Here tomorrow, Gone today

If I follow the starlight and call your name Will I see you again on the astral plane? Micah Han // 30 // Fallen

[micahhan-blog]

hunter‌:

Hunter was thankful for a disturbance that couldn’t kill her, and for Micah’s distraction. The two of them had always gotten along–in fact, if Hunter was choosing favorites, Micah would be somewhere at the top of the list. So she was happy to help with a tedious task. Prying the floorboard up, however, seemed a bit too tedious. Hunter had survived for five years by being efficient. Perhaps not the most stealthy or subtle, but efficient.

“Stand back,” Hunter removed the axe from her back and shoo’d the cat out of the way before bringing it down into the rotting wood. The panel practically withered away under the pressure, leaving slivers of wood everywhere. Beneath the flooring, there was no animal to be seen, and the skittering seemed far away now. Perhaps this wasn’t the best approach for trying to catch a living, breathing thing that could be scared off by loud noises.

“Hm,” Hunter crouched to remove some of the wood from the crevice. “Maybe Nala can slip under and catch it.”

   Hunter always did have a way of doing things that cut to the quick of a situation. It was never about the plan or the best path towards survival, it was only about the goa,l about the number of lives they could save. In that, he and Hunter were usually in agreement. Now though, eye level with the rusted edge of her ax, Micah wondered if maybe she wasn't just looking for an opportunity to take out some of her stress on the floor of the hardware store. She had seemed particularly disappointed that the group hadn't voted to search the hospital and wasn't hesitant to voice her displeasure.

   "Hold on, I don't think we need to--" But whatever words of discouragement he'd had, they were lost to the sound of splintering wood giving way underneath Hunter's ax. Micah teetered backward in his crouched position, then fell onto his ass, staring up at Hunter while a few curious cries of confusion from the rest of the group sounded outside.

   "We're fine!" he shouted, as Hunter moved closer to move some of the debris out of the way. The noise of the animal was far off now, though it still came from beneath the floorboards, which made Micah think it had cornered itself somewhere. From where he sat on the floor, he addressed Hunter again. "Great job. Definitely worked better than my crowbar idea. What was I thinking."

[micahhan-blog]

james‌:

James knew that Micah meant well, that he was just trying to look after James, but he couldn’t help but to feel like he was a lost puppy and Micah was some sort of humanitarian. A part of him didn’t mind it, liked it even, but James knew that allowing himself to open up to others was always a bad idea. He knew the repercussions for doing so, knew that people always left or treated you badly. And he was tired–so tired.

“Fair enough” James answered, barely able to keep his eyes open. He dropped his hand with cigarette to his side, suddenly uninterested in smoking. “Although you can’t tell me that you haven’t seen them eat someone’s face clean off.” He said it matter-of-factly as if he did witness such a horrific event. “You’re right, I know everyone’s name, Jeffrey. You are always so wise.”

   Micah's frowned deepened as James seemed to melt into the asphalt in front of him. For a moment, he considered the possibility that James had been bitten in the last couple of days and decided against telling any of them. He'd been with a few groups where that happened, and it never ended well. But more likely, James was just his usual, strung out self. Still, Micah kept a careful gaze on him.

   "Sure, but that's after they go for the wrists or the neck," he said matter of factly. There was no point in pretending to be squeamish, especially because he could tell James was looking for a disgusted reaction. They'd all seen more than their fair share of horror in these past couple years. "Are you feeling alright?" he asked, dismissing Jame's sarcasm with a genuine question. It would probably only be met with more scorn, but Micah didn't mind that very much.

[micahhan-blog]

date: august 2023, 3:45 am location: inside the hardware store  availability: @briennedufort

   There wasn't much for Micah to do while the others broke camp, so after he'd stuffed all his earthly belongings into his pack, he headed back towards the hardware store. He was careful to move as quietly as he could in the early morning darkness, knowing full well that where there was one stalker there was always the probability of more-- the ones shambling their way towards the group notwithstanding.

