Dead Frontier/Issue 128

This is Issue #128 of Dead Frontier, titled Let Go. This is the second issue in Volume 22.

Issue 128 - Let Go
Karl sits in the darkness of the warehouse, his back aching as he leans against the tough cement of the walls. His eyes scan over the people sleeping. And he feels absolutely disgusted with himself. He convinced himself to leave these people--people that rely on him. But he's done so much for them; doesn't he deserve to do something for himself?

He sighs and scratches his head. He can't believe he's actually rethinking his trip to Los Angeles. But this could be the only true chance he gets.

He can't throw that away. Can he?

Lucy and Cole are huddled in a corner of the warehouse. They sit up against the chilled cement wall, and their single blanket doesn’t make the cold any more bearable in the cramped room. They've both failed to fall asleep, and they can hear a few muffled voices amongst the hundred or so bodies around them, but otherwise, everyone else is sleeping soundly. Faintly, Cole can see his breath turn the air into thin wisps of frost. He notices Lucy wrapping her arms around herself to ward off the cold, but it’s a useless effort.

“Here,” he says, and he hands over the rest of the pathetic blanket. His jacket is now his only protection, and he tugs down the sleeves to cover his hands. “It’s not even November yet,” he complains, making sure to keep his voice at a whisper. It being so cold this early seems odd to him, but then again, they’re in an old warehouse and he’s not familiar with Colorado.

“We’ve got one night,” Lucy says. She, too, keeps her voice down. “We’ll be fine.” She scoots in next to him as close as she can, but nothing she does returns any warmth. “It’s hot in California, think about that,” she advises, and a small smile soon plays on his lips.

“And they’ve got beaches,” he says.

“And palm trees. Oceans.”

“A sweet skyline. Blondes in their bikinis.” She gives him a playful pinch to his side. “Brunettes are better, though.”

“They better be,” she says with a faint grin, and he laughs. She shifts herself slightly, then wraps her arms around his midsection. “What do you really want when we get there?”

“What do I want?”

“Yeah.”

He wants a lot. A lot of those things aren’t practical, but he wants them nonetheless. Happiness that doesn’t feel forced, or temporary. Food, water, and shelter in the most fundamental sense. A life where everyday isn’t infected with fear for himself or everyone around him. To do things he really enjoys. “I want...to wake up and be able to say I’m happy, and not have to question it.” He pauses. “And I want you to be able to say the same thing.” He expects some kind of response from her, but there isn’t one, not immediately.

“Do you think about it a lot? Living there?” she asks after a while.

“Everyday. What about you?”

“Everyday,” she echoes. She feels the cold receding and tightens her hold on him.

“It’s almost like I don’t want to. Because I know it’s not real yet. Everything is just--what my mind makes up, what I want, not what’s actually there. So it feels useless. Does that make sense?”

“Yeah,” she says. “Then you come back to the real world.”

He knows how terrible being ripped out of his fantasies can be--being pulled back into reality. He didn’t know she felt the same way, thought about the same things. “We’ve got a lot to look forward to. Remember that,” he says. He smiles--it’s more of a sad smile, but it transfers to her. He kisses her, and it’s almost jolting how warm her lips are in the cold. They let it last--they’re not sure for exactly how long--until they pull apart, and he rests his forehead against hers. “We should try to sleep,” he whispers. She agrees; there’s no room for them to get comfortable, but, hands entwined, they’re still able to fall asleep peacefully.

Cole is dragged out of his sleep by the faint sound of gunshots. He can feel others stirring around him, but Lucy stays motionless with her head on his shoulder. “Lucy,” he says. She doesn’t respond, and he rubs his eyes, dark shadows under them. “Lucy, wake up.” She moves slightly, then sits up straight, brushing some hair out of her face. “You hear that?”

She listens, and soon hears the barely audible pop pop pop of a trio of gunshots. “Y-yeah,” she says. She’s barely visible in the dark, but when she looks at him, her anxiety is obvious. The air is filled with nervous muttering, and some people rise from their sleeping spots. There’s yelling from somewhere outside, and the warehouse doors grind open suddenly, bringing in an uncomfortable burst of even colder air.

“Emergency evacuation!” someone yells, rushing into the warehouse. “Everyone up! Everyone out! To warehouse D immediately!” Warehouse D. Cole remembers Karl mentioning how it’s fortified, barred with large metal doors, encircled in a barbed wire fence.

