"city with no children," LOST fic, AU
Title: city with no children
Fandom: Lost
Characters/Pairings: Richard/Alex, appearance by Ben
Rating: R
Spoilers/Warnings: No spoilers, this is AU. Warnings for some zombie!gore, and a slight sexual encounter involving a minor, though technically Alex is of the age of consent (nothing explicit!)
Word Count: 3732...obviously I do not understand the concept of "comment fic."
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Summary: "I'm taking you somewhere safe."
A/N: Hey look at this, another Lost zombie!AU. :D This one is written for
crickets for the Five Acts meme. The acts were: apocalypse, journeys, scars. I've never written this pairing before and I tried my best to not make it completely awkward. Let me know if I succeeded at all. XDD crickets, I hope you like it! I got really carried away by your prompts, so thank you for letting me get this out, I never would have thought of it otherwise. ;D
Title and cut text from City With No Children, by Arcade Fire.
All things considered, her situation could be a lot worse. But as things stand right now, it certainly sucks.
She locked herself in the house when she realized the world was going to hell outside and the news stations all went blank. Her dad called her, just once, to tell her to stay inside, to not go out under any circumstances. She told him she was scared, that she wanted him to come home, but he said he couldn’t just yet.
She hasn’t heard from him since, but he did send someone in his place. She had met Richard Alpert a few times before, had been shocked that someone like him worked for her dad. He seemed like he should be above it all, that her dad’s stupid power plays would be beneath him. But he’s been the only associate of her father’s to stick by him through the years, so there must be some kind of odd devotion there that she isn’t aware of.
It took him twenty minutes to convince her to open the door.
“Alex, are you alright?” he says, bolting the door behind him.
“Yeah, I’m fine, I guess,” she tells him. “Staring to run low on food, but dad told me not to leave.”
“That’s why I’m here.” He finally turns to face her, and her eyes fall on the gun tucked into the waistband of his pants. “I’m taking you somewhere safe.”
“It’s not safe here?” Her eyes go wide at the thought of leaving. The diseased could be anywhere, could come after them at any time. Or the government could round her up and toss her into the camps like she saw on the news before the tv cut out. Neither option sounds appealing.
“The city has been targeted, CDC will be here within 24 hours,” he says, as if that makes any sense to her. As they pack he goes on to explain the Center for Disease Control, how it’s systematically going through every town in California and killing anyone who might be infected. Alex doesn’t ask how he knows all this, just takes all the food she can and follows him out to his car.
“Why didn’t my dad come for me himself?” she asks finally as they’re speeding down the highway.
Richard doesn’t turn to look at her. “He’s leading a group of people into hiding. They need him.”
“Yeah, right,” Alex snorts. The idea of her dad doing anything to help someone without any personal gain is just absurd.
Richard does glance at her, then. “You should give him some credit, Alex.”
Alex looks away from his gaze and out the window at the barren landscape. “He has to earn it first.”
--
She insisted they stop by Carl’s house, and Richard gave in seemingly against his better judgment. She should have listened to him.
Carl and his parents are dead, their blood seeping into the carpet in dark stains. Alex takes one look inside the living room, then runs to throw up in the bushes. Richard goes in to scavenge what he can from the kitchen; it’s not much.
Eventually Alex goes back inside, avoids the living room completely and makes her way to Carl’s bedroom. She takes one of his sweatshirts from the back of his desk chair and wraps it around herself. As an afterthought she grabs a strip of pictures from where it’s stuck into his mirror. It’s from one of those photo booths, each shot only a few seconds different from the last. That day seems like a lifetime ago, and Alex slips it into her pocket.
She doesn’t speak to Richard for the rest of the day. He tries to comfort her, tells her that the house was probably looted, that they were probably outnumbered, that it’s better for Carl now. Alex can’t get the sight of blood stains out of her head.
That night she curls up in the back seat, buries her face in Carl’s sweatshirt, and cries
--
A few days later, they’re pulling into the bunker where her father is supposed to be. It’s completely deserted. Richard tells her sternly to stay close, and they search the place behind the protection of Richard’s gun. They find a radio that plays nothing but static and a duffle bag full of guns. Alex toes the bag open and her eyes go wide.
“Why do you think they left this?” she asks. Richard bends down, picks a handgun from the bag, checks that it’s loaded and the safety’s on, then hands it to her.
“Most likely they were attacked by something,” he says, hoisting the bag onto his shoulder. “Let’s go.”
Alex looks at the gun in her hands, its weight unfamiliar. She sticks it in her jeans at the small of her back and follows Richard out.
