born to beg

i'm the rocks they weigh down the angels with.

[perrycontreras-blog]

the end of the road.

The wind was still cold. Perry could still feel that. His body was fading from him, or maybe his mind, he wasn’t sure. But he felt like he was floating, somewhere above himself, waiting. His mind was somewhere else, but his spirit was still here, he decided. That was it. 

The truck rumbled beneath his slumped body, and Perry felt like he was being carried by a river. 

His mother. His mother once stood next to him as he was baptized as a child. Held under a river, and when he came up, she kissed his forehead so gently, like she was scared of breaking him. He had floated there, supported only by his mother’s soft kiss. 

He was floating on that river again.

He was warm again. Light shifted on his eyelids, above him. Sunlight through cypresses. Time held itself suspended, like a leaf on still water. And then the river stopped, and Perry was waiting again.

Hands tugged at him, family members flitting through his memory. His brothers, his cousins. They were pulling him towards the sun, and Perry wanted to go, he just didn’t have the strength to. He wanted to follow them. There was the noise of sobs, of wailing and mourning, and Perry wished he could speak. Tell them to not weep for him. It was his time to go. He had been scared but he wasn’t now.

Then, the strongest feeling he ever had. Hands, on his head. His father’s hands. He could feel them again, his father’s hands. If he had tears left, he would have cried out in joy. They traced his brows, a thumb gliding over his ear, fingers in his hair. He was safe, his father was here to bring him home, to lay him to rest.

His father always marveled at his hair, how it tangled around his fingers when he was a small boy. He would run his fingers through Perry’s hair until he fell asleep, at his father’s feet on the porch. Then he would be carried to bed, in his father’s steady arms. His father’s voice in his ear.

“Rest now, Perry.”

And then that was it, that was it. A roar so loud, it must have been God greeting him. Come home at last, a child weary from a long road.

[faust-fenter]

every road leads to an end

[perrycontreras-blog]

faust-fenter‌:

Faust struggled with the keys in the ignition, and let out a grunt of frustration when he realized that the engine was taking its sweet time to start up. It made sense- it hadn’t been used in years, and they really should have foreseen this, maybe they should have tried to jumpstart the engine before they…

Sudden movement broke him from his thoughts; he jolted as the truck began to cruise down the hill’s incline, gaining momentum. He let out a small laugh and glanced at one of the mirrors to see that Perry was jogging alongside the now-moving vehicle.

“I can barely believe this old thing hasn’t fallen apart yet,” Faust patted the dashboard, the action almost fond, “Guess you’ve never failed me, huh?”

As if in response to this, the engine finally roared to life. Faust grinned. He leaned out the open window to shout back to his companion.

“Hey, Perry! You can hop in n…” He trailed off and the smile vanished from his face. Perry was shouting something at him, panicked.

“What is it? What–” And that’s when he saw them.

A whole horde of infected headed straight for the truck. Headed straight for them. They were fast, and they were out for blood. It was a horrifying sight. Faust could barely process Perry’s pleas for him to go over the sound of his own heart racing.

Faust’s finally brain kicked into overdrive; he had to act now.

“Get in the truck!” He yelled at Perry, voice hoarse with urgency, “Get in the back– now!”

And with that, he gritted his teeth, slammed his foot on the gas pedal and prayed to god that Perry would reach the truck before anything reached him.

The truck was so damn close. But the impossible always seemed possible to the desperate, right? So Perry had no choice but try to run for the truck, no matter how impossible the odds. The Sprinters were gaining fast, the truck accelerating, and Perry knew, in that moment, he was going to die. As soon as the thought crossed his mind, he knew it was the truth. Regardless, his body took over when his mind failed. His hand was almost on the tailgate when he felt it. 

It was just like a goddamn dog bite. Perry almost let loose a hysterical sound. Maybe a laugh, maybe a scream, at that thought. He wasn’t sure what would have came out, if he wasn’t gasping for air. 

The lank frozen hair of the Sprinter brushed his neck. How strange, that the thing still had hair. The Sprinter tried to readjust its grip to get more than the chunk it already took out of his shoulder, fingers clawing at his jacket. It didn’t get far. Perry had his gun out. When he pulled it out, he didn’t know. But his pressed the muzzle to the forehead of the thing and pulled the trigger in quick succession. 

