* FREE / FALLING.

“I make ammo. Well, I used to, you get me the stuff and I can make it for you, I promise just help? Please?” Her frantic nature was prompted by the feeling of blood trickling down her body from her wound. She could feel the sticky substance and it caused Freddie to shudder in both disgust and annoyance. 

the job description for his role was short and sweet; KEEP THE PEACE. keep people content, keep it fair, keep it f r i e n d l y – or at least slightly amicable. avoid repeats of treason. avoid carnage ( leave brutality to the raiders and give these suckers some semblance of inner peace ). call him an AMBASSADOR. it’s a job he can do exceedingly well, despite his treacherous nature being the exact OPPOSITE. he’s a monster of boisterous proportions; lacking in the empathy department and growing colder by the day. if there’s a beating in his chest, it’s no different than the subtle one in the undead’s own bodies. barely there. he’s a walking irony. a LIE. and lovely patchwork of clever words and gentle smiles; dishonest babble and praise. he keeps the peace with one hand and uses the other to sow poisonous seeds. the ground is always fertile when it comes to C H A O S.

it’s no rarity, then, to find theodore in any given place, at any given time. most camps welcome him with open arms. most survivors ENJOY having him around; or at the very least enjoy t h i s version of him. this w a r m t h allows him to study people, find targets, STALK. lachlan cupo is a frail, open nerve; exposed and ready to be c o n s u m e d. he’s a soft boy and the world loves taking a bite out of them; flesh tender and fresh. theo makes his way towards the boy, pulling down glasses to admire lachlan’s AIM. this boy could be D E A D L Y if he so wished. ❝ nice work. ❞ he compliments. ❝ i’ll be sure to pass it on to claire – maybe she’ll rest easy for once. ❞ he conveys WORRY in his tone. he feels none of it. brown eyes stray to the boy; charming, crooked grin in place. ❝ when does your shift end ? i was hoping we could…talk. ❞

     ❛  technically speaking, it’s already over.  ❜  unfortunately, there’s no paid overtime. in fact, there’s really no pay at all. the sniper doesn’t need actual money or essentials. just the payment of making sure nobody else lost someone they loved is enough to keep him from straying from his usual duties. the camps used to worry about him staying out past his normal shifts, figuring the cupo boy was inevitably swarmed by a handful of infected he couldn’t quite handle on his own. now, they know he’s counting the stars, spending all of his time up in the mountains in an attempt to escape the hell on the ground. he’s predictable, which probably isn’t a good quality to have during an apocalypse, but he doesn’t particularly care all too much.  ❛  my attention is yours.  ❜

     last line is muttered with a smile, failure to catch onto the hesitation in theo’s voice as lachlan just stands from his post. the sniper is unhitched, soon being swung onto his back with little adjustments before one hand lifts to tug on his own backpack strap. the reason for his sudden switch to even the slightest ounce of joy is that he’s simply just happy to talk with someone. life gets lonely when it’s spent up in the hills, up where people couldn’t find him. he thrives off of social interaction  ––  anyone down at the camp can support that. if he’s not alone, his mouth is running to other survivors, telling jokes or just tossing out the goofiest of lines to try and get people to laugh.  ❛  what’s up ?  ❜

     “ yes. ” she takes his statement as an acceptance of her and imogen is already shifting, palm meeting her holstered gun. before, her hands were smooth, soft and delicate, nails kept short and unpainted, but now calloused fingers curl around the gun and she holds it handle first out to him. his wince has her brows furrowing, gaze searching for the source of his pain and at his bleeding chest, she sucks in a sharp breath, attention snapping back up. she needs to move, a new determination slotting itself in the space between her ribs, loosening the tightness in her chest. “ stay alive. ”

      the rain soaks everything around her, the ground threatens to slip beneath her with each footfall as she runs as fast as she can back to where she left her horse. her foot catches a tree root and she falls, hard onto her knees and hands, but it’s only a second until she’s standing again, the places where the ground connected with her body stinging. leave him. it’s too dangerous, imogen.  for so long she’s only had the voices of her dead friends for company that it’s no matter that she’s hears them now. she’s only alive because of them– their instructions on who to leave behind, who to steal from… but the warnings go unheeded this time. “ i can’t. he needs my help. i can help him. ” the rain drowns out the words and there’s no one there to hear them, but she’s struck with how desperately she wants to help. he’s the first human she’s seen, the first that’s looked at her and he didn’t let her walk into the arms of the awaiting dead. she needs to help him.

