this is where it splits in half honey, love or death (grab an end, pull hard and make a wish) [3/12]
“Why didn't you ask for your weapon?” Jongdae finally questions Jongin, a few hours later, as they walk through what might be the next-to-last night before they reach Jongin's meeting spot on the map.
Jongin glances at him, shrugging. He's been exceptionally calm since they left the house earlier, too focused on his long strides to care about sleeping flowers or constellations tonight. Jongdae can make him out fidgeting with his fingers in the dark. He knows Jongin is wondering about what he'll find when they'll reach their goal, or rather, what he won't.
“I mean, after the attack the other day and the river thing, I was kind of expecting you to ask me,” Jongdae goes on. “I could have easily died that day, and you would have been left weaponless.”
“You didn't die though.”
“I could have,” Jongdae insists. “And I could die tonight.”
Jongin sighs. “Then I would have stolen the weapons to your dead body.”
Jongdae grabs Jongin's arm, forcing him to come to an halt. He's spent enough time with the younger boy to know when he's serious or not, and he really doesn't like his tone right now. Jongin is probably rolling his eyes, taking advantage of the darkness around them to let his annoyance show, and Jongdae wants to take him by the shoulders and shake him as hard as he can.
“Don't talk to me like I'm the overprotecting mother and you're the jaded teen, Jongin.”
Jongin blinks at him, the start of a pout curling his plump lips, but Jongdae doesn't let him go. He's not sure, with all those shadows taking over Jongin's face to the point that Jongdae can't even make out his lashes, but he thinks the younger male is embarrassed, and it leaves him confused.
“I didn't want you to feel uncomfortable,” Jongin finally confesses, in a whisper-like voice.
“What are you talking about?”
There are no doubts left now, because Jongin is drawing on the concrete with the tip of his shoes, white canines flashing in the dark as he bites on his lower lip, eyes lowered to have a conversation with his shoelaces. He is indeed embarrassed, and once again, Jongdae finds himself utterly lost. Not only because he's not sure why Jongin is acting like that, but because embarrassment kind of died with eighty percent of the population a year ago. Jongin is digging in the human kind's grave, and bringing back to life dead feelings, like kindness and care and embarrassment. No matter how nice they were though, it still makes them zombie feelings, in a way. And zombies are very scary and dangerous.
“What the fuck, Jongin,” Jongdae hisses, suddenly annoyed.
Jongin glares at him.
“You were the one acting like standing too close to me would kill you,” he snaps back. “You took my knife because you didn't feel safe with me around, and I wasn't sure you trusted me, so I didn't ask.”
Jongdae stares, mouth agape.
“Jongin,” he says, astonished. “A weapon can make the difference between life and death, and you didn't ask me yours back because you didn't want to hurt my feelings?”
Jongin pulls his arm away, then chasing Jongdae's hand with a dismissive gesture of his. His breath hits Jongdae's nostrils with hints of cherries, fresh on Jongdae's sweat covered face.
“Yeah, laugh all you want,” Jongin snarls. “But I didn't want to give you any reasons to leave me, okay? I've never been alone, and it scared the living daylights out of me!”
Jongdae makes a face, pressing his hand on Jongin's mouth before looking over his shoulder to scrutinize the forest's border. Jongin tenses under his fingers and he pulls away to check his own side of the road, breath catching in the back of his throat. Jongdae closes his eyes, not letting the frightening shadows he thinks he can make out in the night scare him, to focus only on the sounds around them. Aside from the few usual sounds, like crickets singing their very special songs or a few bats flapping their wings, nothing breaks the silence. Jongdae waits until the echo of Jongin's loud voice he keeps hearing in his mind lessens to something more like a whisper, something less dangerous, to open his eyes again.
Jongin is already watching him, stars reflecting in the water now flooding his eyes.
“I'm gonna take you back to your friends,” Jongdae whispers, his fingers grazing Jongin's arms.
Jongin sniffs. Jongdae looks away, pretending not to see when Jongin grabs the hem of his shirt to wipe his nose.
“You could stay with us,” Jongin mumbles, his voice sounding even more nasal now that it has lowered to cracking and shaking levels. “You could stay with me.”
Jongdae opens his mouth to answer, still not sure what words will go past his lips, but something takes over the night before his voice. He freezes. It's a low rumbling, still distant and faint, but it clashes violently against the more natural sounds around them. Jongin gasps, tensing under Jongdae's fingers for the second time in less than five minutes, and that's the only confirmation Jongdae needed that he hasn't dreamed the sound.
“Is it--”
“We need to hide,” Jongdae cuts him, urging. Because yeah, it is.
