The Dead World Ch. 11

Charlie showed rapid signs of improvement, so much that Diablo's initial fears faded by the third day of administering intravenous antibiotics. With the help of the group, they had done well to gather a generous amount of medication and medical supplies from the coast guard safezone... most importantly, it was medication he was familiar with, and equipment he could work with.

Making a sterile saline solution was the most difficult bit, really. The years old bags of IV fluids had long since expired, but the vessels they were in were still useful and they had access to not only clean water, but heat and items to distill.

He did his best to keep her comfortable. The fear that she would succumb to her affliction and the next time he saw her she'd be a snarling, snapping cannibalistic monster was a heavy one, and so he reluctantly requested solid binds from Oz to tie her to the bed frame, should the worst become reality.

Her memory of the day they left for the safe zone was a foggy haze of voices, and panic, and pain... she spent more time battling fever demons than being a reactive member of the group. The group's medic was far more capable than his companions anticipated, though. In the dim lit aura of her suite, she saw a real effort from the few good souls among them.

Diablo slept in the corner of the room in the wide chair meant for the small dining table in her suite. Her eyes brushed over the dim settings, to see not only had they reset the furniture but they'd done their best to tidy her space.

She didn't know it yet, but Diablo had watched over her for the duration of her recovery, monitoring her vitals and shifting her position so that she wouldn't return to the world of the living with bedsores and bruises.

She exhaled softly, and slowly moved beneath the heavy comforter to rise to sit. She felt an incredible soreness even with his efforts to her entire slender frame, and even with the fog of troubling memories coming back to her, there was a certain sense of gratitude that she was still alive. There was nothing quite like a near death experience to make you realize you truly wanted to live...

"...hey, Diablo..." Her voice sounded foreign to her ears, now. He stirred, a light sleeper, and stretched his arms over his head gently until the realization dawned on him that she was awake and he flinched quite visibly, with his dark eyes going wide.

"Oh shit, hey--you're awake!"

"... yeah... can you?" She shifted the hand cuffed to the bedpost, watching as he all but tripped over himself as he moved to the side of the bed, fumbling for the key. "I just.. need to use the restroom..."

"R-right, my bad--it was just a precaution you know? Just in case you--"

"Yeah... I get it. I've seen what happens... when people die, these days." She nodded gently as the handcuff dropped from her wrist, not wanting to admit she felt a bit more at ease not tied to anything. Diablo stepped back to give her space as she rubbed the previously cuffed wrist tenderly, and slowly moved to slide her legs from the blankets, and drape them over the edge of the bed.

"Not gonna lie.. we, uh... we weren't sure if you were gonna make it. You were in and out for nearly six days."

"Guess that explains the jello legs..." Charlie's quiet murmur inspired Diablo to come to her side and offer her an arm, and she gently moved to stand with his assistance. They made their way to the restroom at the back of her suite, and he let her move inside without him, closing the door quietly behind her.

She started the shower almost instinctively, and found herself examining the long blue and white print hospital gown she was suited in. She felt dreadfully frail, and felt very much as if she was starving. She let her hands sweep the thin material of disposable underwear she had been suited with beneath the gown with bemused realization.

"...Were you the one who dressed me?" She called out, amusement still lacing her tone of voice as she carefully stripped bare and moved to stand beneath the warm rush of water.

"Yeah. I mean, you're my patient, only seemed right--Dog and Ruthless stood by, even helped, every now and then--no funny business. A gown and disposables seemed a lot more practical than leaving you nude and risking a catheter... I figured you'd come around once your fever broke."

"So... what, you're a whole nurse?" She took the bar soap from the dish, rinsing away days worth of sweat and stagnant energy as she called out just loudly enough to be heard.

"I was a CNA out of high school, for a while... ended up as an EMT after flunking out of med school. So, yeah... something like that, I guess."

It was quiet afterwards. She stood beneath the rushing water, letting it soak into her tender muscles and aching bones, drenching her long dark hair. Her eyes closed and she felt a calmness and peace, almost forgetting the world, until Diablo called out to her from beyond the bathroom door. She rinsed soap from her body and coconut scented conditioner from her hair hurriedly before stepping out and wrapping herself in an oversized white towel.

