EXTINCTION EVENT

chapter nine: no atheists in foxholes

[ original episode ]

DAY 08

Nothing happened of any particular note while getting rations. Nothing ever did, but Katie would spend at least an hour debriefing her just to be sure. As if she couldn't trust Meghan's word.

Meghan glanced down at the reusable bag which carried their rations as she walked back to their house, mentally tallying the contents within. It didn't look like they'd cut down on any of their supplies like her mother had worried they might, but she'd double-check to be sure. Then her mother would check again, because of course she would.

It was frustrating —everything about this, but especially the fact that she'd gone from being her mother's trusted lieutenant to foot soldier all because of one screw-up back at the dorm. Realistically, she knew it was coming for awhile. Katie had been building up a reservoir of resentment ever since she made the decision to study across the country at UCLA against her wishes.

Her hands stung, the hard canvas of the bag strap digging deep into the pads of her fingers. She shifted the bag over to her other hand, and glared down at the ground as Holly tugged at her leash. If all this happened before she left, the pain wouldn't be cause for so much as a blink. It was pitiful, how calluses she'd built up over months and years of nocking arrows and switching out bow strings had been undone over just a few weeks away at college.

Her jaw involuntarily clenched as she trudged on, making sure to plaster a smile on as she passed by her new neighbors on her tour around the block.

By her estimates, the average house spanned about 40 feet in length, and the distance between each house was an average of fifteen feet.

From this, she'd figured the distance between their house and the military pick-up for rations to be roughly half a mile, but she'd pushed that distance further each day as she continued to map the surrounding neighborhood. Her slow circumference of the El Sereno neighborhood had gone unnoticed by her family, and to her knowledge, everyone else. She'd been careful not to alert her mother or sister to her activities, only mapping about a half mile in excess each day.

So far, she'd plotted out about two miles, but she estimated there were at least a couple more she hadn't seen yet, making the neighborhood roughly four square miles total.

Meghan's arm jerked taut and she stumbled, almost dropping the bag as Holly tugged her roughly forward.

"Holly!" Meghan snapped, readjusting her left arm so the rations wouldn't spill all over the ground. Yet another screw-up for Mum to use against me, she thought darkly. The lab ignored her protests, and jerked once again at the lead, straining to get over towards whatever had caught her interest.

Meghan half-jogged (and was half-dragged) over to the object of her dog's fascination. Her forehead wrinkled as she glanced it over, dubious.

It was a noticeboard. Cork, somewhat blocked off via wooden slats fixed to the sides, and slanted at the top to protect against the elements. It seemed as if there had once been a protective layer of glass or hard plastic covering the cork, but it had since been stripped off. Presumably to allow the neighborhood access to the board, which they had taken full advantage of.

Meghan's stomach twisted uncomfortably as she began to seriously read over what she'd at first assumed to be the typical cul-de-sac bulletins. Notices for neighborhood potlucks and new city ordinances had been plastered over with hand-lettered missing posters. A great-aunt, last seen at the downtown nursing home. A son sent to sleep-away camp.

Childhood toys, keychains, and baubles were pinned tight against flyers and strung against the wooden siding. Someone had even left flowers, now half-wilted and crushed underfoot beneath the message board.

It was a wall of ghosts. The last desperate attempts of a people holding tight for a miracle.

A split second scan of the bulletin temporarily deceived her, and Meghan froze as silky hair, doe eyes, and a dimpled smile hung black-and-white amongst the flyers. Dark eyes snapped back to the poster, shoulders and back struck rigid at the sight, only to sag as the woman's full features came into view.

It wasn't Caitlyn. Of course it wasn't. It was someone's cousin, living in the neighboring town of Boyle Heights. Whoever put the poster up apparently had hopes that the soldiers might take note, and search for her on their next expedition.

No one here but her even knew about Caitlyn. No one knew how she'd abandoned her.

How she'd just left her to die.

All at once, the pictures seemed watchful, leering over at her — the great aunt's smile was too wide, there were too many teeth. The son followed her every movement, his eyes latched onto her throat like he was ready to tear it open.

