Post by Keira O'Donoghue on Nov 29, 2015 16:59:22 GMT -5
"Hurry up and finish your soup, Roland." Keira rolled up her sleeves and scrubbed at the dishes sitting in the sink. The still water clouded up with muck, and as the flame inside the wood stove started to die down, she smelled it before she saw it. "I'm not going to heat it up again if it goes cold."
The little boy sitting at the wooden table, no more than five, rotated between eating his soup and scribbling with red crayon in his coloring book. At first he didn't seem to hear her, but as he took an obnoxious slurp from his spoon, it became apparent that he had heard her full well. She huffed in annoyance and blew a long, flaming red curl out of her face. When it only fell back down, untamed, she abandoned the dishes and flicked water into the sink. She dried her hands off and marched into the dining room, her hands on her prominent hips, a fire behind her green eyes. "Roland, don't sass me."
"I didn't say anything," he muttered. He finished his soup with a long slurp and pushed the bowl away from him before hopping out of the wooden chair.
Keira pursed her full lips. "Roland, that is not what we do with our dishes." The little boy glared up at her, his green eyes matching hers in fury, and swiped the bowl from the table. He marched into the kitchen with over-dramatic steps, and when he dropped the bowl into the water, the dirty liquid splashed out from the sink and onto the floor. Keira growled. "Roland!"
"Why can't I go with you?!" the little boy challenged. Keira saw it, then, his frustration, and looked away. It was hard to explain to him, this mad world. The passing of their mother had left him confused, and even though their father had left them this cabin, this safe haven, it hadn't made raising him any easier. The cabin itself was fortified and the surrounding area, mostly unknown except possibly to hunters who were familiar with the deep woods of Pennsylvania, had been rigged with tricks and traps before his unfortunate death. Although it was as safe a location as any, and even if their food had been plentiful before, the tides were slowly turning, and Keira wanted to catch it before they found themselves drowning.
She walked into the kitchen and knelt before him, took his little hands in hers. "You can't come with me because it's too dangerous."
"But you always come back," Roland pouted. "So it isn't dangerous."
"It is." Keira cracked a wry smile, a dimple appearing in her freckled cheek, and flexed her muscles. "I'm just strong." Roland giggled, and she squeezed his hands. "It will take me a few days to come back this time."
The two of them had stayed in this cabin for the entirety of the apocalypse, and Keira had been able to use her expert hunting skills to provide sustenance. However, once the game had become scarce and the travel too long, she had adopted a different method: harming those who harm others, before they had the chance, and robbing them blind. It had provided herself with a means of living, as well as those who Keira came across in her travels. But the pantry was beginning to empty, and she hadn't seen any signs of life, whether living, dead, or animal, in a week or more. Something had to change.
"I'm going to the north, to see what I can find in the city." She spoke slowly and gently, made sure that he understood. "When I am gone, what are you going to do?"
Roland pouted, disappointed. "Lock the doors and windows, and hide."
"And where are you going to hide? With what?"
"In the bedroom, with food and water."
"And what are you going to do?"
"Wait for you to come home. If I hear a noise, like the monsters, then I hide in the closet and put the lock on." Perfect repetition from any other time she went on a journey, short or long.
"Good." Keira dropped his hands and ruffled his hair. "I should be back in ten suns. Maybe eleven if it gets hairy out there." The two smiled at each other, but as Keira began to walk for the dining room, Roland reached out and snatched her hand. He looked up at her through long lashes, eyes locked on hers.
"Mama, do you have to go?"
Keira reacted before she had a chance to think about it and tore her hand away. "Don't call me that." Roland bit his lip, his eyes filling with tears, and she realized her mistake. She dropped to her knees and kissed his forehead. "I'm sorry. I get cranky when I have to leave you alone." She hugged him, and when she pulled back, she helped him into the bedroom. "I love you, Roland."
"I love you too." He waved at her, and she shut the door. She locked it behind her and tucked the keys into her bag before she hopped down the wooden steps to the cabin and ventured out into the forest. The crisp autumn leaves crunched beneath the soles of her combat boots, laced tight and racing up to her knees. Her black pants and shirt helped her blend into the surroundings as she traveled, but the unbuttoned checkered flannel atop that was strictly for warmth. There would be snowfall soon, and she made a mental note to gather more firewood on her trip home.
She traveled for a full day before she stopped to make camp, and by that time, walker blood stained the blade of her hunting knife. Although they were far away from the cabin as it was, she was always happy to dispense of the problem before it came knocking at her door. She only slept for a few hours before ruckus in a clearing nearby shook her from her slumber. She could hear it, the angry rumblings of rough men, just out of earshot enough to make it incomprehensible. But it was the other sound, the panicked sound of civilians, that made her shoot to her feet. She raced through the forest, on her toes, barely making much noise as she avoided the twigs and leaves in favor of the soft soil. She came to rest behind a tree, and with her back pressed against it, she listened to the commotion in the clearing.
