Pruella Labelle's Story

Pretty things, trinkets, bracelets...

They lined the shelves. Useless things, now. Things society deemed beautiful, that were just distractions. They'd get caught on branches, hurt you, make you susceptible to the disease. Pruella still adored them, though. These amethysts, diamonds, rubies. Greed was never a sin to the young lady, and aesthetics was always a virtue.

But it wasn't what she came there for. She wouldn't risk her life for a bangle, as confident as she was in her survival. So she gracefully lifted things off those dusty white shelves as she passed, keeping a flitted eye out for any lost soul, and always on the ground, happen she step on something dangerous.

Raid, ammonia, sunscreen, lye.

It wore on her, too. Her bones ached, reminiscent of an older version of herself. Mom. She would just have to have stronger shoulders.

Blood dripped off the end of one of the bladed metal poles that Robin carried. Her breathing was heavy, her heart-rate still high. The man had snuck up on her while she was peering through the window of a pharmacy; she’d barely seen his reflection in the glass in time to duck away from his clumsy, lurching tackle. To call it a man was a stretch, she thought to herself. Maybe it had been a man once, now it just had the body of one... whatever it was. A parasite, an animal... it was something much less than human, anyway.

It hadn’t been hard to dispatch it, a heavy two-handed swing of the half-shear across its throat, followed by stabbing it through the eye when it fell. It had been one of the slower ones, and she was fairly certain its lower leg had already been broken. That had probably saved her life.

She hadn’t stuck around to wait and see if it had friends.

The teenager nudged open the rear entrance of the store, slipping into the old storage room. She cast her eyes around, scanning for anything useful that hadn’t already been taken. The food was long gone, but she spied a roll of duct tape discarded on the ground and pocketed it. You never knew when that would come in handy. A few more items were grabbed before she moved through into the store itself.

Movement. Robin froze, narrowing her eyes towards the source of the noise, somewhere down one of the aisles, and gripping the ‘hilt’ of her improvised weapon. “Hello?” she called, “If you’re actually alive, answer me. Groaning mindlessly doesn’t count.”

Pruella looked toward Robin's voice.

Then she looked toward the shelves again. She needed foods. Canned foods, of course. Ones that wouldn't expire for a while. Or rather, hadn't expired. She knew the ones. Green beans. Tomatoes. Canned oysters. Oysters.

"Not all'a 'tem groan. Some'a 'tem say words." she said, or mostly whispered. "Just one word, though. Only counted one. Maybe it's 'tem hangin' onto deir past lives."

She turned, and her bags turned with her, swaying and hitting her hips when they landed rather harshly. It'd be a rough journey home. She rounded the corner, peering at Robin. Only enough of her eye peeked out that she could take it back fast enough for only some of her hair to be shaved off if the innocent-seeming gal decided to wave a gun around.

She wouldn't be the first one, really.

"Ya friendly?"

“Friendly’s a stretch. Let’s stick with non-hostile, not set ourselves unrealistic expectations.” Robin replied, lowering her shear. The teenager stepped forwards, cautiously, keeping half an eye on what she could see of the woman while she scanned the nearest shelves. The straps on the hiking backpack she wore clattered against each other.

“You already cleaned this place out?” Or hidden whatever you can’t carry somewhere other people won’t look, like Robin made a habit of when she found a stash of un-looted supplies that she couldn’t carry all at once.

"You're either friendly or not, here, 'cause it's becomin an awful nice 'ting not to hurt someone." Pruella said. "No, theres 'tings on the shelves, still. No sense in takin' two'a sometin when I'm only one girl."

She raised a hand, adorned with beautiful jewelry and dismissively patted the air. "I'm done. I keep watch. And I put the dead repellant at the door, so 'tey don't come in, if you like."

A small smile crept on her face.

“Fighting when I don’t have to fight would just leave me tired and probably wounded for when the next opportunistic bastard, or walking dead man, came along.” Robin replied, shrugging, “So don’t take it for the kindness of my heart.”

