a little girl, and the way that it made her feel so very small and so very safe at the same time.
Head pounding and mouth dry, she gave a clumsy kick of her feet to combat the concrete in her veins and the sheets that tangled her legs. The beam of manufactured light spilling over from her neighbor’s room was such an oddity that it did nothing but add to the tightness in her chest and the knot in her throat. The walls here were thin, and noise carried from one tiny room to the next with an ease that created a hum of life in the row of Dillard’s dressing rooms that Liberty had come to call her home. The sounds of life had become a new comfort after ages spent haunted by nothing but the lamenting of the dead, a comfort that now threatened to drown her in her own sleep-deprived dizziness. –But in her haze, it still felt like he was there, working himself into a froth, fretting over his only child and the husband that had been little more than a memory for years.
The booming nature of his voice was something she’d spent a lifetime getting used to.
Seeking it out for reassurance with tiny grasping hands as a toddler with no other sense of direction but his.
Later, pleading with him to temper it –make it smaller– in the tense whispers of an awkward teenager.
Finally, trying to match pace with it as an adult who had come into her own - who was finally learning her right to take up space just like he’d always been trying to teach her.
He had always told her that “People like to look at art, too,” while holding hands with James Archer on a Sunday stroll through town; all salt-and-pepper hair and eye-wrinkling smiles. Hardened by years of rude comments and wandering eyes, the Bill Archer that raised her had always been unapologetic. He was big, bold, and never paid attention to “rubber-neckers” –and she had all but boxed him up and put him on a shelf when she left their RSA quarters for the last time.
The Bill in her dream was smaller, frailer, pressing her about why she had to go and kill his little girl from the discomfort of a sunken, cattywampus wheelchair.
Scant sleep clothes clung to the sweat on her body as Liberty Jane heaved herself upwards and out of bed. The air was hot and thick, but she leaned into the displeasure of it - forcing the dream from her mind by way of her morning routine; leaning into the way the dirt stuck to damp limbs as she did yoga on a tattered rug. By the time she emerged from her room, she felt more like herself. These days, she wore her military fatigues less like armor and more like a scarlet letter; having removed the sleeves and swapped the reinforced, tan t-shirt for a generic pink tank top. It suited the green terribly.
As she passed her neighbor’s room, she craned her head to spy why he’d needed so much light. Like anywhere else, this part of the mall was wrought with struggle, and visibility was expensive. She was met with a flash of movement through the crack in his door before another loud crash that she took as her cue to move along. As a newer, somehow stranger addition to the mall, Liberty had never caught his name, and now it was likely that she never would.
Pressing on and out into the sunlight, bloodshot eyes betrayed the pleasant smile on her face, especially as they struggled to adjust. By now, the Security Guards had learned not to question her for much of anything; lest they be politely bless-your-heart-ed into oblivion. It was a luxury that she’d enjoy today, especially as she still had two checkpoints between her and her meeting at Rayney Day Mechanics.
Ha_lfLife
Resident cynic
Tom was aware of Sybille’s weariness about executing the plan. There was a lot of work that went into the logistics of leaving for a vast unknown, hanging only on a prayer that the destination was as promised. But before she even got to worry about that in earnest, she had to figure out how to break away from where they were now with as little fallout as possible. Tom didn’t have much to do with Mall bureaucracy. He stuck to the literal sidelines of the place and focused on doing his job well and moving along with every day. But even with what he did know, he knew there was a pretty big chance that a splintering faction upping and leaving was probably not going to be perceived well. Tom hadn’t told a soul. He gathered from their first brief conversations about horses and how much they could carry, that Sybille intended to keep it quiet.
"Someone bailed?” Tom lowered his voice, not yet whispering, but keeping a register deep enough that his words were hardly decipherable unless close by and concentrating. He kept his eyes on the ground, putting his hands in his pockets, scuffing the dirt below them with the soles of his boots as they kept meandering towards her shop. “Who?” Well, that explained her bad mood.
There wasn’t time for an answer, seeing as how a girl’s voice called after them. “Hey! Wait for me!” Tom slowed his pace to stop, turning to look over his shoulder to the owner of the voice. Turns out his eyes were aimed too high, and he had to look down to see the young woman jogging towards them, her stride having an energetic bounce to it. Before she reached them, Tom furrowed his brow, trying to think over where he’d seen her before. “Is that the Potts girl?” He asked Sybille, unsure. He didn’t know people too well, but he was good enough with faces. This one hadn’t been with their camp for too long, and he’d never made her acquaintance himself, but she'd sure made an impression on a bunch of other folks.
"Someone bailed?” Tom lowered his voice, not yet whispering, but keeping a register deep enough that his words were hardly decipherable unless close by and concentrating. He kept his eyes on the ground, putting his hands in his pockets, scuffing the dirt below them with the soles of his boots as they kept meandering towards her shop. “Who?” Well, that explained her bad mood.
There wasn’t time for an answer, seeing as how a girl’s voice called after them. “Hey! Wait for me!” Tom slowed his pace to stop, turning to look over his shoulder to the owner of the voice. Turns out his eyes were aimed too high, and he had to look down to see the young woman jogging towards them, her stride having an energetic bounce to it. Before she reached them, Tom furrowed his brow, trying to think over where he’d seen her before. “Is that the Potts girl?” He asked Sybille, unsure. He didn’t know people too well, but he was good enough with faces. This one hadn’t been with their camp for too long, and he’d never made her acquaintance himself, but she'd sure made an impression on a bunch of other folks.
Lixy
In Denial That I Have an Internet Addiction
The rough brick of the alley wall scraped through Zana's thin cotton shirt as she braced against it, filing aggressively at her nail. Though it was obnoxiously hot, her dark clothes soaking up the sun, she wished she’d brought her jacket with her; she’d already taken the precaution of hiding it in a ventilation fan on some rooftop, along with her other supplies, to keep them safe until they departed. In only her flimsy civvies she felt exposed and unprepared.
She still wore the loose-fitting pants and a breathable shirt that she used for dance lessons, rather than the protective padding and canvas she wore when working. The sun plastered her hair to the back of her neck, even protected in the shade of the buildings. Still, she didn't move to relieve herself from the heat, wanting to observe her future travelling companions from afar before having to interact with them. Aside from Sybille and Noelle, she wasn't intimately familiar with any of them and she wished to know who she would be putting up with before fully committing.
Voices approached, Zana examining her over-filed nail while she listened. As they came into view, she narrowed her eyes into the sun and scowled, watching the arrival of several figures in the distance. Sybille’s hair was like a little pink planet, the others satellites orbiting her, sucked in by her small but commanding presence. Even Zana felt compelled to stand and step out of the shade to meet her with a nod. The others she recognised but had no real interest in; just some cowboy and a little brat. She considered if these were the sorts of people accompanying them and wondered if it was too late to go home and begin unpacking.
Home being the tiny space Zana had carved out for herself in one of the many American stores she’d never heard of before moving in. The place was shared with too many others with prying eyes and sticky fingers, eager to paw through her meticulous collection of home-sewn clothes and scavenged jewellery. More than once she’d come back to an odd pair of earrings or one less shirt and had a conniption at whichever neighbour was closest at the time. She was unpopular, for some reason.
Zana tucked her homemade nail file into her pocket and watched from some distance as the group came closer, hanging back until they were inside before turning towards the door, spotting a straggler she was not expecting. She clasped her hands behind her back and watched the doctor approach, another more familiar face.
She still wore the loose-fitting pants and a breathable shirt that she used for dance lessons, rather than the protective padding and canvas she wore when working. The sun plastered her hair to the back of her neck, even protected in the shade of the buildings. Still, she didn't move to relieve herself from the heat, wanting to observe her future travelling companions from afar before having to interact with them. Aside from Sybille and Noelle, she wasn't intimately familiar with any of them and she wished to know who she would be putting up with before fully committing.
Voices approached, Zana examining her over-filed nail while she listened. As they came into view, she narrowed her eyes into the sun and scowled, watching the arrival of several figures in the distance. Sybille’s hair was like a little pink planet, the others satellites orbiting her, sucked in by her small but commanding presence. Even Zana felt compelled to stand and step out of the shade to meet her with a nod. The others she recognised but had no real interest in; just some cowboy and a little brat. She considered if these were the sorts of people accompanying them and wondered if it was too late to go home and begin unpacking.
Home being the tiny space Zana had carved out for herself in one of the many American stores she’d never heard of before moving in. The place was shared with too many others with prying eyes and sticky fingers, eager to paw through her meticulous collection of home-sewn clothes and scavenged jewellery. More than once she’d come back to an odd pair of earrings or one less shirt and had a conniption at whichever neighbour was closest at the time. She was unpopular, for some reason.
Zana tucked her homemade nail file into her pocket and watched from some distance as the group came closer, hanging back until they were inside before turning towards the door, spotting a straggler she was not expecting. She clasped her hands behind her back and watched the doctor approach, another more familiar face.
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Hard Boiled
Heartless Glow In The Dark Fire Breathing Dragon
“Hi, Charlie.”
“Hello. Good morning.”
“Doc, what’s up, man?”
“Morning, Harv.”
“Charlie! Hey!”
“Hi.”
Ugh. The unbearable reality of being locally renowned was that Charlie couldn’t walk five feet without being pestered by passersby. Even bundled up in his coat, shoulders hunched like he was avoiding his high school lunch stampede, his disheveled shuffle stood out like an infected thumb to any survivor that had at least been around the block.
That, and the lightning-blue torso-sized utility bag strapped to his back.
Charlie wanted nothing more than to spend his last moments of relative safety in peace, a luxury the doctor was unable to afford for nearly two decades in this asylum. He was certain, at least, that there would be plenty of silence on the road to come.
Having swallowed his pride as far down as he could by the time he passed all three security checkpoints, each without so much as a glance in his direction, Charlie found himself nearly hugging the Mall's perimeter fence as he trudged through the western outer ring, cursing himself - and mostly Sybille - with every step.
She's out of her mind. He reminded himself. She thinks she'll just stroll us across the country and back? Please. We'll be lucky if we pass the Basin.
And yet, here he was on the doorstep of Rayney Day Mechanics with a loaded first-in bag. Fuck.
