— — s u s t a i n a b i l i t y — —

how long should you go on when the life you live is gone?

[docdylan]

tender-ache‌:  

The shock on Dylan’s end made Ana laugh, if only because she knew where it was coming from. During her time at the clinic, intruders had become something of a constant. They gawked and stared, and when they had enough guts, knocked to make their presences known. It was hard to be the woman everyone was looking at, but Ana could tell it had been hard on Dylan, too. She had been the one to ward off any prying eyes, the one to shoo away any talk around the clinic. Ana understood; and so, she let out a little laugh. “It’s only me!” she said in defense. “I thought you might need a break from— well, from whatever you’re doing.”

Another laugh escaped Ana at Dylan’s question. Amanda was a kind woman, but she did not part so easily with her baked goods. She was kind, but tough. In her own way. There was strength in that that Ana was so often jealous of. Still, Amanda had needed something from her. “It’s not so much what I did, as much as what I will do,” she said. “I offered her some self-defense lessons. It’s not much, but it got me these muffins and… will continue getting me things until that’s done with, so.” Ana shrugged. “I’d love to come in. Thank you.”

At once, the sight that welcomed Ana in the clinic made her crinkle her nose. She would not be the only one with the reaction, it seemed, as the boy hunched over various animal parts wore the exact same expression. Still, when she said his name, she had a smile. “Gerard! I didn’t know you’d be here!” Ana beamed at him. “You can have my muffin if you give me and Dylan some alone time.” In a lower tone, Ana added, “Looks like we’ll both be saving each other that way. That does not look like fun.”

At this, she passed a look at Dylan, who had no choice now but to watch the boy head to the sink to wash his hands before reaching for the muffin in Ana’s hand. Gerard thanked her, then went on his merry way with the muffin he’d been given.

Once he was out of the room, Ana merely smiled at Dylan. “Sorry to barge in,” she said, “and to make your assistant leave. It’s just that — I don’t know — I’ve been wanting to get back to my roots lately, and by roots, I mean this place. It’s always nice to spend time here.” She paused, crinkled her nose. “Without all the — you know.” She gestured towards the various animal parts laid out on the table in the room.

@tender-ache

“Self-defense lessons?” Dylan echoed, her brows raising as she stepped aside to allow the other woman inside. She thought of the woman who’d dubbed herself the town’s baker and oversaw their pantry, and didn’t think of her as the sort who’d want to be a fighter. There were people in Hillview who had taken on that responsibility -- her fellow former soldiers, or the ones that Irene had hand-picked. Though it seemed potentially innocuous (maybe Amanda was bored, or was looking for some form of alternative exercise whilst trapped among all the food), Dylan looked ahead to see how it could be perceived as otherwise. The iron-fisted, unyielding Irene might look at that as some form of unwelcome rebellion against their decided-upon order.

“Cool,” Dylan replied, trying to sound breezy. “I’d keep it on the down-low, if I was you.” She flashed a smile, though felt her stomach clench in tandem. She hated to walk the line between being a liar and a withholder of the truth. “Or else you’ll probably have twenty more people knocking down your door asking for the same.”  

Dylan followed as Ana came upon Gerard, and she huffed as her efforts to train the adolescent were overcome by the other woman’s offer of a muffin. She caught Gerard’s eye as he moved to grab the muffin, and rolled her eyes at the nonverbal request to be freed from the task. Shooting him a smile, she bid him away with a wave of her hand. “Go -- we’ll pick it up tomorrow. Next time, Ana’s not swooping in to save your ass, got it?”

With a sigh, Dylan dropped down onto the seat her apprentice had formerly been occupying, and gestured to the seat opposite her. “No --” she started, shaking her head, “-- I’m glad you’re here. I’m just sorry it looks like Frankenstein’s lab.” A sheepish smile appeared on her lips, and she grabbed the brown-bag the parts had been delivered in, and shoved the pieces back in with a swipe of her arm. “We’re practicing stitches,” she explained. “In case we get anymore random people showing up with bullet holes, you know?” 

Though she relayed the comment humorously, she knew that it was an utterly unlikely scenario. Irene was still none-too-pleased about Ana being brought in, and was insistent that she start pulling her weight as a scavenger soon. Dylan pushed for her to gain more time to have a reason to put her neck on the line for strangers. 

“How’ve things been? Are you finding your way around any better?” 

