Dead Frontier/Issue 121

This is Issue #121 of Dead Frontier, titled ''Treatment. ''This is the first issue in Volume 21, and the premiere of Part Six.

Issue 121 - Treatment
“You killed him?” Tora asks, her eyes on the crossbow.

“Snapped his neck like a fucking twig,” Hunter says spitefully, but suddenly regrets his words when his gaze shifts to Ivy sitting in the corner, who gives him a look of disbelief. He lowers his voice, so only Jake and Tora can hear, then looks down at his bloodied shoe. “Debrained him, too. He was a young guy. Don’t think there was anyone else, either.” As far as he can tell, their expressions are grateful. At least he hopes so, after what he just had to do. “How’s she?”

Lienne now sits up against the wall under one of the windows. Her eyes are closed and her head leans against her shoulder. Her skin is still as pale as it was before, and her blonde hair hangs over her face, covering the pain that would be apparent otherwise.

“No more blood, for now,” Tora says. She pulls Hunter inside the room completely and closes the door behind him. Immediately, she shifts her focus back to Lienne and places a comforting hand on top of hers. Hunter slumps down against the wall, finally feeling the full force of his exhaustion.

Jake still stands, looking down oddly at the crossbow in Hunter’s hands. “You know how to use one of these, lad?” Hunter asks, and Jake shakes his head.

“Looks c-cool,” Jake says. Hunter smirks at him and wipes some of the sweat from his forearm with the sleeve of his hoodie. Jake sits down next to him, setting his arms atop his knees. “You ever use one?”

“Nope,” Hunter says. “Fucker almost hit me with one of these damn arrows. Deadly piece of shit.” He looks at it with distaste, then glances at Jake. “Wanna hold it?”

Jake hesitates and takes a quick look at Tora. She wants to speak up against it--it’s not like Hunter is the most responsible person; it’s probably in better hands with Jake, as far as she’s concerned. Jake takes it warily, surprised by its weight. “Wow, cool,” he mutters, and Hunter smirks at him. Finally, he can relax, hopeful for Cedric and Dean’s return.

They’ve taken two of the three trucks, hoping to come back for the third one some time later, when the mood is less urgent. They barrel down the road, having departed from the store just a few minutes before. Cedric leads, driving a little too recklessly for Duke, Lucy, and Cole, who share the space inside the car, along with Dean. “Ever think about slowin’ down, man?” Duke says. “Damn.”

“We need to get back to the house,” Dean says. “Some--weirdo with a crossbow’s been waiting outside for hours. We don’t know what the hell’s going on, but he hit Lienne.”

“Is she okay?” Lucy asks.

“Last we saw, it looked pretty bad.” A dreadful hush falls over them. His eyes scan over the truck’s interior, and he sees a few bags. “We still got stuff we can use. Medical stuff. If we can get back in time--get it to her--she...might be fine.” He swallows hard and looks around at the tired, dejected faces.

“What the hell happened?” he asks cautiously, and Duke, Lucy, and Cole trade glances. “Where’s…”

Before anyone can answer, Cedric slams on the breaks, and they’re all thrown forward. “What the fuck--!” Duke shouts, sitting himself up. Behind them, there’s a screech as the truck holding Adam, Daniel, and Farrah screeches to a halt.

Cedric mumbles something under his breath and punches the steering wheel. The headlights illuminate a large wall of infected that only gets more crowded the farther down the road it goes. Swiftly, Cedric shifts the gear and stomps his foot on the gas.

“He’s really good at this, apparently!” Dean shouts as Cedric does a complete 180. In the other truck, Adam stares dumbfounded as Cedric speeds away in the opposite direction, but he’s pulled out of his trance at the sight of the herd. In a panic, he shifts gears and speeds backward; Cedric is getting farther and farther away, obviously more adept at this driving thing than he is. He finally gets the car turned, and down the road he can barely see the specks of red that make up Cedric’s tail lights.

They need to take a few unexpected detours, dodging small clusters of infected attracted toward the gunshots from earlier. Cedric leads them easily through various twists and turns, and soon he gets them on a straight path to the house.

It takes about an hour to reach the familiar street, and Cedric runs over a lone infected roaming the block. Inside, Hunter, Tora, Ivy, and, Jake hear the roaring of two truck engines, which are quickly shut off. Hunter dashes to the window and cups his hands over his eyes to look outside the glass. No one exits either of the vehicles, and Hunter works to unlock the window and lift it. He peeks his head out, hesitates, and lets out a quick shout: "Hey!" He doesn't dare try it again, wary of any infected that could still be wandering. He flails his arms to try to get their attention, and soon, the headlights of the frontmost truck flash to life. Hunter gives them a thumbs up and flashes some more wild gestures so they get the hint that it's clear. Finally, he sees Cedric exit first, then a number of other bodies.

