Cold Ashes

Chapter 4 - Heather

Ryan was frozen. He saw the double barreled shotgun aimed at him and knew that a single movement too fast would mean that his brains would decorate the walls behind him. But he didn't panic. He didn't allow himself to panic despite how every instinct screamed at him to run for the door.

The old woman did not waver. "Against the wall. Now." 

He did as he was told. Facing the wall like a good little hostage and listening to the commotion behind.

"Heather, wait-!" 

"You've got a shadow, Leah. I thought I taught you better than that." 

She stepped between them both. "He's with me." 

"With you?" The old woman named Heather spat, "Nobody is with us." 

"Look at him. Just look at him, he's not a Boss guard and you know it." 

Her blue eyes stayed locked on him and the gun remained aloft. "That doesn't mean he's not with us." 

"The Boss hasn't even touched him, Heather. You can tell what he is and what he isn't he would've killed us all if he was with him." 

"Leah-" 

"Please, Heather." Leah was adamant, holding up her hand towards the gun as if she might toss it away from her chest that it was now aimed at.

The old woman was furious in her expression as the gun was still aimed at the boy. Just with Leah sandwiched between them. The children all looked up to the aged woman, almost fearful for what she was going to do next. 

The choice she made was inevitable. Although Heather was far from happy to be forced into it like that.

"Table. Now." She ordered, bringing her gun up so it pointed away from them both but towards the creaking ceiling.

The woman led them both into a cramped kitchen and then to the large table with at least seven makeshift stools surrounding the creaking plastic table. Two of them sat, while the woman went away to store her gun where it was kept away from prying hands. It was only when she returned that Ryan had a proper look at her. 

It was true that he hadn't seen an older person in a while. At least, not one that was alive. The rest of them that he knew were either dead or walking dead. And either way it had been a long time. But this Heather was certainly different from the others that he had once known.

Instead of the greasy grey hair that was overgrown and thin with stress, she had thick and trimmed white hair that was bright in contrast to the slight candle-glow and mouldy walls around them. Her face was thin, but prominently so, meaning that her cheekbones were sharper than a razor and her eyes twice so.

Years before, she might've been an attractive woman, but the end of the world quickly stole any beauty away from her. And Heather didn't particularly care. Looks didn't buy much in this world - only a stone cold heart did. She had one that was downright icy in the right mood.

"Alright." She began, keeping her eyes firmly fixed on Ryan. "Who the hell are you?" 

"He came from-" 

"I'm talking to him, Leah. He's got a tongue ain't he?" 

The girl was silenced almost immediately. But was clearly not happy about it. She leaned back into her chair and crossed her arms and a red temper that stained her cheeks and made her anger completely translucent. A thousand curses went through her head, but she didn't dare say one aloud. Ryan felt completely exposed now attempting to talk to the dragon alone. 

"So," Heather said. "Who're you? Why are you here? Who sent you? Was it that bastard in his golden keep?" 

"What-?"