Fic (Adam Lambert/ Resident Evil): Dead Men Don't Wear Glitter (NC-17)
Dead Men Don't Wear Glitter
Adam Lambert/ Resident Evil: Apocalypse crossover (Kris/ Adam, NC-17)
Author's Notes: Adam and Kris kill zombies. Good times. 6947 words. Apologies for very little Milla content here but the Resident Evil part is mostly to provide a zombie body count. Knowledge of the film isn't necessary. Or even helpful. leksa did beta duties. All wontons go to her.
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction and is not intended to reflect on the personalities or behaviours of the persons mentioned within. Pure fantasy.
Every window of the gun store is smashed and the shelves are crooked and empty. It looks like a bomb site, the kind of thing you see on the news when the smoke has lifted and debris has settled. Destruction everywhere.
Kris steps through a broken window, checking the floor for glass. “Looks like it’s been ransacked,” he says.
“Do you think we’ll find anything?” Adam says, following Kris. Adam never imagined he’d find himself in a gun store during a sell-out tour, but if he had, this would be sort of how he imagined it: dusty, smoky, zombie apocalypse.
Kris picks up a box off the floor, shakes it and puts it back down again. “They don’t put everything on display,” he says. “There’s got to be a locked room or cabinet somewhere.”
“In that case, I hope one of your many talents is lock picking,” Adam says. The carpet squelches under his feet. He looks down and tries not to think about whatever it was he just stepped in. It looks red. Maybe brown. Raccoon City is officially the worst place they’ve ever played.
“I think I’ve found something.” Kris picks up a metal box and puts it on the sales desk. It’s got a padlock which, on closer inspection, turns out to be more for show than for security. He opens it easily and pulls out a gun. “A .45.” He checks the barrel. “Loaded too.”
“What was it doing down there?” Adam says.
“Probably the owner’s,” Kris says. “Guess it didn’t do him much good.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Because it’s here and he’s not.” Kris reaches into the box again. “Oh, look -- bullets.”
“Nice,” Adam says, trying to sound enthusiastic. Guns really aren’t his thing. He appreciates the necessity, especially given their current predicament, but guns are so undignified.
“Hey, check this out,” Kris says. He crouches down behind the sales desk.
Adam gets down on his knees beside Kris. A rectangular section of the floor is slightly off colour, like it’s been recently installed. “What is it?” Adam says, trying not to think of a secret room full of dead bodies and bizarre weaponry. In Raccoon City, such a thought is not outrageous.
“A secret compartment,” Kris says. “They probably did a black market trade.”
The off colour section of the floor opens up like a trapdoor. Underneath is a long, thin metal box with a locked padlock.
“Stand back,” Kris says. He aims the gun at the padlock.
“Are you serious?!” Adam says. He jumps up and presses himself against the wall.
“Sure,” Kris says. He shuffles backwards a little, rolls his shoulders and takes aim again.
“Fine,” Adam says. “But maybe you shouldn’t-“ There’s a loud cracking noise and Adam covers his ears with his hands, closes his eyes tight. When he opens them again, the lock is torn in two, dangling uselessly from the metal clasp.
Kris looks shocked. “I can’t believe that worked.”
“I can’t believe you didn’t blow my head off,” Adam says.
“I wasn’t aiming for your head,” Kris says. He opens the box and peers inside. “Wow.”
Adam leans forward. Inside are some knives, brass knuckles, pepper spray and a sword. “Oh,” Adam says. It’s beautiful. Like something out of the movies. “It’s a katana.”
“It’s a sword,” Kris says.
“A single edged sword,” Adam says, taking it out of the box. He stands up and carefully turns it from side to side. It shines in the light. “Curved rather than straight.”
Kris looks at Adam like he’s just announced a penchant for beer and girls in bikinis. “And you know this how?”
“What?” Adam says. “I can’t know stuff too? “ He swishes it back and forth in a Z.
“Do you know what you’re doing with that thing?” Kris says, taking a step back.
“Would you prefer I carry a gun?” Adam says.
“Fine,” Kris says. “Take the sword and let’s get out of here.” He takes a holster from one of the unbroken shelves and straps it to his thigh. With his black jeans and shirt he looks dangerous. Sexy dangerous. Adam approves.
He doesn’t have a holster so he carries the katana in his hand. It’s heavy, but not unwieldy. Kind of comfortable actually. Like it fits. He follows Kris out into the street, catching sight of his reflection in the broken glass as he does.
Oh yeah. He’s bad-ass.
*
The street is deserted. Cars line up in perpetual gridlock, the occupants having made a run for it days ago. Scattered belongings pepper the sidewalks: a shoe, a jacket, a handbag abandoned in the rush. Adam wonders whether they made it. Whether anybody made it.
"Where to now?" Adam says. The sun is going down. They should probably get off the street before nightfall. It might be cliche but the zombies seem more at home in the dark. Maybe they're photosensitive? Sunlight can't be good for all that decaying flesh.
"Somewhere high up," Kris says. He points toward a tall building in the distance. "That one."
Adam shields his eyes from the sun. The building has large glass windows, good views of the city. Very strategic. Kris is good at this game. “Lead on,” Adam says, gesturing grandly with the katana.
"Be careful with that thing," Kris says. He walks ahead.
They've barely gone a block when Adam spots a figure in a side street. It’s moving. Definitely human. He stops, touches Kris's arm. "I saw someone," he says.
“Where?” Kris says.
“Over there,” Adam says. “Wait here.” He holds the katana in both hands and walks slowly toward the figure.
"Careful," Kris says.
Adam rolls his eyes. It hardly needs to be said. He wonders who died and made Kris his overbearing guardian? On second thought, he doesn’t want to know the answer to that question.
