Dead Frontier/Issue 82

This is Issue #82 of Dead Frontier by Walkerbait22, titled ''Polaroid. ''This is the fourth issue in Volume 14.

Issue 82 - Polaroid
The photographs taken with Joe’s Polaroid camera just a few minutes ago are spread haphazardly on one of the cafeteria’s round, wooden tables. Most everyone is crowded around--Cole, Adam, Devon, Lienne, Alec, Chloe, Billie, Duke, Hiro, and Tora--deciding which ones they want to keep, the ones they like the best.

Cole picks one up and laughs at it, turning to say to Adam, “I think this one might be my favorite.” The low-quality picture shows Adam wearing an exaggerated frown as Cole rests his arm atop Adam’s head, making their height difference clear.

Adam scoffs jokingly and takes it from him, observing it with a shake of his head. “You’re not even that much taller than me,” Adam says.

“Picture says differently.”

“Does it make you feel good, putting me down?”

“When you’re so down low to the ground, it’s kind of hard not to.”

A laugh manages to slip from Adam, and he throws the picture back at Cole, who catches it and slides it into his pocket.

Hector paces around his room, nervously chewing on his thumbnail. A nearly empty bottle of red wine sits on his counter, as does an empty box of cigarettes. Nothing else to calm his nerves or drown his doubts in. He grabs the bottle and flings it against the wall, where it shatters and the last bits of wine stain the carpet. He collapses into his stool with a heavy sigh and balls up his fists. He hits himself in the side of the head, once, twice, then covers his face with his palms.

“I want you to tell me the things that go on around here,” Roxie says.

“The things that go on around here?” Hector echoes, needing a bit more information.

''“Yeah. You know, if Alexander is planning anything. What kind of supplies you guys are bringing in on your runs, and how much. If anyone here is thinking about not giving me what I want.”''

''Hector looks down at his sweaty palms, and contemplates telling her anything. But he’s already come this far. “I know there are some people that have expressed a bit of...discontent regarding you and your camp.”''

“Well, that’s obvious.”

“No, I mean--they’re trying to rally a fight against you.”

''Roxie’s eyebrows rise at this revelation, and she leans in a little closer. “Like who?” she asks.''

''“I--I’m not sure exactly who, to be honest. Just...small pockets of people that want to take you down. It’s not the majority of people here, of course, but it is a common point of view as of recently.”''

''“Oh. Really.” She knew it may come to this eventually, since it usually does with the larger groups, but she didn’t expect resistance to begin forming this soon. She taps her fingernails against the surface of the desk and looks at Hector, his eyes darting around the room. “And what does Alex think about this?”''

''“Alex? Um, I don’t know. He’s not a very violent man, but I’d assume he’s against it.”''

“And that Dr. Vega asshole?”

“Griffin is a wildcard, to be honest.”

''Roxie sighs and slams her palm against the desk. “You’re not giving me enough, Hector.”''

''“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he stutters. “If--if it’s any help to you, know that only...only about...a quarter of the people here are even efficient with a firearm. Alexander, he...he doesn’t want everyone believing it’s necessary to fight, you know? They go on supply runs, mostly anyway, so it’s not like you’re up against an army here. Um, what else, what else...”''

''An idea immediately pops into her head. “And those supply runs,” she says, “what do they look like?”''

''“What do they look like? They...only those quarter I mention really go on runs, and it’s rotation based. Meaning no one goes two weeks in a row, unless they volunteer--”''

“I know what it means.”

''“Okay. And...I don’t know, there’s about 10-15 people for each now. It used to be smaller, but Griffin had that changed. Where they go, it really depends. Sometimes it’s a mall, sometimes it’s a small little store...depends on what we need at the moment.” His confusion grows as she watches him speak with a growing smile on her face. “But...why would you need to know this?”''

“You think if this place lost ten to fifteen people, they’d be pretty fucked?”

“You’re not planning to--”

“Answer the question, please.”

''Hector swallows, the effort a bit painful because of his dry throat. “It would be quite the detriment to the hotel if ten to fifteen people--fighters, especially--were lost, yes.”''

