Dead Frontier/Issue 141

This is Issue #141 of Dead Frontier, titled '-Give A Little''. This is the third issue in Volume 24.

Issue 141 - Give A Little
Adam rises early, and a quick scan of his tent reveals neither Hunter or Daniel are awake yet. As quietly as he can, he exits, immediately met with a pleasant view of the sunrise. Besides a few others, the overpopulated camp shows no activity. He saunters over to large tent stationed in the middle, not sure if he’ll be provided with breakfast even though they were fed yesterday. Might as well try.

This larger tent is just as empty as outside. A couple people are spread out amongst the tables, feasting eagerly. Some soldiers stand near the serving area, just like yesterday, and Adam heads over and grabs a tray. It’s not much of a selection, but he’s not complaining. He’s about near the end of the table when an invitingly familiar voice makes him look up.

Harlow stands in front of a crate of apples, leaning forward with her palms pressed against the table. “Good morning. Early riser?” she asks.

“Oh, hey,” he says cheerfully, grabbing a piece of fruit. “And--no, not usually. I think she excitement’s got me up.”

She takes a second to look around at the empty tent, the lack of sound, the bland view visible from the entrance. “This is exciting to you?”

He laughs quickly. "No, I meant going to California and...and everything. We've been trying to get there for...months. Then we got sidetracked in Denver, and now you're taking us there. Personally. Good deal."

"Months?"

"Yeah. Long story." Based on the look he gives her, she can tell he's not joking. But he still offers a smile, lifting up the tray slightly. "Thanks. For the food," he says. He's about to turn and leave, but he realizes he'd never even thanked this woman that stuck her neck out for him and everyone else. His journey could have easily ended back in Denver if it wasn't for her. And for that, he's entirely grateful, even though he doesn't have an adequate way to show it. "And for helping us get outta there. Thank you--really."

She gives him a smile, its brightness and gratitude seeping past her exhaustion. "Of course. Just doing my job," she says. "Enjoy your food."

Hunter, his arms rested on his knees, sits in front of his tent. He's not sure where Adam and Daniel are, the two he'd offered to share a tent with. He's not really worried, either, since the environment seems safe enough. There are even a couple kids--he'd guess around ten or eleven--throwing around a football. Elsewhere, people mill around, rising from their tents this early morning.

After a couple of minutes, the football rolls to his feet. He looks up at the group of kids, consisting of one girl and three boys. They delve into a period of hushed muttering until the girl finally decides to walk over, a bit warily. Hunter grabs the football and examines it in his hands. He never was fond of the sport.

The girl, her red curls bouncing behind her, stops a few feet away, looking at him weirdly. He holds the football out to her and laughs. "Here. I've got your weird ball," he says. She doesn't move forward. "Want me to--to throw it or something?"

She nods slowly and lifts her hands, positioning them for a catch. He throws it the short distance, and she catches it easily. He's expecting a thank you, or even for her to just run off, but she lingers.

"What's wrong with your face?" she blurts out. She doesn't look at all ashamed or embarrassed of her outburst. Hunter frowns at her. She's clearly referring to his one injured eye, but he acts completely oblivious.

"Nothing at all. What's wrong with yours?"

She unconsciously touches her cheek. "There's something wrong with my face?"

"Depends on who you ask, but I know that mouth needs some fuckin' work."

Her mouth and eyebrows all arch down, giving her a comically angry expression. He just smirks as she storms away with her ball, back to her friends.

Lucy watches the entire exchange from her tent with amusement that has morphed into concern by the time it's over. Before she can say anything, Hunter addresses her in a near-shout: "Can you believe that little shit?"

"She's just a kid," she says. She rises from her spot and sits herself next to him instead. Hunter scoffs and shakes his head.

"Bullshit excuse. Who talks to a stranger like that--a stranger? I know I never did." He looks straight ahead, where those kids throw that football with an uncontained glee he hasn't seen in a while. She takes just a second to inspect his expression--he's not doing a very good job of hiding his anger, even if his efforts should be commended. She opens her mouth to speak, but he cuts her off more rudely than he intended. “Yes, I know--cursing at the kid may have been a little much. I could've said a lot worse."

