Episode 106 Fateful Meetings

Previously, on Dead Limit:

“There’s an occupied safe-zone near here?” Roger questioned. “We haven’t seen any.”

“It’s not in the city, its south of here some miles,” the older man said.

“Where’s the entrance?” Rudolph exclaimed. “It’s gone! I can’t see it anywhere, but it’s supposed to be right there.” He pointed to a large dirt hill.

“Looks like they buried it,” Rick observed.

“NO!” the other three soldiers cried.

“That’s what they meant by sealing,” Richie decided.

 

“The military was bombing all morning, until about two hours ago…”

 Pierall smirked. “The place got too far overrun, and the military gave up, right?”

“Not exactly…” Roger said, and then continued, “I guess they decided to let the place go-so they nuked it.”

“What!?” Carlos exclaimed. Pierall was too shocked to speak.

 

=====

He stood alone, in silence, staring at the three graves before him. Poorly dug and poorly covered, they were the best he could do in the time he had. He was the last one left; he knew it. After the first two days, where all the folks in town seemed to rush to the hospital at once, after almost all of them died and then came back to life as mindless-No, they had a mind-intelligent killing machines, ripping apart those who remained alive; even past the fourth day, where the whole town was overrun, his family had survived. They took shelter in one the houses up the hill in the woods, hiding in the basement until they ran out of food on the fifth day. They had to go find food, and had hoped the infection had past, that they could risk going into town. They were, sadly and extremely, wrong.

They were ambushed just as they reached the main road; the creatures surrounding them. Swinging axe and firing shotgun saved him from the horde, but only because of the pain and fury that welled up in him as he watched his wife, daughter, and twenty-seven year old brother get slaughtered in a wave of undead.

So here he was, now walking away from the two-day old dirt mounds he made for the remains of his loved ones. He had to chop them to bits, to prevent them from reanimating again, had to finish the damage started by the things he hated so much. And as he walked away, he looked out over the town, and suddenly stopped. For down the main road, carrying a gun and backpack and moving in crouch that proved he was obviously not a zombie, was one man. He immediately decided to help the person, to provide shelter, for if he did not he would still be all alone.

· · · — — — · · · 

“She was 19, my daughter.” Mason told the group that was sitting around him: five girls and three boys out of the camp’s forty-one residents that were actually interested in the newcomers’ stories. Mason was enjoying their attention, which he recognized as deep interest in what he had to say. It was about 2:00 in the afternoon now; he’d just finished explaining the infection event in Estes, and he felt it was time for a break. He stood up and stretched, saying; “I need a moment to relax. I’ll continue my long and boring tale in a while.”

His audience, comprising of the younger survivors, grumbled and pleaded for more. They enjoyed hearing Mason’s story, because it was the only form of entertainment they had left. Well, not really. In the RVs were working televisions and one had multiple connected to gaming systems. It was the teenage guy’s ‘Grave Club’. That explained why most of his small but intrigued audience was female.

The camp formation was quite simple: the elders and children got the RVs and the adults slept in the tents. Including the newcomers; there were forty seven survivors at the Keeton Safe Camp. Four, including Pierall, were old-timers; they each had an RV to themselves, while the fifteen children shared the other ones. The oldest was Ms. Irene; she was in her seventies but somehow escaped death’s waiting arms and fled south the safe camp. All the other women (nine in all, including Mary) looked up to her. She, and only she, was able to control the rioting Grave Club boys, who wanted nothing less than revenge on the Seekers. Plenty of times they plotted to return to the city, but she kept them from going, even after Carlos and Pierall had tried to persuade them against it.

She wasn’t, however, liked by all the camp residents, especially the mysterious overlord staying in the big tent far up the hill. The reason for his power was the juggernaut of a body guard who stood outside the tent, watching over the camp with a sniper rifle.

“He never sleeps, it seems. He’s always standing there, every time I look uphill.” Carlos had whispered to Rick when he first noticed the heavily armored and armed behemoth (the guy was 6’8”). Pierall had (quickly and quietly, of course) apologized and explained the situation he had just placed the newcomers in: the camp was ruled by the man in the tent up the hill. He had eight Rules, none much more important than the other:

 -All weapons had to be turned in to the guard at the gate. Nobody could keep or use a weapon without his permission

 -5% of all food and water collected goes directly to him; the rest can be split throughout the camp as the residents pleased.

-Men and women sleep in separate tents (he claimed it was for safety: a zombie apocalypse was no time to give birth to something that would carelessly cause lots of noise and attract numbers of Mockers, etc.)

 -Anyone ordered on a scavenging mission or related activity had to follow his orders directly; if they returned without fulfilling his request they would be forced to leave camp.

