Groundlings

Tika’s broad shoulders were squared as she briskly walked, one hand resting by the gun on her hip. Mobreigh walked beside her on the edge of the herd. He had insisted on accompanying her on her patrol, and he held his wooden leg in one hand. It reassured him that he would be ready for anything, though he did not know how to fight with it properly. He’d be better with it than with his own pistol, which he hadn’t even hung on his belt. Why bother, if you weren’t going to use it at all anyway? It didn’t matter.
Tika was sunken deep in her work mentality, all the softness she usually showed, all the smiles she usually had so ready were gone, replaced by nothing but cold hard watchfulness. Her entire body seemed taut, as if she was ready to spring at any disturbance any second. And God, Mobreigh wished he could be like her, he wanted to be even a fraction as capable as his big sister was. She was so cool.
Nighttime approached and the forest grew darker around them, the people’s flashlights and candles and whatnot seemingly shining brighter than they had an hour ago during the day. The darkness crept in at the edge of their bubble, and soon the great trees cast long black shadows in the firelight, obscuring all that stood behind them. Nighttime made Mobreigh the most afraid. He had no idea what lurked in that darkness, just out of reach.
So far nothing dangerous had leaked out of the shadows, but Mobreigh knew it was only a matter of time. With the darkness calling for more attention, Tika stiffened visibly and her gait slowed down. She was tense and alert and steady, continuing her rounds with a solid and wide gait. She would keep him safe. She would keep everyone safe if it killed her, he knew. She had sworn it before they had even been approached to join up, and Tika was a creature of nobility and honor. She would never back down so long as she lived and she made sure everyone who mattered knew it.
Tika was a true hero, Mobreigh had always thought. And every time he doubted it, she had proved it back to him ten times over. There was the rescue she made last year in which she had climbed nearly to the top of one of the Memorials to save a kid who’d climbed up too far and gotten scared and only climbed further. She had carried him down on her shoulders, climbing quickly and carefully with almost no safety gear to aid her.
Mobreigh stared into the blackness as he followed her, holding the leg in both hands and resting it on his shoulder. He figured if the need arose, he would be able to gather a reasonably strong swing from that position. There was a small shift in the blackness, some small part barely lighter than the rest moved, and he was shot through with panic. He almost grabbed Tika’s arm then, but he didn’t. He might’ve been making it up in his anxious state. He did that more often than not.
And then the blackness growled, low and guttural and human. Mobreigh had heard these sounds before, but made barely audible from the distance between the planks of the city and the forest floor.
It was so loud down here. Because it was close, Mobreigh realized with a start. The zombie groaned again, sputtering through whatever kind of liquid was caught in its throat. Mobreigh couldn’t see it, and he had always been bad at picking out what direction a sound came from, so he tapped Tika’s arm.
She spun around to face him, her brows knit together. “You heard it too?” she asked, her voice hushed.
Mobreigh nodded.
She cursed under her breath. “Okay. Go get another guard for me, would you?”
Better not to argue, Mobreigh thought. Tika knew what she was doing, and they both knew he was worthless as backup. He had to leave her alone if either of them were going to have a chance at survival here.
He ran, doing his best to make himself big enough to just barrel through the crowd. It worked well enough in his favor, but he had no idea where he was going and ahead, a solid wall of people blocked his way. He weaved through, picking his way around people and carts and fires alike.
Only then did it strike him that he had no idea who he was even looking for. The groundguards that were on duty circled the camp like Tika did, and most of the others would be out of uniform by now and settled in with their families and friends. He didn’t recognize anyone.
And so, like a true dumbass, Mobreigh yelled. “I need a groundguard!” he said, hoping his thin voice would carry above the din. “We’re in danger!”
No one seemed to reply. Those within hearing range turned their faces towards him, with arched eyebrows and looks of displeasure, then returned to their cooking and socializing. Mobreigh wanted to scream. He tried again, louder. “Patrol found at least one zombie and sent me for help!” he said. “She needs backup!”
Again, no one cared. This was a damn waste of his time. Tika needed help. And if no one else would help her, Mobreigh would. He would not let the world take the last of his family away from him, not without the best fight he could put up. So he turned around and ran back, disregarding how exhausted he was. Mobreigh’s heart beat like a drum, furious and loud and faster than he’d ever remembered it before. He was out of breath, and when it came, it came in short bursts that were so cold they stung inside his chest. But he couldn’t stop now. Tika needed him.
So he ran on, despite his weak body’s protests. All that went through his head was that he was the only one who would be there to help.
But when he reached her, panting and out of breath, he found her cleaning her knife with some fallen leaves, her whole hand covered in rancid blood. Mobreigh cursed himself for being stupid, of course she would be capable of defending herself. She knew hand to hand combat better than most of the official groundguards, given her career path. She heard him approaching and looked up. “Hi, kid,” she said flatly. Tika was rarely expressive when she was in the fighting zone.