The powder burn kissed his neck, in a searing flash. The entire side of his head felt blown away by the sound. Did Perry shoot himself? He couldn’t be sure, his entire upper shoulder and neck was just one great ball of pain. The body thumped to the ground, noise small in the great rush. Perry used the last of his strength, hauling himself into the truck bed. Once he collapsed down against the cab, he had the sudden thought of throwing himself out. 

What if he turned on Faust?

He looked through the grimy window, at the shaking thin shoulders of the kid. He had a younger brother, right? He saw the kid all the time with Bobbi. God, they were heading back. Back into safety that he could shatter. Faust was screaming something, but he turned back and looked at the horde rapidly dwindling into the distance. They were already bringing the horde to their doorstep. He didn’t want to die out here alone, ripped apart by that mindless mass. 

The bite sent out a bolt of pain, lighting quick. Perry pressed his hand into the wound, he swore he could feel bone. The resulting groan punched all the air out of his lungs. He turned back towards Faust, gulping down air for a minute before he open his mouth. The words rushed out of him, just like the blood.

“This isn’t your fault, Faust. Remember that.” He thumped his head against the glass, unsure if the boy could hear his quaking voice. “This was my own damn fault. Don’t blame yourself.” The truck jostled and Perry couldn’t help but let out a whimper at the pain, his own blood coating his fingers. “When we get back... I don’t think I’m going to be awake. Well not awake enough to matter. I can’t hold on-it. It hurts too much. W-When we get back. Please. Please, get someone to shoot me. Sam or Minerva or Maddox. Someone who can take that burden. Tell everyone sorry. I’m so sorry, kid.”

All the talking exhausted him, the pain, the fear. Everything was too much. he just had to close his eyes, just for a minute. It would just be for a minute. When he woke up, he would see his family. He was sure of it. It would only be for a minute. 

[faust-fenter]

every road leads to an end

[perrycontreras-blog]

faust-fenter‌:

Faust furrowed his eyebrows in concentration. Following instructions took a lot of effort, especially with his unreliable memory, so multiple instructions were usually an issue. 

Faust knew these were life- or death instructions, though, so he repeated them to himself a few times for good measure. 

“Got it,” he told Perry, after a moment of processing what the man had said, “I’ll…do all that.”

He hopped into the cab of the truck. He had to brush some cobwebs off of the seat and wipe a thick layer of dust from the steering wheel, but other than that, the vehicle’s interior was exactly as he remembered it. There were old newspapers and conservation leaflets on the floor of the cab, aged and tattered, but still a remnant of the truck’s past life. From the rearview mirror dangled a pine air freshener, and a miniature dreamcatcher. 

Faust found himself smiling. At least he was taking a small part of home back with him.

“Ready to rumble,” he told Perry through the open window, as he put the truck in neutral.

Pushing the truck was easy. It might have been an old workhorse, but it was a raggedy and light one at that. Perry could have some sympathy. The day was quiet, had been quiet the whole way here, just the crunch of tires and Perry’s own labored breath come out of his chest. The slope built into a gentle hill, that they were cruising down now in the twilight. 

“Hey, Faust! Start it!”

Perry could hardly hold onto the truck with the momentum it had built. The truck spluttered and coughed, loud in the still and bare trees. His hand slipped, and Perry felt giddy, running alongside this old truck, like he was goofing off with one of his cousins back home, trying to get a beater truck to start. He let out a huff of laughter, but Perry’s attention was drawn towards something in the trees. 

Movement, and a lot of it. A crowd of the infected, massive in size. No other word could describe it. A horde. Perry slowed, falling back in shock from the iron hide of the truck, standing in the slushy trail it left behind, breathing out in gasps.

“Oh shit, oh shit. Oh shit.”

Then the truck jolted, and roared. The engine had started, but at the least desired moment. The horde tuned into the clatter of the engine, intent on the noise. Perry raced forward, trying to outpace the Sprinters hot on his heels.

“Faust, go kid! Go!”

[faust-fenter]

every road leads to an end

[perrycontreras-blog]

faust-fenter‌:

“He might be alive, yeah,” Faust murmured his agreement.

