Chapter Text
Chapter Thirty-Three - Fugue
Liam dreams of lightning.
He hasn’t dreamed in a while, it feels like. Usually, he remembers, because it’s about that Keeper, or it’s about Brett, getting bitten, waiting for him on the couch only to reanimate when he comes home.
So when he wakes up - after dreaming of lightning and the gnashing of Jensen’s teeth, right after he’d turned, drowned in the water of the storm - he’s disoriented for a bit. He’s shivering and cold on the ground, and inhaling hurts his chest and ribs.
The water. Jensen. The log that slammed against him. He remembers, vaguely, now. It feels like it happened years ago, and he only remembers pieces - enough to know what happened, but not enough to form a coherent whole.
The room is dark, but there’s weak rays of light piercing the drapes. It must be daytime, but still stormy. Fudge lies nearby, panting.
“Morning.”
Liam rolls, wincing. Brett’s sitting nearby a tiny fire, eyes puffy and red. He looks pale, and exhausted, and every inch the level of fed up and tired Liam is as well.
“Hi,” Liam croaks.
“You were out a while.”
“Sorry.”
“Don’t be.” Brett rubs his face tiredly. “I made breakfast, sort of.”
Jensen, Grace. The kids. All gone and dead. It feels like a dream still - it feels like it didn’t happen. Liam knows he’ll feel it later, when he’s least expecting it, but for now, he’s grateful for the respite from emotions. He’s been a wreck the last few days. Knows it, too. Went into a deep dark headspace even Brett couldn’t follow him into.
Not that he’d want anyone to follow him there, really.
“How’s the ribs?” Brett asks.
Liam sits up, wincing. “Alright. I’ve had worse.”
“Any cuts?”
Liam takes inventory. He doesn’t think there are new cuts. Just old ones, scabs, healing over. He feels under the weather, but that could be anything. Lack of food, lack of warmth, lack of sleep.
“Are we leaving today?” he asks.
“If we can find a car. You’re that keen?”
“I just want to get away from here.” His voice comes out desperate, plaintive. A child who wants their mother, not an adult responsible for literally curing the world’s worst plague.
“I know,” Brett says. “Me too.”
~*~
The town is ruined.
They’ve saved their most important things. The water level has dropped, a little, enough to go back to the original warehouse and find the things they’d left behind. Almost all of it is waterlogged, leaving no chance of finding a warm blanket.
Hayden takes point, followed by Brett. Liam limps along behind them, breathing shallowly from the bruising on his ribs, while Fudge follows.
“So how old are you?” Kit asks nervously.
He’s twitchy. Skinny. Looks like he doesn’t see a lot of sunlight. It’s clear that this kid is an indoor kid - someone who has survival skills, but not the conventional kind. Not the kind that’s kept Liam alive this long.
“Eighteen,” Liam grits out.
“Oh.” Kit’s walking alongside him, which Liam isn’t too keen on but can’t exactly protest. “I’m seventeen.”
He doesn’t look it. He looks about twelve. Which Liam is sure how Brett felt when they first met. This kid, though - he doesn’t have half the smarts Liam did, then, or does now. His group must keep him alive. Liam doesn’t honestly care - he’s not here to judge, and even with busted ribs he’s sure he can take the guy.
The cars are all wet, but a few are intact. Brett gets to work siphoning fuel into one of them while Liam takes inventory. They’ve lost a substantial amount of their good food - meat, namely - but the canned stuff and their medicine is intact.
Things could be worse, but not by much. They’ve lost a whole family. Fuck, they lost a baby. Even the baby-
Liam tries not to think of Savannah, or little Lori. They’re all someone’s baby, he supposes, even the ones who are grown up and tired.
“Liam.”
He looks up. Brett’s near a car, checking the tyres. He looks pained.
“Will you sit?” he says. “You look tired.”
Liam doesn’t want to sit, but taking a full breath in is hurting his chest and ribs even though they’re only bruised, and he’s got some sort of nondescript pain in his left knee that’s giving him a noticeable limp.
He makes a compromise by leaning on the car closest to him, taking the weight off his leg and straightening his torso out. The sun’s out again, and it’s warm, but there are still whole parts of the town that are flooded.
The place is levelled. The buildings that are still standing look vaguely smushed, and the trees are mostly uprooted from the ground and lying on houses and cars. They’re lucky they made it out alive.
“The birds,” he realises aloud.
Brett looks up. “What about them?”
Liam can’t believe he was so stupid. There was no wildlife when they got into town - no birds or bunnies, only one deer that they saw. A quiet little place like this should have been full of them.
“There were no birds because they all fucked off before the flood,” Liam says. “Animals know that stuff. That’s why there weren’t any here… they could feel it coming.”
He looks down at Fudge. Fudge, who had given them false biter warnings a few times over the course of the day. He was trying to tell them, in his own way, that they weren’t safe. All he can think is that if he’d just realised this a little sooner, Jensen and his family wouldn’t be dead.
“It isn’t your fault,” Kit’s voice pipes up meekly, and Liam looks up at him. He’d sort of forgotten the guy was here. “The quiet is normal now. You couldn’t have known.”
Surprisingly, Liam feels a little more at ease with the reassurance. Kit’s scrawny and not especially street smart, for sure, but he risked his life to help them find shelter from the storm and he’s still helping them now.
“Thanks, man,” Liam says.
Brett straightens up. “This one’s okay,” he says softly. “Wet inside still, but the tyres are good and I reckon it’ll get us to at least the next town over. It’ll be a tight fit… but we’ll manage.”
“Sounds good,” Liam says, pushing himself off the car with a wince. “Let’s go.”
~*~
Kit drives.
Liam’s useless at driving, and he’s even more useless at driving when he’s exhausted and in pain. Hayden takes shotgun while Brett and Liam - the biggest of the group - squeeze into the back with Fudge, who just seems happy to be lying down.
Liam dozes against the window for a little bit. It’s not ideal sleeping conditions - the car works but it’s wet inside, and the road is just bumpy enough to make Liam’s ribs hurt fiercely.
They drive for a few hours, watching as the road eventually clears and the water becomes less and less. Liam’s too tired to think about Jensen’s family, trapped in watery graves to rot.
He didn’t even put them down. He remembers - sort of - Jensen’s walker grabbing his ankle, yanking him down. Remembers using the knife he has strapped to his belt to cut a few fingers loose, enough to get him out of there and resurface.
He turned so quickly his eyes didn’t even look dead. Liam shivers.
Brett looks over at him. “You okay?” he asks softly.
Kit’s eyes focus on him in the rear view mirror. He’s chewing his lip, and he looks worried.
