Sixteen Months Later
Just as birds do, Zeppelin and Benji migrated in the winter, but instead of flocking to warmer weather, they chose to move north. Sixteen months of scavenging, avoiding large cities and main highways, fighting off the dead the best they could manage.
They longest they spent in one place was a week at a cabin in the mountains. The little home sat high up on the steepest side of the mountain, surrounded by a thick line of evergreen trees. They were wary for the first day or two, but began to settle and make plans for the long run. She sketched out a garden space, and every morning as they prepared to hunt, Benji prayed to find a golden retriever out in the woods.
They were happy there.
And then a horde of corpses forced their limp bodies up the mountain, tearing through the thin picket fence surrounding the land. Benji had been awake, sipping on an ancient bottle of scotch he found in the basement. He tossed it to the porch floor when he heard them, and darted inside to shake Z awake.
They fled in the middle of the night, and learned to never trust a safe space after that.
It's been longer than she could remember since she'd spoken to another human apart from her brother. Any group they'd come across these past few months, they mostly tended to avoid. They ran with a band of men that called themselves the Claimers for a few days. Z despised them, and they all learned quickly to stay the fuck away from her unless they were prepared to take a dagger to their throats.
Benji fit in with them well enough, they lived by a sense of code that he thought simple men could understand, and therefore could easily be controlled by that code. Have to keep brain dead shit-heads like them in check somehow, he had reasoned. He grew close with the leader Joe, who took him under his wing as they scavenged neighborhoods and department stores.
Then one afternoon, just when their small group had begun to claim different rooms in an old colonial style house, a stranger killed one of their own. Wether he'd been in the house already, or snuck in purely to take one of them out, she didn't know. The man managed to escape before any of them could catch him.
That was the moment Benji decided to leave the group, no longer trusting their ability to keep his sister safe. One constant over all this time on the road; no matter where the Bloom siblings found themselves, the very second Z's safety was put into jeopardy, he wouldn't hesitate to pull her out of the situation. No questions asked.
They took off without a goodbye, slipping out the back door and into the forest beyond.
Since then, they'd generally stuck with the idea of heading to Washington, but Benji didn't seem to be in any hurry to get there. At every abandoned building, run down farmhouse, or even a secluded clearing they came across, he'd want to search the property, clear it of any walkers and do a perimeter check.
That's how Z wound up in this god damn situation to begin with.
Four days earlier, they'd found a couple of horses that had been forgotten long ago, the only gate to their acre or so of land still locked. Benji got it in his head that they just had to capture them. So two hours, three fights, and a few rough shoves later, they both sat astride a pair of worn out and grumpy mares as they scouted the woods.
Death had overtaken their world, but it would be stupid of one to forget that death had always been a part of it. A copperhead slithered through those trees, it's russet and umber scales indistinguishable from the dry summer brush. It wasn't until it leaped from the undergrowth that they knew it was there.
It hissed and spat at the mare, causing the timid creature to buck, rearing back and throwing Benji off with as much force as a mechanical bull versus a drunken college chick.
The fall alone cracked one of his ribs, but what truly worried her was the broken limb of a fallen branch imbedded in his side.
She leapt off her own horse, the copperhead now forgotten and slinking away back to it's hole. The mare took off after her friend, but all Z could focus on was the blood. It gushed out from the sides of the branch like hot, sticky honey poured from a jar, soaking the greenery and tinting the grass to an ugly rust.
"Fuck, fuck, fuck," she muttered to herself, ripping the thin flannel off her shoulders and twisting it into one large strip of fabric. Benji was semi conscious, enough to groan in protest when she lifted his chest to tie the cloth around his ribs, just above the wound, and pulled tight.
She'd used the last of their medical supplies long ago, and had barely more than a sip of water left. Today had been all about scavenging, and now it was too late. She gently pressed on her brother's ribs, noting which areas made him flinch and hiss the most. She was certain he'd have internal bleeding, but if she didn't get the branch out of him soon, a wound like that would take him out first anyway.
With no other options, Z gently scooped Benji off of the ground, wrapped his arm around her shoulder, and shakily set off back the way they came. Surely the owner of those horses would've lived close by, and hopefully their medicine cabinet had something of value.
