Behind the Trigger (aura)

[Cavanagh]

Looking up at the night sky, he could see the smudged outlines of storm clouds. Only snow would fall from those heavy clouds, whether or not it had the strength to stick to the cracked concrete. The quarantine zone was another world, far removed from the city beyond the wall. For all he knew, the snow came in different colors or the rain fell sideways. He was to the point where nothing surprised him anymore. If someone told him that unicorns were plotting against the government, he would have believed every word. After all, he’d seen people claw their way out of graves; he’d seen wild-eyed creatures make meals of his fellow officers. What was a little weather in comparison to such horrors.

He lowered himself onto the stiff grass and placed his C7 rifle off to the side. He ate with his weapon. He drank with his weapon. He slept with his weapon. His gun, his Colt-manufactured assault rifle, was the only thing he had left, excluding his two magazines, a couple of cans of spam, and his flask. No matter how many times he gunned those monsters down, he couldn’t clear the area. He couldn’t even find his way out of the maze. His fellow officers had been in charge of reconnaissance, while he had been there as muscle. There had been five of them, just five. He was to protect them at all costs.

Cavanagh leaned his head back until his skull came into contact with the cool wall of the abandoned fire department. Even with his eyes closed, he could see the men and women clawing their way out of the cemetery dirt. He didn’t know whether their scratches and bites spread some sort of disease. No one briefed him beyond what he needed to know. Get in and get out. They never told him about the sort of enemies he would encounter, just that he should aim for the head and flee when given the chance.

With his eyes still closed, he lowered his right hand to a strap on his right thigh. He should have had a handgun there, but he’d run out of 9mm bullets before he took down one of those beasts. With all the adrenaline and his own fear, he couldn’t get a headshot on the creature. So instead of a handgun, he kept his flask on his thigh.

“One thing I can thank you for, Archer,” the blonde mumbled. He raised the cool flask to his mouth and poured just enough to coat his tongue and burn the back of his throat. Before he screwed the cap back on, he had to peer into the dark container to see how much of the Southern Comfort that remained. With luck on his side, he had enough for three more days. After that, he’d be down the road to total sobriety.

Cavanagh didn’t bother putting the flask away. He dropped it right next to his gun, enjoying the heavier thump of it hitting the grass. He wouldn’t give it three days. He’d opt out on his own, in his own way. None of those fuckers were going to make a meal of living flesh. If they wanted him, they would have to feast on his dead body. Honestly, he didn’t know whether or not they ate his comrades. The group had separated and Cavanagh had gone with Archer. When the two were attacked, Archer fell, and then Cavanagh had watched as his dearest friend emerged from the group of zombies as one of them.

When the first snow began to fall, Cavanagh crossed his arms over his chest to try to reserve some body heat. He grabbed his gun and held it to himself, like a mother with a newborn. The flakes accumulated on the grass, but they couldn’t reach him when he sat beneath the overhang of the fire-department roof. The green grass became white. The brown grass became white. The concrete became white.

He only retrieved the flask when he couldn’t stop his body from shivering. It took him a few minutes to unscrew the cap and center the opening over his mouth, but when he had the flask just right, he emptied it in record time. The only warmth he had that day came from alcohol.

[Aura]

Her life was always one of confusion. The forks in the road causing her stand still and become utterly immobile. There was one decision she had yet to make and that was to completely cut herself off from the one man who had in turn taught her everything she now knew. The decision weighed heavily on her chest.

The every changing city had played a huge part in the members who had taken shelter and had eventually found a home within the city limits. Some she wished would have moved on long ago other she wished would have fallen in death. Death. A concept commonly overlooked in Harper Rock, what was death anymore really. There were three very distinct deaths in her world.

1. Being immortal
2. Being in the realm and
3. A true death, one that claimed a body and a soul; something a human had the blessing of doing after a life short lived.

She’d make choice tonight, only after detailed consideration of all the pro’s and con’s of leaving. If she was being completely honest with herself she was also at blame, it took two or tango anyways; at least that is what her father had once told her.

She started up at the night sky as she lay on the snow. With the clouds heavy in the sky and the night claiming the city, she enjoyed the evenings where she could lounge around and be in complete silence. Her jacket hung open and the fabric flared out under her body. She enjoyed the nip of the winter air, how it stung her exposed flesh and caused her toes to curl in the warmth of her boots.