[docdylan]

crime-scened‌:  

TITLE Falling in Line ( Start of Something New ) LOCATION Behind Hillview’s walls TIMELINE A few weeks after Ana has healed. WITH Dylan Harris ( @residuus )

Ana Avelino had never been a big believer of everything happening for a reason. It wasn’t so much that she didn’t care for a god, but more so that she didn’t see their hand. If they were out there, then so be it; Ana had lived her life without them for so long, that she didn’t now see the need in their presence. But, while she would never thank any god for what had happened to Shay, perhaps she could once more believe in the universe for it. Without the turn of events, she never would’ve been found by Hillview. Without Hillview, she’d be left for dead. Maybe it wasn’t so much a god, but more so Shay’s way of taking care of her, still even from the afterlife. Whatever it was, Ana was thankful for it.

In some ways, it led her to Dylan. If nothing else, she was thankful for this.

Now that she’d healed fully thanks to the doctor’s help, Ana was able to carry her weight around the small town. She could now repay them for their help, as she’d promised Irene she would. It was in the little things at first, things she was allowed to do as a newcomer. Still, through all these, she never forgot the one she should give the most thanks to: Dylan Harris herself.

After a long day’s work, Ana found herself dropping by the doctor’s clinic to check if there was anything she could do. A few knocks on the door signified her arrival, and she waited for the door to open. With help from a baker in town, Ana brought two muffins with her. 

@crime-scened​

“Listen, I know it isn’t pretty -- but it’s the best I can do. They wanted me to have you practice on the dead ones, and I had to remind them more than once that the flesh was decayed and useless. This is the closest I can get you -- and they still want it back when we’re done. Something about making soup stock.” 

Dylan stood over her adolescent apprentice with an expression that betrayed equal parts exasperation and sympathy. On the table beside Gerard, a variety of animal parts were on display. A coppery smell punctuated the air as a result of the heat mixing with the raw meat, which Dylan sought to minimize any reaction to. They’d been practicing suturing together for a few days, and she thought that it was time to move on from oranges to something a little more real. 

For his part, Gerard looked less than enthused. He voiced that tentatively, a nervous smile flashed at her as he suggested: “what if I just tried again on the orange?”

“Come on,” Dylan began, her tone trying for encouraging as she picked up a trotter and slipped a knife from her pocket, “I know you can do this. This is what some real medical students would practice on back in the day, you know.” She made a semi-deep cut into the flesh of the foot, and handed it back to him. “Look at it this way: no blood, no mess. It’s almost the same as an orange.” 

A few raps to the door caught Dylan’s attention, and she breathed out a sigh as she glanced in its direction. It was later in the day, and she couldn’t be sure of who was coming to her -- but nine times out of ten, it was an unwelcome intrusion. Still, she flashed a smile at Gerard and squeezed his shoulder. “I’m gonna go check that out. I want that stitched up when I get back, okay?”

Dylan felt her shoulders rise and fall with another quiet sigh as she approached the door, and she tried to arrange her dissatisfied expression into something passingly neutral as she opened up the door. When she found Ana on the other side, a look of surprise came easily over her.

“Oh!” She responded, an involuntary reaction that she regretted a moment later. “ -- Ana. Hi.” Dylan offered the other woman a smile, and dark eyes dropped to find the two muffins that sat in her hands. “What did you do to get Amanda to part with those?” 

Of the many questions that Dylan had for the outsider-turned-resident, that seemed the most innocent. 

“Did you want to come inside?”

[docdylan]

welcome to hillview, nicest town in america.

[docdylan]

langit-lupa:

“Thank you.” Ana’s words were sincere. For as much as she wanted to get out of here, her gratitude towards Dylan was real. For as strange and new Hillview was, she was thankful for the stranger it had brought her. Dylan was just that: a stranger. But, she’d taken care of Ana. She’d made sure Ana was comfortable, fed, well-rested. It wasn’t her fault that Ana couldn’t trust her wholly — and thus had to build a wall between herself and the only person who seemed to care. Nevertheless, it was nice to be cared for. It was nice to sit for a few days and not worry about dying, despite how close she could’ve been to death.

Perhaps, this was why Ana opened her mouth to say a little more than she should have. “I haven’t been with a group as big as this in a really long time.” She sat herself up so she could eat the food prepared, though held a scoop ready in her spoon without taking a bite. “I’ve… been travelling for so long, you know?” She looked at Dylan, hoping she would know, but it didn’t really seem like it. Ana took the bite. She chewed silently, pulling her gaze away from the doctor with her.

“Travelling never guarantees the people with you,” she spoke. “You never know who you lose. Who you find. Who dies. Who you meet tomorrow.” This time, Ana was speaking in between bites, careful to chew but not too slowly so as to eat up too much time. “Travelling doesn’t give you walls or protection, not like Hillview.”

Somehow, Ana wanted to say more. She wanted to speak of Shay, of how the woman had taught her to survive, of how survival wasn’t a list of things to do but just a single thing to be done, of how she never had never wanted to grieve until she lost her only friend. The last few days had made her lonely, and it would’ve been easy to just spiral into a long-winded confession of her sadness. But she knew better. Shay had taught her better.