It was a struggle, to put it mildly. Benji could barely stand on his own, and every step caused a growl of agony to escape his clenched teeth. Z strained under the weight of him, a body made up of thick muscles and heavy bones. Before they'd hobbled in the woods for even ten minutes, sweat was pouring down her temples and pooling under her breasts.
They'd gone at least four miles before they found the house, and by the time they reached the edge of the property, she was practically dragging his limp frame out of the woods. She'd kicked down the side door leading into the kitchen, no longer caring if there was anything dead or alive waiting for them.
All she cared about was getting her brother onto that saggy, puke-brown leather sofa. Once he was resting, on his left side so that the jagged, blood drenched stick was facing up to her, she sprinted upstairs to the first bathroom she could find. She ripped open the mirror on the front of the medicine cabinet, ignoring the way her fingernail snagged and tore away with it. Some ibuprofens, bandaids, pregnancy tests and floss stared back at her.
She slammed the door closed and headed to the bedroom, where she thankfully found another bathroom. She tore through the cabinets and drawers, leaving no nook or cranny unchecked. She managed to find a few pads of gauze, a sewing kit, and oxycodone. Much better luck.
Dashing back downstairs, and nearly tripping on the last two, she whirled around the corner into the kitchen where she looted through every cupboard until she could grab the first bottle of liquor she could find. When she returned to the living room, her brother was passed out on the couch, a line of drool trailing from his lips to his chin.
"Benji," she snapped, slapping him gently on his flushed cheeks. He didn't stir, and she chewed the flesh of her bottom lip as she mapped out her options. "Maybe it's best you're asleep for this anyway."
She straightened her spine, steeling herself for what came next. She wrapped her hand around the bloody branch, wincing at the sick squelch as she slowly pulled it out of him. Immediately, she tossed it to the floor and snagged the blanket off the back of the sofa, pressing the soft fabric into the hole under his rib cage. After a long time, filled with her watching his chest for the slow, steady rhythm of his breath, she replaced the blanket with gauze, gently pulling down the flannel she wrapped around him to keep the gauze in place.
She sat back on her heels, her hands trembling and her breath shaky. Though a creak in the other room made her jump, she didn't even bother checking it out. All she could do was stare at her brother.
Some time passed, though she wasn't really aware of how much. Once the blood had receded slightly, she popped open the sewing kit and threaded the needle, smiling to herself slightly when she chose pink. Her fingers still shook, and she forced them to still as she worked on him. They'd been there before, years ago. His father shoved him too hard one night and sent him crashing into the mirror hanging in the hallway. Benji got a gash above his eye, and his father got pissed that the mirror was broken.
She sewed him up, used black thread when he was appalled that she pulled out pink, then let him sleep in her bed that night. Now she watched him again, and that rhythm in his chest, and she began to cry.
That was four days ago, and Benji had only woken up once.
Z sniffed and lifted her binoculars, adjusting her position in the tree tops and wincing as a bulbous knot in the trunk lodged itself into her spine. What used to be a large broadcast relay station, judging by the giant satellite on the roof, was now just another eerie building ravaged by the hands of the apocalypse. Ivory vines grew thick and twisted up the stone walls, and the grassy field surrounding the fence was wildly overgrown.
It didn't really matter what it looked like, what mattered was that there were people living there, lots of them. And that meant medicine and supplies.
She'd watch and wait for a time, but she'd get into that outpost.
Even if it's the last thing she does in this life.
☾
Sundown came sooner than she'd expected, her sense of time had been off while her mind was swimming with plans. She'd watched the guards go in and out, pacing the gates or bringing supplies in through large, sliding metal doors. She knew there wasn't a set plan in the world she could have that would help her; the moment she stepped foot in that building, everything could change.
But Benji's time is running out, and she needs to act now.
She easily climbed down the tree, hopping to the branches below and swinging to the soft grass, landing on the plush forest carpet. She crept through the ebony blanket tree line like a tiger in the jungle, stalking the outpost as she made her way to the back of the building. There were no cameras as far as she could tell, so whatever group had this place must be pretty confident in their skills against intruders.
