#nextofkin

Hello! I've been running super late on my main fic, so here's a little something for all of y'all waiting so patiently. I promise Moth&Wolf chapter 16 is on its way, its just kicking my ass. In the mean time, here's a little one-shot I threw together instead of working on my WIP.

CW: mention of perished child

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The air was thick, tinged a noxious green. A flurry of spores passed over the foggy lenses of the Abbot’s gas mask. He almost wanted to bat at them like snowflakes, especially the clumps collecting on his long duster of worn, brown leather. If not for the heavy rifle in his hands, Abbot might’ve swatted around his direct vicinity for a better view of the darkened space. The white cone of light projecting from the flash light duct taped to the barrel of his weapon reached no more than two feet ahead of him. When he got close enough, benches would appear out of the shadows, fungus-y storefronts and once-flashy signage. It was the mannequins that really fucked with Abbot, standing their all sleek and faceless in their weird clothes. He shivered, eyeing one distrustfully as he followed his companion.

“Really fuckin’ hope there’s nothin creeping around down here,” Abbot murmured. 

It was nervous talk, something to try to distract from the acidic churn of anxiety in his gut. The shadow next to him, a tall, older man called Rip or Kip, or something like that. Rip released a gruff sigh from a mouth Abbot had never seen from behind the wiry, gray beard.

“Seems like the kinda place for a buncha stalkers to hole up,” Abbot continued, “I hate them things so much-”

“Would you shut the fuck up?” Rip said, cutting him off, “If there is anything down here, the sound of your grating-ass voice ain’t gonna help us.”

“Right,” Abbot coughed, “Sorry-”

Rip sighed heavily again, and Abbot knew it was his final warning. He snapped his mouth shut and adjusted his grip on his rifle. He wanted to check the chamber again, even though he knew it was full to capacity. He just wanted to make sure.

They wandered through the mall’s lower levels, no breakage in the heavy pall of spores. Abbot was starting to get claustrophobic as his mask grew stuffier and hotter. Rip knew the tunnels well so Ab stayed out of the man’s way. Supposedly, it led to the general vicinity where some Fireflies had been seen getting in and out of the Boston QZ. Unlucky bastards could’ve chosen anywhere, but they’d picked one of the Raider roads down here in Southie. Abbot’s people hadn’t found where exactly yet they were, but they were so close to figuring it out it had his heart ticking in anticipation. Raids meant a full stomach, usually, and fresh clothes. If you were lucky, more bullets and a woman for the next night or two, not that he cared about ‘having’ a woman. That  was just the line Abbot had been sold when he joined up last month.

The old man ahead of them paused for a moment, Ab almost walking straight into his back. He listened, head twitching towards the sounds of dripping pipes or rats scurrying around. Abbot only moved forward once Rip did.

Rip had been here since Outbreak day. Practically founded the raiding party. Abbot was just hoping for regular meals and someone to watch his back out here, so he joined up. Guys like Rip though, sometimes Abbot felt like they weren’t in it for the scavenging at all. The food and ammo- it was nothing to them. A convenient excuse to blow someone’s brains out or make them feel small. Abbot was still trying to convince himself being here with them was better than being on his own.  Every day felt like a gamble back then, a toss of the dice with crossed fingers and the hope he got to live another day.

But at least Abbot hadn’t been a murderer.

About an hour ago, they’d spotted a man in Firefly patches headed north along the water. Given his general direction, it was likely he was headed towards their hidden base. It looked like they were trying to get to the Summer Street Bridge. The crumbling stretch of ancient highway was one of the only ways to get over the flooding any more. Abbot remembered when it was different. He remembered the view of the water from a school bus seat and drawing shapes in the fog he made on the windows with his breath. That was where they’d corner them, on the bridge. 

Abbot grit his teeth, trying to think of how good it was going to feel to go to bed with a full stomach.

There was a woman and a kid with him. 

The little one stumbled along on the stubby legs; he couldn’t have been more than three. Abbot’s group killed the men as a rule, and they never kept the kids. Abbot heard they usually killed them too, or left them in the ruins alongside the corpses of their parents. A few of the guys joked that they’d eat them. Abbot hadn’t ever encountered kids on the road. At least not ones still living. In the back of his mind, he hoped the stragglers would get wise and figure out they were being followed. If they were smart, they’d just hide.

