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He held up his hands as if she herself were holding him up at mock gun point with just that look in her eye. Immediately, Luca feigned innocence, backing away with a jolt of dramatic flair. 

“I wouldn’t dream of it, Wilma.” 

He danced back toward her with a smirk, matching her stride with his hands clasped tightly behind his back as they peeled away from the others. They crossed the road and waded through the brush on the edge of the forest slowly. Every so often he turned back, just to look at her. To take in the view of the sunrise in the East as it rose behind her. It was breathtaking, and he’d be lying if half — if nearly all — the reason he wanted to go: that view. Will’s smile in a haze of orange with a golden hue. 

“Try to keep up,” he tossed the challenge over his shoulder with a smile before diving into the green sea before them.

They pass through a thick of trees; he took out his machete to cut through the branches and really heavy shrubbery. It’s so dam hot and the sweat gathering on Luca’s back was only aggravating the dryness of his throat as they traveled. Thirst gnawed at him and water inched its way into his purview quickly, but if he’s being honest — he’d much rather be out here alone, away from the others. It felt like actually stepping outside, finally taking a breath of fresh air being so far away from everyone. It was as close to relaxation as he’d gotten since they’d left Modesto and he’d been craving it greatly; Wilma by his side only sweetening the moment.

“You hear that?” he stopped for a moment, holding his hand up and straining his ears as hard as possible. Running water lightly in the distance, he could hear it faintly. “That way,” he pointed over her shoulder and they emerged onto a tiny little creek moments later just like he’d promised.

“See?” he took a big step out in front of her and twirled back around to face her. Bending at the knees, he dipped his hands into the water and splashed it back up into her face with a grin from ear to ear. “Having fun?

    It was unfair how melodic her name sounded when he said it. But despite the way it rolled off his tongue ( as if it were a gift, as if it were natural, as if it belonged there ) she couldn’t stop the flush of embarrassment that colored her cheeks. But was she embarrassed by the sound of her name, or the way that she warmed purely by the sound of his voice? Didn’t he know that he had the ability to undo her by that, and that alone?

    “I knew I should’ve just told everyone my name was Colorado.” She muttered under her breath, taking the teasing in stride nonetheless.  

    He led the way, her steps falling after his -- trusting that he knew the way and she had naught but to follow. Every time he glanced back, she smiled, her lips curling at the edges before she could think to do otherwise. She wondered if she looked foolish with this loose and lazy grin painted across her features. But how could she stop herself, when he looked at her that way? She was undeserving of the adoration. Luca, however...he deserved the way that her eyes lingered at the edges of his lips, as if the secrets of the world could be found there. He deserved the way that she glanced at him every couple of seconds as if she didn’t dare believe that he were wholly man, because such a person couldn’t be so beautiful and good without embodying something divine. 

    But then he teased her and she laughed, knowing full well it was meant to goad her along.

      The rhythmic sound of his machete cutting through the foliage was soon overlapping with the sound of running water. She nearly ran into his back when he paused, but successfully caught herself before too much damage could be done. When she looked up at him, she couldn’t help but smile warmly at him, his excitement so palpable that it almost hurt to look at. If she wanted, she could press her hand to his face, to press her lips to the corner of his mouth as if she might taste the excitement from that was evident there...

    She was almost thankful for the cold shock of the water that cut through her thoughts. 

 It was the anger that gave him pause, even as the inhuman screaming built to a crescendo. He was struck by the part of her lips. Most people Micah had met lately didn’t have the energy for anger, or if they did, they used it as fuel to survive. The anger shining in her eyes was different though. She was truly appalled at what his silence had implied, that they trade his life for theirs. For the first time in what would have been weeks, Micah smiled, soft but fierce with a danger of catching like a candle lit in the pitch blackness.

   "Sorry for doubting you,“ he said, and meant it, taking his hands down from behind his head so that he could take the pack the woman (the man had called her Will) had shoved into his hands. The weight in his hands was the same weight he felt on his shoulders when he prayed. This was a sign. He was meant to do something here. Finally, the woman looked at him and in her eyes, he could see the path was meant to walk opening up before him.

   He would make sure the two of them made it out alive.