She went to the farthest corner of the tall fence; nearly surrounded in shadow, the chain links barely reflected the light from the heavy full moon. She adjusted the straps of her black backpack and stuck extra dagger that wouldn't fit in her holsters between her teeth as she started to climb.
It was a good thing the field surrounding the outpost was overgrown, just another point in her favor as she crouched through the thin blades. Though her movements were steady, her heart beat wildly in her chest like the raging call of a war drum.
Perhaps this was a suicide mission. She didn't necessarily care if she lived or died anymore, she'd seen enough. But if there was any chance she could find something to help her brother, and any chance that she can make it back out with it.. she has to take that chance.
A few pipes ran up the white stone in the back of the building, and she hurriedly perched on the nails and seals before shimmying up to the second level. The two glass windows here were small, and no light illuminated the foggy glass. The door leading inside had a padlock shut across it, and she slugged her pack off her shoulders to root around for the tools she needed.
She picked the lock swiftly, and the door creaked open on it's rusty hinges. It was so easy to get in, she was almost insulted.
To be fair, she'd learned to pick locks years back when her stepfather put them on their bedroom doors, and would seal them in from the outside whenever he was particularly annoyed with seeing their faces.
In the shadows, she carefully crept through the dimly lit corridors, slinking along the walls with a weapon clad in each hand. The silence was broken by the hum of generators, and the rushed pacing of her own heart. It was late, judging by the position of the moon, so at best at least some of them would be asleep.
She couldn't get too lucky.
Steady footsteps echoed in the hall across from her, and she crouched low, leaning into the shadow of the wall. A tall hooded figure passed by, what seemed to be a man with broad shoulders who was nearly tall enough to touch the leaky pipes in the ceiling if he stretched his arms up. He kept walking, and she waited to hear his steps fade before she ventured deeper into the heart of the station.
The doors she slipped past were mostly small, single doors with small, circular knobs. In other words, they all looked like they led to private areas such as bedrooms or storage closets. Judging by the amount of doors, there must be fifty or more people living here. She calmed her breathing and pushed on, searching for some signal of an infirmary or hospice room.
Just as she eyed a larger metal door with a thick, stainless steel handle, just as she crept closer, a heavy set man with a long russet beard rounded the corner. They both froze, eyeing each other cautiously, hers wild, his narrowed.
"Who are-"
The question was cut short by a gargle as her blade made it's mark in his plump throat. The body fell to the concrete ground with a thump and she stepped over it quickly, leaning down to snag the dagger before pressing her ear to the metal door. She could make out the hum of appliances running, but no voices or scuffling feet.
She took the chance, twisting open the handle timidly. The room was brightly lit with long fluorescent bulbs hanging on the ceiling, and smelled like sanitizer and rubber.
Jackpot.
She rooted through the tall metal cases lining the wall, grabbing anything that seemed of value and shoving it into her pack. A few bottles of pills and antibiotics, more gauze, hydrogen peroxide, a pack of cigarettes she found on the desk. She made sure at least one of her pilfered pill bottles had an anticoagulant, slung the pack back on her shoulders, and twisted back towards the door.
Only to be met face to face with the foggy white eyes of a corpse. The man she had dropped just moments ago had risen again, his bulky jaws snapping and snarling as bloated fingers reached for her. "What the fu-"
She couldn't help her shriek when those fingers curled into her hair, pulling her close until she was pressed up against his pot belly. She leaned away from the gnashing teeth, and in the position she was in, she couldn't reach down for the daggers in her holsters without risking those teeth connecting with her neck. Her arms frantically swung over the desk, searching for anything she could use as a weapon.
Cold metal slipped between her fingers, and she gripped the scalpel tight until her own nails dug half moon circles into her palms, striking it directly into his temple. The body fell a second time, except now all she could do was stare.
How did he.. he must have been bitten already.
Right?
She couldn't spare the energy to question it now, not when the weight of Benji's life was pressing down on her spine. She wiped the curls framing her face away and shouldered through the door, intending to head back the way she came and slip out into the night.
A warm, gloved hand wrapped around the entirety of her bicep, viciously halting her movements. She looked up, tilting her head so far back it ached to get a glimpse into the shadows of the hooded figure. A brief flash of a strong, angled nose and soft, smirking lips appeared in the corridor light, but he shifted until he was covered in darkness again.
