Chapter Text
Early April
"Are you bit?"
"I dunno man." He held his arms out; scratches, deep and bloody, a few punctures. A mad scramble through the woods and a bit of hand to hand combat with three undead had left him looking as if he'd been beaten, bloodied, and bitten. "I have no idea, honestly." Turning one arm over, he showed Chris the deep marks that could just as easily have been bites from infected teeth or scratches from nails as scrapes or scuffs from tree branches and bushes. "But I'm not risking it."
Staring at the marks, shaking his head slowly, a look of dread came to Chris's face, but Tom's expression was passive, that unconcerned mask he'd mastered so early in life. Chris had seen it before. He knew what was behind it.
"What are you - "
Tom cut him off before he could finish, turning away to move back to the window. "Take Anja and the girls and go."
He'd known this was coming. Tom would never put anyone at risk, he would die first before he let anything happen to his family. But nobody knew how this worked yet. Chris shook his head, his eyes back on the deep gashes as Tom pulled his sleeve down over them.
"I mean it, Chris - take them and go. Get them as far away from here as possible, as quickly as possible. If something happens I do not want them to see it."
"She's not gonna stand for that."
"I know." He closed his eyes for a long moment, listening to the branches scratching the window. "Tell her I'm staying behind to clear the road for you, that I'll be catching up as soon as you're off the mountain. Then just keep going." He opened his eyes again and there was nothing in them but a steely determination and zero tolerance for disagreement. "Convince her that we worked it out between us and that I know where you're going and will meet you there as soon as I can."
"She's gonna figure that out as soon as we hit Arrowhead."
"I don't care." He looked at Chris, his best friend in the world, the one person he trusted, the only person he would give his wife and children to. "I can trust you to do this, can't I?"
Chris inhaled deeply, rubbing his filthy hands roughly over his face. This can't be happening.
"Yeah, you know you can."
Anja and the kids were in the root cellar in the deep underside of the hill, locked in, safe for now; Tom had seen to that, gotten them down there himself, put them in and kissed them and bolted the big heavy door behind him as he stepped back out into a world suddenly full of things that shouldn't exist. The woods were crawling with the sick, the infected, the monsters the virus had created. He couldn't risk opening the door again...he'd had to make his way back, almost blind in the intense darkness right before the dawn, armed just with the knives he'd grabbed from the cabin's little kitchen. Guns would draw too much attention, and he didn't want anything near his family. But all bets were off now, and he clutched a long range Winchester in his hands.
"How much ammo you got?"
"Enough, I think."
Chris nodded, the look of resigned dread that he'd had since their arrival now permanently etched into his face. Everyone looked like grim versions of themselves, the same people, but with faces that might never smile again, not with any degree of sincerity. Life was over. Now there was just living.
"Cara?"
"I'm not going." She moved over to the side window, taking a quick scan of the west side of the cabin's perimeter. The big shotgun resting on her shoulder seemed like the last thing she should be holding. Chris waited till Tom met eyes with him again before nodding his head toward her. "You gonna allow that?"
Tom shrugged. "She's a big girl, she makes her own decisions. Besides, she's a good shot."
Chris sighed, raking his hands through his hair. Of all the nightmare scenarios he could conjure, this was the one - the one - that he couldn't wrap his head around. Just hours ago they'd all been at the pub, laughing, drinking, listening to music, sending the stragglers home...Tom was lifting Anja onto the bar and kissing her, his hands sliding slowly up her legs as he whispered something into her ear that made her giggle, a pink flush coming to her cheeks that could have been the booze or the crude proposition or both...Cara had called, the girls were in bed asleep...he'd sent Ewan home and now Tom and Anja were dancing slowly in the middle of the pub, Tom was singing to her and suddenly stopped, yelling to Chris to turn up the radio, the emergency broadcasting system alarm was going off...
"Pop?"
Tom's dad was perched on his knees on the split log headboard of the bed, his elbows propped on the window frame, his keen eyes constantly scanning the woods behind the cabin. "Hm?"
"What are you gonna do if he turns?"
"I'll shoot him in the head."
