“You’re an idiot.” Columbus says, for what is not the first time this evening. “So fucking stupid I don’t even know how you survived this long. It’s simply amazing.”
He isn’t talking to himself, as some might venture to believe. But rather to the unconscious heap of a man he’s dragging back to camp. He has every right to complain. For one, its fucking cold out – snowing even – and they could both be sitting by the heater in the house they’d been squatting in for the last week, but, no… And, more importantly than the freezing temperatures, he’s worried.
Tallahassee had gone out sometime late last night and had still been gone when they’d all woken up. The girls were back at the house, still, waiting for him to return from his scouting mission of the areas nearby.
The older man has a broken arm, Columbus dares to assume, given the obscure angle it’s hanging at. He’s beaten and bloodied, but –and Columbus is thanking anyone who is listening for this fact – not bitten. He’s colder than Columbus is, given how icy his skin feels, and Columbus finds himself wondering what the hell could have happened to him out in the post-zombie-apocalypse world that would explain it.
“Fuck.” Columbus growls, as he trips over a rock and falls back. “Fan-fucking-tastic.”
Tallahassee is no help – he’s knocked out or in shock or in some state that is not conductive to moving his ass back to the house.
“What the hell were you thinking, anyway? Going out in the middle of the night with no supplies, now weapons. Fucking idiot.”
Finally, another hour later, he makes it back. They’re both freezing and soaked from the snow, but Wichita and Little Rock have the heat going on high for them and after rounding up supplies, the girls leave him to the task of getting Tallahassee back to his usual badass self.
Within the depths of Tallahassee’s bag – tossed on the floor beside Columbus’ own – he finds a change of clothes for the older man. He quickly goes about drying himself off and changing into the warmest things he can find for himself, and then sets about his appointed task.
Cold - Pt 1
He isn’t talking to himself, as some might venture to believe. But rather to the unconscious heap of a man he’s dragging back to camp. He has every right to complain. For one, its fucking cold out – snowing even – and they could both be sitting by the heater in the house they’d been squatting in for the last week, but, no… And, more importantly than the freezing temperatures, he’s worried.
Tallahassee had gone out sometime late last night and had still been gone when they’d all woken up. The girls were back at the house, still, waiting for him to return from his scouting mission of the areas nearby.
The older man has a broken arm, Columbus dares to assume, given the obscure angle it’s hanging at. He’s beaten and bloodied, but –and Columbus is thanking anyone who is listening for this fact – not bitten. He’s colder than Columbus is, given how icy his skin feels, and Columbus finds himself wondering what the hell could have happened to him out in the post-zombie-apocalypse world that would explain it.
“Fuck.” Columbus growls, as he trips over a rock and falls back. “Fan-fucking-tastic.”
Tallahassee is no help – he’s knocked out or in shock or in some state that is not conductive to moving his ass back to the house.
“What the hell were you thinking, anyway? Going out in the middle of the night with no supplies, now weapons. Fucking idiot.”
Finally, another hour later, he makes it back. They’re both freezing and soaked from the snow, but Wichita and Little Rock have the heat going on high for them and after rounding up supplies, the girls leave him to the task of getting Tallahassee back to his usual badass self.
Within the depths of Tallahassee’s bag – tossed on the floor beside Columbus’ own – he finds a change of clothes for the older man. He quickly goes about drying himself off and changing into the warmest things he can find for himself, and then sets about his appointed task.