“I’m okay,” Liam confirms.
A sign flashes past. The next town is only a few dozen miles away.
“Let’s stop at the next town,” Brett says. “We might be able to find a better car… or at least a dry one.”
~*~
The next town over is bigger than the last, and has a few biters roaming aimlessly over the roads.
Liam doesn’t think he’s ever been so relieved to see the ugly bastards. Biters left to wander around means Keepers or Raiders haven’t harnessed them to use in booby traps anywhere.
They pull up near a motel. It’s almost dark, now - they’ve got maybe an hour or two of sunlight left at most.
Liam knows he should hunt. But his leg hurts, and he’s still finding it hard to take a deep breath, and he’s so tired.
They get out of the car at the motel, and Liam realises that there’s been a silent, unanimous decision made - that they’re stopping here for the night to rest. He grabs his crossbow and a machete, whistles at Fudge, and heads towards the first two rooms.
“Wait,” Kit says.
Liam turns. Kit’s grabbing a machete too, looking unsure but determined. “You’re hurt,” he says. “I’ll help you clear it.”
Liam hesitates. But Kit looks determined and Brett and Hayden are both busy unloading the car and taking inventory.
“Alright,” Liam says. “But stay close.”
Kit does as he’s told. He’s good - he’s inexperienced but he reads cues well, takes direction from Liam, and helps him clear the first few rooms and barricade the rest from the outside, just in case some curious walkers come stumbling out for food in the middle of the night. They return to the car slowly, with Liam having no more inclination to rush than he does to hunt.
“Hey,” Brett says when he gets back. “Come over here.”
Liam puts his things down and goes to the car. Brett gestures for him to lean up against it.
He does, lifting his shirt when he’s asked to, and watches tiredly as Brett surveys his chest, then runs his hands over Liam’s ribs. It hurts, higher up near his pectoral muscles, when Brett probes.
“Ow,” he mutters pointedly.
“Sorry,” Brett murmurs. “Nothing’s broken, just bruised. How’s the leg?”
Liam winces. He was hoping to get away with not saying anything about his leg.
“It’s fine. I twisted it or something.”
“You gotta tell me this stuff,” Brett admonishes gently, but he doesn’t say anything else. He just lets Liam’s shirt fall back into place and looks at Kit. “What do you think?” he asks softly.
Liam considers it. Kit isn’t lighting up his spidey senses, Fudge seems okay with him, and he’s been pretty helpful up until this point. “I think we’re good,” he says. “If he’s gonna ambush us, he’s playing the long game. He’s just done everything we’ve told him to.”
“Where do you think he’s holed up?”
Liam shakes his head. “No clue. Nowhere near here.”
“Hey,” Brett calls. “Kit.”
Kit turns around, blinking.
“Where’s your group?”
“The state library,” he says.
Brett’s eyebrows shoot up. “The state library?”
“Yeah,” Kit says. “It’s attached to a college campus and there’s loads of rooms around. We cleared them all out and live in it. It has its own generators and everything.”
That’s pretty smart, Liam thinks. He never would’ve done it himself, but then again, he’s not a big reader. The library is up there on his list of last places to go, along with hospital, police station and any hardware store, ever.
“How far are we?” Brett asks.
“If we can find a map, I can show you,” Kit says. “But a while. Especially if we’re gonna stay off the main roads and away from Keepers.”
Liam and Hayden’s heads jerk up. “You know the Keepers?” Liam asks.
Kit looks uncomfortable. “We’ve had a few run ins with them, yeah,” he says softly. “Lost of a lot of people like that… they’ve driven us out of a lot of places and kept us away from more. Finding food is getting harder.”
It’s like that for everyone, now, unless hunting is something people know how to do. It seems like there aren’t many, or that a lot of them have migrated to the cities, where deer haven’t quite come back in force and canned food, if it’s still good to eat, is scarce.
There’s just not enough resources left and, somehow, still too many people. Even after all this. Even at the end.
“Let’s go inside,” Brett says quietly.
~*~
The beds are soft.
That’s a plus at least. Liam sinks into theirs like he’s ready to sleep forever, hoping that the Tylenol Brett plied him with and the sleep he’s about to get will ease the pain in his chest. Nothing’s broken, but the bruising is bad enough to make it feel that way.
Liam’s had broken ribs before. He knows this isn’t that. Then is not now. In so many ways, that’s worse, but in some, it’s better.
Brett crawls into bed next to him. Hayden is with them, but Kit is the next room over. Neither of them really felt like leaving Hayden alone with a new guy, and Kit had said he prefers to sleep alone, anyway.
“Long few days,” Brett says, finally.
Liam looks at him. Brett’s been crying a bit lately, since they lost the family, like it’s shoved him over the edge. And then there’s the freezing.
He remembers it. They haven’t talked about it, but that doesn’t make it less real. He remembers it - standing in the rain, with the flood around them, exhausted and bruised and in pain and with his arm around Brett’s neck.
He remembers the zombie. He remembers Brett’s body slackening under his arm. Brett’s not good. Brett’s almost as not good as Liam is, except Brett’s is harder to spot.
Liam doesn’t know what will happen the next time they encounter zombies. If Brett will lose it again. But he knows what he saw, what he felt - he knows that Brett wasn’t entirely with him. He knows it because he’s seen it.
Brett’s watching him expectantly. “Yeah,” Liam says, finally.
“You’re talkative tonight,” Brett comments, seeming a little uneasy.
“It hurts to talk.” It’s not the whole truth but it’s part of it, so Liam doesn’t feel bad for it, really. He doesn’t feel bad for not lumping more on Brett’s plate.
“Yeah,” Brett says softly. “I bet. Why don’t you sleep?”
Liam’s worried that if he sleeps, he’ll dream. He’s worried that if he sleeps, he’ll awaken only when it’s too late to do anything if zombies burst into the room, or Kit turns out to not be their friend.
He’s worried that if he sleeps, he’ll never quite wake up again. Not in a way that makes him useful to anyone.
“Okay,” he says.
There’s a Smith and Wesson under the pillow and Liam’s giving up all pretence of being relatively relaxed. He’s giving it up and it feels good, the shape of the gun under the pillow beneath his head. He’s giving it up, and there’s no going back.
~*~
There are no zombies during the night. Kit doesn’t betray them. Keepers don’t burst into the room.
Liam wakes sometime in the black of the night, nearest to witching hour, and sits up, immediately and strangely alert. His first thought is Fudge, who is snuffling in his sleep at the end of the bed.
He relaxes, marginally. If there was something to worry about, Fudge would be awake by now, and growling. He would have heard it first. Liam might be tired enough to sleep through danger, but Fudge isn’t.
