「 ❝ as the world caves in. ❞

[འབྲོག་ཁྱི]

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─────────── 𝐌𝐄𝐑𝐂𝐄𝐑 ────── 𝐏𝐀𝐆𝐄 ────────────────────────
─────────────────────────────────────────────── 𝘿𝙍𝙄𝙁𝙏𝙀𝙍 ────── ♠

LOCATION; bunker ─ TAGGING; Alice ─ MENTIONED; Almos, Valentina ─ WC; 5,722

"South-west corridor, what's your status?" The words crackled, distorted by the radios that relied on wires in the walls to carry signals that would not otherwise penetrate underground. The sounds of the rifle in Mercer's hands, its clicks, the weight, it brought a bittersweet sense of security ─ one he detested ─ as he lifted it to aim the beam of the attached flashlight into the dark. It was quiet this far into the outer rooms of the bunker, quiet enough to hear every fall of his boots on the metal panels and each shift of his dull-grey fatigues in the stagnant air ─ it had not always been, but the draft no longer hummed in the vents and the machines in the walls had stilled here to stretch what little resources they had left. He swept the light from corner to corner, stirring the dark mass of the shadows piece by piece until he knew there was nothing to see. The muzzle lowered to point at the floor again as he freed a hand to press at the radio attached to his shoulder.
indentindent"Clear." It came out hoarse and absent, as if fresh from sleep.
indentindentindentHis footfalls echoed, climbing up the walls and bouncing back from the ceiling like the work of lungs and a heart as he made his way back from the dead-end corridor and toward the core of the bunker. The control room lay somewhere there, the place where they had once watched over everything but that now ran on a skeleton crew and a fraction of its former power. A hush had overtaken the hallways, filled only by the anticipatory pacing and distressed packing of those who had survived. The people they had lost had left behind a tangible sense of empty space, which must have been unavoidable after two years crammed inside the same walls, spent learning to live in such closeness to others ─ nothing new to the soldiers among them. The serrated voice from the speaker guided Mercer toward another corridor, and he complied, even when he knew it would be the last on the list they had gone over again and again throughout the past few days. Yet all of it did little to ease the pressure he could feel bearing down on the outer walls of their home.
indentindentindentSince, many of Mercer's hours had been taken up by this, the monotone work of checking the corridors, hallways, and torn-up rooms while they prepared to leave. Monotone, only because obstructing the breached backdoor had seemed to keep the dead out, but left them burning borrowed time. On one hand, he was grateful for this constant patrolling, because while his mind was occupied, it could not fill with other things ─ things that threatened to spill over into reality and blur the precious line between what was real and what imagined. In these circumstances, distraction came at the cost of lives. On the other hand... 'that's hardly a way to keep yourself sane, is it? Ignoring something until it grows so big that you just no longer can?' A familiar voice.
indentindentindentHis hands were stained red, many shades, drying and less dry, built over and against each other like brushstrokes ─ he had sliced something open wrenching the warped panel free from the wall, or─ The bullets had torn through the machinery, rot slicked the floor, even his frantic fingers could not patch and replace parts fast enough. There was water leaking from somewhere, coolant from someplace else. Then the call to give it up, they would abandon ship and open the doors. Had that been before or after...? The dim hallway filled with radio static, followed by the request for his final status check. Mercer frowned and shook the fragmented images from his mind. He had tried to piece them together so many times, hoping they would finally fall into place like dominoes, but they kept slipping, escaping time and pulling up their roots from the confines of space.
indentindentindentAnd so, he found himself incapable of getting lost in some fiction about these days, about the continued existence of the bunker, because every check was a reminder, the why a bruise he could not stop prodding. But was that to know whether any of it had been real or because the hurt ate up room from a contorting grief?

