Waiting For Sunrise

Ash grumbled as he stood on a stool beside his grandmother, drying the dishes she handed him. He wanted to be out playing, but since his fight with Ronald, he had been given extra chores, and not allowed out of the sight of an adult. He gave his sister a scathing glance as she hung up her apron.

"I'm done. Can I go out and play?"

"Yes, Maple," Jill responded as she plunged her hand into the murky dish water, pulling out another plate that she scrubbed vigorously.

"Can I go too?" Ash asked hopefully.

"No, Ash," Jill said tiredly. Ash groaned and threw down his drying towel.

"It's not fair she gets to go out and I don't!"

"It's perfectly fair," Jill countered as she held the dripping dish out to Ash. "She didn't hurt anyone, and she's done her chores."

Ash glared at the dish with an intensity. He crossed his arms and refused to help. Jill sighed and set the plate down on the counter. "Come now, little bud. If we get these dishes done quickly, we'll have time to play checkers before I need to get dinner started."

"Dry your own dishes!" Ash hopped down from the stool. Maple, who was standing in the doorway, gripped the doorframe, blocking his retreat.

"You were told to stay!" Maple bossed.

Ash raised a fist. "Let me through!"

Jill dried off her hands and walked over to Ash, placing a hand on his shoulder. "That's enough, love. Maple, go play, I can handle this."

Maple hesitated, but after a stern gaze from her grandmother, she dashed off. Ash was spun around, leaving his dizzy eyes unable to focus a moment on his grandmother's face, which was very close to his.

"I know you're not a bad boy. We all make mistakes, but we all pay for them. And when we get older, we pay more. So best to learn from them now, right?" Jill tilted her head to the side, her blue eyes scanning Ash's face closely. He turned his head away. He loved his grandmother, but she had bad breath and creepy teeth.

"But I HAVE learned. So why can't I go outside?"

"Maybe. But we said a week, so it will stay a week. Besides, it's not my decision, lovey. So let's get this done and then we can play."

Ash huffed and puffed and squirmed. But after stamping his feet he sighed in defeat. "Fine." He did want to play a game. He still felt grievously wronged, and didn't understand why his grandmother wasn't taking his side. She seemed so fond of him before. If she really loved him, she'd let him go and just not tell his mother. Still, playing a game with her was better than playing alone.

As promised, Ash and his grandmother sat down for a game of checkers once the dishes were clean. The door opened and he heard the stomping of boots. Ash looked up as his parents entered the room, with Maple trailing behind them.

"Oh good, we're all here. We have some news," Peter said, clapping his hands together. This got Ash's curiosity piqued and he put down his game piece.

His mother sat down in his grandmother's rocking chair, and Peter stood beside her, placing a hand proudly on her shoulder. Maybe something bad happened, but his parents were smiling. A lot. He hadn't seen them smile like that in a long time. He found himself smiling as well, and wondering if maybe he could squirm out of his punishment.

"Alright, let's hear it," Mrs. Jill Fisher said, straightening up on the stool she'd been sitting on.

"Ash, Maple, you are going to have a new little brother or sister," Nel announced, holding her hands out for them to approach. Maple immediately walked over, hugging her mother.

"I hope it's a girl! I'd like a sister!" Maple said excitedly.

Ash stayed right where he was, despite the beckoning gestures of his parents. His face went pale and his stomach fluttered like he'd swallowed a whole swarm of gnats. Tears well up in his eyes.

"You don't love me anymore!" Ash blurted out and ran from the room. He heard his father calling his name and the sound of footsteps after him. He didn't bother with his coat and went dashing out into the cold unprepared.

A murder of crows had descended to the streets, scouring what little nourishment they could from human carelessness. But upon a stumpy legged boy barrelling through their numbers, they all scattered away from the teary child. His sobs were drowned out by the cacophony of caws. And just as the ruffled corvids took roost upon nearby buildings, Peter caught his son and held him tight. Ash wriggled and fought and screamed and cried. Then it occurred to him that he wanted to be found. Maybe his father still loved him, even if his mother did not.

