Remnants Ch. 04

The footprints go up the porch steps and back down, then around back. Jeremiah cautiously walks past the side of the house, glancing in windows, freezing when he sees movement on the back porch. Could be one of those smart ones, so he stealthily crouches, pulling out his pistol as he does so. He needs shelter, and no dead thing is going to stop him.

Beside the steps, he raps hard on the door, then backs up, his gun at the ready. Inside, the figure makes no move, and Jeremiah raps again, this time longer. If it's a rotter in there, it will come out.

Nothing comes out, though, so it's a human. Might be more dangerous, Jeremiah considers, reaching out for the knob. Suddenly it bursts open, catching him by surprise, the door knocking him backwards so that he falls into the snow.

A man yells wildly and jumps on him, face twisted, teeth bared, but Jeremiah still recognizes him, and grabs the man's collar with his free hand.

"Jack, it's me. Jeremiah."

Jack's face clears. "Oh. Sorry. Things have been a little intense around here." He gets off, offers a hand up.

Jeremiah follows Jack inside, flinching at the foul stench that assaults him. "What the hell is that?"

"Oh, there's a bunch of corpses in the living room, all wrapped up like mummies. Guess this place was used as a mortuary or something. That's why I'm out here." He shrugs, then frowns in puzzlement.

"Where's Zeke?"

(Jack)

Jack's out gathering kindling for the fireplace when he sees a figure staggering toward the house. He turns to get Jeremiah, but he's already striding through the snow, motioning Jack to come along. By this time the guy has collapsed into a drift, and it takes them both to drag him inside. In the back of his mind Jack's surprised at the lack of caution on Jeremiah's part but goes along with it. What else does he have to do anyway?

"Bring him over here," Jeremiah directs, kicking the door to the kitchen open. "By the fireplace."

Jack grabs the guy's other arm and between the two of them they manage to drag the immobile body close to the fire. His clothes are soaking wet, steaming in the warm air. His face is unnaturally pale, his lips tinged blue.

"We've got to get him warm and dry." Jeremiah tugs at the jacket, obviously a newbie when it comes to undressing someone else.

"I got this," Jack says, expertly rolling the guy on his side and back and forth until the jacket's off, and then moves to everything else.

Soon the boy is naked but for his dingy underwear, and after he's bundled up in blankets, Jeremiah stares at him, an odd expression on his scruffy face.

"What is it? Do you know him or something?"

Yeah--I know this kid," Jeremiah says slowly, brow furrowed. "I don't--I don't understand."

Jack isn't sure how to deal with Jeremiah right now; he never did answer him about where Zeke was, but it's obvious the kid is dead and that the man can't talk about it.

"He's from the city. He helped me escape some greyskins and took me back to his place. There was another man with him. Gabriel wanted to go with me, but I said no."

Jack stirs the fire with the poker, hoping no one will notice the plume of smoke rising into the sky, but it's almost dark, so they should be fine. Should. That word ought to be struck from the English language. Nothing good ever follows 'should', at least in his experience.

He sits on the carpet with a sigh. Dragging that kid really took it out of him. Jeremiah keeps standing, staring down at the unconscious kid. Whatever, Jack thinks, not really interested. There's a story there, but he's not sure he really wants to know.

He glances over at the other man, sees him holding something round and white in his lap, his fingers sliding over it. Is that a--skull? Jack swallows hard and looks away, skin crawling.

"He got sick," Jeremiah says, his voice barely audible over the crackling fire. "Fever, chills, he had it bad. We holed up in a barn and I tried to get him to eat and drink, but he couldn't. I held him until he stopped shivering."

He goes silent then, and Jack's glad. He doesn't want to hear any more.

(Jeremiah)

Punishment. Karma. How else to explain the kid? He glances over at Gabriel, who looks a little better. At least his lips aren't blue anymore. Questions rattle around in Jeremiah's brain: how did he get here? What's he doing? Where's Liam?

If the kid ever wakes up, there might be answers to those questions. Jeremiah recalls the state of the clothing they'd pulled off him, as if he'd gone on a killing spree.

The fire crackles and pops, the heat feeling so good. The stack of wood on the back porch won't last very long and that's a good thing. They can't stay here. But if they don't, where will they go? Too many questions.

He should sleep, but his mind won't stop. There's an endless loop from Aiden to Marie to Zeke rolling through his head. How long before Gabriel's in there as well? Is it a miracle that he found Jeremiah? Or just coincidence? Are there such things as miracles now? Water into wine? Lame man walking? Abused boy finding a protector? Jeremiah's not sure about that, not sure about anything except that life sucks and then you die. Marie used to say that, he remembers suddenly, smiling a little. So much truth in it.

