Chapter Text
Season one, Episode six
CHESS IS A VERY easygame to win when you're playing against yourself. That's what the apocalypse had taught Weston.
Growing up in a house of scientists, the boy had been raised to love puzzles and the age of eight years old, Weston found no greater joy than that of completing the sudoku's at the back of his fathers 'New York Times' or peering over his sisters shoulder as she tries to finish her homework, solving the equations in her algebra textbook.
But more than anything else, Weston loved chess. He was good at it too, once managing to win against his mother, head scientist at the Centre for Disease Control.
However, that was before the outbreak. Before the dead started to rise. Before Weston had been ripped away from the comfort of his home and moved into the small room in the darkest hallway of the CDC to allow his parents to continue their research.
Weston had no one to play chess with anymore.
Now the boy lay sprawled across his bed in his little dark room, the chess board set up neatly in front of him. Picking up the white king he slid it carefully along the checkered squares until it knocked the black king out of place. The wooden piece toppled backwards, falling from the top bunk and hitting the ground with a loud clatter that seemed to echo around the room.
Sitting up straight, Weston cracked his knuckles, peering over the edge of the bed. "Checkmate," he whispered under his breath.
He had won, again.
WHEN WESTON HAD FIRSTarrived at the CDC, it had been bustling with people. Most of which were draped in thick white lab coats, walking up and down the corridors with stacks of papers stuffed under their arms and a worried expression constantly scrawled across their faces'.
But now, as he made his way down the maze of hallways and tried to ignore the flickering of the lights above him, there was not another person in sight. The only sign of life that remained was the occasional overturned cabinet lying across the floor, papers spilling out from within.
Weston had grown tired of being confined to his room and decided instead to seek out his only other source of entertainment - his sister.
Before the outbreak, the pair had been reasonably close - at least as close as siblings with an eight year age gap could get. But after everything that had happened in the recent months, Weston had felt their relationship beginning to slip away.
Phoebe Jenner, having just turned sixteen, spent the majority of her time in an attempt to avoid the presents of her little brother. However despite her better efforts, Weston knew exactly where to find her.
Reaching the end of the corridor, the boy reached out his arm and shoved open the large wooden door of the storage closet. After a brief struggle, the door swung open on its hinges, hitting the back wall with a low crash.
Unsurprisingly to Weston, Phoebe sat in the far corner surrounded by piles of boxes, a sketchbook propped up on her lap. The boy hovered nervously in the doorway as he watched his sister glance up in confusion at the sudden noise. Once her eyes set on Weston, her eyebrows lowered as her face hardened.
"Hi," Weston smiled innocently despite her glare, swaying slightly as he stood.
Phoebe made an effort of unclenching her fists before she spoke, trying to control her anger. "Yes?" She looked at him expectantly, only to be met by his blank stare. "What do you want, West?"
Weston gave her a small shrug as if he hadn't given it much thought, which only seemed to infuriate her more. "Whatcha doin'?" He questioned, making his way further into the room, trying to peer over her shoulder and get a look inside her sketchbook.
Pulling the book tightly to her chest so the boy was unable to see, she rolled her eyes, holding up her pencil, "Take a guess."
"Can I draw with you? I've got nothin' to do?" Weston squeezed his palms together and held his hands under his chin as he tried to give her a pleading look.
Unfazed by his actions, Phoebe gave a firm shake of her head, "Nuh-uh. Last time you broke all my pencils."
"I won't do that again, I promise. Please?" His tone became more desperate than he had intended at the end, whining slightly.
"No, West. Go find dad or something."
"He got mad last time I interrupted his work," Weston sighed, "Besides he's no fun."
"Like father like son, I guess," Phoebe replied, clearly sick of him by now, "Seriously, I don't care what you do, just leave me alone."
Weston knew it was only a matter of seconds before she would physically shove him out into the hallway, and there was no way he could stand going back to his barren room. In a desperate attempt for her attention, his eyes fell on the sketchbook she was now waving around loosely in one hand as she spoke to him. Bingo.
Taking advantage of the fact Phoebe was distracted, he reached out his hand and in one swift moment, snatched the sketchbook from her.
As soon as the book was torn from her hand, Phoebe leapt to her feet, trying to catch hold of the boy as he darted for the door. She managed to grab a hold of the end of his hood, holding him in place for a split second before he wriggled free, sprinting down the corridor.
Letting out a loud grumble, she let her pencil fall to the floor and began to follow the boy, cursing under her breath.
His sister hot on his tail, Weston didn't let himself stop to look back as he ran past the white plaster walls and the dozens of identical navy doorways, clutching the sketchbook tightly to his chest. Knowing that running into a dead end could be fatal, he found himself headed for the large room filled with computer monitors where his father usually resided.
Sure enough, when Weston shoved open the large double doors and rushed into the almost overwhelming large, dome shaped room, he found his father sitting in the center. The man was slouched over his desk, his head in his hands and an almost empty bottle of wine situated rather evidently in front of him.
Today's research must've been just as unsuccessful as the rest. Edwin Jenners diligence to his work was beginning to burn out, and fast.
