'No. Don't touch him!'
'Run! Ruuuuunnnn!'
Gun shots bounced through his skull, amid screams, the high whine of twisting metal, and shattering glass.
Then silence.
Not total silence, there was one sound in the quiet.
Fred opened his eyes, blinking at the bright over head sun as he struggled to get his bearings. Outside again?
Where had she lured him this time?
He sat up, disoriented by the surrounding green. The corrugated metal roof dug into his naked backside and thighs. How he managed to sleep on something so uncomfortable was a testament to that red headed vixen's skill. He swore she was a damn succubus.
There were his pants, draped precariously on the edge, about two seconds from toppling off the roof. He made a wild grab for them, determined not to perform another streak through the fort within a three day period.
He shimmied into his jeans, lying back to soak up the sun. His body was curiously not bruised or sore, a miracle considering what he remembered last night. That pink haired Doc Brown might be right. He was healing faster. Not fast enough, he could feel the heated metal against the deep slashes on his shoulders. A grin split his face.
"Okay, where is he? I've looked all over the damn place," said someone below.
Fred rolled on his stomach, peeking over the edge at the irate Li, stomping through the camp, trailing a small herd of newly Revived like sheep. Pfft, Revived, ridiculous name. All those suggestions he tossed out and they settled for what sounded like a rejected bible camp play.
JD marched around the corner, forcing Fred to duck back onto the roof.
"He's probably goofing off somewhere," said the soldier. "You know how he is."
Fred ground his teeth. They had no idea how he was.
He heard Li sigh. "Kit offered to give him something to do."
Oh, hell no. There was no way he was working for that weaselly pretty boy. He sneered, creeping to the opposite edge of the roof to leap into the nearest tree. They wanted to give him something to do. Occupy his time like he was the unemployed roommate sleeping on the couch.
Okay, perhaps he wouldn't mind so much if it wasn't with Kit. He hated that guy. Li always looked at him like he was the freaking sun. Actually most of the females in the camp looked at him like that, even Ginger. The exception was Princess, and he suspected she didn't dig guys much. Or women. Or people.
He knew what would happen if they booted him over to Kit. He'd be put to work shifting scrap metal again, or something equally heavy and unpleasant. Those were the sort of jobs the breathing crowd liked to fob off on the 'Revived'. And why not when someone like him could do the job of half a dozen men.
Fred made his way around the Fort via the surrounding trees, wondering how he actually wanted to spend his day. Besides avoiding Ginger. Honestly, he spent as much time running from her as he did with her. Not that he saw a problem with this, though he wasn't sure how he felt about whatever classification of a relationship was happening between them. It wasn't something he could dwell on for long without contracting a roaring head ache. The only thing worse was the memories...
Push it down, buddy, push it down.
He wouldn't mind playing grease monkey, help fix up the various salvaged vehicles, though Kit appeared rather territorial on that front. Figures.
He miscalculated the strength of a branch. The wood snapped, letting him fold hard on the branch below. He grumbled, feeling the minor scraps on his chest twitch as they healed. He should sneak back for a shirt. A giggle sounded nearby.
Fred looked around for the source, spotting two familiar freaky figures milling around at the base of the neighboring tree, which meant...
He looked up. "Shouldn't you be off learning how to eat with a fork or something?"
Wolf Girl stuck her tongue out at him. No, it was Lannie now wasn't it. He also thought Lannie was a ridiculous name. Li sucked at on the spot naming. Then again, she bequeathed him Fred, like some 50's sitcom character. His mind was wandering again.
Lannie appeared to have the same idea he did, her dangling bare feet swinging back and forth. They'd found a pair of overalls for her too thin frame. Someone had cut her hair. She looked less wild, but the long streak of mud down the side of her face helped dispel the illusion. Least, he hoped it was mud. Fred hoisted himself over next to her, nudging her shoulder.
"Not up for the performing monkey act today?"
She shook her head with notable vehemence.
