Dead Frontier/Issue 104

This is Issue #104 of Dead Frontier, titled ''Old Friends. This is the second issue in 'Volume 18. '''

Issue 104 - Old Friends
A dark SUV comes to a stop in front of a sturdy chain-link fence. Several other vehicles of the same type follow and brake near the fence as well. The driver of the lead SUV gives a single impatient honk of the horn. It takes a few seconds for an overweight guy wearing sloppy, stained clothes to emerge from a lonely brick building behind the fence. He has to run a few dozen meters, and when he reaches the convoy, he’s out of breath, a few beads of sweat on his forehead and neck. He works fast to pull the gate open, and he ushers the visitors in with a wave of his hand.

They park alongside a row of other cars. Those exiting wear expressions of defeat; they reek of exhaustion and look like a few hours of sleep will do them good. The last to make her presence known is Roxie. Like any other day of her life, her mind is focused on business--and business only. She stands in front of the overweight guy with her hands in the pocket of her jacket.

"You're here early," the man says, and he gulps afterward.

Roxie ignores his statement: “Hey, I remember you from last time,” she says to him. Based on the look on his face, she’s not sure the words are registering with him; his mouth is open slightly, and his eyes travel over every inch of her body. She smirks.

“You...you do?” he asks.

“Yeah. Jordie. How could I forget Jordie?”

“How do you know my name?”

“John told me. You’re his little lapdog.”

“Oh.”

"Nice seeing you again,” she says. “Now, I’m already tired of talking to you, so these guys are gonna stay out here while you take me to John."

"Sure. Of course, of course. He's right over here." Jordie turns and waves her along. She follows him through the lot silently and into one of the identical buildings that lie evenly spaced around the area. Rooms line the walls, indiscernible noises seeping through the doors. Maybe crying or groaning, but she can't tell for sure. They snake through the maze-like corridors of the warehouse until they reach the back of the building. One door sticks out to her; it’s not wooden, cracked, and faded like the others but made of a sleek, polished metal. Jordie's knock echoes throughout the halls.

A man that's unfamiliar to Roxie greets them when the door opens, yet his dark eyebrows rise when he sees her. He obviously knows who she is. "Eh...John wasn't expecting you for another few hours," he says.

"He'll be cool with it. Just let her through," Jordie says.

"He's busy."

"And I don't have a lot of time," Roxie says calmly. The man's eyes flick from her to Jordie. He lets out a heavy sigh and scratches his head.

"Who's there?" someone says in a half-shout from inside the room. The man turns hesitantly.

"It's uh...it's her. She's here." There's the sound of a chair scraping against rough cement, and footsteps soon follow. The man scoots to the left, allowing someone else to fill the space in the doorway.

“Roxanne. Wow. You look lovely, as usual,” John says, leaning against the doorframe. A crooked smile is plastered on his face. He lifts his arm as if looking at a watch, but his wrist is bare. "I thought we scheduled this for...eight?"

"I didn't think it'd be a problem I came a little early," she says.

"I've got business to deal with. Running this place ain't easy. You understand."

"It'll only take a second to talk."

John takes a second to observe her. She's not aggressive or forceful--in fact, her tone is calm enough to strike him as a little unnerving. But that only makes him all the more intrigued. He pulls the door open a little wider and offers her access inside. He ushers Jordie and the man out, and the metal door clangs shut.

The office is bland and boring--its small size constricting--but gives off an ominous feeling. It has one window and a single desk, which John takes a seat behind.

"Sorry, don't have a chair for you. Oh, well," he says, hiding a smile. He enjoys teasing her, especially when he can take advantage of the fact that she needs his help.

"I can stand," she says.

"So, what can I do for you, Miss? I was in the middle of organizing some important shit, so this better be good."

The last time she came here, she was denied any sort of help. John's assistance doesn't come free. This time, though, she’s almost sure he won't say no. "You get shipments through here all the time," Roxie says.

"Yes, I do. And you want a little taste of that, don't you?"

"That hotel cleaned me out. They destroyed everything I made. Everything I worked for. You've known me way too long to think I'm okay with that."

"Sounds interesting. Keep going."

"The school was working with them, too. But I've got twenty people and no weapons," she says.

"Okay, listen. I’d be more than happy to help you. But you know me, too, and everything comes--"

"'Everything comes with a price.' Yeah, I know."