His ribs don’t hurt as much anymore. As he reaches to probe them gently, the hand he’s bracing on the mattress slips, nudging the cold metal of the gun.
He looks around. Hayden is asleep in the bed next to them. Brett’s passed out cold, rolled onto his side and away from Liam. When Liam strokes the skin of his arm gently, it’s cold.
He pulls up the blanket. His hair still feels damp, skin a little clammy. He’s not sick, but he feels like he never really got dry after what happened with the flood.
A sound drifts towards him.
He straightens, heart suddenly hammering. Maybe he did miss something. Maybe-
It’s music, he realises. A guitar, to be exact, playing a slow, mournful tune just down the hall.
Liam slides out of bed carefully and pulls jeans on, not bothering with a t-shirt. Fudge raises his head, looking a little peeved, and then hops off the bed to follow Liam out of the room and down the hall.
Liam doesn’t knock on Kit’s door, simply pushes it open. It’s not barricaded, which feels unsafe to say the least, but Liam’s almost grateful for it. He’s so tired of caution.
Kit looks up when he enters. He’s holding a guitar across his lap, looking tired and a little sad. “Hi,” he says. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you up.”
“It’s okay.” Liam’s surprised to find that the words are true - it is okay. He’s not tired anymore. “Just came to check the noise out. Habit.”
Kit nods. “Are you feeling better?”
He’s looking at Liam’s chest, which is sporting some ugly black bruising. “Yeah, it doesn’t hurt much anymore,” Liam says. “Guess I just needed some sleep.”
Kit’s the first person his age and gender that he’s met since this whole thing started. River’s End had no teenagers, and everyone was either older or younger than him by years. He can feel the difference. Kit might’ve had a different apocalyptic experience, but he can feel that they’re similar in some ways.
He enters slowly and sits down with a wince. Fudge joins them, putting his head on Liam’s thigh.
Kit looks at him. It’s dark, but there’s a candle lit, so Liam can sort of see him. Enough to know Kit’s looking at him, anyway.
“So,” Kit says. “What happened to you?”
He doesn’t need to specify what he means, or when. Everyone alive knows that that question isn’t specific to today, or yesterday, or last week. It means, “where were you when it hit, and how did you survive this long?”
Liam clears his throat a little. “I had a group,” he says. “Then we got split up. Then I was alone.”
It’s the cliff notes version - short and succinct, but not untrue. The only part of his story that differs from everyone else’s story was how long he managed to survive alone for.
“How long for?” Kit asks.
“Years.” He truthfully doesn’t remember, now. Two. At least. “What happened to you?”
Kit looks down. “I was staying with my older brother and his girlfriend,” he says. “They lived together near the college campus. He’s a cop. She was a doctor, or a nurse, or something. When things got bad… well, she went.”
It’s a pretty familiar story. Most of the world’s medical experts and law enforcement was wiped out when they were first responders to the outbreak. “Your brother?”
“He’s still alive.” Kit sounds subdued, though, so Liam guesses it’s not a happy story. “He’s there. He’s waiting for me. He’ll be freaking out.” He nods towards the hallway. “What about your brother? How’d you find him again if you were alone?”
Liam feels his face heat a little bit. “He’s not my brother.”
“Oh.” Then Kit’s eyes widen. “I - oh. Shit. Sorry, I didn’t mean-”
“It’s fine. You’re not the first.” Liam fidgets uncomfortably. “Brett was the first person I’d spoken to for a year. He came through Ashburton looking for his friends - he got split up for them. He ended up having to stay, and then I got hurt. He saved my life. I told him I’d help him find his friends.”
“And…” Kit’s blushing. “You uh…?”
“Got together somewhere around that time, yeah,” Liam says. “Have you always been at the library?”
“Not always. We moved around a lot. Found people and tried to help them.” Kit shakes his head. “But then the Keepers kept pushing us out of our territory, and so we just kind of moved further and further back towards the library and the college campus.”
“The Keepers are everywhere,” Liam says softly.
Kit nods. “And the Raiders.”
Liam’s only heard about the Raiders in passing. He knows that they move more than the Keepers, and that they generally live by their namesake, travelling main roads in an effort to ambush others and steal from them. They’re not as notorious for killing, but they’re smarter with traps.
Either way, Liam doesn’t want to fuck with them.
“We were out looking for supplies,” Kit says. “They took me because I know maps. I’m good with stuff like that. But this is the first time I’ve really left without my brother, and I’m not… like you and your friends.”
Liam shrugs. “You’re still alive. That’s gotta count for something. I wouldn’t be here if Brett didn’t know his way around medicine.”
Kit nods. “I’m not useful like that, though.”
“Don’t have to be useful to be worth saving,” Liam says, and tries not to think of Jensen and his family and every other person he’s failed along the way - Garret, and Vinnie, all the people who died in River’s End…
“Sure helps your case, though,” Kit mumbles, and Liam can’t do anything other than agree with that.
~*~
He wakes up to birds chirping.
He lies there for a minute, basking in the sound and the knowledge that birds chirping means no imminent threat. The sun is out, and there’s a distinct lack of rain.
He’d wandered back to his room last night near dawn, crawled in, and curled up pretty much on top of Brett. There had been no dreams, only a restful sleep. He hadn’t heard the guitar again, but it was comforting to know that Kit was just down the hall with it.
He rolls over, onto his stomach, and begins to straighten. His chest gives a warning stab of pain, reminding him of his ribs - he should really do something about that - and he lies flat again, content, for a moment, to watch the sunlight play across the sheets.
It’s quiet.
Finally, he rolls onto his back and sits. Brett’s not in the bed with him, which is pretty much the only reason Liam even bothers getting up. He wanders out - walking gingerly not because he’s in pain, but because he’s trying to preserve the silence.
Brett’s in the lobby of the building. He can hear Hayden outside, splitting firewood.
Brett looks up at him. His eyes are red, and tired - he’s been crying again, Liam’s sure, and he feels the crush of hopelessness closing in on him as he realises Brett’s not bouncing back this time around, that something’s really wrong-
“We’re driving east,” Brett says softly. “Get your stuff. We’re getting out of here.”
~*~
They head east.
For the longest time, there’s nothing. Brett and Liam take the lead, and Liam doesn’t fall asleep in the car this time around. He stares out the windshield at the sheer amount of nothing, and can’t decide if he feels at peace or whether he’s going to break.
At his feet sits one of their backpacks, and in it, the radio given to them by River’s End before they left. It had managed to stay somewhat dry in the chaos, because Liam had thought ahead and wrapped it in clothes to try and keep it safe from damage, and he’s tempted to take it out.
