(no subject)

[graveyardboots]

The bombs fall and they hide in a church. Pope declares them chosen and it fits with what Mancea hears; the voice he hears now in the place of the scream of bombs falling.

Then the bombs keep falling and they get separated. He takes Gabe and a corpsman and he runs for the woods. It's instinctive. The corpsman is injured, though, and Mancea finds them a cabin to rest in. But the prognosis isn't good.

"What will we do?" he asks Gabe quietly one night. "I don't think I can save her. God says she is meant for paradise."

Comments

[minuteofangle]

How do we know? Gabe doesn’t ask, though. He fears, quietly, that the answer might be God told Mancea. And if that’s the case, both of them will have to live with that scaffolding for the aftermath. There won’t be any coming back from that.

Gabe rests his head against Mancea’s shoulder, breathing out slow.

“And if it’s overrun?”

Gabe has a big stick and some knives. But even Mancea’s not bold or optimistic enough to give him a gun and expect that to end well. If there’s trouble, and there will certainly be some fucking trouble, Gabe won’t be much help in dealing with it.

[graveyardboots]

"If it's overrun we turn back. We come back to Vickers." He won't risk Gabe, and he's not ready to think he could handle it all on his own.

[minuteofangle]

“Okay.”

Gabe closes his eyes, breathing out slow. He died t like the idea of leaving anyone behind, but why choice do they have here? Vickers is dying. There’s a chance they could do something about that.

“You hurt?” he asks abruptly. Things have been moving so fast, Gabe worries suddenly that he’s missed something.

[graveyardboots]

Reluctantly he pulls his shirt up to show a nasty cut all along his ribs. He guides Gabe's hand along it so he can feel it.

"I need to clean it," he says. Probably sew it, too, but he's not hopeful that they'll find a way to do that.

[minuteofangle]

Gabe tilts his head, frowning as he feels out the shape of the wound. He hadn’t noticed from the way Mancea was walking. He should have.

“It doesn’t feel infected yet,” he says after a moment. “Use some of the water in my canteen.”

Better to use it now and avoid an infection on top of everything.

[graveyardboots]

He's reluctant to do that--dehydration is dangerous and he doesn't want to take what Gabe has. But there's no clean water around, and it needs to be cleaned.

He rinses the wound, gets it bleeding fresh. "With luck we'll get antiseptic from the hospital," he says. God will allow them that, won't He?

[minuteofangle]

With luck, he says. Gabe tightens his jaw and rubs at it to try and release some tension. His jaw’s been popping lately, an unpleasant revelation about what anxiety and bad thoughts can manifest in the body. With luck and the grace of God. Only Gabe was raised Catholic and he knows a thing or two about what God loves, most of it written by suffering. It’s never enough. Only the martyrs ever got to be done.

“We’ll go tomorrow,” he says instead of agreeing. “You’ll see what you see and we’ll assess.”

Maybe they’ll get supplies. Maybe it’ll be a dangerous waste of time. They won’t know until they know. Gabe, a cynic at heart, nonetheless refuses to die easily.

[graveyardboots]

"We'll leave at first light," he agrees, though he'd love to go now. It's too risky though. God would protect them but God doesn't like being tested.

"Are you okay?" He reaches out, hand resting on Gabe's cheek.

[minuteofangle]

Gabe closes his eyes and presses quietly into Mancea’s hand. It’s been years since they’ve touched each other like this. A long line of waiting and dreaming and thinking of the day they might again be equals in rank. And then that day came and the world died before they could do anything about it. He wonders if that counts as irony.

“I need saline,” he admits unhappily. It’s such a bullshit thing to need. “For my eyes.”

He needs to flush the sockets or risk infection.

[graveyardboots]

He's longed for so many years to touch Gabe again. Now that he is he doesn't pull away.

"I'll get it for you," he promises. If not at the hospital then at a grocery store or a convenience store, there are places still to loot. They haven't come this far to lose Gabe now. "How soon do you need it?"

[minuteofangle]

"I can hold off for a day or two if I push it."

He kisses Mancea's palm. No one's there to stop him.

"I'd have to stop wearing the prosthetics without it," he admits. And there are risks to not flushing the sockets. He can survive them, but it's still a danger. That, and any fucker out there in the world will know he's blind. Will start making a different sort of threat calculus.