--
Alex sees her first zombie at an abandoned gas station. Richard, of course, doesn’t call them that, but that’s what they are. He was siphoning gas and sent her inside the store to look for food. The zombie was behind the counter, as if it didn’t know it was dead and was still trying to do its job. Until it caught her scent and starting clawing its way towards her.
Alex’s first shot goes wide, and she isn’t prepared for the kick. It sets her off balance, gives the zombie enough time to catch up to her. She scrambles to her feet and out the door, the zombie hot on her heels. Richard is running towards her and she ducks, giving him a clear shot.
The zombie leaps over her head—aren’t they supposed to be slow?—and goes for Richard’s neck, jaws spread wide.
Alex squeezes off two bullets. The first hits Richard in the shoulder, the second blows the zombie’s head off.
“Damn it!” Richard kicks the zombie off him and clutches his shoulder.
Alex rushes to him. “Oh my God, Richard, I’m so sorry, are you okay?”
He nods through gritted teeth. “First aid kit, in the trunk.”
She hurries to get it and Richard lowers himself into the passenger seat.
“You’ll have to take the bullet out and stitch it up,” he tells her. “But not here, the gunshots will just attract more of them.”
“Okay, I’ll drive us somewhere,” she says, quickly wrapping his shoulder with bandages. He presses hard against the wound and drops his head back against the seat. Alex fishes the keys from his pocket and gets behind the wheel.
Alex doesn’t have her license, but her dad taught her how to drive. A few times. She guns it too fast, fishtails in the gravel of the parking lot before straightening out. She thinks it’s a little lucky that there are no other cars on the road as she speeds down the highway. She keeps glancing over at Richard, who has his eyes closed tight, the color draining from his face.
“Keep your eyes on the road,” he mutters, and Alex does as she’s told.
--
The motel, like everything else, is abandoned and run down. But there were no signs of any diseased for miles, so they stopped for the night. Richard is seated on the edge of the bathtub, bloodied bandages curled at his feet. Alex brought in the first aid kit and a bottle of whiskey that was rolling around in the trunk, and Richard chugs it before Alex starts digging the bullet out with tweezers.
He grits his teeth and curses in three languages until Alex pulls it out and holds it up for him to see. He takes a shaky breath as she starts to stitch up the wound.
“Have you done this before?” he asks, and she looks up at him with a smirk.
“No, but I’ve patched jeans before, it’s sort of the same thing.”
Richard huffs a laugh, and she scolds him to keep still.
“Sometimes you’re just like your father,” he says, almost wistfully.
Alex makes a face at him. “I guess.”
“It’s not a bad thing, Alex.”
She smiles and keeps stitching.
--
They stay in the motel that night. Alex gave Richard some painkillers and antibiotics, but he didn’t take nearly enough of either. Still, he sleeps for longer than he has since picking her up. Alex stays up all night, sitting in the second bed, her gun in her lap. The night is quiet, nothing disturbs them.
In the morning, Richard tells her to sleep for a while. He goes off to search the rest of the motel for supplies. Alex dozes, but doesn’t feel comfortable without him despite the door being locked and the windows barricaded. When she wakes up he’s in the bathroom, she can hear the water running. The door is open and she watches him peel his shirt off to change his bandages. She’s distracted by the smooth muscles of his back, the way his hands twine around the length of bandage, the expanse of tanned skin she’s seeing for the first time.
Then the bandage is off and her eyes are drawn to the wound. The stitching is jagged, but she did her best. She hopes it doesn’t get infected because of her crappy first aid, or her crappy aim in the first place. Guilt settles in her stomach, and she gets up.
“Let me help you,” she says, coming up behind him. He startles at her voice, not knowing she was awake. She leads him back to the bed where he perches gingerly, and she wraps his arm in fresh bandages. Now that she’s this close, she sees his body is a litany of scars. They all look old, except for the one she’s wrapping, faded and white. There’s a long, thin line on his side that looks like it was from a blade, a puckered bullet-shaped mark on his chest, too close to his heart for him to have survived it.
He notices her staring, and Alex clears her throat and directs her attention back to his wound.
“I suppose you’re wondering how I’m still alive,” he says, voice smooth and even. Alex says nothing. “I’ve been stabbed, shot, sucked under water. I always come back.”
“Why?” she asks, curious and surprised that he’s divulging so much.
Richard gives her a mysterious smile. “It’s much too long of a story.”
“Well, good thing we’re stuck in a car together.”
Richard sighs and looks away. Alex doesn’t bring it up again.
Two days later the wound is completely healed.
--
After the bullet incident, as Alex calls it, Richard starts to trust her. She becomes more than just a little girl he’s looking after. He lets her drive, lets her take lookout shifts so he can sleep. They settle into an easy arrangement, taking turns and watching out for each other.
