Chapter Text
There is no air, he can't breathe. He's suffocating, every time he breathes through his nose all that he inhales is something dusty, when he opens his mouth to scream all he gets is choked by a gritty damp material flooding his throat.
begging for the air, he tries to wriggle his arms and legs finding them pinned by his sides.
then, air. the weight on his chest lightens. until the light meets his eyes and he flinches.
“Troy?”
he starts to dig the rest of the way as the weight on all of him lightened significantly.
He sees his brother when his eyes adjust to the sudden light of the flashlight strapped to his backpack. The appreciation does not last long as he coughs out dirt.
He turns over choking, coughing the dirt out of his throat. He gags, his chest is tight and the dirt continues to restrict his throat. He holds himself up by his forearm.
Everything in his body hurts and is tight. He feels like he touched an electric fence. Every organ and muscle feels on fire.
He digs dirt out of his mouth with his finger tips, gagging as he heaves. Groaning when he feels like he can suck in a breath, choking on a bug he coughs out.
He rolls over next to the wet pile of dirt and puke, he can finally see. He sees his brother and a still mostly dark sky. He looks up at the watercolor sky, his brother meeting his gaze.
Jake dropped a rabbit in his grave that he had in a bag.
Troy takes it, instinct taking over as he bites instantly. teeth latching on, fur tickling his cheeks, it's not long before the animal is limp in his grasp.
When it's dead and empty he blinks, horrified, dropping the body in his lap and pushing himself as far back as he could.
“Hey, Troy. Troy. It's okay, it's alright.” His brother offers to try to ease the horror. Troy looks up to Jake, his head covering the sun as he hovers over his grave. “26 hours.”
Troy looks up at Jake. He feels sick.
Coughing and choking Troy feels the need to throw up what he drank.
He forces himself to keep it down as he struggles to stand up. Jake points a gun at him, stopping him from leaving his grave.
Troy freezes, “whats happening?” he asks
“Walker said it'd be likely for you to kill me when you wake up. Are you going to kill me or anyone else?”
“Walker? Jake, what is going on?”
“You died.”
—
Oregon is nice, Nick found solitude in the forest near a lake. It was in the backyard of his cabin. He could fish, hunt deer to fill his water bottles.
His favorite thing is to float in the lake, he didn't need clothes. He just kicked off some flip flops and swam to the middle. looking up at the stars. Stars were easier to see than back in LA, the ranch made him start to appreciate the quiet darkness the middle of nowhere had to offer.
The blood that covers his chest washes away into the void beneath while he connects the dots in the sky, wondering if someone else is watching them with the same fascination he has.
He doesn't cry when he remembers the night that was the beginning of the end of his time on the ranch. He misses his friend, he misses the acceptance he felt with Troy.
He misses the understanding that the sun was always too bright, he never told Troy that but he observed and adjusted, layering curtains with blinds to let his room be darker, noticing how slow he ate normal food so he'd take it for him because no food is actually better than his food. Troy trying was enough to let him make the ranch a home, finding acceptance in the dark bedroom with some music so he could regain his energy for whatever Troy had planned for after dinner.
Gloria was scared of him until her last moments, she had tried to make light of it, but it had never sat quite right with her. This thirst he could never quench, he was a new person to her after everything. She never was super confrontational, she didn't tell him to his face that he wasn't the man she fell in love with anymore that loving him felt wrong.
He knew things would never be the same, it frustrated him because he tried so hard to not let the change affect them, but there was no stopping the heartbreak.
Her blood, it was never worth the look on her face. The heart beat he could feel under his bite until it was no longer beating. He was a starved man before that, it felt like an out of body experience he could almost envision how he looked sucking the blood from her neck, draining her body of everything warm that he spent nights holding to cover up his own coldness. He looked back over his shoulder, he could feel the blood run down his chin, the points of his teeth as he ran his tongue over them.
The water he floated in suddenly felt too cold, no longer feeling like a warm hug as waves ran over his chest.
he rolled over paddling to the shore, the rocks dug into the soles of his feet as he found his towel and a pair of flip flops on a big rock.
wrapping the towel around his waist, he takes one last look at the stars before reluctantly making his way to his back door, ensuring to lock it all the way up, with a chain and the door knob.
He goes to the bedroom to put on a pair of boxers before sliding on some socks.
He shivered as the cold water dripped from the ends of his hair down his spine.
He didn't need to turn on any lanterns as his eyes had easily adjusted to the darkness that was the inside of his cabin and had it memorized like the back of his hand.
He walks over to a cooler in the living room popping open the lid to find the jars of blood he's stored.
The mason jars tin lid pops off easily after sliding his nail under to break the seal, the smell of iron and tang fills his senses.
Nothing was as sweet as human blood but deer would suffice, he got the blood the way he remembered seeing in the ranches freezer, leaving the meat for the walkers that roamed the woods every now and then.
He fasted most days, saving the blood for the nights he needed a small “pick-me-up”
Life in Oregon was quiet, he was lonely.