"I'll be back... gonna find you something to eat and let the guys know you're awake--"

"...Thank you." She poked her head from the restroom with a shy smile on her lips. "Seriously, thank you, for everything."

"All good, Charlie... we're... we're not all bad guys. Just want you to know that."

His parting words settled in her mind and weighed on her thoughts, heavily. In his absence, she slipped from the restroom and began digging through her drawers. The wound at her shoulder had finally scabbed over and was now well beyond uncomfortable, and itchy, and still just as tender as ever. The pangs of pain from cauterization had gone almost entirely, at least.

It wasn't all bad.

Charlie took great joy in the fact that she could finally feel the fingers of her right hand, wriggling them every now and then as she fished a snug sports bra and black panties from within the depths of her dresser. She would have been happy to curl the binding wrap around her chest now, but with it no longer available to her, she simply made due with what she had.

A fresh pair of dark jeans suited her legs. She layered oversized t-shirts not particularly caring for their design, and set her mind to cleaning the blood from Matt's old bike jacket once she had a bit more mobility. For now, she rummaged through his side of the small closet for something acceptable to further bury herself into, and suited herself in a thick black wool blazer.

It felt like it took ages brushing the tangles from her hair. Diablo had tried his best but when it came to it, hair was far less important than changing the dressings of her wounds, mixing and administering intravenous antibiotics, and keeping her as clean and comfortable as he could with what he had to work with.

She braided her hair once she could finally get her hands through it, and hunted through the room for something to stuff her hair beneath, finally finding an old knitted beanie with a visor edge among Matthew's side of the dresser.

It was a bit oversized for her head but she didn't mind, tucking her braid into the depths as she placed it upon her head and melted seamlessly back into the role she had played among the group for so long. She might have looked the part of a scrappy young lad once again... but everyone in the group knew better, now.

The truth of the matter was, she didn't feel even the slightest bit comfortable not dressing and pretending that she was a young man. As her memories of the week before trickled back to her and she was met with the brutal realization that, yes, being discovered as female had shifted the dynamics of things dramatically.

She felt a certain icy defensiveness lingering in the depths of her soul. The tense anxiety surrounding it could no longer be dismissed or ignored... but it wouldn't be as simple as running away anymore.

No... she didn't believe all of them were bad. But she knew for a fact which of them were, and that was more than enough to cause her reserved panic.

She would have to do everything in her power to make allies of the men in this group who weren't slowly unraveling in the middle of the end of days, before her greatest tormentors took the liberty of swaying them to their own lascivious causes. With a deep, anxious breath she departed the room and started down the hall toward the lift, unable to tear her thoughts from her only real friend among them.

Where had Dog gone to? Surely his punishment had ended by now...

The group seemed so happy to see her when she finally came down to the lobby... though they were also quite visibly distracted. It was hard to shake the nervous anticipation that Skully or Slash were lurking somewhere near, just waiting for a moment to catch her wandering off by herself.

The men of the group kept to a distance, and were careful not to hold Charlie in their line of vision for too long, perhaps hoping to make her more at ease. Among those settled in the lobby, Skully was not among them, and Slash only cast a lazy grin at her as he welcomed her back to the world of the living before he made his way through the adjacent halls and out into the courtyard.

Oz departed not long after him, having few words an expression that seemed stressed, troubled even. Ruthless and Diablo had settled before the main television, one of various DVDs playing over the screen. They busied themselves with weapons--most especially sorting the rounds of ammunition that had been recovered from the supply run the week prior. She wasn't certain why, but they seemed in lesser spirits, and she didn't think to press for details.

Still no Dog.

She frowned thoughtfully and made her way into the courtyard, but not before Ruthless insisted she take a radio along with her. Her eyes flickered up the functional tower of the resort, pondering if he had holed up somewhere..: she knew that to go looking for him would inevitably end badly for them both if she were found out, and so she frowned gently and sought a distraction.

The way the men had told of their relationships with each other, she wanted to believe that they wouldn't be so quick to murder one another over petty differences or acts of insubordination... but after seeing what Skully was truly capable of she found her faith in his civility minuscule at best.

