Still Breathing - Volumes 1 - 6 E-Book

Mena Thrace

• Herausgeber: Boruma Publishing
• Kategorie: Erotik
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2015

Beschreibung

Still Breathing - Volumes 1 - 6

Leseprobe

Still Breathing

(Volumes 1 – 6 – Bundle One)

By Mena Thrace

Copyright 2015 by Mena Thrace

Cover Design by Mena Thrace

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses or establishments, groups, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or used without permission in writing from the author. The only exception is by a reviewer, who may quote short excerpts in a review.

This book is meant for sale to adult audiences only. It contains sexually explicit scenes and language which may be considered offensive. All sexually active characters in this work are eighteen (18) years of age or older.

Thank you for supporting the work of the author.

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Ad Noctum

Chapter One

She ran.

She had not wanted to; it was not and never had been in Garland's nature to run. Even as a child she had been, to quote her brother, annoyingly stubborn; as she had grown up the trait had really dug its claws in and she had become more and more set in her ways and determined in her goals. That determination had led her to be the first in her class all throughout school, college, training and right on through to graduating Academy.

Not that any of that mattered now; none of that mattered now.

All that mattered was that she run.

She dashed between the last of the trees and ducked behind a small shed, stopping for the first time in what felt like hours. She fell to her knees and worked hard on calming her breathing and her racing heart. It hurt to breathe. Her heart felt like it was trying to climb out her throat. She felt dizzy and unreal- neither feeling had anything to do with the run.

There had been so many. Too many. And so suddenly. That was what had shocked Garland. It had not just been a handful, not a trickle that could have been dealt with. No, it had been like someone had opened up the floodgates of hell.

She had heard them coming. Had known by the sound of them that there was no hope. It had not stopped her from trying to get to her people. It had not stopped her from thinking she could save them.

Things had gone to hell fast. The baby had started to cry, her screams only adding to the chaos and confusion. Marshall had tried his damndest to protect his wife and their tiny baby but the flood had mercilessly and greedily washed over them, consuming them. The parents’ screams were soon competing with the screams of their daughter as they had been torn apart. Those were sounds that Garland was sure was going to haunt her to her grave.

She was sure she had managed to outrun the bastards. They weren’t fast and they weren’t smart or else none of them would have survived as long as they had. As long as someone was not surrounded or grossly outnumbered it was possible to get away. She knew that it was not really the brainless that she had been running away from after a few blocks.

She finally moved. Staying low, she peered around the corner of the shed before moving towards the house. She moved cautiously around the exterior, not bothering to peek into the windows. What she wanted would not be inside any of the houses.

She hoped she would not have to go hunting through garages. She sincerely did not want to have to do that. She was hoping she would get lucky and find what she was looking for out in a driveway.

Her eyes stung but no tears fell. Her hands were shaking hard but they would not if she had to use the weapons strapped to her thighs. Her breathing was unsteady and her chest felt as if it was being squeezed by a tightening band of metal but she refused to cry.

Crying would not bring them back. It would not undo what had just been done; it would not help her friends, it would not mean that they were safe and unharmed.

It would not change the truth.

She had failed them. She had not been able to save them. The knowledge of having let them all die had settled into her chest like a knife, slowly turning with each breath she took.

It was not lost on her that had she been at the camp with them when the flood had moved over them she would have died, too; her not being by their sides had saved her life. There was no way she could have fought off the entire mob of the dead. It was not logical to believe she could have.

But logic has no place in sorrow. Logic is one of the first things to dissolve in the acidic grip of grief.

She had been filling up containers of water at the small stream a little way from the camp while Marshall prepared their meal. Lily, his wife, had been sitting off to the side of the fire on a blanket with Cassie cooing and kicking at her mother as Lily tried to change the baby's diaper.

Garland had only been half-listening to the sound of their voices, not really able to hear what was being said but enjoying the laughter when it came. She had heard Clara say something and Marshall had laughed hard. Clara was a firecracker; at over sixty she looked not one day over forty, had the wit of a sassy twenty-year-old and the sense of humor of a naughty child. Whatever had made Marshall laugh surely would have made a nun blush, Garland knew. She had smiled and was just turning to gather up some of the bottles to walk back to their camp when she had first heard the stomach-knotting sounds of the dead approaching.

They were attracted to the sound of laughter and life. They left anything but in their wake.