He held his hand up to the doorknob, until the sound of bustling conversations within gave him pause. A momentary realization that this was, perhaps, his last chance to turn back. To turn back and spend the rest of his days in Target, changing bandages and performing euthanizations until he inevitably contracts something and croaks. No thank you. Selfish as he may see it, Charlie swung the door open, using the natural light to gain his bearings.
Evident by the hush that followed, he was not an expected appearance.
"Um, hi." He waved to the crowd, scanning for faces.
Liberty wasn't a surprise. Hell, she probably half-gave Sybille the idea. He slipped past her and Joseph, not even bothering to give the latter a nod. Frankly, Charlie was sick of hearing his balcony freestyles, questionable reputation aside.
He unslung his bag and laid it gently on a workbench opposite a decked-out marksman rifle whose owner couldn't be far.
"Good morning, Zana." He greeted the woman to his left. "How's the flexor?"
Zana tilted her head, deciding not to question his presence. She'd been sure he would refuse.
"Much better, Doctor Harrell. Able to do splits again, no problems."
"Good, good. Don't call me that." He patted her once on the shoulder as he moved on towards the front desk.
Charlie didn't think he would ever get used to being called "doctor". "Doc", he could handle, but he sure as shit never went to medical school. Then again, nobody had gone to medical school for sixteen years, so he was the closest anyone was going to get.
Besides, what's a "real" doctor gonna do, prescribe a zombie to death?
He spotted Lars and Hallie stationed by the register, lost in their own banter.
"Hey you two, where's- No way..." Charlie stopped himself in the middle of greeting them upon seeing the very last person he wanted to behind the counter.
"'Scuse me." He pushed past the pair, straight into the office clearly marked "DO NOT ENTER".
"Uh, yo, why the fuck is Noelle here?" Charlie interrupted whatever less-important conversation Tom, Hazel, and Sybille were having. "You're serious? You really did me like that?" He dragged his hair back from his forehead to his neck. "Jeeesus Christ..." He muttered.
“Hello. Good morning.”
“Doc, what’s up, man?”
“Morning, Harv.”
“Charlie! Hey!”
“Hi.”
Ugh. The unbearable reality of being locally renowned was that Charlie couldn’t walk five feet without being pestered by passersby. Even bundled up in his coat, shoulders hunched like he was avoiding his high school lunch stampede, his disheveled shuffle stood out like an infected thumb to any survivor that had at least been around the block.
That, and the lightning-blue torso-sized utility bag strapped to his back.
Charlie wanted nothing more than to spend his last moments of relative safety in peace, a luxury the doctor was unable to afford for nearly two decades in this asylum. He was certain, at least, that there would be plenty of silence on the road to come.
Having swallowed his pride as far down as he could by the time he passed all three security checkpoints, each without so much as a glance in his direction, Charlie found himself nearly hugging the Mall's perimeter fence as he trudged through the western outer ring, cursing himself - and mostly Sybille - with every step.
She's out of her mind. He reminded himself. She thinks she'll just stroll us across the country and back? Please. We'll be lucky if we pass the Basin.
And yet, here he was on the doorstep of Rayney Day Mechanics with a loaded first-in bag. Fuck.
He held his hand up to the doorknob, until the sound of bustling conversations within gave him pause. A momentary realization that this was, perhaps, his last chance to turn back. To turn back and spend the rest of his days in Target, changing bandages and performing euthanizations until he inevitably contracts something and croaks. No thank you. Selfish as he may see it, Charlie swung the door open, using the natural light to gain his bearings.
Evident by the hush that followed, he was not an expected appearance.
"Um, hi." He waved to the crowd, scanning for faces.
Liberty wasn't a surprise. Hell, she probably half-gave Sybille the idea. He slipped past her and Joseph, not even bothering to give the latter a nod. Frankly, Charlie was sick of hearing his balcony freestyles, questionable reputation aside.
He unslung his bag and laid it gently on a workbench opposite a decked-out marksman rifle whose owner couldn't be far.
"Good morning, Zana." He greeted the woman to his left. "How's the flexor?"
Zana tilted her head, deciding not to question his presence. She'd been sure he would refuse.
"Much better, Doctor Harrell. Able to do splits again, no problems."
"Good, good. Don't call me that." He patted her once on the shoulder as he moved on towards the front desk.
Charlie didn't think he would ever get used to being called "doctor". "Doc", he could handle, but he sure as shit never went to medical school. Then again, nobody had gone to medical school for sixteen years, so he was the closest anyone was going to get.
Besides, what's a "real" doctor gonna do, prescribe a zombie to death?
He spotted Lars and Hallie stationed by the register, lost in their own banter.
"Hey you two, where's- No way..." Charlie stopped himself in the middle of greeting them upon seeing the very last person he wanted to behind the counter.
"'Scuse me." He pushed past the pair, straight into the office clearly marked "DO NOT ENTER".
"Uh, yo, why the fuck is Noelle here?" Charlie interrupted whatever less-important conversation Tom, Hazel, and Sybille were having. "You're serious? You really did me like that?" He dragged his hair back from his forehead to his neck. "Jeeesus Christ..." He muttered.
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queendilettante
🤍 Heart Problems 🤍
"Did you like what exactly, Charlie?" Sybille spat out at the surprise attendee. "What was it you said again?" she began mockingly stroking her chin in mimed contemplation. "Ah, yes!" she beamed, "It was, 'Fuck off,' right?"
"You heard her Chuck, she said fuck off!" Hazel hopped down from where she had been sitting on the edge of Sybille's desk and stood between the two, crossing her arms over her chest. She had absolutely no idea what they were talking about, but that had never stopped her from inserting herself into their quibbles before.
"Hazel-" Sybille started, her frustration toward Charlie immediately deflating. She sighed.
"Yeah, I said fuck off, not fuck off and take my charge nurse!" He paced a full seven-hundred twenty degrees in place as they spoke. "What am I gonna do? I mean, I gotta stay now, no?"
"No!" Sybille blurted out. She glanced around the room at the people whose eyes were now glued on them. She couldn't lose her cool this time like she did in the Target; she had an image to sustain, at least until they left. She couldn't risk anymore people jumping ship before they set out or they'd be dead before leaving even California.
"Listen, Charlie," she continued with a much more controlled tone. "You're already hear, can you just trust me for a few more minutes and here me out?"
He tapped his foot with crossed arms, chuckling lightly to himself. "Ten minutes. I have appointments."
Sybille winked and opened up to the rest of the group. "Sorry about that, everyone," she began with a voice somewhere between a musical director and a customer service rep, "but thank you all for being here." She looked briefly at Hazel; the girl was more intense than she needed to be most of the time, but that kind of loyalty was something to cling to outside the walls. Sybille smiled and then made quick eye contact with the others. "As you're all aware, the RSA seem to have created a vaccine that works. I didn't believe it at first, but too many merchants and new survivors have reported the same thing. We can assume it's legit." She motioned to the group to come closer as she reached into her backpack. "And, as such, we would all be fools not to seek it out." She rolled up piece of paper from her bag.
Sprawling the paper out - an old elementary school "state capitols" map - on the front desk, Sybille began again with her speech. "Because, a vaccine is well and good, but who knows how long, if ever that it makes it here?" She glanced at Charlie for a moment and shook her head. Please don't die here, you old fool. "As you can see," she pointed toward old US land borders on the map, "the West is inherently a lot harder to pin down than the East. No rivers, no lakes, no natural land barriers until the ocean." She left the map out for a few moments longer before rolling it up and bringing everyone's attention back up to her face.
"When things went to shit, the way they quarantined was bombing a bunch of desperate civilians." She bit her lip and paused. Santa seemed to be enjoying the company, what with his tail wagging at a mile a minute - a good sign. These were going to be very common faces for him soon, after all. She returned her gaze to the expectant faces of the group. "Everyone who's been outside Mall walls knows that those desperate civilians are a lot angrier and a lot less desperate now. I'd rather be as far from this Mall, a fully functional competitive state, as possible by the time they make it out here." She glared once again at Charlie, but maintained eye contact this time. "That is, if they ever do make it out here."
"And yes, of course, they could make it here, but I don't intend to ride the next decade of my life out in subservience to the Founders." Most don't remember - or just never knew - how things used to run at the Mall; the Founders were just be prickly old assholes now, after all. New survivors no longer needed to prove their worth to be given refuge. Anyone trying to make change didn't need to prove their unwavering loyalty like she did. Random kids stealing food no longer needed to be made into a warning. "I've had enough," she mumbled.
"So, it's on us to save our own lives." She kicked herself off from the desk she had been leaning on and strode through the crowded room, ending up next to Lars and Hal. "Everyone here is important to me-" a lie, but not a malicious one. A large group of deeply important people would be far too risky to take on such a journey. Sybille only deeply cared for Charlie, and if she was feeling sentimental, Hazel. Though, perhaps that could change in the coming days; hardship could do wonders for closeness.
"In three days," she continued, "we're going to head northwest- take Route 80 up to Route 5, and follow that until the Ashfields are closer than all but one of us are comfortable with." She smiled and nudged Lars with her elbow. "From there, we cut East and head for the Mississippi. With any luck, we'll be vaxxed up by Christmas."
"I'll let the Founders know by the day before, so continue keeping this under wraps until then. But, for now, any questions?"
"You heard her Chuck, she said fuck off!" Hazel hopped down from where she had been sitting on the edge of Sybille's desk and stood between the two, crossing her arms over her chest. She had absolutely no idea what they were talking about, but that had never stopped her from inserting herself into their quibbles before.
"Hazel-" Sybille started, her frustration toward Charlie immediately deflating. She sighed.
"Yeah, I said fuck off, not fuck off and take my charge nurse!" He paced a full seven-hundred twenty degrees in place as they spoke. "What am I gonna do? I mean, I gotta stay now, no?"
"No!" Sybille blurted out. She glanced around the room at the people whose eyes were now glued on them. She couldn't lose her cool this time like she did in the Target; she had an image to sustain, at least until they left. She couldn't risk anymore people jumping ship before they set out or they'd be dead before leaving even California.
"Listen, Charlie," she continued with a much more controlled tone. "You're already hear, can you just trust me for a few more minutes and here me out?"
He tapped his foot with crossed arms, chuckling lightly to himself. "Ten minutes. I have appointments."
