Dead Frontier/Issue 127

This is Issue #127 of Dead Frontier, titled Shunned. This is the premiere of Volume 22.

Issue 127 - Shunned
Cole sits on one of the dingy mattresses in the large room. Karl sits on the floor in front of him, stretching out Cole’s leg. Cole winces with each movement, but after a while, the pain begins to subside. “How’d this happen?” Karl asks after working in silence for a few minutes. Cole looks around before answering his question. Everyone else that needs it is being tended to by kind-faced citizens of the Outskirts. Those that aren’t injured relax on the mattresses--they’re not very comfortable, but they’re mattresses nonetheless.

“Gunshot,” Cole explains succinctly.

“You’ve been putting a lot of weight on it?”

“I kind of have to. I don’t want anyone carrying me around all the time.”

“Makes sense.” Karl sets down Cole’s leg, and Cole extends it on his own. “Nothing I can do about it. I can...supply you with a pair of crutches if that’s alright with you.”

“Of course. Thank you.”

Karl offers a friendly grin, and he’s about to stand when Cole puts a firm hand on his shoulder. “Wait,” Cole says, and Karl looks at him expectantly. “I don’t want to sound ungrateful or anything but some of us were talking and it--it came up that this might be a place for...people that were kicked out of Denver.” He’s not sure if he can broach the topic any more sensitively, but Karl doesn’t look surprised.

“Not gonna lie. It’s true, for the most part. Criminals, rejects, the immoral. Whatever you wanna call it. That’s what they label us here. While they sit in their air conditioned buildings and watch their damn TV…” He says the last part with some spite, but he cools himself down and scratches his beard.

“What’d you do?” Cole asks as gently as he can. Karl gives him a fleeting look, and then fiddles with the wedding band on his left hand. Cole’s not sure how he didn’t notice it before, but now the gold seems to shine so bright under the lighting. Cole swallows hard, feels Karl’s sorrow seep onto him.

“Wife was murdered right in front of me. Killed him myself.” Karl lets out a heavy sigh. He looks up at Cole, pleading without any words. “I know it’s terrible and I--I don’t want you to think any less of me. I want to be honest with you. You deserve that.” Cole honestly appreciates it, but he’s not sure how to express it. “And I don’t deserve to be here. I don’t want to be here. This is a fucking hellhole, and they won’t let me back into the Denver a-and you people are already headed to LA--” He cuts him off when he sees Cole’s expression change into something more questioning.

“You wanna come with us?” Cole asks.

“I knew it was a fucking long shot,” Karl mutters, and he runs a hand over his bald head.

“No, no, no. It--it was just a question.” Cole’s totally unsure if they can actually afford to add another to their already unstable congregation. Karl’s eyes are so burdened with hope, sincerity, a look that’s so rare that Cole feels a quick stab of unprecedented emotion. Cole replaces his hand on Karl’s shoulder. “I’ll talk to them about it before we leave tomorrow.”

“You will?” Karl looks astounded, overcome with gratitude.

“Karl,” a woman calls from across the room, and Karl turns his head. The woman is tending to Cedric, and she waves him over.

“Thank you--” Karl begins, fading out when he realizes he’s forgotten Cole’s name.

“Cole Pruitt,” Cole says, and he holds his hand out. Karl shakes it vehemently, but then he’s off to assist without another word.

This sudden rush is so odd. Cole actually feels good, about himself and what he did. The old man, almost grandfather-like, and his grateful look--it makes him smile. He’s so lost in his own mind, relishing in this feeling as he works his leg out a little more, that he doesn’t notice Lucy approaching him until she sits down next to him on the mattress.

“Hey. How’s it feel?” she asks, looking down at his knee.

“Better. Not as sore…”

“Is that why you’ve got that...goofy look on your face?” She grabs onto his cheek and pinches it, but he swats her hand away.

“Stop--don’t do that,” he says, laughing. “My aunt used to do that shit when I was little. It’s bringing back memories.”

