Chapter Text
"Stay inside to stay alive. This is not a drill. Stay inside to stay alive." The ominous message echoed from the small TV nestled in the corner of Emma's modest living room.
How it all escalated to this point remained a chaotic haze for Emma. The past few hours all seemed to merge into one gigantic mess and Emma's tony apartment had unexpectedly turned into a refuge for a group of people that she barely knew - some she'd never even laid eyes on before. The shouting, screams and distant gun shots seemed to echo through her brain like some sort of sadistic playlist on repeat, and Emma found herself whilst sat pressed against the cool, paint covered bricks, spectating the heated arguments unfolding among the group.
"Are you crazy? Have you seen what's out there?" Shane cried, a tall, athletic man with brown permed hair. He was the one who had practically yanked Emma out of her yellow bug when those... things were closing in on her.
"My family is out there! And you can't stop me,"Mary Margaret asserted. The short-haired woman had been sobbing and flailing her arms around since she stepped foot into the apartment. Normally, Emma would have felt sorry for her, but she couldn't shake the numbness that settled over her.
Shane surrendered, holding his hands up while stepping away from the white-stained door. "You'll regret it, you crazy bitch," he muttered defiantly.
"Mary Margaret, wait," Andrea, who appeared to be in the same age group as Emma, and one of the last to step foot in the apartment, pleaded with a large kitchen knife held in the palm of her hand. "At least take this with you."
Emma observed numbly as Mary Margaret nodded through tears and accepted the gesture with a small thanks. Shane cracked the door open slowly, and the woman slipped through the small space between the door. The noise had quieted significantly as everyone watched on in sheer terror.
The faint sound of hushed words of reassurance from the other side of the room was the only thing that pulled Emma from her state of paralysis. When she turned her head towards the sound, she witnessed the brunette woman continuing to speak.
"Mommy, I don't want to go back out there," the small child whimpered in his mother's arms. She had one stroking his hair, the other wrapped tightly around her small son.
"We're not, not if we don't have to, darling," reassured the brunette woman, whose name she hadn't quite caught.
She wore a black and white pantsuit, the expensive kind, which was now blood stained and crinkled. She was no longer wearing her heels that she had stumbled in with. Her shoulder-length dark brown hair, almost black, framed a face with reddish-pink blotchy lipstick, as if it had been licked and bitten off through pure anxiety.
She watched as her eyes slowly made contact with hers. Emma realised how bloodshot her eyes appeared, and Emma knew all to well why. The blonde offered her a small, understanding smile that didn't quite reach the eyes and, for some unknown reason, found herself scooting towards the pair.
"Hi."
She observed as the young boy, who couldn't have been more than five or six years old, remained tight against his mother. He lifted his head curiously before hesitantly holding out his hand.
"My names Henry," he stated, his eyes wide and fixated on the tiny hand held out in front of him. Emma felt her eyebrows raise in surprise, taking his hand in hers, and her gaze flickered towards his mother, who had the tiniest of smirk on her face, though her eyes looked full of sorrow.
"Wow, kid, you have better social skills than me,"she attempted to joke, adding, "I'm Emma."
"Regina Mills," the mother stated in a cigarette-velvety voice, a tone that screamed power and authority. She looked like the kind of woman that Emma had spent her whole life avoiding - the one that would come knocking on her door holding an expensive briefcase, demanding rent money she didn't my have. Her hand was held outright, just like her son's moments ago, and this time, Emma didn't hesitate to cooperate.
She licked her lips and nodded, "I see where Henry gets his manners from." She added, "And it's Swan, Emma Swan."
The sound of Shane's heavy footsteps across the wooden flooring was heard, along with Andrea's softer ones following closely behind.
"We need a plan," announced Shane, standing with his arms crossed against his chest and a determined look on his face. She immediately switched the TV onto mute.
"A plan for what?" Andrea asked, now seated on the two seater couch Emma had brought two years ago when she had first moved into the apartment. It was a second-hand find from Facebook, showing a few visible brown stains across the beige material, but it had been a choice between that or nothing.
"How to survive this thing! I'm not waiting around for those creatures to break in here and eat us alive," Shane exclaimed.
"Maybe if you don't want those 'things' coming in here, maybe you should stop shouting, yes?" Regina snarked, her eyes narrowed and eyebrow raised. It was oddly fascinating how this woman could wield so much authority while holding a small child in her arms.
"Listen, you stuck up bitch-"
"Hey!" Emma interrupted, straightening up from the floor and standing between the arguing couple. "No amount of arguing is going to solve this," she stated firmly, "And she's right, if we want to survive this, we need to learn to be quiet."
