by J. N. Morgan
“Nahhh, wouldn’t want all you getting fat.” Everyone was going about their typical duties, but the leaders as well as their two new friends wanted to give a proper goodbye, even though several had already done so when it was Dinner time. It was just after that noon meal, the Sun high in the sky with picturesque clouds dotted here and there. Nick kept quiet off to the side, looking down at the ground with a scowl, and those before Richard chuckled at his little joke.
“I can’t leave Nicky…” Tiff said sadly, holding onto her man’s good arm, looking down at the dirt as well though sadly rather than scornfully. “Thanks for everything though, I wish we could pay you ba-” a distinctly noise kick at the gravel on the ground was heard behind her, and it was obvious who it was from. Kathleen and Grant was looking to Veronica impatiently. Their gaze soon switched back to the woman before them with kindness.
“Nonsense, you’ve helped us out plenty… even if it came at a price.” The only reason the black one was even still alive was because she killed most of the group that had been forcing their hand for so long. If not for that fact, they’d have killed her for having killed the boy that had been part of their group. Rich nodded somberly, thinking of Johnathan, and wondered if he’d have shared them in a toke last night if he was still there. Somehow he doubted it, but who knows, he never spoke to the man about pot before.
The male leader’s hand was shaken, and when he went to shake Malcolm’s he was taken in a manly and thoroughly heterosexual hug. He gasped at the suddenness and strength of it hurt his shoulder, quick apologies given, but it was laughed off. The pain wasn’t nearly as bad as it used to be, amazing what a few good days could do. Other than that, it was hugs all around, and Tiff screamed in surprise and glee when the younger Native man picked her up during the hug and spun her around. Impressive strength indeed. Brit gave her fellow Newfie a kiss on the cheek and a wink.
“Ooo, I’ll keep that one in mind tonight.” He winked back, and would have given his crotch a grasp if not for the respect he had for the elders before them.
“No you won’t.” Green eyes narrowed as she looked to him, giving a dirty look.
“Wanna trade?” This, Rich sent to Malcolm, who gave a loud, genuine laugh, which was amplified as Brit went to the injured fellow’s other side so he had a woman at each arm. His posture straightened noticeably, a broad grin on his face, but of course the joking around couldn’t last forever. Final goodbyes given, thanks was provided for the good footwear provided to Tiffany who’s slip-on shoes just wasn’t cutting it, and so they left. In all likelihood, even if the five individuals present who were in their 20s-30s lived another 50 years, they would probably never see each other again.
Each had a full belly, even Veronica was given a plate of food after her day and night of starving. The SKS was slung over Tiffany’s shoulder, and to spare her the weight, Richard had his own Lee Enfield in his left hand while his backpack was on his left shoulder. The right shoulder, of course, was still going to be out of commission for some time yet. It rendered long-arms useless, so his rifle was pretty much dead weight to him until he could get use of both arms. Still, he had his pistol at his hip, so at least he wasn’t entirely disarmed.
For the time being, silence remained, but the suspense couldn’t be shaken. Considering what he’d called her just a couple days prior, there was a very real worry that as soon a she got her SKS back, if they decided to return it to her, she would shoot him. Or perhaps bayonet him just to make the pain and suffering that much worse. Having her over to his right, where he was pretty much defenseless, it didn’t improve matters.
The Sun was high in the sky, only just beginning its tilt down towards the west behind them, and as ever, forest surrounded them. When night falls, they will likely have to spend another night on the ground. Can’t be helped. While he thought on this, Nick regularly looked back towards the community they were leaving behind, the community she had unknowingly saved from a cannibalistic group, and the community that had beaten her and left her outside for walkers to nibble on if any should get past those who stood guard. A small hill in the road was climbed, the injured man though in much better shape than he had been for over a week, was struggling with the pack, breathing heavily. In spite of his woman looking over to him worriedly, he pressed on. They weren’t out of sight of the town for a full minute before the youngest of the group looked to the oldest.
