Is This Real? (Nick Clark X OC) Fear The Walking Dead

This Land Is Your Land

(Frankie's POV)

"Shit." Frankie whispers to herself, realizing the predicament she's found herself in. Alicia walks off to the side of the pantry behind a shelf of storage items. Understandably, she didn't want to deal with them at the moment, having just come out of the hoard of dead. A few people start to cough. Frankie glances over to see a bite mark on someone's shoulder, but they quickly cover it up with their jacket's sleeve before she can take a good look.

Frankie follows Alicia behind the shelf to find her gripping a board off of it. She's breathing heavily with her eyes closed on the verge of utter panic. Without a word, Frankie steps closer to her and gently removes her jacket, setting it next to them on a hook. She inspects her carefully for any bites or scratches that could potentially be there, pushing her hair to the side off of her back. She finds nothing.

"You're not bit." She finally says to her in a comforting tone. Alicia stands more upright and turns her head back to lock eyes with Frankie. Frankie continues speaking. "You're not bit. You're not scratched. There's still hope then. You can live through all of this, I promise you that." Alicia's facial expression remains with its gloomy overcast. Her gaze finds the floor but she nods her head agreeing to the sentiment. They both walk back out to the other side of the storage unit to see more people showing signs of illness.

"Someone turn on the goddamn air!" An older man demands, his voice booming against the cramped concrete walls. Frankie slightly flinches. I swear to god I will shoot you in the head if you yell like that again, she silently threatens him in her own head. Although she hated it, the complaint did bring her attention to the fact that there is no air flow coming through the metal vents. They were all stuck in an underground bunker, left to suffocate.

Some people lower themselves to the floor to rest after all the running they had to do prior. Hushed whispers flood Frankie's senses and she's not sure whether or not she's hallucinating or the people were actually talking like that. She leans against a nearby wall and tries to drown out whatever she was hearing, real or not.

"My wife... where's my wife?" A man in his thirties asks desperately. He shoves his way around the crowds of people in search. A distraught look is swept across his face. If he doesn't find her in the bunker then she must be outside, and if she's outside she's worse than dead. Frankie wonders if Nick must be thinking the exact thing at this moment.

"I don't..." Alicia attempts to answer him quietly, about to tell him that she doesn't know. She stops her sentence halfway and goes back to looking at the ground in sorrow for him. Ofelia finds her way to her.

"Alicia. Hey, Alicia." She says her name a couple times to get her attention. She snaps herself out of whatever she was thinking about and brings her eyes to Ofelia. Ofelia frowns. "We've got a problem." Frankie opens her eyes, done listening to the chaos and ready to start trying to fix the air problem. She follows the two behind another shelf to find Crazy Dog standing there as well.

"There's nothing coming through." Crazy Dog informs them by placing his hand up to the ceiling to check for any air flow. "This place is sealed. And it wasn't designed to house this many."

"There must be another way of getting air in here." Alicia claims optimistically, sure that the problem can be solved. Frankie shakes her head 'no' already aware of how Crazy Dog will respond.

"That vent is the only way." He clarifies. "Without that... We run out of air." They all look at each other with fear behind their eyes, hoping anyone would spark an idea. No one budges. The fear Frankie had been fighting off begins to sink in, the same fear she felt when she was ready to bring that gun to her head a couple days ago. The fear that everyone has. Fear of death.