The Walking Dead: Online » Places

         

The Warden

A pair of brown snakeskin boots rested lazily propped up atop a pile of old books-- thrown to the floor days prior no doubt to free the bookcase up to use as a barricade elsewhere. A thick wisp of smoke curled above Bronson’s head towards the ceiling-- his eyes fixated on a dormant ceiling fan. The room might has well have been spinning though. Nothing ever seemed to go as planned these days. A plan set in motion would derail, deroute, or detour. But that was his job. To keep things on track. In motion.

The door was thrown open shortly after as Kaufman barged in, slamming the door shut behind him. Bronson closed his eyes, averted to the sudden but inevitable disturbance. The gunshots had fired minutes ago, and then ceased as quickly as they began. He knew the situation had been handled, one way or another. Things like that didn’t become important until they became important. This was why he kept people like Freddy around.

The shifty man stopped a few steps short of Bronson and folded his arms, bowing his head in thought. ”It’s nothing we weren’t expecting,” he prefaced, rubbing at the stubble on his face.

Bronson grinned. He was expecting some kind of attempt like this. Not nearly so soon though. ”Which one was it?” he asked, mumbling out of the corner of his mouth as he held the cigar tightly with the other half. Bits of ashed dusted down across his jacket as it rolled around his lips.

”It was Dax. Took Wallace down with him too-- poor bastard,” Freddy began. ”Idiot went down to take a piss alone and caught the bastard sneaking a peek at the transfer. He was, uhh-- shot… so he came back after awhile-- before our guys got there. Santos.... Chance… they went down too.”

Bronson sighed, brushing his long grayed hair back with a stroke of his hand. More men lost. Between accidental deaths and turncoats, his numbers were dwindling-- and fast. He straightened himself in his chair as more books toppled onto the floor beneath his shifting feet. ”And we’re certain he saw the girl?” he asked, warily. The question itself was rhetorical. He knew there was no way to prove it, and besides-- what Dax saw didn’t matter. Parading the girl across the blacktop so blatantly like that wasn’t for him.

”It’s too much of a coincidence. He had to have seen her…” Freddy replied, assuredly. His fingers twitched at his sides, erratically. Bronson always sensed a controlled nervousness coursing through the man whenever they were in situations alone like this. He always found it funny. Another reason he kept him as close as he did.

”And you idiots killed him before he could report what he saw back to Mr. Hawke.” It wasn’t a question. It was the situation as it stood now. A wasted effort. And soon… a forgotten memory. ”There’s no time to fix this, we need to get him ready… now. Find out what he saw, and get him prepped.”

Freddy nodded and shuffled away towards the door without another word. Bronson stood and turned to face the window, stretching the morning aches and pains out of his joints as he reached towards the ceiling-- the trail of smoke following close behind him. ”And have someone clean Wally up for Christ’s sake…” he added as an afterthought.

# # #

# Sarah Hawke #

Sarah twiddled the fingers on her left hand idly, noticing a lack of sensation in them after having her limp wrist dangling above her at the angle it had for so long. She grabbed the railing with her other hand, pulling herself up to her feet to invert her circulation and get some blood flowing. The dizzyness set upon her almost immediately, causing her to waver a bit and clutch the railing even tighter. She felt her heartbeat in her white knuckles, one after the other-- somehow still stable… constant. That was all considering that she felt like the rest of her was falling apart.

The door swung open across the room, silhouetting Brooke’s frame as light poured in from outside and she entered. A bundle of drinks and snacks lined the nook of her arm as she closed the door behind her and crossed over to Sarah, setting the food before her. She stooped slowly, placing the items down gently. Sarah reacted, reaching out with both hands to help Brooke back up-- but her wrist was snapped back violently as the cuffs reached their limit and grew taut. Sarah rubbed at it sorely, wishing this part of the day could be over with already. She and Calvin were more alike than she had previously thought… both marred by their mutual incarcerations.

