Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Bucky walked.

At first he didn’t count the days, which made them blend together into the worst kind of blur. It was like being the Soldier again, moving from need to need, avoiding pain, following some directive in his brain: Go South. Go Home.

A feral miasma settled over him, punctuated by blossoms of base emotion. Pain. He’d broken a bone in his ribs when he landed. Hunger. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d eaten. Disorientation. Where exactly he’d landed was unclear. Not fear, though. Vigilance. Intense awareness that he was alone, and not alone. His super senses remained. He could hear the scratching shambling steps of the undead as they wandered the suburban streets. Could smell the rot of their bodies. His vibranium arm was still heavy, still faster and stronger than it had any right to be. Sometimes it glowed gently purple in the dim light, but he didn’t know why. Experience told him that scavenging for food in a formerly populated area was the fastest way to end his trip for good. So he skirted the major population areas and kept moving. Walking down the two-lane state highways littered with abandoned cars.

He had a few knives on him, a flint and steel, a bit of fishing line.

He found a stash of food someone had abandoned in an RV. Crouching in the lopsided caravan, eating beans out of a can from the blade of his knife, he smelled blood, urine, and realized the smell was him. It took all his will not to vomit the little bit of food back up.

He couldn’t go home like this. He knew he was doing the right thing, but it felt wrong.

In the foothills of the Appalachians, somewhere in the western edge of Virginia, he found a river to clean up in. He shaved his head and face. With his clothes spread in the sun to dry, he caught a turtle with his bare hands. He roasted it slowly in its shell over a small smokeless fire. The weight of hunger eased enough that he registered that the pain in his torso had eased. The bone had mended on its own, as he knew it would.

In the next town, he dared go down the main street, looking for available supplies. He found a few cans. He took the green beans, but left the can of tuna. Fresh protein would keep him sharper. The gun store had been thoroughly stripped of weapons. The bookstore next door, however, held a rifle with a box of rounds, tucked under the counter. He had to kill two undead former employees to get it. Beheading them with only his bowie took longer than he would have liked, so he put finding a machete at the top of his to-do list. He acquired a fresh notebook and a handful of real pencils, wood not mechanical. He could keep them sharp with his knife. Holed up in the attic storage space over the store, he made first entry in his new diary:

***

My name is James Buchanan Barnes. My friends call me Bucky.
I’m engaged to Sarah E. Wilson, from Delacroix, Louisiana.
I am headed there now to get her, her our sons and take them all to safety.
This is day 1.

***

The next morning, he awoke to find that a white cat had crawled in. Surely Bast-sent to keep him company, it stared up at him from where it had curled next to his feet. The name tag said “Snowball”, but he immediately called it Alpine, after his sister’s pet mouser. His father had hated the cat, considered it a pampered pet, until the damn cat had dropped a dead mouse on his pillow in the middle of the night. Bucky had loved that sneaky ass cat.

***

Day 6
Found a proper survival pack in the front seat of a car, complete with water treatment tabs and a whetstone for my knives. Well, I didn’t find it, Alpine got herself into the car and wouldn’t come out till I broke the window with my fist. There the pack was. Guess I’ll keep the cat.

Day 10
The basics are simple. Eat at least once every other day. Stopping to catch fresh game is worth it. Wash whenever I cross a clean creek. Avoid congested spaces, places where people are likely to have died. Avoid noise, don’t make it, don’t go towards it. Avoid the temptation to loot, take only what you need that day. Fast. Light. Quiet. I don’t care about any of these things or these people or who they used to be. There’s one goal.

Day 17
Tennessee.
Alpine is a pretty good guard cat. She jumped on my face last night, woke me from a wonderful dream that I don’t remember, just in time for me to see a squad of raiders Survivors come through. Stayed out of the way. Can’t risk an injury. My back just stopped hurting from the fall.