The figure is small, probably a child. She appears to be foraging in a trashcan. "Hey," Adam says, relaxing his hold on the katana. "Hey, are you all right?"
She turns quickly and screams at Adam, her hands raised. Rotted flesh runs from her cheek to her neck and there’s a hole in her shoulder, like someone took a bite out of it. Her hair and clothes are matted with skin and blood and one of her hands is pure bone, no flesh at all.
Adam jumps back but she's fast and she grabs hold of his leg, clamping it with her pincer-like fingers. She’s stronger than she looks. If he wasn’t wearing leather pants, she’d have cut right through his skin. Adam kicks, sends the girl tumbling backwards, the force of it landing him on his ass. The katana falls onto the pavement, out of reach.
“Oh, crap,” Adam says. He shuffles backwards, reaching for the katana.
The girl is quicker to recover. She lunges at him, hands raised, claw-like. She's almost on him when he hears a cracking noise and the air around him whooshes past his ears. The girl falls backwards, a dead weight. Kris offers Adam his hand.
"Didn't I tell you to be careful?" he says, helping Adam up. A thin line of smoke trails upward from the nozzle of Kris’s gun.
"She couldn't have been more than six!" Adam says. He picks up the katana. "Nice shooting by the way."
"It'll only slow her down," Kris says. "And unless you're willing to lop off her head, we should probably get out of here."
Adam looks briefly after the zombie girl before following Kris back to the main street. He's not about to behead a child. Zombie or otherwise. It's probably against the samurai code or something.
"Did you see her hands?" Adam says. He turns his head at the sound of rustling behind him but it turns out to be the wind lifting a newspaper. Deserted might mean safe in Raccoon City, but it would be nice to find someone else alive in this mess.
"Yeah, I saw them," Kris says. He shudders. "What does that?"
"Zombies," Adam says. "Zombie disease. Zombie-itis. Whatever."
"I know," he says. "But how -- I mean, did we sign up for a b-movie horror themed reality show or something?"
"If we did, I’d like to know how we get voted off," Adam says. "Maybe I should try another Johnny Cash cover?"
Kris scratches the back of his neck. "Do you think it's just here? Or everywhere?"
"I don't know," Adam says. He looks around again, hoping for a sign: a billboard or poster saying the End of the World is Nigh or something. The wind rustles papers nearby and a fly lands on the blunt edge of the katana.
And then, as if in answer, two people appear at the top of the street. They’re holding hands, one carrying a bag, and they seem intact. No zombie decay apparent.
Kris sees them too. "Hey!" he says. "Over here."
They give Adam and Kris cautious looks before walking toward them, slowly at first but quicker as they get closer.
"You're alive?" the man says.
"Mostly," Adam says.
"Where did you come from?" Kris says.
“Around,” the man says. “We were looking for an exit.”
"The roads are closed," the woman says. “People are saying it's a biological weapon; a terrorist attack."
“You’ve seen other people?” Kris says.
“Not today,” the man says. He and the woman exchange worried looks.
“It happens fast,” the woman says. “They bite you, hours later you become one of them.”
"Yeah, we figured," Adam says. It’s the first rule of a zombie movie: don’t get bit.
“Best to find somewhere to hide,” the man says. He nods at Kris’s gun. “Where did you get that?”
"A couple of blocks that way," Kris says, gesturing with his thumb. "There wasn't much left though. You might want to try looking under the floorboards."
“Thanks,” the woman says.
They’re about to leave when the man stops. “Hey,” he says. “Aren't you guys famous or something?"
"I know," the woman says. She looks at Adam. "You were on American Idol. I voted for you."
Adam has fans in the weirdest places. “Um, thanks,” He says.
She gives Kris an apologetic smile. "You were good too," she says.
"I do okay," Kris says, unfazed.
The man takes the woman's arm, leading her away. "Don’t stay in one place too long," he says to Adam and Kris. "They catch your scent."
"They can smell?" Adam says.
"Good luck," the woman says.
"They can smell," Adam says to Kris. They start walking again, Adam gripping his katana tighter. God knows, those things could have been picking up their scent all this time.
"We don’t know that," Kris says, but he looks worried too, his hand poised above his gun.
They're not far from their destination. Only another block or so and they'll be at the entrance to the building. They could sprint the last few hundred yards if it came down to it, but they walk briskly instead. Adam remembers it’s always the guy who falls down that gets it in the zombie movies. That’s rule number two.
The glass doors of the lobby swing open without protest. It’s a good and bad sign. If they can get in, so can the zombies. It’s empty though. No sign of life or otherwise. Adam looks around for the stairwell. The lights are on, and for all he knows the elevators are still working, but he remembers the third rule of zombie movies: never use the elevators. That’s just asking for trouble.
“What’s that?” Kris says.
“What?” Adam says.
Kris stops still. “I heard something.”
Adam doesn’t hear anything. Kris is getting paranoid. It wouldn’t be unreasonable given their predicament.
Adam turns in a full circle. Nothing except the glass doors, the elevators and the concierge desk. “I don’t hear -“
A uniformed zombie leaps up from behind the concierge desk and throws its head back, moaning. Adam jumps back two feet.
Kris has his gun aimed and firing. The first shot sends the zombie up against the wall. Two more and its head falls off.
“I told you I heard something,” Kris says.
Adam’s heart is pounding in his ears. “I won’t doubt you again.”
Something tells him to turn around. Maybe it’s a sound, maybe it’s Kris’s eyes going wide, fixing on something behind Adam. Whatever the motivation, he turns and - fuck - there’s a herd of zombies behind the glass doors, beating on them with their bloodied fists. The glass pane doesn’t hold long and eventually it falls, spilling zombies into the lobby like cattle let out of a pen.
