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

by Marlin Grail

  I figure, though the town has a couple of more buildings we could explore, it would be too risky for us being around others I let stay alive—for either their genuine fear, or brilliant acting, but, regardless, we should not be near them.

  I radio our supervisor.

  “Gary? Have you found supplies worth bringing?” he asks.

  “Yes, and we found people. We got into a skirmish, but our group has prevailed.”

  “Prevailed, huh? I take it then they all are dead?”

  “No. Two pleaded for us to let them hide. I don't know if—” I try to explain, but he cuts my talking with his.

  “I know what you need to do. I said convince or kill. You do not let them remain on their own. Do one or the other, and radio me back when a choice has been done.”

  I do not argue back with what he wants, so I leave the radio communication and work out the issues in my head one step at a time. First, Ashton needs to explain himself.

  Chapter XX

  I step through the grass that leads from the free-clinic, walking with preparation that Ashton will argue for his recent actions. “Gary, this doesn't need to be a big deal.” He says, standing in the group circle.

  “No, it does not. But what is the big deal is that you attacked without my consent.” I argue, which is less than normal for him.

  “Consent? So now we have to gain your consent in the case we feel threatened?”

  “Ashton, understand when I say this, I say it as more than your friend. I say it as the group's leader. You do not begin the shooting unless it is commanded.”

  Janice then prods him for a less defensive response. “Why did they get to you?” she asks.

  He takes several moments to remain silent, but, eventually, he gives in to her questioning. “Because… because they don't know, and neither do you.” He says, hinting his answer to both Lissie and Janice.

  “Know what?” Lissie asks him.

  “I was… defending the honor of someone I once knew.”

  Janice goes to comfort him, while also gaining more understanding of what he means, but instead, he focuses his attention back at me.

  “Look, Gary, I'm sorry. I wasn't in my best of thoughts, but if what you say is true about the last 2 in that place, then… we'll let them be.” He says, calming himself with each word.

  “Sadly, Ashton, our supervisor is still adamant on us either getting these people with C., or finishing them off. If they are sincere with what they told me, then hopefully no more actions of killing will have to happen, but like you heard it on your and Janice's radio, one action or the other has to occur.”

  I instruct we go back to the building, convince them about C., and while doing so we grab more medicines. “Ashton, will you be okay sharing positive input if necessary?” I ask.

  He releases tightness from his mouth, popping his jaw. “… Sure.”

  We begin heading back towards the free-clinic. I stay in front, keeping my hands visible for the 2 inside, in case they do something rash out of defense. “Guys! We mean no more harm, but we need to talk!” I yell to them.

  Silence is afloat, but vibrations from the flooring can I feel, right while I stand by the door's frame. “If hiding makes it better, then so be it, but just listen! Have you heard of C.? If not, then understand we come from this established infrastructure of groups that cooperate with each other—providing security, shelter, and resources all around. I am sorry that we killed some of your group, but we offer this chance for you to not lose faith in where you are.”

  One meek voice comes back to us. “A-are you serious?”

  “We are not making any of this up. Join us on our mission, and we will take you to our supervisor. You can have a better life.”

  Two shadows slowly walk down the hall towards us. One slender, youthful, young man peeks their head from the corridor.

  “We do not want to hurt you, but the reason we were here was for a run we were assigned. If you let us, we will tell them you have decided to join.”

  He comes out entirely from the hall, standing afraid, and along does the other one appear as well, even looking more scared.

  “My name is Gary. Behind me is my group. Again, we are sorry we took 2 of yours.”

  What they tell me through body language, without having to fully say, is the fact they are carrying firearms, but still they seem helpless for having no comfort in touching them. “How old are you?” I ask.

  Both turn out to be underage, with one being 16, and the other 17. “We don't want any trouble. Like I said, those 2 were the bad ones.” The 17-year-old says frantically.

  Ashton begins asking them many questions, each with hidden aggression—all based off why they would have stayed around those men we killed. “Surely, they would have demanded you do things they did, so have you hurt, or took advantage of the innocent and the vulnerable?”

  They inhale for a moment, giving away the answer they hesitate to admit. “We hurt once, for a sort-of-initiation, but never again.” The 17-year-old boy says, ashamed in his tone.

  The 16-year-old inputs that both had no choice, for those 2 men were their only source of protection.

  Ashton, though still distant from being welcoming towards these teenagers, is perturbed too by the fact how young they are; thereby, he is aware they are still susceptible to the viciousness of this world. I gradually take a few steps towards them, while they begin to step backward. “That time of being unsafe can be over for you both. If you join C., then you will not have to worry about people like us.”

  I can see these 2 young men are considering what I have said so far. “Would we be with you?” the 16-year-old asks me.

  “Probably not, but do not think then that we cannot be friends.” I answer with a small smile.

  Their movements are ingrained with worry, but they allow a change of heart from listening to my persuasion, and accept the convincing.

  “Good. If you do not mind, I must radio my group's supervisor. The 3 behind me will gather a few more medicines from here, and then we will all go.” I tell the 2, encouraging they introduce themselves to my group.