Mobreigh still struggled for air, so he simply waved a hand at her. He tried to speak, tried to apologize for coming late and not even bringing anyone with him, but it came out as a thin wheeze and Tika held her hand up.
“Stop. Take care of yourself,” she said. She pulled her water flask from the bandolier that stretched across her chest with her clean hand and thrust it toward him.
Mobreigh took a drink silently, but his throat still felt dry. He knew it would, no matter how much he drank, so he left it at that and handed the flask back, staring at the ground.
“Mobe,” Tika said. “You did good.”
He shook his head.
“Listen,” she said. “You followed my lead well. You came back empty handed, but you came back.”
“So?” he finally managed to say. It hurt his throat.
“That was a brave thing to do,” Tika said bluntly. “A fraidy cat wouldn’t have come back at all.”
“Tika,” he wheezed. “You could’ve died.”
“I didn’t.” She stood up and sheathed her knife, then handed him the water again. “Dump this on my shoulder,” she instructed. “I want this shit off me.”
Mobreigh did as he was told, opening the flask and upturning it over her shoulder, letting the water rinse her mostly clean. Her shift wasn’t done until another hour or so, and then she would wash herself properly. Tika wasn’t about to let one single zombie stop her from doing her job.
Technically, in killing it, she had done her job already, but Mobreigh was in no mood to argue semantics.
“Mobe, hey,” Tika said, snapping her fingers in front of his face to get his attention. “Go lie down. You need the rest.”
She was right. Every muscle in his body ached, and he still felt as if he were breathing fire instead of air. So he nodded, said his goodbye to his sister, and trotted back toward camp, taking care to let himself go as slowly as he needed. After what felt like an eternity on sore feet, Mobreigh found their small section of the camp.
After the first three nights, Toby had packed up and gone with the rest of his family, though they often made their own space near Mobreigh and Tika’s. Tonight he was nowhere in sight, which Mobreigh took for a good sign. It meant he was already asleep comfortably, and wouldn’t mother Mobreigh about the shape he was in.
Mobreigh took another drink, from his own bottle this time, and set about getting ready to sleep. He shivered as he stripped off his shirt, then thought better of it and put it back on, topping it with the softest jacket he had been able to bring. It had started getting colder the last few weeks, and he was not about to freeze to death out here like some kind of idiot.
But then, it would be fitting. Mobreigh was an idiot, and he was the worst kind. The kind who had expected the professionals to believe a skinny nobody calling for help. The kind that thought the adults might take him seriously if there was a life on the line. But now he knew. He knew that he would have to shape up more if he was ever going to survive. If he was ever going to have a voice among the hundreds of them. If he was ever going to grow into a man who would be respected for his opinions, not ridiculed like he was now.
Mobreigh sighed, rolling out his bedroll and sitting down on it. For a moment, he simply sat and stared at the last of the embers from the fire they had made dinner on. He stared, and let his troubles tumble in his mind while he worked to steady his breathing. He coughed, his small chest heaving with the effort, then rolled to lie down on his side.
He drew his knees up to his chest, folding his arms around them. It was cold. He’d keep his warmth better this way. But a small part of Mobreigh knew this was not the reason he slept like this-- he didn’t want to be seen. He wanted to make himself as small as possible, wanted to simply stop existing for a while.
But his thoughts wouldn’t let him. As he lay there all curled up into himself, the only thought that kept crossing his mind was that Tika could have died tonight, if there had been more zombies around. She could have died, and no one but him would have cared.
All because they wouldn’t take him seriously when he screamed for help. Mobreigh resolved then and there that he would never put Tika in that kind of danger again. He would stay with her, he would fight by her side. He would harden himself and maybe one day he would be someone whose words were heard. Mobreigh would do his best to become a man who could save what little he cared about.
He was still awake and shivering when Tika returned to roll out her own bed. Her footsteps dragged on the ground, leaving small trenches in the dirt. The stuff was still strange to them, though they had adjusted to it well enough by now.
Mobreigh watched her feet as she washed herself and changed into warm sleeping clothes, then sighed and stretched out on her own bedroll. If she knew Mobreigh was still awake, she didn’t say or do anything to tell him. She simply lay down and closed her eyes.
Within minutes, it seemed, Tika was asleep. Mobreigh watched her still, something wrenching deep in his gut. He could’ve lost her tonight. He could’ve lost everything he had left. He had thought about it this whole time, but only now did it truly hit him how alone he was. And how much he depended on Tika.
It will change, he told himself. You gotta hang in there, Mobe. You’ll make it somehow.
It didn’t help his mood much and he stared into the night, past the sleeping figures around him, into the blackness beyond as he stewed in his own misery.
Mobreigh didn’t know when he fell asleep. He only knew he had, and he only discovered it the next morning when he woke up.