Work Text:
July, 2012
By the time they get to Florida, both of them have the shadow on their face of not getting enough sleep, not quite eating properly, and not stopping long enough for a good shave. Adam's is reddish gold, something that Tommy made fun of all of once, scruffing a palm against it. The last six hundred miles had taken longer than either of them had planned, coming into major traffic jams, more than a few hordes of unpeople, and a night spent in a huge garage while both of them affixed security mesh around the bottom of the RV.
"Holy shit. Ratliff, Florida?!" Tommy just about chokes himself out on the seat belt before laughing. "Are you shitting me! We have to stop here."
"Look it up on the atlas," Adam says as he takes the exit for Nassau County/Ratliff. "How big is it?" Can they stop there? Can they stay there? They're in the south, in Florida and they have seen hints of what might be orange trees, definitely palm trees.
Palm trees. Adam hadn't realized how much he'd missed them. The small of his back aches and he's edgy, he knows it. There's a pause before he does anything except fire a gun these days; he's careful. More careful. "Away from freeways?"
Tommy's reading about Nassau County/Ratliff, and then then lets Adam know what he's found. "Population as of the 2000 Census was - get this - 4,667. Away from major tourist destinations... no major freeways..." His smile is crooked and disbelieving when he looks up. "This might be okay. It might, seriously, honestly be okay." Come on, really? It has Tommy's name on it. "Let's hit the outskirts and see how messy it is."
As if Adam would be able to say no to that smile, anyway. But the statistics sound about right. They're off the freeway and onto a county highway headed east and he turns off the air conditioning and rolls down his window to smell the air. Perhaps, he thought it would smell like the ocean, but that's stupid, they're too far inland. "Figures you would want to live in a place that has your name," he teases, smiling a little. "In case you get lost." Which is a dumb joke. Tommy won't get lost; Adam won't let him.
It takes nearly an hour to get into Ratliff, but it feels like a small town. There are some cars left in the roads, but not entirely blocking anything. They only go about ten miles an hour, looking around at smashed store windows, weeds growing up through cracks in the pavement.
The other thing is, it's curiously quiet. Tommy's got his window down as well. Curiously quiet? Maybe ominously. They don't know what's behind those broken windows, and from the looks of the sidewalks and roads, it looks like nobody like them has come through any time recently. A hand sits on his hip, just above where one of his guns sits. "I say we go to the other side of town and find a spot there that's secluded. That way we've got somewhere safe to be. Then..." Just like their first few frantic days of the outbreak, "...we find a truck or something. And start seeing what's going on, here." Tommy turns away from the window. "Fuck you for saying I'd get lost. Good luck losing me, Glambert."
Glambert. How long has it been since Tommy called Adam that?
It feels like it's been ages. And Glambert doesn't really fit anymore. Adam hasn't done more beyond coloring his hair in years; he's far from glamorous. Though, he supposes surviving can be considered extraordinary. But not really, it's simple as a concept.
It's just so complex in its execution.
Adam drives through the town, clearly what was a upper-middle class suburb at some point, now ... nothing, just like everything else. On the far east side, things thin out, and on instinct, he chooses a road and turns, looking at houses that look like the one he grew up in.
He keeps going until there's space between them, at least an acre. That's when he stops, turns off the engine, shoulders his rifle and opens the door. "It's so humid here," he notes. "Be careful."
"You know it." Stepping off the RV is a bit like being smacked in the face with a hot, wet towel, and Tommy winces. Come on, this is just ridiculous, he's from California, a little heat shouldn't be that big a deal, right? But California was Before, and a couple of years of working hard in relatively dry summers and killing winters makes this feel strange. "So," Tommy whispers, carefully pull his guns out of their holsters. He likes having two of them, it makes him feel like Wyatt Fuckin' Earp, okay? Even if he hates firing them. "You want a house? A bungalow? One of those fuckin' houses on stilts? 'cause you know they can't climb..." Tommy doesn't think the unpeople can, at least. He hopes they can't. But they're probably way too far inland to have a cool house like that. Jesus Christ, they're here.
Safety off, Adam walks slowly, quietly, looking around, batting the occasional mosquito away from his face. The houses aren't anything like what Tommy's mentioning. They're all just ... houses. Houses like you'd see anywhere.
"One with a view," Adam tells Tommy. Like they had, where they can see around them, where nothing can sneak up on them. A house they can fortify. He finds himself mentally comparing the houses they see to the house in Maysville. They don't need anything big. In fact smaller might be better. He points at one on the end. They can look there.
Tommy hadn't been particularly serious with his list of places to live. There are two things that stands out in his mind as must, though. It has to be with Adam, obviously. And it has to be safe. "We've got enough stuff to get set up. And we can do the same thing we did in Iowa." But now they're smarter, sharper, better aware of what to do when things get really bad. He nods at Adam's suggestion of checking out the last house there, and at least it's not the last house on the left, right? They walk carefully, ears tuned to things that aren't the songs of frogs or the whistle of birds, or the sounds of their own feet on uncleaned pavement. "I'll go in first, just stay right behind me." Tommy can shoot in two different directions at the same time; Adam's just got the rifle. Flexibility and power, and what the fuck, it even sounds like a cheesy slogan inside his own head. He stifles a grin. "Ready, babyboy?"
Adam just nods and walks deliberately and slowly, setting his feet down as quietly as he can, moving, watching, looking for anything and everything.
Nothing. Yet.
When they get to the house, numbered, Adam notices, 537, he goes up to the front porch, peering into the window.
Nothing. Yet.
Tommy safetys the gun in his right hand before checking the doorknob. Locked. Well, no shit, right? This place probably hasn't been touched in probably as long as they'd been in Iowa, with weeds and grass growing up the walkway, between cement pads and porch boards. "Kick it out or shoot it?" Yee-haw! Adam can see the flash of teasing in Tommy's eyes. No, they'll look for a spare key, first, before doing anything as stupid as making a lot of noise. Maysville had a population of 150. Less than 5000 isn't exactly a teeming metropolis, but it's a hell of a lot more unpeople to deal with than in Iowa. "Or we can try a window." He tips his chin at one on one side of the front door before going to the other to test the frame out. His is locked.
Adam's too anxious to even acknowledge any teasing. They are in an unfamiliar place in an unfamiliar situation where everything is a risk. There is too much at stake to take this lightly and his face says that. No blowing windows or doors, nothing to draw attention, any more than the giant RV did. This is their lives. He's touchy enough to want to shout at Tommy to fucking remember that.
Except that he knows Tommy doesn't forget it. Tommy, who will be thirty-three in a few months.
Assuming they live that long.
