by Marlin Grail
“No jinx.” I humor back to him, trying to re-center myself.
The man's just protecting his son. He's not threatening my life—that I know of.
I shovel each speck of dirt, and evenly pat the graves. We look back to the vehicle Trey and the 2 of his group are at, and they about finish their burying of the others. He looks back, and sees Ashton and I are complete, and begins walking to us. “How do you feel now?” he asks while coming.
“To be honest, I feel more at ease from it. Do you do this to all that fall by your hands?” I say.
“We started when were given 'clean up duty' by our supervisor. It involves our group taking care of the bodies that remain exposed in particular areas, to help new people not be scared away from C.-owned regions. I've found when you bury your dead, they don't haunt you like they used to.”
I thank him for giving us the tools to shovel, and go to hand them both back to the ones who offered them. “Keep them. I'm sure you'll use them again. Think of it as a 'welcome neighbors' gift.”
Across the highway, multiple contacts of undead walk towards us all, with a flimsy cadence to their movement. “Them, we just kill and let decompose on their own.” He inputs, snickering after he speaks.
“Yeah, because you know they would feel gratefulness.” Ashton comments, sarcastic with his speech.
I go to pick up the assault rifle I was carrying and use it to help some of Trey's group kill these undead.
This gun was handled by the man I just buried. It seems all the forms of the dead live on, even in the weapons we protect ourselves from.
Chapter XIV
We drop one after another with no complications. Not much is left for Ashton and I to remain out here, so I consider this the convenient point for us and Trey's group to depart. “Thank you for showing us your ways.” I say to them all, prominently appreciative in my tone.
Trey and I shake hands. “Welcome to C.!” he says, with a beam of respect for Ashton and me.
I take one last look at his group. Both unidentified men I came closest in interaction with—the one who was eagerly welcoming, and the one who was heatedly wary of me—I see them looking at us.
Their polar opposite impressions are influential of how I see them—with 1 having faith in the good that remains in someone, and 1 who only sees the worst of everyone; that being said, their differences remain irrelevant for we all have to be allies.
I suppose this would be similar to one's 'peer employees', and it sounds as though C. wants a 'professional' system that every group abides by.
“We'll see each other again, I'm sure.” Trey says, before he follows behind his group—now all walking back up the path to wherever they came from. Ashton and I wait until they leave our sight, and then we look back at the stagnant vehicles. Abruptly, his voice hurries back to us. “Listen. That vehicle, the one belonging to our fallen friendlies? Could you let it stay there? We'll be back later for it.”
I'm sure we could use it, but it's too early for our group to defy certain requests by those who've been around this 'organization' longer than us.
“Sure.” I respond, not reflecting suspicion in my tone. “I think I am ready to go back. What about you?” I ask Ashton. He agrees, and we head away from the site, walking the duration to get back to the shelter.
After taking a few clips from the body I claimed the rifle from, I decide it is a new reliable piece of defense for our group.
Personally, it is not my honest choice of weaponry; therefore, this is perfect practice for me to be more unequivocal with myself and the others in my life with how I am feeling.
“How about we trade? This packs much more weight on me than I prefer.”
He welcomes this inclusion for his own arsenal. “Absolutely! Pistols aren't my bag. Until now, I never had the courage to say how I was glad I lost the handgun I got from those bikers.”
I smirk, giving an effortless chuckle while we rotate out our firearms. “Are you going to be fine with Lissie?” Ashton asks, turning from our previous topic to the next.
“I'm going to be okay with what she throws at me next—even if it's this new pistol I'm giving her.”
We then get to the front shelter doors and, seeing as how the doors are entirely closed now, I resonate 3 pounds from my palm on both the left and right side. A few seconds pass, and the right door slides open. Before I even notice who it is, I can see Lissie's slim-fitted blue jeans and ankle-high brown boots that she wears slinking out. “We heard the firing.” She immediately says with the sound of concern. “It was a while you both were gone, and Janice… and I were very close to coming out.”
“It is a good thing you did not cave in to that pressure.” I say in response, less cold to her this time around. “Ashton and I did have trouble, but we handled okay, especially when we met others who are in the same boat as us.”
“You met others?” she cuts in with a concerned, but also fascinated tone.
The behavior she had before we left—to now—has significantly changed, with her involvement in wanting to know what Ashton and I did seeming more worrisome than callous.
“Let us go inside, and we will tell you both what we encountered, and what we have learned.” I tell her, gesturing my hands, kindly, to let her step back.
We all walk in, and I close us off from the outside. Ashton is greeted by Janice, asking if he is alright. While he fills her in on everything we came across, tightening the gap those 2 share, I go to mend the erosion Lissie and I started. “Lissie, I am sorry. You are right. I should be more explicit with myself for you all, so none of you worry about the responses that I have always had seem enigmatic. For our group's welfare to stay sturdy, I have to adapt to letting you all know an appropriate reaction, as long as I am being honest.”