"Ash, why would you think such a thing? Of course we love you!" Peter set Ash down again when his fighting ceased, turning him so he could be face to face with his boy.

Ash sniffed, the cold air freezing his tears to his cheeks. "Because no one's got more than two kids, so you're gonna replace me!" Ash's words came out strained and high pitched, the beginning of some works coming out in a goose-like honk.

"What? No, Ash, there's no limit on children. Other people in the village just... haven't had other children. And that's up to them." Peter patted Ash on the head, then his rough hand slid down, cupping the plump cheek in the palm of his hand. "Come inside. It's cold out here and you don't have a coat."

Inside did sound mighty nice. Ash was feeling the cold despite the heat that welled from deep within. He wiped tears and snot on his sleeve and nodded his head. He placed his cold fingers in his father's warm hand. "I thought because I threw that rock you didn't want me."

"Nonsense. We want you. We just want you to be the best you that you can be. And I think the best you wouldn't hurt your cousin." Peter opened the door, leading Ash inside. He leaned down and whispered, "Even if Ronald wasn't being his best self either."

Ash didn't want to see his mother. He still felt betrayed. Instead, he went straight to the bedroom he shared with his grandmother and sister. He could not understand why they would want another child if they were completely happy with him. He could hear the hushed voices in another room and he wondered why no one came to check on him. Sniffling miserably, Ash eventually fell asleep despite his attempts to rally his self pity.

A blast of sound roused Peter. Once Nel awoke beside him, he rolled out of their sleeping roll, hurrying to get his pants on. The high pitched, mechanical sound rose and fell.

"What is going on?"

"Get the kids." Peter instructed tensely. Rapping at the front door caused him to hurry, pulling on his shirt as he rushed.

Peter threw open the door, seeing the young man wearing battle leathers. "Jordie, what is it? More vamps?" There was a loud boom, causing both Jordie and Peter to jump. He hurried to get his shirt buttoned up while he awaited an explanation.

"No! Not vamps. Raiders! We don't know how they got past the sentries. They're coming over the walls!"

"F..." Peter was acutely aware that his wife and children were standing behind him. "Flash it all..." Peter turned to Nel. "Nel, take the children and get them somewhere safe. Mother-" Peter was cut off by the sound of clunk-click. Jillain Fisher stepped out of her room in her nightgown, carrying a loaded shotgun. "Take care of yourself."

"This isn't my first raid," Jillian said, her wrinkles which usually told a story of smiles, deepening in determination.

Nel grabbed Peter's hunting knife, then placed a hand on Maple's shoulder. "Stay close to me. We have to be quiet, and can't bring a lamp."

"Can I come with you, Pop?" Ash asked.

"No!" Peter exhaled slowly as he a ran along the back of his neck, switching to a calmer voice. "Listen to your mother. I need you all to stay safe." He wriggled his way into a parka and grabbed his gloves.

"Don't do anything too heroic," Nel warned. He smiled at her but said nothing, and then turned away to follow Jordie. He was certain Nel would do everything to keep their children safe. What worried him most would be that she might endanger herself for their sakes. He just hoped that the presence of their unborn child would temper her other instincts.

Peter went with Jordie to the town hall, where every able bodied man, woman, and youth was assembled. Sierra Strauss barked out orders of where to focus the defences and went over the backup evacuation plan. Peter glanced around expecting to see Rena, but found her curiously absent.

"If you're looking for your vampire friend, Pete, she went to get her precious pets," came a voice that caused Peter to grind his teeth. He looked over at his half brother and nodded.

"They're good fighters," Peter said blandly as he tried to focus on the tactics that were being quickly hashed out.

"Hm. Well, we'll see if Rena can pull her weight. She says she's our guardian. I hope she's up to the task when she's up against actual humans." Geoffrey looked around. "Where's Nel?"

"With the kids, taking them to one of the cellars."

Geoffrey took in a deep breath and sighed with relief. "Good. Take care of yourself, Pete."

"You too..." It really did not seem like the time or place to remind Geoffrey for the thousandth time he did not like to be called 'Pete'.