Sybille winked and opened up to the rest of the group. "Sorry about that, everyone," she began with a voice somewhere between a musical director and a customer service rep, "but thank you all for being here." She looked briefly at Hazel; the girl was more intense than she needed to be most of the time, but that kind of loyalty was something to cling to outside the walls. Sybille smiled and then made quick eye contact with the others. "As you're all aware, the RSA seem to have created a vaccine that works. I didn't believe it at first, but too many merchants and new survivors have reported the same thing. We can assume it's legit." She motioned to the group to come closer as she reached into her backpack. "And, as such, we would all be fools not to seek it out." She rolled up piece of paper from her bag.
Sprawling the paper out - an old elementary school "state capitols" map - on the front desk, Sybille began again with her speech. "Because, a vaccine is well and good, but who knows how long, if ever that it makes it here?" She glanced at Charlie for a moment and shook her head. Please don't die here, you old fool. "As you can see," she pointed toward old US land borders on the map, "the West is inherently a lot harder to pin down than the East. No rivers, no lakes, no natural land barriers until the ocean." She left the map out for a few moments longer before rolling it up and bringing everyone's attention back up to her face.
"When things went to shit, the way they quarantined was bombing a bunch of desperate civilians." She bit her lip and paused. Santa seemed to be enjoying the company, what with his tail wagging at a mile a minute - a good sign. These were going to be very common faces for him soon, after all. She returned her gaze to the expectant faces of the group. "Everyone who's been outside Mall walls knows that those desperate civilians are a lot angrier and a lot less desperate now. I'd rather be as far from this Mall, a fully functional competitive state, as possible by the time they make it out here." She glared once again at Charlie, but maintained eye contact this time. "That is, if they ever do make it out here."
"And yes, of course, they could make it here, but I don't intend to ride the next decade of my life out in subservience to the Founders." Most don't remember - or just never knew - how things used to run at the Mall; the Founders were just be prickly old assholes now, after all. New survivors no longer needed to prove their worth to be given refuge. Anyone trying to make change didn't need to prove their unwavering loyalty like she did. Random kids stealing food no longer needed to be made into a warning. "I've had enough," she mumbled.
"So, it's on us to save our own lives." She kicked herself off from the desk she had been leaning on and strode through the crowded room, ending up next to Lars and Hal. "Everyone here is important to me-" a lie, but not a malicious one. A large group of deeply important people would be far too risky to take on such a journey. Sybille only deeply cared for Charlie, and if she was feeling sentimental, Hazel. Though, perhaps that could change in the coming days; hardship could do wonders for closeness.
"In three days," she continued, "we're going to head northwest- take Route 80 up to Route 5, and follow that until the Ashfields are closer than all but one of us are comfortable with." She smiled and nudged Lars with her elbow. "From there, we cut East and head for the Mississippi. With any luck, we'll be vaxxed up by Christmas."
"I'll let the Founders know by the day before, so continue keeping this under wraps until then. But, for now, any questions?"
Solar Daddy
Synthetic Nightmare
While waiting for the rest of the group to arrive, Hal took the opportunity to collect her thoughts. Sure, she was more than happy to leave on this mission, if her dad had been alive, he would’ve been in her place. However, what if they got there and it was all a lie? They were risking their lives on the off chance someone actually had a vaccine and was willing to share. What if the vaccine was a fluke?
Hallie’s eyes swept across the area before resting on a familiar face.
“Lars!” She marched across the room towards the older man, “I forgot you were in on this mission!”
Lars looked up from his idle position staring at the floor waiting for the arrival of his companion. Seeing Hal and hearing her expression brought about a faint smile to his face. “Hal, I wouldn’t let you go alone. You’re the only reason I’m tagging along at all. I’ve spent every waking second worrying about you, and here you are, forgetting I even exist. Tsk tsk.” The almost imperceptible grin would’ve been hard to tell for those who didn't know him, but Hal would’ve been able to tell he was glad to see her again.
“We both know you’d be zombie food in a week without me anyway.” His joke landed flat and probably sounded cruel to those around him.
“I didn’t forget!” Hallie puffed her cheeks out in protest. “I just got sidetracked with a few other things.” Truth be told, Hal had been trying her best to avoid Lars since she first told him she’d be going. The last thing she had wanted was someone else telling her she couldn’t do it, that’d be better to stay at the Mall where she was going to be safe.
“Please,” She rolled her eyes, ”I’d like to see a zombie try and kill me.”
Lars shook his head and waved his hand dismissively, like an older brother ending a dispute. “Well, I’m tagging along and you can’t stop me. If you’re so good at not getting eaten alive, then the both of us should be unstoppable, right?” He’d been preparing to join the exodus the second Hallie had told him of it. When she planned on leaving, Lars knew right away there’d be no way he could abandon her on this objective. He didn’t care about a vaccine, immunity. But what he did care about was making sure his friends, Hal, Sybille, Liberty, would all make it there alive. “This’ll be no easy task, even without accounting for the ghouls. Do try to keep your head on when we’re outside the walls, yeah? And don’t forget what I… what we’ve taught you.”
“Yeah yeah I know I know.” Hallie waved away the topic. Practically growing up in the apocalypse had its perks. Her father may not have loved the idea of his daughter running around in a zombie infested world, but he did make sure she’d be able to survive if she was put in such a situation. Assuming, of course, she didn’t get herself killed first.
“What’s the absolute worst that can happen anyway?” The question was meant to be lighthearted, though she wasn’t entirely sure it came off that way.
Lars brought a hand up to cough silently before answering. “We don’t need to even think about it. With us both along for the ride, the entire world is at our mercy.” He tried to give Hal a reassuring smile, but it probably looked forced and a bit awkward. The room quietened all of a sudden, and Lars looked over to see Charlie enter the mechanic’s shop. The hunter raised his eyebrows, surprised to see him here. He didn’t know Charlie too well, but enough of him knew the doc probably wasn’t interested in abandoning the Mall.
Then the quick argument, then the explanation from Sybille. Lars listened intently alongside Hallie, remaining quiet and composed for the entire lecture. It was fairly straightforward, just a recap of what he - and probably everyone else - had been talked to about already. It was good to reaffirm though, ensuring everyone was on the same page. At the mention of the Ashfields, Lars breathed in a bit sharper than he intended to. A force of habit, being brought back to that place of smoke and dust would make anyone crave more air. When Sybille offered to answer questions, Lars spoke up immediately.
“What can we expect for our storage? Bringing any pack animals along, or are we simply scavenging the whole way back to the RSA? There’s a lot of people we’ll need to keep fed.” He glanced around the room before landing his eyes back on Sybille.
Hallie’s eyes swept across the area before resting on a familiar face.
“Lars!” She marched across the room towards the older man, “I forgot you were in on this mission!”
Lars looked up from his idle position staring at the floor waiting for the arrival of his companion. Seeing Hal and hearing her expression brought about a faint smile to his face. “Hal, I wouldn’t let you go alone. You’re the only reason I’m tagging along at all. I’ve spent every waking second worrying about you, and here you are, forgetting I even exist. Tsk tsk.” The almost imperceptible grin would’ve been hard to tell for those who didn't know him, but Hal would’ve been able to tell he was glad to see her again.
“We both know you’d be zombie food in a week without me anyway.” His joke landed flat and probably sounded cruel to those around him.
“I didn’t forget!” Hallie puffed her cheeks out in protest. “I just got sidetracked with a few other things.” Truth be told, Hal had been trying her best to avoid Lars since she first told him she’d be going. The last thing she had wanted was someone else telling her she couldn’t do it, that’d be better to stay at the Mall where she was going to be safe.
“Please,” She rolled her eyes, ”I’d like to see a zombie try and kill me.”
Lars shook his head and waved his hand dismissively, like an older brother ending a dispute. “Well, I’m tagging along and you can’t stop me. If you’re so good at not getting eaten alive, then the both of us should be unstoppable, right?” He’d been preparing to join the exodus the second Hallie had told him of it. When she planned on leaving, Lars knew right away there’d be no way he could abandon her on this objective. He didn’t care about a vaccine, immunity. But what he did care about was making sure his friends, Hal, Sybille, Liberty, would all make it there alive. “This’ll be no easy task, even without accounting for the ghouls. Do try to keep your head on when we’re outside the walls, yeah? And don’t forget what I… what we’ve taught you.”
“Yeah yeah I know I know.” Hallie waved away the topic. Practically growing up in the apocalypse had its perks. Her father may not have loved the idea of his daughter running around in a zombie infested world, but he did make sure she’d be able to survive if she was put in such a situation. Assuming, of course, she didn’t get herself killed first.
“What’s the absolute worst that can happen anyway?” The question was meant to be lighthearted, though she wasn’t entirely sure it came off that way.
Lars brought a hand up to cough silently before answering. “We don’t need to even think about it. With us both along for the ride, the entire world is at our mercy.” He tried to give Hal a reassuring smile, but it probably looked forced and a bit awkward. The room quietened all of a sudden, and Lars looked over to see Charlie enter the mechanic’s shop. The hunter raised his eyebrows, surprised to see him here. He didn’t know Charlie too well, but enough of him knew the doc probably wasn’t interested in abandoning the Mall.
Then the quick argument, then the explanation from Sybille. Lars listened intently alongside Hallie, remaining quiet and composed for the entire lecture. It was fairly straightforward, just a recap of what he - and probably everyone else - had been talked to about already. It was good to reaffirm though, ensuring everyone was on the same page. At the mention of the Ashfields, Lars breathed in a bit sharper than he intended to. A force of habit, being brought back to that place of smoke and dust would make anyone crave more air. When Sybille offered to answer questions, Lars spoke up immediately.
“What can we expect for our storage? Bringing any pack animals along, or are we simply scavenging the whole way back to the RSA? There’s a lot of people we’ll need to keep fed.” He glanced around the room before landing his eyes back on Sybille.
Pipsqueak
<3
Noelle hadn’t been too interested in getting acquainted with everyone just yet. She knew most of the faces here quite well, but there would be time to meet those unfamiliar very soon. She supposed it was just part of being older- You got more comfortable with being alone. Or perhaps you just got used to it. Or it could be she never knew anything different. Noelle had been an outgoing kid, but being homeschooled for most of her early childhood… well, she was sure it had caused some kind of emotional stuntage.
Kicking back her feet on an unused chair to give her aching knee a short break, she dug through her purse to light up another cigarette. She’d arrived fairly early, but Sybille, Tom and Hazel had been quietly talking among each other for most of it. Though most looked worried about the trip across the country, Noelle couldn’t share that sentiment. Not yet, anyways. With Sybille in the lead and their destination holding so much hope, there wasn’t a lot that could shock her.