Alex is driving down the highway, up the coast, while Richard sleeps in the passenger seat. His head is against the window, and he is still but he doesn’t look peaceful. His eyes flick back and forth under his eyelids and every so often he grimaces or groans in his sleep. Alex can’t help but wonder what he dreams about, what could possibly give a man like Richard nightmares.
The headlights cut through the gloom, and Alex sees shapes up ahead. She slows and squints into the darkness. Her eyes go wide and she rolls the car to a stop and kills the lights. Then she turns to Richard and shakes him awake.
There’s a mob of diseased up ahead, shambling slowly towards them. Alex tries not to panic, tries to control her breathing as Richard loads the shotgun and hits the power windows.
“What do we do?” Alex breathes as if they can hear her.
Richard’s eyes don’t leave the mob of dead things coming towards them. “Back up, slowly, then turn around.”
Alex takes a breath and shifts the car into reverse. She leaves the lights off and inches backwards, trying not to startle them. But the movement is enough, they rush the car.
“Shit,” Richard hisses, leaning his upper body out the window.
Alex yells at him to buckle up, then switches the high beams on. The light confuses them for a few moments, long enough for her to swing the car around. But they recover quickly, jumping onto the trunk and clawing at the windows. Alex screams and slams her foot on the gas. She manages to mow down two of them, tires rolling over them with a sickening bump. Richard shoots carefully, aiming between the eyes and blowing away as many as he can.
There’s a thump on the roof and Alex jumps, slams on the brakes. Richard goes flying against the dashboard and Alex yells, “Will you buckle up now?” He does as he’s told, but not before tossing his empty shotgun into the backseat and pulling out his handgun.
The zombie on the roof hangs on as Alex speeds away. Richard leans out the window again but can’t reach it at this angle. Alex hears it scrambling towards her side of the car and she whimpers when it’s spindly fingers grip the top of her window. Its hand is rotten and clammy, and Alex can smell the stench of dead flesh begin to fill the car.
She wavers, lets up on the gas for a moment before Richard yells at her to keep driving. She spares a glance over at him, sees him aiming steadily at her window. Then she gets it; she’s bait.
Richard waits for the zombie’s head to appear in the window, and just as it lunges for Alex’s neck Richard yells, "Duck!"
Alex closes her eyes and presses her forehead to the steering wheel, keeps her foot on the gas. Then there’s a deafening bang and wet chunks splatter her. She looks up in time to see a headless body get pulled under the car.
Then it’s quiet except for their ragged breathing. The mob is shrinking behind their taillights as they double back, and Richard pulls a map out of the glove box, looking for another route.
Alex knows she is covered in gore, but she holds it together, doesn’t even whimper or whine. She just grips the steering wheel, white-knuckled, and keeps driving.
--
Once they are a safe distance away, Richard instructs her to pull off the road. They take shelter under a bridge, by the water’s edge, and that’s when Alex breaks. Richard comes around to open her door and she collapses against his chest. She clings to him, sobbing, oblivious to the fact that she’s smearing black blood all over him. He doesn’t seem to mind, just shushes her and strokes her hair.
“Alex,” he says in a steady voice. He kneels on the ground so that he’s eye level with her, wipes blood from her face with his thumb. “You’re okay. It’s over.”
She shudders with another sob. “No it’s not.”
Richard grants her a sad smile. “It is for now. Let’s get you cleaned up.”
He takes her to the river with blankets and clean clothes from their luggage. Alex composes herself enough to wash up, notices how Richard turns his back when she peels her shirt off. The cold water steals her breath and she hurries to scrub away the gore. Richard is doing the same beside her, and soon he’s throwing a blanket around her and urging her back to the car.
They blast the heat, heedless of the gas they’re wasting, and huddle together in the backseat. Richard stretches out as much as he can, and Alex tucks herself under his arm. She can feel him shivering beneath her, and it’s an odd feeling. All this time he has been like an otherworldly creature to her, almost oblivious to human needs like sleep and warmth. But as he wraps his arms around her, brings his blanket up to share with her, he has never looked more human.
She can see it in his face, his exhaustion. She knows he didn’t choose to be here, to be taking care of her, but he never once complained that she was a burden. She feels a rush of affection for him, realizes the position they’re in and shifts her body, just slightly.
She never went all the way with Carl—impossible under her dad’s roof—but she went far enough. She wonders how Richard tastes, knows he will kiss differently than a boy would. She’s never thought of an older man like this, outside of movie stars, and it suddenly doesn’t feel wrong. She can’t help but think that this is the moment, that this is meant to happen.