       finally, she sees her horse in the clearing standing beneath the eaves of a tree and she scarcely pauses before she’s running past to the place where she’s left her gear. one minute and she’s up on the horse, guiding it as fast as she can back.

       there is the sound of galloping and rain, then the wet scent of rot hits her like a wall. her horse rears up, protesting loudly as she continues to urge it forward, desperately looking around for him and to avoid the undead.. “ please be alive… please be alive… ”  

     ❛  will do.  ❜  the words are still quiet, but he means each of them. his death would result in the heartbreak of a girl he’s just met, and that wasn’t okay with lachlan. promises are usually kept with the cupo boy, usually fulfilled to the best of his ability. no promise is left unsolved or ignored, and he intends on fighting for his life if it means restoring even an ounce of hope in this girl. he doesn’t even catch her name, but he intends on catching it when she returns with her horse. there is no ‘if’ in this situation because he doesn’t believe in that. he believes in people, and maybe that’ll be his biggest downfall. 

     she runs and he stays, carefully watching the infected to make sure they don’t sprint after her. some of them grow suspicious and a bit more active, uneasiness bubbling deep within him as his gaze catches an indent in the wall. there’s a small part of the second floor that’s still intact and it’d be hard for the zombies to get to. so, he moves quickly, hoisting himself onto the platform and praying it doesn’t give in on him. spoiler alert : it doesn’t. instead, it actually gives him a better view of his targets, pistol at the ready to take out at least a few of them before she returns. 

     gun is aimed with steady hands, even at the mercy of a man wielding many wounds. one eye blinks closed as to focus on his next target, then BOOM. a headshot sends one of the undead down in a second, causing the others around it to move closer to where the shot came from. this happens a couple more times, more and more of the infected dropping like flies. his shots never fail, he never misses a target. some still remain, clawing and groaning at the wall because they can sense he’s there somewhere, but they can’t tell he’s a level above them and safe for the time being. he just needs to conserve his bullets. 

     he hears the galloping before he sees the horse, but as he’s about to wave her down, lachlan’s gaze catches sight of more zombies headed their way. they must have heard the shots and gravitated naturally towards the sound. this was expected, but don’t blame the kid for hoping for the slim chance of it not happening. 

minji gun is short of a cuss word when she whispers under her breath, ❛ don’t touch me ❜, one that goes unheard of in the room that she’s spent far too long in. the only witnesses to the scowl that carves itself on her face are the peeling paint, the cracks on the wall where the creepy crawlies live. minji gun studies the other with a raised brow, a pointed look at the finger to his lips — she wants to ask him if this is a joke. telling a girl who has spent her entire life almost mute to stay quiet? 

she almost scoffs at the words that fall from his lips then — OF COURSE they can’t stay here. it seems like something stupid to say out loud… there isn’t a single place on this earth where they can stay, not even their so-called camps. they’ll dwindle to dust, into nothing one of these days. “right. i can’t stay here.” her eyes trail from the cuts on his face to the blood staining his shirt. although she isn’t UNgrateful for his attempt to play hero, he’s seemingly selfless and it’s a pity; it frustrates mini, it bothers her. “are you stupid?” she swallows the words STUPID BRAVE — that’s what he must be… or he could be a masochist. either one of those. 