”I’m sorry I took so long…” Brooke began, brushing her fallen locks back behind her face. Her rosy cheeks heaved in and out with each calculated breath as Brooke kept everything calm and controlled. How she managed to keep it all together, considering, was a real mystery. But she was much more prone to exhaustion these days with her extra passenger. She stood back up, rubbing her stomach gently with her palm. ”We’ve had some… arrivals-- from outside,” she confessed with a bit of hesitation. There was the possibility that maybe Sarah knew these two kids… they were all about the same age, after all. Maybe they were the missing links as to what happened. But why come back if they had anything to do with what happened to the girl? Or the preacher, for that matter…

Brooke thought better than to ask any of these questions aloud while the poor girl was still recovering from her shock. She unscrewed the cap to one of the bottles of water and offered it to her. Sarah took it from her, thanking her with her eyes before guzzling down the first few sips, thirstily. She stooped her head as she gasped heavily, wiping the spare drips from her mouth with the back of her hand. Brooke stood a few paces back from her, playing with her hands-- unsure of how to proceed.

Sarah looked up with her baggy, bloodshot eyes and blinked at her-- aimlessly. ”Do you wanna talk…?” she asked, dryily.

Brooke’s gaze dropped to the ground, uncomfortably. ”Uhh, no-- I mean. Not unless-- do you?

Sarah brought the bottle back to her lips. ”I’m just fucking with you.”

Brooke stood, dumbfounded. This girl was hard to place. Without having known her before her accident, there was no way of telling whether her behavior was a result of the injury or if she was typically this odd. Whatever the case, she didn’t deserve to be held against her will any longer. How long could they possibly keep this up for?

”When’s your boss coming back?” Sarah posited, taking another swig from the bottle. She tipped her head back, gulping it down as she closed her eyes. It was the closest thing to bliss she was able to get, considering her circumstances. Every drop mattered.

”Val isn’t anyone’s boss,” Brooke shot back with perhaps a bit too much edge. Sarah rose her eyebrows. There seemed to be a story there somewhere. The dynamic was unfolding. Whoever this shotcaller was, she’d apparently lost a litte love amongst the others somehow. She then realized that the truth in that didn’t bode well for her situation. It was possible that Brooke could be the only hope in helping champion her escape. Maybe instead of antagonizing her, she should appeal to her senses instead.

Sarah set the bottle down beside her and licked at her lips. ”Sorry,” she began, ”I didn’t mean anything--”

”Right,” Brooke replied, brushing her hands off on her pants. She adjusted her ponytail, cinching her red locks back from her face into a tighter bunch. ”Look, I’m sorry we did this to you. A few of us-- out there-- we tried to stop it… but considering your situation--” she continued, gesturing at Sarah’s bite, ”we didn’t want to take any chances.”

Sarah nodded. ”I don’t hold it against you…” she admitted, settling back into herself.

Brooke regarded the girl with quiet pity. There was only one way she could help her, but not without knowing something first. She braced her hands on her hips, looking at her feet as she cleared her throat-- then she looked Sarah straight in the eyes, a bit disconcertingly. ”What’s happening to you?”

”I wish I knew…” Sarah droned, sourly. ”I haven’t had a chance to really look at it. I have medical training, you know? I’m a nurse… and if I had my stuff--” she emphasized, raising her voice. Brooke glanced back in the corner of the room at Sarah’s duffle bag, draped half-way in a colorful palette made by the light beaming through the stained glass window high above.

”We already took the weapons out, just in case…” Brooke admitted, walking towards it slowly. ”I suppose there isn’t anything in there you shouldn’t have. I can’t uncuff you though,” she finished, her voice remaining firm. ”The key isn’t here...” She must have felt Sarah’s eyes rolling in the dark. ”Not my choice,” she added. Brooke crouched down, carefully grabbing the straps of the bag and beginning to drag it over to where Sarah was shackled. Her movements were graceful, even in her current state. There was some kind of unexplainable easiness to her movements, almost like she knew what she was going to do before she did it. A very calculated grace. It was the first thing Sarah had noticed about her.

”All I need’s my supplies and I can do it myself. I can do it properly… please--” Sarah peeled her tattered shirt away from her clavicle-- still sticky with bloody residue. It was looking worse every hour now. She grimaced as she leaned back, shaking her head. ”Who can I thank for the hackjob on my shoulder?”

”That was me,” Brooke replied, firmly-- her voice lilting just barely. She let the bag slump to the ground and blew her red locks away from her eyes, wondering if there was any use in saying anything else. Decided, she turned to leave. ”And you’re welcome… I guess.”

Sarah slouched deeper against the brick wall, heaving a deep sigh.

So much for appealing to her senses...