He closes his fingers around Jongin's wrist and drags him on the side of the road. He palms the younger boy in the dark, fingers running up his arm to finally curl around his nape in less than a second, and he applies pressure on it, as strong as he can. Jongin may be taller than him, it doesn't take a lot to make him bend then finally lie down in the wet grass. Jongdae follows suit, heart beating in his eardrums. No one has cut the grass in over a year, which make it high enough to hide both of them, and for once, Jongdae's pretty grateful for the thick darkness around them. It doesn't mean the fear leaves him, it's quite the opposite actually. It breaks all over his skin in a cold sweat that has him shivering. The sound is getting louder, more overwhelming in the night, soon enough blocking Jongdae and Jongin from hearing crickets or bats. Every second, Jongdae thinks it can't possibly get louder, only to be proven wrong the following second. Has it always been like that? Were screeches of tires always that scary? Jongdae can't remember, but he wishes it was the last time hearing them.
He's just shoved his fingers in his ears when dazzling light rains on them, so bright that it erases the outlines of the numerous blades of grass around them. Jongdae faintly hears Jongin yelping like a wounded puppy, and he pulls one of his fingers out of his ears to reach and grab the younger boy's hand. Jongin immediately clings to it.
The car is way too fast for Jongdae to make out the color, but he imagines it black, like the night. Perfect for a beast that would hide in the shadows only to jump on its preys when they're the most vulnerable. It roars when it goes before them, and screeches when it negotiates the bend down the road, strong, loud and so metallic in a world only made of green foliage. Jongdae waits until he can hear himself breath again to pull his second finger out of his ear. Fortunately, the car drives away as fast as it has reached them, and Jongin finally breathes out when they hear a frog croaks on the other side of the road.
“Get up,” Jongdae urges him, already shifting on his knees, the smell of grass flooding his nose. “We need to leave, now. The car could have woken up a nest.”
Jongin throws a worried glance over his shoulder, getting back on his feet as fast as he can to immediately step away from the forest. Jongdae helps him, fingers closing around Jongin's forearm to lead him back on the road.
“We need to be careful,” Jongdae says. “It could be a settled group food hunting, they might be back later.”
He has a lump in his throat, the possibility of a group living close much more frightening that the dozens of sleeping nests they most surely walk by every night. Jongdae draws out his machete from his belt, and starts walking again with much longer strides. Jongin follows him.
“What?” he asks Jongdae, a little confused. “What makes you so nervous? They might not be as bad as you think. Maybe they'd even drive us to the city if we asked them.”
Jongdae snorts.
“Look, I don't know about your people, Jongin, I don't know if they are as different as you state they are, but trust me when I say that you should be more scared of Immune than Infected.”
“Infected eat people,” Jongin mumbles. “I think that's pretty scary already.”
“But they have rules. They're like animals, working on instinct and incapable of smart reasoning. You heard them by the river, they didn't even hesitate. It makes them easier to avoid, and more predictable. I saw some Immune do things far worse than eating people, Jongin.”
Jongin keeps quiet for a while, and Jongdae wishes he didn't. His mind can't stop replaying the scene of the car driving past them, in a desperate need for a detail that would help ease the tension. Luhan's gang had a car as well, and it's not like Jongdae can't easily dismiss the thought, because he knows Luhan. Jongdae stayed with his gang for two weeks, and it was more than enough to know what kind of sick man Luhan is. After what Jongdae has done to them, he expects Luhan to try and find him by all available means, and going back and forth across the whole country by car is just one of them. Jongdae's not naive enough to think that Luhan died in the attack, nor that he will give up on Jongdae at some point. Leaving the country really is his best option, and he'll head straight to Russia once Jongin will be reunited with his friends. Maybe he'll find himself a car, even though he doesn't like how loud they are. Cars are like any sort of technology in the current world: they make one feel powerful but they mostly don't fit in this new era anymore, and often result in having their owner killed. It would only be a temporary solution though, and--
“You're not though,” Jongin mutters, pulling Jongdae out of his reverie.
“I'm not what?”
“You're not a bad person.”
“I sleep with people to gain their trust, and I steal their food and weapons when they're asleep,” Jongdae snorts. “I'm pretty sure it's not in the definition of goodness.”
Jongin stares at him, and Jongdae realises with a sudden jump of his heart that he's never mentionned any of this to Jongin before. He's said it before though, he was nothing more than a barman in a fancy hotel when the apocalypse fell on them. Whatever made twenty percent of the population immune was in his DNA though, and Jongdae didn't fancy the idea of letting it all go to waste, so he did the best he could with what he had.