“Alright, we can’t see them anymore. Give me my rifle.” Stopping, she moved along to the left, rounding behind Rich who twitched at the movement, anticipating her to potentially attack, and faced her as she went about. Tiff took a few quick steps away from her friend, holding in the sling on her shoulder. Her features were a mixture of worry and determination.
“Nicky, just let me hold onto it for a while…” The man was taking a few steps back, lifting the sling of his rifle so that it went around his head to the right side of his neck while it remained on the left side of his torso. With the backpack still there as well, it made for a tight and uncomfortable fit, with the sling digging into the flesh of his neck quite a bit but at least it didn’t hurt his right shoulder. Most importantly, it freed his left hand, which he rested on the frame of his holstered M1911A1. A finger wriggled into the leather, which was still done up with a snap button. The finger found the manual safety on the left side of the frame, he pushed it down to disengage it, and it was already disengaged… just as he had intended. With the grip safety, it should be safe enough, but it was so difficult to disengage it one-handed with his left hand that he thought it best to leave it off. That done, he held his thumb on the tab of leather that stuck up on the left. Pushing it would undo the button, which would release the strip of leather that went around the back of the slide to keep it from coming out of the holster. He was ready to draw his side-arm.
“GIVE IT TO ME!” The silence after the somewhat portly woman’s gentle request to hold onto the rifle lasted only so long until Veronica roared her demand. Would she use it on him? Would she take it back to the town? For all they knew, she might want to kill both of them; first Richard for calling her… ‘that’… and then Tiff for keeping her down afterwards while she went wild with rage, and finally would then head back to take vengeance on the grieving father who had yelled at her and struck her. Hell, who knows, she had attempted to force herself on her friend once before, maybe she would do so again.
‘Click’, the black woman had her head jutted forward towards her motherly ex-roommate, intensity in her bulging eyes, but the head came back straight at the sound. Slowly, with a look of outraged disbelief, looked back at the man. The soft sound of metal gently rubbing on leather, a click as one of the snap buttons bounced against the stainless steel, his .45 cal side-arm was held in his left hand, pointing down at the ground. Prominent and naturally arched eyebrows were low, brown eyes emotionless, mouth in a frown as it was surrounded by thick scruff which was damn near thick enough to be considered a full-on beard. His woman looked from one of her fellow survivors to the other, worry etched on her soft features.
“Leave it alone, Veronica… Tiff can hold onto it for now.” He said it as gently as possible, though none the less his voice was deep and commanding, even if it had attempted to make it sound like a suggestion.
“You racist FU-!” With teeth bared, she took a few quick steps towards him, arms out, ready to go, but he cycled his body clockwise. Right foot slid back so that instead of facing her, he faced sideways, and at the end of his long, strong left arm, that nearly half-inch wide muzzle was directed directly at her. It did not shake or wobble, and his left pointer finger rested on the trigger. On the back of the frame was the grip safety, a tab of metal under very light spring pressure so that when the firearm was not held, that safety would jut slightly away from the frame, and would block the trigger from coming back. He had a firm grasp on the firearm though, and as such the safety was easily depressed to be smooth with the angle of the frame beneath the meat of his thumb. Veronica stopped in her tr
acks, though looking none the less angry and outraged. Her heart skipped a beat as, for a brief instance, she thought he would shoot her where she stood. She did not let that moment’s fear show, and was successful in it.
“No more ‘white boy’ shit. No more ‘cracker’. None of that ‘men are rapists’ or ‘whites are racists’ bullshit. I don’t even want to hear the term ‘transphobic’ uttered, just because I’m a ‘cis’ male.” That three-letter word at the end was spoken with scorn and disgust while the side-arm was trained on her. He realized how hypocritical it was to bring up the word ‘rapist’, considering what he had done to both women before him, but he didn’t care. “We are survivors. We are human, and we are alive. That’s all that’s to it. No more talk of white or black. Straight or gay. Man or woman. Now let’s just keep going.” The pistol had been pointed towards her chest all this time while his brown eyes intensely looked into her own of the same colour. Now however, the iron sights obscured half of his left eye, his pupil resting on top of the front sight from her perspective as he aimed the firearm at her forehead with intent. “After you…”
She quaked. She fumed. Eyes jolting angrily from the pistol to him and back, and her mind was at work. If only she could get her hands on him, she could kill him, easily. Essentially one-armed, still not back to full strength, with her bare fucking hands she could throttle the life from him. Then he would finally be out of the picture.
