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FIND YOU
CHAPTER ONE;
( peace. )
❛ at otis' funeral, jack recalls
the events of the night before. ❜
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"BLESSED BE GOD, father of our Lord Jesus Christ. Praise be to Him for the gift of our brother Otis, for his span of years, for his abundance of character; Otis, who gave his life to save a child's, now more than ever, our most precious asset. We thank you, God, for the peace he enjoys in your embrace. He died as he lived, in grace."
Peace, grace - all the things that Jack couldn't bare to hear. There was no such thing as peace when your life was fleetingly valued less than that of another, and grace was nonexistent when your body was just another meal to a horde of monsters that would be hungry again just ten minutes thereafter.
Murder was not an act defined by peace and grace. In fact, Jack strongly believed it was the exact opposite.
It had been too long. Knowledge of the passage of time was something she lacked while inside of a stationary truck with no watches or clocks, but one thing she knew was that it was taking too long. She'd had enough time to skim through a book from front to back, and of course, the ending was still the same as the previous times she'd read it.
The boy saved the girl and they would live happily ever after - that ending wasn't going anywhere. The words, no matter how torturous, wouldn't change. The storyline had no alternatives. That was that, and it was something that only frustrated Jack every time she read the book and, for some reason, expected some other ending.
Had the book been set in the new world - the real world - the girl probably would've gotten eaten alive and the boy would've been so sad he'd take the "easy way" out, like Dr. Jenner and Jacqui chose to do just days ago. The new world was a merciless one, one in which happily-ever-afters failed to exist.
And perhaps that was what agitated Jack time and time again. It was like the characters were living in some alternate universe, some utopian reality, and not in the world that Jack herself lived in just months ago. They complain of their relationship problems, while Jack just hoped that she'd live long enough to even meet someone worth loving in such a ruthless world. Everything they complained of seemed so juvenile to Jack, a girl who complained of the exact same things just earlier this year.
One, two, three, four, five, six - six thunderous gunshots that erupted through the still midnight air. Jack placed the novel on the dashboard as she instinctively jerked up in her seat, eyes focusing on the building ahead in search of... anything. Anything that could give her some sort of signal - a call for help or a reassurance that they were okay, either would've been fine. The gunshots meant they were alive, which Jack found to be a great relief, but it meant that they were fighting to stay alive.
And that brought unto Jack a feeling she couldn't begin to explain- some mix of anxiety, relief, worry, fear. Too many things to describe in just one word.
And the only way to end that amalgam of emotions was to go see for herself their status; with that realization, Jack reluctantly opened the door of the truck, wincing at the way it screeched on its hinges. Her sneakers smacked against the cool pavement with a light thud and padded their way towards the building. The truck door was left ajar for Jack doubted that anyone would spontaneously appear and steal a truck that could barely function, and she also knew that it needed to be open for convenience if she, for some reason, needed to get back in the truck in a hurry.
She didn't want to admit the latter, though. It was depressing and she was trying to be as hopeful as she could manage to be, especially when it was Shane's life to worry about. More than anything, it was Shane. Always. Otis, however good of a man he seemed to be, was a mere stranger scrambling to fix his mistakes.
And Shane simply didn't make any mistakes, to begin with; at least not according to Jack. She almost idolized him for his bravery, his courage, his goodwill towards her and her family. They would've been torn apart and eaten alive if not for him, and Jack greatly acknowledged that; unlike her mother, who had grown some kind of personal vendetta against Shane that Jack just couldn't seem to fathom.
Arms wrapped around her own body in an attempt to maintain warmth amidst the frigid November air, Jack was quick to pace past the expansive high school. It felt as if each brick had eyes, watching her every move closely and intentionally, though Jack knew it was just a forsaken building.
Her paranoia had gotten so extensive that even simple buildings caused anxiety to arise.
All at once, she heard the impending roar of what must've been a thousand walkers. Acknowledging individual snarls seemed impossible; it seemed to be just one massive growl that got closer and closer with every step that she took. And then she saw them - all of them, the very moment she turned around a corner. An entire crowd of flesh-hungry beings that used to be people, but were now just empty, feral shells of who they used to be.
And in front of the horde were both Shane and Otis. Otis looked as if he was on the very verge of fainting, with his heavy breath clouding before his panting mouth, and Shane couldn't seem to walk correctly; he appeared to be putting in extra effort just to pick his right foot off from the ground. Even Jack knew that Otis' unsuitability and Shane's injury could prove to be rather fatal, in the sense that they were getting slower and slower and the mob seemed to be getting faster.
Eyes wide, her entire body froze. Not even her own heart seemed to be moving at that moment, as this was one of the only times in which she couldn't feel it pounding in her chest.
The last time she'd seen anyone freeze, or it was when walkers attacked their camp that lied on the outskirts of Atlanta, leaving thirteen members of their group dead. Everyone that froze lied lifeless on the ground minutes later.
And more than most things, she didn't want to die.
"Shane, Jack, will either of you speak for Otis?" Hershel's smooth words tore Jack from wherever it was that her mind had wandered to, and she was quick to turn her head and meet his tired eyes with her own. Slowly, she looked him up and down, eyeing every button and seam of his suit. Something about his formal wear burdened her - how he had the ability to dress up for a funeral, and she was just struggling (and failing, usually) to find a different outfit to wear each day.
