Dead Frontier/Issue 140

This is Issue #140 of Dead Frontier, titled ''Her. ''This is the second issue in Volume 24.

Issue 140 - Her
A long drive commences. Daniel is thoroughly uncomfortable in the cramped space of the truck, but he can’t help but doze off eventually. His head snaps up a few times as he forces himself to wake. It’s difficult, but he soon feels a tap on his shoulder.

“You’re awake?” he asks groggily as Tora’s face comes into view. She still looks exhausted, but a bit of rest has done wonders to her condition.

“Yeah,” she says. “I think we’re stopping.”

As if on cue, the truck begins to slow. Others become restless, but the soldiers inside quell them immediately. One stands--he’s tall, so he’s forced to lean his head down to avoid hitting it on the ceiling. “There’ll be a tent--pretty hard to miss,” he says in a voice just below a shout. The area is small, but he needs to make sure no one misses his instructions. “Go to it, immediately. If you need medical attention, you will be directed to another area. Food will be provided as well.” With that, the doors open, letting in the first natural light they’ve seen in about an hour.

Daniel and Tora slide out of the truck, awestruck at the enormous blue tent in front of them. It’s set up on a large stretch of countryside, where, in the distance, a small, abandoned farm rests. Soldiers mill around outside, barking orders at each other now that they’ve arrived.

They can’t gawk for long. They’re pushed forward with the crowd and into the tent as the other vehicles are emptied. “Holy shit…” Daniel mutters. “This thing could hold...hundreds of us.”

“Danny!” someone shouts from behind him, and he turns immediately. Adam, his face beaming, approaches, Lienne and Ivy behind him. Adam tackles Daniel into an embrace, patting him on the back. “Didn’t think I’d see you again, man.”

“No, I’m here, I’m here,” Daniel says, pulling away. Daniel then embraces Lienne and Ivy while Adam moves on to Tora.

“You feeling better?” Adam asks, noticing how the paleness has dissipated from her tone.

“Yeah--I just need some more sleep.”

It’s a reunion, but an incomplete one. Dean, Jake, Lucy, and Hunter are still nowhere in sight--until Adam spots them almost all the way across the tent. They seem to be searching for familiar faces just as frantically as Adam was a minute ago.

“Hey!” he calls out. He has to slip through concentrated groups of people, but he reaches them. He even does a triple count--everyone’s here. Everyone. He honestly can’t believe it. He hasn’t felt himself smile this wide in so long, but he doesn’t try to suppress it.

An entire row of tables is set up on one side of the tent, and people form a line in front of it. Food is handed out by soldiers, and wooden picnic tables are arranged in a cafeteria-like setting. Lucy spots Lienne and Ivy already sitting, everyone else gathering around them. She proceeds down the line, grabbing a Styrofoam tray, thanking the soldiers that plop some canned ravioli onto it. There's even fresh fruit at the end of the table, to her surprise, and she snatches up an apple.

"Water?" someone asks. Lucy turns, speechless when she sees that it's Elliott standing there in front of a crate of water bottles. "Whoa. Hi."

"You made it back," she says. She realizes she's holding up the line, so she quickly reaches down for a bottle of water.

"Y-yeah," is all he can manage to say before Lucy is forced to move on. She looks back at him once, but he's already returned to handing out water. She spots Lienne and Ivy again, and takes a seat where she fits in. A slew of strangers occupy the table as well. She doesn't try to strike up conversation with any of them.

She eats in silence, so lost in her thoughts that speaking doesn't seem practical. Lienne and Ivy notice, so they leave her be. After about half an hour, the crowd begins to thin. Lienne stands, tapping Lucy on the shoulder. "We're gonna find out where we're sleeping," Lienne says. "We'll come get you when we figure it out.

"Yeah, thanks," Lucy replies. Lucy's plate is relatively untouched, but she forces herself to eat. Letting precious food go to waste just seems foolish. The table's occupants begin to rise, leaving only her and a few lingering strangers. She's ready to go on her way, too, until someone seats themselves across the table from her.