This is what Adam thinks. He hates himself for thinking that. He points to the back of the house. They'll look there.
Adam's answer is a nod, and in the space it takes between holstering a gun and taking it back out again, Tommy touches Adam's shoulder. It's okay. It's not okay, though, the air's almost electric with tension between them, and stifling with the heat and clogging humidity. They creep around the back of the house, conscious of how their feet sound in the long, wild grass. Still, nothing. They can't be this lucky, they can't. Then Tommy trips over something hiding in that long grass and takes a header. "Body!" he hisses back to Adam, trying not to gag. "Super-dead."
Getting Tommy by the shoulder, Adam yanks him up, checking for himself that the body really is dead. The smell tells him it is, but he still pokes it with his rifle butt to be sure. Then Tommy is tugged tight against him as he looks around; perhaps the dead one is part of a group of others.
Nothing moves. Adam is thinking the same thing Tommy is, though. They can't be this lucky. It doesn't work that way. In front of them, the yard spreads out, dipping down, but he can't see to what, perhaps a field. Or a swamp. Could alligators be infected?
That nearly makes Adam laugh. If they have to worry about undead alligators ... The thought doesn't bear following through on.
They had to the house, up onto the porch and toward the back door. It looks like there used to be a screen door, but the hinges are ripped, twisted. That gets Adam's attention. He lets go of Tommy and points to the windows, turning to face the lawn again; to cover, keep watch.
Tommy turns his back to Adam, keeping an eye out for anything that either caused that dead body, or for other unpeople that might be hanging out just out of sight down that slope. "If it's clean, then we're going to get set up. Right away." While they've got daylight, while they're still feeling sharp with anxiety instead of dull and exhausted with it. "The RV'll pretty much block the one side if we park it right." His voice doesn't raise above a murmur; he knows Adam can hear him. When Tommy was little, his mother always reminded him to watch his outside voice because he was little and loud. Now, quiet is better. Safer. "All clear on this side. Wanna try going in?"
"Quietly," Adam agrees. He's still watching, swinging his view from one side to the other. "Use your Leatherman on the lock." Back in Maysville, the undead had been inside, waiting. What they might've been feeding on here, he doesn't know, but they need to be ready.
Tommy pulls the tool off his belt and crouches down to work on the lock, dismantling it instead of trying to pick it. For all the things he's learned, lockpicking hasn't quite settled itself comfortably into Tommy's brain. Once the deadbolt's dismantled and the knob's taken care of, Tommy lays the parts out so they can be put back together as soon as possible, if this is the place they're going to end up. He'd tell Adam to be careful, to listen, to have his gun ready, but there's no need for that. Adam knows. They both know. "Push the door." And hope it doesn't squeak.
One more look around and Adam faces the door, pressing his fingertips to the peeling paint and pushing, slowly. As it starts to open, he holds it, moving it slowly, providing pressure on the hinges so that if it starts to squeak, he can catch it.
The door opens to the kitchen and breakfast area. Dust motes stir in the air when Adam steps in, otherwise, it's quiet and stuffy as hell. "Back to back," he reminds Tommy and takes another step.
They've been back to back for so long, both of them ready for anything. Nothing so far, and again, Tommy thinks that there's no possible way they could be this lucky, finding a small town with Tommy's name on it, and then not running into anything so far. So far. That's what Tommy has to remember. There's no way they're getting through this easily. That was a lesson they learned fast and hard, and they're still here, as proof. A few steps into the house, Tommy nudges Adam's back with his elbow. "I hear something, shh." It could just be a creaky board, long unused, or it could be an unperson, or worse yet, one of those scary as shit unanimals. The coyotes were the first they'd seen; but there has also been dogs, a couple of foxes, and on one completely terrifying night, wolves. Nothing like bears, thank god, or deer, or anything like that. Maybe because it came from canines, they're the only ones affected. There's the noise again, somewhere to Adam's left, and Tommy nods to go in that direction.
There's that familiar clenching in Adam's stomach and he pulls a breath in through his teeth. Is this the day they die? To have come so far, literally and figuratively, to die like this? As if they never lived? Please, he prays to whoever might be listening. Not today.
Rifle out and cocked, he steps toward what looks to be the living room. There's another noise. What?
At first Adam sees nothing, just dust and furniture that used to be light blue and yellow, a big screen TV in the corner.
There it is again. Soft, almost plaintive. Where the fuck is it? What the fuck is it?!
At the scratching against wood floors, Adam stiffens and aims.
At a cat. A small, orange tabby who looks like he hasn't eaten in a few days. Adam's heart is beating so hard he's a little light-headed.
For a second, Tommy wants to laugh. It's a cat. A poor little thing that looks as scared as they are, and he crouches down to inspect it, look at its eyes, its muzzle, to see if there's any sign of infection in it. "Kitty kitty, c'mere..." A glance up at Adam to ask for cover is unnecessary, but it's a habit Tommy can't break. He's careful when he approaches the animal, not even holding a hand out. Just in case. "You hear anything else?" Now that they've figured out what the source of movement was... where are the owners of this cat? Or the ex-owners, more likely.
The cat creeps over, every inch of its body cautious, and that tells Tommy a lot more than just looking at it. If it were infected, it would have attacked right away. Poor little thing probably needs some cat food like a motherfucker, and probably has fleas or something but- "It looks okay." Tommy moves slowly to scoop it up, and the cat lets out a pathetic sound, backing away. "What should we name it?" It's the first real-alive thing that they've come across in so long, and Tommy can't bear to just let it go.
"Be - " careful. Adam watches the cat, how it reacts, but doesn't trust it. Doesn't trust anything that's not Tommy. "How'd it get in?" He asks, watching closely before looking around. If the cat can get in, something else can, too. Where? How? "We have to keep looking," Adam says. "Come on." There's another hallway. Bedrooms he assumes. He's trying not to crawl out of his skin. "Cover me." He starts down the hall.
Tommy sets the cat down with the promise to come back and follows Adam, both of them on high alert. At least they're not clueless, like they'd been immediately After. Tommy twists a doorknob and pushes the door open, coughing out a sound against the inside of his arm. "Real-dead. Two of 'em." It's a good sign, but it's a strange one, at the same time. There haven't been any unpeople, only the three bodies they've come across so far. And the cat. "Check that one?" With his gun, Tommy motions to another closed door.
The smell clogs Adam's throat for a minute but he keeps moving, turning and pushing the knob of the door, gun at the ready. The window's broken, screen ripped.
Now they know how the cat got in, how anyone got in, or out. Pointing his rifle at the bed, on either side of it, Adam clears the room, ending at the closet. "Clear."
