Zombie Cantos: To the Eastward Lie
Title: To The Eastward Lie
Rating: PG-13
Fandom: Criminal Minds
Universe: Zombie Cantos
Characters/Pairing: Ensemble - gen
Genre: Horror/Drama
Summary: The horizon seems a little bit closer.
Author’s Note: Yes, my updates have been sporadic lately. Things have been hectic lately, because damn near the whole city is underwater. Thank-you for being patient.
...
The sea was sapphire coloured, and the sky
Burned like a heated opal through the air;
We hoisted sail; the wind was blowing fair
For the blue lands that to the eastward lie.
Impression De Voyage - Oscar Wilde
.
How nice--to feel nothing, and still get full credit for being alive.
Kurt Vonnegut
...
Thirty-Three Months After the Zombie Apocalypse
Outside, the rain pelts down hard.
Lightning cracks the sky in two.
Six months ago, this is the kind of weather that would have been welcome. Six months ago, when they’d still been living in a desert, with rain a rare occurrence.
According to Reid, who is still a repository of knowledge after all this time, the storms will decrease the closer they get to California. “Thunderstorms are more common in the south and the mid-west,” he’d explained. At least it’s not a hurricane, JJ reasons. ‘Actually, we’re probably in greater danger of an earthquake,’ is what he says to that.
Not particularly comforting.
Still, the weather is wild enough that continuing to walk - especially with zombies hanging around - would be a very bad idea. So they’d pitched their tents and their tarps, using whatever natural cover could be found.
‘Mom?’ Henry’s eight now - almost nine - and sometimes JJ can’t help but think to herself, Where did all that time go? He’s mature for his age, but that’s to be expected. He’s sitting at the front of the tent, watching the rain.
‘What is it, Henry?’
Since they’d started on the road again, boredom had become a big problem for the kids - hell, for all of them. Stories are only good for so long. Jack’s off with Reid, scoping out the area; they’re fairly sure it’s zombie free (otherwise there’s no way that Jack would have been allowed to go), but there are other things to take into consideration. Things like food, and water, and dry firewood.
The water’s not too much of a problem of course. Even without the rain, there’s a river close by. Looking around, it’s hard to tell that they’re living in a post apocalyptic world. The trees look the same as they always have, growing wild and free. Maybe they’re better off without people.
In the end, nature laughs last.
‘Mommy, are you going to die?’
The words hit her like a sledgehammer. She’s been surprised in her life, but those words strike home so freaking hard, that for a moment, she forgets to breathe. No child should ever have to ask that question.
‘Henry…’
‘The last time we went on a long walk, Daddy died. I don’t want you to die too.’ His voice makes him sound five years younger, but he says it with the most serious look that JJ’s ever seen.
JJ pulls he son into a hug, whispering into his sandy blonde hair, ‘I’m not going to die, sweetie.’ She makes herself believe those words. She makes herself believe that she isn’t going to leave her son behind.
It might be an easier thing to believe, if they hadn’t lost so much already. The end is so close, and yet so far away, and maybe it isn’t really an end at all. Things will have changed on the outside world just as much.
Their world doesn’t exist in a vacuum. There will be economic changes, and social changes, and maybe some other country is taking charge of the political stage. Maybe no-one even cares at all. Maybe the thought that’s going though everyone’s head is, “Good riddance.”
It’s extreme, sure, but over the past few years, JJ’s found herself unsurprising pessimistic. She puts on a smile, and she keeps on going. Just like the rest of them.
She does it for Henry, who’s lost his father, and who needs to grow up believing that the world isn’t a terrible, unforgiving place. She does it for Garcia, who can’t quite see the light the same way she used to. She does it for Emily, who sometimes it seems doesn’t see any light at all. She does it for Reid, who isn’t the man that he used to be. More than that, though, she does it for Hotch, and Rossi, and Morgan, because as long as they’re remembered, as long as they keep fighting, then the situation isn’t quite so hopeless.
Apparently, they’re in a safe place - or at least safer than everywhere else - because a little bit later, Jack comes by and drags Henry off to play some complicated game involving sticks and stones.