Adam looks around but there’s nowhere to run. He raises the katana in both hands and plants his feet. He took some sword fighting lessons in theatre class and he figures it’s roughly the same skill. Thrust, parry, advance, try not to fall on your ass. Easy.
“Kris?” he says.
“Let’s do it,” Kris says, and he fires.
Adam swings the katana, brings it around in front of him in a long arch. He beheads a zombie on his first try. Not bad.
The zombies are still coming though, and one head at a time isn’t going to save their asses. He needs to increase his batting average fast. He swings in an arch again and this time swings immediately back, waving the katana in front of him like he’s cutting a path through the jungle.
“Cover me!” Kris says. He takes bullets out of his pocket and reloads.
“Got you,” Adam says, taking up a place in front of Kris and swinging the katana back and forth.
Zombies go down like cut wheat. They might be the living dead but they sure don’t have any reflexes. Maybe it’s survival of the collective? Sacrificing the few at the front doesn’t seem to matter if the rest get through. He swings the katana to the left and pulls back, punching a zombie to the right with the hilt.
They’re piling up on the ground but the remaining group is getting close. Adam backs up a little and finds his leg won’t move. He looks down and there’s a zombie on its knees with its blackened hand around Adam’s leg. He tries to shake it off, but it’s gripping on tight.
Kris appears at his side and gives the arm an almighty kick. The zombie’s teeters backward and Kris shoots it in the head before it hits the ground.
“I’m good now,” Kris says.
“Your timing is perfect,” Adam says. “Don’t change.”
Adam takes out two more with a quick swing. Kris fires a round and sends three more to the floor. The number is reducing but they’re backing Kris and Adam against the wall.
“Adam!” One has a grip on Kris’s gun arm. He can’t shake it.
“Hold on,” Adam says. He’s surrounded. He needs to deal with his own impending zombie attack before coming to Kris’s aid. He glances at Kris and sees him elbow a zombie in the face with the one attached to his arm still hanging on.
Adam drops and rolls past the legs of the zombies surrounding him. Before they can figure out what’s happened, he comes to a crouching position and slices the legs off the zombie on Kris’s arm. It twitches and spasms, still clinging to Kris like a lifeline. He keeps shooting anyway, taking out two for two despite his zombie handicap. Adam’s never been more impressed with him.
Of course, he’d do even better if the zombie would let go. Adam has to admire its tenacity. He swings the katana up and slices the zombie’s arm in half. It falls in a one-armed, legless heap and twitches on the ground.
Kris shakes the zombies disembodied hand off. “Stay down,” he says to Adam, and he fires over Adam’s head. Four shots. Then silence.
Adam stands up. There’s nothing but bodies on the ground. Some still moving, trying to get up despite missing limbs.
Kris lowers his gun slowly.
“Can I just say,” Adam says. “That was really hot.”
“Likewise,” Kris says. “Do you think that’s the last of them?”
“For now,” Adam says. “I say we go upstairs, seal off the fire escapes and hope they don’t know how to use the elevators.”
“Elevators?” Kris says. “Seriously?”
“How should I know?” Adam says. He finds the stair well and holds open the door. “There were no elevators in Evil Dead.”
*
The sun has set by the time they reach the nineteenth floor. They look out of the large paneless windows at Raccoon City and it’s mostly dark, patched with streetlights in some quarters but otherwise blacked out. Adam leans his forehead against the glass and looks down. It’s kind of peaceful. Nothing like an apocalypse.
Despite the electricity they leave the lights off and rely on the emergency lights to keep them from navigating in the dark. The glow is comforting, almost warm. There’s a kitchen on their floor too which means water, stale cookies and a box of mints that looks like it hasn’t seen the light since bellbottoms were fashionable (the first time).
Not that they’re fussy. They eat the cookies and the mints in silence, looking out over the city like they’re waiting for the credits to roll. Afterwards, they barricade the exits, take clean tea-towels from the kitchen to use as headrests and settle in to sleep on the floor. It’s not cold in the building but they lie side by side anyway, shoulders and elbows touching.
“Do you think it’s like this everywhere?” Kris says.
Adam knows what Kris is thinking: is there anyone out there wondering where they are? Their families, their friends, Kris’s wife? What must they be thinking?
“They cut off the exit routes,” Adam says. “Maybe they stopped it?” He doesn’t know if he believes that. The virus acts fast. And the zombies are a very effective means of spreading it.
“I have to tell you something,” Kris says. He turns toward Adam, gets up on one elbow. Kind of close, but they’re like that sometimes, all in each other’s personal space.
“If it’s confession time, I have something to tell you too,” Adam says. “I know all the words to ‘Live Like We’re Dying.’”
“Really?”
“I could sing it if you want.”
“Uh, no.” Kris scratches his ear and coughs. “What I mean is that, well, in the spirit of the song --.”
“If you didn’t vote for me in the final, I’ll understand,” Adam says. “I didn’t vote for you either.” He’s babbling now. It’s nerves. He can sense a loaded moment a mile off and this one is so weighted down he’s surprised it can breathe.
“Could you let me finish?” Kris says.
“Shutting up now,” Adam says.
Kris closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. “I want you to know, I really like you. I mean - I’m not doing this right.” He shakes his head. “I like you. In that way.”
“What way?” Adam doesn’t mean to be obtuse. It’s possible he’s in shock.
“I think it was when you sang ‘Mad World,’” Kris says. “It sort of got me in a weird place.”
“Me too,” Adam says. “Did you see what they did with my hair?”
Kris laughs. “I don’t think I’m very good at this,” he says.
“You’re doing fine,” Adam says. “Really.” Actually, he’s doing fantastic. Adam is feeling tingly all over, like he’s 13 and discovering the diving world championships on ESPN all over again. He has no idea what’s going on but it sure feels good.