Which leaves two doorways left. One opened, one closed.
The bathroom is clear, the other door is to a linen closet. Something like relief makes Adam's head swim. "We have to fix the window first."
"Then the lock on the door." Tommy's got his Leatherman out again, prying apart a bedside table as best he can to put up against the empty frame. "Man, you're taller than me, gimme a hand here." Why are all the people just... dead? Where are the unpeople? Somehow, the quiet is a hell of a lot more scary than the known, almost as charged as the silvery, silent moment before lightning strikes. "They got good towels in there?" Glancing back to where the linen closet is, almost expecting to see one of them standing there, eyeing them like fucking dinner before running in at them. No, the hall's empty and quiet, and just as dusty as it had been before they'd come in. "You think it's safe? You think this is it?"
"... I don't know." But they don't have time to think about it too much. They have to act. "We'll use the wire mesh from the RV. A table won't cover it." Plus they'd have to pound nails to make it work, and that would be loud. Adrenalin is starting to make his hands shake. "Let me get the toolbox if you're going do this. We'll pull the RV up closer."
The RV, about five hundred feet away.
Five hundred feet is a long fucking way and it's going on two PM. Jesus. "Come with me," Adam says.
With Tommy's nod, they move together, the back of Tommy's head just barely against the back of Adam's shoulder - for a moment, Tommy thinks that when they're chest to back, his head fits in just the right spot on the front of Adam's shoulder, too - their postures ready and tense and sharp. They're so close, it's right here, right in their fingers, and five hundred feet could mean the difference between having everything and having nothing. We are here. "Got one." Tommy winces when he pulls the trigger, and the first unperson they've come in on is little more than a scarecrow, scrawny and slow.
From the ones running in Indianapolis, to this one. Adam doesn't understand, but he doesn't take time to figure it out. When they get to the RV, he unlocks the door, pushing Tommy inside. Then he slides into the driver's seat and starts the engine, throwing it into drive toward the house. He's drawing an arrow and he hates that.
After all this time, Adam thinks, he'd be numb. But if anything, he feels too exposed, too scared. He drives the RV right up against the house, the side where the window is broken. Then the engine's off and he's got the semi strapped to his chest and he's got the toolbox. "Let's go," he says. "We'll get the mesh from the side of this thing and cover the window, then the table." Tonight, they will sleep sitting up. Again.
Tommy might just not sleep at all. Not on the first night that they're here. They'll get the window secured and then sit in the dark, guns ready, listening. Somewhere near three, they'll hear the dull thump of body against RV, the scrape of nails against the mesh they'd fastened up. It holds, and the spaces between the metal are big enough that both of them can shoot through, when they need to.
Whispered, when it's quiet, right against Adam's loose hair, the warm bits that came out of the elastic, "Maybe it's too hot for them here. Maybe that's why they're slow." Maybe they're dying, for real. That's a hope that's too large to consider, though.
Maybe. Adam doesn't stop to consider that either. There are bodies to be dragged out of the house, through the backyard and sent down the slope. Mattresses to drag out of the house, too, anything that has gotten musty with dis- or misuse. It's only at around six that he realizes that the pang in his stomach is because they haven't eaten.
They can't stop though, not when there is more to do. Traps to set, a line of them around the house, things to be brought in from the RV. When Adam's bringing in a box of canned food, he nearly trips over the cat. "Shit," Adam hisses, heart racing. "You scared the fuck out of me," he tells it.
The cat sits, tail twitching, eyes big and green.
Looking over his shoulder, Adam sets down the box, fishes through it and pulls out a can of tuna. He cranks it open and sets it down on the floor. The cat waits until he steps back before it investigates and starts to eat.
For a moment, Adam just watches it, then he goes back to work.
After they make some kind of really disgusting soup that feels better in Tommy's stomach than it did on his tongue, he scruffs a hand through sweaty hair and leans back against the wall. "How're you feeling?" Adam's looking more than a little sunburned between the freckles, and they've both been busting their asses to get this place ready. "I can get vinegar out from... somewhere." He waves a hand at all the half-unpacked things. It's a trick his Aunt Gracie had told him about: a bad sunburn can be eased back with a vinegar rub. No lie. And it works.
"I'm fine." Aside from jumping at every sound. Adam's skin feels tight, for sure, but he can wait. They can wait. It will be dark soon and they haven't brought in the mattress from the RV yet. He's hesitant to do that, though, because that means they're really here. That they're really staying. For a moment, though, Adam walks up to where Tommy is, cups the back of his head and presses their foreheads together. It's too soon to say that they're okay. Besides, he doesn't believe it. He can't. "Let's go."
Back on the RV, Tommy looks around to see what else they can get in, fairly quickly. His guitars are still in here, but they aren't necessary. There's a pang of loss at not feeling particularly guilty for leaving them in here for the time being. He's not that person anymore, where life revolved around music. Now music is something precious, because it isn't essential. He looks toward the bedroom, then back to Adam. "Well?" The house is set up as best they can in short order, but this is their bed, and it is essential.
Adam doesn't move, looking back at Tommy. For some reason, he thinks of his mom; he hasn't thought of her in months, not really. But he sees her, clear as day, standing in front of him, her hands on his shoulders in his bedroom back on San Diego when he was little. Honey, she'd said, sometimes when things seem really hard, we just have to believe. Can you do that? In a flash of a moment, Adam's eyes feel hot and tight and he has to swallow hard. And he nods to Tommy. "Quickly."
Tommy cocks his head to the side a little bit, crossing the distance between them in only a few steps. "Hey." His brows come together, hands dropping to take Adam's, squeezing his fingers. "We can do this." A kiss is touched to Adam's mouth before Tommy's forehead touches Adam's collarbone. The mattress is pulled into the house without even a frame for it, because there are already frames here. But their bed is exactly that, no matter if it's in Maysville, or in the RV for every stop on the way here, or right here in this house.
Behind them in the hallway, there's a meow.
When Adam looks in the doorway of the bedroom, the cat sits there, half in and half out of the doorway, watching them. He even fancies that the cat can't quite believe that they're there. The idea makes him want to laugh again. "It needs a litterbox," Adam tells Tommy. "The last thing we need is cat shit all over the house."
It's the most domestic thing he's said in years and his own face shows how stunned he is.
The combination of the look on Adam's face and what he says has Tommy stricken totally dumb for almost three seconds before he laughs. It starts as a snicker and ends up where he has to sit down on the floor. He tries to cut it off; it's really not safe to be loud, but come on. Cat shit. All over the house. "Okay," he snuffles against the back of his hand. "Okay. Litterbox. And cat food. It needs a name. I'm gonna go get more pillows. And I wanna see what's still in the fridge that tastes better than that soup I made. Sorry about that, by the way." He doesn't mean to laugh, doesn't mean to joke, but this... this is something that could actually be what they want. They could live in this, instead of trying to live through it.
