Archive of Our Own

In February 2010, Adam and Tommy had drawn a calendar on the wall of the living room, removing a painting of a deer to do it; the painting becomes firewood. 2010, each day scratched out as they went.

In December, 2010, they made another calendar for 2011 on another wall, taking down a cup and saucer collection to do that.

In December 2011, they made a calendar for 2012, and had rolled around on the floor practically, laughing at the idea of the end of the world coming. The Aztecs had gotten it wrong.

Seasons come and go and what season it is dictates their routine; where they set the traps, how high they have the trip wires. In the spring they plant, in the summer they gather and store it as best they can. They never do quite get the hang of canning, but not for lack of trying. They find pigs that are still alive a few towns over, loose from the confinement lot, and eat pork. They get one deer, wounding it and having to chase it, both feeling so nauseous from the experience that they can barely bear to eat it. For a few weeks anyway.

They have to venture farther to find stores with food and supplies, but they do get smarter. Adam and Tommy learn.

Adam grows broader in the chest and shoulders, his hair long enough that he pulls it back from his face, fastening it with a band. He still colors it. Freckles cover his skin even more, because of the sun. Tommy's stopped colouring his hair entirely, letting it grow in sandy-blonde, but he still lets Adam cut it. If it looks stupid, it's just hair, it'll grow back. He's still skinny, but it's overlaid with lean muscle, skin colored gold in the summer sun and pale as milk in the winter. He still thinks Adam's beautiful.

It begins to feel more like living, less like surviving. They learn to find wild blueberries and blackberries. They learn how to avoid bears. They learn to fish. Tommy has not one, but two acoustic guitars now, resting against the wall in the living room. There are whole days when they don't think about Before.

June, 2012

"I am already sick of zucchini," Adam says as he comes in, arms full of yellow and green squash. "I always forget how much it grows."

"I think if I have squash soup one more time, I'll turn into a squash." Tommy arms sweat from his forehead. The suckiest part of summer? No air conditioning. But they've got the windows open, and it's not completely unbearable. "You wanna throw those in the cellar?" The cellar, that's sort of become a grocery store in its own weird way: baskets of stuff they've grown, meat that's been preserved, even bottles of wine and alcohol, and most importantly, water. They won't have bottled water for much longer, though, it's not being produced anymore.

The fridge is gone, who needs it, right? It's been replaced with another cabinet for the normal non-perishables, soup and canned stew, Kraft Dinner, sauces and ketchup and mustard. Dottie and Gertrude have gone to Chicken Heaven, but now they've got Althea, Lisa and Leila, named after the girls in both of their families. Leila's an egg machine, and though they're sick to death of zucchini and squash, Tommy will never ever get sick of fresh eggs. "I was thinking we should find an RV," Tommy calls to Adam. "Maybe... see what else is out there."

Halfway down the stairs to the cellar, Adam stops, blinking at nothing for a moment, before he turns slowly to look over at Tommy. Squash still in his arms he feels the clenching in his stomach. What he's become isn't even characterized by the term "introvert." He's determined to stay alive. To protect what's his.

Tommy's standing at the top of the stairs, hip leaned against the jam. "It's just a thought. Because... maybe there are other people out there. Or, like. The other thought I had was... things are going to start to run out." The IGA doesn't have anything for them anymore, and the further they go, the longer it takes to get back. Which puts them in a situation they can't be in. "We could get an RV with a hitch and load it with everything we can. And... move. Maybe somewhere south."

"The beach." That's Adam's first thought, some place with sand, water lapping at the shore. For a bright moment, Adam can see it. Adam doesn't answer, though, not until he drops off the zucchini in the wooden bin they have set aside. Then he comes back, climbing the stairs only to stop so that he and Tommy are face to face. "I'm afraid," he says, voice low, rough with honesty.

"I am, too. We'll go to the beach. We'll go to like, Mexico or something. Just... leave the States entirely." Tommy rests his hands on Adam's shoulders, his face serious and reflecting Adam's own honesty and fear. "If we stay here, though, we're going to run out. I'm a little late in life trying to figure out how to be a proper farmer, you know?" It's hard to believe he'll be 32 this year. Not that it matters, really; their birthdays are just days where there's an extra treat, some extra love. No parties, nothing like what they'd had Before. It doesn't matter. "We won't have to worry about snow. We can see how bad - or good - it is in other places. Do you trust me?"

"Of course I trust you." With his life. Adam looks back at Tommy for a long time, battling with his own fear. This house in Maysville is their home; they've bled, sweat and cried over it.

But Tommy is right; the more they stay here, the more they have to lose. "If we're going to do this," Adam says, "we need to move fast. Before winter comes."

"Tomorrow morning. We're going into Davenport first. Chicago's only a couple of hours away. The days are long, too, so we're gonna have more time." But the closer they get to heavier populated areas, the closer they are to real danger. "We've got a shit-ton of food put away, supplies, all that shit. We can do it. I don't..." Tommy pulls a breath, steeling his jaw. "I don't even care if we find anyone else. But winter here is too hard. You know that. And we can't do it for much longer."

Remembering how the cold had stretched well into April, bone-chilling and bitter, Adam nods. "Tomorrow." They have much to do then.

They're up and on the road by six AM, back down the county highway, east toward Davenport. On the outskirts is where they see the big RV sales lots, one after the other. The gate to Trailer Village is broken off its hinges so they can drive right in.

Nothing like shopping when you're armed.

Adam sits as he turns off the Pilot's engine. "Bigger means more gas, smaller means we can carry less."

