Chapter Text
Be Jade Harley.
You take the dulled dagger out of its plastic sheath and scrape it across the edge of the rock strategically, as to sharpen it. You mindlessly forgot the sharpening block at home, and, at this point, you don't really mind that you did. As far as you're concerned, you've got two weapons, one melee and one range, and that will get you places this day and age. Once you've determined that it's sharp once again, you place it back in its sheath and put it in the right pocket of your khaki shorts. You instinctively touch your shoulder to make sure that your rifle still rests on it willingly. You know it's silly, but you can never be too sure. You don't know what you'd do without your rifle. You shudder to think of it.
You push through the brush of trees, knowing that they're more likely to stay out of forests. There wasn't much here for them, with the exception of wildlife. It was quieter, and that's not how the Flesh work. They like to congregate. You utter a small, hysterical chuckle, because even when people are dead, they don't like to be alone. You don't particularly like it, either, being alone, that is, but you weren't sure if you wanted to actively seek anyone out right now. Nine out of ten times they were turned, and turned people don't make good company.
You fiddle with the multicolored strings bound around your fingers, reminders, they are, most of a time now forgotten. You still remember some of them: green was usually meant for feeding the plants, navy was to go shopping for groceries, orange was . . . That was about where you drew the line with the strings. There's one that's tied around your thumb, however, and you know from the lack of dirt around the string that it's recent. You curse your mind for being so forgetful, that even you can't remember your own reminders. Lime, lime, lime, you think to yourself, What was that for?
You perk up immediately when you hear the snap of a twig, and you don't turn around immediately, because you can already see the break in the trees leading you outside of the forest. Your pace quickens as your boots meet the fresh earth with a thud, pine straw and dirt flying behind you. You grab the rifle off your back when you realize the coast is clear ahead of you and you turn, jogging backwards, facing a pack of the Flesh. You inhale deeply and then breathe, your fingers tightening on the trigger and letting one fly with the familiar ringing cutting through the air.
Dave Strider: Lay down some sick beats.
If this were any other day, you would lay down some sick beats. If this were another time, you would gladly. If this were another world, you would be on top of that right now like a mother fucking cherry on a delicious scoop of ice cream. But you live in this world and there isn’t any fucking time to do that. All you need to do survive, that’s it. That’s all there is to do.
You pull out your Katana and study its edges, sliding your bony finger over the flat part of the blade. Your eyes focus in on the jaggedness cutting into the once pristine edges of the sword, having taken a toll finally from slicing through too many juggulars time and again. You sigh, wishing that you could fix it, but you know that it's impossible, and that all you brought with you was necessary for survival. Sharpening tools, unfortunately, were not.
A gunshot cuts across the air several yards away from you, out of the forest, and you feel a shiver run down the back of your spine. It can’t possibly be one of them, can it? Oh god, please don’t let them be sentient right now. I have at least half of a fucking chance when they just walk around with no purpose, you think to yourself.
You contemplate for a moment going towards the shot, your feet moving quickly beneath you in response, until you halt, turning back to face your campsite. You know you shouldn't leave it behind, just in case she returns, but if the shot is her, if she maybe located a gun or something, you don't want to risk ignoring it. You place your katana back in its sheath settled on your back and begin lightly jogging. When you make it through the clearing, you spot a crowd of flesh, shots now ringing at a constant. You unsheathe your katana once again, running towards the commotion.
You swing your katana with the quick precision you've been taught years before, feeling the now natural slice of decapitated heads falling to the ground. You cut open the last one, its head plopping to the ground with a satisfying thud. You plant your katana in the dirt, balancing your weight on it, smirking at your recent conquest until your face is met with the mouth of a rifle.
"What the actual hell," you frown, brow raised. The rifle lowers and you're suddenly facing Lara Croft's dirt-smudged, spectacled, teenage doppelganger. She's about your age, you guess, with dirt-stained cheeks, once bronze complexion, pony-tailed onyx hair, and miraculous moss green eyes hidden behind rather large round glasses, ones that adolescents with no fashion sense whatsoever would wear. She somehow manages to make them suit her. You notice a cut on her lower lip, fresh, trickling with crimson.
