Finding Paradise

[Artemis]

Under any other circumstances, Blake would've laughed and made a sarcastic remark at Kit's less than graceful exit. Now wasn't the time. A makeshift can bomb was about to off, the infected would probably bull rush to the sound, and the looters would not take to kindly to it either. She hoped the explosion would take care of them. Less infected for humanity to deal with, and it was ... a bad way to go. The infection.

Feeling the contact from Kit, Blake didn't waste a second as she moved to where Kit told her to go.

Just as she made it across the patchy plank, Blake jumped from the sound of the can going off. She hated the sound of explosions, but hell were they effective. She turned around and saw Kit hit the roof. Extending a hand to help her up, Kit was already moving. Blake noted the blood on her face. Tis but a flesh wound Blake quoted from one of her favorite movies. She'd live.

Hefting her back further onto her back, Blake surprisingly had everything. Everything but her book. She wanted to go back for the silly stupid thing, but that was suicide. She could find more books. Lord knows libraries weren't top pick for looters. Keeping her bow handy, her axe clung tightly to her makeshift strap she made for it. Her thoughts returned to the early days. She could barely move with the weight. Compare it to now? It was like her second skin. Hump rather.

Stopping for a breather, they were a fair distance away from the house. Blake heard the cries from the looters. She didn't feel bad. She didn't have an opinion either. She was a looter too. Difference? Kit didn't kill her, and she wasn't really trying to steal. Her priorities were safety and sleep.

Hearing Kit's comment about another hiding spot, Blake simply followed after her. She was sleepy. She didn't care who she followed. Blake just wanted to sleep.

---

The 'not too far' place took quite the journey.

Moving from rooftop to rooftop, Blake thought Kit's distance gauge was severely screwed. The house they were in was long gone from view, and the infected hadn't caught on to them yet. Thank goodness.

Seeing Kit drop down into a window of a house, Blake followed as well. There was no need for words as she followed Kit. Coming to a basement, Blake hoped there was another way out. She stayed out of basements for a reason. From what she saw from Kit's barricades though, she figured the woman was thorough as well.

Entering the door, she locked it behind her as she looked throughout the small space. It reminded her of one of those fall out shelters. Not a nice one. A homemade one on a severe budget. There were barren shelves and a small table with a radio of some type of in. Blake spotted a lamp as well. There were two other doors. Presumably a living space and god knew what else. She'd explore later.

Dropping her pack, Blake slid down the wall. Resting her head back against the metal, she closed her eyes. "... I left my book."[/hr]​

---

 

[Voice]

[fieldbox="Kit, #DC143C, dotted, 12, courier new"]
The trek to the underground bomb shelter took maybe 45 minutes to an hour. That was a short distance, right? She recognized all of the landmarks and knew exactly where they were the whole time. It felt like a relatively short trip. Or maybe that was just the adrenaline.

They arrived at a huge house with a broken skylight window. When Kit had passed through last time she had duct taped the edges so as to avoid tearing herself on the jagged glass. Inside the house it was quiet. The place appeared unchanged in the twenty four hours since she had last visited. None of the 'alarms' she had set up were tripped.

"Mind the cans." She murmured to Blake as they passed over a threshold. They were tricky to see in the dark and intentionally placed where someone might accidentally kick them. Kit counted them with a glance. Eight. Good. They were alone here.
Moments later they were through the basement door. Kit made sure she heard Blake latch the door before she finally let go of some of the tension she was carrying. It wasn't great in terms of resources but at least it was safe. There was a bed. Which Blake was quite apparently not going to take advantage of. I brought us all the way here and you're not even going to take advantage of it?
"C'mon, tiger. Almost there." She tugged at the handle on the top of Blake's backpack.

(Assuming Blake lets Kit pull her up)

Kit approached one of the two doors. She listened at it for a heartbeat before pulling it open. Moonlight filtered through the tiny barred window near the top of the room. Just as she remembered. A queen mattress was pressed against the back wall. The blankets, heavy quilt, and pillows appeared undisturbed since her last visit. The door to the small bathroom attached to the room had been ripped off at some point.

She stepped to the side and let Blake in. Without another word she took off her backpack and set it between her knees as she sat down against the wall.
She has decided they can squabble about what to do next tomorrow morning. Right now her internal batteries are in the red zone.
Kit fished in her pack for a moment. She withdrew a sharpie and pushed up the cuff of her jacket. Thank god the stupid pen still worked.

'AMORDNEDA STRALM—STRAIN??' She recapped the pen with a sigh. Pushed up her sleeve. Steeled herself for the game of guard dog she's going to play with the basement door for the rest of the night.