She shifts her body against his, lines their hips up as best she can. He is completely still under her, though not heedless of her intentions. His eyes are dark and deep with something Alex can’t quite place.
He chokes out her name in warning as she starts to move, to rock against him. The friction feels good, warms her in a way the blankets never could. It starts at her belly and spreads outward until she feels as though her fingers spark with it.
Richard still doesn’t move, doesn’t touch back despite how she is sprawled across his body. She thinks about stopping, for a moment, and straightens her legs down the length of his. The shift in pressure does something, she can feel the change below her. Richard is hard where he wasn’t before, and Alex smiles to herself.
She pushes down again, the feeling completely different now that he’s giving back. His hips buck up against hers and she gasps. His fingers clench in the blanket around her shoulders and he makes a strangled little noise that Alex just can’t take. She’s flooded with desire for him, the need to shuck their clothes and run her hands down all his scars, ready to feel him slide inside her. And just as she shoves her hand between them to undo his fly he backs away.
“Alex, don’t,” he says, voice thick and breathless. He pushes her away and slithers out from under her. “We shouldn’t.”
“Why not?” she demands, trying her hardest to look like a woman rather than the girl she knows she is to him.
Richard just shakes his head. “We can’t. I’m sorry,” he says, opening the door and sliding out into the night. “I’m sorry.”
He closes the door and Alex watches him walk away, can see his regret in the slump of his shoulders. He goes to lean against the concrete of the bridge. He ducks his head down, watches the water at his feet, and all of Alex’s lust for him dissolves into shame.
She waits a while before toeing her boots back on, wrapping the blanket closer around her. He stiffens when she approaches, his eyes wide in a way she’s never seen them.
Alex swallows away the pang in her stomach. “Here,” she says, pressing a gun into his palm. “You’re on first watch.”
Then she goes back to the car without another word.
--
Alex isn’t surprised that they never talk about it. It’s almost as if it never happened, except for the haunted glances Richard shoots her way. They just keep doing what they were doing before, driving up the coast, headed towards some predetermined rendezvous Richard has set up with her father.
Half of her wishes they never find him.
--
It’s a grey morning when they pull up to the marina. Alex knows they’re close to crossing the state line, knows that’s where they’ll go if her father isn’t here. She doesn’t know if Oregon will be any better than California, but Richard mentioned once that he had a house in Portland, secluded in the woods. That’s their plan B.
They head down the dock with guns in hand, footsteps loud and hollow on the wooden planks. There’s a small fishing boat tethered to the dock, and as they approach it Richard whistles low.
Alex nearly jumps when a returning whistle sounds from inside the cabin. Richard puts his gun away just as Ben emerges.
Alex doesn’t react, just stands frozen while her father climbs off the boat and embraces her. She wraps her arms around him, the metal of her gun pressing into his back, but she feels nothing.
Ben rests his chin on Alex’s hair. “I can’t thank you enough, Richard,” he says calmly, as if Richard just got him tickets to the ballet. Alex pulls away.
“Where are we going now?” she asks.
Ben smiles at her. “I have the location of a deserted island, off the map. No one will find us there.” With that, Ben ushers her towards the boat.
Alex looks behind them, pulls away from her dad when she realizes Richard’s not following.
“Richard, come on,” she says, but he just frowns.
“This wasn’t part of the deal,” he explains, and Alex whirls to glare at her dad. “It’ll be safer just the two of you. I’ll be fine.”
Alex stomps over to him, props the hand not holding her gun on her hip. “You won’t be fine,” she insists. “Who’s gonna watch your back?”
Richard gives her that sad smile again, but before he can say anything Ben interjects.
“Richard is perfectly capable of taking care of himself,” he says a bit huffily. “Now, come on.”
“Like hell,” Alex mutters, then grabs Richard’s wrist. “Don’t be an idiot. Get on the fucking boat.”
Richard’s face turns slowly into a bemused smile, and he glances over her shoulder at Ben.
Ben sighs dramatically. “I’ve given up trying to argue with Alex,” he resigns. “It’s a lesson you’ll learn all too soon, Richard. Welcome aboard.”
As Ben gets the boat ready to leave, Alex turns back to Richard. He’s still smiling that little smile of his, but one eyebrow has gone up as he looks at her. Alex makes sure Ben’s back is turned before slipping her hand into Richard’s and giving it a squeeze.
“I’m sure gonna miss that backseat,” she says boldly, a smirk already on her face.
Richard chuckles warmly and curls an arm about her shoulders. He steers her down the dock, helps her climb into the little boat.
With Richard at the helm and Ben navigating, Alex pulls her knees up on the seat. She smiles as they sail away.