Never trust. Trust will kill you.

It had already been too much for Ana to tell Dylan her name on that first day she’d been brought here, and too much for the rest of the people in Hillview to know her. She couldn’t give any more bits of herself.

So, when she was done with her food, Ana wiped at her mouth with her hand and, very slowly, stood on her feet. “I’m just excited to not think about how I’m going to die if I accidentally fall asleep, you know? Sleeping on a bed is very different from sleeping on the ground.” A small chuckle left her. This was supposed to be a joke, somehow. It did not carry. Still, she smiled. “I’d love a tour. Looking at the people instead of being looked at through those windows will be a very good change of scenery.”

Dylan had never been great with accepting praise and thanks, and so she took Ana’s thank you with a small smile and a sharp nod. She followed up this gesture with a soft sure. In truth, she’d been happier to have helped nurse Ana back to health than she had been to provide medical services to almost anyone in their community -- it’d felt like the first real good deed she’d done since everything had gone to hell. (A loud voice in her head was kind to remind her that she hadn’t nearly done enough to wipe out all the bad, but she’d been striving to ignore that.) In an effort to silently communicate to Ana that she’d be willing to leave if the other woman requested it, Dylan relegated herself to leaning against the far wall nearby the door. 

“The snoopers have only made up about half the town,” Dylan answered with a lopsided smile. “Altogether, we’re about...one hundred and fifteen. Give or take.” It was hard to keep track of who they were losing on runs, but the number had only been dwindling in recent days. (She could remember a time, at the very beginning, when they’d been more than double that number.) “It’s a lot of work to keep enough of everything going around, but...” she shrugged. “The more people the better, I think. It’s safer, even if it’s harder.” Ideally, there was always someone to watch your back. In Hillview, it sometimes felt like there were more people around to stab you in the back.  

She’d fallen silent while Ana spoke about the dangers of being outside walls and traveling in the open, only to hum a quiet agreement and give another short nod. “I was army,” Dylan explained. “Happened to be state-side when things went to shit. I was helping out with evacuations. This place happened to be a good enough base camp -- it was pretty central to the other towns around the county. When the rest of the army rolled out to try and move out to D.C., me and some of the others hung behind. Didn’t feel right to go.” She stopped herself from continuing on there -- Dylan wouldn’t mention the endless evenings she spent thinking about what would’ve happened if she’d gone to D.C., where a supposed safe-haven was waiting for them. She thought about what kind of person she would’ve been if she’d gone, and how things would’ve been different -- how things would’ve been better. 

“Have you been out there the whole time?” Dylan found herself asking, even despite her efforts to try and curtail any questions. She followed it up with a quick apologetic smile, correcting: “ -- you don’t have to talk about it anymore, if you don’t want to.” 

In an effort to avoid any rupture in what Dylan was looking at as a tentative alliance, she nodded at the mention of the tour, and took a step towards the door. “Sure, let’s get out there. But listen -- if you start to feel tired or sore or anything, just let me know. Same goes for if all the people -- and despite my efforts, there will be people -- get to be too much. Alright? The town’s not going anywhere.” 

[docdylan]

welcome to hillview, nicest town in america.

[docdylan]

langit-lupa:

It was difficult to find comfort in anything. Even the bed on which Ana could find rest was a double-edged sword to her back. The sleep it offered her were not sound, but rather filled with the anger of the nights she did not spend sleeping. The room in the hospital was neither hers to claim nor own, so while it was her safety, it was also her aquarium. In truth, she felt something like a fish in uncharted waters. Hillview, for whatever it was worth, was strange and new. Its people thought she was the same. The last three days she’d spent in the infirmary was like being a part of an ocean park. Everybody wanted to watch her in the aquarium, but kept their distance should the glass break and provoke an attack.

The only one close enough to comfort or friendship was Dylan. If large whales kept in captivity had keepers who fed them and took care of them, then so did Ana. For all she could see, Dylan was kind enough to have kept her alive, bring her food, and change her bandages whenever needed. The doctor so often kept the curious eyes from prodding in too close. She kept everybody an arm’s length away — even without Ana asking for this herself. The gratitude that Ana extended towards Dylan was not enough.

But, just as whales kept in captivity — no matter how well fed or taken care of — felt trapped, so did Ana. There was something strange about being here. Something strange about not being with Shay. For the first time since her mentor had arrived in her life, Ana felt like she was truly alone — one part of a whole, one half of a duo. She felt trapped in her own skin, in her own mind, in this small room, in this town.

Ana could not just sit and wait.

Today, unlike other days, she felt strong enough to stand. And, perhaps, that was all she was strong enough for. Perhaps, that was all she could do. Ana had always been too big for her body, though. She had survived the wrath of men — alive and dead —, and she would survive this, too. This was something she had to keep to herself, though. For as friendly as Dylan was, Ana didn’t truly know her.