[/fieldbox]

 

[Artemis]

Dozing off on the wall, Blake felt a jerk on her pack. Her eyes flickered open readying to attack whatever grabbed her. She relaxed when Kit was all that filled her vision. Standing up with the woman's help, Blake shuffled towards the room that housed a queen sized bed. She gave herself a little pinch to make sure she wasn't dreaming. It beat the hard floor that she'd grown accustomed to. It reminded her of the time before the infection.

She missed memory foam.

Slipping off her backpack, Blake placed it at the mattress's side. She fell onto the mattress. The springs strained underneath her weight as she let out a sigh. Finding the quilt, Blake wrapped it around her body. She rested a pillow underneath her head.

All the traveling she did today slowly flittered away. She didn't want to think about how much her two feet traversed in the past twenty-four hours. She didn't even want to think about the looters she used a can bomb on nor their fate to the infected. She simply wanted tranquility. Sweet, beautiful silence.

Cracking open an eye, Blake waved at Kit. "Wake me when you want to sleep," she said. "You need sleep too."

Blake yawned. "Whenever ... you need ..."

Seconds later, the darkness closed in. To dream world she went.​

 

[Voice]

[fieldbox="Kit, #DC143C, dotted, 12, courier new"]

The responsible thing to do would've been to wake Blake up after several hours. Kit wasn't particularly adept at being responsible.
When she started to worry that she might fall asleep she got up and did a sweep of the bunker. Reapplied duct tape to the corners of the vents. Tugged on the bars so she knew they were secure. Checked on the meager food supplies she had stashed beneath the stairs. Tested the wood for rot. Checked corners and seams for any sign of damage. After she had gone over every square inch of the basement she sat back down by the 'bedroom'. The door was open; privacy wasn't as important as safety. Sorry, Blake.

Sleep threatened her after another half hour. She went into the kitchen area, reached up for a bar of wood that stretched across the ceiling as a support. Began to do pull-ups.

A quiet scratching sounded over the hammer of Kit's heart. She stopped breathing. Sccrtcchh scht. Shhhhf. Scrrrr…. Shhf. A moment later she was creeping through the basement with a fire poker gripped firmly in her tattooed hand.

The second door in the basement swung on silent hinges. It used to be a storage room, but since all the shelves had been looted it was now a graveyard of metal. Towards the back of the room one of the shelves was wiggling very slightly.

As silently as she could Kit climbed on top of one of the nearby shelves. Fire poker in hand, she readied herself for the appearance of the intruder. She didn't have to wait long. The shelf was pushed to the side to reveal a rough tunnel and a dark silhouette. Her hand struck out lightning fast, grabbing a fistful of whoever's hair. She knew they weren't a zombie; their movements were too articulate.
She growled lowly and pressed the tip of the iron poker into the back of their head to demonstrate her threat. Her prisoner slowly lifted their hands in a display of submission.

"How did you get through the gate, motherfucker?" She hissed.

"How did I—" The man turned slightly to look at her over his shoulder. "Kit?"

She blinked.

"Chevy?"

"Turn me round and fuck me upside down." His hazel eyes shone bright in the pre-dawn light of the basement. His grin was similarly blinding. "It is you." He dropped his hands.

"Gimme the key." Kit hissed as she tightened her grip on his hair. The renewed threat didn't seem to bother the man.

"Easy there kiddo. She's all yours." She hated the easy laugh that rolled past his lips. He fished in his jacket for a moment before revealing a small metal key. A small tag on it read Sewer Master Key. She snatched it out of his hand.

"This place is in an even sorrier state than I remember it." He put his hands on his hips and looked around like this wasn't the apocalypse and he didn't have an iron poker pressed against the back of his neck.

"The world ended, dipshit." She murmured in response. "Turn around. Go back."

"Okay." He shrugged. She lifted her eyebrows. Had honestly expected more resistance. "You're bleeding, by the way." He pointed. She looked at her hands. Realized he was right. "Want help?" He offered.

She hated him.

"Okay."

A few minutes later she was sitting cross legged on the ground of the junk room and he was pouring moonshine over her palms. She gritted her teeth and refused to show pain. She felt his eyes on her; knew he was smiling.

"How're Squid and Pawnbroker?" He asked. She shook her head.

"You still with Arco?"

The bandages that he pulled from his pack were dirtier than she would have liked.

"No."

Sunlight was beginning to peek through the small barred windows. Kit could hear some dogs barking.
"How long are you here for?" He eventually asked.

"Just the night, I think." She shrugged. He stickered her palms and knuckles with band aids. Stuffed the wrappers back in his pocket with a quiet crinkling.

"To do what?" he asked. "Clearly it hasn't been sleeping." Self-conscious, she rubbed her red eyes with the heel of her hand.

"Get out of here, Chevy." He sighed.

