Ha_lfLife
Resident cynic
Tom had tuned out Hallie just enough that it wouldn't hurt her feelings. Still, he had to keep his focus on the last of the work to be done. There were still loose ends to be cauterized, t’s to be crossed. The others started trickling in, quiet with early morning fatigue or possibly nerves, considering what laid just outside the gates. For Tom personally, it was just setting in that they weren’t going out for a half-day retcon or an exploration hike, but to live within the chaos for the long term.
"So Tom, I found this book a few weeks ago about the Russian revolution," Hal spoke fast as she recounted the details from the book, "...it was pretty interesting. Did you know about the Romanovs? Did you know they sewed diamonds into their underclothes? They survived three waves of bullets doing that." She said, taking a moment to catch her breath. "It helped them survive three waves of bullets. It's sad they didn't make it though. Did you like history, Tom?"
“Hold that thought, okay–” Tom replied, with a convivial pat on her shoulder. He used the break in her rambling to take his leave, making his way back to the stables. Luckily, as if summoned, Lars arrived from the dark of the morning to overtake the task of listening to Hallie’s history lesson.
The dark of the morning made the quietly convening group of individuals like shadows, their breaths releasing as frozen clouds before them. An assembly of ghosts – as they would be soon enough – lost to the wind. With the simple greeting of sunrise, their footprints would soon cease to exist entirely on any semblance of Mall record. It would come quietly at first - a missing punch card at a work shift, an empty chair at breakfast in the mess hall - until, slowly, the absence became palpable enough to search for the missing persons. Finally, with the checking of quarters and safe spaces, those staying behind would come to find a various spread of notes saying goodbyes, leaving instructions, and allocating possessions left behind.
Tom’s note was brief, a yellow legal note penciled in with a last-minute scrawl. It was to Mark Flowers and only held a few simple lines explaining his absence. It wasn’t filled to the margins with sentimental anecdotes or tear-stained, heartbroken farewells. No, anyone he would’ve left something like that for had been gone long before. Unlike some of the others, he made no mentions of returning, no hope of being seen again. He knew better than to make empty promises. The best he could hope for now was that the brothers would raise up more generations of people to learn the trade. His legacy would continue in his work, humble and nameless. The last few words, separated from the rest by an empty line and an indentation, were unremarkable. Take care of your brother.
Tom had speared the note on an old nail secured to a post just inside the stable. He took one more look around to make sure nothing important was left behind, then closed the heavy doors behind him, locking them securely and leaving the keys.
When Tom turned from the doors, he caught a belated look at Sybille nearly keeling over. The last few notes of retching echoed in the morning quiet. After a pause, Tom checked a few last knots on the pack horses’ supply, trying to keep at his tasks instead of ogling. He still caught from a side glance or two the frantic whispers between her and Charlie. Something’d gone wrong. While they were caught up in their discourse, Tom nudged at Lars and Hallie in front of him, gesturing back to two of the horses in the corner - one Lars had used a few times and one that would suit Hallie well enough.
He then made his way past the rest of the loitering group, quietly letting others know to go find a ride that suited them, before standing in front of the pair. He crossed his arms over his chest, a concerned look and furrowed brow taking over as he sized Sybille up. There was something on her hand, dark and viscous; it was unclear exactly what it was in the dark, shining black like motor oil. He’d had an idea of what it was, judging by the way it had splattered up her forearm. He looked from Sybille to Charlie and back again, clearing his throat, deciding whether to press or not. If Sybille wanted to disclose what had her so panicked, she’d do so in her own right. He looked back to her and threw his thumb over his shoulder. “We’re good to go, ma'am. Rogue’s all yours.” Sybille’s favorite companion, one she asked for every time in the past several years since the mare’s arrival.
Once alone with Charlie, he uncrossed his arms and put them in his pockets. His voice remained low. “Everything okay?”
Charlie watched Sybille leave for a moment, speaking before looking to Thomas.
