(Gabriel)
There's a mindless rhythm to chopping wood that is soothing, that allows him to clear his mind and just concentrate on the upswing and the downswing, that's it; no Pearl, no Liam, no dead things, nothing but the swing and chop. He knows Jeremiah is watching him closely, watching to see if he's going to crack up again, maybe take the knife to himself and honestly, Gabriel's thought about doing exactly that. His gun would be quicker and more efficient, but the knife would be more satisfying. Slicing his own flesh, the blood spurting out depending on where he begins--
Gabriel falters, appalled at the trajectory of his thoughts. The axe head bounces off the edge of the log, barely missing his leg. He drops the handle, steps back, sweat cooling on his body, his shoulders aching, wondering how long he's been outside.
What is wrong with me?
His hand shaking a little, he snatches his jacket and shrugs into it, glances around at the snow-covered landscape. Movement in the woods catches his eye, and he grabs up the ax when two figures stagger out of the woods.
"Go away," he shouts, snatching up the ax, unexpected terror shooting down his spine when the figures don't stop, they keep coming, headed right for him.
There's something wrong, something wrong with these people. This is the thought that rockets through Gabriel's head in the scant moment before they are on him. He brings up the ax barely in time; the blade slices into the oddly grey face, flesh parting like gelatin, blood oozing thickly as Gabriel shoves the body aside.
The other reaches for him, eyes rolling back in its head, fingers clawing his coat, at his face, he can't let this thing touch him, scratch him, or he's dead. Dead like these two grey-skinned things.
A cracking noise, and the figure falls away, twitching in the snow. Gabriel spins around, mouth dry, then sags in relief.
"Did it touch you? Scratch you?" Jeremiah grabs Gabriel's sleeve, his eyes worried. Without waiting for an answer, he shoves his gun into his waistband and grabs the feet of one of the bodies. "Help me drag them into the woods."
The last thing Gabriel wants to do is touch one of those things, but he reluctantly sets the ax down and grabs the other thing's boots and follows Jeremiah.
It makes him nervous to be so close to the trees, who knows what's watching them, waiting for a chance to take them down. Maybe more of these grey things.
He follows Jeremiah back to the house, unable to resist a backward glance.
(Jack)
"We might have a problem," Jeremiah says, his face as worried as Jack's ever seen it.
"Might? Those grey things aren't acting alone, Jeremiah." Jack paces, agitated. "Trust me, I know what I'm talking about. Those greyskins have their own town, they have trucks, they have a
plan
. I think that's way more than 'might'."
"Moon. He sent them here." Gabriel's interjection surprises: the kid hasn't spoken a word since they came inside.
"What do you mean, Gabriel?"
"I think...I think something weird's going on around here." He swallows hard, drops his head, mutters to himself.
Thank you, Captain Obvious, Jack thinks, but doesn't say. The less interaction he has with that nut the better.
"Those were probably scouts," Jack says. "We need a plan."
Jeremiah just shakes his head and turns away, probably to do his creepy-rub thing, and Jack wants to scream.
"Listen, I know we have a good thing here, but we're sitting ducks."
"No," Jeremiah says, his voice hard and sharp. "Out there we're sitting ducks. At least here we have shelter and a defensible place. If more of those things come, we'll have a better chance here rather than out in the open." He gestures at the heavy snowfall. "You really want to go out in that? You were the one who insisted we come back, remember?"
Jack scowls, scratches his itchy scalp. "Yeah, I remember," he mumbles, flopping down on the dusty couch. He closes his eyes, tries to bring back pleasant memories, but discovers that he has none. How depressing.
Bored, he gets off the couch, wanders around the room opening drawers, sorting through the junk. Of note: an open package of birthday candles; shoelaces; a dried-up glue stick; and a pack of playing cards. Shaking them out of the box into his hand, he shuffles them, doing all the fancy tricks his dad taught him eons ago. The cards make a comforting riffling noise.