So, when the other entered the room and offered food, Ana smiled and said thanks. “I’m feeling good. I’m better. Thank you, Doc.” She had to play her cards right. “Would— I mean— I don’t mean to be too much, but I do hope there is some way I can thank you for taking care of me. I would like to contribute to… to Hillview as well for having kept me here and helping me heal. I— I know I’m a stranger, and— I just— I don’t know.” Ana paused. “I— I have nowhere else to go.”

Of all the things she said, only the last part was true. However, little did Ana know that once she had a chance to see outside, her desire to leave would diminish to none.

Dylan had refrained from asking Ana questions that didn’t pertain to her health in the days since she’d been awake. This had included inquiries about the outside world -- despite how desperately she wanted to know -- and questions about the person called Shay. Dylan had her theories on the woman who’d gone down under the weight of the walker hoard: she was a sister, a friend, a girlfriend, a wife...someone that Ana had loved. The sort of pained tone to Ana’s voice when she’d asked for her and the need for seclusion once finding out her fate had told Dylan that much. Still, she had an itching curiosity to know something more. She wanted to be able to piece together the person they’d gone out on the line for to take in, and that connection seemed to have the potential to be telling.

But, still. She wasn’t a monster. (Not all the time.) 

She remained reluctantly without information, and equally without a real read on Ana. The woman had been thankful enough in the days that had followed, but kept Dylan at an understandable distance. The doctor had a mind to think she was trying to figure her out, too. She didn’t blame her. 

It was easy to want to give Ana the benefit of the doubt, and to imagine that she was an innocent bystander who’d become adept with killing as a means of surviving in a cruel world. But then again, Dylan had gotten to see what this world had made of people. 

She didn’t think there were very many innocents left. 

Dylan settled the breakfast platter she’d brought onto the small table alongside the cot Ana had been provided, and chased away the looming questions from her mind as she took a non-assuming stance near the door leading out of the room. If Ana wanted to kick her out, she’d go. She smiled. “I’m glad you’re doing better. I knew you’d be back on your feet in a few days.” 

Her brows lifted as Ana started to speak, and her expression sobered as she understood. It didn’t feel like an appropriate time to launch into the reason Eric and Lucy had pulled her out of the walker buffet in the first place. (She didn’t know when it would be a good time, as there didn’t seem to be any way to explain that she could stay as long as she killed for them.) “Nobody’s kicking you out of here,” she spoke softly when Ana had finished. “As for contributing, there’s always something that needs doing around here. I think we’d be able to find something for you...but you don’t need to worry about that. Not right away, at least. You’re still on the mend.” 

Dylan frowned as the words left her mouth, and realized that despite the positive intentions, it might not’ve been received well. She'd made a career dealing with soldiers who railed against the idea of being cooped up inside and feeling useless. In the world they lived in, most everyone had become some kind of soldier.

“But look -- I’ll tell you what. Eat a little something, and if you’re up to it, I can give you a tour? It’s about time we got you out of here.”

[docdylan]

welcome to hillview, nicest town in america.

Dylan understood grief, and she understood the desire to want to be isolated -- to want to recuperate in peace. She’d tried to offer that peace to Ana, but it hadn’t come easily. 

For one, everyone in town was keenly interested in meeting the newbie. Dylan couldn’t exactly blame them. Ana was the first of her kind to blow through town since the first culling two and a half years back. Dylan was aware that rumors had started to fly immediately about what had made Ana special enough to be picked up -- she’d heard women whispering at the pantry about how “the woman in medical took out a whole hoard walkers with nothing but a sixgun” while another man amended: “I heard it was just a machete.” She was also suddenly receiving visitors to the office who complained of migraines and minor cuts -- a clear ruse to try and get a look at the woman recovering. Dylan had done her best to keep them away, but she knew Ana would be able to hear them all. 

Then there was Irene: the imposing mayor of the town had demanded to see the woman straight away, and Dylan had been forced into the position of talking her out of it. Just give her three days, Dylan had begged, she’s still recovering. She’s barely conscious. She’s not worth talking to. Only after putting her own ass on the line -- and insisting to be the one to handle it if the situation did not pan out favorably -- did Irene relent, and only under the condition that Ana be brought to see Irene when she was ready. (Dylan would put that off for as long as possible.)

Lastly, there was one final obstacle: herself. 

Dylan’s position as doctor had deemed her too valuable to participate in supply runs, and thus her journeys into the outside world had ceased not long after the walls had gone up in town. She’d not been out into the world in well over two years, and she was desperate to hear of it from a first-hand account. (Though she had the others, Dylan was cognizant that they were biased -- people like Lucy and Eric believed that the sun rose and set in Hillview.) She had dozens of questions she wanted to ask, and found that she had to nearly physically bite her tongue to keep from asking any each time she went to check on Ana, change her bandages, or bring her food. 