If anyone could survive out there, it was old Thys Fenter himself. Faust had no doubt his dad had set up a camp in the forest somewhere, living off the land like he’d always wanted to do. The thought brought Faust some comfort.

“I know that old bucket of bolts like the back of my hand,” Faust said, referring to the rusty truck, “So in theory, I should be able to figure out how to jumpstart it.”

He nodded to himself, giving his room one last, lingering look. He knew he was never going to see it again.

“Let’s get going.”

“Let’s get this old bucket of bolts on the road then, kid.” As they stepped out into the garage, Perry took a moment to listen. Seemed quiet outside, only the rustle of branches in wind echoing back. “And don’t give up hope yet. If he not found dead, then he’s not yet dead. Just... Don’t write yourself off as alone.” He opened the hood, checking to make sure no wires were gnawed on by creatures. Just an old bird nest, long abandoned.

“Okay engine looks undamaged,” Perry said. “Hop in the cab and put the keys in the ignition, but don’t turn them yet. Press down on the brake, and shift the truck into neutral.” He pointed just down the road. “There’s a slight slope there, so if we get down there, you’ll need to turn the key and pop the clutch into drive. It’ll be noisy so we’ll have to do it quick.”

[faust-fenter]

every road leads to an end

[perrycontreras-blog]

faust-fenter‌:

“I…was kinda hoping he’d still be here, waiting for me,” Faust explained, his voice only trembling slightly, “Guess I got my answer.”

Faust sniffed and hurriedly wiped at his eyes, hoping the older man hadn’t seen. No use crying; it had been too much to hope for. What was his dad going to do- sit around and collect a layer of dust, just like everything else in the house?

No, a part of Faust had known he wouldn’t find what was left of his family. Now he just had to come to grips with it.

He tucked the photo frame into his backpack, along with some expired medication he’d found in his cabinet. He considered the truck keys in his hand, and the little carved bear keychain that was attached to them. His sister had made it for their dad, years ago- the bear was a little wonky, but the ranger hat it wore still brought a small smile to Faust’s face .

“Here,” he tossed the keys towards Perry, “there should be enough gas in the tank to get us back home, hopefully. The engine might need jumpstarting, though.”

“He might not be here, but that doesn’t mean he isn’t still alive.” Perry felt like he might be getting Faust’s hopes up, but he held the same sort of hopes, deep inside his chest. “There wasn’t any sign of a struggle, just the average picked over nature of most houses now. He was alive when he left, most likely.”

He looked away for a moment, giving Faust the privacy of his emotions. “You know, I never looked for my family so—You’re doing good kid. You’re doing real good.” Coward, his mind whispered, you left them long before. Perry caught the keys, shaking off his introspection, feeling the keys in his hands. Faust’s father’s keys. “Okay, you’ve ever jumpstarted a manual? I’ll need you in the cab, cause I’ll be able to push the truck until it gets to a slope but you’ll need to steer until I can hop in.”

[faust-fenter]

every road leads to an end

@perrycontreras

Ransacked. 

That was one word to describe the park ranger’s house: completely and utterly ransacked. 

Faust barely felt a thing as he stepped over the threshold into the home, only an odd sense of emptiness. He quietly took it all in- the layer of dust that was covering the furniture, the dirt and the cockroaches and all the broken things, and the places where things should be, but no longer were. And he felt that lingering sense of emptiness in the house, felt it in his bones.

He moved on to check the bedrooms.

He found himself in the one room of the house that was, somehow, mostly untouched. Everything seemed to be as it had been left; the old cluttered desk, the sagging bookshelf, the broadway posters.

It was a few minutes later when he heard the creak of the door behind him, and the telltale sound of footsteps approaching him. Perry was no doubt coming in to check whether or not Faust had found what they’d been looking for.

“I found the keys to the truck,” Faust said, “I’m just…” he didn’t know how to explain. He just shrugged and showed Perry what he was holding; a cracked frame with a family photo in it. His own family photo.

“I guess I should have explained sooner,” Faust said, “that I used to live here.”

[perrycontreras-blog]

Being in abandoned houses always made Perry feel a particular kind of nostalgia mixed with sorrow. Seeing the framed pictures of children who would never grow up, smiles of a happier time frozen on their faces. The books lain aside on bedside tables, half read. Clothes, sitting in a hamper on the table, never to be folded. Lives, paused in the living, and never to resume. There were good objects still hidden in this place, a park ranger’s house that Faust had known about, but they all seemed too personal to take. He brushed his finger through the dust on the bookshelf, going to check on the boy who had brought him here. 

