Static Screams

Shortly after Scarlett and Darren left, Peter found me lying in the field. He was armed with a first aid kit, a bottle of hydrocodone – no doubt salvaged from some long-forgotten pharmacy – and a small plastic sack of miniature liquor bottles. Through my swollen lids, I eyed Peter as he took a seat next to me.

“You openin’ a bar behind our backs?” I croaked, motioning to the plastic bag.

He laughed, shaking his head. His brown hair was getting long, and it fell across his eyes. “I was honestly hoping we’d never have to use these for this, but…” he trailed off.

“…For what?” I finally asked, though I knew.

He grimaced. “Well…we’re going to have to fix your very obviously broken nose. From experience, you’re not going to enjoy it. Here,” he said, giving me two hydrocodones and two tequila shooters. “You’re gonna want those.”

I groaned inwardly. “I’d rather not,” I replied, before popping the pills in my mouth. I never personally cared for hydrocodone, viewing it more as glorified Tylenol than anything, but I did as he said anyway.

I was hesitant to open the tequila minis; it had been so long since I’d had any alcohol (how long have we even been in zombieland?) I had no idea what effect it would have on me. “Tequila?”

Peter hesitated for a moment, then looked back into his bag. “Would you prefer…99 Bananas?”

I mulled it over for a moment. “Is it really going to suck that much?”

Peter shrugged. “You really want to chance it?”

“You’re a bad influence,” I quipped. “Gimme the Bananas.”

We swapped my tequila minis for the 99-proof schnapps. I choked on the first one, coughing the burning alcohol back up into my nose. That hurt like a bitch, so I couldn’t imagine what “fixing” my nose would feel like. I threw the other one back immediately. It was nice to have the warming sensation of alcohol in my throat and stomach. “You couldn’t have brought me anything to chase it with?” I complained dryly.

Peter just glared at me, then returned to laying out an assortment of bandages, towels, and ointments. “She really did a number on you, huh?”

I shook my head. “I figured we’d have it out, I just didn’t realize she was going to choose violence.”

I let Peter work on me, mostly in silence. The effects of the alcohol were starting to sink in, and soon I wasn’t wincing as much as Peter poured alcohol over my wounds. What a waste, I thought, because it would have been so much cooler to share shots with the group.

“Where did you learn all of this?” I finally asked.

“I’ve been in my fair share of fights,” he laughed.

“I don’t really take you as the fighting type,” I mumbled.

He looked at me blankly. “Holland, how the fuck would one survive a zombie apocalypse if they can’t fight?”

“Touché.”

Peter rolled his eyes, then continued to speak. “When I was in school, my best friend was an idiot. He was a great guy, but he was always trying to pick fights with people. I was picked on a lot, so he sort of taught me how to defend myself. We both realized pretty quickly that I was a hell of an opponent, really. I became his wingman after that. I didn’t care who started the fight, though it was usually him, but I sure as hell was going to finish it.” He paused for a moment and shuddered. “I was with him when he died. He got infected. I didn’t realize at the time what was happening, that it could even happen that fast.”

I averted my gaze to the sky. “I’m sorry, Peter.”

He shrugged again. “I try not to think about it if I can help it. I’ve made as much peace with it as I can, anyway.” He sat up on his knees and leaned over me. “This is going to be the fun part,” he muttered.

“Wha—” That was all I managed to mutter before Peter’s hands flew into motion. He used one hand to hold my head steady and grabbed my nose between the thumb and pointer finger of his other hand. In a swift movement, he squeezed (though it felt like he was twisting), and I felt my nose crack again.

I screamed bloody murder.

Fresh blood began to pour down the back of my throat and down the front of my shirt. The shit fuckin’ hurt – there’s no point in denying that. I still couldn’t verbalize just how much as Peter pressed a towel to my face and told me to hold it there with steady pressure.

“You goddamn son of a b—”

“What’s going on?” Scarlett demanded, as she and Darren stood over us. Their weapons were drawn, and they were on the defense. “We heard screaming.”

“It was Holland,” Peter laughed. “I fixed his face.”

I stood up, swaying, holding the towel close to my face. “I’m gonna ki—”

“SCARLETT!”

“Oh fuck,” I muttered as I made eye contact with Scarlett. “You’ve awakened the screaming banshee.”

The screen door slammed behind Lila as she jumped down the back porch steps, racing towards us. I’m sure she had been on high alert since Scarlett and Darren had left, so she could give Scarlett a piece of her mind. Her face was red with fury, and she had a fire in her eyes.

I whispered to Peter, “You’re gonna wanna get out of the way.”