(Gabriel)

Gabriel regains consciousness abruptly; one moment he's dreaming of nothing, the next he's awake. Warmth on one side of his face, the rest of him cocooned in a nest of crocheted blankets. It feels...wonderful.

"Are you thirsty?" The speaker is a black-haired guy with a patchy beard crouched next to him. His eyes are a wary blue, the hand holding out the cup trembling a little. "You're Gabriel, right? I'm Jack."

Gabriel doesn't want to move or talk or do anything but bask in this warmth by this lovely fire. But the guy--Jack--persists, blabbing on about who knows what, until Gabriel sits up, the blankets falling around his naked waist.

He holds the cup with both hands, feeling a little dizzy and weak. "Where am I?"

"Safe. For now, anyway," Jack says, glancing behind him as a tall figure comes into the room.

Gabriel nearly drops the cup. It's Jeremiah, the dangerous man. Stunned, he can only stare as his mouth drops open. How is this happening?

The man says nothing, merely walks past him to the other side of the fireplace, and stands by the mantle, stroking something round and white resting there. Gooseflesh rises on Gabriel's skin.

He shoves the cup at Jack and burrows back under the covers, his heart beating wildly. Then, realizing he's being stupid and childish, throws off the blankets.

"I need my clothes."

"Over there, man," Jack says, pointing to a pile by the door. "They stink, though. You might try going upstairs and looking for something else to wear. If you're going to be with us, you need to smell a little better." He grins.

"I don't care what I smell like," Gabriel mumbles, wishing Jeremiah would say something, anything. His fingers start to itch; where's his knife?

"Your knife's over there with your stuff."

Gabriel glances at Jeremiah, who seems absorbed in the round white thing, and decides to find some new clothes. Wrapping a blanket around himself, he climbs the stairs slowly, his toes tingling.

(Jack)

"That kid makes me nervous." Jack pokes the fire, wishing Jeremiah would say something. "You said you know him. Is he ok?" Both know what he's really asking, and Jeremiah finally speaks.

"I don't know. Being out here...it changes a man."

Duh. "Maybe you should talk to him. He looked at me like I was an alien."

"Might be he doesn't get your sense of humor," Jeremiah says slowly, making Jack chuckle.

"Wow, did you just make a joke?" Jack figures that's a good sign and decides to broach another subject. "Are we going to leave soon?"

"I'm not sure. Where will we go? And the weather...I just don't know."

"Those things, those grey-skinned things," Jack says reluctantly. "They have a town, Jeremiah. They're smarter than your average dead thing, but they still wanted to eat me. I'd like to get farther away from them. But yeah, it's kind of nice here, in a weird way."

Jeremiah nods and Jack's relieved to see him put the skull back into his bag. Just having that thing in the open creeps him out. He misses the boy, although not as much as Jeremiah does, obviously. He can't remember if Zeke was his son or not but decides that's not a question he'll ever ask. He'd like to live a little longer.

That Gabriel kid... There's something a little--off. Something shifty in his eyes, as if waiting for the next blow to fall, yet those eyes are full of rage as well. He reminds Jack of an abused dog, ready to bite at the faintest provocation.

He smiles. What a great group of guys.

(Gabriel)

Upstairs Gabriel wanders around the rooms, touching a bedspread here, running his hand across a mirror there. He finds jeans and a grey sweatshirt, black woolen socks. One room must have belonged to a girl, because it's pink and filled with girly stuff, like makeup and jewelry. There are photographs stuck in the mirror, so many only a small circle reflects his dirty face. He moves closer to inspect the pictures.

The girl in all the photos has long brown hair and a pretty smile. She looks nothing like Pearl, nothing at all. Hearing someone coming upstairs, he snatches a picture and shoves it in a pocket to look at later.

Jeremiah's tall form fills the doorway, one eyebrow raised when he sees the room. "Gabriel," he says, leaning against the doorframe. "What happened to you?"

Gabriel lets his breath out in a noisy rush, drops his hand from his knife hilt. "Everything." He sits heavily on the bed, his fingers clenching and unclenching on the smooth bedspread, leaving smears of dirt across the light pink fabric.

"The rotters--they killed everyone. Me and Liam, we were out on patrol and when we got back--too late." His eyes sting a little. "So, we left. And here I am." He can't tell him about--that (Pearl) thing; he wouldn't understand. No one can understand.