Fandom: Lost
Characters/Pairings: Richard/Alex, appearance by Ben
Rating: R
Spoilers/Warnings: No spoilers, this is AU. Warnings for some zombie!gore, and a slight sexual encounter involving a minor, though technically Alex is of the age of consent (nothing explicit!)
Word Count: 3732...obviously I do not understand the concept of "comment fic."
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Summary: "I'm taking you somewhere safe."
A/N: Hey look at this, another Lost zombie!AU. :D This one is written for
crickets for the Five Acts meme. The acts were: apocalypse, journeys, scars. I've never written this pairing before and I tried my best to not make it completely awkward. Let me know if I succeeded at all. XDD crickets, I hope you like it! I got really carried away by your prompts, so thank you for letting me get this out, I never would have thought of it otherwise. ;DTitle and cut text from City With No Children, by Arcade Fire.
All things considered, her situation could be a lot worse. But as things stand right now, it certainly sucks.
She locked herself in the house when she realized the world was going to hell outside and the news stations all went blank. Her dad called her, just once, to tell her to stay inside, to not go out under any circumstances. She told him she was scared, that she wanted him to come home, but he said he couldn’t just yet.
She hasn’t heard from him since, but he did send someone in his place. She had met Richard Alpert a few times before, had been shocked that someone like him worked for her dad. He seemed like he should be above it all, that her dad’s stupid power plays would be beneath him. But he’s been the only associate of her father’s to stick by him through the years, so there must be some kind of odd devotion there that she isn’t aware of.
It took him twenty minutes to convince her to open the door.
“Alex, are you alright?” he says, bolting the door behind him.
“Yeah, I’m fine, I guess,” she tells him. “Staring to run low on food, but dad told me not to leave.”
“That’s why I’m here.” He finally turns to face her, and her eyes fall on the gun tucked into the waistband of his pants. “I’m taking you somewhere safe.”
“It’s not safe here?” Her eyes go wide at the thought of leaving. The diseased could be anywhere, could come after them at any time. Or the government could round her up and toss her into the camps like she saw on the news before the tv cut out. Neither option sounds appealing.
“The city has been targeted, CDC will be here within 24 hours,” he says, as if that makes any sense to her. As they pack he goes on to explain the Center for Disease Control, how it’s systematically going through every town in California and killing anyone who might be infected. Alex doesn’t ask how he knows all this, just takes all the food she can and follows him out to his car.
“Why didn’t my dad come for me himself?” she asks finally as they’re speeding down the highway.
Richard doesn’t turn to look at her. “He’s leading a group of people into hiding. They need him.”
“Yeah, right,” Alex snorts. The idea of her dad doing anything to help someone without any personal gain is just absurd.
Richard does glance at her, then. “You should give him some credit, Alex.”
Alex looks away from his gaze and out the window at the barren landscape. “He has to earn it first.”
--
She insisted they stop by Carl’s house, and Richard gave in seemingly against his better judgment. She should have listened to him.
Carl and his parents are dead, their blood seeping into the carpet in dark stains. Alex takes one look inside the living room, then runs to throw up in the bushes. Richard goes in to scavenge what he can from the kitchen; it’s not much.
Eventually Alex goes back inside, avoids the living room completely and makes her way to Carl’s bedroom. She takes one of his sweatshirts from the back of his desk chair and wraps it around herself. As an afterthought she grabs a strip of pictures from where it’s stuck into his mirror. It’s from one of those photo booths, each shot only a few seconds different from the last. That day seems like a lifetime ago, and Alex slips it into her pocket.
She doesn’t speak to Richard for the rest of the day. He tries to comfort her, tells her that the house was probably looted, that they were probably outnumbered, that it’s better for Carl now. Alex can’t get the sight of blood stains out of her head.
That night she curls up in the back seat, buries her face in Carl’s sweatshirt, and cries
--
A few days later, they’re pulling into the bunker where her father is supposed to be. It’s completely deserted. Richard tells her sternly to stay close, and they search the place behind the protection of Richard’s gun. They find a radio that plays nothing but static and a duffle bag full of guns. Alex toes the bag open and her eyes go wide.
“Why do you think they left this?” she asks. Richard bends down, picks a handgun from the bag, checks that it’s loaded and the safety’s on, then hands it to her.
“Most likely they were attacked by something,” he says, hoisting the bag onto his shoulder. “Let’s go.”
Alex looks at the gun in her hands, its weight unfamiliar. She sticks it in her jeans at the small of her back and follows Richard out.
