Realistic or Modern Fallen Angels M.C. | In the Zombie Apocalypse

[NanLia]

WISCONSIN
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Auguste hated travelling. More specifically, he hated travelling in this god-forsaken box truck that the club had procured for this very specific job. He hated the half seats of the second row, the edge hardly making it to the top of his thighs. He hated the cramped frigid quarters, and frozen wastelands they travelled and, most of all, he hated the near-constant ache in his legs from keeping them tucked behind the driver's seat. At six and a half feet, there was simply not enough room for him to exist in the space, let alone find comfort. At least not physical comfort.

Things had changed for him, over the past few months. The horde and the high school had done a number on him, he knew. He could sense it himself, a little more cautious when stepping into shit, an extra pause to consider other options than simply killing. Much of this had to do with the knowledge that he, and the other members of the club, had destroyed that community. Ignorant or otherwise, he was complicit. He’d help get kids killed. He’d helped ruin their safe homes. He’d helped in sending them to that prison.

Auguste would have loved to have claimed that this new moral higher thought process was due to his own development but after forty-two years of life, twenty-six of which had been dedicated to this very club, he had a very singular way of seeing the world. It was the club versus everyone else, and fuck the other guys. The change in his thought, the change in his perspective was entirely Lila’s fault. For better or worse. That girl had dug into him, had him on a fucking leash and he wouldn’t have it any other way, even if it meant he’d sleep more peacefully.

After their return from the high school, Auguste had enacted a change that surprised (and likely annoyed) some members of the club: he’d moved Lila into his trailer. He’d resisted the idea for so long that something in him just eventually broke and he came to the knowledge that he couldn’t continue as he had, not leaving her alone to the Probys and their fuckery. He was gone too often to do much but break teeth after getting back. At least this way, at least now, he could leave in peace knowing she carried his title. She was his and he’d murder any fuck who even looked at her wrong.

And for all of this Lila was still her bubbly happy self. Happy, he liked to think, because he’d finally put a ring on it … her words, not his.

Leading up to their destination he sat up straighter, focusing on the task at hand and not what he’d left behind to be in this miserable place.

Auguste would have chuckled at Fish’s warning but the second he opened the door cold air flooded the previously warm cabin. He gritted his teeth and popped open his door, stepping out with a stifled groan as he stretched his legs. Somehow this job felt too altruistic for the club: generators to the CDC? He hadn’t been privy to what they gained from it but he doubted it was drugs, alcohol or weapons.

He looked around the dark parking garage, closing his door softly, taking a moment to walk around to the front of the truck and survey the other parked vehicles. “Câlice,” He hissed, turning back to Fish. “I should have brought a warmer coat.”

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[BeyondDandy]

M.C.

Chris Tremble

Head of Security

CDC

The CDC’s Head of Security guided the van in reverse towards the interior entrance. Other guards surrounded the van’s perimeter with their guns at ready as they whispered amongst themselves. The garage chains were released, shutting the entry doors and locking the bikers inside with no way out. A few lights flickered overhead, but the rest of the large garage remained dark with hopes of preserving energy for the upper levels. As Fish exited the vehicle, the head of security stepped forward to introduce himself.


With his arm extended and his hand firm, he moved in to shake Fish’s hand. “I’m Chris Tremble, head of security for Level 1 and 2 of this building. Thank you for making the trip. We really appreciate it,” he stated kindly with a soft smile. Chris walked around as the rest of the bikers left the van, his men peeking inside in awe of Mr. Han’s continuous charity towards their cause. “We’ll be quick so you can make your way back-“ Chris started before a sudden harsh rattle startled him and the rest of his crew. The garage doors shook uncontrollably against the loose chains that swung left, right - echoing through the empty garage. Guards raised their weapons and aimed them towards the doors, clicking off their safeties and sliding their fingers on the trigger. The flashlights strapped to their rifles clicked on and searched the premises. The doors rattled again.


“Weapons down! Jesus Christ guys, it’s the damn wind! Relax! This isn’t your first rodeo!” Chris ordered over Fish’s shoulder, chuckling as his own grip shifted from his gun holster to his belt stealthily - trying to act cool.. “I’m sorry about that, the weather here has been unpredictable in the last few days,” he explained as the doors continued to shake. “My men will unload your truck and we’ll have you guys ready to go in no-'' he started before the radio strapped to his vest interrupted him. A voice called through the static. Chris lifted his finger to shush the crowd, leaning his ear into the walkie. “Chris, we’ve got a problem,” the words broke through, raising concern for everyone. Chris smiled at the bikers, “Get these generators into inventory!” He commanded his crew before excusing himself, walking away from the truck through vinyl strips with his walkie glued to his lip.


Guards leaped into the van and started moving the generators off the vehicle as instructed. Two other gentlemen came through curtained walls with pallets on wheeled jacks. The generators were loaded on the pallets and wheeled off back through the curtains into what would appear to be a supply area. Chris came back through as the generators faded away. He huffed as he approached Fish and the rest of the Angels. “Bad news boys. There’s a storm coming,” Chris revealed. “You may just want to wait it out here with us. We can take you upstairs and get you guys settled in for the night. I don’t know how bad it is but driving back might be risky. My guy says there’s a lot of snow coming in, a blizzard perhaps. What do you guys say?”


—


The elevator was turned off so the crew had to take the stairs up to Level 2 of the building. Chris led the Angels up, unlocking the entrance door before escorting them inside. “You may want to close your eyes,” Chris suggested jokingly as a flash of light struck them like a sucker punch through the crack of the door. The entire second floor lit up like Christmas, a complete one-eighty from the parking garage conditions. The entry led into the building's kitchen. It looked as pristine as the ones in Chef Ramsay’s cooking shows. Two ladies manned their stations, wearing maroon chef coats with their names. One was Louise Holden, head chef. She was an older brunette, maybe in her forties. Her expression appeared ruthless as she cooked - very organized and focused. The other was Martha, sous chef. Martha was younger, late twenties. She had her black hair tied up in a bun and gave the men a smile as they came in through the doors. Both appeared to be very busy that morning as they prepared breakfast for everyone in the building.


