[christ forgive these bones i'm hiding]

╰┈➤ ❝ i will not let this river break me just so god can have something to heal. ❞
╰┈➤ self injury, allie long

"PROPHET, FORGIVE ME," she whispered, her bloodied hands clasped together tight, her knuckles whitening, "for I have sinned." A tear slips down her cheek, carving a clean path through the drying blood spattered over her face. The man next to her whispers his own prayer, copying her form. Blood dries on his forearms and the metal bar on the grass next to them. Deep down, she knows she doesn't deserve forgiveness; she's been forsaken, she knows it. The moment she turned her back on her family, on the Prophet, she knew it. She was doomed. Doomed to suffer. Doomed to walk this earth with a mark on her head, like Cain incarnate. A deep part of her wanted to cry out, claim it wasn't fair. But it was useless. There was no fighting this. This is what she would be for the rest of her life. They would both be hunted down like rabid dogs, two bullets with their names written on them. The man next to her paid her no mind, quietly finishing his prayer. Her clasped hands pressed against her forehead for a moment before her eyes flickered open. "Amen." She mumbled, a shaky sigh escaping her lips.

"We should get moving." He spoke from her right, grabbing the gore-smeared bar from the grass. "If Ezrah can catch up, it means they aren't too far behind." She silently nodded, grabbing her axe from the grass and standing up. Her fingers reach up, rubbing the scars that lift from the corners of her lips. It's becoming a nervous habit, something that gave her away. Despite her best efforts, she tries to keep her cool - tries to look her toughest. But it's getting harder, more difficult to hide when she looks like a wounded deer in headlights most of the time. He stands next to her, towering over her. She thanks the Prophet that he's on her side, that he's not the one she's running from. The amount of times she'd seen him beat someone's head in with that bar... it sticks with her, leaves a residue. Her grip on her axe tightens for a moment as she looks over the landscape. Rolling hills filled with green grass. In the distance, she can faintly see flowers in a field. It's more beautiful than Seattle, she thinks. Growing up, she'd always loved rain. Loved watching it, loved running through it. But it always rained in Seattle. Was always gloomy. Somedays, she started wondering if she'd forgotten what the sun looked like. Maybe that was for the best. But, as she stands on this hill, the sun warming her skin, she feels a minuscule smile lift the corners of her lips. It's been so long since she smiled. The feeling is foreign, lost on her. "Ru," his voice pulls her from her thoughts, "c'mon. We gotta go."

She nodded, a frown deepening on her features. The two start moving through the field, silence washing over them. She wished she could thank him for everything. She wished that she could put into words how much all of this meant to her. But words were never her strong suit. They never would be. Years were spent on the pews, listening to their prophets, their preachers. Watching as they'd become more extreme, harsher. Tossing their guns for earthly weapons turned into exclusion turned into markings, scarification. And she'd never said anything. Let them carve her face. Let them make an example of her. A coward, they called her. A heretic, they'd spat at her. It'd rained all night as she gathered her things, praying they didn't beat her to the punch. As she'd darted from the hut, her body had slammed into Ezekiel's. His form towered over her, his eyes glaring down at her. This was it, she'd thought to herself. These were her last moments on Earth. But his hand had gripped her bicep, yanked her up and dragged her out of the camp. He could've died then and there. He should've died. But he didn't. He'd saved her life, and she owed him everything. Even the days that the two couldn't seem to see eye-to-eye, she found herself thankful to him beyond words. "Where should we go?" She finally asked as they made their way up a hill, towards the flowers.

"Away from here."

She huffed out a laugh, rolling her eyes. "Yeah, got it. Thanks."

"I just want to be away from them. Find a place of our own, y'know."

She silently nodded, a small smile on her lips. "No, I know. But, just... I mean, like, where? Where do we go that they won't follow?" The smile quickly dropped as she swung the axe haphazardly. "I mean, you were one of their top guys, Zeke-"

"We'll find somewhere." He cut her off, a glare in his eyes. It was clear that she'd hit a nerve. Their arguments always felt deeper than they should have been. Maybe it's from the history the two shared, the secrets they'd kept for each other. A rumble echoed throughout the land as dark clouds began to roll over the hills - a bad omen, she thought. A soft sigh escaped her lips. "We should find shelter before that storm hits." Another silent nod. Growing up, she'd always seen rain as cleansing, something to yearn for. But her years in Seattle left her dreading the rain. It meant a baptism was coming. It only muddied up the ground, left them all dirty and rotted. Gave soldiers trench foot, kicked people out of their homes. And the storms were the worst. Deafening thunder, cracks of lightning. It was all so much sometimes. Her hand reached up as her hands rubbed at her tired eyes. They needed to rest, find shelter. Preferably somewhere that no one could find them in.