   "There’s another exit in the supply room. It leads to an alley with a fire escape that should give us higher ground if we need it,” he said, finally looking over at the man who was moving the heaviest furniture in the cafe towards the front door. Then he crouched down and got the shotgun he’d stashed under the bar and the ax that lay next to it, neither of which he’d reached for during their altercation. Outside, there was the sound of flesh hitting pavement rapidly, then something hit the boarded-up window with full force. Micah heard the crack of glass as it splintered, and knew it wouldn’t take much more for the window to shatter completely. Whatever was out there, it knew they were inside.

  "What do you need me to do?“

 His own plan was already starting to form in his head, one that would guarantee the both of them got out of this alive. They’d offered him half of everything, handed him back his life even though it had been laid at their feet with little resistance, and he planned to repay that kindness, just as God intended.

    Even amidst the chaos and shrieking of the oncoming horde, Ray took the moment to look surprised, pausing as he shoved a table against the door. He glanced at Will with a disbelieving shake of his head, impressed by the fact that the begging of his companion worked and that the stranger had just as many suicidal inclinations as she did. Will spared him a small, fierce  smile -- so similar to the stranger’s beside her -- before helping the man shove what supplies they could into the bag. It wasn’t much at all, and what little there was she would probably give to Ray anyway, but she would worry about that later. Right now, she needed to make sure that they would be alive long enough to worry about rationing it. 

    “I should be used to it by now,” she brushed off, glancing at the door as Ray shouldered his gun and aimed it at the door.

    “And yet she still gets mad...” Ray grumbled. “Won’t shut up about not stealing, not vandalising, not breaking and entering...” She paused while grabbing a pack of peanuts to shoot him an annoyed look. How could he possibly have the capacity to needle her when she could literally hear death itself running to greet them?

    Thankfully, the stranger stopped the two of them from bickering by offering them an escape route. A means of salvation when perdition was brutally knocking both literally and metaphorically at their door. She closed her eyes and paused, pulling her bandana up to cover her mouth as she tried to drown out the howls of the damned.

    “We can’t all leave out here together, we need to split up. Ray has a bad leg. Once we get out, you need to drop down and create as much noise as possible and run, you have to do it near the building across the alley that has the two fire escapes so you can get up higher once they all start coming. Then once Ray and I get on Bastard we’ll -- “ 

    “Fuck!”

    Will grabbed her bat and tomahawk, following the sound of glass shattering and a determined infected scrambling through, forcing its emaciated body through the space between the table and the window. Ray had swung around his rifle to shoot it, but fired too early, catching its shoulder. Her fury at the infected for getting so close to the stranger and Ray overruled her sense of logic -- she growled and shoved the stranger behind her, then grabbed her companion by the back of his shirt. She yanked him away from the bite of the infected as her tomahawk swung out and embedded itself in the creature’s forehead. 

    Then she grabbed the pack and grabbed the man’s wrist -- half in protection, half purely for the need to make sure he (her angel, her godsent) was okay -- as Ray loosed a round of bullets. 

Laughing lightly, he wiped away the sides of his mouth with the back of his hand, breaking eye contact briefly to stick his head back into his tent. He rummaged quickly, turning to look over his shoulder. “I vaguely remember drinking the rest in the middle of the night,” he said, annoyance creeping into the edges of his tone. Not at her, of course. At himself, for being so careless and succumbing to midnight thirst when he should have just waited.

“Yeah, I’m out,” he sighed, stepping back and shaking his empty canteen. A few droplets spilled out onto the dry grass and he couldn’t help but curse himself. Idiot. “Fancy a walk to the creek?”

He didn’t really wait for an answer, hoping he wasn’t wrong in assuming she’d join him. Though distantly he wondered if she had better things to do, better people to spend her time on. For he surely wasn’t the most deserving of that smile she was giving him, beautiful and as bright as the sun that was shining down atop her head. 

Luca took a few more steps toward her, returning her earlier hip bump with one of his own, lightly tapping his shoulder against hers before continuing on.

“Shall we?” he turned on his heel but kept walking away, raising his arms and motioning her toward him. “It’ll be fun, I promise.”

    Her eyes lingered on his frame as he ducked away from her briefly, hands clasped behind her back as he held up the evidence of his truth. She rolled from her heels to the balls of her feet with a lopsided smile, eyes rarely straying from his. Try as she might, she couldn’t completely disregard how comfortable she was with him, it was evident in every action, every word that she exchanged with him. Seeing Will smile was a rarity. Seeing Will content was wishful thinking. Yet, here she was -- at ease with herself, with nature, with him. 