That's a good point. "But there are gonna be tons of gas stations along the way. I bet one of those RVs holds a ton of gas, too. We can grab a couple of extra tanks and some syphoning stuff. Look at that hog. God, I wonder how much one of those would have cost? Let's see how swank it is." Which means, pistols in hand, looking and listening once the door's snicked open on the truck. It's silent, so quiet it's almost deafening, and then... a bird chirps, and Tommy laughs. But that doesn't mean his guard's down, no way. It just means they're lucky. "I say we go for luxury," he whispers, grinning at Adam.

"That's nicer than the tour bus we had," Adam whispers in reply. He looks around the lot slowly for any kind of movement at all. If they do this, take an RV, go on the road and it breaks down, he realizes that they are fucked. He keeps that thought to himself, though.

The RV is locked, which means they have to go into the showroom, through the door that's been broken down, and search for where they store the keys. Adam takes all of the keys (the cabinet had been pried open), filling his pockets with them. The showroom is so quiet. It's a staple of their lives, but it's not easy to get used to. So they're back out onto the asphalt and headed back toward the big RV. It takes about five minutes to find the right set of keys, then Adam pulls the door open.

It smells as if it's not been opened for years. This is a good thing, though the smell of stuffy, stale plastic has Adam wrinkling his nose.

Tommy coughs before letting out another laugh, whispery, before going up the stairs. "Bet the gas tank's dried up," he breathes back to Adam. "Man, it reeks in here. You got the flashlight?" Because there's no way the battery on this monster's going to be any good, and that means that none of the lights are going to work if Tommy tries anything. "C'mon up, this is lush. And yeah, way larger than the tourbus." God, he hasn't thought about that in so long.

Adam follows him up the few small steps, shining the light around. Perhaps they have been in the farmhouse too long. The inside of the RV is elaborate, lush even. There is not one but two TVs, a kitchen, sofa, easy chairs, dinette, even a small hallway to a bedroom with a big bed, desk and dresser. Even the bathroom has a tub.

"Jesus." Adam kind of can't believe it. "I don't know shit about how to see if it's roadworthy, though."

Tommy pulls off plastic sheeting as they go through the RV, and seeing all of these things that they've gone without for so long feels... almost wrong. They're not used to that world anymore, not used to things like televisions and refrigerators, and he almost asks Adam if they can take that stuff out before they go. At the very least the TV's. They could use the extra space anyway, for all of the extra things they're going to need to bring. "I say put some gas in it, change the battery, and stick the key in. See what happens."

There's a vague voice in the back of Adam's head that he recognizes as his dad's, something about fittings and coils and tubes that might have dried out and cracked over the winters. He realizes, too, that he might be making excuses, wanting to go home to what he is used to, to what they have carved out for themselves.

It takes them a half hour to figure out how to open the hood over the engine, to see what battery it has, to get a new one from the garage in the back of the showroom and replace it. It takes another half-hour to siphon gas from the pump out back. Then Adam sits in the driver's seat, so much plusher and higher than he's used to, and he turns the key.

The engine lets out a grumble, and there's the audible sound of parts coming to life after having sat stationary for so long. But... "The motherfucker starts!" Tommy totally doesn't mean to shout, but that's how it comes out, and he pumps a fist. And nearly hits the ceiling. Oh yeah, they're in an RV, not a house. "Okay, okay, turn it off. It's noisy and we might get company." Things like horns and unmaintained engines or mufflers, even dropping something in the wrong place at the wrong time, and they're surrounded. That was something else they'd learned the hard way.

"No," Adam hears himself say. He grips the wheel tighter with one hand, then gives Tommy the keys to the Pilot. "Let's get it gassed up and go now." Before he changes his mind. Before he lets fear ride over reason. He looks over to Tommy. "Let's do this now."

"Take it home," Tommy confirms, his tone careful. They can't go, now; they still have to get the trailer hitch for the RV, too. And pack. The expression on Adam's face makes Tommy wonder though, just for a flash of a second. "Okay. Let's ride. Start moving when you hear the engine start." His hand comes down on Adam's, just for a moment, just long enough to squeeze, and then he climbs off the bus and hurries to the Pilot. He guns the engine to get Adam's attention.

They drive around back and get gas pumping to fill up the RV, then another pump for the Pilot, a smattering of spare parts thrown into the RV, then Adam follows Tommy out of the lot. They don't see the unpeople who stand at the gate along the back of the dealership as they drive away.

The view from the RV isn't that different, but it feels so different. The thing is huge and Adam pretty much drives it down the middle of the road. No one seems to have a problem with it. Back in Maysville, they go to the hardware store for the UHaul trailer. Thankfully, the RV is equipped with a hitch already.

So by the time they get back to the house, they have their travel vehicles ready to go.

Unbelievable. Once they're home, Tommy resets the traps so they can get out and move with a little more freedom, and he taps on the door for Adam to let him back on the RV. "I'm gonna grab some stuff from the house." Sheets, blankets, pillows. Stop making it look like something that rolled off a showroom floor and more, potentially, familiar. "I wanna start working on this right away. Get as many miles under the tires as we can while the weather's good." The fear is still there on his face, but mixed in is something like hope.

When Tommy starts loading, Adam does too. Tommy's guitars, DVDs, CDs, books, too. Clothes. Food. Windows are opened so that it can air out. Then he starts loading weapons in every cabinet that makes sense, the baseball bat by the door.

It's dark when they stop. They aren't quite ready but they're close. When he stands at the counter making a salad for dinner, he pauses, bracing himself on the counter, and he closes his eyes. A deep breath and he opens his eyes, starting to slice again. "When do you want to leave?"