--
Alex sees her first zombie at an abandoned gas station. Richard, of course, doesn’t call them that, but that’s what they are. He was siphoning gas and sent her inside the store to look for food. The zombie was behind the counter, as if it didn’t know it was dead and was still trying to do its job. Until it caught her scent and starting clawing its way towards her.
Alex’s first shot goes wide, and she isn’t prepared for the kick. It sets her off balance, gives the zombie enough time to catch up to her. She scrambles to her feet and out the door, the zombie hot on her heels. Richard is running towards her and she ducks, giving him a clear shot.
The zombie leaps over her head—aren’t they supposed to be slow?—and goes for Richard’s neck, jaws spread wide.
Alex squeezes off two bullets. The first hits Richard in the shoulder, the second blows the zombie’s head off.
“Damn it!” Richard kicks the zombie off him and clutches his shoulder.
Alex rushes to him. “Oh my God, Richard, I’m so sorry, are you okay?”
He nods through gritted teeth. “First aid kit, in the trunk.”
She hurries to get it and Richard lowers himself into the passenger seat.
“You’ll have to take the bullet out and stitch it up,” he tells her. “But not here, the gunshots will just attract more of them.”
“Okay, I’ll drive us somewhere,” she says, quickly wrapping his shoulder with bandages. He presses hard against the wound and drops his head back against the seat. Alex fishes the keys from his pocket and gets behind the wheel.
Alex doesn’t have her license, but her dad taught her how to drive. A few times. She guns it too fast, fishtails in the gravel of the parking lot before straightening out. She thinks it’s a little lucky that there are no other cars on the road as she speeds down the highway. She keeps glancing over at Richard, who has his eyes closed tight, the color draining from his face.
“Keep your eyes on the road,” he mutters, and Alex does as she’s told.
--
The motel, like everything else, is abandoned and run down. But there were no signs of any diseased for miles, so they stopped for the night. Richard is seated on the edge of the bathtub, bloodied bandages curled at his feet. Alex brought in the first aid kit and a bottle of whiskey that was rolling around in the trunk, and Richard chugs it before Alex starts digging the bullet out with tweezers.
He grits his teeth and curses in three languages until Alex pulls it out and holds it up for him to see. He takes a shaky breath as she starts to stitch up the wound.
“Have you done this before?” he asks, and she looks up at him with a smirk.
“No, but I’ve patched jeans before, it’s sort of the same thing.”
Richard huffs a laugh, and she scolds him to keep still.
“Sometimes you’re just like your father,” he says, almost wistfully.
Alex makes a face at him. “I guess.”
“It’s not a bad thing, Alex.”
She smiles and keeps stitching.
--
They stay in the motel that night. Alex gave Richard some painkillers and antibiotics, but he didn’t take nearly enough of either. Still, he sleeps for longer than he has since picking her up. Alex stays up all night, sitting in the second bed, her gun in her lap. The night is quiet, nothing disturbs them.
In the morning, Richard tells her to sleep for a while. He goes off to search the rest of the motel for supplies. Alex dozes, but doesn’t feel comfortable without him despite the door being locked and the windows barricaded. When she wakes up he’s in the bathroom, she can hear the water running. The door is open and she watches him peel his shirt off to change his bandages. She’s distracted by the smooth muscles of his back, the way his hands twine around the length of bandage, the expanse of tanned skin she’s seeing for the first time.
Then the bandage is off and her eyes are drawn to the wound. The stitching is jagged, but she did her best. She hopes it doesn’t get infected because of her crappy first aid, or her crappy aim in the first place. Guilt settles in her stomach, and she gets up.
“Let me help you,” she says, coming up behind him. He startles at her voice, not knowing she was awake. She leads him back to the bed where he perches gingerly, and she wraps his arm in fresh bandages. Now that she’s this close, she sees his body is a litany of scars. They all look old, except for the one she’s wrapping, faded and white. There’s a long, thin line on his side that looks like it was from a blade, a puckered bullet-shaped mark on his chest, too close to his heart for him to have survived it.
He notices her staring, and Alex clears her throat and directs her attention back to his wound.
“I suppose you’re wondering how I’m still alive,” he says, voice smooth and even. Alex says nothing. “I’ve been stabbed, shot, sucked under water. I always come back.”
“Why?” she asks, curious and surprised that he’s divulging so much.
Richard gives her a mysterious smile. “It’s much too long of a story.”
“Well, good thing we’re stuck in a car together.”
Richard sighs and looks away. Alex doesn’t bring it up again.
Two days later the wound is completely healed.
--
After the bullet incident, as Alex calls it, Richard starts to trust her. She becomes more than just a little girl he’s looking after. He lets her drive, lets her take lookout shifts so he can sleep. They settle into an easy arrangement, taking turns and watching out for each other.