    Humming in consideration, she rolled her eyes to the sky. As though she could say no. In all honesty, she really couldn’t remember the last time the word slipped past her lips since he waltzed into her life and partially carried her to Modesto. 

    “I guess,” she relented, following after him.”But I wouldn’t make any promises unless you’re sure you can keep them.” 

    Will tucked her hair behind her ear, ducking her head as she quickened her pace. Then, before she could talk herself out of it, she slipped her hand into his, eyes glancing at him before focusing on something extremely uninteresting on her boots as she walked beside him. She ignored the hammering of her traitorous heart against her ribs as she stepped closer to him, thumb stroking the back of his hand, shoulder occasionally pressing against his. 

    “Fun.” The word tasted foreign on her tongue, rolling oddly from it. ”Forgot what that meant.”

Like the buzzing of a hive, her thoughts whirred in her mind.

Gemma envisioned it as a dozen nails being shot through a thin sheet of glass; fast enough that they didn’t shatter it completely but with enough force that each hole made it that much more fragile. Her peace of mind was the glass and her thoughts were the nails. But she wasn’t even sure what had brought on this onslaught of thoughts considering that silence was always her companion rather than her aggressor. Perhaps it was the unexpected change she had yet to acclimatize to, or perhaps the fact that she was still alive when she wasn’t meant to be.

Oh, how she missed the quiet that had overtaken her mind in that decisive moment; when her goals were stripped down to closing her eyes, plunging a syringe and becoming one with the earth rather than becoming one with the undead. It was the most peaceful she had felt in years but it eventually ended way too soon. It had felt like a mere moment before she could feel herself being pulled from the abyss. And now here she was, still possessing the life she had meant to cast away and being tormented by it.

Silence was often her solace but now it was turning against her.

All Gemma could do was move.

Leaning her head back and breathing a long sigh towards the colorless night sky, Gemma tucked her pistol into her pants and jumped off the railing she was sitting on in one impulsive move. She didn’t know where she would go or if she would even come back; all she knew was that she needed to move and hope that she could outrun her thoughts. Slipping through the gate like a ghost, Gemma then started moving away from the sanctuary with swift steps but she didn’t make it far.

The sharp voice halted her and her eyes closed regretfully before she slowly turned to face the person who caught her. She vaguely recognized them—Will, she believed she was called. Raising her palms in a placating gesture, Gemma whispered, “Look, I – I know I wasn’t supposed to leave my post,” Her words were hurried and breathless. Not because she feared the intruder but because she felt overwhelmed. Not just by this instance but everything. Up until a few days ago, she was drifting among the dead as though she were one of them and now she was living with people, a member of an actual community—and fucking up her obligation to said community, as well. “But I had to leave. For a bit.”

    Slowly, she processed what the girl was saying the longer she talked. Then the details started to filter in; the wide-eyed look, the way her words rushed together, the erratic breathing. Suddenly, remorse twisted her stomach. Will combed her fingers through her hair, then slung the crossbow behind her back -- lips twitching into a thoughtful frown. Truly, she didn’t know whether or not to berate her or simply request another take her spot. Why would they put someone so green out on duty like this? It was a recipe for disaster. She was as twitchy as a fox surrounded by wolves. All Will had to do was bare her teeth and it looked as though the other might just about keel over. 

    “Abandoning your post is one thing,” Will said flatly. “Leaving without proper protocol is another.” She didn’t dare continue, didn’t dare speak into existence what might occur. The girl leaves, doesn’t close the gate properly -- then what? One infected slips in. Then another. Then there’s a massacre, and all because the woman just had to leave.

 But, at the same time, Will sympathized. It was overwhelming for her. Still is.

    Certain people made the transition easier. Her own forethought to make herself a.”s unapproachable as possible helped. People don’t dare ask questions when they know that one syllable answers are all they’re going to get in response. It was easier, but not necessarily better. What would have been better is if she and Ray hadn’t gotten separated and had just continued on their way. What would have been better is if she had come to Modesto and seen her children and her husband standing by the gates...that would have been better.

    Will shrugged. “None of my business, though.”