"What's in it for me? I don't give two shits about them, so this better be good."

She sets her palms of the desk and leans forward, looking him in the eye. "You're a crazy fuck. You sell people. Do you know how many people I could set you up with just from the hotel alone?" she says. She notes the change in his expression: pure delight, but he tries to keep it hidden.

"I don't know, actually."

"At least twice the amount you have here now. Add that to to everyone from the school, and you're set. Think about what you'd get for all the girls and the kids, too...you might as well be bathing in gold, John."

His eyes take on an insane, excited look, and he sits up straight in his chair.

"I'll take as many as I can and bring them here to you," she continues. "I just need some more people, and some more guns."

"You're gonna need more than guns," he says, nearly as excited as she is. "I'll hook you up with the heavy artillery. Heavy."

A smile of success forms on her face, and she offers him her hand. He shakes it.

The snow and cold has gone and given way to summer in the last two months. The June heat blazes down on the Hyatt, with its brand new gates that stretch nearly a block around the hotel, guards that patrol the streets surrounding it, and vegetable garden that sprouts an array of fresh reds, yellows, and greens. The setting sun now hides behind a sleek black skyscraper, leaving them in the shade for a little while.

Cole and Lucy have retreated to the roof of one in the towers to escape the heat inside--constant air conditioning is nothing but a fantasy for them. She has her elbows propped on top of the ledge, cigarette in hand, leaning forward just a little to look down at the ground below. A few infected have pressed against the gates, but the guards take care of them easily. Other clusters of them are spread sporadically throughout the streets surrounding the hotel, an observation she keeps to herself but one that makes her a bit uneasy. Cole stands next to her in nearly the same position she is, his cigarette hanging carelessly from his mouth. His crutches are set on the ground to his right. Besides them, a few guards patrol the other end of the tower.

Lucy sighs, takes what’s left of her cigarette, and tosses it over the ledge and off the tower. “You have any more?” she asks.

“Nope. You cleaned me out,” Cole says, turning out his pockets. “Almost up to a pack a day now.”

“I know.”

“What’re you gonna do when we run out completely?”

“...Go crazy.”

He follows her lead and flings his cigarette over the edge of the tower. He watches as it falls, until it’s completely out of sight. “You’ll be alright,” he says finally. “There’s always something else to fall back on.” She doesn’t respond, but keeps her gaze locked down on the streets below, a light wind whipping at her hair. “What’s up? We’re supposed to be relaxing out here and you look...not that relaxed right now.”

She takes a second to look up at him. “A lot of long days. Late nights. I’m just tired.”

“You’re letting all this work mess you up. I warned you about that.”

She wouldn’t consider it a job, but just her way of contributing, along with Griffin and a few others, to the considerable improvement the hotel’s been making. Dividing the rations equally according to weight, age, capability; deciding on fair guard rotations; keeping stock of supplies and predicting any possible future declines in the amount of food or medicine available. She finds herself thinking about it 24/7: who's going to be cut short on food today? Will the recent lack of rain be enough the hurt the crops? If so, what do they do then? Forcing herself to ignore the issues for a while and relax is too difficult when things are finally looking up and the possibility of it all crashing down again is always there.

She ignores his remark and lifts his wrist to get a good look at his watch. "Almost one thirty. You're gonna be late."

1:30. Every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday, at one thirty PM, he's got scheduled physical therapy to aid in the recovery of his knee. Treatment, along with time, has given him some use of his leg again; although, he's still heavily reliant on crutches, and it looks like he will be for a while. "Something's bugging you," he says, disregarding the time. "I can tell. You're thinking about something."

She cooks up a lie easily: "Just a nightmare I had last night. I can't get it off my mind."

"Oh." He knows more about that than he'd like to admit. A good night's sleep is often interrupted by images of people who are nothing but ghosts now, or by memories he wishes he could erase. Understanding, he just nods. "You'll forget about it eventually, don't worry. If you've gotta talk about it, chase me down. Shouldn't be that hard."

"Thanks," she says. She feels a little bad lying to him, admittedly. But her problem--that they’re running out of supplies faster than they should be-- is one she doesn't think she should share with anyone, except maybe a few select people. Not even Cole. She quickly rids herself of any feelings of guilt.

He resists the urge to ask her anything else, to say a stupid joke, or to drop a corny line. They've worked before to get her to crack a smile or open up, but he can tell today just isn't a good day.