"Hey, do you guys want to play poker? Five Card Draw? Texas Hold 'Em?"
Jeremiah just looks at him, his too long hair hanging in his eyes.
"Aw, come on, Jeremiah."
"I'll play." It's the kid, and he shuffles over uninvited, unwanted, but what's Jack gonna do? Tell the psycho kid no? Not hardly.
"Great," Jack says, trying to insert a little enthusiasm into his voice, but playing cards with Gabriel isn't his idea of fun. "You know how to play poker? Or are you more of a Crazy Eights or Go Fish guy? I'm betting Go Fish is your favorite game."
"Are you making fun of me?" Gabriel stares hard at Jack, stroking his ever-present knife. Jack holds up his hands in surrender.
"Me? Why would I do something like that?" He shuffles the cards, makes himself smile at the crazy kid. "That would just be stupid, wouldn't it, me making fun of you when you have that big knife?"
The kid frowns, fingers tightening on the hilt. Things might have gotten a little sketchy, but Jeremiah chooses at that moment to join in.
"Seven Card Stud," he says, giving the kid's shoulder a squeeze.
"Coming right up." Jack deals, trying to keep the commentary to a minimum, but it's like his tongue has a mind of its own.
Gabriel of course has no idea what he's doing, while Jeremiah appears to be something of a card shark.
After the third game, which Jeremiah wins and Gabriel is the first to go, Jack can't hold back any longer.
"Maybe we should try Go Fish this time to give Gabriel a fighting chance." Jack says, laughter building in his chest. The laughter doesn't have a chance to emerge before he's flat on his back, a shiny Bowie knife pressed beneath his chin.
"Quit making fun of me," the kid growls, so close Jack can see the insanity in his eyes, feel the kid trembling but that hand, that knife hand, is steady.
"Gabriel. Let him go." Jeremiah speaks from behind the kid, in his usual calm voice.
"I'm not stupid," Gabriel says, leaning harder on Jack. "I. Am. Not. Stupid." Spittle sprays Jack's face, the kid's breath foul, like he's rotting from the inside out.
"Of--of course not," Jack squeaks, knowing he is inches away from either a quick death or a painful, lingering one. "You're the smartest guy I know. Genius, for sure."
The kid studies Jack's face, and then, apparently satisfied, backs off, sliding his knife back into its sheath. Jack scrambles backward until he hits the wall, his fingers rushing over his unmarked neck, heart beating double time.
"Never do that again," Jeremiah says quietly to Gabriel. "If we turn on each other, we'll die."
Gabriel returns his gaze sullenly. "I don't like it when he--" Jeremiah grabs the kid's collar and shakes him, cutting of his words.
"You threaten one of us again and I'll put a bullet between your eyes, Gabriel." His big pistol is in his hand, the barrel pointing at Gabriel's head. Jeremiah cocks it, the sound loud in the room. "Or maybe you want me to do it right now, just put you out of your misery. You want that, Gabriel? Do you?"
For a second the kid's eyes blaze, and Jack leans forward, wondering if Jeremiah will go through with it, hoping he does.
(Jeremiah)
Jeremiah watches the boy's eyes, watches as sheer rage fills them, and thinks he's going to have to shoot this poor miserable kid.
Don't do it, kid. I don't want to kill you, I really don't. But I think I might have to.
He presses the barrel hard against Gabriel's forehead, a dead taste in his mouth. Another addition to the list in his head. His belly clenches.
"Do it." The boy hisses the words through his teeth. Jeremiah's finger twitches; he can already see the kid's head exploding, all that rage gone in one burst, and it's the logical thing to do, put him down like a dog. And yet, something deep inside the boy's eyes makes Jeremiah hesitate. There's something behind that fury, something hurting.
Jeremiah lowers the pistol and returns it to its holster. Then slowly, he puts his arms around the kid and hugs that bony body, because it's all he can think to do.