He looks away, speeding up slightly, but Jongin follows the new pace easily with his long legs. They walk in silence for a few moments with Jongdae glancing over his shoulder every two minutes. He'd hear the car if it came back, but checking helps him keep the anxiety at bay. He'd never thought that the sight of the road swallowed by darkness behind him would relax him, but it does, so Jongdae keeps watching.
“It's not worse than eating people alive,” Jongin says.
Jongdae quirks an eyebrow at Jongin, taking it the way the latter is watching him, careful but determined.
“Jongin,” he sighs.
“If eating people is the line,” Jongin continues, ignoring him. “Then you're not on the wrong side of it.”
“I've just told you that I leave people weaponless and foodless. Of course I'm on the bad side. What do you think happened to most of them?”
Jongin shakes his head, nose scrunched up as he flashes all his stubborness and determination at Jongdae. He's never looked more like a teenager than now, but Jongdae sees his boyish demeanor for what it really is now, namely some kind of twisted defence against the current state of the world. It's more dangerous than helpful, but Jongdae decides that they've had their amount of fear for the night, and instead of scowling Jongin and rambling about what he's done to Luhan, and what might have possibily led to Jongin's group being attacked, he wraps his arm around Jongin's figure and squeezes lightly his elbow.
“You wouldn't want me in your group, Jonginnie, trust me,” Jongdae says in a voice he hopes is conclusive enough. And for a few seconds, that's what his last remark earns him: the end of their conversation. It doesn't last long, though.
“But I do,” Jongin mumbles, so low that Jongdae can easily dismiss it and pretend he didn't hear it.
Jongin checks the road behind them for Jongdae, pulling away fom the latter's hold only to take his hand after, and Jongdae indulges him.
They keep quiet all night, walking as fast as they can, so much that they're actually running when they reach their next shelter (an old barn). The car doesn't drive by them again, and Jongin doesn't ask Jongdae to stay with him again. All is good.
Jongdae tightens his hold on Jongin's wrist, tensing his muscles to try and hold back the younger male. Jongin shoots him a glare, but he still crouches down, going back to only glancing over the huge stone they're hiding behind. They've reached their destination, and are now watching Jongin's meeting spot, which is an old-looking warehouse standing proudly at the border of a small town. They still have a couple of hours of night left, but Jongdae has been taking extra precautions since the car incident, just to make sure they don't get surprised by some malevolant Immune. Hence their hiding spot behind the stone, at the forest's border, where there are enough trees to catch the light coming from the round and bright moon, instead of it reaching Jongdae and Jongin. Discretion is obviously not Jongin's priority now, because he keeps fidgeting, jumping back on his feet to try and run to the warehouse, despite Jongdae's numerous groans and scowls.
“Jongin,” Jongdae hisses, grabbing Jongin's belt and pushing him down.
Jongin lets out a frustrated sound, and Jongdae pinches his arm to shut him down. Jongin starts sulking, crossing his arms over his chest.
“We're safer here,” Jongdae repeats for what might be the fifteenth time since they got here. “We'll see your group if they're here, but if we go inside that warehouse, we'll be vulnerable. No one can surprise us here.”
“Maybe they're inside already,” Jongin protests.
“There's not a sound, Jongin.”
Jongin glares at him and shifts back on his knees, grabbing the top of the rock to glance at the building a few meters away. He probably rules in Jongdae's favor, because he finally sits down again, worried eyes scanning Jongdae's face.
“They're probably late,” Jongdae hesitates. “We walked pretty fast, and groups are always slower. They'll get here eventually, and we'll be right there, okay?”
Jongin narrows his eyes at Jongdae, but if he understands that Jongdae doesn't believe a word he's just said, he doesn't show it. Instead, he deflates, throwing a sad look at the warehouse, his long fingers clenching on the fabric stretched over his knees.
“So what?” he finally asks. “We're just going to wait here?”
Jongdae nods.
“Exactly,” he confirms.
“But what if they're still not here at sunrise?”
“We'll hide in the warehouse then. Even Immune who think they own the world avoid travelling by day, so I reckon we'll be safe. And then we'll come back here.”
Jongin slowly nods, as if weighing Jondgae's words. The latter though, is planning a very different version of the future events in his head, trying to decide how he'll tell Jongin that his group has probably been slaughtered back into the forest. He could tell Jongin right away, and it would give him a precious time to start his retreat towards Russia, but something in the way Jongin keeps glancing at the warehouse stops him. He supposes waiting a couple of days wouldn't be so bad, and it will give him some time to think about what he'll do with Jongin if no one shows up. Let him tag along? Jongdae can't really abandon him there, but taking Jongin with him... It's too dangerous. He's not running away from Luhan to get himself killed so stupidly.