The first two cars she came upon were wrecked; one of them still had the unfortunate driver hanging half out of the car.

It had been a man once but now it was just a mangled mess of decomposing meat and twitching limbs. Its head was gone and the top half of the torso was barely hanging onto the bottom half but it still moved. One of its hands clawed uselessly at the ground. She quickly moved away from the pathetic thing, sure that if she had to listen to the dead hand scrabbling at the cement for much longer she would finally lose her mind.

She skirted around the hunk of useless metal, staying as low and being as quiet as possible, leery of moving too much out in the open but not seeing any other way around it.

She had to believe her brother was still alive; she had to get a car and get on the move as quickly as possible. She could see places she could hide but she did not relish the thought of being stranded if a wave of brainless washed through the small neighborhood. She was not comfortable with the idea of being stuck if, for whatever reason, the bastards stuck around instead of continuing to move on.

Car three would not start; car four, technically a truck, had no wheels.

Car five was out of gas. At this point Garland let loose with a strand of curses so choice they could have melted paint off the vehicle.

Car six was a black Mustang hidden under a tarp that made her eyes grow wide as she slowly uncovered it. The car had obviously been cherished by the person who had owned it. It was easy to imagine the owner spending many hours polishing the sleek machine until it gleamed. She had never been a car person but she had loved Mustangs since she was a teen. One of her brother's friends had had one that was a work of art. It had been love at first drive for Garland when she had been allowed to give the pony a go.

The tarp fell to the ground and she gave a silent cry of triumph, her pale face moving into something that might have been the ghost of a smile.

Her surprising win was immediately forgotten by movement off to her right. Her hands instinctively went to the handles of the blades at her hips. Dread and adrenaline iced their way through her veins.

Chapter Two

Goddamn him.

That was all Nathan could think as he limped along.

Morgan had destroyed everything they had worked so hard for in less than an hour. No, really he had destroyed everything they had worked so hard for in less than ten minutes.

Goddamn him.

“Don’t look back, don’t look back.” Nathan kept urging Cooper forward, pushing himself as much if not more than he pushed his son.

He watched Cooper every step of the way. Nathan had debated having Cooper lead them, not pleased about the idea of not being able to shield his son. There was always a chance that he could get caught by surprise but Nathan figured having Cooper in his sight was the lesser of two evils. At least in this case he’d know right away if something or someone got a hold of his son.

The two pushed through the forest. They picked through the brush as carefully and quietly as possible.

They had to keep moving. It wasn’t safe to be out in the open.

They had to get as far away from the farm as they could. Far away from the zombies and the death of their loved ones. Away from the mystery of what the hell had set Morgan off. Moving was what would keep them safest. Nathan refused to let anything happen to Cooper. Cooper was all he had.

There was a set location that the group was supposed to meet at should anything happen. Nathan was positive that, despite the sudden attack from Morgan and the swarm of dead that had followed him into their safe area, the survivors would still head to that location. His priority now, though, was keeping Cooper safe. He would try to meet back up with the group but if it put Cooper at risk he was more than willing to stay separated.

The sun was sinking. Night was not too far away.

On top of everything fucking else they were lost. He did not want them to be overran by a group of the dead; nor did he want them stumbling into a mess of them. He had to get them someplace safe so they could rest, get their bearings, and then get back on the road to meet up with whoever else had made it out alive.

Goddamn him.

He limped after his son at a much slower pace than Cooper’s angry, determined gait.

He could not get the dying screams of his people out of his head. Their pained, terrified cries dogged him as he waded through the thick underbrush and worked through the trees in his son’s agitated wake.

It took everything in him to keep moving forward.

Nathan’s energy was depleting rapidly. Everything hurt. He was covered in blood. Not all of the blood was his but enough of it was. He knew he would have to tend to his wounds soon.

“Don’t look back. Just keep going, son.”

His voice was raspy, his throat still sore from Morgan’s tight grip. If it had not been for Lincoln coming to his aid at just the right moment Nathan was pretty damn sure Morgan would have managed to kill him.

Thinking of Lincoln made his chest hurt. He had to believe as many of his people as possible had survived.

There was nothing left to do but to continue on. They had to find shelter before it got dark.

One foot in front of the other.

Goddamn him.

