Chapter Text
Michaela peeked her head around the corner, one hand gripping the brick wall of the garage, and the other on the handle of her hatchet.
She watched the woman she’d followed from a distance for the last four hours quickly step towards the dumpster outside the filling station, a small duffle bag thumping at her left hip as she moved.
The woman paused at the large steel container for just a moment, scanning the area around her before she hurried towards the glass doors of the shop.
She peered inside, searching for any sign of movement and, on seeing none after several
seconds, she tugged at the door handle and waited for a beat.
When nothing happened; when nothing charged her at the door; Michaela watched her slip quietly inside.
She was the first living person Michaela had seen in two days, since the driver of that
Mercedes had nearly run her off the road.
The dead were bad enough, but Michaela found that the living left a lot to be desired since all this began; since the world seemed to collapse all around her.
All around everyone.
This woman however, she seemed fine. She seemed at least…easily defeated. Michaela felt quite sure that she could take her, if she turned out to be a sociopath.
She was close to convinced she wasn’t though, because by some miracle from on high, Michaela knew her face; she knew her hair. She had seen this woman in pictures on more than one occasion over the past year.
However tenuous the connection, this woman had been vetted—somewhat, and letting her get away was not something Michaela could allow.
And if she was being honest herself, she was desperate for human company. She was
desperate to not be moving through this new world alone.
Michaela had always been a social person, and she had been on her own for the past few weeks, witnessing horrors she could not have imagined on her worst days, and she had quite the imagination.
The part of her prone to dramatics told her that she had been on her own too long to even know how to interact with another person at this point. But the quiet, often overshadowed, pragmatist in her; that sounded an awful lot like John; it told her there was safety in numbers.
Sleep would come easier, food might be found more readily, and an extra blade would be especially handy. So she took a deep breath and she stepped toward the door, pulling it towards her quickly before sneaking inside.
She did not expect the beer bottle that came flying towards her head as soon as the door shut behind her, but she was ready for it.
Her reflexes kicked in swiftly.
She grabbed the wrist that gripped the neck of the bottle, wrenching it down before shoving her assailant away.
“Easy,” Michaela breathed, as her eyes met the other woman’s.
Bright sky blue, and wide with rage and terror.
“Easy now,” she whispered again, releasing the woman’s wrist and holding her hands out in front of her, as if to calm a feral animal.
“Why are you following me?!” the woman hissed, raising the bottle back up over her
head.
“Yes! I’m sorry,” Michaela answered quickly, “I was…I was following you. I should have announced myself, but I needed to be sure.”
“Sure of what?!” the woman spat.
“Sure…just, sure that you weren’t…” Michaela blurted, eyes flitting between the other woman’s and the bottle in her hand, “…crazy.”
They stood there, staring each other down for a few long moments, before Michaela
continued.
“Please…I don’t want to hurt you,” she murmured before a deep breath, and truly hoping the other woman might do the same, “I’m Michaela. Mike…you can call me Mike. And I absolutely don’t want to hurt you.”
At her words, the woman shoulders sunk a little and she slowly started to lower the bottle to her side.
“I..I’m sorry…” she started, her voice small and shaking, and her blue eyes softening, “I
wasn’t…I just…everything has been so…”
“I know,” Michaela cut her off gently, “I know. There’s no need to apologize…”
“I could have hurt you,” the other woman said, her voice thick with remorse.
“But you didn’t,” Michaela beamed over at her then, “And…well, I could have fought back, but it didn’t get to that. Thankfully! So let’s just…be glad.”
“Right,” the woman nodded curtly after a moment, setting the bottle down on the ground before extending a trembling hand, “I…I’m Penelope.”
“It’s nice to meet you, Penelope,” Michaela said, taking her hand, “And I’m sorry again…for the…stalking, I guess. I just…you can’t be too careful these days, you know?”
“You’re right,” Penelope nodded, her body still tense, but her expression relaxing slightly, “And, well…I’m sorry too. Again. For almost…”
“Taking me out?” Michaela interjected with a grin. Penelope dropped her eyes to the ground and breathed out a small laugh.
“I’m sorry,” Penelope said awkwardly as she raised her eyes to meet Michaela’s again.
“Please don’t be,” Michaela assured her, “I should have said something. I…well, I actually recognized you.”
The small smile that had been gracing Penelope’s face faded instantly and her eyes grew wide again.
“No, no, please,” Michaela blurted, throwing her hands up again, “Please, let me explain.”
“Explain what?!” Penelope spat, her breathing growing erratic.
“I know Frankie!” Michaela choked out before Penelope started reaching for the bottle, “Francesca!”
“Wh…what?” Penelope started, her mouth gaping open as she processed the words,
“Francesca? Francesca Bridgerton?”
“Yes!” Michaela beamed at her, “Yes, Francesca Bridgerton! And John. He’s my cousin. I’ve seen you…in pictures.”
Penelope’s mouth slammed shut and she jerked her head to the side. She said nothing for several moments, but Michaela could see her mind working.
“You…you’re Michaela?” Penelope whispered as her blue eyes started filling with tears.
Michaela felt her own eyes start to prickle.
“Yes,” she breathed.
