Happenstance

The world may have changed, but Althea often thinks her own life really hasn't that much. She never put down roots anywhere before the dead started walking, and while there may not be a regular salary involved anymore, she’s still talking to people on the road and chasing down stories. 

Case in point: John and Morgan.

The few scraps she's already got out of them hold some promise, and even more than that, there is this peculiar kind of mannerisms they share, more like characters from a cheesy movie rather than ordinary survivors. Just as she's about to launch into her newest volley of questions though, something unexpected catches her eye.

“There’s somebody up ahead.” A lone female figure stumbling along the pockmarked asphalt. 

“Oh, come on.” Unhappy, the cowboy slides up into the passenger seat of the truck to take a look. He's anxious to search for his own belle Al knows, and yet she watches him pull his six shooter and check the chambers like it's inconceivable they would leave somebody in need behind. Remarkable.

“ ‘ Thought you said there aren’t a lot of people around these parts.” Her other travel companion comments from the back, turning his stick in his hands.

“There aren’t.” She mumbles almost to herself, stopping the vehicle and reaching back for her rifle. She likes new people, but you have to be careful these days.

“You man the big guns. All you have to do is pull this.” 

Morgan looks up to the lever and shakes his head. “Can’t. - I don’t kill.”

Of course the wandering monk is a pacifist, she smirks shaking her head. “Come on dude, you have to answer some of my questions.”

“I don’t kill either." John offers, "At least I try not to.”

“Great moment for both of you to share this fact.”

The woman in the street isn't a walker, that much is clear, even though with her dirty clothes and rat's nest of brown hair they could have easily mistaken her for one. The most obvious sign is that instead of simply approaching to try and bite them, she seems to be walking with some purpose, mumbling desperately in a hoarse voice.

“You injured?” Al asks her loud enough to be heard. “What happened?”

The words get somewhat clearer as she comes closer. “T-T-There’s bad people.. h-here.”

“Where?”

She stumbles over her own feet, almost falling to the ground again, and Al instinctively rushes forward to keep her upright. Big mistake. "Right here." She whispers, as a jagged blade surges up the journalist’s throat.

Behind them the two men jump to action, but before they can close the distance more figures emerge from the surrounding brush, these ones armed with automatic weapons. 

“Drop it! Drop it!" Somebody yells aggressively and the rifle is pulled out of Al's hands. 

That's when she catches a glimpse through the curtain of mussed hair in front of her, a glimpse of intense green eyes that feel like a ghost from the distant past.

"Alicia?" She breaths unsure.

“Quick! Tie them up! Move!”

She's pulled away, down on her knees and roughly patted down, but her eyes stay fixed on the girl in front of her. The gentle Berkeley student she shared an afternoon with a lifetime ago. “What the hell happened to you?”

- - -

“We’re not who you think you are.” The black guy with the stick tries to reason with them while they search their stuff, but as soon as Nick picks up a heavy duffel, the short haired woman jumps to her feet and has to be swatted back down by Strand. “Leave that one be! Don't you dare touch it!”

By her reaction he's pretty sure to have stumbled upon something of interest, when he opens it up though it's just an old camera and a handful of tape cassettes. Disinterested he lets it all fall back to the ground again, making its owner growl at him. What’s her deal?

“It’s ok, it’s ok.” The third guy tries to calm them all down in a southern drawl, “Everything's fine.”

The confusion on their faces seems legit, Nick considers, maybe they really aren't who they are looking for. The driver looks to be the leader, the other two maybe part of her group. Doesn’t feel like they've been together for long, but with hardware like that truck on the table it's easy to see why they decided to band together. Too bad, now it’s theirs.

He’s picking up the next piece of luggage, when he suddenly stops in his tracks hearing the next thing that comes out of the woman’s mouth: “Alicia, what’s going on?”

“You know her, Al?” One of her friends asks in a whisper.

“I used to. What's going on? Talk to us!”

He shoots his sister a look and nods towards the back of the massive vehicle, where they can talk in private. Alicia seems annoyed, but nonetheless follows him.

“What the hell, Leesh? You know these people?” He asks without preamble. There’s no time for surprises right now.