“It’s hard not to. You’re so cute when you smile like that--” She reaches for his cheek again, but he deflects her hand goodnaturedly. She grins, and decides to spare him from her teasing for now. “What’s going on?” Something seems different with him, and she’s eager to know why. Just a few hours ago, he was clearly annoyed because of her conversation with Dean; now it’s as if he’s completely forgotten about it.

“I think I did something really dumb,” he confesses, and he looks to her as she furrows her brows.

“Go on…”

He chuckles awkwardly and scratches his chin. “I--I told Karl I’d talk to you guys about...him coming with us.”

“You did?”

“Yeah, b-but he’s so old and...nice. He’s feeding us, taking care of us. If he didn’t warn us about driving to the gates we’d be dead by now, too. It’s like saying no to your grandpa--I just...couldn’t.” He looks at her, expecting her to reprimand him somehow--

“And why’s that dumb?” she asks instead.

“Because...we can’t take in another person. We’re already--”

“He’s obviously stocked here. If he can bring some valuable stuff with him I don’t see the problem.” It’s a valid point that he didn’t think about. “And I think that was really sweet of you.”

Across the room, Dean watches them with a stern look, his eyes heavy with jealousy. He has a new set of bandages wrapped around his bruised ribs, and once Cole and Lucy kiss--so sincere and ardent--he looks away with a soft scoff.

Envy is such a terrible feeling.

“Reminds you of New York, doesn’t it?” Farrah asks Hunter as they stand outside the ominous building. They don’t need medical attention, so they were set free to do what they wanted. They’ve decided not to venture far.

They’re not in immediate danger with the few guards around, but this place brings back that sense of peril that was so clear in New York. Besides this place not being surrounded by impenetrable walls, the similarities are striking. The obvious druggies rambling down the streets, the drunks, the corrupt, the tattered buildings, the dejected people. Everything.

“Smells the same, too,” Hunter says, scrunching up his nose. “Ugh.”

She smiles at him, and interlocks her arm with his. It’s more of a friendly gesture than anything. As much as Hunter has said some not-so-nice things about her and made mistakes, like anybody else, she considers him a friend. And it’s nice to share this nostalgia with someone.

“I kind of wanna stop in Denver. See what it’s like,” she says.

“This place isn’t a good sign.”

“You’re so negative.”

“Haven’t got my head in the clouds, Farrah. That’s because I’m a smart man.”

“Yeah, right.”

He grabs onto his chest and makes an over-exaggerated, pained noise. “Insulting others’ intelligence is not an endearing trait,” he says.

“Neither is thinking the world sucks and that everyone in it does too.”

“I don’t think that.”

“Is that right?”

“Yeah. I’ve got hopes and dreams like the rest of you optimistic fucks.”

“Let me guess...you hope LA has an infinite amount of beer,” she says.

“Any alcohol would work, really,” he corrects with a smirk. “A brothel would be nice, too. Wonder if they have that.”

“You’re disgusting.”

“I’m a man is what I am.” She shakes her head, and he nudges her. “What do you want from there, then?”

She shrugs. Her hopes of anything substantial in life ended when the world did. She’s not entirely sure. “I dunno. A way to be happy, I guess,” she says, a little half-heartedly. “I know that, even there, I’m not gonna be able to do anything I wanted.”

“Ah. You and that famous crap.”

“It’s not crap. I could be on TV right now if it wasn’t for this. I would be.” She sighs discontentedly and runs a hand through her hair. “Stupid to think about now.”

“Maybe they’ll have something for you there,” he says. She’s surprised he’s actually saying something to lift her mood, and he provides her with a warm smile. “We should head inside. Chilly out here.” More than chilly--their breath is visible in the cold, and they wrap their jackets snug around their shoulders as they turn back inside.

A dark-haired woman approaches Karl and taps him on the shoulder. “There was a robbery over in the west end,” she explains. “We’re gonna need this space.” She looks around at the group spread out around the room, most of them looking pretty healthy.

Karl sighs. “That’s alright. I was thinkin’ about movin’ ‘em out anyway,” he says.

Adam overhears this and looks up from his spot at the mattress below. “Move us? Where?” he asks.

