Ashton Holloway
Location: Quarters, Hordebuster
Ash walked the shortish distance to his personal quarters. It had been since dawn, a handful of hours only, but it seemed like days and days since he'd been back. He stood in front of the building in silence for a long moment. In this time, he debated whether he should actually enter, whether he deserved the comforts of personal space that wasn't on wheels. In the end, he did as he always did: Precisely what was needed, regardless of his emotions on the matter.
The voice from before - part of him but speaking separately - returned to prod him inside of his own head.
"Why are you waiting? It's not going to get any better if you stare at it. Left foot, right foot, Captain." The Soldier was getting
really annoying. Fact was though, the voice was right. It had better be; it was part of him. Ash was damned grateful he could still tell that it was all in his own mind, if nothing else. At least, for now. Sanity was a fragile thing sometimes. It was amazing what the human mind would do to stay functional.
"Yeah, I hear you." said Ash aloud. He entered the Wynn House and defiantly walked upstairs, to his quarters.
Memories, palpable as walking outdoors into suffocating humidity, smacked him. His Alicia had made the decision to move in with him some long while ago; they had made this place into a home. Thinking back, Ash didn't remember whose idea it was for them to live together. He hadn't objected, certainly, but it seemed like she had just shown up one day with most of her stuff and decided not to leave. Maybe he had been blinded by her rugged charms. Maybe every time he struggled to bring it up, Alicia would ambush him with extremely proficient and compelling sex. Then again, Ash was never the timid sort. If he didn't want her there, a more robust defense would have been mounted. No, he had loved her. And now she was gone.
Her belongings weren't, though. While the good Captain was a tidy man, his lost love sure as hell wasn't. Her clothes from the previous day were still deposited unceremoniously upon the floor and over the footboard of their bed (which was not made, he noted with sorrowful irritation). The overall order in which he kept his rooms was punctuated very effectively by the swath of things that were out of place, indicating the general direction Alicia had taken to get ready that morning.
Ash shook his head and began straightening things up. It was a space of two minutes, maybe less, until he understood that it would be the last time he did this. A task that rankled him, that had led to numerous arguments, now was an act of love and grief. Toward the end of his efforts, he made his way to the unmade bed and began to straighten the sheets. He kicked Alicia's jeans from yesterday over to the rest of her clothes, intent on getting to them afterwards.
Then a wave of sentimentality hit him. It didn't seem right, him manhandling her clothes about like that. He'd done it a hundred times, probably, but this time be berated himself for not treating her things better. He should be gingerly, lovingly taking to the chore. Experiencing every moment of it. Feeling the tough but comfortable denim of her jeans and committing it to memory; a thing to hold on to, to dream about later. The last thing he would ever do for her that was purely his to have and to do. The last bit of care. He was handling it like it was a bother, a thing to hurry and be done with. Feelings of guilt warmed his face. Ash felt unworthy of her, even in her death.
Ash forced himself to feel these things, now that he was alone. No one to try to "help" him, no one to show him sympathy. No one to take it as a sign of weakness or question his fitness to command. If he didn't get it out now, he wouldn't ever. Worse, it would come out when he couldn't control it. Ash concentrated on his feelings, holding them tight to himself, probing them. He tried hard to let them happen on their own, but a mere release of control simply wasn't enough. Ash was a man who prided himself on his ability to rein in his emotions and act rationally. He had gotten so good at keeping it in for so long, he now lacked the ability to release them. Sadness, anger, remorse, grief, fear; it all clustered just below the surface. Once fighting hard to burst from him, instead now they rested like an army camped along the border of a nation they threatened to invade, neither moving forward nor backing down.
He sighed heavily and sat down on the bed behind him. Slowly, like a tree beginning its descent to the forest floor, he slumped to the side, head landing heavily upon the mattress. Maybe if he slept, things would be better in the morning. His subconscious would take over, work all of his shit out. Sleep. Only he couldn't.
The pillow still smelled like
her.
As much as he wanted to lose himself in the scent of her sweat and hair conditioner, he knew he would never be able to leave if he allowed it. But he had to give himself a moment. Images of her flashed in his mind: The day they met in Tennessee. The first time they kissed, after watch while sampling some of his distilled handiwork. The arguments. The laughs. The times fighting side by side for survival. The last time that spoke, early that morning. And finally, the last time he saw her. She was already dead, part of the horde that threatened to surround them and destroy all they had worked so hard for. It took two tries, but he finally gave her the peace of a true death. Her body fell, not too far from the Newnan Outer Wall. Ash could give her a respectful burial.
