Wildflower Wildfire, Ellie Williams.

𝟎𝟎𝟑. calm before the storm

  Alaska is quite good at observing things— finding patterns, and things that don't belong, and whatnot. So, as she steps deeper and deeper into Eugene's place, entering rooms she's never entered before, she notices a bookcase. There isn't anything particularly strange about the bookcase itself, but it seems slightly out of place and Alaska is determined to find out what's on the other side.

She contemplates for a second, wondering if she really wants to know what's down there. But her impulses inevitably take over, so with all of her strength, Alaska pushes the bookcase to the side. Surprisingly, the bookcase slides across the floorboards with ease, exposing a door that had been hiding behind it.

  Suddenly, Ellie appears beside her with an equally perplexed expression after having searched and cleared the place. "The hell's down there?" She asks with her eyebrows stitched together.

  Alaska glances up at her, "I have no idea." She speaks casually as she opens the door.

  They're instantly met with a set of stairs that lead underground, lit dimly by old flickering lightbulbs held together with loose cords.

  "I swear, if there's dead bodies down here, or some shit, I'm so done." Alaska says at a fast pace, internally panicking with hesitance.

  Ellie looks at her with a confused expression, "Why would there be dead bodies down there?" She asks rhetorically with a slightly bitter tone.

  "Why wouldn't there be dead bodies down there?" She reasons in a frantic state. Ellie's face suggests that she isn't bothered at all. "I'm serious. This is how serial killers used to hide their victims." Alaska continues.

  Ellie merely sighs, stepping in front of Alaska to lead the way down the stairs. Alaska follows closely behind, still thinking about the possibility of accumulated and decomposed bodies— as if she hasn't seen and dealt with much worse things in her lifetime.

  "I read this old article one time about a serial killer that hid his victims under his home and no one realized it 'til it started to smell." Alaska continues on, rambling in a state of nervousness.

  "There's worse things than serial killers, y'know." Ellie mutters, stepping down the stairs.

  "But think about it. In this world, serial killers could get away with anything. They can't even get help or be contained anymore." Alaska speaks at a fast pace, holding her shotgun tightly in her hands.

  Clearly, Alaska had taken interest in how crime used to be before the apocalypse. Killing used to be something that was unthinkable— Alaska doesn't know if she could ever kill someone without even an ounce of hesitance or remorse. It's one thing to survive, but it's another thing to feed so deeply into the bloodlust.

  Tommy, of course, found out about Alaska's peculiar interest and told her about each famous serial killer that he could remember. He even found books and articles about the psychology of a serial killer— about how and why they become that way. Alaska wonders how many people out there really think like that.

Ellie doesn't answer, not even surprised or affected by Alaska's sudden rambling about serial killers. As she reaches the bottom of the stairs, Ellie stops in front of another closed door.

Alaska glances up at Ellie and gives her a look, "Go ahead." She states with persistence.

Ellie rolls her eyes, turning the door knob before being met with an unpredictable sight.

"Holy shit." Alaska mumbles, stepping in front of Ellie when she realizes that there, in fact, weren't any dead bodies hidden in the underground room. "It's weed," she chuckles in disbelief.