"It's them. They're okay," he says, relieved. "Jesus Christ. Crazy few hours, huh?" He turns to Tora with a wide smile and gives her a hard clap on the shoulder. She rubs her arm with a grimace.

"Yeah, you could say that..." she says, giving him an odd look.

"Jakey, come on," Hunter says, walking to the door and waving him over. Jake looks up; he still sits on the floor, admiring the crossbow. "Put your new friend away. We've got serious stuff to do now."

Hunter offers him his hand, and Jake takes it, allowing Hunter to lift him to his feet. They can hear people shuffling inside the front door, but before they exit into the hall, Hunter grabs Jake by the shoulder. "You did a good job today. Thought you should know," Hunter says.

"I didn't even d-do anything," Jake says. "You killed the guy."

"You kept yourself together. And that girl's really grateful for you, I'm sure," he says, nodding his head toward Ivy. "So take the compliment and say thank you."

"Th-thanks."

Hunter smiles and opens the door, moving out the way for Jake. "After you, sir."

Lucy flips down the visor in the truck’s passenger seat, looking in the small mirror, and inspects closely the gash on the side of her head, an ugly consequence of Vaughn's blow. It's a little swollen, and she grimaces at the bruising that has formed around it. She thought she’d be fine without someone bothering to treat it, but now, after an hour of driving and a pounding headache, she’s second-guessing that idea. Most everyone else diverges into the house, but out the rearview mirror she can see Adam sitting idly in the driver's seat, hands covering his face. She’s about to exit, too, when Cole’s voice stops her.

“How’s the head?” Cole asks from the back seat.

“...Pretty bad,” she says, flipping the visor back up.

“Let me see.” She turns, and he winces at the sight of the wound. “Uh--I can fix it up for you. Maybe.” He reaches under the seat to his left, retrieves one of the few black bags, and begins to comb through the various items inside.

“Don’t worry about it, I can get--” She cuts herself off, and Cole freezes his search as he looks up. A mutual understanding passes between them with just that look, and the silence teeters the verge of unbearable, although it only lasts for a few seconds. “I can get someone else to do it. And you need someone to fix you up.” His bottom lip has a deep cut, and the left side of his face is tainted with a medium-sized bruise. Besides that, his knee is starting to ache again, but he manages to ignore it for now--more an annoyance than anything.

He waves off her concern and looks back down at the bag. “I’ve got--stuff here,” he says, pulling out a roll of bandages, a few bottles of some kind of clear liquid, some medical tape, and other supplies he probably won’t have to use for a simple gash and bruising. “Just...slap the bandage on. Easy.” Even when he’s obviously not confident, he manages to act like he knows what he’s doing, at least somewhat.

She squeezes herself between the passenger seat and driver’s seat to reach the back, and scoots in next to him. He looks down at the supplies spread out between them, clearly a little baffled. “How the hell am I supposed to know what this stuff is?” he says, scratching his head. None of the bottles have labels, and they’re all the same clear color.

Lucy grabs one and turns it, so the bottom of the bottle is facing him. In faded black letters, it says ‘Hydogren Peroxide.’ “Oh,” he says, and he forces a chuckle, admittedly a little embarrassed. He takes the bottle from her, opens it, and grabs a thick, white cloth. “Wait--this is the stuff you put on cuts and shit, right? Or is it the...” He trails off, his mind hitting a blank.

“I thought you were the doctor.”

“I never actually said I was a good one.”

Now there's no doubt in her mind that this was a terrible idea. “That’s the stuff,” she says. He proceeds with his improvised treatment, using the peroxide to disinfect, and finally he applies the bandage.

He looks at his work proudly and nods. “Looks good,” he says quietly. To see for herself, she sits up a little and looks ahead, into the rearview mirror.

"Not bad,” she says. She sits back down fully, and grabs one of the various bottles to begin to put everything away. Cole, however, is motionless, his body rigid. The cloth is clenched tightly in his fist, and he’s obviously holding back from a full outburst. "Cole? What's wrong?" Her worry heightens, and she places a hand on his forearm.