Peter grabbed a wood axe on his way out. His stomach churned the whole time, images dancing in his mind of Nel becoming a widow.

Smoke filled Peter's nostrils as the shouts and banging grew louder. Just ahead of him he saw two figures lunging at each other, locked in a dance of spears. With the distance between them closed, they used their hafts like staves, and the larger brute was starting to overcome his fellow villager. No. His kin. Half the village were his cousins. He was set on charging in to throw the raider off when a loud crash and a scream to his left snared his attention.

Hacking vigorously at a wooden door was a raider. No time for deliberation. Peter rushed, striking from behind. Arms tensed as a jolt ran up from the impact. The man flailed and Peter trembled. Gripping the wooden handle tight, he tried to pull it free, but the axe head was wedged deeply into the enemy's skull. Yet to his horror, the man swung around, his own axe held high, the whites of his eyes contrasting with his filthy skin. Bracing himself, Peter reached up to grab the raider's axe by the hand, the blade mere inches from his nose. Then panic swelled in his gut as he became cognizant of the disparity in sizes between them. This man was large, and Peter's knees ached as he tried to hold the weapon at bay.

BASH

The man toppled forward, throwing Peter off balance, as the door behind him swung open. His back hitting the snowy ground saved him from being winded, and he barely was able to roll to the side before his opponent fell on top of him. There, the woman who had emerged from inside placed her foot firmly on the raider's back while Peter got back to his feet. Blood sprayed freely out of the man's head as the occupant pried Peter's axe free. THe man did not move as darkness pooled below him.

Breathing heavily, blood roaring in his ears, Peter looked up at the woman who had just defended her home. She held out the bloody axe to him. "Keep it, and barricade yourself, Fifi." Peter picked up the dead raider's axe for his own use, and moved on.

As Peter followed the sounds of battle, he gave the swapped out axe a few experimental swings to get a feel for its balance. He could feel this was crafted as a weapon, and not just a mere tool. It'd hopefully serve him better, but the cost was weighing on him. He needed to protect his home and his family, but the image of a man fighting on with an axe sticking out of his head lingered. Peter's legs weakened. "Pull it together and man up Peter...." he muttered to himself.

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Shouts rang out nearby, and he quickly dashed behind a wood pile. Two strangers with blackened faces ran past. A third walked in their trail. It took all of Peter's self control to not swear and expose his location. It was Art.

Peter crept around the wood pile. The slither of an arrow being drawn from a quiver was perceptible, even over the din of battle. Waiting for the prime moment, he held his breath. Art notched his arrow, focused on a distant target. Peter sprang from his hiding spot and bull rushed the turncoat. Art let out a startled grunt as they both met a jarring impact on the cold ground.

The other man was strong, but Peter had the advantage. One punch thrown, but didn't connect as Art grabbed his wrist and guided it away. With Peter's other hand, he clawed at the betrayer's face. Art turned his head away, and pushed against Peter, who struggled to remain astride his opponent. Grabbing his axe from where it landed in the snow, Peter pressed the handle into Art's throat. "Where are Cat and John? WHERE!?"

Art glared at him and spat. Peter blinked furiously to wash the spittle from his eye. He rammed the haft harder into Art's neck, causing him to sputter and gurgle. Desperation mounting as he gasped, Art's hand flew at Peter's head, fingers hooked and clawing for any purchase. Peter turned his head away, but kept up the pressure.

It was a mistake to take his eyes off his opponent.

A sharp pain pierced into the side of Peter's neck and he screamed in spite of himself. His grip weakened as one of his hands instinctively went to the protruding arrow. The sneaky bastard stabbed him! His first impulse was to yank it out, but the barb would tear too much. Dismay, and fearing death was imminent, Peter sprang to his feet, backing away as he firmly placed his fingers on either side of the shaft. A second wave of pain gushed through his entire body, nausea riding in its wake.

Art got to his feet, picking up the discarded axe and glowering at him. Peter trembled, seeing the grotesque malice in the man's face. Danger nipping at his heels, Peter again thought of his wife, and before his pride could get in the way, his feet took flight. He didn't know where he planned to run, as there were dangers around every corner. Bodies lying in the street. Streaks of bloody slush. Burning homes.