[graveyardboots]

"You won't have to," he promises. They need every little advantage they can grasp.

Everything since the bombs fell has had him feeling raw and reeling. But Gabe's touch steadies him. He leans forward, touching his forehead to Gabe's. Just for a moment, that's all he needs.

"I'm glad I'm with you."

[minuteofangle]

They haven’t touched in years. Nothing real, anyway, nothing that would matter. Propriety, rules, those lines in the sand. It matters, Gabe knows, or it did, and now so little matters at all. The polite rules abandoned them in the fires. Pope says God didn’t, though, and now Mancea’s forehead is flush to his own. All that’s old is new again.

Gabe tries a crooked smile. “You still trust me?”

[graveyardboots]

"Always." And for the first time since news broke that the dead were rising, he can smile. "Nothing changes that."

[minuteofangle]

Gabe smiles, too. Just a little. Even in the middle of all this, he isn't alone. Maybe God's looking down on him kindly just this once.

"I have you. And you have me. Same as always."

[graveyardboots]

I still love you, he thinks, but it isn't the time to say it, is it? Instead he just strokes Gabe's cheek before he pulls back.

"Let's try to get some rest. I'll take first watch."

[minuteofangle]

"Yeah," Gabe agrees, too tired to argue. They're relatively safe, at least for the moment. There are walls, no moaning dead trying to eat them. Mancea's injuries aren't severe - yet. Vickers isn't dead yet.

That could change. It might tomorrow. Gabe doesn't have much faith in God these days, but he believes in Mancea. He believes in what the two of them can do together.

"Wake me when it's my turn," Gabe murmurs, and shifts to settle back in his chair. He holds Vicker's hand.

[graveyardboots]

Mancea puts another log on the little fire they have going, determined to keep Vickers warm even if they can't do much else for her. And then he patrols the perimeter, murmuring little prayers, seeing if God will answer with a voice like He did in the church. Like He had that morning when Mancea asked about the hospital.

Eight hours later he wakes Gabe. "It's not long before dawn," he murmurs. "Wake me in two hours."

[minuteofangle]

This time, no dreams follow Gabe. He closes his eyes and he’s just gone, lost inside himself. Too exhausted even for anxiety to take him down the road.

He stirs with a groan, rubbing at his face. Hungry as fuck. “You let me sleep too long,” he murmurs. “Asshole.”

There’s not much venom, though. He understands the impulse.

[graveyardboots]

"You needed it," Mancea says. Pacing all night was good for him; his head feels clear even if he's ready to sleep for a hundred years now. "I have a granola bar in my pack if you want it."

[minuteofangle]

We both need it, Gabe doesn’t say. He stands himself up carefully, ins hand braced against the wall to steady himself. His white cane got lost in the chaos but he’s got a big stick that’s almost as good; he doesn’t reach for it, though. Not quite yet.

“Split it with me. We need the calories.”

And he’s not in the mood to humor Mancea’s impulses toward self sacrifice. Not today.

[graveyardboots]

Anyone else and Mancea would have argued or insisted or even ordered them to take the whole thing. But Gabe won't abide that, and he knows it, so he breaks it in half and offers it.

"We should savor it. I have a feeling it will be some time before we have chocolate chips again."

[minuteofangle]

No argument—good. Gabe sighs, acknowledging the sad fucking truth that they probably won’t have chocolate for a while or maybe ever again. He eats his half of the bar slowly, savoring the taste, thankful that it’s not stale enough they need to soak that shit in water to soften it up.

The chocolate tastes damn good.

“World’s different now, isn’t it?”

[graveyardboots]

"Different," he agrees, chewing slowly. "But not gone yet."

God is still there. Louder than ever before. That means something.

"The others made it out. Once Vickers is stable we'll start looking for them."

[minuteofangle]

"Not yet," Gabe agrees. And in that there's possibility if not precisely hope. Gabe's never been one to hit a wall and give up. It's cost him sometimes. He's taken more scars because of it. But he's still alive, in the end.

That's something, right?

He shifts to bump his arm against Mancea's. "Maybe you got faith enough for both of us."

He thinks Vickers is going to die. But maybe not. They'll operate like she'll make it until she doesn't.