Aeres jolted awake to the sound of a speeding car’s engine rumbling past his BMW, blue eyes wide as he scrambled in the front seat, reaching unknowingly for the gun he had stored. He didn’t get around to finding it by the time he put together what had happened—a car had left the area, though everything else seemed calmed—and he settled down with a heavy breath, leaning back against the leather seat. He ran his fingers through his brunette hair—last evening’s hair gel felt sticky and unclean now. He longed for a trip to the shower.

A glance at the boarded up house told him it likely wouldn’t be an option, but he thought to try his luck anyway. Thinking a bribe might be in order depending on everyone’s mood, he tapped his back pocket to make sure his wallet was still there and then got out of his car, locking it again before stashing the keys safely into his pants. His throat felt dry and his clothes were dirty—he hadn’t woken up in such a mess since college freshmen parties at the fraternity houses. Soren had always been the one to get him in, the socialite—he was dead now, wasn't he?

Images of his brother’s yellowish, bloody face flashed through his mind as he approached the door of the Parson’s house. He heard voices from within. Knocking a few times, he waited to be let in, not wanting to get himself gunned down if he was thought to be one of the infected. “Excuse me?” he spoke up, hoping the sound of a human voice would catch someone’s attention. He heard people but had no idea if they would be friendly. He knew no one in the tiny town.

“I was sleeping outside in my car,” he explained, trying to raise his voice so he could he heard through the door. “I was wondering if you had a working shower or bathroom. Or if you have water at all—I, uh, I can pay if it’s a problem.” He didn’t know if their water was expensive way out here or if it came from a well or what, he just hoped they would let him use some of it so he would feel less like a filthy mess.

(ooc: face claim image for him if anyone's interested
https://i.pinimg.com/564x/55/80/92/5580925d55d626257569965221432e81.jpg ) 



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Before the sun had risen there was a gentle knock at the door followed by a soft creek and Mrs. Parsons peeking her head in. Sarah had spent the night sleeping in Wes' bed while the man sat against the wall on the floor beside the door, a Louisville Slugger tucked beneath his chin. The door hit his foot jolting him awake and he ran a tired hand over his scruffy face before looking up at his mother. 

“How is she?” she asked.

Muscles stiff from sitting in one position for so long, his body ached and he groan as he stood. “Sleepin',” he said. “Like normal people.”
She shook her head and chided him with a look. “Poor thing,” she mused in a hushed voice. “First with what happened to her parents and now this.”

Wes sighed and ran his hands through his hair. Not to discount whatever Sarah was going through, he empathized as well, but he had to point out, “It's shit for everyone.” Though his mother was always disgusted by his foul mouth, he persisted with a sideways grin. He'd always been the one getting in trouble and that was probably why his parents had fallen in love with Sarah—she'd been a good influence on him. He wasn't as bad when he was around her as evidenced by the way he'd offered his room when he saw her setting camp out in the hallway with a bunch of nobodies. 

Joining his mother downstairs reluctantly, he wasn't going to make it easy, especially since it seemed Wyatt had skipped out on helping with breakfast—and they needed all hands on deck with everyone staying there so they could actually feed everyone. Some early risers and people who hadn't been able to fall asleep had to wait. Once they'd finished one stack of pancakes, with his mother's famous cider accompanying it, he had to immediately start on another. His dad sat at the table, his phone in his hand, scanning news articles online trying to gather more information on what was happening.

Whatever was going on wasn't just isolated to the US, but reports were coming in indicating that it was a global phenomenon. He heard a mixture of radios overlapping, some of them contained preachers shouting about the end of days receiving nods from their constituents, some of them were blaming the government and biological warfare. His mother flipped her apron refusing to listen to any of it as she bustled around the kitchen. Spotting Johnny, she made a beeline towards him, Wes rolling his eyes as the woman appeared to almost burst at the seems wanting to take the young man into a hug. Over the sizzle of the bacon he could hear the breaking news about the outpost. 

From the doorway a soft voice spoke with a dejected twinge. “Deputy Hall left already?” Wes glanced over his shoulder to see Sarah standing there, sleepy eyed and disheveled having just rolled out of bed. 

“Yeah. And all these assholes ain't going anywhere.”

“Weston!” his mother scolded and he winced at the sound of his full name. Turning back to Johnny she said, “They are welcome to stay as long as like like. As are you, dear. I know you're a good boy, Johnny Blackburn.” Wagging a finger at him, she added, “But you should have known better than to throw a party like that!” It didn't matter how old the younger generation got, Mrs. Parsons would always see them as children. A look around the room, she gave a sigh asking, “Where is your brother?”

“Hell if I know.” He could feel her stare and he gave a sigh. “Last I heard he was taking care of a few of the people that got injured at the party in one of the rooms out back.” Wes sat a large plate of food down on the counter-top and gave a nod for Sarah indicating it was hers. He'd made it special, just the way he'd remembered her liking it when they dated back in high school.

She was too busy talking to Johnny to notice.

“Wes, be a dear and get your brother for me, would you?”

“Little busy.” 

He cracked a few eggs in a bowl before his dad's monotone voice spoke. “Listen to your mother.” It was about as involved in conflict as the man would get. Since he didn't care one way or another if all the squatters got fed, he obliged, leaving the task to his parents. Without him there, his mother took to physically pushing his father off the chair and forcing him to help, much to his chagrin. 

Since he had to go outside, he took the bat with him, propping it over his shoulder and finagling his way through the crowd. He didn't get very far before Sarah lingered behind pulling Johnny along saying, “It's dangerous out there. You shouldn't go alone.” With an arched brow he wondered what help she would be when she couldn't even kill a spider. Though he hadn't personally run into any of these things, he'd heard accounts from those who had. That was probably the reason why she'd dragged Johnny along. 

But he wouldn't stop them if they really wanted to come.

From outside he could hear someone yelling, but he didn't pay much attention until he opened the door to find a boy standing on the stoop talking some nonsense about a shower. Wes snorted and said, “Ha! Good one buddy,” before walking past him. The lines for the bathrooms and the showers were long and even if he did manage to get lucky, the hot water had run out about an hour ago.


Sarah imagined it must have been hard to have so many people invading his home, but she didn't approve of Wes being so dismissive. “There's a bit of a wait for the bathrooms, but a nice woman gave me some baby wipes earlier,” she said, reaching into her pocket and handing the rest of the packet to the boy. Wes hadn't stopped walking with his long strides and she saw him round the corner of the building. Sarah trotted off after him, a constant string of “Excuse me,” as she dodged the people who'd made up camp in their yard. It seemed odd to her that people would just set camp out in someone's yard, and an invasion of privacy, but Mrs. Parsons didn't seem to mind and in fact welcomed it. 

When they arrived at the rented room, Wes was already tapping on the door with his baseball bat. “C'mon, Wyatt,” he said, irritation seeping in his voice. “Open up.”

Tthe foreboding scratching on the other side of the door and the low groans were an all too familiar sound to her. 

“Wes,” she began. “Don't open-”

But she was too late. He'd pushed it open.