“They can't be all dead, right?” Jongin asks-no begs as he bites his lips. “I mean, I managed to get out... I know some of them must have died but...”
Jongin's voice cracks, and he lowers his face.
“We were fourteen,” he whimpers.
“Let's wait,” Jongdae intervenes. Jongin shoots him a glance from under his long hair, surprisingly shiny despite their lack of hygiene, eyes watering. “We'll take a decision in a couple of days, okay?”
Jongin nods, sniffing and wiping his nose with the back of his hand. Jongdae hates himself for the glint of hope he sees all over Jongin's retinas, but he's so relieved at the same time that Jongin hasn't started crying. He scoots closer to Jongin and wraps an arm around his shoulders. Jongin immediately leans into the touch, looking so small and so fragile. Jongdae doesn't know the rest of Jongin's group, but he's spent a week with Jongin, and he knows how fast the latter is. He wasn't surprised to find out Jongin was a dancer before, because it shows in the slightest gesture, and it's probably what saved him, that day in the forest. He had been quick to react, and even quicker to flee, and the Infected were too caught up in the bloodbath to notice that one of their preys got out. Thirteen is a lot. With a smaller group, with only three or four Immune, the Infected would have seen Jongin running away, and they wouldn't have let him go so easily.
In a way, Jongin has been right all this time. Staying with a large number of people can save your life, but not exactly in the way he meant it.
“It's full of food,” Jongin whispers, jerking Jongdae out of his thoughts.
“Uh?”
“The warehouse. It's full of food. We restocked when we came here the first time, but there was so much food we couldn't take it all. Seulgi said,” Jongin winces, “that a group probably made the warehouse into their headquarters, and then left. Or got killed.”
Jongdae glances at the warehouse. They'll probably find a bag for Jongin inside, and then they'll be able to pack more food. His mouth waters at the products he imagines lying inside the building, sweets, candies, savory snacks, and even, why not, some dried fish. Dried meat. Ramen cups. Jongdae would give his everything for a cup of tea. He freezes. What if they find some coffee beans?
Jongdae's stomach grumbles, and he makes a face, flashing an apologetic smile at Jongin, who seems quite amused.
“I'll cook you something, if you want,” Jongin says.
“It's a deal,” Jongdae grins.
Jongin chuckles lowly, huddling even closer to Jongdae until he can press his temple against Jongdae's shoulder. Jongdae tries to come up with a new topic to keep Jongin's mind away from the high possibility of his friends being dead, but his brain blanks out as Jongin's wordlessly picks blades of grass here and there around them. It's been so long since the last time he got a conversation that didn't revolve around death or the Infected, or anything end of the world related.
“I miss fried chicken the most,” Jongin finally sighs. “Honey chicken...”
Jongdae groans.
“Tteokbokki,” he adds, and Jongin licks his lips.
“Bulgogi, bibimbap.”
“Mmmh, fried rice,” Jongdae moans. “Japchae.”
Jongin sighs longingly as he lets himself fall against the stone. Jongdae watches him with a smile.
“Galbijim,” they both say in unison.
Jongin half groans half laughs as he burries his face in his hands, and Jongdae cackles when his stomach decides to join. He's missed it, somehow. Talking, laughing, living. It'll probably be easier not to forget everything again if he brings Jongin with him, and Jongdae wants to believe he can face the risks, that he's smart enough to thwart them. He'll probably regret it but for now, all he wants to do is compare Jongin's mother's recipes of kimbap with his own.
“If I remember correctly, there are some sleeping bags over there,” Jongin says, pointing at the right side of the warehouse.
Jongdae squints at the said spot, and indeed makes out a few sheets crumbled on the floor, in the middle of what looks like a room whose walls consists of a few high metallic shelves. He glances around them for the second time, taken aback by the vastness of the warehouse, and by the abundance of food. There must be over a hundred of shelves, all of them cleanly lined up in long corridors with no ends. Despite the first few rays of sunshine grazing the tiny windows perched at the top of huge walls, the back of the warehouse is still swallowed by lingering shadows. Jongdae swallows down, the mix of the amount of food around him with the nerve-wracking interior of the warehouse leaves him confused, fidgeting. He's not sure if he should freak out or cry out of joy.
“Hyung?”
Jongdae looks away from the hypnotizing darkness at the end of the corridor before him, and turns towards Jongin.
“Uh, yeah, sorry I was just... This place is kinda scary.”
Jongin chuckles, the sound rasping in the silence, echoing agaisnt the shelves, and Jongdae shudders.