Alex is driving down the highway, up the coast, while Richard sleeps in the passenger seat. His head is against the window, and he is still but he doesn’t look peaceful. His eyes flick back and forth under his eyelids and every so often he grimaces or groans in his sleep. Alex can’t help but wonder what he dreams about, what could possibly give a man like Richard nightmares.
The headlights cut through the gloom, and Alex sees shapes up ahead. She slows and squints into the darkness. Her eyes go wide and she rolls the car to a stop and kills the lights. Then she turns to Richard and shakes him awake.
There’s a mob of diseased up ahead, shambling slowly towards them. Alex tries not to panic, tries to control her breathing as Richard loads the shotgun and hits the power windows.
“What do we do?” Alex breathes as if they can hear her.
Richard’s eyes don’t leave the mob of dead things coming towards them. “Back up, slowly, then turn around.”
Alex takes a breath and shifts the car into reverse. She leaves the lights off and inches backwards, trying not to startle them. But the movement is enough, they rush the car.
“Shit,” Richard hisses, leaning his upper body out the window.
Alex yells at him to buckle up, then switches the high beams on. The light confuses them for a few moments, long enough for her to swing the car around. But they recover quickly, jumping onto the trunk and clawing at the windows. Alex screams and slams her foot on the gas. She manages to mow down two of them, tires rolling over them with a sickening bump. Richard shoots carefully, aiming between the eyes and blowing away as many as he can.
There’s a thump on the roof and Alex jumps, slams on the brakes. Richard goes flying against the dashboard and Alex yells, “Will you buckle up now?” He does as he’s told, but not before tossing his empty shotgun into the backseat and pulling out his handgun.
The zombie on the roof hangs on as Alex speeds away. Richard leans out the window again but can’t reach it at this angle. Alex hears it scrambling towards her side of the car and she whimpers when it’s spindly fingers grip the top of her window. Its hand is rotten and clammy, and Alex can smell the stench of dead flesh begin to fill the car.
She wavers, lets up on the gas for a moment before Richard yells at her to keep driving. She spares a glance over at him, sees him aiming steadily at her window. Then she gets it; she’s bait.
Richard waits for the zombie’s head to appear in the window, and just as it lunges for Alex’s neck Richard yells, "Duck!"
Alex closes her eyes and presses her forehead to the steering wheel, keeps her foot on the gas. Then there’s a deafening bang and wet chunks splatter her. She looks up in time to see a headless body get pulled under the car.
Then it’s quiet except for their ragged breathing. The mob is shrinking behind their taillights as they double back, and Richard pulls a map out of the glove box, looking for another route.
Alex knows she is covered in gore, but she holds it together, doesn’t even whimper or whine. She just grips the steering wheel, white-knuckled, and keeps driving.
--
Once they are a safe distance away, Richard instructs her to pull off the road. They take shelter under a bridge, by the water’s edge, and that’s when Alex breaks. Richard comes around to open her door and she collapses against his chest. She clings to him, sobbing, oblivious to the fact that she’s smearing black blood all over him. He doesn’t seem to mind, just shushes her and strokes her hair.
“Alex,” he says in a steady voice. He kneels on the ground so that he’s eye level with her, wipes blood from her face with his thumb. “You’re okay. It’s over.”
She shudders with another sob. “No it’s not.”
Richard grants her a sad smile. “It is for now. Let’s get you cleaned up.”
He takes her to the river with blankets and clean clothes from their luggage. Alex composes herself enough to wash up, notices how Richard turns his back when she peels her shirt off. The cold water steals her breath and she hurries to scrub away the gore. Richard is doing the same beside her, and soon he’s throwing a blanket around her and urging her back to the car.
They blast the heat, heedless of the gas they’re wasting, and huddle together in the backseat. Richard stretches out as much as he can, and Alex tucks herself under his arm. She can feel him shivering beneath her, and it’s an odd feeling. All this time he has been like an otherworldly creature to her, almost oblivious to human needs like sleep and warmth. But as he wraps his arms around her, brings his blanket up to share with her, he has never looked more human.
She can see it in his face, his exhaustion. She knows he didn’t choose to be here, to be taking care of her, but he never once complained that she was a burden. She feels a rush of affection for him, realizes the position they’re in and shifts her body, just slightly.
She never went all the way with Carl—impossible under her dad’s roof—but she went far enough. She wonders how Richard tastes, knows he will kiss differently than a boy would. She’s never thought of an older man like this, outside of movie stars, and it suddenly doesn’t feel wrong. She can’t help but think that this is the moment, that this is meant to happen.