"Sorry," she apologizes sheepishly, slinging her rifle back onto her shoulder. She rubs her mouth off with her forearm spreading the blood across her face. You roll your eyes.
"Here, let me just help you with that," you step forward towards her, reaching your thumb on your free hand out to her face.
"What do you think you're doing?!" she exclaims, stepping back.
"Rubbing the blood off your cheek, you idiot," you mutter, reaching out again with no avail. She steps back eyeing you cautiously.
"Leave it, it's fine," she protests. You grunt at her with slight frustration but give up anyway. Silence falls between the two of you, minds battling over who's turn it is to speak next. She eventually extends her hand out to you, a small, buck-toothed grin escaping her lips. "I'm Jade Harley, by the way." You stare at her hand blankly. You weren't really one for conventional meet and greets, and you weren't really going to change that regardless of the situation. She receives the message after thirty seconds, her hand falling to her side. She eyes you warily once again and you decide that maybe it would've been a better idea to comply. You shrug instead.
"Dave Strider," you tell her coolly. She raises a brow at you, this time.
"To cool for a handshake, I take it?" You give her a tiny smirk.
"Yup, that's me." You return your katana to its home and then place your hands in your pocket. You suddenly remember your prior engagement, glancing back over the forest. It suddenly occurs to you that you should maybe ask her about it. "Hey, have you seen anyone around that kind of looks like me?"
"Huh?" she furrows her brows quizzically.
"I misplaced my twin sister, Rose," you clarify.
"How do you misplace a person?" she asks.
"Well, we were running low on food, so it was her turn to go out. We decided that the city would probably be an ideal place to go, but she hasn't returned in two days now and it's starting to worry me." Her eyes widen in response.
"You sent her to the city? Are you insane?! That's where the mass of them go! For all we know, she could've . . . " She stops when she thinks she's being insensitive. "I'm so sorry, I'm not trying to be crass or anything."
"Nah, it's alright," you reassure her. "It's not like the thought hasn't crossed my mind already. I guess I better go check for her. It was nice meeting you." You perform a two-finger salute to her briefly before turning on heel to return to your previous campsite.
"Wait!" she calls out to you. You hear quickened footsteps slide across earth and turn to find her caught up to you. "Let me go with you. It's better you don't go out alone into the city." You cross your arms and look at her, already hinting at her ulterior motive. She lets out a huff before saying, "Alright, alright, I don't want to be alone anymore, okay? Is that so idiotic to say?" You thin your lips, realizing that you had been a little bit cold to her beforehand. She was just like anyone else surviving in the world now, including you: she had the fear of dying alone. You relax your shoulders, making your person a bit more inviting than before. (A bit.)
"No, it's not idiotic, you're right. You can come." You hear her exhale with relief beside you as the two of you begin walking together, side by side back into the forest. "So, are you called Jade for ironic purposes or is that just your name?"
"I don't get it," she frowns, glancing over at you.
"You know, because your name is Jade and your eyes are also . . . jade?" She lets out a small chuckle and you berate yourself in your head at the stupid pun you allowed to escape your lips.
"Ha ha, no, that's just my name," she answers, her disposition changing to a much warmer, bubblier state. "Do they call you Strider because you like to take long strides?" she rebuts.
"Fair enough," you stick your hands back into your pocket. You return to your former campsite, your miniscule quantity of items still residing in their places. Rose took her backpack with her into the city, so you only had your personal belongings to take care of. You place the box of matches you left sitting out back into the bag along with your tarp and zip it up, slinging it on one shoulder. You do a quick once over of the place before abandoning it. "Alright, let's get ready to hit the motherfucking road."
Jade: follow the strange boy.
