The Integration (Part I): Still Myself, Still Surviving

by Marlin Grail

  The doors are open, so my guess is that Trey's group raided it before us. I'll remember to be more thoughtful of it next time.

  “It's okay, Lissie. We've got enough combined bullets to protect ourselves.” I state, reminding her that this is not a mission intending for us to get into a firefight.

  She bitterly groans from it, but acknowledges it anyway.

  The man stated a roadblock would meet our way, and considering that this highway divides into 2 lanes on each side, it makes my mind sprint with picturing how large and wide it is, and, ultimately, how fortified it may be. Ashton begins sprinting sentences out loud. “I seriously now believe that we're being challenged. So many things can go wrong with us just walking on a road like this. What if a haze in the sky appears and gets in our way? Or, what if those aggressors are vicious enough to have stayed around?”

  “We work with what we have and know. You have valid concerns, but you know as much as I—all of us for that matter are aware with how to travel on foot, and prevail from these threats. If any of that happens, then we will work together to come out of it.” I say, thinking optimistically for us to remain level-headed.

  We are walking now in full concentration up the road, taking into account to focus intensely on our left—for undead could appear unknowingly out of the woods. We have already passed a few road signs, all worn to where only the memory of what they once represented can identify what they are meant to display. Every crack from a twig, and every mush from a footstep, either ours or not, is being heard throughout the walk. Sure enough, a few undead come lurching their bodies towards us from across the road. Five are counted. “Melee only!” I command.

  Everyone equips their blades and spikes them opportune. Ashton takes 2, with myself claiming the one farthest away from the others. Lissie places one to the ground with an immediate stab to their temple, and Janice swipes at the face of her opponent with her machete.

  She has not handled it for a while—I can tell for she loses grip of it on impact, and must let the body fall with it. I check all our surroundings, and make sure no other undead are coming. Ashton puts back his knives and goes over to pull out Janice's machete, placing a foot on the chest of the body. A cringe-worthy noise from the spliced head is heard, as the machete is forced out—expanding the split further. “You okay? Hurt at all?” Ashton asks her.

  He hands back her weapon, and she thanks him while already walking forward. “I'm fine. My body kind of locked on me there. I guess my age is making itself more noticed now and days.”

  Her walking tells me she is okay, but her words sounded crestfallen, as though she is internally convincing herself that being older than the rest of us is a hindrance on everyone. I do not believe anyone here sees her as weaker for it though.

  She has always been spry and forthcoming about what she feels, and has never complained once about the physical obstacles we've come across. This might be a juncture for her she has to go through, or has been going through, and if it has troubled her longer than I suspect, then maybe she thinks we could not understand since the 3 of us are younger than her.

  Truthfully, I rarely think about age anymore, but I do not have to I suppose.

  We walk lightly on our feet, but bare the heaviness of knowing anything can or will happen next. We pass one undead here and there on the road, seeing them feast on bodies that are too covered up in guts to be defined them up close. Most times, they do not get up to follow, as they are more seduced by the very organs exposed from the upper and lower body sections of these lifeless people. The ones that do try and attack us are destroyed swiftly, with no statement or peep out of the group from it.

  An hour passes since leaving the shelter, and at this point the road has turned its pavement into simply 2-lanes—expanding the grass we are walking on. “The RV should not be too far from here. I remember it did not take long for it to get assaulted when we got on this road.” I say, motivating we keep the decent pace we are at.

  “Should we go inside the RV when we see it?” Ashton asks.

  I tell him if it would be to scavenge our supplies back, then we might find very little to nothing, for the aggressors likely stole what they could once they raided it.

  He then begins elaborating on secrecy none of us knew about. “I know they would've done that, but I had a secret stash that they wouldn't have known about. Harold didn't know it.”

  “We might as well take a look.” I respond, peaked with interest.

  Lissie comments on how interesting that we practically did a wide loop from the shelter to the highway, and now we are back to where we originally fled from.

  “It is phenomenal to think we did not have to travel far for our world to change drastically. However, knowing this does not change the fact certain things were contrived from the beginning.” I say, inadvertently sounding more displeased in my tone, as I insinuate Harold into the conversation.

  Suddenly, I am reminded for all of his lies he kept from us, but what I find more displeasing is thinking about the hypocrisy he held. He tried to teach every one of us the importance of honesty, which I believed was authentic, but that was before all of this manifested.

  My upset vibration must be felt by Lissie, for she mentions to me, “Though what we are doing now was intended from the beginning by Harold, also remember that our group came to be with a genuine ideal with your helping hand. Remember that I wasn't even apart of the RV, at least not until you shared your honest viewpoint on why it was a good idea to have given the group a try. Harold wasn't honest, but you were the whole time. Remember that.” I look over to give thanks, and I just get a push from her on my back. “Keep eyes forward, soldier!” saying it in a playful manner.

  We walk up one inclined hill the road goes on, and it is the last hill I remember we passed right before the RV stopped moving.