Day 22
Mood isn’t good. I’m fine.
I wonder where Sarah is.
Passed into Alabama this morning. I’m out of the mountains now. It is getting warmer.
There are fewer undead here than in New York. The Survivors are more dangerous though. Keep moving.
I’m starting to forget things.
Then it all comes to me at once. I remember my entire life in a flash.
Steve liked cold beer better than whiskey.
Sam was the opposite, but never said no to the beer.
Natasha could drink them both under the table.
What ever happened to Sharon?
Sarah’s at home right now, frying fish maybe for the boys.
I’m sure she’s there. I’m sure she’s fine.

Day 29
Still in Alabama. Found a motorcycle with enough gas in it to make the noise worth it. Going to make better ground for another day or so. May try to siphon some gas from the cars along the road. Hadn’t realized how tired I was until I stopped walking.
Alpine sits inside my jacket as I ride. Good cat.

Day 30
Mississippi. Took a machete from another survivor who had the foolishness to threaten me with it. I didn’t mean to kill him. Add it to the ledger.

***
Morning of day 33, Bucky and Alpine the Second crossed the narrow end of Lake Pontchartrain in a flat bottom’d pirogue, paddling silently in the shadow of the remains of US-90. From there he navigated Lake Saint Catherine and Lake Borgne. He figured he’d hit Fort Proctor then go overland from there. He found Fort Proctor, alright. What used to be land beyond it was unevenly flooded. Islands of trees were scattered before him, surrounded with dark water. The water wasn’t deep, but it was unpredictable enough that the thought of wading the whole distance made him angry. So close. So close now.
He paddled past the ruins of Peaches, where he and Perry had first had beer and wings. Deeper into the bayou. There were thankfully few undead down here, probably because of what there were plenty of — alligators. There were enough alligators in some areas that he could have walked across their backs from island to island. There were signs of survivors. Lights in the distance, the sound of a boat engine. There were also signs of those who had not survived. Scraps of fabric on branches, bones sticking haphazardly from the mud. Everywhere, a muddy rotten smell, beyond the usual green fertility of the swamp.

Bucky pulled the pirogue up to the Wilson’s flooded back yard. The pier was gone, all the yard furniture too. The water lapped at the back door stoop but didn’t threaten to go higher. There wasn’t a shambler in sight. Unless they were inside. But they’d only be inside if they were the Wilsons and…well, Bucky didn’t admit to that possibility. His family was alive. Inside the house he would find them. Or a clue to where they’d gone.

He tied the pirogue up to the small peach tree they’d planted in the back yard then waded up to the door. It was locked. All the storm shutters were closed. He felt a flush of pride that they’d taken care of
things the way he taught them to. He rattled the door handle, gave it a good push with his shoulder, even though he knew how solid the door was. He was satisfied that it held. He waded out to his old cinder-block shed, still standing with the tin roof. Around the back, under the eave, he found the combination lock box he’d hidden there. Inside was a universal key that would open every lock in the house. The combination was his military ID number.

Back at the door, it opened creakily into the mudroom. The floor was moldy and buckled, water-wrecked but still there. No bodies.

He paused in the doorway to the kitchen to turn on all his senses.

• The kitchen, all the rooms actually, were bare of furniture and appliances. At the base of the stairs was a security door, bolted, that prevented him from going immediately upstairs.
• There was a fresh smell of meat in the house, cooked.
• A pair of well worn work gloves, woman sized, were hanging on a key hook.
• Across the dining room was hung a line with a few pieces of clothing, clean, in different sizes. Large men’s shirt. Slender jeans. Multiple mismatched socks.
• Marks of something wide and heavy being dragged across the living room floor, as if something had been moved in and out repeatedly.
• Recent foot prints on the porch. A fresh muddy hand print on the railing.
• Multiple people had been here this morning. They were planning to return.

Bucky settled down to wait, ready to make whomever was using his house as a bolt hole tell him where his family was.