In the next second Penelope was barreling into her, wrapping her in a forceful hug.
They were crouched behind the front counter of the shop, Michaela breaking into a packet of cheese puffs, while Penelope drained a water bottle beside her.
“You said you were in Edinburgh?” Michaela asked her, holding the bag out to offer her
some.
She shook her head, quietly refusing the food as she wiped a stray droplet of water from her chin.
“I was,” Penelope started, her voice cracking a little as she explained, “I was visiting my
sister and her husband. They…they didn’t make it.”
“I’m sorry,” Michaela sighed, “You’ve made it this far on your own then?”
Rather than eliciting a response from Penelope, the question drew her deeper into her own mind—back to the last seven days when she had, in fact, been on her own.
A full week of running, hiding, and fighting for her life, living through nightmare after nightmare in her waking hours.
When everything started she was at her sister’s flat, alternating between watching real time updates on the flatscreen obsessively, and barring Prudence from the door.
The outside had descended into chaos within days of the first report, and within days of that report city officials had issued the order that residents were to remain in their homes.
Harry was such an optimist though, and as much as the sisters pled with him to stay, he
grabbed his briefcase the morning of the announcement, and assured them that he would be right back.
He was just running two blocks up the road, to retrieve the laptop he had left at his office.
He assured them that this would all blow over quickly, especially now that the government was involved. And when it did, he needed to know that his business would still be viable.
He had a family to support after all.
Prudence was expecting. Eight months along.
And Penelope watched her sister’s heart crack open with every failed call to her husband.
As much as Prudence would complain about about the man in snarky little whispers, and as much as she would roll her eyes at some of the honestly rather ridiculous things he would say, he adored her and he took such good care of her.
He had helped to heal some of the damage their upbringing had done to the oldest of the Featherington girls.
Five days after that, they were left with little choice but to try and evacuate Edinburgh.
“Penelope?” Michaela spoke again.
“PENNY RUN!!!”
Prudence’s voice echoed in her mind, and the twisted look on her face as the monsters ripped into her was all Penelope could see.
Monsters ripping into her body, into her belly—into her baby.
“Are you alright?” Michaela whispered, her eyebrows knitting together in concern after a
few moments.
The question finally registered and Penelope was shot back into her present reality; crouched down on a sticky floor behind the register of a shop some miles south of York, next to a woman who knew her apparently.
Knew of her at least.
“I…I’m sorry, I…” Penelope stuttered, blinking back tears.
Michaela shook her head as she reach a hand out to squeeze Penelope’s shoulder. Penelope tensed at the contact, but she didn’t refuse it.
“What…you asked me something?”
“I…yes,” Michaela started, “You’ve been on your own since Edinburgh?”
“Mostly, yes,” Penelope finally answered her, clearing her throat a little before continuing, “I was with my sister…at the start. And there was a man…a kind man. Alfred. We met just past the border. He was looking for his people, and…well, he couldn’t leave, but he helped me find a car.”
“Ah, yes,” Michaela said, her eyes brightening, “I saw you um…kicking it? Same car?”
Penelope sighed, recalling that moment, when she took out weeks of frustration and outright trauma on that little coupe.
She’d probably looked insane.
“It overheated,” she murmured with a shy smile.
“Damn. I hoped it had just run dry. That maybe we could go back for it.”
“No such luck. Unless you’re…mechanically inclined?” Penelope asked, quirking an
eyebrow over at her.
“No such luck.”
“You were in Glasgow?” Penelope asked her then, recalling what Michaela had told her
during their brief, rather emotional introduction earlier.
“I was,” Michaela nodded, as she cracked open a bottle of water and brought it to her lips.
“And you’re heading to London? To Mayfair?”
“Yep,” Michaela confirmed, “Nothing left back home. I was able to reach John before I lost
cell service. He said they were doing okay at Frankie’s mum’s. I…they…”
Penelope waited for her to continue, but she said nothing else.
“My mum’s there too,” she offered, “I talked to Eloise, before the phones stopped
working. She said my mother and my other sister were there. Mum lives across the street from them.”
“It’s wild…that we…” Michaela breathed excitedly.
Penelope nodded, smiling a little.
“It really is,” she whispered, “I’m sorry, I should have recognized you. Francesca sh…” Before she could continue, a loud bang from the glass door at the front of the shop caused the both of them to jolt.
They looked to each other, two sets of eyes widening, before Penelope watched the other
woman reach for the hatchet that was hanging at her waist from her belt.
They’d wrapped a chain around the door handle before moving about the shop, but the lock was broken and there was no way to actually secure it. They were far from safe.
They both turned around and slowly peeked their heads over the counter.
There was only one.
Many of the news reports Penelope had consumed when it all started called them zombies; an idea so utterly absurd, she had not let herself believe it at first.
But weeks later, and after far too many close encounters, she could no longer deny what was in front of her.
A zombie, shuffling along across the storefront. Its shoulder must have bumped the door as it moved away from them.
Dead, for all intents and purposes; unthinkingly, unfeeling; but somehow on its feet and walking.
“We can’t stay here,” Michaela muttered to her then.
Penelope slowly let out the breath she had been holding and she nodded