"I hope this seat's not taken," Elliott says, situating himself on the bench. He has an apple in his hand, and he sets it on her tray. "There were a few extras."

"Oh. Thanks," she says. He must not notice her tray full of food.

He's obviously searching for something to say--she can practically see his thought process. How to make this the least awkward it could be. "I never caught your name," he says, finally.

"It's Lucy."

"Elliott," he says. "If you didn't remember. Two T's, not one. A lot of people forget that."

"I remembered....Black," she says, nodding her head toward his uniform.

"Fitting, right?" He rotates his pale hand in the air. He's grateful when she laughs. It sounds genuine enough, but that joke is always hit-or-miss. "What's yours? Or should I call you Lucy Last-name?"

"Brinkley. I don't know if you could make a joke out of that."

"I could...it'd be terrible, but I could." He thinks for a moment, then waves his hand through the air. "Nah, forget it. I'm not even gonna try." He chuckles to himself as she shuffles the ravioli around with her fork. She still wears the backpack, and he nods his head toward it. "Are you hoarding gold in there or something?"

She looks up. "What?"

He pats his shoulder. "The--the bookbag. I didn't save it for nothing. Looked important."

"Yeah, there's some...pretty important stuff in it," she ays vaguely.

"Worth killing yourself over?" She goes silent, and he shifts uncomfortably in his seat. "No offense. I--I'm just curious. Forget it--forget I asked."

With his fidgeting, his pink-tinged cheeks, and his occasional stumbling over words, it's clear to her he's got some kind of interest. Too bad she doesn't. She might as well tell it to him straight as soon as possible. "My boyfriend died last week--he had this notebook he liked to write in, and it's the last thing I've got. Had to save it."

Elliott goes beet-red. "Oh, shit." He keeps his eyes locked onto her tragic gaze.

"So, thank you. For making sure I didn't lose it."

"Of course," he says with a nod. "I..." Different responses linger, and he decides on the simplest one. "That sucks, I'm sorry."

She responds with a sad, grateful smile, and looks down at her tray again. "I'm sure he was a lucky dude," he adds soon after.

"No, I was the lucky one," she counters.

He smiles at her sincerity and rises, palms pressed to the table. It only seems appropriate to leave her alone. "Either way, I hope you feel better. I'll...see you around, Lucy."

"See you around, Black." He lifts his hand, showing off the pale skin once again as one last attempt at lightheartedness.

As darkness settles, Lucy finds her way to one of the many, much smaller tents set up right behind the larger one. It’s a field of pointed tops, with people moving in and out of tents, surveying the view, or eating some more. There’s a large campfire that denotes the camp’s center. She’s sharing a tent with Tora, Lienne, and Ivy--it just manages to fit the four of them. After a day like this one, they’re all out of their wits with exhaustion.

Except for Ivy. She hadn’t expected Los Angeles to literally come to them. Now, with the knowledge that their destination is closer than ever, she can’t stop talking about it. She rambles, much to the amusement of the other three, but there comes a point when the moon rises and enough is enough. “Hey, Ivy,” Lienne says. “I know you’re excited and everything, but we’re gonna head to sleep.”

“Oh. Yeah, me too,” Ivy says, feigning a yawn. Truth is, she could go on for another hour if she wanted. Lanterns are shut off, candles are blown out, throwing them into darkness.

But Lucy can’t sleep. She waits until she’s entirely sure Tora, Lienne, and Ivy have dozed off. As quietly as she can, she reaches into her bag.

The notebook nearly came out of her possession. And it only took a week for her to almost lose it. She’s not sure what she’d do, knowing Cole’s final remnants were gone. She’s been holding off on cracking the journal open--different excuses were made to stall the reading of it.