“Maybe I should -“ He hesitates, and then he leans over and kisses Adam on the mouth, his hand on Adam’s jaw, all soft and tentative.
So this is what it’s like to be kissing Kris Allen? It’s kind of surreal. Not what he expected at all. He’s thought about it before, of course, but he imagined it differently. Like maybe in a bed with candles and a distinct lack of zombies.
“Um, Kris?” Adam says, pulling away. “This is nice, but I think it’s a little out of character.”
Kris rests a hand on Adam’s chest, two fingers at the neck of Adam’s t-shirt, barely grazing his skin. “You think I’m doing this because we’re going to die?”
“I think you’re doing this because you’re scared,” Adam says. “And hey, who isn’t?”
“I’m not - okay, yeah, I am a little scared,” Kris says. He trails his hand down Adam’s chest. “But that doesn’t mean I don’t want to.”
Kris reaches Adam’s belt and flips the buckle with one hand; a pretty skilled manoeuvre for a straight guy. Is it possible he’s done this before? His fingers edge inside Adam’s jeans and Adam’s hips involuntarily rise to meet them. “Ohhh,” he says, when they make contact. He closes his eyes.
Adam probably should protest a little harder, but Kris is massaging his dick while the zombie apocalypse rages outside. Where’s the moral high ground in this scenario?
“Yeah, baby, just like that,” Adam purrs, and he reaches down to place his hand over Kris’s so that their hands move together, up and down the shaft. High ground be damned; there’s no way he’s stopping now.
“Wait.” Kris takes his hand away. “I want to -“ And he pushes Adam’s pants down around his thighs, gets Adam naked to the air, and gingerly takes Adam in his mouth, draws him all the way down.
As if Kris kissing him wasn’t crazy enough, now Kris is giving Adam a blow job. A pretty good one at that. It’s all warm and wet and controlled, like he knows what he’s doing. Again, Adam can’t help thinking Kris is pretty skilled in this department for a straight guy. For a gay guy. His hand is around the base of Adam’s cock and he’s sucking on the tip, tongue flicking around the head. Adam’s had pretty wild fantasies that looked a lot like this.
Without warning, Kris stops. “I want you to fuck me,” he says, his voice kind of low.
That, right there, is what nearly sends Adam over the edge. “God,” he says. He breathes in deep, slows his heart beat. “Okay - okay, but we need to do this now because I don’t think I can hold on much longer.”
Kris looks sheepish. “Sorry,” he says. “I guess I got carried away.”
“Don’t apologise,” Adam says. A beautiful man gives him an amazing blow job and apologises for it? It really is the end of the world. “Come here.”
Kris stretches out on top of him and they kiss. Slow this time. With patience. Adam rolls Kris on to his back and they kiss some more, getting heavier as they rearrange positions, shift against each other for more contact.
It’s Adam’s turn to undress Kris and he does so with a kind of awkwardness he hasn’t felt in years. Weird. But then again, the moment is so loaded. They might die tomorrow. Or tonight for all he knows. It puts things in perspective a little.
Adam unbuttons Kris’s shirt, leaves it on but open. A tease. He peels Kris’s jeans off next and bends his knees, spreading them a little. Kris makes it easy for him, shuffling backwards and lifting his hips. He looks nervous too. Not surprising given he’s probably a virgin for all intents and purposes. Any dirty thoughts he’s had about being on the receiving end of a good fucking were probably forgotten after his engagement. Presuming he had such thoughts. It’s not like he talked about any prior inclinations toward bisexuality, and god knows he had plenty of opportunities. It wasn’t like Adam was shy about his exploits.
Adam tries a couple of fingers first, just edges in slowly, testing Kris’s resilience. His ass clenches and his eyes close for a moment but his breathing is steady and controlled. He’s good. He’s better than good. He’s perfect.
“I don’t - um - have anything,” Adam says.
“It’s probably the least of our worries right now,” Kris says.
He’s right about that. Sure, it would suck to survive the zombie apocalypse and die of an STD, but then what are the odds? They should probably have a cigarette afterwards as well. Once in a lifetime opportunity and all.
“This could be kind of rough,” Adam says. He pushes his pants around his thighs and spits into his hand, feeling a little undignified. If only he’d known. He’d have knocked off a drugstore for lube.
It is kind of brutal and Kris tenses, trying to breathe through the pain with his fingers digging into Adam’s arm, but it’s nice too eventually. When Kris breathes in, when he opens his eyes and looks into Adam’s, when Adam finds a rhythm that’s just right; it’s like music.
It doesn’t take long for Kris to relax, to start riding each thrust rather than resisting. He reaches down and grabs his dick, strokes it in time with each movement of his hips. “Oh god, that’s hot,” Adam says, and he works his hips a little faster, feeling kind of crazy. He’s deep inside Kris and Kris is moaning his name, all dishevelled and wanton like he does this all the time. Then again, Kris was always a fast learner.
“I - I think I’m going to -“ Kris reaches for Adam’s hand and he’s holding on tight when he comes.
Adam leans down to kiss him, buries his face into Kris’s neck and fucks him hard until Adam’s coming too.
Afterwards they lie side by side again, clothes half on and off, feeling warm and sweaty.
“Was that okay?” Adam asks, a little nervously.
“Yeah,” Kris says.
“Really?”
“Adam,” Kris says. “You’ve done it before, right? You must know when a guy’s enjoying himself.”
“Yeah,” Adam says. “But I like to be told.”
“You’re such a diva,” Kris says, laughing. He reaches out to touch Adam’s face, fingers splayed across his cheek. “It was perfect.”