   The back door to the hardware store opened with a soft, muted creak that welcomed Micah into the near pitch darkness that lay inside. Immediately, he wished he'd thought to ask one of the others for their flashlight.

   As Micah's eyes adjusted he could see two forms sprawled out on the floor, still and smothered in shadows. They'd be indistinguishable if it wasn't for the smell. One was rotting, rancid, like meat left out in the sun, and the other he knew was Elise. He stepped over the body of the stalker, and crouched down before her, turning the dead weight until she lay flat on her back.

   When he heard the door open again, he'd already closed her unseeing eyes and his fingertips were tacky with blood.

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[micahhan-blog]

stella:

date: august 2023, 4:15 a.m. location: outskirts of the campsite availability: closed for @micahhan

For all of her bravado, for all of the toughness she wore to make up for all the softness she still carried, Stella knew nothing of weaponry. For all of the ways she set herself apart, above, the rest of the group—she had never killed one of them before.

Sometimes, she heard them share stories of it like they’re swapping baseball cards. What it was like to look into the eyes of the infected? What did it sound like? Did it bleed?

But she was too smart to let them find her. Months of creating new ways to hide from the zombies when they entered her home, each method cleverer than the last—all of it to give Ellie a home to return to. She learned to trick them and dodge them and avoid them.

She never learned to kill them; but she’d done it anyways. She’d done it well, even. Elise (could she still call her, it, Elise?) was dead twice over. 

She sat with her backpack in her lap, waiting for the others to get started. Always prepared, Stella. But she hadn’t been prepared for this. She stared at her feet, a million miles away, replaying the moment over and over. Over and over and over and over. 

   When they'd first met, Micah had liked Stella. He'd admired the steel in her spine, the firm resoluteness of her hands. Back then, in Modesto, he'd thought the nettling was just her way of getting to know him, that it was how she made herself feel safe. Maybe there was still some truth to that, but Micah had quickly grown tired of humoring her when all that lay before them was stretches of sweltering pavement and very little hope.

   Now, as he watched her from a few feet away, he felt some of that earlier compassion start to return. Sitting there, she looked much smaller, made less like steel and more like a woman who'd had to shoot a companion she'd known for six months.

   He dug around in his pack and found the half-empty canteen of water he'd kept there for emergencies. When he knelt down in front of her, he offered her the water, which felt more like an olive branch in his hands.

   "We'll probably move out soon," he said, not mentioning that they'd probably bury the body first. "You should drink some water, clear your head. Most of us would be lost without it."

[micahhan-blog]

masen‌:

Hope was the most unfair emotion to ever exist. Anger made people act out; it was too easy to wallow in doubt, or resent those who felt pity. But hope was different— it had a way of making people feel safe in the dark, despite the creatures that waited just within the shadows. It shredded a person, left them as ribbons of who they once were.

 Hungry children felt hope every time a meal came their way, but they would always end up hungry again. Single parents felt hope every time they had a little extra money left over after bills, but they never really got to save it in the end. Hope was cruel, and it did so much damage to the people who still had the heart to try; Masen did not pity Micah. 

He had too much in common with him.

“You’re right,” he said, a moment of softness in his tone. He eyed the picture up on the wall, so ordinary in a world that was anything but. The smallest things made people feel better, he guessed.

“Some day we’ll find a better place.”

   They both stood there staring at the photo like it was a window into a world they could no longer reach, surrounded by the husk of what had once been the center of a family's life. Suddenly, he was grateful for the gentleness in Masen's voice, and that he had humored Micah instead of ridiculing him, like some in the group might have. He smiled at the little family on the wall, then over at Masen, wanting to lighten the moment.

   The truth was, they'd already found a better place. But Modesto was gone, and it was never coming back.

   "Where do you think it would be?" he asked, like they were playing a game now. Really, he was curious. What did Masen picture when he thought about paradise. "The better place, I mean. Maybe on a tropical island somewhere, surrounded by the ocean?" Micah had only ever been to the beaches in California when they were crowded and teaming with life, but now he pictured somewhere remote and peaceful. The loudest sound would be the waves lapping up against the sand.