THIS IS A CALL … 

                   TO ANYONE OUT THERE … 

   There was a sigh in Micah’s lungs that he tried to let go unbreathed as the woman stepped closer to him. He understood the concept of paranoia, he had felt it in overwhelming waves for the first year after the infrastructure of the nation had collapsed, but had found that it had all but faded into non-existence within him after that. Now he only felt a quiet impatience whenever these kinds of proceedings took place, recognizing that they were necessary for some people, though mostly he preferred that if people were going to trick him and take his things, they do it quickly.

   His gaze wasn’t on the man in the chair who cradled his gun in his lap and who seemed very eager to shoot Micah with it. Instead, he focused solely on the woman and put his hands behind his head like she’d said. She had careful precise hands, and Micah knew she’d probably done this more than once. When he spoke, he was mostly addressing her.

   "There weren’t many of them and they were all freshly bitten or runners only a few hours before the storm rolled in. Just before it started raining I heard the shrieking start up. Other than that, I can’t be sure.“

   As if on cue, wet, broken screams filled the streets outside. They were getting very close now. "We can try reinforcing the doors and windows, but they’ll only wait us out.” His gaze went to the gun in the man’s lap again. The easiest way for them to get out quickly would be to wound Micah and leave him behind to distract the infected. It would certainly be a very slow way to die. Micah held very still as he waited for the woman with steady hands to come to the same conclusion.

    It was odd how one could become so intensely acclimated with one person’s presence that the movements of two individuals could mimic each other, falling into a synchronicity of mind and matter. Will didn’t fully appreciate it until she heard the reassuring click of Ray’s rifle the moment the man started to carefully move his hands behind his head. Her gaze remained on the man in front of her as she noted the juxtaposition of awareness. Just as she was able to subconsciously take cues from Ray, she was hyperaware of this stranger. Every movement, every bob of his Adam’s apple, every rise and fall of his chest. One twitch of his muscle and either a bullet would sink into this man’s chest or he would find her hands around his neck. 

    How could she look into this man’s eyes while a morbid picture was being painted in her head? 

    She was so tired. She just wanted it all to stop. 

    But her calloused hands continued on with their duty, lithely going over his limbs. Searching, searching, searching. All the while, the weight of his gaze settling on her -- bidding her to look up and see him. So, instead, she kept her eyes on her hands, following their path to see if she could visually take note of any discrepancies between what she felt and what she saw. 

    “Freshly bitten and runners...” Ray repeated, leaning back in the chair. “Possibility of stalkers or vomiters. Never rule them out.”

    He spoke the latter part under his breath, his mutterings more for himself than anyone else, but Will hummed in agreement anyway. He was the protector of her sanity. She was the defender of his. Which was why, when she straightened up with a half-formed response on her lips, she did not flinch when a shriek filled the silence. 

    A glance at Ray. A furrow of her brow. 

    Then her lips parted in, in both parts anger and horror at the quiet accusation that was implied. “We haven’t completely given up on the better part of our human nature.”

    “Yet,” Ray tacked on with a chuckle, rising from the seat. An inhuman howl punctuated his sentence. 

     He glanced at Will and nodded briefly, pushing the tables and chairs towards the door. She grabbed the man’s wrist and put her pack in his hands. “We’ll split whatever supplies there are with you, 50/50. Then we need you to do a favor for us.” 

    “What’s your magic word, Will?” Ray teased, the levity of the comment strained a bit as he shoved another table towards the door.

time: late evening

location: modesto

availability: closed to @gemackerman

    Will couldn’t decide whether the light of the moon was comforting or not. On the one hand, it illuminated the path before her eyes, coyly casting its light on the steps ahead of her. On the other -- it seemed to tease her, allowing shadows to linger at the edges of her eyes. Sometimes the shadows came in familiar shapes. The silhouettes of people she no longer wished to remember. The silhouettes of people she longed to step closer to. She grit her teeth and ignored the quiver of her fingers and the tremble of her bottom lip. Those people were one in the same. A familiar ache settled in her stomach.

    For the first time since she’d left him...

    ...she missed Ray. 