"When you're ready." Tommy tries to find an expression that's reassuring in some way, and comes up with a smile. "I'm really, really fuckin' scared." There's a sharp little laugh, and he scruffs a hand through his hair before crossing the kitchen to put the cut-ups in a bowl. "I almost don't want to see other people. I just... I'm so used to this. I don't even know what I'd say. Or if they're dangerous. But, I don't know. I can totally do it with you." Tommy doesn't want to go find other people. He wants go to somewhere that they can be, where they can keep living without the horrible winters.

Something gives in Adam's chest when Tommy says that. It isn't that they never fight. They have screamed at each other more than once. But overall, what they have is a kind of instinctual and deep connection that drives them both forward. Adam sets down his knife and pulls Tommy against him, nose in his hair to kiss him there. "I guess we can go tomorrow, then."

"When we get back to Davenport, we'll grab some extra gas tanks and stuff. There's storage under the RV, just like the tourbus. Insane, huh?" Tommy talks against Adam's throat, arms around his waist, eyes closed. "Extra batteries at dealership. The... the last minute stuff." They're going to leave. Tommy has proposed the idea yesterday and they're leaving tomorrow. "I'm gonna make a calendar to take with us. So we know what day it is." They've got maps, so that's good. And a compass that Tommy has no clue how to use, honestly, and most importantly, Tommy has Adam.

If they wait, they both might find reasons not to go. "We need to pack the rest of the water and drinks and ... all the food we can. We can be on the road by eight if we get up at five." Adam closes his eyes again and whispers, "I love you."

"I love you," Tommy answers, running his hand over Adam's hair, down to the elastic of his ponytail. "Let's eat. And let's get ready." He's fairly certain he won't sleep tonight, but that's okay. "Oh my god. I just thought of something. I think I can get the stove and fridge and stuff working on batteries, too. After we eat, I'll go and have a look, okay?" They can keep their cold stuff preserved, and not have to worry about a camping stove to cook on, or worse yet, an open fire. That's a great way to attract attention they don't want. "We can do this."

"Okay." If Tommy believes it, then Adam will try to, too. He won't let Tommy work alone though; they never do, and after the salad, they check that, how it works. The RV is ridiculously complex, actually and Adam lets Tommy take the owner's manual to read as he takes the can of spray paint they got and takes down the cross on the wall over the TV.

To replace the cross, Adam writes

He stands back and he looks at it, only wiping once at his eyes with the back of his hand.

"This is the right thing to do," Tommy says softly, from just behind Adam's shoulder. "You got the map figured out, right?" Their first goal is Florida, inland from the hurricanes, not on the peninsula. Closer to the Georgia stateline. "You okay?" His arms close around Adam's waist, and though Adam had never really been soft Before, now he's lean and hard from hard work. From surviving. They deserve a break. Tommy harbours no illusions that getting down the country will be easy, but the end result will be worth it. We were here. We lived.

"I feel like I'm shaking, I'm so scared," Adam admits, turning to take Tommy into his arms. "I know we need to leave, but ... " He looks at the dates he just drew on the wall. They'd been here longer than he'd been famous. The bulk of his relationship with Tommy has been in this place. It was, for better or worse, their home, and they are leaving it.

But then he turns back, leaning back to look Tommy in the face for a long moment before kissing him.

This is what Tommy is making them move, for. The ability to still have this, where it's peaceful and warm. They've learned so much; it's just a matter of doing it again, but somewhere else. Tommy rocks up on his toes, a hand on Adam's waist and the other on the back of his neck. "I'm gonna go work on the RV. And then... I think..." One side of his mouth turns up, lashes lowered as he looks at Adam's mouth. "I think I should work on you. Before we go. I'm proud of you, you know." Anything to keep Adam from being scared, because Tommy's scared, too, and this is one of the most instinctual, primal acts of reassurance.

That actually works to prompt a breathed out laugh and a smile. "You're so easy," Adam teases, a throwback to Before. "I'll go with you." They don't work alone. They never have and they never will, armed and careful, wary of every sound.

Tommy only manages to zap himself once while rewiring the inside of the RV for car batteries, but other than that, they're... ready. They're ready to leave in the morning, and Tommy nods at the stove. "Turn it on and try it out." He wipes his hands on his hips, a smudge of dust from the inside of the wiring housing on his cheekbone. "And I wanna get the reservoirs for the sinks and stuff filled up." Not that long ago, they'd come across a truck full of those giant water cooler tanks, and don't think they hadn't taken advantage of that. In the moment of silence before Adam does anything, there's a loud click, and a low hum. The refrigerator, starting up. "I say we stay in here tonight." Once the last few things are loaded up, that is. Tommy's guitars are in the closet, Adam's music carefully put away above a real stereo, their clothes organized. They're almost ready.

Stay here? They know the bed inside, though. But one test of the mattress in the RV and they wrestle out the new mattress and put in their mattress and they can make the bed. Alarms are set, guns are close by. Adam fights down a dizzying moment of panic and nods. After all, this will be their home starting tomorrow. He reaches for Tommy, pulling him close. Tommy smells familiar and right and it steadies him.

The bed's just a little bit different with a different frame beneath it, but Tommy walks Adam backward toward it until his knees hit the back of the frame. "It's gonna be okay. We're gonna be fine." It's funny, with all of their stuff brought into the RV, it looks so much less lush and a lot more liveable. Cities where they can replenish anything they need. the warm weather that's waiting eighteen hours away, if the roads are good. Realistically, they probably won't be. But they'll get there. Tommy climbs across Adam's hips, leaning down to touch warm, open kisses to his neck.

Adam arched his back, head back, too, eyes closed, and his hands end up in Tommy's hair. He can't not pay attention to any and everything they hear, but Tommy makes Adam feel. Fear recedes to desire, clothes come off and they christen their new home. When Adam bites back his cry, he buries his face in the crux of Tommy's neck.