Tom laughed, nodding his approval. "Thanks Pop."
"Damn. Don't fuck with the Heyworths, you guys have ice water running through your veins." Chris desperately wanted to laugh too, but his throat was dry and hoarse and he couldn't get his emotions behind it. He settled for reaching out to squeeze Tom's shoulder. "How do you feel?"
"Not bad. Quite exhilarated, actually."
"No symptoms?"
"None." Chris nodded, hoping that would be the end of it...but Tom looked at him, and he knew his next words were going to completely negate what he'd just said. "But we don't know if it's quick or if I'll turn tomorrow or next week. I won't risk Anja or the girls."
He nodded again. It seemed to be all he had to contribute to anything. Tom, Cara, Adam...the moment the world changed, so had they, slipping instantly into survival mode - but they weren't just surviving, they were doing it badass. It was like they had a second person inside each of them, a person that stepped up and did what needed done without having to even think about it. While his own head was racing, trying to sort what was happening and what he should be doing, Cara was hurrying him into the back room of the pub, grabbing the bat from the wall and stationing herself at the back door while Tom locked down the front, quickly using the last of the cellphone reception to call his father as the city went dark.
When Adam pulled into the alley in a truck that nobody questioned his sudden acquisition of, Cara and Anja had put the girls in the cab, pushing a stack of guns into the floorboard and strapping the children in. Cara and Chris climbed into the back while Adam gunned the engine, leaning out the window to yell for Tom as Anja spoke quietly to the girls, keeping them calm.
"What the fuck is happening?" Chris had asked, more afraid of the steely emotionless look on Cara's face than of the strange crowd of staggering wraiths that were slowly filling the streets. Her eyes were on them, her hands gripping the bat so hard her knuckles had gone white.
"Somebody left the door open."
"What door?"
She looked at him, for just a moment, and he saw absolutely no fear in her eyes.
"The one on hell."
They'd made it to the mountains and holed up in the cabin, but it wasn't long before the sound of the truck going up the ragged trail had caught the attention of a few infected in the little town below. Like a herd of cows following the sound of the hay truck, the undead ascended, and Tom had run down the hill in the dark, carrying one of his girls and dragging Anja along behind him as she clutched the other in her arms.
He came back alone, bloodied and battered, but his wife and babies were safe and that was all he cared about. There was food and water and a short supply of battery power in the root cellar, they could survive in there long enough for him to come back for them - or for someone else to, if he couldn't.
But the plan had just changed, thanks to the hordes of ghouls coming quickly through the woods. Far more than they'd expected.
"You gonna tell her goodbye?"
"No...she'll just want to kiss me and I don't want to spread my germs around, just in case."
"Yeah."
The two men were silent for a moment. They knew they were saying goodbye. They both knew it might be forever.
"Tell her I love her."
"I will."
"I love you too, you know that, right?"
"Yeah."
There was another long silence before Cara snorted. "Just kiss each other and get your ass out of here, Chris. Fuck's sake, you two."
Adam laughed from the back window. "Now's the time, it's clear out there."
The last thing Chris saw of them was three rifle barrels pointed out the front window, covering his long run to the truck.
"Where are we going?"
"Off the mountain."
"And after that?"
"Tom gave me an address in San Bernadino, someone he knows. It's a safe place. He wants you and the girls to wait there." He didn't look at her; he knew she'd see the lie if he dared turn his face to her.
"Will you go back for him?"
He nodded, eyes locked to the road ahead.
"Chris - "
"Anja, he made me promise to get you out. I'm doing what he said. Please don't give me shit."
Not Tom...of all the goddamn people in this world, not him.
They drove the rest of the way in silence, the two little girls asleep between them.
He picked the zombies off, one at a time, his shots methodical and sure. Cara did the same, stationed beside him at the window.
"That one's mine."
"Get him, girl."
"How many you guys got so far?" Adam was at the window over the bed again, taking out anything that came up the back way.
"Fifteen."
"Twelve."
"Damn girl, you're scary." His keen eyes scanned the back and he sighed with relief as he climbed down off the bed for a moment. "All clear by south." He looked at his son, half laying across the table at the window, the rifle propped up against his shoulder. "How you feelin', boy?"