Caitlyn and Georgie, washed out in 8x11 black and white with blank eyes and gaping mouths, black ink dripping from split lips, chunks of flesh buried under their nail beds, hanging over her with outstretched claws ready to scrape a line across her pulse point —

Meghan paused. She'd been digging her nails hard enough into her palms to sting without realizing. She took the time to purposefully unclench her hands, and loosen her formerly tense jaw and gritted teeth. In times of stress or aggravation, her body tended to lock up — a nervous habit she'd never been able to shake. Biting her cheeks, her lips, pinching her skin til it bruised. It was easier to hurt herself with her own sublimated pain than hurt others with their release.

It was moments like these Meghan considered smoking. There was no better time than now. After all, what was a little hedonism compared to the end of the world, right?

Still, it wasn't something she'd ever do. It went against her worldview. In her opinion, suffering was inextricable from the nature of survival. Distractions such as drinking or smoking only served as temporary pleasures, placebos of the human condition. They made you weaker in the long run.

These days, she couldn't afford to be weak.

"Looking for someone?"

Meghan startled at the voice, pivoting on one foot to face the stranger, eyes sweeping them as she mentally chastised herself. She hadn't even noticed anyone was there. Sloppy, a voice hissed in the back of her mind. Weak.

Luckily, despite the fog clouding her mind and dulling her response time, her muscles had given into years of memory and positioned accordingly. Body angled away, one foot forward, one back. Her bag was clenched tight in her non-dominant hand, far enough away that she could block with her right, then swing it as a weapon once the woman got close.

Well, she would block with her left, if it wasn't preoccupied trying to keep Holly from borderline tackling the woman in a lab-fueled attempt at making another friend. Holly yanked at the leash again, and Meghan was sent off-balance, stumbling forward as Holly bounded ahead to greet the stranger.

Oh, hell. What was even the point of those self-defense lessons she'd taken at the gym, anyway? Clearly they were rendered useless against a single dog. Crouching tiger, hidden badass, meet Meghan Darcy: Crouching tiger, hidden dumbass.

The stranger seemed to find whatever borderline horrified expression she wore hilarious, and covered her laugh with a carefully manicured hand. "Sorry," she smiled widely before leaning down to pet Holly. "I didn't mean to startle you."

Meghan leveled a glare at the dog, who by now didn't care about her opinion. Clearly, she'd gotten what she'd been after. "It's fine," she sighed, shunting her irritation at the dog aside. "Just startled me a little."

The woman seemed innocent enough, upon further inspection. She seemed to be young, maybe in her late twenties. She was tall, with probably an inch on the tallest member of the Darcy family, and soft, with warm dark eyes and a gentle manner. Her simple but feminine dress and cardigan were loose enough to not be completely form fitting without becoming baggy, and her dark hair was tied back and plaited in a half up hairstyle that she clearly took care in.

Meghan suddenly felt subconscious and under-dressed in her ponytail and jeans combo. Were you even able to be under-dressed in the apocalypse? Maybe she was the first one.

"I hope I didn't scare you too badly," the girl smiled, scratching the traitorous canine behind the ears as Holly rubbed against her legs. "You just seemed so fixated on the board, I wondered if you had seen anyone you knew. Nosy, I know."

"It's alright," Meghan dismissed her self-deprecating remark. "Not like there's much else going on inside here, anyway," she paused, then spoke again, choosing her words while maintaining a careful neutrality. "And no — I thought I might have recognized someone, but I was wrong. Just seeing things, I guess."

"Maybe it's for the best," the woman remarked before giving way to a sigh. "It almost reminds me of an ofrenda, in a way."

"Offerings for the dead?" Meghan double-checked, receiving an affirmative hum from the woman beside, and considered it. "I can't say I disagree, but I doubt the people who put these up had that in mind."

"They're still holding out hope for their loved ones to return, in one form or another," she replied. "In times of doubt, people return to what they know, no matter how hopeless it might seem. I suppose I just see more similarities than differences."

"I can understand that, I guess," the younger girl shrugged. "No atheists in foxholes, right? My name is Meghan, by the way," she belatedly introduced herself. "Sorry, I forgot to mention earlier."

"It's fine, I did too. I'm Ofelia," the woman introduced. "It's strange," she turned back to the board, her brows furrowing as she studied it. "How fast everything changed. Feels like we're in a different world than the one we lived in a few days ago."

