Post by Amy Moore on Nov 23, 2016 12:39:24 GMT -5
The frigid inside of the Department of Corrections vehicle was like a tomb. The van was tucked neatly into an alley, facing outwards. Snow blanketed the exterior of the van and made little mountains atop the side mirrors. The windows were frosted over, and the interior of the van was like a refrigerator for the pair inside. Clothes and guns littered the car, ornamented the console and draped against the seats. A few seats had been removed in the back, and in the vacant space, the pair slept.
Amy, small and lithe, trembled despite the layers of clothing adorning her body and the warmth she was siphoning off of her companion. Atop her mismatched undergarments, she wore a dirtied undershirt, a long-sleeved shirt, a cardigan, and a thick red jacket that was much too large for her. Black gloves, frayed and worn, covered her small hands, and a single pair of jeans protected her legs. She wore two pairs of socks, one short and one to the knee, and a pair of boots atop them. Despite that, and being snuggled up under a flannel blanket, she still shifted against Travis in her sleep in an attempt to steal his warmth. She rested with her back against his front, his arms around her as if to seal in the heat. Amy would have preferred to sleep on her own, not because she didn't like Travis, but because she had been independent for her entire life, and she was still getting used to having to depend on someone else for protection. She was a woman who fought with words and logic, and even after all of these years, she was still getting used to having to shoot first and ask questions later.
That was Travis's strong suit, and he wore that armor like a dark knight.
A small sound escaped Amy's chapped lips as she stirred awake. She blinked the sleep out of her eyes and held herself, the exposed skin of her face cold and icy. She shifted and rolled over to face her companion, his arms loosening out of instinct, and she curled up against his chest instead. She nestled her face into the warm crook of his neck, robbing him of the heat and soothing her frigid forehead. His pores smelled of stale alcohol. It reminded her of her father. Had the winter not been so bitter, she would have rolled over and sought refuge on the other side of the van.
But for all of his shortcomings, Travis had always kept her safe, and Amy had to be grateful for that despite their situation. There had been talks of moving, of leaving the city, but neither of them knew where they would even begin. They had both grown up here, even if their lives had been in shambles. The winters were brutal, and it was usually what started the conversations about leaving. The prison would have been ideal, had they not run out of food and left tensions running high. The last two years were all about living moment to moment, and Amy was exhausted with it. One of the only silver linings about staying in Chicago was that the dead seemed to be effected by the cold weather, too. Once it got cold enough to snow, to snow like this, they seemed to slow and almost stand still, looming just out of reach with a frozen snarl on their lips, a lingering danger like immobile ghosts in the snow.
Amy let out a small, sad sigh against Travis's skin. She had to pee, and she really didn't want to. It was freezing outside, and the idea of pulling her pants down in the icy weather was not something she looked forward to. She lingered against Travis's body for a few long minutes before she decided that she had to face the music, and she pouted as she pulled away from her companion. He tightened his grip on her out of instinct, but she squeezed his arm gently and whispered, "Sh, sh, sh..."
She pulled away from him, hoping that she hadn't woken him up, and crawled to their small cache of weapons. She secured her knife in the sheathe tied on her belt hoop, and she tucked a pistol into the back of her jeans. The metal was cold and unforgiving against her skin and she scooted to the back doors of the truck with haste. She unlocked the doors and opened it just a crack to peek out. The wind that whipped into the van was harsh and cruel, and it made her eyes water. She made sure that no one was coming before she slipped out, careful to hold the door to support. The cement had frozen over near the tire, and it was slippery ice dotted with layers of snow. She shut the door and careful traversed her way around the van and to the mouth of the alley.
Gun in her hands, she pressed her back against the brick wall and shivered. She chanced a peek around the corner and saw nothing but white for miles. Buildings and cars dotted the city, but they were so smothered in snow that they were lost to her sight. Besides, she was looking for moving threats, and when she saw none, she walked a few feet away from the alley and kicked out a small hole in the snow. Her mouth twisted into a frown as she mustered up the courage to face the music, and with a whine, she unbuttoned her pants and pulled them down to her knees.