For a moment, Adam forgets it’s the end of the world, and he rolls onto his side, kisses Kris again.
That’s when he notices the light. “Hey,” he says, pulling away. “What is that?” He nods at the window. A beam of light is searching the windows of the building across the street.
Kris gets to his feet, pulling his jeans up around his waist. “It’s a helicopter.”
They lean up close against the window, trying to get a better view. “It looks like it’s landing on the roof,” Adam says.
Kris finds his boots, throws Adam his shirt. “Hurry,” he says. “They might not stick around long.”
“Do you think they’ll take us with them?” Adam says, fumbling with his jacket.
“We have to try,” Kris says. He reaches for the holster and straps it to his thigh.
It’s another nine floors to the top but it’s unlocked and unimpeded, like someone was there before them. They can hear the chopper blades from the 27th floor and it spurs them on, sends them sprinting up the final two flights.
The roof is like something out of Blade Runner. There’s a round, glassed-in foyer that looks like an observation deck or penthouse, and through the glass, there’s gun fire, flashing lights, and dark figures in helmets running everywhere. The helicopter is stationery on the roof, its blades spinning slowly. It’s a military style chopper with a large open ramp at the back leading up to the hold, like something out of Blackhawk Down or Jarhead. It would be a sight for sore eyes if there wasn’t a large, Hulk-like thing shooting at it.
Adam holds his arm out in front of Kris. “Woah,” he says. “Let’s not rush this.”
“What the fuck is that?” Kris says, staring at the Hulk.
Adam doesn’t have an answer. He nods toward the pylons supporting the foyer. “This way,” he says, and they crouch down behind a pylon, out of sight.
Everything appears to be going crazy. There’s gun shots and people yelling and glass breaking and Adam covers his head with this hands, leaning into Kris who is doing the same. The chaos goes on until something explodes, an almighty boom thundering around them that sounds like the end of everything. And then the shooting stops. Silence.
Adam peers out from behind the pylon. The Hulk is gone. No sign of it anywhere. Three people run for the helicopter, staggering, holding one another up. They don’t look dangerous. They look desperate. Adam can relate to that.
Behind him there’s a dull pounding sound and he turns around to see a sea of zombie beating on the glass doors, a mass of disfigured hands and limbs. So maybe they did figure out the elevators?
“That glass isn’t going to hold much longer,” Kris says.
“It isn’t going to hold at all,” Adam says, and he steps up onto the building ledge and raises the katana.
“What are you doing?” Kris says.
“Look,” Adam says. And the glass comes crashing down, zombies piling through like it was never there in the first place.
Kris jumps up on the ledge too. “We’ll never get through them,” he says. He aims the gun with both hands, looks around like he doesn’t know where to shoot.
“Yes, we will,” Adam says. And he leaps, katana raised, bringing it down in an arc as he falls. When he lands, he notes five zombies on the ground, minus heads. Oh yeah. That’s how it’s done.
No time to stand around admiring his handiwork. He raises the katana again and starts swinging. It’s moulded to his arm now, an extension of him. He thrusts forward, takes out the zombie in front of him, and swings back, takes out one behind, all in one fluid movement.
Kris fires from the ledge, knocking out the zombie to Adam’s left and then quickly changes direction and takes one out to his right.
“Thanks,” Adam yells, swinging the katana low and chopping the legs off three zombies. They thrust about on the ground like turtles on their backs.
“Any time,” Kris says, and he leaps down from the ledge, swings at a zombie with the handle of his gun and knocks him to the ground. He spins the gun until it’s back in firing position and then he shoots once, twice, drops two zombies without blinking.
A body falls out of the back of the helicopter: a person, still alive as far as Adam can tell. The zombies go for it giving Adam and Kris a moment’s respite. They’re left with a manageable crowd, a group of stragglers who’d rather take their chances with the weapons than deal with the crowd around the other body.
“What was that?” Kris says.
“I don’t know,” Adam says. A mistake? A death sentence? There’s no time to think about it. Their last ride out of Raccoon City is about to leave. “Come on,” he says, beckoning Kris toward the helicopter. He makes a downward stroke and slices a zombie in half from shoulder to hip.
Kris follows, gun straight out in front, taking out each zombie as it appears. “Hey!” he says, waving at the helicopter. “Hey, wait for us.”
The helicopter hovers and a woman peeks her head out. “Hurry!” she says.
Adam barely has time to look up. The zombies are coming at them from both sides now and he’s swinging left and right aimlessly, creating a kind of carnage he wouldn’t have dreamed of a week ago as a glam-rock star. Everyone used to say he was such a nice guy too. Now he’s decapitating bodies like they’re sausage meat and only feeling momentarily guilty.
Fuck it. They might have been people once but they sure aren’t people now.
Kris has reached the helicopter. “Come on!” he says to Adam.
The zombie behind Kris seems to appear out of nowhere. “Kris!” Adam yells, and he runs forward, crashing into the zombie just as it’s about to sink its teeth into Kris’s shoulder. They land in a heap, Adam on top and the zombie writhing beneath. Adam struggles to find his feet and slips as his boot misses the ground. The zombie bites his arm.
“Motherfucker!” Adam screams.
Kris is there instantly, holding a gun to the zombie’s head, firing repeatedly until it lets go.
“Are you okay?” he says, crouching down next to Adam.
“Hurts like a bitch!” Adam says, cradling his arm. There’s blood everywhere. He’s not even sure it’s his.
A rope falls over the helicopter ramp. “Grab on,” the woman shouts.
Kris winds the rope around his arm. “Come on,” he says.
“I can’t,” Adam says. A zombie took a bite out of him. They both know what that means.
“I’m not going without you,” Kris says, and he puts his arm around Adam waist and pulls Adam toward him.