indentindentindentA sliver of flickering light laying along the floor told Mercer that the door to the little room everyone had taken to calling the 'chapel' had been left ajar. He stood there in the half-dark for a while, listening to the distant noise of chatter from his radio, his eyes on the stripe of light reaching across the toe of his combat boot. He had always found himself filled with a sense of conflicting disquiet in churches, ever since he had been eight and some older kid had told him that all churches had saints and priests buried underneath the floorboards, slowly turning into skeletons that would vacantly stare up at them, and it had lingered with him even once he had grown up and realized it was hardly true. But the chapel had been different, not only because it was barely more than another metal room with non-denominational pews and a few candles at the front, lacking the sense of something pointedly and exclusively holy ─ he had once listened, captivated, to someone reading passages from a book he did not recognize while another had stood in the corner smoking a stale cigarette ─ but because of a conversation, only a handful of words long.
indentindentindentA shift in the rectangle of light falling outside the chapel doorway caught Mercer's attention, and he peered in, to see him standing over something in a sweater that must have once been white but had long since acquired the shade of grey that they couldn't seem to escape. His fatigues were tied around his waist, the constant reminder of where they were. Tommy stepped to the side, the repositioning of his body revealing a row of miscellaneous candles ─ some lit, some cold. 'Does that help?' Mercer asked, and Tommy glanced back, seemingly never startled by any intruder, then turned back to touch the burning candle in his hand to an unlit wick until it blackened and took the flame. 'Maybe.'
indentindentindentMercer found he had drifted past the doorstep, to see more candles lit than he had since they had all first been closed into the dark of the underground. The past few days had unquestionably been hard for all of them, not just for himself. He pulled the strap of his rifle down from his shoulder, flicked the safety, and set the weapon to lean against the side of the pew, before lowering himself onto the uncomfortable seat and resting his elbows on his knees. Fingertips roughened by manual labor came to idly brush at the bandage wrapped around the split skin of his knuckles. He had buried a lot of things he couldn't otherwise express into that dent in the wall of his bunk, many hours after the hallways had turned red with the lights of the breach alarm.
indentindentindentMercer tugged open a zipper and dug his fingers into the breast pocket of his fatigues to produce a grey chain, letting it run through his fingers while the flat tags sat cold in his open palm. Everyone had called him Tommy, but Mercer didn't need to look at the dog tags to know that his name had been Lowell Thomas. He hadn't heard the end of it during basic training, he'd told, and so he'd been Tommy from there on. Besides saving soldiers adrift on the vast sea of civilian life, Tommy had become a Washington state park ranger, and his thoughts had often formed at the unconventional crossroads of soldier and ecologist. They had both known that Mercer's view of the military had become grim ─ far too long ago to be changed ─ but Tommy had never seemed to see his own existence as the juxtaposition of killer and conservator. He'd sometimes talked about Pacific rattlesnakes. Something about their venomous yet mellow nature had spoken to him, but that was about as far as Mercer had been able to understand this analogy that had only ever seemed to be for Tommy alone.
indentindentindentStaff Sergeant Thomas had gone out saving a life, a man named Almos. A man Mercer had found it difficult to look at ever since without being reminded of exactly what saving him had cost. He wasn't angry. He wasn't.
indentindentindentThe first thing that pops up wherever people go, no matter the circumstances, is a bar. It was a poor excuse for one, not much different from the rest of the rooms. But it was after their rotation in security, far into midnight, and it was Tommy's turn to fill Mercer's head with thoughts that would help him sleep. 'Did you know that during the First World War a french aviator cut his engine high in the sky while on a night op, and as he glided down, silently, he found himself in a flock of birds that looked motionless in the air? Swifts, deep asleep under the moonlight, mid-flight.' Mercer emptied his glass and listened quietly, because there was always some point to his outwardly pointless stories. 'Sometimes I look at us, living here in the bunker, and I think about that. Underground birds, coasting on geothermals. I know that might sound sad, but it's the opposite ─ it gives me hope. We're just waiting for this to pass, sleeping until we see the morning sun.'

indentindentindentMercer wiped his cheeks and leaned further forward to scrub his hands over the back of his neck, the chain wound tightly around his fingers. In this fragility, there was a single name his mind did not yet dare to voice, but when that horde had separated them, he had been spotted by a group of soldiers who had identified him as Corporal William Page and informed him that, under martial law, he was being drafted into the security force of a bunker near Jericho. The promise that had had him rising into their truck had been a lie, but by the time he had found out, it had been too late. The doors were sealed. He had found the soldier who had spoken those words, broken his nose and an arm in an apoplectic haze, but it had not made him feel any better, only earned him a few days in lock-up and months worth of grunt work. Maybe some part of him had hoped they would simply throw him out, let him go find her.
indentindentindentYet that was hardly a fraction of what had risen to haunt him as mercilessly as his darkest days, because the moment the truck had stopped, they had handed him a rifle and stationed him at the door, forced him to spend hours turning away desperate people while they led in those who mattered. 'The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars / But in ourselves, that we are underlings.' There had been dozens, and every single face returned to him in his dreams, rising to set the responsibility of their inevitable deaths on his shrinking shoulders. They were drowning in a wave of the undead, pleading for him to save them, reaching for him to take their hand and pull them out. Alice among them.
indentindentindentAlice.
indentindent"Stop," he signed at the floor between his boots. "Stop", and it was angrier, frustrated. 'Saying it out loud helps stop those intrusive spirals before it gets bad.' The pain that ignited in his chest was an unbearable agony, one he had long thought would cleave him in half and leave him to gasp and suffocate. The terror that seared the back of his head and tore into his shoulders. Loss wasn't an emptiness, it wasn't a void of pleasant numbness, it was ripping at his insides and baying at him to do something, do something. The problem with moving on, a concept so many of his peers in the bunker had managed to familiarize themselves with, was that he did not desire to move on. It was a matter of want. When were these things not? And there was the stubborn belief that if you only held on violently enough, you could hold back death itself, because what was that bag of bones to a man of flesh and blood? But it only ever served to make the realization that death was beyond anyone's control worse, all the more difficult to chew up and swallow.
indentindentindentShe's alive, you know she's alive, she's out there, and you're going to find her. You haven't lost her, she's alive.
indentindentindentThe sole of Mercer's boot connected with the pew in front of him. It hurtled across the floor, grating stridently along the metal, until it stopped when it collided with the next pew in a clash of wood against wood. It was pointless. The difference had been starker when Tommy had been around, because Mercer knew that he understood and he cared ─ he had been there, stayed, even when he had made it painfully and awkwardly clear that his heart would only ever belong to Alice, life or death. What had been the life raft of a drowning man were the long hours he had spent working to prove himself as capable of being a drifter, and eventually, they had been more than happy to let him, because the best body to throw at a desperate job was that of a disposable man, the lowest rung of those who had gotten in.
indentindentindentMercer wasn't a scientist or a politician, or someone who hoarded power and influence in the way of stacks of money ─ he had served one tour and hated every second of it, but he had kept his hands clean since, worked as a mechanic with the qualifications he had achieved during his service, and every place, organization, institution ─ no matter how powerful ─ needed the people who would sweep the floors and fix the leaking pipes. And that was how he had spent a lot of his time, half-sticking out of a corridor wall, covered in grease. It had been seven months and thirteen days before they had allowed him outside, to find the specific supplies they couldn't produce or hadn't thought to hoard in advance, and he had feared it had been too late. But he had come across people, and it had given him that wretched hope that she, too, had survived. Their paths simply hadn't come to cross yet.
indentindentindentThe trips outside had been few and far in-between, often in the dark of the night, only when they had been desperate for something that they simply could not continue without: fuses, medications, batteries. But waiting for each was what had kept him alive, no matter how many months. He had made a promise, back then, but to him it had not been what she had asked for, because there was no state in which he could have brought himself to lay a hand on her, but the promise of never letting anything like that happen to her in the first place. That promise was burning in him, burning him, because how could he keep it now?
indentindentindentTruth was, in most of the final moments they had shared, he had been terrified, and it had been the sort of terror that was too much to express, the kind that resolidified into composure. The only reason he had not lain on the floor and given in was her. He was brave because of her, and without her, he was not much more than a boy, the same boy who had been dressed in fatigues and sent out into the desert. She was the only thing that mattered, because without her, whether by his side or in the distance, there was no point in continuing, no purpose to this afterlife. There was no scenario in which only he out of the two of them would have survived, because if she were to die, it would take him with. And without her, it had been far too easy to recall everything he had wanted to forget for good, for that empty space to become filled with turmoil and torment. Tommy's words had offered a respite, but it had never been a true one, only the indefinite postponing of pain. It was only with her arms around him that he had ever found a sense of quiet, of release. Asylum.