She stepped closer to the shelves and began to pack what she could carry into her backpack, filling it out where before it had hung limply, depleted. The contents of that pack were, with a few exceptions, the sum and total of what she possessed. She’d decided it was a bad idea to leave anything important behind at her shelters, for fear she’d come back to find them looted.

Just then, something that Pruella had said registered in her mind. “Dead repellent?” she asked, raising an eyebrow, “What do you mean by ‘dead repellent’?”

"'Ta mixture 'tat repels the dead. 'Tey're vampires, n'tey won't come in if you don't want 'tem to. You just have 'ta have a different way of closin' your door." she said, turning her head from Robin.

Cautiously, Pruella moved to the entrance. She had opened the door, and looked onto the streets. Quickly, she looped a finger around a small unlabeled spray bottle with marker scrawling across the front and spritzed it into the doorway.

A zombie, a vampire to her, had lumbered to the door. She backed away, and walked to Robin. A cautious eye had been kept backward.

"It may not last long but tat don't matter, he's gon't wander away. Y'should hurry up."

“Vampires?” Robin repeated incredulously, “Aren’t they supposed to suck blood? Never read a vampire book where you got turned by sniffing plants.” She muttered, shoving the last of the supplies into her back before fastening it back up and hauling it onto her back.

“Whatever. Looks like it’s working, whatever you think it is. That’s what matters.” Maybe Robin could persuade this woman to tell her what was in that can if she humoured her. The teenager grabbed up her weapon from the ground and jerked her head back towards the storage room. “If there’s one of the dead fuckers out front, back way was clear when I came in.”

She began to make her way back towards the door from the main store into the darkness of the storage room, keeping her ears alert for any noises. One thing she had learned was that just because somewhere was safe the first time you crossed it, didn’t mean it would be if you turned around and came back.

"'Ta hungry ones, tey're still human. 'Tey need to eat, and if you're in 'ta way 'ten tey'll very well eat your flesh." she said. "And 'tey don't have morals, not like us."

Pruella raised an eyebrow at Robin's proposition. The back way was clear when she came through. She hadn't put herself out as kind, but advice was just as much. The young woman smiled; she was right. You're either kind, or you're hurting someone.

She followed her, Robin, to the storage room. Of course, her fingers had lightly graced her pocket (one of many) where she kept a wrapped shard of glass, something she found neatly effective in cutting.

And her other hand brought her scarf up. They were mostly in the inner city, but she had seen them around. Those shambling vampires with those deadly pustules on them.

God forbid she'd cut one of those.

Robin’s own scarf had yet to leave her face. It got uncomfortable at times, but she didn’t often allow herself the comfort of removing it outside of wherever she was staying at any given time. The seconds it took to lift it over her face could be the difference between life and death if one of the faster, less decayed zombies came up on her, felled either by the creature’s hand, or by the spores if she failed to lift it.

“You don’t need to tell me that,” Robin remarked scathingly, “I’ve been here since the start too. I’ve seen what they do.” She’d stumbled across the things... feeding, more than once. It hadn’t been a pretty sight. And the smell...

The dark storage room remained undisturbed, it seemed, and Robin crossed with little difficulty. Her eyes fell on a shape in the corner she hadn’t seen on her way in. It was hard to make out in the dark, but it looked like a corpse. Thankfully, it wasn’t moving. She grimaced, and moved on. Probably someone killed by another survivor in a scuffle over supplies.

With a creak, the side door swung open onto the alleyway Robin had entered through. To the right was the street the storefront opened on, and the zombie the other woman had seen. Robin turned left, heading further into the small maze of alleys that would lead them out onto the opposite side of the block.

Passing the dead body, Pruella crossed her heart and whispered a prayer. Two words.

Then her eyes came to the alley, and she wondered quite why she was following Robin. The young girl wasn't exactly kind, not too trustworthy, by Pruella's judgement. She would probably try and save herself even if the two of them could be saved. Perhaps she'd even stand someone else up at the end of a blade, if they were worth it.

"You have a safe house?" she asked.