"Alright, alright." Packed up his medical supplies and hefted his pack back over his shoulders. He let her pretend to march him back through the tunnel to the sewer gate.

"Unlock it." She handed him the key. He did so. Stepped through the door. Handed the key back. Let her close and lock the door. He hooked his fingers through the bars. His hazel eyes were soft. She wanted to kick him.

"I can't let you stay." She said needlessly.

"I know."

She bit the inside of her cheek. Reached into her pocket.

He looked her in the eye. She couldn't hold his gaze. He took the sticks of beef jerky she shoved between the bars.

"See you around." She turned back to the shelter. Didn't look back even as she hefted the shelf back into place, even as she walked back through the basement, even as she slid back down to the floor just outside of the room where Blake slept. She pulled up her knees and rested her head on her elbows. Hoped that by the time Blake woke up she would be done crying.
[/fieldbox]

 

[Artemis]

Pulling herself out of her slumber was like taking water away from a desert stranded man. Blake didn't want to leave her dream of chocolate. Lots and lots of chocolate. She couldn't remember all the different sorts she saw floating around that mind of hers, but she remembered dark chocolate sundaes. The velvet texture, the bitter yet sweet taste. She missed it all.

Reality was vacant of such sweets. She didn't fancy reality much nowadays.

Still wrapped in the quilt, she surveyed the room. Panic filled her until she realized where she was.

She was in a bunker. Sanctuary from the creatures that lurked outside. Temporary. Yesterday's happenings were long forgotten hazes though she did recall one thing. She came to this place with another woman. Kit. Where was she? Was this place even safe? What if Kit had a group here?

Though her body protested, Blake got to her feet. She hadn't taken her boots off and her pack was still there. Walking towards the door, she peered around. She saw Kit sitting against the wall with her face hidden from the world. The even odder part? She swore she heard the woman crying. Soft and barely audible, but Blake knew when someone was crying. The body was a telltale sign sometimes.

Popping a spot next to Kit, Blake sat there in silence wondering what to do.

"...You okay?" she asked. "You didn't wake me. No way I was only asleep for a few hours. Why don't you take a turn? I'm ready for guard duty. Course, if you wanna talk, I'm all ears. Kind of. Still working off the sleep. Do you see any eye goop?" ​

 

[Voice]

Of course she wasn't that lucky. Of course she was too tired to notice Blake rise from her bed. Of course she jumped when Blake sat down at her side. Thoroughly embarrassed, Kit used the backs of her hands to wipe away the tears staining her cheeks. Clearly she was a terrible guard.

She almost apologized before remembering that's not something she does.

"Figured you could use the rest." She responded with a shrug. What she didn't say was she thinks the ghosts in this house will poison her dreams and shatter her sleep.

Blake's next comment managed to pull a laugh out of Kit. Or perhaps it was the exhaustion.

"Wait, I do think you might..." she leaned in like she was trying to get a better look. " oh... oh wait... nope, that's just your face." She winked to let Blake know she was only joking.

Kit sniffed and rubbed at her nose. Felt one of the band aids scratch her skin. It had a Courage The Cowardly Dog pattern printed across it. Of course he would have Courage pattern band aids in the middle of the apocalypse.

A large part of her wanted to lie to Blake about the whole thing. Claim the tears are from exhaustion. It wouldn't be a complete lie.
Morals eventually won out.

"Someone came by while you were asleep." Kit didn't look at Blake. "Someone I knew from Before." She reached into her jacket to pull out the sewer key. "I made him leave. But not before I got this. Should be useful." A slow exhale fluttered past her chapped lips. She is painfully aware of how heavy her eyelids are. But...

"I'm not sure how safe it is here anymore. We should leave." There was no hesitation when Kit said 'we'. She didn't even think about it. Maybe that should have been a flag.

 

[Artemis]

Blake smiled as Kit laughed. All things considered - particularly her up front spiky personality - getting anyone to laugh was like winning a medal for something or anything cool.

Feeling Kit pull closer to her, Blake held her breath. She didn't like people getting in her personal space. It wasn't always like that. Back in the days, Blake loved close encounters. Kept things fresh. Too many things had happened since then. It was partially why she preferred traveling alone. Generalizing was hardly far, but it came in handy when trying to survive a zom-pocalypse.

Grateful that Kit didn't inch her face any closer, Blake laughed to ease herself. "This is why I had a mirror. Nowadays, it's a hit or miss. God, if I could talk to my make up crazy self again ..."

Seeing a one of Kit's bandages, Blake groaned from the nostalgia. "I miss Courage. Fuckin' dumb little smarty. What was the guy's name ... Eustace? I always wanted to give him an earful after kicking the little mutt," she said. "You think CN's still open to get hate mail? Who'm I kidding? Everyone's zombified."