“Mmmmm-rah.” A low growl in the back of her throat before she ripped her gaze from him, looking ahead to the east on the highway, and started walking. The hefty .45 cal pistol fell to his side, finger coming off the trigger and resting on the side of the stainless steel frame. He tapped it there as he watched her go, head low though eyes watching her all the same, and then he turned said head to look to Tiff. She was just looking to the road, the hand holding the sling on her shoulder shaking, and once she realized the gaze on her she looked up as well, held his eyes for a moment before looking back down again. She started walking, and so he followed, holstering the side-arm but not bothering to do up the leather strip with the snap-button on it. Leave the holster open for quick access… he had a feeling that things were going to get worse before they got better.
For hours they were surrounded by woods, the Sun growing lower and lower, shadows stretching longer before them. Nick didn’t turn, didn’t slow down, but just kept on marching. Whatever was going through her head, he feared, couldn’t be anything good. She seemed to him to be the type to hold a grudge, and was certainly holding onto those toxic leftist ideals far stronger than Tiffany had.
Heavy breathing, sweat down his brow, it helped when she had offered to take his hefty pack for him, which he happily accepted the offer. A white van was parked on the right side of the road, and Veronica merely gave it a passing look before carrying on. He was preparing himself for the stench; she was always quick to search stuff, to scavenge, yet when they came up alongside the vehicle there was neither corpse nor stench. Tiff, red-faced and sweating, was still looking better-off than her male counterpart. When she asked if he wanted to take a break here, he wordlessly nodded his head, mouth hanging open.
“Nicky!” Unslinging the SKS, she leaned it against the hood of the vehicle as she called out to the friend who wasn’t even looking back as she continued walking. The driver side door of the van was open and Rich had sat himself down to catch his breath. Peering over to her himself, his head lowered and it was given a shake. His woman quickly began jogging after her, who knew full well that the other two had decided to have a breather.
While the distance between the two women diminished, the man with his rifle currently leaning against the passenger seat peered up at the sky as he sat sideways on the chair, looking left to the west as his body faced south. The Sun was quite low, probably only a couple more hours left to the day. Enough to get several more Kilometers covered, but he was thinking that it was best not to push it. He was still recovering, after all, and even Tiff still had to get used to her new footwear provided by Brittany earlier that day. This was as good a place as any to stop for a rest, and the food and water provided to them was certainly enough to get a good start for tomorrow. They likely wouldn’t find a better place to sleep than this in 2 hour’s time.
Peering back, there three wide seats which would provide great accommodation for each one of them. Even if their group numbered five, the driver and passenger seats could be reclined to allow two more to sleep with relative comfort. Along the right side of the van, when facing forward in the vehicle, was a thin isle to allow people to pass through. These sorts of rigs were often used commercially for transporting workers, or for small-scale bussing outfits. Cramming 9 workers in there with coveralls and hard hats would be relatively easy, maybe even 11 even though the two nearer wide seats weren’t quite as wide as the one farthest back.
Even though he was the tallest and could get the most use out of the largest rearmost seat, getting to it with just the one arm, having to walk sideways through, would be quite uncomfortable. He’ll probably go for the one closest to the front which can be easily accessed by the one sliding door on the passenger side of the vehicle.
Returning his gaze east, the two women were walking side-by-side now, however Tiffany was speaking quite animatedly, while Veronica continued her determined march. He groaned at the sight, eyebrows lowering at the drama unfolding. Whatever was being said was far too distant to make out, but the less pale of the two suddenly stopped, stomping her foot on the pavement as she spoke face-to-face with the old ‘friend’ who had denied her her own rifle.