“No.” Robin said. It wasn’t a lie – she wouldn’t call the rooftop where she’d left what she didn’t want to carry ‘safe’. It was more of a stash than a house, though it was one of the places where she slept. This woman didn’t need to know that, though. She didn’t make a habit of telling anyone that sort of information. “I stay on the move except when I’m catching some sleep. I have a few places that I know are approaching ‘safe’, but nothing permanent, or even long term.”

It seemed like the stranger was following her. Maybe once they were clear of the alleys she’d split off. Maybe she wouldn’t. Robin didn’t much care, as long as she didn’t cause her any trouble and didn’t make a move on any of her supplies.

“You?”

"I don't like stayin' in the same place too much, until I get enough supplies to start makin' my own 'tings. Growin' my own stuff." Pruella said. "I have a place 'ta sleep, though. A safe place. Most survivas do."

She sighed.

"It would just be nice 'ta have a group of people 'ta stay wit. Bein' alone isn't too safe, I don't think. I figured I would ask."

Her eyes flitted to Robin, then.

"You want me to leave you afta we get out of here?"

“Hmph. Do what you want.” Robin shrugged, “I don't care if you stick around, just don’t make any trouble for me.” Much as she professed ambivalence, the teenager was glad to have someone to exchange more than two words with. It had been a while. “I suppose there’s some truth in that old saying: safety in numbers... unless one of them is an idiot. I added that last bit myself; think it makes it a touch more accurate, no?”

Robin had run with other survivors before. It had never ended well, but while it had lasted, the company had been... something. If not always nice, it was better than being left alone to your own thoughts every day.

“You think you’re ever likely to find anywhere that permanent? Seems like a pipe dream, to me. Why put so much effort into something that’ll inevitably get found, eventually?”

"I like 'ta think I don't bring trouble." Pruella noted. "So there is no reason for any hostility, yeah?"

She had, of course, noticed Robin's hostility toward her. It wasn't as if the girl made an effort to hide it, but hostility was far from being hostile. She had almost gotten the impression that the teenager had an air of superiority about her; how she was leading ahead, commanding that the other not make any trouble.

It was, well, interesting. Pruella still hung onto the ideals of the old world, so it was endearing just as well.

"Nothing wrong wit' being found, it's just how you handle it." she said. "What's your name, anyway?"

"Robin," the teen replied, "Just Robin."

"Pruella Labelle. Both of 'tem work."

They rounded another corner, and the exit out onto the street became visible at the end of the stretch of alleyway. "Fuck." Robin cursed.

Between them and the street, picking through the gruesome remains of what looked like it had once been a dog, a lone zombie crouched, producing a series of grunts and growls as it chewed. By the looks of it, the zombie had been a woman of considerable size before she was infected. As she staggered to her feet, her girth easily filled the entire alleyway. Robin had to assume she'd... expanded since the spores took root in her.

"And I thought these things couldn't get any uglier..." she muttered, taking a step backwards as the infected woman started to ... waddle, was the only word for it, towards them.

Pruella was almost inclined to see how Robin handled the situation. After all, it was only one zombie. One really big zombie.

But she pulled the shard of glass from her pocket, the one she'd been tapping on since they had started alley-hopping. Even though she was happy to support, she felt she had been backup, still. The other girl had a much longer weapon.

"I am afraid 'tat she might explode." she said, adjusting her scarf.

And just then, the rather large woman let out a piercing, ear-rattling shriek. One so high in octave and loud that it couldn't have possibly have inhabited such a large woman's vocal chords.

Robin winced at the ear-splitting scream, tightening her grip on the long shear handle. "Haven't seen one of the fuckers do that yet," Robin muttered, "If we're lucky, the fat ones won't follow left for dead logic. She hasn't started vomitting yet, anyway..."

The girl edged forwards, then with a high-pitched grunt of effort, she thrust her weapon forwards at the fat woman's throat. The blade pierced the flesh, and the zombie started to gurgle sickeningly. Thick arms came up to bat at the shear, and Robin was forced to release it before she could pull it back.

Robin reached for the second shear that jutted from her backpack, wrenching it free and swinging it down like an axe at the thing's skull. It caved, and the spluttering creature dropped like a sack of potatoes. She spasmed on the ground for a few moments, before lying still. Green oozed from pustules on her skin.

