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i.
The first time she meets Elyza, it's almost an accident. Almost being the keyword, because Alicia swears feverishly to herself that she could've tackled those walkers alone, and she could've gotten away without assistance, and that this familiar yet distant stranger didn't look absolutely impeccable with her baseball bat and leather jacket. But then she'd be lying through the skin of her teeth.
In Lamont's terms, the whole thing is an absolute fucking cliche. Not only had Alicia been cut off from the remainder of her family, lost and dawdling in the middle of some downtown Pharmacy - which mind you, had brain matter splattered all over the far wall (which totally didn't make the girl want to heave up her breakfast of vitamins and mineral water) - but now, a herd of growling walkers had begun clawing at the alleyway gate, pining to be let in.
Alicia's grip on her machete turns tighter, her throat running dry and her eyes boiling with fresh and frustrated tears. A loose "Fuck you all," escapes her throat as she dives across one of the marble counters, ducking behind the register and shushing her groans of raw pain. The gash across her knee hadn't worried Alicia up until now, and perhaps that was due to the adrenaline pulsing through her veins, but either way, the wound looked infected.
"Come on, pills, please," she whisper-screams to herself, almost suffocating on fear. Nick had taken all of their Opiums a while back, so there was nothing in sight to reduce the pain. No, all of the other survivors had gotten there first.
At first, Alicia hears the rumbling of a vehicle's engine before she spots the steel tires crunching on gravel past the fogged window. For a sure moment or so, she considers her options, which were a) making a run of it, b) attempting to attack the intruder, or c) proceeding to stay crouched under the counter, waiting for either an infection from her wound or a bite from a walker to finish the job.
But death never comes, and Alicia finds herself letting out a long squeak when a piercing and shrill explosion erupts outside in the alleyway, reverberating off of the walls and shooting on forth for what seems like miles. She slaps two palms over her mouth, a trickle of blood reminding her of the excruciating pain from her gash, and she struggles to remain silent. Instead, Alicia begs to any God listening that the intruder is a kind and merciful one.
If that could even be possible.
That's when it had happened. Truly happened. The bone-chilling groans and cries of the walkers ceases to exist completely, and only the pitter-patter of raindrops against the Pharmacy windows - accompanied by the stomps of heavy boots - manages to flood the surrounding area. Alicia throws both palms away, cranes her neck, and peeks over the counter to spot a look outside.
Clear.
So the intruder had taken...nothing?
"I don't believe it," Alicia breathes, ghosting words over the beaten wood of the counter, as she manages to wrench herself into a standing position. Albeit, her head is aching and spinning with all kinds of new emotions and thoughts, but curiosity has gripped her hard; unwilling to let go.
Feeling slightly more bold now, the young girl tucks a strand of maroon hair behind her earlobe, adjusts the hem of her shirt, and moves the machete into it's correct stance position, before bracing herself and charging out into the bitterness of autumn, ready to swing and slash at any oncoming walker.
What she's met with, is her survival tactics yelling at her to open her fucking eyes.
Obedient as always, she complies, and is shocked at what beholds.
"Bring it, ya filthy animals!"
It's a girl - no - a woman, standing in the center of a circle pit of hording walkers. A thread-bared baseball bat is clutched between her bronze fingertips, and she pats it lightly against the middle of her palm. Her hair is a beautiful, butterscotch shade, threaded with petite braids and plaits, and her eyes are of the most intense baby-blue Alicia has ever seen in her life.
The sound and image of wheels screeching unveils itself, and the motorcycle in which Alicia assumes to belong to the woman is fitted out with thick, black leather. There are walker skulls dangling from the handles, like some kind of twisted trophy, but somehow, Alicia makes a mental note that it undoubtedly looks badass.
A scar splits over a small patch of her forehead, and a bandage has been stuck to the bridge of her nose, looking as if it had been damaged badly at some point. Her eyebrows are thin, yet strangely stern with a mix of playful. The garments strung over her muscular frame are stained and faded, consisting of a brown leather jacket and denim jeans, finished with over-sized Doc. Martens.
Yet, Alicia still finds her breath hitching.