"Mother fucker," she cursed against the cold, and the gun shook in her trembling, unsteady hands as she relieved herself. She let out a low, long sigh and bowed her head in an attempt to shield her face from the cold air. The city was still, as if inside of a snow globe, and a small smile came to Amy's face as she finished her business. Though it didn't stay plastered on her face for long.
She heard the arrow before she saw it.
Amy ducked out of the way, letting out a shrill sound at the way that the harsh snow crunched against the bare skin of her exposed behind. The arrow snapped once it hit the brick wall just behind her, and Amy wasted no time fiddling with her gun.
"Travis!" She screamed. Three men raced to her out of the flurry. One was tall and lanky like Travis, and carried a rifle. One was short and fat and stumbled to reach her in the snow, an axe in his grip. The bowman was tall and skeletal, approaching with his arrows drawn. "Travis!"
Amy rolled onto her knees and aimed the trembling gun at the oncoming threats. The rifle was aimed at her, but she spooked the shooter with a missed bullet of her own. She backed up on her knees, her bare ass sticking up into the freezing air, and cursed under her breath as she ducked to avoid an oncoming arrow.
This would be her luck: maybe getting killed on this frosty winter morning, literally caught with her pants down.
"Travis!" She yelled again, firing a shot at the man with the rifle. She hit him in the shoulder and watched as he fell back to nurse his wound, though the other two still approached. Amy managed to pull her pants up, though she left them unbuttoned and backed up until the backs of her knees touched the front bumper of the vehicle. There was nowhere to go, nowhere to run, and she barely dodged the swing that the axe man threw at her once he closed the distance between them. The bowman moved into the alley and towards the back of the van once he tried the door handles and found them to be locked. Amy was left alone with the axe man and gave him a hard shove. She turned to run after the bowman, but he grabbed her by the body of her ponytail and threw her into the snow.
She tried to call for Travis again, but the freezing air stole her breath just as much as the ground did. She wheezed as the man threw his axe down, and it just barely missed her face. It got caught on something underneath the snow, and Amy used the moment to kick the man in the blubbery stomach. He snarled out a curse at her and climbed on top of her, straddling her little waist and wrapping his hands around her throat. She kicked her legs wildly, her pistol sandwiched between their bodies, and she struggled to get loose as he tried to choke her out. She fired off a few shots, but they flew out into the city, between the bends of their elbows. She tried to breathe, tried to fight, but her vision was slowly blurring and her eyes rolled.
"Travis..." She whispered, only the S at the end of his name getting any sound.
Amy, small and lithe, trembled despite the layers of clothing adorning her body and the warmth she was siphoning off of her companion. Atop her mismatched undergarments, she wore a dirtied undershirt, a long-sleeved shirt, a cardigan, and a thick red jacket that was much too large for her. Black gloves, frayed and worn, covered her small hands, and a single pair of jeans protected her legs. She wore two pairs of socks, one short and one to the knee, and a pair of boots atop them. Despite that, and being snuggled up under a flannel blanket, she still shifted against Travis in her sleep in an attempt to steal his warmth. She rested with her back against his front, his arms around her as if to seal in the heat. Amy would have preferred to sleep on her own, not because she didn't like Travis, but because she had been independent for her entire life, and she was still getting used to having to depend on someone else for protection. She was a woman who fought with words and logic, and even after all of these years, she was still getting used to having to shoot first and ask questions later.
That was Travis's strong suit, and he wore that armor like a dark knight.
A small sound escaped Amy's chapped lips as she stirred awake. She blinked the sleep out of her eyes and held herself, the exposed skin of her face cold and icy. She shifted and rolled over to face her companion, his arms loosening out of instinct, and she curled up against his chest instead. She nestled her face into the warm crook of his neck, robbing him of the heat and soothing her frigid forehead. His pores smelled of stale alcohol. It reminded her of her father. Had the winter not been so bitter, she would have rolled over and sought refuge on the other side of the van.
But for all of his shortcomings, Travis had always kept her safe, and Amy had to be grateful for that despite their situation. There had been talks of moving, of leaving the city, but neither of them knew where they would even begin. They had both grown up here, even if their lives had been in shambles. The winters were brutal, and it was usually what started the conversations about leaving. The prison would have been ideal, had they not run out of food and left tensions running high. The last two years were all about living moment to moment, and Amy was exhausted with it. One of the only silver linings about staying in Chicago was that the dead seemed to be effected by the cold weather, too. Once it got cold enough to snow, to snow like this, they seemed to slow and almost stand still, looming just out of reach with a frozen snarl on their lips, a lingering danger like immobile ghosts in the snow.