What kept him company was the books he collected, the stories he could imagine himself in. In a world, with electricity, music, bustling cities that surround the characters in a romantic way. Finding happiness in others that surround. A time when he didn't rise, when you could trust most of the people you meet in stores and know how everyone you loved was doing with just a couple clicks to a screen. Nick never had been one to dream of the world healing, but he found himself missing the small joys he could find before. Finding something good, where ever he ended up even if it hurt him in the end. He used to hold hope.
It was quiet, only the birds chirping and squirrels munching on acorns. and yet, nothing could fill his head
Nick tried to make up for his loss of usual company in the truck, he'd play the cd’s that were stored in the glove compartment. His favorite was My Own Worst Enemy yet when the truck's battery died in the past winter he opted for keeping some cds safe in his go bag. The truck became home to a family of possums when he covered it with a tarp.
at least there's new life in death.
Nick strolled flopped onto the couch, pulling the throw blankets over himself clumsily. It'd be sunrise soon and he'd have to move into the bedroom to hide from the light that makes it past the newspaper-covered windows. He long ago took books and newspapers sticking them to the windows because the blinds and curtains stopped suffusing. He would've boarded them up, but it seemed a waste of wood when he'd make fires to warm himself up.
no longer going out during the day has saved him many headaches, no social expectations of him meant he can live when he wants to.
he's almost reflected enough for his brain to run out of thoughts, eyes slipping closed. He barely remembers setting his blood jar on the coffee table when he hears cracks of branches outside.
The leaves crunching makes its way to Nick's ears. He keeps his eyes closed waiting to hear something that tells him what's outside.
there's no dragging of feet, the leaves aren't rusting like they do when a walker stumbles its way through the woods. no, each step is intentional and it feels far too heavy to be a dear and that's what gets Nick to sit up.
unconsciously licking his lips as he quietly makes his way to the bedroom avoiding every plank that he knows creaks.
He carefully pulls a handgun from under his pillow, waiting to hear the rattling of the door, loose on its frame from deteriorating wood that was long rotten before the apocalypse.
Nick peaks from around the corner of his bedroom doorway, eyeing the front door waiting for something more. He holds his gun steady waiting for someone to try and enter.
he's not had an intruder since he first got to the cabin, tire tracks were still fresh in the dirt and people followed. It was the greatest he'd felt since the ranch, the blood that warmed his body, yet felt so cold.
he's yet to get used to accepting the things needed to live.
the door rattles, old wood struggling to hold against the pressure.
“Help!” a voice calls, its a young sounding girl. “Theyre going to kill me!”
Nick falters, not yet lowering his gun. He believes it could be a trap.
“Please!” the banging continues.
glass rains down on his floor, he turns away before hearing the glass crackle under boots.
a small figure makes its way to him immediately, she bumps into him. both frozen.
“i knew one was in here…” she whispers
“Who are you?” Nick asks, gun still pointed, he pushes her back to keep an arms length away.
The girl looked over her shoulder, looking back at Nick with pleading eyes.
Nick groaned, lowering his gun. He reached out and pulled the girl by her arm, shoving her behind him and closing the bedroom door. He looked around and quickly grabbed a chair and shoved it under the knob. He didn't know her and he didn't trust her, he’s learned you can't even trust children in this world.
Granted, how much damage could she do to him? He’s immortal. Nick inches towards his door and peaks outside checking for anyone nearby.
He tries to focus, searching for any sound that he’d usually tune out. He doesn't find any, he hears the heartbeat of birds, deer and the rustling of leaves. he couldn't see any humans or anything that would be of concern.
He sits on his porch with a gun in his lap for about 10 minutes before sighing and pushing himself up. He pauses at his door looking at where the little girl has smashed his window. Scratching his face he's puzzled on what to put up instead.
He eventually decides to leave it be for the night, only closing the curtains inside before resigning to his room, removing the chair from the handle.
He peaks his head in, “hey, little girl… no one is outside…” he slowly steps in all the way. He gets no immediate response but he can hear her breathing so he calms slightly knowing she wasn't bit or anything.
“I hear you under the bed, it's safe to come out now.”
When he sees the bed skirt move he holds back a smile as that spot was only a guess he had made.
When the girl stands in front of him she quickly pulls a gun from the waistband of her pants.
Nick raises his hands in defense.
“Your’e not like a pervert or a killer are you?” she says
“What? No! No.. Jesus.”
“Why are you half naked?”
“I wasn't expecting company when I chose to live in the middle of nowhere.” Nick moves to the closet quickly pulling on a tank top and sweatpants, before facing the girl again “what are you doing out here anyway? We're like hours from the nearest town.”
“My dad was taken and all his friends, those guys were going to kill me. You have to trust me.”
Nick squints, “what guys? We’re the only people out here for miles. Trust me I heard nothing out there, just birds and deer.” Nick slowly takes the gun from the girl's hand, checking the magazine to find it empty.
“You’re smart.” he nods to her, tucking it away into his night stand. “I'm Nick, what's your name?”
“Tracy.”