Chronicles of the Fall- #1- Empty Night

Chapter 25: King of this Second-hand World

"Well where else could we get ammo at, Cora?" Jackson asks, parking the truck in the parking lot of a gas station. "It's already been a week, and we can't be gone too long..."

Cora snorts, shaking her head. "Or what? Tripp'll get worried?"

Jackson doesn't want to get into an argument with Cora, but he wants to defend his leader, and his friend. He opens his mouth to reply, but closes it again. He also doesn't want to admit she may have a point. Jackson leans into his seat, resting his head on the back of his seat and closing his eyes.

"Ammo. Supplies. That's what we're focused on," he sighs.

Cora stares out the window, studying the building in front of her. Like most of the other man-made structures in the mountain range, it hasn't been touched by desperate survivors.

Not many people think to come here; and those that even consider it are driven away by fear of isolation and the deep woods. Everything is always so quiet, so secluded...

Cora throws Jackson a sidelong glance. "I know something else I can focus on," she says, her lips curling into a smirk. Her hand shifts, positioning itself on his leg and moving slowly upwards. Jackson too begins to smile, leaning forward to cup her face gently in his hand.

Their lips have barely brushed together when lurkers converge upon the vehicle.

***

    "You know if ya'll are gonna be here you better start pulling your weight, at least until we see how this whole bringing the groups back together thing works out," Tripp says, throwing a sideways glance at DJ. He sits in a chair with his feet propped up on the table, taking large bites of an apple.

    "I'll go check the perimeter, then," she grits through her teeth. 'He could get up off his own ass and pull some weight, too,' she thinks.

    "Or you could wash some laundry or clean some dishes." He smirks.

    "What dishes do you see around here?" DJ shoots back. Tripp turns and blinks at her, tilting his head as if he's surprised that she said that to him.

    "At least clean this place up. It's filthy."

    "It's the apocalypse. A clean place is the least of our worries. I'm not playing into that sexist bullshit, Callahan. I'm going on patrol," DJ huffs, grabbing her gun off the floor. Laken looks up from where she is sitting on the floor, finishing her lunch of an apple and a bag of stale chips. DJ gives her a quick nod before heading outside and off down the mountain.

    "I can get started on the laundry, I don't mind," she says.

    "Finally, a woman who knows her place," Tripp laughs.

    "Oh look, another sexist douchebag." She rolls her eyes before grabbing a full basket of dirty clothes.

    "Can you wash off my boots too? They got real muddy after that storm last week," he calls after her.

    "Wash your own damn boots," she mutters, closing the door behind her.

***

    The sun rises silently the next day, stretching upwards between two mountain peaks like a great orange eye. Its bright, rich light touches the tops of the trees, turning the faces of the mountains fiery in its brilliance.

    A wind whistles through the trees. It is timeless sound, carrying the early morning birdsong upon its soft, invisible back. Tripp reflects on the beauty of nature; he closes his eyes, allowing the first light of the sun warm his face.