 - (somewhat related to the above rule) any forced entry by any attacker or outcast, any assassination attempt, or any person refusing to obey orders or rules a certain amount of times could result in immediate termination.

 - Nobody speaks directly to him. Any and all interactions towards him go through the Guard.

 -No fires after 30 past sundown. It could attract Seekers or thugs.

 -Keep the noise level down. You don’t have to whisper, but don’t yell. If the Guard can hear you clearly, you are being too loud.

 Secretly, it was rumored, the boss up the hill had two other rules:

 -the rules are stricter for those over fifty; they are unnecessary mouths to feed and cannot provide sufficient defense to the camp

 -the rules have an exception for the Grave Club.

“You’re kidding! A gang of teenagers can do whatever they want? You’re joking.” Rick had said in disbelief. “I guess I can live with these rules, but the prejudice…jeez.”

“He seems to like the kids-especially when they give their awful photos to him.” Carlos muttered, shaking his head. The three of them where sitting at one of the six plastic tables that were arranged around the largest fire pit in the center of the camp.

“What kind of photos?” Rick asked.

“Seekers. Humiliated ones-Seekers that people killed then dressed up or put in ‘funny’ positions, or even…well, you get the point.” Peirall told him.

“Didn’t they try to leave?”

“Yeah, last night. The lot of them even got their weapons from the boss,” he shook his head in disgust, “But Ms. Irene changed their minds last minute.”

“She’s almost the secondary leader, then?”

“No, not at all. She’s just old and still survived the apocalypse. Makes her quite respectable. I think, no-worry that boss-man up the hill wants her dead for disobeying the rules.”

“What? How did she break any rules?” Rick exclaimed a little too loudly, drawing attention from a nearby woman who joined them.

“Talking about Irene?” she whispered. “She’s really nice and all, but our ‘all-powerful master’ thinks she’s too looked-up-to.” Rick looked at her, astonished bold outspoken opinion and sarcasm. He looked around at his surroundings; seeing unfamiliar faces but none of his new friends, until Roger walked into view from between two of the RVs. The lady who had just sat down next to him followed his gaze, her eyes falling on the approaching Roger. Suddenly she stood, muttering, “Would you excuse me for a minute?”, then dashed off into the tent cluster.

“Can you tell me what that was about?” Rick asked, confused.

“Nope. Haven’t seen Mary act like this before,” Carlos sighed. She was my neighbor before…before this place went to hell.”

As this conversation continued, Roger walked right past Rick’s table and into the first row of tents.

 

He’d been so close. And now he’d lost sight of her again. For whatever reason, he wanted to speak with her, badly. It’d been nearly ten years since he’d last seen her. Sure, he was the one who filed the divorce, but it was her fault it ended that way…

Roger and Mary Torrens had married at the age of 24-a decent age to do so, if you asked anyone in his family. Mary, however had been in several previous engagements before him, breaking them off last-minute when she’d find a new guy who was better-looking or richer. Then her parents force her to go to college, and that’s where she met Roger.

In his twenties Roger Torrens was quite handsome, and being a minor league baseball player added to his popularity. So it was no surprise that Mary went after him first, coaxing him quickly into marriage. At the time, Roger didn’t really care what happened. He had a hot girlfriend-turned-wife and was about to get a good job. He would later regret rushing into things (he hadn’t taken much time to really get to know her), especially with her of all people.

It turns out; Roger and Mary were never compatible. He always seemed indifferent to her doings, and she took advantage of his lack of acknowledgement of caring to fabricate a cumulative pyramid of lies. Since he was always out at baseball games (watching or playing) or working, she had time for a multitude of affairs. When he did find out about her covert life style seven years later (though he’d suspected for five) she demurred, and tried to palliate their marriage. However, their anger towards each other only intensified due to their inability to cope. Roger’s views on life were chimerical, whilst Mary kept hers recondite; for Roger would have left her immediately if he knew why she’d married him in the first place. Eventually the connubial stress between them proved too much, and Roger filed the divorce. He had been single ever since.

He just wanted to talk to her, to give himself proof she was really there. Life keeps throwing crap in my face, ever since that accident... he thought.

In the two hours since they’d arrived at the Keeton safe camp, Roger had approached her twelve times. Each time she noticed him Mary swiftly walked away, trying not to catch attention and put distance between him and her at the same time. The first time, she slipped into the crowd that had earlier surrounded the newcomers. Other times she ducked into the maze of tents, like this time. He had seen her do this enough times to know how to find her.