Dave Strider was an enigma bound in a veil of mystery. You couldn't quite figure it out. Sometimes he liked to be ice cool, his words stinging your skin like fallen icicles. Other times his words were warm and friendly, like the glow of the sun beating down on your skin. He confused you a lot and you weren't sure how you felt about that.
You pick absentmindedly at the strings on your hand again, switching between counting them and unraveling loose threads. You continue to silently sift through your mind because you have a tug at your gut telling you that the lime string is something of the utmost importance to you.
"What are those things for?" His voice cuts through your train of thought, bringing you back to the realm of reality. You look back up, meeting his gaze through his shades. You're not entirely sure, but you swear you've seen flashes of crimson behind them. It's not really the strangest thing about him, though. His natural vanilla blond hair falls atop his head messily and is coiffed in a perfect style, as if he could wake up looking like that every single day, even during an apocalypse. He has pale-as-snow skin to match, flecked delicately with a cluster of freckles. You feel your stomach do a little somersault and you cease thinking about it immediately.
"Oh, well, they're sort of . . . reminders, I guess. Of things I don't want to forget. Which reminds me, hold still." You grab him by the arm to halt him and then unravel a loose string hanging from his shirt.
"Hey, what the hell do you think you're--" You stop him from further conversation by holding up your hand. He thins his lips then huffs a breath out through his nose, much like a bull might. You then look down at your left pinky and tie the red string around it tightly, making sure that it won't slip off. You almost swear you see a brush of pink trickle upon his face out of the corner of your eye when he realizes it, but you blame your imagination for getting the best of you. Cool kids like him would never admit to anything like that, let alone become subject to something like that. It was ridiculous to let the thought even cross your mind.
"There." You hold up your hands in front of him to showcase them all. He studies them for a brief second, before pointing to the one on your thumb.
"What's that one for?" You stare at it again, twisting your mouth to the side.
"I can't figure it out for the life of me. It's driving me barking mad--" You gasp when sudden epiphanization comes into your head. "I remember now!" You turn around to face the edge of the forest in the distance, and, touching your index finger and thumb together in an 'o' shape, you place it between your lips and blow. The whistle rings off into the distance and suddenly a hand is being cupped desperately around your face, holding you back.
"What the fuck do you think you're doing?! Do you want to get us killed?!" Dave says in a harsh whisper. You retract his hand from your face and point forward, showing him your reason. You see him instinctively reach for his sword, but you push his hand gently down with yours, shaking your head no. A big white mass of fur approaches you, and you settle on your knees to greet it.
"Bec! I thought I had lost you! I'm so sorry, buddy," you greet him warmly, pressing your face into his fur. The dog is gigantic in proportion, physicality equal to that of a wolf. His fur is snowy white and billowy, however, much like an arctic fox.
"This fucking devilbeast is your pet?!" Dave exclaims. You look back at him, unamused.
"He's not a devilbeast, he's a dog. And yes, he is my pet. I thought I had lost him," you add. You hug him tighter against yourself, feeling the twinge of distress disappear from your body almost completely. He's the most comfort you've had in the last few weeks, one of the only things you have left to hold onto from your old life.
"Nice doggie," Dave reaches his hand out to pet Bec, but Bec snarls in return, snapping at him. "What the hell?!" You tug on Bec's collar.
"No! Bad Bec! Dave's a cool guy, you don't have to worry," you reassure him. He seems to understand you, ceasing the angry growling that had been bellowing from his belly, but still remains on guard for you. He's always been the best guard dog you could ever have. Dave pets him gently, making stiff, slow movements as he does so.
"So what does Bec stand for, anyhow?" he asks.
"Becquerel. It was a name my grandfather picked out, to be honest. Bec is just easier to say," you explain.
"Yeah, it's a hell of a long name, that's for sure," he comments, refraining anymore contact with Bec in order to return his hands to his pockets. "We'd better get going. It's going to be a long walk from here." You look up at the sky, spotting the position of the sun, realizing he's right. Within a few hours it's going to be dark and you'll have to stop to camp out in order to avoid any surprise zombie attacks. It's best to get plenty of footing while you can. You follow alongside Dave, with Bec dutifully trailing behind you.
