The Integration (Part I): Still Myself, Still Surviving

by Marlin Grail

  “You think they'd come over here?”

  “We cannot take that chance. You asked me what I wanted as a person, and not as a leader? Well, what I want is Lissie's embrace, and to prove I can and will protect her at any cost. As a leader, I will watch out for all of you, but as Gary, I will watch out for her.”

  Ashton looks profound—not from being clueless of my infatuation, but by my admittance of it, especially at a time like now. “You seriously are okay with going and assaulting these people?” he says.

  “I am going to ward them away, but if they want to fight, then so be it.”

  I begin pulling out my guns. “Take my bag, and go back to the shelter, and keep yourselves locked up.” I order, regaining confidence in my wording.

  “Gary, I'm not going to let you just fight on your own.”

  “You will be the last line of defense—in the slim chance I do not come back. They all are distracted by whatever fighting that is still occurring. I'll get to the van and see what they do next.”

  “Gary, I can't let you face them alone. You said you don't want your emotions running rampant? Well, you're doing it now. You've told me what's been going on in your mind, but don't expect me to go back without you and be the messenger.” Ashton exclaims, vehement in his speech.

  I think for a few seconds, and recalibrate my decision-making. “Okay. Take one of my guns. Let us hurry to their van.”

  I lean my head above the stones to see where they are. “The 3 of them are far enough from their vehicle.” I say, along with the click to my gun's slide.

  If there is any commotion going on, and it is not audible at where we are, then they should not be able to hear us.

  The van is on the lane of the divided highway that is closest to us, so Ashton and I will not be spotted in the open. We jolt over the stones as quiet as we can. Now, hunched over, we slowly speed our way to the vehicle. We glue to its metal body, and I peek over to the left edge of the front of the van, seeing the men over at another smaller vehicle about another 100 feet away. The body of the dead man I saw is sprawled on the road's surface a little ahead of me.

  It appears they dropped immediately from a shot to the forehead. I look to see the 3 men, now toppling over someone on the ground, though they are doing it on the side of the other car that is shying away from our vision.

  The faint exchange happening escalates, with yelling I assume coming from a voice of an individual pinned down by the 3. Most of what he is saying are languid threats, but his concluding statement climaxes in power with, “C. will not stand for this, and you are already dead!”

  If we are to attack anyone, then it will be the ones who attacked C. members.

  Just then, the laughter of this man cuts short from being blasted by a rifle shot to him by one of the men. The shot echoes for a couple of seconds, then only silence we hear. Ashton and I stay hushed up, wanting to preemptively manage our bodies against the van—even keeping our legs hidden up behind the tires on our side to prevent the men from seeing any part of us. I anxiously anticipate their next move, looking up at the clouded and darkened sky to help calm my jumpy reflexes from making a mishap. I hear the voice of who I expect to be the man who saw the stone structure, looking to convince the others to go look over there. “Damn! what do we do?” Ashton whispers to me.

  “We have to let them pass.”

  Ashton looks out on his side, which they begin to walk towards. “Go, go, go.” Ashton rushes to me, as we scurry.

  Any wrong action or generating of noise though may cause immediate draw on their part.

  I tuck my sight under the van, and see the dark masses that is their feet. It is essential to observe them, so we time our movements to remain out of their peripheral vision. We arch our legs to land faintly on the ground, as we move to the front bumper of the van, while they now are at the back of it—getting their way to the side we just came from. Ashton and I move bit-by-bit, until we get to the opposite side of the van, now in the wide gap between this and the other vehicle.

  They reach the stones, which I can tell draws all of their attention, especially once they have noticed the path that we came from. I see they start moving over the top of the large stones, which makes me realize we need to do something now. “Gary, they're picking a fight.” Ashton says in a distressed voice.