As much as Adam wants to snap at Tommy to be quiet, the way Tommy's face lights up when he laughs stops him. Adam smiles, just a little as he reaches to pull the semi around so that he can hold it. "I'm going with you."
Back to business. Back to their life. But even as they get ready to go outside, Adam says, "we don't even know if it's a boy or a girl."
"I know." Tommy's still smiling, even as he gets his guns ready to go out into the creeping dark. It might be easy to get fucked off over having someone over your shoulder all the time, but it never feels crowded or overbearing. They look out for each other. He and Adam are always together. "So, give it a name like Dork, or something. I don't know." Catshit. God, that's funny. And it felt really good to laugh. But now, just before Adam pushes open the door, Tommy's voice drops at the same time as one of his hands does, touching the back of Adam's hip with the inside of his wrist. Ready.
When they go outside, the undead person who had hit the RV and the window before is slumped on the ground, not moving. Adam trains the gun on it as they walk up. It doesn't move, not even when Adam's a foot away. He doesn't think about it, shooting it in the head, then asking, "why wasn't it moving?" Nevermind. He covers Tommy as they go back into the RV and lock the door. Once there, it occurs to him. "I'm gonna shower here, while you load stuff, okay?"
There's a tub in the house; that will be how they wash if they live here. But Adam reeks, he knows this, his hair greasy with sweat. "Five minutes." He safeties the rifle and pulls off clothes that are heavy with new and old sweat before starting the water.
Tommy sits in the driver's seat, guns in hand, listening to the shower hiss. If there's any hot water when Adam's done, Tommy'll bucket some and give himself a quick scrub so he's not completely gross. And then he's having a shave. He knows there'll be water left; Adam Before would be a good hour and a half getting ready for something, and now it's quick in, quick out, dry off, ready to go. Tommy wishes he knew why the unperson wasn't moving; after the first amazing, terrifying day of driving, it'd taken them longer to get to Florida than they'd planned, taking backroads instead of freeways to avoid as much trouble as they could. How could things change this quickly? Is it the weather? Too hot? Humid? He's so caught up in his thoughts that he doesn't hear the water stop.
Stepping out (and feeling worlds better, even if he is turning very red on his forearms and face) Adam pulls clothes from the bag, and he realizes that they have no shorts. And they need bug repellent. When he picks up the semi again, he says, "ready? Or are you going to shower? ... Tommy?"
There's a snap to attention when Tommy hears his name, and finds something close to a smile for Adam. "What'd you say? I was just... thinking. About how weird it is that they're so different here than they were up north when we left. Maybe..." He shakes his head, expression shadowy and thoughtful. "...it's like they're failing. They can't survive or whatever it is that they do, anymore." The thought of it said out loud makes Tommy's breath catch. After everything, is this what could happen? They could actually be safe for real? The rest of what Adam said gets a bob of Tommy's head. "Yeah, I probably smell like ass. Keep an eye out, I'm getting naked."
Tommy gets up to skim a kiss against Adam's sunburned skin (he's reminding himself to get the vinegar when they get back inside, already), and peels off his clothes. He showers with his forehead against the wall, relishing the short length of hot, running water. "My face is fucking itchy." So he rubs it against Adam's neck where he's not burned, trying to get into a pair of pants at the same time. "Let's go in and get used to it."
Tommy's itchy face gets a kiss, to the forehead to be precise, as Adam holds him up to make sure doesn't stumble. Then Adam reaches for his gun again, saying, "do you think they could really be dying off?" It isn't, he knows, as if either of them would know. How would they even know if the things were dying? Only by stumbling onto really-dead bodies, he supposes. The idea - of the undead being gone - is too bizarre to even imagine.
"I don't know," Tommy answers, pausing to pull on a clean shirt. "We haven't seen any kind of news in how long? But they're acting different, I know you saw that, too." Tommy gets his own guns ready, realizing just how tired he is, how tired Adam must be, too. And now they've got a cat to look after, too, if it's still around. "We should go in..." And get used to being in a new place. "Tomorrow we can start with repairs." He's already thinking, for now, the grass will be left long and uncut; just like the snow, if something comes up, it'll bend and break the grass to let them know they aren't alone. "I'm scared to think they are. And I'm scared to think that it's just a hope. And then we're gonna get swarmed."
Exactly.
They lock the RV and make their way back into the house. Just outside the backdoor, though, Adam stops, and he listens. The sun is setting and they can hear birds, something that sounds like it might be a crane. But that's all, aside from the wind in the long grass. It's quiet.
That could mean any number of things.
Adam steps inside and locks the door. The traps are set and they've done all they can outside for the day. The rest has to wait until morning. Lighting a lantern, Adam looks around the kitchen. "If we can find a phone book, we can rip off the pages for the cat to use until we get litter." They just have to find a pan of some kind. He crouches down to open a cabinet and the realization hits them.
There is something living with them aside from each other. Does that mean hope? He doesn't know. Instead, he reaches in, carefully, and pulls out an old cake pan. "Here."
The pan's taken care of and set in the room where the window had been broken through, and then Tommy can finally shave, rubbing a palm over his face when he's done. "I'm just... I'm so tired that I wanna feel like there's nothing out there." He drops down onto the couch, head leaned forward, hands against his eyes. "I want this to be it, so bad. I want..." There's a motion for Adam to come over and sit with him. The first days are the worst; he remembers what Maysville had been like, jerking awake at every little sound, touching Adam to make sure he was okay. Tommy's sure tonight'll be like that, looking after the most important thing he has.
Unstrapping the gun and setting it by their feet within reach, Adam sits. The couch smells musty and maybe even moldy. Maybe they'll look for another one somewhere. Where, he has no clue. Fatigue is beginning to make his body feel heavy, but still, he pulls Tommy close. "I should shave too," he says as Tommy curves to his body so Adam can kiss his forehead.
"Unless you wanna start colouring that black, too." Tommy's tease just barely has a little smile to go with it, and he tips his chin up to catch Adam's mouth properly. "You go and shave, I'll get some tea or something put on for you." And then maybe they can curl in the dark together in their bed, in this new place. "And I'm totally making sandwiches out of that cold deer, I'm not even kidding. You've gotta be starving." Tommy doesn't move though, not yet, his words warm and soft against Adam's throat. He's listening, still, and already looking forward to the day they know this house, and can maybe relax a little inside of it.