“Yeah, I was scared the first time too, but we stayed there like three days and nothing happened. Now it feels like home, sort of.”
Oh, Jongin, Jongdae thinks. There are no homes anymore. There can't be. Jongdae glances at the shelves again and sighs.
“Okay,” he says. “Just go over there and try to find yourself a bag. We'll stuff it with food.”
Jongin nods. “What about you?”
Jongdae hesitates, throwing a look over his shoulder.
“I'm going to explore, I guess?”
Jongin smiles and nods for the second time, before turning over and heading to the sheets. His gait is as dancing and light as it always is, but there's something different this time, in the way he sways his arms on his sides or lets his head bob right to left along with his strides. Jongdae almost expects him to start humming, as he winces everytime Jongin's soles clash against the ground, the sound amplified by the emptiness around them. Jongin's lack of caution and how easy he looks only makes Jongdae more nervous. He watches the younger male slip between two shelves and start ruffling through the stuff left there by a previous group. It's okay, Jongdae chants in his mind. But he can't help the bad feeling from boiling, bitter and burning, in the pit of his stomach.
He sighs and turns over, facing the corridors again. Out there, the sun is rising, slowly but surely, and the shy rays, that were blocked by the thick layer of dust gathered on the windows, are now turning into more powerful and overwhelming explosions of light. It's actually beautiful, how the sunlight is cascading from the windows. The borders between light and darkness are precise, neat. There is no merging in, no in between, only darkness, and light. It's the perfect cohabitation between the two opposites.
Jongdae sighs, drawing out his machete from his belt. Its handle used to leave nasty blisters in his palm, but his fingers now curl around it instinctively, molding the curves.
“Let's go,” Jongdae whispers for himself, and after one last glance at Jongin still ruffling through the pile of clothes and random material, he walks straight into the first corridor.
The warehouse appears even bigger from between the shelves, so high that they block the sight on the building's walls, but Jongdae stays calm and focused. He checks his watch when he takes his first step, and checks it again when he reaches the end of that first corridor. He goggles at the numbers, and does the maths. He took him seven minutes to get there, and he wasn't exactly walking slowly. Thanks to the emptiness above his head though, he can still hear Jongin at the other side of the warehouse, and from the noises Jongdae's catching, the younger male has started collecting some food-cans are clicking, sharp in the silence. Jongdae decides it's best not to scream Jongin's name, day or not, anything can still hear them, and he finally decides to take a closer look at the goods around him.
“Oh,” he hums in surprise when he catches sight of the packets on the closer shelf. He hesitates, and puts his machete back in his belt, the familiar weight feeling so comforting against his hipbone.
Jongdae walks to the shelf, drowned in sunlight from a tiny missing part of the roof far above his head, and grabs the bag of fortune cookies. Mouth watering, he glances at the dozens of similar packets, and decides that eating one or two right now won't kill. He opens the bag, salivary glands already celebrating, and takes a cookie that he breaks in two. He pulls out the message, and immediately shoves the first half in his mouth. It doesn't taste bad, not at all, and the hint of vanilla explodes in Jongdae's mouth, divine and so so delicious. Jongdae hums in pleasure, probably not chewing enough before he swallows it, and stuffs the other half in his mouth. It's only then that he draws back his attention on the message still folded between his fingers. He unfolds it, licking his lips, and srunches up his nose at the Chinese characters. He actually knows a little bit of Mandarin, but mostly pinyin and oral Mandarin. For the characters, though... He hesitates. Isn't that one love? Jongdae snorts.
He shoves the opened bag of cookies into his bag, and takes a couple more. Now that the food has picked his interest, Jongdae takes a few steps along the lines of cookie bags to check what the next good is. He feels the corners of his lips curving into a smile when he comes face to face with a few bags of cashew nuts.
“Great,” he mutters as he reaches out.
His mind doesn't process what happens next right away. The moment his fingers are about to close on the bag, said bag slips out of his reach, showing the corridor behind the shelf. Except that instead of the square of darkness Jongdae should be seeing right now, there's a face attached to a body whose hands are tightly secured around the bag of nuts.
Jongdae gasps, heart jumping straight into his throat, and the stranger smiles, his black eyes flashing mischief at Jongdae. It's a man, looking about Jongdae's age, but much more taller, if the way he's bending down to look through the hole when Jongdae is standing straight is any indication. The quiet mirth in his pupils softens the coldness of his features. He has thin eyebrows, sharp and mimicking anger, as if the man was frowning at Jongdae, but the smile threatening to take over his face does a much better work at showcasing the stranger's expressions. Jongdae spots freckles splattered here and there on the bridge of his nose and his cheekbones, freckles that Jongdae supposes are sun-induced since the delicate skin on the tip of the man's nose looks like it's been burnt from too long exposure to the sun. Except that it can't be, because no one stays in broad daylight now, it's too dangerous, suicidal even, but from how tanned the man is, Jongdae can only guess that he doesn't play by the rules.