“Good morning ladies,” Chris greeted as he led the Angels through. He winked at Martha as they. Neared the exit. “That’s my wife, Martha,” he explained. “The other lady is Chef Holden. She’s a total badass in the kitchen, but never really speaks, just cooks.” The crew broke out of the kitchen and into a long empty hallway. The floors were crystal white, very clean and polished. Chris guided the Angels towards the windows to see the storm that his men outside had buzzed about. “Woah, that doesn’t look good,” he admitted as a forceful white mist covered the skies. Snow clashed against the windows, shaking them. Chris looked down to see what was going on below and caught glimpses of his men escaping the conditions. “Alright, c’mon, let me show you the common area.”


After reaching the end of the hall, Chris opened up two large double doors. An immediate culture shock from the dark garage and empty hall. People, regular people, lingered through the open space - chatting, playing, working. The large room was filled to the brim with energy. To the left, Kids of all age sat at attention in school desks, taking instruction from a female teacher. To the right were lunch tables were people chatted, read and played cards as they waited for breakfast. To the center was a large lounge area. Large modern sofas, chairs and an entire catalog of university lounge furniture. As Chris and the Angels stepped deeper into the space, faces turned to greet them. Some people waved, others actually approached them to say hello and introduce themselves as the group made their way through. “This is our recreational area. Lunchroom and dining area over there on your right. Over there is the lounge. We’ve got a large television and a bunch of movies to choose from. We draw names from a bucket to see who gets to pick the movie we watch each day. Movie night is at seven o’clock every night. There’s a kids area is in the back. Steve built the younglings a jungle gym for when they’re not in class. He was in construction and is a freaking genius. Really good dude. You see the bookshelves on all the walls? This used to be a library, so there’s tons of content to read from if you’re an avid reader like myself. It’s like winning the lottery!” Chris said excitingly.


“C’mon. Down this hall are all of our dorms. We try to double up as much as we can and keep families together if possible. It’s worked well so far. Everyone here has a job and we all pitch in to make things work. Schedule is posted on Sundays each week with tasks. Mr. Han gave us this opportunity, so we’re going to make sure this place flourishes. I’m going to have you guys take the last room down this way, George here will escort you. I’ll finish up downstairs and be back to get you more situated.” Chris patted Fish on the shoulder and smiled at the rest of the Angels as he motioned Guard George to guide the men to their designated room.


“This way,” said George. As the men started down the hallway away from the common areas. Residents peeked out of their rooms and watched the bikers. A young man started towards them nonchalantly and nodded as George passed him. He looked up at Auguste, licking his bottom lip and looking at the back of George’s head before quickly handing him a folded piece of paper the size of a gum wrapper. Without a second to waste he took off like a rocket down the hallway, running towards the common area. Guard George was oblivious and got the Angels to their rooms. The two rooms faced one another and were at the end of the hall. George pulled out his master keys and unlocked both doors. The rooms were identical and minimalistic. They each had two high bunk beds on opposite sides of the room. A waist high cabinet slid under the tall bed frame for clothing and sheets. A wooden desk faced the large curtained window at the end of the room and each bed had a small nightstand near the footboard. George looked at his watch and then at Fish. “We’ll retrieve you all for breakfast in about ten minutes. After breakfast we’re having our monthly Level 3 raffle! You guys are in for a treat!,” he said before leaving the men.

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[Namazu]

M.C.

Matt “Fish” Fischer

Secretary

CDC BUILDING

“Shit, man, shoulda done this in the fall or summer, not in the Goddamn winter.” Fish murmured in response to Auguste’s comment about a warmer coat. There was something about winters that felt more biting now. Before the dead, winters were still cold, and a hassle, but it could be escaped. There were warm homes and warm businesses and people working to keep the world running despite the weather. But nowadays? Winter made it feel like the planet died too.

The group of Fallen Angels playing delivery boys must have seemed intimidating to those at the CDC - and Fish was hoping to keep it that way. A nice, tall, thick barrier between Them and Us so that if shit hit the fan, none of them would feel guilt about fucking off out of Wisconsin and going back home. Fish had learned the hard way that caring too much about the other guy was a weighty thing to carry - and when you were ultimately responsible for killing families, women, children, innocents… it was something you needed to cope with. Fish was still figuring out how he was coping beyond retreating into a hard outer shell. In the meantime, he had primarily just clammed up, did his job in silence, and put some distance between himself and almost everyone else, except for Kit.

One look at the CDC’s head of security and the crowd that came to help out told Fish a lot about this place. The group was organized but nervous, the guy too clean cut and cheery. He got met with a handshake - which he returned - instead of a pat-down for weapons and cloaked threats. They looked… untested.

They looked like a group that hadn’t just rained death down upon unsuspecting people.

“Fish. I’m running this on our side.” He introduced himself to Chris as he motioned to the truck with his head, foregoing first and last names and roles - especially roles. If this guy wasn’t familiar with how a club ran, saying he was a secretary could give off the wrong impression. All the guy needed to know was that right now, he was in charge of his own. Fish offered Chris the faintest of smiles that didn’t reach his eyes as they shook on it.

Fish realized these CDC folks were being too-trusting fools, not patting them down and taking their weapons from them. It was about the time that Fish had his handgun out of its holster and aimed at the rattling garage door in a heartbeat. He made a mental note of who among the guards drew their weapons faster or slower than the others, who was armed with what, who seemed jumpy, who seemed trained, and who was ready to waste bullets on something that made noise before seeing what it was.

“It’s fine-” He started, his attention going to the radio on Chris’ vest as it crackled about a problem. Making eye contact with his own people that had climbed out, he motioned for them to step off to the side and let the CDC grunts do the heavy lifting. His handgun was slid back into its holster for now.

Once they were out of earshot, Fish pulled his black knit hat off and ran a hand through his hair, the few rings around his fingers feeling cold against his scalp. He’d caught a glimpse of himself earlier that day in the side mirror and swore he saw a bit more grey in his hair than he used to see before. He was dressed in layers, knowing he’d be tackling a lot of cold but ran the risk of getting sweaty and hot if he had to hustle against the living or the dead: dark denim jeans tucked into tall black boots, with a long dark leather trench coat over his black denim patched vest, which was over a black sweater with a hood. He unzipped a little at the neck, which showed some bright orange peeking out beneath the other layers. Between the mismatch of colors against darkness and jewelry and long coat, it was possibly hard to tell if Fish was a biker, a hobo, or a hippy - but that was typical Fish style. Probably not what the CDC was expecting, not from the guy in charge of the boots on the ground, but they could suck an egg if they didn’t like it.