Bandits. She knew it.
"Give me all you got, kid." She heard a shove, and then a shrill cry from a woman as someone hit the ground. "I ain't playing games with you."
"Please," the woman whimpered. "We were just passing through."
"Passing through?" the other bandit scoffed. "These are our woods."
Keira scoffed to herself and pulled out her blades. To think they owned the outdoors, owned nature, was laughable. She turned and stabbed her knives into the tree, used her strength to scale the trunk and climb to the top branches. She tucked herself into the little dip made from an old nest, and steadied herself against the branches. From that spot, she could see them in the clearing: a man laying on his back with a woman crouching by his side. The two bandits, one tall and lanky, the other short and portly, stood as bullies a few feet away, armed with a bat and a knife. Keira positioned her bow and yanked an arrow from her quiver.
"Leave them alone," she called. She watched the bandits turn and look for the source of the voice from behind the body of her arrow, her eye trained on them. "Sheathe your weapons and go."
They looked around for another few moments, bemused, but the tall one finally caught her and pointed. "There, in the trees!"
The other bandit fumbled for his long-range weapon, and Keira called out in warning. "Don't! I will shoot you."
"Bitch has a bow," he reassured his companion, as he finally found his gun.
"I will not miss," she warned again, seriousness weighing down each of her words. The man finally took aim at her, but she exhaled and let the arrow fly. It nailed him between the chest and the arm with the gun, buried in the connecting shoulder tissue. He dropped the gun with a howl, and when the other went to pick it up, she called out again. "I will not miss." The man left the gun on the ground and backed up, and when the other followed suit, she rose slightly on her haunches. "Wait! Put your weapons down and wait."
As they did as they were told with gritted teeth and bruised pride, she scaled down the tree with quick, nimble movements, and crossed into the clearing, still looking at them over the arrow. "Drop your goods and go."
"What?" the short bandit growled.
"I hit you in your shoulder, not your ear." Keira watched them closely. "Drop your goods and go. Or you can choke around an arrow through the throat and watch me take your goods. I'm offering you a very good deal. I suggest you take it."
Begrudgingly, the bandits dropped their swollen satchels on the ground. Keira approached them, cautious, before she reached out and gripped onto the body of the arrow sticking out of the man's body. Without mercy, she ripped it back out, tearing skin and muscle alike, and he yelped and gripped his shoulder for support, blood spurting from between his fingers. "You bitch!" he managed. "You dirty bitch!"
A strange kind of amusement danced through Keira's eyes, or perhaps it was just the way the sun brought out the gold flecks in her green irises. She wiped the arrow on the ground, quick, her eyes never leaving them, and returned it to her quiver before she aimed her current arrow at them once more. "Hey, those are really hard to come by. I can't afford to lose them on you." She pulled the string of the bow back in warning. "Now go."
As the bandits fled the clearing, stunted, Keira kept her aim on them until they were out of sight. She returned the arrow to her quiver and lowered the bow, handled it expertly with one hand. She didn't want to scare the passerby. She smiled to them, tried to make them relax, this terrified woman and this injured man, and left them to calm down as she dug through the satchels.
Score. Two new bags to carry her goods, ten cans of assorted food, four water bottles, and a first aid kit. For a moment, guilt at his new need for it passed through her mind, but when she found ammo, it quickly disappeared. She looked to the young strangers and smiled. "Are you okay?"
"Thank you," the young woman whispered, flustered.
"You don't have to thank me." Keira waved it off and cocked her head in curiosity. "You said you were just passing through?"
"My husband, he has family in Ambridge. We got separated from our group."
"I see." Keira nodded and skimmed through the supplies. She took one of the empty bags and dumped a handful of ammo into it, followed by a few gauze bandages from the first aid kit, four cans of food, and two bottles of water. She kept the rest and tossed it over her shoulder, but offered the bag she had just filled to the strangers. "Take it. You'll need it."
"I couldn't," the woman replied, but it was clear that she wanted it.
"Take it. Come on, then." Keira heard it, the slight Irish lilt that flooded her words whenever she was angered, surprised, or exasperated. She smiled to herself and kept her tone in check. She waved the bag at them once more. "You're going to need it. I promise you, you're going to need it."
"Thank you." The woman took the bag from her, and as the man sat up and dug around for the gauze, Keira smiled.