Hours passed. For the hundredth time, he wished he’d gotten a dog instead of a cat. A dog would bark when someone approached. Alpine the Second just stood up, stretched, yawned and moved to the last sunny spot in the living room as the sun set, giving no sign of anything. So it was up to Bucky’s super hearing to tell him someone was approaching. He heard their voices, the paddles on the water. He remained still, sitting in the slowly growing shadows of the dining room so he could see the door open before anyone would see him.

From the sounds of it, there were four of them, paddling a vessel. Their voices were animated, then suddenly silent. He sucked in a deep breath and held it. They were smart to check the house before entering. Two climbed the stairs to stand on the porch. He had to pay close attention to hear the sloshing of someone walking around the side of the house to the back. They’d see his little pirogue. They’d know someone was in here.

He steeled his nerves, flexed his metal arm once in practice. There was no one out here who could stop him. Still, he didn’t want to hurt anyone. He wanted answers.

“Bucky Blue?” said a woman’s voice from the front porch. His name. It was some kind of call, waiting for a response.

The back door opened, he’d neglected to lock it behind him. He was getting sloppy in his old age.

The response didn’t come.

Another voice from the porch, muttered this time, “Oh fuck. Go time?”

Again, no verbal response, though Bucky imagined a hand gesture, a wait sign. The two on the porch were waiting for direction from the leader, the person scouting from the back door.

Slow steps from the back.

He stepped into the line of sight of the kitchen now, hands up in surrender.

“My name is…” he announced, trying to be civil and unintimidating. He was immediately interrupted.

“Bucky? Uncle Bucky, is that you?”

AJ Wilson, almost as tall as him, slender, a shock of locs standing up all over his head, stood from a crouching position in the kitchen. He had a machete in hand, perfectly held to take off a shambler’s head. He was wearing one of Bucky’s old tactical vests, dark blue leather, over a short sleeved shirt and heavy dark pants.

His expression hit every emotion before settling on surprised joy.

“Bucky Blue!” he called out in a delayed response. “Literally.”

Bucky let himself gasp, exhale slowly as he lowered his arms.

“AJ! Bast andincede!”

Each of them took a tentative step forward, then dropped their hesitation and rushed into each other, chest to chest in a full body hug.

“Hey AJ.”

“Hey Bucky, hey.”

“I can’t tell you how glad I am to see you!” Bucky pulled back, put his gloved hand on AJ’s cheek to assure himself he was real.

“God damn, Mamma’s gonna cry,” AJ said with a grin. He was missing a tooth.

Bucky frowned to keep his own tears in check. Cleared his throat. She was alive.

“She, she here?” he asked, unable to control the slight waver in his voice. “When did you start cursing like that?”

“No, she’s on the rig. We’re going back tomorrow. I started cursing when…” AJ gestured at the house. “When the world fucked off.”

“Fair.”

“Bucky Blue!” AJ said again loudly to the people on the porch. “We good.”

Through the front door came the others. He recognized Selene and Bennett, two of the kids from town, grown now into a forced adulthood. Bucky was introduced around, but none of them asked any questions. There was work to do.

The gang worked with a familial efficiency. Once both boats were stowed in the living room for safe keeping and all the outside doors were securely locked, AJ opened the door to the second floor. They tramped up stairs. With the careful removal of portions of the walls, the bedrooms had been transformed into an open living area where they could eat, relax, and sort their findings. Most of the furniture had been moved up here. Familiar family pictures hung on the walls, along with photos from other families too. The kitchen table held a small wood-fired grill. The fridge in the corner was used for food storage, even without electricity it would hold a cooler temperature than the rest of the house.

The murmur of them talking felt too loud. It had been a lifetime since Bucky had heard this many voices at once. Still he felt like the Soldier, out of place, silent. Bucky settled into a corner, watched Alpine weave around the space, in and out of doorways, past people. He focused on the cat. She was rootless too, but searching. Close.

AJ approached with a plate of warm food — fresh grilled fish, beans from a can, a piece of fruit.