It's only after they're asleep, tripwires connected to those old recess bells from primary school (Adam got those from the schoolhouse, and Tommy laughed like an idiot at how loud they ended up being when they were tripped) and sheets pooled around their waists from the heat, there's another click, another hum. Air conditioning. Another lost luxury.

Tommy does sleep, as much as he'd thought he wouldn't, but the cool air wakes him up just before dawn greets the sky with its rosy fingers, and Tommy uses his own fingers to wake Adam up. A touch to the side of his neck, then to his shoulder. "Hey. I'm gonna get some food going, and we can head out." He's jittery and nervous, and he feels really shitty about what happened to the chickens, but being food is better than being left to starve. Sorry, chickens. They're undisturbed, the third day in a row, and Tommy pulls a hoodie on over bare arms, stumbles into a pair of track pants, going into the galley to see - oh god - a coffee maker. "You want me to drive first?"

Sitting on the edge of the bed, Adam pulls on his boots and nods. "Okay."

They really are leaving. The map is highlighted in the atlas and the RV has GPS to boot, assuming it works in a world populated mostly by the undead. They know where they'll hit traffic snarls if they do. It's time to go after one last shower in the house and breakfast.

Sitting in the passenger seat, Adam leans out the window to watch the house recede. With the Pilot still there, the garden in back, it looks like they still live there. He doesn't shout out for Tommy to turn around, but he wants to, so much. The land is lush and green and he will miss it very much.

Seatbelt on, Adam holds a rifle and the atlas in his lap, putting Muse into the CD player. They're on the road.

Tommy wants to beg Adam to pull his head in, because he knows if he himself turns to look, he'll stop the RV. This is their home, this place here, and they're leaving it. "We have to," he whispers, putting a hand on Adam's leg, briefly. It's a long reach over, though, and he's only got time to squeeze before he has to get both hands back on the wheel. Goodbye, Maysville, goodbye Iowa. If he looks back, he's no better than Lot's Wife, frozen in place in the face of inevitable loss.

They're on the road for almost three hours before they come across more than the usual straggler unperson or two, and there's good reason for that: the onramp to the highway they want to be on has a lot of cars on it. Not so bad that they won't be able to get around (the thought of not traveling in the RV isn't something Tommy will entertain), but enough to make him clench his teeth together. "Get your gun ready, babyboy. I think this is our first target practice."

Sitting forward in his seat, Adam watches. An on-ramp? What is going on? Automatically, he thumbs the safety off the rife and checks his pockets for bullets. All habits long ingrained. When Tommy slows, Adam pulls off his seatbelt and hits the button to roll down his window. "Go slow," he says, swinging to catch a movement out of the corner of his eye. A ex-person is running - running- toward them. Adam shoots him in the face. "Faster, Tommy," he decides when he sees what's behind the one. Others.

Lots of others.

Runners? What?! What the fuck? Tommy's trying to watch his mirrors and the road at the same time, because he hasn't seen runners since this first began. He gets them onto the onramp and through a clutch of cars. "Are you okay? Tell me where they are." In front of them, he's actually aiming for these unpeople, using the weight and careful speed of the RV to take care of what's coming at them from the front. For a second, Tommy thinks if it's this bad just coming onto an onramp, then what are the cities going to be like to get through? Oh god. "Just- just be careful."

The ones behind are no longer the issue. The ones in front are. As are the ones coming at them from the ravines at the side of the road. When he sees the sign, Adam realizes why. They're nearly to Indianapolis, a major city. The highway runs between Indianapolis and Nashville. Another major city. "Fuck," Adam whispers. They can't go back now.

The atlas slides to the floor as he stands up, pulling himself out the window to sit on the sill, hooking the seatbelt around his arm a few times. "Don't swerve!" he shouts over the wind and he aims, content with a shot that slows them down as much as one that kills them.

He's long past thinking about how little he resembles the Adam Lambert from Before.

"Got your ass," Tommy mutters through his teeth, watching the road in front of them. They're everywhere, and how could they have survived on whatever level it is that these unpeople live for as long as they have?! There's nobody else like himself and Adam, none that he's seen. All he sees is those horrible, empty eyes and the mindless drive forward that's in them. So, Tommy drives over them, instead, as much as he can, but when the first one smacks up against the driver's side of the RV, he has to slow down. There are more, hitting both sides now like rabid, organic hail, and he glances up at Adam to make sure he's up high enough that these things can't reach.

Muse is still on the stereo, Knights of Cydonia: No one's going to take me alive... "Adam?" Tommy calls up. "You okay there, babyboy? I'm not gonna be able to keep going much longer if they keep coming like this..."

"Keep going." Adam swings himself inside, face grim as he rolls the window back up. It takes a minute to untangle himself from the seatbelt, but he starts toward the back of the RV. "Tommy, keep going. Don't stop."

In the closet of the bedroom, he pulls out the semi-automatic rifle they found in one of their trips to Davenport. He hates the way it feels when he holds it.

The back window pulls in and next to it is a ladder to the top of the RV. As Adam is pulling open the window, he thinks that this is going on his list of stupid things to do. "Tommy," he calls. "Don't swerve." I love you.

Getting through the window is the hard part. Angling onto the ladder isn't easy either. Being on the roof is foolhardy. There's hardly anything to hold on to, but Adam can see everything. He sits, a foot hooked under the handle next to the vent over the living room and he releases the safety on the rifle and starts to fire.