Lapsing back into silence, Blake listened to Kit's words carefully. "Someone you knew? Then they know about this place, if they came through the sewer? But you have the key." Noting Kit's drooping eyes, Blake shook her head. "You have the sewer key. The front door's locked. It should be safe a while longer. You need to sleep. Go. I'm alert and roaring for a fight ... the latter was a joke. Not fighting's preferable. I'll pry you for details later. Sleep."​

 

[Voice]

[fieldbox="Kit, #DC143C, dotted, 12, courier new"]

[BCOLOR=inherit]"A dumb smartie is an ox...[/BCOLOR][BCOLOR=inherit]ocks[/BCOLOR][BCOLOR=inherit]..." She bit the inside of her cheek and her brow furrowed in concentration. She could taste the word on the tip of her tongue. But it was useless.[/BCOLOR][BCOLOR=inherit] "Y'know, like a jumbo shrimp." She waved her hand in the air as if it demonstrated her point.[/BCOLOR] ​

[BCOLOR=inherit]Kit pushed herself off of the ground and moved into the more open kitchen area. She made sure to stay in Blake's line of sight. Began to open and close drawers. Eventually found what she was looking for. Sat back down next to Blake with a pen, lined piece of paper, and what must have been a cutting board at some point. In her other hand she clutched a colorful array of stamps and an envelope. [/BCOLOR] ​

[BCOLOR=inherit]"Dear Cartoon Network. We don't [/BCOLOR][BCOLOR=inherit]appreciate[/BCOLOR][BCOLOR=inherit] how you treat Courage. Get your shit together. Love, Kit and Blake." She joked. She didn't actually write anything. Didn't want to embarrass herself any further today. Instead, s[/BCOLOR][BCOLOR=inherit]he s[/BCOLOR][BCOLOR=inherit]tarted to draw the CN logo onto the envelope; had no idea what the address might've been. Her lines were immaculate. [/BCOLOR][BCOLOR=inherit]Then she p[/BCOLOR][BCOLOR=inherit]roceeded to stick about a thousand stamps all over the envelope. Beneath the logo she wrote, "CALIFORNIA?"[/BCOLOR] ​

[BCOLOR=inherit] It was nice to forget about Chevy for a moment.[/BCOLOR] ​

[BCOLOR=inherit]"Sewer's behind the shelf on the far wall in the second room, by the way." Kit said as she pushed off from the floor a second time. Fished in her backpack a moment to grab an old alarm clock.[/BCOLOR][BCOLOR=inherit] The bells wer[/BCOLOR][BCOLOR=inherit]e muted, but the rapid shaking of the object would[/BCOLOR][BCOLOR=inherit] ideally rouse her from sleep. She cranked[/BCOLOR][BCOLOR=inherit] the timer to go off in 90 minutes. Then she makes her way over to the room with the queen sized mattress. Doesn't bother to remove her shoes. Pulled[/BCOLOR][BCOLOR=inherit] her knife out from its position on her thigh to grasp it in her hand beneath the pillow. Exhaustion surged[/BCOLOR][BCOLOR=inherit] up hungrily. Her last thought before she let[/BCOLOR][BCOLOR=inherit] sleep claim her is that the sheets smelled like Blake.[/BCOLOR] ​

[BCOLOR=inherit]-[/BCOLOR]
[BCOLOR=inherit]<90 minutes pass without interruption, unless you have something planned?>[/BCOLOR] ​

[BCOLOR=inherit]It was a small miracle that she managed to sleep so soundly. Or [/BCOLOR][BCOLOR=inherit]perhaps[/BCOLOR][BCOLOR=inherit] exhaustion. The alarm jerked back and forth wildly, soundlessly. She reached over and slammed it into stillness. [/BCOLOR] ​

[BCOLOR=inherit]"Okay. Okay." She murmured to herself as she rubbed her eyes. "Okay." It was nearing midday. "Blake?" She called out, her voice raspy with sleep. Got up and shuffled over. Didn't ask the obvious, even though it was heavy on her tongue. "There are some dry snacks in your pack. I shoved them in there before we left yesterday." Not that they replaced a proper meal. This whole place was temporary. The situation was temporary. That knowledge felt heavy in her chest.[/BCOLOR] ​

[/fieldbox]

 

[Artemis]

Blake made sure to note the sewer entrance, where Kit said it was. Knowing the ways in - the ways out - had saved her life on more than one occasion. When danger reared, she moved on immediately. There were exceptions such as now. She was still trying to piece Kit together. For all her intimidation, the woman was awkward. Not in the bad way. It was humanizing. Blake looked at the piece of paper Kit drew on before turning in for her power nap. Then to the stamps. The woman was an oddity, she was sure.

