by J. N. Morgan
“Hey! HEY! CALM DOWN!” He shouted, arms open as he came into the long gap between the two, and Kathleen was quickly alongside Tiff and the struggling woman on her lap to help restrain her.
“-should have KILLED you!” Amidst the screaming the tall female let out what she’d been thinking for the past intensive week, not that it was any surprise to the man. It was enough to flash anger on her ‘babushka’s’ face however as she struggled to keep her down. Gripping tightly around that slim midrift, not that her grip was particularly loose mind you, she swung the violent survivor to her left, not to the right which would knock her against the elderly Native woman beside them. Veronica thudded against the ground, momentarily silencing her shrieking and curses. The young man’s eyes opened in surprise for a moment, as did the much older man who’s booming voice ceased for the time being as he seen the moment to get control of this situation.
People were coming through the door already as both of their wise leaders aided Tiffany in pinning the furious woman to her stomach.
“Gah!” Someone sat on her back. Several hands grasped at her arms and pulled them to control. Yet another pair of hands grabbed her kicking ankles and pinned them down. She squirmed and writhed angrily. “That fucker called me a nigger! That fucking cracker called me a fucking nigger!” Becoming winded, her struggles slowly began to teeter out. The woman who had treated her leg was shushing gently in her ear, stroking her short black hair to try and calm her down. She sent a thoroughly disapproving glace towards the more heavily wounded fellow, then one towards the water boy who had initially told them of all the noise coming from the shack. A faint shrug though with eyes wide from the unexpected drama going on.
Someone was sent for rope, the gasping and tuckered out woman gave complaint and disbelieving indignation as they bound her forearms behind her, bound her ankles together, and eventually propped her up on chair. Rich had sat down by now as well, facing away from her. A small part of him was ashamed that he’d said those two words, or rather, ashamed that all this outrage was somewhat his fault because he knew it wouldn’t go well with her. That’s where the bigger part of him came in; he enjoyed seeing the anger inflicted onto that racist. He was sick of taking her abuse day after day, and so there was confliction within him, it was quite one-sided.
Once the situation was under control most of the group went back to their duties, the difficult and respectable job of keeping all these survivors alive and healthy. In all his months of travel since the loss of civilization, he’d never quite seen such organization and unity. The next meal of the day, which had to be fed by hand to Nicky since they weren’t going to allow her to have her arms freed after that event, especially considering the claim that she had for the most part single-handedly taken out the group that had been giving them such a hard time, was fish.
Fried with actual butter, some vegetables were boiled up as well, though there was no salt to be had. Perhaps the lack of access to ocean was the reasoning for it; whatever salt they had must be saved for bottling? Or maybe they could do without it entirely and so simply smoked food to make it last the winter. Another option was making pemmican which was a long-lasting food made of jerky and tallow. There was also aspic, which though he’d never tried or even seen it before, heard it was another effective method of making meat last. It involved making gelatin out of ground and boiled bones, or some such thing.
Either way, though the meal could definitely have done with some salt, it was filling and nutritious. Not long after, the brooding and insulted young woman was starting to start things up again, even targeting Tiffany, saying she’d betrayed her. He even faintly heard her mutter something along the lines of ‘hetero bastards’ under her breath. Not wanting to get into it, the two left her alone, and it was while waiting out near the burnt-out fire pit that that Malcolm fellow had returned.
This was it. What he said would decide their fate. The woman knew this well and worriedly glanced in his direction as he approached. Shotgun still slung over shoulder, he also had a lever-action over his other one, a bolt-action in his left hand, and an AR in his right. The unfamiliar AR must have been what they were being shot at with from that ridge… the rifle that killed the former priest. Rich nodded at the fellow, giving the faintest sign of a smile in the hopes of getting some sort of sign as to what’s to come, but the stout man didn’t so much as look at the two as he went past the lunch shack and amidst the trailers and RVs.