indentindentindentMeeting Alice had felt as if he were putting an end to the time he had lived as Corporal Page. It had been the end of the fight, and if not a victory, then peace. At least until it hadn't been, when it had turned out that he was incapable of leaving every part of it behind. The guilt. The shame. She had witnessed some of his worst days, seen him climb out of bed in the dead of night to lock the doors and then lock them again. Seen him wake up thinking he was half the world away. But she had kept him afloat. With her, there had never been a fear that he was a ruiner, because she had seen it all and still thought of him as a good man, and it had helped him believe so, too.
indentindentindentMercer lifted his head and reached into the collar of his fatigues to pull the chain with an engagement ring from where it was kept warm by resting against his heart. This, this was what had invariably meant more to him than any dog tags, but now, with Tommy's clenched inside his fist, it stung. He had always known exactly what to do with the ring, to keep it close, whether he was elbow-deep inside a car engine or clutching his rifle in the horror out there, and he did not want to hang the dog tags around his neck because he was past that, but he could not bring himself to throw them away, either, like he had with his own. Mercer flexed his left hand, the stiffness in it holding the memory of what might as well have been the greatest ─ and now unreachable ─ day of his life, even when it had begun as one of the worst. He had met Alice maybe ten minutes after he had hurled his tags into the lake, seen them break the surface, and hoped to never see any again.
indentindentindentThe heavy silence that had gathered inside the chapel was broken once more as the radio came to life: "─ final hour before we open the doors. Page? Page, check in. Mercer." Mercer slipped the ring back inside his fatigues, the tags into his pocket. His life had settled into an off-kilter routine during the past two years, held largely together by Tommy and the vague hope of reunion, but that was coming to an end.
indentindent"On my way," he replied, and picked up his rifle from where he had left it. He took a moment to hold up one of the burning wicks to an unlit candle, before closing the door to the chapel and setting toward his quarters a few sectors away. That meant passing the labs, where the damage from the breach and its aftermath was some of the worst. Bullet marks scuffed the walls, burns had scorched them. He would blink and the backs of his eyelids would burn with the outlines of the bodies they had removed, soldiers and undead alike.
indentindentindentThe grunts' quarters were nothing spectacular, merely a hallway with bunks cut into the walls ─ it brought to mind a submarine, or as another soldier had once remarked over watered-down drinks, a mausoleum. Mercer pulled his rucksack, the same one he had packed on that day two years ago, from the narrow shelves lining the spaces left between the bunks. Most of his meager possessions were already there, but he gathered a tattered copy of a book that had neither brought him feelings of zen nor taught him anything new regarding motorcycle maintenance, and he pulled a picture from the wall behind his bed. It was of Alice, and of course, she was atop the same horse that had mowed him down on the day they had met. Separating her from her horses wasn't something he had ever even dared to think about.
indentindentindent'Get your boot in the stirrup.' The flaxen horse shifted and snorted, and Mercer looked back to Alice as if asking her to confirm what she had said. His arm was still in a cast, but what choice did a man have when he was head over heels in love, and in a place where he needed something, someone, that would save him, just a little. 'Just so you know, if I also break my other arm, I won't have any arms left to break and then we'll have to go on a real date. Like dinner. Or the movies,' he protested, all the while obeying by gathering a tuft of mane in the fist of his cast-clad arm and the cantle of the saddle in the other. Her laughter was sunlight, warm, flowing, and abundant. Invaluable. 'Better pay attention or you'll be too sore to sit down at the movies.'
indentindentindentAlice was someone Mercer had been proud to introduce to his parents. She had helped begin the mending of their fractured relationship, helped them remember that he had been a nineteen-year-old boy when he had made the choice to enlist. She had drawn him a tattoo ─ a falcon, then later the topographic map of the nature reserve where he had proposed. Taught him to forget the bad days, the acrid smoke and the death, and talk about the good moments, the brothers he had made. Hearing the sound of her breathing by his side had made it easier to sleep in the silence after he had grown used to the constant noise of the barracks. His sister, Ivy, adored her. Had.