"Doesn't look like she cares," Lucy says with a nod toward the girl, who giggles carelessly and tosses the ball.

Hunter makes a soft tsk-tsk sound. "When you pop that thing out teach him some manners, will you?"

"I'll try," she says, but her voice is grim. He furrows his brows, expecting some kind of joke or retort back. He receives none. Scrutinizing her face gives him a guess as to what's running through her head.

Even behind protected walls, raising a child now is completely different than it was before. Life's curriculum now includes standard defense against infected and all other evils the world has come to know. Even normal society no longer exists--and how do you teach another to get used to this when you barely are yourself? He can't say he hasn't thought about before, but not for a while. All of these long forgotten feelings are making their unexpected reappearance, and he can't find a way to push them away.

"You got lucky, you know that, right?" he says. "This kid's gonna be behind shiny walls--gonna have food and everything. Can you imagine the...the people in the same position we were in a month ago in your situation? Starving to death themselves and then they've got another little guy to take care of."

"I know, but either way I'm not--I'm not ready," she says. "That's the problem."

"Well, no one's expecting you to be. It's a learning process, I guess. Read all the parenting books you want, you're not ready until you actually shove that thing out and take care of it yourself." It was easy for him to guess that'd make her laugh. Before she can respond, he decides to add, "And...this little guy's going to have a great mother. I wouldn't worry too much."

Dean’s not really sure what to do with himself. He wanders mindlessly amidst the camp, which has garnered more activity as the day has went on. Everyone looks...happy. Excited. Expectant and hopeful. He’s none of those things, even though he feels like he should be. But he knows there’s no reason to.

California is close. Close enough that everyone, for the first time, has no doubt that this safe zone will become a reality soon enough. He knows it will, too, but, differently, he has no motivation to get there. No excitement. Nothing to look forward to. He’ll be able to live normally again...but for what?

“Dean.”

He snaps his head around at the voice, scratching his head as he’s jolted out of his thoughts. “Yeah?” he says, although he doesn’t see who’s called him. But Ivy stands a few feet away, holding a dirtied and faded soccer ball.

“One of the soldiers gave me this,” she says.

“Oh. Wanna...kick it around?” He ends his statement with a shrug. She sets the ball on the ground and gives it a gentle kick toward him. “I’m terrible at soccer.”

“Soccer, or every sport?”

He laughs, taking her joke in stride. He gives the ball a kick. “...Every sport, yeah. But I did play Little League--got to first base once.”

“No home runs?”

“Like I said--terrible.”

He doesn’t know what else to talk about, and neither does she, and they return to the monotonous, wordless kicking of the ball. And suddenly, he can’t believe he’s been sitting here worrying about himself. “How do you feel about this?” he asks.

She looks up after another kick. “About what?” she replies.

“California. I never really asked you.”

She pauses, thinks for a second. “Well, good, I guess. We’ll have food and stuff. Normal food.” He cracks a smile. “Then I wanna go back to school, and actually have friends again, and--” She cuts herself off when she realizes she’s in the beginning of a ramble. “What about you?”

He shrugs, taps the ball with his foot. It barely reaches her, so she trots over to get it, giving it another kick. “I hope I can teach again. That’d be...nice.”

That's it. It hits him, right then. Besides his quick stint as a student teacher, his job was never official. Then the apocalypse hit and any chance of his dream coming to fruition was crushed. But those few weeks in the classroom were unforgettable. He'd never been the best public speaker--but something about standing in front of a bunch of kids, seeing them finally understanding something they couldn't grasp just a minute ago, made those nerves go away. Maybe this is his chance to feel something like that again. He's not sure why it took him this long to realize it.

He smiles and kicks the ball once more.

Lienne grabs whatever belongings she can out of her tent--lanterns, blankets, candles, pillows...She grabs her bag and begins stuffing them in without order. Jake hovers a few feet behind her, staring at something. She can't tell what's got him so preoccupied.

"Jake," she says. He doesn't acknowledge her. "Hey. Rice."

His head snaps in her direction quickly. He seems dazed, being knocked out of his thoughts so quickly. "What?" he says.

"Gonna help me pack or what?" She looks at him, shielding her eyes from the sun with her right hand. He scratches his head and jogs over.