“I’m in charge of this Warehouse a little ways out. Houses people who need it. I think I can squeeze you all in for the night. It’s not the most...comfortable conditions, I have to warn you.”

With that, Karl gathers everyone up and leads them back downstairs. Most of them avert their eyes once they travel through that wretched lower floor again, their presence eliciting more pained groans from the various patients. They reach the front door, but soon move out of the way when a man bursts through the door, carrying a sobbing woman in her arms. Her entire midsection is blown out.

Karl looks over their shocked faces with a frown and ushers them out without a word. It’s darker now, and the cold has taken over the relatively bearable chill from before. They scramble into two trucks as quickly as they can, retrieving their few belongings first.

“You should know now that weapons aren’t allowed in the warehouse,” Karl says, turning the steering wheel to the left. “We’ve already got fights. Don’t need to escalate them any further. I hope that’s alright.”

“We’ll get ‘em back in the morning, right?” Adam asks.

“Of course, of course,” Karl says. He notices the unsure look on Adam’s face.

“I really wish I could let you keep them, but you understand, Mr.--” Karl continues.

“Dugall.”

“Mr. Dugall, yes. I’ll show you where I’m keepin’ ‘em so you can get ‘em bright and early.”

This appeases Adam somewhat, and Cole gives him a soft tap to the arm. “It’s cool. Trust him, alright?” Cole says quietly, and Adam nods. Cole gives him a smile that he doesn’t return. “This is pretty sweet, right? It’s pretty shitty but the whole...civilization part. It’s kinda cool.”

“Yeah. I’m still trying to figure out why it smells like shit everywhere, though,” Adam says, and Cole laughs.

“You probably don’t wanna know. I know I don’t.” Adam grins at him briefly, then turns his head back toward the window.

Karl decides to take a quick detour instead of bringing them to the warehouse immediately. It’s not that late so they’ve got some time to spare. Since they’re so keen on getting to Los Angeles, he thought it would be nice to give them a quick taste of where they’re headed, even if it’s not of Los Angeles’ caliber.

They drive the few minutes to Denver. The walls come into view soon enough, built with tough stone and metal. The large gate looks to be made of some kind of titanium. They must be pretty confident with the walls defenses, since not a single guard is on sight. Bright lights line the top of the wall, blocking out the stars that were visible back in the far Outskirts. They can hear the bustling of life inside, the cars, the people, and even a helicopter makes a quick trip over the Outskirts and into the zone, disappearing in the clouds.

“Holy shit,” Duke says, and he exits his car slowly. It prompts everyone else to do the same, and they gaze longingly at the set up.

“Pretty nice, right?” Karl asks, leaning against the car hood. He shares their wishful expressions, remembering the life he had there. It wasn’t perfect by any means, but it was better than this. And there’s no way he’s getting back in there, not with what he did to his wife’s murderer. Flashes of his bloody, indistinguishable face seep into his thoughts, and he blinks his eyes a few times.

“What’s it like in there?” Lienne asks, looking to Karl. He takes a few seconds to mull over his thoughts.

“It’s the closest I’ve gotten to life since this started. It’s like a city, pretty much. All of Denver is enclosed behind those walls. Hospitals--actual hospitals--schools, businesses, labs. But they’re trying to shut themselves off, which is the sad part. I’m really hopin’ that’ll change…” He gives the walls one last eager look. He orders everyone back into the truck with a simple wave of his hand.

“I had two kids, yeah,” Karl says. He’s gone into deep conversation with Lienne, who sits next to him in the passenger seat. He enjoys how she seems genuinely interested in every word, each of her questions so sincere. No one here is like that anymore. “They were adults, though. Off doing their own thing without me.”

“Tell me they came to see you a lot,” Lienne says.

“They did, actually. With their kids, too. I loved my grandbabies, I really did.” A small smile forms on his lips, but he hides it quickly, slightly embarrassed. Lienne assumes the worst, and decides not to delve deeper into his past than she already has.