indentindentindentMercer zipped up his rucksack and swung it over his shoulder. Each heavy step he took toward the bunker doors, that final layer of security, was one that had fear pooling into the pit of his stomach, like drops from a faulty faucet. Going outside as a drifter, often alone, had not been easy, but it had been easier. There was no group of people with him that he would inevitably feel responsibility over, because he was the one who had been trained to use a gun and they were scientists, civilians. There had always been a safe base to return to at the end of the run. The diminished size of the group that greeted him at the doors was a sight that sent despair swooping through his chest. They had lost so many, and there was no telling how many more they would lose. Where will we go?
indentindentindentThere was a tremor that ran through the floor beneath Mercer's feet as the metal doors began to move and the first sliver of leaden daylight fell across them, slicing their small group in half. Those doors had not moved since they had closed on that day two years ago, and it was a far cry from the potholes they had crawled out of to make their drifting rounds. One hand gripping his rifle, Mercer lifted the other to shield his eyes, even when the day outside proved overcast, but he soon lowered it, because the first drops of rain had found their way through. The fresh air rushed in as if sucked into the void of the bunker, bringing with it the thin drizzle that washed over his face and clung to his beard. It had a hope swelling in him, a feeling about the salvageability of the world outside ─ the morning sun they had been waiting for.
indentindentindentThen the alarm began. A deafening sound, howling from the sirens around the bunker's entrance and burrowing into his eardrums. The group around him started to move, flowing toward the break in the doors, but Mercer froze, hands clutched in a white-knuckled around his rifle.
indentindentindent'It's an air raid!'
It's hot, oppressive. Breathing burns the nostrils, dries the throat into scratchy sandpaper. His ears are whining. Something is burning. Someone.
indentindentindentThe next thing Mercer knew, there were bodies pouring from the trees. Dozens of them, closing in. Nausea was clawing up his throat, gripping his jaw, the colour draining from his face. His heart was leaping in his chest, and with shaking hands, he raised his rifle to level it at the approaching tide of decaying flesh and warped mouths, but he couldn't aim at a damn thing. We need to turn off the alarm, we need to turn it off, was the sole thought cycling through his head, even when the wall of corpses came closer, and closer. He was rooted in place by the soles of his boots, stuck somewhere inside himself watching the his death and the death of everyone he was meant to protect rush closer with scrabbling hands of jagged nails, when the chest of a horse, glistening with sweat, broke through like a crag would split a trashing wave.
indentindentindentThere was a flash of dark hair, caught in the wind and the stride of the horse as he had seen it so many times, and there came the hope, that stupid hope, that had time and again been followed by a disappointment, fracturing his heart just a little more. It had to be a lie, another construct of his reeling mind, something kind to bring him comfort in the face of his inevitable death. But it was her voice, her voice was what set the tremor in his paralyzed feet, because the woman in his nightmares, waking and dreaming, had never spoken to him. Someone was shouting for them to get on the horses, but she, she was dismounting from hers, sending it crashing back into the horde. And then those blue eyes were on him, and something there, something in the blue, had him swallowing against his terror even when it refused to die down.
indentindentindentIt was as if he were resurfacing after submersion, breaking out from underwater. You get to breathe again, then, but your limbs are still numb and cold, because the waters that should have been galvanizing had only served to paralyze. The Alice that fell from his lips was barely voiced, soon lost in this furor, but it allowed him to break through his standstill, and even with stiff hands, he aimed his rifle at the swarm. Short, controlled bursts toward the heads of the undead did little to reduce their numbers, but as they fell and stumbled, tripping over their own, their assault slowed, marginally. It was a new fear, the fear of losing her to this horde, that had him flooding with adrenaline and acting while his mind lingered in shutdown. We have to shut down the alarm.
indentindent"We have to shut down the alarm," he shouted over the tumult, and it was part pleading, because without the horse she had sent away, there was no chance they would be breaking through, and the only way out would be to go back inside the bunker. And he wasn't about to lose her again, he couldn't.

indentindentindentMercer wished to grab Alice and haul her inside the bunker himself, but he didn't ─ he left her on her own two, capable feet, and as much as it terrified him to tear his eyes from her now that they had found each other, he spun on his heel to sprint for the doors with pounding steps ─ because for two years, he had been a bending branch, and he had the distinct suspicion that if he were to touch her now, he would finally break. And he couldn't do that, not in this horde, not when they were both alive and he desperately needed them to remain that way. 'Keep moving, one foot in front of the other, because if you stop now, you won't be able to start again.' She would follow, he begged that she would, because staying out there meant death.
indentindentindentThe outer doors would be a lost cause, because even if he knew where the control was, they would take far too long to close, and so Mercer dashed for the first of the inner doors. He planted his boot against the metal, sending it crashing into the wall as it flew open. Once inside, that was when he fell to a knee, braced his rifle against his shoulder, and began firing into the stragglers that had broken from the horde and set off after them. And he kept firing, all the way until Alice was in and the door slammed shut, closing them into the dark and muffling the shrieking of the undead outside. Mercer wasn't even on his feet before he switched on the flashlight strapped to his rifle, taking care not to aim the blindingly bright beam at her, as much as it pained him to be deprived of the sight of her face when she was, after all this time, standing right there.
indentindentindentAt the end of the corridor, there shined the red emergency lights, which cycled and seemed to illuminate a different wall between each blink. The agonizing silence was broken only by the sound of him trying to even his own breathing, and there were so many things he wished to say, too many to be said here. He raised the beam of his flashlight to the wall, then swept it further along, ignoring the smear of blood on the grey, until he found what he was looking for ─ the painted markings that had been left on the walls to show the location of the radio wires. He was not entirely certain ─ about anything ─ but after two years of working maintenance, he knew what the marks looked like, and his best guess was that they could follow them to the control room.
indentindent"These should lead us where we need to go," he breathed into the darkness with a faltering voice, and he felt stupid immediately after, because what kind of thing was that to say with two years of separation lingering between them?
indentindent"I─," was all he got out before a slam against the door reverberated throughout the length of the corridor, and his heart stuttered in his chest. "We need to move."

