This? This is crazy. Beyond crazy, in fact. Psycho. Batshit. Nuts.
Wasn't the whole point of curing the Dead with love and fuzzy feelings to resurrect society and put an end to the whole apocalypse thing? Nora's had her fill of the end of the world, thanks. She spent her formative years fighting her way through the crumbling remnants of humanity; doesn't she deserve a break? They found the Cure. It's over. Nora's supposed to be on Rounds right now, replacing Mr. Fletcher's catheter and doling out band-aids and antiseptic to the kids in school (they've gone back to teaching them the real subjects again, as much as anyone can remember them; art and math and history and English and where the hell is anyone going to find The Catcher in the Rye in all this?), not digging around the ruins of some train station in the dark with a knife she'd pulled off the adorable and impossibly busty pink-haired tween who had tried to kill her with it.
At least Nora thinks it's a train station, or had been at one point in time. It's completely falling apart, more ancient-looking than even the most bombed-out ruin she's crawled through. Supplies are long gone; generations of looters picked this place clean long before she even got there. It's surprising that Pink Hair'd even managed to find that knife in the first place--usually those are the first thing to go.
Despite...everything, Nora is surprisingly calm. She's reeling, sure, but she's managing. Sorting things out. She has no idea where she is or why she's here. Her last memory is of falling into her bed after a long shift at the clinic; she was asleep before she even hit the pillow...and then getting jumped by a twelve year old with double-Ds (and where does anyone even find pink hair dye in the apocalypse?). She wants to freak out, yeah, but she knows she can't. Freaking out won't help her survive long enough to figure any of this out. She keeps to the shadows, ears open and eyes peeled, ready for unfriendly company. It's been more than a year since she's had to do this, since she's been alone and separated from everyone else (and this time she doesn't even have a gun to rely on), but it's all kind of like riding a bike, isn't it? Letting your guard down gets you killed. Gets your loved ones killed.
She learned that the hard way.
Nora hears voices and ducks behind a cracked pillar. It sounds like...
no subject
Wasn't the whole point of curing the Dead with love and fuzzy feelings to resurrect society and put an end to the whole apocalypse thing? Nora's had her fill of the end of the world, thanks. She spent her formative years fighting her way through the crumbling remnants of humanity; doesn't she deserve a break? They found the Cure. It's over. Nora's supposed to be on Rounds right now, replacing Mr. Fletcher's catheter and doling out band-aids and antiseptic to the kids in school (they've gone back to teaching them the real subjects again, as much as anyone can remember them; art and math and history and English and where the hell is anyone going to find The Catcher in the Rye in all this?), not digging around the ruins of some train station in the dark with a knife she'd pulled off the adorable and impossibly busty pink-haired tween who had tried to kill her with it.
At least Nora thinks it's a train station, or had been at one point in time. It's completely falling apart, more ancient-looking than even the most bombed-out ruin she's crawled through. Supplies are long gone; generations of looters picked this place clean long before she even got there. It's surprising that Pink Hair'd even managed to find that knife in the first place--usually those are the first thing to go.
Despite...everything, Nora is surprisingly calm. She's reeling, sure, but she's managing. Sorting things out. She has no idea where she is or why she's here. Her last memory is of falling into her bed after a long shift at the clinic; she was asleep before she even hit the pillow...and then getting jumped by a twelve year old with double-Ds (and where does anyone even find pink hair dye in the apocalypse?). She wants to freak out, yeah, but she knows she can't. Freaking out won't help her survive long enough to figure any of this out. She keeps to the shadows, ears open and eyes peeled, ready for unfriendly company. It's been more than a year since she's had to do this, since she's been alone and separated from everyone else (and this time she doesn't even have a gun to rely on), but it's all kind of like riding a bike, isn't it? Letting your guard down gets you killed. Gets your loved ones killed.
She learned that the hard way.
Nora hears voices and ducks behind a cracked pillar. It sounds like...
Shit, no way.
"Julie!"