They stumbled into a town late in the afternoon. The sun would be below the horizon soon but they had enough time to find a suitable place to settle for the night. Nathan was loathe to lose precious time but he knew his son needed rest; like it or not he did as well. He had wounds to tend. Thankfully his son did not.

Nathan signaled for Cooper to stay down. They would treat this as any other scouting mission. Quick, quiet and without catching the attention of any dead.

Nathan straightened up from a crouch, Cooper following suit. They began scouring the town.

Cooper had not said a word for hours.

The set of his shoulders and the fact he had not unclenched his fists since they had narrowly escaped the horde said all that needed to be said.

“This one.” He pointed to one of the houses. They would have to do a sweep to make sure it was clear but it looked like a good place to hunker down for the night.

They headed up the steps and he exchanged glances with his child before knocking on the door. His gun was already in his hand. He did not remember drawing it.

He tested the doorknob, hoping to get lucky, as Cooper searched around the porch. He looked in the usual places, under flowerpots, around the small table by the porch swing. Nathan peeled back the welcome mat but there was no key.

He did not want to have to damage the door.

“Let’s check the windows.” With any luck they would either find one open or unlocked.

They headed around the side of the house, peeking into it as they worked to find a way in. The good news was that the place appeared to be empty of both the living and the dead.

As they started to head around the back they heard a familiar grunting and a few seconds later the thing stumbled into view. Cooper took the zombie out quickly and efficiently with his machete, the move smooth and practiced after nearly a year of having to learn the hard way how to fend for himself.

It pained Nathan to see how adroit his son had become at swinging the blade. Just two years ago the boy had been swinging a baseball bat with the same precision and skill. The seventeen-year-old’s dreams of playing the big leagues had been forever laid to rest when the dead had risen.

They eventually broke a window to get in. After making sure the house was well and truly as empty as it seemed the two worked to make the place as secure as possible. It would just be for the night but the last thing they needed was unexpected visitors.

They rearranged some of the furniture, barricading themselves from the outside world.

As Cooper hunted through the kitchen Nathan cleaned up as best he could. He found a new shirt; a new pair of pants would have been nice but he was glad for what he could get. After scrubbing at himself with a towel he gratefully buttoned the new shirt up and headed back downstairs to see what, if anything, his son had managed to find.

“Anything good?”

Cooper was coming out of the kitchen with a couple of spoons, tin cans and a bottle of water.

He gave a shrug of his shoulders as his father collapsed on the sofa. He sighed, so drained of energy he did not even feel like eating. He knew he had to but the urge to just lay down and close his eyes was stronger than his need for sustenance.

“You eat. I will get something when I get up. I need to rest. First sign of danger you wake me up. Got it, Cooper?”

He hated having to rely on his son as he was but if he did not get some rest he knew he would be more of a burden later. He could not afford to slow them down more than he felt like he already had.

The man ran his fingers through his tousled hair, rubbing at his forehead as he leaned forward and rested his face in his hands. He wasn’t sure which pain was worse, the pain from his injuries or the emotional wounds the tragedy they had escaped from had left behind.

“We move on in the morning. Get as much rest as you can, son. Don’t forget to wake me up if you hear or see anything.”

He did not remove his boots. He laid back on the couch, a sigh of pleasure leaving him as his aching body was allowed to relax. His body was screaming for sleep, his muscles throbbing with distress. He put his arm over his eyes and was immediately out of it. Nathan gratefully dropped into unconsciousness. He did not drift into sleep. He crashed.

The seventeen-year-old could only sit there and watch his father lose consciousness. He was worried about his dad, sure, but he was also still furious over everything that happened back at their farm.

He glared at his feet for a long time, the food sitting on a table beside the couch already forgotten.

He stood. He couldn’t stand to just sit there any longer. He felt like he would lose his mind sitting still while his father’s labored, uneven breathing filled the room. Nathan’s fragile state was rattling the boy even more than that morning’s horrifying events had managed to rattle him. He knew his dad was not invincible but he didn’t like to be reminded of the fact more than he had to be.

He was going out. He would not stray far and he would not go out at all if he peeked and saw anything moving that should not be moving. From what little they had seen the town appeared about as clean as it could get. He would return at the first hint of trouble.

He was armed and extremely dangerous.

He almost hoped he would run into trouble.

Chapter Three

Maura whimpered as she slowly and carefully sat up, expecting to find something broken. Knowing her luck it would be her leg.