Fingers are stroked through his hair and Adam smiles, just a little. He wants to close his eyes, but he doesn't, needing to keep a watch. Needing to take care of Tommy who is so strong so much of the time. "I'm okay." As he watches, the little cat appears around a corner again, watching them, wary. Idly, Adam wonders if they look like the cat does, ready to jump at any little thing.
They still haven't given the cat a name. After watching it for a moment, Adam says in a whisper. "I think we should name you ... " It's almost as if the cat cocks its head, yes?. "Grizabella." From Cats of course.
And maybe Adam is so tired he's imagining things, but he thinks that the cat eases a little against the wall, slouching a little, glad to know something at least. It's a silly thought.
The downside of this house compared to the one in Maysville is that everything is on one level. At least in Iowa, there was an upstairs that might give them some extra time if something happens. If, hah. More like when, and the thought of that makes Tommy's arms tighten around Adam. They did it before, they'll do it again. "Just think. This winter, we might still be in shorts. Go and get ready for bed... I'll get food and guns ready." And stalk around the house, trying to find every single creak and squeak so if he hears it later, he'll know if it's from an unperson, or if it's just the house itself. "I think tomorrow we should... check the other places around here and clean them up." To make sure they don't have neighbors, in any sense.
"Okay. And get a vehicle," Adam reminds him; the RV is too unwieldy for small trips. "Then we have to arm the doors and see what's down the hill." After a moment more, he stands, stretching, listening to his back crack. When he takes a step, Grizabella sidles back a little, not quite ready to trust them. "And get cat food and litter." See what the supply situation is, at the very least.
It's going to be a long day. Before he heads back to see about getting sheets on the bed, Adam tells Tommy, "I love you."
Tommy's standing in the middle of the living room, looking around with his hands resting on his hips. Vehicle, definitely. Another truck. Get new doors entirely, if they can, new hardware, new locks. New window for the other room, and better meshing to put over the other windows. He overlays the house in Maysville with this one, thinking about what was where, what traps and what safeties. When he lifts his eyes to Adam's, there's the reason right there that he's doing this. Right there looking back at him. "Go and shave, it's freaking me out that you're all two-toned." But in saying that, Tommy can smile. "I love you, too."
In the middle of the night, they hear the clang of one of the traps shutting. Adam bolts to his feet, rifle already in hand before he realizes that he's moving. In the moonlight, in the tall grass, they can't see anything. But they all watch through the window, Adam, Tommy and the cat. Nothing else moves.
When the sun comes up, Adam is already dressed and has oatmeal for the humans, a small can of salmon for the cat. "You're eating better than we are, just keep that in mind," he tells Grizabella, who still scoots against the far wall to keep a distance before going for the food. "What do you think was in the trap?"
The cat doesn't answer.
Tommy's longer to get up by only about fifteen minutes or so; somehow he fell into that kind of deep sleep that leaves the waker woozy, but with Adam not beside him, he couldn't stay asleep. He shouldn't sleep like that, he knows better, but he's still rubbing his face when he comes into the kitchen. "Hey. You didn't go outside by yourself, did you?" Realistically, he knows the answer to that question, but he still has to ask. "How long've you been awake?"
"Was awake for a while, not long." Adam hands Tommy a bowl - the bowl has flowers on it, daisies, the oatmeal is still steaming from being boiled on the camp stove. "We should go investigate the trap." A mixture of fear and something like fascination wars in his stomach. But he reaches out, touching Tommy's jaw. "Are you okay?"
"I'm fine." It's his normal answer, and pretty much the only way Tommy wouldn't say something like that is, well... there was the time that he broke two of his fingers when he was fixing the henhouse in Maysville. That hadn't been fine, that had sucked. He's just tired, and there's nothing wrong with that. Adam looks tired, too. "Did you get any sleep last night?" A brief kiss is pressed to the pad just below Adam's thumb before Tommy gets into his oatmeal. Goddamn, he's tired of oatmeal. "Let me get this down and I'll get dressed. Then we'll go and look." Part of him almost hopes it is an unperson, or was, because that means that things are what they're used to, on some level.
What they stand over half an hour later is an unperson, leg snapped in half by the bear trap, but it's much like the one who'd gone for the window; almost sickly looking. Sicklier looking. With his riflebutt, Adam pushes it onto its back and stares into an emaciated face. Adam shakes his head slowly. "I don't get it. It's almost as if they're ... dying off." At a sound, though, he jerks upright, gun pointed toward the slope. "Did you hear that?"
Tommy's already got both of his guns out, pointed in the same direction that Adam's pointing. "Yeah." Whether they're dying off on their own or not, Tommy couldn't give a shit, because the one that's right here is pretty dead, along with any other ones that end up on the wrong side of their guns. "Let's go check." For height's sake, Adam has to get on the slope first, with Tommy behind, both so he can shoot around Adam if he needs to, and so he can see over him. Cover. Protect. "There, on your right." And two more to their left. Scrawny ones who'd somehow gotten down here and couldn't get back up. But the instinct is there when they see Adam and Tommy, and begin to move toward them.
"They look totally different," Adam says, making sure the safety's off on his rifle as he raises it. "What is going on?!" Two shots and the ones on the left fall like dead(er) weight and Adam scans the area as Tommy deals with the other one.
The slope leads down to a dry creek bed that's silent in the wake of gunfire, but lush and green. Different from Iowa, and beautiful in that different way. Adam takes a few steps, alert, down the slope. "Cover me," he says, because if he's not mistaken ...
It's not an orange tree, though Adam swears he smells oranges. No, the tree is bent, heavy with fruit and neglect. "Oh my God, plums," he whispers, reaching up into the branches, to pluck one down. "Tommy."
"Fruit." When was the last time they had fresh fruit? The trees in Iowa had apples, and when those had come into season, they'd all but gorged themselves on them, but god. Fresh plums. "Pass one this way, seriously. I'm gonna die if I don't have one, like, right now." One of his guns is safetied and holstered, and he holds a hand out to Adam. Part of Tommy is still on alert, aware of anything that might give them away, but other than the three dead unpeople, there's nothing. Just the sound of wind, and birds, and Adam's voice.
Adam gives him the one he was holding and takes another. He holds it in his hand for a moment, just looking at it for a minutes. It's a dark, dusky purple, full and round. It's nearly embarrassing how much his mouth is watering before he takes a bite. The taste explodes on his tongue when he bites into it and his knees almost give out.
