narrative in zombieland. Who: Graham Ross What: Narrative: Living in TWD. Where: TWD door. When: Recently. Nowish. Warnings/Rating: Hallucinations. Killing dead people.
For the first couple days, there was a whole lot of walking. The road stretched real far in both directions, and Graham picked one. He had a map, sure, but he wasn't fully certain of where he was and so it didn't do much good. Figured the door was down South someplace, since there was no snow and while it was cool, enough for a jacket, it wasn't cold like it'd been in Gotham and Marvel. Anyway, he walked. The dead didn't move real fast and if they got too close, a machete in their skulls spraying blood and brain matter all over the damn place did the trick. Just like he remembered. Get the bastards in the head, and they went down fast. Decomposing corpses that'd once been people, but not anymore. Killing them wasn't hard. Like he was doing them a favor, almost. Better to be dead proper than walk around hungering for flesh.
At night, he stopped to rest a little, but he didn't sleep much. Wasn't no place safe to sleep for long. Once the sun came up he was moving again, and once he ran out of water he veered away from the roads and out into the forest. Trees and grass, and he figured there had to be water around here someplace. It was easier to hear the zombies, too, since they made noise while they staggered through the underbrush, leaves rustling and branches snapping. Mostly he just crouched real low and watched them go by, some of the dead on their own, some in groups of three or four.
He was getting real thirsty when he finally stumbled on a stream. Ran right through the forest, and Graham stopped to drink, to fill up his bottle, before continuing. He wanted to find the prison. Wanted to find Woodbury, too. Just wasn't sure if he could. Hell, he hadn't even seen any live people since he'd got here. Not that he expected to, really, but he thought there might be other survivors out here, someplace. But maybe it was better this way. Better if he was on his own. Looking out for himself, that was all he needed to worry about, not people he couldn't do a thing to save.
When he ran out of food, he went hunting. That he used the rifle for, but it took time. Whole lot of waiting, but Graham, he didn't have no place to be and he wasn't in any real hurry, yeah? Finally got himself a rabbit, after a few hours, and he found himself somewhere quiet to start a fire.
In the morning, he moved on again.
Somewhere in between (Graham lost track of time) Penny got in touch, wanted him to come back, but he hadn't seen a door for days. No towns, no prisons, no Governor's little haven, but he wasn't worried. Sooner or later, he'd find something. And hell, if he didn't, would it matter? Shane'd be okay. Clem and the baby were long gone. And Penny, she'd be okay without him too, even if she thought she needed him.
Just as dusk was settling, he found a clearing. Long stretch of grass and a farmhouse, abandoned by the looks of it. No animals, no vehicles, just some dead wandering around that he took care of easy. His clothes were already stained with blood and gristle, so a little more didn't make a lick of difference. He was real good at killing the walkers, that came back easy. Like he'd never lost it at all, just let it go dormant while he was out in the real world. But going into the farmhouse, for that Graham pulled his gun from his holster, and he went in careful and quiet. Searched every room, but there was nothing living. Dead girl in one of the bedrooms, but that was it.
He locked the doors, covered up the windows, and settled in. None of them led out to the hotel, but shelter that wasn't a hole in the ground was nice. Graham stayed there a day, actually slept some, and it was afternoon (he thought) when he was looking out one of the upstairs windows and saw her.
It was what he'd been hoping for. A real long time had passed since he'd seen Lore, and he worried that she was gone, that he'd let her go for good, and maybe he should want that but he didn't. No, he wanted her back. He wasn't hurting anybody, was he? And Clem was gone, he'd been a damn fool when it came to Clem, best to let that go. Not his wife.
Out the back door he went, rifle slung over his shoulder. Lore was out by the fence, hair loose and dressed in white; her back was facing him, but he knew it was her. He knew. Closer he got, the more sure he was, and once he could be reached out a hand and touched her shoulder.
She turned, and yeah, it was her. Just like he remembered. Graham smiled, and she smiled back, real soft, like she was glad to see him. "Hi, Lorelei," he breathed, and it felt like a lifetime since he'd seen her. Longer, even.
Hi, darling. Her voice was like heaven. But that made sense, because she looked like an angel, standing there, and he didn't care a lick that it wasn't real.
He told her how much he'd missed her. How sorry he was, and Lore brought her fingers to his lips and told him to hush. You've got nothing to be sorry for, Graham, she told him. Her fingers moved to his cheek, palm against his skin, and Graham closed his eyes. "Know I should let you go," he whispered, "but I can't. I don't want to."
She didn't want him to let her go either, she said. And she kissed him, warm and sweet, and he was lost.
The next morning, Graham left the farmhouse. Lore was at his side, her arm in his, and when he told her that they had to find a way out, for Penny, she agreed. Course they did, she said. Penny was family.