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At almost two weeks in, Kathy was starting to recognize some of the other people living in the Mount now. There was a woman she passed every day; they were staying in the same building, though Kathy had no idea which apartment she lived in. Most days, the woman stood on her balcony and stared down at the exes beyond the Wall, staggering between the dusty cars and trucks. Every now and then she'd be muttering something, a prayer maybe, or talking to herself.
It wasn't that uncommon. From a distance, the undead were a good device for soul-searching. Kathy did the same more often than she wanted to admit to, though from her window. The door to her balcony remained shut, locked, and the blinds drawn.
This evening, though, the woman was on top of one of the stacked cars a half block or so from one of the guard platforms. It was a minivan with a broad roof and she was cross-legged on the luggage rack, a heavy blanket under her. She looked down through the coils of barbed wire at the exes on the weed-covered slope with a peaceful expression. Seeing Kathy, though, she grew a little more animated and waved her over.
Kathy hesitated, but eventually veered right towards the other woman. She'd been pleasant the few times they'd spoken, never tried to pry into Kathy's identity or proselytize or act awed to be in her presence, which put her in the rare minority of people. So she could spare a few moments of chitchat, she supposed. Besides, all Kathy was going to do was go up to her room and stare at the closet ceiling for a few hours before trying to get some sleep. Might as well pretend to be social for a bit.
( Maybe THIS time, something in the Mount would go right. )
[Warning for typical zombie violence and NPC death. Adapted from Chapter 17 of Ex-Communication, by Peter Clines. NFI, NFB, OOC is shiny. Previous Post]
It wasn't that uncommon. From a distance, the undead were a good device for soul-searching. Kathy did the same more often than she wanted to admit to, though from her window. The door to her balcony remained shut, locked, and the blinds drawn.
This evening, though, the woman was on top of one of the stacked cars a half block or so from one of the guard platforms. It was a minivan with a broad roof and she was cross-legged on the luggage rack, a heavy blanket under her. She looked down through the coils of barbed wire at the exes on the weed-covered slope with a peaceful expression. Seeing Kathy, though, she grew a little more animated and waved her over.
Kathy hesitated, but eventually veered right towards the other woman. She'd been pleasant the few times they'd spoken, never tried to pry into Kathy's identity or proselytize or act awed to be in her presence, which put her in the rare minority of people. So she could spare a few moments of chitchat, she supposed. Besides, all Kathy was going to do was go up to her room and stare at the closet ceiling for a few hours before trying to get some sleep. Might as well pretend to be social for a bit.
( Maybe THIS time, something in the Mount would go right. )
[Warning for typical zombie violence and NPC death. Adapted from Chapter 17 of Ex-Communication, by Peter Clines. NFI, NFB, OOC is shiny. Previous Post]