The look on Adam's face reminds Tommy sharply of something else, and even in the heat of the summer, his face flushes and he looks down at the plum in his own hand. "Don't get sexy with it or anything," he smiles, keeping his voice low. "They're that good, huh?" The first bite of his own proves Adam exactly right, and it doesn't take long before Tommy flicks the pit away and licks juice off his fingers. "We'll check around. Then we're getting a bucket for these." Impulsively and unsafely, Tommy's free hand comes down on Adam's shoulder, pulling him down into a fruit-sweet kiss. They'll have to move these bodies, too; this time of year, having any kind of dead meat is beyond gross.
When Adam pulls away, though, he licks his lips, heat flickering in the backs of his eyes before it's put away. Too much to do.
The other bodies pushed down here last night are over a ways and it's easy enough, for now, to drag the new bodies over there. But they need to be farther away and that requires a truck. Which they don't have yet.
With the taste of the fruit still sweet on their tongues, they head back into the city center of Ratliff, through it, and back toward the highway where they find a Toyota dealership and a truck that starts. They only have to fire once when they're siphoning the gas for it, then it's back to the house for repairs and reinforcements.
By two in the afternoon, the back of Tommy's neck and shoulders are ridiculously burned as he finished with the truck. It took a lot of manuals and a lotof swearing, but the truck's ready. "Goddamn, I'd love a beer." Just an urge that comes and goes, and when it's this hot and he can hear the high hum of mosquitoes in the air, a beer seems like a really good idea. He's just as dirty as Adam is, when the both of them have been under the hood and under the chassis to make sure the truck'll do exactly what they need it to. "You want something to eat? I can make sandwiches with that cornbread... and we can have more plums." First, a shirt, because his back feels tight and itchy. His hands are wiped on the ass of his jeans, and Tommy gets his guns ready. That's what they always are: ready.
They haven't been drinking enough water; it's easy to forget. That's what Adam fetches first, still cold from the RV. Then he just pulls things out to eat because it's midafternoon and they haven't done all they need to do, not even close. And it's still quiet. So canned refried beans and cornbread is what they eat and then they can go back into Ratliff with their new truck and see what there is to see.
No Walmart, or Target, but there is a Winn-Dixie and Adam pulls in slowly to the parking lot, littered with cars that seem to have been there a really long time, some with broken windows, some with crushed-in hoods. "Should we go inside?"
"Yep." They're here, right? And there are a lot of things they need to stock up on; it's easier to grab as much as they can and then sit back and go back to their routines at the house. At their home in Maysville. At the house, here. Ratliff might have Tommy's name all over it, but this isn't their home. Not yet. "Get your gun." Tommy's are ready - one of them drives, one of them shoots, that's just how it is - and once they're pulled right up to the front of the store, he climbs out of the truck. They'll leave the doors open if they need to get out, fast. Rule 22: Know Your Exits. And Rule 31, when they get back: Check the Backseat. "Everything we can grab, okay?"
The pneumatic doors have already been pushed off their tracks so they are able to step inside. It smells vile, like rotten fruit and meat and the too-familiar stench of dead humans. What he'd eaten turns to stone in Adam's stomach as he looks around down the rifle sight, listening for anything. He gestures to the back where they'll find something more useful than a regular grocery cart, keeping his footsteps light on the peeling flooring.
Silence. Right. They've been on this habit for so long that they barely even need to talk to each other when they're doing this. A look, a gesture, a nod, is all they need to communicate. Tommy's careful when he walks across the floor; it'd be bad if either of them tripped. Especially if there are unpeople in here. Christ, it smells so awful, and Tommy presses his face to the inside of his elbow as they move through the store. This way, at least, they can see what's where and move quick. Tonight, once they're back to the house with what they need, Tommy'll work on the wiring to get the stove and fridge working.
Maybe Adam'll sing again. Just maybe.
With a plastic rolling bin, they get started. The store is looted, but there are still things that they need on the shelves, cat food and litter for one. Quickly, impulsively, Adam reaches for a feather toy. It gets tossed in the cart and they're moving, quickly and efficiently, only stopping once when they think they hear something.
They are the only live beings in the store and they are in and out within an hour. Rather than being relieved, Adam's even more confused as they pull away. What are they missing? What is going that they're not seeing?! "I don't get it."
For not having spoken to each other for the entirety of being in the store, talking with those gestures and looks, nods and frowns, and one moment where Tommy touches his fingertips to his mouth in Adam's direction when pickles are put into the tub, Tommy knows exactly what Adam's talking about. "I don't either. It's like... they're..." He shakes his head, looking out at the scenery outside. "I don't want to think that it's going to be over. Just in case it isn't."
"I don't know how it would be over." It just doesn't make sense. Even the drive back to the house is uneventful. Adam backs the truck up to the back door and turns the engine off, listening again before he gets out. Quiet, but for the birds. "I'll unload, you cover," he tells Tommy. They can't let their guards down. They just can't.
They've been on guard for so long that to not feel that way is entirely foreign. Tommy keeps his guns out, watching Adam in his peripheral vision while keeping watch for... nothing at all. By the time the bins are unloaded, Tommy feels shivery and nervous and more than a little nauseous. He's hungry and hot and exhausted, and he's sure that Adam's probably feeling about the same. But there isn't time for complaints or self-pity. "You okay, babyboy? I'm still clear... if you need a hand, lemme know."
"I've got it." The cat litter was the first thing in the bin, the last thing out, eight bags of it and as Adam unloads it on the back porch, he tells the cat, whom he can't see, "I hope you're happy." Though who knows when Grizabella last had cat litter even to use?
Adam shouldn't care so much.
When he's done, Adam tells Tommy, "Come inside, we're done."
Now it's a matter of getting everything unpacked and put away, and it doesn't take that long, but Tommy's gotta pull his shirt off so his shoulders don't quite hurt so much. "I'm gonna get some of those plums for after dinner, okay?" No sense in asking for cover; he knows Adam'll be right there. "Jesus, you're sunburned. I say we stuff ourselves full of fruit and have a vinegar rub... after we close the house up." The safest place, inside these walls. Outside can wait for tomorrow. "See Grizzly anywhere?"
The mention of the sunburn seems to draw Adam's attention to the heat and tightness, making his skin prickle. At least now they have sunblock from the store. Adam goes looking, rifle still strapped to his back. He finally finds the cat curled up in the middle of the covers on the bed, looking up when he comes in as if to say "and?" Adam smiles. "I found her." At least he thinks it's a her; he's not going to look too closely to see. "Let's go," he tells Tommy. Plums. Quiet. Things could be worse.