"Good."
"Any symptoms?"
"None."
"Don't lie to me now. Cara, you watching him? You're awfully close over there."
Cara looked at her father, her eyes scanning quickly from his face to his hands, looking for any sign of nervous tremors. "I got him, Pop. He's not even breathing hard."
Tom let his rifle rest on the table, standing to stretch his shoulders. Cara and Adam both watched him closely.
"Damn, guys. Stop looking at me like that."
"You'd be nervous too if you were locked in with a potential zombie," Cara said, reaching up to press a hand to his forehead. "I swear if you sneeze I'm shooting you."
Adam looked up from his reloading. "That's my job, grandgirl."
"I'm standing closest to him."
Tom shook his head, moving back to his spot at the window, staring out toward the creek. He and Anja had skinnydipped out there too many times to count; he could still hear her squealing about how cold the water was. "Don't worry, you guys...if I start to feel even the slightest bit off, I'll do it myself."
Nobody said anything. The sun was up now, but it was raining, the sky dark and overcast. After a long while, Tom glanced around the little cabin. "You know, when I bought this place I never thought I'd be making my last stand in it."
Adam sat down in the big chair by the fireplace, keeping his eyes carefully moving between the back window and his son.
"Well, as last stands go, I could be with worse people."
Tom shot him a questioning look.
"Yeah? Who?"
Laying his rifle across his knees, Adam's face broke into a sardonic grin.
"Your mom."
As they passed the San Bernadino city limits sign, Anja started crying. It was a quiet sort of crying; she didn't want to wake the girls. But it was hard and painful, the kind of racking sobs that make no noise but choke the breath out of you. Chris reached over and pulled her hair back from her face, but she didn't look at him.
"We're not going to his friend in the city, are we." Her voice was even and calm, resigned to the truth she'd already accepted. "There's no safe place here."
"No."
She looked at him then, her face pale and puffy and red, wet with tears, streaked with dirt. But there was no judgment or accusation. "He's not coming."
"He knew you wouldn't go otherwise. He knows where we're going, he and Cara and Pop will meet us there as soon as they can get off the mountain."
She shook her head, but nothing in her eyes said she believed him.
Crossing the border into Utah was a terrifying ordeal, almost more frightening than the undead themselves. The authorities checking civilians were hastily chosen, poorly prepared, just as scared as the hordes of people trying to exit California for the seeming safety of the badlands. Chris held Layla while Anja carried Melody, trying to stay together, getting separated in the crowd for several long frightening minutes until Chris found them and pulled Anja along behind him, the two little girls crying but surprisingly calm.
"Good girls," Chris reassured them, kissing them, patting their heads to keep them from panicking in the deafening rush of the crowd as they crossed the border on foot. He refused to lose them. Tom would kill him if he did.
Tom will be here.
He'll find us.
Get his girls to safety or there'll be hell to pay.
Late April
The safe zone was equipped with makeshift housing, no more than tents really, with cots and curtain partitions, fifty or so people crammed into each shelter. Anja and the girls slept on one cot while Chris slept on the floor next to them. One of the coordinators had offered him a cot in another tent, but he refused it - he couldn't let Tom's family out of his sight, not even long enough to get a decent night's sleep on a bed. If Tom and Cara and Pop didn't make it, he would be all the family they had left. It would be his duty to take care of them.
He sat up and looked at Anja, asleep on the edge of the narrow cot, the two girls squeezed in next to her. The little blanket barely covered the three of them. He took his own threadbare blanket and laid it over Anja, gently so that he wouldn't wake her. Her tears had stopped days ago, the tracks down the dirt on her cheeks washed away soon after their arrival. But when she looked at him, he knew she was looking through him, and nothing would ever make her stop seeing Tom in the distance, no matter how close he stood to her.
May
Three weeks later, it was over. The outbreak was contained, hitting primarily the coastal edge of California. A virus had come in on an ocean liner, escaping onto the mainland when the ship disembarked and the infected victim came ashore. But it was a self-defeating virus, running its course quickly, and before it could spread beyond the state lines it had burned itself out.