So he leaves it alone.

"You gonna stay up here?" he asks as he grabs his crutches and settles them under his arms.

"Yeah, for a little while."

"Alright. I'm gonna bother you about that dream later, so don't think I forgot."

"And you won't quit until I tell you, right?"

"That's right." She lets out a small sigh, and he gives her a quick kiss on the cheek, then a peck on the lips. "Look, I know I'm annoying, but it's only because I love you, okay? I don't want you having a shitty day if I can help it."

"You're not annoying. Not even close," she assures, and he manages a smile.

"It's alright, I know I am. You don't have to lie to me." She nearly laughs at the irony.

He takes a glance at his watch. "1:35. Gotta go." Already running late, they say their quick goodbyes, and soon he's off in the other direction.

Cole occupies the Hyatt's only working elevator. He presses "L" for lobby as the doors close silently, and begins his descent down the thirty three floors. A familiar song plays but it fades out by the time the elevator doors open.

The lobby is filled with chattering people, and Duke’s over-excited voice emanates from a radio sitting unattended on a table. "That was...uh...I don't even know what song that was but who cares 'cause it sucked anyway,” Duke says.

"I picked that song," someone says. Cole recognizes the voice as Lienne's.

"It was bad." She scoffs, and he laughs. "Nah, I'm just messin' with you."

"I'm never doing this again."

"Announcement: New co-host needed. Preferably someone blonde and attractive but...I'm not picky."

"Is that why you picked me?"

"Uh...okay, before we run out of time," he says, and she laughs at how quickly he's able to change the subject. "There's a few real announcements I've gotta make before we get to Daily Discussion with Duke. So bear with me right now, this is a long ass list."

The radio’s nearly out of earshot when Duke begins rattling off a list of daily announcements for the residents. It takes a few minutes for Cole to navigate the hotel’s lower level, but he eventually reaches a room, the door held wide open with a chair. Spotless white tiles cover the floor, along with a matching white paint along the walls. He peeks his head in and sees a few people inside. Chloe talks with a man with a brace on his leg; their conversation looks to be finishing up, and Chloe sends him away. Cole gives the man a friendly nod as he passes by him in the doorway. He enters the room himself, greeted by the slightly disappointed face of Chloe.

"1:41. Eleven minutes wasted," she says with a shake of her head.

"Sorry," he says, and he heads over to one of the many hospital-like beds that line the wall and sits.

"If this keeps happening, I'm gonna have to bump your appointments up to four times a week." He groans in response. "...Which should be something you want to do. Unless you like walking with crutches, I don't know."

"I don't."

"Then start coming in on time. I want to see you get better, too--a lot of people do--but it's gonna be a slow process if you don't take it seriously."

"You sound like my mom," he says.

"Good. Maybe you'll listen to me now."

"Probably not."

She laughs. "Alright, we've got a lot to do and we've already wasted fifteen minutes. We're gonna go for putting fifty percent of your weight on that leg, okay?"

In an elegant office, Adam sits across from Griffin, both exuding impatience. "You remembered to tell her to come here, right?" Griffin asks.

"Yeah, she’s--" Adam starts, but the door opens abruptly, and Lucy makes her appearance. “...right there.”

"Finally," Griffin says as she drops a folder onto his desk, some of the papers spilling out.

She settles in the chair next to Adam: “Sorry. I had to check the numbers one last time,” she says.

“Still bad?” Adam asks, and she nods. Confused, Griffin switches his gaze between the two of them.

“What am I missing here?” Griffin asks.

“We talked about it before telling you, so we could come up with some kind of plan beforehand,” she says.

“Wait, wait--plan for what?”

“Our people to supplies ratio is really off,” Adam says.

“How off?”

“Let’s just say we either need to cut down on our intake or really up the amount of runs we’re making.”

“We’ve had 44 new arrivals in the last month, and only two successful supply runs out of twenty,” Lucy explains. Griffin opens the folder and lifts up a piece of paper with a frown. “And we’ve already bit a huge chunk out of our reserves. If we keep going like this, we’ll all be starving by August.”

“I’d be more than happy to lead a few more runs every month. Maybe a little farther east,” Adam says.

“The problem with that is gas, of course, and the risk of more people getting hurt. And you can’t expect anyone to be happy with a new set of rotations. Still, that’s the only option we have right now. Explore some new areas, do it more often, and send out larger groups.”