Careful to avoid touching the dead thing, Robin stepped forwards to retrieve her other shear, tentatively plucking it off the ground where it had been flung in the woman's fall.

"Slow in life, slow in... almost death, I guess."

More grunts and growls began to come from the alleyway behind them, then, and Robin briefly made eye contact with Pruella. "We need to move." she said, starting forwards. It took some careful footwork not to tread on the corpse of the fat woman, but before long she was making a break for the end of the alley.

Pruella didn't hesitate in stepping over the arm and body of the now-deceased woman, though she had stopped to witness the relentless brutality of Robin beforehand. When she ran, the cans in her pockets happily clinked together, hitting against her sides, and making for a regretful journey.

"'Ta where?" She edged in, between breaths. "Ya got someplace?"

She was forced to slide her own weapon into her bag again, to keep the crossed straps of her satchels from strangling her.

"So far I'm working on a 'not here' basis," Robin replied over her shoulder, though her head was largely obscured by her backpack. "I haven't got much further than that... We can work on it once we lose these fuckers."

Robin/Pruella

It was evening by the time Robin and Pruella were making their way down a clear road towards the building where Robin had one of her stashes. The sun hung low in orange-red sky, casting long shadows throughout the city. Abandoned cars sat in the street, some rusted from lack of care – almost all had their windows broken and anything useful inside looted from them, and glass shards littered the street around them.

It was a similar story with the buildings, too – knocked down doors and smashed windows were the theme of decor for the desolate shops in the area. ‘Post-apocalypse chic’ was well and truly in style. The pair had lost the small group of zombies chasing them some time ago, but rather than taking Pruella straight to one of her hidey-holes, Robin had led on a long and convoluted route, waiting to see if she’d betray any thus-far disguised malice or excessive self interest. A little over the top, maybe, considering that she had no reason to suspect the girl, but even before all this, before people would knock you out for a bag of groceries, Robin hadn’t trusted easily.

“Not far, now.” Robin was saying, shooting the other girl a glance, “It’s the butchers at the other end of the road. Cold storage: it’s a good place to hide-out now that the generator freezing everything there has died. Shame it doesn’t lock from the inside, but nowhere’s perfect.”

Pruella hadn't done anything vaguely suspicious as she'd followed Robin. She had thought to stop a few times; her feet were sore and probably blistered from the shoes she'd carried herself in, and her legs were quite sore, but it seemed like the other girl was intent on taking her down a winding path to wherever she was taking her.

She grew slightly impatient, her eyes setting on varioius abandoned buildings that they could very well set up in, though some of them marked by other survivors probably long passed, but she warded those feelings away as she did the others. Bottling. Survival. Robin was an angry girl, who seemed impulsive at best, but if she'd gotten so far without dying then she must have been some kind of resourceful.

"You have taken all the meat out? Or the daemons have?" She questioned, her eyes flitting to Robin. "'Tey can smell well."

"No, I really enjoy sitting in a sealed room full of rancid meat, actually." Robin replied sarcastically.

"I wouldn't know," Pruella started. "Some people lose 'teir sense of smell after a while."

Robin rolled her eyes, though she remained facing away from the other girl, so the gesture went wasted on the street ahead. "My nose is fine. I cleared it out. None of it was any good, but it hadn't been so long that things were too grim. The generator must've lasted a fair while." The teenager nodded at the building ahead, "There."

The butcher's shop had been long-since cleared out of anything edible, and indeed anything inedible - rats and stray dogs weren't too picky over their meat being slightly rotted. The front window had been smashed, as had the glass counter. Shelving was strewn where it had fallen across the room.

Robin's shoes crunched on small shards of glass as she stepped inside, moving towards the back of the shop.

The other girl had seemed to swallow her tongue as soon as she stepped into the butcher's shop, as if there were an invisible line she'd crossed that had triggered such a sense of dread. Being indoors in those small storefronts with such dim sunlight peering in through the broken windows and their shelves were strewn had given a different otherwordly eeriness to her perspective.