After plums and dinner and a lot more silence, Tommy decides that getting wiring done can wait for tomorrow, too. They can live by lanterns for as long as they need to, and the fridge in the RV still works just fine. It's just a matter of getting things here wired the same way. And even though both of them smell like vinegar, Tommy can still taste Adam's skin when he kisses him, as slow and hot as the weather outside. Grizzly decides that he (Tommy's convinced it's a boy) isn't going to hang out with Adam and Tommy when they smell like that, and abandons them to lie in the bathroom sink. "You think we can make it, here?" Tommy's voice is low against the soft spot below Adam's ear. He hasn't forgotten the look in Adam's eyes from earlier.
"I don't know," Adam answers because he refuses to lie to Tommy, ever. "I want to. I don't know what any of it means. But I want to." He licks the taste of fruit and of Tommy off of his lower lip before dipping his chin to kiss him again, slowly, still. Lingering. He never forgets that Tommy is beautiful.
That night, when they sleep, they sleep, undisturbed, naked and sated.
It's enough to jar Adam awake when the sun comes through the metal mesh on the window. How long were they asleep? He checks his watch. Nearly ten hours. That's unheard of and he's immediately nervous and reaching for clothes and a gun. "Tommy, wake up." What might be outside?! Anything.
Still stepping into his boots, Adam walks into the living room, seeing Grizabella on the windowsill looking at him as if to say "it's about time." "Anything?" he asks the cat, who jumps down and goes to the kitchen where they'd put the cat food bowl. Adam looks out toward the front. Nothing.
Tommy's all but panting when he comes out of the bedroom. He doesn't know how Adam feels, but he's on fire; the sun here is about seven thousand times worse than in Iowa, and this is the last time he'll get burned like that. "Checked the back windows. Nothing going on. This afternoon, I wanna check the other houses, okay?" He pulls a shirt over his body and steps into jeans, belting his holster on and pausing to kiss the corner of Adam's mouth. "It's late. And... we were still sleeping. There's nothing out there?"
"Nothing." Adam can't help that he sounds like he doesn't believe it. But he can't believe it. That there aren't any problems? "I don't understand." It's becoming a refrain. But he cups Tommy's jaw and kisses him, to remember and remind about last night, lingering there before pulling away, looking into Tommy's eyes. "Breakfast, then we'll go." God, how I love you.
"I gotta have a cold shower, okay? Before we go." First, Adam's mouth. Then breakfast, and last, a shower that has him shivering harder than when he'd gotten in. Fuckin' sunburn.
They go from house to house, a can of spray paint to mark on the door if the house is clear, and it's more of the same. When the unpeople move, they're slow and disoriented, only shambling in their general direction. And more dead bodies. Lots of them, some of them obviously infected when they died, others just plain old dead. Two years in humid heat has them smelling bad, but at least they're not gooshy. Don't tell anyone, but there are few things worse than dead bodies. But he does this because he loves Adam. Because maybe... they can have something real, here. And safe. Without worry.
After the houses are cleared, it's time for the worst part of it all, putting those bodies into the back of the truck, plus the ones from the creekbed and finding a place to dump them. Three more bodies are added to their load as they go. That's it. That's all. It doesn't make any sense.
~~
It takes a week before it starts to sink in, even just a little, that there isn't some coven of non-people waiting for them. Either that, or they're very patient.
After two weeks, while they still set the traps at night and don't go out without guns, it's a nearly peaceful kind of quiet. Grizabella, called Grizz or Grizzly most of the time, finally warms up to them, one day sidling up along Tommy's leg with a rough purr and letting him pick him/her up. Adam wishes he had a camera, but contents himself to remember this picture, the small cat nuzzled against Tommy's cheek.
Grizzly sleeps with them after three weeks, sometimes trying to smush between their heads on the pillows, and sometimes curled up at their feet. Once, Adam woke up with the cat's face tucked in his hair. Tommy and Adam are both getting used to the heat, going out armed with sunscreen and bugspray as much as with guns.
By the end of August, they've combed the town from one end to the other, getting rid of the remaining unpeople and real-dead. By this point, all of the real-dead were once clearly infected, and every time they come across one more, there's that shared, puzzled look. Tommy's not going to question it, not when some of the lines on Adam's face have started to soften, now that they're sleeping a little better, finding their routine in a new place. Hearing nothing at all, day or night.
"I think it's starting to end," Tommy says one night, poking at his food with a fork. Grizz is curled up on Adam's lap under the table. "I've been really fuckin' scared to think it. But... I think it's starting to end. I haven't seen one or heard one, and I know you haven't, either." Once his words start, it's like some kind of theory. "We're in a way bigger place than Iowa, and even there, we had the ones that would walk from... who even knows where. And there's nothing here."
Rice and canned chicken in cream of mushroom soup. Adam picks at his food too. "I guess it doesn't make sense that they would, like, be getting together and organizing or anything. But if it's over ... what does that even mean? I mean ... the infection just what ... plays itself out? I'm pretty sure my high school science classes didn't cover this. I know jackshit about infections or diseases or whatever."
Tommy can only shrug and shake his head. It had taken them so long to get used to defending themselves; how long will it take to get used to the quiet? Especially if it's real, and permanent? "I think I failed biology." There's a little laugh, a little smile, trying to remember Before. It's getting hard sometimes, and there's guilt over that. Over the lives they had before, family and friends that have to be lost by now, and how, while they're not forgotten, the memories seem... distant. Dimmer. Adam's the one vibrant thing that Tommy has to focus on, now. "Maybe it's too hot. Maybe they've run out of things to eat. Maybe... maybe it has played itself out. I don't know either."
"Maybe." Reaching over with his free hand, Adam hold's Tommy's hand, watching how their fingers lace together, how they seem to fit, even the callouses.
~~
The worst of the thunderstorms of the season come in October, right over Tommy's birthday, when the sky turns an eerie shade of yellow and the air grows still. Grizzly is a good forewarner, mewling and anxious before the winds pick up and the rain comes down in sideways sheets.
Come December, however, Adam and Tommy do go out and find oranges on trees that are gnarled and twisted but full of fruit. Adam is quite sure he's never tasted anything so good in his life (outside of Tommy's kisses).
For all that their intimacy had been sporadic in Iowa, on the trip here, and even when they'd first settled, the more secure and quieter the days get, the more Tommy touches Adam, learns things about him that he'd only ever gotten glimpses of. One morning, Tommy squeezes the shit out of some oranges for fresh juice, getting ready to make scrambled eggs (from chickens found roaming a town over) and toast. Yep, they finally learned how to make bread, and just like the plums, then the oranges, Tommy and Adam had fed themselves stupid on it, after the first successful loaf. When it's ready, Tommy goes into the bedroom where Adam's still sleeping. "Hey," he whispers, kissing Adam's ear. "Merry Christmas."
