the deputy.

“A man takes his sadness down to the river and throws it in the river but then he’s still left with the river. A man takes his sadness and throws it away but then he’s still left with his hands.”                    ― Richard Siken, Crush

[caleb-day-blog]

DEADWEIGHT.

Caleb had no goddamn clue what was happening — what happened. One second he was yelling at the boy with the daft name then he was under splintered wood and the heavyweight of an un—dead woman. Deadweight was a real thing, something he knew far too from experience. He fought her back until he put a bullet through her face. When she slumped over it almost felt like he couldn’t breathe. The boy had to help shift the body. Then the wood.

And... A shooting pain through his leg, starting below his right knee and slicing through his calf to the ankle. There was no blood but something inside must’ve gone awry. He couldn’t hide the pain from Clem when that boy had to literally carry the Deputy into the general store. 

So he hid himself away like a dog that knows it’s about to die finds a quiet spot to leave this world in peace. Caleb’s not so lucky. He woke up the next morning with a splitting headache and a useless leg. But he woke up, at least. He woke up the next day too, hungry but well-rested, and unwillingly to venture out for help or food. So, Caleb slept some more, even though it was the middle of the day.

On the third night, Caleb woke with a start. In a moment, he would realize exactly what startled him. He’d blame it on a bad dream, but they were commonplace, or he’d blame it on the shooting pain, but he was used to gritting his teeth and bearing it. It was a muffled lantern light that actually startled him awake.

“Fuckin’ piece a shit —” he grumbles and grunts. Eyes watery and furious as he bolts up then hunches over. He presses into his eyes like that’ll wake him up properly. Instead, it only delays the realization he’s not alone and someone's come looking for something in the storeroom.

It seems his grave has been found. Caleb wants to crawl right into the ground. He clears his throat instead. Sits as upright as he can, a hand wandering to his thigh, massaging the soft part of his skin at the back of his knee.

 “Apologies —” he clears his throat. Looks around his squalid little corner, hidden like a stowaway in the store room. Caleb clears his throat again, tasting his own acrid breath from his empty belly. He ignores it. “What’re — You lookin’ for somethin’?”

[caleb-day-blog]

A man takes his sadness down to the river and throws it in the river                     but then he’s still left with the river. A man takes his sadness and throws it away                                                                         but then he’s still left with his hands.

Richard Siken. Crush.

[caleb-day-blog]

Exodus — Caleb, Wolf, & Eliza.

[caleb-day-blog]

ELIZA

WOLF‌

Despite the open arms with which Wolf was received - by a few people at least - he did not feel like he was part of any sort of community yet. He still sat with the Veterans, shared their meals and company, drank their coffee, was called Boy at least twice every conversation. Business as usual, or something like that. He hated being stuck in the General store, hated the smell of other bodies so close, because it reminded him too much of the family he had left behind in Mexico. And worry and anxiety would suffocate him along with the familiar odors of unwashed bodies. This was going to be a long… well, long. Either they all survived, killed all the undead, or they all died, killed by the undead. But Wolf assumed life wasn’t getting back to normal.

He jumped up with great enthusiasm when the Deputy of the small town suggested he come along to pick up a woman and her young child. He was excited, not because the mission sounded dangerous, but because it felt like someone finally trusted him to do something. He knew the Veterans thought he was worthless, they had insisted that he didn’t do guard duty, because - as they had told him - of prior occurances. He had walked away slurring Mexican curse words, and returned when he had cooled off.

Soon as the two of them had exited the General Store, Wolf with his shotgun, with a Deputy at least ten years his senior, the man had taken an interest in him. He was so surprised and a little too overexcited that he had started to talk about his life as an open-range cattle-farmer without stopping, encouraged by how intently the other was listening to his stories. He told Deputy Day all about working together with the Veterans, focused on saying a lot of good things about those two, and about their horses, all the work Wolf did with them that he took great pride in.

However, soon as they moved out from between the closer buildings, the Deputy told him to be quiet, which usually wouldn’t sit well with Wolf, but because the man had been such a respectful listener to his bullshit, he did exactly as asked. Albeit he was little thrown off by the “kid”, hadn’t heard that one in a long time, and he was almost tempted to say “boy” as a retort.

Wolf nodded, putting on a brave face now that due to him no longer talking, the reality of the situation came rushing back in. He grabbed his gun more tightly. “Sale,” he said, his voice a little hoarse as he stood on a look out while Deputy Day went inside.

                        With an ear to the wind, Eliza stood upon the back porch of the small home she had commandeered for herself and her son –––– it was silent now.  The crying of the buffalo had died days ago and for a sound that had tormented Eliza, she found herself unnerved by its absence now… the silence brought too many questions along with it, most crucially, whether or not the un-dead would return. Running her hands along her arms in a brief respite from the breeze, Eliza’s hazel gaze surveyed the vast plain before her, she hadn’t really paid it much thought before but they were extremely exposed here. 