“No.” She pauses and looks away. “Kind of.”

“Wait a minute. Al? Like airport Al? Back in Los Angeles?”

“Yes. Maybe. What does it matter? We have more important things to focus on.”

His mouth is already halfway open to explain exactly why it matters, but they are interrupted by Luciana, stomping over to the prisoners. “You’re with them!” She accuses, unfurling a dirty white cloth with a number painted on it. 51.

“With who?”

“The vultures.”

“I don’t know what that means.” Al assures them, “Maybe if you assholes put your guns down we could help each other. Who put up that flag? What did they do to you?”

“How about you answer our questions?” Alicia advises ice cold, “That flag isn’t yours?”

The journalist shakes her head.

“Alright. Then you’ll show us where you found it.”

- - -

A few moments later they are all sitting in the SWAT truck driving it back the way it came, the three original occupants securely bound to their seats and the new crew looking out for something, but Al's never been good at keeping her mouth shut.

“I see you going through something over there.” She calls after the shaggy man she suspects is Alicia's brother. “I mean, you gotta be, right? Looking for some people? What did they do to you?”

“Al.” Morgan, ever the voice of reason, begs, “They’re not talking, so maybe we can leave it be.”

Fat chance. “Look, I’m really just trying to help. We’re all breathing here, means we are on the same team.”

All she gets in return is an eye roll. Fine, it’s a cheesy line, but it works on some people and she's only got so much time before...

“Where’s this turnoff?” The latina in the driver's seat asks.

Her friend with the map shakes his head. “We would have reached it by now.”

(...before they notice she hasn't given them what they wanted.)

“Did she tell us the right way?”

“Yeah I did. Just not all of it.” She admits with a smirk.

Losing his patience, brother eye-roll grabs a hammer from his belt and steps to loom over her. “I don’t think you understand the situation here.”

“It's not worth it.” John tries to convince her, but that's not how she sees it. She won't let them have her truck. She won't let them have her life's work. Not like this.

“You know how many times I’ve been zip tied?”

One satisfying snap and the knife hidden in her sleeve comes up towards the guy, who tries to fend her off, but he isn't used to the constricting interior of her home on wheels and tangles himself up. Al doesn't make the same mistake and tackles him low as everybody starts yelling over each other at once.

“Watch the road!” - “Shit!”

The truck makes a sudden sharp turn and everybody goes flying.

- - -

It's almost comical how they've switched roles in just under an hour, half of them again tied and kneeling on the ground as the others survey the damage. Sadly there isn't much they can do to get the truck out of the muddy ditch it’s planted in without some help.

“Well, she needs a tow, we have to get her one.”

Strand arches an eyebrow from where he's sitting, honestly surprised they haven’t been shot yet. “We?”

“Yes, we.” Al repeats looking down at them all, “We got she in this ditch, we got to get her out.”

“And then?”

“And then we can talk about whatever we need to talk about. Your story. Where I found the flag... Or not.”

A long moment of tension hangs between them, before Lucy clears her throat. “I saw some trucks at a service yard a while back. We can use one to tow it out.”

And that’s the plan, except there is no real trust between them yet, so it's not like they'll just wander off arm in arm, happy to work together. Leaving somebody from each group back to keep an eye on the vehicle and equipment seems only natural and before anybody can suggest it any other way the journalist grabs Alicia by the wrist. “She and I will stay, so I can be sure you won't wander off too far.”

To both the women's surprise Nick doesn't protest, only takes a long look at them and nods, which seems to appease his companions as well. They pull out their packs and slowly one by one start drudging up the slope again towards the road, with Luciana as the last.

“Stay safe.” She tells Alicia with a hand on her arm, before turning and joining the others.

“She's hot.” Al comments casually after a moment. “Girlfriend?” 

“Don't be gross, she's with my brother.”

The wind picks up a bit as they watch them go and the journalist takes a few gulps of water from her canteen before offering it to the brunette, who waves her off.

“You do remember me, right?”

That gets her a scoff and not much else.

“You know, I really felt bad that we didn't connect after that time at LAX.”

“Yeah well, shit happens.”