“Okay,” Griffin says, rubbing his chin. He closes the folder and pushes it away. He taps his fingertips anxiously on the wooden surface of his desk. “Thank you, both of you. I'll think it over, get back to you tomorrow."

"I've gotta head out anyway," Adam says, standing from his chair. “Gonna check out some mall out in Munster in about an hour." He bids them goodbye, and leaves to prepare for his next trip.

"This is really bad, huh?" Griffin says, breaking the silence.

"Bad enough that we should keep it a secret until we figure something out," Lucy says.

Griffin sighs and sifts through the papers one last time. "You're one of the reasons this place is still on its feet. I can't even imagine how proud Alexander would be right now. Of you, especially. He always wanted to see this place doing better again."

"Too bad it's all going to shit again, right?"

"We've got options, and we've got time. Like you said, we're gonna figure something out."

“Mae! Two, right behind you!” Dean shouts as he smashes the blade of his knife of into an infected skull. He pulls it out easily, and kicks the rotted body to the ground.

Mae heeds his warning and spins around just in time to swing her fire axe in a wide arc; she’s able to decapitate both infected in one motion. She notices Stephanie struggling a few meters down the street, but she’s too far back to assist her. “Stef!” she calls out, but Stephanie is nearly overwhelmed, paying more attention to the infected surrounding her than anyone else.

She has no choice, so Stephanie throws her knife to the ground retrieves her pistol. She fires until she hears a hollow clicking sound. The half dozen or so infected that trapped her just seconds ago now cover the ground at her feet, fresh bullet holes in their foreheads. She takes a deep breath before holstering her gun and grabbing her knife from the ground.

They continue clearing out the infected for another 15 minutes. They’re a block from the school, and this has become a weekly precaution to make sure the infected don’t accumulate nearby and become a bigger problem than they already are. Winston takes out the last one and wipes the blood from his knife on his grimy jeans.

“Okay. That’s it,” Winston says. He, Mae, Stephanie, Dean, and the few others that tagged along compose themselves, either catching their breath or taking gulps from their water bottles. After a few minutes, Mae’s ready to gather everyone for the walk back when Dean approaches her and Stephanie.

“What the hell is your problem--” Stephanie says, observing the rage in his face.

“What the hell is your problem?!” he shouts back, grabbing her by the forearm. “If you’ve got a knife, fucking use it.”

“What…?--I would have died,” she says, snatching her arm away.

“It defeats the entire purpose of even coming out here if you’re firing that thing. We’re supposed to be getting rid of them, and you’re practically calling them over here. What the hell?”

“So I’m supposed to let them eat me?”

“Wouldn’t be that big of a loss anyway,” he says. Faster than he can comprehend, her palm strikes him across the face, her nails digging into his cheek. He can already feel the blood trickling down the side of his face. Before it can escalate any further, Winston approaches from behind him and grabs him by the arms. Dean seethes, hand pressed to his cheek, as Winston leads him a safe distance away.

“You’ve gotta calm down,” Winston says gently.

“Me? Did you--did you not just see that?” Dean says. A woman hands him a cloth, and he wipes at the blood on his cheek.

“It was only a matter of time, man.”

“Until I got assaulted? That’s kind of fucked.”

“You just told her it wouldn’t matter if she died. That’s fucked.” Dean refuses to respond, and instead plops down onto the cement. Winston crouches down next to him. “Look, I know everything’s really tense right now, but you’ve gotta learn to keep your cool. Watch your mouth sometimes, seriously. One day you’re really gonna say the wrong thing.”

“Thanks for those words of wisdom, Winsty, but I really don’t need any. You might want to talk to that stupid bitch, though, and tell her to keep her hands off of people. Jesus Christ…”

Winston suddenly goes silent. Dean looks up after a few seconds to see Winston looking past him, his eyes wide with fear and fists clenched at his sides. “What--” Dean says, but just a turn of his head reveals the answer to his question.

“Damn…” Winston mutters. A group of infected far down the street meets with the horizon. He can’t tell how big the herd is, but he assumes the worst and gets to his feet. He offers Dean his hand and lifts him from the ground. “Back to Lane!” he orders. A few questions are thrown at him, but he ignores them all as everyone sees what he can. They ignore their exhaustion and sprint in the other direction. Back to Lane.