The Dead World Ch. 17

She ran her finger around the rim of the shot glass and enjoyed the pleasant numbness that slowly spread across her skin and brought a rosy tinge to her tanned cheeks. "I was married, too. Right before everything happened, we had some complications... about a month before everything got bad? We lost our son."

Dove reached for the bottle again, and refilled the shot glasses as she spoke with the same somber reminiscence. She didn't question her guard lowering... what would be the point? Making herself appear more human and less of a slave could only benefit her now.

Ruthless' gaze softened. He might have taken the bottle from her, if not for the glisten of tears threatening her eyes which she hastily wiped away with the back of her hand. She sniffled, forced a smile, and shook her head gently. It was so long ago. The years felt like they were twice as long now with no sure way but the changing of the seasons to mark their passing.

"I am sorry." His firm tone did not betray the empathy behind the apology.

"I was so fucking sad at first... but now? I'm not so sure. I wonder if it was a kindness or something. God thought to spare us the horror of a baby in... in this... whatever the hell we call the world now. I was so sick a few months before the medical procedure. Afterwards we got the news that the damage was extensive and permanent, and... well..." She shrugged dismissively, trying her best not to feel for the loss anymore. He could see through the sorrowful smile on her lips as she nursed the shot before swallowing it down a bit too eagerly.

"I got to hold him. We said goodbye. Matthew suggested a few weeks after that we just... go somewhere. Anywhere. Just to get away, and clear our minds and not be surrounded by everyone apologizing and tiptoeing around us while we were grieving. That's how I ended up here on the coast."

Silence had settled again, and Ruthless observed the smile on her full lips fading in the flickering of the candlelight. The story of what happened before was no more pleasant than what happened after the world crumbled into nothing in only a few short days as the virus ravaged the globe. She took a few more bits of venison and nibbled at them distractedly, feeling the tension and earlier hateful corruption of her thoughts swept away by intoxication. It was a shitty club to be in, one of pain and loss, but she was almost certain that there wasn't a person alive who hadn't lost someone in the last six years.

"Your husband?" Ruthless questioned.

"Lost... I can only hope. Almost four years have passed..." Dove's voice was little more than a whisper. She wanted to be angry over it. Time and time again she had wondered what would have happened if she had left and made her way to the mountain ridge as Matt had directed her. She'd never have been in this situation if she had listened, but some part of her clung desperately to the thought that he would return. Some part of her still wanted to hold on to that hope. Dove felt like a fool for it now. Ruthless' expression had gone blank and unreadable, and again she brushed a few tears from the corners of her eyes with a heavy sigh.

He reached across, and took her hand delicately in his broad palm, squeezing gently. He said nothing. He didn't need to. The simple act of kindness caused her heart to swell, and a set of hot tears to slip from her eyes as she sniffled and nodded her head.

"Thank you. I suppose it could always be worse, the way the others tell it..."

He drew his hand back, and she moved a bit too quickly as she reached for the bottle, almost toppling it over and unable to help the smothered giggle that escaped her as she poured the next round with an unsteady hand.

"Cheers, to being the last sane fuckers in this horrible fucking world."

"Vashe zdorov'ye." He hesitated on the shot as Dove tilted back her head, not seeming bothered in the slightest by the bite of the Russian vodka now. As soon as she downed the shot, she found herself inspired to turn and pitch the shot glass as hard as she could into the empty restaurant; the shattering of glass was bizarrely soothing. She released her laughter as she looked to Ruthless, who at her initiation of mischief arched both brows. Silence again, but only for a moment.

"It is always a good thing to vent your frustrations, little barkeeper... nothing here will be missed." He responded positively, sliding the nearly empty bottle of vodka clear off the bar top to shatter onto the ground, much to her delight.

"Oops." A wide grin accompanied his gruff voice as she clapped eagerly, biting her bottom lip. It didn't make any sense why it was so entertaining. Ruthless knew, though, there were far fewer ways to let off steam, especially when reminiscing about the dark days. He nodded almost provocatively to the entire bar behind her and her eyes went wild like a kid at Christmas.

She turned slowly, a wicked grin spreading over her lips as she reached for a few martini glasses, pitching them into the wide room to shatter wildly among the dusty forgotten tables of the dining area. Her laughter was infectious.