She wanted to wait until it was on Ana’s terms. It was unfair to do anything else. 

On the third day since Ana had woken up, Dylan rapped on the door with one hand, and held onto a plate of eggs with the other. When she got the o-k to enter, she was pleasantly surprised to find the other woman up. “Hey there,” she greeted with a smile, “I brought you something to eat -- how’re you feeling today?” 

[docdylan]

in the world of flesh & teeth.

[docdylan]

langit-lupa:

Some days felt more distant than others. Whether distant from the past or from the present, Ana still had yet to decide. Perhaps both, for the out-of-body experiences that Ana experienced in her own time never made sense. They felt more purgatory than body: the knowledge of having died at one point, and yet spending an eternity trying to live with her death. If the present were hell, then God would be so merciful not to give her the humanity she struggled with. If the present were a dream, then it should not hurt so much.

As she laid on the bed, with a stranger hovering above her, the voice of a young boy from a muffled distance — all of it, blurry —, Ana had never felt more distant. From herself. From her body. From her mind. From the world that took place around her. Had she finally died and entered heaven? No, she would never deserve that. But — But this didn’t feel like hell, either. Even in her groggy mind,  Ana was well-aware of what hell would feel like.

She closed her eyes in an attempt to regain some sturdiness.

A part of her hoped that this would all disappear when she looked up again. If this were a nightmare, it had run long enough. Ana wished for an end to all of it, for the sweet release of a hell that did not want her, or for the heaven she did not deserve. An end, by whatever means. She just did not want to fight anymore. Her bones ached with fatigue. Her heart was worse. When was the last time she acknowledged her heart at all?

But rarely did things happen as Ana wished them to. With her eyes closed, she could still hear the woman talking. She introduced herself a doctor, the area a community, and assured Ana she would be fine. The last time Ana heard that was a long time ago; she wasn’t sure what was the most dubious of the three facts the woman just stated. No matter how little sense it made though, it did answer some questions. Ana was on a bed, after all. Almost safe. Though she couldn’t see the outside, it made no sense to have such an organized rack of medical supplies and a bed out in the middle of nowhere.

Still, every part of her being ached.

When the doctor asked for her name, Ana was almost afraid to give it. Her real name had not left her lips in so long. It was not something she so willingly gave to strangers. Without a name, she was without an identity. And, as it were, she’d lost whatever integrity she had to her person a long time ago. Now, though, on the brink of what felt like death, she muttered, “Ana.” After a pause, she added, “Thank you.”

The silence would envelope them until Ana could no longer help but choke out the words: “Where’s Shay?”

“Good to meet you, Ana.”

Dylan felt a natural smile grow on her lips as the woman surrendered her name. It was as good a sign as any -- at least the stranger was present. When Ana came to a little more, Dylan would have to check her out more thoroughly, but for now she was satisfied with the visual alone. It gave her a selfish, utterly unearned sense of pleasure to have saved one life. Even if she’d failed countless others, this woman here hadn’t bled out and become the next meal of the Cold Ones. She was alive because of something Dylan had done. That would be enough to keep her spirits up for another few weeks -- and it would be enough to encourage her to appeal to Irene with some measure of confidence, if it came down to it. 

She accepted Ana’s thanks with a nod of her head. Throughout her life, Dylan had struggled with accepting praise and thanks from others. She knew where it came from: it was built off of growing up around her parents, who instilled in her the idea that it was stupid to expect to be thanked for every little good thing you did. (That had been incepted within the very military they so desperately clung to -- an entire career made up of carrying out orders and not being thanked for any of it.) The instances of thanks or praises shot through Dylan with a private sort of adrenaline and pleasure, but her physical reactions were always muted, awkward, and unsure. Perhaps part of her worried if she said you’re welcome too loudly, her father might appear just to roll his eyes and scoff. “Don’t mention it,” she said instead, “I’m glad I could help.” 

A silence passed between them, and Dylan debated moving ahead with the logistics (a rehashing of what they’d done since she’d arrived, a reminder to not fuck around with the IV drip hydrating her, a quick check-up on her vitals), or waiting it out for her to ask the questions she expected would come. That debate was resolved quickly when Ana hit her with the first of what she expected to be several questions. 

She expected that Shay was a member of the group that had been taken down by the undead. This fate provided two alternatives: she’d been consumed to the point of no return, or she’d risen again and joined their ranks. Neither would be pleasant to pass along. She didn’t have much of a choice. 