“you’re setting yourself up as bait.” this is far too many words to say out loud. “or me.” it’s not impossible, is it? how does she know that he’ll kill the undead as he says? how would she be sure that he’ll do his end of the bargain? minji reaches behind the waistband of her jeans. “take them out from here. they’re not much.” 

she hasn’t even seen how many of the dead are waiting for them on the other side. 

     surprise and slight offense take the place of confusion on his features as his eyebrows furrow at the girl. hand is pulled back instantly, almost being held up in surrender at her demand. he gets that some people are picky about being touched, but sue him for trying to get her out of the undead’s line of sight. part of him, a very small part, thought he should just leave her and run now. it’s what she deserves for acting like he was the enemy there. 

     head cants at her comment, sarcasm almost thrusting like a knife into his chest before it’s twisted further. his gaze moves down to his own torso  ––  damn thing is bleeding through his shirt now and he doesn’t have the right amount of bandages to take care of it straight away. ignoring her attempt at diverting the attention towards his wounds, a shrug just lifts the sniper’s shoulders as he grips the pistol tighter in his hand.  ❛  ––  right. you wanna take out about ten zombies with only two guns ? the sound is just gonna bring in more. if you run, at least one of us gets out alive.  ❜  it’s not that he doubts himself because he doesn’t. he’s just painfully aware of his odds of getting out of the situation without turning into one of those creatures. 

@lachlancupo + ❛ Wait, do you hear that? ❜

she held her breath, listening for the sounds that the other had heard first. they were there, alright, but they were… different. it didn’t sound like the usual biters, and the movements sounded a bit off to be human. just what kind of new threat was this? her hand hovered over the gun in its holster as she stood still, waiting for the threat to pass or show itself. inevitably, when a harmless golden retriever crossed their paths, claire burst out into a fit of giggles, moving to pet the dog. “hey there, boy. you won’t hurt us will you? how’d you survive this long, hm?”

lolly shrugs, purses her lips in faux consideration. ❛ maybe , ❜ she offers. she’s already disregarded his input but she won’t let him know that. ❛ she safe with me. ❜ she says after a moment of silence. ❛ and she knows better than to run off. ❜

     ❛  dogs can be unpredictable. all animals can.  ❜  he knows she’s not listening to his advice. why would she ? lachlan’s just a kid. he’s smart for his age, but not smart enough to make himself sound like he has at least some sort of idea as to what he’s doing.  ❛  ––  even humans.  ❜

●  ——  there’s just something so infectious about a genuine smile, particularly now that the sight of one has become so rare. with survival in such an unkind world comes a certain degree of solemnity  —  whether for the guilt of happiness amidst so much tragedy or fear of the risks that accompany even a modicum of visible emotional vulnerability anymore. and he understands  — really, he does. his heart aches for the state of the world, of humanity. but to ignore the fact that he is still blessed to be breathing, to be living and not engage in that life with gratitude and positivity  —  it would be an insult to the universe that continues to allow it. to encounter that same capacity for positivity in a complete stranger is reassuring. it gives him hope. the words that accompany the smile are enough to tug a grin to his own lips as he moves forward, closing a bit of the gap between him and the sniper.  ❝  i used to teach yoga back home every now an’ then  —  back before all a’ this  —  at a place called the seattle boulderin’ project. floor t’ceiling climbin’ walls, topout boulders.  ❞  shoulders rise and fall in a light shrug before he takes to securing the straps of his backpack.   ❝  i may not a’ been the best, but i like t’think i wasn’t too bad. ❞

             the confusion is evident on the other male’s face as the naturalist explains what he brought for the members of the church and, really, topher supposes he should have expected as much. it isn’t as though the herbal extracts and holistic remedies he concocts back at the manor are common, particularly anymore. he offers a sheepish chuckle, rocking back on his heels once more.  ❝  y’know, like, um  —  like cannabis oil, natural thc & cbd infusions for oral an’ topical medical applications. recreational, too, i s’pose, dependin’ on your preferences. ❞  he’s rambling now, he knows it, but he can’t help it, alright ?  he has a passion for this.   ❝  anyway, i’d really appreciate it if y’could bring ‘em back when you head that way, if y’wouldn’t mind. you’d definitely be doin’ me a favor, an’ i’d owe ya one for it. ❞  he’s not concerned with being thanked for the supplies  —  they’re a a gift, a gesture of good will from the people of lionscrest to the camp at the church. rather than say so, he turns his attention to the path the other is taking, careful footsteps following him along the narrow and uneven terrain.   ❝  i’m christopher, by the way, ❞  he offers in the way of an introduction as they make their way up the ridge.  ❝  but my friends call me toph. what’s your name, if y’don’t mind my askin’ ?   ❞