Whispering to her, even though there was no real need for it since nobody was particularly close to them, he asked her to check the windows of that oft-visited structure. Shaking her head as she returned to him from checking said shack, they must have gone to their home, whichever of the structures that was. With an arm wrapped around her shoulders, he hushed to her that it’d be ok. Pale, faintly shivering, she was after being insulted by her friend, had to subdue her to keep her from possibly finishing what she started by actually killing her Richie, and now they might be literal minutes away from death. All this after having seen one of their fellow survivors killed before her eyes the other day, along with several others killed close by, even fearing that Nicky had been taken out at some point while knowing that if that happened then they too would likely inevitably be done in as well.
After several taunting minutes, in the silence they could hear the footsteps on the gravel road before they could see their source, and the two looked to the north to see who would be approaching. Grant and Kathleen came, one with a No.4 Lee Enfield bolt-action and wooden-stocked rifle, the other with a Chinese-made SKS semi-auto. Behind them came Malcolm, shotgun in hand, and then behind him was a sniffling woman and a man looking equal portions of enraged and mortified. Eyes threatened tears. Those eyes were fixed on Tiffany, and hers in turn widened at his gaze, moistening at the fear broiling up inside her. Knuckles whitened as his free hand, the one not around the crying woman’s shoulders, gripped a Ruger 10/22 semi-auto rifle. It was the one she had been carrying, the one that had been in the boy’s possession.
Richard felt a shudder go through her body, heard a sort of squeaked noise which was likely intended to be an actual word or two but could not formulate. He looked gravely on as well as something was muttered to the fellow who looked ready for murder.
The male leader, who had spoken hushedly with the man who seemed to be barely keeping himself in check, shook his head in their whisperings as they walked, shook his head while looking over to Tiff, and then nodded to the place where they’d spent the night. Those terrifying eyes automatically lost interest in her as he took his arm from the woman, his wife, and marched quickly for the front door with the little .22 rifle in-hand. The white woman jolted in realization, taking a sudden hitched breath, and shot to her feet as she turned towards them while Grant, Kathleen, and Malcolm were breaking off from the two grieving parents to head towards the two survivors who might soon find their numbers brought down once more from 3 to 2.
“N-no! I-…” stumbling where she stood, she held an arm out to the former parents, eyes pleading. “Please don’t-…”
“Tiff…” he whispered, and seemingly in confirmation of her fears, Grant gave a gentle shake of his head while looking to her sympathetically. The other leader lowered her head sadly. Those intense eyes had penetrated the white woman yet again for her outburst, but soon disappeared behind the door which had been held open to allow the pained mother access as well.
The shouting and yelling was loud, though muffled, and so charged with hatred and emotion that it was for the most part incomprehensible. Even to Nicky, who with her arms tightly bound behind the chair she was sitting on, and her ankles lashed together, was helpless. Tiffany continued to just stand there, gawking at the modest building, fearfully awaiting the loud pops of .22lr being fired. A few attempts at talking had been made by the leaders but it was impossible to take attention off of the ruckus going on behind them. A female voice’s higher pitch than the deep barks of the male was heard pleading that he was just a boy, as t
hough it could bring him back. The voice screamed then, an anger nearly rivaled by the man’s voice.
PAP!
A high-pitched scream came from within, and those around the two white folks stood and watched, having expected at least one shot but some anticipated the whole mag to be emptied. Tiff thumped to the ground, Richard called to her in surprise as he went down to her side.
Chapter 5
His face was serious, brooding even. There looked to be anger, or disappointment. A rough face, rugged, and intimidating. Richard looked down at her socked feet, rubbing them, Tiffany had just woken up.
“Nicky!” Bolting upright, his face dropped from its unfortunately naturally intense-looking neutral features, having been shaken from deep thought, and now looked at her with surprised concern, having not noticed her rouse.