She coughed hard, wincing at both the sound and the waves of pain doing so caused. It took a lot of blinking to get her vision to clear but finally she was able to see that she was alone.

Well. Mostly alone.

She wasn’t sure how long she had been out but thankfully she had risen before the corpses she could spot outside had.

Her ears were ringing but she took it as a good sign that she was up and mobile. The last thing she remembered was something hard slamming into the side of her head. She raised a hand to the side of her face, trying to get a good idea of how hard she had been hit. Her jaw wasn’t broken so there was that bit of good news. There was a small amount of blood on her fingertips when she pulled her hand back but it did not appear to be enough to worry about.

She was alive. That was all that mattered.

Now to make sure she stayed that way by taking care of the dead outside before they could come and take care of her.

She reached up behind her head to fix her ponytail, pulling her black shoulder length hair out of the way as she left the farmhouse and headed down the hill. She pulled her ice pick out, ready to use it should the need arise.

The remnants of what had once been a large storage shed smoldered and crackled as she walked by. Other than the ringing in her ears that was the only sound she could hear. She looked around, a little surprised to not see any moving dead. There were a few corpses scattered about but they were all on the ground and unmoving as they should be. She walked among them and was able to quickly see why they had stayed down when they had fallen. Massive damage to the head was the only sure way she knew to not become a roaming dead thing; these people had won the fucking lottery. They really were getting to rest in peace.

She recognized a fair mixture of her people versus their people. She did not know who had won; not that it mattered. There was one body in particular she looked for, hoping to not find. Not that not seeing his corpse meant anything. If he had been bitten by one of those monsters then he would not just be lying around. She figured that was why there were so few bodies on the ground. The living had ran off. The dead had shambled along after them.

Even though it meant nothing she was glad to not see his corpse.

She moved around the farm, scanning the area for any movement.

“Oh, god!”

Out by the broken fences she saw a body. She instantly recognized his crumpled form despite the gathering shadows.

“Morgan?”

Maura dropped to her knees beside him, barely breathing as she reached out to touch his face. There was a nasty wound on the side of his head; it wasn’t deep, thankfully, and for the most part it seemed the worst of the bleeding had passed.

It was the shoulder wound that concerned her.

Her hands trembled but they did not hesitate.

He was warm. And breathing.

“Oh, thank god.” She whispered as she looked down the length of him, trying to see where all he was wounded. It seemed as if the only places that he had been-

His eyes popped open and he sat up so quickly she barely had time to draw air into her lungs before his good arm shot up. His large left hand circled her throat as he sat up, his face wild and his eyes wilder.

She screamed, or tried, her hands flying up to try to pull his hand away. The more she struggled the harder he gripped.

Maura tried to draw in enough air to whisper his name, hitting at his hand as she tried to pull back from him. Her lungs complained, tears streaming down her face as tiny dots of light began to sparkle across her line of vision.

“Please…” She managed to get out before he finally blinked.

The hand loosened. She was able to draw her first tortured breath. He blinked again, the wild look slowly fading. She curled in on herself, coughing hard; each gasp of air was as much pain as it was pleasure.

“Jesus fuck, Maura! You fucking scared me!”

“I...scared...you?”

“I could have killed you!”

“...Feels like...you nearly...did.”

“I’m sorry. But goddamn woman, don’t ever sneak up on me like that again. Where the fuck are we?”

She looked up at him as she raised a hand to massage her hurt neck. Fucking hell but he had a grip that did not stop.

He was staring down at his hurt shoulder, touching around the wound with the same hand that had nearly killed her.

“And what the fuck…” He looked back up at her, confusion on his face.

She stared at him, waiting.

“Who stabbed me?”

His eyes drifted past her face to catch on the smoke blissfully drifting off the ruined storage building. The sun was sinking, framing the large rambling farmhouse with a burning halo. The shadows cast by the dead dead stretched towards them.

“Huh.”

Ah, there it was- the shift. Watching it always made her think of a slideshow; click and there he was.

“Morgan, we-”

“That’s alright, then.” He smiled. His eyes came back to hers. The smile curved into a smirk. Yeah, there he was.

She had time to smile back before he blacked out again.

Chapter Four

“Who the hell are you?”

Garland cursed and nearly came out of her skin, not having expected someone to suddenly step around the house and address her.