indentindentindentThe banging against the door continued behind them, even as it grew more distant as they walked the corridors, following the markings in the red glow of the emergency lights. The first door seemed to be holding, but Mercer kept closing doors as they advanced, doing his best to keep the tremor from his hands and the waver from the sound of his own breathing. The places they were passing through became less and less familiar, and he suspected that they must have been getting closer to the control room, because that was one of the few places he had never been. Grunts had little to do there, because the people working there had seemed bright enough to change their own light bulbs ─ and to keep the systems of the entire bunker from seizing up.
indentindentindentThe markings along the wall disappeared after a door that looked the same as all of them, with the exception of the tall, block letters on the sign nearby appearing to designate it as the closest thing to what he had been calling the control room in his own head. He walked a few paces past to sweep his flashlight along the walls and the ceiling to make sure they had not simply switched sides, before circling back to inspect the handle. Sometimes, it was beneficial to be more of a doer than a thinker, because a simple try of the handle proved that the door had been neither locked or barricaded. It did turn out to be significantly heavier than the other doors, and he suspected that there must have been a mechanism that usually opened it, but he braced his shoulder against the metal, leveraged his boots against the floor, and pushed, and it gave in with a groan of metal.
indentindentindentFrom the distance came the echoing sound of buckling metal, then warped, mindless voices, groaning and shrieking. They had broken through. Mercer gave the door a final shove, creating enough space for them to squeeze through. After Alice had made her way in, he shrugged off his rifle and rucksack, sliding them in, before forcing his own way through the narrow gap. The interior was lit by screens, some of them displaying nothing more than error messages or lost connections. Mercer dragged the door closed behind himself and lowered the heavy bar into place, then navigated to the countless switchboards making up the desks lining the walls. In the faint light of the screens, he hovered his trembling fingers above the rows of buttons, tracing the small letters beneath them until he found the section for door controls. A single flick of a switch, and the alarm was off.
indentindentindentA trembling breath escaped from Mercer's throat. He shambled to the nearest wall, leaned his back against it, then slid all the way down until he was sitting on the floor with the pale blue glow of the screens illuminating his face. He knew that, any minute now, the undead would be coming down the corridor and passing their door, and it would be a long while before they would give up the search. The feeling was oppressive, a variant of the fear that had been ingrained in him, and he clenched his fists, unclenched them, them clenched them again ─ even when it reopened the split skin of his knuckles and had fresh blood seeping into the white of the bandage. His eyes wandered to the rifle laying in the middle of the floor, then to Alice.
indentindent"I'm sorry," he whispered into the silence of the control room. Guess that was as good a place to start as any.

[འབྲོག་ཁྱི]

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LOCATION; house > stables ─ TAGGING; this clown idk her check urself ─ MENTIONED; Jesse, Valentina ─ WC; 1,705

Daniela Marchesi was twelve years old when she learned how to use a handgun. She could still remember the solid, cold weight of it in her small hands, and the encouraging palm resting on her shoulder. Veronica Alexander, on the other hand, had not seen anyone use a gun until two years ago, when the soldiers came ─ at least that was the truth she strove to live, but there's a difference between convincing others and trying to convince yourself. And on a bad day, both of those might be called lying. Yet the same Daniela had believed life would end after your twenties. And she had never laughed, only smiled. The same Daniela who would watch her family during Mass and only realize years later how twisted it was ─ how utterly twisted ─ it had been to grow up in a world that did not let her see the discrepancy in the idea of attending church and leaving only to go back to running a criminal empire. And that was not the person she wanted to be anymore ─ hadn't wanted to be in years.
indentindentindentThey always say that you shouldn't swerve; that veering into the other lane to spare the deer is the reason for most of the casualties in the statistics. The day Veronica Alexander had turned the headlights of her sensible Subaru toward the state of Washington, she had almost been one party in a DVC ─ a deer-vehicle collision. Washington had seemed like a good state to start over, a place filled to the brim with romantic ideas of the Pacific Northwest, the ocean climate, and the endlessly green forests. And it had been the home to many small, remote towns that still had job vacancies she could fill without having to consider herself underpaid. It was haven, anonymity. A chance to disappear.
indentindentindentVeronica had only been Veronica for a short while then. It had been the time when she had still slept with her shoes on, and always for the same strange two-three hours at a time, like some sort of prey animal. And when the cop car had driven past her sitting in that inconspicuous Subaru at the side of the road, trying to gather herself after a white-tailed deer had bounced its way into her headlights like some manner of pallid ghost, this Veronica, this construct of a person, had laughed politely and waved him away, because she couldn't afford anyone taking a closer look at who she was and why she was exactly where she was.
indentindentindentTwo years ago, she had started sleeping with her shoes on again. She had spent time hiding under cars, seen people shoot at each other over perishables, and strayed in her faith, because she feared she might have been in purgatory after all, and if she'd lost the gamble, then what did it matter anymore? All of that had only ended when she had made it to Jericho. And considering the circumstances, maybe it was sick, or devastatingly sad, but it was as much a home as she'd ever had. In the morning, she would rise, carefully button the cuffs of her shirt, and pretend ─ pretend that her skin wasn't a triptych devoted to death, and hell, and hatred. Pretend that she wasn't carrying around a past that would raise questions, whether she were among thieves or saints. Pretend that she could not use a gun, because the thought was repulsive, and it was the manner of repulsion that is incorporated deep into your being, your flesh and blood and bones, your soul, because knowing that you're repulsed by it is what keeps you glued together.