He imagines what he’d say if he got a response. He wouldn’t know. Maybe, “this is too hard, and we’re hurt, and we’re coming home” or maybe “is Lori safe?” or maybe just “I’m tired, and a little stressed, and I want this to be over”.
In reality, he’d probably just cry.
They’ve been quiet a while. Normally, Brett would be chattering away and Liam would be listening, occasionally interjecting. Now, Brett’s quiet.
Liam doesn’t feel dry. Or warm. Hasn’t since the flood. He shivers and burrows down in the seat.
Brett glances at him. “You okay?” he asks. “You’re shivering.”
“I’m okay.” Liam doesn’t have the words to explain that he feels cold down to his bones. “How far away are we?”
“A long way,” Brett murmurs. “We’ll have to stop at the next town, see if we can rustle up some more fuel. Maybe even some food.”
Canned food is getting more and more scarce. They both know it. Liam will have to hunt soon.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” Brett asks. “Are you getting sick?”
“I’m not getting sick,” Liam grumbles, not even fully knowing if that’s the truth or not. “I’m fine.” Either of them getting sick is the last thing they need right now.
“Alright.” Brett still looks worried, though, and like he’s about to start fussing again. Liam sighs and sucks his lower lip in between his teeth; he and Brett haven’t been intimate in such a long time that Liam’s beginning to feel disconnected - more like a hindrance than anything else.
“Something on your mind?” Brett asks. He was quiet before and Liam had hoped he’d talk - now that they’re actually talking he wishes Brett would leave him alone.
“No,” he mumbles. “Just tired I guess.”
“I’ll let you sleep,” Brett says, softly, and leans over to put a hand on the back of his neck and rub it with his thumb. “Get some rest, okay? You’ll heal up faster if you do.”
Right. His ribs. He’d forgotten.
“Alright,” he mumbles. “Wake me up if you want me to drive.”
He knows Brett won’t. Brett knows he won’t. He needs to say the words anyway.
~*~
The hospital is chaos.
The lights are flickering overhead and there are nurses everywhere, holding people to beds. The beds - overflowing from rooms into the hallway, too many trauma patients for the hospital to handle, too many sick people and not enough nurses.
They’d started biting a few hours before and now the military is here. The military is here and Liam’s pretty sure they’re shooting people. He can hear banging but he’s never heard gunfire that isn’t in a movie before-
“Liam, get out of here!”
It’s his stepdad, looking frantic. His coat is splattered with blood.
“Dad,” he says-
“Get out of here, take the fire escape! Find your mother!”
His mom is at home. She’s probably scared. Liam’s scared too but he’s not any better off here than he is anywhere else so he decides to go-
“What about you?” he asks.
“I have to stay here.” His stepdad looks almost calm. “These people need me.”
“I need you!” Liam cries. “Mom needs you-”
“I won’t be far behind you,” his stepdad reassures him, even as the chaos reigns around them. “Liam, go home, okay? Go help your mom. Get clear of the town-”
A nurse screams. Liam turns, only to see a patient, rising off the bed and gnawing into her neck. There are geysers of blood spraying everywhere, and people are screaming and screaming and screaming, and there’s gunfire-
“Now, Liam!” his stepdad bellows, and Liam finds the fire escape and flees.
~*~
“God!”
He wakes up to a flare of pain in his chest and the sensation of being thrown.
It takes him a moment to realise he’s the one who’s spoken - jolted out of sleep, in pain, with his arm braced protectively around his damaged ribs. Brett’s hissing beside him.
“Sorry, baby,” he says regretfully. “Pothole.”
“Are we almost there?” Liam groans, trying to take his mind off the throb in his chest.
“We’re stopping soon,” Brett says. “Fuel.”
“Right.”
They sit there in silence for a while. Liam feels a little shell shocked by his dream. He hadn’t remembered the beginning of this nightmare for a while. In fact, he’d almost forgotten. He’d spent so long trying to solve it, back in Ashburton, and now…
And now, it doesn’t make a difference. Didn’t then either, because what was he going to do with the knowledge even if he did work out the cause of the plague? There’s nothing left.
He drifts. His chest throbs, even after Brett forces Tylenol on him. When they stop for fuel, Brett digs through their med kit while Liam leans on the car and watches.
“What’re you looking for?” he asks. Brett’s almost frantic with whatever’s driving him, and even Kit is looking at them, albeit sideways, seemingly aware that something is amiss.
“Bandages,” Brett says shortly.
“What? Why?”
“For your ribs.”
Liam blinks. “You can’t splint-”
“But I can bind them.” Brett sounds almost angry and Liam’s almost scared so he shuts up and watches as Brett finally produces what he’s looking for. He even complies, silently, when he’s told to take his shirt off.
“Hold this here,” Brett mumbles, giving Liam the end of the bandage. He’s braced against the car - which turns out to be a good thing when Brett starts pulling and twisting and even though it hurts, enough that he’s making noise, he can feel that it’ll help eventually.
Kit says nothing. Neither does Hayden, even though she must know as well as Liam that wasting bandages on a wound that would heal regardless is a waste. Everyone can sense Brett’s mood, and no one - not even Liam - is brave enough to try and pull him out of it.
“You’re done,” Brett says. “Let’s go.”
“We’ve barely stopped,” Hayden says.
“We need to go-”
“You said you wanted to look for food here,” Liam interrupts shortly.
There’s a silence. Brett looks at him. Liam looks back, ready to get aggressive if he has to. He’s used to it, been doing it his whole life in fact, so this isn’t out of the ordinary except-
Except it’s Brett. He doesn’t want to be aggressive with Brett.
But he worries for nothing. Brett relents, looks away. “Yeah, fine,” he says. “We’ll look for food.”
Liam shoulders his crossbow, suppressing the wince it almost elicits. “I’ll take Kit,” he mutters.
“What?” Brett asks. “You’re hurt, you need to be with someone who can protect you-”
“It’s fine, we won’t even be going far.” He trusts Kit, oddly, who is inexperienced but willing to learn and follow direction. “Enough food for a few nights. That’s all.”
Brett doesn’t answer and Liam and Kit move off. It’s quiet for a while, apart from Liam’s shuffling through shelves in an abandoned supermarket.
“So,” Kit says. “That was awkward.”
Liam surprises himself by laughing a little. “Yeah.”
“Does… that happen often?”
And now he’s sad. “No,” he murmurs. “He’s just been weird lately. Different. I don’t know what it is… I’m just worried I guess.”
What is it about Kit that makes him forthcoming? Makes him feel okay to talk? Is it because they’re alike in age, or because Kit is so small and so clearly helpless that there’s no part of him Liam can view as a threat?