“Keep your eyes peeled till we get out of here. We won’t know what we need to know until we need it so don’t slack.” Fish looked beyond Kit’s shoulder and studied the guards as he whispered, pretending to be picking a stray hair off his hat before putting it back on, then adjusting his holster as he spoke - making it look from the outside observer that they were having a casual, tired huddle.

“Armed means something worth guarding.” He rubbed a hand down his face, raising his eyes as Chris re-emerged from behind the plastic strips that sectioned off another part of the garage. He gave those gathered around him quick looks to gauge how they were doing before putting on an impassive neutral face again as Chris returned.

The news that a storm was coming put a frown on his face, and he huffed out a lungful of air. He couldn’t look too uncaring or too excited about the idea or that would raise red flags either way. He just had to properly aw-shucks it and gracefully accept their hospitality. Even if he’d rather go sleep in a snowbank.

“We got a long drive ahead of us, and doing even part of that in a blizzard is risky business. We’ll stay.” He glanced up at Auguste first, being the Sgt. at Arms and all, then the others, to gauge their reactions.

Fish followed Chris up the stairs and inside, stealthily taking a moment to make sure his weapons were still neatly concealed under his layers. The guy wasn’t joking about closing his eyes either - when the door opened, Fish had to squint against the sudden flood of light. Wasteful light; no wonder they needed generators, but damn if that didn’t hurt for a moment. It felt bizarre for this entry to lead straight into a kitchen - straight into access to supplies possibly - but he said nothing. Fish offered the ladies in the kitchen a polite nod and a respectful ‘ma’am’ to them both.

The clean, sterile white of the hallways was off-putting. It reminded Fish of hospitals and treatment centers far too much, and it sent a shiver up his spine.

If the hallway wasn’t bad enough, the common room actually made Fish flinch. Subtly, his hand reached down for Kit’s sleeve, giving it a tug as he glanced at the younger man. Some silent communication passed between the two with a shared look only.

Fish’s attention hopped from person to person, activity to activity, taking stock of what he saw. It was brighter and definitely more family-friendly than their own clubhouse, but it immediately made him wonder if that’s what that school had been like, before they got there. Before they ruined everything. He wondered if Chris knew the Fallen Angels were destroyers of communities, not saviors. He likely didn’t, not by the way he was giving them a tour of the place like they were welcoming friendly guests. Fish didn’t wave back, didn’t return any greetings beyond giving a few subtle nods to people who actually stepped up to them. The wall between Them and Us had to stand tall and sturdy. It had to.

They were friendly and normal and by God Fish wanted to run because distance was the only thing that gave these people a chance in hell of surviving.

Fish’s skin crawled as Chris patted him on the shoulder and left them in the care of some other poor schmuck. Dead man walking, he thought, as Chris left to go return to his post.

The sight of the young man passing Auguste a note raised alarm bells in his mind, but Fish did not react to the sight. If the man didn’t want their tour guide to see this, there was a reason for it, and he was not going to rock the boat right here, right now. By the time they were left alone in a room, with the door closed, Fish finally exhaled heavily. He popped the door open a crack to peek outside, made sure nobody was lingering, then silently closed it again. He motioned for the gathered Fallen Angels to huddle close so he could lower his voice.

"Do not get too comfortable. Keep your eyes open and your weapons on you. Take stock of anything you can. Number of people, floorplan, exits, defenses, supplies, weak spots, hard targets, trained personnel versus regular civvies, weapons, health concerns, personality problems, anything. Someone find out what a fucking Level 3 Raffle is, but don’t participate in it. Orders to not touch anything stands, and that includes their way of doing things. Chris, don’t flirt with anyone, and definitely do not fuck any of them.” Fish folded his arms over his chest, glancing out the window.

Everything was white and there wasn’t anything left to see. For a Secretary, whose job and best skill was watching, taking stock, and keeping record of everything the club saw and did, not being able to see even a foot past the window was a bad sign.

“I don’t even know if we should eat their food.” He glanced between those gathered and counted heads. Himself, Auguste, Kit, Beau, Chris, and Mariska. Six bodies and four beds.

“Either we sleep in shifts, or folks double up.” The idea earned Marisaka and apologetic look, since she was the only woman among them at the moment.

“I won’t make you double up if you’re not comfortable with that. Kit and I are the scrawny fuckers here, we can always share if need be.” Fish patted around in his pockets until he found something to tie his hair back - a thin, dark purple elastic-y band he’d ‘borrowed’ from Lila before leaving. Combing his hair back with his fingers, he tied his hair behind his head and out of his way.

“So Auguste, gonna share with the class the note you got passed?” He stared holes into the taller man, waiting for him to share.

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[Namazu]

M.C.

Lila Adkins

Ex-Prisoner

FLASHBACK - AFTER THE SCHOOL, BEFORE WINTER

Auguste paced the hall outside the infirmary where he’d last seen Weston, a face and a name he distinctly recalled from his life before. He’d heavily debated in the hours before now, on whether or not he’d even approach the man. He could have walked away, Casey was adamant about returning to their home, to their people immediately and he could have used that as an excuse to simply ignore it. Something gnawed at him. Deep inside his soul he could feel it tugging at his heart.

“Osti de sacrament.” He hissed before pushing himself off the wall and stepping into the quiet infirmary. It was not hard to find the rival biker sprawled out on a makeshift hospital bed. Much like himself, he was covered in tattoos.

Auguste approached, cautiously, stopping at the end of the bed and waiting for Weston to acknowledge him before speaking. “Not here to start shit,” He clarified, mostly as a reassurance to himself; Auguste was still very much loyal to his club and he wasn’t sure if Weston was too, but he wasn’t about to risk starting a fight. “Just need to ask you a few things.”

Eyes closed, a hand resting on his forehead, and trying to distract himself from his headache by thinking about how lumpy this excuse for a hospital bed was, Weston almost didn't hear the footsteps approaching. He cracked one eye open, and immediately tensed when he saw Auguste approach his bed. He pushed himself up to a sitting position and scooted backwards on the bed, adding more distance between the two. The quick movement made him grimace from pain, adding to the scowl he gave the older man.

"What?" It was clear in his tone he wanted to snap more at the man, but held himself back, not trusting that he really meant he wasn't there to start shit.