indentindentindentVeronica had spent a lot of nights sitting in her thoughts, while her slender fingers would toy with the delicate cross hanging from her neck. Gold ─ and silver, and money, and stocks ─ had lost its value the second everything had collapsed and the understanding that these things had no consequence to survival had spread into the collective consciousness as swift as... as the virus. There were things in the world that had inherent value as tools in maintaining the physiological foundation of Maslow's hierarchy of needs, and there were things that could only be considered after these were fulfilled, things that only had value when or if the human society so collectively decided. And Veronica ─ she found herself lingering somewhere in the shadowy middle ground between the two. What use would a counselor be to people who decided they did not need one? Outside of this island in a sea of the undead, what would Veronica do but be once again forced to pick up a gun? Talk the walking dead out of the harmful habit of cannibalism? It's an illness, and illnesses can be fought...
indentindentindent"It's important that we let ourselves feel whatever it is that we feel. Grief, despair, even anger or relief. It's all natural, and it's not easy, but there's no good way around it." She laughed quietly, the sort of calculated breath of laughter that would ease the heavy atmosphere of loss. They would never stop losing people, not in this world. "Trust me, if there was, I'd know about it already." She adjusted the coil of wire hanging from her shoulder and took a step to the side, one in the many of slowly making their way along the innermost fence of the estate. "But while we feel these things, it's good to not let that be all there is. We find something to do for the day, just the day. And then tomorrow, we find something else. One day at a time." The survivor standing a foot from her sniffled and gave a subdued nod, never lifting his eyes from the fence he was fixing. I hope there'll be a day soon that you won't think about your brother under the teeth of the undead.
indentindentindent"Cavolo," Veronica mumbled under her breath as the wire pierced the tip of her finger. She wiped the bead of blood onto the hem of her shirt and hissed again while inspecting the damage, then returned to bending the loops of wire around the gap in the torn swath of chain link.
indentindent"What was that?"
indentindent"Ah, nothing. Just got pricked, 's all."
indentindentindentThey were almost done with the fence when the noise began ─ the wailing of the sirens, snaking and spreading itself across the valley with the ubiquitousness of cloud cover. She and the young man shared a look, then joined the trickle of people heading for the house in search of answers. She lingered at the back of the crowd that had ensnared Jesse at the foot of the stairs, eager to hear whatever she had to say when there was no one else to provide guidance. Veronica and Jesse did not get a chance to talk that often, but they shared a quiet understanding of what people needed, spiritually and psychologically ─ beyond the basics of food, water and shelter. It was only when Jesse's eyes briefly fell on her that Veronica let go of the impassive expression that was often like a carefully considered safety blanket and allowed her concern to show. Something was going on and it wasn't good, because Jesse was rarely among those who ventured into the chaos outside the compound.

indentindentindentThere was not much Veronica could ─ would ─ do in situations like this ─ Valentina knew her stance on guns, even if not the reason, and she was a terrible rider, bound to merely get in the way of those who could actually help. If Vale suddenly had a problem with what Veronica was willing and unwilling to do, she could bring it up to her face and they could have a civil discussion about it. Once the riders had gone out with Jesse and the crowd had dispersed, both returning to their duties and gathering into little groups around the living room to speculate, Veronica returned to the fence to finish the last few coils worth of patching they needed to do to close any gap that would fit a grasping limb or rotting jaw.
indentindentindentWith the repairs finished, Veronica gathered up the rest of the wire, but before she could return it to the closely watched shed of supplies, a commotion rising from the stables caught her attention. It did not sound like more riders getting ready to exit the compound, and there were not that many dogs around the estate, so she swore she could recognize that insistent bark. She cut across the lawn, and the moment she stepped foot past the doorstep of the stables, before her eyes even had a chance to adjust to the dim light, a white shepherd came bowling toward her feet ─ Doa, or Dodo as she called him, because Doa was a particularly mean name to give to an animal. She wrapped her fingers around his collar and stubbornly did not allow herself to be pulled into the dusty insides of the stables, but instead walked him toward whatever mess she feared would be waiting for her.
indentindentindentAnd there it was, Ursa sitting in the middle of the chaos that was her beast of a horse prancing around in bewilderment. All Veronica desired was a low profile existence. To remain under the radar, to not become the center of everyone's attention. There were days, however, that it seemed as if Ursa wilfully disagreed with any such goal, and on this particular day, that happened to rub her the wrong way. Irate might have been too strong a word, but she did find herself angry enough for the emotion to arise with a note of guilt. Her fear of scrutiny having risen to a boiling point, she glanced around to ensure they were alone before opening her mouth.
indentindent"Ursa Davecchi, what the hell do you think you're doing?" It came out in a vicious hiss, a taste of her sharp tongue. Veronica took a deep breath and wrangled the dog to calm down beside her so that he would not dash into the horse's feet. "I know I'm not a doctor, but you are, and you should know better."