Peter heard a whizzing sound as an arrow flew by his head, barely missing. He turned around a corner, placing his back to the brick wall of the foundry, trying to catch his breath. Breathe. Breathe. His chest was going to explode. The arrow was a hazard. But he daren't pull it out.

Peter took off his glove and placed it between his teeth. Closing his eyes, he broke the shaft of the arrow close to the head. The pain was overwhelming and he bit down, trying not to cry out and alert anyone to his location. He tasted leather and salt, nearly choking on his own drool - or was that blood?

Desperately, Peter looked around. There was a charred chunk of wood that might work as a club. But he was exhausted, and the thought of leaning over to pick it up was too much.

Two men ran past his hiding spot, but he recognised them both. The bushy beard and red knit cap of one was unmistakably Basil.

"Wait... wait..." Peter called out through jagged breaths.

Weapons out, the two men turned. However, they immediately lowered their arms. One of the two approached, lending Peter a shoulder. "Let's get you to the hospital."

"Matthew..." Peter coughed, recognising the face of one of his cousins. "Art... Art is one of them. Cat and John... betrayed us!"

Basil nodded grimly. "I'll make sure Graham and Sierra know!" He took off at a gallop.

Signs of chaos hemmed them in on all sides as the two men staggered towards the hospital. A makeshift barricade of sandbags and furniture huddled around the front of the stone building. There was a skirmish going on, as a bulk of the raiders seemed to be intent on sieging their science and medical building. Peter and his cousin gave each other meaningful looks, then directed their attention to a pair of archers.

Seeing the fight refueled Peter's adrenaline, giving him a much needed second wind. Working in tandem with Matthew, the two Fisham men flanked a pair of archers who were aiming another volley. Peter grabbed his target from behind in a choke hold, only realising as she swooned from a lack of blood to her brain that he was up against a woman. He couldn't let that deter him. She was an enemy and that was all that mattered. He quickly bound her with her own belt and rolled her into a snowbank, then looked to his cousin. Matthew stood over his bloody victim, wiping his forehead with the back of his sleeve.

Peter grabbed one of the bows and clumsily took aim. The pain in his neck from pulling back the bowstring was too much and he dropped the weapon. "I can't..."

An arrow sailed through the air, arching beautifully before felling one of the melee fighters. Peter stared at his cousin in unfocused bewilderment. With another arrow already notched, Matthew grinned.

Realising their support had been taken down, the front line skirmishers turned their attention towards Matthew and Peter. "Run!"

Peter didn't need to be told twice. Grimacing and feeling woozy, he loped towards the hospital doors. His vision fixated on a pair of combatants, quickly identifying one as Siobhan and the other as an unknown. Out of the corner of his eye he saw someone attempt to flank him, and he narrowly managed to stumble out of the swinging club's path. He slid, losing traction on the red slush beneath his feet.

Peter couldn't stop the fall that was happening, but threw himself forward to at least direct his fall towards a raider. The two of them tumbled to the ground, causing Siobhan to yelp. With her assailant on the ground, she shouted for Peter to move as she raised her spear high. Peter rolled out of the way just as Siobhan's spear struck the other woman's neck. She bled out rapidly, but there was no time to be horrified. Siobhan pulled Peter off the ground and banged on the metal doors, hollering the password.

The skirmish was like an ocean wave, and it was all crashing towards him. He looked desperately at the doors, willing them to open faster, panic rising. Shouts were hot behind him, burnt flesh and metal filled his nostrils. The doors creaked. Once they were wide enough to squeeze forward, Peter staggered through. They slammed shut behind him, the sound of distressed metal echoing in his swishing ears. There was a bang as a body hit the reinforced doors.

"Peter! Oh damn..." He heard Siobhan 's voice, both near and distant. "Sarah! SARAH! It's Peter!"

His head swam and his knees gave out. Siobhan, being the stout woman she was, easily caught him in his swoon as she continued to call for help. Peter's vision became blurry, and he barely managed to look up and focus on Sarah's concerned face, vignetted by fading consciousness.

