wickedchouette | (no subject)

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[When the car radiator overheats for the third time in a week, Alfie takes it as a sign that it's finally time for more than just another quick tune-up.

They're in a deserted area, which is both good and bad. On the one hand, most of the dangerous gangs are still in urban areas, the way they had been before the world had gone to shit. Out here in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by miles and miles of fields with only the occasional small copse of trees, they're not likely to run into anyone at all, much less anyone dangerous. But on the other hand, if they do come across anyone, there won't be anywhere to run to or hide. Alfie, as always, has his pistol tucked into his coat pocket, and they have more weapons stashed away in the trunk. But they're a small group - no match for the bigger gangs with armored trucks and heavy artillery. If they meet one of those, they'll be slaughtered.

With his sleeves rolled up and the hood of the car open, he leans in with his tools, carefully tinkering away. He can't afford to make a mistake here - replacement parts are rare and precious. When he hears footsteps behind him, he doesn't dare look away from his work as he says sharply:]

Stay back. You don't want hot steam to the face.

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[He looks up at Royce, then climbs up onto the car roof next to him.]

She'll heal up well?

It looks like it. [ Royce murmurs. He's fine with Alfie sitting here - maybe even makes him relax a little. ] We need to make sure it stays clean. Otherwise she'll be fine.

We'll clean the wound daily. More, if we need to. We've still got a good stockpile of medical supplies.

[And they can always look, or trade, for more.]

[ Royce nods, leaning forward to rest his arms against his knees, hunched over. ]

No walking for her. I can't. We can't risk it. I can't risk her.

Mm. We'll drive when we can. One of us can carry her when we can't.

Okay. [ Royce says, quiet. He glances at Alfie. ] How's your back?

Not bad.

[Then he grunts, admitting:]

I might not be able to do much carrying, long-term.

[Not of supplies, and not of Gwen.]

We're not going to be able to move far. [ Royce says, rubbing at the bridge of his nose. ] We have Mercy and Gwen. I can only carry one at a time. We'll need to rely on the car or just find a place to wait until Gwen's leg heals.

How much gas have we got left now?

Few days worth. Four. Five maybe. There's a city a few days north that may have a few buildings left standing enough for us to hole up in.

Let's aim for that, then.

[He goes quiet for a moment, glancing over at Royce.]

I'm gonna get some sleep. Wake me up halfway through the night so you can rest.

Mm. Keep our girls safe. [ Royce says idly, staring out into the night. He waves Alfie off, and watches for as long as he can keep himself awake.

Two days pass just fine - but by the end of the night on the second day of driving, Gwen doesn't look great. Royce fusses over her - she waves him off, but it's clear she has a fever. She curls up miserably in the back of the car, hair damp and clinging to her skin, and Royce freaks out a little. Gwen tells them to keep going, and Royce gets angry, snaps at her and then immediately apologizes, pulling her close.

Day three is harder. Gwen is pale, and her fever is getting worse, and when Royce looks up at Alfie when they park for the night, wrapped around a sleeping, fitful Gwen, his expression is flooded with worry and a little bit of panic. ]

She needs antibiotics.

[Alfie's voice sounds steady and not at all panicky, but his facial expression betrays him - he can't keep the worry out of his eyes.]

We should reach that city by tomorrow. Maybe--

We don't know if anybody will be there. [ Royce says, tucking Gwen's head under his chin and holding her close. Deep breath. Steady. ] What do we have to trade?

Gasoline might be our best shot. Lucky we found that gas station yesterday.

[ Gwen lets out a soft, pained sound, and Royce's breath catches as she shifts. He looks back up at Alfie. Royce looks pained. ] Yes. Whatever it takes.

[ He looks over at Mercy, who is curled up on the seat by them, fast asleep. ] I don't - I don't know what else we can do. We've done as much as possible to keep the wound uninfected.

[Alfie slides out of the driver's seat, coming around and getting into the back with them. He's careful not to disturb Mercy as he settles on the seat next to her.]

We need to get her fever down. That's the most important thing right now.

How? How are we supposed to do that? [ Settle. Breathe, Royce tells himself, and he does, just taking a second. ]

The antibiotics, Royce. Focus on that. Yeah? We can do it.

[ Okay. Focus on that. Royce runs his fingers through her hair gently. ] That doesn't help her now. It - if she...

[ He swallows hard, and then just nods, hiding his face. ] Alright.

I don't want to push on more tonight, on this road. If anyone's set out traps, put glass on the road to pop the tires--

[He shakes his head.]

You could drive. You could see.

[ He hesitates, because he doesn't want to leave her alone, but they need to get to the city as fast as possible. It's clear he struggles with the decision, but finally, he drags in an unsteady breath and nods. ]

I can drive. I can see fine. [ It practically kills him to let go of her. ] You need to watch her. Keep an eye on her temperature. Tell me if she gets worse.

I will.

[When Royce moves, Alfie settles himself in his place - keeping one arm around Gwen, and one around Mercy. He runs the back of his hand across Gwen's forehead, and swears under his breath. It's bad.]

Right. Drive quickly.

[ Royce crawls up to the front seat and drives as fast as he can justify, white-knuckled and terrified.

In the back, Gwen stirs, after a few minutes of driving. She opens her eyes slowly, dizzy and unfocused, and murmurs Royce? - which gets Royce to tense in the front. He answers - I'm right here - but Gwen is already glancing up at Alfie. ]

Oh. It's so dark outside, the two of you should be resting. [ Her voice is quiet, faint. ]

[She's awake, and she's lucid. That's a good sign. Alfie sighs, pushing her hair back from her forehead.]

We had some rest.