"Here you are," Jeremiah says slowly. "Where's Liam? Did you kill him?" An offhand question, but Gabriel's heart pounds. What would Jeremiah do if Gabriel said yes?

"Not yet. But I will," Gabriel promises, meeting the other man's gaze. "It's only a matter of time before I catch up to him. He's an old man." One of his hands slides down to his knife, grips the hilt, fingers loosening, then tightening.

When he looks up again, Jeremiah's watching him, and Gabriel drops his hand and stands up.

"I'm okay," he says, meeting the other man's eyes. Jeremiah's boots thump on the dusty carpet as he leaves without answering and goes downstairs. Gabriel lies back on the frilly bedspread and closes his eyes, his dreams full of blood.

(Jack)

When Gabriel comes back downstairs, the first thing Jack notices is that the kid's got his hand on his knife, stroking it like it's his lover's hand. That coupled with Jeremiah's skull rubbing makes Jack's flesh crawl.

Stabbing a canned pear with a fork, Jack hopes he isn't making a mistake by staying here, that one night he won't wake up with a Bowie knife in his gut. But the kid barely looks in his direction, instead pacing back and forth in front of the window that faces the road, even going so far as to open the curtains.

"Shut that," Jeremiah barks, and Gabriel jumps, scowls, cuts off the weak light filtering through the grimy window. After that, he paces from the fireplace through the kitchen to the back porch a couple of times before finally settling for the back porch.

"He's gonna make me nuts," Jack complains, the noise of that stomping across the porch annoying as hell. Back and forth, back and forth.

Jeremiah says nothing, keeping his eye on Gabriel, which doesn't really make Jack feel any better. The kid's a psycho, anyone can see that, while Jeremiah isn't quite that bad. Losing a child must be hard and horrible, and even Jack finds himself tearing up a little when a memory of the boy's smile catches him off guard, but he's not, like, nuts.

He tosses the empty can in the sink with the others, the clanking noise loud. Gabriel bursts back into the kitchen, knife out, eyes wild, cords standing out in his neck.

"What was that? What was that noise? Is it a greyskin?"

"Holy shit, dude," Jack says, backing up until the edge of the worn counter digs into his back.

"Gabriel, put the knife away." Jeremiah's voice is calm, reasonable. "There are no greyskins. You're safe here."

"I heard something."

"Nothing's here. You're safe," Jeremiah says again, his hand straying to the pistol at his side. Jack watches in fascination, as if Gabriel is a snake and Jeremiah a mongoose. If the two tangle...well, it would be quite the show.

Another tense moment before Gabriel visibly relaxes and sheathes the knife. His eyes (crazy eyes) flicker across Jack briefly, piercing rather than the blank nothing Jack would have thought. Maybe there is something in the kid's head besides revenge.

"You hungry, Gabriel?" Jeremiah holds out a can of mixed fruit, but Gabriel stumbles out onto the back porch. Good riddance.

"He's a psycho," Jack mutters when Gabriel's out of earshot. He rakes his hands through his hair, trying to stop the shaking, trying to settle down. That was a bit too intense for his liking.

"I know." Jeremiah's expression is troubled. "I wish I'd taken him with me when I had the chance."

Jack shrugs. There are a dozen things he wishes he'd done differently. Doesn't matter now, so why dwell on it?

(Jeremiah)

Jeremiah makes sure he's closest to Gabriel when they set out the next morning, packs on their backs, dressed in as many layers as possible. The cold is still brutal, the sky a steel grey.

"So where are we going?" Jack asks, and Jeremiah sighs. The man can't stop talking for more than five minutes.

"West."

"I mean, ultimately, boss man. That house was a sweet setup and I'm already missing that nice warm fire. And I'm not sure I should have shaved off my beard," he says, rubbing his smooth face. "I'm kind of cold." He'd found a small backpack in a closet, pink and sparkly, it looks ridiculous, but also kind of a nice pop of color in the bleak landscape.

Jeremiah grits his teeth in irritation; he's always despised complainers.

Gabriel walks a little ahead, head up and alert, as if his quarry can be found that easily. Jeremiah thinks that Liam is more than likely dead after all this time, possibly even a rotter. The chances of finding him are miniscule.

"Do you think Paradise is real?" Jack asks, intruding on Jeremiah's thoughts. "Part of me hopes so, but the rest of me is pretty sure it's a scam, maybe by more of those grey things, maybe just a mean joke."

"I don't know. I try not to think about it."