Nel stood with her back to a wall, her children's hands in her own. Men ran by their hiding place; she held her breath. The sound of thudding footsteps grew distant and she exhaled. Giving each child's hand a squeeze, she urged them to run towards the now desolate community garden.

"Just a little further and we'll be in the root cellar. I know this is scary-"

"I'm not scared!" Ash objected.

"Me neither!" Maple insisted, holding up her father's hunting knife. Distress rippled through Nel's body as she imagined her daughter having to use it.

"Well you should be! Fear keeps us alive," Nel hissed. She took in a few deep breaths as she tried to gain control of her frantic heart.

"Are you scared, Mom?"

"Yes. But I'll be fine once we reach the cellar, so let's do that together, okay?"

"Okay!" Ash said with renewed enthusiasm.

Despite the short sprint, Nel was breathing heavily, the smoke of a distant fire burning her throat. There was a scream in the distance and Nel fought the urge to try and see the source, focusing instead on a shed - a waypoint to their final destination. There they could rest, then dash to the cellar.

Just a few more steps! The shed door swung open. Someone's inside? Startled, Nel's feet tangled over themselves and she pitched forward. Everything suddenly seemed in slow motion. Her stomach churned, and she felt the weight of her children. She was pulling them down as she fell. Panicked, she let their hands go and listed to the right. Her shoulder caught the edge of the shed. Nel landed awkwardly on her side, sliding in the snow.

Maple held out her knife threateningly and Ash rushed to check on his mother.

A burly man emerged, face painted black, clothing a patchwork of gore. In his hand was a cobwebbed pitchfork. His eyes fell on Maple first, and then her knife. Immediately, he twirled the weapon around, poised to strike.

"No!" Nel shrieked as the man lunged at her little girl. No time to get to her feet, she threw herself at Maple's legs, knocking her down and out of the path of harm. "Don't you DARE hurt my children!"

The man grinned, all two of his teeth glinting in the firelight. "Oh yeah? What'll ya do for me if I spare yer piglet?" The man asked with a drooly lisp.

"You'll leave us alone if you know what's good for you!" Ash shouted. Nel reached up and tried to cover his mouth, shushing him with a frantic hiss.

"That right?" The man chortled, twirling the pitchfork menacingly. Watching this, Nel sat up straight, and placed an open hand behind her back, wiggling her fingers to Maple. Every second Nel's hand remained empty, her anxiety rose. But soon, she felt the knife handle placed in her awaiting palm, and her fingers closed around it.

"I ain't get no giddies outta killing squealers like you, but fewer mouths to feed the better." He lunged forward. Nel quickly brought up the knife to deflect the pitchfork, the seven-inch blade sliding between the tines. One of the prongs scratched Nel's cheek, but she didn't flinch as she twisted the blade, wrenching the tool from the man's hand.

The moment the pitchfork fell into the snow Ash dove for it, landing on his hands and knees. Disarmed, the raider seized Ash from behind.

"Ash! No!"

The young boy squealed indignantly and kicked his legs in the air. Nel crouched down, planting her feet and testing the traction of the snowy ground. In desperation, Ash tried to swing the large pitchfork behind him, but it was unwieldy in his small hands.

"Gimme that!" The man grabbed the pitchfork's shaft.

Nel sprung, plunging the knife into the man's ribs just under his extended arm. He grunted and released his hostage. Ash tumbled on the ground, clinging tenaciously to the pitchfork. She hesitated, seeing her two children present. But she was committed to the slaying. Out came the knife, and immediately she thrust it into his gut.

"Who's the pig now?" Nel whispered in the man's ear as he lurched forward, his warm blood soaking into her gloves. He looked up, furious, and spat a red gob into her face. She pulled the knife out again, then grabbed his hair and forced his head back. In a quick decisive motion, she slid the blade along his leathery throat. Arterial spray got on Nel's face and in her hair, and the man collapsed like a sack of potatoes. She breathed heavily, wiping her brow with the back of her sleeve.