And what the fuck is going on with Brett?
“How far are we?” Liam hears himself ask. “From the library?”
“Not… well, not that far, I don’t think. Maybe a day, a little more if we stop.”
Fudge whines. His tail is between his legs.
“Stay quiet,” Liam says softly, and raises his crossbow, trying not to gasp at the tug it causes to his ribs. “There’s something here.”
Kit goes quiet beside him. Liam can see him shaking minutely from the corner of his eye.
A moment later, he hears it; a soft dragging noise, a groan. He steps forward silently and rounds the corner to a zombie - well, most of it. The left leg is gone below the knee, and the zombie is struggling to get up, staring at him sightlessly.
He raises the crossbow and puts a bolt in its skull before he can ruminate on the missing leg for long. Kit appears at his shoulder.
“Amputation?” he asks quietly.
“Guess they were too late,” Liam says shortly. “C'mon. Let’s go.”
“Where?”
“As far away from this fucking shithole as we can get,” Liam says, and slams out of the store with no care for what might hear the glass rattle.
~*~
They’ve been driving for a while.
It’s muggy, but the wind has bite to it. Liam’s in the front seat of the car with Brett, his head pillowed against his arm and the window, dozing in and out of consciousness.
His ribs hurt. His brain feels like static. When he used to get like this his mom would smooth his hair off his forehead and whisper, “We’ll get you back in tune,” because it was the only thing that made sense to his ten-year-old brain - the drawn likeness between his head, and a TV that only works half the time.
He can feel Brett’s tension. Brett probably knows he isn’t sleeping and there’s something unpleasant in coiled in his stomach, something that tells him this is all wrong. It’s his walker feeling, his sixth sense for danger, only he doesn’t know why he’s getting it now, curled defensively against the car door.
“What’s going on with you?” Brett asks, sounding like he’s aiming for sympathy and falling somewhere in the territory of passive-aggressive.
“Nothing,” Liam mutters, aware that he sounds every bit like the teenager he is and not like the adult he wishes he was. “What’s going on with you?”
“With me?”
“Yeah, with you. You’ve been handling me with kid gloves again.” There’s something under his skin, gnawing, eating at him slowly until it consumes his thoughts entirely. “What’s up with the whole wanting to wrap my ribs and stop me going with Kit?”
“Kit’s a stranger.” Brett sounds so fucking reasonable Liam grinds his teeth over it. “And he’s clearly not well-acclimatised to the world we live in.”
“Fuck, Brett, maybe that’s a good thing? Maybe we’re not fucking supposed to be?”
“Some of us aren’t.” He sounds testy now. “Some of us are just better at hiding it.”
Liam sits up from the car window and turns. Brett doesn’t meet his gaze, because he’s driving, but Liam glares a hole into the side of his head, knowing Brett can feel it. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”
“It means you had a breakdown in the middle of the fucking night a few nights ago and you were apologising to me and didn’t even bother to wake me up,” Brett snaps. “It means you’re getting closer and closer to the edge and I never drag you back enough to break even.”
Liam sits back, the fight leaking out of him like a bucket with several holes in it. He feels - embarrassed. Ashamed. Angry, for being caught out - for letting himself be that vulnerable in the first place.
I never drag you back enough to break even. That’s what Brett said, and he’s right, probably, Liam thinks dejectedly. His mental health is getting worse, not better. Brett’s not a psychiatrist, and he doesn’t have drugs, and maybe he’s even less suited for this world than Kit is. He’s not even horrified by what he sees anymore. Just numb.
He turns back to the window, defeated. He doesn’t have a rebuttal, an explanation, an excuse. Nothing.
“Liam,” Brett says quietly.
He says nothing. How can he? All he’s done is screw things up. Jensen’s whole family died. Then Brett got weird. Now they’re fighting, really fighting. He’s never needed conflict resolution skills with Brett. He never had them with anyone - he either fought like hell, or he fled.
Brett’s hand lands on his thigh gently. He flinches a little; Brett moves it. Liam doesn’t want to imagine the pained expression on his face.
“Liam, I’m sorry,” Brett murmurs, voice broken. “That wasn’t fair of me.”
Liam tucks his head against the glass of the window and prays for sleep.
~*~
He dreams about his mom and stepdad.
He doesn’t know why he’s dreaming of them more. Can’t even remember it precisely when he wakes - just knows that he was thinking of them, that he misses them deeply. He wants so badly to see them again, or at least have closure on what happened.
He thought he was old enough to not miss his parents. That’s just another thing he was wrong about, he supposes.
“You awake?”
He blinks and turns. Brett’s glancing at him, trying to focus on him and the road at the same time. They’re still driving. Liam doesn’t know how long he’s slept for.
“Uh,” he says. “Yeah.”
The fight still stings, but not as badly as before. He supposes they’re just moving on, now, not acknowledging it. He wishes they would.
“Drink something,” Brett says quietly. “You were really out of it.”
Liam takes the offered bottle of water and drinks uneasily, worried that it won’t sit quite right in his stomach. He doesn’t need to worry; he’s suddenly thirsty, and drinks almost half the bottle before capping it and putting it at his feet.
The car is silent. Brett’s fingers are twitching uneasily on the steering wheel.
Liam feels bad. Feels bad for breaking down, for not saying anything, that Brett thought it was his fault - feels bad for not being honest and bad for feeling the way he does in the first place. He feels bad for their fight. He wants to get back on medication, something to keep him more evenly keeled, only everything is out of date and they can’t afford for him to be fucked up on pills at the moment.
“I’m sorry,” he says, embarrassed when his voice comes out hoarse and pitched like he’s going to cry.
He sees Brett swallow. “Don’t, Liam,” he murmurs.
Liam turns his face to the window again. Brett obviously doesn’t want to hear it. Looks like they’ll be sitting in silence for a while.
He hears Brett lick his lips. “We’re almost there,” he says, and Liam can read an undertone in his voice of regret - maybe that he cut Liam off, maybe that they’re fighting in the first place, but it’s not an apology or an acknowledgement and Liam doesn’t know where he stands, so he’s silent.
“Get some more sleep,” Brett follows up with. “I’ll wake you up.”
~*~
He next opens his eyes because the car shudders.
He’s aching again, but he feels a tiny bit more alert and opens his eyes. They’re on a road - one that has lines and everything - and there are buildings rising up around him.
“We’re pretty much there,” Brett says. “Sorry about the bump.”
Liam shakes his head, it doesn’t matter. Kit and Hayden are turning the corner; even Fudge has sat up in the back seat and is pitched forward between the front seats, panting. He licks Liam’s cheek.