Lucy rises to her feet, grabs their single bag and puts it over her shoulders, and extends her arm. Cole takes hold of it and pulls himself to his feet arduously. The simple effort has him cringing, and he takes a break by leaning his back against the wall. Lucy tries to pull him along but he doesn’t budge. “It’s not that far,” she says, placing a hand on his cheek. Her look alone is motivating enough, so he puts his arm around her shoulders so she can help him walk. She’s not nearly strong enough to assist him on her own, but she does her best; still, he’s forced to do most of the work, and his knee pays for it.

There’s hurried scrambling around them. They move so slow that they’re pushed around uselessly, but Lucy makes sure Cole stays upright. Someone at the doors is trying to order people into an organized exit, but it’s useless. People flee on their own accord, listening to the worries of no one else. Cole and Lucy keep their eye out but see no one they know.

They stumble out the doors, into the freezing air, and separate themselves from the large group. To their left, down the long and barren road, they see sparks of gunfire, then a wretched scream. “What’s going on?!” Lucy shouts to a man on their right, who’s trying to usher people out the doors calmly.

“To warehouse D!” he replies. She asks him again, but he ignores her. “Come on,” she says to Cole, and they continue on at their slow pace. She has no idea where Warehouse D is, but she follows the crowd, which pushes past them quickly. Cole takes a sharp breath with each step, but he pushes forward. He has to.

All they see for the first few minutes of travel are old buildings and homes. No warehouse, and most of the crowd has left them behind. Lucy looks at Cole; his struggle is so apparent. He hasn’t moved this much in such a little amount of time, without adequate assistance, in so long. Then, there’s another one of those screams.

Their heads snap left, and they see someone walking backwards down the road, firing at a running figure. The person fires again, but their rifle has ran out of bullets. They throw it to the ground and turn, shifting into a full sprint. The figure catches up to him, latches on his back, and brings him to the ground. Cole and Lucy have yet to see this new infected, but they assume this is their first unfortunate encounter.

The infected feasts on the neck of the man with the rifle, and from behind it, a few more come into view. Then more. They’re out in the open, and there’s no way they’ll make it to the warehouse through this hysteria.

Daniel is stumbling out the warehouse, behind the stampede of frantic bodies. He spots a familiar face and his heart drops.

“Tora!” he screams, but she doesn’t hear him. Someone runs into her carelessly and she falls onto her hands and knees. He pushes through the crowd. “Tora!” She looks up just as he reaches her, and he grabs onto her arm. He lifts her to her feet and pulls her into a hug. “C’mon, we gotta go. You okay?” he asks as they start to walk. He keeps his hand firmly interlocked with hers.

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” she assures him. “Do you hear that screaming?”

“Yeah,” he says. “Don’t worry about it. Stay with me, okay?”

“Y-yeah. Okay.”

He knows that screaming has to be that new breed of infected Dean, Adam, and Duke were so traumatized from. The sound is too inhumane, too terrifying, to be anything else. “H-hey,” he says, and he looks to her as they jog behind the crowd. “I used to--to go running with my cousin. He was a fatass and he could--never make it far. And I always had to--get him motivated. Or he would quit. And one day he--passed out when we tried to run the mile. And I thought--I really thought he was dead. Don’t pass out on me, alright?”

She suddenly has tears in her eyes, and she smiles at him sadly. She’ll never get tired of his anecdotes, and this seems like the most inappropriate time for one, but she’s entirely grateful for it.

She tightens her squeeze on his hand, and they pick up their pace.

Lucy and Cole divert from the rest of the crowd and survey the lines of houses around them. She picks the first one she sees--its door is ajar, presumably from careless evacuees. She leads Cole there and pushes the door open with her shoulder, slamming it shut once they’re inside.

It’s a normal house, with one story. The interior is damp for some reason but the layout looks simple enough. They’re in a living room now--a kitchen is to their left, and then a hall that she assumes leads to the bedrooms. “Sit down,” Lucy says, and Cole complies without protest. He presses himself against the nearest wall, and then slumps against the carpet. Lucy goes to work locking the door and pulling curtains over windows. The screaming from the infected has reached an uncomfortable height.

“Cole. Cole, please--”

Cole had his eyes slammed shut, his hands over his ears, and he hadn’t even realized Lucy was crouched in front of him, calling out his name. “We’re gonna hide, so you have to move, okay? I--I know it hurts, but you have to," she says.

She pulls him to his feet again, and she practically drags him through the kitchen doorway. The counter is tall and sturdy enough for them to hide behind, so they both transfer to a sitting position behind it. All they have to do is be quiet. Wait it out.

“What the fuck...are those things?” he asks, out of breath. “The scream--”

“Shh,” she orders as gently as she can. She grabs onto both his hands, and gives them a tight, comforting squeeze. They sit there for a few minutes, in silence, the screams unceasing. And then there’s a bang on the door, and the next screech is right outside. They flinch, and he pulls her close.