Before her was a barren landscape and whilst it did provide her with a undisturbed view of her surroundings, enabling her to see approaching un-dead for miles ( given the right conditions ), it didn’t offer her much in regard of protection –––– it would be one hell of a dash to the centre of town should the homestead ever come under attack. For the first time since parting from the others, Eliza found herself regretting that decision. Something just wasn’t settling right in her gut and yet that feeling seemed to be wrestling with her natural mistrust of the other survivors, a part of her still believed she and Billy would be better off on their own. 

A burdensome frown upon her lips, the widow turned on her heel and headed back inside the home and into the parlour where her son played upon the carpet with some toy soldiers she had found in the back room. A smile curled at the site of him and for a second Eliza merely watched him, both thankful and envious of his oblivious to the shit-storm whirling around him. It was an innocence she would endeavour to protect for as long as she could. 

Moving towards her young son, Eliza lowered herself to her knee’s beside him, a hand soothing over his mop of hair before she pressed her lips to his crown, eyes closing as she committed his scent to memory and muttered how much she loved him ––––– there was nothing she wouldn’t do to protect this boy. However, her attentions were momentarily distracted by the sound of footsteps approaching the front door, and contrary to her protective nature, she didn’t reach for her gun, merely sighed in perfect awareness of who they belonged to.  They were footsteps she had committed to memory during their stay at the jailhouse. 

“Deputy Day, to what do I owe the pleasure this fine afternoon?” She drawled, eventually tilting her chin over her shoulder to glance at him. “Business or pleasure, hm?” A quick smile curled, but it was cut-short by her movement back to her feet, “I’ve got a little coffee if you want some?” 

“Afternoon, ma’am,” Ms. Eliza calls him by name before he can properly even call for her attention. He smiles politely at the women when she turns to look at him. Caleb nods, steps forwards into the women’s temporary home, taking his hat off more out of habit than actually conscious need to be polite. 

His grip tightens on his hat when he looks over to the young boy, Billy he remembers, and he smiles at the child. A tense, soulless thing that gets no reaction. There’s still some distance hum of noise further into town. Caleb frowns, looking back for a brief moment before returning his full attention to Ms. Eliza. 

“Business, I’m afraid,” he says, no longer following her into the building when she stands up, offering coffee. Like this were a normal business call, as though he was in because she had a problem with some petty theft. 

A scream rings out like a gunshot. An actual gunshot swiftly follows. Caleb starts with the shock of it, hat dropped as he reaches for his pistol. Staggering back to look back at the boy he dragged along with him. “Fuck.” He curses without thinking, standing now on the threshold of the home, gun at the ready, he whistles once quick and sharp for Wolf’s attention, gesturing for the boy to come up the porch.

That low hum of noise is no longer some indistinct hum but a cacophony slowly growing in volume. Just as the poor buffalo’s death cries had rung out across the landscape, the un—dead groans a very a—live cries joined. He squints out into the town, unable to see anything just yet, he can only hear it. “Urgent business, now. C’mon, ma’am, we gotta go.”

[caleb-day-blog]

DAVID

He can feel the person in the room as he slowly turns around, and his shoulders visibly relaxed after he recognized the deputy at the end if the isle. It’d been quite awhile since he’d seen this particular face in his church, and even longer since it had been on the man’s own free will. “Deputy,” The pastor called down to him, stepping off the stage and making his way to down the isle between the pews. “Welcome to the Lord’s house. And not even on Easter or for a funeral,” He teased, a grin on his face. “What brings you to my neck of the woods?”

He sat on a pew’s back, crossing a boot over another and chuckling. “I’d have to admit, I’m surprised to see you here. Pleasantly surprised, I assure you, but surprised none the less.”

“The twisted version of Lazarus goin’ on outside makes this buildin’ feel a little more appealin’ than usual,” Caleb says, his voice carries its usual flat affect. A habit borne out of necessity, it was useful to appear neutral more often than not in his experience.

From the little attention Caleb paid during sermons from the previous preacher and his father’s drunken rantings: it was sinful to eavesdrop. Lots of things were sinful in God’s eyes, apparently, and if it were never explicitly said it still felt wrong to have heard the preacher’s prayers.

“I have t’apologize, I heard your... conversation with the big guy.” Clabe begins, hand holding his hat pointing up at the sky like he can’t talk about God so flippantly, but it doesn't stop him, “Wanted to have another crack at figuring out what the hell— sorry, uh, what we should do next.”