"You don't spring clean." Pruella said, her eyes shifting to the floor, whose glass she had tried to avoid. "Suppose it doesn't matter 'ta much anymore."

"I don't spend enough time here for it to be worth it," Robin replied, as they moved into the back room, "Besides, if it looked lived in, it'd attract scavengers."

Abruptly, she froze. Her eyes narrowed and her hand went to the small hatchet looped in her belt-hook, pulling it free and clutching it. The door to the cold storage was ajar. Her voice dropped to a whisper, "That was closed when I left. Someone's here."

"Or someone has been here." Pruella said.

Her mouth opened, and then closed. Robin could have been right, and she could too, but she didn't want to take a chance that the former was correct. Her hand slipped to her side, the gesture so familiar to the young woman.

"I will show you a better place to hide your 'tings. Let's leave."

Robin shook her head, "I'm not ditching all my stuff." she whispered back, "Stay here if you want."

With that, the teenager moved forwards for the door, pausing just by it and then slinging it open. Inside - as she had predicted - stood a man who looked to be in his early thirties, breathing heavily and staring up at Robin. He'd evidently heard them talking when they first arrived but not had time to get out.

The man seemed frozen in place, but Robin swiftly noticed something alarming - he was holding a pistol - loosely, almost as though he were afraid of it - but definitely holding it. She barely hesitated before launching herself at him to knock him to the ground and pin his arms roughly, trying to slam his hand against the floor to force him to drop the weapon.

"Let go of the gun!" she hissed angrily, "Drop it!"

Pruella caught the freezer room door with a finger and sauntered in, disclosing only short quiet breaths as she had watched the situation unfold. She brought the shard of glass to her own chest, laying the flat part against the fabric of her shirt, and looked grimly down at the two who had so eagerly gotten into a brawl.

"Robin." she said, before turning her eyes on the man. "We only want you not 'te harm us. You drop 'ta weapon and she won't make you a contortionist, I 'tink."

The man gulped, releasing his weapon with a shake of his head. "I- look, don't be unreasonable, I-"

Robin rolled her eyes, roughly releasing the man and standing back up. "Shut up. I don't want to hear your excuses. Empty your bag, I want everything you took back."

Grimacing, the man pushed himself upright, "Everything? Can't- can't I just have some? You have so much, I need food or I'm going to starve!"

"I'm not a charity," Robin snapped back, "Maybe I'd have considered it before you tried to steal from me."

Pruella's eyes fell on Robin, a slight grimace cursing her lips. She could hear the daggers in the young lady's words.

"'Tere are foods in the grocery stores still. You gott'a get 'te cans. 'Tey might say 'tey're expired but 'tey're not. And you can eat the dead animals." she said. "Survivors can't be choosers, but 'tey get mad when you take food out of eachothers mouts."

The young girl, who seemed kinder and less cautious, perhaps, firmly nodded to the doorway.

"Go." she said.

With a sigh, muttering something about kids, the older man emptied the contents of the pack he'd been filling with supplies unceremoniously onto the ground, before reaching for his gun.

"Oh no you don't," Robin cut in sharply, stepping forward to kick the gun away, "I'm keeping that. Think of it as a 'you tried to screw me over' tax."

The man opened his mouth to angrily protest, but Robin interrupted him before he could speak. "Get the fuck out before I do something rash, fucking hell, stop making me want to smash you round the head with this." She spun the hatched in her hand irritably.

Fuming, the man turned and walked to the door. "Pair of fucking cunts..." he muttered under his breath.

"Watch the words 'tat come out of your mout'." Pruella warned, as the man left.

She turned to look at Robin, her eyes fixed into a tired stare. "I can show you better places to hide your stuff." she started. "It is better to place 'tem in harder to get places 'tan come across the people who take 'tem. Even before the plague, people had good reason to hide 'tings, and the stuff 'tat came out of 'tat remains."

The flustered young girl walked over to Robin's stash, her eyes flickering to the other as if asking permission to sift.

Robin waved a dismissal hand to say 'go ahead', folding her arms and leaning on the door frame to watch the man leave the shop and head out into the street. "I have a few other places." she said, "But this one's dead now. No telling when he might come back."