It's enough to bring Jongdae back from his surprise, and he steps back, hands flying to his belt and closing around his machete.
“Who the fuck are you?” he snaps coldly.
The man's eyes lower to the blade between Jongdae's fingers, but he looks merely amused, and Jongdae takes another step back.
There's a loud sound at the entrance of the warehouse, cans and shelves falling to the ground, and Jondgae startles, breath caught in the back of his throat. Before he can even start worrying though, Jongin's voice lashes the air, powerful and more terrified that Jongdae has ever heard it.
“JONGDAE!”
Adrenaline fills Jongdae's vision. He puts back his bag on his shoulders, and dashes towards Jongin, boosted by liquid fear. He hears some ruffling behind his back, and he looks over his shoulders, half expecting the stranger to be running after him. He catches sight of him up in the air though, and it takes Jongdae a few blinks to realize that the boy is climbing up a rope, his long legs blocking it between his thighs and leather mittens protecting his palms from the harsh feeling of the rope against his skin. The rope is leading him straight to the roof, where that tiny piece of roof is missing, and Jongdae wants to punch himself for not noticing the rope before. He throws one last anxious look at the large bow secured around the man's torso before drawing back his attention on the corridor, the end of it only a few meters ahead.
One thing at a time, and right now the priority is Jongin, so when Jongdae finally barges into the entrance hall of the warehouse, he doesn't waste any time gasping at the Infected, instead focusing on trying to find Jongin. He finds him at the top of a shelf, trying to kick the bony arms stretched up towards his ankles, with terrified eyes. Jongdae stops dead in his tracks, trying to count how many Infected there are, but they're moving too fast, their gestures hysterical and bestial. They're all gathered at the feet of the shelf, groaning and flashing their rotted teeth at Jongin, walking on each other to try and reach their prey. Jongin whimpers when scrawny fingers graze his ankle.
Jongdae retreats back into the corridor, crouching down to peek at the Infected. His heart is beating so fast against his temples, he blocks most of the inhuman screams the Infected are letting out. He reaches inside his bag with shaking fingers, and grabs one of the sockets, immediately pulling out the tube of blood. From what he's seeing, Jongin isn't bleeding, he must have climbed up the shelf before he got hurt, and if Jongdae's plan ends up working, this is what will save them.
The muscles in his arm tense as Jongdae clenches his jaws, gathering as much strength as he can. He throws the tube on the other side of the hall, as far as he can, and hears it blowing up to pieces against the floor. The Infected's reactions are immediate. They turn around, and run to the blood splattered on the ground, forgetting all about Jongin, and not noticing Jongdae still hidden in the darkness of his shelves. He watches them run past him, some of them with erratic strides and other reduced to the state of animals as they walk on all fours, faster than any dog Jongdae's ever seen. Most of them are topless, their pants or shorts in such a badly state that they appear naked, but they're all covered in dust and dirt, and it's sticking to them like a second skin. Some of them are wounded, large cuts opened on red and bones, but none of them are bleeding. Infected don't bleed, their blood is too thick for that, and since the wounds don't really close, pus is turning them green.
Jongdae waits until they ran past him to jump out of his hiding spot and sprint towards Jongin.
“Hyung,” the latter says in relief when he sees him, his voice cracking and shaking.
“Down, down down,” Jongdae hurries him with jerky gestures. He glances at the Infected over his shoulders, body tingling with adrenaline, urging him to get the fuck out of here now. “Jongin,” he moans in a whisper, begging the younger boy to come down faster.
He jumps when Jongin is within his reach, and grabs him by the belt, almost making him fall on the ground, but they have to hurry. He helps Jongin getting back up on his feet and pushes him towards the doors. A ear-splitting shout echoes behind them, and Jongdae freezes, turning around to see the group of Infected, gathered around the few drops of blood on the floor. One of them is standing tall, the others furiously licking the floor. Jongdae even spots what used to be a woman on all fours on the back of two Infected, literally tearing their hair out to try and force them to let her some room. Jongin whimpers next to him, but Jongdae can't really blame him, because the man standing on his feet is looking at them, the last pieces of his humanity forgotten in the furious and carnivorous expression he's now sporting. He's looking at them like he knows that the blood at his feet is a trap, like he knows who to blame for that.