"We'll wait 'em out," he says, reassuringly. But that pounding continues, and he slams his eyes shut. He tries to block out the cacophony, to focus on her and nothing else, but he feels his terror reaching its height. “D-do you remember when I met you and I--I asked you…” He trails off and wipes his tears on his shoulders. There’s another bang that makes him flinch, but he ignores it. “I asked you why you were even talking to me?” There were tons of people at the hotel to associate with--and she singled him out.

“Yeah. W-why?” she asks.

“D’you remember what you said?”

“You know what I said.”

“I j-just wanna hear it again.”

Never has she wanted to roll her eyes more. But thinking back on it has blocked out some of the screaming and shouting from outside. “I s-said it was because you were...tall, handsome, and you were sweet. And a dork.” He smiles and gives her a peck on the forehead. She seems more relaxed--as relaxed as someone can be in a situation like this--but that’s ruined quickly.

There’s another bang, and suddenly another--this thing is determined to get in.

Hunter is still half asleep as he scrambles through the crowd. All he heard was ‘evacuation’ and he followed the wave of people out the door. His heartbeat nearly drowns out the screaming of the infected and people around him, and he pushes past people roughly in an effort to reach the front.

The, he hears another scream, this time more human-like. Someone lies on the ground, clutching their ankle. It’s Farrah, and the bone of her ankle sticks out of her foot. Hunter runs over to her, moving into a crouch, and puts a hand on her shoulder. “Jesus fucking Christ,” he says.

“What are you d-doing? Go!” she says, and she lets out a sob. She wipes her face with one hand and clutches onto her ankle with another.

“Come here. I’ve got you.” She looks up at him oddly, and he slips one hand under her knees and the other under her back.

“Hunter--” she starts, fully aware he’s so much slower trying to carry her.

“Shut up. I’m trying to help you,” he says. “I can--I can always drop you, if you want.” Face sweaty and red, he looks down at her with a tired grin as he runs.

Lienne spots a tuft of curly hair in the crowd. It can belong to no one but Ivy, and even though her wound is shouting for her to stop, she pushes on. “Ivy!” she shouts. Ivy turns immediately, and almost looks like she’s going to sprint to Lienne. “Stay there!” Lienne ignores the pain and completely shoves a man out of her way to reach the girl.

“Are you okay? Did anybody hurt you?” Lienne asks sternly, moving into a crouch.

“N-no, I’m okay,” she says, and she lets out a sob. She’s not hurt, but this is all so much so suddenly she has no other response but to cry.

“Come with me, okay? Don’t let go of my hand. Whatever happens, don’t let go. Do you hear me?” Lienne says, and Ivy is surprised by her harshness. “Ivy, answer me.” There’s no way she’s letting this girl get hurt, no matter what happens.

Ivy nods, and Lienne takes her hand.

“F-Find something,” Cole says, and he lets Lucy go. She rises to her feet and scours the empty drawers around the kitchen. She finds nothing but a dull kitchen knife, and Cole knows it probably won’t be enough. With a grunt, he grabs onto the counter’s ledge and pulls himself to his feet. “Find the backdoor. We’ll just--”

But the door fails to hold off the infected, and it flies off the hinges. Instead of one, there’s two--their eyes that sickening combination of red and black. Cole can only wonder how impeccable their sense of smell must be. Sufficiently more advanced than their weaker infected counterparts.

These two infected are almost too human-like. Their bodies rise and fall with each heavy breath, and they stand up almost straight. But their telltale smell and rotting flesh is still there. The first infected bursts into a sprint--the one behind it is holding onto its neck, blood seeping from a large hole. It looks almost delirious, ragged.

Hands shaking, Lucy lifts her knife, and the infected falls right into her trap. The blade sinks into its forehead, just as the other makes its approach, still running but a little slower than the last. Lucy works to remove the knife, but the infected falls with the blade still lodged in its head. Cole feels a sudden chill when the running infected’s eyes lock onto him, then Lucy. And there’s nothing he can do, with his leg like this. This thing is too strong, too fast--

Cole lunges forward with a yell, feeling his weight smash onto his bad knee immediately. He tackles the infected to the ground, and he feels it, the unmistakable sensation of teeth grinding against his skin. He ignores it and grabs the infected’s arms, pinning them to the ground. Lucy rushes over and smashes the bottom of her boot against its forehead. It takes a few tries, but its skull eventually gives in and collapses.

Cole falls onto his backside and takes a few deep breaths. “No, no, no,” Lucy mutters, and she crouches next to him, on her knees.

There’s a deep hole in his shoulder now where the infected took out a sizeable chunk. Lucy pulls her bag off her back and unzips it. “Something in here--we can--we can use…” she says, and she wipes some tears with her forearm. She pulls out a stained white rag.