It didn't take but a moment before she was going wild through the bar, tossing stemware and bottles as she pleased, the shattering of glass and scent of alcohol heavy in the air as she vented her pain and anger on the forgotten spirits. Ruthless settled there at the bar with a grin, watching as she tore her way around the horse-shoe shape, shattering anything fragile in her wake.

It wasn't until she had shattered nearly every glass behind the bar that Dove finally stopped, catching her breath with a positively delighted grin as her boots crunched over the shattered glass and she reached out eagerly to right herself as she stumbled. She cackled in her pleasantly drunken stupor, slipping as she cleared the space behind the bar and made her way to Ruthless, and he extinguished the candles.

"Better out of your system than poison in your soul. Come." He waved to herwaved her from behind the bar. She slipped over shards of glass and alcohol now scattered across the floor, and he reached out abruptly, grasping her forearm to aid her in rebalancing as she crunched her way from behind the bar to his side.

"That was sooooo fucking fun! And y'know what? I feel... I feel a lot better, you have no idea, so much better..." The slur of her exaggerated words forced him to smother a laugh and place a most serious expression on his face, allowing Dove to grasp his broad forearm for balance as she looked up at him with her deep brown eyes alight in mischief and her skin glowing in her intoxication. "You! You're a great drinking buddy Ruthless--I know that's not your real name but--'m serious... and hey thanks for dinner. I'm SO hungry again, I could eat like... a horse--ooh, you know what I miss most about before? Pasta! Man, I would cut my hand off for some Alfredo..."

"Come. You are to be resting, da? You have drank near your weight." His tone was light and amused as he led Dove from the resort restaurant and bar with concentrated steps. Her giggles and half coherent mumbles caused him to roll his eyes gently, but he was no less entertained by her antics as they made their way into the hall, with her small hand in his far broader palm and the heavy semi-automatic rifle slung over his shoulder. He angled the powerful beam of light down the soundless hall, and Dove pulled him along with a strength and determination borrowed from liquid courage.

"I'mnoteventired!" She stifled a yawn.

"You need water and rest. It's good to drink and forget. To drink and weep... not so good." He frowned at his final statement as they rounded the corner, the quiet and darkness of the lobby much more unsettling than it had been when the generator was running and the place still looked illuminated and well tended.

"Ugggh nooooo, I'm not climbing all those stairs to get to my bed--It's cool, it's fine, I'll... sleep in the lobby--whoo!" Dove had taken the turn sharply, and stumbled, almost toppling over if not for the strong grasp just behind her. She pulled Ruthless right along with her as she backed into the wall, and tipped one of the standing pedestals with an elaborate vase and faux flower accent, the shattering causing her to cover her mouth sharply and choke down her laughter. "Oooh man, that's my favorite sound ever right now! Let's... let's go break some more shit!"

"Tomorrow. Rest for you tonight." He sighed with a smile at the drunken young woman and shook his head, just before Dove pressed forward and curled her arms up and around his neck. The sudden vanishing of personal space had mellowed his expression as he looked down upon her, and watched a devious grin pull over her pretty lips as she tilted her head to the side.

"Mmm okay--finnneee, Dad. You... you gonna tuck me in? Hm? Come on, then, let's go... you can lay with me and--" Again that fit of giggles had consumed her as she pushed him away and started back down the hall, the challenge of walking a straight line through the lobby visible as she veered off course several times, calling out loudly behind her, "You can do whatever the fuck you want with me, it's... it's your day? Someone's day--Ruthless, Slash--wait no, Slash... then... Diablo? Fuck, I can't keep it right anymore--just come on."

She had hardly any sense of where she was going. Ruthless trailed after her, his expression settled in that usually stoic and unreadable stare, watching the curly haired woman march her way to the door just beside the room he had claimed. He was delicate as he took her hand, and directed her to the door to the right, shining the flashlight as per cautious habit first into the room after rapping sharply on the door. There was silence from within. He led Dove on with no hesitation, and closed it quietly behind.

"Water first, then rest."