"Yeah, sorry." He gets on his knees, begins stuffing whatever he can into her bag.

"What's over there?" She nods her head toward the direction he was staring.

"Oh. Nothing. J-just some kids messin' around," he says. He picks up a candle, inspects it for a second, and tosses it with the rest of the items. Lienne arches her neck slightly to get a better view, and she sees a couple of guys tossing a football.

"Not into football?" she asks. Jake just shakes his head. She frowns as she zips up her overly-filled bag. His forced nonchalance has her concerned, mostly because he's clearly hiding behind some kind of subdued anger. "They're not gonna mess with you."

"They will," he counters immediately. Honestly, he doesn't know what it's like to toss a ball around with friends. He's always wondered. He's already fed up enough, though--teasing isn't going to make it better.

"This isn't high school, Jake."

"So what? People are people and they're always assholes. Doesn't matter where we are or what the hell we're going through. They're always the same."

She stares at him, her mouth slightly agape. Something about her look frustrates him. "What?" he snaps.

"That's...the longest I've seen you go without stuttering," she says. "Four whole sentences. Nice." He scoffs and returns to the items before him. "No, no, I'm serious. I'm not teasing you."

He's still silent, but she can't pinpoint why. She sighs and stands, not sure what else she can say. "You've gotta think better of people, Jake," she says. No response. She just walks off, hoping at least some of her words are resonating. If they are, he doesn't show it.

"Not hungry today, huh?" Daniel points out, sitting across from Tora at one of the wooden tables. Her tray is covered in beans--today's main delicacy--and an orange. It's all untouched.

"No," she says simply, tiredly.

"Hm. If that's the case..." He reaches over and snatches up her orange. He begins to peel it, grinning at her. "You know, oranges are supposed to help when you're sick."

"But...you just took mine," she says with a laugh.

"You weren't gonna eat it." He tosses the last of the peel onto her tray, right on top of her rapidly-cooling beans. He looks up at her before pulling off a piece of the fruit and popping it into his mouth. She looks better, that much is clear. She's no longer so pale and dreary. He's made sure to keep an eye out for others reporting the same sickness, too--no one seems to be in terrible conditions, which only gives him more hope that she'll recover faster. Even with the knowledge that her symptoms will eventually pass as the virus assimilates itself into her body, he can't help but worry. It's only natural.

"I have a question for you," he says. She raises her eyebrows.

"Yes?"

"I think this really pertains to you. Listen: why did the orange--” He slips another piece into his mouth. “--go to the doctor?”

“It wasn’t peeling well,” she says immediately.

He forces a frown and lets the orange drop to the table. “Yeah, well, thanks for ruining it,” he jokes.

“I’m sorry--you can tell it again and I’ll pretend I don’t know.”

“It’s...not the same.” He reaches for the orange again with an over-exaggerated sigh, and she laughs at him, forcing him to do the same.

“You’re really happy today,” she observes.

“I’m always happy.”

“Happier.”

He contemplates this for a moment, leaving them in a quick silence. “I guess it’s because, in a couple days...we’re free. Finally. I was talking to one of the soldiers yesterday--I forgot her name--but she said when we get there they--they let us in, we go through all the official stuff. Paperwork, whatever. They assign us a residence and then...that’s it.”

She gives him an odd look, wondering where he’s going with this. “Do you get it?” he continues. “Then we’re back to normal. Just like that.” He finishes off his orange with a wide grin.

“Don’t you think that’s gonna be a little...weird?” she says. His smile falters--that was one of the last things he’d expected her to say.

“What do you mean?”

She sits up a little straighter and pushes her tray away. “The...the living thing. Going back to normal. After everything.”

“Don’t you think we deserve it?” he counters. “So much shit and now...this is it.”

She hadn’t thought of it that way. She’s grown so accustomed to this way of life; hiding behind walls again, with assured safety, is going to be a big change. But one she’s looking forward to, admittedly.

“Dan, Tora,” Dean says, speeding by. “We’re getting ready to pack our stuff--let’s go.” He doesn’t wait for a response and is out of the tent in a matter of seconds. They stand. Daniel grabs her tray, and they head around to the end of the table, where he tosses it into the trash. Before they continue on, he stops her.