“I don’t know if we should try t’stick it out here or go searching for help. Or answers.”

[caleb-day-blog]

Exodus — Caleb, Wolf, & Eliza.

Bringing the boy along was not the brightest idea, but, Caleb decided he’d rather risk dragging a young boy out with him than leave him at the mercy of Miss Martin and her festering rage at the townsfolk pillaging her wares.

He posed it as a job, a difficult one, with the pair of them in search of a more elusive member. Ms Eliza and her ( truly young ) child had set up camp further out. The Deputy had let her go ahead with the private escape and had decided to not chase down every member of the town left... That did not mean it was not eating at him every night.

It kept eating at him until this morning he’d been listening to that boy — who insisted upon being called ‘Wolf’ despite looking more like a puppy than a wolf — and Miss Martin driving him to think of another women and child. 

Caleb set off with his pistol at the ready. His hand never shifted from its place on his hip. The boy kept pace easily enough despite the fact he never found a single moment of silence. It was Caleb’s fault for encouraging the boy who began talking about his ‘work’ which he was incredibly proud of. Shamefully, Caleb would not admit it, but he did a good job of ignoring the boy. He nodded and hummed in agreement at the right moments. Mostly at the right moments.

The talk was normal conversation volume but felt as loud as a gunshot the moment they stepped further out of the town centre. Caleb raises a hand to shush the boy — a signal he used often with Filch or Southby — followed by a quiet hushed demand for good measure, “Keep y’voice down, kid.”

The sound carried further and Ms. Eliza’s chosen home looked ominous and stark against the flat, open landscape. The buffalo had stopped crying days ago, now, and the town felt like a real ghost town barely accommodating it’s current living guests. He throws a look back into the distance. Some... not clear noise carried out this way. It could be the wind. Could be a minor disagreement or even the town’s lone horse having a moment. He only frowns back behind him.

“Keep an eye out, ‘m gonna check on Ms. Eliza.”

( @wolf-in-horse-clothes )​

[caleb-day-blog]

JAYNE‌

Thank god in heaven it was only Deputy Day. He represented to her the opposite of danger where some lesser known individual may not. He was, after all, an angel in human skin. 

And with Sheriff Filch dead, rest his soul, he was now de facto Sheriff, and so for this reason too she felt the need to voice her real concerns to him regarding the affliction. It wasn’t just her looking to him for leadership either, the others seemed to hang on his word too, as silent as he chose to be. 

She wondered if he knew they looked to him.

“I did not get the initials M.D. after my name to be called ‘Miss’, Deputy Day.” Jayne whispered half heartedly, more out of habit than with any force. 

She followed him further from the bank, for some reason the fact that it was night time made the precaution all the more attractive.

She took a deep breath, ready to explain, “I am extremely unprepared and frightened that I know next to nothing about this affliction Deputy. To tell the god’s honest truth…” Being so up front with her fear was… she hoped at least that it conveyed how important it was that she know more, “I was checking to see if these people so much as sleep, and so far as I can tell they don’t. They don’t see either. They don’t bleed, their blood is still and congealed right in their veins. They don’t feel pain. They don’t heal, their flesh is dead. And they don’t show any signs of life outside of walking and biting.” 

She shook her head, “My neighbor, Mrs. Smith, she was bitten by an afflicted individual and nothing I did stopped her wound from becoming violently infected within the day. I thought her arm might fall off but the fever took her life first, and then she…” Jayne put a hand on her hip and covered her eyes for a moment, leveling with Caleb once more. “She woke up, I had declared her dead, and she woke up. That should not be possible Deputy. The Christian in me says it is an act of god but the doctor in me needs to find out more about this affliction so I can help stop it spreading if I can. My shield is knowledge Caleb, and I have none of it against this.” Jayne gestured towards the Bank.

She studied him a moment, “And I haven’t even asked how you fared through all of this, are you alright?”

“My apologies, Doctor,” Caleb answers like it’s a small comedy routine from one of those plays. He doesn’t emphasize her title to belittle the woman but to tell her he knows, he simply forgets. He understands, even if Caleb never insisted many called him by his own title, she worked harder for her title than he ever did for his own.

The answer she gives is honest. Too honest for his liking, so Caleb knows he cannot react poorly. Again, this woman was the closest thing to a friend Caleb could claim for himself. He listens, silently, attentive. There is nothing he can say, really. Caleb’s wandering gaze snaps back to Jayne at her movements.

Hand on her hip, a brief covering of her eyes. Exhaustion was settling in on almost everyone. From what she says, the horrifying tale it weaves for him. My shield is knowledge Caleb, and I have none of it against this.

Caleb instinctively reaches out, a gentle yet firm touch as he takes her shoulder. A reassuring, gentle squeeze. He’s not good with words and she’d done a similar thing to him. A single, gentle gesture that soothed him when he needed help. 