"I know you didn't vote for it but it's... it's fine--r-really... just um... yeah..." The excitement had faded from her voice as she heaved a sigh, and flopped eagerly down upon the hotel Queen, burying her face in a feather down pillow and mumbling incoherently. Ruthless, none too gently pried her boots from her feet before moving across to the nightstand, taking a bottle of water and offering it to her.

"Drink. Then rest."

"So... you're not going to... you know?" Her fit of giggles had subsided now, and sure enough, he had almost called the reaction she would have next. The tearful expression she looked at him now bordering on heartbreak. He waited for her to take the bottle of water before turning to move about the room, lighting the candles placed there in silence as the emotional and incredibly drunk young woman just behind him sniffled, and wiped a few tears from her cheeks now falling freely. Why the fuck was she even crying right now? Dove couldn't make sense of it, especially when she was so very relaxed and damn near giddy not ten minutes ago.

"No." His statement was firm and certain. She could hardly understand why she was crying now... relief, or frustration, or sorrow as she played back the evening and found her heart all but torn as she realized how airily she spoke of losing her only child and husband all in a handful of short, horrific years. She choked down a sob, feeling the flood of guilt and embarrassment swelling in her chest as she rolled onto her side. Watching him through tear-filled eyes as he lit the candles, her hands had moved to her face, desperately trying to tame back the flow of tears as Ruthless quietly glanced over his shoulder to her.

"You are safe here... with me." He said quietly.

"I've heard that before. Give it an hour." Dove's impulsive, bitter retort accompanied a low groan. She didn't understand why when she wasn't drunk and spiraling into depression, but she had experienced it too many times now for it to be a coincidence. Even when one of them seemed safe and uninclined to take advantage of her and the contract she was now tethered to them with, it only took a small time of being alone with her before they crumbled to some unseen magnetism she had. She was starting to hate herself for it.

"You remind me of my mushka, Galina... with Yulia's spirit. My daughters. There is meaning to knowing you. You are safe with me. Now... drink, and then sleep." He was ever demanding in his tone of voice, nodding as she drew in a deep breath and brushed her sleeve against her face, rising just enough to bring the bottle to her lips and drink down the water rapidly before discarding the empty plastic bitterly to the floor. Her eyes lulled heavily as she shifted to her stomach, curling her arms beneath the pillow, and let her eyes slip closed.

"Thank you, Ruthless." She half expected she would wake in an hour or two in a tipsy haze with him trying to wrestle her jeans off... but Dove couldn't be bothered worrying over that right now. What difference would it make if she did? Her eyes closed as she pressed her cheek to the pillow, and drifted off into an uneasy sleep in what seemed to be only moments.

He wasn't sure what she had meant by it, but it was almost impossible not to notice the allure surrounding her. The time they spent together made her seem all the more charming, and made it easy to be enchanted by the tone of her voice and her pretty face aglow in mischief. Everything she said pulled his interest, even if the conversation had been so somber and heartbroken. The Russian frowned thoughtfully, and moved to draw the blankets up and over her with as delicate a hand as he could muster. His fingertips brushed the softness of her cheek with a fondness reminiscent of a dutiful father overlooking his child... and without a second thought, Ruthless turned and headed to the door to exit the room.

He didn't need to question what she said. It seemed the longer he was around her, the more he found his mind straying to places he felt it should not. She was a pretty young thing, and it was no short realization that he, as his comrades, had not seen another woman in years. But Ruthless' resolve was absolute. No manner of unusual, impulsive thoughts or emotions would have the better of what he had told himself would absolutely not be done... and he was not intent on adding himself to her troubles. He would avoid the room for the evening, and sit in the lobby, where he could keep an ample eye on the suite and protect her from those who would think to manipulate her fragile state to their whims.

Further down the hall there was stirring in the darkness, the voices of his comrades echoing down the halls, and the bouncing beams of flashlights in the dark. He made his way to the lobby, taking a place at the valet desk as he so often did. He slowly disassembled the AR-15 he was most fond of with his mind set to clean and maintain it, just before members of his group promptly joined him.

"No sign of the kid. Damn near nothin' ta track even. Too dark now to sweep back 'round. I checked out by where I found 'em first time, nothin' recent on the walk around... not from the kid at least. Heard the scouts rippin' through, laid low fer a bit, then headed back," Slash muttered.