"Christmas?" The calendar on the wall of the cat's room. Christmas. Adam pulls Tommy down, though, over him; it's only about fifty degrees outside, making for very comfortable sleeping, cool enough for a few blankets, the better for getting close. Now that they have a variety of food, other hungers come to the fore. "You smell like bread," he murmurs. "Merry Christmas."
"There's eggs and toast when you're ready." Tommy ducks his head to kiss Adam's mouth, more than okay at being pulled in like this. The house is cool but not cold; it's Christmas Day and there's only the one heater on in the living room. Incredible. In Iowa-
-well, they're not in Iowa anymore, not having to worry about snow so deep they can't get through it, not having to worry about meals or freezing or any other number of things. It's been three weeks since they even saw their last real-dead, and that was in the town Tommy had secretly called Adam's. Hero. Yeah, Ratliff is Tommy's, and he makes enough jokes about being mayor, but it was in Hero that they found their last body. And that was in a car lot when they went looting for batteries. It takes a second to get under the blankets with Adam again, nosing in close to get some body heat. "Five months," he murmurs. "And we're still here."
"We are." Adam's hand slides down Tommy's back, pulling him closer. "We're still here."
~~
In May of 2013, after five more months with only two confrontations, Adam pulls Tommy into the truck with a bottle of tequila, water, some bread and some plums, and drives east until they see the water. The ocean stretches out as far as he can see and Adam toes off his boots to feel the sand between his toes and Tommy's hand in his. And when they swim, he dunks his head under the water so that even he can't tell what are tears and what's salt water, surfacing and shaking the hair from his face to smile at the sky and at Tommy, who's even more bronzed by the sun.
In the Florida sun, Tommy's gone blonde again, almost the colour of champagne with streaks of near-white. Or maybe those are just grey hairs; god knows he's earned them, right? Adam's still as black as night, and the way the water slicks it down makes Tommy grin. This is something they haven't done since Before: relax, have fun without worrying. The beach is pristine and empty with no tourists to junk it up, and for a second, Tommy wonders if all of this might have been a good thing. Starting over, clean slate. Finding pleasure in the little things. Finding pleasure with Adam.
Even now, they're never more than few feet apart, a tie that's strong and invisible between them, and Tommy swims over to get his arms around Adam's shoulders. It's the same old question, but there's a different tone to it, affectionate and quiet instead of worried. "You okay, babyboy?"
"I'm fine," Adam says automatically, then catches himself. "I'm ... good." That slight smile that curves Tommy's mouth needs to be kissed. Adam holds him close and licks the salt from Tommy's lips, letting himself believe for about five minutes, maybe even more these days, that they are safe.
The world never ended, as everyone had predicted. The world's just... started over. Or at least where they are. And they're together. Tequila and plums might not sound like the tastiest thing, but it's actually pretty good, especially when the sun beats down on them and the spray of the ocean feels clean and good. Lying on his back, looking up at the sky, Tommy says, "I'm not scared anymore."
For the second time in the afternoon, Adam feels tears sting at the back of his eyes. He closes them and feels so warm. Warm sand against his back, warm sun against his body, warm hand in his. "I'm scared to trust it," he admits in a whisper.
"It's been a long time," is the answer, and Tommy squeezes Adam's fingers. "I was scared for so long that something else was going to happen. How long has it been? Can you imagine never having to pick up a gun again?" It's so far from Before, and so far from the last few years, that Tommy's not even sure how to process it. Guns are habit, used to keep them safe, but there's never been a point where Tommy's enjoyed using one. "I'll keep you safe as long as I can."
"I know you will." And Tommy knows that Adam will do anything and everything for Tommy. Adam rolls to his side, taking in Tommy's profile, using sandy fingers to brush through his hair. "I want to believe it. I don't know if I know how to anymore."
"We'll find it." For all that's been taken away, for all that they've lost, there has been so much that they've found, too. Like this, right now, only hinted at, flirted with, Before. Now it's real, with no eyes to see and no cameras to capture, and though Tommy's hands are sandy too, he pulls Adam down against him.
~~
August 2014: It's hard to believe that it's been five years since the first outbreaks, since Tommy and Adam had stumbled off of a tour bus, shocked and naive to what the world had waiting for them. They're older now, wiser, a few extra scars and lines to tell of how they got here. But now it's peaceful and quiet; they haven't seen an unperson in... god... over a year, now, and every day they wake up to the warmth of what's very definitely become their home, Tommy thinks how lucky they are. He doesn't wear his guns anymore, and has almost forgotten the weight of them in his hands in favour of the weight of Adam's hair, still long, still black. He's still beautiful; seeing him every day in every single way hasn't gotten old. Tommy doesn't think it ever will.
They play music, they watch movies. Adam sings. Sometimes. Not often, but sometimes. They both smile easier; they are learning to laugh again.
Grizzly, it turns out, is a boy. Man. Who sits with them more often than not. And that's where he is, half on Tommy's lap, half on Adam's when they hear the voice. Adam sits up straight, staring over at Tommy in disbelief. "Was that - "
"If you can hear this, we are survivors. Humans. Looking for other survivors."
A bullhorn. That's how Adam and Tommy can hear it; the tinny quality is something they'd forgotten. For a moment, Adam doesn't move, paralyzed by this seemingly impossible happening. In the world that they lived in by themselves for so long, there are suddenly other people.
For a fraction of a second, Tommy doesn't want to answer. It can't be, it just... it can't. It's been years since they've heard any voice that isn't their own, and Tommy's hesitation is countered by a nod at Adam, instead. "Let's go. Let's..." Why is his heart pounding? "Let's go say hi."
The same reason Adam's heart is pounding, fear of the unknown, of what it means. That there are people. That they aren't alone. That ...
That they might lose what they have here.
How twisted and selfish and strange that Adam thinks that. That there's a tight-chested moment when he wants to drag Tommy into a corner of the closet in the bedroom and hide until the voices fade away.
But Tommy's right. Adam takes his hand and looks at him, though. "I love you," he whispers, almost fiercely. "Tommy, I love you."
"I love you," Tommy answers, simple and honest, and something changes in his expression. It's his I can do this face, and after nudging Grizzly off of them, he pulls Adam to his feet to go to the door. "I'm gonna be right here. All the way." A deep breath is pulled, then another, and with a glance to Adam, Tommy opens the door. "We're here! We're alive!" We have survived.
"We're here," Adam echoes, shouting as well as they walk into the street, one hand in Tommy's as he waves his other arm. "We're here!"
And they are alive.