“Gary, I'm the one who should be sorry.” She says back, starting out curt, but becoming warmer. “I appreciate you finding a reason to come back feeling all as though you are to blame for my bitchy attitude, but I just wanted to not be the only one who seemed tremendously affected by everything that has happened so far. Janice is always being full of advice, while Ashton is always being full of wise-cracks, whereas Will would just vent his frustrations out through physicality, and you… are full of optimism, but introverted. I just didn't want to be the only one afraid.”
She has one of her hands holding onto her other arm, seeming embarrassed, but she still is determined to share what she needs to reveal. I slowly go closer towards her, but she takes a few steps backward. “I'm… sorry,” she says with a nervous chuckle, “I just am hard to get close to.”
I stand there, wanting to express my understanding, but I wish she could let me take those few extra steps. “You are not the only one afraid of what will happen next. I am too. To be honest, I'm very certain I'm more afraid than you are. I just know that I have the power to change my perspective, so I can be more effective, as not only a survivor, but as a human being who is still working to improve themselves. Fear is fed by your resistance to accept the unknown, so if you can accept where we are now, then you will not feel a victim to this circumstance, and nowhere near as afraid. I said I am likely more engulfed in fear now than you, so, imagine if I did not try and indulge this time of our lives.” I conclude, having this moment to also see her beautiful, observant, eyes for the second time.
She smiles, and says she has been needing to use the bathroom, but did not want to disobey my command to keep watch within the shelter.
She didn't say it with resent, either. It seems I am seen as a leader to her.
She opens the door, making sure to equip her knife before leaving.
“Wait, Lissie,” I say, making her jump somewhat, “I was able to find you a pistol. I don't know how many rounds it has, but undead won't stop trying to take you, so here you go.”
She gives a tiny, withheld, smile, and comes over to grab it. “Thank you.”
I go over to Janice and Ashton. “She's beginning to open up.” Janice positively says as s
he watches Lissie leave the shelter.
“Did you bring up anything while Ashton and I were away?” I ask.
“Only that she has to not let her feelings make her act out on the ones who don't deserve it.”
Ashton makes his way to the conversation. “I've shared with Janice everything we found out.”
“Yes, and it sounds to me there is no doubt that C. really means what he does about this community.” She responds, analyzing thoughts to herself while she talks.
I look at the empty bunk that Will slept in the night before, now fully aware of the disheartened person he became because of our way of life changing—more than it already has.
I would like to think that maybe this split from our group was necessary for him. Likely, he had grown tired of having a looming figure dominate his days. To him, the oppression was as such. First it was Harold, then it was me, and lastly it would have been C.
“At least now you have his bunk.” Ashton says, massaging his face while speaking.
“Then you can have your blanket back.” I tell him, while reaching down for it.
After picking the blanket up and dusting it off from the crumbs of our footprints, I take this opportunity to climb up the 5 steps. I fully get the whiff of iron in my nostrils, and I see chipping of the iron frame's paint. I turn the chipped paint into flakes, as I pick at them while lying on the bed.
I feel the ache of my legs—more from being tense all day than exercised. Ashton and Janice go ahead and snack on foods from a bag they have below me. I no longer need to witness with my own eyes the closeness they both provide for each other. She creates the absolute image of her love for him, not as a companion, but more as a mother—through the continuous encouragement and nourishing of his self-esteem.
“Don't say that! Not even as a joke.” She expostulates to him, after he made a comment about him dying from a heart attack from all the sugar he's been eating.
“What? I was just kidding.” He says, defending his unrefined joke.
She lightly hits him on his shoulder, and tells him he should not make fun of his passing.
“Ok, fine. Instead of saying death from overdose on sugar, it will be diabetes.” He responds, laughing as she smacks his shoulder repetitively.
It has been well over 20 minutes since Lissie left the shelter, so I get up and prepare to go outside. Janice gets up as well, concluding the discussion she and Ashton were having, saying she now has to use the bathroom as well. I open the doors, and politely let Janice go out first. One undead has wandered its way to our land.
I'm sometimes curious as to how they get to the places they do.
“Is this one incubating? I can't tell.” Janice says, squinting her eyes to concentrate on it.
I take a closer look, also taking the initiative see their eyes. That green, milky, look is visible in some corners of its irises.
Okay. I know what I could do.
“Janice, why don't you go ahead and use the bathroom. I'll handle it.”
“You should have some help, right?” she says.
“It's alright, Janice. I'll help.” Lissie's voice hurdles to us from the direction she's coming from.
The undead becomes confused as it sees living people walking in different directions, unknowing who to try and attack first. Janice now is going off to a private lavatory we do not know of, and, with her out of our vision, leaves Lissie and I with this one walking bomb to ourselves. “What did you have in mind?” she asks me.
“You saw we brought shovels here, so I am just going to press the shovel end to its back and coax it to move forward.” I explain, while grabbing one of them off of the inner corner wall they were placed near.
“Okay. I'll keep it distracted on me, so you can get behind.” Lissie replies, fully partaking without hesitation.