The woman actually ditches the baseball bat, tossing it as it were some worthless piece of dirt. She swaps it for dual pistols, possibly .34's, and grips them tightly, raising them to eye-level so she can peer over the edges. With a big smirk, the woman holds both weapons out at arms-length, her posture expert and her aim spectacular.
"All right, you damn nibblers," she says, almost bouncing with excitement, twirling the guns in hand. "It's showtime!"
And it truly is, because all Alicia can do is stare and watch, mesmerized as the woman fires her bullets at all angles at each and every oncoming walker. Not once does she miss, or complain, or have to reload like Alicia does - because apparently her aim is "never on, but always off" - and every shot she fires hits the diseased. One right in the brain, another in the gullet, and all of the others hitting limbs before the woman stomps in their brains.
Pools of crimson blood are splattered all over the alleyway walls, and yet the groans of walkers draw to a dramatic close. A thin line of gunpowder smoke flies through the air, before disintegrating completely thereafter. The woman pants, letting out a few shattered exhales, hands clamped to her thighs, before she places both hands on her hips and twirls.
And looks Alicia right in the eye.
"Sorry about that," she has the fucking nerve to say, tucking both weapons back into the hem of her jeans. "Mommy needed to express some rage."
Grip loosening considerably on the machete now, Alicia gulps, her throat running embarrassingly dry. She tries to speak, she truly does, but as the woman takes a few cautious steps forward, so the two of them are practically nose-to-nose, she's even more eye-catching up close.
Granted, the smell of rotting flesh and sweat that seems glued to her skin isn't too flattering, but the shit-eating grin on her face and the smug expression knitting itself into her features are enough to make Alicia squirm.
And then the woman frowns. "No thank you? I mean, I have no problem getting rid of these disgusting things, but a bit of appreciation would be nice for me busting my ass to save yours."
Alicia opens her mouth, then closes it. Her heart thuds wildly in its chest.
The woman cocks a stern eyebrow, sliding both hands to rest on her hips, and Alicia notices with a blush that she's nicked and tucked in all the right places.
Then, of course, like the impulsive idiot she is, Alicia's stoic expression slips, and her squeaky voice manages a sheepish, "Have we...met before?"
Resisting the urge to punch herself in the face, Alicia expects the woman's face to contort into one of annoyance or irritation at such a stupid question. She's almost certain that she's just made a fool of herself, but in actuality, the girl is pleasantly surprised when the woman's face lights up with amusement; the creases of her face crinkling and a dimple popping out.
"Woah," she says, running her fingertips over the handle of her gun. The woman glances up at Alicia with her eyes as wide as saucers, as if she'd just struck gold. "That's a lame pick-up line!"
Kill me, Alicia's mind begs.
Alicia starts to walk back down the alleyway, perfectly happy with bleeding out and dying in the Pharmacy rather than embarrassing herself further. There's an awkward pause as she attempts to shuffle down by the dumpster, but is stopped by a familiar voice calling out over thick silence.
"Your leg looks bad; you should let me patch it up for you."
Alicia frowns, turning with a look of how dare you?, before gripping onto the dumpster's lid and scowling.
"I can do it myself. I don't need your help," and then adds a hesitant but fearful, "okay?"
But as always, the mysterious woman is quick-witted, flicking a thumb and winking an eye. "Then let me get you some top-notch-quality medication. Saves you from getting an infection. Who'd wanna die from a gash in a zombie apocalypse? Do you really wanna look that pitiful?"
Somehow, that had won Alicia over, and she soon found herself considering her options, referring back to a), b) and c), before shaking her confused head and dragging herself back over to the woman. A strange and icy-cold feeling shot through the girl's veins as the she and her new "companion" stumbled down the alleyway, headed straight for that damn motorcycle.
"Fine."
It's silent for a good while, before Alicia decides to be brave with what she believes to be a humorous, "And by the way, that wasn't a pick-up line."
The woman kicks at some gravel, staring upward through a curtain of blonde hair. "So what was it, then?"
"An actual question."
"If that's the case, then no," comes a bitter reply. "If we did, then I'm sure I would've remembered such a pretty face."
Alicia finds herself having to hide her face at that, mumbling those sweet words in her head like some kind of personal melody. On the outside, she looks sour, but her inside is sweet and sad. So, when she's coaxed onto the motorbike, suddenly remembering that this girl is a complete stranger, she flicks out her pocket knife, ready to attack if the situation permitted it.