"So, rule number one: make the least amount of noise as possible." Andrea added.
Emma nodded, glancing at each individual in the room—from the working-class blonde to the slightly scruffy, bodybuilder male, to the small child scared in his mother's arms and his mother, who was practically defined success. Finally, she took in the cheap, shabby-looking apartment that was somehow her home and realised that they were all extremely different with very different views.
"Here's what we do," Emma declared, feeling a surge of determination. Suddenly, all eyes were on her, and for some reason, one particular pair of dark brown eyes felt the most unnerving.
"Let's all say how we would like to go about this. Then, we'll choose what we all agree on and compromise for the rest. We're a team now, whether we like it or not. We have to agree on a plan, or none of us will survive."
She didn't know what she expected—maybe a scoff or for Shane calling her some kind of a bitch. Instead, the group nodded their heads in agreement.
"What's your plan, Shane?" Andrea asked.
"I think we need weapons. Guns, knives, anything to prepare us for what's out there. We can't hide behind these walls forever."
Nodding in agreement, Emma silently walked towards the kitchen and reached the top drawer, pulling out all of the knives that she had available. She regretted buying the cheap, blunt kind and hesitated to display them to the group. Embarrassed by the array of four kitchen knives she had managed to dig out, Emma handed one to each group member.
Regina, examining the knife with a raised eyebrow, remarked, "Well, it's not exactly Excalibur, but it'll do."
"It's not much I know, but it's better than nothing." Emma shrugged.
"What about food? How much are we working with?" Andrea questioned.
"Uh," she scratched her neck, feeling the heat prickling at the back of her neck in embarrassment. The truth was, food was a luxury most weeks. Her priority was keeping a roof over her head, and with a stack full of credit card debts to pay off and the overpriced rent, there wasn't much left for food.
"Jesus Christ." She heard Shane growl out, and she raised her head to watch him shaking his head in exasperation.
"Yeah, I guess I would have stocked up if I knew a zombie apocalypse was going to happen, huh?" Emma attempted to joke.
"And how much do you have exactly, Miss Swan?" came the sharp and authoritative voice from across the room. Dark eyes zeroed in on Emma's, eyebrows knitted together as she waited for a response. The silence in the room was deafening, and she almost wondered whether the rest of the group could hear her heart beat as loudly as she could.
"For fuck sake." Shane growled. Before any of group could blink, he strode towards the kitchen, and began yanking open every cupboard door and drawer, occasionally pulling out the odd bag or can of food he could find.
"Shane, stop, you can't just do that." Andrea reasoned.
Emma found herself stuck in what she could only call a trance. A part of her, the New York City upbringing, wanted to storm out there and demand he stop. However, the orphan in her, the girl who spent all of her life fending for herself, who spent the little money she had on a can of cheap beans for lunch, couldn't bring herself to utter a word.
The burning sensation on her cheeks became more noticeable as Shane silently displayed the half loaf of bread, an unopened bag of chips, and two cans of beans in his hand, as the rest of the room watched in disbelief.
She couldn't bring herself to make eye contact with the group. There was an enormous urge to storm out the front door and run, her usual response when things got too tough. But, the sound of the distant moans of the...things made Emma reconsider that decision. The silence was deafening, and the embarrassment of having not more than four items of food in her entire apartment made her wish the floor would open up and swallow her whole.
Pushing herself up from the floor, Emma headed towards the loft. "I'm going to keep watch in case Mary Margaret comes back." With that, she left the stunned silence behind.
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Emma wasn't quite sure how long it had been since she escaped upstairs, or how long she had been staring at the soulless bodies walking back and forth a few yards from the apartment. For some reason, she found herself quite memorised by it, no matter how terrifying it all was. It was crazy to her - how she had been on her way to work like any other Sunday morning and yet found herself here just a few hours later.
The sound of slow footsteps and creaking floorboards approaching the top of the stairs pulled Emma out of her thoughts. She shifted on her bed to watch as Andrea stepped foot inside the tiny bedroom.
"Hey, I thought you could use something to eat," Andrea offered, holding out a can of beans.
Leaning against the doorway, Andrea held he opened can in her right hand, wearing an expression that almost looked like sympathy. Emma stayed silent, observing as the short-haired blonde woman walked closer, stood by the window Emma had been looking out of moments ago, and thrust the can in front of her.
"Here."