That was their battle, not his. He didn’t care if ‘Vera’ stayed or went, and felt confident that if a ‘him or me’ situation was being proposed out there then his woman would remain with him. So let things unfold as they may. He unholstered his pistol with his left hand, laying it on his lap, and looked down at the shining right side of the slide. Approaching a decade old, he had bought it brand new years ago, and the small marks and nicks here and there reflected how much he’d carried it… even at times when he shouldn’t have. When civilization was present, when Canadian law made the carrying of firearms by normal civilians illegal. It felt comforting to have that steel on his hip. Either this one, or the Czech 9mm he owned, or the Hi Power which was a design used for so many decades by the Canadian Armed Forces. Grasping his .45 by the beavertail grip safety, fingers up over the slide, he pulled the slide back since the manual safety wasn’t engaged; if it had been, it would have prevented said slide from moving. A simple brass-check; yup, there was a round chambered. Adjusting his one-handed grip, the pistol pointed off to the left while he handled it in a more conventional manner. Pointer finger found the mag release, pushed it, and he seen the slim single-stack mag fall to have its base land on its knee, half of it still in the firearm to keep it upright. A hole on the side of the magazine showed brass. There were several, and the bottom one showed the 7th and final round; the mag was fully loaded. He brought the pistol down to hit said knee with the base of it, which forced the mag back into the magwell and it locked into place with a little click. 7+1 230gr .45 Ball, just like in the World Wars or in Vietnam.
Brown eyes peered up again at a loud scream. Nick’s hands had thrown themselves up in the air in evident frustration, and her determined march was heading back his way now. Tiff seemed to be relieved, but looked quite frustrated as well all the same, and followed suit. His barrel chest was expanding and contracting at a slower pace now, his breath more-or-less caught. Shoving the pistol in its holster again, and again, leaving it unsecured with the leather strip left loose, he walked around to the side of the vehicle to stand guard by the Russian-designed but Chinese-made rifle. A look that must have been as close to pure hatred as he’d ever want the displeasure of seeing was directed right at him as she quickly walked to the passenger side of the vehicle. The sliding door was thrown open, causing the vehicle he leaned against to shudder, and then with another crash it was thrown shut once she was inside.
With her slim physique, she climbed to the back seat with ease and then lay herself down.
CHAPTER 6
It was decided to spend the night in the van. A fire was set up on the side of the road not far from the van, however Nicky didn’t bother joining them, even when her friend encouraged her to come out for a bit. No undead bothered them all night, and come morning though they were hungry enough for breakfast, they decided to hold off on eating the final meals they had. Save it in case they couldn’t find anything that day. Once more the most displeased of the group lead the way, without her rifle. Just the pack on her back, with many of the batteries she had in it having been removed by the group whom she had technically lessened by one even though the lad had left of his own free will at some point earlier.
The one with that semi-auto Cold War-era rifle had it in-hand, and under Richard’s instruction had opened up the fixed magazine’s baseplate. It had been loaded, but the four rounds tumbled out the bottom of the design into her hand and were pocketed. The baseplate was closed with a clack, and Veronica briefly looked back. Seeing her rifle being handled, she scowled that it wasn’t in her hands instead of Tiff’s, and so went back to marching on. The bolt was opened, the ejecting round caught in her open hand in having used a ‘karate-chop’ action to open said bolt, and so the firearm locked open with no round in either chamber or magazine. That final round was pocketed to go along with the loaded clip of 7.62x39, the half-clip with 5, and the singular loose round which now had 5 others to buddy along with. 21 in total.
The wooden-stocked firearm was handed over to him, and so he picked up the pace after handing his own Lee Enfield to Tiff.
“Veronica!” Before the full name had been spoken she had stopped in her tracks at hearing his voice, turning around instantly to watch him approach. A bright, glistening smile was on her face. Just kidding; she wasn’t happy, not at all, and every muscle that controlled every feature of her being showed her displeasure at him daring to actually speak to her after what he’d called her. The quickened pace had him breathing a bit heavily, but he held the rifle out in his good arm, the action still open. Silence built as they stood before each other, nearly within arm’s reach of one another, the rifle between them still in his grasp, the .30 cal muzzle peering up at the cloud-spotted sky.