“You were the only one of your group to make it -- and with the bullet you caught in your shoulder, it’s lucky you made it out at all.” The things could smell, that she’d come to understand -- it was why some people had taken to covering themselves in their entrails as a means of blending in. “I’m sorry to be the one to have to tell you.” 

Dylan allowed this revelation to hang in the air. It would be worse, she thought, to try to provide any false consolations. She knew neither Ana nor the people who had died, and any words of remorse would either be seen through, or feel too vile leaving her lips. Hillview was not the sort of place to speak words of contrition in. 

“I wasn’t the one to bring you in -- when you’ve had a little time to get your bearings together, I can bring them in. You can ask them questions, if you want to.”

[docdylan]

in the world of flesh & teeth.

[docdylan]

langit-lupa:

Sometimes, in the quiet of the night, Ana Avelino could still see herself as somebody beautiful. Her fantasies were not so distant, so as to imagine herself as somebody prim and proper. That life was long gone. Once, she might have lived up to the reputation of Florida’ s golden girl, obeyed the calling that was destined for her. Once, she might have found safety and security in the money that ran in her family, in the knowledge that it was and always would be. But the world had long ceased to make sense. Her money remained, but the value of it went with the end of the world.

No — she simply liked to imagine herself as human. With a heart in all its beating glory. Red and aching with compassion for somebody other than herself. Alive with compassion. Alive for something other than survival. Alive for something other than just the next hour.

This was the truth: she lost herself somewhere along the way. Perhaps, it was in between the bodies that kept the nights warm. Perhaps, in the midst of the silent war in her chest — the one that had raged on for so long, only to have nothing within her survive. Perhaps, it was at some point around the fifteenth to twentieth dead body around her. Life had required her to survive! What could she have done but leave behind the warmth of her heart? If God were so merciful, he would have taken Ana by now. She knew she was not the type to make it out alive.

And yet, here she was. Heartless and heart less, but alive.

Such was the irony, though: that Ana would utter a prayer on her mentor’s last day. Of course, the events of tomorrow were unknown to her. There was — and would always be — the small, still voice in her head that spoke of the death so easily attached to her and her only family, but it had become such a part of their lives that Ana learned to silence it. She knew of death — it was impossible not to — but never thought enough about it to pray for protection, or gratitude, or wishful longing.

Tonight though, she did. Ana had not spoken to god in so long that she wondered whether he was still around, but even then, she prayed. The stars blinked back at her, almost as though in reply. But, Ana knew better than to hope on the world. Her prayer was, at once, lost to the wind. It was nothing but empty and hollow. Was a prayer still a prayer if no one witnessed it?

Ana Avelino had long lost the ability to sleep a full night, but she closed her eyes unaware of her tomorrow.

Morning came without ease, but nothing lingered in the air for the day to seem suspicious. There were things to be done, and Ana had awoken earlier than usual. Survival never took a day off; any would mean death. She’d seen it happen before — sometimes, even due to the slight of her hand, branding a knife to the throat of an unknowing victim.

The group awoke not too long after she did. They got on the road, made do with whatever they had. They had to.

The dead always came without warning. The dead were dead, after all. The only thing that made them so different from the humans of the world now was not that they didn’t care about human niceties, but rather that they didn’t have to live through the guilt that came with stepping on boundaries. One bite was all it took. A child’s scream to follow. The gunshots.

It was a tragedy, but Ana had been in one too many overran groups to care about anything other than herself and her partner. She would scavenge all that she could later. Dead or not, the people around her would end up dead anyway.

It was always, always the same. The dead arrive, and they take more with them.

Only, in Ana’s attempt to stand up and grab a weapon for herself, her partner screamed in a way they never had before. The little voice in Ana’s head, the one so certain about death, echoed the scream. Something in Ana snaps, but she didn’t know it yet. Somewhere, the prayer she uttered last night ricocheted off her chest like a mistake she never should have made.

And Ana knew in that moment that nothing would be the same again.

The scream that knocked on her lips never found a way to escape, but Ana’s hands flail with all the emotions she hadn’t allowed herself to feel. In each of the dead reaching for her was a face she remembered: Brad, a man all too well-meaning, creeping onto the space beside her in bed; Angelo, too quiet to be kind; Quinn, too tired to disguise the devil he really was. Each of them, a cry she hadn’t allowed herself to grieve. In the bullet that went through their brains, a revenge story she hadn’t ever allowed herself to indulge in.

The voice inside her still screamed. Ana wanted death, too.

The last thing she remembered was dying. The last thing she felt was her body onto the rubble of those that had just died, and those already dead.

And then, suddenly — this.

Ana opened her eyes to the unfamiliarity of the world around her. Her eyes, blurry from all the days of her coma, took to adjusting several times before she realized she was in a place too good to be true. In a place that wasn’t hers — not that she ever had a place to call hers to begin with. Above her was a woman mouthing words she could hear but not understand. Even now, Ana looked for a weapon.