Auguste paused, blowing out a breath as he considered his next words cautiously. “Are you still with your club? Or are you with these Samaritans?” He wasn’t certain why he was asking, and neither were ideal situations for whom he wanted to discuss. He shifted, awkwardly, moving to lean against a side table and a little further away from the center of the room. He didn’t want anyone else from his club to see him speaking with Weston, at least not until he was done.

"Samaritans, but only because my club is gone, thanks to you and yours. Dead. All of 'em. You wouldn't happen to know anything about that, would you?" Weston eyed the man up and down suspiciously, uncertain where this was going. Adjusting himself in bed, he leaned back against the wall behind the bed, hand coming to rest atop where he was stitched up.

Auguste crossed his arms over his chest, nodding briefly as Weston confirmed what he’d suspected, at least that he was with the Samaritans and not his club. “I don’t know that everyone from your club is dead and gone.” He cleared his throat. “You’d be surprised who survives out there but…” He inhaled deeply. Just rip the bandage off… “We - I, have Lila. She’s back with my club, left her there before coming here and she’s safe.” He had to stop himself from saying any more.

That revelation, that name, made Weston sit up straight and swing one leg off the bed before he stopped himself. The other man might not tell him anything more if he got in his face or got belligerent - even if he wanted to. Eyes wide with surprise, he stared at Auguste for a moment, searching for any sign he was lying.

"Why is she with you? How'd you find her?" He swung his other leg off the bed, ignoring the pain in his side as he slid off the bed. "I need to see her."

Auguste stood up straight as Weston moved, for a second he thought the former rival was about to throw hands. Honestly, he wasn’t sure if he blamed him. And, with what he was about to say, that might still happen.

“She’s with us because before the world went to hell we … she got away when we went after your club. We found her later.” He huffed, saying it aloud after all this time just sounded just as dumb as he thought it would. “Listen, man, different world. Point is she’s fine, she’s been fine and I’ve been keeping her that way.” He sighed but nodded. “I can arrange that.” He didn’t care if Hank or Casey thought otherwise. “But she’s not staying with you, not unless she wants to.”

"Her world went to hell because YOU guys killed her family. Don't fucking forget that part." He pointed one very angry finger right at Auguste, other hand grabbing onto the thin excuse for a sheet atop the bed. He didn't move closer, at least. He worked his jaw back and forth, glaring at Auguste while he processed this information. "We meet in a neutral location. Not here, not where the Samaritans shack up, not your place. How long do you think it'd take to arrange that?"

Auguste's heart squeezed with Weston’s accusation like he hadn’t known that to be the truth already. Every day he had to watch her serve the club because of their actions, because he was complicit in what his club had done to her family. Nothing would change that.

“Give me a few days.” He said simply. “Name the place and we’ll meet you there.”

--------

Auguste spent the hours it took to return to the club’s home contemplating exactly how he was going to explain this to Lila, how he was going to face her at all. He didn’t regret telling Weston, and he didn’t regret the fact that he was about to tell her she had family still living. What worried him, what gnawed at the pit of his stomach that he might actually lose her! He couldn’t give her a good enough reason to stay; at least not one that he felt she deserved.

At the gates, he answered what questions he could, doing his best to give short-clipped answers. He lied, for the first time in his life with the club, stating that Casey had sent him with a mission. He’d pay for it later, though that was a future-Auguste problem.

Inside the clubhouse, he found it empty. Well, not empty in truth, but Lila wasn’t there. He’d gone to the backroom where she stayed but found her sleeping mat empty. Gone, in fact. He had a sinking feeling as he came back out from the back room and one of the probies chuckled. “You looking for your old lady?”

Auguste glared at the boy, advancing with a growl, ready to pummel him into jello if something had happened when he raised his hands defensively. “Yo, yo old man. She’s in your bunk. Fuck!”

He breathed relief, turning to stride out of the clubhouse and the few meters away to his trailer, flinging the door open. “Lila?!”

Lila was curled up on Auguste's bed, wrapped up in one of his blankets, with her back to the wall. A book lay on the floor beneath where her hand dangled over the edge of the bed, its spine creased from being opened so many times. She apparently fell asleep reading. She jolted awake at the sound of the door opening and someone calling her name.

"Whatthefuck-" She started, sitting upright, blanket hanging off her shoulder, hand reaching for a knife under the pillow. It took her a moment of blinking at Auguste for her brain to process who had barged in.

"You're back!" She untangled herself from the blanket, leaving the knife on the bed, and quickly crossed the negligible distance through the trailer to wrap her arms around Auguste's shoulders, giving him a hug.

Auguste felt the tension in his body melt away when he spotted her in his bed, suddenly feeling guilty about waking her at all, let alone startling her. He smiled at the warm welcome, pulling her in close, and hugging her tightly. “Yeah, I’m back.” He couldn’t help himself, leaning back to look down at her. He smiled, leaning in to brush his lips against hers gently. “Sorry for waking you.”

Lila smiled back, standing up on her tiptoes to meet his lips with hers, hands sliding down his shoulders and arms to give his biceps a little squeeze. "Mh, its okay, I probably shouldn't sleep the day away." She tilted her head, looking Auguste over, frowning a little. "Is everything okay? Are -you- okay?"

Auguste smiled sadly, reaching up to gently tuck a stray hand of hair behind her ear. “I’m alright but … I met someone.” He frowned, knowing it sounded entirely off. “We saved the community, or most of it, but Wess is hurt. He’s still there resting before everyone else can come back but... I found Weston there. He wants to see you.”

In another time, hearing a man say he met someone might have made her mind immediately leap to the conclusion she was getting dumped. Here and now, where there really weren't many people left worth meeting, and she wasn't even convinced she could call what she and Auguste had dating, she could only stare at him, confused, until he said more. The name hit her right in the heart like a ton of bricks. Lila immediately let go of Auguste and took a few shaky steps backwards, taking a quick seat on the bed again.

"What?" It was all she could get out at first, mouth suddenly dry. "He-" Lila stopped, putting a hand over her mouth for a moment, tears quickly welling up in her eyes. She rubbed them away with the back of one hand. "I have to go see him, Auguste. I have to. Is he okay? Where is he?"

She stepped away from him and he immediately felt cold, he swallowed and waited as she processed what he’d told her. He hadn’t doubted for a second that she would want to see him, though despite this he still felt his heart sink. She was going to leave. Why wouldn’t she? She had family again. He nodded slowly. “He said the same, we set up a place to meet. He was hurt, but alive and recovering. If you pack your things I’ll take you to him.” Auguste paused, then asked. “Do you still have my gun?”