Amy let out a small, sad sigh against Travis's skin. She had to pee, and she really didn't want to. It was freezing outside, and the idea of pulling her pants down in the icy weather was not something she looked forward to. She lingered against Travis's body for a few long minutes before she decided that she had to face the music, and she pouted as she pulled away from her companion. He tightened his grip on her out of instinct, but she squeezed his arm gently and whispered, "Sh, sh, sh..."
She pulled away from him, hoping that she hadn't woken him up, and crawled to their small cache of weapons. She secured her knife in the sheathe tied on her belt hoop, and she tucked a pistol into the back of her jeans. The metal was cold and unforgiving against her skin and she scooted to the back doors of the truck with haste. She unlocked the doors and opened it just a crack to peek out. The wind that whipped into the van was harsh and cruel, and it made her eyes water. She made sure that no one was coming before she slipped out, careful to hold the door to support. The cement had frozen over near the tire, and it was slippery ice dotted with layers of snow. She shut the door and careful traversed her way around the van and to the mouth of the alley.
Gun in her hands, she pressed her back against the brick wall and shivered. She chanced a peek around the corner and saw nothing but white for miles. Buildings and cars dotted the city, but they were so smothered in snow that they were lost to her sight. Besides, she was looking for moving threats, and when she saw none, she walked a few feet away from the alley and kicked out a small hole in the snow. Her mouth twisted into a frown as she mustered up the courage to face the music, and with a whine, she unbuttoned her pants and pulled them down to her knees.
"Mother fucker," she cursed against the cold, and the gun shook in her trembling, unsteady hands as she relieved herself. She let out a low, long sigh and bowed her head in an attempt to shield her face from the cold air. The city was still, as if inside of a snow globe, and a small smile came to Amy's face as she finished her business. Though it didn't stay plastered on her face for long.
She heard the arrow before she saw it.
Amy ducked out of the way, letting out a shrill sound at the way that the harsh snow crunched against the bare skin of her exposed behind. The arrow snapped once it hit the brick wall just behind her, and Amy wasted no time fiddling with her gun.
"Travis!" She screamed. Three men raced to her out of the flurry. One was tall and lanky like Travis, and carried a rifle. One was short and fat and stumbled to reach her in the snow, an axe in his grip. The bowman was tall and skeletal, approaching with his arrows drawn. "Travis!"
Amy rolled onto her knees and aimed the trembling gun at the oncoming threats. The rifle was aimed at her, but she spooked the shooter with a missed bullet of her own. She backed up on her knees, her bare ass sticking up into the freezing air, and cursed under her breath as she ducked to avoid an oncoming arrow.
This would be her luck: maybe getting killed on this frosty winter morning, literally caught with her pants down.
"Travis!" She yelled again, firing a shot at the man with the rifle. She hit him in the shoulder and watched as he fell back to nurse his wound, though the other two still approached. Amy managed to pull her pants up, though she left them unbuttoned and backed up until the backs of her knees touched the front bumper of the vehicle. There was nowhere to go, nowhere to run, and she barely dodged the swing that the axe man threw at her once he closed the distance between them. The bowman moved into the alley and towards the back of the van once he tried the door handles and found them to be locked. Amy was left alone with the axe man and gave him a hard shove. She turned to run after the bowman, but he grabbed her by the body of her ponytail and threw her into the snow.
She tried to call for Travis again, but the freezing air stole her breath just as much as the ground did. She wheezed as the man threw his axe down, and it just barely missed her face. It got caught on something underneath the snow, and Amy used the moment to kick the man in the blubbery stomach. He snarled out a curse at her and climbed on top of her, straddling her little waist and wrapping his hands around her throat. She kicked her legs wildly, her pistol sandwiched between their bodies, and she struggled to get loose as he tried to choke her out. She fired off a few shots, but they flew out into the city, between the bends of their elbows. She tried to breathe, tried to fight, but her vision was slowly blurring and her eyes rolled.
"Travis..." She whispered, only the S at the end of his name getting any sound.