Though her legs ached in protest, Blake moved into the second room. Following Kit's directions, Blake found the sewer entrance. There was nobody there, but it felt so open. It felt like she was standing on the inside of a prison cell. If not for the smell, she was sure this would be one heck of a simulation. Blake never had the pleasure of being incarcerated. It was for the better. Her old self wouldn't be able to take it. Her new self? A nightmare she'd be to the guards. She was sure.

Convinced that the door wasn't swinging open any time soon - not without the key - Blake walked back into the main room and took the letter Kit had drawn on. Flipping it, she took the pen and began to jot down whatever came to mind. Mainly tearing Eustace a new one while emitting courage to Courage. She had time to kill.

They couldn't stay here. It was time to go.

---

The alarm jolted her aware. Thinking it was an alarm system for the door or the sewer, Blake made for her axe. Until she heard Kit. Settling back on her spot on the wall, she heard her name after a series of grumbles. She smiled. Waking up from sleep was never ideal.

"Morning," Blake said. Getting to her feet, Blake walked around Kit. Getting her bag from the bedside, she reappeared in the room. Rummaging about, she found a dry snack and handed one to Kit. "Maybe water's what you need. You got sleeper's voice. You wouldn't happen to have water lying about?"

Finding something for herself, Blake nibbled on one of the snacks. She missed hot dogs. Brats more specifically. She missed the good ole' BB & Q. Weekend outings with her friends. Bathing in the Sun without fear of getting mauled by an infected. She missed it all.

"... Do you want to come with me?" Blake face palmed. "What I mean is, do you want to travel, with me. I know a settlement. Maybe a week's walk. I've got some salvage to turn in. You're free to tag along? Maybe you'll find something along the way?" ​

 

[Voice]

[fieldbox="Kit, #DC143C, dotted, 12, courier new"]

She tried to shake off the exhaustion that permeated in her bones.
"Some bottles in your pack." Kit murmured. She lifted a hand to cover the yawn that cracked her jaw. Reached over to dig through Blake's backpack before she suddenly stops. "I—Err, this okay?" She checked to be sure the invasion of privacy wasn't unwelcome <assuming it's okay> before she fished out a sealed plastic bottle of water. Uncapped it. Drank at least half. She sat down on the floor nearby. Rested her elbows on her knees.

She accepted the snack that Blake offered. Tried her best not to wolf it down.
The innuendo practically made a whizzing sound as it sailed clear over Kit's head.
"Yeah." She replied simply. Took another sip from her water. Didn't look at Blake. Hoped the relief she was feeling wasn't too obvious. Only turned to lock her eyes onto Blake's when the topic shifted.

"We could drive?" she suggested. "I could fix up a car in like…" she waved her hand lamely. "A day. Less." She shrugged. Held one tattooed hand in the other. "Could cut down on travel time. We can give them the car when we get there. I can always fix another one. Lord knows that there are plenty lying around." Once again she gets to her feet. "Vamos." She brushed some dirt from her pants. Pulled her pack to her shoulders. Began to walk up the stairs to the entrance of the basement when she heard a noise. One of the tin cans she set up, it sounded like. She stood frozen. Then came shuffled foot falls, a quiet moaning.

She grimaced. Turned to look at Blake.

"Goonies up top." She gestured over her shoulder with her thumb. "Think we can take em?" That's when she heard a harsh 'thud'. And another. Scratching. They were throwing themselves at the door.
[/fieldbox]

 

[Artemis]

"Cool."

There was nothing else to say. Company was something Blake never really saw herself wanting again. She didn't mind this though. For the time being, they somehow made it work. Blake didn't want to pistol whip the woman nor did Kit seem to want to kill her. The bag rummaging was kind of tense, but Blake invited Kit to look for water. She didn't even know it was there. Maybe it was from last night when Kit force shoved stuff into her pack. Prime thinking she thought.

The car comment was most welcomed. Blake's lips twisted upwards. "Find us a pair of wheel, and I'll set you up with a Blake special. Um, object invention wise." Tapping her finger against her knee, transportation had a few drawbacks. Gas. Clogged roads. Attention. Lots of things to take account of. "Let's find that car then. Siphoning fuel shouldn't be too hard."

Following Kit up, Blake made sure she had everything. Before she reached the base of the door, she stopped. She shook her head at Kit.

A thud. The door shuddered.

"Sewers." Turning about, she hurried towards the room. She looked at the sewer entrance. It was clear. "You got the key. Come on!"​

 

[Voice]

[fieldbox="Kit, #DC143C, dotted, 12, courier new"]
A grimace was cut into the sharp line of her mouth. Nothing was ever easy.
Wordlessly she followed Blake back down the stairs. With her help it was easy to move the shelf out of the way. The door upstairs would hold for a while longer, but Kit couldn't fight the sense of urgency that simmered in her gut. It took some elbow grease, but she managed to move the shelf back in place after them. Should slow the walkers down for a bit longer.