“The plan hasn’t changed.” He hoisted his utility bag over aching shoulder with a huff, searching for a place to stow it. “How do I, uh,” Charlie gestured to the remaining horses. Never in thirteen years had he ventured outside the gates, much less anywhere that required transportation, and found himself sorely underprepared for the task at hand.
Hallie’d called out to Tom, interrupting Charlie’s unsure approach, waving at him from atop her horse, her outline visible in the faded moonlight. He gave her a wave, feigning a tired smile, not wanting his face to show easily enough to the others what he’d already started to ascertain himself - that something, at some point in the early morning, had already gone astray.
“Just follow the kid’s lead.” Tom encouraged Charlie. “Foot in and swing over. Like riding a bike. The less you think about it the better.” He left Charlie to it, knowing the man had enough common sense to figure things out, looking out on the rest of the group in the dark.
Joseph, who’d been pretty bold to show his mug this morning considering their last conversation, had decided to pick his own - a black stallion with dark eyes, who if Tom were being honest, barely skimmed past the clearance to come along. He had shown more than once a tempestuous nature and tendency towards easy irritation. Things had a way of working themselves out. As for the threats he’d made, it wasn’t the time or place or circumstances to rehash the scene in front of the others. Things were off to a rocky enough start without that. But Tom did let out a quiet satisfied breath at the brace on Joseph’s hand. Hopefully it’d remind the sycophant to stay in his lane. Instead, Tom went back to eyeing Sybille, making an easy mount on her horse, his shoulders unknotting to see she wasn’t as panicked as she’d been at the start of the morning. Maybe, he thought as he clenched his jaw, it really was nothing.
His next focus was on one of the last ones still lingering at ground level. He took one of the last horses from her post, guiding her gently by the reins over to the woman. She, like many others here, was one Tom knew by name and face only. To him, Noelle was barely more than a momentary acquaintance formed over the occasional passing “hello” or “good morning”. Noelle had one of those faces that warmed the heart, and seemed of an age similar enough to his own - enough to make them kindred spirits in a time when a good thirty years were cut off the average life expectancy.
“Morning, Noelle,” he greeted her as a friend. “Brought you this lady. She’s a smooth ride. Shouldn’t cause you any trouble.” He have her a grin, holding out his hand to take her bag from her. Noelle turned at the greeting, being brought back from the hundredth memory of a story that was now only in the past. She’d spent most of the morning scouring her office, making sure every little note for her nurses were where she’d left them. Whether it was simply from age or the images of her wife and daughter going through her mind she wasn’t sure, but suddenly Noelle couldn’t remember if everything had been in place. If they were or not it was much too late to check, but Tom’s voice was something of a relief to her. At least it kept her mind off of thoughts that came in the silence.
“Why Thomas, it’s good to see you honey.” As he approached her with the mare, she gave him a gentle pat on the back. “I appreciate what you’re doin’ for us. Most of ‘em wouldn’t last five minutes without some sorta transportation.” Her dark eyes traveled around the others, and she gave a soft smile. Tom wasn’t stupid, and she was sure he knew her pointed comment was truthfully about her. That’s what she liked about smart people- you could tell them anything without really telling them.
“Hi there sweet girl.” Turning her attention back to the horse, she cooed softly at her and let the mare sniff at the palms of her hands. “Haven’t ridden since I was just a girl. It’ll be good on me to get back into it I suppose.” Accepting Tom’s offer to take her bag, she placed a foot in the strap, letting her good leg take her up and over the horse. Moving the stiff limb over proved more of a challenge, and she groaned as she settled into the saddle.
“I’ll be in the back of the line, watching these two,” he nodded over at the packhorses. Like a fullback in football, he’d be lingering behind the others, waiting to pick up someone’s slack. It was a position that both made him feel in control while knowingly making him one of the most vulnerable. Where he could see everyone in full, any dangers lurking in the periphery, but with no one to check behind him. It was a place he’d rather put himself in than burden anyone else with it. “Just call out if you need me, alright?”