This should be top on the list of Adam's stupid things to do. The semi is something that had made Tommy totally and completely howl when Adam first shot it; it had seemed so weird, so out of place in hands that, not that long ago, had been holding a microphone. Tommy doesn't think much about Before anymore, but Adam? With a semi-automatic? Come on. He'd called him 'Lambo' for almost a month after they'd picked up the gun, and joked about how only Adam could make camouflage look fierce.

Now it's a reminder that they're almost unrecognizable as the people they'd been Before.

"Be careful or I'll fuckin' kill you." Tommy's words might sound tense and harsh, but he's answering a thought he didn't even know Adam had. I love you, too. The RV's slowed down to a crawl because if Tommy goes fast, Adam might get hurt. He might fall. Just as bad: the RV's not exactly equipped for a real-life version of Carmageddon.

The stereo, still: You and I must fight to survive... It might as well be some cheesy fucking soundtrack in a horror movie. They've been living in a horror movie for two and a half years, already, so why not have a soundtrack, right?

Sitting doesn't work well, but lying down on his stomach does. So that's what Adam does and he still has a foot hooked in the handle and he watches bodies fall and doesn't even think so much anymore about how fucking loud guns are. A few still get close enough to throw themselves at the RV, but not as many and after a mile, they start to thin out. Adam can put the strap of the safety'd gun around his neck and he can turn to look behind them, using a handgun instead of the rifle.

Another mile, mile and a half and they seem to be in the clear. He can get down.

It's when he's back in the RV that he realizes he's shaking. When he sits down in the passenger seat again, he says, "we need to avoid big cities."

Tommy's holding the wheel with hands that are white-knuckled, and he nods. Right now, he can't say anything; it feels like his throat's locked up. That was just Indianapolis. And there were that many of them. Against his will, he wonders what it'd be like if they were in New York City, and then banishes that thought because of the one on the heels of that: Neil, Adam's brother, lived in New York.

"Can we pull over?" Tommy finally asks, his voice rusty and low. "Just for a couple of minutes. We're clear enough, right?" In fact, checking in the mirrors and out the windshield, it looks like they're entirely clear. But looks are deceiving, so Tommy needs a second opinion.

Adam looks too, before saying, "just for a couple of minutes." And he watches Tommy as they pull over. He pulls off the semi-automatic off, checking the safety again before he slides it under his seat and turns to face Tommy. "We're all right," Adam tells him. Though he doesn't say what he knows they're both thinking: For now.

In really dark moments, Adam has wondered why they keep fighting. If it wouldn't be easier to give up. He hates himself for thinking that.

Tommy turns the RV off because they have to preserve gas - at least they know this thing'll start with no trouble if trouble finds them. Then he slumps in his seat, eyes closed, letting the reality of what just happened finally sink in. "Was this a good idea?" They'd barely had the time to talk it through, really, after Tommy had said 'Let's get an RV!!' They'd just... picked up and left the safety of their home. No, he'd known this wouldn't be easy, but to see the outbreak on a level like this...

Fuck, Tommy's proud of Adam. But at the same time, he has to get out of the driver's seat to find something to drink, fingers shaking as he twists the lid off a cold bottle of water. "You're okay, right? That- you-" He barks out a laugh that's short and sharp. "You went all Lambo on them. I still can't get over the fact that you can handle a fuckin' semi."

Adam's smile is small and lopsided and he stands, getting Tommy gathered up to his chest, his chin tipped down so he can close his eyes for a minute. Tommy smells like Tommy. That's the answer to the last question. He's okay. He's - they both are - surviving. "I don't know if it was a good idea. But we can't go back now." It's a decision and they'd made it. Now they have to live with it. "Most the freeways skirt the big cities." And Adam says what he'd thought fleetingly before. "If there are more of them, there might be real people somewhere."

I don't want to find them, Tommy almost says. He's gotten so used to being solitary with Adam (though he knows that means he's not solitary, right? Right.) that the idea of being around other people scares him. At least with the unpeople, they aren't people anymore, and Tommy and Adam know how to deal with that kind of thing. "You scared the shit out of me getting on top of the RV like that. Just so you know." His words are muffled against Adam's shirt, arms tight around his waist. "And we gotta find a safe spot to stay tonight, too."

"I know." To all of it. Adam knows both of those things. He holds Tommy though, eyes still closed. "We get out in the middle of nowhere before we stop." Which means they have to drive more and soon. It's not even noon yet.

Perhaps they'll drive all night.

Leaning back, Adam tilts Tommy's chin up. "We're okay."

"You're okay," Tommy confirms, looking into Adam's face. "When we stop, I'll get some food going. My turn for once, huh? I'm thinking we should grab some meat from the freezer and throw it in the sink to thaw. And I'll figure out what kind of canned stuff to throw in with it." He's also having other thoughts, about how to maybe make the RV better, maybe safer, with some metal security screens and a few well-placed screws. God, his dad would be so proud of him if he could see Tommy now. Fixing shit, wiring stuff, hunting. Dude-stuff. That isn't playing guitar. Tommy finds a laugh before nodding at the driver's seat. "You want to take a go at driving?"

"Yeah." After looking at Tommy for a moment longer, Adam gets a bottle of water of his own and takes the wheel, guiding the RV back onto the mostly-empty freeway. He's learned that he can't soothe Tommy if Tommy won't be soothed. All in his own time, Adam has learned. When cities around them thin out, he pushes the accelerator, seeing how fast they can go. Seventy, max, but the trailer starts to wobble on them over sixty.

Adam misses the Pilot.

When Tommy's back in the passenger seat, Adam looks over, then back at the road. "What did you decide to thaw?"