“Perfect,” she says.

“There you go, Ms. Brinkley,” Joe says brightly, and he hands Lucy a mug of coffee mixed with a bit of cream and sugar. He stands behind the countertop in the cafeteria where she sits, a red apron wrapped around his waist although he isn’t cooking anything at the moment. She thanks him, then glances impatiently at her watch. “Waiting for someone?” Joe asks.

“Yeah. Cole. And...he’s late,” she replies.

“Waiting for Cole? Oh. OH,” he says. “I guess I should probably not interrupt this. Have fun.”

“If he ever gets here.”

She has to wait a few more minutes, when someone takes a seat on the stool next to her, but it wasn’t who she was expecting. She turns, and is face to face with Duke.

“You and Cole, huh?” Duke says.

“Is that a problem?” Lucy asks.

“Nah, nah. Just that you don’t have the best history, y’know? Ratting Cole out to your dad, getting him beat up...now you’re going out with him. Weird.”

“If you’re insinuating something, it’d be a lot easier if you just spit it out.”

“I’m not insinuating shit. Look, Cole is my boy, and if he’s really into you, I don’t want you fucking with his heart.”

“Why in the hell would I do that?”

“Because you’re a snitch!” he says, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

“Okay, Duke. I’m going to explain something to you. When I told my dad Cole was putting his nose where it shouldn’t’ve been, I legitimately thought he was going to fuck up everything he worked for here. You expect me to side with someone I met a week ago, or my own father? And Cole getting the shit knocked out of him by Hiro wasn’t my fault. My dad ordered that, and if I had any say in it, I wouldn’t have let it happen. And looking back on it now, I know my dad was wrong. So I’m fucking sorry, alright?”

Her voice expels absolute regret, and she stares him down, hoping for some kind of forgiveness from someone. Duke sighs and puts his hands up defensively. “Alright,” he says, “my bad. There are two sides to every story, people make mistakes...I know the deal. My bad.”

“Yeah. But people don’t seem to understand that.”

A hand suddenly clasps onto Duke’s shoulder, and he looks up to see Cole looking down on him. “Wow, Duke, did you steal my date?” Cole asks.

“No chances of that happening. Ever, “ Duke says, standing, and he winks at Cole before exiting the cafeteria.

“What was that about?” Cole asks, giving her a kiss and sitting where Duke was just a few seconds ago.

“He was looking out for you, apparently.”

“Looking out for me? Why? What happened?”

“He’s got some strong opinions about us,” she says, and takes a long drink of coffee.

Cole sighs and scratches his head. “He brought it up didn’t he?”

“Yep.”

“Whatever. You know I don’t care anymore. It was two months ago, everyone should be over it.” He nods a quick thanks to Joe and grabs a cup of coffee from him. “I know I am,” he says, and he takes a sip, smiling at her over the mug.

Walter observes the set of cards in his hands and sighs. “Fuck this game,” he says, and slams his cards to the table. Across from him, Sterling laughs, and places his set face down.

“Good game, Walt,” Sterling says. He grabs the beer in front of him and takes a long drink. “You alright?”

“Yeah. Fine. Got a fucking headache. We got any aspirin?”

“Not the last time I checked.”

“And when was that?” Walter asks.

“Few days ago.”

Walter stands, the legs of the chair screeching against the hard wooden floor of the cabin. “Then let’s go find some.”

They exit Sterling’s cabin and head to the large brick building that acts as storage. With only a thin jacket as protection from the frigid air, Walter shivers from the cold and nearly slips on a patch of ice on the cobblestone path outside when someone calls his name. He turns to see Savannah waving toward him. “Just what I fucking need...” Walter mutters.

“There’s a bunch of frozen infected blocking the entrance. Roxie wants them moved. So hurry up,” she says.

“Tell her--tell her I’ve got a headache,” Walters says, and he waves her off.

“Because, of course, you get the special treatment again, right?”

“Yeah. Because I don’t bitch and whine all the fucking time. Maybe if you chilled that attitude she’d give you a break, yeah?”