“Now don’t let me hold you up with all this nonsense,” Noelle gestured dismissively at her bad leg, “I got some fight left in me still. You’re a good man Tom.” Bending down to claim her bag, she settled it in front of her until it sat securely between her legs and the horse’s neck. “Hope Charlie’s got enough sense to keep that old horse steady. I’d keep an eye on him if I were you.” Her tone was light, a small giggle breaking her words up. She felt like a kid again.
“He’s smart, he’ll get it figured out,” Tom softened at Noelle’s laugh. He didn’t want to admit how much anxiety he’d given in the past few days to the idea of someone getting bucked or otherwise just falling off. It was kind of funny in the best of circumstances. It was fatal in others, depending how hard someone hit their head or how close they were to a horse’s trampling hooves. If he were being honest, half those worries were about the woman he spoke to now. The chances of keeping on a spooked horse with only one good knee were scarce. In general, the idea of putting a whole group of people out there, half of them completely inexperienced, with barricaded streets and infected threatening to scare the horses was enough to keep him up for a few nights.
“And Thomas, love, if you need anything do let me know. I’ve got more ‘n enough supplies in here to treat a ward, and more ‘n enough time to listen to a hundred cryin’ kids, if you know what I mean.” It hadn’t slipped by her that something was troubling the man. Though he’d been smiling, the worry lines in his aged face were apparent. “I trust you know I’ve got your back hon.”
“I appreciate that,” Tom bent down to take the horse’s reins that he’d dropped in front, looping them over the gentle creature’s head and handing them to Noelle. He patted her good knee and gave her a reassuring nod.
Once the others were clearing out, gaining confidence with every tug of their reins, Tom jumped on his own companion. Silas, a massive bay stallion, was notorious for being unpredictable, something that Tom would’ve immediately docked him for if considering him for anyone else. Like Tom, Silas was older, and he had his quirks. But over the past ten years, the two had gotten to know one another. Now it was like riding Silas was as easy as if Tom were guiding his own legs to move. Once past the quirks, Silas was a good horse to ride - capable in any weather, fast and lithe, and could carry serious weight. Tom whistled at the packhorses to follow, and was soon taking his last glimpse behind him. One last look.
The sun rose gradually over a world Tom hadn’t seen in fifteen years. It was quieter than he’d expected and greener. He guessed that made sense, didn’t it? Less people to keep nature at bay, to bend it to their wills, to slowly choke the life out of her. But it was everywhere. Sorrels and irises pushed out of every crack in broken cement. A black-throated warbler sang at the roadside, having journeyed much farther west that Tom's old Native Birds of North America had purported. Vines of invasive kudzu rose thick as moss up building facings and billboard trunks. The signage stood as testimony to an extinct way of life.
Tom stayed on edge, never truly resting in the first hours of the group’s journey. He hadn’t commented when Sybille changed their trajectory to the South Gate, adding a whole section of city to their day’s route. More time surrounded by tall buildings and narrow streets would leave all of them more susceptible to an ambush they couldn’t get out of. With the groan of rusting scaffolding overhead or the rush of wind over a bristling crop of tall grass, Tom’s hand constantly twitched towards the hatchet strapped to his thigh. He’d talked himself out of thinking about the Kahr, knowing damn well that being trigger-happy now would only result in a swarm of whatever unsentient remains of people lurked past what he could readily see.
Finally, Sybille stopped ahead, breaking him out of his silent, paranoid fever. As the others offered their thoughts, Tom glanced around at the group, quietly assessing how the others were holding up. Their thighs would be burning by sundown, that was for sure. Joseph chimed in, talking at him from ahead. Tom looked back at him, wanting to glare, but fully aware that the weasel had intentionally directed all eyes to him. He relaxed his posture, not sure he had enough composure to reply to Joseph directly. Instead he nodded and commented his assessment: “We should keep moving. We’ll want to be out of the city by sundown, try to avoid any … company.” Aside from the occasional straggler he’d seen several yards out from the fence over the past decade and a half, Tom hadn’t truly come face to face with infected in a long time. He wasn’t particularly looking forward to the reintroduction. The least they could do was take steps to avoid having to do so in the dark.
