by J. N. Morgan
Thankfully, there was something that the man could do in spite of his out-of-commission right arm however, and that’s fish. Getting his spindle of fishing line out of a side pocket of his pack while his woman untied the fire-blankened cooking pot from the back of it, the hook was already attached. Not far above the hook was a weight fastened to the string to help in tossing it, and then a farther distance up the string though adjustable to make it usable in a variety of depths, was a floater, to keep it from sinking straight down to the bottom. Awkwardly getting his pocket knife from his right pocket, it was flicked open one-handed without much difficulty and used it aid in digging into the Earth. Got his hand dirty, but in time he’d tracked down a wriggly little wormie. With the worm in hand, he looked down at the hook, and cursed himself. With two hands he could have the hook baited in no time, but just one hand?
“Tiff?...”
Nicky was given the first of the fish, and Richard had no objections considering how they’d have all likely died in that ditch had it not been for her quick thinking and, let’s not kid ourselves, no small measure of luck. Veronica was trained in handling firearms safely, true, even though mistakes still happened on occasion but she had no ‘combat’ training. She had killed before, but was by no means a one-woman Army. Still, she did her duty admirably, took down several threats, and so having fetched some spices from one of the houses she seasoned her fish according to her tastes. Next was Tiff, and while she cooked his fish he continued to catch more. The Sun was high, the day maybe only half over at most, and he figured that perhaps they could cook up more fish than they needed. Bring some in a plastic bag or something, and have it for supper later that day. Eat it cold or warm it over a fire, either way it was always nice not to have to go to sleep hungry.
With his back turned, he ate his salted freshwater fish while the girls stripped down to wash themselves at the edge of the lake. This time of year wasn’t overly bad but to go for a dip without the temperature being quite high, which it wasn’t, it might be such a shock to the system as to encourage sickness, and that was not something they could afford with all the travel they’d be doing on foot over the next while. Tiffany tried to ignore her friend’s eyes, usually an easy thing to not worry about another woman’s gaze but when that woman is not only known to have sexual interest in you, but also has made quite forward and physical advances? Well, she tried to ignore it all the same.
The fish was finished before long, some paper towel and a plastic bag found to wrap the fish in and carry the other meals for later, Nick kept the spices in her own lightly loaded pack. Now, pistol removed, he ejected the 7-rnd single-stack mag that held only 4 cartridges. It took some awkward movements, for which Veronica annoyedly watched him for when she heard it and seen it out of the corner of her eye, daring him to try and take a look, he eventually got the two mags from his right butt pocket with his left hand. His butt pockets were so tight that it was easy to keep the mags one on top of the other, flat against his ass, cartridges pointed down. The top mag was full with 7 rounds, the bottom only held 3, and now he flicked those rounds out with his thumb into the grass. Leaving the now empty mag alone, he fumbled those rounds into the partial mag until it was fully loaded, and so fed it into the pistol. There, 7+1 again, with 3 fully loaded mags to spare. The empty one was put into his backpack.
Now Rich, he had been given a sponge bath of sorts just a couple days back by his own amateur nurse; Tiffany. So as far as he was concerned, he was fine to go without a wash, but still it was insisted to check on his shoulder which was fair enough. So after the ladies were clean and dressed once more, Tiff went over where the fire still calmly crackled though really it wasn’t needed for either light nor warmth, and unzipped his Navy blue hoodie. Next, his dark t-shirt was lifted up, the black woman averting her eyes from the chubby survivalist’s hairy bulk. Burn marks were still present from when she had heated a spatula red-hot while he was still unconscious, cauterizing the wound to stop the bleeding. Had it not been for that, he’d have died that very day that he was shot nearly a week ago.
“Well, doesn’t look too bad…” obviously it didn’t exactly look ‘good’. Leaning forward she gave it a small whiff. It didn’t smell like he usually did, but didn’t smell like it was ‘off’, that it was infected, so shrugged her shoulders. “You ought to live.”
“Ought to? If that your professional opinion, doc?”
“Yup!” She said cheerfully, picking up his t-shirt to dawn it over him again.
“I want my money back…”
“Free health care; you gave no money so you get no money.” Making sure the tag was facing her, just as he was, she brought it down onto his head while his left hand angled itself to fish its way through the left sleeve, the other arm still in the sling that she had created for him out of white cloth.
“Well then I am going to raise a formal petition to have your nursing license revoked.” His deep voice muffled as it was hidden by the thin fabric of his shirt, but she could sense the grin on his cheeky face.
“I’d have to have one for you to take it.”
“You never got one?” He asked, more serious this time.
“Well, I never really went to nursing school…” by the time his scruffy face reappeared, the grin was quite gone.
“But you said you…” he muttered, features looking quite serious, though more shocked than disappointed.
“I tried to put you at ease…” she said gently, looking down at his hoodie as she got it ready to drape over his shoulders and feed his good arm into. This woman, without any nursing abilities whatsoever it would seem, had been treating his wound, saved his life, and had helped him with… certain functions that the body does whether or not the body itself is capable of taking care of itself. Truly disgusting functions. Things that he felt utterly disgusted at himself and ashamed to have her see him like that, felt humiliated, absolutely horrible, like he should be just put out of his misery rather than to go through such acts. She had told him that she had gotten nurse training, but now the truth was out.