[micahhan-blog]

date: august 2023, 7:30 pm  location: camp availability: closed to @blairtownscnd

   A halo of light was still lingering around the horizon, the long summer day taking its last gasping breath before it plunged the world into shadows. Some of the group hadn't settled down yet, but most were already asleep, exhausted from weeks worth of travel for what felt like so little pay off. Micah was tired too, he could feel it creeping into his bones and weighing him down, though he was doing his best to stay alert and on guard. The fact that they hadn't encountered any infected yet bothered him. Some of them were smart and knew to wait in the cover of darkness.

   His father's book of scripture rested on his lap, the dull white pages littered with their neat lines Korean letters. He traced his fingers along the graying words, like his father must have traced his fingers, then abruptly shut the book and looked up for something to distract him.

   Blair was on the other side of the campfire, which had grown small after they'd had dinner. They'd been sitting like that for a while without talking, and Micah cleared his throat, then wished he hadn't. She wasn't like any of the kids he'd counseled back when he'd had a normal life, though she would have been around the same age.

   "I didn't think you'd be the one to volunteer for guard duty if I'm being honest," he said, trying for a polite smile. "Wouldn't you rather be sleeping after the kind of day we've had?"

[micahhan-blog]

wilma‌:

    It was odd how one could become so intensely acclimated with one person’s presence that the movements of two individuals could mimic each other, falling into a synchronicity of mind and matter. Will didn’t fully appreciate it until she heard the reassuring click of Ray’s rifle the moment the man started to carefully move his hands behind his head. Her gaze remained on the man in front of her as she noted the juxtaposition of awareness. Just as she was able to subconsciously take cues from Ray, she was hyperaware of this stranger. Every movement, every bob of his Adam’s apple, every rise and fall of his chest. One twitch of his muscle and either a bullet would sink into this man’s chest or he would find her hands around his neck. 

    How could she look into this man’s eyes while a morbid picture was being painted in her head? 

    She was so tired. She just wanted it all to stop. 

    But her calloused hands continued on with their duty, lithely going over his limbs. Searching, searching, searching. All the while, the weight of his gaze settling on her – bidding her to look up and see him. So, instead, she kept her eyes on her hands, following their path to see if she could visually take note of any discrepancies between what she felt and what she saw. 

    “Freshly bitten and runners…” Ray repeated, leaning back in the chair. “Possibility of stalkers or vomiters. Never rule them out.”

    He spoke the latter part under his breath, his mutterings more for himself than anyone else, but Will hummed in agreement anyway. He was the protector of her sanity. She was the defender of his. Which was why, when she straightened up with a half-formed response on her lips, she did not flinch when a shriek filled the silence. 

    A glance at Ray. A furrow of her brow. 

    Then her lips parted in, in both parts anger and horror at the quiet accusation that was implied. “We haven’t completely given up on the better part of our human nature.”

    “Yet,” Ray tacked on with a chuckle, rising from the seat. An inhuman howl punctuated his sentence. 

     He glanced at Will and nodded briefly, pushing the tables and chairs towards the door. She grabbed the man’s wrist and put her pack in his hands. “We’ll split whatever supplies there are with you, 50/50. Then we need you to do a favor for us.” 

    “What’s your magic word, Will?” Ray teased, the levity of the comment strained a bit as he shoved another table towards the door.

    Her lips pressed together as she grabbed his arm, finally leveling her gaze with the stranger’s. “Please.”

   It was the anger that gave him pause, even as the inhuman screaming built to a crescendo. He was struck by the part of her lips. Most people Micah had met lately didn't have the energy for anger, or if they did, they used it as fuel to survive. The anger shining in her eyes was different though. She was truly appalled at what his silence had implied, that they trade his life for theirs. For the first time in what would have been weeks, Micah smiled, soft but fierce with a danger of catching like a candle lit in the pitch blackness.