Soft drops began to fall, hitting their exposed skin. Soft curses escaped her lips as they made their way to the top of the hill. From there, an old cabin could be seen at the bottom of the hill. The rain had begun to fall heavier, beginning to soak them. The two shared a look, silently nodding before readying their weapons. Their boots carried them down the hill, closer to the cabin. A crash startled them, freezing them in their spots. "Fuck," she hissed quietly, "infected?" Their group had taken to calling them demons. But it never settled right with her. The little kids in the group had always broken her heart, ready to kill as many demons as possible. But they'd never been outside. They hadn't been alive when it all went down. They hadn't seen their loved ones become so unrecognizable, so broken and torn. Her jaw clenched as she tried to shake the memories. It wasn't something she liked to dwell on. Even if the Prophet asked them to dwell on the memories as sins, cleanse them from their minds. She'd sat in the pew, her hands curling tight into the cloth of her skirt. She didn't like dwelling on it, dwelling on her boyfriend's face as he held her down, teeth gnashing and nails clawing at her.

"Shit!" They heard from inside the cabin, quickly followed by another crash. The two froze in their spot, no longer focused on the rain that was beginning to soak them. Her grip on the handle of her axe tightened as she watched the door of the cabin. Taking another step, she slowly neared the dilapidated building. Behind her, Ezekiel watched her, the metal pipe in his hand raised and ready. She could hear a struggle inside, grunting and growling. Reaching the axe out, she pushed the door open. She took another step forward, glancing inside to see an empty room. Her eyebrows furrowed for a moment as she glanced back towards Ezekiel. Nodding towards the cabin, she slowly stepped inside the broken down building. Her dark eyes quickly scanned the room, looking for any sign of life. Another grunt startled her, this time from inside the kitchen. Her feet carried her closer to the kitchen.

Rounding the corner, her eyes widened at the sight of a man holding back a runner with his rifle. Letting out a sharp whistle, the infected whipped around, its attention solely on her now. It ripped itself off of the man and began charging towards her. She raised the axe, slamming the blade into the side of its neck. The body quickly fell limp as it gurgled on the blood that filled its throat and mouth. It fell to the floor with a thud, both her and the man watching as it twitched for a moment before falling completely still. Her eyes quickly shot back towards him, readying her axe again. "Holy shit," he breathed, resting on his elbows as his eyes looked over his body. His hands ran along his neck and chest in search of any bites or scratches. When he found nothing, he breathed a sigh of relief before letting himself fall flat against the floor he lied on. "Holy shit, you saved my life, y'know that?" He huffed out a chuckle. Her eyebrows furrowed as she stared down at him, keeping her distance from the man. Her eyes searched his face, a scar above his eyebrow, maybe one on his jawline. None on his cheeks, none that looked like hers or Ezekiel's.

Ezekiel entered the building, nearing her side to look down at the dead infected before his eyes traveled to the man on the floor. "He's fine." She mumbled, letting her arms relax. "No scars." He nodded, not taking his eyes off of the man in front of them. "What're you doing out here by yourself? Little dangerous to travel alone."

The man huffed out another laugh, nodding his head as he moved to sit up, setting his rifle down on his lap. "Yeah, I realize that. Just needed a change of scenery, I guess."

"That was stupid." Ezekiel mumbled, shaking his head as he turned to look around the cabin. "This your place?"

