Duck & River || Cap. 9 & 10

The dim, flickering glow of the makeshift campfire lit up the supermarket entrance, casting long, swaying shadows across Duck’s discarded blue jacket on the tiles, alongside River’s shotgun and Duck’s fire axe. It was night. Duck lay sprawled over his jacket, staring aimlessly at the dark ceiling, still suffocating under the heavy, agonizing tension that had settled after River accused him of letting the world burn. A full day trapped inside a ruined grocery store, hiding from an aggressive horde of infected with no clear escape plan, was slowly eroding their sanity.

"Alright, enough sittin' around. Those bastard zombies ain't clearin' out of the entrance on their own," River grunted, pushing his heavy frame up from the ceramic floor. He looked down at {{user}} with a sharp flick of his head. "{{user}}, with me. Let's see what the hell we can scavenge out of the back."

Without another word, River walked into the pitch-black aisles with {{user}}, leaving Duck behind in the cold light of the fire.

The two made their way through the ruined store until they reached a heavy, jammed metal door. River tested the handle, found it locked, and turned to {{user}}. A quiet moment of mutual understanding passed between them before both set their shoulders against the steel frame, heaving with all their weight.

From his spot by the fire, Duck heard the muffled groans of effort and heavy thuds. Feeling a surge of restless anxiety, he stood up and began wandering the dark perimeter himself. Holding River’s metal lighter in his left hand to illuminate his path, with his small fire axe slung across his back, Duck slipped into an adjoined storage room. Stacks of empty, crushed cardboard boxes littered the floor. Scavengers had stripped it clean. But then, a flicker of metal caught his eye—a single, forgotten can sitting beside a fallen shelf.

Meanwhile, River let out a low roar, delivering one final, brutal shoulder check to the door. Metal gave way with a screeching groan. Panting, River wiped sweat from his bearded brow and stepped into the dark office alongside {{user}}. A bloated corpse sat slouched over a wooden desk, the room reeking of decay. The man had a clear entrance wound in his temple, though there was no gun in sight—someone had already looted the weapon.

"Alright, flip the place upside down," River instructed, tossing drawers and pulling down dusty files.

Suddenly, {{user}} called out to him. River turned around, his eyes widening in shock as {{user}} dragged a heavy metal bookshelf aside, revealing a small, commercial floor safe hidden in the drywall.

"You gotta be kiddin' me... just like in the movies," River muttered, a rare, hungry smirk breaking through his beard. His broad shoulders crowded into the tight space as he knelt beside {{user}}. "Give it a spin. Let's see if your ears are sharp enough."

For nearly forty agonizing seconds, silence filled the room, broken only by the faint click of the dial as {{user}} lined up the numbers.

CLICK.

The heavy steel door popped open. River and {{user}} traded a swift grin, slowly pulling it back, bracing themselves for a miracle or another bitter disappointment.

At the exact same time, deep in the storage room, Duck knelt in front of the can. He picked it up, brushing off the dust. It was sealed and heavy. He turned it over to read the label—

GreenMorn.

Duck's face went pale. A dark, suffocating shadow fell over his expression. His grip tightened around the tin until his knuckles turned white, his chest rising and falling with sudden, bitter rage. He let out a choked growl and hurled the can with all his strength into a pile of boxes.

"Damn it!" Duck hissed, grabbing his face in pure frustration, his stomach twisting in a painful, ravenous knot.

Except the sound wasn't just his stomach.

Behind the crushed boxes where the can had landed, a figure stirred. A sickly, emaciated infected rose slowly from the dark debris, its grey, clouded eyes locking onto Duck’s exposed back with silent, predatory hunger.

Back in the office, River let out a triumphant laugh, holding up a heavy set of keys. "Car keys! Looks like a Cadillac key fob!" He reached deeper into the safe, ignoring the stacks of useless cash. His breath hitched as his fingers wrapped around heavy metal. "Well, hell's bells..."

He pulled out a heavy-barrel, .357 Magnum revolver alongside a box of unspent rounds.

"Now this... this changes things," River whispered, turning to {{user}} with a look of overwhelming relief. "I'm serious, {{user}}... after all the crap we've been through, this is a sign." He rattled the keys in the air, his dark eyes shining with intense emotion. "You know what this means, darlin'? We got wheels. We're goin' home. To the farm!"

Overcome with sudden adrenaline, River let out a wild, breathless laugh. He placed a hand over his forehead, then grabbed {{user}} firmly by the shoulders, pulling {{user}} in close—dangerously close—his rough face inches away as his heart hammered in his chest—

"AAAAHHH!"

River froze instantly.

"GET OFF ME! GET THE HELL OFF!"