   "Sorry for doubting you," he said, and meant it, taking his hands down from behind his head so that he could take the pack the woman (the man had called her Will) had shoved into his hands. The weight in his hands was the same weight he felt on his shoulders when he prayed. This was a sign. He was meant to do something here. Finally, the woman looked at him and in her eyes, he could see the path was meant to walk opening up before him.

   He would make sure the two of them made it out alive.

   "There's another exit in the supply room. It leads to an alley with a fire escape that should give us higher ground if we need it," he said, finally looking over at the man who was moving the heaviest furniture in the cafe towards the front door. Then he crouched down and got the shotgun he'd stashed under the bar and the ax that lay next to it, neither of which he'd reached for during their altercation. Outside, there was the sound of flesh hitting pavement rapidly, then something hit the boarded-up window with full force. Micah heard the crack of glass as it splintered, and knew it wouldn't take much more for the window to shatter completely. Whatever was out there, it knew they were inside.

   "What do you need me to do?"

   His own plan was already starting to form in his head, one that would guarantee the both of them got out of this alive. They'd offered him half of everything, handed him back his life even though it had been laid at their feet with little resistance, and he planned to repay that kindness, just as God intended.

[micahhan-blog]

hunter‌:

Because people had been roaming through the store for a while and a scene had yet to be caused, Hunter assumed the coast was clear. This was helpful because, well, she wasn’t among the most careful members of the group. She entered the store with heavy footsteps and a complete lack of awareness for her surroundings, so when Micah motioned for her to stop she assumed the worst.

Hunter hardly breathed as she waited for him to explain himself, hand going to her ax. “You think an infected got underneath the store?” Her eyebrows knit themselves together as she thought for a moment, allowing the store to fall back to silence.

The skittering was so quiet it almost didn’t register, but Hunter noticed Nala’s head lift in response to the noise and knew it wasn’t in her head. “Oh, okay,” she spoke softly, her arm falling slack at her side. “Not an infected. What the fuck?”

   There was an inherent, potential danger in every unknown the group encountered, but Micah thought he could definitively say that there wasn't an infected scratching its bloody nails at the floorboards. "Maybe a squirrel got itself stuck under there," he said, relaxing a little and making his way carefully over to the spot he'd heard the noise. There was a faint animalistic squeaking, though that didn't really narrow it down. Micah's experience with animals was limited at best.

   Nala, who had come inside with Hunter, started sniffing at the seams of the wood paneling, her nose twitching as the squeaking continued. Micah pressed a hand to the dark, aging wood and found that there was a slight give underneath his palm. "Do we have a crowbar?" he asked, looking back at Hunter over his shoulder.

   The camp was already well underway and those hours between setting it up and eating dinner together were usually filled with boredom for Micah. He wasn't especially handy and sometimes felt like he was just getting in everyone's way, so mostly he stood back and waited for somebody to need help. Prying a floorboard up for Nala seemed as effective a waste of time as anything else.

[micahhan-blog]

masen‌:

The world hadn’t changed, exactly. There were parts of it still rich with nature, with entire herds of deer and elk in the forests, flocks of ducks swimming in ponds, plump fish swimming in lakes. The world was fine, and it would survive just as well.

Humans were not fine, and it was their own fault. Masen had realized that during the first Christmas he’d spent alone: he was alone because he hadn’t gone sooner; they were dead before he got to say goodbye. So many people were dead because the earth had finally started to fight back against humanity’s disrespect and blatant disregard of the natural order, and he couldn’t help wondering how long the punishment would last, and if he or any other human would be around to see what came after.

He looked down at the picture in Micah’s hand, dated and tattered. It was probably just one picture of many, something to glance at when whoever was keeping it there felt sentimental. A heavyset man with poor grooming habits smiled through a ginger beard and a rosy complexion, arm on the shoulder of a small, mousy woman, and a younger girl who must have been in her rebellious phase when this picture was taken. Masen liked finding pictures like these when he was forced to loot; it was a way for him to put a face to the silent thank-you he always whispered on his way out.