Meghan hesitated, then spoke up. "Are you looking for anyone? In these photos, I mean."

"No," she admitted. "Just needed to get away for a minute."

Her mother, tap-tap-tapping away at the kitchen counter, tallying up the number of soldiers and their vehicles. Footsteps echoing around the house night after night, double-checking every lock and door. The stores built up in their bedroom closet that grew larger day after day.

"I understand that, too," Meghan said quietly.

Ofelia's eyes crinkled at the corners in concern before she closed them, letting out a slightly forced laugh. "Sorry," she apologized, her eyes darting down as she played with her necklace. "I didn't mean to get into such a heavy topic."

"You don't need to keep apologizing," Meghan frowned, glaring down at her boots.

I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. Apologies did nothing to solve anyone's problems. It was just an attempt to relieve your own guilt, get the other party to go easy on you. To not be mad, or yell, or scream.

It never worked, so why bother even saying it?

"...I was about to say I'm sorry, but that defeats the purpose of what you just said, doesn't it?" Ofelia's voice was light, an attempt at levity that Meghan could appreciate.

She snorted — an abrupt sound she didn't have time to stifle. "Yeah, it would," she agreed. Meghan glanced over, to the plain silver crucifix Ofelia was fingering at her throat.

"I am sorry for dumping this on you," Ofelia did apologize, waving off Meghan's burgeoning protests. "I am. It's not exactly a good first impression, you know. Still, I'm glad I was at least able to talk about it."

The younger girl eyed the woman's pendant. "You're Catholic, right?"

"Yes," she confirmed.

"That has to be some comfort at least. Having something more to turn to during all this," Meghan said, her attempt at consolation.

"It has been, especially for my mother." Ofelia paused, and took a breath before she admitted, "She got injured the night of the riots, and the soldiers can't say when she'll get medical attention. We're living with a nurse right now who's been able to give her help, but she needs a doctor. It's been hard lately to keep faith, with everything going on. It's hard to imagine a kind God allowing this to happen."

"Not really," Meghan said, not unkindly. She shrugged. "I mean, He was the one who sent down the Ten Plagues and the Flood, right? It's not always sunshine and rainbows with Him."

"You're a non-believer?" the older girl questioned.

"No, I believe," Meghan affirmed. "I just don't put much stock in the idea that people always get what they deserve." Realizing what she'd said, she turned to the girl with a look of regret. "I'm so sorry," she apologized. "I didn't mean to turn this into a debate. Truth be told, those questions have been on my mind a lot lately, too. It's hard to imagine how different everything was just a few days ago."

Ofelia hummed in agreement. "It feels like another life," she said. "Can't believe it was only a few days ago I was helping my dad around his barbershop. And it's alright — I think everyone's a bit on-edge these days. Most people's lives have been turned upside down. It's only natural to start questioning everything you thought you knew." Her shoulders slumped. "I suppose it's easy to stay strong and keep the faith when it's unchallenged."

"That's one way to look at it," Meghan started. "Sometimes in times of struggle, faith can be the most important thing you have." Ofelia turned to the younger girl, who gave her an encouraging smile. "Your mom has a nurse looking after her, plus you and your dad, and doctors are on the way, right? That means she's already better off than at least 90% of people in this city. I'm sure she'll pull through," she hesitated, then continued. Mum said to integrate, right? They needed allies. "And in the meantime, if you ever need help, my family's right around the corner."

Ofelia smiled gratefully. "I don't know how my parents would feel about that," she admitted. "They're very proud — and stubborn, especially my father. They don't like accepting help from strangers."

"Sounds just like my Mum," Meghan quipped. "They'll be great friends."

"I wouldn't be so sure," Ofelia let out a brief laugh. "Unless your mother trends on the side of isolationist and paranoid."

Meghan laughed along with her as they started down the street towards their respective houses. You have no idea.

✖  ✖  ✖

The knock at the door came like an ice cube running down their spines, a cold chill running through them as it echoed through the entryway. Katie and Heather froze up in their places in the kitchen, waiting with bated breath as they shared a panicked look.