When you take away the zombies, and the guns, and the camping in the middle of a thunderstorm, they’re still kids. That small but significant fact lights a tiny fire of hope in JJ’s heart.
...
‘Based on the geographical and astronomical observations, I’d say we’re approximately here.’ Reid draws a small X on the map with a Sharpie that he’d picked up somewhere along the journey. It’s still raining, but the tarpaulin that’s strung between trees provides enough cover to keep them mostly dry. Ideally, the fire would be out in the open, but that’s not really an option. Over the months, though, they’ve all gained considerable experience at noticing things in the dark.
In any case, it’s entirely possible that the zombies will be scared off by the thunder. Freeze, fight or flight response. The fact that they show this kind of fear has enormous psychological implications - what else do they feel? - and in another lifetime, Spencer might have found himself interested in studying the phenomenon, but now...
Now, he’s a different person.
He’s wearing combat boots and frayed khakis, instead of corduroys and cardigans. He hasn’t cut his hair in a long time, so it’s pulled back into a messy ponytail. The people he’s with might be good at a lot of things, but giving a decent haircut isn’t one of them. The rifle slung over his shoulder is his constant companion.
Simon, the guy they’d picked up a hundred miles or so back, doesn’t say anything. Of all of them, he’s probably the best qualified to recognise the area, but he doesn’t talk unless he has to. Spending so long alone isn’t healthy for anyone.
‘If the rain doesn’t keep up, then we should make it to the coast in time,’ he announces eventually. Nobody asks what will happen if they don’t make it in time. Their radio conversations with the relief effort had revealed that flights into the war zone are rare: they’ll drop off troops one day, and pick them up a month later. Taking the country back inch by inch.
At this point, another month seems like nothing. After all, it’s been years since any of them have seen the real world.
The next morning, it’s still raining.
...
Garcia wakes when she hears Kevin getting out of bed beside her. “Getting out of bed” probably isn’t the right term, because their bed is a couple of self-inflating mattresses and a single sleeping bag. Once upon a time, Garcia had loathed camping, and its inherent lack of basic Wi-Fi, but now she’s kind of used to roughing it.
‘Pancakes for breakfast?’ he asks her jovially, but even his jovial expression is pretty morbid compared to the Kevin of three years ago. Maybe she should be worried, but then, he’s not the only one who’s changed.
‘I wish,’ she says with a groan. ‘Pancakes, and an encrypted server to hack - that’s the paradise I’ve been waiting for. Not long now,’ she says, with a bitterness in her voice that had never been there before their world had been taken over by zombies.
Optimism only goes so far, after all.
Yes, they’ll be reaching some kind of civilization soon, if all goes to plan, but their lives have changed irreparably. No matter how far they run, there’s always the chance that they’ll be in the exact same situation, months from now.
But she puts on a smile, and she pretends that everything is okay.
Her hair hasn’t been a shade of lurid red in a long time, and she doesn’t have her extensive collection of bright troll dolls, but there are other ways of hiding the darkness, even if nobody is all that fooled.
In the end, they all keep the darkness inside of them.
...
By some miracle, the rain stops the next day.
Miracle is probably the wrong word, though, because any faith that Emily might have had is long lost. Some people cling harder to their beliefs in times of tragedy, but Emily’s seem to have slipped away, pulled down by the tides.
Maybe it died with Morgan and Hotch. Maybe it died with Rossi.
Maybe it died a long time before any of that.
They pack up their tents and their tarps and their thoughts, and they keep walking. It might be harder to believe in God, but it’s easier to believe in each other
It’s not quite enough.
There’s a short group swim in the river before they head off, because who knows when they’ll next be able to bathe properly again. Privacy has been in short supply for a long time, so it’s not really uncomfortable anymore.
Still, it’s difficult not to notice how haggard they all look.
Once they start walking and the heat sets in, Emily feels as dirty as before, but there’s not really much to be done about it.
They keep walking.
