Who: Carson & John Where: The edge of Detroit, just outside city limits When: Day 10, early afternoon
John Doherty sat against the wall of the convenience store, hunting rifle on the floor beside him, within easy reach, Bowie knife on his belt in a make-shift sheathe, backpack on the other side of him. He rested one arm on it as he stared at the magazine rack across the aisle. Beautiful people in glamorous clothes smiled back from covers that no one would open now - except, maybe, for John. He'd found a word search book and had tried to do one of the puzzles. He'd been too tired to focus on the page, though, so the book was tucked into his backpack for later.
So he sat, in his dirty jeans and dirty T-shirt and dirty denim jacket - he felt dirty, anyway. His white running shoes were smeared with the goo that was out in the street. He tried not to think about the content and had wiped off as much as possible. Welcome to Detroit. He hadn't changed clothes since Chicago and that had been miles and miles ago. Adjusting the brim on his Yankees ball cap, he sighed and wondered if the sandwich he'd eaten an hour before was going to make him sick or not. Nothing was growing on it and though the lettuce was wilted, it had all smelled fine. John thought about looking at his photo album, but was aware enough of how he was feeling to know that he'd just cry again and he didn't have time for that. He had to find somewhere to stay the night and it wasn't going to be this convenience store. The monsters were restless and Drake had said -
Drake...
The man-inside-his-head-with-no-name, so John had used his middle name and called him 'Drake'. The other man didn't seem to mind or really care if he was called anything, but John wanted to call him something. Mr Squiggles had liked the name, but then, John's teddy bear tended to agree with him on a lot of things. He was a good friend that way. Drake had made sure he and Mr. Squiggles had made it out of Sioux City and had kept them alive and safe for days and days. John wasn't sure how many days, but Drake said he was keeping track...
He thought he heard something outside and held very, very still. Not that he'd been doing much before he heard something, but he actually held his breath, too. As if it would matter. Waiting to see if the noise would pass, John waited.
She was too young for menopause right? So why would a woman’s cycle come to a halt? Hell, she wasn’t going to argue with it. Damn thing was very inconvenient. These thoughts made her feel incredibly guilty, given the fact she was alone again. Polly had disappeared over night…literally. They’d found shelter in a butcher shop of all places. They’d half expected the place to stink of rotting meat, but even the freezes had been raided clean by then. Even the watered down blood from old slices of meat had dried up on the floor. There was still a faint smell, but it wasn’t terrible. They opted for sleeping in the freezer since they found it could be securely locked from the inside. It was completely dark inside the dead freezer, so what woke up Carson was the fact that there was light streaming in from the open door. She cautiously went out to the butcher’s counter but found the place empty. That was better than finding a dead blue girl, right?
But Carson had to find that girl. She was her responsibility now! She searched the neighborhood for hours. Unfortunately that was all the ground she could cover since she had to be quiet and slow to avoid detection by the few creatures lurking about. Watching the street carefully the woman made her way across an intersection toward a convenience store. She was technically in Detroit now and the stress was getting to her. It was a densely populated city so there was a real chance there was still a lot of things hiding in the shadows. She’d lost a little girl in a monster ridden city. How could she have let this happen? It was a damn good thing her husband had been sterile, because she would have failed as a mother.
Her chest was tightening with anxiety, trapping her breath in her throat as if it’d suddenly clamped shut. She’d planned to look in the store for Polly, but her knees locked up, forcing her to fall back against the brick side of the building. Sliding against the grain to the ground with a thump only increased her anxiety, thinking something may have heard her. Stupid. Stupid. How could I lose a blue girl? A small whimper escaped her lips as a tear broke free of one eye. The whimper soon turned into a hiss. Her shoulder burned…had she scraped it on the wall? She was wearing her sweatshirt over a tank top, her shoulders were completely covered, so the brick shouldn’t have been able to scrape her. Carson slowly slipped her hand into her shirt and lightly touched the spot that burned. It stung to the touch and her fingers came back with blood on them.
John continued to wait, though he finally had to breathe, because not breathing was a very bad idea. No monster came into the store. In fact, no one came into the store. He heard another sound, a sound not unlike someone in pain or distress. He hesitated. Drake wasn't in charge of his body right now. Did he wait for the other man to return or did he take a chance and deal with this himself? If someone needed help, he should do something about it, shouldn't he? Waiting could only make things worse, especially if what he was hearing wasn't a clever monster, trying to lure him into the street, but an injured survivor.
Courage.