“I always wanted a family like that. A functional one,” Lienne says, gazing out the windshield. “I used to work in this daycare, for a really long time. And I’d see all the kids going home with their moms and dads and I just--I really wanted that. I was a foster kid for...a long time. So I never really knew what it was like.”

“How was that?”

“It really wasn’t that bad. I mean, all the kids thought I was weird but they weren’t mean or anything. And the people running the home were nice enough. It wasn’t, like, one of those places you hear about on the news where they beat the kids and no one ever gets adopted.”

The nonchalance of her comment makes Karl chuckle. He really likes this girl. But he can’t pinpoint why, exactly. As they drive some more, taking in the rather dystopian sights of the Outskirts, a large building comes into view. It has a nondescript exterior, its relatively good condition the only thing separating it from the other structures here. “This is it,” Karl announces. “Hope everyone likes you. You won’t be staying long but--I think they will.”

“Damn, this is huge…” Duke remarks as Karl puts the truck into park.

“Yeah, it’s pretty big. Got some others like it, too. There’s a special one out east--our D Warehouse. It’s sort of like our armory--fortified and everything.”

Karl exits and they follow. He knocks on the heavy double doors of the warehouse, and a small window slides open. The face of a gruff man appears. “Hey, Karl,” he says.

“Got some newcomers that’re gonna stay for the night. We got room?”

The man inspect their faces with narrowed eyes. “Think I can fit ‘em in.” The man slides the tiny rectangular window shut and they hear the turning of locks from inside. The doors open with a groan, and he’s even more intimidating in full view. He has caricature-like muscles, a sharp jaw, and a wild goatee. Everyone sneaks glances inside, and they see a floor covered with bustling people, and others walking around. There’s even a small section that looks like a kitchen, and people are served plates of food in the form of disgustingly-textured goop. Lights cover the ceiling, half of them flickering wildly.

Faces turn in the direction of the doors, sets of eyes boring into those of these strangers, but it only takes a second for everyone to go back to their business. “Julio, take ‘em to put their weapons away, would you?” Karl asks, patting the big man on the shoulder. Julio agrees, his respect for this man apparent, and he waves the group along, past several clusters of people. He’s silent as he leads them down a dark hall and into a back room with shelves lining each wall. He stands on his tiptoes and grab a box from one of the shelves.

“Your box number is 92. Put all your weapons in here and you’ll get them back when you leave.” The sentence sounds rehearsed, but no one protests. Julio sets the box on the ground and they fill it with their weapons. He closes the lid and replaces the box carefully on the shelf. “Uh, you can leave now,” Julio says rather harshly. “Go meet some people. Go to sleep. Eat. Whatever.”

He moves past them rudely and Cole, with crutches provided by Karl, leads everyone out. Everyone in the warehouse is pretty reserved, sticking to their own groups. Jake and Ivy approach the small kitchen. It’s a simple set up, with a counter that holds trays and silverware. Jake grabs a tray and fork for Ivy and the same for himself, and they proceed down the line.

A woman with a mole on her nose is scooping up some food to put on Jake’s plate when a man grabs a tray and takes his place behind them in line. “Hello, little girl,” the man says. Ivy and Jake turn, and the man shows off some yellowing teeth with his wide grin. “What’s your name?”

“Ivy Harris,” she says pleasantly.

“That’s a gorgeous name, Ivy. I’m George. This your brother?” He knows Jake and Ivy couldn’t look more different, and he laughs at his own bad joke. “Maybe your dad?”

“Ivy, let’s j-just get the r-rest of our food,” Jake advises, and he grabs Ivy gently by the arm.

“What’s wrong with your voice, son?” the man asks.

“N-nothing. Ivy, let’s g-go.” He doesn’t like this guys fidgety, creepy demeanor, and he wants to get as far away as possible. Ivy feels the same, and she follows Jake eagerly. However, Ivy soon feels George grab onto her other arm, and she ends up dropping her tray, the fork clattering on the cement.