Instead, she retorts with a swift roll of the eyes, "Now whose the one using lame pick-up lines?"
"Yeah," the woman murmurs softly, the keys in her engine whirring the bike and littering a thin stream of smoke from the back. It's loud, dangerously loud. But Alicia begins to ponder that maybe danger was just a synonym for this woman. Whoever she truly was.
"I mean, it worked, didn't it?"
"What?"
"You're blushing!"
"You know what? Shut up. I don't even know you."
The woman takes that as a challenge, and whilst using her right hand to wind against the vehicle's handle, she resorts to holding out her left. Her lightly-tanned skin has been littered by a field of bruises and cuts, as well as some faded traces of mud/dirt.
"I'm Elyza. Elyza Lex," she says, answering a question that was never asked. She leans forward, the leather squeaking. "And who are you, buttercup?"
"Alicia Clark," Alicia finds the words tumbling out of her mouth before she can stop herself. "And thank you. You know, for saving me."
And Alicia renews her previous thought, thinking that danger is just a synonym for Elyza Lex.
A wide smile, as the steel wheels begin to roll down baked concrete.
"Anytime, kiddo. Anytime."
ii.
They share the night in mutual, comfortable silence. Apparently Elyza doesn't even have a home, because she "moves around too much", and "you're much harder to eat when you don't stay in the same spot for longer than two days", but Alicia opts to take that as a grain of salt. Instead, the two of them camp out at some locked-down cabin near the beach shore, a small campfire flickering against the evening sunset.
It's quiet, tranquil. And Alicia finds herself thinking that if this is what Elyza's life is like, it must be nice. She chows down on some red meat, after cooking it expertly over the bawling flames. If there's one downside to this woman, it's that she eats horribly loudly.
So, when the lack of conversation begins to gnaw at the back of Alicia's mind, she attempts to make small-talk.
"I like your tattoos."
The chewing stops altogether, and the crackling of a particularly persistent flame masks Alicia's cough. It's true, she'd been staring at Elyza's tattoos the entire journey here, her eyes wandering across the black ink and trying to deduce exactly why they were there.
A narrow infinity sign has been etched into her wrist, and the edges of a sleeve poked through Elyza's leather jacket. She had some muscles, although she wouldn't be what you'd consider "buff", just "well built", for lack of a better word. Her accent was what really threw Alicia off though, and she has to quickly come to terms with how an Australian ended up in Northern America.
Elyza digs through her front pocket, presenting what appears to be a crumpled cigarette in a moment of nothing but Eureka!, and proceeds to pop it between her pale-pink lips. Her lips are chapped, Alicia notices, before her mind is sent into panic.
The Australian jerks forward, tipping the torn edge of her cigarette over against the campfire so that the tar turns alight. It wavers, before blooming into a mixture of reds, oranges and yellows. And Alicia finds herself almost screeching at it.
"What are you doing?" she hisses, holding tightly onto the material of her inner thigh's sleeve. "You couldn't burned yourself! You should've just asked me for a lighter."
Elyza's shit-eating grin only grows wider, the navy-blue night settling in round her. "Sorry, mom, but I think I'm more than capable of handling a fire. What are you, twelve?"
Alicia really wishes she wasn't so exhausted, so she could reach across the campfire and hit the woman in the face.
Without warning, Elyza's face sinks into one of pure sternness. She gives a few feeble puffs of her cigarette, roots through her backpack for some liquor, and sips and suckles at the two of them respectively. She wipes her dirtied mouth with the sleeve of her jacket, and offers an awkward shrug.
"No, seriously, though. You're not like twelve, are you? It'd be a bit uncomfortable if I turned out I thought a twelve-year-old was cute."
"No," Alicia grunts, feeling a sharp stab of pain spread up her leg. "I'm not twelve. I'm seventeen, soon to be eighteen--and wait, what are you staring at me for?"
It's true, the woman is staring intently at her, gawking widely as if she had no idea she was doing the like. Elyza grips the neck of a whiskey bottle between her fingertips, clutches a cigarette between thumb and forefinger, and blows a thin whistle of nicotine against Alicia's face.
