You're Hoping For A Taste

Kellin is sat with his back turned to me as I stand in the opposite corner of the basement. He gave me a bucket full of already soapy water and a flannel, and I wondered if he was planning on using that himself before I showed up. I felt a little bad, and at first I didn't want to take it, but as I faltered he just stood there staring at me, knowing that I'd use it. He then fished out some clean clothes from his backpack. The t-shirt had what appeared to be an upside-down A on it, but as he pulled out a pair of jeans I told him I'd be fine with the ones I was wearing. Besides, his probably wouldn't fit anyway. He nodded and turned around, sitting cross-legged on the floor as he riffled through his backpack, apparently sorting its contents.

He sits there in silence while I'm here in my underwear, scrubbing the blood that's stained to my side. The soapy water is slowly turning red. I can't help it, I gag.

He doesn't turn around, just merely asks, “You okay?”

“Yeah,” I answer. “Cleaning Walker blood off me isn't exactly my idea of a good time.”

He doesn't laugh, and because his back is turned I can't even see if he's cracked a smile. I know this entire thing isn't exactly fun and games, but the people I've come across usually relish the chance to bounce jokes off each other, to just laugh. Something's happened to him, I can tell. Something worse than just getting chased or attacked. He's lost someone.

I finish washing and pull my clothes on. I stand there waiting for a second, but he doesn't react, clearly oblivious.

“What shall I do with the water?” He doesn't immediately turn around so I add, “You can turn around now, by the way.”

He glances over his shoulder. His expression betrays nothing. He doesn't look at me, just stares at the bucket I'm holding up and frowns. He looks to the basement doors. The Walker has stopped throwing himself on them, but he's still out there somewhere. I think about my bag and my car, dumped back at the house. I really need to get them. Everything I have is inside those two things, my whole world.

Kellin gets to his feet, brushing dust from his jeans as he walks over to me. “I'll get rid of it,” he says, reaching for the bucket. I let him take it from me and he carries it up the basement steps. I hear him stop moving, and from where I stand I can't see him. “Could you open the door?” he calls down to me.

“Urm, yeah,” I answer, climbing the stairs. I undo the lock and glance at Kellin, waiting for him to say something. He returns my gaze, and I'm acutely aware of how guarded he is, like he's afraid to let me in. I understand, of course I do; it's difficult to find people you can trust, but he doesn't just seem wary, he seems distant, like his thoughts have a permanent hold on him, overlapping with what he sees in the present.

Every muscle in my body is tensed like coiled wire, expecting to find the worst outside. Kellin nods at me, and I push open one half of the doors. Kellin slips past me, leaning into the open air. He looks right, then left, and when it seems clear he dumps the water on the ground. He hurriedly ducks back inside and I lock the door after him. He takes the bucket with him back to his bag and plops himself on the floor again, returning to his sorting.

I sigh heavily, but either he doesn't notice or he ignores me. I stay where I am at the top of the steps. “I really need to get back to my car,” I say. No response. I'm this close to smashing my fist into the wall.

I clear my throat. Nothing. “Kellin.”

His head whips round at the sound of his name. His eyes are wide, and the candlelight flickers in the sheen of them.

“I need to get back to my car,” I repeat.

He erects his wall around him again, his face returning to that cold, calculating expression. “Where is it?”

“Just up the road,” I reply, “parked outside a house.”

He stares at the floor, passing his box of matches from one hand to the other and back again. I choose to believe he's thinking rather than ignoring me again.

Then suddenly he looks at me, meeting my eyes. “You're British,” he says, and there's a tone of surprise to his voice.

“Have you only just noticed?” It comes out snappier than I'd intended and I wince inwardly. I quickly keep talking. “I'm meant to be on my gap year,” I explain, “before university.”

“And then this happened,” he says, gesturing around him, and a ghost of a smile touches his lips.

“Yep,” I answer with a sigh. The silence settles between us again and I wait there, thinking about my car. “You can come with me, if you want,” I continue. “If you need to get somewhere I can take you there. You helped me so I'll help you, yeah?”

His gaze is intense as he looks at me, and I awkwardly shift my weight to my other foot. “That would actually be great,” he says. “Thanks.”

“No problem,” I reply. “Well, there is one problem; we need to get to my car without being eaten.”

Kellin smiles then, properly, although it's more like a smirk. “Leave that to me.”

* * *

Kellin peers round the corner of the street, tucked close to the wall. His backpack is slung over his shoulder, and in one of his hands he clutches a handgun. I can't hear anything except our slightly laboured breathing, heavy with tension and fear.

Kellin looks to me and mouths a countdown. Five, four, three, two, one.

He slips round the edge of the building, running across the lawns of the houses. He moves with an exaggerated bend in his knees to muffle his footsteps and I do the same, the denim of my jeans rubbing on my grazes.

Then all of a sudden Kellin is dodging the groping arms of a Walker, stumbling towards us from the alley between two houses. I freeze, my heart leaping to my throat, and I don't know what I'm doing. I need to be moving, 'remember to keep moving' Kellin said.

The sound of a gun starts me into action. Once, twice, Kellin puts bullets in the head of the Walker, grey and red lumps smattering the lawn. The Walker, a woman, goes down, hitting the grass with a thump. She stays down.

Kellin looks from the Walker to me, his brow furrowed with fear and concentration. He swallows hard. “Come on,” he says, his voice breathy.

We start running again, giving up on moving quietly; those gunshots will have alerted every Walker in town to our whereabouts.

“That's my car,” I say, pointing at the Ford parked right up to the house. My duffel bag is still on the ground where I dropped it, and the door to the house is wide open. I pull my keys from my pocket and unlock the car just before we reach it.

That's when I hear it. Footsteps, loud and heavy from inside the house, and I know it's the Walker, I just know.

“Get in!” I scream at Kellin, and he yanks open the passenger door, climbing inside.

I grab my duffel bag from the floor and Kellin holds out his arms for it. I chuck it to him and he shuts the door behind him. I round the car to the driver's side just as a blur of colour appears in the doorway to the house. From inside the car, Kellin reaches across and opens my door for me. I scramble inside just as the Walker crashes into Kellin's window, making him flinch.

It seems to take hours just to start the car when it's only a matter of seconds. The Walker thrashes against the window, smearing blood and god only knows what else on the glass. Kellin's leg twitches impatiently, watching me turn the key in the ignition.

I put the car in reverse, glad that I'm finally used to driving an automatic rather than a manual. We careen backwards, the Walker tripping as the car goes from under him. He pulls himself to his feet but by then it's too late, we're already hurtling down the road.

I laugh nervously, releasing the tension from my limbs. I can taste bile. Kellin doesn't even smile, just regains control of his breathing.

“Where to?” I ask, taking the map from the dashboard and handing it to him.

He doesn't even look at it, just simply says, “West. I have some friends to find.”