Wait, was that Charlie?
Well shit.
“What in god’s name is that old bat doin’ here?” Her eyes trailed after the man as he stomped his way into Sybille’s office. Shouting ensued, followed up with an apology from their leader to the masses. It was good to know that at least one thing hadn’t changed from her childhood- she could cause outrage with just her presence alone.
Skulking around the edge of the shop, Zana came up to the wall closest to Noelle, her narrowed eyes flicking between the doctor and the door. “You think he would know not to pat snake with bare feet,” she said quietly to the older woman, sliding down to squat on the ground, back to the wall. She paused, considering both Charlie and Syiblle. “Anger is bad advisor. I hope you come and not the doctor, if we must choose. Much more satisfactory bedside manner.”
Noelle glanced from Sybille to Zana, raising an eyebrow at the girl. The two knew each other well. Zana came through the office frequently- though not as often as Cole- for injuries she would sustain from ballet and the like. She liked her very well, although some of her sayings left the older woman confused.
“Sweetpea I have no idea what you’re talkin’ about with that snake stuff but Charlie raises hell anywhere he goes, reptile or no reptile. I’m sure you’ll get an earful from him at some point n’ you’ll learn. I appreciate the sentiment though.” For a moment she fell silent again, listening to Sybille explain their mission before continuing.
“Haven’t seen you in a bit. You been good? Keepin’ outta all that trouble? Hope you’re still doin’ the dancin’ though. I know it was hell on your ankles but it’s good for the health.”
Zana snorted, well used to being told she was making no sense. “Yes, still doing the dancing. Bába would rise from the grave if I tossed rifle in the rye after all this time.” She propped her chin in her palm, listening to Sybille with admittedly mild interest. She was much more preoccupied with observing the others and ordering them neatly in her mind by how much trust she was willing to place in them for the upcoming mission. Noelle was currently at the top. She glanced back to the older woman and smiled, a little softer than her usual smirk. “You will be okay on trip, yes? These people– you trust?”
Noelle laughed loudly before puffing smoke from the corner of her mouth.
“Honey I don’t trust most of ‘em as far as I can throw, which ain’t real far, but our family’s about to get much smaller. There’s only so many people we can be wary of before we just gotta hope for the best and get the job done. I’ll give ‘em this though, all these people are from our mall, and Sybille is leadin’ this thing which means she trusts them, and I trust her. Sybille and Charlie are both a good sort.” She shrugged.
“As far as your concern about me, however, I’d advise you to stop. I wouldn’t have volunteered to go if I had thought I couldn’t make it.” It wasn’t necessarily true. She’d have fought everyone on it even if she was supposed to be on life support. Noelle left that part out, of course, and patted Zana’s shoulder gently.
“I’ll be just fine sweetie, and I’ll make sure you are too. We better be hopin’ everyone staying behind is alright without Charlie though. With both of us gone I’d imagine they’re gonna start to panic just a bit. Not to toot my own horn but-” She mimicked honking a car horn and grinned.
Zana was decidedly unconvinced but nodded anyway, knowing there was no point in arguing, even if she wanted to. She wanted Noelle to come along, if for nothing else but the selfish desire to have a friendly face by her side. “If you say so, kamarád.” She stood and moved to stand next to Noelle instead, folding her arms. “Let us hope Sybille is good judge of character.”
Kicking back her feet on an unused chair to give her aching knee a short break, she dug through her purse to light up another cigarette. She’d arrived fairly early, but Sybille, Tom and Hazel had been quietly talking among each other for most of it. Though most looked worried about the trip across the country, Noelle couldn’t share that sentiment. Not yet, anyways. With Sybille in the lead and their destination holding so much hope, there wasn’t a lot that could shock her.
Wait, was that Charlie?
Well shit.
“What in god’s name is that old bat doin’ here?” Her eyes trailed after the man as he stomped his way into Sybille’s office. Shouting ensued, followed up with an apology from their leader to the masses. It was good to know that at least one thing hadn’t changed from her childhood- she could cause outrage with just her presence alone.
Skulking around the edge of the shop, Zana came up to the wall closest to Noelle, her narrowed eyes flicking between the doctor and the door. “You think he would know not to pat snake with bare feet,” she said quietly to the older woman, sliding down to squat on the ground, back to the wall. She paused, considering both Charlie and Syiblle. “Anger is bad advisor. I hope you come and not the doctor, if we must choose. Much more satisfactory bedside manner.”
Noelle glanced from Sybille to Zana, raising an eyebrow at the girl. The two knew each other well. Zana came through the office frequently- though not as often as Cole- for injuries she would sustain from ballet and the like. She liked her very well, although some of her sayings left the older woman confused.
“Sweetpea I have no idea what you’re talkin’ about with that snake stuff but Charlie raises hell anywhere he goes, reptile or no reptile. I’m sure you’ll get an earful from him at some point n’ you’ll learn. I appreciate the sentiment though.” For a moment she fell silent again, listening to Sybille explain their mission before continuing.
“Haven’t seen you in a bit. You been good? Keepin’ outta all that trouble? Hope you’re still doin’ the dancin’ though. I know it was hell on your ankles but it’s good for the health.”
Zana snorted, well used to being told she was making no sense. “Yes, still doing the dancing. Bába would rise from the grave if I tossed rifle in the rye after all this time.” She propped her chin in her palm, listening to Sybille with admittedly mild interest. She was much more preoccupied with observing the others and ordering them neatly in her mind by how much trust she was willing to place in them for the upcoming mission. Noelle was currently at the top. She glanced back to the older woman and smiled, a little softer than her usual smirk. “You will be okay on trip, yes? These people– you trust?”
Noelle laughed loudly before puffing smoke from the corner of her mouth.
“Honey I don’t trust most of ‘em as far as I can throw, which ain’t real far, but our family’s about to get much smaller. There’s only so many people we can be wary of before we just gotta hope for the best and get the job done. I’ll give ‘em this though, all these people are from our mall, and Sybille is leadin’ this thing which means she trusts them, and I trust her. Sybille and Charlie are both a good sort.” She shrugged.
“As far as your concern about me, however, I’d advise you to stop. I wouldn’t have volunteered to go if I had thought I couldn’t make it.” It wasn’t necessarily true. She’d have fought everyone on it even if she was supposed to be on life support. Noelle left that part out, of course, and patted Zana’s shoulder gently.
“I’ll be just fine sweetie, and I’ll make sure you are too. We better be hopin’ everyone staying behind is alright without Charlie though. With both of us gone I’d imagine they’re gonna start to panic just a bit. Not to toot my own horn but-” She mimicked honking a car horn and grinned.
Zana was decidedly unconvinced but nodded anyway, knowing there was no point in arguing, even if she wanted to. She wanted Noelle to come along, if for nothing else but the selfish desire to have a friendly face by her side. “If you say so, kamarád.” She stood and moved to stand next to Noelle instead, folding her arms. “Let us hope Sybille is good judge of character.”
kaito9049
Perpetually Cold
Joseph glanced around the room, keeping his gaze casual. There were a few faces he'd have thought were too young for Sybille to bring along, but he'd have a hard time trying to dissuade her from bringing along the kid with the mean-looking bat — Hazel, he'd been told her name was. Apparently, she had a habit of showing up wherever Sybille was, and for whatever reason Sybille didn't seem to mind enough to shoo her away. Joseph made a mental note of the connection, one of several he'd have to pick up on. He recognized most of the other group members, although he hadn't had many interactions with—
What.
What was he doing here?
Joseph's gentle gaze intensified into a glare as it settled on a taller gent, at least a decade his senior. Thomas Caldwell. Joseph's occasional co-worker, a bonafide cowboy, and the squarest man alive. Oh, the two never fought, exactly, and Joseph had a sort of grudging respect for the other man's work ethic in the same way a bear might respect a salmon for swimming upstream. But Tom constantly insisted on doing everything with atomic precision, and seemed utterly uninterested in whatever mutually beneficial agreements Joseph had to offer. The younger man still wasn't sure if his colleague was stubbornly self-righteous or just denser than a horseshoe. What he did know is that Tom knew Joseph as well as anyone else at the Mall, if not better — and he didn't like what he saw.
Realizing he was beginning to stare, Joseph quickly softened his expression again and moved his gaze elsewhere. He'd have to deal with the Tom issue later. Fortunately, he still had a few days to plan. Until then, it never hurt to make a good first impression on the other members. He tried to make eye contact with each of the others, shooting them an easy grin. Not everyone returned it — Charlie seemed to intentionally ignore him. That could be an issue; Joseph would rather not be on bad terms with the group's lead medical practitioner.
He would have time to think about that later. Right now, he needed to focus on impressing who was currently most important person in the room: Sybille. But he had to be cautious. He didn't want to appear too servile. From what he knew about their leader, she wouldn't take kindly to that — the other survivors certainly wouldn't. Navigating these group dynamics was like rolling kimbap. You had to apply just enough pressure and make sure you kept the edges straight. Otherwise, you'd end up with a crooked mess.
"I think it's a great plan," Joseph said, pushing off from the doorway he was leaning against. He gestured with his hands as he spoke, careful to keep his stance open and inviting, just like he'd been taught. "You've obviously put a lot of thought into this. And just as long as we're talking about storage and other logistics" — Joseph shot a nod and smile to Lars — "I figured I might volunteer my resources. I've collected a small cache of items that could be of some use: ammo, backpacks, canned food, clothing, what-have-you.
"I don't have a lot of access to high-powered ordnance, 'course, but I'd be more than happy to share what I have with the group. We'll be relying on each other to stay alive, after all."
Joseph met the gazes of each of the others in the room, trying to gauge their responses to his offer. He knew some would be suspicious — that was alright. He'd be more worried if they weren't.
Feeling that he'd paused for long enough for his offer to feel suitably dramatic, Joseph decided he should ask a question — one that showed he knew how to think critically, but not that didn't make it seem like he was trying to monopolize the discussion. If he got a bit more information about the people he'd be traveling the country with, all the better.
"Speaking of supplies," Joseph began, the words flowing, smooth as oil, from his brain to his lips, "are there any necessary items we can keep an eye out for — medications and the like? I'm not sure how easy those'd be to get in three days, but we might have a better chance of grabbing them if we all know what to look out for."