  That last minute involved Harold and I speaking upfront, with myself sitting in the passenger seat. He told me we were heading to the closest neighborhood we could find, and, while he was driving, he began talking with more sentiment than he usually conveyed. “Hey. Just so you know… don't think it has gone unnoticed. You do better explain to everyone else what I can't seem to get through to them about. I should just put your words up a plaque and have it to where we can all see.”

  He was referring to me being able to defend what his rules were, and they implemented 3. First, was to not fight with each other, second, to not pretend, and his third, and golden rule, was to certainly not lie. “Everyone here does seem to come from hard backgrounds, and it gives you all the fire in your stomachs to do what you do, but this world is unforgiving, and needs the roughest of them all. That is why I am the way I am, Gary.” Harold told me, while his eyes remained focused on the road.

  “I hope it does not mean you underestimate what we are capable of then. Our group is strong, and our combined knowledge with struggle make us able to tackle many threats.” I uttered, not to boast, but to remind him that majority of the tasks he assigned us were fulfilled by us, no matter if we were forced to swallow the risks that came from them.

  He looked over to me, and he was prepared to bring up another comment, but a loud popping sound and violent bump from my side of the RV had arisen. “What the hell?!” Harold yelled out. He brought us to a full stop, and rushed himself out of his seat. “Gary, with me!”

  Ashton jumped up from the kitchenette, asking what that was, and everyone else moved in the area out of curiosity.

  “Could've just been an animal. Stay put!” Harold loudly said, with his voice becoming muffled, as he was outside at that point.

  I hurried myself out to investigate as well, and Harold quickly showed signs of anger. Our right side tires got blown out. I look past several dozen feet away, unable to see what caused it. He knelt down in absolute agitation, examining the damage done to the front tire. “This had to have been a trap!” Harold roared.

  Straightaway, Will's voice could be heard snapping at us from the open door. “Get back in
side!” he frantically yelled, abnormal from how I used to hear him. I looked up at his face, which was blocked by the sights he aimed down on the pistol he had equipped—looking straight ahead.

  In a matter of seconds, gunfire began singeing with speed from afar—from the woods beside us. “Will! Close the door!” Harold commanded.

  Unable to have gotten back inside the RV, the 2 of us had fallen back to the opposite side from these gunners. “I don't have my weapons!” I shouted to Harold, who also did not bring any of his.

  “I can't get in through the driver door!” he said, as soon as we noticed bullet holes snapping through the glass. He then began to bang his fist at a side window on the RV's middle section to capture one of the group's attention. Ashton hurried to the window, throwing the curtains over his head. “Get us weapons now!” Harold harshly ordered.

  Ashton rushed for several seconds. I panicked to focus on the sounds of the aggressors, who all were projecting several sounds of intimidation with their screams and guns. I felt as though any subtle movement at that point would have received a reflex of purposeful means to inflict much trauma on the thing responsible for making me jump.

  Ashton came back to the window and handed Harold a pump-action Remington shotgun, which was his favorite, and then tossed over my pistols. “Stay by the window to provide us ammo!” Harold instructed Ashton.

  Harold then had the intuition to take the butt of his weapon and slammed it right into one of the aggressors that were charging from the RV's front. I figured if they came from the front, another would approach the rear side. I side-stepped my way to the rear corner. Thankfully, that charger took longer to sprint.

  I stretched my right arm out and shot directly in the lower-abdominal of them. They collapsed in pain, disarming themselves by dropping their SMG on the ground. I did one more shot to their head, finishing them as quick as I could. Bullets began zipping past the windows that Ashton was in.

  Fortunately, he took cover in the bedroom, with all of the group inside there—preemptively knowing these aggressors were trying the infiltrate through the front. They were blindfiring through the dark tinted windows, hoping to annihilate our people through sheer luck. A few seconds later, silence choked the atmosphere, and it brought unease on me.

  Harold and I eradicated the 2 threats that tried to attack, and it seemed the 2 that were shooting and attempting to push inside recognized we remained behind. Harold's fury grew more with each moment there was from having to be pinned in position from gunfire. He decided he had enough. I went to check the rear, and this time it was not being charged. Once I confirmed it, he commanded I watched his left flank.

  He bent down and looked under the vehicle. I could hear a tiny giggle come from him, indicating to me something was going right in his perspective. He went prone entirely, made sure his shotgun was not awkward by his control, and decided to pulled the trigger—twice.

  Those 2 could be heard screaming in agony, with one sounding as though they fired their weapon from an unnatural muscle response that went on in their hand. I was certain Harold had successfully fired at the feet of these aggressors, therefore I helped Harold up, and we decided to counter-clock our way around the RV to end this conflict.

  Tension filled every step of my soles for not knowing what the front would look like, but I was determined for us to come out of this unharmed. Once we saw those 2 aggressors were in fact the last, that tension erased. Harold then pushed to be ahead of me, likely so he would be the first they saw. When we circled the whole way, we noticed them still alive.