They’re face to face, pressed up against each other like they were last night. Oh, shit, Adam thinks. At least this way they can say goodbye. He grabs the rope with his good arm and slides the other around Kris’s waist. “Pull us up,” he yells at the helicopter. The ground falls away beneath them as they’re raised into the air. Below, zombies reach for their legs, grasping and missing.
The woman hauling them into the helicopter is slight and clearly a lot stronger than she looks. Her companions are a soldier, a child, and a woman in a bustier with guns strapped to every available limb.
“Who the hell are you?” the slight woman says.
Finally, Adam thinks. Someone who hasn’t seen American Idol.
“Kris,” Kris says, unfazed. “This is Adam.”
“How did you get here?”
The woman in the bustier has one hand on the holster of her gun as she eyes Adam’s katana. He can’t tell if she’s wary or envious.
“We were hiding in the building,” Adam says.
The slight woman takes a closer look at Adam’s arm. “They got you?”
“Yeah,” Adam says. He hasn’t given a lot of thought to how he’d go if he had to choose. Seems like jumping from a helicopter isn’t so bad. “It’s okay. I know what I have to do. I’ll just - let myself out the back.”
“Adam, no,” Kris says, holding on to Adam’s hand.
“It’s okay, Kris,” Adam says. He reaches for Kris’s arm and slides his hand from his shoulder to his elbow. “It’s better than - well, anything’s better than ending up one of them. And we had fun, didn’t we?”
“I won’t let you go,” Kris says. His eyes are wet and he looks like he might cry. Adam’s having trouble seeing through tears himself. As goodbye scenes go, it’s kind of hokey.
He doesn’t care a bit. He takes Kris’s face in his hands. “It will be all right, I promise.” He kisses him, hard and long. If he’s about to die, this is the last thing he wants to remember.
“Oh god,” the woman in the bustier says, rolling her eyes. “Can we can the daytime soap scene, guys? The kid’s got a cure.”
Adam and Kris break apart and the child opens a small box to reveal a row of liquid-filled vials. She smiles at Adam. “I voted for you,” she says.
The weirdest places.
*
Turns out, the soldier has been bitten too. They both roll up their sleeves and get shots in the arm from the slight woman.
“What’s your name?” Adam asks her.
“Alice,” she says, without feeling. She swabs Adam’s arm with a cotton wipe.
“What happened back there?”
“It’s a virus,” she says. “A biological weapon. It was contained in a facility underneath the city but it got out. We threw the guy responsible out the back of the helicopter.”
“I guess he got what he deserved,” Adam says.
“I thought it was a mercy killing,” Alice says.
“What about that thing on the roof?” Adam says. “What was that?”
Alice opens her mouth but before she can speak everything explodes in light. “Brace yourself!” she says and a massive BOOM shakes the helicopter about like it’s a toy. They fly in all directions, trying to grab on to anything that isn’t moving. Adam throws himself against the body of the helicopter as it careens out of control.
“What the fuck was that?” Kris says, from the floor. He’s hanging on to the railing along the bottom of the seats. On the other side of the helicopter, the woman in the bustier and the soldier manage to strap themselves and the girl into their seats.
“Nuke,” Alice says, braced against the back door. “They’re destroying Raccoon City.”
“Who?” Adam says. No one answers.
He edges along the side of the helicopter until he’s reached his seat. The helicopter shakes and drops and then careens sideways so that Adam falls into his chair. He pulls himself into a seated position and helps Kris into the seat next to him. They strap themselves in and hang on, grasping each other’s hands so hard, Adam’s fingers go numb.
“Brace for impact!” the pilot calls from the cockpit.
Alice isn’t strapped in. Adam’s still reaching for her hand when everything goes black.
*
The first thing he’s aware of is pain. He head hurts. Really hurts. What the hell did he do last night?
“Adam?”
He opens his eyes and remembers. He fucked Kris yesterday. It’s probably not how he got the headache but damn, it was good.
“My head is killing me,” Adam says.
“Yeah,” Kris says. “You were out for a moment there.”
Kris has a small cut on his cheek and one on his forehead.
“Oh my god,” Adam says, as the memory hits him. “We crashed!” On the other side of the helicopter he sees the others slowly coming around, fumbling with their safety straps and straggling outside. Everyone seems accounted for except -- “Where’s Alice?”
They find her outside, a shard of debris through her neck, her eyes wide open.
“Is she --?” Kris says.
The girl in the bustier crouches down and checks Alice’s pulse. “Seems like it.” She stands up again. “Although I wouldn’t count her out. I’m not sure she’s human.”
Adam doesn’t ask what that means.
They stand silent, taking a moment to mourn Alice, and then the girl in the bustier takes the Glock out of her thigh holster, locks and loads. “We need to move out,” she says. “They’ll be coming for us soon.”
“Who?” Adam says, a little more emphatically this time. They might just be rock stars but they hacked up real zombies back there and they deserve some answers.
“The Umbrella Corporation,” she says.
Adam’s never heard of it. He looks at Kris but Kris just frowns, clearly as mystified as Adam. That’s what you get for being stuck in a reality show for six months
“What happens now?” Kris says.
“We split up, lay low, don’t get bit.” She looks at Adam. “You’re probably immune now anyway.”
Adam hadn’t thought about the bite since the crash. He looks at it now. Almost gone. Weird. “Do you think any of those things made it out of there?” Adam says.
“Hell, yeah,” she says.
They say halting goodbyes, shakes hands awkwardly and head off in different directions. 10 harrowing minutes in a helicopter together and Adam feels strangely close to them. It’s weird to end it like this.
Kris potters around the wreckage before they leave, picking up an unopened bottle of water and a cigarette lighter. He’s a regular boyscout at times. Maybe that’s where he learned how to give a blow job? Adam’s heard stories.