All he did was apply a bandage--but it’s still one of the most terrible things he’s ever had to do, because he shouldn’t be the one doing it. Lucy figures out quickly that the reality of Chloe’s death has hit him harder than it probably ever will, but she’s at a loss for what to do.

“Relax, it's okay," she says.

At her words, he throws the balled up cloth across the truck. He rests his head on his clenched fists and takes a few heavy breaths. His self-control is dwindling--he can sense it, and she can see it clearly. He opens his mouth to say something, some kind of apology, but that’s an obvious mistake; that grief he’s been trying to hide finally divulges itself in the form of a few terrible sobs, and he covers his face with apparent shame.

He feels a gentle tug on his arm and, refusing to look her in the eye, pulls Lucy into a hug. He’s grateful for it--the only safeguard he has against this side he doesn't like to see.

Lienne groans, reaching a hand out to Tora. She still leans against the wall of that same bedroom. "Huh...?" Lienne says, her eyes open only slightly.

"We've got some painkillers coming, just hold on," Tora assures her, squeezing her hand.

"My stomach hurts," she mumbles.

"Makes sense. You had an arrow sticking out of it just a little while ago, sweetie."

Lienne mutters something incoherent. Tora gives her another suggestion to just sit tight, and she nods weakly, her head falling lazily to the side again. Soon after, the door opens, and Duke enters with a small plastic baggie. Inside, there are a few bottles of pills, and he crouches down next to Tora as he searches through it.

"How's she doing?" Duke asks.

"She was talking--sort of," Tora replies. "I--I can't even tell if she's awake now. I've got...no fucking idea what I'm doing."

"She's alive, ain't she?" Tora nods. "Then you did somethin' right." He hands her a clear bottle, then pulls off his backpack. He retrieves a bottle of water and gives that to her also.

"Lienne?"

She doesn't respond. "Marigold, c'mon, wake yourself up," Duke says. She stirs and opens her eyes at the sound of her first name.

"No--don't..." Lienne starts, but she trails off in her protest. Duke grins at her; surprisingly, his eyes begin to sting. He wants to laugh at himself, but he blinks back the tears, just happy she’s okay.

"You're gonna be alright, girl. Don't worry," he says, but the words don't really register with her. He sighs and gives Tora a firm squeeze on the shoulder before standing.

"Do we...go back for the truck, you think?" Dean proposes as everyone aggregates in the living room, besides Tora and Lienne, and Daniel and Duke, who've taken up watch outside and the issue of disposing of Jack's body. "And...her." He stuffs his hands in his pockets awkwardly, the tension in the room constricting.

"No," Cole says, sitting on a one of the dingy couches.

"Yes," Adam retorts, giving him a look that conveys absolute disbelief and disgust. "We don't just leave her there, man."

"Let's drive back into a herd, yeah."

"What about the food we left, then? Back in the truck?" Hunter says.

"I guess we'll have to live without it." Cole scans the hesitation on their faces. "Let's just--leave. Get as far away for here as we can. If there's more of them--I don't even want to spend the night here."

"How the hell are we supposed to leave when Lienne is still a pretty big fucking issue?"

"We see how she's doing in the morning. For now, a few of you should should probably help out Dan and Duke. Uh, Hunter, Ced, Farrah, Lucy. Rotate in a few hours.” They comply with simultaneous nods, disperse quickly throughout the house to retrieve anything they need for this few hour watch, and leave out the front door. Everyone else scatters throughout the house, finding a couch or bed to rest on.

But Adam lingers, giving Cole a glance as he leans against the far wall. “Good work,” Adam says with unhidden malice.

“What?” Cole asks, furrowing his eyebrows.

“Nothing--nothing.”

“I’m just trying to help out. I don’t think you’re really...fit to boss people around right now.” He chooses his words carefully, but doesn’t dodge the truth.

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

Cole scoffs loudly, honestly expecting him to be joking. “Why are you running from it?”

“I’m not. I’m good.” He shrugs passively. “What do you want me to say? What do you want me to do? Cry into your shoulder and whine about it? I’ll deal with it the way I want to, and if it works for me, then fine. Leave it alone.”

Already frustrated, Adam stands up straight and proceeds through the living room. Cole hesitates, but calls out, “This is what I’m talking about. You’re just proving my point.”

Adam ignores him, and continues on, nearly to the hall. “You’re not a leader--you’re not fit for this,” Cole adds in a near shout, hoping some conviction will catch Adam’s attention. It does, and Adam turns swiftly. “You've got too much on your plate, Adam--you're getting ahead of yourself. I know you want what's best for us...and you want to help out, do what you can, whatever it is. But it's not you. Until you learn how to deal with yourself first.”