"Dunno," she says, matter-of-factly. "I like looking at attractive people. Especially in times like these. Is that such a problem?"
Alicia attempts to dodge the plain fact that someone as attractive as Elyza Lex just called her attractive, and searches through her own backpack for a protein bar she'd found about half an hour earlier, hoping the taste might make her think of anything else but that gorgeous, heart-shaped face.
"'In times like these?'" Alicia repeats, biting into the bar, feeling a bland and unpleasant taste on her tongue. "You're talking as if you've been stuck in a zombie apocalypse before."
Elyza sucks her cigarette through gritted teeth, the soft waves of the ocean washing up onto the shore. "Well, when you're in a band, the groupies can be the equivalent of flesh-eating monsters. So it's not something I'm entirely new to, no, but it's not something foreign to me, either."
Eyes growing involuntarily wide, Alicia swallows thickly. "You were in a band?"
Instead of replying directly, Elyza simply shrugs, puts out her cigarette, and begins to circle the campfire. "Maybe I'll play for you someday, and you'll have to decide for yourself."
When the woman grasps Alicia's legs gently, rolls up her jeans, and begins to thoroughly clean out the wound - before bandaging it, of course - Alicia tries to put her own mind at ease, or at anywhere else, at least. The tattoos are on show, and Elyza's bruised; beaten hands are much more rough than the girl would've ever imagined. Sure, nobody moisturizes their skin in a war-like state of world, but her hands were oddly tough and worn-away at.
"So, what now?"
"We stay together," Elyza shrugs, just as it begins to rain. "and stay alive."
And Alicia succumbs to sleep with the wind whistling in her ears, by the side of a complete stranger who resisted the urge to comb through her hair
iii.
The next time she meets her, truly meets her, Elyza and Alicia manage to snatch a room at one of Elyza's friends motels. There's smears of deep, black warpaint across Elyza's thin face, which she's tried fruitlessly to wash off in the en suite. But since the taps didn't work, and the only water they had was flavoured, she'd decided to keep it and work it to the best of her ability.
"Wanna play some fucking poker?"
Alicia grumbles from under the duvet, a shotgun at her side. "Excuse me?"
"Sorry. Wanna play some fucking poker, you pompous fucker?"
They talk, until the Roman numeral clock hits midnight, until a blanket of night is draped over the town. There's a couple of groans from outside, and Elyza will occasionally move to the window to look through her hunting rifle, the edge of her tongue poking out and one of her ocean-blue eyes squeezed shut against the lens. Alicia gathers foods and bandages, leaving the bullets to Elyza for obvious reasons, before they share a round of poker, and then settle down for dinner.
Alicia's wearing a patterned apron, and her silhouette slices through the doorway, carrying two plates in her wake.
"Eat," she says, placing the food on the windowsill next to the woman, who currently looks tired and parched, but still determined regardless of the circumstances.
"Eat, Elyza," Alicia huffs, folding her arms over and leaving room for a hand so she wield her spatula. "If you don't eat now, you won't eat for the rest of night. I know you."
Elyza shoots her a pissed off look, beginning to root around across the plate, idly grasping a handful of vegetables. "Weirdo - you knowing me and all. I'm trying to keep us alive."
"We've managed so far," Alicia frowns, juggling her own plate and glaring at the back of a blonde hair. She'd torn through three packets of cigarettes in twenty-four hours, and her breath had begun to stink to the point that it was no longer unnoticeable.
The tattoos are on show again, and Elyza's friend - oh what was his name? Mark? Mick? Murph? - can be heard yelling in the motel room downstairs. From the bits and pieces Alicia can grasp, it's about money, or the lack thereof. It's stupid, really, how in a world where you were supposed to be more concerned about fleshing-eating monsters, there were still some people out there who used money and worshiped it like a religion.
There are birds tattooed onto the inner patch of Elyza's skin, alongside some patterns that looked to be tribal-esque. Her hair is knotted; hasn't been brushed in days, and for once she'd actually ditched her leather jacket, showing just a small line of cleavage.
"Thank you for the food," Alicia mocks, feeling a little bit domestic as she stomps back into the kitchen, a mustard-yellow hue from the lights illuminating her face. "You asshole..."
Alicia eats alone.