Charlie stubbornly pushed the group's second-in-command from her mind as she paced the courtyard, finding herself easily winded and still rather weak from her entire ordeal for the last few weeks. There was something else, as well... a heavy craving she couldn't quite place her finger on, a neediness that forced her to find something more suitable to distract herself with if only to help ignore the churning craving.

She accepted that she was sore, stiff, and uncomfortable, but being also incredibly thirsty with spells of hot flashes and her mood dipping from sorrowful lows to red hot anger at a moment's notice did not strike her as something she should be experiencing.

She didn't linger toward the gated end of the courtyard, nor cross the sparkling salt water pools to start down the sand dunes toward the sea. Instead, she turned her back to them, and set her attention on her greenhouse. It would be a wonder, she thought grimly, if any of the animals were still alive.

The air was fragrant and warm inside of the enclosed space of glass panes and irrigation.

Even as the days tilted toward frosty mornings and chill afternoons, the sun bore heavily from above, and it felt mockingly like spring inside of the greenhouse without the cool wind whipping in from the Atlantic. It was not at all uncommon for a Georgia winter.

Inside the last crops of summer had not fared well at all. The goats had devoured most of the greens and absolutely decimated the tall stalks of corn in her absence. Before things went poorly with the group, she hadn't any time to tend to the cabbage or beets, or plant lettuce, squash or pumpkin for the cool months coming. The group would need to forage with determination to make it through to spring, if they were to stay here.

She checked the young apple trees, frowning at the scarred bark at their bases. The fruit had slowed to half sizes and she didn't doubt they were the last before the frost--she ran her fingertips gingerly over the scarred trunks. More damage from the goats she was certain. With a heavy sigh she found herself questioning now where the hell the animals had gone to.

She wandered her way through the struggling vegetation toward the far end of the greenhouse, and was surprised to see them all gathered toward the back near the through and empty feed bags... and at the center of them was a most unexpected surprise.

Charlie tensed quite visibly. Slash stood encircled by the three surviving hens and four goats, scattering canned corn to the needy creatures. She had hoped he hadn't noticed her. She began to back away and turned quickly to make herself scarce, only to hear him speak aloud not seconds later as he pitched the empty can into the nearby bin.

"Yer welcome, shit... what, ya can't even speak when somebody's doin' ya a favor?"

The impulsive, instinctive thought to bolt for the door and back to the safety of the lobby had never been as loud as it was at that moment... but Slash had made no motion yet to move away from the gathered livestock. He knelt down instead, scratching the head of a small black and white goat playfully.

"Coulda let 'em all starve--shit, coulda made a few good meals outta 'em. Figured ya wouldn't have been too happy 'bout that though... so I fed 'em and watered 'em. Recon ya find yerself a rooster and they'll be right numbers come summer."

"...Am I supposed to thank you?" Charlie's slender arms crossed over her chest as she glared at him, and watched as he stood to his full height and stretched his arms over his head, casting a lazy glance over his shoulder to her with that ever coy smirk tugging the corners of his lips.

"Still sore about that scrap, huh? Figured as much. Ya don't let shit go easy do ya girly?"

"You tried to kill me."

He laughed aloud at that, causing her brows to knit hard together in a look of sheer disdain. She took a few uneasy steps back as he fished something from his pocket and placed it between his lips, digging out a Zippo next, and igniting the end of what appeared to be a hand rolled cigarette.

"If I wanted ya dead, girly, ye'd be fuckin' dead. What's with the getup, huh? E'rebody knows yer lil' secret now, ya not foolin' anyone--had me goin' there for a minute, I'll give ya that. I knew somethin' was up, though... too damn soft in the face."

He inhaled deeply, and the scent of the smoldering end of the joint between his lips stretched into the air and teased her nostrils. That was most definitely not a cigarette. The thick plume of smoke he exhaled from the burning herbs was heavy with citrus notes and to be honest... it smelled absolutely divine.

She turned away from him, though, not quite quickly enough that he hadn't noticed her attention drawn to the burning joint.

"Ah, fuck, guess there's somethin' ya do like after all, huh? Ya wanna hit?"