Taking the can from her, the room fell back into silence. Both women watched the world through the plastic blinds, Emma occasionally taking a spoonful of beans. The sound of talking downstairs was faint in the background above the moans and groans of the zombies outside. She made a mental note to eat only half of what remained so the rest could be saved for the young boy tomorrow.
"Shane wants to go searching for some more food tomorrow," Andrea spoke, her voice calm but strong as she continued gazing out the window.
Emma nodded in response and looked at the blonde. She reflected on how they had met just a few hours ago - how Andrea had came sprinting towards her apartment just as they were about to slam the door closed. She remembered the screams, telling them to wait, even though Shane at the time was reluctant to.
"You don't have to feel bad, you know," the blonde spoke again, breaking Emma out of her thoughts. She turned herself towards where Emma was sitting, giving her a reassuring smile. "You providing us with safe shelter is enough. Don't feel bad for not having enough food to go around."
Her hand briefly rested on Emma's forearm before she took one last glance out the window and turned towards the stairs.
"Wait," Emma said, standing to follow Andrea. The blonde turned with a inquisitive look, and Emma shrugged, "We still need to come up with a plan, right?"
Andrea nodded appreciatively, "Yeah, you're right. Let's gather the others and figure this out together."
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"So food - what's the plan?" Emma asked the group. The tension in the room had been slightly awkward for a short period of time, but it seemed to diminish the more time passed.
"There's a store a couple of streets down. We could try there," Shane answered, leaning against the wall closest to the window, keeping a lookout.
Regina scoffed from the other side of the room, "You won't get far with those blunt knives."
"Or we could try going from house to house. Less zombies, and there's bound to be food to take," Andrea suggested.
Emma remembered the sirens, the news announcements that was broadcasted on every radio and TV channel, demanding people to pack their bags and head towards Washington. They had said something about a rescue camp, about how you would be protected by the military. It wasn't long before families were rushing towards their cars with suitcases in hand.
"Good shout. We'll start tomorrow at dawn," Emma stated, nodding towards Andrea. She decided that she seemed like someone she could get along with, someone she could trust if needed.
"What about everything else? The negotiating part - what we spoke about before you threw your hissy fit," Shane gruffed. Emma almost resisted the urge to roll her eyes, but found herself doing it anyway.
"What do you suggest we do, exactly?" Came the silky but gravel-like voice before she could respond.
"Well," He cleared his throat, and appeared momentarily flustered by the question. It almost went unnoticed, but Emma detected the slight change of colour in his ears and how he rubbed his palms together in an attempt to get his act together. He reminded her all too well of the suspects she was used to dealing with. "We need protection. This apartment is good - for now, but we're going to need walls. The camp they spoke about on the radio earlier - maybe that would be our best bet."
Andrea chimed in, "He's got a point. If there's a military camp, it could be the safest place for us."
"How do we even know this rescue camp is around? It could be overrun by zombies by now,"Emma pointed out.
The small, high-pitched and timid voice tore everyone's attention away from Shane, "What do you think we should do, Emma?"
"Yes, Miss Swan, what do you think?" His mother questioned, with one of those perfectly plucked eyebrows raised.
"I, uh - well, here's the thing," Emma started, standing in the center of the room, arms crossed over her torso as she quickly scanned the room in thought. "Shane's right - we need walls. Safety won't come overnight - hell, I don't even know if it's something we'll ever have again."
Regina folded her arms, "So, what's your plan, then?"
Emma walked over to the window, peaking through the blinds, scanning the darkened street. She could make out the outline of cars.
"That camp - even if it was safe, that's at least an eleven-hour drive away. I don't think we can risk travelling so far with limited supplies with those things out there. We can try and make what we have safe."
She glanced out of the window again, pointing towards the abandoned and scattered cars across the road, "Those cars - we could move a few of them to block the street. It won't stop the zombies, but it'll slow them down."
"We can try the cars tomorrow when we're out on our run," Shane stated, nodding in agreement.
"I know of a place where we can get more weapons, too," Emma blurted.
The group's piercing eyes focused on her, and she couldn't help the pink-coloured tinge spreading over that her cheeks. She had never been fond of public speaking. "There's a sheriffs station that I used work for—it's a few miles away from here. If we can get there before anyone else, we could probably grab a few guns and plenty of ammo."
"I never would have pictured you as a cop, Swan." voiced Shane.
Emma shrugged, "Something like that."
Regina, ever observant, added, "Well, it sounds like a viable option. Let's include it in our plan for tomorrow."
"Okay, so we'll try the cars tomorrow and make our way up there. What about who keeps watch?" Andrea asked, "We should make sure we keep an eye on what's outside just incase."