He waits a few seconds, expecting some kind of response. It hurts him to say every word, but Adam needs to hear the truth more than anybody. "You're not okay. And you're gonna...mess yourself up even more trying to take care of all of us," Cole says. "You can't do it." Adam locks his jaw and turns, and a few seconds later, Cole flinches at the slamming of a door.

Cole sighs, and uses the rusted and dusty fireplace to his right as leverage as he rises to his feet. The kitchen door suddenly swings open, and Dean emerges, twisting the cap on his water bottle.

“Jesus, you sound like me,” Dean says. “Cold, man, cold.”

“It’s the truth,” Cole says.

“Finally not afraid to say it. You're growing up."

"Ha," Cole scoffs.

Dean gives him a look of condescension. "Your savior doesn't appreciate the sarcasm."

"Savior? Whatever."

“Yeah. Maybe it was my eyes playing tricks on me, but I could’ve sworn that asshole was about to snap your neck. I deserve some thanks, at least.”

“So you saved me for the praise--that’s what you’re saying?” Cole asks.

Dean shrugs. “Take it however you want. But you’re welcome,” he says. Cole can only shake his head at the smug look on Dean’s face, and Dean turns down the hall. Ivy pops out of one of the rooms, and he’s stopped in his tracks, nearly letting out a shriek.

“Was that...necessary?” he asks.

“You’re a jerk. Because I can’t say the other word,” she says.

“Hi to you too,” he says, but she’s not laughing. She looks absolutely exhausted from what he assumes must have been a night stressful for everyone, not to mention a twelve year old. He suddenly feels a bit of sympathy for her, but her surprisingly stern demeanor shows that she doesn’t reciprocate that feeling. “You should go to sleep, Ivy.”

“I’m not tired.” Such an obvious lie, he’s about to coax her again, when she cuts him off. “You shouldn’t be so mean to him. He doesn’t deserve it.”

“I was asking for a thank you for saving him from getting his neck snapped. Is that that unreasonable?”

“You’re not just asking him for a thank you; you’re just trying to irritate him because...because…” She trails off, not really sure why he’s so dead-set on getting under Cole’s skin. “He’s sad enough without you making it worse.”

“We’re all...sad. We’ve all got as much of a right to complain about it as he does--but we don’t.” His tone comes off a little harsher than he intended, and he quickly wonders why he’s wasting his time arguing with this kid. “Get some sleep. Seriously.” He walks away, refusing to give her the chance to respond. She glares at him for a few seconds before he disappears into a back room.

Lucy is stationed with Hunter on the house's west wall, facing a stretch of woods. They're quiet, and Hunter grows irritated with the monotony of the watch. He groans, and Lucy glances at him. "So fucking boring," he says quietly. "Nothing out here."

"You never know."

"How about I take a quick nap and you take over?"

"No thanks."

"Didn't think so." He sighs and crosses his arms. He almost hopes for some kind of disturbance, an infected maybe, just to get some excitment. But after a few minutes, there's still nothing. "Can I ask you a question? It's a little odd, I'll admit."

"Yeah, go ahead," she says a little warily.

He laughs to himself, then says, "What's it like, shagging when he's got that bum knee?"

"Whoa," she says, but allows herself to laugh. "I don't know what to say other than that's... personal."

"Ah. Puts you to work, does he?"

She slaps him on the arm. He chuckles and rubs the area she hit; as much as she doesn't want to, she laughs, then suppresses it quickly. He follows her lead, realizing they're making a bit too much noise. "I'm a curious man. Forgive me," he says. His smile still lingers, but the mood soon falls back into seriousness. "How's that feel? A nice, quick laugh, huh?"

“Almost forgot what it felt like,” she says and looks to him.

"Quite a pretty one, too."

“Oh, God. C'mon, stop."

He’s sufficiently amused by her embarrassment. "Used that same line on my girlfriend, and she said the same exact thing,” he says. “And then she fell in love with me. I can see this going somewhere."

"That's cute. How'd you meet her?"

He hesitates as the memories flood back to him. The nostalgia hits him hard, and he takes a harsh breath. "She was actually visiting Lancashire to see her boyfriend at the time. Surprise visit, the lad didn't know she was coming. Turns out he's got another girl at his place. Karen--that's her name--tells me this after I walk up and ask her why in the fuck she's sobbing on a street corner. She still had a hotel booked for a week, so we spent some time there, visited back and forth for a few years."