     ❛  perfect. this is gonna be a piece of cake for you.  ❜  rule number one of helping people : never discourage their abilities. sure, he can provide some constructive criticism here and there, but he hasn’t seen what this guy could do on the rocks. the criticism shall come later ... when the two are so carelessly looking at the sky. besides, lachlan might be more concerned about counting the stars to even remember that he’s supposed to be giving the other any kind of advice about navigating up the path correctly. as long as they both make it up safe, he’ll deem it a success. body flattens against the wall of rocks on the ridge, feet just barely fitting onto the narrow edge as the sniper moves slowly across it. 

Scoffing in annoyance, Freddie ran her free hand through her matted hair, fingers getting entangled with the knots. Who wouldn’t kill for a hot shower? “No, not really but I don’t think you’re here to judge me. I was heading for the nearest settlement, had ammo to sell. I’m a rouge, rather travel around, not stay in one place for long, safer that way.”

Safer not to get close.

     i might not be here when you try to come back…  

      panic takes shape in her chest, spreads like ink in water through the rest of her. she can’t be alone again. “ pl– ” the rest of her sentence dies the moment his hand covers her mouth, she shuts her eyes and tries to breathe as quietly as possible through her nose. the air is cold, the scent of upturned soil and rot overpowering all else and there is no mistaking what threats lurk beyond the broken wall. 

        imogen is aware that had this been a few months ago, she would not have hesitated in leaving him behind at his first insistence, but she hasn’t seen another living soul in weeks. she claws through her mind for another plan– anything other than her waiting for him to show up again– combating the wish to run and leave him behind with the dead. he is bent on being the hero, of acting as a distraction so she may live.  this is weakness– that’s what her friends had told her…why they’d left so many behind. but those friends are dead and she is still alive and she can’t leave this person to fend for himself.

     “ no. ” she shakes her head more vehemently when he drops his hand, hands tightening into fists at her side to stop her shaking. “ i will come back for you. ”  she says this to herself more than him.

      her gaze cuts to the horrors behind the broken wall, the rain making the air humid “ you have to make it out too– alive. ” and it had been so long since she’s heard someone talk, since she’s seen another person and it is madness, she knows it is, but moving through this new world on her own has taken its toll on her. her attention returns to his, imploringly, desperation bordering hysteria. ” please. i’ll come back. ”

 (please, please just don’t leave me alone.)

     for a moment, the only sound audible to lachy’s ears is the rain. it’s not hard, but the storm above isn’t soft. thunder rumbles, a sound that seems to pull him back into reality once again. eyes linger on her gaze just for a second, fingers only tightening around the pistol in his hand as the undead fail to move away from the site. he knew they’d stay, especially if they weren’t given something to go after. the longer they stood there, the longer their scents wafted through the air, luring more and more zombies in until the two inevitably grow outnumbered. he can’t let it get to that point.

     ❛  ––  do you have a weapon ?  ❜  maybe the question is out of the blue, but the sniper doesn’t really care all too much. anyone could tell consideration was staining dirtied features, mind practically begging him to just stick with her. two is better than one, isn’t it ? besides, they’d have more of a chance. however, it’s impossible for him to shake wanting to play the hero off. nobody else dies on his watch. that was his promise to himself.