The sound of whimpering drew her attention. Trembling, Maple helped Ash to his feet. At that moment, Nel felt something in her shatter. Her knees nearly gave way, but she had no time for those emotions. Expression grim, she rubbed the cold snow on her bloody face, trying to rinse the worst of it off. "We need to go."

Ash clung to the pitchfork, staring at the exsanguinating man. "Think that'll attract vamps?"

"Ashton!" Nel grabbed his other hand and pulled him away from the unsightly corpse. "It won't matter because we'll be safe in the cellar."

"What's wrong with you!?" Maple scolded her brother in dismay.

"Hush!" Nel snapped as they huddled behind the tool shed. Nel searched for the pair of rose bushes that marked the cellar's location. Ash tried to pull away, but she held his hand tight.

"Mom! It's Cat! It's Cat! I think she might be hurt!" he pointed excitedly with the pitchfork. She followed his line of sight, and saw a woman leaning against a tree, holding her shoulder. "We gotta help her!"

"She can take care of herself!" Nel whispered.

"Even if she's hurt?" Ash sounded mortified. "Help me out, Maple. You don't want Cat hurt either do you? Maple? Hey... Maple!"

Looking at her daughter, Nel felt a tingle of vexation and concern at the pallour her little face had taken on. "Maple! Are you hurt!" She whipped off a glove and checked her daughter's forehead, met with cool and clammy skin.

"I feel sick..."

Nel placed both of her hands on Maple's shoulders. "Can you just hold on until we're inside?"

Rapid pattering of feet caught Nel's attention. Ash was sprinting off towards the straggler. "Ash! No!" She turned to chase Ash, but her daughter took hold of her hand.

"Don't leave me, Mom!" Maple pleaded piteously. Nel took in a sharp breath, watching Ash get further away, and then looked back at her daughter who seemed to be wilting before her eyes.

"Come on." She grit her teeth as she hurried her daughter towards a pair of naked rose bushes. With a series of kicks, she excavated the hatch from the pile of snow and branches. She glanced back to where she last saw Ash. He stood in front of Cat, gesturing. That woman did not exhibit any hostile behaviour. Yet.

The torn mother licked her lips and pulled on the handles. Ice had formed in the crack between the doors. Nel wanted to scream in frustration, but she feared alerting the enemy. Her chest burned as she stomped on the wooden doors angrily.

Maple went down on her knees, holding her stomach. Nel let out a strangled noise, as she couldn't keep all the tension inside any longer. As the young girl wretched, her mother pulled the door open.

"Finally." Nel knelt beside her Maple and rubbed her back until the heaving subsided. "Alright sweetie, time to go inside."

Once inside, Nel hurriedly gathered a bunch of empty sacks and some reserve hay, fashioning a bed for her daughter. She helped the young girl out of her wet outer layers, and bid her to lie down. "There now... just get some rest. I need to fetch your brother."

"Oh Momma, don't go! Forget what I said. I am scared! I am!" Maple sobbed.

Nel stroked Maple's bangs and patted her cheek. "Hey now... it's okay to be scared. It's okay." Nel leaned down, kissing her daughter on her forehead. Still clammy, but now she felt warmth on her lips. "But your brother needs to be safe, too. I won't be long."

Maple whimpered and curled up tighter on her sad sack bed.

Just as Nel approached the cellar doors she heard Ash's voice.

"Down here! You'll be safe! Hey! What are you doing? No! You need to open it not... WHAT! LET GO! HELP! HELP! MOM!"

Nel's pupils dilated as her hair stood on end. She rushed up the last few steps to push the doors open but was met with resistance. She banged on the door; it didn't budge. I'm locked in! Nel took a few steps down and then launched at the door, but the angle made it hard to get the force she needed. The second attempt at bursting the door open nearly caused her to fall down the steps. "ASH! ASH! WHAT'S HAPPENING?"

"What? What is it?" Maple asked from her roost.

All Nel heard in response was Ash's muffled voice, not producing any words, just noises of protest. Nel slammed her hands into the thick wooden doors until they stung. When she could no longer hear Ash, she sat at the bottom of the steps, her face in her hands, and sobbed.