A cry rang out in the gloom.

Shrill and wailing, it echoed across the once-smooth stone floors and grimy glass store fronts. Rip and Abbot both jumped at the sudden scream, their lights flickering in the musty space trying to find the source. It grew quiet, and all Abbot could hear was his own heavy breathing inside the mask.

“What in the shit was that?” Ab hissed. Rip was stalking around in near-silence, rifle held high and careful to step around crunchy debris.

“Not sure,” he grumbled, “Sounded almost like a Clicker-”

It wailed again, short, gasping breaths.

“Is that a fucking baby?”

Rip didn’t say anything, but Abbot followed close behind him as they drew closer to the cries. It was definitely a baby, a young one. A new stickiness under Abbot’s boots made him look down.

Blood like glinting, black oil winked up at them from the gritty flooring. It was fresh, no more than an hour if he had to guess. 

“Shit,” Rip finally muttered, his light falling on shapes in the dark. 

There were two corpses, one man and one woman. Their bodies were twisted in strange angled, blood coagulating from wounds that didn’t look like they came from infected. Abbot squinted at their maskless faces. Their eyes weren’t bulging or bleeding the way they would if they’d breathed the spores. It seemed more like their final breaths were drawn before the spores could affect them. Abbot frowned, then looked up. There was a bright light in the glass ceiling above.

“They must’ve fallen through,” Abbot observed.

Rip shined his light over the dead man, and Abbot’s eyes fell on the Firefly symbol around the arm.

“Well shit,” Rip hissed, kicking the man over angrily, “These were our guys. Goddamn.”

The old man bent to pick through the man’s pockets and bags, and Abbot’s eyes lingered on the smallest corpse, the third he hadn’t seen right away. It seemed like a blessing the child perished with his parents; Abbot had seen infected children. He was grateful to not be seeing another. 

“Hows about we pick these ones clean and tell the others we lost their trail? Split the their shit 50-50 so the day isn’t a total fuckin’ loss.”

Abbot nodded without a word, swinging his rifle around his back and bending to the woman’s corpse. He started to undo the bundle of cloth around her torso, hoping for something valuable in the rough fabric. Abbot wasn’t expecting the damn thing to move.

“CHRIST!”

Abbot jumped back, falling onto his ass with his heart hammering in his chest. Rip shot to his feet, his gun pointing at the corpse.

“What, what?” he demanded.

Abbot swallowed, eyes wide as she came to a crouch beside the woman again. The chubby fist that came flapping out of the wrapped cloth. He stared dumbly for a second before pulling the blanket down for a better view. A small face poked out, squinting into the flashlight on Abbot’s gun

“Holy shit….” he breathed, letting his rifle fall. “It’s fucking alive.”

The child regarded him with pale green eyes, wispy red hairs clinging to its skull and dirt on its round cheeks. There were no gas masks for babies, not that Abbot had ever seen. But the child wasn’t coughing, there were no black veins against her face or blood in her eyes. Its face twisted up, lower lip trembling as the baby started to fuss from a toothless, gummy mouth. It whimpered a tragic little cry.

Rip took a step forward, aiming his gun at the infant.

“Get back- I got this,” he grumbled. Abbot reacted, shooting at hand out over the infant to stop Rip from pulling the trigger.

“Whoa wait, man-”

“What’dya mean ‘wait’?” Rip asked in a caustic tone, “Its fuckin’ infected. And even if it weren’t, you aint that kid’s mama- and we ain’t a fuckin’ kindergarten.”

“It’s fine, Rip, just look at it! It’s not coughing, its not all fucked up in the face. I think its ok-”

“Boy are you goddamn insane? Just get the fuck outta my way-”

Abbot bolted to his feet, pushing Rip several steps back with a hard jab to his chest.

“Oh, you really fucked up now,” Rip snarled, raising his rifle again.

There was a resounding bang.

Rip dropped to the ground like a sack of bricks. Abbot dropped his rifle to his side, staring at the fresh corpse.