“She’s ok! She’s ok…” Having been rubbing said feet with his one useable hand, he quickly moved his position to beside her waist, that left limb coming to a shoulder to ease her back down onto the bed. Sunlight came through an open window, a fleece blanket hung along a wall with the image of a wolf on it, howling at the moon. A dreamcatcher peered down at them from a corner, an open closet with various clothing on hangers and boxes of this and that both below said clothing as well as on a shelf above it. Dresser, night stand… his rifle. The old WWII No.4 Lee Enfield, its stock sadly somewhat scuffed where she dropped it on the highway once the shooting started the other day, or was it two days ago? How long had she been out?
“She’s alive?” She had to confirm it, her poor Nicky… her mouth always got her in such trouble, though then again it was Richard’s that had brought the anger to her but it was hard to pin the blame on him. The younger woman had been showing him little more than disrespect and contempt ever since she… well… shot him.
“Yeah, he didn’t shoot her. A negligent discharge, but lucky for her it missed her completely… wish I could be so lucky.” His deep voice gave that last bit with a slightly joking tone, but only slightly, as he peered down at his shoulder for a moment.
“Kathleen tended to it. It was… rather disgusting… and painful… and I dare say you’re glad to have missed it but she says I should heal up just fine now. There were bits of bone and… blegh.” Shaking his head, he felt his stomach turning at the memory. So much… pus. It was all done now though, apparently. Well, she had warned him that he might not gain back full functionality of his arm, but God willing he’ll at least get most of it. Though for now he decided to try not to share the disgusting details nor the issues that may plague him in the future.
“You shouldn’t have said that to her, you know.” Tiff said lightly, now lying on her back again, staring up at the ceiling while he went back to rubbing her feet one at a time. He grinned briefly, before frowning.
“I can only put up with so much. I mean she almo-”
“Almost killed you, I know, and I still haven’t fully forgiven her for that. I might never be able to…” the confliction going on inside of her was thick in her voice. The event flashed in her mind, Richie had just finished taking out several walkers that were heading towards Johnathan’s parent’s house, it was before he’d shown up, and just when there was only one or two left she showed up from behind the nearby bridge that went over a stream. She was ready to shoot him, had every intention to do so in fact, but when she heard Tiffany’s voice, a voice she thought she’d never hear again, she looked left. This little motion of her head slightly rotated her torso, brought her aim to his right shoulder, accidentally pushed the trigger towards her finger, and so the firearm went off suddenly in surprise. A soft-point .308 bullet, powerful enough to kill a deer or even a moose or bear with one well-aimed shot. He writhed on the ground, blood puddling around him, and she was filled with panic. If not for her, he’d have bled to death right then and there.
She shuddered at the thought, of the intensity of it all. So much has happened since then, but to think it was only about a week ago. “Where are we? Is it still yesterday, er, today, I mean-”
“You slept the whole night.” A simple answer to a simple question. They hadn’t slept too well the night before, after all. Those little mats were less than comfortable, the situation was nerve-racking, they were unarmed and helpless around people ready to kill them.
“Where is she?”
“Still in the room, still tied up… keeping pretty quiet. They’re giving us our stuff back, but they’re still debating on what to do with Veronica. She did kill one of their own, even if the kid was with the group. I can’t really remember how it all started.” Just staring at her feet, he continued to absent-mindedly rub them, brown eyes narrowing in thought as he tried to recall the events. As much as he felt he ought to hate her, the fact of the matter was that it was more-or-less thanks to her that they are still alive. Johnathan is a very unfortunate loss, he was getting to like that fellow even though the first time they had met was quite intense. After all, he was the one who killed his zombified mother and prevented his father from doing the same… poor Charlie and Denise.
“Cheeks a bit swollen.” He added, and Tiff sighed, shaking her head. There was no helping the matter, it was entirely in their hands. Even with their firearms given back, there was simply no way of trying to save her, especially with Richard’s shoulder still messed up the way it was. The father must have given her a smack or two if her face had indeed been made swollen.
“I still can’t believe the things I’ve told her… the things we’ve done.”
“Hmm?” The man grunted, switching to another foot without looking up to where she continued to gaze at the ceiling.