"It'll get better, with time," he said.
Those wide brown eyes peered at him through her bangs. "Yeah?" They'd been cramming speech and vocab lessons down her throat the moment she was out of the medical tent. So far she'd mastered 'yeah' and 'Piss off.'
For a second, another face flashed over Lannie's with the distorted fuzz of a memory. He saw another wide pair of eyes in a child's face, filled with fear, staring up at him, screaming. So wide he could see his reflection in their eyes, the exposed bits of bone through rotting flesh, milky eyes, and gore stained teeth.
Monster.
He forced the memory aside, shoving it into a box at the back of his mind with the rest.
Fred snorted. "Hell if I know, I was being all sage and shit."
Lannie scowled at him.
"Lannie!" Li again. Didn't she have anything better to do than play social worker? Either she went hermit in her tent or ferreted out everyone in their crew for busy work. He wasn't going down for their feral little fiend. He whistled at the Muppets, gaining their attention.
"Well, this is your stop," said Fred. Lannie had a moment to give him an alarmed look before he shoved her forward off the branch.
"Piiiisssss offf," she shrieked, falling into the Muppet's waiting arms. Li rushed over to check up on her, as if he didn't know what he was doing. Fred rolled his eyes, vanishing from the area before she thought to look up. He eventually found himself adopting a similar leg swinging position above Kit's junkyard.
There was no better word for it. There were more scraps and bits of cars than working vehicles. He imagined it couldn't be easy keeping any vehicle working for a decade after the end of the world. The man himself was beneath the frame of a particularly sad looking Jeep. For once he appeared to be alone, without his faithful bald stooge at his side.
Fred felt the brief temptation to push the jeep off its blocks with pretty boy beneath it. Like crushing the Wicked Witch of the East. He could claim those wrenches for his own. The idea dried up when he thought what Li would do to him in retaliation. Despite his activities with Ginger, he was usually not one for pain and Li would put the big hurt on him if he harmed a hair on Kit's head.
Something creaked.
The Jeep wobbled.
"You've got to be kidding me," said Fred. He was moving before the words finished leaving him mouth.
Kit started scrambling out from beneath it, still half under the vehicle when it bounced back on the blocks with a metal squeak.
"Your wiggle game is rather weak there, G.I. Jane," said Fred.
Kit blinked at up him, insultingly flabbergasted by the identity of his rescuer. "Fred? I thought Li put you to work digging trenches?"
He only just resisted the urge to punch the man's perfect jaw. "I declined her generous offer," he said, lending Kit a hand off the ground like the gracious son of a bitch he was.
Kit winced, palming his shoulder. Fred might have jerked him a little too hard and fast on the upswing. He wasn't a saint.
Despite the slight, Kit gave him a good natured grin. "Yeah, can't blame you. Everyone hates dig duty." He jerked his head over his shoulder. "Hey, want to lend a hand here?"
It was Fred's turn to blink in befuddlement. "Serious? I thought this was your fortress of solitude."
That made pretty boy really laugh. Fred stood in stony silence. That wasn't even his best material.
"Li said you were a decent mechanic, as well as a bit of a nerd," said Kit. "Gosh, I haven't heard a Superman joke in years."
Gee willikers, the use of 'gosh' aside, had he heard that right? Years? Fred tried to hide the moment of shock. Apparently surviving the apocalypse was a buzzkill on humor and geek culture. He had to admit, aside from the kids, he rarely heard the soldiers laugh. They cracked the occasional smile but the first time he heard any of them actually laugh was....Fred turned away with a cough, recalling the other morning and his naked dash past the fort inhabitants on their way to breakfast.
"Were you a mechanic in your uh...past life?" Kit's question stalled. Well, this was awkward.
Had he been a mechanic? For a moment, he heard screams, felt the warm arc of arterial blood splashing his gaunt face, the sensation of flesh sliding past his lips.
Fred shook himself. "Can't recall," he said. It wasn't a lie.