# # #

Brooke closed the door from the other side and leaned her arm and forehead against the wood. Her energy was fading by the second. It didn’t help that she was one of the very few competent ones left behind with the balls to do something about their situation. Somehow it always ended up falling on her to square things up. The pregnancy sure did come with some perks… certainly greater leverage, if anything. She looked over her shoulder at the sound of overlapping hushed whispers and saw Ari and Ezrael engaged in a very intense conversation over by the stairs to the cellar. Charlie licked at his chops on one of the benches near Sarah’s door, his ears perked up from the moment Brooke set foot outside the door. They thought it best to keep the two separated until they knew what Sarah’s true condition was.

Brooke used the backsides of the pews to steady herself as she walked towards the lot of them. Harry had joined the group from the other side of the door, closing it behind him as he rose his hands in front of him trying to settle the two neurotic bickering men.

”Gentleman, please--” he begged, trying to quiet them.

”What the hell are you two on about now?” Brooke bellowed, exasperated by just about…. well, everything.

Ari ruffled his jacket, trying to straighten it out-- his chest puffed out like some aggro’d rooster. ”This Saint over here thought it wise to let in a couple of strays.” he spat out, verbally accosting Harry.

”They’re just kids…” Harry reasoned, looking to Brooke. Surely she could understand that. ”And besides, they were here before us… with the Preacher. Before us. Before the girl…” He gestured behind all of them at the door, and Sarah.

Ezrael ran his hands through his hair. ”When they find out it was her that did it--” He shook his head at the possibility. ”How are we going to explain this?”

”Easy,” Brooke replied. ”We don’t. We don’t know what happened. We weren’t there. She’s the only one left who knows the whole story. Her and the dog…”

# # #

.: Fort Fallback :.

"Amoeba Music & Records"

’Mobile in ten minutes, everyone. Ten minutes. Scout teams meet in the garage in five to be delegated into your teams and briefed on your tasks. Everybody else… you know what your jobs are. Quinn out.’

His booming voice squawked out of all of the surrounding intercoms simultaneously, resounding throughout the massive floor of the record store.. Various Capitols bustled about on their tasks, many of them hauling crates of equipment towards the garage to help setup the vehicles. Others simply loitered around, but the tension in the air was palpable. They had all spent so much time trying to push the outside world away and keep things as normal as possible… but that was surely a lie. The truth was-- everyone and everything was in danger. No matter where you were. The ones lost out in the city had it worse, but they all had it bad. Niobe rubbed at her temples as she leaned against the hood of the bus-- it had been a long three days, considering everything they had been through. There had been countless hours of planning and coordination-- spearheaded by various camps in conjunction with Silas, Harper, Stevie, and others who had stepped up to help. She was beginning to get a sense of who really had a voice in a place like this. There were way more Capitols than she had originally alotted upon her first visit to the tower. For a moment, she wondered how many they had lost.

And how many they would find…

Niobe had managed to go wherever she was needed. Most of it involved working with Patrick and Eli and some of the others to rig up the buses and retrofit them to suit the purposes of their trip. The main bus had basically been converted into a mobile command center-- someplace Silas could direct the rescue from as well as a mutual fallback point for all parties. They reinforced the metal siding with aluminum plates, barred the windows-- setup with escape hatches on the top and floor of the bus. Built a table centerpiece with a map of the surrounding areas for his team to coordinate from. It actually felt nice to hold some familiar tools in her hands, she had thought. She couldn’t even remember the last time she got to use a welder. A second bus had also been procured in the days prior, to accomodate the amount of people should the best case scenario play out and everyone be rescued. At least then they’d be able to shuttle people back as needed. It was a pretty airtight plan-- the best they could hope for given the circumstances. Who knew what they'd find out there?

She suddenly realized then and there that she hadn't spent much time thinking about the departed-- aside from George on occasion. Sure, it was possible they managed to escape the walker herd-- perhaps back in the tunnels somewhere? Jessica knew the layout pretty well, and she had Rafiq with her to help look after the others. There were just so many of those things... it was a miracle anyone got out alive at all. Everything had just escalated so quickly.

Niobe noticed a black scuff mark on the hood of the bus and rubbed at it with the butt of her hand in a wide circular motion. The smear dissipated after a few passes and she quick wiped the residue off on her pant leg.

