3. A Chance Encounter

                                    

                                          
The next morning is a perfect reminder that, sometimes, life is painful. It's that very pain that let Marshall know he was still alive and kicking. 
Zach had managed to scrounge up some blankets from the bedroom, and the two of them spent the night on the couch together. Exhaustion and grief made falling asleep easy, but waking up? That was a completely different beast entirely. 
Marshall’s whole side ached, his muscles sore and tender from his fall yesterday. It was bad enough that he had to deal with a gunshot wound to his shoulder, but hurting from simply walking? That feels like a karmic slap in the face. If he were a superstitious man, he’d think that something had it out for him, but… Maybe it’s the opposite. 
With Zach’s help, they changed out his dressings with a fresh set and fashioned a makeshift sling out of one of the blankets that they tore apart. It’s significantly more comfortable than using his belt had been. They also took the opportunity to peel back some of the coverings on the windows, letting the warm light of the sun spill into the inside of the RV. It gave Marshall the opportunity to dig through the old clothes left behind in one of the dressers, and he changed into an oversized Pink Floyd t-shirt that didn’t drag against his bandages. 
Zach had taken the initiative and started to stockpile some of the items still lying around the camper. He’d found a few leftover cans of food, a bottle of gatorade, and some other small items that could prove useful. You never say no to a lighter or spare batteries that haven’t gone bad. One thing that Marshall had set his eyes on was a notebook that he’d found in one of the kitchen drawers, but it’s turning out to be a lot more difficult to write in than he’d expected. Shit.
“Have I ever told you that I’m a lefty?” Marshall asks as he flicks his eyes up to Zach, tapping his pen against the table. His question catches the other man mid-bite, currently digging into a can of peaches.
“Uh,” Zach sets his spoon down, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, “No. But that’s cool, I guess?”
Marshall raises a brow, narrowing his eyes at the other man. He can’t be that dense, can he? 
“Zach,” He meets the other man’s gaze, and then pointedly glances down at his injured shoulder. His left shoulder.
Zach’s eyes widen almost comically once he finally makes the connection, “Oh shit, dude! I’m sorry. Do you, uh, d’you need help?”
Marshall laughs dryly before smirking at the other man, “I don’t think you can help me with this, bud.” He can’t remember when was the last time he tried to write with his non-dominant hand.  It feels odd. And embarrassing. “At least not right away. Just don’t judge me if this comes out like complete dog shit, yeah?”
Zach furrows his brows but nods, picking up his spoon full of peaches again, “Alright.” After taking a bite, he leans forward a bit to look over at the notebook, a question lighting up in his eyes. “What’re you doing, anyways?”
Marshall hums softly as he looks over his current sketch, “I’m trying to draw a map.” He points towards a very rough layout of the prison and its courtyard outlined in blue ink on the sheet of paper. “More specifically, I’m hoping that you might’ve seen something that I missed.”
Zach cocks his head a bit and scratches at the scruff growing on his chin, “What do you mean?”
“I didn’t really see where our people were positioned from up on the bridge.” Marshall taps the back of the pen onto the location of the skybridge before tapping the space representing the courtyard, “You were on the ground with the others. The bus would’ve had no option other than to go out the backroads, but we,” He pauses and scribbles a shaky ‘M Z’ onto the edge of the courtyard before drawing a line heading out towards the forest, “We went in this direction. What about the others though?” He looks up, trying to catch Zach’s gaze, “Did you see which way Daryl went?”