Kit was looking at him, an unsettled expression on his face. "You okay man? You're eyes went a little blank there for a second."
He grinned, causing Kit's eye to twitch.
"Man, I will never get used to that," pretty boy muttered, while frowning at Fred's lack of attire. "What happened to your shirt?"
Fred made a focused study of the sky. "Lost it somewhere."
"Right," said Kit, tossing him a grease stained smock. "Well, throw this on, we need to get this old girl rocking by week's end."
Fred made a face. "Egads, I hoped you were poking around in this tin can for parts."
"I might have to if we can't get the van working after its numerous flights," muttered Kit.
"I said I was sorry," said Fred, assessing the state of the jeep. Hoo boy, it was not a pretty sight, though there appeared to be enough pieces scattered around the junkyard to search for replacement parts. Maybe. Not exactly an interchangeable model here. "Any other jeeps in this trash lot?"
"Yeah there's a few past the tire heap."
The next few hours were spent in the mounting futility of rebuilding what Fred affectionately called Bertha. Aside from occasional suggestions about parts, Kit mostly left him alone. No questions, no forced conversation, no awkward silence Fred felt the impulse to fill with inane blather. It was peaceful work.
He shoved his hair out of his eyes, focusing on the pieces he was attempting to bring together. An odd silence registered on the edge of his hearing. He looked up, peering around the yard, but he didn't see anything off amid the lengthening shadows. Damn, when did it get so late?
"Should be quitting time soon," said Kit.
"Yeah," murmured Fred. There it was again, that faint rasping scrape. Part of him recognized that sound. He went still.
"Hey, you got a, uh, bit of grease on your face there, buddy," said Kit, gesturing to his forehead.
"Again?" Fred nabbed a nearby hub cap, peering at the evident smear that caused a chunk of his hair to stand up on end. He could see Kit's shoulders shaking with repressed laughter in the corner of his eye. "It's okay you know. To laugh."
Kit cleared his throat, twirling a wrench between his fingers. "I burned the bodies of ten friends and comrades less than a week ago. Doesn't seem right to--"
"Oh, bullshit," said Fred, pursing his lips at the other man. "You're like a walking Nicholas Sparks novel. Buck up, cupcake. Yeah, you buried some people. It's the end of the world. Take your laughs were you can get them because we could all die tomorrow." He waved a hand at the sky. "Specially with the whole Falling Skies reality."
Kit looked thoughtful. "Who the hell is Nicholas Sparks?"
"Really? Walk to Remember? The Notebook? Nothing? Mega author of ladies' weepy fiction?"
Kit shrugged. "What's Falling Skies?"
Fred squinted at him. "Uncultured swine."
"Wait, how would you know about ladies' weepy fiction?"
"Chicks dig a man in touch with his emotions," said Fred. There was a clink. A can rolled past the tire heap, coming to a lazy spinning stop at Kit's feet.
The soldier reached for his waist, realizing a second later there wasn't a weapon clipped to his side. Fred looked back to the tire heap as the zombie staggered into view, a truly wretched looking creature of wasted limbs and moldy leather flesh. It didn't make a sound as tottered towards them. Those milky white eyes were locked onto the only 'living' being in the yard. Fred stared, the scene playing a chord of horrible familiarity as Kit searched for a weapon, cursing a blue streak as he retreated across the yard.
Monster.
Fred gave a high battle cry, unleashing his inner Warrior Princess by flipping to his feet and letting the hub cap fly. In an ideal world it would have zipped across the junkyard and buried itself in the zombie's skull in a pure moment of Xena zen. Of course, the hub cap was more plastic than metal, and dinged lightly against the corpse's exposed rib cage.
"Son of a --oi, rot face!" This time he grabbed something with more weight: the door to the jeep. There was a small, sad screech of protest as he plucked it free and sent it sailing at the corpse which paused to look at Fred. Its milky eyes met his a moment before impact. He swore, for a bare second, he saw the ghost of relief in the dead thing's eyes.