Lila nodded, sliding off the bed again. Instead of rushing right out the door though, she wrapped her arms around Auguste's waist and hugged him again, burying her face against his chest. "I do, yeah. Do you want it back?"

He couldn’t speak for a moment, surprised when Lila hugged him again, holding herself against him. He gently rested his hand on her back and rubbed gently. “No, but bring it. Just in case.” He knew that Weston wouldn’t hurt his family, but that didn’t mean there weren’t other dangers out there.

Lila nodded, leaning away a little so she could sniffle. Last thing she wanted to do was snot up Auguste's shirt and be that gross. "Lemme pack my bag." She slipped past Auguste, reaching for the door, pausing for a moment with her hand on the handle as she looked back at Auguste. For a moment, she stared at him like she wanted to say something, then just smiled at him and bounded out the trailer.

Auguste returned to the front gate, filling his bike’s gas tank and checking over it in general, truthfully just to kill time and not let his mind wander. If he thought too hard about it he worried that she would leave him. That she would go with Weston and stay with her family. He couldn’t blame her, truthfully, but it hurt all the same. He glanced up as he heard the door of the clubhouse close, spotting Lila practically skipping down the steps to join him. An odd thought occurred to him; she’d never ridden with him before.

With a large dark green hiking bag on her back, Lila was still working on clasping a holster around her waist as she left the clubhouse. She was fumbling with the belt a little, trying to move faster in her excitement. "Sorry - I kinda... stole this from Fish. Its his spare. He's skinny so I figured this would fit me ok." She admitted, finally getting it to fit and sit right. Auguste's gun was safely tucked away in the holster.

"I made sure it was loaded and the safety's on." Approaching the bike closer, she looked it over then up to Auguste. "Are you ready? How far away is it?"

Auguste paused as Lila approached, attempting to settle equipment, he could practically see the excitement bubbling out of her and it made him happy and sad all at once. He chuckled softly, stepping closer to her and adjusting the straps on her bag, tugging them closer to her back, then the clasps on the holster. “A few hours.”

He reached back and grabbed his helmet from where it hung from the handlebars of his bike, and placed it on her head and adjusting the chin straps to fit her. “If we get into trouble, stick near me, eh?” He waited for her to nod. “Don’t fire the gun unless you have to and only if you’re going to take one out. If we get separated, there is a radio in the saddle bag - use it, Weston should be close enough to hear you.” Satisfied, he turned back to his bike, swinging a leg over and pushing it up off the stand, waiting for Lila to join him.

Lila nodded her understanding, tucking strands of her hair under the helmet so they weren't in her face, and climbed onto the back of the bike behind Auguste. As she wrapped her arms around his waist, scooting close to his back, she realized this was the first time she'd ever rode with him.

"Don't try and catch any air or anything wild. Remember, I'm in good kidney-punching distance." She commented over Auguste's shoulder, patting his sides playfully before hugging him again. She was trying not to show it, but her arms were shaking from excitement and anticipation. Her eyes were still a little red, but the tears had stopped quickly.

Auguste chuckled softly and shook his head but said nothing more, unable to find the words he wanted to say. He wanted to warn her what Weston’s people were about, the very little he’d seen at that school he knew they were no good. But was he? Certainly not. He wanted to ask her to promise to stay but still had nothing else to offer her.

He popped the clutch and turned on the engine, smoothing rolling out of the gates and onto the road. Over several hours and many back roads they made it to the meeting place: a transport weight station on a secluded single lane highway. Somewhere between their two perceived territories. It had long since been abandoned; a place his club had looked over weeks before and it had been picked clean then, now it was just an empty shell. As they approached he kept an eye out for any other vehicles but saw none, almost thankful to arrive before Weston. He pulled up alongside the only building, cutting the engine and holding the bike still to let Lila get off before stepping over and setting it on its stand.

Lila held on tight the whole way, occasionally letting go with one arm to shake it out. She wasn't nervous about being on the back of a bike, at least. Head on a swivel, she also kept an eye out for anything that looked dangerous getting close - whether that be something dead, or alive. Once they arrived, Lila hopped off quick - eager to stretch her legs. Taking off her helmet and rubbing a shoulder with her free hand, she looked around for any sign of anyone else.

"You think he'll come? He's coming, right Auggie?" She chewed her lower lip, nervously rocking on her feet and tugging at the hem of her t-shirt, some faded purple thing they picked up somewhere, a size too big for her. She hung the helmet on Auguste's handlebars, finally going still and looking at him. "If he wants me to go with him...." She trailed off, folding her arms in front of herself, suddenly looking down at the ground.

Auguste stepped over his bike and turned to watch her nervously step around and stretch. He’d find it amusing in any other circumstances. He nodded when she asked if Weston would come but she went on to start a question but did not finish it…

He sighed, stepping forward pulling her close to him, wrapping his arms behind her and holding. He rubbed gentle circles on her back as he considered his next words carefully. “That will be up to you.” He bit his lower lip before continuing.

“I don’t know if who he’s with is safe, cheri.” He wanted to word this carefully - “They had the people at the school hostage. That community we were trying to keep the horde away from. Weston and his people had taken over the community, by force. The people there … Well, I can’t say for sure; they weren’t happy when I spoke to them. Just, ask the right questions. Make sure it’s the right choice for you.”

Lila leaned her head against August's chest, wrapping her arms around his waist again and giving him a tight squeeze.

"Hostages?" She murmured the question quietly, a frown on her face. "That doesn't sound like him. He.... He's not perfect, but he wouldn't just hold people hostage." She fell quiet, realizing that was exactly the predicament she was in, more or less. "You should come with me." She pulled away, looking up at Auguste.

Auguste felt his heartbreak at that moment, it sounded as though she had made her decision already. He smiled sadly, at her and her thought process. “It’s not that simple, love.” He leaned down to kiss her gently, despite hearing a vehicle approaching. “I can’t go with you, I can’t leave my family…” He glanced up as a military vehicle pulled off the highway and into the lot. “You tell me what you want to do after you talk with him.”