Jongdae steps back when the Infected flashes his teeth at him, and he feels his own courage dissolve when he notices the piece of meat stuck between the Infected's front teeth. Human meat.
“Run,” Jongdae whispers, keeping the eye contact with what looks like the alpha of the pack. “Jongin, run.”
Jongin moans, terrified, but he stars running right away, heading towards the doors. Jongdae turns on his heels to follow suit, but another stridulent scream stabs his eardrums. He keens, shrinking on himself, and tries to speed up, well aware that the Infected has probably thrown his 'friends' at him. Jongin runs past the doors before him, and they slam, flashing a strap of daylight every two seconds. Jongdae is close, so close that when he reaches out, he's sure his palm will crash against the doors and open them. But he never reaches the door.
A hand grabs his bag and pulls him backwards with so much strength that Jongdae's feet leave the floor for a moment, and he watches, horrified, the doors getting farther away as the world freezes around him. He sees his fingers open and close around nothing, and oh how he wishes there was a doorknob under his fingers. He hopes Jongin is far already.
By chance, the Infected keeps his hand clenched around his bag, even when Jongdae lands abruptly on the concrete, his bones cracking and body seized by pain. He whines loudly, fighting off the darkness he feels lurking around the edges of his vision. Now's not the time to faint. He wiggles, tries to look behind him as the Infected lugs him, and panics when he catches sight of all the Infected gathered at the feet of the alpha one, licking their chapped lips looking at him.
Jongdae squirms, raising his arms over his head, and slips out of his bag straps. He hurries to get back on his feet, and rushes to the doors, leaving his precious backpack behind. But at least, he's alive.
The light on the other side blinds him, and Jongdae winces, instinctively raising his arms to shield himself from the brightness. He hears the doors fly open behind him and speeds up, needles of sunlight stabbing him in the eyes. When colors finally get back to their usual spot, and he can finally see where's he's running, he's meet by the sight of Jongin running towards him. The latter must have turned back when he noticed Jongdae wasn't following him.
“What the fuck are you doing? Run!" Jongdae screams, and the air leaves in lungs in angry intonations.
Jongin skids, and throws his body in the opposite direction before it even comes to an halt. His long legs eat the meters easily, but Jongdae doesn't lag behind. The sounds coming from behind him are more than enough to pump more adrenaline through his veins, and he finally catches Jongin. The latter throws a look over his shoulder, and dread takes over his eyes. Jongdae doesn't need to look to know that the Infected are getting closer. They're fast, much faster than they are as plain human beings. Jongdae doesn't have any tube of blood on himself anymore, but even if he had, he's pretty sure it wouldn't work. The Infected are too close, their instincts directed straight at them. If Jongdae and Jongin want to survive, they'll have to play it smart. In the end, it's all about quick decisions.
Jongdae grabs Jongin's wrist and forces him to follow his brutal change of direction. Their speed throws them both against the high wooden fence that surrounds a house, and the impact has Jongdae moaning with pain. Adrenaline is drowning the aftermath of his fall in the warehouse, but he knows the pain will catch up sooner or later. He'd rather be out of the Infected's reach when it will, because he's pretty sure he sprained his shoulder and maybe cracked one or two ribs.
“Hyung,” Jongin pants next to him.
Jongdae nods, stopping Jongin from asking and losing too much precious air. One quick glance over his shoulder tells him that the tiny lead they got from their sudden change of direction is lessening considerably now that they're back running in a straight line. Even hiding in a house wouldn't save them now, the Infected are close, so close...
Jongdae gasps, and Jongin looks at him with hope glowing in his eyes. The houses!
“We need to--” Jongdae winces, trying to breath in more air than what he breathes out, in vain. “The roofs...”
Jongin's eyes shot open-wide and he nods before glancing around. He speeds up, head lowered as his body rips through the air, and Jongdae watches him jumping over a smaller fence and heading for the back's porch of the house. He understands when his eyes catches sight of the eaves casting shadows over the tiny patio, and follows Jongin, jumping over the fence as well. He hears the Infected scream in frustration as they run past the fence, unable to slow down enough to turn.
“Imma give you a leg up,” Jongin tells him, breathless and urging. “I'm taller, and you'll help me climb up, okay?”
Jongdae furiously nods, unable to talk right away, and without further delay, he puts his foot on Jongin's linked hands. The latter pushes him up with so much strength that Jongdae almost loses his balance, taken aback. He manages to block his grip on the eaves with his elbows though, and yells in pain when fire explodes in his shoulders. The Infected's screams are coming back to them, and it's enough to make him forget everything about the pain now shooting through his whole arm. He hauls himself on the eaves and lies down on his stomach, streching both of his arms over the edge. Jongin jumps and wraps his fingers around Jongdae's wrists, and the pain is back, stronger. Jongdae immediately starts weeping as he tries to pull Jongin up, but the latter's feet remain glued to the floor.