What.
What was he doing here?
Joseph's gentle gaze intensified into a glare as it settled on a taller gent, at least a decade his senior. Thomas Caldwell. Joseph's occasional co-worker, a bonafide cowboy, and the squarest man alive. Oh, the two never fought, exactly, and Joseph had a sort of grudging respect for the other man's work ethic in the same way a bear might respect a salmon for swimming upstream. But Tom constantly insisted on doing everything with atomic precision, and seemed utterly uninterested in whatever mutually beneficial agreements Joseph had to offer. The younger man still wasn't sure if his colleague was stubbornly self-righteous or just denser than a horseshoe. What he did know is that Tom knew Joseph as well as anyone else at the Mall, if not better — and he didn't like what he saw.
Realizing he was beginning to stare, Joseph quickly softened his expression again and moved his gaze elsewhere. He'd have to deal with the Tom issue later. Fortunately, he still had a few days to plan. Until then, it never hurt to make a good first impression on the other members. He tried to make eye contact with each of the others, shooting them an easy grin. Not everyone returned it — Charlie seemed to intentionally ignore him. That could be an issue; Joseph would rather not be on bad terms with the group's lead medical practitioner.
He would have time to think about that later. Right now, he needed to focus on impressing who was currently most important person in the room: Sybille. But he had to be cautious. He didn't want to appear too servile. From what he knew about their leader, she wouldn't take kindly to that — the other survivors certainly wouldn't. Navigating these group dynamics was like rolling kimbap. You had to apply just enough pressure and make sure you kept the edges straight. Otherwise, you'd end up with a crooked mess.
"I think it's a great plan," Joseph said, pushing off from the doorway he was leaning against. He gestured with his hands as he spoke, careful to keep his stance open and inviting, just like he'd been taught. "You've obviously put a lot of thought into this. And just as long as we're talking about storage and other logistics" — Joseph shot a nod and smile to Lars — "I figured I might volunteer my resources. I've collected a small cache of items that could be of some use: ammo, backpacks, canned food, clothing, what-have-you.
"I don't have a lot of access to high-powered ordnance, 'course, but I'd be more than happy to share what I have with the group. We'll be relying on each other to stay alive, after all."
Joseph met the gazes of each of the others in the room, trying to gauge their responses to his offer. He knew some would be suspicious — that was alright. He'd be more worried if they weren't.
Feeling that he'd paused for long enough for his offer to feel suitably dramatic, Joseph decided he should ask a question — one that showed he knew how to think critically, but not that didn't make it seem like he was trying to monopolize the discussion. If he got a bit more information about the people he'd be traveling the country with, all the better.
"Speaking of supplies," Joseph began, the words flowing, smooth as oil, from his brain to his lips, "are there any necessary items we can keep an eye out for — medications and the like? I'm not sure how easy those'd be to get in three days, but we might have a better chance of grabbing them if we all know what to look out for."
Hard Boiled
Heartless Glow In The Dark Fire Breathing Dragon
"As you're all aware, the RSA seem to have created a vaccine that works."
Charlie snorted rather skeptically, leaning against the office door sideways. This should be good.
"Because, a vaccine is well and good, but who knows how long, if ever that it makes it here?" She glanced at Charlie for a moment and shook her head.
He furrowed his brow. Don't look at me like it's my fault.
God, she's so fucking naïve. There's opportunity, and then there's delusion, and she's pulling everyone down with her. She's the one forcing his hand, she's the one leaving him by himself, and she's gonna lead all of these poor souls to their deaths. He would only be there to make it painless.
"When things went to shit, the way they quarantined was bombing a bunch of desperate civilians."
And Noelle! How could she even consider abandoning all they've worked to build together? Fourteen years of blood, sweat, mostly tears, down the drain, and this is how he found out? Fine, whatever, he could've run the whole place by himself anyway.
"That is, if they ever do make it out here."
Their eyes met again.
Charlie searched every corner of his mind for more doubt, for another target, but faltered. Fully prepared to drown out Sybille's speech, he found his mighty ego wounded, leaving a glimpse into a crippling fear of solitude in its wake.
So you want me to die with you instead.
Charlie, who the Hell do you think you're talking to?
He broke his gaze.
Maybe he would rather die with them instead.
Charlie snorted rather skeptically, leaning against the office door sideways. This should be good.
"Because, a vaccine is well and good, but who knows how long, if ever that it makes it here?" She glanced at Charlie for a moment and shook her head.
He furrowed his brow. Don't look at me like it's my fault.
God, she's so fucking naïve. There's opportunity, and then there's delusion, and she's pulling everyone down with her. She's the one forcing his hand, she's the one leaving him by himself, and she's gonna lead all of these poor souls to their deaths. He would only be there to make it painless.
"When things went to shit, the way they quarantined was bombing a bunch of desperate civilians."
And Noelle! How could she even consider abandoning all they've worked to build together? Fourteen years of blood, sweat, mostly tears, down the drain, and this is how he found out? Fine, whatever, he could've run the whole place by himself anyway.
"That is, if they ever do make it out here."
Their eyes met again.
Charlie searched every corner of his mind for more doubt, for another target, but faltered. Fully prepared to drown out Sybille's speech, he found his mighty ego wounded, leaving a glimpse into a crippling fear of solitude in its wake.
So you want me to die with you instead.
Charlie, who the Hell do you think you're talking to?
He broke his gaze.
Maybe he would rather die with them instead.
queendilettante
🤍 Heart Problems 🤍
Sybille waited, holding her breath, for a response. This was the make or break moment; would they think her plan was crazy? Er- too crazy to work? There was no way she'd be able to make it across the country by herself. Please, someone, talk.
Thank fuck, Lars. Sybille let out the breath she was holding and wiped some sweat from her forehead. "Tom's going to hook us up with what he can." She gestured to the taller man across the room. "Would you care to explain?"
“Hello,” Tom cleared his throat, crossing his broad forearms over his chest. He wasn’t used to having an audience. He’d heard of most of these folks, knew a few by name, but ventured to at least introduce himself for good measure, “My name’s Tom Caldwell. I run the ranch lands out on the perimeter.” He looked to Sybille with an apprehensive look, gauging how much she was wanting him to say. “We have enough horses for each to ride their own. Plus one or two extra to carry extra supplies.” He incidentally glanced over to Charlie, thinking he must’ve been the one Sybille had thought abandoned them, judging by her reaction to his entrance. They were down one horse, but up one person; they’d consolidate, make it work.
"Great, thank you, Tom," Sybille responded, hoping to cut off his apprehension before seeds of doubt were sowed amongst the others. "To answer the next part of your question, Lars," Sybille turned to the man, "we're packing some nonperishable food supplies on the pack horses, but we're going to be relying on you and anyone you deem fit to help for hunting. Pack animals are slow and liable to be picked off in the night by infected, wolves, or both." She paused for a moment, but quickly added, "Not that we plan to let any infected get within 100 feet of the caravan, of course." She forced a laugh and wiped the seemingly endless sweat from her forehead yet again. Fuck, what a stupid thing to say, Sybille. "The real problem is the speed," she added.
"Oh, yes," Sybille responded, thankful for the interruption. The last thing she needed was to anxiously talk herself into a corner before they even left. God, if there weren't so many fucking eyes on her while she was talking - it felt like the room was getting smaller and smaller. "There's some specific things I'm asking a few of you to get, but if you think it'd help, it can't hurt to grab it." She continued, about to give the list, but a pang of fear in the image of the violent Founders gave her pause. "But first," she added tentatively, "discretion is the name of the game here. I'll handle letting the Founders know about our departure," she lied, "so keep our leaving under wraps until we're gone." Was that too obvious? Would they know she was planning to rob the scum up top blind and leave before they could kill her for it?
"Anyway," she said, forcing a smile. If she got caught and executed before they're gone, there was no way she'd make it to the Mississippi anyway. "Charlie, Noelle, do what you can to acquire medicine and first aid equipment from the Target before we set off. Lars, Joseph, and Liberty, if you three could acquire the food items we need to get ourselves started, that'd also be wonderful. Zana, Hal, please be willing to give Tom a hand the morning of, okay?" She glanced around the ever shrinking room at everyone's expectant faces. They were staring, unwavering, watching her crack. Were they judging? Could they tell she was nervous? Fuck, just stop staring.
"Uh, but everyone," she stammered, "please make sure you pack clothes and any tools or supplies you know that you'll need for yourselves. And stock up on ammo, if you could." She swallowed hard. Why was she so nervous? Fuck. Of course she'd blow it. Typical. Was Charlie right after all? Was this just some stupid pipe dream? Was she going to get everyone in the room killed? She couldn't handle that many ghosts. Fuck, everyone needed her to keep them alive. Oh god. "But as for me," she clicked her tongue to grab Santa's attention, suddenly nauseous, "it's hot as hell in this store, so I'm going to stand under the shade outside. Come talk to me with any further questions." She quickly moved through the group, doing what she could to ignore the piercing gazes.
"If not," she mumbled at the door without turning around, "I'll see you all on Saturday morning. Meet here just before dawn."
Thank fuck, Lars. Sybille let out the breath she was holding and wiped some sweat from her forehead. "Tom's going to hook us up with what he can." She gestured to the taller man across the room. "Would you care to explain?"
“Hello,” Tom cleared his throat, crossing his broad forearms over his chest. He wasn’t used to having an audience. He’d heard of most of these folks, knew a few by name, but ventured to at least introduce himself for good measure, “My name’s Tom Caldwell. I run the ranch lands out on the perimeter.” He looked to Sybille with an apprehensive look, gauging how much she was wanting him to say. “We have enough horses for each to ride their own. Plus one or two extra to carry extra supplies.” He incidentally glanced over to Charlie, thinking he must’ve been the one Sybille had thought abandoned them, judging by her reaction to his entrance. They were down one horse, but up one person; they’d consolidate, make it work.
"Great, thank you, Tom," Sybille responded, hoping to cut off his apprehension before seeds of doubt were sowed amongst the others. "To answer the next part of your question, Lars," Sybille turned to the man, "we're packing some nonperishable food supplies on the pack horses, but we're going to be relying on you and anyone you deem fit to help for hunting. Pack animals are slow and liable to be picked off in the night by infected, wolves, or both." She paused for a moment, but quickly added, "Not that we plan to let any infected get within 100 feet of the caravan, of course." She forced a laugh and wiped the seemingly endless sweat from her forehead yet again. Fuck, what a stupid thing to say, Sybille. "The real problem is the speed," she added.