Tommy's way of coping with things he hates is by being productive. By ensuring that any mistakes they've made can be fixed. It makes him feel in control of something that neither of them have any control over, really. "Deer steaks," he answers, unlocking the swivel mechanism on the passenger seat so he can face Adam while he drives. "Powdered gravy, zucchini bread - I still can't believe how well that stuff freezes, honestly - and good old water to drink." He misses smoking. He misses beer. Remnants of the life Before. "How's the road look?" It's funny, even on the RV, they've got guns right there, Tommy's on his hips and Adam's beneath the seat. The semi-auto. He reaches out with a foot and touches the side of Adam's leg. "You want anything?" Out the driver's side window, he can see the odd unperson standing by the side of the road, or crouched next to a car, or in the odd field they pass. These, he can handle. Being surrounded like they were on the freeway? Nightmare.

"Clear." For now.

Adam glances over at Tommy, checking for signs of anything. They have about 150 miles to Nashville and he says what he doesn't want to say, but he has to. "If something happens to me. If ... " If he's really bitten. If. He has to clear his throat before he speaks again. "I want you to keep going." Adam knows this is the shittiest time ever to talk about this, but they have something to occupy them. They can talk about that, drive and move on.

Abruptly, Tommy turns his seat away from Adam, fingers pressed to his mouth. There isn't anything he can say to that. Adam says to keep going; Tommy already knows in the deepest, darkest part of himself that it wouldn't be worth it. After a long moment of quiet, he says, just as low as Adam's voice had been, "If something happens to me, I want you to shoot me in the fucking face. And know that... that I love you. Okay?"

"Okay." Adam reaches out his hand. And when Tommy takes it, he squeezes tight. I love you, too.

~~

It's nearly midnight when they finally find a place that seems even remotely useful for stopping. Peducah hadn't been too bad, but Nashville had been a challenge. Adam didn't get on the roof again, but he did hang out the window, spraying fire so unpeople would just stay back and they could get through.

They end up veering off the highway when they begin to get too tired to keep going, ending up passing a sign that says "McMinnville." It's far enough from the main highways that they might avoid packs. Even then, Adam isn't sure he can sleep. God, he misses home now more than ever. When Tommy turns off the engine, Adam pulls the safety off the rifle. "We should probably sleep in shifts." Like when they first got to Maysville. Somehow, that's become a fond memory.

"Sleep. Very dangerous. You go first." Tommy does his best Sallah impression from Indiana Jones, stretching when he stands up. Snap, crackle, pop! He's parked them at the Air Museum, with nothing but easy viewing and flat land all around. It'll be easy. He hopes it'll be easy. "I'll put on some coffee and get a book or something. You're the one that was doing the hard work. I just drove." The side of Adam's face gets a brief touch before Tommy stretches again, showing off a strip of skin between his shirt and jeans. There's one thing they haven't tested yet, and after Tommy goes into the bathroom, Adam hears a hissed sound of victory. "Man, the water works. And..." There's another pause, and the water's slammed off before it can even think of running out. Tommy comes out, and after the difficult day they've had, his face is alight. "...it's hot. You want a hot shower, babyboy?"

"... a hot shower?" For a second, Adam's face wears an expression that is one of an almost-wonder. "A hot shower." What is that even like? "Oh my God." It practically sounds exotic. But he ultimately shakes his head. "When we get where we're going." A prize; they can celebrate then. As it is, he showered every other day or so back in Maysville. No sense in wasting the water. "You can if you want, though." He is too tired to drive but can't imagine sleeping.

"Just a quick dip." But before Tommy does that, he grabs the leftover deer from dinner and sets it on the stove to heat up again. Just something in their stomachs before one of them sleeps and the other keeps guard. "Throw that on the table when it's done?" His own eyes are heavy, but a pot of coffee'll set him right, once he's clean again. Kind of like waking up, but at the wrong time of day. In the shower, he's good to his word, just a dip to scrub all the right places, and Tommy comes out with a towel around his waist and a t-shirt over his body. "Seriously. You sleep first. I promise you won't wake up with me curled up like a girl on your lap." Just like when they'd first gotten to Maysville, sleeping in the pantry. How far they've come, from that.

Adam is chewing on a piece of deer meat and a piece of zucchini bread, gun sitting next to him. "Just sit with me," he tells Tommy. Somehow, Adam ended up on the floor leaning against a cabinet, rather than the little dinette set, knees pulled up. "Please?" Just a moment of quiet; it'll make a difference.

Sure, Tommy'll sit with Adam. That's a given, a no-brainer, and he sits on the floor next to him, taking Adam's wrist to feed himself a piece of deer meat from Adam's fork. For all the grief the deer had given them back in Iowa, the meat is incredible, richer and different than cow. Not to say that Tommy's putting down beef, ever. With a little bit of shifting, he can get his arm around Adam's waist, and Tommy listens to nothing at all but their breathing. "Funny. Two musicians... and I think that quiet is one of my favorite things, now."

They can trust the quiet; they know what it says and what it warns them of. Adam's arm is around Tommy's shoulder and he rests his cheek on Tommy's head, staring at nothing. There's no use thinking ahead beyond the next couple days, and there's no use reflecting back unless there's something they can learn from it. Adam and Tommy's life is simple: stay alive. Do what is required to do that. Don't question, don't overanalyze. Do. One day, Adam expects, he will get tired. More tired.

When he's done eating, Adam pulls the band from his hair, shaking it out a little before he leans his head back and closes his eyes. Then he's asleep.