“I just wanted to talk to the girl! What’s your problem, kid?” George shouts. “You--” He cuts himself off when Jake turns on him. Jake lets go of Ivy’s arm, dropping his own tray in the process, and kicks George in the knee. George lets out a screech, and people at the nearby tables stand up to see the action. There are a few claps, and instead of trying to stop it, they watch with excitement.

Jake kicks George again, in the shin, and the man falls onto his knees. “Jake, stop!” Ivy shouts, pulling at his jacket. He ignores her and punches George in the mouth. George reaches up and grabs Jake by the hair. Jake shouts as George gives his hair a harsh tug, but a kick to George’s midsection releases his grip.

Tora hears the shouting, and sees the circle forming. The voice sounds suspiciously like Ivy and she pushes herself through the crowd. “Excuse me, excuse me…” she mutters. She reaches the circle’s interior and freezes at the sight of Jake, giving a grown man a kick to the jaw.

“Jake!” she shouts. She rushes to them and grabs Jake by the shoulders. Tora’s strong enough to pull him away from George, and he finally seems to break out of his trance. His breathing is ragged and angry, and Tora drags him away as Ivy trails behind. A long stretch of ‘boos’ follows them out.

“What the hell is wrong with you?!” Tora shouts in Jake's face. She shakes him a little, but he’s unresponsive.

“Are you okay, Ivy?” he asks, and Ivy nods her head. There are barely visible trails of tears down her cheeks, and Tora looks between the both of them, worried. Jake nearly looks like he’s ready to cry, too, so instead of reprimanding him, or asking questions, Tora embraces him in a tight hug.

As night falls, the warehouse succumbs to silence. People spread out along the floor, on mattresses if they’re fortunate enough to have them. Cole has been supplied with only a blanket that he shares with Lucy. There’s not even room for them to lie down, so they sit up against the wall as she tries to fall asleep with the too-small piece of cloth. The beaming lights are soon shut off, shrouding the mass of bodies in total darkness. Cole knows there’s no way he’s going to be able to fall asleep, what with the cold, the snoring, the stench, his rumbling stomach, and the man next to him muttering to himself.

“You okay, man?” Cole whispers, and the man turns suddenly.

“Y-yeah,” the man says. He wipes a hand across his face. Cole wonders why he’s sweating when it’s freezing cold. “Night terrors, man. Th-they’ll get ya.”

“I know what you mean,” Cole says, and he leans his head back against the wall.

“H-hey,” the man says after a few seconds. His eyes have locked onto the small bag Cole has with him. “Came from the outside, didn’t you?”

“Yeah.”

“Stuff here sucks. You got any food in there?”

Cole hesitates, looking him over. Cole can’t make out too many features in the darkness, but he doesn’t look half as crazy as most of the people here. And he’s feeling generous enough today. “Yeah, let me check.”

“Oh, shit. Really? I--I was expecting you to laugh in my face, man.”

“Nah, I think I can spare some stuff.” Cole grabs the bag and puts it onto his lap. As he unzips it as quietly as he can, he asks, “What’s your name?”

“Andrew,” the man says. “Roth. Andrew Roth. Y-you?”

“Cole Pruitt.” Cole holds his hand out, and Andrew shakes it.

“Cole. We need some fuckin’ coal, man. It’s cold as shit.”

The joke is terrible, but Cole chuckles, trying to disguise his laugh as genuine instead out of pity. “Alright, let’s see…” he mutters as he looks through the bag. He can barely see, but he feels around for anything. He hears the crunching of a wrapper and pulls out an energy bar. He holds it out and Andrew grabs it with some hesitance. “Energy bar,” Cole says, even quieter. “Try not to make too much noise.”

Andrew nods, and he manages to open the bar in near silence. He takes a bite and smiles. “Oh, shit, man, that’s so good,” he says, in pure bliss. “Cole Pruitt. Cole fucking Pruitt. I’m gonna remember that name, man. Gonna remember it for the rest of my life. Don’t worry.”

Cole laughs and zips the bag shut. “Well, I’m gonna get some sleep. You enjoy that,” Cole says, and he sets the bag down next to him, in its previous spot.