Duck's hysterical shrieks tore through the quiet building. In the storage room, Duck kicked frantically, shoving the snapping creature off his legs before grabbing his fallen axe and driving the blade straight into its forehead.

The creature didn't stop. It lunged again with terrifying speed.

BOOM!

The creature's head exploded in a spray of dark blood. Duck scrambled backward across the floor, panting hysterically, his eyes wide as he looked up to see River standing over him with his smoking shotgun, {{user}} right at his side.

"River!" Duck gasped, scrambling to his feet, instinctively clutching his right forearm.

Time seemed to grind to a absolute halt. Duck slowly pulled back his torn jacket sleeve, revealing two jagged, bleeding bite marks sinking deep into his flesh.

Silence fell over the three of them like a lead weight.

"We chop it," River said coldly.

---

"NO! NO! WAIT! PLEASE, WAIT!" Duck screamed frantically, his body pinned tightly against the metal surface of a checkout counter. {{user}} held him down with absolute, uncompromising strength, locking his left arm and shoulders in place.

River stood directly in front of them, holding Duck's small fire axe in his calloused hands. His weathered face was a mask of grim pity, but his eyes were hard as iron. "Kid... there ain't no other way. I'm sorry, but we gotta..."

"I DON'T WANT TO! I DON'T WANT TO LOSE MY ARM! IT'S GOING TO HURT TOO MUCH!" Duck sobbed hysterically, thrashing helplessly against {{user}}'s grip, his crooked glasses sliding completely off his face.

Outside the supermarket, a sudden crack of thunder shook the building, accompanied by the muffled, frantic screeching of the horde surrounding the perimeter.

"We do this now or you turn into one of those things, Duck!" River barked, his voice rising in desperate, commanding anger.

"NO! NO—!"

River raised the axe high above his head and brought it down with brute force—

HACK!

"AAAAHHH! MY GOD!" A ear-splitting, agonizing scream ripped from Duck’s throat as the dull blade slammed directly into the bone of his forearm.

HACK!

A second blood-curdling shriek pierced through the roaring thunder. With the second strike, the infected limb was completely severed.

Duck's eyes rolled into the back of his head, his body going instantly limp as he passed out from the sheer, overwhelming shock.

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The rain had finally let up, leaving the morning sky a pale, bruised grey.

River moved slowly across the wet asphalt, his arm wrapped firmly under Duck’s shoulders to support the boy’s trembling weight. Duck was pale as a sheet, dizzy and clutching his chest as he stumbled along, his right arm tightly bound at the elbow with River’s torn red-and-black flannel shirt. Heavy blood soaked through the fabric, but the bleeding had finally slowed.

With {{user}} holding the passenger door open, River gently maneuvered Duck into the plush leather back seat of the black Cadillac.

"Easy, kid. Get your legs in," River muttered softly, making sure Duck was lying back comfortably before slamming the door shut.

River climbed into the driver's seat, inserting the stolen keys into the ignition. The V8 engine purred to life with a smooth, powerful rumble—a stark contrast to the chaotic screeching of the infected left behind at the supermarket perimeter. River shifted into drive, stepped on the gas, and pulled the luxury sedan onto the open, empty highway heading north.

{{user}} sat in the passenger seat, watching the misty Texas roads roll past. River kept his calloused hands firm on the steering wheel, his jaw tight as he glanced at {{user}} from the corner of his eye. His deep voice dropped into a quiet, deadly serious murmur so Duck wouldn't overhear.

"He lost a hell of a lot of blood, {{user}}," River said, his gravelly tone weighed down by grim reality. "A wound like that... shock alone could take him before nightfall. But we ain't stoppin'. We keep our faith, we keep drivin', and we get him to the farm. I got medical supplies in the cellar. We just gotta get him there alive."

In the back seat, Duck shifted uncomfortably against the leather, a weak, pain-riddled groan escaping his lips. He lifted his right arm into the air, staring with wide, dazed blue eyes at the thick, blood-stained bandages where his forearm used to be. His hand was gone, yet his expression was one of pure, surreal confusion.

"It's... it's so weird, {{user}}..." Duck whispered, his voice raspy and faint, barely louder than the hum of the tires. "I swear... I swear I can still feel it. I can feel my fingers twitching... I'm trying to make a fist right now, and it feels like it's there... but there's nothing..."

River glanced into the rearview mirror, his tired eyes softening with a rare, melancholic warmth. A faint, sad smile tugged at the corner of his bearded mouth.

"Yeah... I know, kid," River said softly, his low Southern drawl carrying a gentle, heavy tenderness over the quiet rumble of the engine. "Phantom limb, they call it. Your brain's just catchin' up. Just rest now, Duck... try to sleep."

Duck let his arm fall back against his chest, closing his eyes as the medicine-less agony washed over him in waves, the black Cadillac speeding onward toward the farm.