Tommy brushes a kiss to the corner of Adam's mouth, carefully disentangling himself so he can get properly dressed, get his guns where they need to be, get coffee put on. "Hey," he whispers against Adam's ear. "Come on, lemme get you to bed." At least they've got the same luxury here that they had in Maysville: that they're just a shout away, a look, sometimes only a touch. In the morning, Tommy'll change out the car batteries that give them warm water and refrigeration, check the trailer hitch, grab some more canned stuff to bring into the RV. Tomorrow, maybe, they'll have spaghetti and meat sauce. His arm slides around Adam's waist again, trying to get him to his feet without disturbing him too much; he knows that Adam can't sleep sitting on a floor like this, it's not fair when their bed is right there. Tommy'll keep watch.

"Shit." With a jerk, Adam's awake and gripping Tommy's arm, tight. "Sorry. Didn't mean to -" He takes a deep breath, trying to slow down his heart rate. "I'm fine." In moments like these, still disoriented, he looks as lost as he feels. Then the game face comes down and he squares his shoulders. "I'm fine." Adam does get up, though, and it's his turn to stretch, back cracking before he touches Tommy's cheek. "Maybe there will be oranges in Florida."

"Ugh, I haven't had an orange in so long." Tommy rubs Adam's back as he gently pushes him toward the bedroom. "Don't say you're sorry. You dozed off sitting down, and you're going to be sore as fuck in the morning if you don't get to bed." Is it weird how much he likes Adam's hair, long? Tommy runs a hand through it, pausing to grab a lantern instead of turning on one of the lights that he knows works. The dim glow of the lantern won't attract anything. The light might. And when they're like this, both so tired that they feel drunk, Tommy knows that they could be little more than chum for the unpeople that could be out there.

Adam knows that too and he tells Tommy, "wake me up in two hours, okay? Then I'll take over and you can sleep." Then they can still get back on the road by 5:00 AM and get some of those six hundred miles under their tires. "Or wake me up if ... " If it's not as quiet as it seems.

"You got it." Tommy punches the pillows a little, making sure they're plenty comfortable to sleep on. Last night, they'd spent the night together in this bed, naked and hot until the air conditioning in the RV cooled them, and tonight, it's back to how it's been for the last almost-three years. One sleeps, the other protects. "Two hours. I promise. I'm gonna be right there, up at the front." For a moment, Tommy climbs on the bed with Adam, just to lie with him for that one moment, and kisses the corner of his mouth again. He won't think about what would happen if Adam were ever bit. He won't.

And for just that moment, Adam pulls Tommy in, spooned against his chest, as they slept more often than not in Maysville. (Maysville already feels so far away, so past. It's been less than twenty-four hours.) "I love you," Adam whispers, his eyes closing again. The words make him think of a song he hasn't thought of in forever and he hums it to himself. I don't know why, I just do.... Except that he knows why. All the whys. It's a long list.

The sound of Adam humming makes Tommy grin in that rare way that makes him look exactly the same as he had Before, lit up and pixied. "I know you do," he answers, finally making himself get up. "I love you too. I'll see you in a couple of hours. I'll have fresh coffee on for you, too." The bedroom door is left open as Tommy makes his way to the front of the RV to sit at its best vantage point, in the driver's seat. In the deafening silence, he drinks his coffee black, dark eyes watching the night, and thinks about the sound of Adam's voice, quiet now when it was once raised in music. He misses that more than anything else.

~~

"Hey babyboy, rise and shine. It's almost five." Again, Tommy's talking right against Adam's ear, a hand warm and steadying on Adam's chest. "I'm gonna make some eggs, okay? You want some?"

"Five AM?! Why didn't you wake me up after two hours?!" That meant Tommy didn't sleep. Adam wants to be angry at him, but the blue-ish hue to the circles under Tommy's eyes keeps him from doing that. He sat up, rubbing at his face and combing the hair back from his face into a ponytail. "Eggs, yeah. Then we need to get going. Earlier the better."

"For sure. Also, you try being like, a hundred and ten pounds and putting away a pot of coffee... and then trying to sleep." Tommy's grin is tired but easy. "I'll just shut my eyes for a few minutes when we hit a clear stretch, okay?" Adam can hear the rolling sound of a real kettle on a real stovetop, getting tea ready for Adam. "Besides, you're the gunner, you need more sleep." He'd gone over the map in detail last night by flashlight. Six hundred miles. And god only knows what's waiting for them, ahead. They'll get through it. There's no other option. Now, time for eggs. Tommy changes his clothes and pulls a beanie over his stupid hair so his bangs (yes, he still has them) are held back from his face, and goes into the galley to make tea and scramble some eggs.

Food in their bellies, they check the RV, restock, even figure out how to dump the "gray" water and they're on the road by 6:30, finding their way back to the highway, Adam behind the wheel, not stopping until they're about one hundred miles outside of Atlanta. It's too late to try to make it through there in the dark, so they stop, not going as far off the highway as they had the night before.

The road was quiet, though and Adam isn't as wiped out as he had been, letting Tommy sleep a good bit of the day, slouched low in the passenger seat and looking far younger than his age.

Then it's through Atlanta in the early morning hours. For once, the nest of freeways works in their favor and it's relatively clear driving.

They just don't account for nearly running out of gas, having gone through their supply. "We have to stop," Adam says, voice low.

"Huh!" Just as Tommy had accidentally startled Adam awake the night before, Adam does the same to him. "What? Wh-" Oh, oh thank god, they're alright. It's not Adam waking Tommy up because they're surrounded or Adam's been bit or- or. "Everything okay? Why'd you let me sleep so long?" Which are pretty much Adam's words from this morning, and rubbing the heel of his hand against his eye, Tommy stretches in his seat.

"We're nearly out of gas," Adam tells him. At least just outside the highway, there are a huge number of gas stations. But who knows if they even have gas. "Get your gun. I'll siphon. You watch." He pulls off the freeway, toward a Chevron station.

