Chapter 4: Earning One's Keep

The details of Richard's plan are revealed to Nathan, and he is told that he will soon be forced to face the horde outside.

In the year or so since the Turning, most survivors had developed a defeated, exhausted body language. They walked slowly, hunched over as if the apocalypse was a physical weight pushing them down.

Not Richard, however. He stood tall and proud, a pillar of determination and strength who had seemed a natural choice as leader. Two tours in Iraq had proven him to be a born survivor. Presently he stood leaning against the barrier that walled off the community from the rest of the city with a look in his eyes that would have seemed arrogant in anyone else. In him it simply showed a deep confidence in his abilities and strengths. You couldn't help but trust him.

He wore a pair of relatively tidy jeans (not too tight, as to better allow him to run if need be) and a half-tucked collared shirt. A shotgun rested in a holster on his back with the butt visible over his right shoulder, and he wore a bandolier loaded with shells. He had loaded most of the shells by hand, sealing them with candle-wax. He also carried a pistol on his right hip opposite a worn leather satchel on his left, and the hilt of a combat knife protruded from the top of his boot. A fedora cast a faint shadow over his rugged features, completing the cowboy look.

So much of his appearance was open and honest, except for one detail. A photograph of a boy no older than eight was tucked into his hatband. A mop of blond hair not unlike Richard's own obscured a pair of mischevous blue eyes, and a smile stretched from ear to ear. Whenever asked about the photo, Richard would always feign deafness and change the subject. The mysterious boy was the topic of much speculation and gossip among the community.

As Nathan approached, Richard tipped his hat in greeting. He offered his hand, and Nathan relunctantly withdrew his own from its warm pocket and shook it briefly. Richard had a remarkably strong, firm handshake. A quality Nathan had always admired.

"Afternoon, Mr Atwood."

"Afternoon. And please call me Nathan."

"Will do. Listen, I've got somethin' I need to talk to you about."

"I figured as much."

A patrolling man on the far side of the lot bellowed suddenly: "Mumbler on Orchard Street! Mumbler on Orchard Street!"

"Goddamn it, why do they always holler like that? The mumblers don't seem to be able to hear high-pitched noises, so I keep tellin' 'em to use their whistles. But as soon as these clowns see movement, that goes out the window and heck if they don't yell loud enough to alert every horde from here to Gareth County."

Richard raised his hands to his mouth to project his voice and called in reply: "He a loner?"

"Yup," came the response from the patroller.

"Give 'im one shot. Pink mist. Wait 'til he's in range if you gotta," Richard advised him, then turned his attention back to Nathan, who had glanced over his shoulder to see the commotion. He couldn't see the mumbler past the make-shift fortifications, but he saw the loud-mouthed patroller raise his thirty-ought-six rifle to his shoulder and take aim. The children clapped their hands over their ears in anticipation of the shot, but Nathan judged that he himself was far enough away to not bother doing the same. Nevertheless, the crack still gave him a start.

"Pink mist!" came the confirmation cry. It was met with scattered applause and a few half-hearted cheers.

Richard shook his head and sighed. "Anyway," he said to Nathan, "you've been here what, nine, ten months?"

"Something like that"

Richard nodded. "Sounds about right. I know you mainly stay in that there employee lounge, keep yourself to yourself and such. I respect that, since you don't cause no trouble. But some of t'others round here see you as something of a... well, a leech, I suppose is an appropriate term."

He looked apologetic, but this wasn't news to Nathan. He didn't really mind what the others thought of him, as long as they left him well enough alone.

"Anyway, I'd like you to help with a job that needs doing."

Nathan groaned inwardly. He had known this was coming. Time for him to start paying rent, only with sweat and blood rather than money.

"Right. What is it?"

"We're runnin' low on supplies here. Particularly medical stuff. Bandages, painkillers, that kinda thing. We've been lucky so far when it comes to illness, but with so many people livin' so close t'gether and sharin' limited washin' facilities, it's only a matter of time before somethin' sweeps through here. So I'm organisin' a small party to go on a scavengin' mission in Buchanan hospital."

"That's an hour's walk away."

"Right. But it's the closest place. I won't lie to you, chances are it's already been looted, and it'll probably be crawlin' with mumblers and wailers, since the hospitals are obviously where all the infected people were taken in the beginning. But it's the best chance we have."

"And you want me to tag along?"

"That's right. Do this, and nobody will be able to complain about you moochin' off 'em."

"I honestly don't care what they think or say about me."

"I know, but there's been talk of kickin' you out. I care about keepin' you alive, even if you don't. There'll be three of us: You, myself and Dr Sharpe. He's the man of medicine 'round here, so he knows what to look for once we're in."

"Are you anticipating violence?"

"That's why I'm comin'. I don't wanna blow my own horn too much, but I'm one of the few people here who has any real combat trainin', and I only trust m'self for somethin' like this."

"Fair enough. When are we leaving?" Nathan inquired, while secretly thinking "How much sleep can I cram in before you drag me out there?"

"Tomorrow morning, at sunrise. Pack light, and bring a bag to carry the meds back in."

Great, Nathan thought. Our glorious leader has been peer-pressured into making me into a pack-mule.

He was surprised at how calm he felt. He had just been told that in less than twenty four hours he would be leaving the ramshackle safe-zone and walking the infested streets on what sounded like a suicide mission to fetch drugs. But part of him realised that he simply didn't care about his own life anymore. Any sense of self-preservation had died along with his beautiful, sweet Anna. 'Nate', who had been full of life and drunk from the happiness brought by true love was dead. He had simply flowed out of his body as the blood had flowed from Anna's wounds. He had left behind an empty husk, incapable of deep emotion, forever numb to this new world's horrors. An empty husk known as Nathan, since the one person who called him Nate was gone.

 

"I'll see you in the morning then, Sir."

Richard gave a hearty laugh. "Don't call me sir, Nate."

Reviews

[frakkevin]

I like this. It's has a very video game vibe to it and we're preparing for our first mission. All the characters so far play their cliche parts but in this story it works because you've put them in such an original setting to balance things out.