Faust was in a room he wouldn’t have looked out of place in, if he had lived in this now quiet and still house. Posters all over the walls, an unmade bed, bookshelves filled with the tell-tale mixture of chapter books and worn through picture books of a young teenager. Faust was holding something square. 

“Did you find the keys to that truck in the garage? I didn’t have any luck.” The boy replied in the affirmative. Then he showed him the object.

A picture frame, with- Perry breath was knocked from his chest, like he had been punched in the throat. This was Faust’s home. There was Faust, younger, and what must have been his father from the resemblance. The park ranger. Perry tore his eyes away, casting a wondering look around the room, the objects filling him with a new mix of sadness and respect. 

“I- You don’t have to explain anything, Faust.” He shrugged and clapped the boy on the shoulder. “I can understand why you wanted to come here.”

[blakescaptain]

Monty gave his life for us so we could have another chance and I’m not gonna let you destroy it… Octavia, my sister died a long time ago.

[marksmanmaddox]

     Dorian walked up the stairs from his room in the basement, a cup of coffee and a book in his hand. His eyes were sunken in and he had large bags under them, the truth of the matter that he hadn’t been sleeping properly. The cover of the book was torn and a bit water damaged, but the words inside were still readable. He took a seat in the living room of the shared household, deciding to sit near a window to use the natural light, rather than using power or a candle. The male sipped at his coffee, flipping open the book with one hand and beginning to read. The tattered cover reading ‘The Illiad’ - a favorite of his. 

@perrycontreras

[perrycontreras-blog]

Perry was already sitting the living room, waiting for his tea to brew. Chamomile, for stress. The leaves swirling in his tea looked nasty, but he couldn’t be picky about not having a tea envelope. Luxury now. He watched Dorian settle in with a book in lieu of watching the cup. Perry could barely make out the title of the book and he motioned at it. “Sing, O Goddess, the destructive wrath of Achilles.” Warriors, both of them, Dorian and Achilles. But Dorian wasn’t nearly as invulnerable. Perry could see the weariness on this soldier’s face. I wander thus, because sweet sleep sits not on mine eyes, but war and calamities of the Greeks are my care. “That’s a favorite I take it?”

[iincarnatus]

Open-Starter // Anna’s Gone // Cal’s workshop 

The building that made up Cal’s work space was nestled into a corner of the Sanctuary that nobody ever really bothered to visit. Except for the children who came to his blacksmithing 101 classes once a week. It was a place he knew he could be alone, if needed. With Anna having left the Sanctuary for the absurd reason listed in the letter she’d left him, he felt he needed to be alone now more than ever. 

The framed family photo sat on a table he’d used for creating sheaths and holsters. He paced back and forth in front of it as Anna’s letter rang through his head, unable to take his eyes off of the portrait. ‘You always took care of everything.’ 

There was a thunderous crash as he flipped the table and all that it held onto the floor in front of him. Still, the photo remained unscathed, gleaming even. Almost as if it was mocking him. ‘I understand, now, Cal, why you didn’t look for me out there.’ It wasn’t true, of course. Cal had left notes and carvings for Anna to find as a trail to the Sanctuary, otherwise she wouldn’t have found them. How could she abandon him and use the excuse that he was too good of a brother? She was always selfish…

He stalked himself over to the space that held the larger tools, unable to see anything other than the color red. He didn’t need to see much, though. He knew where every thing was in his little corner of the world. He gripped the handle of a sledgehammer, twirling it in his hand as his breath became more labored, the pure rage inside of him coming to a head. 

Finally, with an anguished yell, the sledgehammer catapulted it’s way onto the photo. The frame was destroyed, and the picture itself was scratched so badly it was almost unrecognizable, but that didn’t stop him from continuously bringing the hammer down onto it. The only remnants of his sister, now, were a letter, and a framed photograph broken up into tiny little pieces. 