❛  it’s clear.  ❜  lachlan doesn’t need to gloss over the land beneath him to know that it’s safe. just hours before, he’d gone above and beyond to catch any zombies before they even made it anywhere near the grounds he’s watching now. the kid does sweeps hourly, even every half hour if he’s really bored, but he knows his job is done for at least a little while. being arguably one of the best snipers church has to offer, his skills never went unnoticed and they were never played down. 

boulder might have been big and maybe it’s impossible for lachlan to have eyes on all of the grounds between the camps, but he knows the patterns. he’s taken to observing the behaviors of the undead, analyzing where they usually come from and where they usually go. it was harder when cities were first being taken over  ––  identifying patterns being almost impossible at the time, but it’s easier now that the infection isn’t spreading as quickly as when the outbreak began.  ❛  any zombie that’s not twice as dead is headed west, so balfour’s safe from anythin’ comin’ down from the mountains.  ❜ 

at least, that’s why he’d assumed theodore langley was lingering around again. 

no one had ever taught romilly how to be kind, and it’s said that kids learn from what they see in their surroundings, well it was safe to say that kindness was something that was barely in her life. it had always been her parents fighting with each other or with her sister and once her sister had left they would pick the fights with romilly so kindness was something foreign for her. “ good because if you did it wouldn’t be pretty and i really would hate to get blood all over any of my dresses, they’re too expensive for me to be ruining them”, that had been her poor attempt of a joke, yeah humor was never around in her life either… “ well that’s kinda dumb, weren’t you looking where you were walking to? usually people tend to do that when they walk so you know, they won’t fall into anything remotely dangerous.” says the girl who before would constantly bump into everything because she was always looking down at her phone, but he didn’t need to know that, in fact no one did. “ don’t die out there, otherwise this was a waste of time, for you mostly. you didn’t get any blood on anything except my sink and this has probably been the most interesting part of my day”

❛  nothing is expensive anymore.  ❜  it’s not like money really mattered during the apocalypse. sure, trading was real and that was their main type of exchange, but money ? lachlan’s lucky to be carrying any kind of coins at any given time. of all the people he could run into, of course lachlan had to run into one with a big head and over - exposed ego. head cants, jaw falling slack as the boy turns towards her once more. if he had the nerve, and if he weren’t afraid to get an infection from dirty surfaces, he’d wipe his gash - ridden arm all over the frame of the door. but, of course, he’s got at least half of a decent heart.  ❛  don’t you get lonely out here ? run out of supplies ? we have stuff back at the camp, if you need anything.  ❜  there he went again  ––  offering necessities to strangers, no matter how much of a bitch she’s been to him so far.

     the horse she leaves in a semi fenced pasture tries to follow her twice before taking interest in the green grass near the bast of a wooden fence post. she takes her backpack but most of her things lay hidden in the alcove of a tree just in case. it is not a long trek back to the place she saw through the branches, only half a mile, but she is mindful when she enters the wooden building. 

                                                              not mindful enough.

       there is a slight hitch of breath, the blonde’s eyes widening as she’s suddenly tugged backwards, soundless save for the thunderous uproar her heart takes up as she is startled. imogen whirls to see a figure distorted by her fear. she blinks once, then twice, in rapid succession then she sees– he’s alive, holding a finger to his lips to indicate her silence and she, despite every tense nerve in her body urging her to fight and run, clamps her lips together and swallows the scream bouncing around in her throat. she watches him look beyond her.

       ( how many weeks had it been since she’d seen another living human? she’s mad. she must be.)

      imogen’s gaze tracks the path of his and lands on the walking dead, her hands begin to shake. she takes a mental inventory; she has a pistol strapped to her side– five rounds, another mag in the things she left behind with the horse. ( not enough time.) a knife holstered on her belt (the blade bordering on dull). the stranger speaks and she swallows the lump of fear in her throat that they are the first words she’s heard since… _‘ quick…please, imogen, i don’t want to be one of** them**. ’ _and they might be the last she will ever hear if she’s counted their odds correctly. the young blonde jerks as his eyes meet hers, the sensation of being looked at foreign now that she’s been without it for so long, but his words… the sound of the undead grows louder and she tries to find some ghost of the courage she used to have…

      “ I– there’s a horse, my horse, I’ll come back for you. ”  imogen’s voice is as soft as she can make it and there’s a tremor to it, but she means it. 

ever since the supposed end of the world as they knew it, lachlan has learned to assume that not everyone came from where he did. not everyone has the **easy way **out and has a place to stay. this girl was clearly shaken up by his appearance, or maybe it’s his generosity. people seem to lack the ability to care about other people nowadays, but not lachy. the kid practically has a golden heart. he wears it on his sleeve and maybe that’s a bad thing, but maybe it wasn’t. so far, it hasn’t killed him yet. 

her voice competes with the rain, showering him in relief. she’s not aggressive, not hostile like most people are in this day and age. the rain serves as relief because it shields him from the dead’s heightened senses. it’s an obstacle between him and them, and he’s thankful for that. maybe that’s why hesitation traces over darkened, tired features. he can’t have people risking their lives for him  ––  how hypocritical of him, since he’d take a bullet for a complete stranger. he’d feed himself to the undead if it meant saving** just one** more person.