"Oh, yes," Sybille responded, thankful for the interruption. The last thing she needed was to anxiously talk herself into a corner before they even left. God, if there weren't so many fucking eyes on her while she was talking - it felt like the room was getting smaller and smaller. "There's some specific things I'm asking a few of you to get, but if you think it'd help, it can't hurt to grab it." She continued, about to give the list, but a pang of fear in the image of the violent Founders gave her pause. "But first," she added tentatively, "discretion is the name of the game here. I'll handle letting the Founders know about our departure," she lied, "so keep our leaving under wraps until we're gone." Was that too obvious? Would they know she was planning to rob the scum up top blind and leave before they could kill her for it?
"Anyway," she said, forcing a smile. If she got caught and executed before they're gone, there was no way she'd make it to the Mississippi anyway. "Charlie, Noelle, do what you can to acquire medicine and first aid equipment from the Target before we set off. Lars, Joseph, and Liberty, if you three could acquire the food items we need to get ourselves started, that'd also be wonderful. Zana, Hal, please be willing to give Tom a hand the morning of, okay?" She glanced around the ever shrinking room at everyone's expectant faces. They were staring, unwavering, watching her crack. Were they judging? Could they tell she was nervous? Fuck, just stop staring.
"Uh, but everyone," she stammered, "please make sure you pack clothes and any tools or supplies you know that you'll need for yourselves. And stock up on ammo, if you could." She swallowed hard. Why was she so nervous? Fuck. Of course she'd blow it. Typical. Was Charlie right after all? Was this just some stupid pipe dream? Was she going to get everyone in the room killed? She couldn't handle that many ghosts. Fuck, everyone needed her to keep them alive. Oh god. "But as for me," she clicked her tongue to grab Santa's attention, suddenly nauseous, "it's hot as hell in this store, so I'm going to stand under the shade outside. Come talk to me with any further questions." She quickly moved through the group, doing what she could to ignore the piercing gazes.
"If not," she mumbled at the door without turning around, "I'll see you all on Saturday morning. Meet here just before dawn."
Lixy
In Denial That I Have an Internet Addiction
Whatever hope Zana had had for Sybille quelling her concerns began to disintegrate as the woman continued to talk. Rather than the confident leader Zana had seen in the past in brief glimpses and snatches, this woman seemed as though she had no idea what she was doing in the slightest and was trying desperately to hide it.
Zana clucked her tongue and glanced at Noelle. No matter what happened to the rest of these people, Zana had hoped to keep her kamarád safe, but that was beginning to look like more of a distant hope than a reasonable goal.
Sybille swiftly fled the shop and Zana lingered for only a second before following after her, giving only a nod in parting to Noelle and nothing at all to the others. She found Sybille before she could get too far away, carefully standing at a distance from the dog, to which she shot a wary look. She had no great love or hate for dogs, but her thoughts immediately went to her beloved stray cats back home. She was leaving them, her students, her piano, her work, and even access to Noelle's fresh vegetables -- all for this mission -- and Sybille seemed to be placing the road in front of them as they drove and doing a poor job of hiding it. Zana scowled, her anger rising.
"Kolega, why you sending children?" she said by way of greeting. "If they have death wish, that's them problem, but they will kill us all." Zana folded her arms and jutted out her chin. If this mission was really as uncertain as Sybille had made it sound, maybe she really would agree with Doctor Harrell's anger after all. She turned her head and muttered under her breath. "Platný jak mrtvýmu zimník."
Zana clucked her tongue and glanced at Noelle. No matter what happened to the rest of these people, Zana had hoped to keep her kamarád safe, but that was beginning to look like more of a distant hope than a reasonable goal.
Sybille swiftly fled the shop and Zana lingered for only a second before following after her, giving only a nod in parting to Noelle and nothing at all to the others. She found Sybille before she could get too far away, carefully standing at a distance from the dog, to which she shot a wary look. She had no great love or hate for dogs, but her thoughts immediately went to her beloved stray cats back home. She was leaving them, her students, her piano, her work, and even access to Noelle's fresh vegetables -- all for this mission -- and Sybille seemed to be placing the road in front of them as they drove and doing a poor job of hiding it. Zana scowled, her anger rising.
"Kolega, why you sending children?" she said by way of greeting. "If they have death wish, that's them problem, but they will kill us all." Zana folded her arms and jutted out her chin. If this mission was really as uncertain as Sybille had made it sound, maybe she really would agree with Doctor Harrell's anger after all. She turned her head and muttered under her breath. "Platný jak mrtvýmu zimník."
Kamarád
Translation: Friend
Kolega
Translation: Friend
Usage: Less close than a friend, closer than an acquaintance e.g. a coworker, classmate, etc.
Platný jak mrtvýmu zimník
Translation: as useful as an overcoat for the dead
Usage: Something being useless / not deserved / being wasted on someone or something
Translation: Friend
Kolega
Translation: Friend
Usage: Less close than a friend, closer than an acquaintance e.g. a coworker, classmate, etc.
Platný jak mrtvýmu zimník
Translation: as useful as an overcoat for the dead
Usage: Something being useless / not deserved / being wasted on someone or something
Ha_lfLife
Resident cynic
With the increasingly intense wave of silence coming over the room, amplifying each unsteady word Sybille uttered, Tom started wondering to himself when this little meetup would adjourn. Crowds were uncomfortable enough on their own, especially when one was in the company of strangers. Fortunately enough, Sybille ended her wavering speech with an abrupt exit, cueing that it was now alright for the others to follow suit. He pushed himself up from the wall he was leaning against, placing his hands in his jeans pockets as he looked down to the floor. His heavy steps took him in a few paces to the door. He'd already started to occupy his mind with thoughts of the impending journey. Would these folks really fare well out there, if they could barely stand being in a room together? He shook the worry from the forefront of his mind, opting instead to think of all that needed to be done that afternoon.
Tom blinked in the brightness of the midday sun, shielding his eyes for a second to allow them to adjust. As he looked up again from the broken concrete and dirt, he saw the figure of someone unpleasantly familiar having made a stealthy exit from the shop, slinking away to the nearest alley between ramshackle shops and booths. That son of a bitch.
Sure, in his brief thoughts on the subject, Tom had already made a mental list of everything he had to do today – a series of jobs that would take him well into the evening hours. Still, he’d make time for this. In fact, he considered it his duty to this crew and their mission to stomp on a bug before it had a chance to make nest.
“Joseph," Tom called out, having followed the vermin into the side street, his long stride taking him closer to the fellow without seeming too rushed. His tone was cool, calm. He pulled his right hand out to offer it forward. “It’s been a while, how’ve you been?”
Joseph took a moment to collect himself — twitching away a scowl from his face — before turning around with a wide grin. “Tom!” he said, holding his arms in an open gesture. “I didn’t expect to see you at this type of thing, but I’m glad to find a friendly face.” Grasping Tom’s hand firmly, Joseph studied the other man’s face. Was Tom willing to bury the hatchet, or was he merely trying to get Joseph close enough to lodge it in his back? Tom was no schemer — honestly, Joseph wasn’t sure if he was smart enough to be one. But he wasn’t up front with his emotions, either. That made him hard to read. With little to go on, Joseph defaulted his approach to what worked with most men Tom’s age: a warm friendliness lined with an appreciation for physical strength and a desire for the way-things-once-were. He could always adjust if necessary. But if he could get Tom out of the picture altogether, even better.
“Say, what do you think about all of this?” Joseph asked gently, still shaking Tom’s hand. “You know, stealing horses and leaving the rest of the Mall on their own?”
Tom held on to the hand Joseph had given to shake his, his grip initially firm and calloused yet friendly. He gave a quick glance to the side, back to where the quiet side street emptied back out to a busier thoroughfare. He spit to the side, a habit he hadn’t kicked in well over twenty years. When he looked back to meet Joseph’s gaze, his eyes had lost their warmth. His grip on the younger man’s hand tightened, iron-strong from years of wrangling animals that outsized him several times over. He took a step closer to the ingrate, towering over him by a good several inches, losing any trace of amicability he’d put up just a moment earlier. He had never been known by anyone at the Mall to be a menacing man. Despite his tall and built frame, the few who had known him thought of him as kind and honest. At this moment, though, those traits became as much a threat as he aimed for them to.
He and Joseph had shared many odd jobs in the Mall, before Tom was given his designation as the Head Ranch-Hand. Tom quietly sat back for countless interactions where he saw, first-hand, just how much the snake liked to con good folks and weasel his way out of an honest living. Tom's voice had turned cold, much more sure of itself than it had been back in front of the group meeting: “Listen, Joseph ... I don’t know what you’re playing at, coming here. But I like to be fair. And I think it’s only fair that I assume you got into that meeting by mistake. These people don’t know you like I do. They think you’re trying to help them, but I know better than that.”
Joseph fought a wince as he felt something in his hand pop. A chill spread from his chest to his arms as he imagined Tom breaking his hand in a dark alleyway like some common thug. Joseph had clearly underestimated the threat his colleague posed. Inhaling deeply to disperse the pain, Joseph squeezed Tom’s hand sharply, summoning his strength to match his opponent’s. It was true, Joseph tried to get out of menial labor whenever he could, but he knew the importance of backing up verbal threats with physical aggression. If Tom was going to try to intimidate him, he’d meet his match.
Still, in a deep part of his mind, Joseph couldn’t help but wilt a bit at the larger man’s cold words.
“Clearly,” Joseph said through gritted teeth, “you’ve been fed some wrong ideas about my character. Has it occurred to you that I have, that I’ve always, seen the group’s survival as crucial to my own? Think about it — why would I want to jeopardize that? I’m not a threat to you or anyone else,” he continued, the buds of an idea forming in his mind. He let his grip slacken slightly, pain shooting up his hand. “And, really, if you are convinced I’m some sort of weasel, wouldn’t it be more dangerous to leave me alone, unsupervised, up with a whole Mall to play in? Wouldn’t the responsible thing be to keep me around where you can keep an eye on me? Who knows? Maybe we’ll even be able to find a way to help each other.”