Then it happened. The first tears welled up in his eyes, fat and heavy. They fell, followed by another, and another, and another. The floodgate of his physical emotions opened, pouring out the brunt of his pain and frustrations. Not just of today, but so much more over the past three years. All the loss, all the suffering. Every piece that he kept hidden was lain open, all at once. Ash wept a sweeping, ugly catharsis, alone in the dark.
When twilight was upon Newnan, Ash made his way back out of his house. He couldn't stay there, at least not that night and maybe not the next. Too many ghosts, too many memories. He had just been able to reassert self control, and had no intention of letting anyone else see him like that. Ever. His eyes were still red and swollen, though, and for the moment his voice was still a bit shaky. And he
really could use a drink. He carried with him a large bottle from his private stash, one of the remaining handles of his father's batches.
Ash's stride was significantly more steady than his mind as he rounded the corner, making a beeline for the Hordebuster. He waved away the two or three people who approached him; if it were important, they would let him know. His orders had been given, everyone had been seen to, they were not under immediate attack. The one insistent person was Miss Sally, who pushed a bundle of what he
assumed was food into his free hand. When she noticed the bottle, she gave him a stern look that quickly faded when she saw his eyes. Sally excused herself and left to tend to others.
He passed the Valkyries, or at least the one that was still outside. True to orders, they had been set up on the grassy knoll near the courthouse, directly across the street from the Hordebuster. While the tall, loud one was setting up camp, she turned to Ash and called out to him,
"Hey, Wa... um, Ash!" she began, stopping herself from being, well, herself. She motioned around, pointing to the walls, their campsite, bundles of food, and said in a voice that sound just a little forced,
"Thank. uh.. You. Thank you. Ash." That must have been hard. Ash nodded to her and waved a quick "Don't Mention It" with his bottle, and proceeded to the back of his truck. He lowered the back end of the dump body and climbed inside. There were two huge, fixed storage boxes and a couple of couches set up, like a rustic, redneck living room. The storage space was still massive, but those little homey touches went far to make this beast Ash's home away from home. From inside, the forlorn Captain retracted the rubberized tarp and fired up a hurricane lantern. After fixing it to a mount on one of the interior ladders, he poured a dram for himself and settled in.
Ash stared at the drink for a while before nursing it. He wanted to be alone with his thoughts, not drink himself into oblivion.
Black James!
Location: Newnan, Inner Wall and Agriculture
After having gotten the go ahead from Ash, James turned his truck around and headed back to the Gate. He called out into the crowd milling about in front of the courthouse,
"Hey hey, y'all! Needs me two volunteers, don't mind gettin' dirty an' know their way 'round a trailer hitch! C'mon, now!" The people of Newnan were tired, depressed, and just wanted to get some rest before the massive and gradual projects of rebuilding took place. But they knew James, and James wouldn't ask them to do something if it wasn't worthwhile. He got his volunteers in short order and cruised down to Jim, the Gatekeeper. Jim performed his duties with speed and ease, cracking the gate open just enough to allow James' Silverado to exit, and bringing it closed the second he got through.
Wasting no time, James & Co. hauled ass down to the Livestock area. A quick circle around the spot let him know that the fences held solid throughout the emergency, despite the cow that was carried away by the tornado. Most of the animals were locked away; procedures set in place by management in case of difficulties such as wall breaches, invasions, Walker incursions, massively inclement weather, or any combination of the above. Or all of the above, hammering down at once. Satisfied, he returned to the task at hand: Treebound Bessie.
The poor animal was still alive, if horribly damaged. Unconscious, almost bled out, but alive. Though it was a cause of some unsettling feelings, James had to put down the animal manually. The use of firearms were right out; he had no silencer and zero wish to draw the Dead back to their location. Now, what he did have was an woodaxe and a knife. The skull of a cow is thick and hard, right on the top, in front of its brain. His axe might not penetrate enough to give an instant kill. The only other option was to open its throat up, let it bleed out the rest of the way.
A healthy, active animal would kick and thrash. This one was on death's door. The single powerful swipe of James' knife was sufficient to end Bessie, and with the assistance of the other two Newnanites, they gave her body a controlled drop the few feet into his truck bed. Poor old girl. Poor, tasty old girl.
Five minutes later, the three of them had hitched up a massive drum smoker to the Silverado, and re-approached the Gate.
Fifteen more minutes later, James and Co. had the animal skinned and gutted. James kindled a fire with good, green wood and kick started it with some of Ash's utility alcohol. A huge, boozy blaze quickly fell into a slow, sustained charring, suitable for impromptu but effective low-temperature long cook. Bessie herself, or the remains thereof, weren't disarticulated with an amazing amount of professional skill. Fully cutting a side of beef, or two in this instance, would have taken much more time than they could spare before night fully came down on the City of Newnan. For crafting or decoration purposes, though, he made sure to retain the long bones, skull, and hooves.