"So Tom, I found this book a few weeks ago about the Russian revolution," Hal spoke fast as she recounted the details from the book, "...it was pretty interesting. Did you know about the Romanovs? Did you know they sewed diamonds into their underclothes? They survived three waves of bullets doing that." She said, taking a moment to catch her breath. "It helped them survive three waves of bullets. It's sad they didn't make it though. Did you like history, Tom?"
“Hold that thought, okay–” Tom replied, with a convivial pat on her shoulder. He used the break in her rambling to take his leave, making his way back to the stables. Luckily, as if summoned, Lars arrived from the dark of the morning to overtake the task of listening to Hallie’s history lesson.
The dark of the morning made the quietly convening group of individuals like shadows, their breaths releasing as frozen clouds before them. An assembly of ghosts – as they would be soon enough – lost to the wind. With the simple greeting of sunrise, their footprints would soon cease to exist entirely on any semblance of Mall record. It would come quietly at first - a missing punch card at a work shift, an empty chair at breakfast in the mess hall - until, slowly, the absence became palpable enough to search for the missing persons. Finally, with the checking of quarters and safe spaces, those staying behind would come to find a various spread of notes saying goodbyes, leaving instructions, and allocating possessions left behind.
Tom’s note was brief, a yellow legal note penciled in with a last-minute scrawl. It was to Mark Flowers and only held a few simple lines explaining his absence. It wasn’t filled to the margins with sentimental anecdotes or tear-stained, heartbroken farewells. No, anyone he would’ve left something like that for had been gone long before. Unlike some of the others, he made no mentions of returning, no hope of being seen again. He knew better than to make empty promises. The best he could hope for now was that the brothers would raise up more generations of people to learn the trade. His legacy would continue in his work, humble and nameless. The last few words, separated from the rest by an empty line and an indentation, were unremarkable. Take care of your brother.
Tom had speared the note on an old nail secured to a post just inside the stable. He took one more look around to make sure nothing important was left behind, then closed the heavy doors behind him, locking them securely and leaving the keys.
When Tom turned from the doors, he caught a belated look at Sybille nearly keeling over. The last few notes of retching echoed in the morning quiet. After a pause, Tom checked a few last knots on the pack horses’ supply, trying to keep at his tasks instead of ogling. He still caught from a side glance or two the frantic whispers between her and Charlie. Something’d gone wrong. While they were caught up in their discourse, Tom nudged at Lars and Hallie in front of him, gesturing back to two of the horses in the corner - one Lars had used a few times and one that would suit Hallie well enough.
He then made his way past the rest of the loitering group, quietly letting others know to go find a ride that suited them, before standing in front of the pair. He crossed his arms over his chest, a concerned look and furrowed brow taking over as he sized Sybille up. There was something on her hand, dark and viscous; it was unclear exactly what it was in the dark, shining black like motor oil. He’d had an idea of what it was, judging by the way it had splattered up her forearm. He looked from Sybille to Charlie and back again, clearing his throat, deciding whether to press or not. If Sybille wanted to disclose what had her so panicked, she’d do so in her own right. He looked back to her and threw his thumb over his shoulder. “We’re good to go, ma'am. Rogue’s all yours.” Sybille’s favorite companion, one she asked for every time in the past several years since the mare’s arrival.
Once alone with Charlie, he uncrossed his arms and put them in his pockets. His voice remained low. “Everything okay?”
Charlie watched Sybille leave for a moment, speaking before looking to Thomas.
“The plan hasn’t changed.” He hoisted his utility bag over aching shoulder with a huff, searching for a place to stow it. “How do I, uh,” Charlie gestured to the remaining horses. Never in thirteen years had he ventured outside the gates, much less anywhere that required transportation, and found himself sorely underprepared for the task at hand.
