VITAL SIGNS.

From the rooftop of the brewery he watched. Zac heard the warnings of the horde making it’s way north. It was a waiting game now of just when the first of the undead would be at the door. It wasn’t a game he was wanting to play. In the past he would have been out on the front line doing something, but if the horde was really as big as he’s heard… 

Now that would be quite the death sentence. It was all that could really cross his thoughts at this point. 

He had been up for there for a couple hours, and at this point was largely only focused on what was past the brewery. Unaware of someone else coming up from behind him. 

“Huh-? What do you want?”

she’d stayed with the camp long enough to have learned its ins and outs, the nooks and crannies where she could find the perfect hiding spot. it wasn’t that her room was awful – that was the only place where it felt remotely like home. 

but sometimes those four walls felt suffocating and in moments of desperation, she’d have to seek the next best place. the panic of an unseen threat, one yet to arrive had made its way to her. it became evident in the tense lock of her jaw and endless fidgeting and without a distraction, would eat at her like acid.

that particular place was the rooftop. unless it was urgent, few went up there. a well-worn copy of the chrysalids in one hand, she hauled herself up and peered to find an empty space to claim until the waning light forced her to retire. martine shrugged at the question. she’d seen him before, just enough to lower her guard. ‘ i wanted a quiet place to read. i won’t talk to you much once i start reading. ’

there were few morals left to abide by. nobody had to feel the constriction of fear at the chance red and blue might flash across the wall of their newest crime scene, needed to pause and wonder whether their greedy hands that went to hide the most meagre grocery items beneath a jacket and shirt was right. martine knew this. even so, guilt settled heavy as she came to escape the worst of the afternoon’s warmth in a small ranch home south of camp. her steps over the porch, front door torn from its hinges and left to rot on nearby lawn, were careful.

it had seemed empty ; no signs of life, as far as she knew. from her journey past the kitchen and to a main bathroom, her eyes darted between dull rooms. it was still, her only accompanying noise a soft whistle of warm wind through the windows. most had been smashed in long before. she’d had no luck in finding spare cans of food in the pantry. the taps were dry. worse still, she’d become desperate for painkillers. a small throb had begun behind her eyes early that morning. by the time she’d arrived at the house, it became so insistent she’d forced herself to sit down for several minutes at the dining table. fortunately, whoever visited last had skipped the idea of checking the medicine cabinet.

martine’s hands were quick to find a card of tablets. hunched over the sink she downed two quickly. seconds after turning back to leave, her back hit the mirror hard enough in fright that a splintering of glass echoed. a stranger was at the end of the hallway, stared dead in the eye. 

‘ whoa, whoa, whoa. ’ any other word out of her mouth is entirely forgotten for a moment. as is the possibility of certain DEATH. because she did not just call him OLD. ‘ who ye callin’ old ?? i’ll have ye know that i’m ONLY twenty-nine. ’ it was IMPORTANT that she know that before he moved on with the rest of his day. even though they desperately needed to get a move on. the sound of a gun seemed to be getting closer and closer. they had an EXTREMELY short period of time to get into the safety of his makeshift home. ‘ alright, alright. follow me. we can hide out until he fucks off. ’

‘ what? what’s wrong? ’ although martine was moments away from running once more, his words forced her to stop. a frown twisted her features. were there corpses ahead? was whoever she’d desperately run from closed in, waited and had a rifle trained on her back? though panic settled cold in her gut, the feeling dissipated soon enough. ‘ REALLY? you want to debate this now? tell me, do i look like a kid? kids don’t even go out on their own anymore. ’

the debate was soon abandoned. gunshots neared, loud enough to produce the tell-tale ringing in her ears. her head whipped around to survey the area. any moment, she feared, a strange body could appear from the line of trees. second thoughts appeared in her head. going on another’s word worked little in her favour but in a moment of desperation, perhaps she’d have to take the chance. ‘ we can’t stay here. where to now? ’

Nia was desperate, truly desperate, to hear what Martine thought better of saying. Her favorite kind of outbursts were those punctuated by immediate regret. Nia had learned to curb her tongue — well, no, more like use her words carefully — from a young age, with three older brothers to boss her around. When she insulted, it stung. When she praised, you could fly. She knew her strengths.