  I hand my other pistol over to Ashton, who is now carrying both of them, then I launch myself onto the dead body closest to us and snatch the rifle from their cold hands. I turn my head to my friend, and my partner in slaying the dangers of the world, to confirm we are okay doing what we plan on without compromise. “They did wrong first, and they don't look like they do for the right reasons.” He says, reassuring both of us to continue as planned.

  We nod and commit to the deed, which is unsavory, but must be done. Circling our way to the back of the van, we begin firing.

  The one behind all of them goes down first from a headshot I pulled off. The one that was in the middle of climbing over gets startled and falls back, landing hard on the grass next to the road. Ashton fires at him multiple times to eradicate them as quick as he can.

  The last one has gotten over the formulated stones, and instantly takes cover behind them. “One still remains alive!” I confirm, altering my voice's pitch to be deeper than usual. They begin blind firing over towards the van, which forces us to take cover. “Ashton, keep the heat on them!”

  I locate my way to the side corner of the front bumper, waiting until he has to reload his clip. Unfortunately, I cannot see past the large and dense stones, so I cannot prepare for what actions this man has up his sleeve. Regardless, his firing ceases, so I sprint my way forward. “Wait!” Ashton yells.

  The man lifts his way upward, and I fire at him while running. He falls forward from the firing, except that it was not from my shooting. Instead, it came from behind him. I take a hard stare at the path, and see several people charging down towards me.

  I immediately slide down to the stones, hitting my head next to them on impact. The adrenaline makes the pain barely noticeable. When I hear a few gunshots coming my way, I strain my voice as loud as I can, willing to riskily assume they came by dispatch. “Do not shoot! We're with C.! Do not shoot!”

  “Hold your fire!” an exotic male voice shouts.

  Ashton comes running to me, with my pistols still aimed at whoever he is seeing. I then lift myself up and turn around to see a large group of people—comprised of both men and women, looking at Ashton and me. “We came as quick as we could.” The man says with a benevolent tone.

  I look at them with a perplexed expression, and the one question that pops in my head comes out. “Did you come on your own, or is this just a wonderful coincidence?”

  “Well, yes, you guys radioed out for assistance, true?” he says, rebounding his response with his own question.

  “The 2 of us came here because we heard the gunfire right down in this area. We witnessed these 3 men battle the ones, I would imagine, who gave the transmission.” I explain, easing up on my firm tone. “Sorry to say, but they killed them all shortly afterward. Me and my comrade were defending our shelter not too far up the path here.”

  The man puts his gun down and comes over to shake my hand. “Name's Trey.”

  One of this group's members looks through the trees and immediately moves past him, hopping over the stones, not caring about myself or Ashton being in the way, and bumps past us to run to the vehicle across from the van. “Hey!” Trey yells out, but she ignores. “Shame you couldn't save them, as I think she was real close to one of the people over there.”

  Already, this really is an impressive number of C. survivors. Trey's already indicating groups interconnect together.

  “So, you live up there in that shelter? A week ago, we knew it was empty. Must mean that you both are new.” He says with a friendly voice.

  “Yeah, we just found out about this whole 'C.' thing today.” Ashton comments, also warm and accepting.

  “We
ll, we don't live around here. We actually came because we were the closest in radius to the transmission. I guess we actually weren't.”

  Ashton and I are both notably confounded. We begin to piece together the realization C. really does have a wide following, and, definitely, everyone apart of this do become absolute friendlies to one another. “Yeah. I suppose not.” I respond, short, but welcoming nonetheless.

  Chapter XIII

  I can hear the shrill crying of the women, as it seems one of the men who were originally killed was an attachment to her—most likely as she was to them.

  I cannot take the fault for their demise, but I know it would be hard for her to see it that way, considering we were around when they had been alive.

  Trey regains my focus, and asks Ashton and I if these 3 bodies, plus the one by the van, were the only people responsible for the assault. “We did not see who started the fight, but only heard the gunfire commence when it did.” I explain, apologetic with my expression.