The casualty count was negligible, relatively speaking. Several thousand, the news outlets reported, though those who were in the thick of it knew the numbers were grossly underestimated. The kill count between the three in the cabin alone was in the hundreds.
Tom wasn't one of them.
The state was quarantined, a complete lockdown shutting the borders. Though Chris and Anja and the girls had made it safely across before the lockdown went into effect, Tom had no way of knowing they'd survived other than by the simple fact that he could feel her. If he closed his eyes and shut out the world long enough, he could hear her voice.
Come find us.
June
"They're calling us refugees." Chris shook his head, turning to Anja where she sat holding Melody on her lap. The little girl looked so much like Tom, it sent a choking lump up into his throat when he looked at her. The three of them were wearing donated clothing, all of it too big for them; Chris's clothes were his own but they were dirty and torn. The broadcast screen in the meeting tent droned on, reciting numbers, casualties, displacement rates...so many dead, so many unable to return home. The border was still shut while the CDC and several scientific and medical organizations investigated, trying to find the factors that had turned a simple virus into an apocalyptic disaster.
Anja stared at him for a long time, her eyes asking all kinds of questions that he knew her voice couldn't concede to.
"He made it, honey," he said quietly, putting a protective arm around her. "If anybody could survive a zombie apocalypse, it's those three."
August
"They're moving us. Military trucks are hauling loads of us into Arizona."
"How will Tom find us? We don't even know where we're going."
"He'll find us. You know that sniffer of his, he's probably tracking us right now."
Anja had stared at him, hard, until he had to look away. "Tell me, Chris," she said quietly, in the habit now of keeping her voice down so as not to frighten the girls. "Tell me the truth. What happened in between him putting us in the cellar and you getting us out?" Her face bore a determination that he didn't dare lie to. "Was he alive then?"
"Yes, he was."
She nodded, a desperate sort of affirmation, as if she was convincing herself of some fairytale that her common sense knew couldn't possibly be true.
"He really sent you to get us out?"
"Yes. Remember the gunshots you heard as we were leaving?"
She nodded.
"That was him. He was using the long range Winchester, it was the only one with a scope that could see us at the cellar. He was picking off zombies in the trees near us while we were getting to the truck."
Tears spilled out of her eyes and she kept nodding, wanting to believe him. But it broke her heart thinking the last memory she might ever have of Tom was the sound of bullets ripping the heads off zombies, fired from a half mile away. Taking care of her, even though he wasn't anywhere near her. So like him.
"Okay," she said quietly, wiping her nose with the back of her hand. She didn't have the energy or the heart for any more questions - the answers she had right now were enough. "Okay."
October
The Arizona camps were slightly nicer, larger, able to house more of the displaced, but the need to keep anyone from leaving and potentially spreading the disease called for a prison-like setup, with tall barbed wire-topped fences and armed guards stationed around the grounds. It had been months since the outbreak, but isolated cases had been reported in some of the bigger cities. A child in the camp had recently become sick with an illness that ended up being measles, but the panic before the diagnosis nearly caused a riot inside the heavily guarded walls of the camp and the sickness had spread quickly among the crowded population, killing a few before it was contained. Things were no better inside than outside, but news continued being good from the east. No outbreaks, no cases of anything unusual reported anywhere beyond Utah. The rest of the country's immunity seemed to be holding. Chris knew he needed to get Tom's family out of the camp, soon.
So when the announcement was made that families who had been declared infection-free would be rehomed to the east, he filled out the paperwork. When the authorities had begun keeping official records of the survivors and refugees, he had taken Tom's name, knowing it was the only guaranteed way he'd be able to keep Anja and the girls with him. It felt like a sacrilege, taking the name of the man who had stayed behind so that they could get away. He felt gutted every time he answered to Tom's name in the supplies tent, every time roll was called and he raised his hand, claiming his friend's identity. Provisions day was worst, when he went to the trucks to get supplies for his family...Tom's family. If he got there early enough he could get oranges for the girls, something he always tried to do because he knew Tom would. The woman at the personal goods truck looked at his paper every Wednesday the same way, noting that he had a wife and two children listed in his care, and every time she looked up at him with a stern face and asked if he wanted her to put condoms in the box with their weekly allowance of soap and hygiene products. He always shook his head, staring at the ground when she reminded him that pregnancy wasn't a sound option at this point. He just smiled at her politely as he took his box, thanking her.