She walked over to where the gun lay, examining it before placing it in one of her bags. "Got a gun out of it, at least. Only one clip, but still."

Finally nodding, Robin sighed, "Yeah, sure, show me one of your 'better places'. I'll need a new one to cart this stuff to anyway."

Pruella looked through her stash, pinching things and prodding them off with a pointer and a thumb. After a few moments of searching through, she had stuffed her hand into her bag, and pulled one of the thin grocery sacks that she'd taken from the store beforehand out. One by one, she began stuffing the other girl's things in them.

"'Tere is a place by the docks. A storage place. The harbor master used to rent out crates wit fake back walls for the human traffick trade and have 'te local graffiti artist tag 'tem different so 'te right people could tell 'tem apart." she said, before her eyes flickered upward.

"After we move the bodies out, it will be a good spot for your 'tings."

Robin looked up at Pruella, blinking with evident surprise. She gave the other girl a look halfway between shocked and impressed. "Alright..." she said after a moment's pause, deciding it was probably for the best if she didn't ask why the girl knew about those crates, "That sounds... good." Robin bit back the word 'surprisingly' and the implied insult behind it, nodding her head.

"Onwards to the docks, then."

A heavy rainfall had started whilst Robin and Pruella were en route to the city docks, shrouding the sky in grey and driving most survivors to seek shelter. The harbor area itself was a maze of storage crates, warehouses and rusting scrap metal leftover from boats that had been torn apart for their materials. The abandoned skeletons of lifting cranes and other machinery towered like giants over the thrashing waters.

Some distance away from the water's edge itself, the pair were making their way onto the site. Robin was hunched, her hands shoved into the pockets of the waterproof coat she wore with its hood pulled up as far over as it would go. They walked along one of the dock's makeshift streets between two stacks of storage containers. Robin cast a glance across at Pruella, "You said something about there being specific containers we were looking for?"

The teenager looked around at what seemed to be a neverending metropolis of shipping container towers. "... I hope you have an idea of where they are, or we might be looking for a while."

Pruella's eyes shifted to Robin, and a small smirk of contempt hid what might've been fear for the cruelty they were going to endure when they did find whatever was hidden in those storage crates. "'Tey have special marks on 'tem. The graffiti tags."

Her hand, adorned in rings, lifted to gesture at the side of one of the rather large crates. It had a name on it - Husen G. The color had since faded from when it was originally crafted, but still, the curves upon curves remained. "If it is not a gang name and 'tey got native writing in the signing piece then it's probably one of the traffic crates."

The hand that pointed fell. There were no odd symbols, just art in a place where there it hadn't quite belonged anymore, there.

"So these used to be part of some slave trade, right?" Robin approached the crate apprehensively, examining the graffiti that seemed absurd in its normality, given what it apparent represented. "How come you know about it?" the teenager gave Pruella a searching glance, "If it was common knowledge it'd be a pretty shitty tagging system."

The other girl barely reciprocated a glance to Robin, but with a moment later and a release of her breath, she gave. "Everyone's got to get to the place 'tey want to be somehow."

Robin grunted in acknowledgement of Pruella's dodging the question as she made her way around to where the crate's door was located, not pursuing the subject further. She gave the door itself a quick look up and down. A security lock was in place over the gap between the two sides, but it was broken - forced open, by the looks of it. Maybe by a scavenger. She gave the door a nudge of her foot and it swung open. Inside was dark, and the gloomy cloud-filled sky hardly lit it at all. She couldn't quite see all the way to the end of it.

"If I turn this on," Robin began as she pulled a wind-up torch from her bag, "And half a dozen zombies turn around to stare at me... Well, I'm kind of expecting that to happen, is what I'm getting at."

The light of the torch slowly kicked in as Robin wound it a few times, revealling that to the untrained eye the container was entirely empty aside from a few stains and broken bits of wood here and there. Whoever had broken into the crate the first time had evidently cleared it out.

"We're looking for a ... hidden door, right?" Robin questioned, glancing back at Pruella, "This is all very Scooby-Doo."