"Good luck," she said, and with that, she vanished off into the forest from which she had appeared. With her plan back on track, she traveled for the next four days, only stopping for rest, and before she knew it, she had arrived in New York with walker blood on her blade, stains on her boots, and a waning bounty full of loot.
Something had to give. She only hoped she could find what she needed here.
The little boy sitting at the wooden table, no more than five, rotated between eating his soup and scribbling with red crayon in his coloring book. At first he didn't seem to hear her, but as he took an obnoxious slurp from his spoon, it became apparent that he had heard her full well. She huffed in annoyance and blew a long, flaming red curl out of her face. When it only fell back down, untamed, she abandoned the dishes and flicked water into the sink. She dried her hands off and marched into the dining room, her hands on her prominent hips, a fire behind her green eyes. "Roland, don't sass me."
"I didn't say anything," he muttered. He finished his soup with a long slurp and pushed the bowl away from him before hopping out of the wooden chair.
Keira pursed her full lips. "Roland, that is not what we do with our dishes." The little boy glared up at her, his green eyes matching hers in fury, and swiped the bowl from the table. He marched into the kitchen with over-dramatic steps, and when he dropped the bowl into the water, the dirty liquid splashed out from the sink and onto the floor. Keira growled. "Roland!"
"Why can't I go with you?!" the little boy challenged. Keira saw it, then, his frustration, and looked away. It was hard to explain to him, this mad world. The passing of their mother had left him confused, and even though their father had left them this cabin, this safe haven, it hadn't made raising him any easier. The cabin itself was fortified and the surrounding area, mostly unknown except possibly to hunters who were familiar with the deep woods of Pennsylvania, had been rigged with tricks and traps before his unfortunate death. Although it was as safe a location as any, and even if their food had been plentiful before, the tides were slowly turning, and Keira wanted to catch it before they found themselves drowning.
She walked into the kitchen and knelt before him, took his little hands in hers. "You can't come with me because it's too dangerous."
"But you always come back," Roland pouted. "So it isn't dangerous."
"It is." Keira cracked a wry smile, a dimple appearing in her freckled cheek, and flexed her muscles. "I'm just strong." Roland giggled, and she squeezed his hands. "It will take me a few days to come back this time."
The two of them had stayed in this cabin for the entirety of the apocalypse, and Keira had been able to use her expert hunting skills to provide sustenance. However, once the game had become scarce and the travel too long, she had adopted a different method: harming those who harm others, before they had the chance, and robbing them blind. It had provided herself with a means of living, as well as those who Keira came across in her travels. But the pantry was beginning to empty, and she hadn't seen any signs of life, whether living, dead, or animal, in a week or more. Something had to change.
"I'm going to the north, to see what I can find in the city." She spoke slowly and gently, made sure that he understood. "When I am gone, what are you going to do?"
Roland pouted, disappointed. "Lock the doors and windows, and hide."
"And where are you going to hide? With what?"
"In the bedroom, with food and water."
"And what are you going to do?"
"Wait for you to come home. If I hear a noise, like the monsters, then I hide in the closet and put the lock on." Perfect repetition from any other time she went on a journey, short or long.
"Good." Keira dropped his hands and ruffled his hair. "I should be back in ten suns. Maybe eleven if it gets hairy out there." The two smiled at each other, but as Keira began to walk for the dining room, Roland reached out and snatched her hand. He looked up at her through long lashes, eyes locked on hers.
"Mama, do you have to go?"
Keira reacted before she had a chance to think about it and tore her hand away. "Don't call me that." Roland bit his lip, his eyes filling with tears, and she realized her mistake. She dropped to her knees and kissed his forehead. "I'm sorry. I get cranky when I have to leave you alone." She hugged him, and when she pulled back, she helped him into the bedroom. "I love you, Roland."
"I love you too." He waved at her, and she shut the door. She locked it behind her and tucked the keys into her bag before she hopped down the wooden steps to the cabin and ventured out into the forest. The crisp autumn leaves crunched beneath the soles of her combat boots, laced tight and racing up to her knees. Her black pants and shirt helped her blend into the surroundings as she traveled, but the unbuttoned checkered flannel atop that was strictly for warmth. There would be snowfall soon, and she made a mental note to gather more firewood on her trip home.
She traveled for a full day before she stopped to make camp, and by that time, walker blood stained the blade of her hunting knife. Although they were far away from the cabin as it was, she was always happy to dispense of the problem before it came knocking at her door. She only slept for a few hours before ruckus in a clearing nearby shook her from her slumber. She could hear it, the angry rumblings of rough men, just out of earshot enough to make it incomprehensible. But it was the other sound, the panicked sound of civilians, that made her shoot to her feet. She raced through the forest, on her toes, barely making much noise as she avoided the twigs and leaves in favor of the soft soil. She came to rest behind a tree, and with her back pressed against it, she listened to the commotion in the clearing.