    While she tightened her grip on the crossbow the last guard had shoved into her hands, she strayed towards the other guard’s territory, where their paths overlapped. Will pulled up her bandana from her neck, effectively hiding the frown that appeared there, turning the corner of her lips down in confusion. Where was the other guard? Weren’t they supposed to -- ? The frustrated growl that slipped past her lips was poorly swallowed. They had probably fallen asleep or opted to sit on their ass and play cards with someone. There would be hell to pay once she spoke to -- 

    The quiet crunch of the sole of a shoe hitting the frozen ground made her pause. Her breath caught in her throat as her mind quickly ran through the series of options. Runner? Couldn’t be, she’d be able to smell them. Stalker? Possibly. Vomiter? The option made her stomach sink. But the gait of the footfalls sounded too lively, lacking the desperate cadence of an infected. 

    “What the hell are you doing?”

CLOVER: Does your character believe in luck? What about fate? 

Never ask her this question – because she had sworn to herself five years ago that fate couldn’t exist, because it would never be so cruel. Did they not often call fate a woman? Women had warmth in their touch and sternness in their voice. They were not cruel – yet fate was. It had taken everything away from her, leaving her in desolation. 

But somehow, even in desolation, she has persevered; endured. Not alone, though. Which is why she is forced to defend the existence of the cruel master that has taken all away, yet given enough to her that she can’t help but recognize that the existence of others is more than coincidence. Than luck. 

There are certain people whose destined stars make her grateful that fate sees fit to intersect with her own. 

PASSENGER: When your character imagines home, what do they see?

Once, it was a well-worn rug on a wooden floor, blankets and pillows piled on it with four warm bodies nestled together. Her son tucked against her, while her daughter was pressed into her husband’s side – both of them sleeping so soundly, trusting so wholly that the two people whose hands were entwined between them would protect them from all the evils of the world. Whether they be monsters lurking outside their door, under their beds, or in their closets. The smell of her son’s hair. The soft inhale and exhale of her daughter. The pressure of her husband’s fingers against her own. That was home. 

Now home is the ache in her stomach.

Now home is the sob that threatens to break her each day. 

    “Nice to meet ya, Will.” Blair spoke with a flat tone, as if she was already disinterested in the conversation — the very one that she had initiated. Her mother had never scolded her for playing with her food as a child, for not finishing what she started. The girl saw no harm in her antics. She didn’t actually care about the woman’s name, she just wanted to piss her off. Because how else would she be entertained? She’d always been prone to lashing out when she was in a bad mood, trying to drag others down with her. Why suffer alone?

    "I’m Blair.” She didn’t lift her gaze, getting straight to work and inspecting the area behind the lone desk in the office. “You can call me Clair, if you want. Feel free to get under my skin, too.” She knew that she was a nuisance, that ten people disliked her to every person that actually found her tolerable, but she didn’t let it get to her. All she needed was herself — she was her own savior. And it was true that a long life had lost its worth when the apocalypse began, but she wasn’t ready to go. Not yet. She wanted to see Paris first.

    What was left of it, at least. She listened as Will asked if she knew how to pick a lock, and just before she allowed herself to scoff, Blair tilted her head and flashed a smile. “You don’t?” The serpent in her was poised to strike, venom at the ready, but there was no need. She wasn’t one for targeting people that wouldn’t fight back. Will had better things to deal with, actual tragedies. All Blair had were cold memories, lost somewhere in an empty manor. She could never go home again. “I can teach you. Might as well learn something new.”

    From the way that Blair said the necessary pleasantries that common humans tended to exchange, it didn’t sound like she actually found them pleasant. But that didn’t bother Will much at all. If anything, it made it much easier to be around Blair -- the not-so-subtle digs and rather blatant brattiness that bordered on hostility was more preferable than pretending she was amicable with everyone. It was a little too much, forceful, like a child doing their utmost to demand attention. It was annoying, but not completely so. She wondered if her own daughter might have talked to her in the same manner. If she had the chance to grow up. 

    Her nails dug into the wood of her bat. 

    “Not really my thing,” Will murmured, eyes dancing around the room, lingering in the shadows and dark spaces. Merely because she didn’t want to be friends with everyone, didn’t mean that she was keen on grating their nerves. She remembered all too well the dark looks and ill-hidden sneers that had been cast her way by her actual family members. No need for her to relive the past with strangers who had forcibly been placed into familial-type positions. Her fingers nervously repositioned themselves on the handle, the muted heat of the air making her uncomfortable. Even now, it was difficult to shake off the cruelty they had shown her that engraved itself into her bones.