But now that it was so close to being out of her grasp, she needs to try and read it now before that happens again. Silently, she leans to her right and flips on the lantern. She immediately dims the light just enough so that she can make the words but not disturb Tora, Lienne, or Ivy. They don’t stir.

The first page is a bunch of sparse sentences with no real order. As if he was getting used to this writing thing. She can’t blame him--he often complained about how he hadn’t written in so long, how he should have gotten back into it.

This is really just a more socially acceptable way of talking to myself.

Even the first sentence has her forced to subdue a small chuckle. She turns the pages slowly, skimming over some sections and reading others thoroughly. She can’t help but notice how some days each stroke of the pen seems slow, deliberate. Other days, she can barely read the writing--what she can make out is filled with vulgar phrases and short, choppy sentences. She forces herself to skip those.

Until a name pops out at her. Her surprise is so great, it’s like someone’s punched her in the chest. It’s a name she’s only heard him say once. He hadn’t spoken of her again after he did.

I seriously can't deal with that big-eared fuck.

''I haven't thought about Hannah in months, and now I can't get her out of my head because he had to bring her up. I'd blocked her out for so long. Now it's hitting me--right now. It’s not like I’m dwelling on the fact that she’s gone; I’ve done that already. I was terrible to her. I’m terrible to anyone who’s ever given a shit about me. I don’t know how they deal with it--my mom did for 18 fucking years, somehow--but they do.''

It cuts off there. Lucy stares at it blankly, jolted by how concise the passage is. His letters are rushed, sloppy. Anger seeps out of the [age, the near illegibility of the final words showing that he couldn’t even contain it. The rest of the page has become a giant blob of ink. Past the tears, she can’t make out another word.

She shuts notebook, not sure when she’ll be able to open it again.

Cole rushes down the street, hands stuffed in his pockets. He’s a lot younger, barely 18, and he struggles to keep his face stoic. His eyes, however, teary and red, give everything away. As do the bruising and scrapes on his face. He turns up a sidewalk and bounds up the porch of a dusty apartment building. He uses his key to let himself in, and two more sets of stairs wait for him.

He’s fuming visibly, and as he bursts through the door of his apartment, he completely ignores the woman standing in the kitchen. She hovers over a bowl, stirring something vehemently, but she drops the whisk as soon as the door flies open.

“Jesus--” she says, putting a flour-covered hand to her chest. She’s only in her forties, but years of sickness add about a decade to her appearance. Her eyes are a dark blue, and her hair is light and stringy. Her surprise quickly turns into fear when she sees Cole’s face. “What happened to you?” she asks. She wipes her hand on her apron and rushes over.

“Nothing,” he says. He attempts to push her away but she stops him by grabbing ahold of his arm.

“What happened to you?” she asks more forcefully. She grabs onto his chin and twists his head this way and that, inspecting his face. Her eyes are filled with worried tears.

“Forget it--”

“Come here.” She drags him along to the table, and he groans. He sits as she, swiftly, finds a rag from under the cabinet, hurries over to the freezer, and fills the cloth with ice cubes. She ties it and shoves it into his palm. “Put this on your eye.”

“Mom--” he begins, then decides protesting would be a waste of his time. He presses the ice-filled rag to his blackened right eye with a wince. She grabs a chair and slides it over next to him, sitting down in it afterward.

“What happened?” she repeats. She places a hand on his cheek, trying to assess the damage further, but he jerks his face away.

“Some kid...he--he fucking--” He’s too frustrated to continue further, so he takes a deep breath and closes his eyes.

She notices his anger and decides not to prod anymore. But she doesn’t have to. “He just--he said some stuff,” Cole continues. “About you--about dad. I just--I blew up, I’m sorry.”

That rage comes back to him now, with full force. He doesn’t entirely remember what happened. Some guy he barely knows--he thinks he might be in one of his classes--thought it’d be funny to taunt him, now that news of his dad’s abandonment spread like wildfire. Cole threw the first punch, but that kid wasn’t going down with a fight.