Rose Lalonde: Seek shelter.
Normally, you wouldn't condone scattering down dark alleyways in order to get places, but it seems like your only option right now. It helps that the Flesh only like to be out in open areas, where the light touches the ground. No matter how inhuman they've become, even they need to see still. You rest yourself against the damp brick wall in front of you, pulling your water bottle out to hydrate yourself. You only take two, small sips, rationing it out accordingly. You're already running low and it certainly doesn't help that you're rushing about so much. You place the water bottle back into your backpack and sling it on your right shoulder, wiping a bead of sweat from your forehead afterward. You sigh.
Your mind wanders to Dave once again, a thought that crops up almost every hour. You'd like to hope that he's worried about you being gone so long that he's come to find you, but at the same time you hope he doesn't care one bit. If you get taken down, he'd only fall with you. You wouldn't wish that on him, not for one moment. You also hope that he doesn't think it's his fault. He couldn't have possibly known that the city was a dangerous place to be. And you were the one who volunteered herself to go get supplies for the two of you. If anyone should be beating themselves up, it should be you. And wouldn't you know it, that wish has already been fulfilled. The world can once again be happy knowing that it still can claim Rose Lalonde as a victim to its complete and utter bullshit. Hooray for Mother Earth.
You get yourself up off of the wall and get ready to find a way to climb up. You're lucky this time, with a ladder hovering only a few feet above your head. You jump to grab it, pulling the metal down as far as it can reach. You carefully climb the rungs, making sure to make as little sound as possible on the way up. You still manage to create a few barely noticeable chinks on the way up, but nothing from the epicenter takes notice.
When you get to the top you notice that the ladder all the way up is non-existent, as if someone took it out on purpose. You stand, facing a glass door leading into a seemingly empty home. You jiggle the handle, only to find it bolted shut. You reach into your backpack and find your tool kit, finding a flathead screwdriver and an unraveled paperclip, slipping the paperclip into the lock like you've practiced so many times before. You guide the paperclip through with the flathead, moving it through each notch with precision. A satisfying click signals that you're in. You remove the paperclip and place the screwdriver and paperclip back into your tool kit and into the bookbag, slipping soundlessly inside the house.
The place is seemingly left untouched, not having been ransacked by any people before it. You check the front door to find it locked tight. No single person has been in and out of this house yet. You exhale a long breath of relief, plopping down on the couch and sinking into cushions, feeling relief for the first time in three days. You dare to close your eyes, just for a minute, only for a minute . . .
"Who the heck are you?!" You gasp and scramble to your feet, your switchblade out within a matter of seconds. "Whoa, there, I'm friendly! I promise!" Your eyes scan over the boy in front of you, clad in a matching set of azure pajamas. His hair is a dark, chaotic array on the top of his head, and his smile equally goofy with protruding buck teeth. His cyan eyes are hidden behind a pair of rectangular spectacles that hang on the bridge of his nose. He's awfully lanky and you can only guess him to be right around your age, about sixteen or seventeen. You close the switchblade and put it back into your pocket.
"I'm sorry, I thought this apartment was abandoned," you say sheepishly, questioning to yourself why you'd need to even ponder breaking and entering admidst an apocalypse.
"It's okay, I understand. How'd you get in, anyway?" he raises his brows. You point to the glass door.
"I ascended up the ladder and picked the lock," you shrug. He runs his fingers through his hair, looking at the ground as if contemplating something.
"Wow, that's pretty . . . nifty of you," he manages. He then turns to go to the glass door, opening it and stepping outside for a moment. You hear a distant clank and then he returns, sliding the glass door back into place and latching it. He pulls the curtains closed and then appears in front of you again. "Sorry, I had to bring the ladder back up. I don't think they could manage to climb up ladders, but you never know . . . "
"So have you just been living here then?" you ask him.