Anyone who’d sat in a room with Joseph for more than 15 minutes could see through his "selfless" front. But as his feigned innocence evolved into a sheathed threat, Tom’s measured patience with Joseph ended entirely. In the course of seconds, he exerted all the strength his practiced hand could manage to result in a quick, yet audible, crack. He felt the structure of Joseph’s hand give way, becoming like putty in his. Something about the image reminded him of many early mornings spent castrating bulls. Still, he didn’t let go, even as the parasite writhed against him. Tom pulled him so close that the two of them were chest to chest, leaning down into his ear.
“If you’re so sure about coming along, I’ll make damn certain you’re ghoul bait. If you give me any reason to think you'll make good on your promise to mess with Mall folk after we're gone, I'll throw you over the fence myself. Understand?" With that, he finally released Joseph's maimed hand from his steely vise, patting Joseph on his shoulder. Joseph screamed and dropped to a knee, clutching his hand. Tom turned to go, slipping his hands back in his pockets and starting back towards the busier road. “You’d better see to that. Be a shame if you can’t defend yourself.” He called back, gesturing towards Joseph’s hand. “Hope you’re not right handed.”
Joseph was in the most pain he’d felt in recent memory, and his thumb bent at an odd angle. But he did not lunge at Tom as he strode away like a lion leaving its prey for dead. Nor did he curse him and swear revenge. No, Joseph thought as tears pooled in his eyes and plans formed in his mind. That would come later.
Tom blinked in the brightness of the midday sun, shielding his eyes for a second to allow them to adjust. As he looked up again from the broken concrete and dirt, he saw the figure of someone unpleasantly familiar having made a stealthy exit from the shop, slinking away to the nearest alley between ramshackle shops and booths. That son of a bitch.
Sure, in his brief thoughts on the subject, Tom had already made a mental list of everything he had to do today – a series of jobs that would take him well into the evening hours. Still, he’d make time for this. In fact, he considered it his duty to this crew and their mission to stomp on a bug before it had a chance to make nest.
“Joseph," Tom called out, having followed the vermin into the side street, his long stride taking him closer to the fellow without seeming too rushed. His tone was cool, calm. He pulled his right hand out to offer it forward. “It’s been a while, how’ve you been?”
Joseph took a moment to collect himself — twitching away a scowl from his face — before turning around with a wide grin. “Tom!” he said, holding his arms in an open gesture. “I didn’t expect to see you at this type of thing, but I’m glad to find a friendly face.” Grasping Tom’s hand firmly, Joseph studied the other man’s face. Was Tom willing to bury the hatchet, or was he merely trying to get Joseph close enough to lodge it in his back? Tom was no schemer — honestly, Joseph wasn’t sure if he was smart enough to be one. But he wasn’t up front with his emotions, either. That made him hard to read. With little to go on, Joseph defaulted his approach to what worked with most men Tom’s age: a warm friendliness lined with an appreciation for physical strength and a desire for the way-things-once-were. He could always adjust if necessary. But if he could get Tom out of the picture altogether, even better.
“Say, what do you think about all of this?” Joseph asked gently, still shaking Tom’s hand. “You know, stealing horses and leaving the rest of the Mall on their own?”
Tom held on to the hand Joseph had given to shake his, his grip initially firm and calloused yet friendly. He gave a quick glance to the side, back to where the quiet side street emptied back out to a busier thoroughfare. He spit to the side, a habit he hadn’t kicked in well over twenty years. When he looked back to meet Joseph’s gaze, his eyes had lost their warmth. His grip on the younger man’s hand tightened, iron-strong from years of wrangling animals that outsized him several times over. He took a step closer to the ingrate, towering over him by a good several inches, losing any trace of amicability he’d put up just a moment earlier. He had never been known by anyone at the Mall to be a menacing man. Despite his tall and built frame, the few who had known him thought of him as kind and honest. At this moment, though, those traits became as much a threat as he aimed for them to.
He and Joseph had shared many odd jobs in the Mall, before Tom was given his designation as the Head Ranch-Hand. Tom quietly sat back for countless interactions where he saw, first-hand, just how much the snake liked to con good folks and weasel his way out of an honest living. Tom's voice had turned cold, much more sure of itself than it had been back in front of the group meeting: “Listen, Joseph ... I don’t know what you’re playing at, coming here. But I like to be fair. And I think it’s only fair that I assume you got into that meeting by mistake. These people don’t know you like I do. They think you’re trying to help them, but I know better than that.”
Joseph fought a wince as he felt something in his hand pop. A chill spread from his chest to his arms as he imagined Tom breaking his hand in a dark alleyway like some common thug. Joseph had clearly underestimated the threat his colleague posed. Inhaling deeply to disperse the pain, Joseph squeezed Tom’s hand sharply, summoning his strength to match his opponent’s. It was true, Joseph tried to get out of menial labor whenever he could, but he knew the importance of backing up verbal threats with physical aggression. If Tom was going to try to intimidate him, he’d meet his match.
Still, in a deep part of his mind, Joseph couldn’t help but wilt a bit at the larger man’s cold words.
“Clearly,” Joseph said through gritted teeth, “you’ve been fed some wrong ideas about my character. Has it occurred to you that I have, that I’ve always, seen the group’s survival as crucial to my own? Think about it — why would I want to jeopardize that? I’m not a threat to you or anyone else,” he continued, the buds of an idea forming in his mind. He let his grip slacken slightly, pain shooting up his hand. “And, really, if you are convinced I’m some sort of weasel, wouldn’t it be more dangerous to leave me alone, unsupervised, up with a whole Mall to play in? Wouldn’t the responsible thing be to keep me around where you can keep an eye on me? Who knows? Maybe we’ll even be able to find a way to help each other.”
Anyone who’d sat in a room with Joseph for more than 15 minutes could see through his "selfless" front. But as his feigned innocence evolved into a sheathed threat, Tom’s measured patience with Joseph ended entirely. In the course of seconds, he exerted all the strength his practiced hand could manage to result in a quick, yet audible, crack. He felt the structure of Joseph’s hand give way, becoming like putty in his. Something about the image reminded him of many early mornings spent castrating bulls. Still, he didn’t let go, even as the parasite writhed against him. Tom pulled him so close that the two of them were chest to chest, leaning down into his ear.
“If you’re so sure about coming along, I’ll make damn certain you’re ghoul bait. If you give me any reason to think you'll make good on your promise to mess with Mall folk after we're gone, I'll throw you over the fence myself. Understand?" With that, he finally released Joseph's maimed hand from his steely vise, patting Joseph on his shoulder. Joseph screamed and dropped to a knee, clutching his hand. Tom turned to go, slipping his hands back in his pockets and starting back towards the busier road. “You’d better see to that. Be a shame if you can’t defend yourself.” He called back, gesturing towards Joseph’s hand. “Hope you’re not right handed.”
Joseph was in the most pain he’d felt in recent memory, and his thumb bent at an odd angle. But he did not lunge at Tom as he strode away like a lion leaving its prey for dead. Nor did he curse him and swear revenge. No, Joseph thought as tears pooled in his eyes and plans formed in his mind. That would come later.
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queendilettante
🤍 Heart Problems 🤍
Sybille kicked an old telephone pole as she walked out of the shop. You fucking blew it, she cursed herself. Why did they all look so nervous? It was as if they all looked at Sybille like she was their mother and going to shelter them all from the storm. This wasn't going to be a normal sweep and clear, this was everyone jumping ship and Sybille needed to be the lifeboat. Putain. Damn, gah-
She kicked the telephone pole again. Santa happily licked her leg as she put it back on the ground. The dog had an uncanny ability to be able to tell when she was anxious and wouldn't let her leave his eyesight once he caught wind of it. She smiled, distracted but for a moment, and scratched the pup behind the ears. "At least you're on my side, bud."
Joy. Sybille stood up from the brief respite she found and turned to face the source of the voice. "Zana, I-" she started, but to no avail.
Sybille felt her face go red at the claim that Hazel and Hal were somehow a death sentence for the group. Sybille spat on the ground. Zana could criticize her all she wanted, but Hazel and Hal were not the problem. Fuck, if anything, they were each more reliable than most of the group.
Sybille reached into her pocket, pulled out, and then lit a cigarette. The nerve of this fucking- She took a long drag and blew the smoke out in the direction of the shop. Keep your cool, bitch, she silently demanded of herself.
"I'm sorry, Zana, but children?" Sybille finally returned her glare to her. "Zana, those children have each killed more ghouls in a single outing than times I've even left the Mall with you." Sybille took another drag of her cigarette. "I have faith in you to pull your weight for the group," she continued, smoke flowing out of her mouth, "but I do not need faith to know that any creature near the business end of Hazel's bat is already dead and buried."
Sybille put the cigarette out on her jeans, burning yet another hole in them and exposing a small part of her thigh. What had gotten her so anxious? She fought to suppress a laugh, lest risk angering the dancer even more. Sybille wasn't the lifeboat; it was as if she had forgotten why she brought these people on board in the first place. Charlie and Noelle were the most capable medical professionals she could even dream of bringing in the apocalypse. Hal was young, sure, but she was Owen's daughter. Plus, Lars, the best tracker Sybille had ever met, had taken her under his wing; there was no way she wasn't at least better than the average smuggler. Hazel had a way of leaving Sybille almost nauseous with the way she swung that damn bat and Liberty was almost as brutal when it came to putting infected in the dirt. She hadn't worked with Tom or Joseph much on her own, but Tom had proven to be a reliable and discrete ally faster than most and Joseph-
Well, Sybille wasn't full sold on Joseph yet. He seemed nice enough, but his eyes reminded her of the creditors that nearly put her father out of business. Still, he'd only done right by her so far, so she was willing to give him the benefit of the doubt.
Yeah, the benefit of the doubt. Sybille chose to trust these people. They'd be okay.
What had she gotten so freaked out about? Ghosts held no power over her during waking hours. She just needed to make sure the next meeting was outside - keep the walls from closing in. Sybille smiled down at the shorter woman. "Do try to have faith in me, Zana. I've at least gotten this ball rolling, right?"
She kicked the telephone pole again. Santa happily licked her leg as she put it back on the ground. The dog had an uncanny ability to be able to tell when she was anxious and wouldn't let her leave his eyesight once he caught wind of it. She smiled, distracted but for a moment, and scratched the pup behind the ears. "At least you're on my side, bud."
Joy. Sybille stood up from the brief respite she found and turned to face the source of the voice. "Zana, I-" she started, but to no avail.