“Oh shit…,” he breathed, shaking his head. 

That was dumb. That was so fucking dumb. The other raiders would skin Abbot alive. He stared at Rip’s body, blood pouring from the wound over his heart. Abbot’s hands were shaking.

 Below, the baby started to fuss loudly.

Abbot’s eyes fluttered down and he crouched between the corpses. The infant was cold to the touch and covered in the sticky blood of someone else. Ab rifled through the other bags until he found a tin of milky white powder and a baby bottle. He helped himself to their medical supplies and food, the few bullets they had. They didn’t need it anymore. He then looked long and hard at the child, still nestled against the dead woman’s chest. It stared back, big round eyes watching Abbot back. It breathed normally, not so much as a hitch in each little inhale. Abbot didn’t know how to explain it- maybe it took longer for little kids? He wouldn’t know until-

There was a screech of a Clicker somewhere in the dark behind him. Abbot scooped the infant from the dead woman’s embrace and headed for the exit.

*********

“God, come on already,” Abbot grunted, adjusting the fussing baby on his shoulder and gently patting her back. “You know you’d feel better if you just burped, you little shit.”

The little girl belched loudly, then released a contented gurgle. 

“See?” he said matter-of-factly, “Told you.”

The child yawned and stretched, arching her little back. Abbot couldn’t help but smile. She was impossibly small, and still stringy in the way new babies were. She reminded him of his childhood, back before the world went to shit. The oldest of six back then, and the child his single mother relied on to keep his younger siblings in order. Helping with homework, baths, finding shoes, cooking meals. The whole nine. He remembered hating them, and his mother, for stealing away his youth. Now, Abbot would give everything to see them again. He couldn’t remember if his youngest sister’s eyes were blue or brown anymore. It was strange how seven years could feel like seven lifetimes.

It had been two days since he’d pulled the child from that spore-filled mall. They hadn’t gotten very far. Ab wanted to watch her, make sure he wasn’t going to get gummed to death by a freaky baby infected if he put her in a satchel and carried her. So far, the child was still normal. 

She acted just like a baby should, wanted warm milk every few hours and to be butt-patted to sleep. She still didn’t have a name, in part because he didn’t think she’d make it long enough for it to matter. But for the last few hours, Abbot had started brainstorming. Anita, after his favorite auntie. Or maybe Josephine for his grandmother. Abbot never thought he’d get to name a person, so he didn’t want to fuck it up. He could name her something from a game- Peach? Zelda? He could call her Zee.

“Little Zee…” he murmured, standing carefully so that he didn’t jostle the sleeping child. 

He’d been using a shopping basket as her cradle. It was padded with dead leaves on the bottom for warmth and a blanket he boiled then air dried to make sure it was clean. He nestled her inside, adjusting the blanket so that it wasn’t in any danger of covering her face as she slept.

Abbot stood up straight and looked down at the child, hands on his hips. He released a massive yawn, using one hand to rub his brow.

“What the fuck am I doing…?” he muttered to himself, not for the first time but certainly the last.

Abbot saw the shadow flitting across the wall ahead of him too late. Arms snaked around him, then the sickening pinch of a blade against his throat.

“Got you, you traitorous fuck,” a man’s voice hissed. 

Abbot could feel his flesh splitting as the knife ran from ear to ear. He fell to his knees, coughing as hot, itching blood drenched his hands. He collapsed onto his side, gasping up at the person standing above them. 

“This is for Rip, asshole,” the Raider said, and pointed a pistol at Abbot’s face. 

There was a flash, and a bang. 

***********

Marlene was crawling out of the spore-filled bottom level of the mall. Raiders were all over this part of town, and she’d run into more than a few trying to get down there. Their blood was crusted against her face and under her fingernails. Irritating obstacles, needless distractions from her goal. The corpse’s Marlene left behind stained the mall’s gritty, stone floors.

It was deep in the guts of the old mall where she found them, Ty and Marsha and their toddler. New Firefly recruits they’d picked up on their way in from Salt Lake. It felt cruel that they’d gotten close enough to see the goddamn gates of the QZ, only to start losing people now. 