There isn’t anything he can say, so he doesn’t say anything. Even up until she studies him for a long moment and has to turn that busy mind of hers to him. Are you alright? Caleb’s hand drops from her shoulder, fingers curling into a fist then opening up once again. 

“I’m sorry, Doc,” he begins, carefully chosen words finally break his silence, “I don’t know a lot of anythin’ already, so I can’t say I understand that same sort of fear.”

“I’m not all right, but I’m not...” Caleb begins confidently but it only lasts a second at most. He doesn’t know how he’s doing. He hasn’t... really mentioned what happened beyond the basics, doesn’t know if he really wants to delve into that last image of Filch. The way he cried out in pain and Caleb’s bullet ripped through his face, ending the pain, but adding another soul to Caleb’s list of sins.

“I’m dealin’ best I can.” A blunt answer. An honest one, Jayne’s treated Caleb for injuries before, he just gets up and pushes through most things. 

[caleb-day-blog]

JERICHO‌

❝ congratulations. ❞

the coin showing easily in the low light of the room.  there’s even something of a grin peeling wider at the corners of his mouth.  

❝ you win so – you lose. ❞

had caleb not changed the rules of the prize, then he would have won outright.  but would the coin even have landed the same way?  he’s given up long ago trying to understand chance and luck, and rather just accepts it for what it is.  perhaps that’s what people who find religion do - a simple, pure acceptance of something that was incomprehensible to those basic, human minds.  a concept so strange and so far removed that it was just easier to enjoy it than to try to figure it out.

either way, he does hold out the half roll of bread that remained in offer.  the game was just by-the-by… not essential to the outcome or his actions.  just a fragment of something to pass the time while they went a little stir crazy within the walls of the sheriffs abode.  and it’s not as though he hasn’t been a regular guest here… but usually it was only a night or two - and without the added threat of crazed people swarming the streets beyond.

❝ i don’t always win. ❞

he points out with a fluid shrug.   but he does win – most – of the time.  perhaps it was some fluke of the universe to make up for the missing vision to his eye.  seeing things in shade and light while turning cards or rolling dice.  the universe, as far as jericho was concerned - always seemed to balance out.

❝ i just pick my games, deputy.  wouldn’t be over likely to win in a shootin’ match… ❞

a low chuckle at that.  knowing that even barn doors had very little to fear from jerichos aim.

Caleb waves off the offer bread roll, he’s gone hungry before, sometimes it’s worse to only fill up slightly. It’s like a cruel reminder to his empty belly of what fullness felt like rather than plugging any small part of the hole.

Instead he slips out a smoke from his pocket. He was rationing out his smokes, but it seemed like he might as well burn another today if he’ll be sitting and entertaining Jericho.

“Maybe your real source of luck is my damn stupidity, always joinin’ these games of yours,” he answers absently, ignoring the blatant lie of him not always winning. Jericho was blind in one goddamned eye, a drunk, and an idiot, but he never had any real troubles far as Caleb could tell. Caleb’s match lights on the first strike, for once, perhaps simply being in close proximity to the other has a modicum of good fortune leeching out to him.

“We’ll test that theory out one day. A strong bit of wind in the right direction, at the right moment, and you’d win a shootin’ match even with your janky eye.”

[caleb-day-blog]

RISA

There’s a distinct and almost instinctually urge to correct Caleb and remind him to just call her ‘Risa’. But she opts to let it slide in the moment. Perhaps if she continued to extend Caleb the same courtesy of not calling him ‘deputy’ or ‘sheriff’, he’d return the favor. She liked that idea better than having to bring it up again. The misstep was completely trivial in light of what they were facing at the moment

“Well, that’s the closest thing that I got to any sort of similarity,” she started, “The glazed look in the eyes, the increased aggression, lack of fear, all the droolin’… the biting…” she did what she could not grimace, “That all lines up with rabies, but… the rest? The fact that they can keep going despite rotting or missin’ limbs, the fact they seem to be dead but keep movin’ until a they take a solid hit to the head? The fact that they seem to be hungry despite the fact I’m pretty sure the dead don’t need to be eatin’ nothin’? That doesn’t track with anythin’ I’ve seen before. Maybe it’s a new strain of rabies?” 

Risa let out the smallest huff, “It’s not much, but it’s all I got… Kinda hard to study your target from behind bars and boarded up windows. Sorry I can’t offer ya somethin’ more concrete.” She wouldn’t be able to come up with anything more until she actually had ample to time to study them or maybe even just the chance to get closer to a few of them.