Kit and Hayden pull to a stop in front of a soaring building, covered with dilapidated signs advertising cultural events and upcoming speakers. This must be the library, Liam realises, except it doesn’t really look like one.
He sees Kit and Hayden get out. Brett undoes his seatbelt.
“Looks like we’re headed up,” he says, and Liam follows obediently, opens the back door so that Fudge can get out of the car.
There are guards just inside the door and a security code that needs to be entered - the place runs on generators, Kit explains frantically as he leads them through a winding hallway. It’s one of the things that makes it safest.
The hallway leads into an enormous room, maybe meant for meetings of some description. There are people waiting - at least one of them is wearing a lab coat.
“Kit?” one of the women says.
“They’re okay,” Kit says quickly. “They saved my life. Look, the rest of the team, have they-?”
“They haven’t come back yet,” the woman says, and Kit’s shoulders slump.
She directs her attention to Liam, Brett, and Hayden. “I’m Leanne,” she says. “Who are you?”
“I’m Brett,” Brett says, “and this is Hayden and Liam. We were travelling through the area when we got stuck in a flood. Kit helped us, and we said we’d bring him home.”
She nods. “Are any of you hurt?”
“Yes,” Brett says, gesturing at Liam. “He’s got something wrong with his ribs, and Hayden’s knocked her head a bit. Do you have a doctor?”
The man in the coat steps forward, assessing them all with his eyes. They fall squarely on Liam, who hasn’t said anything yet.
“What’s your name?” he asks, and he sounds gentle. Something makes Liam want to trust him.
“Liam,” he replies quietly.
“Okay.” He smiles. “I’m Eric, Liam. Would you be happy to come with me for a physical examination?”
“Alright,” he says, and steps forward. Brett makes to follow him.
“I’m sorry,” Eric says, stepping forward a little. “I’d like to conduct this assessment in private. You can see him when we’re done.”
“No,” Brett says. “He doesn’t go alone-”
“It’s not up for discussion,” Eric says calmly. It’s not aggressive, but there’s an air of finality about what he says that pulls Brett up short. He’s watching Liam now, clearly distressed at not being able to follow.
“I’ll be okay,” Liam says, wishing he could believe it himself, let alone convince someone else.
“Liam…”
He turns to follow Eric. They’re quiet for a moment, and then Eric clears his throat, clearly intending on starting a conversation.
“So, Liam, is it?”
Liam nods.
“I know it must be weird for you to come in here and immediately be met with this kind of a welcome wagon.” He says it ruefully. “I hope you can trust we have your best interests at heart.”
Liam doesn’t even really care if they do or not. Jensen and his family are dead, Hayden will probably choose to stay here rather than continue on with them, they haven’t heard from River’s End, and he’s lost Brett. He could probably deal with everything else, but he can’t cope with losing Brett.
Eric opens a door and motions him through. It looks almost like a regular doctor’s office, apart from the clutter of books lying around.
Brett will love it here, Liam muses. Maybe he can stay.
“Up you hop,” Eric says, gesturing to a padded table against a wall. Liam hops up and sits, swinging his legs a little. God, he’s tired. He feels sluggish, like he’s underwater. Fighting with Brett has put him in a tailspin. Brett won’t even hear him out. How does he fix this?
“I’m just going to give you a general check-up, alright?” Eric asks kindly. “Your brother said you have some injuries.”
“He’s my boyfriend,” Liam says hollowly. “I think.”
The man pauses. “Alright. Can you take your shirt off?”
Liam does, and deals with the prodding and poking and takes deep breaths when the stethoscope is put to his chest. His vision is almost swimming, he’s so tired. So tired and so, so ready for… sleep, or peace, or whatever passes for either of them now.
“How old are you?” Eric’s voice is at his back, now.
“Eighteen.”
A hand probes his chest where the scar from the knife is. “What happened here?”
“I got stabbed. Had surgery to fix it all up. It doesn’t hurt anymore.”
More probing to his chest. He hisses in a breath when a particularly tender spot is poked, and Eric pauses what he’s doing.
“Does that hurt?”
“Yes.”
“Okay.” Eric pulls up a chair and sits down in front of Liam. “You have some damage to your ribs, I can tell you that much without needing to x-ray you. They’re likely not broken - might not even be cracked - but you need to lie low and let them heal for a while. Your knee is suffering from a bit of a twist… I think rest should help that too, but if it doesn’t I’ll find some light exercises.”
Liam nods silently.
The doctor watches him for a moment, then sighs a little. “You’re not sick,” he says softly. “Not with any flu or cold. But you’re quite pale… you look tired. If anything I’d say you’re run down and in desperate need of a real meal.”
“I am sick,” Liam says, surprised at himself.
Eric looks worried. “You are? With what?”
Liam opens his mouth, then closes it, then mumbles, “Some anxiety type bullshit,” like he can cover for the fact that he’s severely mentally damaged.
Eric’s face softens. “Rest isn’t a cure for mental illness,” he comforts softly, “but it can help a lot. I’d like you to get some sleep. Do you have problems with nightmares?”
Liam nods. Not lately, because he’s been too tired. But he does.
“Okay. I’ll find you some sleeping tablets. They should stop you from dreaming. I want you to have something to eat - something fast - and sleep for a while. There’s time for a proper meal when you wake up.”
“Why are you helping me?”
The question comes as a surprise to both Liam and the doctor, who turns to him with a pill bottle in his hand.
“Why did you try to help the family Kit told us about?” he asks.
Liam shrugs. “They were helpless. Doesn’t mean much. They’re dead now.”
“You tried,” Eric says.
“I failed,” Liam counters, and promptly starts to cry.
He couldn’t begin to explain why. The travelling, or maybe the constant and nagging pain that’s with him daily, or maybe that he feels like Brett is a stranger and they’ve fought and he doesn’t know where they’re going or when they’re going to get to rest. He could try to explain what’s happened, from the beginning, but it would take too long. It would take too long and he’d never finish, because it’s too much. He’d break. He’s been breaking ever since day one.
Eric hands him tissues and puts a hand on his shoulder, gently, rubs his thumb into the muscle until Liam calms enough to wipe his eyes and blow his nose and feel embarrassed for acting like a five year old.
“You know,” Eric says, “I had a son your age.”
Liam closes his eyes. “Had,” he repeats sadly.
Eric nods. For a moment, Liam looks at him and sees something he recognises in the doctor - grief so deep it cuts into their bones, and the sense that nothing will ever be right again.
Then it’s gone, and Eric straightens.