With his arm through a sleeve, she began zipping the hoodie up in front of him, the right sleeve left hanging empty, and his left hand stroked her right forearm as she went about it. A gesture of affection and thanks, and she smiled at it.
“You’ll pay me back when you’re all better.” She said lowly, slyly, with a mischievous wink. His grin didn’t return in spite of how he loved to know she so desired him, but none the less nodded determinedly, pulling her hand to his face after his torso had been clothed once more and kissed the back of it.
All set for the day with plenty of clean water that had been boiled as well as fried fish for supper later on in the day, they bowed their heads once again as they passed Johnathan by and turned left, towards the south, intent on continuing the journey east. It was a sad thought however; he had clearly wanted to turn south back at the intersection so as to return to the States. They didn’t exactly prevent him from doing so, but staying with a group was the better option, or at least it seemed to at the time. Perhaps if he went south back then, or if they had all gone, then he’d still be alive. Nobody would have had to kill anyone, shots needn’t have been fired… or maybe they would have been torn apart by a horde of the undead. Maybe they would have been forced to take refuge in an abandoned vehicle or building where the dead would not retreat and so they would be left to starve. Maybe they would have met a different hostile group who would have been armed with better firearms, and in better positions, resulting in the four of them being mowed down unceremoniously before a single shot could be fired in retaliation.
His arm around Tiff’s shoulders, he shook his head to break himself from the thoughts. Thoughts that he had had before when he lost people. The terrible ‘what ifs’. Opening in the forest continued south just as it had to southwest once they’d caught sight of the buildings. Trees scattered here and there, the land was fairly smooth for the most part otherwise. Turning a corner on the pavement they swung
to face east once more, the spotted field off to their right meanwhile to their left was dense woods once more, and the straight road stretched out before them until it disappeared around the gentle curve of the Earth. Forest a mere few meters away from the road on either side, but he wondered what the state of this road would be in another 5 or 10 years. Nature would grow, would swarm, and so eventually tree limbs will stretch over the intruding manmade road. The world was ever-changing, even after all that had already changed. Nature would take everything back, and so in generations to come if mankind can continue to survive this threat to humanity, people would be sent back to the pre-Industrial era, potentially even back to the Dark Ages, without any technology whatsoever of modern society. For now however, he still had his modern rifle, with its modern ammunition, his modern clothes and modern boots, with modern bottles to carry water instead of animal bladders or animal stomachs or whatever people used centuries or millennia ago. So they kept walking.
Before long yet more structures were coming into view; houses dotted here and there, and the trees were coming in closer to the road however in an odd manner, seemingly intentional. They were lined up nicely, evenly spaced, and the trunks not terribly wide. Beyond the gaping wall to their right, an opening was showing yet another lake, as well as an RV parked not far from it. A rotting corpse lay on the ground, flesh stretched tight around the limbs, little more than skin and bone. Continuing on, doubting that there would be anything worth taking since those that had just recently been killed no doubt cleared this place out beforehand, they kept going, though Nicky already had her rifle taken from where it was slung on her shoulder and holding it in her hands.
A lovely two-story house was to the left, made less so from the silhouette standing before the glass balcony door. Truly skeletal-looking, its twigs for arms rose slightly undoubtly wanting to bring it up near head height to hit the glass, but they couldn’t even reach as high as its shoulders. The mere fact its legs could still hold it up was a miracle; there seemed to be anything left there. Surely at some point within the next week or two, that walkers will fall, and never again be able to rise. Its brain will rot until whatever kept it moving ceased to function.
It was ignored as they continued along the two-lane highway that was sparcely populated by buildings, though soon yet another lake opened up on their left, not far from which was a motel with a plastic chair sitting next to each pair of doors, of which there were 7 for 14 motel rooms in total. Perhaps this was a place that some people sought out, hoping that in such a remote and dimly populated area there could be a chance to survive, but evidently not. With the plastic bag of wrapped-up fish fried in his fire-blackened pot after having boiled their drinking water in it, the location was passed by, every step accompanied by the fear of more gunfire breaking out.
The hours crept by, another body of fresh water passed, the railroad coming in and out of view. They had stopped eventually when a few boulders on the side of the road provided a nice spot for rest, comments made on the fine weather with the sky speckled here and there by vibrant white clouds. More instructions on handling the 10/22, and even though he was against using up ammo when there was such precious little of it he had allowed for a few shots to be fired from the little .22lr firearm.
Kneeling behind one of those small boulders, a nearby tree was chosen as the target, and Rich took the first shot. Resting the wooden stock on said large rock, he got those oddly shaped iron sights lined up, and slowly pulled the trigger. The recoil was so minimal that it barely nudged him, resulting in nothing being felt in his shoulder which was still dulled by both the effects of the medication that Nick had gotten for him days ago as well as from the alcohol that continued to run through his veins though its effects had lessened as time went on. In spite of going one-handed, and also using his non-dominant hand, the tiny bullet struck the center of the tree though the hole in the bark was so small they had to get quite close to see it.