“Hey,” Kris says, bending down. “Look what I found.” He holds up the katana.
It’s like finding an old friend. “I thought I’d lost it,” Adam says, taking the katana. He leans in toward Kris, puts a hand on his shoulder and kisses him lightly, like it’s habit.
“Um,” Kris says, as they pull apart. He looks at the sky briefly. “We should talk.”
Adam feels like smacking himself upside the head. Everything is different now. They survived. “Hey, it’s okay,” he says. “We thought we were going to die, you’re still married, extenuating circumstances etcetera. I’m not about to be a home wrecker, Kris.”
“That’s not it,” Kris says. “Do you realise what’s happened, Adam? Someone dropped a bomb on that city to prevent people getting out. Have you thought about what that means for us?”
Adam hadn’t thought about that. “Wow,” he says. He stabs at the ground with the katana. “I guess home isn’t an option.”
“It’s probably only temporary,” Kris says.
“Do you believe that?”
“I want to.”
A warm wind blows Adam’s hair into his eyes. He shifts it, noting the sun above the mountains. It’s getting lighter. They should be moving on soon. “What do we do now?”
“Lay low, don’t get bit,” Kris says.
“You mean, go on the lam?” Adam says.
“Yeah,” Kris says. “I guess we are.”
They’re silent for a moment. It sounds a lot more romantic in the movies. “Sorry,” Adam says, eventually.
“Don’t be,” Kris says.
Adam touches Kris’s arm, just lightly below the shoulder. Kris smiles briefly but then it’s gone.
“Come on,” Adam says. He turns Kris around and urges him forward, toward the mountains. He’s no boyscout and the outdoors just muss up his hair, but he knows two things about zombie movies that keep him moving forward:
The fourth rule is that the lovers always survive.
The fifth rule is that it’s never over.
End.
Adam Lambert/ Resident Evil: Apocalypse crossover (Kris/ Adam, NC-17)
Author's Notes: Adam and Kris kill zombies. Good times. 6947 words. Apologies for very little Milla content here but the Resident Evil part is mostly to provide a zombie body count. Knowledge of the film isn't necessary. Or even helpful. leksa did beta duties. All wontons go to her.
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction and is not intended to reflect on the personalities or behaviours of the persons mentioned within. Pure fantasy.
Every window of the gun store is smashed and the shelves are crooked and empty. It looks like a bomb site, the kind of thing you see on the news when the smoke has lifted and debris has settled. Destruction everywhere.
Kris steps through a broken window, checking the floor for glass. “Looks like it’s been ransacked,” he says.
“Do you think we’ll find anything?” Adam says, following Kris. Adam never imagined he’d find himself in a gun store during a sell-out tour, but if he had, this would be sort of how he imagined it: dusty, smoky, zombie apocalypse.
Kris picks up a box off the floor, shakes it and puts it back down again. “They don’t put everything on display,” he says. “There’s got to be a locked room or cabinet somewhere.”
“In that case, I hope one of your many talents is lock picking,” Adam says. The carpet squelches under his feet. He looks down and tries not to think about whatever it was he just stepped in. It looks red. Maybe brown. Raccoon City is officially the worst place they’ve ever played.
“I think I’ve found something.” Kris picks up a metal box and puts it on the sales desk. It’s got a padlock which, on closer inspection, turns out to be more for show than for security. He opens it easily and pulls out a gun. “A .45.” He checks the barrel. “Loaded too.”
“What was it doing down there?” Adam says.
“Probably the owner’s,” Kris says. “Guess it didn’t do him much good.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Because it’s here and he’s not.” Kris reaches into the box again. “Oh, look -- bullets.”
“Nice,” Adam says, trying to sound enthusiastic. Guns really aren’t his thing. He appreciates the necessity, especially given their current predicament, but guns are so undignified.
“Hey, check this out,” Kris says. He crouches down behind the sales desk.
Adam gets down on his knees beside Kris. A rectangular section of the floor is slightly off colour, like it’s been recently installed. “What is it?” Adam says, trying not to think of a secret room full of dead bodies and bizarre weaponry. In Raccoon City, such a thought is not outrageous.
“A secret compartment,” Kris says. “They probably did a black market trade.”
The off colour section of the floor opens up like a trapdoor. Underneath is a long, thin metal box with a locked padlock.
“Stand back,” Kris says. He aims the gun at the padlock.
“Are you serious?!” Adam says. He jumps up and presses himself against the wall.
“Sure,” Kris says. He shuffles backwards a little, rolls his shoulders and takes aim again.
“Fine,” Adam says. “But maybe you shouldn’t-“ There’s a loud cracking noise and Adam covers his ears with his hands, closes his eyes tight. When he opens them again, the lock is torn in two, dangling uselessly from the metal clasp.
Kris looks shocked. “I can’t believe that worked.”
“I can’t believe you didn’t blow my head off,” Adam says.
“I wasn’t aiming for your head,” Kris says. He opens the box and peers inside. “Wow.”
Adam leans forward. Inside are some knives, brass knuckles, pepper spray and a sword. “Oh,” Adam says. It’s beautiful. Like something out of the movies. “It’s a katana.”
“It’s a sword,” Kris says.
“A single edged sword,” Adam says, taking it out of the box. He stands up and carefully turns it from side to side. It shines in the light. “Curved rather than straight.”
Kris looks at Adam like he’s just announced a penchant for beer and girls in bikinis. “And you know this how?”
“What?” Adam says. “I can’t know stuff too? “ He swishes it back and forth in a Z.
“Do you know what you’re doing with that thing?” Kris says, taking a step back.
“Would you prefer I carry a gun?” Adam says.