It wasn't Meghan — she always knocked out a quick beat to the tune of 'Shave and a Haircut' when she arrived back home, so they'd know it was her and not someone else.

The soldiers had already been by that morning. Had they found them to be infected, or feverish? Did something happen to Meghan while she was out?

Was there a breach in the fences?

The knocks came again, more insistent.

Heather's eyes darted over to the door, and she turned, carefully placing one foot ahead of the other before Katie yanked her back, grip bruising against her injured wrist.

Heather bit down on a cry and smacked her mother's hand away before sending her a dirty look. Katie's eyebrows creased in silent apology before her gaze darted to the door again. She motioned for Heather to stay where she was and headed to the door.

Katie checked out the peephole — the man on the front steps was tall, and broad-shouldered, clad in a casual get-up of a plaid shirt, jeans, and work boots. He didn't look military. He seemed to be one of their neighbors.

Judging it to be safe, Katie opened the door, adopting a pleasant look on her face as she greeted him.

"Hello," she greeted. "Sorry for not answering the door — I was doing some chores and didn't hear you the first time."

"Oh, that's fine, you don't have to apologize," the man insisted, then gestured down the road. "I'm Travis Manawa — we live just down the way, a few houses down. I noticed you all coming and going and didn't recognize you, wanted to welcome you to the neighborhood. Is it alright if I come in?"

"Sure, come right in," Katie stepped aside and brought Travis in, then offered to get his coat, which he declined. "I'm Katie Darcy, I guess you could say we're new to the area."

"Did the Wallers sell the place?"

"No," Katie denied. "We just came down to visit and rented the place as an AirBnB. I haven't heard from the Wallers since everything shut down."

"That's too bad, they're a nice couple. I'm glad you were able to find a safe place to stay during all this, it can't have been what you had in mind for your vacation," Travis joked.

"It certainly wasn't," Katie smiled along.

Behind her, the floorboard creaked as Heather poked her head out, curious as to who the stranger was her mother had brought inside.

"This is my daughter, Heather," Katie introduced her to the man. "Heather, this is Travis, he came to welcome us to the neighborhood. Isn't that nice?" Katie finished in a tone that Heather interpreted as, 'Time for your best Stepford act, because we're going to be playing Happy Families until this guy leaves.'

No one could ever claim Heather to be anything other than socially adept. She smiled brightly and reached out her non-injured hand to shake Travis's. "It's nice to meet you, thanks for coming by."

"Thank you, it's nice to meet you too." Travis's dark eyes fell on Heather's bandaged hand, and Heather winced as his grip suddenly tightened, then pulled away sharply. What looked like fear flashed across his face before settling back into a strained attempt at a poker face. "How'd you hurt your hand?" he inquired, and Katie didn't miss the way he stumbled over his words, sending Heather a quick apprehensive glance.

For her part, she didn't break character. No matter what this guy did or didn't know, that didn't change their story. "Broke a dish," Heather answered, scuffing her foot against the entryway rug, a perfect impression of teenage sheepishness. "Tried to pick up the pieces so Mum wouldn't find out but I ended up cutting myself. Stupid, right?"

The tension ebbed out of Travis's shoulders, and he gave a polite, almost relieved laugh. "Only a little bit, but that's normal at your age. How old are you, anyway?"

"Fifteen," Heather answered, her eyes briefly darting to meet Katie's. He definitely knew something, the question was what.

"Oh, my kids are about your age," Travis shared. "Chris, he's sixteen, and my step-daughter, Alicia, she's seventeen. Actually, you could meet them if you want — my ex-wife, Liza, she's a nurse, and staying with us for now. She could take a look at your hand, make sure it's clean, and you, Alicia, Chris, could hang out."

Heather looked again to Katie, searching for a hint as to how she should respond, but was unable to read her expression. "We wouldn't want to bother you," Heather said instead, apologetic.

"It's no bother," Travis assured. "You're new to the community, and considering everything that's going on, it would be good for you to get to know some people here. You two can come, stay for dinner."

Katie took the pause to interject. "It's not just the two of us — my oldest is out getting rations, she'll be back soon."

Travis took it with ease. "More the merrier. We have a pretty full house at the moment, anyway, a few more won't break the bank."