She stared at the boy; for a long moment she forgot to breath.

He was at least six feet tall. Shaggy dark hair hung in his face. There was a gun on one hip, a machete on the other. He wasn’t holding a weapon unless a spoon counted.

He was going to town on a can of what looked like cream corn.

Some of the tension drained out of her despite the frown on his face.

He wasn’t one of the brainless so she could breath again.

"Fucking hell..." Her voice was shaky, her face pale. Every muscle in her body had prepared for a fight; for a moment she felt so dizzy she was afraid she would pass out. She forced air out between her clenched teeth and slowly raised her hands, showing him they were empty before lowering them back to her sides.

"Sorry...I thought you were one of them." She let out another long breath. "I hope I didn’t scare you. I didn’t know there was anyone around here. I just need the car. Assuming it works. I’ve not had a chance to try it."

She tried to fully relax but she was too aware of the gun on his hip. The machete didn’t make her feel much better, either.

He wasn’t one of the brainless but he was still a potential danger. A live person was just a different kind of potential danger.

She could not outrun bullets. She wasn’t that good.

His eyes went from her to the car. His frown deepened.

This was a perfect time for things to get nasty; her mind was all too happy to give her some ways this could go down. He was bigger, stronger. She did have her blades but he had a fucking gun. He could shoot her but she had to trust that he would be smarter than that; a firing gun could pull the zombies their way. They weren’t smart but they were smart enough to go towards sound.

Garland did not want to have to fight for the car. She did not want to have to fight, period. She wasn’t one to throw down but if she had to for her brother she would. Precious time was slipping away and she was painfully aware of each passing hour.

Her brother was out there and she had to find him.

“Is that a Shelby?” The boy finally broke the silence. He continued to enjoy his corn as he stepped closer to the car, eyeing it in much the same way she had been doing when he had rounded the corner and scared the fuck out of her.

“Yeah. I feel like it’s my lucky day.”

As soon as the words came out of her mouth a wave of guilt washed over her. What a cruel, heartless thing to say.

Cooper’s expression softened a bit but as his eyes returned to her the look on his face hardened.

“You shouldn’t be so careless. What if the zombies snuck up on you while your back was turned? Then what would you have done?”

Garland blinked at the boy, for a moment not sure what to say to him.

"You make a good point." She finally said, speaking slowly. She carefully considered her words, the strangeness of the situation starting to settle in. Was he as alone as she was? He was young but that meant nothing. He looked to be sixteen or maybe as old as eighteen. Her heart went out to the boy; he certainly looked about as rough as she felt.

She wanted to question him but did not want to pry. Maybe he had a good hiding place; maybe he was just fine where he was and had made this small town his home. That was assuming he was alone; there might be people in other parts of the town. He might have a group that helped keep him safe. Still, it made her feel guilty to think of just driving away, leaving a kid behind. She had not expected to run into anyone. It was just another complication and Garland did not need any more complications.

As if on cue and as if to mock her the low rumble of thunder drifted their way.

She muttered a curse and turned to look up at the sky, trying to see where the storm was coming from. Dark heavy clouds were creeping their way; fittingly coming from the direction she guessed her old camp was. Judging by the look of the clouds it wasn’t just going to be an ordinary late summer storm.

This was both good and bad. It helped to mask any sounds they made but it also helped mask any sounds they made.

My note.

Her heart seized in her chest and her stomach cramped up.

She could not ignore the possibility that the rain might destroy her note. She felt something much like panic settle into her bones.

Calm down. Just breathe.

She had to have faith that the storm would either miss them or that it would not rain hard enough to kill her note.

Or that wind or some other random act of spiteful chance would not destroy the note or whisk it away before he had a chance to find it. Or...or...

Gabe finding the note hinged on his being able to return to the camp in the first place. What if there were too many brainless shuffling about?

Garland’s face drained of what color it had.

Cooper finished off his corn.

For a moment all she could do was work on controlling the crushing dismay that washed over her at the prospect of the coming rain.

"I need the car so that I can get out of here as quickly as possible. I’m looking for someone. Technically three someones but one of the people I’m looking for is my brother. That’s why I want the car so much. You are welcome to come, if it will work. My name is Garland, by the way. Sorry. I lost my manners in the apocalypse." She gave him a shaky smile and put a gloved hand out. She could not hide the fear she felt at the thought of losing her brother.