"No, no," the man shook his head from his spot on the floor of the kitchen, "found it a few minutes ago. Found that guy locked in the basement. Glad there was only one of 'em." He chuckled, his hand running along his neck. His eyes watched them, taking in the woman's appearance. The first thing he noticed were the scars across her face, cutting into her cheeks close to the corners of her lips. When her friend turned, he noticed the man had the exact same scars. His eyebrows furrowed for a moment, looking between the two. "I'm lucky you came around when you did. Thought the fucker was gonna overpower me for a minute there." His gaze moved down to the axe in her hands, blood and viscera dripping from the edge of the blade. If he looked close enough, he could almost see bits of hair sticking to it. Melee was always Joel's field of expertise, not his. But give him a moving target at a hundred yards away and he could blow their head off no problem. Strengths and weaknesses, he thought to himself. There were some days where he found he missed Joel, missed having his brother at his side. But he knew what the man was capable of, knew how the man thought. And he needed to see more than that. Couldn't let himself grow bitter and hateful. "You two out seein' the sites or somethin'?"

"Somethin' like that." She muttered, leaning against the wall to her left. "Where you from?"

"Texas. Then went to the Boston QZ."

"Boston's a long way away." Ezekiel spoke from the living room, looking around down the hall towards a set of rooms. "What're you doin' all the way out here?"

"Think it's my turn to ask a question." The man smiled. Her jaw clenched as she watched him push himself up from the floor, keeping the rifle down. "Where y'all from?" He leaned against the kitchen counter, his eyes moving to watch as Ezekiel moved about the cabin.

"Washington... Seattle." She answered, keeping her eye on his rifle. If he makes any moves with it, she's sure she could get him first. The way he'd been struggling with the infected, she's sure that he would struggle with her, too. "My turn. Why are you all the way out here?"

His eyebrows raised for a moment. "How do I know y'all ain't just gonna kill me?"

"I would've let this guy take a bite out of ya if I wanted you dead." Her boot nudged the body of the infected. "You said it yourself, only a minute more and he would've been on you. I wouldn't've minded waiting." She set the axe against the wall, her arms crossing over her chest. There's a soft glare in her eyes, hidden behind her blank expression. No matter how angry she gets, she knows that Ezekiel is the real muscle, the real intimidation factor. She's just the woman hanging out with him. But it didn't stop her from trying, from faking it until she made it. Because, at the end of the day, she holds the upper hand. She's the one who saved his life. She's the one with a hulking man who could easily grab this guy and throw him to the floor without breaking a sweat. "You didn't answer my question."

He huffed, a small smile on his lips. In all these years, she's not sure she's ever seen someone smile so much. The congregation members would smile whenever baptism came along. Some of them would smile as they carved into each others faces. It never sat right with her, watching them. Watching as young girls were called into their huts, watching as those girls came out with tears in their eyes and fresh cuts across their cheeks. She often wondered if this is what the Prophet pictured them turning into. If this is what she wanted for all of them. "Just movin' around," he answered, rubbing his face, "tryin' to find a place to call home." Her eyes remained glued to him, watching him.

Ezekiel made his way down the hall, glancing into the open bedrooms. Most were disheveled, looted and empty. He glanced into one of the open doors, looking down the stairs into the basement. "He come from here?" He called down the hall to the man. The man responded affirmatively, confirming Ezekiel's suspicion. Tightening his grip on the metal pipe, he slowly made his way down the wooden stairs. Each creaked under the weight of the man as he glanced around. Small windows barely illuminated the large open room. In the corner of the room, he can see an open spot filled with growing fungi. Disgust contorted his features as he turned and made his way back up the stairs. "We'll have to lock this door or barricade it or whatever. Got tendrils down there." He told Sylvia as he slammed the door shut behind him.

A crack of thunder halted all conversation as rain began to pour down. A deep sigh escaped her lips as she glanced out the front door at the downpour outside. "Looks like we're staying here until this blows over." She mumbled under her breath as she grabbed her axe from against the wall and neared the front door. Her eyes watched the rain, letting it calm her nerves. Glancing down, she could see her hands shaking. It was almost embarrassing. Embarrassing how worked up she got now. How shot her nerves were. How paranoid she'd grown. It almost felt like they lurked around every corner, waiting for her and Ezekiel to make a mistake. "I'm Tommy." The man introduced himself to Ezekiel, holding his hand out to shake. "Looks like you guys have been through the wringer. Remind me to never visit Seattle."

"Nothing but rain up there anyway. I'm Ezekiel, that's Ruth." Ezekiel muttered as he entered the kitchen. "You any good with that?" He nodded towards the rifle.