“He died after the outbreak,” he says. “Some sort of flu or fever. We couldn’t get medicine, even though I knew what was wrong and how to treat it. The Keepers had overrun the hospitals and we didn’t have anyone experienced enough in combat to fight them for it.”
It’s a familiar story, except Eric did lose his son and Liam didn’t lose Brett but he almost lost his life. Little exchanges, all amounting to unpredictable outcomes.
“His death didn’t mean that everyone’s help was rendered worthless,” Eric says softly. “I’m grateful to them for trying. And I’m sure that family was grateful to you too.”
Liam wants to protest that they’d be able to be a little more grateful if he’d done his job and saved their fucking lives, but he doesn’t. He’s tired and just this once, he wants to accept comfort instead of rebelling against it, so he nods and shuts his eyes and doesn’t even flinch when the doctor pushes his hair away from his face and feels his forehead, his hand staying steady on Liam’s shoulder the whole time.
“You’ll be alright,” he says softly, and Liam actually believes him when he says it. “Some sleep and some food. It’s not a cure, but it’s a start.”
“Thank you,” Liam says.
Eric smiles. “Let’s find you a room,” he says. “Do you want to be with Brett?”
The doctor’s nice but too perceptive for Liam’s comfort. He can tell something’s happened between him and Brett - he’s totally onto him about it. “Uh,” he says.
Eric takes the decision out of his hands. “You need decent, uninterrupted sleep,” he says. “I’ll find you a single room for now… you can change your mind later.”
The doc’s giving him refuge Liam didn’t even realise he needed. It’s been like this for a while - protect Brett, get him to Washington, find the cure. It’s not even necessarily about Brett, now - if Liam fucks this up like he did with Jensen and his family and everyone at River’s End and every survivor to have passed through Ashburton and then died, it’s not just Brett’s death he has to deal with. It’ll be the knowledge that he killed the only hope of a cure they have.
“Thank you,” he says again. The words aren’t enough, but he doesn’t have anything else to give.
Eric smiles. “You’ll be alright,” he says again. “But for now let’s get you somewhere to sleep.”
~*~
Liam wakes up to commotion outside his door.
His head feels fuzzy, but his body is relaxed and pain-free after a night of dreamless sleep. He’s not in pain, and he’s not tired. He actually feels decent, and for a moment, it’s so strange that he worries he’s just lost the ability to feel, not considering that he might just be healthy for once.
The commotion is continuing. He can hear Brett’s voice outside the door, and the nice doctor’s. Brett’s probably trying to get in to see him.
He gets up, careful of his ribs, and pads over to the door. When he opens it, Brett is right there on the doorstep, looking exhausted.
“Liam?” he asks.
Liam feels suddenly nervous. “Hi.”
“I didn’t know where you were,” Brett says helplessly. There’s no inflection of anger in his voice. “Nobody would really tell me.”
“He needed rest, which I’m sure you knew,” Eric says quietly. “I gave him a sleeping tablet and some pain medicine. Nothing more than that.”
Liam’s mouth feels cottony. “How long was I out?”
“About sixteen hours,” Eric says.
Liam can’t remember the last time he slept six hours uninterrupted, let alone sixteen. No wonder Brett was worried.
“There’s food in the dining hall when you’re ready,” Eric says quietly, and takes his leave.
Liam risks a look up at Brett. They’ve been on bad terms, different chapters of the same book, never quite syncing up and finding rhythm. He knows he’d be tired too, and angry, and not wanting to deal with his shit.
Brett sighs, puts his hands on the back of his head, and sucks a breath in, his lower lip landing between his teeth. “Fuck, baby,” he says, and his voice breaks. “You look like shit.”
Liam drops his head. He looks like shit, he feels like shit, he is shit. He couldn’t stop the massacre at River’s End. Couldn’t stop the disease. Couldn’t help Jensen’s family. Hasn’t found Brett’s friends. Hasn’t even found Oakridge, which was the whole fucking point of this expedition.
“Liam,” Brett says, and Liam looks up just in time to see Brett step forward and wrap his arms around Liam tightly, hanging on for dear life. His face is in Brett’s chest and he can hear the frantic beat of Brett’s heart.
He was really worried, Liam thinks numbly.
“God, you don’t get it,” Brett says, and Liam realised belatedly that Brett’s stroking his hair and that he’s failed to react to any of this. “You just - God, Liam, I love you so fucking much. I’d do - I’d - there’s no limit to what I’d do to keep you safe. And it comes out wrong. It gets lost in translation. I just - I’ve nearly lost you so many times, and you’ve always found a way back, and it’s so - I feel so helpless. I can’t stop you from doing what you’re doing. But God I wish you’d fucking let me.”
Liam swallows. Brett’s heart is still banging in his ear, and he’s muzzy with the sleeping pills. He still can’t form words.
“I just…” There’s a hand stroking down his back, now. “God, Liam, I love you. I love you, okay? I’m never gonna stop. I wish I could take away what’s happened. All of it. And you look so fucking tired and you look so worn down and I wish you’d just let me help you for more than five minutes at a time.”
He is tired. He is worn down. Every inch of him screams for more rest.
He wraps his arms around Brett’s waist, hesitantly, and leans on him. The noise Brett makes kills something inside him.
“I got you,” he whispers, and he’s kissing Liam’s forehead and being tender in a way they haven’t been before. “I got you, Liam. I love you and I’ll never leave you.”
He’s clinging, now, never wants to let go. “I wanna get back on the same page,” he chokes out, and Brett isn’t inside his head, can’t possibly know what he means - Liam’s reading a script nobody else is privy to. “I hate being apart.”
If Brett doesn’t understand what he’s saying, he sure as hell doesn’t show it. He just whispers, “I know,” and then, guiding Liam to sit, “me too,” and then, “drink this,” as he’s pressing a glass of water into Liam’s hand. “All of it,” he adds.
Liam drinks it. He feels a little clearer, a little more awake.
“Let’s get food,” Brett murmurs, and Liam looks at him and feels like he’s surfacing from a nightmare, a realistic one where his demons wear the faces of his friends and family. “Food, and then… more sleep.”
“Will you stay?”
“Do you want me to?”
“I always want you to,” Liam says helplessly. “I just don’t know how to ask.”
“I’ll make it easier,” Brett says. “If you want to ask I’ll make it easier for you.”
Liam swallows. “Okay.”
~*~
The library community is one of the biggest he’s seen.
When he exits the room he slept in with Brett, it’s into a large hallway. There are beds and sleeping areas built into the walkways on the second level, with offices being converted to rooms on top of that.
The morale is low here - he can feel it. This is no River’s End.
“Has the radio…?” he asks Brett softly, suddenly reminded of their friends.
“Nothing,” Brett says quietly.