“I don’t see them around here,” Masen said casually, “It doesn’t do well to think about stuff like that, Micah. You know that.”

   "Do I?" he said simply before he could think not to. Irritation bristled in his fingers where he was holding the photo, frowning down at it and at how easy it was for Masen to dismiss the people trapped inside it. He turned to the desk drawer that Masen had found the cigarettes in earlier, and started to go through it, a determination in the rigid line of his brow. After a few seconds of searching, he found an old roll of tape and tore off a new piece so he could stick the photo back up on the wall where it had been. If the family in it ever came back for it, they'd know someone had found it and not taken it.

   The naive sentimentality of it wasn't lost on Micah, and he was embarrassed enough by the action that he didn't look back at Masen. He didn't want to see the look of pity there, similar to the one he'd given Masen only moments ago. Still, it felt good having done it. A heaviness had lifted from his shoulders.

   "It can't all be tragedy." The words were said on a weary sigh, as if he was beginning to know otherwise, just not ready yet to believe it.

[micahhan-blog]

james‌:

Despite Micah approaching and announcing himself, James still felt his body jump. He was always on edge now, always allowing paranoia to settle in the dark parts of his mind and fester there. He knew that it was a miracle he had survive this far and was waiting for the day when everything would come to an end. He was never a survivor; he simply managed to get by.

James took another drag of his cigarette, trying to hide the fact that his hands were still shaking. “Yeah, I fed her to some face-eaters.” James answered with no inflection in his voice. It was hard to tell if he was joking or not. “Guess you abandoned what’s-his-name too, huh?”

   Micah always felt much older than he really was when he was around James. There couldn't be more than a handful of years differing between them, yet he always seemed like he needed to be looked after more regularly than anyone else in their group. Maybe it was because every time he looked at James' pale hands shaking, he could imagine holding them like he had so many others, and feeling the heat drain from them as they grew heavier. It was a thought he tried not to linger on, shooting a disapproving look James' way instead.

   "You and I both know they don't go for the face first," he said, remaining standing. He didn't feel friendly enough with James to sit down next to him. "And it's been over six months. You can't pretend you don't know Masen's name. It won't make him think you're his best friend, I promise."

[micahhan-blog]

wilma‌:

    Soft. Soothing. That was what she was going to remember about his voice. But was it soft to lighten the lie? Or was it gentle simply because he was? Her eyes narrowed as she mentally flipped a coin, the bead of water rolling down her cheek and slowly creating a puddle right where she stood. His hands were up in surrender almost as soon as they crashed in. If he had wanted them to die he could have whipped out a gun and shot them where they stood – and they wouldn’t be able to react. He had a good couple of seconds when they were scrambling to shoot them. 

    She really wishes he had shot them. 

    After giving him a pointed look, she slowly pushed the barrel of his gun down. Ray huffed, putting down his weapon and picking up a lone chair, sitting on it. He put the gun on his knees, spitting on the ground. Will rolled her eyes, stepping over to Micah with her hands up. A one-over glance was enough to tell her that he wasn’t openly carrying any weapons, but that wasn’t good enough for her. Last time Will and Ray trusted a third party, they had been robbed. You only make that mistake once. 

    “I’m going to pat you down. While I do that, tell us what you know of Paso Robles. How many infected, how many are screamers, how many are stalkers – you get the idea.”

    “You touch her, you die.” Ray added helpfully.

     Her eyes didn’t move from the man in front of her. “Hands behind your head.”

   There was a sigh in Micah's lungs that he tried to let go unbreathed as the woman stepped closer to him. He understood the concept of paranoia, he had felt it in overwhelming waves for the first year after the infrastructure of the nation had collapsed, but had found that it had all but faded into non-existence within him after that. Now he only felt a quiet impatience whenever these kinds of proceedings took place, recognizing that they were necessary for some people, though mostly he preferred that if people were going to trick him and take his things, they do it quickly.