“Okay, we’re done with this now,” Sterling says, taking a cautious step between them.

“You know what? She wants me to the clear the fucking things out, I’ll clear the fucking things out. Let’s go.” He stomps through the snow, toward the gate. He shoots a harsh look at Savannah and says, “Happy?”

Rotten, but frozen, infected are caked into the snow at the gate’s entrance, blocking the way enough that it’s become a problem. “She wants ‘em inside! Take ‘em to the warehouse,” a guy yells to Walter and Sterling, and they nod their heads.

“The hell she want them inside for?” Sterling asks, bending down to lift one of the infected by the legs. Walter heads to the other side, grabbing the infected by the arms.

“Hell if I know. She’s crazy,” Walter says. He grunts as they lift the corpse. Still having a bit of life in it, the infected groans, but it’s barely audible. “Fucker better not bite me. Ugh.”

They carry the body through the length of the camp, followed by a few more guys also carrying bodies, and come to find Savannah holding open the door of the southern-most warehouse. Infected line the walls, frozen in several awkward positions. Sterling and Walter drop their corpse and shake the blood off of their gloves. Walter grimaces at the things, his lip curling up in disgust. “What is this shit, man?” Walter mutters.

“Looks like she’s storing up,” Sterling says.

“She’s got some ideas up her sleeve,” Savannah says as a man sets down a corpse on a large pile of infected. “Gonna let them thaw out. Says she’s got plans.”

“Vague as hell, but okay,” Walter says with a shrug, and he and Sterling return to the front gate, retrieving the infected one by one.

Late that night, in his room, Cole sits with a warm, untouched glass of water on the counter in front of him, still wearing the same pair of dark jeans and navy blue shirt he has been for the entire day. He finally stands, so abruptly he almost knocks over the stool he sat on, and heads for the bathroom where those two pictures still stick to the mirror: him and Micah, and the old photo booth strip of him and Hannah. He clenches and unclenches his fists a few times, trying to get rid of his shakiness, before grabbing the photo booth strip.

He takes a long look at each individual photo, so many memories returning to him so fast he’s caught by surprise. He places his hands on either side of the sink, leaning over it and trying, but failing, to take deep steady breaths. He slams the fist clenching the picture against the porcelain, hating himself for not being able to fully move on, to forget, but knowing this next small step is something he needs to do.

The drawer under the sink opens swiftly, and he drops the picture inside without taking another look, making sure to bury it under the other items inside the drawer. He slams it shut, making the mirror and the contents of the medicine cabinet rattle. It takes him a few minutes to compose himself completely, but when he does, he retrieves one of the Polaroid photos from his pocket. He stands in the middle, with Adam to his left and Billie to his right, and others--Chloe, Devon, Alec, Lienne, Duke, and Tora--take up the space on either side of him. The quality of the picture makes it hard to see, but they all wear large smiles on their faces, and in the white space under it, he's written "Dec 2012" in permanent marker.

He removes a piece of tape from Micah's photo and sticks it on the Polaroid and onto the mirror, effectively taking the place of photo booth strip. "It's just a picture," he says, staring himself down in the mirror. "She's dead. People die. Get the fuck over it." But there's still an empty, hollow feeling in his gut, sitting there, taunting him. "She is dead. Move on, you fucking idiot. You don't love her, because she's dead."

He doesn't know if he's lying to himself or not, but he leaves it at that. He's taking one last glance at the Polaroid, when there's a knock at the door.

"Everything okay in there?" It's Lucy's voice.

Cole clears his throat before answering, "Yeah. Perfectly fine. Be out soon."

There's a long silence, and Lucy says, "Okay. Just checking," followed by the shuffling sound of her feet against the carpet as she walks away. Cole takes one last look at himself in the mirror, rubs his eyes to get rid of any evidence that he may have been on the brink of tears, and turns on the faucet. He cups hands under the running water and takes a few sips, but the uncomfortable lump in his throat still sits there. There's nothing he can do but leave the bathroom and try to forget.