[perrycontreras-blog]

With the sudden influx of new people in the Sanctuary it would be easy to miss the few they lost, either to death or simply leaving. But Perry still felt them. He had made it a personal mission to collect stories of survival and with each of those stories, a person came attached. A person with all their triumphs, losses, joy, secrets and guilt. God, that was the most gutting thing in each recollection they opened up to him about. The all consuming guilt, that ate and ate and ate. It was inescapable and omnipresent, the guilt of leaving and killing and surviving when so many others didn’t. 

Of course, Perry had his own guilt he had to carry, but he kept that enormity crammed and locked in a small box, shoved somewhere in the dark and dusty corner of his mind. He couldn’t let it overwhelm him, thinking of the hundreds of relatives and neighbors that he’d probably outlived. His own family—No, if he let that monster out of its box, he would be overwhelmed, he would freeze like all the ice around him. So he simply walked, trying to sort out the tangle of emotions he carried for others, who had offloaded their stories onto him to protect and write down, and ignore his own. 

His feet carried him, without conscious thought, to one of those who would be feeling that debilitating guilt. Cal. He had gone on a run with the man, dropped off kids from his care into the blacksmith’s, traded jokes over the mess table, drank themselves under those same tables. And over the course of all of that, his sister had come up as a topic. The blessings of reunion was one of the few and far between miracles they could witness now. And now, Anna was gone, left with scarce a word spoken to her brother from what he heard. 

Perry couldn’t imagine what that would feel like, to have something returned to you that was so dear, to vow to yourself to never let them go, and then to lose them. Perry approached the familiar door to the out of the way workshop, hand raised before dropping it. Cal probably didn’t want to see anyone right now. As he was turning to leave a resounding crash echoed from inside, followed by a primal scream of anguish. Perry wasn’t about to get between a man and his grief, but when the shattering of glass cut through, Perry knew he couldn’t ignore it. He didn’t want Cal to do something stupid in his loss. He flung open the door, to Cal attacking the a photo frame.

From what Perry could remember, it was a photo of Cal and his family. Goddamnit. “Cal, stop.” Perry ducked under the backswing of the hammer, ignoring the solid thump of it connecting with his shoulder, to wrap his arms around Cal, trying to halt his fury. “Cal stop it, stop it, man, you gotta stop.” He levered them down to the ground, bear hugging him, ignoring every twist and thrash of attempted escape. He spoke in a harsh low voice, wanting to break through the rage Cal was exhibiting. “C’mon Tonto, breaking shit? Shit you worked hard for? You’re better than this. Calm yourself, just breathe. Cal, I’m not letting you go until you talk through some of this shit you’re feeling right now, without breaking things. That’s not gonna help anyone in the long run. Talk to me man, I’m here.”

[blakescaptain]

This isn’t me tearing myself apart, okay. This is me being human. Feelings things when people I love are in trouble or die.

[perrycontreras-blog]

marslarx‌:

         Marley had not had the most wonderful time at the winter festival they had put on a short while ago. It brought about a sense of normalcy that was entirely unwanted to her; a feeling of disquiet that needed to be cured, one way or another. Finding someone to go on a run with her had been a blessing —just the thing to cure her of her cabin fever, so to speak. Though Perry and Mars lived in the same house, they hardly knew one another. She knew enough to know that she trusted the man, for the most part, which was all she could ask of from a partner. 

         “I’m itching for it.” She smiled, showing her teeth and lifting her brows in his direction. She carried a mostly-empty backpack, containing only the bare emergency supplies like qauze and duct tape, and a spare duffle bag if they found anything especially good, worth lugging back. She had a gun strapped to her waist in case of emergency, a long dagger strapped to the top of her thigh for easy access. “Let’s get a move on.”

Perry chuckled at her smile, shaking his head and standing up, hauling up his backpack from the ground. He was armed like her, he noticed, hoping that the implements would be enough to ward off any dangers. “After you, Mars.” He set off behind her, the gate of the Sanctuary rapidly disappearing behind him. With one last longing glance behind him, he set his eyes on the road ahead, the woman in front of him.

He had to wonder where she came from, his mind always wanting to know the history and stories. Maybe she was like him, coming from everywhere in a sense. Or maybe she came from nowhere, or at least nowhere she wanted to talk about. The first carcass of a rusted out car they passed made him focus again on their surroundings. “So what are you hoping to find?” It was spoken in a whisper, barely heard above the crunch of snow. 