A few tears have made their way onto his cheeks, but he wipes them away angrily. “It’s okay, baby--just calm down. Keep that on your eye,” she says. He nods, and she brings him close. He rests her head on her shoulder as she strokes his hair.

“Don’t let those stupid kids get to you. You’re smarter than all of ‘em.”

He smiles, and she looks down at him with a nearly-identical grin. However, his fades much quicker than hers. "We don't need him," he says. His father never contributed much, anyway, but those paychecks he did bring home were way too valuable to pass up. "I'll get a job."

"Cole, don't worry--"

"I'll get a job, and I'll help you out, okay?"

She hugs him in a little tighter and plants a kiss on his forehead. He pulls himself away, giving her a gentle shove. He sees that her she's tearing up and rolls his eyes. "Mom, stop..." he says with a small chuckle. He sets the ice pack on the table.

She wipes at her eyes quickly. "I'm sorry," she says. "I'm just really proud of you, you know that?...Even if you can't stop getting into trouble--" She whacks him on the back of the head, more of a playful hit than anything. "Get yourself cleaned up."

Some of the flour from her apron has drifted onto his jacket and jeans. He stands, wiping some of it off. Before he goes, though, he gives her a kiss on the cheek.

"Go help her, man," Micah urges, whacking Cole on the shoulder. The computer lab in the campus library is mostly empty this late afternoon. Across the room, two vending machines are placed against the wall. At one, a girl bangs on the glass surface. She glares at the machine and places her hands on her hips.

"Why?" Cole says.

"It's the girl from yesterday."

Cole suddenly recalls seeing her in the lab yesterday, tapping away at the keyboard in frustration. He hopes she didn't catch him staring. "Oh, shit. It is."

"Go. Be her hero."

Cole hesitates and shifts in his seat. "Nah."

"Why not?"

"You help her. Maybe she likes black guys."

"Or maybe she likes tall, white dudes. Which is ten times more likely, you know that."

Cole shrugs impassively.

"Don't be a bitch. Go," Micah says.

Cole shifts his glance from Micah's eager expression to the frustrated girl. "Fine," he says. He stands and pulls his wallet out of his back pocket. He walks over to the adjacent vending machine, whistling softly as he pulls out a dollar. Scanning the items behind the glass, he looks at her as she shakes the machine. She glances up at him with a pair of striking green eyes.

"Fourth time this week," she mutters.

"Need some help?" he asks.

"Please." She steps away and gestures invitingly toward the machine. He places his hands on either side of it and gives it a firm shake. The bag of chips she'd hoped to buy are stuck right on the edge, and it moves only slightly. He tries again. Nothing.

"I know the trick to this." He pulls the now-crumpled dollar out of his hand.

"No, don't waste your money," she says. "It's fine, thank you."

"Just a dollar," he says with a smile. He puts it into the machine and punches 'E4.' As expected, the chips fall from its placeholder. A second bag follows. "Now you get two."

He bends to a crouch and reaches his hand through the metal flap. He grabs both bags and hands them to her. She laughs with a shake of her head. "You take one. You bought it, technically," she says.

"Yeah but...you looked like you really wanted Doritos." He chuckles awkwardly as she takes the bags. He shoots an imperceptible glance at Micah, who nods approvingly. He feels like he should walk away, but he can't. Something is keeping his feet planted firmly on that floor. "Cole."

He holds his hand out, and she shakes it hesitantly. "Hannah. Fleetwood."

"Like Fleetwood Mac," he blurts out.

"Yeah. I get that sometimes." There's a short pause, and Cole pulls at his collar.

"You...enjoy your chips," he says with a nod.

"Thanks." She smiles as he returns to Micah. Soon after, she walks over to her table at the other end of the lab.

"You look like you ran a fucking marathon," Micah observes as Cole sits down. "Did you get a number?"

"No," Cole says.

"A name at least?"

"Yeah. Hannah."