Scarlett’s eyes were wide as Lila sped towards her, and there was little time to react before Lila grabbed Scar by the collar of her shirt with both hands. Darren moved forward half a step, before thinking better of it and stepping back. Tiny little waif of a thing she was, Lila still managed to lift Scarlett off the ground. “If you EVER so much as lay a HAND on him again, I WILL cut your hand off. Do you understand?”

The venomous growl in Lila’s voice paired with the fearful respect in Scar’s eyes told me that we all were very clear.

“Yes,” Scarlett finally choked out. “I understand.”

“Good,” Lila spat, setting Scar down before turning to me. “I hope to god you’ve got this shit settled, because I do not have the energy for this bullshit right now.”

She eyed Scarlett once more, before turning to storm inside again.

“Wow…” Peter finally spoke. “That was...”

“Yeah,” Darren nodded. “Badass as fuck.”

Scarlett didn’t know whether to glare at him or nod in agreement. “That’s our screaming banshee,” she finally said.

I nodded, finally removing the towel from my face. “I can’t tell you how many times Ryan and I have gotten that same lecture.” We stood in silence for a moment. “God damn,” I muttered to myself, swaying a bit. “Fuckin’ 99 Bananas.”

Peter laughed at me as he gathered all of the first aid supplies again. Scarlett cocked her head at me but said nothing. As Peter began to walk inside, Darren muttered something about getting the chapstick as he walked away.

That left a fairly buzzed – if not inebriated – me standing alone with the woman who very much kicked my ass. “You throw a helluva punch,” I finally said, chuckling.

She didn’t smile, per se, but the corner of her mouth twitched upward. “I know.” She looked at me, taking in the damage done. “You can take a helluva beating.”

I laughed and draped my arm over her shoulder as she led me into the house.

---

I’d managed to sleep for a few hours, waking up to a raging headache and an aching face. I was on the couch in the living room – I guess that was as far as Scar could take me before dumping me – and I laid there for a moment, listening.

I could hear Cosmic and Seven bickering in the way that siblings do, and I heard Natalie and Sawyer laughing somewhere down the hall. Darren’s snores could not be ignored. Lila had the back bedroom door closed, leading me to assume she and the babies were sleeping.

I groaned as I stretched, sinking into the couch. Scar poked her head out of the kitchen. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” I mumbled. “Just feel like I’ve been hit by a truck.”

“That’s the best compliment I’ve ever gotten,” she joked, disappearing back into the kitchen. She returned a moment later, handing me a bottle of water and a few Tylenol. I sat up and swallowed the pills, finishing over half of the bottle of water in the time it took for her to sit next to me.

We both sat in silence for a moment, and it was comforting. For just that moment, everything was okay. But this was the apocalypse, and reality had to be dealt with sooner or later.

“So,” I finally spoke. “We’re still aiming for New York.” It wasn’t a question, but a statement.

She nodded almost imperceptibly.

“We have to be as prepared as possible,” I stated. “We have to have a foolproof, perfect plan for this.” I ran my hands through my tangled and blood-encrusted hair. “We can’t just stroll up into the city two babies and two kids.”

“I know,” she sighed. “I’m still trying to figure out how to navigate that.”

I nodded. “We’d have to find somewhere safe outside of the city for them to stay while we look for your nephew.”

Scarlett glanced at me quickly. “We?”

“Well, duh,” I rolled my eyes. “I’m not going to let you just go wandering into New York fuckin’ City alone.” I rolled my shoulders and stretched my arms over my head with a yawn. “I figure Darren will be chompin’ at the bit to go, too. And I doubt Logan will ever leave your side again. Four of us would be quick, quiet, and efficient.”

Scarlett’s brows furrowed in thought. “But…Lila—”

“Lila is a grown ass adult and can accept my choices or not. That’s up to her. Still, we need a solid plan so that we don’t end up regretting these choices.” I paused for a moment, then lowered my voice. “Scar, I just need you to promise me something.”

She turned her head to face me, and I met her gaze. “What?” she whispered.

“I need you to promise me that, when we get there, you’ll be okay with whatever we find.” I studied her eyes for a moment before continuing. “I know you need to know what happened to Henry, and I pray to every god above that he’s still alive and that everything is okay. But you have to be prepared for the alternative, too.”

She tensed up, looking down at her hands. “I know.”

“I’m not saying this to upset you, Scar. I know you know. I just need to know that I can trust you to not let it swallow you whole if things don’t turn out the way we hope.” I shook my head. “I need you, and I am asking the impossible of you. But please, don’t let these walking dead bastards win this war.”

After a moment of silence, she drew a resolute breath. “I won’t. I promise.”