Marsha’s wrap was empty. Marlene looked, but the second child had gone without a trace. They wouldn’t have abandoned the girl, not in a million years. And no way the child could have crawled away; she could barely hold her own head up yet. 

Only days ago, Marlene begged Marsha to do what Marlene couldn’t and keep the newborn alive. The couple had been touched, honored even, to look after Anna Williams’ daughter. All Marlene had to do was get them safely into Boston QZ where they’d have a safe place to raise the children, and to help with Firefly operations undercover.

Marlene had been relieved, so fucking relieved to pass off Anna’s kid on someone else. The Fireflies and motherhood… Marlene couldn’t do both. In her desperation to run away from a baby, Marlene let her best friend down again. 

Anna’s baby girl, carried off by infected or some goddamn Raider. 

Marlene wasn’t the type to wallow, to thrash and scream and lose herself to emotion. But if ever there was a time when she wanted to, it was then. 

She pulled off her mask as the air cleared, gasping for fresh air. She shielded her eyes from the orange glare of the sunset, pouring in from a broken wall ahead of her. The QZ’s wall ran the length of the skyline just beyond the Summer Street bridge. Marlene’s cool eyes scanned the rooftops, mapping her route over the bridge.

A sudden gunshot made a flock of pigeons on a nearby rooftop startle into flight.

Marlene crouched down fast, ducking behind a broken bit of brick wall and peeking out at the building across the road where the shot came from. A raider was stepping out of a window onto a fire escape. She watched him descend to the street and disappear around a northern block. It was only when Marlene was sure she was alone that she heard something on the breeze. 

Loud and clear, the muffled cry of a baby. 

Marlene’s heart nearly stopped. She held her breath, sure she was only imagining it. The crying persisted and grew louder as Marlene stood staring at the building across the road. She wouldn’t remember climbing down, scrambling across the street or heaving herself up to the fire escape. 

Marlene climbed inside the spacious loft of rotting wood and exposed piping. In one corner there was a small camping stove, water still simmering in a pot over it. There was an empty baby bottle next to it. Marlene stepped over the dead raider on the floor, his blood still warm and runny. From the red shopping basket, padded with leaves and a tattered blue blanket, came a soft whimper. Marlene held her breath as she walked over on stiff legs, wondering if she should be praying. Thanking someone, or begging for forgiveness.

Anna….

The infant stared up at Marlene with watering green eyes. Marlene let out a sob. She stowed her weapon and reached for the child. She held the little girl close, breathing in the new-baby smell and pressing a soft kiss to the child’s velvety red hair.

“...His life would be better with you in it.

Journal,

Here, we have Uncle, Leo. My mother’s only brother and Sanaa’s dad. I’ve always looked up to my uncle. An Alumni of La Fiesta Tech, who graduated with honors in technology. He currently works at Rainy Day Entertainment as an Independent Consultant in the tech guru branch.

I remember the first computer he ever introduced us to. The screens were green! He later went on to upgrade them as technology progressed and I remember playing DOOM, pitfall, pac-man and so many other titles with him. It was the start of my fandom for video-games.

All-in-all, my uncle exposed me to make the most of life. He has owned motorcycles, four-wheelers, and boats since the day I can remember. Loves the great outdoors, pub-games, darts, pool, and hanging out. He runs a motorcycle club by the name of Llama Bones and enjoys camping a great deal. A well-rounded country boy from the south.

9.16.17

Journal, I’m somewhat inspired. This month marks two years since the home-going of my dearest mom. I used to have a tag on this blog title, ‘Good Company’ pertaining to life in ‘Sims Forever’ mode. After she passed, I no longer had the desire to create cc nor keep up with rl through TS4 journaling.

Turning over a new leaf...

I’ve certainly learned a lot along the way. The power of forgiveness, the pursuit of happiness, and the strength of family. With that being said, I’ve decided to put forth the effort of journaling once again. Moving forward, reflecting, and maintaining the journey of this thing called, life.

Next of Kin and 🍂 are the tags for my journey. A simple leaf, representing ancestry, the family tree and the bond between. Mom would be happy to see me get back up, dust myself off and move forward, again...