Bandits. She knew it.
"Give me all you got, kid." She heard a shove, and then a shrill cry from a woman as someone hit the ground. "I ain't playing games with you."
"Please," the woman whimpered. "We were just passing through."
"Passing through?" the other bandit scoffed. "These are our woods."
Keira scoffed to herself and pulled out her blades. To think they owned the outdoors, owned nature, was laughable. She turned and stabbed her knives into the tree, used her strength to scale the trunk and climb to the top branches. She tucked herself into the little dip made from an old nest, and steadied herself against the branches. From that spot, she could see them in the clearing: a man laying on his back with a woman crouching by his side. The two bandits, one tall and lanky, the other short and portly, stood as bullies a few feet away, armed with a bat and a knife. Keira positioned her bow and yanked an arrow from her quiver.
"Leave them alone," she called. She watched the bandits turn and look for the source of the voice from behind the body of her arrow, her eye trained on them. "Sheathe your weapons and go."
They looked around for another few moments, bemused, but the tall one finally caught her and pointed. "There, in the trees!"
The other bandit fumbled for his long-range weapon, and Keira called out in warning. "Don't! I will shoot you."
"Bitch has a bow," he reassured his companion, as he finally found his gun.
"I will not miss," she warned again, seriousness weighing down each of her words. The man finally took aim at her, but she exhaled and let the arrow fly. It nailed him between the chest and the arm with the gun, buried in the connecting shoulder tissue. He dropped the gun with a howl, and when the other went to pick it up, she called out again. "I will not miss." The man left the gun on the ground and backed up, and when the other followed suit, she rose slightly on her haunches. "Wait! Put your weapons down and wait."
As they did as they were told with gritted teeth and bruised pride, she scaled down the tree with quick, nimble movements, and crossed into the clearing, still looking at them over the arrow. "Drop your goods and go."
"What?" the short bandit growled.
"I hit you in your shoulder, not your ear." Keira watched them closely. "Drop your goods and go. Or you can choke around an arrow through the throat and watch me take your goods. I'm offering you a very good deal. I suggest you take it."
Begrudgingly, the bandits dropped their swollen satchels on the ground. Keira approached them, cautious, before she reached out and gripped onto the body of the arrow sticking out of the man's body. Without mercy, she ripped it back out, tearing skin and muscle alike, and he yelped and gripped his shoulder for support, blood spurting from between his fingers. "You bitch!" he managed. "You dirty bitch!"
A strange kind of amusement danced through Keira's eyes, or perhaps it was just the way the sun brought out the gold flecks in her green irises. She wiped the arrow on the ground, quick, her eyes never leaving them, and returned it to her quiver before she aimed her current arrow at them once more. "Hey, those are really hard to come by. I can't afford to lose them on you." She pulled the string of the bow back in warning. "Now go."
As the bandits fled the clearing, stunted, Keira kept her aim on them until they were out of sight. She returned the arrow to her quiver and lowered the bow, handled it expertly with one hand. She didn't want to scare the passerby. She smiled to them, tried to make them relax, this terrified woman and this injured man, and left them to calm down as she dug through the satchels.
Score. Two new bags to carry her goods, ten cans of assorted food, four water bottles, and a first aid kit. For a moment, guilt at his new need for it passed through her mind, but when she found ammo, it quickly disappeared. She looked to the young strangers and smiled. "Are you okay?"
"Thank you," the young woman whispered, flustered.
"You don't have to thank me." Keira waved it off and cocked her head in curiosity. "You said you were just passing through?"
"My husband, he has family in Ambridge. We got separated from our group."
"I see." Keira nodded and skimmed through the supplies. She took one of the empty bags and dumped a handful of ammo into it, followed by a few gauze bandages from the first aid kit, four cans of food, and two bottles of water. She kept the rest and tossed it over her shoulder, but offered the bag she had just filled to the strangers. "Take it. You'll need it."
"I couldn't," the woman replied, but it was clear that she wanted it.
"Take it. Come on, then." Keira heard it, the slight Irish lilt that flooded her words whenever she was angered, surprised, or exasperated. She smiled to herself and kept her tone in check. She waved the bag at them once more. "You're going to need it. I promise you, you're going to need it."
"Thank you." The woman took the bag from her, and as the man sat up and dug around for the gauze, Keira smiled.
"Good luck," she said, and with that, she vanished off into the forest from which she had appeared. With her plan back on track, she traveled for the next four days, only stopping for rest, and before she knew it, she had arrived in New York with walker blood on her blade, stains on her boots, and a waning bounty full of loot.
Something had to give. She only hoped she could find what she needed here.