Hallie’d called out to Tom, interrupting Charlie’s unsure approach, waving at him from atop her horse, her outline visible in the faded moonlight. He gave her a wave, feigning a tired smile, not wanting his face to show easily enough to the others what he’d already started to ascertain himself - that something, at some point in the early morning, had already gone astray.
“Just follow the kid’s lead.” Tom encouraged Charlie. “Foot in and swing over. Like riding a bike. The less you think about it the better.” He left Charlie to it, knowing the man had enough common sense to figure things out, looking out on the rest of the group in the dark.
Joseph, who’d been pretty bold to show his mug this morning considering their last conversation, had decided to pick his own - a black stallion with dark eyes, who if Tom were being honest, barely skimmed past the clearance to come along. He had shown more than once a tempestuous nature and tendency towards easy irritation. Things had a way of working themselves out. As for the threats he’d made, it wasn’t the time or place or circumstances to rehash the scene in front of the others. Things were off to a rocky enough start without that. But Tom did let out a quiet satisfied breath at the brace on Joseph’s hand. Hopefully it’d remind the sycophant to stay in his lane. Instead, Tom went back to eyeing Sybille, making an easy mount on her horse, his shoulders unknotting to see she wasn’t as panicked as she’d been at the start of the morning. Maybe, he thought as he clenched his jaw, it really was nothing.
His next focus was on one of the last ones still lingering at ground level. He took one of the last horses from her post, guiding her gently by the reins over to the woman. She, like many others here, was one Tom knew by name and face only. To him, Noelle was barely more than a momentary acquaintance formed over the occasional passing “hello” or “good morning”. Noelle had one of those faces that warmed the heart, and seemed of an age similar enough to his own - enough to make them kindred spirits in a time when a good thirty years were cut off the average life expectancy.
“Morning, Noelle,” he greeted her as a friend. “Brought you this lady. She’s a smooth ride. Shouldn’t cause you any trouble.” He have her a grin, holding out his hand to take her bag from her. Noelle turned at the greeting, being brought back from the hundredth memory of a story that was now only in the past. She’d spent most of the morning scouring her office, making sure every little note for her nurses were where she’d left them. Whether it was simply from age or the images of her wife and daughter going through her mind she wasn’t sure, but suddenly Noelle couldn’t remember if everything had been in place. If they were or not it was much too late to check, but Tom’s voice was something of a relief to her. At least it kept her mind off of thoughts that came in the silence.
“Why Thomas, it’s good to see you honey.” As he approached her with the mare, she gave him a gentle pat on the back. “I appreciate what you’re doin’ for us. Most of ‘em wouldn’t last five minutes without some sorta transportation.” Her dark eyes traveled around the others, and she gave a soft smile. Tom wasn’t stupid, and she was sure he knew her pointed comment was truthfully about her. That’s what she liked about smart people- you could tell them anything without really telling them.
“Hi there sweet girl.” Turning her attention back to the horse, she cooed softly at her and let the mare sniff at the palms of her hands. “Haven’t ridden since I was just a girl. It’ll be good on me to get back into it I suppose.” Accepting Tom’s offer to take her bag, she placed a foot in the strap, letting her good leg take her up and over the horse. Moving the stiff limb over proved more of a challenge, and she groaned as she settled into the saddle.
“I’ll be in the back of the line, watching these two,” he nodded over at the packhorses. Like a fullback in football, he’d be lingering behind the others, waiting to pick up someone’s slack. It was a position that both made him feel in control while knowingly making him one of the most vulnerable. Where he could see everyone in full, any dangers lurking in the periphery, but with no one to check behind him. It was a place he’d rather put himself in than burden anyone else with it. “Just call out if you need me, alright?”
“Now don’t let me hold you up with all this nonsense,” Noelle gestured dismissively at her bad leg, “I got some fight left in me still. You’re a good man Tom.” Bending down to claim her bag, she settled it in front of her until it sat securely between her legs and the horse’s neck. “Hope Charlie’s got enough sense to keep that old horse steady. I’d keep an eye on him if I were you.” Her tone was light, a small giggle breaking her words up. She felt like a kid again.