[Zyn]

🛡️ 𝔗𝔢𝔯𝔯𝔴𝔶𝔫 𝔎𝔢𝔪𝔟𝔩𝔢 🛡️
Bunker Drifter || Ex-Marine || Male || Thirty-Five || Homosexual || wc: 1,302

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🛡️ Location: The Town
🛡️ Tags: Kennedy
🛡️ Mood: AHHH GAY PANIC 💓
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Terrwyn offered a curt not towards Ramos but couldn't offer anymore words since his next mission was to find Bones. The rush of relief when he had spotted the medic was almost overwhelming. As their gazes meet it was like the whole world melted away and all he could see was Bone shinning like a reassuring beacon. The sight stole his breath away like every time his gaze found Bones and for a moment he could forget the chaos surrounding them. As their hands clasped his heart gave a nervous start and he had to ignore it to lift Bones up onto the back of the huge horse. He waited a moment for Bones to settle before urging the horse forward. Apparently his urge meant leap forward since the moment he taped the huge horses sides the big chestnut was lunging forward with a jolt. His fingers tightened around the reigns as he was completely taken aback by the speed at which the horse moved at, he hadn't been expecting it with horses huge size. A small scream from behind him told him that Bones was just as startled by it as him. It took a moment for him to realize that Bones had wrapped their arms around his waist but the moment it sank in his traitorous heart gave a start and then thundered loudly in his chest. His cheeks warmed despite the horrid circumstances, he cursed the moment they would have to dismount and the warmth would leave him. He barely held back a strange noise the moment Bones rested their head on his back. His mind was a swirling mess of, 'oh my gosh, oh my gosh, ohmygosh.' Hardly helpful in the moment. With a swift shake of his head Wynn cleared his mind as he guided the horse back around.

As they circled around the survivors he started desperately at them. There weren't as many by the entrance as before as several had been rescued already. Those that were still fighting were far fewer than had entered the bunker on the first day. A number he was terrified would only continue to dwindle if he didn't help. However he couldn't afford to grab someone else and risk making it so that it was too much for the horse to carry. He assumed that the horse he rode now could pull and carry a lot but he didn't want to push it. If he did weight now the horse there was no guarantee that they would get away safely. Without that guarantee he couldn't risk it, if the horse went down then he was sure they would all go down with it and it would defeat the point. With one final look at the others he urged the horse around and they leaped forward muscles rippling under the saddle. If it was him guiding them or the horse he would never know, either way slowly the bunker faded in the distance as the horse pelted towards what could only be described as a fortress. Despite having lived in the bunker he hadn't ever seen anything so impressive as this town, it was prepared for zombies in ways he hadn't ever considered. So startled by the sight of the town it wasn't until the last moment that he spotted the trench that had been dug out. Fear coursed through him and only the knowledge of Bones clinging to him gave him the strength to not let out a strangled cry of fear as the horses huge hooves left the ground and they soared into the air. For a moment he felt both completely weightless and as heavy as ten ton truck as they flew across the trench. His heart hammered in his chest, as they flew. Then all to soon they were hitting the ground again with a clatter and with a gasp he glanced back the trench. It was relief that he realized that they hadn't cut it close. His gaze snapped back to the town ahead of them as the giant horse slowed down to a trot and then a walk apparently certain that they were now safe.

The town was unlike any other he had scavenged from over the past two years, in all their ventures outside they hadn't come this way. Now that he thought about it he wondered why they hadn't, the town was so close and yet they hadn't ventured this way. With it's defenses there was no doubt in Wynn's mind that they had resources, either ones that the inhabitants had found themselves or that they had already had. So it brought that question to the front of his mind, why hadn't they come here? As his gaze roamed over the fortified place he couldn't help but take note of each place. Which places that looked like they would be the most useful and which places looked the like the best place to settle into. Wynn wasn't sure how long they were going to stay, that wasn't up to him after all, but he assumed they would at least try and stay for a day or so. Allow their group to recuperate and regain their strength before being forced to go out into the world that was so hard to recognize now. He pushed those thoughts away bout halfway to the stables and twisted in the saddle to get a good look at Bones. His concerned gaze flickered over the Medic, searching for any hidden injuries. As far as he could tell the medic was mostly okay. "You okay Bones?" he inquired, not quite trusting his own eyes to tell the truth. If he had his way he would have reached back to inspect a little more closely but he didn't trust himself to do something like that. Knowing him he would find a way to slip and fall off the dang horse and then where would that leave them. After a long moment of studying the medic he twisted back around in time to see the stable.

The chestnut horse came to a stop not far from the entrance of the stable and no amount of urging could get the horse to ride inside. Giving up trying he shifted in the saddle, slipping his right foot out of the stirrup and very carefully freeing himself from Bones' grasp. Then he very very carefully shifted, slipping his right leg by Bones without touching the medic. He paused his belly pressed against the saddle and his fingers desperately holding onto the edges of said saddle. Freeing his left foot from the saddle he hung precariously for a moment before he very gently lowered himself to the ground. The ground mind you was much farther than he had originally thought, when he had first mounted he had adrenaline on his side and hadn't noticed as much. Now as he was lowering further and further down he felt a stab of panic that somehow the horse had grown on their ride over and the drop was never going to end. Thankfully his feet hit the ground and he staggered slightly from the shock of it. After a moment of steadying himself he looked up at Bones and grinned broadly at the medic. "I promise it seems like a lot further than it is" he offered in as reassuring way possible. Then he reached out and helped the medic down when Bones was ready, thankful for all those years of training since it made his end of the job that much easier. When he was sure that Bones was steady on their feet he reached out and dragged them in for a hug, partially to reassure his friend and partially to reassure himself. The steady thrum of his friends heartbeat gave him all the reassurance he needed.