Sybille felt her face go red at the claim that Hazel and Hal were somehow a death sentence for the group. Sybille spat on the ground. Zana could criticize her all she wanted, but Hazel and Hal were not the problem. Fuck, if anything, they were each more reliable than most of the group.
Sybille reached into her pocket, pulled out, and then lit a cigarette. The nerve of this fucking- She took a long drag and blew the smoke out in the direction of the shop. Keep your cool, bitch, she silently demanded of herself.
"I'm sorry, Zana, but children?" Sybille finally returned her glare to her. "Zana, those children have each killed more ghouls in a single outing than times I've even left the Mall with you." Sybille took another drag of her cigarette. "I have faith in you to pull your weight for the group," she continued, smoke flowing out of her mouth, "but I do not need faith to know that any creature near the business end of Hazel's bat is already dead and buried."
Sybille put the cigarette out on her jeans, burning yet another hole in them and exposing a small part of her thigh. What had gotten her so anxious? She fought to suppress a laugh, lest risk angering the dancer even more. Sybille wasn't the lifeboat; it was as if she had forgotten why she brought these people on board in the first place. Charlie and Noelle were the most capable medical professionals she could even dream of bringing in the apocalypse. Hal was young, sure, but she was Owen's daughter. Plus, Lars, the best tracker Sybille had ever met, had taken her under his wing; there was no way she wasn't at least better than the average smuggler. Hazel had a way of leaving Sybille almost nauseous with the way she swung that damn bat and Liberty was almost as brutal when it came to putting infected in the dirt. She hadn't worked with Tom or Joseph much on her own, but Tom had proven to be a reliable and discrete ally faster than most and Joseph-
Well, Sybille wasn't full sold on Joseph yet. He seemed nice enough, but his eyes reminded her of the creditors that nearly put her father out of business. Still, he'd only done right by her so far, so she was willing to give him the benefit of the doubt.
Yeah, the benefit of the doubt. Sybille chose to trust these people. They'd be okay.
What had she gotten so freaked out about? Ghosts held no power over her during waking hours. She just needed to make sure the next meeting was outside - keep the walls from closing in. Sybille smiled down at the shorter woman. "Do try to have faith in me, Zana. I've at least gotten this ball rolling, right?"
Aeris
Dumb & Poetic
The tension was so thick Hallie could practically cut the air with a knife. Why was everyone so tense exactly? Should she have been paying better attention? Hal scanned the room, taking a second to really look at the group she'd be traveling with. Sybille and Lars were the only ones she considered to be on friendly terms with. Everyone else she'd either seen in passing or knew vaguely of-excluding Charlie and Noelle, who she had visited on the rare occasion she got sick.
Hallie listened half-heartedly to Tom's introduction. Her dad has mentioned Tom occasionally, though he was someone Hallie hadn't personally met.
Not that she knew everyone Owen had known. Her dad was a private person, especially after her mom had died. He had packed up everything to live as far away from the people who didn't believe he had it in him to be a single father. In the years they had lived in the Mall he'd only let a handful of people into his personal life, such as Lars and Sybille.
"Oh um-" Hallie blinked back to reality,"-no yeah, I can do that." The least she could do was agree to help with preparations. Maybe she'd end up getting on friendly terms with the two, that's how her father had always wound up making friends. If he was here instead of her he'd agree without hesitation.
Anything to make you proud, dad.
Hallie stood straighter as Jospeth approached Sybille. Maybe it was the way he approached the group or the way he was talking, but Hallie didn't trust a word that left the man's mouth. He was simply saying what Sybille wanted to hear, it was glaringly obvious. Plus, she had noted him staring daggers at Tom at the start of the meeting. Why didn't he like Tom?
Hallie practically bolted from the room the second Sybille concluded the meeting. She breathed in the fresh air the second she exited the building, happy to be out of that tense atmosphere. Though she felt more than ready to do this, an ounce of doubt tugged at her heart. Perhaps this was her father's ghost telling her just how bad of an idea this was. Sybille hadn't sounded so sure about the whole mission, not to mention the argument she and Charlie had had.
Backing out wasn't an option though. She and Hazel appeared to be the youngest, and Hallie had to prove she was just as skilled to be there as the older members of the group. She couldn't let them think she was simply there because she was some dead man's daughter. Whether she liked it or not, there was no turning back now. She had probably dug her own grave by joining, but now the best she could do was make sure she didn't fall in it too early.
Once her thoughts had cleared completely, Hallie made her way back home to prepare.
Hallie listened half-heartedly to Tom's introduction. Her dad has mentioned Tom occasionally, though he was someone Hallie hadn't personally met.
Not that she knew everyone Owen had known. Her dad was a private person, especially after her mom had died. He had packed up everything to live as far away from the people who didn't believe he had it in him to be a single father. In the years they had lived in the Mall he'd only let a handful of people into his personal life, such as Lars and Sybille.
"Oh um-" Hallie blinked back to reality,"-no yeah, I can do that." The least she could do was agree to help with preparations. Maybe she'd end up getting on friendly terms with the two, that's how her father had always wound up making friends. If he was here instead of her he'd agree without hesitation.
Anything to make you proud, dad.
Hallie stood straighter as Jospeth approached Sybille. Maybe it was the way he approached the group or the way he was talking, but Hallie didn't trust a word that left the man's mouth. He was simply saying what Sybille wanted to hear, it was glaringly obvious. Plus, she had noted him staring daggers at Tom at the start of the meeting. Why didn't he like Tom?
Hallie practically bolted from the room the second Sybille concluded the meeting. She breathed in the fresh air the second she exited the building, happy to be out of that tense atmosphere. Though she felt more than ready to do this, an ounce of doubt tugged at her heart. Perhaps this was her father's ghost telling her just how bad of an idea this was. Sybille hadn't sounded so sure about the whole mission, not to mention the argument she and Charlie had had.
Backing out wasn't an option though. She and Hazel appeared to be the youngest, and Hallie had to prove she was just as skilled to be there as the older members of the group. She couldn't let them think she was simply there because she was some dead man's daughter. Whether she liked it or not, there was no turning back now. She had probably dug her own grave by joining, but now the best she could do was make sure she didn't fall in it too early.
Once her thoughts had cleared completely, Hallie made her way back home to prepare.
guac
amole
Hazel remained quiet while the others were talking. The questions being tossed around – medicine, pack animals, horses – it was all somewhat overwhelming. This was more planning than she was used to going into a trip, and she wasn’t quite sure how to participate. Before, her family had always left in something of a hurry. Her father tended to gather (steal) whatever supplies he could and just go. That hadn’t ended well for him, she supposed, so maybe the others knew better than he ever did.
There were quite a few more people here than Hazel had realized were coming. Including herself, she counted ten – well, that was if Dr. Chuck was just blowing steam, anyway. Most of them were somewhat familiar, but Hazel wasn’t all that close with anyone but Sybille.
This was far more people than she’d ever traveled with before. Even with the shorter missions she’d been on, venturing outside the walls to clear ghouls or scavenge for supplies, Hazel had only had to trust her life with four or five people at most. She scrunched up her face. Certainly fighting off infected would be much easier, but would they draw too much attention to themselves? Sure, it had been much harder to fend off larger groups of ghouls when it was just her and her brother (he might argue too hard, if he still could anyway), but they had a much easier time sneaking around them unnoticed than when her whole family was together.
And what of the people? A caravan of horses carrying food and supplies would look real tasty to groups like those Scavengers in Nevada, the ones who had shot them off the highway and – Hazel clenched her eyes shut to tamp off that memory before it continued into dangerous territory. She would have to warn Sybille to avoid I-80.
Still, it seemed like everyone here knew what they were doing. Hazel let herself consider, for a brief moment, that maybe this wouldn’t be a suicide mission after all. But if there was one thing she had learned in her short and brutish life, it was that hope was a dangerous thing.
When Hazel emerged from her daydreams, she realized the rest of the group had already begun to trickle out of the shop. She’d been half paying attention when Sybille took her exit – there had been instructions for everyone, it seemed, except for Hazel. She felt a pang at the realization. Could it be that Sybille still didn’t trust her, after all this time?
She picked up Stella and hurried out of the shop to find out. She found her a short distance away, talking to the Russian woman. Hazel didn’t know much about her, but she’d heard a rumor that she was a bit of a grump, and probably a Soviet spy (whatever that meant), so she tended not to engage.
“Hey Sybille,” Hazel called out as she got closer. “What gives? You forgot to give me instructions.”
There were quite a few more people here than Hazel had realized were coming. Including herself, she counted ten – well, that was if Dr. Chuck was just blowing steam, anyway. Most of them were somewhat familiar, but Hazel wasn’t all that close with anyone but Sybille.
This was far more people than she’d ever traveled with before. Even with the shorter missions she’d been on, venturing outside the walls to clear ghouls or scavenge for supplies, Hazel had only had to trust her life with four or five people at most. She scrunched up her face. Certainly fighting off infected would be much easier, but would they draw too much attention to themselves? Sure, it had been much harder to fend off larger groups of ghouls when it was just her and her brother (he might argue too hard, if he still could anyway), but they had a much easier time sneaking around them unnoticed than when her whole family was together.
And what of the people? A caravan of horses carrying food and supplies would look real tasty to groups like those Scavengers in Nevada, the ones who had shot them off the highway and – Hazel clenched her eyes shut to tamp off that memory before it continued into dangerous territory. She would have to warn Sybille to avoid I-80.
Still, it seemed like everyone here knew what they were doing. Hazel let herself consider, for a brief moment, that maybe this wouldn’t be a suicide mission after all. But if there was one thing she had learned in her short and brutish life, it was that hope was a dangerous thing.
When Hazel emerged from her daydreams, she realized the rest of the group had already begun to trickle out of the shop. She’d been half paying attention when Sybille took her exit – there had been instructions for everyone, it seemed, except for Hazel. She felt a pang at the realization. Could it be that Sybille still didn’t trust her, after all this time?
She picked up Stella and hurried out of the shop to find out. She found her a short distance away, talking to the Russian woman. Hazel didn’t know much about her, but she’d heard a rumor that she was a bit of a grump, and probably a Soviet spy (whatever that meant), so she tended not to engage.
“Hey Sybille,” Hazel called out as she got closer. “What gives? You forgot to give me instructions.”
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