Recently her adventured had brought her to the same place, her sanctuary. It was cozy and very much an inviting place to be. Her pond had frozen over, her garden had wilted but that was to be expected with the frost having crept up in the early months of November.

“Damn.” The word left her lips as a growl, “Not now, I’ve gone so long.” She sat up quickly and clutched her stomach; she had gone weeks without actually feeding and it was taking its toll on her body. She had stayed away from feeding as long as she could with the aid of slumber but now that she had awakened the hunger stirred the animal within her; her primal instincts of survival.

She left the safety of her crypt and ran into the city; she was craving the warmth of a human. There would be no bagged blood for her tonight she was going to take the risk; there was no other option.

She glanced down each side of the street before her fingers curled around the door of the firehouse; there wasn’t generally a lot of people around this area of town so she took that as a sign dinner couldn’t be too far. With her back to the door, and her eyes on the street she pushed the weight of her body against the door, the screeching sound of rusted metal making her presence known. She ignored it, and slowly sank out of sight.

ATTIRE

[Cavanagh]

The falling snow became more and more like a steady sheet of white. There were no more individual flakes; he saw nothing but white in every direction. Cavanagh took one last look at the nearby shore and then tossed his empty flask as far as he could. The bright silver flask seemed to puncture the air itself, disappearing into the sheet and cutting right through the haze.

He didn't want to leave his little alcove, but he knew he couldn't stay outside any longer. Whether or not the building had heat made no difference. The building served as a refuge. Releasing his hold on his gun, he let the weapon swing around his body until it rested flesh against his back. With every step, he heard the clink of the gun and the sling. The cold weather had yet to slow his weapon, but there had been times when he felt the hesitation. The last thing he needed.

When the firehouse door swung shut behind him, he didn't know whether to head left or right. He couldn't see very well in the dim interior and he didn't have matches or a lighter. The best he could do was try to use the light coming through the windows to navigate. The light had to filter through layers of dust and maneuver around multiple cracks. In some cases, the light had seeped between boards, an obvious sign that someone had tried to either prevent something from entering or something from leaving.

Reaching toward the sling, he gave the material a harsh tug and caught his gun in mid-swing. The interior smelled like the place had been shut up for months on end, but beyond the strong scent of mold and mildew, the building had the lingering smell of blood and rotten flesh. Cavanagh kept his finger on the trigger of his gun and began a slow and thorough round of the building. He had to follow the wall to navigate, which sometimes meant keeping a hand on the wall itself, but he managed to cover one half of the building before encountering a hostile.

Hostiles. Zombies. Undead. Victims. Attackers.

He could think of countless names for the half-rotten figures, but none of the names made a lick of difference--he gunned them down all the same. His bullets tore through their flesh. He hit one in the throat and another in the gut; he severed limbs with pure firepower. When he lowered his weapon, he was breathing hard that he could actually make out the white puffs as they left his mouth and floated toward the ceiling. His heart was beating out of his chest. The blood in his veins pumped with such an intensity that he heard the steady flow in his ears, interrupted by the thump thump of his heart.

Cavanagh surveyed the area once more before he removed his gun and placed it on the ground. For the first time, he stooped down next to a fallen body and began to prod at the creature's hollow cheekbones. The zombie looked as if it had crawled right out of casket. Cav had a deep frown on his face. The woman might have been someone's mother, daughter, sister--he turned his head away and reached out to retrieve his gun. Before his hands came into contact with his weapon, he heard the familiar metallic screech of the firehouse door.

If his heart had been beating fast before, he felt as if his heart stopped altogether. He didn't want to breathe. He didn't want to move. One part of his mind wanted him to call out, but he quelled the urge. He knew better. His hand shook as he grasped his gun, but he still had the weapon. He still had a couple of rounds left. He didn't have much, but he had something.

He just wanted to blend in with the shadows. He wanted to disappear. He took one last calming breath and took his first footsteps toward the sound. He knew he had to take the initiative. He had to lead, even if he had no one else to follow.

"Show yourself. And that isn't a damn request."