Her eyes held back something he could not even begin to comprehend, and, alas, he wasn't even given enough time to, for she turned her head away and fixated her stoic gaze onto Shane. They shared a look, almost like they were speaking, just not verbally. "I'm not good at it," Shane spoke up, and though he was speaking to Hershel, the older man began to think that the statement was also directed towards the teenage girl. Shane dropped his head, staring down upon his wringing hands, as he faintly mumbled, "I'm sorry."
"You two were the last ones with him," Patricia spoke, the widow's shaky voice breaking with every syllable she managed to say. Jack couldn't understand how. Had such a thing happened to her, given she had a husband, she knew she'd be inconsolable and unable to think, breathe, eat - let alone speak. "You both shared his final moments. Please. I need to hear. I need to know his death had meaning."
Meaning. Jack wasn't sure if any death had meaning. Sure, eradicating a bad man did good, but it was only a matter of time before another good man loses himself and shifts into what he despised. And every time a hero dies, another one takes their place - even martyrs were expendable. For all she knew, Otis' death could be the first of many: insignificant, inconsequential, meaningless.
"Okay," Shane returned, though it sounded nothing more like a break in a sigh because of just how faint his voice was in that moment. His listless eyes couldn't find anything to fixate on, darting from side to side, sky to ground, person to person. For a fleeting moment, he and Jack shared another silent look, and that was when he began, "We were about done. Almost out of ammo - we were down to pistols by then. I was limping; it was bad, ankle all swollen up. 'We've got to save the boy.' See, that's what he said."
Her eyes fell shut as the conversation she and Shane shared at that moment loomed in her mind, their distant voices haunting her every thought. When they stood in front of one another, the horde just behind them, he tried to tell her to run, to get as far away as possible. It was the only reasonable thing to do, he thought; save whoever could be saved. Especially when it was the girl he cared for as his own daughter.
But she wouldn't, not for anything. "I'm not leaving you here," she'd hurriedly told him with as strong as a voice she could muster. Eventually, inevitably, she had to walk away, but only with the bag that once weighed him down in tow, and only after she forced him to agree - to promise - that he'd meet her at the truck, no matter what. The exact words had even left her mouth. "You have to make it, no matter what happens, okay?" she'd breathlessly, desperately pleaded, only half-conscious of exactly what she was insinuating. It was an empty promise, that he knew, but he did his utmost to keep it.
And that included the murder of Otis.
"He gave me his backpack," Shane continued, eyes glued to the parched grass beneath their feet. "He shoved me ahead. Jack comes up, takes one of the bags and starts helping me to the truck. 'Run,' he said. He said, 'I'll take the rear. I'll cover the both of ya.' And when I looked back..."
It was a gunshot that sent her body into utter motionless this time - a thunderous shot that sliced through the frigid air like a freshly-sharpened blade, sounding over the snarls and groans of the horde almost as if it was a competition of which could frighten her the most.
The gunshot had won by a landslide, for when she turned to see what was occurring, she saw a gun gripped in Shane's hands, pointing directly to where Otis lied on the pavement. She'd never heard a shot so significant before, so desolate. It was then that she realised it was a good thing to not have heard the sound of a murder before, if one would even call it a murder. Almost in the way her parents would argue endlessly, two voices in her head screamed back and forth at each other, debating as to whether or not it was a necessary, justifiable thing to do.
On one hand, of course, it was; Jack unconsciously knew that it was unlikely the two of them would make it. Even if the connotation was inadvertent, she meant every word of, "no matter what happens." Otis was nothing more than an obstacle in Shane's way of fulfilling the unspoken promise he'd made to the only girl who seemed to have faith in him.
On the other hand, Jack could never consider a cold-blooded murder just. He had a wife, friends, family - people that would mourn his death, lives that would be torn apart in the wake of his absence. He wanted nothing more than to atone for his mistakes, and it cost him his life. Everything he'd ever accomplished, everything he'd ever lived through, everything - gone with a simple bullet to the knee.
She was drawn from her suffocating thoughts by Shane's calloused hand clutching onto her upper arm and almost dragging her ahead to where she made him promise he'd make it to. She glanced down to his hand, clinging onto her as if his life depended on it, and then to his rugged face: stunned, tormented, unsettled. It was as if she was face-to-face with a civil war, one much like the one that plagued her own mind. She recognized it - the inner bloodshed, the destruction, the moral deterioration - more than she ever wanted to.
"If not for Otis," Shane started as he began to limp towards the stack of rocks that was (somehow) supposed to act as a memorial for Otis, "we'd have never made it out alive." Swiftly, he reached into the wheelbarrow and pulled out a substantial rock, saying, "And that goes for Carl, too. It was Otis. He saved us all." Just as he turned to place the rock atop the stack, he turned to face the crying widow and, while staring directly into her sorrowful, tearful eyes, he spoke, "If any death ever had meaning, it was his."
She nodded, lips pursed in all attempts to hold back the sob that threatened to erupt from her mouth, and he replied with only a slight nod. Jack solemnly watched as he slowly turned back to face the mountain of stones; every step he took towards it was calculated, intentional - effort had to be put in, just to grieve the death of a man who's final moments were all a lie.
Every stone placed was from the blood on their hands, and that somber realization crashed into Jack the same way a car would collide into another and send everyone aboard into a permanent slumber - the very same one Otis now resided in.
And she still recognized it, the look in his eyes. The war still raged on, in spite of the new day.
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word count: 2372