"I don't 'tink it'd be appropriate for daytime viewing," Pruella said, stepping in the crate. She cringed as she looked at the bits of broken glass, wood, metal. It was only a second before the young lady had stepped directly over all of the debris, and walked to the back.

She stopped just shy of it, and crouched to pick up a piece of stray metal. Her other hand came up to swipe clean the bits of stray rust that'd fallen on her, but soon she'd forgotten about aesthetics and got on par to the grim task ahead. She shoved it into the back corner of the storage unit, with a bit more force than she'd ever bothered to show to her company before.

And when it was in there - there seemed to be a hole for it to fit through - she pulled it against the wall, like a crowbar. The back moved, perhaps an inch, and a smell permeated the room. Where the wall moved and space shone inside the crate, there were hinges, much like a door. They had been previously jammed shut.

"Only one side opens, the side I was on, so ... You can do the honors."

Pruella paced for the light.

Robin wrinkled her nose at the smell emanating from whatever was behind the makeshift door. "I'm so glad." she remarked dryly, walking across to where the other girl had indicated and bracing herself for whatever waited on the other side.

With a heave and a grating of metal on metal, she pulled the panel open, and immediately what had been a waft of odour became a wall. Robin gagged, staggering back in horror as she caught a glimpse of the source - a pair of decayed corpses, no doubt slaves left abandoned in the wake of the spores to die a lonely, slow death in the dark.

"Fucking christ!" Robin swore, "That is grim. Uhg!" The teenager shuddered, clamping a hand over her nose and mouth. "I've seen people die in all sorts of ways since this started, but that has got to be the most unpleasant pandora's box I've come across yet."

"The smell -" Pruella started, nasally, as she'd clamped a hand over her nose as soon as Robin opened the panel, "Is strong - so, we might want to dump the bodies at sea or move 'tem to a place where the vampires won't swarm us."

Her figure was gone from Robin's vision. She wanted no part in seeing the decaying bodies, free from spore but ripe with death and decay, that she'd kept in the back of her conscious for quite some time.

"By we," Robin remarked, turning around to see that Pruella had cleared out from the container, "I'm guessing you mean me." She grimaced. "This was your damn idea. I didn't sign up for corpse hauling."

Something brushing against her cheek brought Robin's hand snapping up to bat at it, "Aw hell, there are flies! I bet this thing is fucking swarming with them and I just can't see it for the light. And you think it's a good idea to leave our stuff here?"

She turned with that, and made her way out into the rain again. "Uhg, I'm not touching those things without a fucking Hazmat suit. I say we just find a container someplace high up that doesn't have decaying corpses in."

"If you want to, but 'tey won't be hidden." Pruella said, her voice growing louder to combat the rain. She took the opportunity to wipe the gruel from her hands. "A little spring cleaning and home decor and 'tis place would hold a lot of your 'tings."

She turned her head, eyes setting on the dock house, not far from where they were. It hadn't been destroyed, which was enough of a surprise, considering the houses near the bay were mostly built out of wood to give them that homely feel.

"As much as I like tropical weather and shouting at eachother..." Pruella started.

Robin followed Pruella's gaze before grudgingly nodding her head in agreement. "Let's wait this rain out in there then. Hopefully it's not occupied."

She started forwards towards the building, keeping a wary eye on the gaps between the containers as they made their way towards the water's edge and the waiting shelter. One of the old cranes hung forlornly overhead beside the dock house, rust coating its skeletal frame. A set of slippery wooden steps led them up to the door of the house, and the door was unlocked, swinging loosely on its hinges in the wind.

The inside was dark and littered with trash and mould, evidently unlived in. However, there were signs that the debris on the ground had been disturbed - a rough path had been hewn through by footsteps from the doorway further into the house. Robin frowned. "See that?" she said, keeping her voice low as she gestured to the brushed-aside clutter.

Her hand went to the pistol she'd confiscated off of the man in the freezer room not long before. The sound of voices was faintly audible further inside.

Pruella looked to Robin, tapping her ear and giving her a questioning look.

"People are here, I tink," she said, through a barely audible breath that sounded much like the wind, "We should leave. We can wait it out in one of the clean crates."