"She was from the U.S?"

"Yeah. New York. I was with her when the infected reports started coming out. Literally told me the day before that she was pregnant. Best day of my life, honestly." He pauses and takes a breath. "And, before you can ask, yes she's dead. She was five months along."

"That’s...that’s terrible. I’m so sorry.”

He falls into a pained silence and looks down at the ground. "I really wanted a boy," he says. His voice is weak, strained with bitterness. "God...it's all I looked forward to." He sniffles, then gives a passive shrug. "Jesus, what the hell am I saying...? I'm sorry--I tell you to laugh a little and then I depress you. Know any jokes? "

"Not any good ones."

“And I’m fresh out.” He sighs and scratches his head, stuttering over his next words, his demeanor thoroughly apologetic. “I’m sorry. I don’t know why I’m tellin’ ya all this. Well--I do, but I shouldn’t. Sorry.” He chuckles at himself awkwardly. “You’re a good listener, that’s all it is. So thank you. We all need a chance to...get everything out there, once in a while."

She shakes her head in disagreement. "Not everyone."

"Not you, eh?"

"Not usually. Does more harm than good, from my experience. But I know it helps other people so...I'm always here to listen, at least."

"Ah. So you're a bottler--my mum's phrase."

She nods this time. "I've tried it a couple of times--letting everything out. Problem is I've hardly ever had people I could actually share all that stuff with. But when I do it's like...I've got no right to complain when you look at the shit that's happened to everyone else here. I thought I did, but I really don't. I just look...pathetic. Stupid." She pauses and sighs, again realizing why she doesn't like this process. "And I ramble. Like that."

"That's...harsh. Jesus. You're not stupid or--or pathetic. This--right here--" He gestures to himself. "--is the fucking epitome of stupid and pathetic. And you're definitely not me."

"But when you hear something...over and over, it's really hard not to believe it."

She suddenly dreads where this is going and uncrosses her arms, bringing them down to her sides and clenching and unclenching her fists as a futile stress reliever. “Now who in the hell ever told you that?” he asks with surprising kindness.

“It’s stupid, I don’t--”

“Stop saying that fuckin’ word. It’s not true.” As vulgar as ever, he still manages, somehow, to convey a comforting quality in his voice that puts her at ease.

She’s got this tightness in her chest; that pathetic feeling rises up in her again, and she aches to get rid of it. Maybe a few words will actually help. But she’s fallen into this imminent pit of self-loathing before, and she wants to avoid it all costs. “It really doesn’t matter, Hunter--” she starts, then takes one look at his face. His expression practically pulls the words out of her. She sighs. “It was...a boyfriend back in college. He told me that. A lot. And he...did a lot of other stuff you can probably figure out on your own. Not a nice guy.”

“Ah,” Hunter says with a nod.

“See? It’s not a big deal. You’ve got people...watching their families getting mauled to death and shit like that and I’m complaining because--”

He’s unsure if she’ll continue on, but when she doesn’t, he takes over. “Hell, I'd complain about some guy...whacking me across the head. Bet Cole thought it was a mighty big deal, too, didn't he?”

"No--he doesn't know. He's...probably the last person I'd tell," she admits.

"Oh, really? And why's that?"

"Because--" She ends up crossing her arms again and taking a deep breath. These are memories she's tried to repress for so long, she never thought they'd reappear. But here they are, returning with a haunting clarity. "I can't let him see...that part of myself. It's pathetic, I..." She's obviously struggling, and she trails off with lump in her throat. "It wasn't easy to live when you just...hate who you are. Your entire being. It's like being trapped in the shoes of your worst enemy, for your entire life. It gets really easy to hide, eventually, but you still hate...you."

He pauses, lets her compose herself with a few deep breaths. "This guy, I'll fucking..." He smashes the fist of his right hand into the palm of his left. "Who was this guy--what was his name?"

"Gary," she says.

"Gary? Fucking Gary was his name?"

She laughs softly, then nods. "Gary Schlessman."

"You're kidding. Holy shit."

"I'm not, I swear.”

"You shoulda known he was bad news when he told you his name was Gary Schlessman. Jesus...Well, I'll find this Gary fucking Schlessman and give him the kick in the carriage he rightfully deserves, how's that sound?"

She smiles--it’s a grin that’s barely there, but it shows as much gratitude as he could have hoped.