“Stop,” Cole mutters, but she presses the rag to the wound. “Baby, stop…”

“It’s not that bad,” she says, and she applies more pressure.

“Stop!” he shouts. He grabs the rag from her and tosses it to the floor angrily. She stares at him, her heart sinking so steadily she wants to break down into sobs, but she holds them off for now. “They’re still--they’re outside. You need to go--go hide, or leave, or--”

“Get up,” she demands, completely ignoring him. There’s no way she’d ever leave him here, like a fucking animal. She walks over to the infected, puts her foot on its chest, bends down, and grabs the handle of the knife. With a firm tug, she pulls it out. She turns back to him, picks up the bag, and he can tell she’s not leaving without him. He’s on his feet soon again with her help, and the chaos outside has increased tenfold in just those few minutes.

She didn’t catch sight of a backdoor, but they exit the kitchen and head down the hall they’ve yet to traverse. They hear another scream. When they turn their heads around, a new group of infected must have heard--or smelled--them, and they congregate outside the house.

To Lucy’s left, there’s a small opening, revealing the backdoor.

Cole stops. He can feel himself getting dizzy already, and he takes a disgusted look at his gory shoulder. The pain in his leg is nearly blinding, and he knows that tackle did a number on his knee. From out the back door, he can see the chaos they’re going to have to struggle through. There’s no way he can.

Lucy proceeds forward, one hand on the door handle and the other clasped in his. She’s not going to make it out alive if she stays with him; she might’ve been to the warehouse by now, if it wasn’t for him. And with this bite, what’s the point of continuing? Just because his life is over doesn’t mean hers has to end, too.

“Let go,” he says calmly, looking down at their interlocked hands. Her expression doesn’t change as she tries to make sense of what he’s saying. She responds with another tug on his arm. He keeps his voice down, so he doesn’t attract any more attention than they already have. “Lucy, please--I can’t keep up with you. I-I’m bit, it doesn’t matter! Let go!”

“We’re close, I think--” she begins, and her eyes shift to the front door, where the infected, sure they hear something, approach up the porch.

“We don’t know where it even is--”

“Why are you giving up?!” she shouts at him, and he’s suddenly angered by her denial.

“Because I’m dead! Do you fucking see this?!” Her eyes fall onto his wound. It really hits her now. She lets out a sob and covers her hand with her mouth. “You can’t stay here--”

“Just try.”

“Try? For what? I can feel it already, Lucy. I’m not gonna make it far. Please just--let go.”

This isn’t what was supposed to happen. Things weren’t supposed to work out this way. They were going to get there, and they were going to be happy. That was the plan. That was what they agreed on. She still releases her grip on his hand.

“I love you. I love you so much, okay?” he says, and his voice gives out toward the end. He wants to say so much more--obviously, there’s no time, so instead he cradles her face in his hands and gives her a kiss. Her fists clench around the collar of his shirt, and she returns it just as ardently.

She has to let go.

The sureness that this is it, the finality of it: that’s what ruins him. And there’s nothing she can do. It’s almost impossible for her to process--the bite, the infected that have now penetrated the house. His eyes, the brightest and fiercest she’s ever seen them, are so determined.

The first infected breaks into a sprint.

The last thing she does is shove the knife into his hands, hoping it gives him a chance. And the last thing she ever sees him do is force a fragile smile. “I love you,” she chokes out, and she disappears out the back door. She has no other choice.

Knife in hand, Cole turns immediately. The pain in his shoulder hasn’t hit him fully yet, so he’s able to swing the knife and dig it deep into the infected’s forehead. The others see that he’s a threat. They run.

Cole pulls the knife from its head without trouble and gives the next infected the same treatment. They multiply before his eyes--two, then four, then nearly ten right there in the doorway. But he doesn’t stop hacking, swinging the knife animalistically, crying, shouting at the top of his lungs. He's not giving up, that's where she's wrong. Not yet.

One latches onto his arm and brings its nails down, ripping the fabric of Cole’s jacket and giving him a long scratch. The knife falls from his hands, and Cole stumbles backward. His right knee buckles and gives out.

He falls onto his back.

One of the infected lands on top of him. Cole grabs onto its shoulders and tries pushing it, but too much of his energy has already been drained. It reaches for his abdomen, and rips it open easily, Cole's insides spilling out recklessly. Cole lets out a scream unmatched even by them. Its teeth latch onto his neck and it pulls out a bloody chunk. The others join in--Cole can feel them tearing apart his flesh, his arms, his legs, everything. But the pain has soon stopped, giving in to numbness.

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