  Breaking off, I go outside and contact our overseer.

  “So? What action was it?” he asks.

  “They were convinced. We are practically finished with our run, so I need to know where we go from here. The 2 will be coming with us.”

  He accepts my response, and gives me directions for how to find him. “In that area is the roadblock, 'T23'. Again, yell like you did before.”

  His communication ends, and I return to the building. “Gary, we finished up.” Janice says, comfortably talking as usual.

  That's good. We should be ourselves around the boys, so they are more at ease.

  I focus on them, asking if they are ready to go.

  “We have nowhere else left, and plus, I don't want to be in a place with—” the 16-year-old says, before Ashton sharply interrupts.

  “With what? The deaths that your group was responsible for?!” his loud tone and poking finger intimidates.

  “No! Trust us when we say it was those horrible men you got rid of! They wanted this place for themselves, and if the ones who committed suicide weren't out of here today, then they were going to kill them!”

  Ashton comes in closer to their personal space, so I intervene myself to push him back. “Ashton, they mean no harm! The ones that did are gone! You got your revenge!” I shout to him, in hopes it subdues the rising tension from going any higher.

  I can tell he will not argue with me, but his stare is austere in disliking these boys.

  “Just keep distance from them. This will pass.” I say, calmer in my voice.

  He immediately looks to the person he originally shot and killed. He stomps his way with purpose of ripping their ammunition and weaponry from their lifeless body. He asks me if the other was in the back. Afterward, he comes back and shoves into the chests of the boys both the pistols he picked up. “We already have weapons.” The 17-year-old says
, showing their back pockets filled with their own handguns.

  “These aren't for you. Your first assist with a group with C. is to help carry more supplies we'll be delivering.” He says, contemptuous under his words.

  They uncomfortably accept the task.

  I take the ammo clips Ashton found, and place them in my bag, and, without having to reconfirm with everyone about leaving, I order us to move out.

  “Shouldn't we bury our dead?” Ashton sarcastically asks.

  “There is no time or convenience to do so, and we shouldn't be hateful towards them.” I tell him as he passes me, practically ignoring my statement.

  Passing up on that choice, we start walking down the road, while I recall the directions of where we need to move.

  Lissie mentions that the 2 buildings we are leaving uncovered likely would not have contained anything. “A run-down insurance agency, and a completely vandalized antique store? Yeah, nothing lucky there.”

  Then, her guess becomes supported by the boys. “You're right. They didn't have anything in there yesterday. We… uh… checked.” The 17-year-old says, stuttering on their words.

  Though no one else recognizes their ability to reveal information, I thank them for the courage they are showing by doing such.

  Definitely both of them know they are in a hazardous state of interaction with everyone here, especially since Ashton's explosive temper he has displayed has made them wary of how would Lissie, Janice, and I behave if they accidentally slipped up in our eyes.

  While I know the 3 of us currently have no disdain for these kids, Ashton beside me has shown ambivalence to their foreign party that has tagged along, so in response I have strategically put both boys in front of us, in the slim, but possible, circumstance they try anything rash.

  We finally walk past the last building, now going down the road. After a few minutes of travel, one of them asks us if those people blocking the road, 'D11', are apart of C. as well.

  “Yes. Did your group come across them often?” I ask.

  Without looking back, he tells us that the one roadblock, our group passed earlier today, was their first exposure. “It was a couple of days ago. There were maybe 4 of them guarding that piece of road. The guys, you and Ashton here relieved the world of, started a firefight with them. The both of us took cover, and watched as those guards were wiped out. I had a knot in my stomach, because they did absolutely nothing wrong, and when I confronted one of those men, Chad his name was, about it, he told me not to worry.” The 17-year-old details, harrowing in his tone.

  Everyone in our group takes long, equally, concerned looks at each other—now having better understanding why security at that roadblock seemed very heightened and intense.

  The boys seem as though they are reliving the experience, and appear more stressed out than before—now that it is clear their group assaulted another group which was conjoined with C.

  I assure them they should not have a guilty-conscious if they did not kill those guards by their hands. I tell everyone to take the next right at the 4-way intersection we have discovered. The first turn has been made, and Ashton continues to show his disliking at maximum peak; as a matter of fact, we have only been with these boys for possibly 30 minutes, and many drawn-out silences decimate any sway of thought for him to trust them.

  Janice works up forced coughs, and asks questions—in a manner that helps calm down this muted chaos. “I find you both very brave. For all that you've shared, it seems you really aren't blind from what goes on in this world. How many people your age do you think would be able to handle all of this?”

  They insist neither of them are that understanding of what is occurring and recurring in these days.

  “All I know is how to watch out for my friend, just like he does for me. If we did not have each other to fight for, then I'm sure I wouldn't be in control at this point. Well, sir, you heard me start crying. It was from fear of what would happen if I died first. It wasn't from selfishness, because I was afraid of what might have been if my good buddy and I got split up.” The 17-year-old says, shifting his eyesight towards me.

