Curls (10K fanfic) Z Nation

Chapter Eight: Thought

It took us three and a half weeks to get to California, but we somehow made it. I've lost any hope of finding the others, and the regret of not staying back and continuing the search was heavy in my heart. I refused to let my guilt show too drastically, for 10K's benefit. I wasn't fit to be selfish enough to mourn over a family that wasn't even really mine to begin with.

I was sat it in the truck, feet up on the dash with a hot pink metallic sharpie in one hand, the other now decorated with various designs and doodles that reinforced my boredom. K was out scavenging the nearby cars for fuel. I'd offered to help, but lately he's been really cautious and strict about me being around Z's. Two weeks ago I went down to a little stream to wash up and ended up nearly getting mauled by this zombified old bitch who'd snuck up on me on the bank. She was like 5'8, a good couple inches taller and a hell of a whole lot bigger. Seeing no other choice, I tackled her into the water, knowing it slows Z's down. During the struggle, I cut my calve on a stick and twisted my ankle a way no human appendage was meant to be twisted. Needless to say, 10K's been a bit overprotective since the incident, though I've tried time and time again to get through his head that I can take care of myself.

Regardless, I was stuck. He'd been out there for twenty or so minutes now, and I peeked through the rearview mirror every once in a while to check on him.

I finally grew sick of drawing on my arm (plus I'd run out of room to draw, anyways) so I opened my door and hopped out of the vehicle. "K!" I called over to where he had been kneeled beside a small blue Sudan. No response.

My heart pinged with sudden anxiety. I quickened my limp towards the car and just as I made my way around the open door on the driver's side, I was pulled into a broad body by two strong arms. One hand covered my mouth as I squeaked in fear and the other held my arms and waist still. "Shh," the breath warned. I was spun around to face 10K, and then I was released. "Get down," he ordered in a whisper. I knelt beside him, taking his word though I saw no newfound danger.

After a minute or so of waiting, I heard a few distant voices rambling back and forth on the highway. "Where do we go?" I asked him. He looked around for a minute before motioning his head to under the car. I sighed and nodded with understanding, flattening myself out and sliding underneath. He followed suit with a groan, barely fitting himself beside me.

The voices grew louder alongside the footsteps that accompanied them. An odd, metallic scraping could be heard every few steps, like something was being dragged across the asphalt. "Someone sure as hell came through here." commented one male voice. It wasn't too terribly deep but it didn't sound young, and I picked up on a slight British accent.

"I reckon a group picked this lane clean, Bas. We're not fit to find anything more than a load of rubbish and more Skinks." the next one to talk was female, and she sounded straight out of London.

"I say we stay on this road. Safer now that most of the Rotters 'ave been taken care of." Irish? Definitely. This young man couldn't have been older than twenty five and his rural Irish heritage was thick in his voice.

"We need to rest." another woman said. "I am very tired. My back hurts. We rest here and stay on highway." this woman was most definitely Asian, English being her second language.

"We can't afford to waste any more time." the eldest man reminded harshly.

"You want to carry round eight pounds of future cry machine? I let you do for me. But you don't whine for break when your back hurt." the Asian woman remarked. I appreciated her dry sarcasm though it was evident there was a language barrier.

"There could be people out here." British lady pointed out.

"I don't think we see anybody for miles and miles. Look around. Grass, dead grass and more grass."