“Christ...” Caleb knew something bad was coming, but hearing it in one solid whack feels close to a physical smack to his gut. Caleb fixes his gaze ahead, tries to rid his mind of the image of the undead. Of Filch’s screaming expression when the things bit into him. He’d seen the rabid coyotes only in death, permanently fixed in painful looking snarls. He can’t shake the image of Filch’s face twisting like that, can’t stop the way his mind wanders to the worst-case scenario of Clementine’s features distorting like that.

Risa goes on to apologize. Caleb immediately begins shaking his head, dismissing the idea that wasn’t useful. It was useful, a more educated guess than he could have ever mustered, it just happened to be unpleasant too. 

“It’s more than I could expect, Mi— Risa.”

A chance to study them, she said. Caleb goes quiet for a moment, chewing over the thought. It’s a stupid one, reckless to even offer. They could get closer to some. Maybe even simply peaking a look through some of the dirty windows where crowds are stuck indoors. Caleb decides to not offer such a reckless idea outright but merely begins edging towards it.

“It’ll be easier to get a good look at them now,” he begins, “Maybe someday we can find a few for you to ‘observe’. I’ll watch your back, ‘cause I can’t tell much from ‘em apart from the fact they’re not alive but not quite dead.”

[genecurrankelly]

The Great Sinner (1949)

[oliversouthby]

@pricklyjayne @caleb-day

[caleb-day-blog]

MINERVA

Minnie felt a bit dramatic thinking of the silence stretching between herself and the deputy as oppressive, but she just could not think of any other way to describe the tense stillness that hung in the air. She knew she was being rude, she knew he could most likely read that subtle dislike that spread across her face when their conversation began. She should talk, start conversation, apologize perhaps for her part in their fateful first encounter. But Minnie just could not help herself. Since everything began falling apart, an ugly emotion threatened to rear its head with every mishap Minnie found herself in. 

Anger was ugly, uncouth, unladylike. So her teachers, peers, parents, even friends of parents for God’s sake, instilled in her at a young age. Ladies do not get angry. They handle their obstacles with poise and grace ( some light hysteria is acceptable, the weaker sex and all that ). Anger was never acceptable. But in the rare moments of quiet, when shrieks, sobs, whispers did not float through the air, Minnie got angry. 

None of it was Deputy Day’s fault, she knew that, she knew he just happened to be the first face she saw after everything fell apart. She knew he did not deserve her anger and yet. And yet in those rare opportunities for reflection, when she let that anger fill her up, Minnie would be lying if she said the deputy’s face never became tangled up in the imagery fueling that foul emotion. She just hoped she would not say ( or accuse ) something she would regret. 

The deputy’s question snapped Minnie out of her reverie, toe of her boot catching on the, oh God, sleeve of one of the dead splayed prone on the ground. She stopped, as to avoid tumbling down next to the unlucky man, swallowing down the nausea climbing up her throat. She was fine as long as she didn’t look at them.  

“Ah, yes. Yes, I arrived here in Janestown via Saint Clemens. Though I originally hail from Cambridge, Massachusetts.”

The proper thing for a gentleman to do would be to apologize. Not that he believes he has anything to apologize for — being a tad curt whilst saving her life was hardly something that required forgiveness. 

Despite those thoughts, pointlessly trying to reason with himself over why they walk with this tense silence, he reacts instantly at the woman’s stumble.

Caleb instinctively reaches out when she nearly trips over, Caleb finds his hand awkwardly hovering when she nearly immediately rights herself. His hand hovers for only a few seconds before he clumsily retracts the silently offered help to keep what feels like a respectable distance. 

She looks pale, maybe a tinge of green to her porcelain skin as she quickly averts her gaze from the dead underfoot. Then the woman answers, keeping herself upright and formal.

“That’s awfully far away, Miss,” Caleb answers with a hint of sympathy to his voice. He does feel bad for her, in an abstract sense, not having any personal ties to his hometown so much as ties to his sister. “If you’re feelin’ up to it, I’m curious to know more about the... the state of Sain’ Clemens?”

“I can’t say we heard a lot about whatever the hell’s going on before that train crashed in on us.”

[caleb-day-blog]

RISA‌

For a fraction of a second, Risa’s eyebrows rose upwards in surprise as she watched Caleb Day stand beside her. While Risa kept to herself, interacting with only a select few on a semi-regular basis, local law enforcement were definitely the people she probably interacted with the least. Risa didn’t break the law so Caleb didn’t have to go kicking down her door and Risa never had a problem troublesome that she had to seek them out. Simple as that.

“No ‘Miss’. Just ‘Risa’ is fine Deputy Caleb… uh, Sheriff… uh…” Risa momentarily scrambled for the proper title, given Filch’s untimely demise, but eventually she gave up and let her voice trail off. If titles were still important and if there was an official change in the guard, he’d probably let her know.