"Damn right I'll watch." The look on Tommy's face goes against the tone of his voice. Adam has to know that Tommy thinks he's beautiful; Tommy tells him, shows him as much as he can, right down to coloring his hair for him (what, it's easier that way!) and making breakfast, or coffee, or tea. But the flipside of Tommy's words are much easier to read. He'll keep an eye out to make sure they stay safe. The rifle goes across his back, and after rubbing his eyes again, he pulls his pistols to follow Adam off the RV. Hopefully this stop has enough gas for them not just to fill up the vehicle, but fill the spare tanks, too.

It takes a little bit of time to get the pump going (they've become experts at it, for what it's worth). But Adam pumps, holding the nozzle in place as he looks around, alert and ready. It's more humid here, hotter. Mosquitoes buzz around their heads. A half-hour in and the tank isn't even half-full; Adam switches arms. "Do you see anything?"

"So far so good. And I'm sweating like a bastard. Wonder if there's mosquito repellent in the store?" They'll check once the tanks are full, because they're in an unfamiliar place and that's best done with more than one set of eyes, and definitely more than one gun. Tommy's ears are pricked for any sound that could be shuffling feet, and then... there's a groan. From across the lot, and Tommy points both his guns in that direction. He tips his head to tell Adam he's going over to look. From the sound of it, it's one, maybe two, and Tommy could handle that, easily. Careful, he mouths.

There was no way Tommy's going by himself. But at the same time, if Adam stops, it's hell to get the pumping going again. "Be careful," he hisses, craning his neck to watch. His knuckles are tight on the pump and nozzle to keep himself from letting go.

Tommy tips a little salute to Adam before going to inspect the noise. Yeah, it's just one, and even from where Adam's standing, he can see the grimace on Tommy's face when he pulls the trigger. That never ever changes. After the shot, though, Tommy's even more careful, because a noise that loud and that sudden could attract others, and that'd leave them in a fuck of a mess. "Do me a favor," he whispers, once he's back with Adam. "Lemme grab one of the cans... I need some gas in it. I'm gonna make a block."

Nothing like setting gas on fire at a gas station. This is not the best idea. "Get it," Adam answers. "I'll fill it." And when Tommy fetches a can from the back of RV, Adam pumps it about half-full. Of course, in doing that, he drizzles gas on the pavement. If the fire spreads, he's going up. He doesn't say "be careful." Tommy knows that.

No, it's totally and completely a shitty idea, definitely up there on the list of stupid things that Tommy's done, but it's not as if he's going to set anything on fire. Yet. It's just a precautionary measure. The lighter is on the RV anyway, and Mythbusters totally busted the idea of shooting the ground and making gasoline light up. "How much time?" he whispers, coming back to Adam. "I still don't hear anything but... where are we at? Gimme the pump, I bet your hands feel like shit."

"Just watch out!" Adam tells him. He's got to keep going. They've got to go. "Just keep an eye out." He is so tired of being scared. He is so fucking tired of the sharp bitter tang of fear in the back of his throat. "I've got it. Twenty minutes."

Which feels like an eternity.

Tommy counts the minutes, lips moving without thinking, as he walks around, listening with every single nerve and hair. At the ten minute mark, Tommy says, soft, hoping it'll carry to Adam, "Still clear." He has to remember that the destination is worth the journey. "You okay, babyboy?" Once they've got a full tank and they're on the road again, Tommy'll make sure of that. Tommy hums a bassline to himself, some song that knew from Before, one that clocked in at just over ten minutes exact. Coma, by Guns N' Roses. "Almost there."

It takes Adam nearly twelve minutes and his shoulders are sore as fuck, but he's finally got the tank filled and one of the backup canisters. He shuts and locks the tank and stows the back up and says, "Tommy, we're leaving." Soon. Now. They're so exposed; he hates it.

"Best words I've heard today." Tommy backs up to the RV and climbs in, sliding into the driver's seat once his guns are down. What kind of fucking life is this? For a second, he's terrified that they'll be on the run forever, never finding the perfect place where they can just have what they want and not worry. "Get in the shower. I'm driving." They can refill the reservoirs in the RV when they stop for the night. "You're taking it easy now. Gimme the keys." When Adam passes him, Tommy skims a hand down his arm, letting Adam squeeze his fingers before he makes his way back to the back for a quick hot shower, some Advil and clean clothes.

When he comes back, Adam's hair is loose around his shoulders and he slides into the passenger seat. Buckle in, gun in the lap and then he takes a CD out of its case and slides it into the player and finds the right track, cranking the volume. Leaning his head back in the seat, he smiles, just a little 'fuck it' smile and he thinks of his dad. Not that there is anything to smile about, he knows, but they are alive.

They are alive. Adam brushes Tommy's leg as they get back on the freeway.

Every time that I look in the mirror
All these lines on my face getting clearer
The past is gone
It went by, like dusk to dawn
Isn't that the way
Everybody's got their dues in life to pay

Yeah, I know nobody knows
Where it comes and where it goes
I know it's everybody's sin
You got to lose to know how to win

Half my life
Is in books' written pages
Lived and learned from fools and
From sages
You know it's true
All the things come back to you...

And when the bridge comes, Tommy gets to hear what he hears so very rarely in the After. Adam sings.

Sing with me, sing for the year
Sing for the laugh, sing for the tears
Sing with me, if it's just for today
Maybe tomorrow, the good lord will take you away, yeah

Yeah, sing with me, sing for the year
Sing for the laugh, sing for the tear
Sing with me, if it's just for today
Maybe tomorrow, the good Lord will take you away

Dream On Dream On Dream On
Dream until the dream come true....

Simply this: Tommy is left in awe.