Her face was red, embarrassment mostly, Nia assumed. But they didn’t have time for that now. Those corpses would catch a glimpse or a cent or the smallest sound any moment and they’d be… Well, trapped. Nia rubbed her thumb along the hilt of her gun in its holster, turning slowly in a circle to survey the alleyway they’d found themselves in. “We are going to quietly, slowly, go through that broken window. Step one,” she said, nodding toward the window. “Come.”

a strange look flashed across antonia’s face. she’d long become used to the steely expression of leaders ; no hint to let on just how much they might’ve felt SCARED, nervous to be caught up in a brush with death. the months, though few, had crawled across just enough to make her forget that others, too, felt things. 

though the older woman went to move away from the wall, martine remained stock still, eyes trained as she paced the area. an attempt to form a plan, no doubt. one that would get them out of here alive. the tenseness in her legs became painful, knees shaking as her posture straightened. a broken window, though risky, certainly seemed better than the alternative. with light feet and a sharp nod she followed antonia, several moments taken to steal a glance over her shoulder.

‘ looks like they didn’t hear us. ’ the breaths in her chest were shallow, words almost swallowed up in the nervousness that hitched her voice. ‘ it’s so dark in here. ’

after hearing such an announcement most people would run and hide and pray for the best and that they will be spared. even just make it through one night. jin was the one off person in after hearing the mans voice warning everyone around who heard just rolled her eyes and muttered to herself  ❝ dramatic much. ❞ she knew how serious the situation was no matter what people would think. jin being jin she found it slightly humorous at how dramatic the man sounded even if it was necessary. she had basically just arrived at boulder county and there was already a major problem. she should of just stayed alone; she was good at it. from what she gathered from the announcement jin began to end north to where the chaos would begin to start. she passed people on the way not taking much notice of them. she was only focused on one thing right now. she had to admit  to herself she got a satisfaction of killing the walking dead. the less of them there are the better. though the mindset of this had gotten her into trouble many times; even with her own life almost being taken away. she would make sure she would never turn into one of those things. just before she could even find a good hiding position to be for when the undead came jin noticed someone out in the open. she hadn’t exactly gotten to know everyone yet and she wasn’t even sure if she wanted to. sighing to herself she walked out slightly gun in hand.  ❝ hey! get inside. unless you want to get chomped on. ❞

the days rarely did bode well. if it weren’t the ever-present fear of the rotten stench that wafted from the undead it was the suffocating warmth, the prospect of heat stroke should you have failed to pack well, injuries and illness alike. those fears were rational – ones that made sense and hardly seemed to be out of the ordinary. but this one was different. days stretched out empty, nothing in sight save for the odd animal that hurried north with wide eyes and sweat on the flanks. something had happened and for once, she hadn’t the brains to know.

in the stagnant summer air martine spied a blinding white column of thunderheads to the west. the atmosphere built to a fever pitch of cicadas. the noise was deafening, disorienting, her feet hitting the edge of a paved road with hardly a recollection of where she had walked. she’d ended up at the edge of some town, a little ways south of the brewery.

it wasn’t quiet here.

no, the streets swarmed uncharacteristically with the gentle ebb and flow of dazed bodies. hands, half-eaten and browned, dangled to the sides. this was the news, the change in her small pocket of the world. undead, and far too many for her to fight off alone. the chances of warding them off with four bullets in her .44 and the rusted crowbar in her other hand wouldn’t put a dent in them.

‘ oh, god. ’ her features twisted up in disgust, throat closed with panic. where to from here? a few steps back were taken, eyes scouring the nearby buildings in panic. to the left, she couldn’t run to that in time. anxious, her feet shuffled until a soft voice pierced the silence. her head whipped around moments before her feet drew her to the stranger, nearing almost as fast as her heartbeat went. ‘ thanks. i … didn’t realise how many had shown up. when did this happen? ’