Risa was a bit surprised by the Deputy’s question, but on the other hand it made sense. He was wondering if they were acting like animals and Risa was the usually the one that would have the answer to something like that. Not to mention, it seemed like time was of the essence, so any pleasantries had to be put aside for the sake expedience. Who knew when those things would be back.

“A lil bit,” she said with nod. She didn’t have the freedom of movement she normally had in that jailhouse. Risa hardly had enough space to actually open the window and get a good look at them, but three weeks was a lot of time to study and think about the subject. She had her theories, all of them without solid evidence and decent observation, but it was starting point.

“Not a specific animal,” Risa shook her head as she recalled images of those things making their way into town and tearing into whatever poor bastard what happened to be unfortunate enough to be within grabbing distance.  “You ever see an animal when it goes rabid?”

“Just ‘Caleb’ is fine, Risa,” he mirrors her own words back to the woman,  finding it easier to completely avoid the topic of his ‘official’ title and simply go ahead with their first names. Risa’s clearly uncomfortable with the fumble too, so he expects they can move past the formalities easily enough.

And they do.

Risa answers thoughtfully, Caleb watches her expression hoping she will surprise him with something insightful or to the point. A clear-cut answer is too much to ask for, but stupidly he still holds out onto some modicum of hope. He, of course, does not get that. He only gets a concerning question, a lead up to something he knew but didn’t want to here.

“Yes, miss,” he answers, formality sneaking in once more. His tone remains level even if his thoughts aren’t, racing ahead at the memories of a small pack of rabid coyotes. When Clarke Day wasn’t a complete bastard of a father, he’d gone out with a rifle and shot them. “My father shot some rabid coyotes. They’d been circling the back of the house for a few nights. Only saw the carcasses, but I know how it goes...”

[caleb-day-blog]

JAYNE‌

The saloon she knew not to be safe to go inside, the shop was safe, as were most other places, but the saloon, and now she found the bank, had those afflicted with whatever illness causes one to do the things she had seen them do locked inside. 

The windows were very dirty, bit she thought that perhaps, if she squinted enough, she could make the people inside out and observe them for a little while. She wasn’t concerned that they would see her, she had observed already that some did and did not have eyes and that it mattered little in how they wandered or were attracted to you. No, instead it was sound that really seemed to set them off.

She was so entrenched in her observation that Dr. Knight failed to notice the person coming up behind her until it was quite too late. She whirled around.

Startled, Dr. Knight jumped a little. Though thankfully she did not gasp. 

Those aimlessly wandering in the bank likely would not hear them should they speak, but nonetheless the sense of not wanting to risk it hung in the air.

Moving away from the bank’s window, she and the person disturbing her careful and quiet observation of the inside of the bank got a reasonable distance from the building in question.

“It is rude to sneak up on a person you know.” She said levelly, unwilling to acknowledge the very real sting of fear that had shot through her just moments ago. Had she been snuck up on by anyone afflicted, she would likely have been attacked and suffering the same fate as her poor neighbor.

Caleb can’t recall the last time he slept a full night undisturbed. He was too fired up to sleep more than was absolutely necessary, there was always something to do or some new fear to wake him up. Besides his sister, one of his other greatest concerns was Jayne. Jayne Knight M.D, as she liked to often remind him if he forget to call her by her proper title, the two letters an accomplishment she was deservedly proud of. Those two letters very important in this case because they needed a doctor even before, now she was one of the most useful people around.

So when Caleb wakes up from a fitful sleep and can’t find Jayne immediately, he sets out in a flurry. When he spots the familiar figure outside the damn Bank of all places, he nearly runs over. Only nearly because he can’t risk unsettling the un—dead holed up inside. 

It’s unnerving to see her — of all people — startle so suddenly when she eventually notices his presence. Caleb takes an instinctive step back, one hand held up as a silent sign of peace. She didn’t need it, the pair where the closest thing to friends Caleb think he has beyond his relationship with Clem.

Without a word he follows her a few steps back and away from the bank and the window. An elderly man he vaguely recognises even through the rot and decay knocks into a window. He doesn’t see them. At least he doesn’t react to the pair silently backing away.

“Sorry, miss,” he says, voice a hushed whisper, formalities coming naturally with the sincere apology. “Was sneaking up on the —” he gestures towards the Bank and it’s residence “— uh, them more than I was intending to sneak up on yourself.”

He pauses then, tips his head silently asking her to follow, and he takes a few more steps away from the bank. Just in case. 

Furhter away, able to speak with more volume, he can’t help the slight bite to his tone, fear coming out more like his usual anger. “What were you doing up so close t’the bank?”