  They were not carrying their weapons, and were only crawling to go further down the road away from the RV. Both were mangled entirely on their feet and ankles. Blood was soaking on the pavement, leaving a trail from where they started. I could hear one cursing out profanity with each stretch from their arms. “Let's leave them to bleed out.” Harold said out loud, purposefully wanting them to overhear his words.

  “No! They need to be taken care of entirely!” I argued back.

  He began pointing his finger at me. “Gary! They did wrong! I said this world needs the roughest of the rough, and this is one of those times you have to put this justice on them!”

  I could then hear one of them begin crying, releasing both the pain of what he felt, and also the fear of not feeling ever again when he died.

  “How is this kind of cruelty showing justice?” I countered to him. He took a step back, letting down his judgmental finger, and spoke in his punitive voice, as I heard him utilize when wanting to prove himself out on top. “Then, take care of them—both of them.

  I looked over, seeing one shedding their tears as they looked back at me, revealing their infirmity. With the appearance of denial that this was happening to them, he gave me the eyes of a wounded animal being sorry their instincts got the better of them. “I'm not doing this for your benefit!” I sternly told Harold.

  Seconds passed, and I walked over to the 2. I portrayed one long stare at the person transmitting their trauma at me, and the other, who did not look at me, but instead plopped their forehead flat onto the road. “We won't forget you.” I stated to both, and proceeded to hold my pistols directly at them.

  It felt as though I was thrown into the vacuum of space, for absolute silence filled my eardrums, except for a high-pitched frequency that smothered me. I knew I pulled the triggers without issue, but a trigger was pulled in me by that person who knew they were visibly guilty, yet they looked innocent at the same time.

  The temporary drowning of my hearing disappeared just as soon as it appeared, like the speed of the bullets that lodged in the heads of those now deceased men. Harold gave me a nod of acceptance, as if he was a king of Rome judging how I executed the competition.

  Without drawing conversation with him, I ran to knock on the RV door. “It's safe now.” I announced, certain they would recognize my voice.

  Will swung the door open, which was riddled with bullet holes, as did this whole side of the vehicle. He stepped his way out, and then everyone else followed. “This is not going anywhere!” he said to Harold. In that instant, a shot was taken right where he was walking towards. “Dammit! More!” he yelled, returning shots back at the direction it came from.

  A large blitz of gunfire started darting through to us from within the same trees. Ashton grabbed Lissie, who was next in line down the steps, and I hurried to help escort Janice out, and made sure to also grab my sword by the front door.

  The large plains between the road and the woods was cooperative with us, for that meant scattered shooting from down several-hundred feet gave us advantage to all leave the RV's interior and run out to the opposite side—again unharmed. “We'll take all you bastards out!” Will shouted.

  The threat he hyped up was spouted inconveniently, for the sound of an object bouncing off the ground hurdled towards us. It rolled right under the RV, and the shape of its repeated grooves, along with pin that was ripped off, was quick for me to conclude it was a grenade. “Everyone, move to the woods behind!” I yelled.

  Without a moment's hesitation, I grabbed Lissie by the hand, as she was right next to me. Ashton did the same for Janice, and all of us sprinted for our lives. I knew only a handful of seconds existed before the blast, and it made me move faster than I knew I could, even with holding onto someone to help them keep up. The explosion clashed with the RV, causing many deformed sounds of the metal body to be heard behind us.

  We remained running, even after the explosion, for whoever rolled the grenade had to have been very close in proximity to us. I looked back over my shoulder, once we were past the border between the plain grass and the trees. Smoke consumed the visibility of where the RV sat, but I was confident the firepower would not end there, and that this time around would it be too dominating for us.

  “Everyone stay! We make our stand here!” Harold demanded.

  “This won't bode well for us if we do! The RV is taken, and it was the moment our tires were popped! For the sa
ke of all of us here, retreat with us!” I argued back. Before firing out, signifying our presence was still in the area with those aggressors, he understood my reasoning and ordered us to fall back.

  From there, we ran for miles, with only the clothes we wore, and the weapons we were able to take, uncertain of where we were going, except only knowing the RV was not safe to be around anymore. Once we set up a grounds to rest at, Harold stopped spitting out his irate huffing and puffing, though his demeanor changed entirely afterward, seeming blank—or he was just mentally redirecting the contingency plan he secretively held from us.

  I restore to my present mind, leaving those images in my past, but sucking back one statement with me.

  We did not forget.

  As soon as we get to the peak of the road hill, we can directly see in the distance the completely stagnant RV—now a representation of what we lost, and what we also gained that day.

  Chapter XVII

  Our memories of this location has everyone's uneasiness mutually soaring above the usual disquietude. “Who's to say they wouldn't still be around?” Lissie questions.

  None of us could convince that wondering simply being paranoia. “We are going in to take what we can, and just keep moving. If anything, they would not investigate twice to see if we came back.” I say, reassured in my voice.

  Part of me hopes those aggressors raided everything they could see and just moved on, and did not care for vengeance.

  If they did though, I would surmise their fixation would have kept them watching for movement near the RV ever since the attack. “Okay, Ashton, where was your secret stash of supplies?” I say, keeping my worries suffocated within myself.