Still, it feels like she has to explain herself, so she carries on. “They took my phone, all our phones actually, at the Iraqi border… We got by with our fixer’s prehistoric cell, then by the time we got back stateside the networks had started to glitch out. I could have tried harder I guess, but everything was going down and...”

“Really Al, water under the bridge.” The other girl huffs, sitting down on the truck bumper. “Who cares.”

Ouch.

“Well, I mean... we're here now, aren't we? By some strange happenstance we're in the same place again years later. Still alive.” 

“So?”

Saying she’s out of practice is an understatement, but Al tries to summon at least some of that roguish charm that served her so well in the past when she smiles and suggests, “So... We can talk.”

“No.”

“No? Why not?”

Alicia shakes her head and combs her hand through her hair, trying to get a bit of the dirt they used for her disguise out of it. A humorless laugh escapes her and even to her own ears it’s painfully bleak. “The girl you met doesn't exist anymore.”

“What does that even mean?”

“I don't know if you noticed Al, but shit happened. All over!” A flash of anger crosses her face and she clenches a fist. “I'm in no mood for a coffee date, or a chat, or whatever. I'm here to know where you found that flag and nothing more.”

“So you can find these people you are looking for. The vultures?”

“Yes.”

“And then?”

This is going nowhere, but the difference is that Al is very used to talking around in circles until she gets what she wants, she could go on all day long, while Alicia very clearly has no patience for such games. “Just leave me alone, please”

“What happened to you?” 

The look of pity in the other woman’s eyes is worse than any insult she could have hurled at her, it burns, finally setting the former student off for good.

“What happened? To me? My Mom. Chris. Travis. Everybody that was there with me at the airport is dead now! As are pretty much all the people I've met since. You'd probably like to catch up and hear that I kissed another girl eventually, but you know what? She's dead too, so I really don’t feel like it! Does that explain it perhaps? Or do you have to give you all the sordid details for you to be satisfied?”

“I'm sorry.” Al pauses for several moments, “These vultures are responsible?”

“For some of it. Yes.”

“And you want to kill them.”

“What's it to you?”

“Nothing. I just... like to collect people's stories. The two guys I was with? I've met them on the road too, John is looking for this woman he got separated from and Morgan is searching for the meaning of life or some shit. I interview survivors...”

“Good for you. But keep me out of it.”

They stay mostly quiet after that, Al pretending to busy herself around the truck and Alicia looking out toward the empty horizon ignoring her. The shadows grow longer over time, but it’s still hours from sundown when eventually a small group of the dead appear shambling towards them. It’s maybe seven or eight, too far out to have caught their scent, but they soon will.

“Give me the gun barrel, I’ll take them out.”

The journalist binds the webbing back in place after checking on the equipment she stored inside it, then walks up to take a look herself. “It’s not really worth the risk. Just come inside, if we close the doors they’ll go on by without bothering us.”

“You can’t know that.”

How the hell did she find this stubborn girl attractive? All she can muster now is mild irritation. “Well, I’m not comfortable giving you a weapon for now.”

“Then you do it.” 

She takes a deep breath. “Turning my back at you doesn’t seem like a genius idea either.”

Alicia scoffs again and seems to be about to comply, when out of nowhere a new noise overshadows the lifeless moaning in the distance, a vintage motor rumbling down the road. Her shoulder tense up, looking back past Al. 

“My gun barrel.” She demands. “Now.”

“You don’t need it.”

The source seems to be a blue El Camino speeding towards them without slowing down, and that makes the young brunette only more frantic. 

“Not for them!” She urges, climbing in the truck and starting to open crates and cabinets in a desperate search.  “Tell me where you put it. And my guns!”

“What the hell Alicia…”

With one last look around, not seeing any of her weapons, she turns ready to bolt empty handed, but Al grabs her by the shoulder. Unable to wiggle free she kicks back blindly, catching something but still being held back. Bucking like a wild animal she gives her an even more aggressive shove. The journalist stumbles, bangs against the dashboard and the horn starts to go off. 