"Incase of what?" Shane sneered, "You think the Z's are going to somehow plot a plan to find their way into this house?"
The blonde rolled her eyes, "No dumbass, but the living might."
"She's right - we should always have someone keeping watch. We can all take turns doing the night shift."
Emma watched as Andrea nodded, "Is there anything else we should discuss?"
The room fell quiet, and Emma thought about all of the possible things that should be addressed, but as she took in each and every one of the group's tired facial expressions, she decided it could wait. "No, not right now. We can go over the plan tomorrow morning."
Emma observed as Shane nodded to himself, wandering over to the front window and taking a seat. Her eyes then shifted over towards Regina, who already had her steady gaze fixed on the blonde. It made her uneasy—the way Regina's eyes often lingered on her at times she least expected it.
"Hey." Andrea's light voice came from her left.
She watched as the brunette's dark eyes flickered over to the blonde momentarily, then looked away when Henry caught her attention. "I'm gonna keep watch with Shane. I'll catch you in the morning,"Andrea informed.
She nodded with a tight smile and decided to set up camp in the living room, the sound of Regina's voice in the other room trailing slightly behind as she spoke to her son. "It's time for bed, sweetheart."
It surprised Emma—how the same woman with the most authoritative and piercing voice that demanded so much respect could be so soft.
"Emma!" The tiny boy called, the patter of his small footsteps following closely behind. She turned, catching sight of Henry walking quickly towards her, and his mother just behind him, her forehead creased in confusion. The scared five-year-old she had met earlier seemed to have transformed into a more assured little boy.
"Hey, Kid."
"I thought of somethin', and I wanted to see if you think it's a good idea," He stated.
"Sure," Emma replied, glancing up at his mother, who only gave a little shake of the head in response, "Go ahead, kiddo."
"You know the monsters out there?" He asked, and then added, "I think we should call them walkers. You know, 'cause they walk..." His forehead was crinkled in a way that resembled Regina perfectly, and Emma had to fight the grin that was threatening to take over my face.
"I think that's a great name, Henry. I'll use that from now on," Emma replied, ruffling his hair and glancing up at his mother, who seemed to be fighting her own kind of smile herself.
"Come on, Henry. It's way past your bed time. Regina looked at Emma with a brief nod, acknowledging the simple exchange between Henry and Emma, and led him away with a gentle hand on his shoulder.
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The house had slowly succumbed to an increasing quietness as weariness overwhelmed everyone. The once lively chatter between Andrea and Shane had nearly faded into silence, and the ticking of the thrift shop clock, nailed to the wall, echoed louder than ever before. Evenings had always proven challenging for her to unwind, so it came as no surprise when she found herself awake, staring at the ceiling, spiralling into a bout of insomnia and overthinking.
She found herself reflecting back on the initial nights she had spent alone in this apartment, and how strange it had felt to sleep alone. It had been a challenge that Emma never could solve, considering she had spent a life time surrounded by strangers. If she closed her eyes real tight, she could almost transport herself back, imagining the presence of foster children—the firm mattress, the pervasive uncertainty, the gnawing hunger—all hauntingly familiar to how Emma felt right now.
Movement coming from the other side of the snapped Emma out of her daydream. As Emma turned her head towards the two brunettes, She observed Regina stirring after the boy had fidgeted next to her, likely nudging her with an elbow or knee. Despite the almost pitch-black room, the lingering candlelight revealed just half of Regina's face. Emma couldn't help but watch as she extended her neck and grimaced in discomfort.
Emma almost felt sympathy for them, and wondered how it must feel to transition from an obviously privileged background with a comfortable, expensive bed and presumably with fresh cotton sheets at night to sleeping on the hard floor of a stranger's home, barely covered by a small sheet.
Initially, it had seemed like a good idea as she lay awake, observing the pair with sympathy. She only began to question her wisdom of her actions after manoeuvring she small double mattress from the bed and down the stairs. Placing the mattress next to them; she hesitated, and almost contemplated taking it back upstairs. But, as the older brunette began to stir and open her eyes, Emma froze.
Mildly awkwardly, she watched as Regina took note of the mattress; slowly meeting her gaze with tired eyes.
"What the hell are you doing?" Regina deadpanned, her voice slightly croaky from sleep. Sitting up, she rested her weight on her elbows, scrutinising the mattress.
"I, uh, thought you two could use a mattress," Emma explained, pointing at the mattress and taking a couple of steps backward.
"Oh." The expression on Regina's face evolved into a much softer one, resembling the one she often used with her son. "Thank you."