He shifted to a crouch and slowly stood, scanning the interior of the store as if, somehow, something could have entered without him seeing. He seemed to be the only living thing present. John took a deep breath and let it out, then took another and walked to the door. There was no point bringing the rifle with him, since he didn't know how to use it. Drake always seemed to be able to reach it when he needed it, anyway. He put his hand on the bar across the glass and knew that when he pushed, the little bell would ring. He would be vulnerable then.
He pushed. It rang. He poked his head out slowly and looked. There was a woman, leaning against the wall...
When the bell rang, Carson simultaneously gasped and felt another surge of pain from her shoulder followed by a wetness. She had closed her eyes when she flinched from the pain. With her eyes closed she was incredibly vulnerable and expected to be killed any moment. But when an attack did not come she slowly opened her eyelids, expecting to at least see a monster staring back at her. Instead it was a man. He looked younger than her, but wrinkles had set in his face recently, probably like they had on any survivor's skin. Carson stared wide eyed at him for a few seconds because she could barely process what she was seeing. Had she really lost a survivor only to find another in the same day? It'd been about a week since she'd seen a sane person, let alone two of them. But maybe he wasn't sane...life or death situations could make a person crazy to the point of being homicidal. Carson attempted to swallow her nerves and summoned her voice, "Hello...are you-" She stopped mid sentence, not entirely sure what she should ask the man. If he was crazy, any number of things could set him off. Her gun was still in the back of her pants and both of her hands were laying in her lap, one of them still with blood on it. Carson was no quick draw and wasn't even a great shot, so this man attacked her, she'd probably just have to run like she always did.
She looked scared and John didn't blame her at all. Not that he was scary to look at - at least, he didn't think he was - but there were so many monsters in the world now. He could be anyone - or any thing - opening the door. She spoke English, not like some of the people he'd met in Chicago, except for the Old Man. John didn't know any Italian - which is what he thought they'd been speaking - but they'd managed to communicate anyway. Still, it would be nice to talk to someone properly...
"Hello," he replied and stepped through the door. He didn't let it close, though. "Am I... what?" Then he noticed the blood on her hand and he took in a sharp breath. He wasn't fond of the sight of blood, but he wanted to help. "You're hurt! You... You sh-should've said something! They had b-bandaids in here... I think... it's a store, so..." The woman had managed to survive, obviously, but not without some consequences. How had she hurt herself? Had she been attacked? Were they nearby?
This was turning out to be a day full of surprises. Thankfully this one was a good surprise. Carson choked out a small chuckle, slightly overwhelmed by how happy she suddenly was at finding a sane and pleasant human. At the mention of blood she glanced down at her hand having almost forgotten about her shoulder. "Oh, um, yes, bandaids would be great." With some effort she put one hand against the building to push herself to her feet. Grasping the handle of her suitcase she approached the man with a small smile, "We should probably go in, I saw one of those things down the road earlier." Without waiting for a confirmation she went inside the building. It was needless to say that she wanted inside in a more secure area. A brick building wasn't a bad choice, granted the doors were just glass. It was rather surprising those delicate doors hadn't already been shattered.
Carson left her bag near the cashier's counter and was already headed for one of the aisles in search of bandages. "I'm Carson by the way. Thank you for letting me in." Her voice was slightly hushed out of habit, but the place was so quiet you'd probably hear a person whispers clearly. She spotted a box of bandaids and quickly opened it up but realized then she hadn't a clue how big the wound might be. It may be small and deep so that's why it was bleeding a lot, but she couldn't be positive.
The woman stood and reached for a suitcase. She seemed surprised that he mentioned the blood. How could she forget she was bleeding? Blood. Don't think about it, don't think about it... She was smiling, so he smiled back. She didn't look like a monster at all and she seemed very civilized, not like the people he'd met outside Sioux City. "In," he repeated blankly. Then, "Oh! Yes! In..." And he stepped aside for her. The bell rang as the door closed behind them and he watched her move confidently around the store. He realized that she'd introduced herself, so he quickly said, "Hi, Carson. I'm John. Um... Why wouldn't I let you in? Its a store... and its convenient..." He grinned. He'd made a joke. Convenience store. Ha-ha. Would she think it was funny? And why was she looking at the box of bandaids like she didn't know how they worked? "Do you need some help...?"