"Alright, that's a start. Did you say anything stupid? Anything that'll make her want to get a restraining order?"

"I told her to enjoy her chips."

Micah groans and covers his face with his palm. "What was I supposed to say?" Cole continues. "'You're really hot, can I have your number'?"

"Maybe. Girls like that up-front shit sometimes."

"Whatever." Cole grabs his books from the table and begins to stuff them in his backpack, probably a little more angry than he should be. Micah sighs and follows his lead.

When they're done, Micah stands and swings his bag over his shoulder. Right behind him, Cole sees Hannah slip into the restroom. "I'll meet you out there. I forgot to print something," Cole says.

"Alright," Micah says. "Hurry up." He turns, disappearing out the exit. Hurriedly, Cole unzips his bag and retrieves a piece of notebook paper and a pen. He uncaps the pen and spreads the paper out on the table's surface. He knows he has to work fast.

''You're honestly the prettiest girl I've ever seen, so I'm really hoping we can start over and not just talk about Doritos and Fleetwood Mac. ''

 -Cole, 773-636-3902

He folds it as neatly as he can and rises quickly from his seat. He scans the area--she still hasn't returned from the bathroom. He finds the table she was sitting at, where pencils and paper and a textbook are splayed out. He takes the paper and conceals it under the cover of the book.

She's still nowhere in sight as he slips out the front door.

Billie knocks on the door to Cole's suite. She waits patiently as the locks are undone, and Cole is soon standing before her. She furrows her eyebrows at his unusual appearance. He's sweating--not profusely, but just enough for her to notice. A tie is clenched in each of his hands. He dons a blue-collared shirt, un-tucked from a pair of dark jeans.

"Hey," he says.

"Hi..." she greets warily. "Why are you sweating?"

"I'm sweating?" He swipes the back of his hand across his forehead. His already-visible anxiety heightens at this revelation, and she invites herself inside by taking a few steps forward. She closes the door behind her. Something's obviously on his mind--he doesn't offer any more conversation and speeds off into the bathroom to the left.

"I'm pretty sure I left my jacket here yesterday," she calls out to him.

"Really? I haven't seen it," he says, his voice carrying from the bathroom. He suddenly emerges with a black tie hanging from his neck. "I should just go with no tie, right?"

"For what?"

"Lunch."

"With?"

"A person."

"I figured that much out," she says. "Who?"

He pauses and begins to undo the tie. "Just some girl. She offered and I didn't wanna be rude so..." He ends his statement with a shrug.

A multitude of responses linger on Billie's lips, but she comes up with one word. "Already?" she asks. She crosses her arms, but Cole just looks at her blankly.

"What?"

"Seriously?"

"What?" he snaps, but he calms himself down immediately. He heads toward the kitchen, explaining himself as he walks. "I'm not gonna cry about her forever. She wouldn't me want to, either, so why should I?" He opens up the fridge and pulls out a bottle of water.

"I just think it's a little early for you to try and start dating again."

He sighs and uncaps the bottle. "Aren't you the one who said I should get over it and stop being an asshole? Okay. So I'm going to lunch with a nice girl. We're talking again. Everything's fine." His hand shakes slightly as he brings the bottle to his mouth and takes a long gulp.

"I didn't mean forget about her."

"I'm not--" He cuts himself off before he can say something he regrets. He glimpses at her, and she's surprised to see that his eyes are filled with a fierce, underlying anger rather than the sorrow she'd expected. "Hannah wasn't okay, and she was never going to be okay. I was the crutch. She settled. She needed someone and I was the only option."

"That isn't true--"

"A...a boneheaded mistake ruined everything after six years, do you realize that? I could see it in her face that if she had any other choice, I wouldn't be it. But she didn't and...there I was." He pauses and caps his water. He shrugs bitterly. "She had every right to feel that way, too."