"No tails. Nobody's going back out looking for him again. He'll turn up like he always does... anybody have eyes on the girl?" Skully angled the high-powered flashlight toward the blonde at the desk, who coolly removed the magazine and checked the chamber after expelling the live round.

"She is resting with me tonight." His tone was firm and direct, not bothering to look up from the weapon. Skully arched a brow curiously and tilted his head at the older man. The pair had paused in place at the statement, in a tone that gave no question for debate, and the cool blue gaze of the group leader shifted to Slash. The group's mechanic merely smirked in response, and shrugged absently.

"'Ey, figured he'd come 'round before big brother. I'll sit the graveyard with Diablo... his ass been obsessed with lookout since she left his room." Slash cackled wickedly and set his attention on the inactive doors.

"Don't waste your time out here all night... comrade." Skully smirked, and started his way down the hall, feeling Ruthless' eyes trailing after him. He turned to the end into his suite, and closed the door quietly behind him.

The ocean rushed in, the rumbling of high tide deafening. The rain had subsided at last; it made the air feel colder. The lingering grayness overhead had dropped through the night, shrouding the coast in mist. There was something bizarrely calming to the shroud, and overall comforting to Dog. Knowing that there were hostile individuals in the area made the coverage a welcome grace, but he had found very little peace since he had left the resort last night.

He was dry, if not for the fog dampening the long strands of his hair. It hadn't taken him long to navigate his way through the small town with his eyes set on the pier, anticipating some manner of vehicle designed for the water possibly available to him. His group was heading due north. Getting a head start seemed as good an idea as any. Far better an idea than returning. That thought caused him discomfort. He gritted his teeth bitterly, trying not to focus on her, on leaving her alone with him.

He had asked her to leave with him. He all but begged her to, and had exhausted every option until that point. Now Dog felt himself toeing a dangerous line. He had buried the ghosts of his past deep down, but the recent weeks were determined to rip those corpses from their grave and haunt him any time he laid down to rest. Lately, they haunted him in the waking world as well.

Tightness gripped his chest unexpectedly, accompanied by paranoid and uncomfortable thoughts. The feeling was unbearable the last few days, but none so severe as when Skully had given his last command. Dog's impulsive decision to part from them--from her--wasn't ideal. But it was better this way, wasn't it? His silent defiance against becoming another tool of suffering against Charlie burned first and foremost in his mind and led him to where he was now, seated precariously on the edge of the bannister at the pier overlooking the sea.

He could feel them standing behind him... The men he had killed. He hesitated to glance over his shoulder, listening to them groaning and shuffling along, gathering against the chains stretched across the staircase down the pier placed to prevent anyone from wandering down to the edge. He turned his head and looked over the expressions of the men whose lives he had ended.

Their faces were vivid, and there was color to their skin, save the bleeding holes in their skulls and their empty, dead eyes. The entry points were between their eyes with startling precision. He had never missed. Dog's brow furrowed, and he sighed and shook his head, turning his eyes away from them and down to the revolver in his hands.

How many men had he killed since it all began? He couldn't remember. There were far too many to count now. They gathered, pressuring the rusted metal chain just barely holding them back, looming just over his shoulder in a constant threat that felt unequivocal. Like Judgment day, coming for him at last.

Dog tried many times to convince himself it was all in his head. Maybe it was, but what difference did it make? He pulled the trigger so many times he couldn't fucking remember how many it had been. What was temporary peace in the world of the living? If they didn't manage to catch up to him in the living world, the teenager was almost certain they would be waiting for him in the darkness when he finally breathed his last.

Dog's thumb eased the cylinder slowly from position, his eyes sweeping the backs of the cartridges. The growing snarls and groans of the gathering crowd of reanimates behind him fell on deaf ears as he tilted the revolver and emptied the rounds into his palm with sullen apprehension. One by one, he let them slide from his grasp and drop into the turbulent waves not far beneath, swallowed by the darkness of the sea. One by one, he felt his fate fleeting with them, until only a single bullet remained. With dark determination, Dog inserted the round back into the cylinder and closed his eyes. He spun it and snapped it back into place.