After he was set up for a good, slow session of smoking (on the sidewalk across from the Courthouse, no less), he dismissed his two associates with an abundance of gratitude and set to maintaining his meaty project for the people of Newnan. So they were down one dairy cow. It would be a blow to their resources, true. But they'd get at least one really good meal out of it. Maybe tomorrow morning, long before the smoking process was complete, he'd ask Ash for access to some of the seasonings to really turn this Cow into Wow.
Speaking of Ash, he meant to see how Cappy was doing. Hell of a day and all. While business was slowing down outside, he did still expect Ash to be floating around here somewhere directing traffic, so to speak. His absence seemed unusual. That's when he noticed a strange light filtering from the back of the Hordebuster. Soft, flamey light, illuminating surfaces around the dump bed in the early nighttime hour. No one would be suicidal enough to go poking around in that particular truck, at least no one that knew him. But there were a number of new people about that might have ill intentions or just didn't know better. He topped off the burn chamber and added a touch of the 'shine to keep it going for another couple of hours, noted the temperature, and walked around to the open back of the iconic truck.
Poking his head inside, he saw his friend and commanding officer relaxing on a couch with a handle of liquor
bearing his name on the label, swirling around a glass of the aromatic, potent liquid.
"Hey there, Bossman. You ah, you ok there? I got some time, if'n you wanna talk, sir." Ash looked over to the veteran Hogger, smiled weakly at his odd, comical style of dress, and waved him in. Cowboy hat and overalls, shirt optional. James was certainly a character. Ash responded in a low, soft voice,
"C'mon in, James." His Virginian accent was especially pronounced that evening.
"Nuff of that Bossman shit for today, James. Ash will suffice. I'm afraid I don't have a lot of cups, but you're welcome to the bottle. We've got plenty to talk about." "Well then, Mr. Ash, you'll be callin' me Black James(!). Gimmie a pull offa that, an' let's talk."
Bridgette Vinters
Location: Newnan, near the Courthouse
Bridgette had been on top of her wagon for quite some time. In that time, absolutely no one had tried to murder her, take her belongings, or harass her. She had been given food and for the most part been left alone, despite her best efforts to sling as much vulgar language as came to mind, given situations presented. Aside from the little girl who
touched her fucking horse, there really wasn't anything that had transpired that she objected to. Even the horse incident could probably be chalked up to cultural differences.
And it wasn't like they were showing all sunshine and lollipops, either, trying to "Heaven's Gate" them into submission before giving them the poisoned fruit juice. Bridgette had heard arguments, even threats. Their leader looked like he was wrapped up tighter than a rubberband ball, and made no attempt to hide the fact that her shit annoyed him. Bree had made the decision that this place was legitimate. Imperfect, definitely not the ideal suburban dream designed for her to settle down with a husband, 2.3 kids and an dog, but legit. These people were for real, and just wanted an opportunity to thrive.
She would have to speak with Astrid, but she wanted them to give Newnan a try.
A while after Ash disappeared down the street a ways, someone else from the Newnan Welcoming Committee showed up, directing her to follow him over to the other side of the street. There was a grassy knoll that was semi-upkept, suitable for both camping and grazing. It wasn't a permanent solution, but it would do for a couple of nights. Bridgette drove the wagon over to the new spot, leading Cadence with her off hand.
They had set up a fire barrel and some scrap wood up for Camp Valkyrie, and promised to return with a makeshift trough for their horses. The only explanation given for this came as a flat,
"Ash gave orders. Let us know if you need anything." She felt a kind of slow shock creep over her. Not as sudden as surprise, but a realization that maybe she didn't have to keep up a constant defense here. Not that she was going to slack off immediately, just that she may have to open herself to the possibility that they were what they claimed to be: An actual community.
"Yeah. Can you get some fucker to find Astrid, tell her what's up? Shiny nickel it it for ya!" Shaking off any feelings that may be misconstrued as fuzzy, Bridgette tethered the horses and began setting up camp.
When she was just about done, Bridgette noticed a figure walking down the road from the north. It was Ash, and he looked like hell. She had to say something.
"Hey, Wa... um, Ash!" she began, stopping herself from being, well, herself. She motioned around, pointing to the walls, their campsite, bundles of food, and said in a voice that sound just a little forced,
"Thank. uh.. You. Thank you. Ash." The man waved a bottle of some kind of clear alcohol at her, name brand from the look of it, though she didn't quite catch the name on the label. He then disappeared into the back of his Diesel-booze Dumptrain. Was that an invitation? Even if it was, she wasn't about to go anywhere until Astrid got done with whatever she was doing and joined her back at the wagon.
All the same, she really could go for a drink of something with an actual label.
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