Shit. Heaven was a funny place — it didn’t put any weapons close enough to her. But this couldn’t be that. Ana was not good enough a person to even get a glimpse of heaven.

A rising turbulence in Ana’s chest made her want to stand at the realization of this. But, no matter how much she attempted to, her body would not listen to her brain. She settled, then, for closing her fists into a ball, whilst looking up at the woman who spoke to her. She tried to speak, but Ana couldn’t recognize whether the sound from her lips were words or just the mere expression of a stranger asking where exactly she was.

Dylan’s voice had called Gerard to attention, and without preamble the gangly fifteen-year-old had wandered into the room with an inquisitive expression on his face. Gerard was the youngest of their community: he was only fourteen when the culling had come for the children. He’d been forced to undergo a thoroughly made-up testing process to deem his fitness for the community. Irene had ruled him out, but Dylan had pulled him back in under the pretense of his skills with suturing. He was the one she’d been able to save amongst the near-score of children who’d been written off as being worth less than they costed. Their dynamic was unique: he felt indebted to her, while she felt as though she’d failed him. Neither one ever spoke of the younger sister he’d lost.

“Everything okay in here, Dylan?” He spoke, though his voice dropped off as his gaze diverted to find the woman on the cot coming to. “Oh, fuck,” came his realization, and his tone grew hurried as he asked: “ -- should I do something? Should I go get Irene?”

“Not yet,” Dylan replied, her tone calm despite herself. The last thing she wanted was for Irene to show up. The woman lacked the empathy required to give someone wounded and in shock the proper time to recover from a bout of unconsciousness -- Irene might see this woman struggle for a half-minute before ordering that she be shot through the heart and brought south to be put up on the Wall. Dylan was keen on preventing such a display. “Just go back out into the main room and have a seat,” she coached, “I’ll call if I need something. We need to give her a minute to catch up.”

Dylan’s attention turned back onto the stranger she’d been speaking of -- almost as if she hadn’t been in the room at all -- and she offered a smile she intended to be friendly. Behind her, Dylan could hear Gerard’s steps as he walked back down the hallway. “Just take it easy,” she soothed, resting a hand on one of the woman’s arms. She could see how her hand had grasped at the sheets around her, no doubt looking for something to defend herself with. (Eric and Lucy had talked her up as a fighter, after all.) 

“I’m Dylan,” she explained, putting forth the calm and slow, straight-forward tone she’d used on patients during and before the world had gone to shit. “I’m a doctor.” (Legally, that wasn’t fact -- but that hardly mattered anymore.) “You’re in Hillview -- it’s a survivor’s community. A few of my people saw you get shot, and they brought you back here to get you some help. You’re going to be just fine, but your body is still trying to recover.” She allowed a quiet pause to go by, before speaking again: “I know you’ve got questions. But first, can you tell me your name?”

[docdylan]

in the world of flesh & teeth.

If there was one word apt to describe the end of the world, Dylan thought it would be quiet. 

The word reminded her of a school lesson she’d had a long time ago. It took her back to a classroom like the many she occupied, on a base like the many she’d been made to call home, with a teacher who was not particularly distinguishable from the many she’d had. Quiet and silence are two different words with different meanings, even though we sometimes think they’re the same thing, the woman had explained. (It occurred to Dylan, in her reflection, that she no longer remembered the woman’s name. It was something with a P -- pierce, pillson, pike, pine...something like that.) Silence means there’s no sound at all. You can’t hear a thing. But quiet -- quiet just means something isn’t very loud. You can still hear it when you try. 

The world wasn’t silent. (Not yet.) But it was quiet. Painfully quiet.

In the beginning, Hillview had been loud. It was almost as loud as she would have imagined it to be before the world had started to crumble around them. It was almost so loud that sometimes Dylan felt the need to hush those around her; felt it as a palpable anxiety that started in her gut and made a slow clawing climb up through her throat. Their chatter, their laughter -- their existence -- felt too loud to not be considered a threat. It had been as if she needed to remind them of where they were, of what lurked outside their protective walls, and how desperately it wanted to come in. 

But now most of them were gone. (Not dead, not really. Not fully. Just gone.) And with them went much of the noise, leaving just quiet. It was safer and it was worse. 