“Whatever else is true, I’d guess you haven’t eaten much, huh?” he offered the plate.

Bucky hadn’t eaten a full meal since he’d left the Tower.

“Thanks, thank you,” he managed to stammer out. All the questions he had in his mind were piled up, blocking each other from spilling out. They sounded stupid in his empty-bellied state. There was only one question that mattered. So he ate and turned his attention to the gang as they chatted.

“That’s the last of the canned goods from the Supercenter, I’d say,” said Selene. Her smooth brown skin was marked by a slash scar on her cheek. She’d grown tall and hip-heavy.

“Did you find those pants Zuze asked for? To replace the ones she lost in the last storm?” asked AJ of the group.

“Sure did. They should be ‘bout the right size,” replied the one they called Plug. He was white, on the shorter side, had a voice that was still trying to change into adult depth.

“No bullets to be found in the parish,” observed Lando, finishing his meal by wiping his finger over the plate. His curls were mixed with short braids, beads.

“Yeah, we knew that was a long shot, but worth the last look,” said AJ. He was going over his list of tasks in his head.

Lando continued, “The diesel tanker is still about half full, no one’s found that yet.”

“Good, we can fuel up the P&D in the morning, then get gone,” finished AJ. “Can’t wait to get back to the rig and sleep in my bed.”

“With someone special, you can say it,” teased Selene.

They all laughed.

“He coming to the rig?” asked Bennett, he’d been the quietest of them all. He pointed at Bucky with his eyes.

AJ nodded. “He’s clean, I’m sure of it.”

“So…what’s the rig?” Bucky finally managed to ask.

“Oil rig, about 2 hours ride off shore,” answered AJ. “Good plenty of us on it.”

“About 50 people,” filled in Lando.

“Your mom?” Bucky asked.

“And Cass. They’re both there, yeah.”

“How do you know…” Plug asked, gesturing with his fork, “how do you two know each other?”

“He’s my…well he’s my dad,” AJ said with a shrug. “Almost married to my mom. Step dad, I guess? Whatever.”

The others ooh’d softly. Bucky made a mental note for his diary.

“You remember me? I’m Selene.”

“Perry’s daughter. Of course I remember you.” Bucky took a pause to recall the niceties he was supposed to say. “You’ve grown up nicely, Selene. Your dad alright?”

She shook her head once, firmly. Bucky knew what that meant.

“You that Bucky that Missus Sarah’s always talkin’ about? The one from her Friday night stories?” asked Plug.

“I hope she doesn’t know more than one Bucky,” he replied, then asked his own question: “what are Friday night stories?”

“Mamma does story time for the younger kids on Fridays. Well, supposedly for the younger kids. Everyone comes though. She tells whatever story comes to mind. Sometimes it’s an old movie or TV show. Sometimes it is something you and Uncle Sam and all them got up to,” replied AJ with a pleasant smile. He’d turned from cute to handsome in the intervening years, his cheek held a dimple. He’d lost his glasses.

“We sure did get up to a lot,” Bucky said, looking at his plate.

“That shit all true?” asked Lando.

Bucky shrugged.

“You have the arm then?”

Bucky presented both his arms outstretched. All the teens reached out to grab his left forearm. They knew exactly what they were looking for.

“Holy shit,” said Lando.

Someone whistled through their teeth.

“Ain’t that something?” said Selene. “Just like I remember it.”

“Bet that makes short work of shamblers,” said Plug.

Bucky retracted his arm. “I don’t let them get close enough to gnaw on it. You all have a lot of trouble with them? I haven’t seen any since I crossed Lake Pontchartrain.”

“Here and there,” said AJ. “They rot pretty fast down in the swamp.”

“Yeah, mostly we worry about other people, they’re more dangerous,” said Selene.

“Always been so,” nodded Bucky in agreement.

“We avoid the gangs from the city that come down to raid,” added AJ. “There’s plenty to go around. No need to fight.”

