“It should be calmer back here, most of the folks around seem to have their own families to worry about these days.” Coltrane idly pointed out the makeshift trailer park which had been laid out across a residential area within the haven, a mass of mobile homes in different forms which ranged from would-be brand new pre-fabricated home models to rundown RV’s which were barely fit to drive, all of them carefully set to form a small town of its own within the haven. Luckily for them, most of it had been placed on top of vacant sites which had been due for redevelopment pre-outbreak and therefore the ground was either road, sidewalk or solid concrete as opposed to the intolerable sandblasted dustbowl or waterlogged conditions one would’ve expected at a traditional trailer park.

Making their way towards it, Coltrane led Remmy on past men and women who were either on their way to or headed back from the next working shifts for whatever duties they had whilst a few children were occasionally seen roaming about, doing what kids usually did - obviously. One or two strangers seemed to vaguely nod towards Coltrane as if they’d bothered to remember his face, but they were still strangers to him nonetheless - it’d take more than just a few weeks before he’d truly fit in with the others.

A few minutes of weaving through narrow shortcuts between the numerous trailers which lay astrewn across the area later and they were at the door of a familiar trailer. Well, familiar to Coltrane at any rate.

Remmy’s head still hurt like hell. He was thankful when Coltrane had helped him to his feet and supported his lanky ass upright on route to the trailer park, unable to focus enough to take in the hash together area like many others across America. His hand was wrapped in a strip torn from his shirt bottom and pressed to his temple, an attempt to stifle the gushing, which had darkened in color. Thankfully it only looked worse than it really was.
 
Unable to keep standing without the ground tilting, Remmy held on tightly to Coltrane while the man led. Inwardly Remmy was too busy fighting off his slight nausea and placing one foot in front of the other in their path through the trailers. Even the sounds couldn’t distract him from the unbalance caused by the bottle’s slam against his head yet it had faded some. After what felt like an endless maze, the man was relieved to see they had arrived and shifted to brace against the door side. Coltrane reached to unrig the manmade lock which keep others from entering in his absence as the last of the looped around wiring and crude padlock came undone and they made their way in, Remmy once again helped along.
 
Finally arrived, Remmy was eased upon an old, mothy seat in a one room living space. Its surface seemed even more dated than the eighties themselves, patterned in a grimy brown and slight plaid. Even in his pain, Remmy couldn’t help but make an amusing thought. For all he knew, if anything survived the apocalypse itself when it came then it would be this ugly couch. Inwardly he winced at the thought, causing Coltrane some concerns from the sounds of it, and the man’s voice sounded from the connected kitchen’s direction followed by a cooler’s lid slammed shut. 
 
“Everything alright?” Coltrane’s head popped out around the corner, his eyes fixed upon Remmy warily. 

Remmy simply nodded best he could. His body had leaned forward while his hands cradled his head, the blood’s flow slowed enough to remove the rag. The bayou man’s breath was steady and slow to push back the queasy sensation threatening to overwhelm him. He stayed like that until he heard the sound of Coltrane’s approaching footsteps and forced the aching body upright, his back leaned against the couch’s scratchy texture. Coltrane’s body was towered over his position and in his hands were two dark beer bottles, still damp with beads of water sliding down either side. Remmy immediately was about to push the offer away when Coltrane’s words made him reconsider.
 
“It’s not to drink, use it for to keep your head cool and keep down any headaches.” He shifted both bottles to one hand, then reached to remove the rag from his seat and plopped down once more to offer Remmy the beer, taking a swig from his own.
 
“Feels like my head is gonna need stitches brah.” Remmy’s mouth turned up into a casual smirk. His fingers wrapped about the bottle’s narrow neck as it loosely hung there, his mind turned inwards. His next words announced his thoughts subject clearly. “Are you sure he’s gonna be alright?”

“From what you guys said, all the shit you’ve been through; yeah, he’ll be fine. Don’t worry about it.” Coltrane answered, reassuringly. Walking back over towards the window, he leaned forward to peer through the shades which were almost constantly drawn across the glass. Personally, he called it something of a bad habit developed through having to catch rest in a world where the wrong type of vouyer would get him killed, and even now the idea of leaving them exposed for anyone to peer inwards made him uncomfortable.

“Y’know, I wanted to ask- how’d you and Simon end up getting to know each other? You seem like something of an unlikely partnership.” He snorted amusedly at the last remark, glancing back over towards the wounded Cajun for an answer.

Remmy let a boyish grin creep to his lips, his mouth crooked which seemed to give him a relaxed attitude and appearance. For the moment, he was silent. His body pulled backwards to rest his lanky back against the couch with a muffled creak and his hand held the bottle’s base loosely against his throbbing head. He hissed when the cold surface touched the tender spot before he took a deep breath. Remmy’s eyes drifted a bit back into his memories while he answered Coltrane, taking a slightly risk in the thin trust that Simon appeared to have earlier. 

“It’s a bit complex. See… I work with a group called Sentinels.” His eyes spotted the confused look Coltrane gave him and immediately fought the urge to burst out laughing. A motion which would’ve hurt his already roughly patched side, chancing it to open again just to bleed. “We’re just an odd collection of folk who want to do what’s right and help. I worked undercover as a slaver which meant I worked, slept, ate and buddies most the time. One thing while undercover was all I had to do: Scout ahead and signal to my pod where survivors were before the slavers got them. Sometimes it was too late to stop the events from happening or save the poor souls I caught. If I didn’t then likely be would’ve been in a ditch the next morning, unlikely I would’ve joined them as slavers aren’t the forgiving sort.” 

Without thinking, Remmy pulled the now warmer beer from his head and pressed it to his lips. He tilted it up and down a bit, letting the yeasty taste burn at his throat all the way down. His hand rested in his lap when he continued his reminiscing. “Simon and his friend, a woman, gave us a chase to remember. At some point they drove their vehicle right off a cliff and into a river. I almost followed until I crashed on my side, pinned to the ground. Somehow they made it to an abandoned bar where I ended up scoutin’ around for supplies. That’s when I found her, just layin’ there and asleep. I signalled the pod as I helped haul her to the dark outskirts. I didn’t once fuckin’ think to check for others and by the time I returned...They had found him. I’ll never forget that. If I had just stopped and looked around, I could’ve found him and got ’em both out..” 

Remmy let out small, bitter laugh at his mistake. As to chase away the sense of failure, he took another swallow of his beer then resumed to place it upon his head. “To top that off...Kurtis is gonna to kill me for rabbitin’ off after Simon despite the original goal.”

“Slavers, huh..” Coltrane frowned disdainfully, rubbing a hand along his jawline as he set his beer down before shifting his focus back towards Remmy. “I’d heard rumours and all, before and after I came here, never knew some people would be so fucking... inhuman”, he grimaced at the idea of being forced into slavery, picturing an image of being chained up whilst dragged along the long stretches of highways which ran across the West Coast. “ Raiding camps and attacking people for their supplies is one thing, roaming around with the Condemned’s another, but slavery? Fuck.. at least some of those people have you helping them out. Look, give us another hour and we’ll head off to find Simon again, alright?”