Emily’s pretty much lost count of the days, by the time they reach the designated meeting area. Reid’s keeping tally, but she doesn’t ask. All she knows is that they’re the only ones there.
So they wait.
Two days later, the helicopter comes. There are two pilots on board who introduce themselves warmly , and it’s a little surreal, because it’s the first time they’ve really seen anyone from “outside” since before the apocalypse. Diego and Richard are both Spanish, and after a brief conversation, Emily determines that they don’t really know much about what’s going on.
Just like a normal war, Emily muses.
The flight is short and silent.
The base is probably on a skeleton crew - enough to keep out stray zombies that wander too close, and to keep whatever systems they have, running. It’s not much, but even having a base in a place that’s so torn apart is a pretty good achievement. Especially when your enemy is so unpredictable.
The dozen or so uniformed personnel are hanging around a couple of hundred feet from the Helipad. Are there so few survivors that something like this is an extraordinary event?
After three years, it’s very much a possibility.
A single khaki blur steps out from the crowd, and Emily’s heart skips a beat.
Not even war can stop her from recognizing that poise.
‘Emily?’ Garcia whispers, and it’s only then that Emily realizes that she’s crying. It kind of feels like it’s a long time coming.
They’ve barely touched ground, when she jumps out, not particularly caring about safety protocol.
Her mother looks strange in a military uniform. One day Emily might crack a joke about it.
The hug is tight, and the tears are wet. It’s probably the most emotional that she’s ever seen the Ambassador.
‘God, I’ve missed you, Emily.’
‘Missed you too,’ Emily murmurs, and she feels like she’s a six-year-old that’s just scraped her knee.
They’re taken inside to food and coffee, and everything still feels kind of numb. Maybe it’s shock. Maybe it’s relief.
The plane comes in the next day, and almost everyone is ridiculously eager to board. Everyone except Emily.
‘You coming?’ Reid asks, frowning.
Emily stops, and stares out into the east. The sun is rising, a brilliant blood orange.
The life they leave behind.
The lives they leave behind.
‘Yeah,’ she says finally. ‘I’m coming.’
Rating: PG-13
Fandom: Criminal Minds
Universe: Zombie Cantos
Characters/Pairing: Ensemble - gen
Genre: Horror/Drama
Summary: The horizon seems a little bit closer.
Author’s Note: Yes, my updates have been sporadic lately. Things have been hectic lately, because damn near the whole city is underwater. Thank-you for being patient.
...
The sea was sapphire coloured, and the sky
Burned like a heated opal through the air;
We hoisted sail; the wind was blowing fair
For the blue lands that to the eastward lie.
Impression De Voyage - Oscar Wilde
.
How nice--to feel nothing, and still get full credit for being alive.
Kurt Vonnegut
...
Thirty-Three Months After the Zombie Apocalypse
Outside, the rain pelts down hard.
Lightning cracks the sky in two.
Six months ago, this is the kind of weather that would have been welcome. Six months ago, when they’d still been living in a desert, with rain a rare occurrence.
According to Reid, who is still a repository of knowledge after all this time, the storms will decrease the closer they get to California. “Thunderstorms are more common in the south and the mid-west,” he’d explained. At least it’s not a hurricane, JJ reasons. ‘Actually, we’re probably in greater danger of an earthquake,’ is what he says to that.
Not particularly comforting.
Still, the weather is wild enough that continuing to walk - especially with zombies hanging around - would be a very bad idea. So they’d pitched their tents and their tarps, using whatever natural cover could be found.
‘Mom?’ Henry’s eight now - almost nine - and sometimes JJ can’t help but think to herself, Where did all that time go? He’s mature for his age, but that’s to be expected. He’s sitting at the front of the tent, watching the rain.
‘What is it, Henry?’
Since they’d started on the road again, boredom had become a big problem for the kids - hell, for all of them. Stories are only good for so long. Jack’s off with Reid, scoping out the area; they’re fairly sure it’s zombie free (otherwise there’s no way that Jack would have been allowed to go), but there are other things to take into consideration. Things like food, and water, and dry firewood.