"Better be. Served in the Army as a sniper."

He slowly nodded, looking over the rifle. "Well, unless you plan on trekking through this storm, looks like we'll all be getting closer tonight."

"I'll take first watch." Their eyes turn to face the woman in the doorway, her back still turned to them.

Ezekiel's eyebrows furrowed for a moment before he shrugged his shoulders. "Wake me up and I'll take second shift." He muttered as he made his way down the hall towards one of the bedrooms, closing the door behind him.

In the kitchen, Tommy kept his eye on the woman in the doorway. Grabbing his rifle, he slowly approached her, worried about startling her. He'd seen how easily her axe split into the runner's neck, how easy it all seemed to be for her. "I could keep watch with 'ya. Probably won't be able to sleep after that anyway."

"Free country." She shrugged her shoulders, keeping an eye on the horizon over the hill. If Ezrah could catch up to them, she was sure the others weren't far behind. That made, what, four? Ezrah, Malachi, Zachariah, and John. Her jaw clenched as their faces flashed in her mind. All because they didn't want her leaving, didn't want her to get away with blood on her hands. She tried to picture her sister, tried to remember her. But it was all fuzzy, all of the features. Was she even alive anymore? Her hands grew shakier as she stared out at the pouring rain. They would have to stop for shelter, too. Seattle rain wasn't often like this. A drizzle, a haze. But rarely a downpour like this. And she's thankful for it. Thankful for the rest. She hopes that the rain washes them all away. She hopes that Micah came with them. Hopes that she's the last face he sees as her axe splits his skull in half. Her hands flex before tightening into a fist.

"Ruth, right?" The man behind her asked. Rolling her eyes, she nodded. "I'm Tommy-"

"I heard."

He huffed out a chuckle, scratching his chin. This felt more akin to pulling teeth than a conversation. Part of him wanted to ask about the scars, but he knew better than that. Knew it would make her clam up even more. It wasn't his right to ask, not his place. But his curiosity was eating away at him. "You don't talk very much, do you?"

"You don't ever stop talking, do you?" She shot back, eliciting a chuckle from him. That wasn't what she had wanted. No, what she had wanted was for him to scoff, mutter that she was a bitch and to skulk off somewhere. But that didn't happen. He stayed right next to her, watching the rain from the broken window. Clenching her jaw, she quietly sighed before turning away from the door. Maybe a part of her hoped that the rest of her people would come marching over that hill, kill them all. It'd be a hell of a lot easier to deal with.

"You sound just like my brother." He mumbled, his chuckle slowly dying.

Her eyebrows furrowed for a moment as she glanced over at him, finally forcing herself to face him again. A small frown played on his lips, a stark contrast to his smile. "He still alive?" She asked - her form of an olive branch. It didn't seem like he was sleeping anytime soon and Prophet knew when Ezekiel was gonna wake up. He'd always told her to wake him up for shift change but she knew better than that. Didn't want to deal with him being cranky all that day.

"Far as I know. We went our separate ways a couple weeks ago." He took a seat on the floor, his back pressed against the wall with his rifle resting on the floor next to his foot.

"That recent, huh?" She shut the front door, making her way into the kitchen to grab one of the discarded chairs. Her face contorted in a wince at the dull ache in her ribs. She's sure that Ezrah bruised one of them. He'd always been a capable fighter. But Ezekiel was better. "If it helps... you remind me of my sister."

"She still alive?"

A minuscule smile plays on her lips. "Far as I know." But the more she thought about the woman she shared blood with, the more her frown deepened. Propping the chair up against the front door, she took a seat on the floor across from him, her back pressed against the wall.

"Well," he chuckled, "maybe we should get those two together."

She chuckled quietly, nodding her head. "Maybe." She mumbled as she picked at the dead skin on her fingers. It was growing difficult to picture her sister, the young woman so easily manipulated. The rage that overtook her features and painted them ugly. Her features blended her into the crowd of an angry congregation, calling for her head. They wanted to see her hang with the other sinners. Wanted to see her intestines spilling out onto the ground. A soft sigh escaped her lips as she placed her head in her hands. Her eyes shut tight, exhaustion aching her bones.