Cooper scowled. He ignored her hand. The storm clouds only dampened his mood further.

He thought of his unconscious father.

He needed to return to Nathan with news of the Mustang and perhaps Garland.

“I need the car. I mean, we need the car.” His eyes went to the dark clouds, a frown knotting his forehead.

A properly working vehicle changed everything.

Despite the look on his face the last thing on his mind was hurting Garland for it. Maybe his father could bargain with her for making use of the car. He was good at shit like that.

He began to give the Mustang a closer inspection before returning back to his old man. Cooper nudged the wheels with a boot. On the outside the car was flawless. Not a crack or scratch on her as far as he could see.

She was pretty but would she run? Smoothly was one thing. Cooper would have been happy if it just halved their traveling time.

He looked over at the woman and saw the look on her face.

“My dad is sleeping off his injuries in a house not far from here.” There was no harm in admitting the man was unconscious. If she tried anything stupid Cooper would not hesitate to put a bullet through her skull.

“Oh, and I’m Cooper.”

“Nice to meet you, Co-" She did not have time to finish his name before thunder rumbled again, closer this time. More incessant. It sounded like a warning.

She turned to look at the dark clouds hurrying their way and then looked back to the car, a guarded look on her face as she considered this new batch of information.

He was not alone. His father was wounded.

The Mustang might be the only working vehicle in the area.

Assuming it even worked the vehicle was just as important to the boy and his father's survival as it was to hers.

She thought of Gabe. Smiley, goofy, sweet Gabe.

She thought of the swarm of brainless. Maybe they had already moved on past their old camp, leaving no immediate danger for her twin and the two friends who had went with him on their weekly supply run.

They would not find anyone when they returned. No one alive, anyway. They would just find a chaotic mess; if everything went well they would also find her note, letting her brother know she had survived and where she would wait for him.

Garland gnawed on her lip, raising her hand to remove her wire rim glasses. She rubbed between her eyes as the ghost of a headache reared its ugly head. The gesture was an old, old habit from an old, old life.

“I can't just take the car, not now that I know you and your dad need it, too.” Garland put her glasses back on and sighed as her hands dropped to her sides. She looked tired and wearier for the decision she had made.

“I know you have no reason to trust me but I mean neither of you any harm. I just want to get to the meeting place that I told my brother I would be waiting for him at. Maybe we can all go together? You said your dad is hurt...Is he okay?”

Terror had crept over her, chilling her to the core. What if his dad had been bit?

What if his dad has already turned and he's leading me back to be his dinner?

She shoved the feeling away, ashamed at herself for thinking such a thing.

Cooper turned his face towards the gathering stormclouds, the frown on his face deepening. It was a shame that such a young face had grown accustomed to the kind of frown she had yet to see him lose.

“There was a group of us living on a farm not too far from here. It was a good setup. We were comfortable enough, I guess. None of us was going hungry and we had a safe enough place to sleep. A few weeks ago we had a guy stumble into camp. He was hurt and disoriented and so of course my dad took him in. Everything seemed to be going okay but a couple days ago we woke up to find Morgan gone. Didn’t think too much about it because we’ve had some people come and go in the time we settled the farm so...But then earlier today for some fucking reason Morgan came back with a small group of people and just…”

Light was slowly fading; the wind was kicking up. The temperature was either dropping or the boy’s story was giving her a chill. Maybe it was the look that had come over his face. Or the way his hands had suddenly clenched into tight fists.

“There was a fight. My dad nearly died. Morgan was just choking him…There was this look on his face...”

She opened her mouth but the rumble of the nearing thunder startled her and she jumped, dropping a very unladylike strand of words.

“It doesn’t matter now. None of it does. My dad and I ran. We think some of the others did, too. Don’t know if anyone but us got out alive but I can tell my dad hopes that some of them did. But it doesn’t matter, not really. None of it does. Not anymore.”

A few fat droplets began to hit his face and for a moment it looked like he was crying.

She didn’t know what to say. She didn’t think there was anything to say.

“We should save the chit chat for later. Let’s get out of here. We can come back and look for the keys after the storm lets up.” He thought of his dad, immobile and hurt. Alone. Assuming he was still out of it and wasn’t freaking out because he had come to, only to find Cooper gone. He was afraid the sound of thunder would draw the dead to them.