   His gaze wasn't on the man in the chair who cradled his gun in his lap and who seemed very eager to shoot Micah with it. Instead, he focused solely on the woman and put his hands behind his head like she'd said. She had careful precise hands, and Micah knew she'd probably done this more than once. When he spoke, he was mostly addressing her.

   "There weren't many of them and they were all freshly bitten or runners only a few hours before the storm rolled in. Just before it started raining I heard the shrieking start up. Other than that, I can't be sure."

   As if on cue, wet, broken screams filled the streets outside. They were getting very close now. "We can try reinforcing the doors and windows, but they'll only wait us out." His gaze went to the gun in the man's lap again. The easiest way for them to get out quickly would be to wound Micah and leave him behind to distract the infected. It would certainly be a very slow way to die. Micah held very still as he waited for the woman with steady hands to come to the same conclusion.

[bunchofrpmemes]

Character Flaws

[micahhan-blog]

isvbellas‌:

bunchofrpmemes:

Bold the ones that apply to your character:

absent-minded | abusive | addict | aggressive | aimless | alcoholic | anxious | arrogant | audacious | bad liar | bigmouth | bigot | blindly obedient | blunt | callous | childish | chronic heroism | clingy | clumsy | cocky | competitive | corrupt | cowardly | cruel | cynical | delinquent | delusional | dependent | depressed | deranged | disloyal | ditzy | egotistical | envious | erratic | fickle | finicky | flaky | frail | fraudulent | guilt complex | gloomy | gluttonous | gossiper | gruff | gullible | hedonistic | humorless | hypochondriac | hypocritical | idealist | idiotic | ignorant | immature | impatient | incompetent | indecisive | insecure | insensitive | lazy | lewd | liar | lustful | manipulative | masochistic | meddlesome | melodramatic | money-loving | moody | naive | nervous | nosy | ornery |  overprotective | overly sensitive | paranoid | passive-aggressive | perfectionist | pessimist | petty | power-hungry | proud | pushover | reckless | reclusive | remorseless | rigorous | sadistic | sarcastic | senile | selfish | self-martyr | shallow | sociopathic | sore loser | spineless | spiteful | spoiled | stubborn | tactless | temperamental | timid | tone-deaf | traitorous | unathletic | ungracious | unlucky | unsophisticated | untrustworthy | vain | withdrawn | workaholic

[micahhan-blog]

date: August 2023 time: late afternoon location: the roof of the hardware store status: open to @lucapalermos

   Camp had already been made up and the last dredges of sunset were slipping past the gaps in the buildings on the horizon when Micah spotted Luca's long shadow descending down from the roof of the hardware store.  He didn't look like he was moving, only sitting there, staring at the scarlet drenched clouds. For a moment, Micah considered leaving him be. It seemed to him that the only time he and Luca ever had a conversation that wasn't latent with bitterness was when they were both drunk off whatever cheap liquor the group could get their hands on. It was one of the core unspoken rules of their relationship.

   But lately instead of snide comments at his expense, there had only been bristled, awkward silence, and Micah's curiosity was getting the better of him.

   He hefted himself up the ladder, making enough noise that Luca would know he was coming, and walked out over to the edge Luca was sitting on. "Not that you've been very subtle these past four days, but if you jump off this roof and break your ankles trying to get away from me, I'm going to be a little offended."

[micahhan-blog]

date: August 2023 time: late afternoon location: front of the hardware store status: open to @wilsonhunter

   The jittering, anxious feeling that ran through Micah like a current of electricity was starting to build steadily as the sun continued to set with no sign of a single infected. It would get worse when the stars came out and the darkness settled in. If the demons were smart, they'd wait until most of them were asleep to strike. He stared out one of the front windows of the shop, watching Jack's cat, Nala curl up in one of the last remaining patches of sunlight. Her eyes closed but her ears remained perked and at attention. Micah supposed her kind was better suited to this planet now.