[andtherewillcomesoftrains]

starter - open - the day after bobbi’s binge

the first thing bobbi did after waking up with the mother of all hangovers, was slip on the stairs and slide half way down on her ass. after laying on the stairs for several moments, counting the stars whirling through her vision, bobbi carefully slid down the rest of the way. her head was aching, the pounding in her head syncing with her heartbeat, and all bobbi wanted to do was vomit. but there was nothing in her system to vomit, and so, with knowledge gleamed from years of reading, bobbi tugged a beanie down low and trudged across the blindingly white snow towards the mess hall looking for something greasy.

[perrycontreras-blog]

Perry felt like absolute crap. Like his old Poppa had taken a switch to every inch of him, like that little ache from age seven had spread across his entire body instead of being concentrated in on his behind. His skull pounded and felt like it was about to split, but he still crouched in the snow, scrubbing his face with the sharpness of the ice, trying to banish it. Looking up, he spotted Bobbi, the woman trudging like she was carrying the weight of world on her forehead, or at least her hazy memories of what she had done at the party-which might be the same thing. Perry stood up gingerly, approaching her with careful steps and made sure to pitch his voice low and soft. “You regretting that last drink as much as I am?” 

[perrycontreras-blog]

Today was an off day, if there was ever a thing as an off day in the end of the world. Perry had already cleaned his room, and he only had committed to helping with the dinner duties, so his day was clear. No work on his plate, just reading some of the various books he had brought with him from the library and that they had found on runs. Right now, he was absorbed in a manual about car engines. Perry could picture the clanking and grinding of gears and pistons and belts, but some of the sounds in his head weren’t so imaginary. Just down the hall, from the stairs, muttered words and thumping echoed. To Perry’s ears, it sounded like Dex, his upstairs neighbor. He got up, throwing the book on his bed, before heading down the stairs. “Are you alright man? Need any help?”

@dexfitz

[perrycontreras-blog]

Perry was feeling a bit calmer this time. He had gone beyond the walls and returned just fine, so his hands weren’t shaking like they were before he and Cal went out. He simply sat against a wall, stomping his boots on occasion to keep his feet warm. The blizzard had passed but there was still lingering snow on the ground, and Perry had to wonder what they were going to find. They were heading to another nearby suburb, and instead of Cal, he was going with Mars. He had only talked to the younger woman in passing, she seemed amiable enough to work with, so Perry wasn’t too worried. He watched her approaching form, before calling out. “So you’re ready for this?”

@marslarx

[caraitaliadolcemeta-deactivated]

It had been hours. It had been an entire day, to be precise. The discussion was foolish and discussing with that child was senseless. She had so many arguments - intelligent ones, that would make you stop and reflect - it was hard to keep track when, as a grownup, all you’d think was: “wait, I’m the adult here, you should do as I say”. It didn’t work that way, not with her. Cheeky little one.

Every room has been searched, every furniture peeked into. People had been spoken to, folks got attentive to any sign of a little mischievous child sneaking around the Sanctuary. Yet there was nowhere else to look, except outside the walls. If that girl left this place, she would be grounded for a decade.

Shoving a hunting knife in the waistband of her ripped jeans, Morgan had her combat boots on and a backpack with a few supplies in it. She didn’t care what people said when they claimed a doctor should be inside - her daughter needed her and she would go out there to try and find her if necessary. That’s when the door opened and Claire ran inside, crying. She had a few scrapes on her arm, elbow and knee. A heavy sigh of relief left the woman’s lungs, her body still feeling shaky.

“Don’t fucking do that!” She exclaimed.

“Shit! Don’t-” she stopped, hand on her forehead in confusion and frustration. “Don’t say that word. Forget I said that. Go to your roo - sit there. No - come here, come.” Fuck, was she that bad of a mom?! Kneeling to the child’s height, she hugged her tightly, caressing her hair, then looked at her grazes. That’s when she noticed someone else standing by the door. “Were you the one who found her? Can I - can I get you anything? As a thank you.”