"Goodbye, Slash." Her dismissive, bitter tone was met with a giddy chuckle, and he slid his hands into the deep pockets of the camp cargo pants he sported with an absent shrug, the joint resting on the corner of his mouth.

"Just tryin' ta help... yer not feelin' too hot, huh? Prolly havin' a bit of withdrawal. Diablo kept ya comfy while ya were fightin' off that infection. Ya aren't takin' anything he left ya, are ya?"

"Why would he do that? I told him before I even got sick that I didn't want anymore drugs."

She slowed her pace to stop alongside the wooden work desks of the greenhouse, noting that he hadn't followed behind her. The hens clucked in much appreciation, crowding around his feet as he blew another long plume of smoke down toward them, and she felt prickles of irritation conflicting her that she had even considered accepting the offer. Are you really that fucking weak and desperate?

She had stopped full in her tracks, and that was enough of an invitation for him. He started after her, slowly, and shrugged once again in response to her question.

"What hurts ya can kill ya, girly... ya weren't really in the position ta make those kinda calls. We all did what we could ta help ya pull through. Here."

Slash stopped just within' arms reach, and extended the half spent joint to her, and she hesitated for a long while. She didn't trust this man, not as far as she figured she could throw him, but the flickers of irritation and hot and cold spells were slowly shifting into nausea and a nasty headache. Charlie reached out, only for Slash to withdraw the offered joint sharply, placing it between his lips and inhaling deeply with an ever so cheeky grin.

"Gotta ask nicely."

"God, you're such a fucking asshole, you know that?" She scowled and rolled her eyes heavily, and he stepped just a bit closer, his mellow gaze sweeping over her pretty golden face as she bristled in irritation. "Fine. Please."

"Please, what?"

The fire that sparked in her warm chocolate eyes only made him chuckle, another stream of smoke escaping his lips, blown in a means of temptation toward the shorter, pretty female with her less than pleasant temper. It was fun ruffling her feathers, especially since she seemed far more fearless than the persona of the boy she had pretended to be.

"Please don't be an asshole and let me--mmph!" The space between them evaporated as he drew from the joint and filled his lungs, capturing Charlie's chin and bringing her lips to his with demanding determination, before she could rush away.

She thought to rip free from his grasp, he wasn't hold her firmly enough to stop her from doing so purposefully... but the thought was fleeting. The stream of marijuana smoke passed between their lips in between his forceful kiss, and once she had taken in all she could, he released her briskly and stepped back with a wicked grin.

The effects felt almost instantaneous.

She felt a rush of eased relaxation as the wispy smoke escaped her lips in a slow exhale, though the off-handed way Slash thought to "share" had earned him a venomous leer. She wrinkled her nose in disapproval, her cheeks burning from a combination of irritation and embarrassment, and she promptly turned her back to him.

"Goodbye, Slash."

"Don't be like that, pretty thing. Finish it with me--no funny business, cross my heart."

"Right, like I would trust any fucking thing you say." She glanced back to see him offering the burning joint out to her enticingly, once again... and with hesitant reserve she reached out to snatch it from his fingers and bring it to her lips before he could tease her again, much to his delight. She drew the smoke into her lungs, still watching him with pointed weariness.

"Ya gotta lighten up... I told ya before, I just like fuckin' with ya. Yer cute all red faced, puffed up and pissed off--I ain't gonna hurtcha. If I wanted to, woulda done it by now." She passed the joint back to him, and he arched his brows as his eyes swept down her slender frame tucked snuggly away in clothing meant for men.

"Ya want me ta share, ya gotta stop wearin' shit like that... yer too pretty for it."

"I don't care if you don't like it. I don't like being touched, harassed and tormented... but that hasn't stopped any of you, even with me dressed like a boy. So I'll dress how I want." Her angry retort was spat back at him as she exhaled, and coughed ever so gently, feeling the tendrils of calming intoxication closing around her frayed nerves and uneasy mind.

She didn't feel so much as if she would vomit while just standing there anymore... but standing had become another task entirely. Ever so delicately Charlie stepped up onto a small stool aside the garden work table and moved to sit upon the smooth wooden surface as Slash puffed away absently on the nearly spent joint.