"Uh, yeah. Ever since it all started happening, I just stocked up stuff and shut myself in here," he tells you.
"It's just you here?" His gaze finds the floor once again, this time a wistful look manifesting in those mellow, cyan eyes.
"It was me, my sister, and my parents, but they--" You hold up your hand to halt him from proceeding any further.
"Say no more. I know exactly how you feel. I'm lucky that I still have my twin brother, however," you say.
"Where is he, then? I wouldn't suppose you would separate yourself from him willingly?" He takes a seat on the couch, patting beside him for you to sit down. You place yourself in it more gracefully this time, resting your hands on your lap.
"I came into the city to get supplies for us three days ago. We didn't know it would be so . . . "
"Crowded?" he answers.
"Infested would be a better term for words," you finish. "I've been shelter-hopping for the last three days trying to find at least something to bring back, but everytime I've stopped there's only been enough to supply myself for one day." He twists his mouth to the side.
"Oh, I'm sure I could provide you with a little something," he offers. Your face lights up immediately.
"Really? I would be so grateful." He holds his hand up.
"It's not a problem, really. I've got plenty around here, trust me." You let out a yawn at that moment, realizing that sleep is finally catching up to you, tugging on your sleeve as if it were a toddler asking its mother for food. The boy rises and you follow suit, slinging your backpack over your shoulder. He turns to you, extending his hand. "By the way, I'm John Egbert. I don't think I caught your name before, Miss . . . ?" You shake his hand firmly.
"Lalonde. Rose Lalonde," you introduce yourself politely.
"Well, Rose, if you want to, I can let you stay here for the night. I've got a few rooms to spare, that's for sure," he says lightheartedly, but you still feel the fresh sting of the words in his voice.
"If it's not too much trouble at all," you smile softly.
"Oh, it's no trouble at all! I'll show you the way." He leads you into a hall to the side, four doors apparent to your view. He shows you to the one marked, 'Jane', across it. "Here, you can sleep in this one. Help yourself to any clothes or shoes you might need. I think the stuff would probably fit you, if not a couple of t-shirts."
You feel guilty sleeping in his late sister's room, but he waves goodnight to you, and a yawn creeps its way into your system once again, gently pushing you to sleep. You enter the room and make your way to the bed, not even bothering to change clothes or to crawl underneath the sheets, shutting your eyes and smiling, finally getting your first real sleep in weeks.
Rose: Be the cool kid.
"Remind me again how you just know how to make a fire without matches?" You study Jade carefully as she tends the fire, poking at it with a stick.
"Uh, well, I was in girl scouts for a really long, long time . . . " You can see her cheeks rising red with embarrassment as she continues eye contact with the fire in front of her. As soon as the sky had shown signs of getting darker, the two of you (along with the devilbeast) stopped in the forest for the night, finding a secluded area to set up camp.
"No, I think it's cool. I mean, hell, I have to carry around a box of matches in order to light a fire. As soon as they're out, I'm fucked," you reassure her. Her green eyes light up, finally catching your gaze.
"You really think it's cool?" You offer her a small nod of the head and she claps her hands excitedly for a moment, bouncing up and down with joy. "I can show you how to make a fire, if you want," she adds.
"Yeah, that'd be pretty sweet." She sends you a goofy, buck-toothed smile, as if she was suspecting that you might decline her offer from before. She returns to the fire for a moment, prodding it with the stick once again before rising up from the ground, grabbing her rifle and bag, and taking a seat next to you.
"Alright, what sort of food do you have? It's dinner time and I'd like to see our varitable amount of options," she says, unzipping her bag in front of her.
"I only have a can of corn left over, if that counts for an option," you tell her, reaching into your bag to show her the lone can of yellow corn.
"It's an option, don't worry," she grins, dimples peeking out at the sides of her mouth. She digs out all the food she can find: three cans of green beans, two large bottles of water, half of a bag of white bread, a few assorted fruits, and a box of apple juice.