[Zyn]

🌿 𝙰𝚕𝚖𝚘𝚜 𝚃𝚊𝚔á𝚌𝚜 🌿
Bunker Dweller || Botanist || Male || Twenty-Eight || Pansexual || wc: 1,364

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🌿 Location: The Town
🌿 Tags: Elias
🌿 Mood: NEVER EVER AGAIN!!
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Almos hated every moment and in that moment despised Terrwynn as he was plunked from the ground like one would pluck a pup. Fear coursed through him as he was swung up and onto the horse, even as scared as he was he was no fool and grabbed the man already astride the horse. His leg slipped over the horses back and the moment he could he wrapped his arms around the mans waist, gripping onto them as tightly as possibly. He could hardly hear the man over the pounding in his head. Fear made his heart hammer away in his chest. As the horse powered forward he stared wildly about, his grip on the small garden fork tightened as the rider shot at the undead. The undead that practically clambered over each other to reach them. Almos let out a strangled cry of fear as a particularly nasty looking zombie lunged towards them and latched onto the rider's leg and tried to yank them off. Without really thinking about it Almos leaned towards the zombie and viciously stabbed at the arm with his dinky weapon. It did little to help get the zombie to release the rider but in his haze of fear he hardly noticed or cared. At least he was making a vain effort of helping this strange man on an even stranger horse. As scared as he was to be up on a huge horse he was much more scared of being dragged into the horde and was willing to do anything to make sure his guide didn't get dragged away. He let out another cry of fear as the man swung out with their gun unintentionally jarring him and making him loose his grip on the rider. For a moment he clung desperately to the saddle before he regained his balance and grabbed the mans shoulders now.

Then they were approaching the edge of the horde and Almos foolishly felt a rush of relief, relaxing his iron grip on the man's shoulders. Something he regretted the moment the great horse let out a squeal as they broke free of the numerous zombies and reared. His lips parted in a soundless scream of horror and he gripped the Elias' shoulder even tighter, his heart leaping into his throat. Suddenly they were lurching forward, moving at a pace that was far faster than Almos could have ever imagined the horse could have moved at. Almos was distantly aware of the mud that was being splattered up his legs and sides, if he hadn't been more focused on the terror he might have been mildly irritated by it. Only mildly, dirt was kind of a given in his line of work but even he wasn't a huge fan of the huge glops of mud that was now clinging to his formerly clean clothes. He was distracted even further from the mud covering him when he spotted the trench looming closer. Until now he hadn't seen what they had been headed towards and the gaping hole in the earth did little to calm him. A strangled kind of noise slipped past his lips as the horses hooves left the earth and for a moment he could have sworn that his heart stopped beating. As the moment stretched on his eyes slide shut and he ducked his head as though trying to hide from the leap. Then as quickly as it had happened it was over and with a thud they were hitting the other side of the trench. His jaws clattering and his whole body shaking more than he would like to admit Almos had to fight to open his eyes once more. He was thankful when he did because the sight that greeted him was more reassuring than he could have ever imagined. It was a town, fortified against the undead and in a strange way the the fortification gave him a reason to breath again.

As the horse slowed down to a trot Almos let out a shaky breath. As the man twisted in the saddle to regard him, he knew exactly what he looked like. Brown curly hair fluffed and wind blown, his eyes wide with shock and his face pale with fear. Not all the impressive he was sure and yet somehow this man looked mildly impressed. Perhaps they were less impressed with Almos and more impressed with the fact that somehow he hadn't fallen off the horse at some point in the flat out sprint away from the horse. With a ghost of his former self a tiny almost lazy like grin tugged at the edged of his lips, though his wide eyes kind of ruined the casual effect. He would have croaked out something witty if he hadn't felt like he might throw up if he opened his mouth. Instead he settled for a non-committal nod. Thankfully it didn't seem like they had actually wanted a response since following that statement the horse came to a stop and he was forced to release the man's shoulder to let them slip down. His finger creaked as they were forced to move from their cramped grip and he lifted his gaze to the sky, avoiding looking at the drop. Something that didn't last long when he was addressed by the rider. Slowly he peered down at Elias, somehow the drop looked even further than before. Without saying anything he finally offered a stiff nod before swinging his leg over the horses back and slid down and off the horse. Only the firm grasp on his waist as he hit the ground kept his knees from completely buckling and sending him crashing to the ground. The rider even made sure that he didn't topple over the moment that they let go. Almos was gratefully for it, so grateful that he could have kissed the rider.

Almost shifted the duffle bag further onto his shoulder and then staggered after the rider. It wasn't that he felt weak, it was more that he was still trying to get used to the ground again. The ride hadn't been all that long but between the speed of which they had been moving and his own lack of skill it had been quite jarring for him. It took him a bit to get his walking under control but soon after he settled into a casual stroll, though he kept his distance from the giant horse. The rider seemed to have a lot on their mind and so he merely followed them, it wasn't like he really could have done anything else, after all he was a newcomer. He slowed down slightly as they approached the stable, his gaze turning wary as he regarded the the stables. He didn't have to be so wary though since as he shuffled in he realized that most of the horses had been taken out to rescue them. For a moment he felt guilty about being wary. Still he hung back as the rider removed the tack from the giant horse. If he had been anyone else he might have been interested in what was happening, but this was Almos and he just wanted to be out of the stable. Finally the rider was done and started moving again, leaving the stable behind. Almos was eager to follow and hurried after the rider. It wasn't long before they were approaching a large house and as they stepped into the house the rider regarded him again. Offering a welcome before trudging to one of the sectionals. Shuffling after Almos delicately settled in the sectional, painfully aware of how muddy he was. Almos opened his mouth to introduce himself when the sound of footsteps pulled his attention further into the house. Suddenly a dog came hurtling fro the darkness, lunging straight for Elias. Almos watched in bemused silence as the dog wiggled happily. His brow shot up when the dog was motioned towards him and suddenly he had a wiggling dog in his arms. "The names Almos, Almos Takács, Nice to meet you Elias" he replied casually and gave the dog a scratch behind the ear. "I am a botanist" he added.