As if on cue, one of the doors off the entrance hallway that they'd found themselves in swung open at that very moment. A dark haired man with tan-brown skin emerged out, doing up the button of his fly - evidently on the return from a bathroom break, or whatever qualified as a bathroom in this place since the plumbing had gone. For a brief moment his eyes locked on them, frozen in surprise, and his jaw dropped.

"What the fuck?" he exclaimed with a thick spanish accent, "Who the fuck are you? Didn't you see the tag? This is Dispersa territory, amigos, and you'd better have a fucking good reason for barging in like this." the man angled his head back to yell into the house, "Ey! We have trespassers here!"

"It was just a mistake. We didn't see the tag and we wanted to get out of the rain. So we'll leave." Pruella said, sidling back for the door. Her fingers instinctively wrapped around Robin's wrist, giving the other young woman a pull in her direction.

"Michael?" Robin cut through Pruella's attempt to guide her out, her free hand going to tug her hood down and leave her face more visible. "What the hell are you doing out here?"

A spark of recognition dawned in the spaniard's eye as Robin lowered her hood, and he whistled out in bemused surprise. "Well I'll be damned, if it isn't the lady herself." The man - apparently named Michael - held up a hand as footsteps sounded further down the hall, a number of men and women bearing firearms approaching from a doorway to the dock house's reception room. "Hold the phone, compadres, it looks like chance really does have a sense of humour. Aiden, Marie, you remember Robin?"

Robin shook her head, "I'm not here to play catch-up, Michael. I had no idea w... you were spread out this far. I thought we were well clear of your territory."

"Ahh, but things have changed since you abandoned ship, cariño. We keep getting bigger and better. I think that the same cannot be said for you, no? Hauling around that heavy pack in..." Michael gave Pruella a glance "...questionable company, smelling like a dead body? Things would be better for you if you had stayed, you know."

Scoffing, Robin shook her head. "I'll take my chances, if it's all the same. You know why I ditched your sorry club of bastards. A little discomfort is a lot better than what you people do."

"And what you did, mi niña." Michael smirked, "Or are you so quick to forget how much it took to flick your little moral switch? Don't play high and mighty with me, we both know you're as careless about life as I am. These are trying times, are they not? Those who are strong deserve to live, those who are not... well, they will get left at the wayside. That is the way of the world."

Pruella's eyes flickered with recognition when Michael had finished, and she had given a quick but questioning glance to Robin.

"And those who smell like dead bodies attract the dead bodies, do 'tey not? Would it not be best for us just to leave?" she interjected, quickly. "Agree to disagree, and maybe have a seminar to talk about it all when we all smell betta. Or memorize the tag on the way out and stay outta your way, huh?"

She drew a sharp breath in, and looked into Michael's eyes with an irritated eyebrow quirked for an answer.

Michael laughed at that, a sharp and short burst tinged with derision. "Ah, she has wit, your new friend. I hope for her sake she has more, too, or perhaps she will find you not so loyal a companion as you seem, mi cariño." The Spaniard waved a hand, "Fine, you go free this time, for old time's sake. Get out of here."

Without another word, Robin turned for the door and barged out. Before Pruella could to the same, however, Michael caught her eye and spoke again. "Don't slow her down too much, witty girl. I speak from experience when I tell you that she won't wait."

"Yeah, well. Tat for tat. We opened up a body crate not far from here, so unless you want to be eaten by the vampires, don't be slow either." she said in reply.

Her hand shot up to adjust the strap of her bag, before she went to follow Robin out just as well. When she met the smell of ocean water, her head turned and her eye caught the tag of Dispersa on the doorway.

"Robin -" she started.

"Don't make a big deal out of this," Robin interrupted from the bottom of the steps grimacing through a curtain of wet hair, having forgotten to put her hood back up. "Yeah, I used to be with Dispersa. I'm not any more. That's all you need to know."

"Just wanted to make sure you were still 'ter." Pruella said, nodding slowly. She took down the steps, looking back once, and then twice.

"We'll find a crate to sleep in, then."