“All that… bullshit. The feminist stuff.”
“Ah, yeah. What was the first thing you’d said to me? ‘Help me, fuck-face’? Who says that.” It was spoken with a chuckle, but she cringed, groaning, her hands coming to her face. Her left hand had been injured for quite some time, still felt a bit stiff and slightly tender, but the bleeding was long gone. A scar was left behind on the meat of her left thumb where she’d sliced through in a savage effort to open a can of food.
“Let’s not.”
“Our night in the truck wasn’t too bad though, eh?” From behind those hands, she gave a sultry ‘Hmm’ of a closed-mouth chuckle.
“Didn’t have to smack me around, though.”
“Need I remind y-”
“Nooooo…” she’d heard it many times already, and had apologized many times. What were the chances? The first thing she tried to do upon seeing him is shoot him, and the first thing her friend did upon seeing him was shoot him. Even Johnathan had pointed his Chinese SKS that he gave Nicky, from the hip. Though it was empty, he knew it was empty, and even if it was loaded he wouldn’t have pulled the trigger. Poor man.
Knock-knock-knock. Tiff jolted, pushing herself up by her elbows as she looked to the shut door.
“Yup, come on in.” Rich called, and the door slowly opened to reveal the one who’d cleared their name. Malcolm, he told the leaders that they were all indeed dead, and what was found in the basement. The grizzly scene of the mother and baby, which the man told them that it was none of their doing. The door had been kicked down in search of any other goodies that could be grabbed, and he did take the revolver with him in the back of his pants. Initially he hadn’t realized that the wounds were on the sides of their heads; not the fronts. A slow nod and a sigh of realization made him understand, yeah, a murder-suicide.
“Hey.” Came the fellow with the dark complexion.
“You guys doing alright?” This came from Brit who was right behind him. Dirty-blonde, long and straight, she had an impressive bust and a bit of softness around her midsection, not as much as Tiff. More ‘shapely’, if that was the proper term. He was a chubby chaser, sure, but in this case he believed that less was more. This Malcolm fellow was a lucky man.
“Oh yees, we’re grand. Kat certainly works miracles, dudn’ she.” It was Kathleen’s nickname, and his accent was coming out again.
> “Yes, b’y. She’s good as gold.” The younger white woman gave, and it was clear to see now; like him, she was a Newfie.
“Yes, b’y! Ol’ cockie, b’y, me son, b’y!” Then with a heavily exaggerated accent, her man almost started a jig there where he stood, causing a snort of laughter to escape the red-dyed female who was now getting to sitting up.
“We had a pretty interesting night. Guys, this is Tiffany. Tiffany; Malcolm and Brittany, or just Brit if you prefer.” The two smiled to her, and she back at them. “Yeah, uh, we got a little ‘mellow’ last night.” Pinching the neck of his t-shirt, he pulled it up to his nose to sniff.
“Thought I smelt something on you… holding out on my, are you?”
“Haha, nahhh, but you were completely passed out; didn’t want to wake you. You toke?”
“Ehhhh, used to, when I was younger.” Once more she was the oldest in the room. At least when that ex-priest had been around that wasn’t the case, but the couple before them were still in their 20s just like Richard.
“Oh we’ve got more.” Came her kind voice, the accent settling down a bit.
“Yeah, I’m more of a beer guy myself, but well… that’s not exactly easy to come by. Seems like none of it’s any good anymore, not to mention it’s all piss-warm.” The semi-auto shotgun jostled on the slightly older fellow’s shoulder as he shrugged them, however the brief moment’s silence was broken as his hands came together in a clap. “Well, breakfast won’t be much longer! Eggs this morning-” at the mention of the small white spheres that was a breakfast staple, the new-comers looked to each other briefly with a bounce of eyebrows. It had literally been months since he’d had eggs, and clearly it was the same for the woman sitting next to him. “-and I brought back some tea from the town. It’s not coffee, but it’s something.”