[caleb-day-blog]

DAVID

The braying of the buffalo had ceased that morning, leaving the town in a ghostly silence that had put the residents on edge. Whether the buffalo herd had escaped the hungry maws of the sick or the last beast had fallen, they did not know, but it was obvious either solution presented a problem: The food source for the sick was gone, and the closest landmark, with a significant food source, was Janestown. The Preacher stood at the head of the church, facing away from the pews with his head bowed. On the wooden wall before him were mounted three crosses of pine wood. With all that was going on in the world, and the silence he’d felt from up above, he was having a couple moments of struggling with his faith. “How can I be a leader of the lost if I myself am not sure of the righ’ road?” He said quietly, lifting his eyes to the cross. “I trust that you have a plan. I trust some good will come of this, even if I won’t see it… but I could have a little help, a nudge of which was is the right way, I’d be much obliged…” “I’d appreciate a little guidance, if you could spare it. We’re divided, some want to leave, some want to stay… and I just ain’t sure which way is the right way anymore. People are gonna get sick and die either way, I’d just…. I’d like to avoid as much of that as possible.” A board creaked at the back of the church, the same board that had creaked in the middle of his sermon last month when John Ingerson had come in. The board, however, was set a couple feet in, so there was no knowing how long the person had been in the church.  A thought came to his mind that made the hair on the back of his neck stand up, and his hand quickly, but smoothly found the butt of his gun holster.  What if it wasn’t one of the healthy? What if it was one of the sick? His hand ever so smoothly wrapped around the grip of his revolver and he spoke without turning around, as it would take anyone several seconds to make it the length of the church. “If you’ve come for supplies, they’re already in the store with everyone elses’. If you’ve come for guidance, well… I’m happy to help in whatever way I can.”  He looked over his shoulder to see who he was addressing, whether it be friend or foe.

Caleb had no reason to visit the Church. He was called on occasion as a Deputy, otherwise he only ever went if Filch thought it would reflect well on the lawmen to attend mass during some special occasion. Caleb usually found it easiest to stand there and let his mind wander. He mouthed the words unless he got jabbed in the rib by Filch.

He visited today because he needed a goddamn breather, someone who was more rationally minded than the others. Much as he hated to actively seek out Ainsley’s company, he was the sort of person Caleb naturally gravitated towards. Level-headed, sure of himself, and seemingly always ready with a plan. There were questions about the man’s past, but Caleb knows he has unsavoury details in his own story. But he judges, still, can’t extend that holy attitude to withhold on that.

Caleb tells himself it’s for self-preservations sake. Most things he did was for that reason.

Caleb removed his hat when he stepped into the quiet, oddly cool building, purely out of habit than any real respect for the place as a holy space. If anything, it’s to appease Ainsley. Not because he’s afraid of the guy or anything, simply that strange inclination towards anyone with a modicum of ‘leadership’ type attributes makes Caleb want to desperately follow.

It’s wrong, he knows, to intrude like this and not immediately turn tail. He’s talking to Him. The big guy up in the clouds, the supposed father of them all. Caleb can’t say he has much respect for father figures, he’s been let down by them all. So he listens in: eavesdrop on a prayer.  A particularly wrong thing to do, he knows, but he doesn’t care. That’s something he’d have to share in confession if he were the sort to partake.

‘I trust that you have a plan.’ Caleb swallows a lump in his throat, the way he talks to Him sounds like the sort of person Caleb always tries to find. Someone with a plan, someone without doubt. He thought that person was Ainsley. 

The moment Caleb feels stupid for the thought he stands on a board. It creeks loudly and Caleb curses suddenly — it’s the sorta thing he doesn’t think he should be saying in a house of God.  

He remains calm even as his hand moves to his gun, Caleb instinctively holds his hands up, and without even a bump in his tone the pastor calls out.

“Is there a third option, pastor?” Caleb’s voice is low and steady, even if it doesn’t feel that way to him, “Though I s’pose ‘guidance’ is a pretty broad umbrella.”

[team-bravo]

peaky blinders → thomas shelby 

[caleb-day-blog]

Hallowed Be Thy Name † Deputies

[caleb-day-blog]

OLIVER‌ 

So at least that could be agreed upon if nothing else. If they tried to drive out into the desert, they’d die. Plain & simple. One less option. It was scratched off the proverbial list in Southby’s head. An alternative plan was beginning to weave itself together. Nothing was a sure bet, but the odds seemed greater now than they had an hour ago.

Their eyes must’ve landed on the house at the exact same time, because the silence seemed to deepen in the span of one breath. Southby paused, biting his thumb between his teeth. “Ya don’t think…?” He posed quietly, dread dripping cruelly back into his system. He murmured something that sounded an awful lot like a curse that would’ve made a lady blush, but something akin to duty forced his feet to move again. 