”I wouldn’t bother,” a strained voice called out from around the side of the bus. Patrick came struggling into view, lugging a large plastic crate towards the back. ”It’s just going to get dirty again…”

Niobe blinked slowly. ”Need a hand with that?” she offered, dryly. She had more muscle on the kid by a mile. He did look surprisingly spry though, considering.

Patrick scoffed. ”I can carry a crate,” he chided, using his knee to help prop the box up as he adjusted his grip on it.

”What’s in there?”

”Uhh--” his eyes shot down to the crate, nervously. ”It’s-- it’s just gear. Equipment and stuff for the lead bus. We’re trying to prepare for every situation, you know?”

Niobe shrugged. ”Whatever you say…” A pair of Capitols wandered between them with a larger crate of their own towards the rear of the bus, nodding as they passed. Niobe saw them heave it into the a pair of waiting hands inside the back of the spare bus. Niobe turned back to Patrick, drumming her fingers on the yellow exterior of the vehicle. ”What’s this I hear about you not coming with us?”

Patrick’s eyes bulged a bit. Clearly that news wasn’t supposed to be in the public domain yet, but Niobe was persistent and Carl had a very, very weak constitution. He set the crate down at his feet, carefully-- and stood straight, shoving his hands into his pockets as he wandered closer. ”Yeah, about that--” he swallowed, looking over his shoulder to make sure they were alone. ”Silas asked me and a few others to look into something for him. We’re going to uhh-- go with you guys and take off from the same point.”

Niobe furrowed her brow. What was with the sudden audible? The plan had changed enough over the last few days. What they needed was a firm plan. Unwavering. ”So there’s three teams now?”

Patrick nodded. ”Seems so…”

”Is it really smart for us to all split up again? That’s what started this in the first place...”

”Believe me, if you knew what I knew--”

She crossed her arms suddenly. ”And when will I know what you know?”

Patrick looked around, hurriedly moving in closer in an effort to try to keep her from talking any louder. ”Look-- things are tense around here, OK. I wish I could tell you everything, but there’s a lot at stake. That’s as much as I can tell you… I’m sorry…”

Niobe squared up, pointing a finger in his chest. ”Whatever it was you were trying to tell me earlier, it sounds like you guys are gearing up to go to war. And I’m not convinced that’s something we want to throw ourselves in front of.”

”We just want to go home…” Patrick sighed, wearily. ”None of this has anything to do with us… it’s all bigger than that. We’re just the pawns. All we can do is just keep moving forward until we can’t anymore.”

Niobe toyed with one of her molars with the tip of her tongue. ”Or until you get your ass captured.”

Patrick hung his head, scratching it lackadaisically. He turned back around, crouching to hoist the crate back up and moving to pass around Niobe. Maybe she had been a bit too hard on him. She already had a difficult enough time warming up to any of the other Capitols without purposefully alienating anyone. Patrick and Eli had been two of the only ones who had made an effort to reach out and include her in things. Maybe she owed them more than that.

”So in this analogy,” she called out over her shoulder, turning to face him. ”Shouldn’t we be going for the King?”

Patrick halted in his tracks and knowingly met her gaze. She understood more than he believed.

# # #

"What the hell are you doing?" James coughed out, a half-spent cigar dangling out of the corner of his mouth.

Carl looked up from his seat on the bus, his hands clasped around his satellite phone. Other Capitols hustled about around the bus, loading the side holds with cargo, weapons and gear. A handful of people worked under the hood in the front while the driver responded to commands, testing the shift stick and other components of the vehicle. These people were covering their bases, checking everything, taking all of the precautionary measures they could...

So why did he feel like he was going to throw up?

"I'm, uhh--" he swallowed a heavy gulp-- to maybe help the room stop spinning. Nope. Next idea?

"What's wrong with you? Why are ya just sittin' on yer ass in here?"

Carl closed his eyes, rubbing at his temples. "Can you just please? Can you not... He sighed, burying his face in his palms. "I just-- we were out there... we saw what it was like. How could any of them have survived that...?"

"We did," James grumbled. He dabbed the cigar on the leather of one of the seats, ashing onto the floor. "We've all survived worse things. What else is there to be scared of?"