“Well, there’s less to be shared every week,” warned Lando. “Fight might be coming.”

A concerned pause came over the group. It felt strangely familiar to Bucky, like hunger was at the door.

“I don’t know that Fife is gonna like him showing up, AJ,” said Selene. “You know how Fife is. Sonovabitch.”

“Yeah,” AJ sucked his teeth the way Sam used to. “Nothing he can do about it.”

“Who’s Fife?” asked Bucky.

“Oh, he’s the mayor. He’s been sweet on Missus Sarah from the day she pulled up to the rig with the P&D,” said Plug.

Bucky felt a jealous thrill race down the back of his arms. He narrowed his eyes slightly.

“Sweet huh?”

“Don’t worry ‘bout him. Mamma don’t care a whit about Fife. She told him so to his face, in front of everyone,” AJ kept his unconcerned grin.

They all laughed as if the shared memory was bright and defining in their united experience.

Bucky made himself lean back a little, pretending to relax. But he would have words with Fife. "Must have been quite a scene," he said with a grunt, as if he didn't care.

“Besides, Fife been sweet on every woman from 18 to 81 on the rig. He acts like being mayor gives him breeding rights or some shit,” added Lando. “He’s got two kids thus far, maybe more.”

“I had to threaten to stab him in the kidneys to get him to leave me alone,” said Selene with the kind of sneer that said she’d have made good on the threat.

“How’d Fife get to be mayor?” asked Bucky.

They all shrugged. “He was on the rig from the beginning. He knows how things work.”

“He don’t know as much as he wants you to think,” said Bennett.

“He likes to call himself mayor, but the council makes all the decisions,” offered AJ.

“The Council?”

“Yeah, Mamma, Titi Bee…” AJ trailed off.

“Mister Ezzie, Mister Lee…” added Lando.

“You’ll meet them all tomorrow,” AJ finished.

“Can’t wait.”

“But we should get some sleep,” AJ announced, triggering everyone to nod and set to their nighttime routine. Bucky let his mind wander amidst the pleasant, homely noises as they cleared the plates. It was such a contrast to the hell he’d been walking through. The nightmare was held back by their voices, by the flickering candles around the room, but it was still out there. The freshness of the threat and the vigilance it had forced upon him made sitting in this circle of light feel dangerous. He was still the Soldier, only now he was in the cage, waiting for the next assignment. He forced his breath to ease, focused on remembering the rooms here as they had been, where each piece of furniture had belonged. This was home, he reminded himself. It was changed, but still home.

“Come on,” AJ said, a soft touch on the shoulder nudged Bucky out of his haze. “Let’s get you a bunk.”

Bucky stood, collected Alpine and his few things, followed AJ up to the attic.

“You did a good job here, buddy, securing the place,” Bucky observed, trying to act as proud as he felt.

AJ shrugged, but Bucky could tell from his grin that the praise touched a nerve.

“Just did all the stuff you taught us, you know?”

“I’m sorry it came in so handy.”

“All happens for a reason,” AJ said with a philosophy beyond his years.

“You do a good job with your crew too,” Bucky continued. “That’s not easy.”

“Thanks. They’re good. Capable. Cass used to run with us, but we made a rule that no two family members could be on the same crew, just in case. You know?”

“Yeah, good rule.”

“Him and Mamma…man, when they see you,” AJ trailed off. The two of them stood staring at each other in the candle light. “We thought, well, no Mamma never thought you were dead. Not for one second. She would say you were lost somewhere. I guess she was right.”

Bucky didn’t trust himself to speak. He swallowed hard and nodded, dropped his head, exhaled hard.

“Sooner I get to bed, sooner I can get up.”

“Yeah, same. Night uh, night Dad.”

“Night, buddy.”

***

Night 33
AJ called me Dad.
Tomorrow I’ll see Sarah.
The rest of the world can fall to the bottom of the ocean for all I care.
I made it.