He had never considered trying to sleep with Anja. It wasn't right...it would never be right, even if one day they saw Tom's name on a list of the dead.
And every Monday, he went to the big bulletin board at the main gates while Anja and the girls were still asleep, searching the lists for the name he'd claimed as his own.
January
A new list appeared on the board, one with family names, families that were to be released from the camp and rehomed. Nobody knew where they were going, only that they were suddenly free to go, and trucks began filling with parents and children, disappearing past the gates in long convoys that came back days later to be refilled.
Anja was asleep on a cot in the community tent with Melody when Chris came back. He woke her gently, shaking her shoulder till she turned and looked at him. She still looked past him every time, her eyes searching for Tom. He had stopped being hurt by it long ago.
"We're on the list, sweetheart. We're going."
She sat up, rubbing her eyes. "Going where?"
"Dunno. Out of here, wherever they've found to put us. I heard they've been setting up camper cities outside suburban areas, I'm guessing we'll go to one of those."
Anja stared at him, the unspoken question hanging heavy between them. How will Tom find us? After a long while, she finally nodded. There was something like acceptance in her eyes, but behind it Chris could see her still looking past him, believing with all her heart that he would be there.
Two days later
"I can't go, Chris."
"What?"
They were being boarded onto the trucks, leaving the camp to go to their new home. Anja had cried all night, mourning Tom, something deep inside her finally beginning to accept what the news had told her, what the camp coordinator had told her, what the other women she worked with in the laundry tent had told her. If he's not here yet, he's not coming. Move on. Find the rest of your life and figure out how to live it.
"I...I can't..." Her face suddenly crumpled into tears, a panic overtaking her as she looked frantically around, at the faces of strangers moving past her. Something was pulling at her, a touch that she recognized above everything else.
Handing Melody to Chris, she gave the two girls a quick kiss, then turned and ran.
Chris couldn't follow with the girls so he let her go, calling after her just once before making his decision. Stepping out of the line, he handed Melody to the man in front of him, pushing Layla to the man's wife. "If I don't come back, don't let anyone put these girls on that truck!"
"But you'll lose your spot - "
"Don't let them on that truck!"
He sprinted after Anja, weaving through the crowd, cursing when he lost sight of her and stopping to climb up on a light pole, trying to spot her red hair in the endless sea of people.
Shit he thought, chastising himself for losing her now, after all this time of keeping her so carefully close to him. Tom's going to fucking kill me.
Anja didn't know where she was going, she just knew she had to get somewhere, away from the crowd, someplace away from the noise where she could hear the voice that was whispering in the back of her head. When she stopped running she looked around, breathless, noticing she was near the main gates...people were outside, so many people waiting to be let in, and she could hear what sounded like familiar voices over so many others, too many others. Panicking, saying his name over and over, she kept going...she knew now, she knew he was there, but there were thousands of people crushing against one another, and she was going the opposite direction, being pushed back by swarms of bodies.
"Ma'am, I'm going to need you to get back into formation and make your way toward the trucks - "
She ignored the armed guard that tried to grab her. She could hear the evil sounding metallic clank of rifles being lifted but she didn't care. Tom was there, somewhere. Screaming his name, she heard only the deafening shouts of panic as people scattered, reacting to the sight of the soldiers taking aim.
And then, over the noise, she heard him.
Be still, girly.
She turned, sensing a presence that she hadn't felt in months but that had never left her awareness. She'd always known he was out there, somewhere. And now she knew he was here. Everything went quiet in her head and she closed her eyes, obeying the voice, standing still, waiting what seemed like forever to hear it again.
Open your eyes, babe.
She obeyed.
The crowd had panicked and quickly parted, leaving an empty swath in front of her - and there, on his knees with his hands on his head, seven rifles aimed at him, was Tom. Thinner, filthy, battered, worse for the wear, but smiling, looking straight at her.