❛  i might not be here when you try to come back.  ❜  it’s only realistic. it’s one against ten and the odds are not in his favor, but he knows how to be a distraction. it’ll only last him_ long enough_, but lachlan knows better than to assume he’ll get through this completely unscathed. whether he’s bleeding out in a ditch within fifteen minutes or being torn to shreds by walking corpses, he knows there’s a possibility he’ll end up with just a vessel, no soul or mind to accompany it. 

one scratch and he’s gone. one bite and he’s gone. his options are limited, just like their time. lips part once more to speak, but something catches his attention in the peripheral of his gaze, one hand instantly lifting to cover the girl’s mouth before one of the walkers trudges by just inches away from the other side of the wall. it was close enough for the stench to waft easily by the blond’s nostrils, jaw tightening in return for the smell of death as he waits for just a few more seconds before dropping his arm.

     one hand is stretched out, fingers curling around cloth of a shirt before he’s yanking the figure back into the empty room with him. although the infected use their noses more than their ears, a finger is lifted to his lips  ––  a signal to shut the hell up. the dragging of limbs is ominous behind them, a broken wall being the only barrier between the alive and the undead. the slightest creak of old wood could trigger the zombie’s attention towards the two, and lachlan didn’t want that. 

     hand falls, but his hearing is still completely focused on the sounds of the nearby infected as he reaches for the gun in his backpack slowly. blond, damp locks from the looming storm above are dripping with rain as his head turns to see through just a slight crack in the wall. one, two, three, four ... ten infected. just pulling themselves around without a care in the world. 

“I know that, it’s why I trust you to do the night watch.” Ellie admitted looking out to the world before them with a small smile. “Don’t worry about me, I’ll be fine. Just checking up on everyone before I turn in.”

❛  well, thank you.  ❜  he’s not completely an adult yet, so compliments still boost his ego and make him want to be better overall. he appreciates comments like that and has the tendency to take them to heart.  ❛  how’s everyone doin’ ?  ❜

it took her a moment to realize what he was doing — counting stars. it brought a soft smile to her lips, despite the fact that she didn’t know this boy. she didn’t have to count them. she already knew: on this side of the world, there were roughly five thousand stars visible to the human eye. she knew their names and their positions in their constellations. the night sky was more familiar than boulder county to her dark eyes. but, certainly, attempting to count them had its therapeutic qualities.

a soft chuckle slipped free at his jest.  “ i see. you might be a little out of luck… mars won’t be visible again until may fourth. ”  a slender-fingered hand reached up to tuck a stray piece of hair behind one ear. and then she was pointing upward, toward a bright full moon.  “ you can see jupiter, though. a little below and left of the moon. ”  it looked like a star — the big bright one that was moving. that was where she trained her gaze, her chin tipped slightly upward. there were worse places to be stuck during the end of the world. the rockies provided a better than average view of the night sky, definitely better than she would have been able to find in manhattan.  “ you’re right about the scope. binoculars are decent. but i guess if you get too distracted, you wouldn’t be doing your job. ”

❛  is that so ?  ❜  he considers taking a glance at his journal. it has a messy version of a calendar that he thinks is accurate. after a while, he stopped counting the actual days. the one back in his room is the more reliable way to tell what day it was  ––  the numbers have been checked and double - checked by multiple people due to lachlan’s inability to trust himself when it came to such a thing. guns and accuracy when it comes to aiming are his strong suits, not counting blocks for days and knowing when the seasons start again. he doesn’t need to know any of that by heart.