"Holy motherfucking shit, you have apple juice?!" your eyes widen behind your shades.
"Yeah, it's my last box, though." She peers up at you, raising her brow when she notices the sincerness blatant upon your face. "Take it, it's yours," she hands you to you, corners of her mouth tugging upward.
"No, man, that's like--"
"Dave, just take the juice box. Really, it's no trouble." You take it from her hand gingerly, feeling the weight of the box in your hand. To you, now, apple juice is a luxury item. Most food was, now, but apple juice took the cake for being at the top of your list. You can't remember the last time you had some, and you even contemplate placing it in your bag to save it for a later time. You refrain from doing so, however, and just remove the straw from its plastic binding instead, sticking it in the box. You take a sip from it and feel the cool liquid slide down the back of your throat with ultimate satisfaction. You ponder for a moment before thrusting the box over towards Jade.
"Do you want a sip?" The words tumble out of your mouth a little bit fast but she beams regardless, retrieving the box from your hand and stealing a small swig of the saccharine, yellow substance.
"Refreshing," she nods, handing it back to you. Her fingertips brush against your hand briefly, cool and callous to the touch. It sends a tiny shiver down your back, but you repress it, inhaling the rest of the juice by yourself. You glance over at Jade when you're done and see her divvying up the bag of bread. She retracts four pieces from the bag and rests them on her knee, tossing the rest in the plastic bag over to you.
"We need to eat this stuff before it goes." You watch as she tosses a couple of pieces over to her dog and he snaps at them, swallowing them within seconds. She saves the rest for herself, only nibbling at the bread as if to savor it. You remove a slice from the bag and devour it within seconds, much like the dog, realizing that you were hungrier than you thought. The other three pieces disappear in about the same amount of time, and while your stomach grumbles and begs for more, you tell it no, a technique you've become all too familiar with.
You hear Jade yawn beside you and you pull the tarp out of your bookbag and toss it at her. She gives you a puzzled look, and you hold up your hand. "It's to sleep on. I know it's not the most comfortable thing in the world, but it'll do its job," you explain. "Rose and I usually sleep in shifts, so I'll take the first one and you can take the second one, if that's alright." She nods and stands up, unfolding the tarp in order to place it on the ground. She gently nudges you with her hand, telling you to move out of the way. You do so, watching as she spreads it on the ground. She sits on top of it and then whistles softly, beckoning her dog to her side. He sits at the head of the tarp and you speculate that he must be used to her using him as a pillow to sleep on. She lays her head into his billowy fur and then looks over at you, patting the open spot next to her.
"Sit here." It isn't so much of a suggestion than an order, but you oblige, taking a seat right next to her, crossing your legs when you sit down. She takes her glasses off and sets them beside her carefully before nestling herself comfortably into the makeshift bed and closing her eyes shut. You stare at the fire in silence, alone with nothing but your thoughts. You jolt up when you feel something cool slide beneath your hand but notice a moment later that it's only Jade's hand. You allow her to intertwine her fingers with yours, realizing that she's only doing so for comfort. Your brain also entertains the thought that Rose would have a heyday if she saw you right now, but you ignore it. You're absolutely calm right now.
It doesn't bother you. Nope. Not at all. Not even a bit.
Your mind nags at you again with the thought of Rose, and you can only feel the wave of worry tug at your gut. You're almost certain you would know if something had happened to her, perhaps a snag at your possible twin telepathic connection as if a phone wire had been cut and only the sounds of a dial tone could be heard. Part of you thinks that's not true and that there's a strong possibility you might not ever see her again, that you'll have no way of knowing whether she's alive or dead.
You kick yourself mentally for letting her go alone. You should've known that the city would be chockablock with the turned. You should have known that separating from each other was a bad idea. Most importantly, it should've been you.
It should've been me.
You sigh and stare upward at the clear night sky, thinking to yourself that it's going to be a long night.