                                      SHE HATES THE FUCKING HEAT —– with the sun beating down on her back  &  sweat beading along her hairline  ,  was there anything worse than the summers?  even worse so  ,  when the coolness of shadows are ABSENT  &  you’re carrying what feels like half of boulder county’s belongings on your shoulder  —  she’s long since ditched the sherpa which knows resides tied around her waist  ,  and she underestimated her supply of WATER before leaving the brewery.  (  hilarious  ,  should have packed something a lot stronger than water.  )   

          but what’s briar without a little complaint?  she’s still RESILIENT  ,  resourceful  ,  when she finds the sign of LOVELAND on her way back to the brewery  ,  she figures it’s as good of stop as any.  (  despite it’s name  ,  loveland  ;  briar snickers over the fact this is the last place you would find her seeking shelter.  )  despite the way the undead seem to accumulate in it’s streets like it’s the fucking epicenter.  SAFEWAY becomes the scavenger’s chosen destination  ,  despite the fact she assumes it’s been picked though time  &  time again by vultures.  she’s right  ,  the place is ransacked  ;  shelves have been rummaged of anything with nutritional value or actual appealing flavor  —  she fills her bag with whatever is left  ,  whatever she can throw into the rations bay back at camp  &  not have one of those bastards start an argument about not doing her job right. 

               was there anything worse than the summers? resorting to drinking dr. pepper as a form of hydration  ;  if you could call it that.   ❛  then don’t make a noise.  ❜  a hiss of matter-of-fact tone  &   she makes a scornful nod to the gun clutched between martine’s fingers  —  too loud  ,  too easy  ,  and briar isn’t much of a fan of the weapons to begin with.  in fact  ,  briar finds it IDIOTIC to use a gun in any situation nowadays  ,  not when the undead have hearing near as impeccable as briar’s junior year english teacher being able to hear the passing of paper from the back of the classroom.   ❛  keep your finger off the trigger ,  martine  ,  or you’re on your own.  ❜   she’s seen her around camp  ,  but briar isn’t much of a socialite  ,  not at the brewery atleast.  (  she has her brother  ,  that’s the only person she needs  ;  and also?  she’s still trying to decide where she stands with raiders.  )   and it’s not like she expected to round the corner from that safeway  &  cross paths with one of her camp members  –  in fact  ,  it’s hopeful thinking not to. she brings that can of dr. pepper to her lips  ,  taking a sip before she glances past the scout to access the potential threat of their current situation.   ❛  how many are there?  i can’t see with you flailing in front of me like that.  ❜  

common sense would have been the best course of action. put the gun down, point the barrel away from the target and release the hammer in a final swift push of her thumb, shove it back within the worn leather holster she’d scavenged on her first trip out of the brewery. that pistol going off would become a part of the equation that gets her killed, the sharp echo as a bullet ricochets between the empty buildings. she’d come sorely unprepared, though she refused to let the admission escape her lips. everything in her brain screamed that she should have. but this time stubbornness had claimed the victory, kept her hands back on the weapon and waiting with white knuckles, a scared animal trapped between brick and mortar.

some back at camp might have said she made the right choice. over dinner, she imagined her friends-but-not-quite-good-friends would whisper in muffled syllables past pieces of food that she would have made the right choice to remain defensive – to her briar existed as an enigma, a blank piece of paper without a scribbled note to be seen. she had no past, no present, no future. at least, none that she’d caught wind of. even the can of dr pepper in briar’s hand was outlandish ; who’d be so unprepared to leave without enough water to spare on a day like this?

‘ depends. i’ll be quiet if you’ve got a plan to tell me. ’ her chin jerked towards the soft drink. ‘ are you sure you’ll last much longer on that sugar high? ’

now had hardly become the time to run her mouth, pick a fight to really get an idea of who briar was. martine needed another to keep an eye out, get her back safely, no matter how begrudging she might’ve been to admit it. she drew the reaction to heat – heightened stress on the body, starved and dehydrated. likely to make the most amicable spit venom.

she straightened, moved to press her back by the corner wall. the contents of her bag poked uncomfortably, all the while she willed the rise and fall of her chest to slow. fear had begun to creep in, bring a shake to her hands and a sheen of sweat across her forehead. as martine’s voice dropped there was a slight crack in her words, beginning to stumble over them. ‘ there– there’s a lot of them. those things are still slow right now. ’

Watching the younger girl’s face, Nia could almost figure what was going through her mind. She wished she hadn’t said that—or, at least, not so bluntly—but Nia couldn’t say she minded. She preferred a bit of respect but the change was, honestly, refreshing.