The water’s not too much of a problem of course. Even without the rain, there’s a river close by. Looking around, it’s hard to tell that they’re living in a post apocalyptic world. The trees look the same as they always have, growing wild and free. Maybe they’re better off without people.
In the end, nature laughs last.
‘Mommy, are you going to die?’
The words hit her like a sledgehammer. She’s been surprised in her life, but those words strike home so freaking hard, that for a moment, she forgets to breathe. No child should ever have to ask that question.
‘Henry…’
‘The last time we went on a long walk, Daddy died. I don’t want you to die too.’ His voice makes him sound five years younger, but he says it with the most serious look that JJ’s ever seen.
JJ pulls he son into a hug, whispering into his sandy blonde hair, ‘I’m not going to die, sweetie.’ She makes herself believe those words. She makes herself believe that she isn’t going to leave her son behind.
It might be an easier thing to believe, if they hadn’t lost so much already. The end is so close, and yet so far away, and maybe it isn’t really an end at all. Things will have changed on the outside world just as much.
Their world doesn’t exist in a vacuum. There will be economic changes, and social changes, and maybe some other country is taking charge of the political stage. Maybe no-one even cares at all. Maybe the thought that’s going though everyone’s head is, “Good riddance.”
It’s extreme, sure, but over the past few years, JJ’s found herself unsurprising pessimistic. She puts on a smile, and she keeps on going. Just like the rest of them.
She does it for Henry, who’s lost his father, and who needs to grow up believing that the world isn’t a terrible, unforgiving place. She does it for Garcia, who can’t quite see the light the same way she used to. She does it for Emily, who sometimes it seems doesn’t see any light at all. She does it for Reid, who isn’t the man that he used to be. More than that, though, she does it for Hotch, and Rossi, and Morgan, because as long as they’re remembered, as long as they keep fighting, then the situation isn’t quite so hopeless.
Apparently, they’re in a safe place - or at least safer than everywhere else - because a little bit later, Jack comes by and drags Henry off to play some complicated game involving sticks and stones.
When you take away the zombies, and the guns, and the camping in the middle of a thunderstorm, they’re still kids. That small but significant fact lights a tiny fire of hope in JJ’s heart.
...
‘Based on the geographical and astronomical observations, I’d say we’re approximately here.’ Reid draws a small X on the map with a Sharpie that he’d picked up somewhere along the journey. It’s still raining, but the tarpaulin that’s strung between trees provides enough cover to keep them mostly dry. Ideally, the fire would be out in the open, but that’s not really an option. Over the months, though, they’ve all gained considerable experience at noticing things in the dark.
In any case, it’s entirely possible that the zombies will be scared off by the thunder. Freeze, fight or flight response. The fact that they show this kind of fear has enormous psychological implications - what else do they feel? - and in another lifetime, Spencer might have found himself interested in studying the phenomenon, but now...
Now, he’s a different person.
He’s wearing combat boots and frayed khakis, instead of corduroys and cardigans. He hasn’t cut his hair in a long time, so it’s pulled back into a messy ponytail. The people he’s with might be good at a lot of things, but giving a decent haircut isn’t one of them. The rifle slung over his shoulder is his constant companion.
Simon, the guy they’d picked up a hundred miles or so back, doesn’t say anything. Of all of them, he’s probably the best qualified to recognise the area, but he doesn’t talk unless he has to. Spending so long alone isn’t healthy for anyone.
‘If the rain doesn’t keep up, then we should make it to the coast in time,’ he announces eventually. Nobody asks what will happen if they don’t make it in time. Their radio conversations with the relief effort had revealed that flights into the war zone are rare: they’ll drop off troops one day, and pick them up a month later. Taking the country back inch by inch.
At this point, another month seems like nothing. After all, it’s been years since any of them have seen the real world.
The next morning, it’s still raining.
...
Garcia wakes when she hears Kevin getting out of bed beside her. “Getting out of bed” probably isn’t the right term, because their bed is a couple of self-inflating mattresses and a single sleeping bag. Once upon a time, Garcia had loathed camping, and its inherent lack of basic Wi-Fi, but now she’s kind of used to roughing it.