"Well, then, that would be lovely," Katie smiled brightly, and Heather mimicked the expression, though it felt strained. "What time should we come over?"

"How about seven?" he offered.

"Seven it is then," Katie agreed. "Thank you so much for coming over, Travis, it was great to meet you."

"Same here, I'll see you at seven."

As soon as he left, Katie was all over the place — locking the door, then re-locking it, drawing the blinds tightly shut only to peek out of them a moment later, then by the coffee table, absently fussing with the couch pillows. "Did you see the way he reacted to your hand?"

"Felt it, more like," Heather scoffed out, watching her mother flit around the living room as she leaned against the archway separating the room from the entryway. "Might as well have slammed my hand in the fridge door, it would've been about as friendly."

Instantly, a look of concern overtook Katie's face, head whipping back towards her daughter. "Is your hand okay? Did he hurt you?"

"It's fine, just freaked me out a little." Heather waited while Katie watched Travis walk down the street, peeking through the curtains. "You think he knows?"

"He knows something," Katie murmured. "And I've seen him around, too. He seems to be friendly with the military — a Mr. Rogers type."

"You think they told him about what's out there?" Heather asked curiously. From what she could tell, the soldiers were notoriously tight lipped. She doubted most of the Safe Zone even knew what it was they were screening for each morning — they hadn't shared anything about the virus, if it even was a virus.

"That's what we're going to find out," Katie pulled away from the curtains. "Go to your room, get an outfit together and start getting ready."

Heather blinked in confusion. "It's not even nine."

At this, Katie only sent her daughter an expectant stare.

The girl sighed internally. "Got it, I'll get my stuff together."

✖  ✖  ✖

One would assume that in the middle of a government containment zone (or the Safe Zone, as it was now being called) at the beginning of what seemed to be the end of the world, you wouldn't worry so much about appearances.

One would be dead wrong.

For better or worse, Katie took the dinner invitation as a call to arms, and tore the house apart finding the perfect outfits for each of the girls, which Meghan was quickly roped into as soon as she stepped through the door.

It was a lucky thing that Meghan preferred to dress in a fairly conservative manner more befitting an accounting firm than a college campus — there was no shortage of formal clothes for Heather to choose from.

However, when she mentioned this to her older sister, the only reply she received was that of a pillow to the face chucked from across the room.

Heather eventually waddled out in a pair of Meghan's pilfered plaid Bermuda shorts, startlingly short on her longer legs, a striped work shirt buttoned all the way to her chin, and the most disgruntled expression Meghan had ever seen on the girl.

For her part, the older girl tried her best to suppress her snort, though Heather caught on, giving her a withering look. From the other room, Katie yelled for Heather to come in so she could model for her.

Heather stared her down. "Kill me."

Meghan shook her head, corners of her mouth still creased up in a knowing grin as she leaned in and whispered conspiratorially, "I need you alive to kill me."

Meghan was forced into four outfits before she finally put her foot down and insisted they choose. This rebellion was almost immediately quashed, however — so effectively that Stalin and Castro might have taken notes — and Meghan was further made to model around five more outfits before Katie settled on something she deemed appropriate for the occasion.

This turned out to be a simple belted white cotton skirt, with a pale blue button up short sleeved top, and her sneakers. A source of disappointment for her mother, who'd hoped for a more put-together look, but Meghan didn't have time to pack any other shoes besides her black work boots, which were unacceptable for the occasion, especially as she'd worn them the night of their escape.

Heather (actually Katie) also managed to settle on an outfit for the occasion, and donned a short sleeved striped t-shirt dress she'd packed, and a lightweight pink cardigan.

Heather's hair was carefully done up in a half-up hairstyle, and fell in delicate beach waves. Meghan opted to straighten her own hair, and left it loose but styled.

An hour later, Katie walked out confidently, sporting a pastel polo top with a coral sweater thrown over her shoulder, a pair of tan chinos, and simple wedge sandals.

She noticed her youngest daughter staring, and shot her a look. "What?"

"You forgot your golf club," Heather remarked. It was true — her mother looked more suited to a nine-hole course than a casual dinner.

Katie rolled her eyes at her daughter's antics. "Don't be a smart-ass. And don't touch your face, it'll rub off."