"Nice to meet you, John," she smiled at him and let out another odd chuckle at his joke. It wasn't that she didn't appreciate the humor but rather just the fact she hadn't interacted with anybody for awhile...except Polly. A stab of guilt hit her chest again at the thought of the girl. Luckily John spoke again and it distracted her. "Oh, well, my shoulder's cut, or something...I'm not sure how bad it is to be honest." Carson put the box of bandages back on the shelf to slip off her sweatshirt. She felt the fabric resist being peeled away from her. Hopefully it wasn't worse than she thought. She tried craning her neck to look at it but could only see some red smudging on her skin. The tank top was originally white but hadn't been washed in few days so it was off white. Now it was off white with a splash of red. She gently tried touching it again; it felt like on open cut. The woman stared over at John for a moment, "Is there a bathroom in here?" It'd be easy to see with a mirror but then again she wasn't sure if there was electricity still in the building so the bathroom would just be a useless dark room.
She explained and John should've been ready, but he wasn't. He wasn't expecting to see that much skin and he wasn't ready for the wound or the blood, staining her tank top or the way her sweatshirt tried to stick to her - He paled and thought he was going to throw up. Through clenched teeth, he said, "Yeah... behind the counter..." John focused on the floor, then his backpack, then he was crouching down and looking for his flashlight and trying not to think. "I have... I have a flash..." He reached the door. The bell rang. He staggered a few steps and vomited. He was reminded of the blood at the facility and the blood at his parent's house and the bodies and monsters eating them and - He heaved again and was unsurprised that his lunch hadn't really wanted to stay down, after all.
Carson stared after the man as he went out the door to throw up. Her nose wrinkled in reactive disgust. Nobody enjoyed throwing up or seeing somebody else do it. Luckily she wasn't a sympathetic puker. Breathing through her mouth to avoid smelling anything, Carson started to make her way toward the door and pulled her sweatshirt back over her shoulder along the way. Obviously the guy didn't react well to blood. Good thing she hadn't asked him to dress the wound for her. "Are you alright?" Carson wasn't very good about helping sick people, it made her feel awkward to just stand over them as they suffered. She preferred making people happy. This was not the time for that. She ran her clean fingers through her hair as if wiping away the thoughts. Rather than trying to help John she went behind the counter and began digging around for a first aid kit. Some disinfectant and larger bandages were probably going to be needed. She saw the flashlight sticking out of John's backpack and figured that's what he had been about to offer her. Grabbing the light she stepped near the bathroom, "I'll get this cleaned up quickly, sorry I got you sick." She hustled into the restroom and locked the door behind her purely out of habit.
The room was instantly black when she'd closed the door. Clicking on the flashlight she took the sweatshirt off again and opened the first aid kit. With the light perched on the sink it illuminated the mirror and the small room rather well. With her back to the mirror she craned her neck again to look at the damage. It was then she remembered this wasn't an entirely new wound. Last month she had to stand on her tip toes to grab a box on a high shelf at work. Unbeknown to her, somebody had left a crowbar of all things up there. There had been a leak in that ceiling for awhile and it must have been one of the workers who left it there. The tool slid off the box, missing her head luckily, and scraped her shoulder pretty badly. The damn thing had healed weeks ago, not even leaving much of a scar. This new would looked like a clean cut though as if done by a sharp knife. Luckily it had coagulated enough that the blood was merely seeping out. Carson took the appropriate materials out of the kit and quickly got to work. With a bit of difficulty she managed to get some padding taped over the cleaned cut. She'd been in the bathroom for about five minutes and emerged with the flashlight in hand.
He heard her ask if he was alright and he heard her apology. All John could do was nod a little, so that she knew he'd received her messages, his eyes closed against the sight of his own vomit. The bell sounded when the door closed. She was going to the bathroom, to try and fix her injury herself. I can't even be useful... He wanted to help. He always wanted to help. The only reason he was still alive, though, was because of Drake. It turned out John couldn't even take care of himself in a crisis, never mind someone else. He needed 'big brother' to be in his head for survival... Useless, useless...
Shhh. Let me drive. Everything will be fine. Leaning over the pavement, hands on his thighs, John sighed and mentally curled into a ball. When his brown eyes opened, someone else was at the wheel.
Drake straightened, stretched, turned in a slow circle to assess that the road was clear before staring down at the remnants of John's lunch. Since they shared the same body, he had experienced the stomach upheaval, too, just... from the back seat of the vehicle, metaphorically speaking. Would the smell attract any predators? Thinking about that, Drake opened the door. The bell rang. It was an interesting tone. The woman was still in the bathroom. Carson. He'd remember that, even if John didn't. He located a bag of flour and thought about taking it outside to smother the vomit, but why waste perfectly good flour? He'd be leaving soon, anyway. Would the woman want to travel with them?