‘Pancakes for breakfast?’ he asks her jovially, but even his jovial expression is pretty morbid compared to the Kevin of three years ago. Maybe she should be worried, but then, he’s not the only one who’s changed.
‘I wish,’ she says with a groan. ‘Pancakes, and an encrypted server to hack - that’s the paradise I’ve been waiting for. Not long now,’ she says, with a bitterness in her voice that had never been there before their world had been taken over by zombies.
Optimism only goes so far, after all.
Yes, they’ll be reaching some kind of civilization soon, if all goes to plan, but their lives have changed irreparably. No matter how far they run, there’s always the chance that they’ll be in the exact same situation, months from now.
But she puts on a smile, and she pretends that everything is okay.
Her hair hasn’t been a shade of lurid red in a long time, and she doesn’t have her extensive collection of bright troll dolls, but there are other ways of hiding the darkness, even if nobody is all that fooled.
In the end, they all keep the darkness inside of them.
...
By some miracle, the rain stops the next day.
Miracle is probably the wrong word, though, because any faith that Emily might have had is long lost. Some people cling harder to their beliefs in times of tragedy, but Emily’s seem to have slipped away, pulled down by the tides.
Maybe it died with Morgan and Hotch. Maybe it died with Rossi.
Maybe it died a long time before any of that.
They pack up their tents and their tarps and their thoughts, and they keep walking. It might be harder to believe in God, but it’s easier to believe in each other
It’s not quite enough.
There’s a short group swim in the river before they head off, because who knows when they’ll next be able to bathe properly again. Privacy has been in short supply for a long time, so it’s not really uncomfortable anymore.
Still, it’s difficult not to notice how haggard they all look.
Once they start walking and the heat sets in, Emily feels as dirty as before, but there’s not really much to be done about it.
They keep walking.
Emily’s pretty much lost count of the days, by the time they reach the designated meeting area. Reid’s keeping tally, but she doesn’t ask. All she knows is that they’re the only ones there.
So they wait.
Two days later, the helicopter comes. There are two pilots on board who introduce themselves warmly , and it’s a little surreal, because it’s the first time they’ve really seen anyone from “outside” since before the apocalypse. Diego and Richard are both Spanish, and after a brief conversation, Emily determines that they don’t really know much about what’s going on.
Just like a normal war, Emily muses.
The flight is short and silent.
The base is probably on a skeleton crew - enough to keep out stray zombies that wander too close, and to keep whatever systems they have, running. It’s not much, but even having a base in a place that’s so torn apart is a pretty good achievement. Especially when your enemy is so unpredictable.
The dozen or so uniformed personnel are hanging around a couple of hundred feet from the Helipad. Are there so few survivors that something like this is an extraordinary event?
After three years, it’s very much a possibility.
A single khaki blur steps out from the crowd, and Emily’s heart skips a beat.
Not even war can stop her from recognizing that poise.
‘Emily?’ Garcia whispers, and it’s only then that Emily realizes that she’s crying. It kind of feels like it’s a long time coming.
They’ve barely touched ground, when she jumps out, not particularly caring about safety protocol.
Her mother looks strange in a military uniform. One day Emily might crack a joke about it.
The hug is tight, and the tears are wet. It’s probably the most emotional that she’s ever seen the Ambassador.
‘God, I’ve missed you, Emily.’
‘Missed you too,’ Emily murmurs, and she feels like she’s a six-year-old that’s just scraped her knee.
They’re taken inside to food and coffee, and everything still feels kind of numb. Maybe it’s shock. Maybe it’s relief.
The plane comes in the next day, and almost everyone is ridiculously eager to board. Everyone except Emily.
‘You coming?’ Reid asks, frowning.
Emily stops, and stares out into the east. The sun is rising, a brilliant blood orange.
The life they leave behind.
The lives they leave behind.
‘Yeah,’ she says finally. ‘I’m coming.’