    Her eyebrows piqued in something similar to amusement as Blair scoffed at her lack of kleptomaniac tendencies. “I didn’t think picking locks was a societal norm.” Will combed her fingers through her hair as she rifled through the other draws, taking out whatever contents remained in there. “Maybe there’s some ammunition in there. A small firearm. First aid kit. Knife.” 

GLORY: Who is your character when they are alone? Do they change when they have an audience?

Will is very much a “what you see is what you get” type of person. In a crowd, she tends to fade to the back. In a group of 3 people, she prefers to listen and think rather than contribute to the conversation. In a 1-on-1 scenario, she prefers to ask the questions while the other person talks. And when she’s alone, she likes to make use of her hands while enjoying the silence. She is very much an observer, not a participater. 

JUDAS: What is your character’s worst betrayal, unto themselves or unto another?

“I’m not sure they realized or cared that it was their fault,” an amused chuckle left his mouth. His feet kicked at the dirt on the ground as he dragged his feet along, slowing down ever so slightly to even further the distance between them and the rest of the group. Ethan didn’t want–or need–any of them hearing what they were saying about them, if they were bothering to listen.

Although talking about how he was feeling wasn’t one of Ethan’s favorite things to do with the other members of the group, he didn’t mind Will’s question. It was better to answer it than to dwell on the attack he’d been the one to bring up in the first place. It wasn’t his fault for causing the disaster, but he couldn’t help but feel some kind of guilt for the trouble and chaos that had come after. That kind of stuff always came when he was around for too long, and hey, maybe if he had been closer to the action, he could’ve prevented people from getting hurt.

“‘M fine,” he shrugged, glancing down at the dirt and then back at Will. If Ethan trusted anyone in the group, it was her. She actually seemed to understand him; when the group inevitably fell apart, he thought he might even miss her. It was a mistake for getting to know someone as a friend. “Just not in the mood to die today, that’s all. Not in a god damn hardware store.”

    As he slowed his pace -- he walked so goddamn far with his long-legged strides -- Will glanced at him, a lopsided smile painting her face. She appreciated the fact that she wasn’t the only one reluctant to spend more time than necessary around them and their complicated political and emotional intricacies. This moment with Ethan that she was managing to steal was simple. And Will really, really enjoyed things being simple. She hummed in agreement at his words, closing her eyes and tilting her face upwards to catch some rays of the sun. As if that alone could banish the screams she heard that night...

    She cracked an eye open to look at him, lips pressing together as she remained quiet for a moment. “If I can help it, I’ll try to make sure you don’t.” The words were spoken softly, almost under her breath. Almost. There was a distinct look of discomfort on her face, but a determined furrow of her brow there as well. Regardless, she looked at him when she said it, dark hues daring lighter ones to defy her or mock her for it. So what if she would rather not leave this godforsaken area knowing that another person was at the mercy of the infecteds’ teeth? 

    “Is a hardware store really that bad?” She mused, glancing away from him to look ahead at the group. Their bickering seemed to have wholly distracted them from the fact that two members were straying further and further back. “I’d be happy to die right next to a chisel and a wood mallet. A power tool or two as my grave marker. Thought you might be too.” Will gently knocked her elbow against his, wry amusement wrinkling the corners of her eyes despite the topic being so bleak. 

The rapid padding of footsteps against pavement echoed in his head as he rolled over to face the morning. A distant dream — or rather, nightmare — of a lifetime ago, when hope had filled his lungs each time the sun rose. When he had a fighting chance with Lola by his side. Now, it’s just dread. Hatred for the shining sun and the false hope it promised each time it rose. Though some days it appeared a certain someone casted far less of a shadow than anyone else did. And that person just so happened to be standing right outside his tent as he emerged. 

WIlma. 

Each whisper of her name was like a pierce to his heart, yet a breath of fresh air. A slap to his face, but one hell of a welcomed sight as he locked eyes with her. He wanted to smile, to offer her up some sort of kindness, more than what she offered him simply because Luca knew she deserved it.

But he can’t. Or won’t. It’s one of the two.

He took the peach from her palm and sank his teeth into the skin with a crunch. Juice dripped from the corners of his mouth, but his stomach welcomed the nutrition all the same. After all, it’d been two days since he ate a proper meal. 