"That's just who I am!" Carl rasped, throwing his hands up in the air. "I'm that guy! The fucking guy in all those platoon war movies who's hiding behind all the real soldier son his radio while they're actually putting their lives in danger and fighting on the front! I'm not a rescue guy... I don't go do rescues. I mean look at what we're up against!"

James grimaced. "We've got buses. They don't. You wanna be on the side with the buses... trust me." He clapped Carl a little too hard on the shoulder, spilling a little bit of ash from his cigar onto his sweatshirt. He walked past him, climbing out the back door of the bus. Carl brushed his shirt clean and turned towards the old man. "Hey, man-- why the church?"

"Cause I heard bells a ringin'..." James crooned.

"Are you fucking stoned?" Carl berated. "Why are you so calm about all of this?"

James flashed a smile of pearly whites. "Cause this is the world now, kid. Buck up." He took one long soothing drag of his cigar and gritted his teeth as he exhaled a thick curling cloud of white smoke. "Now get out here and make yourself useful." He turned, wandering off in a wispy hazy trail.

Carl could only shake his head, exhausted by it all. He scooped up his phone as he stood up from his seat and shuffled out the front down the few steps towards the pavement. He plopped down hard onto his feet causing his glasses to slide down his nose which he quickly remedied with his index finger.

"Easy there, Cowboy..." Jack's catty voice drawled from next to the folded door. Carl felt his heavy hand pat him hard against the back. What was with all the hitting anyways? "You alright?"

Carl shrugged, rolling his eyes. "I'm great..." he droned, sourly.

Jack squinted his eyes. "Well, listen-- I just wanted to say, before we left-- I know you and James are going on your little secret mission thing or whatever, but I wanted to ask if you'd keep an eye out for our friend, Calvin. He's out there too... we don't really know where..."

"Calvin...?"

"Yeah, that movie star guy... Calvin Hawke. We were with him before all this and... well, things got dicey. But he took a bullet for me... and I owe it to him to find him."

Carl's eyes nearly burst out his head as he suddenly had an epiphany. C-Calvin! Hawke?! You mean Sarah's brother?"

Jack scrunched his forehead. "How do you know his sister?" Then his tone changed as his brow furrowed even further. "How do you know his sister...?"

Carl waved his hands in front of him. "No, no-- it's nothing like that. I mean, I suppose I would... she's pretty hot-- but, ew! No, I'd never-- Jeez... oh man, when she finds out he's alive, she's gonna freak!"

"We have to find them. Both of them. Pass it on to James when you see him," Jack insisted, clasping his hand on Carl's shoulder. He looked him straight in the eyes. "We're gonna find them..."

"FIVE MINUTES!! OUT IN FIVE!! Grab the last of your things, say your goodbyes-- this is it, ladies and gentleman! Meet on the floor in FIVE!!!" Silas' bombastic voice echoed out across the garage-- no longer with the same gravelly tin as from the loudspeakers, but rather in person-- as his large frame came bumbling past in haste. The last flurry of activity commenced as everyone made their last rites and prepared for sendoff. Carl, in all the chaos of the moment looked across the sea of faces for anyone he knew and saw no one-- suddenly feeling very alone...

         

.: Epilogue :.

The Second Bus

"We're all dead," Ezrael muttered, quite solemnly. Sweat dripped forth from his hairline as he tightly clutched a book to his chest with white knuckles. His wide eyes looked around the eerily darkened church they had taken refuge in.

"Enough with the monologues, professor!" Ashley barked over at the man. "Make yourself useful and help Gus with the door." A pregnant woman's arms draped loosely over her shoulders and those of the grizzled old mailman with peppered-gray hair, Harold. Luckily, he still had some stamina left-- even in his sixties. They gently set the woman down on one of the church pews as she cradled her arms over her belly. Nearly 7 months, and feeling every day of it.

"How we holdin' up, Brooke?" Ashley asked as she rushed over to a side table covered in religious ornaments and candles and cleared them to the floor. She ripped the shawl from underneath them all and balled it up to place behind Brooke's back for support. The metal trinkets clattered to the floor noisily, alerting the two men near the back of the church-- who both whipped their heads in her direction. One of the shorter ones, a Jewish lawyer with an even more Jewish sounding name shushed them-- raising a finger to his lips.