Returning the kiss, Lila was already frowning when she pulled away. It was entirely understandable he couldn't leave his family, but it was worth asking. She nodded, letting go of August as she turned to watch the vehicle pull up into the lot. The vehicle pulled to a quick stop and its engine was barely shut off when the front driver's side door swung open so quick it squeaked in protest. Weston climbed out in a hurry, leaving the door open behind him.

"Lila?!" He looked shocked for a moment before a wide smile spread across his face. He started to cross the distance between, but Lila was already breaking into a run.

"Oh my God, Weston!" She squealed, jumping up to wrap her arms around his neck and shoulders into the tightest hug she could manage. Weston grunted, pained from the force, but he didn't tell her to stop. One hand on her back and the other behind her head, he spun her around and laughed as he held on tight.

"Oh, shit, little princess, don't go breakin' my back now!" Weston drawled out, putting her back down on her feet - but not before she planted a quick kiss on his cheek. Both of them had tears of happiness in their eyes by now. Weston took Lila by the shoulders and leaned away, looking her over.

"You're okay?" He asked, needing to make sure for himself. "Been treated okay, getting enough to eat, all that?"

Auguste watched awkwardly as Lila ran to the vehicle and Weston. He felt the poison of guilt fill his gut again, he wanted the best for her, truly, but he also wanted to be selfish and keep her to himself. At the very least, he conceded, he wouldn’t openly say it. He looked away, giving the two some privacy while staying in the vicinity.

Lila nodded at Weston's question, wiping tears from her eyes with both hands. It was probably good mascara was a thing of the past - she'd be all streaky already if she had any on.

"Y-Yeah, I'm okay enough. Not hurt. We have food and water. He's been taking care of me." Lila glanced over her shoulder at Auguste as she motioned toward him, then looked back to Weston. "They're Fallen Angels. I'm sorry, I didn't look for them, they found me, I know what they did to-" She spoke faster and faster until a sob caught in her throat, and she flung her arms around Weston again.

"Shh, I know, I know, its okay." Weston spoke quietly, hand on the back of her head as he hugged her back. He let her take a moment to let it out, staring past her at Auguste. He saw that kiss the two of them shared as he as pulling up. There was no way to mistake what that was. It was not his little-like-a-sibling-affection he showed Lila. That was something different. It made his blood boil a little. Not only was the man a Fallen Angel, but he was goddamn old. Old enough to be her father, probably. It felt wrong.

"Its not the same ones, Weston." Lila interrupted his train of thought when she pulled away and looked up at him. "Not the ones that killed everyone. A different chapter. Their president is a mean bastard and the younger guys keep staring at me and making comments, but Auguste keeps all of them at bay. I trust him, and like... two other people there. But I still want to come with you-"

"I don't think its a good idea." Weston's body and soul hurt just saying it. Lila stared at him, dumbfounded, after he interrupted her - jaw open, unsure what to say.

"I want you to come with me. I want you to come home. But I don't got a home for you to come to. The place I'm at - Lila, its dangerous. Too dangerous. I'd do everything I could to keep you safe, but the second I'm not around..." Weston shook his head. Last thing he needed was Lila winding up working for Temma. Or worse. Weston leaned close, face to face with Lila, and dropped his voice low enough that hopefully Auguste wouldn't hear from his distance.

"You should stay with him for now, until its safe. Once I have things figured out, I'll come for you. Okay?" Weston held her eyes until she nodded yes. A silent understanding passed between them.

Standing back up, Weston put a hand on Lila's head and playfully ruffled up her hair, which made her snort in a frustrated laugh. As she combed her fingers through her hair, Weston moved to his truck to lean inside, grabbing a bag for her. It was a small gym bag, clean and full of things.

"I brought you some things. Call it a present to bring back with you." He offered it to Lila, lowering his voice again.

"There's a radio in there. You need me, you call me. I'll come."

Auguste lurked at the edge of the weighstation asphalt pad, keeping a distance from the pair to give them privacy but close enough he was still aware of what was happening. Lila did not look happy, and he wasn’t certain if that meant she was staying or going. Either way broke his soul. It appeared that whatever was happening, it was wrapping up between them and so he turned to wander back in their direction, drawing close enough to see Weston hand over a gym bag for Lila. She was staying then, but the thought didn’t bring any relief. He stopped short a small distance away, shoving his hands into the front pockets of his jeans.

“Are you sure, Weston?” Lila wiped at her eyes again with one hand, taking the bag with the other, studying his face. It hurt to be this close, only to turn around and leave again.

“Princess, when are we ever sure about anything? It's your decision though - not mine, not that guy’s. Yours.” He clasped his hands on Lila’s shoulders and gave her a grin, trying to lift her spirits. “It’s so good to see you. Just check in with me on that if you do go, okay?” He nodded to the bag. “It's not just for emergencies.”

Lila nodded, giving Weston another long, lingering hug before she finally peeled herself off, looking reluctant to let go. She stepped away, looking at both Weston and Auguste.

“I need to go … step away for a second and think.” She sniffled, holding the gym bag in her arms as she stalked back off to Auguste's bike. Her back turned to the pair of them, she looked like she was taking a moment to think (and have a good cry) before she got her shit together again. While Lila was taking a moment, Weston approached Auguste, sizing him up - scrutiny all over his face. He sighed and hooked his thumbs into his pockets as he lowered his voice.

“I told her it was her decision, not ours… but that I thought she should probably stay with you. My shit excuse for a home right now ain’t safe, okay?” He furrowed his brow, studying Auguste's face. “Promise me you’ll keep her safe until I can come back for her, until I can protect her too.” He swallowed hard. This was beyond difficult for him too.

“I swear to God, if you hurt her, or if you let anyone else in your club hurt her, I will come for you all, got it?” Weston’s voice was even and cold, and he didn’t look away from Auguste's eyes as he made that promise. His tone didn’t change as he asked one more question.

“Are you fucking her?”

Auguste nodded, sympathetic to Lila; it was going to be difficult to decide but he’d resigned himself to not try and convince her one way or another when he’d decided to speak to Weston in the first place. He inhaled deeply but nodded as Weston instructed (asked?) him to keep her safe until he could return; something he figured would happen if she didn’t decide to leave with him now. It would only be a matter of time before she did leave him and the club.

His lips parted to assure him that he would never hurt Lila, at least not intentionally. He wanted to assure Weston he only wanted the best for her but his final question caught him off guard. He took a moment, simply staring at someone who had once been an enemy, uncertain that he wanted to answer the question.

