All That's Left Behind - ronance

chapter 4

Nancy is determined to dehumanize 'Vickie' as much as possible.

It'll be easier that way, she's sure, to split when the time comes. So she lets all the negative thoughts run free. Vickie's irritating. Nominated for the Asshole of the Year award. She'll be glad to be rid of her. She definitely doesn't feel comfort at the proximity of another human being. She definitely doesn't feel the prick of curiosity when Vickie makes a mention of the pre-apocalypse days. She definitely doesn't feel warm she walks in on her shirtless with a sports bra, bending into the bathtub in an abandoned house to let the stuttering steam of water wash over her hair. Doesn't keep her eyes stranded on the smatter of freckles that dance along her back, her collar bones, her stomach.

('Vickie' shakes her head like a dog, spraying water everywhere, and catches sight of her in the doorway. "Enjoying the view, sweetheart?"

She definitely won't miss that grin. Or the nickname. She doesn't have a sufficient comeback, so she just says, "Don't call me that" and makes her exit.)

She'll probably be better off on her own anyway. When they part ways, she can steal another car, forge her own, be in Oregon sooner because she won't stop at night. (It's a courtesy, she decides, not to put up a fight about that.) She realizes she has no idea when that'll happen. Vickie has never mentioned where she's going or who she's going to, if there's anyone.

But Nancy is finding it harder and harder to think of Vickie as a soulless asshole. Once Nancy sees her smash in the skull of a zombie with her bat and scowl down at the mess. Nancy thinks first about how violent Vickie looks, how violent they all look. Then she wonders when she stopped feeling nauseous at sights like these.

Vickie surprises her by saying, "If I get bitten, you have to kill me."

She blinks. "What?"

She's already turning away. "I won't become one of those things," she says, voice steady. "You have to kill me."

Nancy realizes she'd want the same done for her. "Yeah," she says. "Yeah, me too." She trots after the taller girl, not sure what to name the heavy feeling in her chest.

*****

Nancy almost shoots the man coming out of the gas station bathroom. He doesn't seem quite so startled to see her.

"Watch it, sweetheart," he says.

Nancy frowns at him, says nothing back. The nickname coming from someone other than Vickie feels weird to her ears. She moves to go into the bathroom, but he steps in her path. "Whoa," he grins. "Not even a hello? It's not every day you see someone with a beating heart."

She hopes he can see the distaste in her face.

"Barb?"

Vickie is standing behind her. She takes one look at the man and her face hardens.

"It's fine," Nancy finds herself saying. "We were just being...polite."

Vickie comes to stand at Nancy's side, evidently not accepting it. She's holding her bat at an angle that is neither threatening nor passive, but still tense. "Go," she says to Nancy.

She angles an eyebrow, but she doesn't look at her. The man is grinning faintly, looking down at Vickie-he's taller, broader. But Nancy hurries into the bathroom, deciding she'll have the quickest pee of her life. The bathroom is disgusting, and it's evident someone died in here. But Nancy yanks down her pants and goes.

When she comes back out, the man is blocking her view of Vickie.

"Have you seen her or not?" Vickie is saying impatiently.

"Well, I don't know," says the man in amusement. "Let me see." Nancy skirts past him to see he's holding a small square of paper-the picture of Vickie's sister. So she thinks she's alive. "Cute," the man comments with a grin. He spies Nancy and his grin widens. "Why you looking for her? What do you want with her when you have this one here?" He nods at Nancy.

Vickie bristles. "Asshole," Nancy snaps, before Vickie can.

The man laughs. "Fiery." He lets the photo flutter into the dust. "I haven't seen the little bitch."

Anger takes over Vickie's face, and she throws a punch. The man catches it. "Punk," he snarls. He shoves Vickie.

Nancy steps in between them and punches the man in the throat. He wasn't expecting it; he chokes, staggering, and Nancy kicks him in the groin. She stoops to scoop up the photo and tugs on Vickie's arm. "Let's go," she hisses.

'Vickie' jolts into movement on the second tug. They leave the station in a cloud of burnt rubber. "Thanks for that," Vickie says gruffly, like she doesn't say it often.

Nancy reaches out to place the photo on the dashboard. "You think she's alive," she says.

Vickie's hands curl hard around the steering wheel. "I know she is," she says.

Nancy doesn't say anything else. And if she sees Vickie reverently holding the photo later with hunched shoulders, she doesn't say anything about that, either.

*****

Nancy's rummaging through the chip aisle of the supermarket when it comes up behind her, unusually quiet for something without much brains left. She hears it mumble, says irritably, "Not now, Vickie." Then she realizes: not Vickie.

She whirls around, reaching for the machete in her pack, but she doesn't have enough room to draw it-and the thing is closing in fast. It was a woman when alive, a brunette about as tall as her. Now it's rotting while standing, and determined to sink its teeth into Nancy's flesh. Nancy kicks it back as she pulls out her gun. She makes the mistake of shoving it again with her hand. It turns its face-everything slows down-and goes straight for her wrist. Nancy thinks, This is it.

The biter's head tips up sharply, yanked into staring straight up at the ceiling. There's a gunshot, and then Nancy's blinking against the sudden wetness on her face. The biter collapses, a new wound in its forehead, and Vickie kicks it away grimly.

Nancy touches her face. Her fingers come away covered in blackish blood and brain. Vickie grabs her arm and yanks up her sleeve. It might just be her imagination, but Vickie breathes a little easier when she finds nothing but smooth, pale skin. She reaches one hand up, and she thinks Vickie is about to offer her sleeve, but she just gestures at her face. "Don't let it get in your mouth or eyes," she tells Nancy.

Nancy's stunned. She'd never had an encounter that close before. "I thought I told you I'd chop your hand off if you touched me," she says, dazed.

Vickie keeps hold of her arm for a second longer in clear defiance before she releases her. "Somehow, sweetheart," she says, "I don't think you'll deliver."

Nancy cleans up in one of the employee bathrooms while Vickie waits outside. She checks for hidden biters, but even when she knows the room's empty she leaves the door open. She looks at herself in the mirror, face clean and a little raw from her scrubbing, and thinks she sees Vickie watching her over her shoulder before she becomes interested in the rotten produce in front of her.

But it might just be her imagination.