He didn’t even know what he would say-there was so much going through his mind-and after ten years…

Did she remarry? How did she get here? Thoughts like these kept crossing his mind. Carefully, so as not to disturb the tent-occupants around him, he made his way to the end of the first row, and turned to go down the second. And found himself face-to-face with Mary.

“What could you possibly say to me now that you couldn’t have a decade ago?” She snapped, looking at him with hatred. Roger fumbled for words in his mind, and without meaning to said; “How many last names have you gone through since I left?” Both of them were taken aback by each other’s words. Roger stared at her for a moment, his eyes betraying no emotion. Mary, however, was having difficulty hiding an old sadness.

“None. It’s still Torrens.”

This shocked Roger-not only the fact that she hadn’t remarried and that, by either still caring or laziness, she had kept his last name.

“I...um...I’m glad to see you made it.” She mumbled. Roger could help but feel sorry, looking at her thin form, weak and starved yet still beautiful; with smooth pale skin and dark flowing hair, a sweet smile that forces you grin back….NO! He had to stay stoic, he couldn’t risk falling for her again, even for a second. He tore the thought of her beauty away from his mind by thinking about the Seekers. Mary’s looks were definitely NOT the reason for divorce.

“Yeah, you too.” He answered, and thought back to his night in Estes Park:

“You don’t have a family, do you? It’d be awful if you did, because- and I’m only pointing out the truth- they are probably dead.” Mason had asked, though hardly showing concern.

“No, I’m divorced,” Roger had replied.

“Glad to hear it. You know, because now I don’t have to worry about emotional problems from you or anything.”

His mind returned to Mary when he heard her say his brother’s name suddenly.

“Say again?” He muttered, shaking his head.

“What happened to Tyler? Did he make it out before the border closed?” she repeated, showing a hint of concern.

Roger blinked a couple times, trying to put her words together. She doesn’t know what happed…what should I tell her?

After a moment he answered, “No, he’s dead.” Mary nodded solemnly. Then, remembering she was mad at him, she asked, “Why have you been following me all damn afternoon? It’s like I’m some animal you’re hunting.”

“Why have you been avoiding me?” he shot back, a bit humorously. She’d always hated his smart remarks.

“Because…”she stammered, on the verge of anger and tears, “because I’m your ex-wife, and I haven’t seen or heard from you in ten years, and now my whole life has gone to shit…” She took another pained look at him then stomped off down the aisle of tents, ducking into the third one and zipping it closed before he could reach her.

“Just go away. This was not the impression I wanted to give the first time I saw you again.”

“You think I thought I’d see you again in some run-down survivor’s camp, hiding from zombies?” he said to her, kneeling next to the tent.

“I avoided you earlier because I…I still care, but I don’t want to and I shouldn’t but I do. I only had three boyfriends after you left me. I’ve been single for eight long years. Eight years. Me!” Roger rolled his eyes, but continued to listen. She unzipped the inner flap so he could see her.

“I doubt that,” said Roger, “We both know how you are, you can’t stand not having somebody to love for one week and then leave forever, for no reason-“

“SHUT UP!” she yelled. “You don’t know me anymore-people change in a decade!”

“I haven’t. Tyler didn’t. We lived the same lives with or without you.”

 “You only say that because you were never around. I was always alone. Alone, Roger.”

He laughed dryly. “I not being home eight hours a day is not an excuse for a succession of affairs.” He couldn’t believe he was having this argument again. Mary hung her head feeling ashamed.

“Look at us now. We argue-we always did. But what’s the point? The world has ended. Can’t we start over?” She said, looking at him with a longing sorrow.

“We’ll see,” Roger assured. He stood up, about to walk away, with no particular plan; needing a moment to process everything. Mary never remarried. She might even still love me…sure, like that’s possible…but still…And what the hell is she doing here?! What are the odds that, after all this goddamn time, after all this…shit in the past weeks, that I’d find her here?

Too busy with his thoughts he ran right into a big teenager.

“Watch it, asshole,” the kid muttered, trotting off to the GRAVE Club RV.

 “Kids these days,” he heard Mary say behind him.

“So now you’re following me?” Roger asked, turning to face her.

“I just wondered if you’d like to go on a quick walk. Catch up on our lives and stuff, you know?” she shrugged.

Roger took a deep breath. He smirked, an expression he knew she hated, and replied; “Um…No.” Mary promptly punched him in the arm.

“Ow!” he feigned doubling over in pain, laughing.

“Still a jerk, I see.” She commented. She managed a smile.

“Still abusive, I see,” Roger joked. She looked incredulous.

“What?! I was never—”

Roger was having a laughing fit. “Let’s just go on that walk,” he told her, “If only for the views.”