I equip it, and wait until she gets the undead completely focused onto her. Arranging myself, bending my arms to gain the strength in my chest, I tell Lissie she can get beside me at this point.
I ensure I do not accidentally pierce any skin on its back, for any exposure to the amorphous haze is hazardous, no matter the size. “Make sure to keep pace, so it won't tip over from too much pushing.” Lissie tells me, breathing in between pauses.
I note it down, and we walk the footpath with the least ascension or dissension. The skylight is beginning to reach its final phase for the day, with it beginning to hit dusk. November being the month, we seem to have some of the shortest days of the year.
At least we know planetary rotations haven't been affected, unlike the weather however.
I decide to start bringing in conversation to Lissie, so the grunts and slobbering of the undead zones into the background. “Most of the people we met today were kind.”
“Most?” she asks.
“Well, there was 1 who was not willing to take a chance on us. They were just being a protective father.”
“Better to have one who is protective, over one who isn't.”
Myself being curious in why she says what she does, with such a bitter-sounding tone, makes me want to ask her if she has experience with one or the other. “Before you question, no, I'm not interested in explaining... but thank you.” She says, softly groaning, though doing it at herself. More silence from us happens, with the undead trying to turn itself around every now and then, thereby having me concentrate fully on keeping it forward. “You know, you have asked a lot of things of me, but I never really have gotten the chance to ask you a question.” She tells me, sparking more conversation.
“Go ahead, then.”
“Why did you become a musician, of course, before all of this?” she asks.
I take a brief moment to gather my explanation for why that was the career path I chose. “The way I look now is not how I looked before, but the way I felt about things remained—even today. I was not the kid that was taken seriously for the aspects of life that made my heart 'sing'. It was then that I believed I had to appear and behave the way others needed me to be like, no matter if it was not the real me. Becoming a musician rejuvenated my need to individualize, but I still had the issues of not being right with others who were around. I was not into drugs, or taking advantage of the fans. I just felt my main purpose was to write music that shared a message of sentiment and rejoice to be oneself. Throughout my life, I have dealt with the backlash of not being what others thought I should be like, and I guess today hearing you get upset of me not reacting how I should made me… revert back somewhat.”
“So, round-about way, you've dealt with never fitting in, and you thought living under the standards of another voice would fix what you believed was your fault?” she asks.
“To fit it in a sentence, yes. I did try the luxuries of being a successful musician for 1 pinch of time, but I was only doing it because I believed my bandmates when they said it would bring us closer as a group, and we would create even more bombastic music.”
As the head, the leader, back then, and now, I see a unified team like a spear. I feel the point of the spear should be connected to the handle by more than just rope; in other words, the whole structure should solidify to each part—enough to be a 1-piece solid weapon—because the leader does not dissociate from the other components that follow. It should all be powerful in their own right.
“I can't relate really to what you've known as a musician, but I do understand what it's like to live by another person's standards, and the bad things that can come when you disregard them. But, it's all in the past now.” She says, hinting of something that is reminded to her in our present.
“I will not ask what you mean by that.” I say, hoping it indicates I do listen and respect what she does not want to elaborate on.
We give each other complimenting looks of appreciation for our chatter. Eventually, after several long minutes of poking and nudging this easily-manipulated undead, we get to the location where the events of the other undead, as well as the fallout with Will, occurred. “I am going to gently let them s
lip off the cliff. After that, we just jog back.” I announce to Lissie, catching her off-guard, while she gets sucked back into the present.
I carefully set in place the right stance and bump the undead to walk forward, and I do not let the pressure off until I see it lose balance. Sure enough, the body lands on the hill, and rigidly slides itself downward fast on the rough, textured, ground. It looks as though a ragdoll was tossed over, and it's unable to avoid the fact its face is sanding up against the surface. Lissie and I turn around and begin jogging our way back to the shelter. “It's probably going to burst.” Lissie mentions, continuously looking over her shoulder.
“Yeah, but the drop is steep, and the haze will likely not have the power to traverse back up the hill. New hazes try to float to the sky first and foremost.” Getting back to the shelter has no challenges or obstacles. “The sun is starting the set.” I bring up, absorbing the view as I say it.
“I can see that, Gary. I'm not blind, no matter the strands of dirty mists.” Lissie says with a smirk, playfully teasing my comment.
We are in the front space of the shelter, next to a large stone that resides on the land. I suggest we get back inside, but Lissie gestures we do different. “How about we sit here for a bit?”
The stone is not wide enough to have 2 people be right beside one another, so we sit on the opposite ends of it with our backs touching. We take silence, looking up at the sky, as the mutual acceptance of where we are with our physical placement, but also where we stand emotionally, encircles. After a few moments, I hear her voice. “Gary,” she speaks, softened, sparking something succinct with intimacy, “I want you to know, when you first came out of that RV, that I really wouldn't have shot you. I wouldn't have brought myself to do it, but… I want to be as reliable for the group as you, Ashton, and Janice are, and I'm afraid to say that I'm worried if I become a liability.”