The jeep door sheared the zombie in half, forward momentum carrying the door on with the torso of the body until it smashed into one of the surrounding sheds with an astonishing amount of noise.
Fred and Kit turned to look at one another.
"Uh, Bertha 1, zombies 0," said Fred.
Kit's mouth open and shut a few times in a remarkably accurate imitation of one of those plaque mounted singing fish. He wondered if pretty boy knew what those were. Probably. Everyone knew about those whether they wanted to or not.
Finally, the soldier managed to string words together. "You threw a hub cab," he said.
Fred crossed his arms. "It worked better in theory."
Kit doubled over, clutching his sides as he laughed. He was still laughing when others came running, Li among them. Fred groaned and slumped against the remains of the jeep.
The group looked at their laughing leader, to the still standing half of the disposed zombie, and finally their eyes settled on the slouched Fred.
Li raised an eyebrow. "Do I even want to know?"
"It's fine," gasped Kit, on his knees. He wiped an errant tear. "My fault, I forgot my damn guns on my bunk."
"How did one of them sneak inside the perimeter?" One of his men piped up, the one who looked like a human bulldog.
"Must be a hole we missed from the recent attack. Any volunteers for a fence check?" Pretty boy in his leadership element started to gather a detail crew to fix the problem. Fred left him to it, walking over to retrieve Bertha's dinged door. Li followed him.
"Where were you all day?"
Fred gave a nonchalant shoulder roll. "Around."
She made a face at him, not buying the act for a second. "You know who landed trench duty in your place?"
He narrowed his eyes at her, certain he wouldn't like this answer.
"Curley, but not without a price." There was a dangerous glint in her black eyes. "He demanded three issues."
Fred clutched his chest. "Not my Maxim beauties! They're my only treasure, you heartless female!"
Li smirked. "Next time don't ditch dig duty."
"Yeah, say that five times fast," Fred sneered after her, peeling the jeep door off the shed with a deep sucking noise. He grimaced at the mess on the other side. "I hope Kit has a hose."
"He doesn't," Li sang as she walked away.
Kit found him a while later, diligently scraping zombie guts off of Bertha's driver's side. He sat down next to Fred, plunking an ominous bottle of clear liquid between them.
"Nice job today," said Kit, tipping the bottle towards him. "Do you guys drink?"
"No," said Fred. For the first time, he was glad of the fact. The contents didn't have an apparent smell but he could feel his nostrils withering. He paused mid scrape. "Do you think I could come back here tomorrow?"
"Don't see why not. Though I got to ask," said Kit, taking a swig and pausing to cough due to his throat likely dissolving. His next words wheezed. "What happened to you out there?"
Fred flicked a scrap of leathery skin off the door handle. "Got caught up in a memory."
Kit raised his brows. "Your death?" He shook his head, glaring at the bottle. "Shit, sorry, it appears I drank my tact away."
Fred snorted. "You're talking to the king of awkward conversation here, bro. Not that it matters. I don't remember my death."
A beast of silence passed as Kit tapped his fingers along his thigh.
"Oh, just ask it already," snapped Fred.
"What do you remember?" Kit hid behind the bottle of shine.
Fred peered out over the junkyard, listening to the soldier choke down another mouthful. "I don't remember anything from when I was alive, but I started dreaming of what it was like when I was...dead."
"Man, that does suck," said Kit, looking rather disturbed by the idea. "Have you asked that psycho doctor chick about it yet?"
"I would rather pickle my testicles in that engine de-greaser you're drinking."
Kit spat his mouthful across the yard. The soldier regained his composure, turning to face Fred. "Truthfully, I'm surprised you still have a pair after all those rendezvous with that female tiger in short shorts."
"Oh, zing," said Fred, "the titan of tact strikes again."
Kit dissolved into laughter. Fred joined in for a chuckle as they took their humor where they could get it.