They wander through the area. A few curious looks are granted in their direction - Liam realises, right away, that he and Brett are some of the youngest here, and that they’re quite obviously bigger and stronger than the others.
“I spoke to Kit a little while you were out,” Brett says. “Apparently, a lot of these people have been chronically sick and never quite recovered. Flu, or the pneumonia that’s been going around since it all went to hell.”
Liam thinks of Eric and his lost son. He feels unsettled, out of sorts, like he doesn’t want to be around people or be touched. People are looking at them because they’re new and exciting and a little out of place - better off, even though Brett’s a bite survivor - the bite survivor - and Liam looks like he went seven rounds with an entire construction site and lost.
“Hey!”
He turns. It’s Kit. He looks worried.
“Hey, man,” Liam says.
“You’re awake.”
“Yeah. Sorry I was knocked out for so long… guess I needed the rest.”
Kit nods. “Yeah, maybe.” He looks happy to see Liam up and around. “Have you had the grand tour yet?”
“We’re trying to rustle up something to eat,” Brett offers up, before Liam can even try to string a sentence together.
“Oh yeah, I’ll show you.” Kit falls in with them, and people stop staring as much. “There’s not a lot here, sorry. Most people don’t know how to hunt… canned food isn’t really around anymore either.”
Liam looks around, cataloguing the people. There aren’t a lot of young people here - he and Kit are definitely the youngest. Most people look like they’re middle aged, and there’s a disproportionate amount of the elderly as well.
“Lots of old people,” he comments.
Kit nods. “There’s a nursing home not far from here,” he explains. “A bunch of them were apparently on a day-trip out here. They’ve been here ever since.”
“How do you avoid anyone knowing you’re here?” Brett asks.
“I don’t know,” Kit admits. “I’m just a kid. They don’t really tell me anything.”
What Liam wouldn’t give for that. To be in some kind of situation where things weren’t dire enough that even kids had to know about it.
“Brendan!”
He looks up. Kit’s hurrying towards a man around Brett’s age, maybe a little older, who looks about as torn down and worn out as Liam feels.
He’s only got one arm. The left is missing from the shoulder down. The sight is downright startling to Liam - he’s seen missing hands, arms missing from the elbow, but never the whole thing, never like that. It’s confronting for him in a way that nothing else has been in a while.
“Hey, Kit,” he says, quietly, and Liam realises by the shape of their eyes and the colour of their hair that they must be siblings. This is Kit’s brother. “Who’s this?”
“Liam and Brett.” Kit swallows. “They saved my life.”
“You saved ours first,” Brett says.
Brendan holds out his remaining hand; Brett shakes it, then Liam. He’s on autopilot still, a little, brain not sure if it’s safe to come out of its dissociative episode completely. He’s not feeling nearly as beaten down as he has been, though.
“Thank you,” Brendan says sincerely.
“C'mon,” Kit says, and he’s grinning like there’s nothing wrong with the crapsack world they live in. “I’ll show you where to rustle up some food.”
~*~
The dining hall is almost unnecessarily massive, really, for the amount of people here. Then Liam remembers they’re in a library.
It’s almost all tinned goods, which is worrying. These people don’t seem to have the skills to hunt or grow their own food, or maybe they lack the resources and manpower for either. It can’t last very long this way.
“Where’s Hayden?” he asks Kit.
“She’s with the kids,” he says.
Liam nods, doesn’t say anything else, and continues to eat. Kit fidgets next to him a little; Brett’s watching them both across the table, half amused, half something else.
“My group hasn’t come back,” Kit says.
Liam looks up. “The people you got separated from?”
Kit nods. He seems anxious - he always seems a little anxious but more so, now, talking about the missing people. Liam doesn’t know what to do. The loss of Jensen and his family has left him feeling like a hole has been carved out of his chest, and he can’t afford for it to get bigger with his failure to save yet more people.
“I’m sure they’ll turn up,” Brett’s saying above his head. Liam’s suddenly not very hungry.
He stands. “I’m gonna turn in,” he mutters, and leaves the dining hall.
It’s a few bare seconds before Brett’s jogging after him, then walking along beside him. “What’s up?” he asks gently.
Liam gnaws at his thumbnail. He’s not sure what to say or even if he should say anything. He feels a little freaked out, a little ill at ease. Maybe more sleep will help.
“Liam.”
Brett’s taking his hand and tugging him to a stop. Liam looks up at him.
“I know we haven’t been on the same page,” Brett murmurs sadly. “I get it. But I wanna help you, if you’ll let me. It’s alright to talk about it. I’m done being an asshole.”
This is Brett. He knows Brett. He loves Brett.
“Okay,” he says. “But - in the room?”
“Yeah.” Brett looks relieved, and he doesn’t drop Liam’s hand as they walk back to their room. They don’t do this, walk and hold hands, but Liam finds it’s really sort of nice. He wishes they could do it more.
Once they step into the room, Brett sits down on the bed. Without thinking, and because Brett looks defeated and sad, Liam steps forward, in between his legs, and wraps his arms around Brett’s shoulders, sighing.
Brett holds him back. His face is in Liam’s shirt and Liam thinks he might be crying.
“Brett,” he says, helplessly.
Across the room, the radio bursts to life, a stream of static and white noise emitting from it. There’s no time to react before there’s a yell, and then-
“-ett? Brett, Li-? -come back-”
The radio falls silent; Liam lunges across the room, grabs it, and presses the transmission button. “Hello?” he asks desperately.
“Holy shit,” Brett whispers.
“Hello? Kira? Malia?” He waits, but nothing happens. He didn’t even recognise the voice - knows only that it was female and young. “Fuck,” he breathes. “Brett, did you hear-”
“They were gonna ask us to come back,” Brett says. “Is that what it sounded like to you?”
“They need help,” Liam realises aloud. “There’s no way they’d call us back unless they need help. How long have they been trying to reach us for? We’ve heard the white noise and - fuck, we never answered-”
“We probably couldn’t hear them until now because we weren’t near reliable towers until now,” Brett murmurs. “You really think they want us to come back, or am I reaching?”
“They need us,” Liam says. “We have to go.”
“We can’t go right now,” Brett says.
“What?” Liam’s rounding in a second. “What do you mean we can’t-”
“Liam, we’re hurt, we’re tired, we’re verging on the brink of sickness at every other turn, we just got here, and we’re thousands of miles away with nothing to our names,” Brett says pleadingly. “We go back and we die on the way and then we’re no good to anyone.”
Liam simmers down. As much as he hates to admit it, Brett’s right.
“Fine. So what do we do?”
“We plan,” Brett says, “and we wait.”