Molly brought Rachel over today to say 'hi' and chat for a while. I have to say, despite everything that happened yesterday, it's comforting to know we have some new friends around here that we can rely on. The old stories we tell seem fresher when they're falling on new ears, and for once we can listen to someone else tell us about what they've experienced. The lessons we've learned are surprisingly similar, but the new perspectives make all the difference.
Given this pleasant surprise, we let go of our plans for the day and opted to entertain them instead. I think it's for the best, as we have nothing pressing to take care of right now, and I know I wasn't going to get anything done today. All I've been good for since we got back from our surveillance run is standing watch and thinking too much. Since I have a penchant for seclusion when things like this happen, I opted to take watch while Rachel and Molly spent time with the rest of the group.
I had barely gotten situated on the roof when I heard the door open behind me. I sighed to myself and opted not to turn around. Instead I laid out my rifle where it could be conveniently grabbed, and went to dig the binoculars out of the supply box we keep up there. As I grabbed the binoculars, I looked at the bottle of whiskey we keep among the more practical items in the box. Say what you will, but watch can be hard, and sometimes you need to calm your nerves without abandoning your post. I had to fight myself not to take a swig, at least while someone else was up here with me.
I sat down an began my watch, carefully ignoring the person standing behind me. As I trained my binoculars up towards Comm. Ave., I felt a hand on my shoulder. I sighed more openly this time and turned around. It was Molly. She was looking at me with concern.
"Hey," I mustered, trying my best to look collected, "what's up? I thought you were going to regale the others with your stories."
"You're not getting away from me that easily, B. I've seen that vacant look before. Something happened to you, and you're going to tell me about it right now."
"Eh, it's nothing, I'm just tired," I tried, half-convinced it might work.
"That may be part of it, but it's still mostly bullshit. Look, the day you saved my life, you looked me hard in the eye. There was a strength there, and a fire in your soul. It was as if you were screaming 'you have to survive, goddamnit' to me without saying a word. I admired that at the time. Today, though, the fire is gone, replaced with the same vacant look most of the other survivors wear. So no more bullshit, tell me what happened."
I related Rose's story to her.
When I finished, she sort of half-slumped down on the bench next to me, looking despondently in to the box I had left open. After a moment, she reached in an pulled out the bottle of whiskey, cracked it, took a swig, and passed it to me. I took it from her, looked at it thoughtfully for a moment, had a belt, and passed it back. She capped the bottle, put it back in the box, closed her eyes in concentration for a minute, then turned and looked me straight in the eye. I could see her eyes beginning to water.
"You don't know much about me Brandon. We've talked a little, and you've saved my ass a few times, but you barely know me. Now's when you get to start. That story you told is a real heartbreaker, and it probably hurts me more for the times I've had to do it myself. You're lucky in that most of your friends live far enough away you haven't had that problem yet. Most of mine lived on my street, and I dispatched a bunch of them when they came for me, as they inevitably do. There's something in there, a leftover spark that tells the zed when ground is familiar or not. Sometimes old common patterns are kept, and for no apparent reason, they'll end up somewhere that was important to them before they turned. I've had a few turned friends try to beat down our door, and I've laid all of them to rest.
"Look, the first one is the hardest, and it will take some time for the pain to heal. From how you told the story, I can gather she was important to you."
"She was," I muttered, "in ways I never got to tell her. You know the old story."
"I do, but now you've told me, and I'll remember for her. Just promise me you'll find that fire again. What good are you to her if you just let yourself become one of them. What good are you to me? To any of us?"
With that she put patted me on the back reassuringly, then headed back downstairs to the rest of the group.
I sat there for a while, going through the routine of the whole thing, and before I knew it Ian came up to relieve me. I went back down and went to my room to put away my rifle, and Molly was there waiting for me.
"Just here to make sure you don't go in to hiding. So your friends tell me you have an internet connection hooked up. Show me."
I brought her in here and showed her what we had found so far. The news sites detailing something they had never grasped the scale of, right up to the point where their offices were overrun. The amateur bloggers sticking with it until they were overrun or their connections went down. I showed her this very site, and she sat down to read it. Her only comment was, "the story was better when you told me in person, but you're a wonderful writer."
I'm not sure I've ever actually blushed before, so chalk one up to the history books. She took me by the hand and lead me back out to where the rest of the crew was entertaining Rachel and listening to her stories. Rachel's quite the life of the party. I plopped down in and empty part of the couch, a spot down from where Rachel was relaying some story about her wild, college days. Molly plopped down next to me, leaning her back again my side and propping her feet on Rachel's lap.
Time passed far too quickly, with the cast of characters constantly changing as watch shifts came and went. By the end of the day, as the sun was just going down, I was finally starting to feel like myself again. I was finally able to start letting Rose go and coming back to what was important. I laid my head on Molly's hoping she would understand my meaning. I could feel the tension leave her, as she settled in more comfortably.
Ian popped in from the kitchen, having been voted the best candidate to make dinner for our guests. It was another one of his miracle stews. I don't know how he does it, but every time it's damn tasty. We chowed down and I mentioned quietly to Molly that the sun was setting, and they should think about heading home before it got too dark.
She looked at me, with a playful reproachfulness, and asked, "What makes you think we're going home tonight."
I conceded the point and finished my stew.
We talked late in to the night, finally retiring not too long ago. Rachel grabbed the couch, and Molly insisted on coming with me. I told her I needed to pop up here and collect some thoughts. In fact, she's reading over my shoulder, critiquing me playfully whenever I misspell something or my grammar falls apart. I think she's happy with the summary of the day.
She's also been staring in to my eyes a lot, even as I'm looking at the screen, trying to write. I hope she sees whatever that spark is beginning to come back. If nothing else it will get her off my case.
She's laughing. Mission accomplished.
We're both exhausted and heading to bed. I'm sure the zeds won't give us many more days of peace around here, but it's certainly welcome right now. All of this is certainly welcome right now.
A friend of mine used to say "You take the good, you take the bad, you take the rest, and then you have the facts of life." Of course he was quoting the "Facts of Life" theme song, but it's a reasonably poignant summary of day to day life. These days there seems to be a lot of bad moments, so I want you all to promise me that whenever a good moment comes along, you'll drop everything and pay attention to it.
More soon,
- B
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