[perrycontreras-blog]

Perry had been walking through the dead garden beds, poking sadly at withered plants, turned black from frost. There wasn’t any way to save them, not with this winter, and the garden had become a failed dream. But life still played among it. A little girl, the daughter of that doctor, he thought, was leaping from raised bed to raised bed. She was laughing at the crunch under her boots, making it across another gap, exuberant and bright as a snowbank in sunlight. Perry watched with a faint smile, until the girl missed her next leap, crumpling against the base of one of the beds with a sharp cry. Perry sprinted forward, righting the upended girl, his hands traveling quickly over her limbs to make sure she hadn’t sprained anything or even worse, broken a bone.

She wasn’t hurt much more than scrapes, but she was still crying for her mother. Perry knew there wasn’t any calming her except for the person she was crying for, her mother. Perry picked her up, carrying her in his arms until he reached the her mother’s room. Just outside of the door, he set her down, and she ran in, her mother packed up with a bag, no doubt ready to go searching for her. Perry leaned against the door, grinning behind his hand at her—Morgan, he suddenly remembered—cursing and taking things back, indecisive in her relief. 

“Oh, huh. I don’t think you can get me anything. Unless you can bring back the sun, and I’m pretty sure you can’t do that, I don’t want anything.” He pushed off the door, stepping slightly inside the room. “But if you could teach me a little bit about first aid? I’ve been thinking about how it would be better if we have more people who know something, you know.”

[iincarnatus]

Closed starter / @perrycontreras / Supply Run

Cal had already packed up his rations for what he’d guessed would be the next few days. He hadn’t planned on staying out long, less than a week. He knew exactly where he was headed, there was a subdivision he’d saw not far from the Sanctuary that was pretty well kept for it being the end of the world. Get in, get out. 

Almost stalking his way to the front gates, he had his game face on. He wore a practical outfit on runs. Loosely fitted jeans for comfort and warmth, a long sleeve flannel shirt for the same reasons. He opted to keep the warmer jacket stuffed in his bag, knowing the restriction of the extra material could get him caught up in a situation he’d rather not be in. With his choice of an 11.5″ barrel AR15 in hand, he reached his already waiting run partner. Adjusting his backpack, he didn’t look Perry in the eye as he spoke, only straight ahead into the unknown.

“You ready for this, cowboy?” 

[perrycontreras-blog]

Perry was nervous, he wasn’t going to lie. His hands had been shaking for the last ten minutes, stuffed into his jacket’s pockets, but he kept firmly telling himself it was just from the cold. Not from the feeling of a gun barrel tucked into his waist, the cold metal pressed into his hip, or the prospect of leaving the relative safety of the walls. No, it was just the cold. And the cold was biting. He stamped his boots, hardly feeling his feet despite the thick wool socks they were encased in, and shrugged his shoulders, making sure the pack on his back was positioned correctly to not jangle or make noise, both in an effort to warm up. 

The brains behind this run was approaching. Cal, the blacksmith. He was the one who planned this run, Perry was just along as backup and an extra set of hands, a strong back to carry any supplies they found. He just hoped he wasn’t going to turn into deadweight. On seeing Cal’s outline approaching, his hands magically stopped shaking, making Perry sigh out a breath of relief. Maybe it was the prospect of not being alone out there that calmed him. Perry had a sudden gut feeling of ‘everything is going to be alright’ that he quickly tamped down on. Being overly confidant wasn’t going to help. Cal reached him, not looking too thrilled at the prospect of leaving the walls either. 

“Cowboy? Haven’t heard that one in a while. Does that make you Tonto?” Perry stopped himself, shaking his head in amusement at his nervous chatter as he walked next to Cal. “Yeah, as ready as I’ll ever be. Housing division, right?”

[perrycontreras-blog]

andtherewillcomesoftrains‌:

bobbi nodded absently, still focusing on the soft kisses of the snowflakes on her cheeks. the mention of crops, though, had her frowning deeply, and she turned to perry.

“last winter, nearly all the crops died. we lost two runners and a few others to disease. winter is going to be tough.”

Perry shivered. From the cold or the thought of so many dying in the dead of winter, he didn’t know. But he supposed that would be a reality now. People dying even though so many had died already. 

“We need to figure out how to make sure the crops work this winter. I wasn’t here, but I spent last winter cooped up in a library. Might have eaten paper. I don’t quite remember what happened, might have spent the majority of my time passed out, until a rat crept in and I ate it. That’s a weird story. Hope we don’t resort to that.”