She doesn't know what to say. An apology seems inappropriate--almost condescending, too. She averts her eyes to the ground uncomfortably for just a second but returns her gaze back to him. "Who is she? The girl you're seeing?"

He takes a moment to answer. "Her name's Lucy. Alex's daughter. Have you met her?"

"No, but I've seen her around."

"Yeah. She seems...nice," Cole says.

"'Nice.'"

He manages to smirk. "Yeah. Nice."

"Is that all you noticed? Her kindness?"

"...Some other things, too." He places the water bottle back in the fridge and closes the door.

Billie smiles at him. "I guess I'll check in Adam's room, then," she says and walks to the door. She hesitates, and then turns to him with her hand on the knob. "Have fun."

"Thanks." She's out the door quickly, leaving him alone to stress some more. He does another three checks of his appearance--fixing up his hair, deciding to go tie-less, and adjusting his collar into the perfect position. Finally, he leaves, too, descending the stairway to the cafeteria.

She's not here yet, and he feels himself get irrationally nervous. There's still ten minutes until 1:00--their officially decided time. He waits. He waits. He waits.

Five minutes pass until he sees Lucy walk into the cafeteria. She flashes a stunning smile as she approaches. He offers a small wave, paired with a grin.

There’s a single chair in the room, and Cole occupies it. It’s wheeled--he rolls back and forth mindlessly. The room is pretty empty, but on the wall behind him is a collage of photos that he, at first, doesn’t really pay any mind to. The other side of the room holds a dresser and a mattress, which Hannah sits on quietly, fiddling with a corner of the sheets. Cole only takes a glance at her before spinning around toward the wall.

His eyes fall on every picture. There’s a few pictures of his mother, of he and Hannah, a few of Micah, but most contain her family--her parents, a few relatives he never got to meet. He does have a favorite out of all of them, though.

The photo booth strip of him and her is pasted front and center. It’s still in great condition, although it was taken years ago. He can’t recall exactly, but if he had to guess he'd say they were both 21 at the time.

A smile forms on his face unconsciously. It's not very wide, doesn't compare to his beaming grin in the pictures, but it feels good. Hers is just as striking, if not more so than his. He's not sure if she does, but he remembers that day so clearly. Celebrating two years together, they'd went to dinner, a movie, and found this photobooth in the lobby. Honestly, the day wasn't anything special, but this photo keeps every detail crisp in his mind.

"What are you looking at?" Hannah asks from all the way across the room. His smile diminishes, and he clears his throat.

"Just these," he says vaguely. He hasn't turned to look at her, but he can hear her rise and begin to walk over. He spins the chair around slightly, and she sits on his lap, her legs hanging over the armrest. "That one."

He points to the wall. She follows the route of his finger to the photobooth strip. He glimpses at her, expecting some kind of reaction. Her face remains the same as she examines it, and she just rests her head against his chest afterwards. "That's my favorite one," she says.

"Mine too."

He's not sure what to say after that. He opens his mouth to talk, closes it again. There has to be some kind of conversation here.

He's at a blank.

"Are you heading to sleep soon?" he asks. Worth a shot.

"Yeah, I was just about to."

"Oh." There's a short pause. "Yeah, you should go to bed...you look tired."

She slides off his lap and stands, turned already toward the mattress. But he keeps hold on her hand, prompting her to turn back again.

"Are you okay?" he asks. He knows it's a really stupid question, and one he hasn't asked in such a long time. But something changes in her expression--it’s a brief difference, nearly nonexistent, but some sense of gratitude flashes in her eyes.

“Yeah. What’s the matter?” she responds.

“Oh. Y-yeah--nothing. Just checking.” He rises, and they stand there for just a second before he dives in for a kiss. It lasts for longer than he’d expected it to. A few moments after pulling away, he says, “Finn found some cards earlier...I said I’d hang out. I’ll...see you tomorrow.”

“Yeah, good night,” she says. A smile forms on her face. She watches him go, and it disappears as quickly as it came.