Finally he sighed, and nodded. “Oui - yes. Not that you’ll believe me but I did not start it, I did not ask … or force her into it and she decides if it… if we continue.”

Weston’s gaze bored holes into Auguste as he considered the man’s words. It was good he told the truth - the last thing he wanted was for Lila to be with a lying sack of shit. He stared at the man just long enough to possibly make it uncomfortable before he smiled a little, looking down at the ground and nudging around a loose piece of cement with his boot.

“Yeah, I figured. I saw the way she hugged you. S’when I knew I shouldn’t try and make her leave.” He rubbed the back of his neck, a little awkwardly. “She’s always had a thing for older guys. Don’t tell her I said that.” He grinned at Auguste, finally letting the ice break just a little.

“Listen. I got bad blood with Fallen Angels in general, and that ain’t ever gonna change, hear me? I lost too much. Lila lost too much. But Goddamn if she ain’t more resilient than I am, and she’s trying to work through that. She’s looking at you for who you are as a person, not what your patch says. Don’t disappoint her, okay?”

Auguste stood awkwardly as Weston stared directly into soul for what felt like an eternity before the damned man cracked a grin! He felt like his soul had left his body as the former club enemy started to chat like they were old buddies. It was relieving, in its own terribly awkward way. He blew out a breath and nodded, giving the other man a lopsided grin. “That's a comfort, here I thought it was a last man on earth bit, eh?” He glanced back at Lila, who was still getting her shit together. “She'll be there when you come for her, as long as I'm still around and if I think I'm on my way out … well, she'll be covered.”

Weston stared past Auguste at Lila as she ran her hands through her hair, then wiped at her eyes with the heels of her hands. Watching her take a visibly deep breath, hold it, shake out her hands, and roll her shoulders as she exhaled brought back plenty of memories of the old days. She used to only do that little hype-up-dance when she was getting ready to play pool with the guys, or go out on a date. Now, she was doing it while making up her mind who to trust her life with.

It was a bigger decision than someone like Lila should have to make, but at least she had the opportunity to make it for herself.

"Thanks man. I appreciate that. And hey - look, I wouldn't necessarily extend this offer to all of your club, but if she's in trouble, and you're in trouble too? Both of you should come then. We could always use another person that ain't a dumbass." Weston shrugged, trying to keep the offer casual so it wasn't weird - but it was an honest one.

Lila finally turned, bag tucked under one arm, and headed back towards Auguste and Weston. It wasn't a quick stride, but a purposeful one, like she'd made up her decision. Glancing between the two, she let the bag slide to the ground.

"Sorry, Auggie-" She commented quietly as she wrapped her arms around Weston, giving him the tightest hug-squeeze she could manage until he grunted. The quick peck planted on Weston's cheek made the Samaritan toss a confused look to Auguste's face as Lila let him go.

"-You're stuck with me awhile longer." She turned and gave Auguste a wink, stepping away from Weston and taking Auguste's hand. She gave him a little tug towards his bike - a big, shit-eating grin on her face for possibly making him squirm, thinking she had chosen differently.

Auguste cocked an eyebrow as Weston went on to suggest if there was trouble, for either of them, they should find him back at his prison. He wasn’t set on the idea of walking Lila into a place like that - not after seeing what kind of company Weston kept back at that high school - and leaving her there to fend for herself. As for if he would join her … it was a tough sell, his family was his club and he doubted he could part ways with them, even if he were in trouble.

“I appreciate that.” It was the truth, whether or not Auguste would accept it. He watched as Lila returned and then felt his heart sink into his stomach. Her apology as she passed him by and went to her Weston. It had always been a possibility; that she would choose to leave the club … leave him to be with her family. He kept his face impassive, stamped down any feeling of remorse or regret for even bringing her here and readied himself to face the truth of it: she was gone.

But then the girl turned and winked at him, sliding her soft hand into his and tugged… It took a moment for him to process what she’d said, his eyes flitting up to Weston before he felt relief surge through him. He turned toward her and her damned grin, giving her a scowl for all of three seconds. “You’re a shit.” He growled but followed her back towards his bike.

As he had before he set his helmet on her head and snapped the straps down. He tightened the straps of her pack - the one she’d brought from the clubhouse back over her shoulder, then held the bike for her to get seated. He straddled his bike, pulling her second bag - the gift from Weston - over his shoulders so it rested on the saddle in front of him, then reached back to slide her close to his back.

With a final nod to Weston, he lifted the bike off the stand and turned the ignition, rolling out of the truck weigh station and back towards the club’s territory.

-----------

Auguste rolled in through the clubhouse gates after the proby opened them, bringing his bike to rest with the rest, for now. He’d have to head back to the school before dawn to make sure he wasn’t missed. He held the bike still to let Lila off before dismounting himself and hanging his helmet over the handlebars.
It felt odd to be back here again, something had changed. For him and within him. With what happened at the school, the knowledge of what they had done to those families, the children … He watched as Lila started to make her way towards the clubhouse but gave a quick whistle. When she turned, he nodded towards his trailer, wanting her to follow.

Lila held onto Auguste tightly the whole ride back, arms circled around his torso. She was never overly scared of riding a motorcycle, even if she wasn’t as bike-obsessed like her family had been. Something about riding a bike now, though, put her on edge. Unlike in a regular car or truck, there was no layer of metal or plastic between her and anything dead and rotting corpse that could leap out of the ditches or woods and lunge for her. Bikes no longer felt like freedom. They felt like being too exposed. She clung tightly, trying not to think of that. Or of family…. Or of guilt.

When they rolled back into the clubhouse, Lila silently climbed off the bike and unbuckled her helmet, running a hand through her hair to get it somewhat back into place. She hung her helmet over the opposite handlebar, grabbed her bags, and started to turn towards the clubhouse. She had things to unpack, and soon, before anyone started asking questions.

Auguste’s whistle made her turn, a questioning look on her face as her eyes followed what he was nodding at. His trailer.

Lila offered him a soft smile and backtracked, following him. “Sorry about the little scare I gave you.” She murmured. “You looked like you stopped breathing there for a second.”

Auguste huffed a breath as Lila apologised for her poor choice of joke. “I died.” He grumbled, stopping at the trailer door and tugging it open, stepping aside to let her in first. “Full on heart stopped death.” He followed her in, pulling the door closed behind him. “I'd be lying if I said I thought you'd never go with him.”