Next was Tiff, who was very pleased at the almost non-existent kick that her new firearm had along with how there was basically no ringing in the ears from its report, and though she only skimmed the edge of the tree she was still pleased. When Nick was offered, she declined, tapping her own much larger rifle and adding that she was quite alright. She’d done enough shooting for one day, and though she had a smile on her face while tapping the side of the wooden-stocked firearm the grin lessened as she coupled it with the comment.
Safety engaged once more with 14+1 remaining, the less combat-inclined female found one of the spent .22 casings and asked where the ‘circle thing’ was on the back was, the primer, and he explained that it was a rimfire cartridge. How it functioned, he didn’t know, but the noticeable dent on the rim supported what he told her and she was surprised to find out that the design of the .22lr cartridge was well over 100 years old, potentially as much as 150 years old but he wasn’t entirely certain as to exactly when it was made. 1860s-70s or so, he figured, but admitted that he could be wrong.
The Sun was getting quite low; after the bit of relaxation at the small boulders by the side of the road they got another few hour’s traveling done. For the most part nothing but trees to accompany them, the occasional bit of an opening at either side of the highway, sometimes a dirt road leading off into the woods, and every now and then the train tracks came into view again. Otherwise, nothingness, and though the ladies weren’t at all used to sleeping out in the open they had no complaints to make. Both had coats so even when the air cooled at night they could stay fairly warm, and the sky was staying relatively clear so at least there would hopefully be no rain or unseasonably early snow to deal with.
Still, by this time of day it looked like Tiff was trudging along in worse shape than Richard. After all, she had the heaviest load of the three; Veronica had a backpack but it wasn’t anywhere near as full or weighted down. She also had the worst footwear, easily, and though in a way she was proud that the thought didn’t cross her mind she also figured it would have been a good idea to check the footwear on the three dead women from earlier. Or at least to check their boot rooms or closets for something she could slip into that would be better suited to long-distance travel on foot than slip-on shoes. They had only been walking for perhaps an hour but it was the man this time who called for another break. The dark woman scoffed displeasure at the break in progress, more because it was him who stopped the group than because she actually wanted to keep going.
It had been a small rock-cut nearby that had him decide that this was a decent spot, so climbing up the small and smooth slope until they were at the top of the jagged rock, perhaps only a meter and a half or two at most above the road, the three sat down. Nicky looked to the east, the direction they were traveling, and he knew that she wanted to scout ahead to see what they were to come to but the fact she instead sat on the ledge with her feet dangling over, he figured she was beginning to get tired just as himself and her friend were.
“Hey Vera.” The woman twitched, looking over at him sourly, hating the nickname.
“Ver-”
“Veronica. I know, I’m just teasing.” Eyes narrowed, not appreciating his odd sense of humour even though the good-natured smile on his scruffy face clearly showed that he meant no harm. “Thanks. I mean it; you’re being a huge help. If not for what you did, then I don’t think any of us would still be alive right now. If I was alone again, even if I were in one piece-” he looked to his injured shoulder where the women he spoke to had shot him several days earlier, “-I don’t think I’d have survived that back there.” He nodded to her with a grin, and her ‘babushka’ looked back with a smile as well.
“John still bought it.” The woman said pointedly, her harsh gaze on him turning soft as her brown eyes looked to the woman instead, however when this comment was made she looked back down at the road. Elongated shadows of the trees were just touching the edge of the asphalt; must not have been going true east but it was true enough.
“Lots of people did.” He clearly
wasn’t talking about just earlier today now. “And lots of people will.” Resting his left elbow on his thigh while sitting Indian-style, he leaned forward and looked to the ground as he spoke. Nicky continued to look down at the road, meanwhile Tiff kept her green gaze fixed to him. “The fact of the matter is I’d be lucky to see thirty, you’d be lucky to see twenty-five, and you’d be lucky to see fou-”
“Mmmmmgh…” Lowering her head, the woman groaned at being reminded that she was closer to 40 than she was to 30.
“Sorry, fifty was it?” To this she gave an odd squee of a grumble as she hit his lap with her fist, and he laughed at her. “Haha, I swear, you don’t look a day over 37!”
“I’m 36!” She cried in indignation, hitting his lap again, and he only gave more laughter as he already knew that. Meanwhile, unseen by the two was the third survivor’s face, scowling as the two carried on. Why couldn’t that fucking sharp shooter from over on the ridge have taken him out instead of Johnathan…
The Sun was low behind them as they returned to walking, or in Tiff’s case more like limping, and Richard gave a sideways glance to her. He walked on his own now, feeling he had enough strength to do so, but wished he could take his pack back and carry the bulk of the burden himself. It was all his stuff, things he’d had since all this shit started for the most part, but knew that if he slung it over his left shoulder he’d be breathless before long. Hah, and slinging it over his right would result in nothing short of agonizing pain.