"Well, I think about it all the time. What if there's a safe place, a place where a person can relax, let his guard down...." Jack snorts. "Listen to me, getting all hopeful, when the last thing that does anyone any good is hope. It's bullshit. Sometimes I wonder why I'm even still alive."

"You find a reason to live," Jeremiah says, thinking of the skull in his pack. "When that reason's gone, you find another. And then another. Or," he looks at Jack, "You eat your gun."

Jack returns his gaze. "I'm not that hungry yet."

Always a joke.

(Gabriel)

Gabriel stares at the slight figure standing beneath the leafless tree. The tired limbs make a canopy, the light too dim to see clearly. But he knows who it is, impossible as it is. He takes one step, then another, his entire body trembling, teeth chattering.

He's close enough to see the pale hair now and closes his eyes just for a moment as he shudders to a stop. No. It can't be her, can't be real, it can't.

Something lightly touches his face, like butterfly wings, making his eyes pop open.

Pearl's destroyed face stares back at him, one cloudy blue eye looking at him, the other a mass of gunk in her smashed head. Her hands settle around his neck, the mouth opens, wider and wider--

Gabriel wakes up with a cry in his mouth, wakes up into the cold and dark, sweat running down his body, shaking, throat burning. He swallows the cry, sends it down into his belly with the others. Closing his eyes, he tries to go back to sleep, but his churning thoughts drive him out of the sleeping bag to the fire. The night air chills his sweaty skin, and he pokes the hot coals, adds more sticks until the brightness chases away the encroaching dark. He's not sure how long he stands there before he feels someone come up beside him.

"Long night," Jeremiah says into the silence. A branch pops, sending sparks into the silent sky.

"They're all long. Too long." Gabriel rubs the back of his neck, weary to his bones. "I don't like sleeping any more. Sometimes...sometimes I just want it all to go away. Forever."

"We all feel that way sometimes, Gabriel. You just have to find a reason to keep going."

"I got one."

"To kill Liam. What happens after you do that?"

Gabriel says nothing; that question is irrelevant.

"You got to think ahead. It's your life and there should be more to it than revenge."

"Like what?" Gabriel turns on the other man, his fists clenching at his sides. "What the hell do I have to live for? All my friends are dead, Jeremiah. And Pearl--" He chokes off, eyes scalded with tears, but he won't cry, won't let any of that out because what good would it do? Dredging up the memories from their place deep in his psyche only makes it harder for him to think clearly, to reason, to plan. And yet, a part of him, the part of him that's still a scared kid, wants to tell Jeremiah, on the off chance that he could understand, commiserate maybe, Gabriel's not sure but the words begin to crowd his head, boil up his throat until he can't hold them back.

"There was this--girl we found one night," he says in a low voice, staring into the bright flames unblinkingly. "Liam wanted to kill her; said she wasn't human. But I wouldn't let him, because she was--she was the prettiest thing I've ever seen in my whole life. I don't remember much what it was like before, you know. I guess I had parents, a sister. Liam's the one who found me hiding in the clothes dryer. He told me I didn't talk for months." He shakes his head.

"She was so soft, and kind, and I wanted to keep her safe. Liam, he just kept ragging on me about her being one of Moon's things but I knew she was a girl, my girl." He stops, the words clogging in his throat. Beside him Jeremiah simply listens, feeding sticks to the fire.

"But then Liam got mad and he--he smashed her face with his shotgun and I--I wanted to kill him, I still want to kill him and I will kill him and he told me to go look at her and I did and--"

Gabriel grinds his teeth. "She wasn't--she wasn't Pearl, she was just this--thing, this dead thing that I'd been touching and holding at night, letting it get close to me and oh God I didn't know I thought she loved me but it wasn't a she it was a dead thing and it made me sick I wanted to puke and I smashed it and stomped on it until there was nothing left but sick memories and I can still feel her on my skin and I want to scrape it off oh God I want to die--"

He drops to his knees beside the fire and then onto his face and then there's nothing.

(Jeremiah)

"What in the hell is wrong with him?"

"Help me pull him away from the fire," Jeremiah says, grabbing the boy's arm. Between the two of them they manage to get him back to his sleeping bag and roll him onto it.

"How much of that did you hear?"

"I heard all of it. He's whacked," Jack says, staring down at the kid.

Jeremiah crouches beside Gabriel and loosens his coat, lays the back of his hand on the boy's sweaty cheek, wondering again if he'd taken this tormented child with him all of this could have been avoided.