He moved to lean against the useless kitchen counter, watching her. When she didn't make any attempt to drop off her bags he stepped in and lifted one off her shoulder and set it down on the bed. “I was afraid you would leave the second I saw Weston and knew I had to tell him about you. It's not like the club has been kind to you, in any way. I thought, for sure, you were headed off today with him and leaving … “

Auguste turned to face her again, the same cold pain he'd felt out at the weigh station returning. “Stay here,” he spoke softly, almost a whisper. “Stay with me, in the trailer.” He could stand the thought of her living in the clubhouse again, anymore. “Please.”

Lila gave up her bag easily, relieved to set the heavy thing down, and leaned back opposite of Auguste so she could watch him in turn. Something felt weighty on her shoulders now - the weight of a decision made and a thousand what-ifs and the worry that Weston wasn't safe. Somehow the knowledge he was alive wasn't as much of a relief as she thought it would be.

She looked up, offered Auguste a smile, then wrapped an arm around her waist as she pressed a hand to her mouth and closed her eyes. She nodded yes at his request to stay, but there were a lot of emotions hitting her at once.

"Thank you. I'd love to stay here." She finally said, clearing her throat and wiping at her eyes. "Sorry, I'm not crying at you. I'm just... having a moment." Lila pushed herself forward and wrapped her arms around Auguste, resting her head against his chest and holding on tight.

"I don't regret my decision, but I'm scared, Auggie. I'm scared for him, for you, for us... and I'm scared that I'm going to feel like this for a long time and there's nothing I can do about it."

NanLia BeyondDandy smookie Fluffy-Kat punwithinfinty Good_Morels Bullyboy Squad

 

[Good_Morels]

NORTHVIEW -​

Kit was cold the moment his boots hit the ground, but he didn't comment on it. Instead, tugged the oversized denim jacket he’d scored from an old clothing store a little tighter around himself in response to the cold, taking quiet pride in the uneasy looks his studded shoulders and safety-pinned sleeves got him. Fashion wasn't a priority in the wasteland, but painting bleach skulls and angelic decals on his denims and pressing in each of those cheap metal spikes kept him busy and made him look intimidating.

Fear was about as valuable of a weapon as you could get without getting your hands dirty and by far the most useful negotiating tool.

He tried not to visibly flinch as the door shut behind them, already on edge from the proximity of the strangers. For once, he kept his mouth shut, bushing himself with chewing on an unlit cigarette and scanning the crowd while the heads of their respective operations talked. Out of any of them, their leader Chris, apparently, unnerved him the most. As a result, he drew Kit’s attention away from the less obvious threats, his stormy gaze studying every aspect of the guy. His evaluation was cut short by the clattering of chains, which put his head on a swivel as he moved his hand over his holster. The rapid clicking of safetys had him gritting his teeth, filling his mouth with the bitter taste of unadulterated dry lavender. At least the guns weren't pointed at them.

He leaned back against the wall as the CDC guys started taking generators, studying Fish to try and parse out if he was the only one feeling sketched out. He barely noticed Beau moving towards the truck to help out the strangers, stopping him by yanking his sleeve. It didn't do much to move the bigger man, but it did warn him a hard look.

“Don't get involved.” Kit hissed around the busted cigarette.
“It's polite.” Beau lowered his voice to match him, his southern drawl rough from lack of use. He hadn't talked much at all besides “yes sir” and “naw sir” since the school, not that Kit could blame him. It took a lot out of everybody.
“You give these guys an inch they're gonna take a mile.” Kit hissed back.
“I ain't-”
Beau was cut off by Fish’s orders, which thankfully got him back into line with a grumbled “yes sir”

Kit tried not to look visibly agitated that they were staying, instead glaring down at his boots, a glare that intensified as Beau quietly thanked the strangers for their hospitality. He followed obediently, keeping an eye on the rest of the group as they climbed the stairs. He was unfortunately not paying attention when Chris warned them about the light, and as such, was immediately blinded by the kitchen.

It was clean, way too goddamn clean. He studied both women for any signs of distress, noting how they didn't bother to chat, which could honestly go either way. He didn't echo Fish’s polite greetings, Beau's empty “howdy ma’am, that looks great”s and small southern small talks covering that avenue fine for the entire group. He couldn't be too frustrated with the other man, as hard as he tried. Beau hadn't spoken this much in months. Still, it was an inconvenient time for it. As they entered the hallway, Kit felt Fish tug on his sleeve and made eye contact with him, feeling a wash of relief that he wasn't alone in his absolute terror of the place. He tried to telepathically broadcast the words “it's ok, we’re ok” into Fish’s mind as he turned away to limited effect.

He tensed as the car salesman of a leader rambled on and on about the set up of the common room, forcing as friendly of a smile as he could muster towards anybody that dared approach him. He couldn't help but think of lemmings, each step forward into the clean and warm space feeling like a foot deeper into shark infested waters. It was too nice here. Way, way too nice. What's worse, Chris continued to offer amenities and detailed explanations, as if they were important and necessary. He swallowed hard as he felt his head go beneath the waves, looking towards the door.

It almost sounded like Chris expected them to stay.

He wasn't sure if he was relieved or terrified as the dorm door shut behind them, but he took his place beside Fish in the huddle. He couldn't help but laugh as Fish mentioned not getting comfortable.

“That will not be hard.” He interjected with a sarcastic smirk, having apparently gotten his attitude back when the door shut. He barely managed to contain himself from blurting ‘it's a sex cult and they are going to use us as breeders.’, but he did manage to keep his mouth shut and listening after another hard look from Beau.

“We sure as shit don't eat their food, my medical opinion is to operate under clubbing rules. No unattended drinks and watch them pour it.” He interjected as Fish counted heads. He shot Fish a second-long sly look when he suggested sharing, but didn't comment further on it, instead looking towards Beau, who looked like he wanted to die. “Ah can sleep on the floor.” The southerner offered, which gave Kit the opportunity to return the chastising looks he’d been receiving all day.
“Like hell you can, you're going to fuck up your bad leg and your spine that way. Bunk with somebody else.”
“The secretary’s talkin’ still-” Beau argued, the two of them locked in a staring contest until Fish mentioned the note. Both of their heads swiveled towards Auguste with an expression like he was carrying a dead cat.



[/B]

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