His eyes didn’t leave the ominous facade of the house. It wasn’t normally a staple of the town that appalled him but now, knowing he might find his deceased boss’ wife inside & out of her mind like the others - well he wasn’t exactly looking forward to it. Then again, maybe she’d managed to hole herself up inside. Maybe she was okay. He was preoccupied with his own quiet optimism when his foot dragged against something. He stopped again, pistol still in his hand. Reaching down for the scrap of fabric that had caught his toe, Southby thumbed it gently. Something silly. Something stupid. Something like hope blossomed in his belly. His eyes rose, tracking not up to the house again, but to the horizon this time. He’d have recognized the thing anywhere but knowing Deputy Day would be in the dark, he was quick to elaborate. “Bit o’ halter. – That Appaloosa of mine’s halter.” He pocketed the scrap of lead & hoped like hell his horse made out like he had, lucky & alive.

The speck of hope was enough to encourage Southby. It helped too, to keep him from preoccupying himself with Filch’s fate. Instead, perhaps they’d find his wife alone & alive. “Try ‘round back?” Southby suggested, a shoulder lifting as he cocked the hammer of the gun in his hand. “We stick together or split up?” He asked, mouth going dry despite the new found positivity.

Caleb could not say why it terrifies him so much, coming up to that house. Southby’s quiet too. Thrown by the house as much as Caleb was. He swallows, mouth dry and throat scratchin’. He could practically hear Filch’s drawl, the way he got quiet when he was truly angry, scolding Caleb for not checking on the missus. 

The ‘other’ missus he sometimes called her. Caleb hated that, something so wrong and debauched by the comment he’s irrationally afraid Southby could somehow hear Caleb’s own thoughts and should turn to the Deputy in disgust at any moment.

Caleb walks forwards without consciously deciding to do so, he works without thinking, always did when things got bad for him. It was easier to switch off his thoughts and simply act. He only truly comes back when Southby picks up that bit of leather, a stupid note of hope in the man’s voice as he recognises it. He hopes the horses death was quick. It’s certainly dead. 

“No splittin’ up.” Caleb answers without pause, “We keep in each other’s sight at all times.” It was the smartest thing to do, or the most comforting but it was definitely the least terrifying.

Caleb joins him in readying his pistol, drawing it from his side, hammer cocked. He steps forward, going as Oliver suggested round the back. The porch there had less railings. It’d be easier to turn tail. Caleb lowers his volume, a whisper that carries louder than ever with the town dead quiet. “I’ll kick the door in — see if we can wake anything inside up with some racket. You watch m’back.” Caleb delivers the plan with more certainty than he feels, only after a steeling breath does he look back to see if Southby agrees with the ‘plan’.

[caleb-day-blog]

CLEMENTINE‌

“Well that’s no exactly true, Cal. Appearances are everything - even now.” She mused. “But your right, you never were one to follow the crowd.” That was one thing she admired about her brother. Never letting anyone sway him to be anyone but himself.

Clem shrugged her shoulders, “I reckon I’ll just walk around with bare feet then,” she mused just as he pulled the hat off her head. “Might be quite entertainin’ then. I hear freak shows are quite popular. Maybe that can be my new calling!” Of course she was joking and the smug smile showed it.

“How long do we have to stay cooped up in here,” she asked as Caleb placed the hat snugly onto her head. She rolled up the sleeves of the shirt, pushing up the long fabric above her elbows. They were gonna have to move eventually. They were running out of food and water. not to mention everyone was starting to smell like the sick ones outside.

“Whatever you say, Clem,” Caleb replies, not wanting to continue this conversation. It’s not a serious thing, he thinks, doesn’t have to be at the very least. “Rather you kept ya shoes on. Don’t want t’stand in some rotten brains now do, you?”

Caleb only smiles as she runs with the idea of joining a freak show: she was a confident, adaptable woman. Caleb could honestly picture her running a freakshow as the beautiful ringleader. It’s a funny image, but one he barely entertains. “I’m sure you’d do great in one, become the star act, all you gotta do is grow a second head.”

It feels like they’re playing a game, dressing up as an ‘adult’, imaginative games that Caleb never really had a chance to play. Especially as she looks up at him whilst he placed the hat on her head — asking when they can leave, like the little girl once more having to look up to her older brother, expecting him to have the answers. He should have the answers, he needed too.

“Honestly, I don’t know when exactly but soon. I’ll figure somethin’ out, don’t you worry. We’ll figure something out.” Caleb says, his tone taking a more serious turn at the next few words. They are given as a solemn promise, the fact the siblings are still alive and well backs up the sentiment, “We always do, don’t we?”