"We don't know if this place is clear yet," he warned, edging around the pillars down the aisle with his bat in hand. The bright red rug beneath his feet was tossed and torn, jetting unevenly between the benches towards the front precipice. Behind him, a much younger man in a brown duster followed closely-- clutching his crowbar and flashlight tightly as he kept his eye on the creeping shadows.

Gus and Ezrael pulled a large metal mantlepiece over to the large oak doors covering the front and jammed the candleholder through the handles of the door-- barring it shut. They regathered their belongings from the floor and dusted themselves off, returning to the others huddled around the pregnant woman. "How is she?" Gustav asked between heavy breaths.

Brooke waved them off. "I'm fine... really. I just haven't moved that fast in awhile," she said with a smirk. Ashley chewed on her lip, pushing back up off the ground and brushing the dirt off her hands. She drew her flashlight from her hip and clicked it on, pointing towards one of the adjoining rooms. Gustav followed hers with his own beam until they both met, revealing a staircase across the way.

"That'll probably get us where we need to go," Ashley announced, turning back to the others. Gustav nodded to her and unsheathed his knife, gripping it in his hand.

"Let us make way then," Gustav chimed in, his voice thick with a German accent. "Time is of the essence."

Ashley unzipped her jacket and drew her pistol, moving towards the foyer with Gus in tow. She stopped to look back over her shoulder at the others. "Stay with her until we get back, OK? Keep an eye on the front door and shout if you need us. We'll be quick." Harry nodded, as Ezrael fidgeted by his side-- nervously adjusting his glasses. She turned back to Gus as they parted ways, heading for the stairs. "You got the binoculars?"

Gus opened his jacket, showing the lenses of a black pair peaking out from his inside pocket. They reached the first of the thin wooden steps leading upwards and halted. Gus waved his arm forwards, grandly. "I believe the American saying is: 'the first lady?' -- is it not?" he asked, wryly.

Ashley squinted her eyes at him and took the lead, ascending the first few steps at a brisk pace. The winding staircase wound clear around the stone walls several times before plateauing at a large wooden landing. Ashley aimed her light at the bottom of the fixture, illuminating the dangling cord of the tower's bell.

Their destination... and salvation.

"We took too long getting here... that goddamned ash," Gustav lamented, his light bobbling around with each step.

"We took as long as we needed to," Ashley barked back. "And the others--"

"There was no point leaving them behind. It isn't safe out there..."

"Somebody had to stay with the bus. In case they came back," Ashley replied. It wasn't untrue. If the Capitols doubled back and found the bus empty-- they'd likely assume the worst.

Gustav laughed, wearily. "I still don't understand why you'd just leave three behind. What if they get into trouble? Hell-- one of them doesn't even speak English."

Ashley, stopped and pivoted on her heel-- shining her light directly into Gus' face. He brought his hand up to shield his eyes, his fingertips poking out of the frayed holes of his gloves. "Duke's a mechanic. He can work on getting the bus running while we're here. And Claire and Espi are two of the only people who seem to understand one another... so it made sense to keep them together. Espi knows engines too. They can handle themselves, Gus... can you handle that?"

"I'm sorry--" he sputtered. "I just don't see the point of splitting us up like this. Not when we already have the odds against us."

Ashley shook her head, biting her lip. "I can't have you questioning me every step of the way. We made a plan and we're sticking to it. You had your chance to object back at the bus. I didn't hear anybody speak up then."

"Cause they're scared of you, Val..." She tensed up a bit at his admission. Valentino was her last name, etched in black stitching on her officer's uniform and accompanying jacket. Lately, nobody called her Ashley anymore... or even Ash. It was as if they were seeing her less as a person and more as the law as days went by. Nothing she would have wished for had she been given a choice. But some things were simply out of her control. If she had to be bad cop, then the least she could do was play the part well.

"Then they won't let their guard down," she reasoned, turning back up the steps. "Let's get moving. They're waiting on us." Gustav slowly followed, sighing under his breath.

* * *

The lawyer, Ari, brushed his fingers across several draped beads and rosaries near one of the tables by the pillars, briefly noticing the candles burning brightly in various spots of the room. He turned back to Boone, the kid in the duster, and waved his flashlight in his direction. The kid weaved between the pillars to come join him.

"You notice these candles?" Ari asked, gesturing around them.

"What about 'em?" Boone replied, his eyes darting around at the specks of light.