Alicia doesn’t care, she’s already running out and is half way up the slope before it even registers that the loud sound isn’t stopping. Turning back from the curb she sees Al groggily trying to get up, the doors wide open to the gathering walker flock that’s now approaching her.

Shit.

The car. It’s that fucking car! It’s Ennis! She looks around, desperate to find a way to address both her concerns, but there isn’t one. She has to choose.

Only one thing really matters, she reminds herself, only wiping them out. Everybody dies sooner or later. If Nick, Lucy or Strand were here they would act, and so will she. Al can handle her own. Or not. She doesn’t care.

She doesn’t.

The El Camino zooms past her, too fast to even make out the driver. Shit! Shit! Shit!

Alicia picks up a stone from the ground and runs back down.

The first corpse doesn’t even hear her coming, its head bashed in in seconds, then another is pushed aside, a third stumbling to the ground in a tangle of clumsy limbs. Her boot takes care of them. She goes for another kill, but the rounded shape of her improvised weapon slips away leaving her to fight bare handed.

It’s not even a dozen, she could take them, but with no tool at all a simple slip could turn the fight deadly. Instead she gets herself some space to move and then pulls the doors of the truck shut. First one, then the other, rotting hands uselessly clawing at the reinforced glass.

Short, shallow breaths. What has she done?

She vaguely registers Al pulling herself up to her feet with blood on her forehead. It takes a few different buttons and switches to finally make the airhorn stop, then she wipes the red streak away with the back of her hand. “T-thanks, but what…”

WHAT THE HELL DID SHE JUST DO? “That was my only chance! You fucking ruined it!” She yells out at the other woman. “You ruined everything!”

“What are you talking about? You fucking decked me and tried to run off.”

“Why do you have to mess with everything? Why do you have to show up at all?” She screams on top of her lungs, tears welling up in her wild eyes. “Why now!?” 

“Alicia…” 

Al tries to approach the girl, reaching out with a hand to try and connect at least that way with her, but she’s harshly slapped away.

“I don’t want you here! I don’t want to be here!” Her breathing grows more labored, quickly approaching the signs of a panic attack, the journalist realizes.

“Slow down. I’m not sure what you are talking about, but we’re safe,” She tries her best to be suiting under the circumstance, “Nothing’s ruined, we’re all still here. Take a deep breath.” 

“Fuck you!”

“Please Alicia. You have to calm down.”

Just as she steels herself for the confrontation to get physical, Alicia’s eyes fall on some of the stuff that’s littering the truck’s floor after the previous scuffle, a yellow container of ready-made ramen in particular seems to catch her attention.

She grabs it and shoves it in front of Al’s face. “Where did you get these?”

“What?”

“Where did you get these? Tell me right now!”

“A semi… on route 40 in Oklahoma. I used to have a bunch of them. Why?”

“What did you do with them?”

“I traded them for an interview.”

A sudden realization washes over the brunette and she rushes towards the boxes full of cassettes she noticed earlier, pulling them out by the handful. 

“Hey!” Al tries to pull her off, but she continues to rummage through them until she finds one labeled Amina. Her hands start to shake.

“Y-you knew her?”

- - -

After rather easily securing an appropriate tow vehicle and filling it up with enough gas for the drive, the group finds their way back to where they’ve left Alicia and Al, but even from a distance something immediately looks off. A small, but growing herd of walkers is crowding around the SWAT truck and there’s no sign of either woman around.

“Stop. Stop right here!” Nick tells them slapping on the side of the driver’s seat. 

As soon as the wheels are no longer turning he jumps out, followed closely by the others, and starts tearing into the dead. “Alicia! Alicia, do you hear me?” He calls urgently.

His hammer describes an arc, hits a corpse in the cheekbone. With a stomp he shatters a leg and brings another one down. After the fall of the Stadium, Madison’s death, he can’t lose anyone else. Least of all her. Not now. He forces himself to push the thought away and keep going. One after the other the dead fall, pile up on the muddy ground.

“Alicia!”

He grabs the handle and pulls the doors open, only to find his sister crumbled to the ground with that old camera in her hands and tears carving the dirt from her cheeks.

“Nick?”

“Are you alright, Leesh?”

“W-We have to stop.”