More fat drops began to come down. Lightning cracked the darkening sky apart, followed by a blast of thunder that could have been credited with waking the dead.

He started to move away but looked back at her as she hesitated.

“You coming? I’m not going to stop you from taking the car if you want to. That’s on you.”

She held her breath. The wind shoved at her back and she was propelled forward, the gloom quickly descending as the storm rode in.

Another harsh bolt of lightning came and went.

She followed him as he strode through the lawns of what had once been a beautiful neighborhood. The rain was blowing in sheets, the thunder growling over their heads. The storm sounded like an angry howling beast hot on their heels. She shielded her eyes from the torrential rain, her glasses in her hand. Her hood was practically useless; the wind was blowing the rain directly into their faces.

“I am sorry for what happened with your group, Cooper.”

Nothing could bring back what had been lost. Just because the dead no longer stayed dead did not mean that when they came back they were the same. Whatever else they were they were no longer the people they had once been.

Not even close.

“Shit happens.”

Garland had no argument there.

Chapter Five

He had no idea how long he had been wherever he was; for a long time he was not even really sure who he was or what exactly had happened to find him unable to move or barely breathe.

Breathing hurt. Hurt like hell. He could not exactly remember why it hurt and that only added to his growing agitation. Opening his eyes was too much work. Doing so required too much energy and so he just kept them close.

A memory came back to him, coming up out of the soupy blackness of his slow lazy thoughts: That face. His face. That simpering weak goody-two-shoes. Hadn't he been surprised when he had killed the old man? That look had been precious, something to be savored.

His hatred for the ranger helped him to remember who he was; by extension what had happened. Hadn't he been close to killing him?

Yes...he had...but then...but then...

He twitched, struggling awake enough to look around him. The room was lit by a dozen large candles, the shifting flames causing the shadows to prance about the walls. He was in the large living room of the farmhouse; how had he gotten there? A grumble of thunder shook the roof overhead. Steady rainfall beat a chorus upon the roof and against the windows as the wind gusted.

He was hoping to see the ranger's sorry carcass, hoping for something that would trigger his memory of what had happened.

Why the hell did he hurt so much?

He blinked up at the ceiling...and then the rest of it fell into place.

He had gotten away. The fucking ranger had gotten away. Morgan remembered sharp agony in his shoulder and falling to the side. Lincoln had helped Nathan up; that was another bastard neck that Morgan badly wanted to get his hands around.

He growled, trying to rouse himself up into a sitting position even as his breathing grew more labored. He knew he was in trouble and he knew he had come close to dying but if he was gonna go out he refused to do so on his back. He had to take out his most hated enemy. That way he could go out with a smile.

“Alright, mister. Lay back down and stop fidgeting. If you reopen that wound I am going to give you another one for the trouble.”

Maura came into the room with a large bowl of water and some towels.

He looked down. He was shirtless. Bandages wrapped around his torso and right shoulder.

He was on the floor; his head rested on a pillow. A medical kit and lots of bloodied towels were strewn around him.

“I’m not kidding, Morgan. Lay your hot ass back down. It was a pain in the ass to sew that wound up. I don’t want to have to do that again, you got me?”

He tried to say something but could only cough. The coughing fit made him lay back as she commanded even though that had not been his goal; he wanted to get up but was slowly coming to terms with the idea that he could not.

“...Stabbed me.” He muttered, his voice rough. He winced as another coughing fit hit him. He wanted to take a nap. He wanted to get up and count how many his people had managed to take out.

“I know, baby.”

“...That bastard.” He raised a hand to point to her. “How…” The words were swallowed in another round of painful coughing. He was determined to not die like this. He was too mean to go out on his back.

“Shut up. You’re going to hurt yourself.” She knelt beside him and gently cupped the back of his head in one hand as she brought a plastic mug of water to his lips. After a few sips she showed him a bottle of aspirin.

“I will look for something stronger later but right now this is all I could find. Open up.”

He blinked at her and started to glare for a moment, too taken back to say or do anything. He was not used to people giving him orders.

“Oh, I know, Mister Bossypants. You don’t like to be ordered around but that’s too bad. You managed to get yourself pretty badly hurt so until you are healed up enough to take care of yourself you will just have to listen to Nurse Maura. You can spank me later for being a bossy bitch.”

[...]