   He'd stood still long enough that when a quiet, skittering noise broke the silence, his breathing stopped. It was coming from behind him, but as he slowly turned, he couldn't see any movement to attribute the noise to.

   Before Micah could think to investigate, the door opened and Hunter entered the shop. He held out a hand to her, indicating for her to stay still and be quiet. But the skittering had stopped. "I heard something," he said, brows furrowed. "I think it was coming from the underneath the store."

[micahhan-blog]

masen:

Masen knew a good small business when he saw one; they’d practically kept food on his family’s table while he was growing up. Local grocery stores, diners owned by bored couples with too much retirement money: they were always the easiest sales according to his father.

This place was definitely locally owned; all the signs made it so. It was spacious in size, but crowded and cozy, overfilled with aisles metal tools and ropes and plastic tarps.Of course it had definitely seen better days, as the signs of looting and pirating were obvious by the broken windows and the almost empty racks behind the front counter. They always kept the good stuff out of the public’s reach.

“I don’t like the feeling of being drunk,” Masen admitted, smearing the burning part of his cigarette out on one of the glass counters up front, “I like to be in control of myself, I guess.” 

Eager to change the subject, he stopped and took quick stock of the place, held up  length of chain for Micah to look at.

“This place is a dream for craftsmen and murderers alike,” He joked.

   He watched Masen put his cigarette out on the counter, the hot ash blackening the glass as he went over to look at a wall that held a rack of chains. He was glad Masen's back was to him for the moment because he was sure the pity was quite clear on his face. If it was control Masen was looking for, this new world had very little of it, and most people took it by force. Dulling the rough edges of their reality could be risky at times, but Micah couldn't honestly imagine going through the last five years of his life completely sober.

   Instead of telling Masen this, he followed him over to look at the rack of slightly rusted chains. "It's a good thing we've got an abundance of both in our group then," he replied, taking the chain from Masen and feeling the weight of it in his palm. Parts of the metal were rusted and Micah couldn't think of any practical use it might serve, so he let it drop back against the rack, cringing slightly at the clattering noise it made.

   Finally, he went over to the back wall behind the register where Masen had found the cigarettes. Taped there were newspaper clippings, local events. He wiped some of the dust away and underneath the grey streaks was what looked like a family photo taken in front of the store on the day it opened. A burly man with a curly red beard and a woman with kind, smiling eyes looked out at him, their hands on the shoulder of a surly looking teenage girl. "Do you think any of them made it out?"

[micahhan-blog]

james:

date: august 2023 time: late afternoon location: outside the hardware store status: closed to @micahhan  

James could feel it coming on, as his leg began to shake uncontrollably and his heart felt like it was beating right out of his chest. He was always a nervous, paranoid soul and the fact that the world was full of skin-eating monsters didn’t really help to calm him down. Getting high or drunk had always helped that, back before the world was falling apart. Now nothing seemed to help, except when James’ body took over and shut down.

Today was a bad day. The group was on the move, which always made James nervous because he knew that they would eventually run into more of those…things. If James was honest with himself, he had no idea how he had survived this long. He saw an opportunity to separate himself from the group, when they were all distracted doing other things. He sat himself against the building where he thought no one would be able to see him, removed the used cigarette from his jacket pocket and lit it with one of the last matches he had. As he took his first puff, he heard someone–or something–approaching.

   It wasn't long after he and Masen had started cataloging the things they'd found in the front of the store that Micah's excused himself so that he could step outside. Everything in there was covered in a layer of grime and dust, and Micah needed at least a few breaths of fresh air before the sun set completely and they'd have to start setting up camp for the night. He rounded the corner and smelled the familiar scent of the brand of cigarettes James favored.

   "It's only me," he said, to avoid startling him. James was already a skittish person, and sometimes when they went too long on the road Micah would catch his hands shaking, his eyes darting back and forth like a trapped animal. Micah had lived long enough in this world to recognize that James was lucky to have survived this long. "You abandoned Laurel, huh?" It was only light teasing. Laurel was more than capable of handling herself. She probably even preferred it that way.