Seeing his fathers current state, Weston decided it would be best to leave him to his own devices for the time being, and he began to back away and out the door. That was until a harsh grip came down on the boy's shoulder from behind.
Instinctively Weston let out a yelp as he tried to squirm away, caching a glimpse of Phoebe, who must have managed to sneak up behind him. Nails digging into the boy's shirt, the girl attempted to hold her brother in place as she reached for the item in his hand. Managing to stretch forwards slightly, Weston began to drag the pair of them further into the center of the room, continuing to cry out.
Alarmed by the sudden commotion, Dr Jenner's head shot up, drawing himself from his thoughts as he took in the chaos before him.
"Daddy! Tell her to get off!" Weston cried out, turning to his father for help as he continued to try and pry himself free from Phoebe's grip.
"The little-" Phoebe paused and cleared her throat, "I mean Weston stole my book."
"Only 'cause she wouldn't let me draw!" He added defensively.
Phoebe was about to bring up what had happened the former time she had let her brother draw with her when her eyes fell on her fathers expression. He was swaying slightly as he stood, in much the same way Weston did, presumably a little tips. But what alarmed her was the emptiness in his eyes and the way his brow drooped. Something was wrong.
Not drawing her eyes away from her father, Phoebe let go of Westons sleeve, letting him dash away from her without hesitation. "Dad?" She asked cautiously, her fathers aloofness making her feel uneasy, "Everything okay?"
Dr Jenner swallowed slightly, preparing to reply. However before he got the chance a sharp ringing cut through the air, startling Weston. Footage from the security cameras at the front entrance of the building flashed up on the screen behind Dr Jenner, conveying the large stretch of land now littered with bodies surrounding the CDC.
Curious, Weston shoved passed his sister, pulling himself up at his fathers desk as he looked for the explanation to the ringing. His heart dropped once he saw it, huddled together and slowly making their way up to the entrance was a group of figures. They moved stealthy, with precision and Weston could tell instantly it wasn't the dead, it was real, living people.
The one that stood out to Weston was the man in front. He was dressed in some kind of sheriff's uniform, a cowboy hat sitting atop his head and a large duffle bag strewn over his shoulder. He looked like the kind of man Weston would expect to see in a movie, and from the way he was standing, he guessed he was the one in charge.
The others were all huddled behind the cowboy, glancing around nervously. Two of the figures were shorter than the rest - they were children, seemingly only a few years older than Weston . He felt a wave of excitement wash over him at the possibility of speaking to actual children again.
Dr Jenner, however, did not seem to match the same excitement as his son. His only course of action was to mutter a breathy, "No."
Confused, Weston glanced up at his father expectantly, "Dad, what are you doing? Open the doors."
Dr Jenner seemed to clench his jaw as he looked down at him, then began to slowly shake his head. Westons heart dropped as his father spoke, "They're better off somewhere else."
The cowboy on the screen was now running his hand along the shudders over the entrance, the people surrounding him now beginning to look panicked. They must've assumed the place had been abandoned, it sure looked like it was.
"What do you mean?" The boy could feel his voice cracking slightly in desperation, he could see the people on the screen were beginning to turn away, "We can let them stay here, we can help them!"
Dr Jenner's only response was to slowly shake his head again, not drawing his eyes away from the screen. Weston didn't understand why he wasn't letting them in, it was only the three of them here, and they had enough food and supplies for hundreds. Looking closer at his father he noticed a small shimmer of emotion behind his eyes, something he had never seen before. Weston knew his father well enough to know he was hiding something, but what? He had no idea.
Phoebe was standing a safe distance away from her brother and father, watching the screen nervously as she twirled a strand of her sandy blonde hair around her fingers, too distracted to notice the knot it was forming. She stayed quiet, it didn't matter to her father what she thought, she knew that.
The group was beginning to fan out, most heading back up the grounds, however the cowboy didn't move. He stayed frozen in place, seemingly staring directly into the camera. Then he stepped forwards, slamming his fist hard into the shutters, making Weston jump yet again. "I know you're in there, I know you can hear me," the voice came crackling in through the speakers.
Another man stepped forwards, trying to drag him away from the doors, ordering everyone else back. His voice was too muffled to make out what he was saying.
The cowboy however, was not giving up, continuing to yell up at the cameras. "Please, we're desperate. We have women, children, no food, hardly any gas left." The pounding on the door continued as the man grew more desperate, the rest of his people looking on in fear, "Keep your eyes open, if you don't let us in, you're killing us, please."
"Daddy please!" Weston began to plead with him, his heart sinking in his chest as he watched the people begin to step away, "Please…"
Looking directly into his son's watery eyes, Dr Jenner's face softened slightly, his jaw beginning to unclench. Both children watched in anticipation as his hand cautiously moved from his keyboard to the small white button that controlled the doors, his finger hesitating as he hovered over it.
Phoebe sucked in a sharp breath, her arms crossed tightly over her chest as her eyes flickered from the screen to the button.
Then, with a click so quiet Phoebe could barely hear it over her own breathing, Dr Jenner pressed the button. After a seconds delay, the shudders on the screen began to shoot upwards, drowning the figures in a display of blazing white lights.