She shifts her body against his, lines their hips up as best she can. He is completely still under her, though not heedless of her intentions. His eyes are dark and deep with something Alex can’t quite place.
He chokes out her name in warning as she starts to move, to rock against him. The friction feels good, warms her in a way the blankets never could. It starts at her belly and spreads outward until she feels as though her fingers spark with it.
Richard still doesn’t move, doesn’t touch back despite how she is sprawled across his body. She thinks about stopping, for a moment, and straightens her legs down the length of his. The shift in pressure does something, she can feel the change below her. Richard is hard where he wasn’t before, and Alex smiles to herself.
She pushes down again, the feeling completely different now that he’s giving back. His hips buck up against hers and she gasps. His fingers clench in the blanket around her shoulders and he makes a strangled little noise that Alex just can’t take. She’s flooded with desire for him, the need to shuck their clothes and run her hands down all his scars, ready to feel him slide inside her. And just as she shoves her hand between them to undo his fly he backs away.
“Alex, don’t,” he says, voice thick and breathless. He pushes her away and slithers out from under her. “We shouldn’t.”
“Why not?” she demands, trying her hardest to look like a woman rather than the girl she knows she is to him.
Richard just shakes his head. “We can’t. I’m sorry,” he says, opening the door and sliding out into the night. “I’m sorry.”
He closes the door and Alex watches him walk away, can see his regret in the slump of his shoulders. He goes to lean against the concrete of the bridge. He ducks his head down, watches the water at his feet, and all of Alex’s lust for him dissolves into shame.
She waits a while before toeing her boots back on, wrapping the blanket closer around her. He stiffens when she approaches, his eyes wide in a way she’s never seen them.
Alex swallows away the pang in her stomach. “Here,” she says, pressing a gun into his palm. “You’re on first watch.”
Then she goes back to the car without another word.
--
Alex isn’t surprised that they never talk about it. It’s almost as if it never happened, except for the haunted glances Richard shoots her way. They just keep doing what they were doing before, driving up the coast, headed towards some predetermined rendezvous Richard has set up with her father.
Half of her wishes they never find him.
--
It’s a grey morning when they pull up to the marina. Alex knows they’re close to crossing the state line, knows that’s where they’ll go if her father isn’t here. She doesn’t know if Oregon will be any better than California, but Richard mentioned once that he had a house in Portland, secluded in the woods. That’s their plan B.
They head down the dock with guns in hand, footsteps loud and hollow on the wooden planks. There’s a small fishing boat tethered to the dock, and as they approach it Richard whistles low.
Alex nearly jumps when a returning whistle sounds from inside the cabin. Richard puts his gun away just as Ben emerges.
Alex doesn’t react, just stands frozen while her father climbs off the boat and embraces her. She wraps her arms around him, the metal of her gun pressing into his back, but she feels nothing.
Ben rests his chin on Alex’s hair. “I can’t thank you enough, Richard,” he says calmly, as if Richard just got him tickets to the ballet. Alex pulls away.
“Where are we going now?” she asks.
Ben smiles at her. “I have the location of a deserted island, off the map. No one will find us there.” With that, Ben ushers her towards the boat.
Alex looks behind them, pulls away from her dad when she realizes Richard’s not following.
“Richard, come on,” she says, but he just frowns.
“This wasn’t part of the deal,” he explains, and Alex whirls to glare at her dad. “It’ll be safer just the two of you. I’ll be fine.”
Alex stomps over to him, props the hand not holding her gun on her hip. “You won’t be fine,” she insists. “Who’s gonna watch your back?”
Richard gives her that sad smile again, but before he can say anything Ben interjects.
“Richard is perfectly capable of taking care of himself,” he says a bit huffily. “Now, come on.”
“Like hell,” Alex mutters, then grabs Richard’s wrist. “Don’t be an idiot. Get on the fucking boat.”
Richard’s face turns slowly into a bemused smile, and he glances over her shoulder at Ben.
Ben sighs dramatically. “I’ve given up trying to argue with Alex,” he resigns. “It’s a lesson you’ll learn all too soon, Richard. Welcome aboard.”
As Ben gets the boat ready to leave, Alex turns back to Richard. He’s still smiling that little smile of his, but one eyebrow has gone up as he looks at her. Alex makes sure Ben’s back is turned before slipping her hand into Richard’s and giving it a squeeze.
“I’m sure gonna miss that backseat,” she says boldly, a smirk already on her face.
Richard chuckles warmly and curls an arm about her shoulders. He steers her down the dock, helps her climb into the little boat.
With Richard at the helm and Ben navigating, Alex pulls her knees up on the seat. She smiles as they sail away.