  “It doesn't matter.” He interjects with solemn in his tone. “Look, just know when you come across people—and you will around these parts—that they are with C., or not, and if not, then they become your danger, so even if you start the fighting you won't be held guilty, because you didn't want to take chances.”

  “I just stated how it happened.” I say with a sense of suspicion.

  “Yeah, I know.” He confidently says back, deflecting my subtle hint of awkwardness back to me. “Even if we attack first, we always give them a chance to conform, so really they are being responsible for what happens next. It sounds like you haven't been shared this process every group with C. follows. Conform them, or kill them—as simple as that.”

  I stare into nothingness while looking at the ground next to Trey, working to cope with what is being said. I understand our group can, and will, defend ourselves from aggressors, but now it being expected as a 'process' makes me prognosticate and prepare for a time when that comes our way. “You'll be okay.” Trey says, looking to catch my eyes with his. “Actually, what our group does when we finish 'taking care of business' is we go back to our place, grab some shovels and respectfully bury them in the ground. It's wonderful that this realm of zombies don't literally rise from the grave when the living die.”

  “So, is that why some of you already brought a few?” I ask.

  “We heard through the transmission how many of them were here. We prepare—knowing we're always coming out of the heat.” He assures, with others behind him nodding in understanding to the context.

  “Let Ashton and I do it then. We are the ones responsible for their passing anyway.” I tell him, holding out a hand.

  He delivers a look of being impressed. “Sure. Give them this spot, and we'll bury our brethren further down this strip of land.”

  He goes forward, while 2 men with shovels come upfront, handing 1 shovel to me and 1 shovel to Ashton. “Hey, you look like someone I've seen before.” The man handing his shovel to Ashton says towards me. “Not in person, but, from like, past media.” He takes a long stare, with almost closed eyes. “Were you in a band?” he asks.

  “I was.” I casually respond, while grasping the wooden handle of my shovel.

  “Wait. Was the band name along the lines of 'The Glam', or 'The Flock of Glam'?” he inquires, growing more interested in my response.

  “You were right. It was 'Flock of Glam', but just without 'the' in the title. That was my band.”

  I have not been asked about my past from a stranger in a while, at least not with non-insulting intent.

  “That's extreme! I wasn't a listener of your music, but a friend I know was! Maybe, when you're available, you can surprise them! I'll let you know their schedule.” He positively says, offering a smile afterward.

  I give a smile in return. “Sure, I'll think about it, but our group needs to get settled in more.”

  It is sort of soothing to feel we can connect as people somewhat, without just motifs for survival tucked under the surface.

  We finish our friendly impressions on each other, once Trey begins to speak again. “Here, why don't you bury them in this grass?”

  Ashton and I turn around and start searching for deep spots of soil to begin digging the 4 holes necessary to give these men the burial they deserve—at the very least. Before we start, I look up to see the women walking towards us, with the leaking of tears continuing to drip down her face. Though I do not know her, I do understand the concern of what would happen next when a loss seems too great to bare. I feel the need to pause her movement and apologize. “If we could have arrived here quicker, you might not be handling the pain that you are now.” I say, emotionally accepting any harshness she throws at me.

  I cannot feel culpable for failing to help that group, which I had no awareness of being with C., that is, until it was too late, but I can at the very least let myself take the blame this woman might be trying to nail into herself through her own thoughts.

  To my surprise, she only nods and continues to walk back behind Trey, being comforted by another female of their group. “Make sure before you place their bodies in their graves to strip them of the armor they have on. Equip what they offer in death, as it will be a reminder that they won't be forgotten.” A man of the bunch instructs to Ashton and I.

  “You got it.” Ashton says with a thumbs up to them.

  Trey and a few of the others go to the van to pick up the man I took their rifle from. “He belongs over here.” I call out to them, wanting to keep the division of C. and not C. apparent.