"That's pretty ominous out of context," Heather mumbled as she brought her hand down, resisting the even greater urge to scratch at her cheek.

Katie sent her a warning look, then shooed both girls outside the house as they started down the road, leaving Holly at home, where she was sure to sulk about being left out of the festivities.

As upset as she was, they couldn't bring her. Holly was a dog, and more than that, a lab — and rarely well-behaved around food. As the saying went, you could trust a lab with your life, just not your lunch.

Travis's home was across the road from them, and like he stated, only a few houses down just by the street corner. Similarly to many of the other houses on the road, it was one story, a sandy beige with a simple porch, which was partially shaded by the thin tree situated firmly in the center of their yard.

"2052," Katie read off the the slanted numbers on the side of the house before giving a few knocks at the door. "This must be it."

"This is Ofelia's house," Meghan noted with some surprise.

"Who?" Katie asked, turning to her briefly.

"Nothing, I just met her earlier today getting our rations. She lives here, too."

Before Meghan could elaborate, a tan woman with a dark fringe greeted them at the door. "You must be the Darcys," she said brightly. "Travis said you'd be joining us tonight. Come right in!"

"Thank you," Katie said, then paused as the woman substituted her name in.

"Liza."

"Thank you, Liza, I'm Katie. These are my daughters, Meghan, and Heather."

"Heather, your hand is cut, isn't it?" Liza double-checked as they walked towards the living area of the house. At Heather's affirmation, she continued. "We can take a look at that after dinner, but since you only cut it on a dish, I'm sure it's fine. Still, always good to make sure."

To make enough space for the 'full house' as Travis had called it, they had pushed the dining table together with a foldout table more suited for a backyard barbecue and set them with a motley of uncoordinated chairs. The atmosphere felt slightly awkward — they didn't mean to put them out.

"Meghan?" A familiar voice asked, and the girl in question turned to see Ofelia looking at her with a curious expression.

"Ofelia," she responded, then gave a sheepish laugh. "Travis was making the rounds, shanghaied us into coming to dinner. Hope it's not too short notice."

"Oh no, it's good to see you again. I might have to duck out halfway through, though. My mother's not up to moving, and I don't want her to eat alone. Still, I'll see you at dinner."

"See you," Meghan responded, and Ofelia left to go help set the table with a younger girl, around Heather's age with long dark hair as others began to file in, taking their places at the table.

A very familiar girl with dark hair, setting the place for a very familiar ratty haired guy who'd already taken his place by the head of the table.

No. No, no, no.

Her eyes scanned the room, searching desperately for something, anything, that could make it so she could convince herself this wasn't happening, that she wasn't actually here.

The living room behind them — a plant in the corner, a half-pushed in blue office chair, a slight stain on the wall by the sliding doors, a collection of handprints on the wall ranging from biggest to smallest. Alicia, Nick, and —

Meghan's stomach began to sink into itself as a familiar, friendly voice called out behind them. "Katie, I'm glad you were able to make it!" Travis greeted them. "This must be your eldest."

Meghan turned, eyes wide as she met the gaze of the same man whom she'd exchanged contact information with only a week ago. And judging by the look in his eyes, he recognized her, too.

"Yes," Katie said cheerily, oblivious to their mutual despair. "This is—"

Behind her, Meghan winced at the sharp clash of plates slamming together as they slipped from the woman's hands onto the dining room table. Sat beside it, her son jumped in his seat, looking up with renewed interest and confusion at the scene.

"What the hell is she doing here?" Madison Clark all but hissed out.

Oh boy. 

✖  ✖  ✖

We're finally seeing some of the main cast!! 

I really didn't mean for it to take this long to get to them, honestly — I wanted to establish the Darcys as their own characters, and show their family dynamics and how they interact/work with each other without complicating it by interjecting the Fear group into the mix. 

I did really enjoy getting to write that original plot, but the arc took longer than I planned for. From now on though, the FTWD characters will be taking a bigger role and making consistent appearances in each chapter!

What do you guys think is going to happen next chapter with the return of Madison? Especially since she's not too pleased to see Meghan there, lol! All I can say is next chapter is gonna be VERY fun >:).