Zoey often has trouble resting at night. Too many thoughts run through her mind. Memories, worries, the future, survival. Sometimes she just needs a gentle touch and another warm body to slow her mind.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Late Night Reflections
It was always nights like these that kept Zoey up. The low groans of zombies, the gags and belches of distant boomers, the weeping cries of a lone witch. It made it hard to stay sane sometimes. Traveling for days on end took much more than a toll on Zoey, really the whole group.
It’s night like this where Zoey stared at the shambling walls of some shitty motels. She tried to quiet her running thoughts with moments of the past, some of the present, many of the future. Either way she’s faced with the dark corners of her mind that slowly encroached and surrounded her. The boat was a bust, at least for now, the wind isn’t blowing right until maybe a month or so later. The other group of survivors somehow made it out of CEDA’s custody battered and bruised but alive. Both groups had nowhere to go and were more than stumped. Zoey had bristled at the thought of both the groups sticking together. More of well…everything. Food, supplies, Ammo. She didn’t know if they would have the resources to spare. They certainly weren’t her people. Nick was still bristly, Ellis was still…annoying, Coach and Rochelle were fine. But still, she didn’t know them.
Bill had told her to watch out for each other, to keep them safe. She promised she would and held it close to her heart and mind.
Louis was good at convincing though, and pleading. Those four had made it that long in hell, and they were able to take care of themselves. Zoey let them stay as she mulled over the decision. Francis wasn’t much on the side of the survivors but he begrudgingly agreed with Louis. But either way the two always looked to her for the final say, and usually they eventually made peace with it even if they didn’t prefer it. It’s been a few weeks since her final decision to let them stay, and she can’t say she regrets it…too much.
Nick turned out to be more amicable towards her, Louis, and Francis. If he ever did more barking than tolerable someone was quick to put him in his place. He’s certainly mellowed out, he definitely cared for his group, somehow bristled at the thought of not doing so.
Ellis was still…Ellis. But it was tolerable getting to know him. He stumbled through interactions with Zoey before asking her out. He was turned down, hard. Surprisingly he only sulked for three days before interacting with her like a normal person again. His stories weren’t as bad as she thought they were, amusing at its best and annoying at its worse. He was as harmless a jacked redneck standing at an impressive 5’7 could be.
Coach was probably her second favorite maybe. He was practically a pillar for both groups, wasn’t that hard when he was that big. He was boisterous, a 6’6 cheerleader who was exactly what his name suggests, a coach. He was fun to be around, despite being two decades older he was easy to joke with. They respected each other. She appreciated that.
Rochelle. Rochelle was nice. Warmth twisted Zoey’s body and soaked her. The older woman was more than useful, a voice of reason in the group with an amazing dry humor. She was good with a gun despite having never shot one before the infection, even had a bit of happy trigger finger. She was sweet but had a quick tongue. To say Zoey was crushing would be an understatement. Rochelle was beautiful. She remembers when they first met thinking how pretty she was before leading her to possible death. Zoey remembers thinking she was stunning when a boomer barfed all over her and left her to deal with a horde. After shoving her way through zombies and being backed up by everyone else she rubbed her eyes clean with Nick’s sleeve and despite the clear disgust etching her features she still laughed, bright and crazed. Zoey couldn’t help but crack her own smile at the scene.
They became friends shortly after their next meeting, being the last two women…maybe in miles (Zoey was still a bit hesitant to officially stamp on earth on the two) was something they could bond over. They also shared similar interests. Ro could handle a lot of Zoey’s ramblings when it came to movies and shooting techniques, Zoey could listen to Rochelle’s in depth rants about deeper meanings in movies and symbolism. Though Zoey still found puns a bit cheesy and usually only earned an exaggerated huff, Rochelle’s warmed her heart.
Being apart from the group filled her with an anxiety that hurt and ached every minute it dragged. She remembers the time Francis had to make a supply run alone once it was just the three of them. She hated every second of it because she was the one injured. Hunter tore her apart and did it well. Louis stayed with her to make sure she didn’t kick the bucket but she begged him in a haze to go with Francis. The whole time she was sat in the safe room bleeding out she only thought of the pain in her heart and mind. Only when Francis returned, hauling ass with a shopping cart with supplies, did she let some of her worries ease. Of course they rose again when she realized there was a large horde right behind him.
But something was different with Rochelle. She’s loved romantically plenty of times. Her best friend when she was little, her roommate's sister when she was in college…that one was awkward. Either way Rochelle was different. Hell everytime Rochelle had watch, Zoey stayed up even longer, just until she got back. This time was no different.
She curled in a bit tighter on herself, stained mattress rustling from the movement, the thin sheet covering most of her seeping with newfound cold. Her only other protection was some hoodie and sweats Coach had found during a run. Of course Rochelle would be back, but exhaustion was finally dragging into her mind and it felt like every minute was dragging on. Zoey’s pretty sure if she stayed up any longer she’d start seeing shit.
Thankfully the quiet creak of the bedroom door was like the trumpets sounding soldiers home. Rochelle shuffled into the shared bedroom and all but collapsed onto the mattress. The moon barely filtered through the dark room, just enough to see the wide smile on her face. She sighed as she slid under the thin blanket and shifted a bit closer to Zoey. Ro took watch with Ellis, and one thing about Rochelle is that mixed with fatigue she gets giggly, and Ellis is possibly the easiest entertainment you can get in the zombie apocalypse. If Zoey had been paying a bit more attention she maybe would’ve been able to hear Rochelle’s near manic giggles.
Zoey shuts her eyes as Rochelle presses against her back and presses featherlight kisses to the back of her neck. Her breath tickles the back of her hair and warms her up. “Still up?” Ro’s voice is laced with sleepiness but still rumbles with joy.
“Mmm, no?” That gets a small huff of laughter from Rochelle. Zoey cracks a small smile and leans back into Rochelle.
“You should get some rest,” her own yawn interrupted her soft chiding, “We’ll be moving again tomorrow.” Zoey knows that. She and Coach were the ones who made the plan, set up the move, figured where they were to next.
Rochelle wrapped her arms around Zoey and soothed her hand over her hip. She couldn’t argue with rest, not when Rochelle was already drifting off, not when her own mind ached with thoughts and exhaustion. “I know. You should too.” She gets an amused grumble in reply, almost as to say she’s already doing so, only waiting on Zoey to relax first.
So she tries her best to quiet a mind whose only gotten worse since the beginning of the infection. Zoey evens her breathing and tries to remember what it meant to relax, and brings their hands together to intertwine. She hears a soft ‘goodnight’ and mumbles her own back. Zoey knows tomorrow her mind can’t be crowded with thoughts like this, only the survival of a group she’s come to know as family and shitty references she’ll belt off before her brain catches up. She takes a sliver of comfort in that.