There wasn't a lot of space in the tunnel. Kit was behind Blake, and she needed to get around to the metal gate.

"I need to—" she started. Stopped. Swallowed thickly. Katherine Vasquez does not apologize. She gritted her teeth together and pushed past Blake. Their bodies slid together for a moment and Kit tried not to think about the last time she had been so close to another human being. A second later the moment was over. She reached into her jacket pocket and fished out the key to the sewer gate. It slid in with a loud iron clunk. Her jaw was so tight it felt wired shut. She turned it and opened the door, then proceeded to walk through.

Once she was sure that Blake had followed, Kit moved back to lock the door once more. Away from the groans of the basement the silence of the sewers felt deafening.

"This way." She murmured after a moment. She struck off through the tunnels towards the maintenance entrance. There were old paint tags at intersections to notify workers where they were beneath the streets. She rounded the corner to a large open room. Then stopped.

He stood on the catwalk above them, leaning against the rails.

"You didn't mention that you had a friend." Chevy stated. Kit shifted her stance so that she blocked some of Blake from his view.

"You're still here."

"Where else was I supposed to go?" He shrugged.

The white noise of water trickling and dropping filled the silence.

Kit never took her eyes off of him, even as she reached back to grab Blake's hand. Blake could look after herself, she knew. But Kit couldn't deny the spark of reassurance that she felt in the act. Then, carefully, Kit walked towards the iron stairs. They would have to pass Chevy on the catwalk to get to the maintenance entrance.

[/fieldbox]

 

[Artemis]

"Wow. Okay...?"

Blake couldn't help it. Tensing was a natural reaction these days when people got too close. Blake took a deep breath and was glad when the contact was over. The early days of the outbreak really ruined the whole intimate contact deal for her. It exacted a hostile response. Classic Pavlov's classical conditioning. Again, her habit for quoting back to useless knowledge with regards to current situations was borderline comical. At least she didn't try to break one of Kit's limbs when she slid past her. That was improvement. Or so she thought.

When the gate opened, Blake stepped right on through as Kit locked the door. She breathed easy with a metal gate now between them and the infected. Even after surviving years after the outbreak and being on her own for a good potion of time, she still loathed the things. One bite. One scratch. That's all it took to turn into one of those things. If only she went into science. Maybe she could've helped with the cure effort. Was the CDC even still around? Maybe in those quarantined cities she heard so much about.

"See? Kind of why backdoors are a plus." Taking out her axe, she followed Kit. She prayed there weren't any infected in the immediate vicinity. It seemed asking for a whole week of not worrying was too much to ask for. Coming to a larger room, Blake stopped. Standing above them on a catwalk was a stranger. A man.

She listened to the exchange, noted the familiarity, noted Kit positioning herself between the stranger and herself. It didn't take a marketing degree to assume the manner of their history.

Then there was silence. So silent that it was painful.

Flinching ever so slightly from the contact yet again, it was Kit's hand. Was she so scared of the man standing on the catwalk? Blake was, but Kit knew him. Or so she assumed. Blake said not a word. Her eyes never left the man. Her grip tightened.

Just give me a reason she thought to herself.​

 

[Voice]

[fieldbox="Kit, #DC143C, dotted, 12, courier new"]


The sound of her boots on the metal steps rang through the cavernous tunnels. The tension seemed to increase with each footfall. Blake's grip on her hand tightened. It felt like a live wire. If she were struck by lightning it would pass through her and into Blake and out into the ether.

Maybe Kit could tell Blake was uncomfortable with the contact. Maybe she herself was uncomfortable. Maybe she felt both hands were necessary now that they were closer to Chevy. Whatever the reason, she dropped their connection.

Now that they were closer she could see there were deep crinkles carved underneath Chevy's hazel eyes. They hadn't been there a few years ago. His scruff still grew in patches, though. He had lost some weight but there was still a roundness to his belly he couldn't seem to lose. He always beat her in ground fighting matches.

"Chevy." Her tone was commanding. So was the swiss army knife she held.

He moved out from the mouth of the catwalk so that they could pass. The morning light that filtered through the cracks reflected the deep sadness in his eyes. She fought down the acid in the back of her throat.

"Kit." He was close enough now that she could reach out and touch him. "You know that there are Hunters looking for you?"

She tightened her jaw. "The tunnel—" he swallowed. "The one we used to use; it's collapsed. And the Hunters are at some of the other entrances, monitoring things coming out or in." A frustrated snarl leapt from Kit's throat. Chevy held up his hands defensively. "I—If you let me come with you—"

There must have been something dangerous in her eyes because he shut right up.

Silence permeated the air once more.