She was nice to me, John said from a distance.
I know. I saw it. Rest. The door opened and the woman emerged. "All taken care of?" Drake asked. There was a difference in his posture - Drake tended to stand straighter than John - and his eyes were more focused, but unless someone was looking for them, the differences might not be noticeable.
Carson's lips curved into a slight smile, "Yeah, all good now. Again, sorry about all that. I had no idea the blood would bother you." This was followed by a slight shrug which made her grimace from the soreness of her shoulder. It wasn't surprising that the man's skin was flushed from the upheaval, but he did seem calmer somehow. Maybe his stomach had been upset before she showed up and now his body was thankful for the relief.
"So have you been here for awhile? In the store I mean. I've been traveling the past couple days." Maybe she was sharing too much. She and Polly had talked a bit the night before and now she rather regretted bonding with the girl at all...since they may never see each other again. Getting close to anybody might be a bad idea. Carson was such a social creature it was hard for her to stay disconnected completely. Humans were social animals anyways and she was just very in touch her inner animal.
Drake shrugged. It was still strange, having this body to control. It was like wearing someone else's clothes. That was the best analogy he could devise. "Don't worry about it," he said, trying to keep his delivery at least similar to John's patterns. He smiled and placed a hand on his abdomen. "Lunch... didn't agree with me. I feel better. I arrived in time for lunch." That was true and sounded like the kid, though he might have said 'I got here' instead of 'I arrived'. Carson didn't know him, so there was no previous memory to try to match. "I've been traveling since the monsters came out of the closet." It was an apt description and sounded like something John would say - though the kid might have chosen 'under the bed' instead of 'the closet'. "Its... not very nice outside anymore, is it?" Then he realized he was still holding the bag of flour and placed it back on the shelf.
It made her feel a bit better knowing it wasn't just her blood that made him puke. Hell, she didn't think blood was that terrible, but some people just had weak stomachs. "Hah, I had no idea they had a sexuality," she replied whilst laying her bag onto the counter and unzipping it. The sweatshirt was still bloody and she'd just cleaned herself up so she didn't want to put it back on just to clean herself again. Carson dug through the suitcase trying to find another shirt. She had two others and they were still clean since she'd been trying not to change her clothes every day (or multiple times a day like she used to). Finally finding a black t-shirt she pulled it out and laid it on the counter. Without a moment of hesitation she stripped off the white tank top, revealing a lacy burgundy bra, then put the t-shirt on in its place. To say that Carson wasn't shy about her body was an understatement. Many people had seen the entire body in all its glory too, so one more person seeing some of her skin wasn't a bother. In fact it was quite the opposite. Calling her narcissistic wasn't entirely wrong.
"No, it's really not nice out. The weather and everything else included." She turned to face John, her smile fading, "Were you planning on leaving?" This pained her. Of course she wanted somebody to travel with though this man may be the type who wanted to be alone. It was difficult to trust people now. Her needs were entirely selfish; she wanted company and was hoping to get lucky. It'd been over a week for her which was longer than she'd gone for quite awhile. If nobody else was available in the past at least she had her husband always around to get the job done. Now she was lonely and her mind was always in one of two places: survival or sexual. It couldn't be helped, but it wasn't as if she fought it very hard.
Drake had to think about that response. Monsters. Closet. Oh. He hadn't meant that, at all. He'd been thinking of a child and where the monsters hid in a child's room. Though the kid and his ID said he was twenty-four, his mind was younger and more... innocent somehow. Of all the people remaining on the planet, he ended up leaving his own body - wherever that was - to join one with a damaged mind. And just before John was about to be killed in the greenhouse. Drake was going to say something about monsters and sexuality when the woman pulled her top off. He swallowed and let his eyes roam, because he wasn't dead - in a way - and Carson was providing quite the view. Drake caught himself staring and made a point to look away before she turned around. He hadn't encountered a young woman like this since everything changed and hadn't had time to think about sex or the lack thereof. He hadn't given himself permission to think about it. John didn't seem to think about sex at all.
Drake sighed and looked at her properly. "I was thinking more of the 'everything' then the weather, but... Yes... Yeah, I was thinking of heading out soon. Find someplace more secure without..." He pointed to the door. "A bell... And maybe with a few locks." And a better tactical advantage than street-level, but he didn't mention that, because it wouldn't be something John would say.