  Two carry the body by the arms and legs and drop him next to his fallen group. They then return to Trey, who is by the other vehicle. Ashton proceeds with finding a spot farther down the grass strip—to the left side of the path, and I decide to follow. While following, I look behind me at the others of Trey's group, with 5 more people—all seeming forthright in being well disposed towards both Ashton and me. The grass is blemished with naked spots, showing the loosest soil. “How about here?” Ashton says.

  I plunge my shovel as my answer, and work the motion of digging out the dirt.

  “This is the first time I've done something like this, but imagine if it wasn't.” He comments, while we scoop out the piles of dirt.

  “I know.” I return to him, serious and somewhat lugubrious.

  He has known the ones we have killed in the past were not out of satisfaction, but we both might feel the compunction of not laying those we killed to rest, had we known about this custom. Then again, we have not seen shovels in our possession throughout this whole time of possessing guns, and possessing the will to take a life.

  Time passes for us to fully dig out the 4 graves. Once we go back to the bodies, I take a deep look at the one who fell off the stones. They show a lifeless face that indicates panic of our attacking. Their eyes are open, but not awake, and their mouth is expanded, but not inhaling any oxygen.

  I bend down to begin unstrapping their materials. I take the pistol out of their hand that has no give, and then I take the small bag they were carrying off their back, having to articulate their arms that have no resistance to me moving them. I hold onto it, and then look up at one of Trey's people. “Here, you take it. We're fine.” I say, extending my reach for one of them to take it out of my hands.

  “Thanks.” This young man says, looking like he might be in his mid-teens.

  I glance back down at the body and close their deceased eyes. I attempt to shut their mouth as well, but it draws back open after I release my fingers from it. With 1 exhale, inciting my need to subsist with the losses, “Rest in peace”, comes from my breath, and I ask Ashton to help me carry them over to the first hole.

  I am somewhat confused with why I seem more emotional about these people than others' deaths I had been responsible for helping.

  They seemed like they were unruly people. If we were in their position right now, they would not have considered giving our bodies a peaceful rest. I could imagine they would h
ope more that the undead came by and devoured our flesh.

  I always remained open to letting people walk out alive if they could be reasoned with, but it has taken several gains and consequences with that mentality to realize there is no definitive way of getting by in this world—knowing who is humble of defense, and who is just thirsty with homicide.

  Ashton and I took a chance on Janice, and she turned out to be one of the most sympathetic people I have ever met, but I have also taken a chance on letting a couple get medicine from us, and they tried to wipe Ashton and me clean off from existence. Point being, we just never know who deserves justice or not.

  Perhaps seeing Trey's group being friendly with the both of us makes me challenge this dilemma more than it has before—when it comes to paying respects for the ones who do not, and will not, show the same in return. We gently land the body in their grave and move on to the next 3. “Just to let you know, all of their bags can be yours. Think of it as our way of making up for the trip all of you took to come down here.” I say to them, welcoming in my tone, and hoping they can continue to assure my senses of their good-nature. Another man, looking like the teenager's dad, comes up in front of them.

  “Do me a favor buddy, and stay the hell away from my son.” He tells me aggressively. “I know who you are. That juvenile musician that made devil-worshiping music. I don't think you meant much with handing him the bag, but I won't take a chance with anyone, especially someone who was known to be controversial by most.”

  The women that comforted the emotionally-hurting girl snaps out to him, “Hey! Let him be!”

  “I just meant well.” I say, now tripping over thought after thought in my head. “I'm not out to hurt anyone here, sir.” I take one of the bags, being less gentle with taking it off the body it comes from, and bump it into the guy's chest. “Take it.” I say with an astringent tone.

  After such interaction, he walks back up to the group—still uncertain of me based off of his expression. I work silently with Ashton to prepare and carry the next one, and the others until every hole is filled. After a few minutes of repetitive action, we pick up our laid shovels and go into laying the dirt back into the ground. “It's good no hazes had interrupted what we're doing.” Ashton tells me with a chuckle.