Besides, she also saw a little bit of well-placed fear and maybe even admiration. Although, Nia was prone to thinking highly of herself and could’ve been imagining it. She didn’t think so. She nodded towards the street and stepped carefully, quietly away from the zombies, expecting Martine to follow.

“Oh, trust me, I’m glad I’m here too,” she muttered under her breath. “There’s no way you could have gotten out of this mess by yourself.”

the smile that crept into her solemn expression was almost childlike – it was one which had grown out of a wash of relief. it wasn’t often that a life could be placed into another’s hands or at the very least, have a shoulder to lean on. rarer still were that others cared whether another lived or died. talk often centred on the brutality of raiders, the callous objectives that paid no heed. ‘ you know, nia – no, never mind. ’

perhaps it was better to save the gushy ( but genuine ) thank-you-for-saving-me-in-time spiel for later. her back teeth ground in frustration. a hot flush of embarrassment raced to her cheeks in realising her hands were empty, weaponless. she had left the mission of unfastening the gun from its holster the moment antonia’s voice slipped over her shoulder. now the pistol sat in her hands, fingernails running over the cool metal as she scoured the street corner for an opening. NOTHING.

‘ they’re getting closer. don’t think i can double back, either. what are we gonna do now? ’

out of everything, medical supplies still seemed to be plentiful. if you knew where to LOOK. every time she ventured out to ensure that their tiny infirmary remained well stocked, she always went back with at least half a bag full. she had never tried the pharmacy though because she often KNEW that would have been the first place people went if they needed anything. but her usual places were pretty picked through now and though there weren’t many survivors at the brewery, hattie preferred having a surplus incase they gained MORE.

so the pharmacy was her next best bet. but getting into the pharmacy was proving DIFFICULT. the door was chained shut. there had to be a SIDE door. or a back one. something she could break into somewhat easier. if it was locked down so well … maybe that meant there was MORE in there than she had ever imagined.

she was focused on finding the back door when she spotted someone at the end of the alleyway. they looked alive. but it was always so hard to TELL. ‘ h-hey … ’ it was stupid to call out. but what if they needed HELP? ‘ are you okay? ’ her gun was easily accessible if this ended up being the worst idea she’d ever had.

with no real purpose to the days that bled by, a change of scenery as martine wove her way through the back roads of the county was a habit she’d found herself settle into nicely. strangely enough, she’d awoken a need to explore – find a new place, a secret spot, a hidden treasure of an outlook or landmark to lay claim to.

the smaller towns were her favourite. most had long emptied out in the hope that boulder might’ve had something to offer in the early days. it left in its wake an exposed warren of supermarkets, general stores and fashion places or two for her to peer in from its front grimy window. she hadn’t bothered to check the gaudy welcome sign of this place. her steps through the nameless town were slower today, a strange and arguably rare feeling of calm that let her shoulders drop beneath the worn canvas straps of her rucksack. 

as sudden as it had come, the ease disappeared. strange noises echoed from a building not far off. the sign that must have been displayed proudly atop the entrance had fallen, hastily propped up by a far fence. in weather-worn red block letters it read PHARMACY. but that wasn’t of any interest. no, it was the insistent rattle of a chain.

nothing dead could do that. she picked her way through the alley, head peering around the corner warily. she jumped at the voice. who’d say hey in a time like this? though too gloomy to show a face, the voice was more than familiar. a grin split the thin press of her lips. ‘ hattie? oh, i’m fine. you lock yourself out? ’

the sight before him wasn’t an entertaining one. before the rise of the dead, a young riley would’ve whimpered at such, never wishing such horror on what would have been such a kind animal, but in the days of the dead, it’s you or them. in this moment, he’d rather the rabies-ridden dog be in their sights than him. 

riley’s compassion had taken a detour the day he walked out of that military base alone. he was cold, solemn in his loneliness rather than wallowing in it. he hid his sorrow and used it to walk among the dead. “ no guilt. “ he mumbled, turning towards the road and beginning to walk. “ safety. “

a vision of what may come next played in a cruel loop. all of a sudden, the animal bolts – and with it, the sole chance to survive. should it go left towards the lonely stretch of a back road, there’d be nothing to do but avoid the careful watch of the undead. if the dog veers to the right, the jigsaw pieces of the plan neatly fall in together as planned.