When she wakes with a start a couple of hours later, nestled and burrowed deep under the covers of the double bed, comfortable but unnerved, it's due to a sweet and melancholic voice pulling and reigning her back to reality. It's the first time in a long while that she's felt even remotely human, so Alicia leans up over the curves of her duvet, and watches as Elyza sits in front of the bay window; and strums against the strings of her ukulele, lips moving in unison.
"In peace may you leave the shore, in love may you find the next. Safe passage on your travels, until our final journey to the ground. May we meet again."
Alicia sleeps peacefully that night.
iv.
"No, see, you're holding it wrong. Here, let me--"
It's winter, cold and brutal, and Alicia feels the same way about Elyza. Yet, for some reason, her eyes have been trailing Alicia's lips for several minutes. The woman's rough hands grip Alicia's soft ones,moving her elbows swiftly into a relaxed position, and tilting the barrel of the gun at a ever-so-slight angle. She's gentle, in the way that she does this, and that's why this is so odd - although everything about this is odd - but it feels, refreshing.
"Look," Alicia mumbles, feeling her legs turn to jelly. "I'm never gonna get this, Elyza, so why don't you just--"
That's when the steel door of the training hall swings open at a worrying velocity; causing Elyza's quick frame to snap into action. Quickly, she grasps the gun from Alicia's hand, leaping in front of her and yanking one of her wrapped daggers from it's thigh-holder.
And then she had the fucking nerve to spit, "Stay behind me, Alicia. I'll protect you."
But no walker drags itself through the door-way, and instead, it's Elyza's friend, towering and tall with a clean-shaven head, worried and calculating.
"Walkers," he says, eyes moving frantically. "They're outside."
"Got it," Elyza nods as the door slips shut once more, her fingers winding themselves softly around Alicia's wrist, beginning to tug her along. "You ready? We can continue training later, cutie. Always got time for you."
"Fuck off."
Elyza grin grows wider as they begin to run. "Fuck you as well, sweet cheeks."
The groaning of the walkers doesn't die down as the two of them race down the alleyway, sprinting and leaping and dodging for all they're worth. Alicia swings out the baseball bat, hitting it ferociously with a grunt against the side of a biter's head, silencing it's groans for all eternity. Elyza whips out the double barrel shotguns, firing them where she feels appropriate. It's a hurricane of blood and guts, but the two of them manage to leap over the fence into the open field beyond.
"Alicia, girl you rock!" Elyza yells, pulling the girl in for a hug, adrenaline pulsing through her veins. How close had they come to death? How close had death come to them?
All the while, Alicia never lets go of Elyza's hand not until they're back at the motel.
And she wouldn't have it any other way.
v.
Elyza moans, panting, writhing, rolling about atop the mattress. Her skin is slick with a sheen layer of sweat, and her wild curls are strewn over her face. Alicia had her digits pressed to the meat of Elyza's thigh, pumping as fast as she can muster. Her kisses are harsh, wanton, desperate.
And oh God, they shouldn't be doing this. Not here, when there's an entire party of people camping out next door, and certainly not when the summer air is boiling and the window is open for all walkers to hear. So Elyza has to slap as palm over her mouth, stifling sighs and groans of pure pleasure. And Alicia can't help but think how gorgeous she looks.
"Oh, fuck."
"No," Alicia whispers, sweet and breathy as she risks a bite to Elyza's earlobe. "Just me."
She can't believe how she made Elyza weak, how she made her legs shake. But that's a distant thought now, as they have to be quiet, not make any noise, not wake the others who could possibly be sleeping in the next room. But it's a dream, a soft haven, as she feels the woman give out against her touch, let out a long moan to finish her off.
And it's strange.
"That was fucking splendid," Elyza says, oddly, as she presses a chaste but breathless kiss to Alicia's lips.
"Splendid isn't the word I'd use," comes the reply, but Alicia offers a small nod of agreement. "But good. You're more submissive than I thought."
And that - rightfully - earns her a pillow to the face.
vi.
The rain is pouring as Elyza and Alicia sit at the bus stop, Alicia's head on the older woman's shoulder, and two coats strewn over their shoulders.
"I'll keep you safe," Elyza offers weakly, the motel burning behind her.
The mood is depressing, but it seems to fit suite.
"Always?"
"Always."