 

As the day progressed clouds formed over the craggy peaks, and flowed down over the open plains. By 6 PM the sky was covered in a fluffy blanket of grey. Roger and Mary were returning from their walk through the valley; having caught up with each other’s lives: Mary had gone to college and worked as a nurse, while Roger had quit baseball to work in a small logging company. She described the first days of the outbreak to him, some of the details truly horrific.

As they neared the camp it starting to rain lightly, the misty canopy finally dropping its burden on the thirsty soil; and they heard a commotion going on. Screaming was mixed with yelling and…cheering.

“What’s going on?” Mary screeched with concern, taking off towards the tents. Roger ran after her, and discovered upon reaching the tents what was happening:

A fight. An all-out, bare knuckles brawl, between two teenagers. A circle of campers cheered and hollered, mostly men and the rest of the club kids.

“Teach him, Jericho!”

“Watch out, Tom!”

Roger assumed those were the kids’ names. He smirked as he watched the bigger one, Jericho, punch Tom in the cheekbone. Tom staggered, but delivered a sharp kick to his opponent’s groin. Jericho feigned pain, then sneered, roundhouse kicking Tom in the same place. The kid collapsed in pain, grimacing and curling up on the dirt.

“Wear a cup next time, Smartness.” Jericho spat. There was a lot of laughter, then Mary pushed her way through the circle.

“Jericho, no more!” She ordered.

“Fine, Fine,” he replied cruelly. “I’ll leave this weak wimp alone. But, just so you know, Mary: he started it. This was club business.”

Mary watched him furiously as he strolled back to his RV. She pulled Tom to his feet, saying; “Come with me, we need to get you patched up.” To her surprise the teenager refused.

“Nah, I’ve already made myself look bad. I challenged his leadership, that’s all.” He groaned as he stumbled to the RV.

The campers dispersed back to…wherever. Roger didn’t really care what anyone was doing. He noticed Mason sitting at one of the tables, carving pointless lines in the wood with a knife.

“Sorry they took your axe away,” Roger apologized.

“I feel so vulnerable here,” his friend grunted.

“Yeah, I think we all do. At least the camp’s far enough from the city.”

“I doubt it. The little stinkers love to roam, remember?”

“Then the sniper—“ he pointed up the hill, where the giant of a man was relaxing in a camping chair; “—would see and kill them.”

Mason just stabbed the table. “We’ll see,” he replied.

 

Roger awoke to snapping twigs. It was dark, but still early in the night. He was in his tent, close to the edge of the clearing. He closed his eyes, thinking that the sound must've been a bird. He heard more snapping, and soft footfalls. Then he heard breathing.

He could tell the difference instantly, and practicaly sprang out of his sleeping bag. He grabbed the knife he'd saved from dinner, knowing it was better as a utensil than a weapon, he thought it will have to do. The raspy breathing and the slow shuffling of feet was very close to his tent. As silently as possible he unzipped the flap and leapt out. And stopped, suddenly and with better agility than he ever though he could, standing half-in and half-outside his tent.

Out of the shadows Roger could see them, limping or stumbling, moaning and growling. They practically flowed out of the forest, without warning. He slipped back into the tent, wondering what he could possibly do without a gun. Maybe I can just wait this out, he thought desperately. And then people started screaming.

 

. -. -..

On the Next Episode:

The sound of shots finally burst from up the hill. Finally! Roger thought in relief as he drove his knife through the ear of a Seeker. He saw Miguel beating at a fat one with the police batons he'd been allowed to keep, and yelled when he noticed one sneak up on the mexican and take a chunk out of his arm from behind.



"Roger, I...don't really know how else to say it, but...I never stopped loving you." Mary whispered.

He stammered, at a loss for words. Before he could say anything, however, he heard a familiar voice, screaming. He suddenly stood up, along with all the other campers. The source of Paul’s loud yelling was coming, of all places, from the black-and-gray RV with the red words The Grave Club.

“Of all the mistakes your friend could make today, he had to associate with them,” Peirall growled at Rick. Mason, who had been in one of the other RVs walked up to the Grave Clubs’ vehicle and twisted the door handle, only to find it was locked. Before any of the other men could reach him, Mason kicked open the door, knocking it clear off its hinges. He took no hesitation, jumping the steps into the cabin, where he, followed by Peirall, Carlos, Rick, and Roger; beheld a gruesome sight:

Paul was against the wall, an oozing bite wound on his shoulder and his arms tied behind, struggling against a Seeker that was missing its arms. “Kill it!” He yelled. Peirall took a knife from his belt; the only weapon in the room, and lunged at the Seeker, driving the blade deep into its skull.