  The 16-year-old passively defends that message, by assuring if one of them dies, then so will the other.

  I smile back at him, while he does the same—beginning to loosen up his composure through genuine laughter. Several minutes of walking pass, with me in complete thought. I balance what these teenagers' motifs would be, and, based on their mild release of emotions, both bright, but burdened with macabre, I figure these kids have proven themselves truthful to their words, and will not betray. “Ashton, how about we go upfront, so we can let these young men not have to take point any longer?” I suggest to him, while subtly letting the boys know I am willing to put them in the back of my worries.

  He agrees, in a heartbeat, and all 4 of us swerve around one another, trading spots. The 16-year-old is delicate in making sure he and Ashton do not bump into each other. “Don't worry.” Ashton says, and places a hand on their shoulder, as to indicate physical contact will not set him off—at least visibly.

  During these current sounds of current footsteps, it seems a pack of undead, 9 bodies, have tracked us down from the left side of the woods, cracking and snapping the leaves before them, and begin transitioning their mangled stomping onto this weathered road—now only several feet away from the group.

  Chapter XXI

  (Lissie)

  “Everyone, widespread! Boys, take the far left and start shooting their heads! If they are full of popping veins, or foggy eyes, then do not shoot! Shout haze if such!” Gary orders out loud.

  I indicate being Janice's protection, by placing her behind my arms, and we go far right. “Watch out for my swing!” I caution her.

  These undead start to branch off, with a few going to the teens. Some are heading straight at Gary and Ashton, and a couple are coming towards me and Janice.

  They're high in numbers, but undead are slow-paced, and limited on movement, and here is no exception.

  It gives me a chance to consider, first and foremost, if they have haze-incubating signs. I sweep between both of these undead, and see them gargling on their own hopes to get me. There are no signs of green eyes, or noticeable veins pushed up to their skin's surface. “Here we go.” I say under my breath, and I start influencing them to the positions I want them in.

  They arch their backs upward, deformed and impatient. One races ahead of the other, trying to get to me first.

  Perfect.

  I grab the machete with my dominant hand, and, cupping the handle with my other, I take a swing at the winner that wants to claim their prize. A smack to their head slams them on the ground. I decide to let go of the machete at this point, for ripping it out would take too much time. Instead, I take the knife I carried beforehand, and roughly push it into the next one's forehead.

  Being only 5-foot-7, the world has a different perspective, so this undead's 6-foot hunched over body is certainly more imposing up close.

  Actually, everything more up close has been intimidating, but I'll power through this time—as I've done every time.

  Its dead weight becomes officially dead, so now I slide my knife out of the incision point, and stride backward, while its body falls forward. Now that this mess is taken care of, I witness how everyone else and their situation is going. Their loud bullets puncture my ears at this distance, but, fortunately, do their pulled shots make it worthwhile.

  Bodies drop from both areas that they all are at. Janice and I just stay put, remaining away from the firing. I stand next to her, trying to obtain control of my knees—wobbling from both the rush and startling that comes with hearing the loudness of the shooting, combining together to make rough and ultra-booms. “Cease fire!” Gary eventually yells.

  All of the other undead are eliminated, with various traumatic blows to their heads. One chunk managed to ricochet right by our direction, landing in between the bodies I killed. It's not a sight I prefer looking at, so I walk aro
und the corpses, holding my breath so I do not smell their overwhelming stenches. “Lissie, Janice, are you okay?” Gary asks us.

  I tell him we're fine, and he directly turns his attention to the teens.

  “Great job guys.” He tells them, but, unexpectedly, he then halts what he was planning on saying next, because the 17-year-old ignorantly turns their gun's barrel at him.

  “Be careful!” Gary says, and gently places his hand over the gun to lower it.

  The 17-year-old apologizes in a panic, stuttering that he wasn't purposefully pointing his gun. Gary calms him, instructing that he just know, “From here on out, your gun should be consciously pointed downward when idle. Make sure you also do not have your finger on the trigger, unless you plan on shooting.”

  He's already shared this teaching with me earlier on, about a couple of days after we first met. It involved him explaining, to my vicious and skeptical opinion, how he knew what was 'the responsible way' to handle a firearm.

  “My grandfather would take me to gun ranges. There, I learned about the precautions and methods one should use when working with any gun.”

  Back then, I demanded he'd show me how he would shoot the pistol, since that whole conversation all began because I told him he had crapped himself when I shot a round right near his head.

  Today, I hope I didn't cause any hearing issues for him, because of my incessant need to act ruthless.

  The teen draws back my thinking with his thankful words for Gary's advice.

  “You're welcome. We must keep moving.” He says to us, monotonous in his voice again.

  I walk over to the undead, with the machete lodged into its head and begin to pull it out. “Remember to have firm footing.” Ashton says as he walks past me.

  “How helpful you can be!” I sarcastically tell him.

  I struggle to pull out this giant blade from the caved-in head, and I let out a few grunts because of it. “Need some help?” Gary's flat voice says behind me.

  I accept his offer, and expect him to trade places with me, but he suggests I stay put.