Dead Frontier/Issue 130

This is a preview for Issue #130 of Dead Frontier, titled Him. This is the fourth issue in Volume 22. The entire issue is planned to be posted the week of November 11, 2013.

Issue 130 - Him
Luckily, the hysteria in Denver calms down considerably after forty eight hours. Miraculously, most of the refugees have been assimilated into one of the city's southwest sectors, and the majority have undergone the standard medical exams necessary for entry. Really, it's just a simple blood test and a few questions about any possible medical issues. It shouldn't have taken very long, but with the sheer amount of people to test, Heidi hasn't slept for these last two days.

She sits at her desk with bags under her eyes, her hand on the mouse of her computer. She dozes off, snaps her head up when she realizes she's fallen asleep. She sits back in her chair, closes her eyes and looks forward to some much needed rest when the door to her bleak and dark office flies open.

Natesh stands there, looking as distressed as Heidi has ever seen him. His shirt is untucked in the front, and his blazer hangs sloppily on his shoulders. And in his hand sits a folder. Immediately, he throws it onto her desk. She looks up at him oddly. “Natesh--”

"There were some discrepancies in some of the blood tests," he says, cutting her off brusquely. Always straight to the point. "The top one, especially." His hair, usually combed neatly, lies wildly on his head. “I’ve never seen anything like it. Her--her sample--” He trails off, absolutely baffled.

Heidi opens the folder slowly, met with a file titled "Ivy Harris, age 12."

Andrew hears a faint tap on the door his new, but temporary, apartment. The conditions aren't as great as he would have liked, but he has a mattress, food, a TV. He's not going to complain too much. He peels himself away from the couch, making sure to grab a shirt to slip on along the way.

He opens it, and Lucy stands before him. She forces herself to smile. "Hey," he says. He wonders if he looks half as tired as she does. "How ya liking your new place? Lovin' the TV, I bet."

"I actually haven't tried it yet," she says.

"You're missin' out. I've got a shit ton of DVDs in here if you wanna check 'em out." He moves away from the doorway, and gestures for her to enter. He walks back over to his couch and picks up a few of the DVDs scattered along his coffee table. "Let's see...I've got The Godfather, parts one and two. Uh...Pulp Fiction...Saving Private Ryan--" He looks up with the case in hand and feels ridiculous. She obviously isn't here to talk about the classics. He sets the case back down slowly and clears his throat.

"Could you help me with something?" she asks.

"Y-yeah. Of course. Whatever you need." He points over to the kitchen table. She takes a seat, and he sits in the chair next to her.

"I tried going to the...the town hall or whatever you call it here but they--they just shut me out," she begins. "Whenever I tried to ask them anything."

"Why were you all the way over there?" he asks.

"I want Cole to have a funeral. It doesn't have to be proper or--or complicated. He just needs one. They said they couldn't help me. I don't know my way around yet and I-I don't know where we could...actually have one." She never flat out asks him, but he can tell just by the pleading her eyes that she wants him to come up with a solution.

“Yeah. Of course, of course, I can hook you up with something,” he says with a smile. “There’s this...it’s not really a park but it’s got a sick view of the mountains and shit. I don’t remember a lot of people visiting it when I was here, but I set up a memorial for one of my buddies there. Nice place.”

“That sounds perfect. Thank you,” she says. She smiles, and this time it doesn’t seem contrived at all.

Wrapped in thin jackets that barely protect against the cold, the entirety of the group, led by Andrew, follows him down a bustling sidewalk. They gawk at the skyscrapers surrounding them, the people milling around like the events of the last year and a half never happened. Eventually, the tall buildings morph into crumbling ones, and the nice, smooth sidewalks appear cracked and destroyed. No one mentions the drastic change in scenery after just twenty minutes of walking, and they continue on until Andrew makes a sharp right turn. They drift into an alleyway, then cross a small, empty street.

Immediately, there’s a long stretch of green-and-yellowed grass, and far beyond it, the large walls that surround all of Denver. But just behind it, the tips of a wide string of mountains are visible, snow covering the tops. Lucy stops to stare at it for just a second, until Adam stops behind her and puts a hand on her shoulder. “Come on,” he urges, and they follows everyone else forward.

Duke and Dean carry a few planks of wood in their arms, and Jake holds a small box of tools. Everyone waits patiently as they assemble it in silence, hammering nails into the wood, adjusting it accordingly until its in the shape of a crude cross.

Paint would probably be better, but all they could muster up was a thick permanent marker that Jake uses to write his name slowly, carefully. He’s in absolute concentration as he forms every letter and number. He hasn’t drawn in so long, but he still has that artist’s hand. The elegance of the letters gives the otherwise plain and crude cross some beauty.

“Should I a-add anything else?” he asks, looking up from his place on the ground. All eyes turn to the cross:

Cole Pruitt

July 25, 1987 - October 29, 2013

“That looks fine,” Adam says with a nod, and Jake caps the marker. Duke takes the cross from Jake, digs a small hole in the dirt with the toe of his boot, and stuffs it into the soil.