Nodding in agreement she voiced it as well, "That's a good idea. Mind if I tag along? There obviously isn't a lot of life around here, and was hoping you'd like some company, because I certainly do..." Carson was a bit nervous having to ask the question but she didn't show it. Rather it sounded like she was offering her services though an injured woman with very few skills wasn't exactly the ideal travel buddy in an apocalyptic world. Damn, I should make myself more useful. Making the guy puke wasn't exactly a good first impression or being a damsel in distress. She needed to sell herself better, "If nothing else we can watch each others' backs and have a conversation occasionally. I have a gun too, if that helps." She shrugged her good shoulder, remembering not to use the other. Being injured wasn't a good point for her either.
He slid her a look and considered. He wanted to help any survivors and so did John, though the kid's idea of 'help' tended to involve having someone to play basketball with or to talk about random television and movie trivia, as the Old Man in Chicago had discovered. The man had been very patient with John - and with Drake. They were both sorry to leave him behind. He could tell that Carson was trying to justify her presence as a companion. As if her 'usefulness' really mattered. Who knew how many people had survived on the planet? It benefited both of them - all three of them - to travel together. Drake smiled in a manner that could be viewed as shy, cautious or coy, depending. It was one of John's little smiles and Drake wasn't in touch with them yet to know what it really looked like.
"Carson. I don't mind at all. I was going to ask you if you wanted to travel together." Which was mostly true. He hadn't reached that point yet, but knew his thoughts were heading that way. "Two heads are better than one, right? And we'll have each others' backs..." He hoped that sounded reassuring.
A full grin took over her features a long with a sigh of relief, "That's great, you certainly just made my day." Carson pulled the coat out of her bag and shoved the dirtied sweatshirt inside it. Possibly a few of her other things would get a little bloody, but she was in a good mood and didn't even think about it. "We should probably get going soon if we want to check out a few places before sundown." Carson grabbed the first aid kit and managed to shove it into her suitcase, barely getting the zipper to close around it. It wasn't a very large bag so making something bulky fit inside was an irritant. It then occurred to her the day before she had neglected to gather a few things in the store she'd found Polly. With that thought she began coping out the aisles again to see if there were any needed items. "Do you need anything from here?" She grabbed two bars of soap, some aspirin, and few other little necessities. "Think I'm ready to go if you are."
He nodded in agreement and watched as she jammed the First Aid kit into her luggage. What else did she have in there? A proper dress for the end of the world party? The things in the backpack belonged to John, not Drake. He understood why they carried them around, though. Maybe she had things like that inside. Things like a photo album and a marble collection and a teddy bear... Though he doubted the last two. He moved along the aisles, too, scanning for useful items and selecting quite a few medications. He read the labels quickly, understanding the ingredients and wondering, not for the first time, who he'd been before. "Almost ready," he replied, adding the pills to his - John's - backpack and then turned to the 'health' section, flipping the variety of energy bars over to check the wrappers for natural content. He wasn't fond of putting drugs into this body, other than was absolutely necessary, and that included preservatives. "Is there any canned soup or vegetables? They would be good. Oh, and a can opener, if you can find one..."
Carson felt a bit unprepared. At her home she had all these small essential things of course. But when she had packed a suitcase to leave the house she hadn't been smart enough to bring those things with her. Instead she brought some clothing, jewelry, and make up. It was obvious she still wore the make up and clothes really were a necessity right? What was important is she felt she needed all the things she brought. She just should have grabbed a lot more than that. At John's question she quickly scanned the shelves around her, "There's some cans over here. Uh, not seeing an opener...Maybe..." She dragged out the last syllable as she went to the end of the aisles and, sure enough, there was a few plastic sealed hanging on hooks along with some other kitchen tools. "Got one!" Carson held it up for John to see and added it to the pile forming in the crook of her arm. Going over to the counter she double bagged all the things she had. Back in an aisle she added some canned foods until the bag seemed heavy enough. "Ok, think that's about all I'll be able to carry for awhile. Ready to hit the road?"
The woman found a can opener. Good. He acknowledged it with a nod and a smile as he gathered some energy bars that met his approval and added them to the pack. Packets of dried vegetable soup were next. Less bulky, just add water. She was gathering cans, too, quite animated and interested and certainly 'useful'. Why she'd been concerned about that, he wasn't sure, but likely, he and John would find out as the day progressed. Lifting the heavier backpack to rest across his shoulders, Drake picked up the hunting rifle, checked it out of habit and looked over at Carson. "Let's hit the road," he said, with a confidence John would probably be lacking, but it couldn't be helped. Keeping their dual existence private was something they'd both agreed upon. Only the Old Man had known and he'd be dead by now. Shit. "I'll take point," he added and headed for the door.