Tom.
"Don't shoot, don't shoot!" She heard the voice from behind her and knew instantly it was Chris. Always nearby, always watching out for his best friend, just like he always had been since the first day she'd met the two of them. "He's with us, don't shoot, he's not infected! He's from San Diego, clean zone!" He was talking fast, pushing rifles down, making his way to Tom with his hands up, putting himself in front of any gun that didn't get lowered. "He's clean, he's alright."
Anja suddenly heard herself screaming his name again; realization had finally sunk into her head and her disbelief had cleared to make way for the reality she saw right in front of her. Tom was still on his knees, still smiling at her. His face was dirty, with a few scars she didn't remember; his long black hair was pulled back tight in a ponytail, tucked into the collar of his heavy coat. A long range rifle, the one he'd had at the cabin, was strapped to his back and a soldier was busy removing it from him while another handcuffed him. He didn't resist, just waited with that beautiful smile, the one she still saw even when she couldn't see him.
It's okay, baby girl.
Breaking free from the soldier that was holding her, she stumbled, and the man lost his grip long enough for her to take off running toward him, saying his name over and over until finally she was on her knees in front of him, hugging him, kissing his dirty face, crying. His hands were still on his head but the soldiers around him lowered their guns, looking at each other for confirmation as to what they should do. Chris was standing between them and the soldiers, hands up, assuring them everything was fine. "Just a little family reunion guys, it's all good."
Someone finally gave the all clear, and the soldiers backed off, leaving them there embracing each other on their knees as Chris stood beside them protectively, his hands over his mouth as his searching eyes roamed over the hundreds of faces outside the gates.
"Cara and Pop?" he asked, and Tom pointed toward the main gate, the cuffs binding his hands together, unable to speak with Anja kissing him. He had left them there and climbed the fence behind the admissions tents, unwilling to wait to be sorted in with the crowd, seeing the rows of big trucks leaving the camp and sensing that Anja and the girls would be gone by the time he made it inside; the gun strapped to his back had caught the attention of a guard and brought the soldiers running. Anja's sudden appearance, screaming and trying to get to him, was all that had kept them from shooting him.
Two medical techs in full bio gear were setting up a barricade around them, pushing Chris out of the way. He backed up to avoid forcible quarantine, wiping at his eyes with the back of his hand. "We knew you'd make it, brother," he yelled as they moved him to the other side of the partition that had been set to separate them from the crowd. "Never a doubt...but what took you so fucking long?" His voice was breaking and he wished he could touch his friend, to feel for himself that he was really there, but the med techs were unpacking a pop up tent around them and he had to move out of the way.
"Well, you know, the traffic out of San Diego...and everywhere you went there were people just walking in the damn street."
The quarantine tent went up and Chris turned away, laughing, heading back to the convoy line at the far end of the compound to get the girls. They would be so happy to see their daddy.
Inside the tent Tom pushed his face against Anja's neck and inhaled, pulling as much of her scent into his lungs as they could hold as the techs worked around them, finally separating them to opposite sides of the room. He kept his eyes on her as medics began drawing blood, taking his temperature, checking his vitals for any signs of illness...Anja watched, shaking, the sudden relief of having him standing just feet away from her so overwhelming that it made her dizzy and sick. She closed her eyes, tempting fate to make it a dream, to wake her up and show her Chris sleeping on the floor next to her cot, the girls curled up beside her, and Tom nowhere but in her memories...the thought terrified her and she covered her face with her hands, unwilling to look and see if she was wrong.
Then through the din of the camp, the loud hum of hundreds of voices and the rumbling of the big trucks and the beeping of the medical machines, she heard his voice. Not far away, not carried on the wind of her imagination - outside her head this time, so near that she could feel the vibrations it made in the air between them, caressing over her like a cool breeze on a warm night. That voice she loved almost as much as the touch that always came with it. She smiled, eyes still tightly shut, wanting to hear nothing but whatever that voice had to say to her.
She listened so hard that his words were all there was to hear.
"Hello, Bitch Pudding."