"They're fresh..." Ari continued, pointing out the obvious. The candlesticks were indeed nearly all full, with only the faintest traces of wax on their exteriors. The two shared the same thought in that very instant. "Someone must have just been here." Boone nodded, looking around the church at the areas still left unexplored. The feeling was a bit too unsettling.

Boone adjusted the straps of the backpack slung on his back. "I'll go check that corner over there if you wanna--"

"M-Maybe given the most recent development, we should stick together?" Ari cut in, trying to mask the nervousness in his voice. Boone silently agreed and gestured for the man to follow him, which he did-- albeit a bit reluctantly. The two sleuthed their way back through the pillars and across the aisle right in front of the front dais. They could barely make out the low register of Harry's booming voice talking to Brooke from afar, attempting to keep her calm while Ezrael paced mindlessly in the distance by the front doors, biting his nails.

Ari turned his attention back to the matter at hand-- as his foot caught something on the ground and he spilled forwards onto his hands and knees. His flashlight clattered against the ground, sliding under one of the nearby pews. Boone spun around, illuminating the ground and revealing the source of Ari's predicament. A blood-stained duffle bag, bursting at the seams laid right in his path-- its strap still tangled around his shoe. He shook his leg free, righting himself and wiping his bloodied hands on his pants. "Christ! Fucking filthy floor," Ari cursed aloud.

Boone stepped forward, focusing the light on the bag, whose zipper hung half open to expose its contents. His eyes bulged as he realized what he was looking at. "Holy shit," he muttered, ironically right under a statue of the Lord and savior himself. The bag was full of weapons and ammo clips... boxes and cans of food... bandages. It was Christmas come early. "Are you seein' this, man?" he asked excitedly. Ari came up beside him to gaze down at the treasure trove of supplies buried inside the bag. But his eyes lingered on the bloodstains covering its fabric, the trail leading off onto the stone floor towards their feet. He used his own flashlight to follow the streaks behind them towards the corner they were headed in. Hung tapestries dangled from the ceiling just over their heads, a distraction from the growing amount of crimson blood pooled on the floor. "What the hell happened here...?" Boone asked, quietly-- afraid he was about to have his answer. They widened their steps as they approached the corner alcove, circling the thick pool of blood that now lied between them.

*DONG*

Ari and Boone whipped their heads upwards at the dull, hollow sound of the church bell tolling from above. "Guess that means they found it," Ari said, a bit of relief creeping into his voice at the small victory.

*DONG*

The second one seemed louder, as if the bell were gaining some sort of momentum. Both men continued to edge forwards, flashlights searching each dark crevice and corner they passed... until they turned the corner and both beams came to rest at the same location.

A confessional booth sat dormant at the end of the hall, a circular and undisturbed pool of blood resting beneath its wooden confines. The doors were closed-- the booth itself appearing unmolested.

*DONG*

Boone crept closer, readying his crowbar in case the worst possible scenario decided to present itself. As he drew nearer, a steady drip could be heard somewhere-- liquid on liquid. The hairs on his arms and neck stiffened, as Ari hung a short ways back-- as was his cowardly way. Boone had come close enough now that he was forced to wade through the red tide at his feet. His worn shoes sent ripples across the resting body of liquid as he eased towards the booth step-by-step, holding his breath. The drip-- louder now. The bell...

*DONG*

...louder now. A mere feet away, Boone stopped-- reaching his crowbar out towards the door of the booth. He hooked the tip through the handle of the door and slowly pulled it open, unveiling a horrible sight...

A preacher, in his black garb with white trim -- soaked in the stark redness of his own blood -- was crumpled in one corner, a blade sheathed deeply into the socket of his eye... his bearded jaw hung open in surprise. Opposite of him in the other corner stirred the blood-spattered body of a young girl, her clothing torn-- cradling the matted fur of a golden-haired dog as it huddled beside her in a pool of thick blood. They both shivered fiercely... some combination of the shock and coldness of the night. The girl's bare shoulder bore the distinct marks and scarring of sharp incisors-- the bite readily apparent, even in the dim light. Boone knew in an instant that it wasn't from the dog... her obvious companion. She looked up at him with bleary, reddened eyes-- too exhausted to speak.

*DONG*

They had been right after all. They weren't alone.

But as for Sarah-- she had never felt more so...

.: END OF SEASON 2 :.