“He’s smart, he’ll get it figured out,” Tom softened at Noelle’s laugh. He didn’t want to admit how much anxiety he’d given in the past few days to the idea of someone getting bucked or otherwise just falling off. It was kind of funny in the best of circumstances. It was fatal in others, depending how hard someone hit their head or how close they were to a horse’s trampling hooves. If he were being honest, half those worries were about the woman he spoke to now. The chances of keeping on a spooked horse with only one good knee were scarce. In general, the idea of putting a whole group of people out there, half of them completely inexperienced, with barricaded streets and infected threatening to scare the horses was enough to keep him up for a few nights.
“And Thomas, love, if you need anything do let me know. I’ve got more ‘n enough supplies in here to treat a ward, and more ‘n enough time to listen to a hundred cryin’ kids, if you know what I mean.” It hadn’t slipped by her that something was troubling the man. Though he’d been smiling, the worry lines in his aged face were apparent. “I trust you know I’ve got your back hon.”
“I appreciate that,” Tom bent down to take the horse’s reins that he’d dropped in front, looping them over the gentle creature’s head and handing them to Noelle. He patted her good knee and gave her a reassuring nod.
Once the others were clearing out, gaining confidence with every tug of their reins, Tom jumped on his own companion. Silas, a massive bay stallion, was notorious for being unpredictable, something that Tom would’ve immediately docked him for if considering him for anyone else. Like Tom, Silas was older, and he had his quirks. But over the past ten years, the two had gotten to know one another. Now it was like riding Silas was as easy as if Tom were guiding his own legs to move. Once past the quirks, Silas was a good horse to ride - capable in any weather, fast and lithe, and could carry serious weight. Tom whistled at the packhorses to follow, and was soon taking his last glimpse behind him. One last look.
The sun rose gradually over a world Tom hadn’t seen in fifteen years. It was quieter than he’d expected and greener. He guessed that made sense, didn’t it? Less people to keep nature at bay, to bend it to their wills, to slowly choke the life out of her. But it was everywhere. Sorrels and irises pushed out of every crack in broken cement. A black-throated warbler sang at the roadside, having journeyed much farther west that Tom's old Native Birds of North America had purported. Vines of invasive kudzu rose thick as moss up building facings and billboard trunks. The signage stood as testimony to an extinct way of life.
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Tom stayed on edge, never truly resting in the first hours of the group’s journey. He hadn’t commented when Sybille changed their trajectory to the South Gate, adding a whole section of city to their day’s route. More time surrounded by tall buildings and narrow streets would leave all of them more susceptible to an ambush they couldn’t get out of. With the groan of rusting scaffolding overhead or the rush of wind over a bristling crop of tall grass, Tom’s hand constantly twitched towards the hatchet strapped to his thigh. He’d talked himself out of thinking about the Kahr, knowing damn well that being trigger-happy now would only result in a swarm of whatever unsentient remains of people lurked past what he could readily see.
Finally, Sybille stopped ahead, breaking him out of his silent, paranoid fever. As the others offered their thoughts, Tom glanced around at the group, quietly assessing how the others were holding up. Their thighs would be burning by sundown, that was for sure. Joseph chimed in, talking at him from ahead. Tom looked back at him, wanting to glare, but fully aware that the weasel had intentionally directed all eyes to him. He relaxed his posture, not sure he had enough composure to reply to Joseph directly. Instead he nodded and commented his assessment: “We should keep moving. We’ll want to be out of the city by sundown, try to avoid any … company.” Aside from the occasional straggler he’d seen several yards out from the fence over the past decade and a half, Tom hadn’t truly come face to face with infected in a long time. He wasn’t particularly looking forward to the reintroduction. The least they could do was take steps to avoid having to do so in the dark.
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