She had been waiting for this moment, it seemed. Max didn’t really care. Who would, if they were getting Lays out of it? He reached in for a chip and smiled almost as soon as it hit his tongue. “Mm, missed that. At least they never go bad, right?”

He raised an eyebrow, plenty surprised. “Why the hell did you go into Boulder? Isn’t it swarming with biters still?” That was a bold move and not one he ever would have taken. Not for a bag of crushed potato chips, at least.

‘ good, right? ’ it was strange how a thing so simple became one so cherished. the normalities of everyday life had all but fallen away, left a hollow frame of the world in its place. the thought often remained in martine’s head but watching the other savour a handful of junk food, it resonated as a painful twinge in her chest. 

an  insistent,   insipid  little  girl  is  she.   she  keeps  a  blank  face   ;   a  tactic  she  learned  from  her  father.   ❝   you’re  not   …   ❞   she’s  not  ilya.   clearly.   she  tries  to  hide  the  disappointment  from  her  features.   ❝   it  is  russian.   ❞   she  lets  her  american  accent  fall  away,   the  one  she’s  worked  so  hard  on.   ❝   i’m russian.   ❞   does  she  explain  who  ilya  is  or  keep  the  stranger  guessing?   ❝   do  you  come  here  often?   ❞   maybe  she’s  seen  him.

but  it’s  no  time  for  silly questions   :   there’s  a  serious  matter  to  address.   ❝   my  name  is  alyona,   but  that’s  not  important.   ❞   voice  is  soft,   melodic.   ❝   we  need  to  find  a  way  out.   ❞   glancing  down  the  way  she  came,   the  walkers  have  already  taken  over.   ❝   we  need  better  visuals,   uh   …   lady.   ❞

it was a strange sight. most hadn’t become fully accustomed to holding a neutral expression as they stared death in the face ; there’d be a giveaway to the panic that twisted in their gut. a slight twitch of the eye, teeth bitten down on the lip, hands that fidget. she showed none of them. martine looked her over the way a scientist might a specimen – detached, impersonal but close to bursting with curiosity. 

‘ very russian, by the sounds of it. ’ a shake of her head. it was soon accompanied by a spate of gentle laughter. ‘ no way. i go through here to make sure no one’s messed with the sonic sign on the edge of town. this place is miserable. ’

miserable as many other places were. the empty windows with glass smashed through are a point of entry. to her, on the more emotional days, they’re a callous violation of a home. she was grateful to have only stumbled through empty ones. her eyes glanced upward to the ceiling – sturdy enough to walk on, as was the staircase on the far side of the room. ‘ we could go up. i haven’t heard anything from the top floor, it might be clear. ’

Antonia had been following Martine almost since she started her journey. Every so often, she liked to check up on her scouts and traders, come along for the ride. Because se cosecha lo que se siembra. She had to make certain everybody was doing the right work.

Quite a few times, she’d considered stopping Martine, asking her where the hell she was going. But once they got into Loveland, she was more worried about keeping the both of them alive. So when the younger girl stumbled onto a small horde, Nia decided it was time to make herself known. She let Martine back into her with her hands on her hips and one eyebrow raised at the girl’s remark.

“You come out here expecting not to die?” she snapped, keeping her voice low. “Who do you think you are, Martine? You are not invincible.”

there had been whispers before. rumours. antonia’ll watch you like a goddamn hawk. you should be careful, she’s gonna check up on you sooner or later. it was for the best she’d kept on martine’s heels today – alone, there’d be no way out alive. one wrong move, one step out of line and it was game over.

the very second antonia spoke, she felt a desperate wish to haul the snarky words back. the words had tumbled out in fright, a natural reflex. few held respect in this world ; she was the exception. it had grown out of generosity. without her brother martine was a liability, a SETBACK and yet, she never found her feet shuffle across brewery’s perimeter and into the chaos for the final time. 

‘ HOW? ’ martine knew the idea wasn’t meant to be taken in a literal sense, yet the word slipped out before she had the chance to reign it back in, force it to sit quiet and obedient on the tip of her tongue. the talks with amal were always detached ; none that she might have had with her own mother, about boys or friends or whether she’ll find herself before her degree is finished. no, it was complex in another form. to unravel the world, pull the thread that sent its fragile structure tumbling down.