When she tried to focus in on what noise remained, she could find bits and pieces. From her vantage point -- sat outside on the stoop of the building they’d dubbed her office, which had once been a local gynecologist’s practice -- she could hear a few scattered noises. Feet on the ground as a group went past, muted conversations between those who meandered about the streets, the soft purr of an engine that meant to be out for the day on some scavenging mission. To the untrained eye, it seemed normal. To someone who’d had to live without community in these dead-filled days, she thought it would be indistinguishable from the normalcy of before. But with a hard ear, one could hear the hungry groans of the dead ones -- Cold Ones, Creepers, Lurkers, Crawlers, the names changed from person to person -- coming from all around them. It came most powerfully from their southernmost wall, where so many of those who were gone now remained; secured as their deterrent to unwanted company. Dylan hadn’t wandered down that way in over a year. Not since the children. 

An abrupt honk broke through the quiet, and with a sharp turn of her head Dylan looked on down the road with a bemused expression as the big white pick-up (formerly white, at least -- it was not sun-stained and smeared with blood and dirt) pulled in through the gates. It wasn’t their entrance that bewildered her -- they’d been expecting the group to be back from the scavenging trip some days ago -- but rather their decision to make noise and stir attention to their arrival. When Lucy Mendez hopped out of the driver’s seat and wildly waved her down, shouting doc! hey, doc! that confusion faded. Someone was hurt. 

Jogging down to meet the other woman half-way, Dylan spied another scavenger -- a man called Eric, who’d been amongst the army deployment that had stayed behind -- slipping from the passenger’s seat with a twisted expression on his face, Dylan’s eyes narrowed. “Who is it? Patel? Simpson?”

“Patel and Simpson are dead,” Eric replied gruffly, as he waved on Dylan to follow him around to the back. “Biters got ‘em. There wasn’t enough left of either one to try and bring home and bury.” Swinging open the doors, Eric gestured to the woman who was laid across the back, unconscious and bleeding. 

“We brought in some fresh meat instead.”

At the insistence of Lucy and Eric, Dylan opted to act first, and question later. She helped Erik bring the woman into the office, and situated her in one of the rooms that served for everything between patching up scrapes and performing what minor surgeries they could. When they had the stranger down and stripped of the clothing that’d covered her torso, Dylan banished the two with a wave of her hand, asking as they went for them to send in her assistant, Gerard. 

She was lucky to find that the wound was clean -- the injury lacked fragments of both the bullet and the woman’s bones. It was the shock and blood loss that’d likely gotten to her, rather than the injury itself. In an hour’s time they’d had the stranger’s wound packed and wrapped, and set her on an IV drip to put water in her system. It was the best they could do in lieu of a blood transfusion -- and Dylan did not doubt the woman was likely dehydrated by virtue of being out and under the sun. Still, she couldn’t account for how much the woman had already lost -- there was little that could be done for her. She’d have to pull herself out of it beyond that. 

When Dylan had finished seeing to her, she’d left Gerard behind to monitor the stranger and moved back out to meet Lucy and Eric in the waiting room. When they looked up to greet her, she spoke without preamble: “Irene’s not going to like this.” 

“That’s what I said,” Eric grumbled, “a couple dozen times on the way back.” 

“And like I said,” Lucy cut in, “we need her.” Turning a dark-eyed gaze onto Dylan, Lucy spoke: “we’ve lost five of our own in the past month. It’s rough out there, and we need all the help we can get. Her group went down. Nobody’s looking for her.”

“Her group that we know of,” Eric retorted, in a tone that suggested to Irene that they’d had this conversation before on the car ride back.

“They didn’t look like the sort to have a place settled. They were traveling with a lot of shit. And when the Cold Bodies went at them, she went fucking apeshit. It was awesome. We need that on our side. Shit, I need her guarding my back. Luck is the only thing that kept me from dropping like Patel and Simpson.” 

“She was scrappy,” Eric admitted -- again in a way that suggested this conversation had already been played out, “and a good shot. Damn good shot.” 

“Just get her up and moving, alright, doc?” Lucy asked, a smile on her lips. “Leave Irene to me. I’ll warm her up to the idea. Either way, I’ll keep the heat for it off your back.”  

Heaving a sigh, Dylan shrugged her shoulders. She wasn’t particularly interested in what was now their alternative: put a bullet in her before Irene could cast the order. It would feel horrible, to try and save a life -- only to then destroy it. She hated that she wasn’t unfamiliar with it.

“Alright. I’ll do what I can.” 

A day and a half slipped by, and the quiet reigned supreme once more. Dylan spent most of it sat inside the room they’d left the stranger in. (She was still nameless -- she lacked any identification, which wasn’t unusual. It might’ve been strange to find a person walking around with a wallet and ID.) She listened to the quiet, and took comfort in what it offered: the drip of the IV, and the steady breathing that showed life. 

She continued this dutiful watching until she’d heard a cough, followed immediately by a groan. The woman beside her stirred. Her closed eyes squeezed shut, and slowly opened. 

“Hey --” She began, popping up from her seat and approaching the bed, “ -- hey, you’re alright. You’re safe.”