"I'm sorry, Kit."

She clenched her teeth so hard part of her feared they might crack.

"That doesn't change what you did. That doesn't change—" she inhaled slowly to combat the way that her voice wavered and eyes stung.

"I want to help you." He replied plaintively. Hand held out in a plea. Palms up. Body language open.

"You want to help me to absolve yourself of guilt; not because you give a damn about me." Her grip on the knife tightened and relaxed. Tightened and relaxed.

Through all of this Chevy's eyes remained soft. She hated it. She hated how fucking endearing his floppy hair and soft hands were. She hated remembering the way he had rubbed her back as she fell apart against his shoulder.

"He's gone, you know?" Kit didn't know how his voice could be so quiet and still deafen her. "I saw it myself. 6 months ago." He paused. Kit felt as if all the air in the room has been sucked out. "He can't hurt—"

"Shut up. Shut the fuck up." Suddenly she was in front of him, pointing the knife at his Adam's apple. "You shut your fucking mouth." Her green eyes darted over to Blake. "We are not having this conversation here. Not here, not now, not with a fox in a box. Get it?" She hated how he didn't even hold up his hands in his own defense. Hated how he accepted her anger like a sponge.

"Blake." Her voice was dry. The tears were gone. "Let's go." She waited until Blake had taken a few steps down the catwalk—there was only enough room for single file—before she pulled away from Chevy. She never let go of her knife.

"I'll be here." Chevy called out. "When you come back."

When Kit finally rounded a corner she didn't look back.

[/fieldbox]

 

[Artemis]

Throughout the whole exchange, Blake opted to remain silent. There wasn't any need for her to jump in. She was getting a wealth of information simply from listening. What she garnered from the tense conversation, Kit's hand still wrapped around hers, was that the two obviously knew each other. Hostile from what she could tell. Perhaps there was more. She didn't really care to pry. This was a prime example of why she didn't want to travel with people. They brought a lot of complexity. They brought a lot of vulnerabilities. They brought a lot of danger. Too many things to account for in present life. The infected were enough to deal with.

What this Chevy did, however, peaked her interest. Maybe he did to Kit what a man from long ago did to her early in the outbreak. Not likely. Chevy said something about 'he' dying a six months ago. Was it someone Kit cared about? Probably. Again, Blake didn't want to pry, but she was curious. It was this curiosity that served the main motivation for her not wanting companions. There were too many things to take into account. She hated present circumstances.

"Blake. Let's go."

Blake nodded. "Sure." Following Kit, she kept a grip on her axe. Her eyes never left Chevy for a second. Her look was predatorial. As a trader, she traded with anyone able to pay or trade. She kept her distance, and she was always in midst of others. If anything were to happen, at least there might be someone willing to help her. She didn't feel that safety here.

As they rounded the corner away from the man, she breathed a little easier. Blake wasn't really sure how far they traveled. The smell of the sewers already became desensitized. Showers were a luxury that few could afford these days.

"Hey," Blake said after a long period of silence. She cleared her throat. "I need some transparency. Context. About back there. Also, if it wasn't obvious, I'm ... not comfortable with contact."​

 

[Voice]

(doot doot Kit let go of Blake's hand a little bit ago. When they got closer to Chevy. "Maybe Kit could tell Blake was uncomfortable with the contact. Maybe she herself was uncomfortable. Maybe she felt both hands were necessary now that they were closer to Chevy. Whatever the reason, she dropped their connection." :) )
[fieldbox="Kit, #DC143C, dotted, 12, courier new"]


That tattoos stretched and warped as her knuckles tightened against the handle of the army knife. She tried to swallow down the emotion that was threatening to explode from her chest. She had little luck. Her entire body felt like it was vibrating. With fury, with disgust, with hurt. With fear. She actually wished that they would come across some goons so she could release some of this pent up energy.

The halls were cursedly (blessedly) empty.

Kit didn't look back to make sure that Blake was following. The sound of her footsteps was indication enough. They were no more than a minute away from the allegedly collapsed tunnel when Blake spoke up again.

She tugged a finger at the knot of emotions snarled in between her rib cage, but there was no easy way to unravel the mess.

'Not here, not now, not with a fox in a box.' She almost snapped the words out but managed to clamp her jaw down at the last second. A muscle in her jaw twitched.
They rounded the corner.

The tunnel was collapsed.

"FUCK," she turned and kicked an old pipe. The sound of steel hitting steel was muffled only by the thin layer of rubber that still clung to her boot. She exhaled slowly. Pushed her sleeves up. Ran her hands over the top of her head. "Fuck." She said again before letting her hands drop. Kit glanced back over at Blake, who apparently was still expecting a reaction.