“Thanks,” he smirked, bending down to tie the laces of his boots before gathering up his things. “You ready to go? I think I’m out of water,“ he noted, but really, Luca just wanted an excuse to get away from the crowd, and hopefully with her by his side.

   An old ache was soothed as she glanced up at him. Suddenly her breaths became easier but more fretful. Her smile became grander, painting across her face -- but shyer -- like when the sun tilts towards favored flowers, gently coaxing open their petals. He was her sun. And all she wanted to do was bask in the rays of contentment ( how she ached from missing it when it was gone ) no matter how briefly she was allowed to indulge in it. Will greedily monopolized his company when she could and these few moments were no exception. Despite the irony that Lucas was always the exception. Always. 

    It was how he persuaded her to join the merry band of marauders after all. And she was only ever grateful when she remembered that it meant she could spend a few stolen minutes or hours with him. 

    Greedy. 

    She watched him eat the peach, eyes narrowing as they swept over his frame -- hints of concern etching itself across her face. Regardless, she couldn’t help but playfully bump her hip against his as he bent down, seeing if he would stumble. “You got a li’l something right here,” she teased, prodding the corner of his mouth and the remains of the peach that hung there. What she wouldn’t give to see a rare smile paint across his lips, reminding her that -- despite the harshness of the journey they’ve embarked on -- he would be okay. 

   Will nodded at his invitation, glad to have an excuse to stow away with him. 

   Belatedly she wondered if the moon ever wished it could steal away the sun. Her head canted to the side as she started to walk away, waiting for him to follow ( as if she could ever think to leave him behind ).

    “You think you’re out of water?”

   He’d only been able to bury half the bodies before he’d heard the shrill, inhuman screams echoing in the distance. It was probably the smell that was drawing them closer– the rotting, cloying scent that only seemed to grow stronger as the September sun beat down on the rows of corpses Micah had dragged out from their homes. The dirt was dry and crumbling from the lack of rain, and it had taken him all of yesterday and most of that day to dig the holes deep enough. Now he’d have to wait for the hordes to pass through, hoping they didn’t stop to further desecrate the dead. Sighing, he stabbed his shovel into the ground and headed back into town to take cover.

   It was only a few minutes after he’d entered the cafe that dark, heavy clouds started to roll in. He watched from a crack in the boarded up windows as the sky opened up and fat drops of rain started to soak the streets. Another blessing sent from God, he supposed.

   Hours later, the rain continued, unrelenting. Every once in a while he’d hear movement from outside and he’d go still, waiting, listening. But nothing ever came close to the cafe.

   Until he heard the sound of frantic running.

   A couple burst in, the woman stumbling and the man already had his gun drawn and pointed at Micah before she could get back to her feet.

    “Someone who doesn’t have anything for you to steal,” he said, putting the water and rations down on the table so he could half-heartedly raise his hands in surrender. “I wouldn’t suggest you shoot me. The noise would have this place swarmed in seconds.”

    Soft. Soothing. That was what she was going to remember about his voice. But was it soft to lighten the lie? Or was it gentle simply because he was? Her eyes narrowed as she mentally flipped a coin, the bead of water rolling down her cheek and slowly creating a puddle right where she stood. His hands were up in surrender almost as soon as they crashed in. If he had wanted them to die he could have whipped out a gun and shot them where they stood -- and they wouldn’t be able to react. He had a good couple of seconds when they were scrambling to shoot them. 

    She really wishes he had shot them. 

    After giving him a pointed look, she slowly pushed the barrel of his gun down. Ray huffed, putting down his weapon and picking up a lone chair, sitting on it. He put the gun on his knees, spitting on the ground. Will rolled her eyes, stepping over to Micah with her hands up. A one-over glance was enough to tell her that he wasn’t openly carrying any weapons, but that wasn’t good enough for her. Last time Will and Ray trusted a third party, they had been robbed. You only make that mistake once. 

    “I’m going to pat you down. While I do that, tell us what you know of Paso Robles. How many infected, how many are screamers, how many are stalkers -- you get the idea.”

    “You touch her, you die.” Ray added helpfully.

     Her eyes didn’t move from the man in front of her. “Hands behind your head.”

a world before death