Take A Walk With Me (One-Shots and More)

How Far We've Come

#1 in the No Man Standing miniseries

He clicked out of the window, blinking at the screen as it faded to his background. The serene scene reminded him of his home. The fact that the house still had some power from the generator was crazy. He knew he shouldn't use it on his old computer, but he was hopeful they might catch a Wi-Fi signal. Of course, hope did a fat lot of nothing.

A smile playing on his lips, he sat up, eyes lifting. They took in the dusky cement floor, the torn and yellowed couch, and the cardboard cutout featured in so many old streams. Now the man was bent over, his wrinkled top half staring dejectedly down at the cushions. It brought a saddened mood to the whole room, like something shot it down. It wouldn't be too far from the truth these days.

Mitch sighed. His happy memories were short lived.

Footsteps pounded down the stairs. Forcing himself to act on what should be come instinct, he picked up the gun hanging at his side and aimed it at the intrudor. A greying Monster hat tumbling down the steps revealed it as who Mitch hopes it was.

"You got everything?" Sliding the gun back into the holster, he got to his feet. His friend barreled downstairs, barely holding a box who's folded lid was bulging.

"'Course, bud. I wasn't gonna leave anything behind."

"I didn't think you would." He wandered over, taking the box from Jerome. Newly lightened, Jerome bent and looked around the basement, hanging down from the freestanding staircase.

"Remember streaming from here?"

"I was just thinking about that." Gritting his teeth, Mitch hiked the box up higher, balancing on one leg while using his free one to help hold the heavy materials in a complicated maneuver. Jerome's fingers were there after a moment, helping him.

"You're sure you don't want help with that?"

"I'm sure." He let himself lean up against the wall, the weight of the box up against his ribs.

"Yeah... Man, I miss those days."

"In those days the dead weren't crawling from their graves. Of course you miss them," Mitch snorted, glancing up the stairs. "I remember running up these stairs to prank you. I came down with the whipped cream and slammed you in the face. I think the fanfics really kicked off then."

"Mitchell, they were already kicked off before that."

"Endstone never really helped with that."

"In the endstoooooneee..."

"Zombies are gonna hear you cleaning the pipes. Shut it. Get that door for me." Straightening up, he let Jerome trot in front of him, then brushed by him as he carried the supplies out. It took every ounce of mental strength he had to not think about his fleeting parents and siblings, who he was technically stealing from... Never mind Jess. She haunted his dreams every night.

She had been one of the first to turn.

Mitch shot her with the engagement ring in his pocket.

Setting his expression, he paused by the front door. Jerome heisted the machete he had picked up from a house sixty miles down the road, then leaned to open it. There wasn't an undead for as far as the eye could see.

Not being too careful, the two made it over to the Camrey. Mitch dumped the supplies in the back seat. After shaking his arms out, he stepped up and climbed in the passenger's side. Jerome, who had somewhere along the lines returned his raggedy snapback to his head, was already turning the ignition.

"What, planning on leaving me?" Mitch grinned.

"Never. You've all I've got left, man."

The words left a hole in Mitch's chest. Even after the sirens started blaring and every news outlet and cellular device was lit with the screaming warnings, Jerome had been a jokester. Things had been rough when they first lost Angie, then his parents, and then finally Shadow, not to mention Mitch's own tough time with Jess's death, but soon he was smiling again with a philosophy that one day, things would get better.

Some day, Mitch swore he would be like Jerome. He would light other people's hearts with the matches from his own soul. However, he knew he couldn't be that for Jerome. Right now, he needed stability.

And as terrifying as the thought was, Mitch also knew that some day, they wouldn't be together. Best case scenario, they would be split between one of the rogue groups. Worst case scenario, one would end up bitten.

It didn't take much.

"Hey, Mitch?" Jerome pulled forward. Jerking from his thoughts, Mitch looked up at his friend.

"Yeah?"

"You would... You would shoot me if I was ever bitten, right?"

Seems like they were thinking about similar things.

"I... Yeah. Yeah. I wouldn't make you turn. I don't think I could take it."

"I don't think I could either," Jerome grinned, the corners of his mouth perking up. "All that dead skin. It would fuck with my sexiness."

"Uh-huh." Mitch flipped a switch on the side of the car, leaning back. "Yeah, I'll be sure to shoot you. Just do the same for me, alright?"

"I'll try. If I can't do it I'll find someone who will." Jerome glanced off the road for a moment, but turned back quickly. "You... Wouldn't look too good bloody and rotting, either."

"Don't think so?" Mitch rolled his eyes. "Glad to know that's what you're caring about."

"Of course that's what I care about. Gotta make sure my buddy doesn't go out thinking he can get all the zombie ladies."

"I can still get the zombie ladies. They're just... Dying to meet me."

"Oh, you're bad. You're bad."

"Yeah, that was bad." Mitch tilted his head up. The car fell silent for a moment. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Jerome put in a CD. "Matchbox 20? You still in your emo phase from 2009?"

"It's all these poor souls had. They could have at least had Escape the Fate."

"There is no escaping this fate. They probably took it with them."

Jerome laughed at that, and Mitch grinned. No matter how bad it got, Jerome still laughed at his jokes.

Groaning, he flipped the seat back up after feeling a pain in his back. "I haven't slept properly in weeks."

"I feel ya. There's no decent mattresses for miles."

"There's probably a reason for that." Mitch yawned, his eyes shutting for a moment. When they opened, he noticed Jerome staring. "Huh? What're you...?"

The car slid to a stop. Up ahead was a herd. Hundreds, if not thousands, of zombies slowly ambled along.

"Oh, fuck... Oh, fuck." Jerome lifted his head. "Mitch..."

"Don't look at them. Just turn around, and it'll--"

A scream from outside the car. Bloodcurdling, Mitch felt his heart sink as he recognized it.

"Marley."