“Don’t put a negative spin on this, alright?” he asks. He offers an encouraging smile, of which she returns.

“It’s pretty much a habit,” she says. “But you’re right. Okay.” She gives him a quick kiss, then slips her arm into his, leading him out the tent.

Harlow, able to catch Elliott at a time when he isn’t preoccupied, stands in front of him. She’s not shouting, but she might as well be. So much disappointment and annoyance seeps through her tone, Elliott is one the verge of stomping away without a response. But he stays put, his gaze directed somewhere over Harlow's shoulder.

Although she’s barely his superior, Harlow feels responsible for Elliott--it's been that way ever since she met him. On the simplest level, he’s a good friend--wanting him to be safe just seems natural, and his running off in the middle of a riot was the easiest way he could've put his life in jeopardy. She knows how boneheaded Elliott can be in times of crisis, even if he has the best interests in mind. And as much as he hates it, accuses her of being "naggy and annoying," she's never going to stop looking out for him.

She's in the middle of her rant when she notices Elliott has stopped paying any mind to her. He's looking somewhere far off; he makes an effort to pretend like he's listening by meeting her eyes for just a second. They always manage to drift away, right behind her.

"What the hell are you looking at?" she snaps, and his eyes lock onto hers again. He swallows hard and pulls at his collar.

"Nothing. Sorry," he says. She turns her head, scans the immediate area. At first, nothing catches her eye. But then she sees a familiar woman sitting in front of a tent, next to a man Harlow's never seen before. The woman, Harlow suddenly remembers, was chatting with Elliott yesterday, their conversation brief. Harlow turns back to Elliott with a small smirk.

"She might be weirded out if she catches you staring."

"What?" Elliott responds instantly. It's a pretty valiant effort at obliviousness. But Harlow can see right through it.

"She's very pretty."

He's still trying to uphold that unknowing facade. "...What? Who?"

"Cut it out."

His resolve breaks with a sigh. "Yeah, I think we're done." He walks past her, and she turns after him with a sigh.

"Oh, El, come on. I didn't mean to embarrass you. I'm sorry."

"No, you're not." He continues walking, eventually entering the oversized tent where all the food and tables are stored. He's not really sure where he's going--he just wants to get away from her.

"Yes, I am. Did you hit it off? What happened? Did you do the 'Black' joke?" His silence isn't a good sign. "You did the 'Black' joke. I told you, it's not funny. Racist, probably--"

"She loved that joke," he points out.

"Then you did hit it off."

"No--I don’t know," he says with a few hints of frustration. He comes to a stop near one of the wooden tables. "I'm not gonna mess around with her. She--she lost her boyfriend literally a week ago. That's...some heavy shit, so I'm just gonna forget about it." He pauses quickly to take a breath. "That'd probably be better for both of us."

He turns and leaves her there. She watches him go with a frown. --- They don't have much time. As quickly as they could, everyone gathered up what supplies they could find--a few pieces of plywood and a permanent marker, given to them by some of the soldiers without comment. The tents are being put away already, so, in their rush, they aren't able to form three respectable cross-shaped headstones, a different pair of initials marked on each.

F.R.

D.C.

C.D.

All set up from left to right on an empty patch of land a little ways away from the rest of the tents. Not many words are said, mostly because there's no time to say them, but this only seems appropriate. To give them some kind of moment of remembrance, no matter how brief.

Dean turns his head at the sound of shouting; stragglers are being gathered, ushered into trucks. Their time's up. "We've gotta go," Dean says, pointing far out to the faceless soilder waving at them to get a move on. They all turn reluctantly, whatever bags they have already placed on their backs. Except for Lienne, who lingers, who's pressured to leave but somehow can't make herself actually turn.

The middle cross has forced her eyes to it. If anyone didn't deserve a terrible end, it was Duke. Yet, he received one anyway, for reasons unbeknownst to her. She knows she should be used to this by now.

She isn't.

"Lienne?" Adam calls.

"Yeah, I'm coming. Sorry." She wipes her cheeks, turns, meets Adam's similarly sorrowful expression. Neither of them mentions the other's grief, and they're on their way again.