"He's harmless." That was that. End of discussion. Kit looked back at the mess of rubble barring their way. She scratched at the spiderweb tattoo sprawled across her elbow. A second later she reached into her backpack and withdrew a crowbar. There was no way it was ever going to work, but hey, a girl could dream, right? Wishful thinking became a physical activity as Kit attempted to attack the pile of concrete with her piece of steel.


[/fieldbox]

 

[Artemis]

Kit, in that moment, sounded dangerous. Like she was going to explode, and Blake was sure she didn't want to be the receiving outlet for that. The more she traveled with people again, the more she believed that she was making a mistake. It was too late to isolate herself again. How could she? Socializing was addicting. Even now where people looked out for themselves. Helping others when it was convenient.

Following Kit around the corner, her shoulders laxed. She sighed without caring who heard it. It was a dead end. She heard Kit's succinct answer to her question from before as she took a crowbar to the cave in.

Letting Kit vent however she pleased, Blake sat to the side. She reached into her backpack. She took out some gunpowder she had. It could be used to try and clear the caved in tunnel, but she didn't want to risk bringing the whole place down. There was no second chance for mistakes here. She placed the substance back into its case carefully. She zipped up her bag.

"You're just going to ruin a perfectly working crowbar," Blake said breaking her silence. "You know? For a harmless guy, you looked awfully scared of him. I think you're lying about him. He's your problem though. Mine now too." Pushing back a lock of hair, she looked back the way they came. "Only one way we're leaving. Back the way we came, Kit."​

 

[Voice]

[fieldbox="Kit, #DC143C, dotted, 12, courier new"]

[BCOLOR=transparent]"Scared?" the repeated word fell sloppily from her mouth, like she was a baby whose lips couldn't trap food correctly.[/BCOLOR]

[BCOLOR=transparent]'I'm not scared of anything.' She wanted to say. It was a gut reaction she had developed years ago. One that she fervently suppressed now. Only the ignorant or sheltered believed that fear was a baseless concept.[/BCOLOR]

[BCOLOR=transparent]But honestly, there was very little about Chevy that was intimidating. Maybe upon first glance; he was a large man with tattoos, after all. On closer inspection his softness was obvious in the curves of his hands and the laughter lines of his eyes.It was a minor miracle that he was still alive today.[/BCOLOR]
[BCOLOR=transparent]"It's not him I'm scared of." She muttered under her breath.[/BCOLOR]

[BCOLOR=transparent]She threw her crowbar to the ground with a sharp clang. A few errant hairs stuck to her sweaty forehead. She swiped at them with the back of her hand. [/BCOLOR]

[BCOLOR=transparent]"[/BCOLOR][BCOLOR=transparent]I think you're lying about him." [/BCOLOR][BCOLOR=transparent] Kit wasn't above being baited into talking.[/BCOLOR]
[BCOLOR=transparent]"I haven't told you a single goddamn lie since we met." The words might have been cutting but her tone was soft and broken. Blake was the first person in years that Kit had been completely honest with, but Blake didn't believe her. [/BCOLOR][BCOLOR=transparent]Being honest and being forthcoming are two different things, [/BCOLOR][BCOLOR=transparent]she reminded herself.[/BCOLOR]

[BCOLOR=transparent]"He didn't do anything, alright?" Actually, that was the whole damn problem. She scratched roughly at the spiderweb tattoo on her elbow. "He--he let something bad happen. It was years ago." [/BCOLOR][BCOLOR=transparent]Why are you telling her this? Stop it. Stop it right now.[/BCOLOR][BCOLOR=transparent] Something warm and wet trickled over her fingertips and she realized that she was bleeding. [/BCOLOR][BCOLOR=transparent]Nice going[/BCOLOR][BCOLOR=transparent], she chastised herself as she lifted her elbow to inspect the scrape. Stupid. Minor. She pulled her sleeves back down, suddenly self-conscious of the art splashed over her forearms.[/BCOLOR]

[BCOLOR=transparent]She re-evaluated the collapsed tunnel in front of them. She was an engineer for chrissake. She picked up the crowbar again and hefted it over her shoulder.[/BCOLOR]
[BCOLOR=transparent]"Only one way we're leaving. Back the way we came."[/BCOLOR][BCOLOR=transparent] She didn't want it to be true. She didn't want Chevy to be right. But looking at how the formation of the rock pile in front of her was holding the majority of the roof's weight, Kit knew that Blake was right. She didn't want to go back. She didn't want to face him. [/BCOLOR]

[BCOLOR=transparent]It had been a long time since Kit had actually gotten something she wanted.[/BCOLOR]

[BCOLOR=transparent]"Fuck." she cursed softly once more. Her voice wasn't half as weary as she felt. Without another word she turned and began to trudge back the way they had come. [/BCOLOR]


[/fieldbox]