She bared her teeth at the stranger, yanking the dagger from her left high out of it's sheath and swinging it towards his heart. He blocked the blow with his other hand, both palms tightening around her bones as he twisted her around until her back was pressed against his chest. He crossed her arms over her stomach, squeezing her wrist until she was forced to release the knife. It clattered to the concrete and the sound reverberated in her brain.
"Let me go, you son of a bitch," she hissed, calming her breathing. Every slight shift in movement pressed her body closer to his, and the feeling made her sick and warm all at once.
"Ah, ah," he murmured in her ear, his voice low and soft. He adjusted his hold on her so that both of her wrists were wrapped in one of his own while he dug in his pocket with the other. "You're not going anywhere yet."
She panicked, and lifting up her leg, she brought her foot down as hard as she could into her own. She may as well have thrown a dandelion at a brick wall. The man wrapped a rope around her wrists, pulling tight and twisting an expertly done knot until he was satisfied. Only then did he release his hold on her, stepping two paces back though he kept one hand clamped around her left arm.
She eyed the knot on her wrists, then the man next to her. "What are you, a Boy Scout?"
The man said nothing, though she swore she saw the faintest hint of a smirk. He pushed her gently, urging her to go down the hallway, presumably to her death. She didn't budge.
He shoved her again, this time with more force. She bit her tongue hard, rolling her eyes as she trudged down the hall. The walls were bare apart from the yellowish lights posted every few feet. The floor was dingy, the ceilings full of cobwebs. But that wasn't why she was so interested in every surface of the halls they twisted and turned around. She carefully memorized the maze of turns, trying to create a map in her head while the soft voice inside her brain kept screaming.
"Where are you taking me?" She finally broke her vow of hateful silence.
Her captor clearly had no such intentions.
She huffed out a sharp breath, twisting to watch him as they paced down the wide staircase.
"You plan on sayin' something, or am I just going to have to fill this silence with my own dazzling personality?" She snapped out, eyeing the scuff on the corner of the archway they passed through.
Still, the hooded man did not respond.
She rolled her eyes. His silence was calculated, a tactic to intimidate her, as if it would so easy. Again, she was almost insulted. Finally, three hundred and twenty two paces from where she was captured, they came to a red door at the end of the hall.
She halted at the entryway, steeling her boots into the ground like a dog who didn't want to go see the vet. The freakishly tall man chuckled, just a deep reverberating in his chest that didn't escape his lips, and shoved her hard squarely between her shoulder blades.
She toppled to the cold linoleum floor, her bound hands squished underneath her rib cage. From the angle she was at, she could see four pairs of boots scattered around a leather couch and a couple of armchairs. She scrambled up, the cords of her muscles straining as she leaned on her bound wrists.
"You brought us a gift," a booming voice scoffed. She whirled to face it, a balding man with a thick mustache and a perfect smile rest his elbows on his knees, watching her from his place on the black leather sofa. "Good work, Jace."
The hooded figure ducked his head, stepping to the side and crossing his ankles as he leaned against the wall. In this light, she could make out a sharp jawline and straggles of dark hair. One of the men stood, and she snarled, a wild animal caught in a trap. She leaned back to grab her other blade, with just enough time to swing it out at his legs as he strode over.
The point barely ripped the fabric of his jeans before he jumped back, his cackles echoed by the men around him. "Oh ho!" He hooted, rubbing the salt and pepper stubble along his jaw. "She's wild!"
Blood rushed to her cheeks, the sudden heat flaring down her neck and her chest. Her gaze darted between each face, her eyes unsure of which threat she needed to focus on more. Something deep inside of her screamed out, Jace. The man on the wall was far more fearsome than these egotistical fucks.
Footsteps sounded out from the hallway behind her, the archway leading to some unknown room. She twisted her neck to see the face, but before she could fully turn, the man she attempted to paralyze was forcing her back to the ground, holding her face to the floor with a thick, grubby hand.
She thrashed and squealed against him, each jerk of her limbs causing him to press harder and harder. A voice rang out through the room, the sound like husky smoke and silken sheets.
"Well, well, well," the voice crooned, sending a lick of heat down her spine. "What do we have here?"