“Hyung, hyung, hyung,” Jongin begs him, terrified.
“I know, I'm sorry, just... Jump Jongin and I'll catch you,” Jongdae sobs.
He crawls closer to the edge of the eaves and let the upper half of his torso dangle, spreading his fingers to try and have a better grip on Jongin. The latter throws a frightened look at the Infected now jumping over the fence, and looks up at Jongdae, pleading.
“JUMP JONGIN,” Jongdae roars, bracing himself for the next wave of pain.
Jongin jumps and they both scream when Jongdae's hands close around Jongin's forearm.
“Hyung please, please,” Jongin starts crying.
The eaves consist of a large slab of plastic screwed up to two poles, so Jondgae can easily looks down, and when he does, he gags at the sight.
The Infected have reached Jongin, and they're all gathered around his dangling legs, and they're bitting his calves, scratching his legs, almost purring at the blood dripping on their faces.
Jongdae closes his eyes and bites his lips as he forces on his arms, tries to haul Jongin up on the eaves. He feels his mind teetering dangerously on insanity as both pain and horror flood him, but he doesn't let go. They're grabbing Jongin, trying to pull him down, but Jongin is kicking them as hard as he can, and it looks like it's working. Relief washes over him, and Jongdae allows himself another sob as he tightens his grip on Jongin's arms.
That's when Jongdae's hears it. In the middle of the groans, Jongin's sobs and all that commotion, he hears it. He opens his eyes, frozen, and looks over at the right pole. The plastic is cracking, threatening to break at any moment. It's too thin, too fragile, Jongdae understands. It will never support both his and Jongin's weights.
The world has come down to quick decisions. It doesn't even take Jongdae a second to realise that the familiar weight against his hipbone has disappeared, and to understand that his gun might have flew out of his belt when he fell in the warehouse. He knows he can't fight off eight Infected alone with his machete. He knows the plastic roof won't support his and Jongin's weights.
He lets go of Jongin's hands.
The latter falls with a terrified holler, the sound of his landing muffled by the biting noises, the groans, the jaws clicking, but Jongin, Jongin keeps screaming. Jongdae curls up on the eaves, weeping as he presses his palms over his ears, but he still hears it. The precise moment Jongin's screams drop an octave lower as if they were muffled, or yelled from under the water, more gurgles than screams. The smell of blood floods the air around him, invades Jongdae's mouth, so strong, so ferrous, and Jongin's voice dies down, leaves place to the bones cracking. Jongdae recognizes the thick sounds of blood being splattered, and he throws up, bile burning the back of his throat.
The plastic cracks again, dangerously grating as something hits the pole, and the impact has the makeshift eaves shaking. Jongdae gasps, pressing his palms on the plastic as if it could stop it from yielding, the gesture shooting a weak shot of adrenaline in his arm in a poor attempt to lessen the burning pain. The sun is shining bright above Jongdae's head, warmth already catching him, and it has all his instincts on red alert. He needs to get out of here before more Infected join those under him. Without his bag and his gun, and he can't expect to live through the day if he doesn't take any precautions.
He bites his lips and shifts on all fours, wincing when the plastic cracks louder, but refuses to glance down to look for any cracks. His whole body shaking, Jondgae slowly stands up, arms stretched on his side for balance. He considers the roof for a short second and hauls himself on it, muffling his sobs by biting harshly on the collar of his shirt. It's only then that he realises that he partly threw up on himself.
He doesn't allow himself to stop after that. He gets back on his feet, pretending that his legs don't shake, and starts running towards the next roof. Then the third one, the fourth. He keeps jumping until he can't tell apart the pain from the adrenaline in his body, because they both burn enough to make him cry. He jumps from one roof to another until he reaches the opposite border of the city, but even then, he jumps. He doesn't care if there isn't any roof for him to land on, he's just going to jump, and fall, and maybe die there, or pass out and never wake up because he'll be bleeding and they'll come for him.
Jongdae falls straight into a huge bush, the tiny branches digging into the skin of his back, and the impact is strong enough to knock the air out of him. He curls up, mouth opened on an intake of air that doesn't come, and doesn't question the stars slowly invading his field of vision. He hears someone cry, but it sounds oddly like him. He has half a mind to open his eyes and check if someone's there, or if he's really become mad, but he passes out before he can even think about cracking an eye open.
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