“Fine,” Kris says. “Take the sword and let’s get out of here.” He takes a holster from one of the unbroken shelves and straps it to his thigh. With his black jeans and shirt he looks dangerous. Sexy dangerous. Adam approves.
He doesn’t have a holster so he carries the katana in his hand. It’s heavy, but not unwieldy. Kind of comfortable actually. Like it fits. He follows Kris out into the street, catching sight of his reflection in the broken glass as he does.
Oh yeah. He’s bad-ass.
*
The street is deserted. Cars line up in perpetual gridlock, the occupants having made a run for it days ago. Scattered belongings pepper the sidewalks: a shoe, a jacket, a handbag abandoned in the rush. Adam wonders whether they made it. Whether anybody made it.
"Where to now?" Adam says. The sun is going down. They should probably get off the street before nightfall. It might be cliche but the zombies seem more at home in the dark. Maybe they're photosensitive? Sunlight can't be good for all that decaying flesh.
"Somewhere high up," Kris says. He points toward a tall building in the distance. "That one."
Adam shields his eyes from the sun. The building has large glass windows, good views of the city. Very strategic. Kris is good at this game. “Lead on,” Adam says, gesturing grandly with the katana.
"Be careful with that thing," Kris says. He walks ahead.
They've barely gone a block when Adam spots a figure in a side street. It’s moving. Definitely human. He stops, touches Kris's arm. "I saw someone," he says.
“Where?” Kris says.
“Over there,” Adam says. “Wait here.” He holds the katana in both hands and walks slowly toward the figure.
"Careful," Kris says.
Adam rolls his eyes. It hardly needs to be said. He wonders who died and made Kris his overbearing guardian? On second thought, he doesn’t want to know the answer to that question.
The figure is small, probably a child. She appears to be foraging in a trashcan. "Hey," Adam says, relaxing his hold on the katana. "Hey, are you all right?"
She turns quickly and screams at Adam, her hands raised. Rotted flesh runs from her cheek to her neck and there’s a hole in her shoulder, like someone took a bite out of it. Her hair and clothes are matted with skin and blood and one of her hands is pure bone, no flesh at all.
Adam jumps back but she's fast and she grabs hold of his leg, clamping it with her pincer-like fingers. She’s stronger than she looks. If he wasn’t wearing leather pants, she’d have cut right through his skin. Adam kicks, sends the girl tumbling backwards, the force of it landing him on his ass. The katana falls onto the pavement, out of reach.
“Oh, crap,” Adam says. He shuffles backwards, reaching for the katana.
The girl is quicker to recover. She lunges at him, hands raised, claw-like. She's almost on him when he hears a cracking noise and the air around him whooshes past his ears. The girl falls backwards, a dead weight. Kris offers Adam his hand.
"Didn't I tell you to be careful?" he says, helping Adam up. A thin line of smoke trails upward from the nozzle of Kris’s gun.
"She couldn't have been more than six!" Adam says. He picks up the katana. "Nice shooting by the way."
"It'll only slow her down," Kris says. "And unless you're willing to lop off her head, we should probably get out of here."
Adam looks briefly after the zombie girl before following Kris back to the main street. He's not about to behead a child. Zombie or otherwise. It's probably against the samurai code or something.
"Did you see her hands?" Adam says. He turns his head at the sound of rustling behind him but it turns out to be the wind lifting a newspaper. Deserted might mean safe in Raccoon City, but it would be nice to find someone else alive in this mess.
"Yeah, I saw them," Kris says. He shudders. "What does that?"
"Zombies," Adam says. "Zombie disease. Zombie-itis. Whatever."
"I know," he says. "But how -- I mean, did we sign up for a b-movie horror themed reality show or something?"
"If we did, I’d like to know how we get voted off," Adam says. "Maybe I should try another Johnny Cash cover?"
Kris scratches the back of his neck. "Do you think it's just here? Or everywhere?"
"I don't know," Adam says. He looks around again, hoping for a sign: a billboard or poster saying the End of the World is Nigh or something. The wind rustles papers nearby and a fly lands on the blunt edge of the katana.
And then, as if in answer, two people appear at the top of the street. They’re holding hands, one carrying a bag, and they seem intact. No zombie decay apparent.
Kris sees them too. "Hey!" he says. "Over here."
They give Adam and Kris cautious looks before walking toward them, slowly at first but quicker as they get closer.
"You're alive?" the man says.
"Mostly," Adam says.
"Where did you come from?" Kris says.
“Around,” the man says. “We were looking for an exit.”
"The roads are closed," the woman says. “People are saying it's a biological weapon; a terrorist attack."
“You’ve seen other people?” Kris says.
“Not today,” the man says. He and the woman exchange worried looks.
“It happens fast,” the woman says. “They bite you, hours later you become one of them.”
"Yeah, we figured," Adam says. It’s the first rule of a zombie movie: don’t get bit.
“Best to find somewhere to hide,” the man says. He nods at Kris’s gun. “Where did you get that?”
"A couple of blocks that way," Kris says, gesturing with his thumb. "There wasn't much left though. You might want to try looking under the floorboards."
“Thanks,” the woman says.
They’re about to leave when the man stops. “Hey,” he says. “Aren't you guys famous or something?"
"I know," the woman says. She looks at Adam. "You were on American Idol. I voted for you."
Adam has fans in the weirdest places. “Um, thanks,” He says.
She gives Kris an apologetic smile. "You were good too," she says.
"I do okay," Kris says, unfazed.
The man takes the woman's arm, leading her away. "Don’t stay in one place too long," he says to Adam and Kris. "They catch your scent."
"They can smell?" Adam says.
"Good luck," the woman says.
"They can smell," Adam says to Kris. They start walking again, Adam gripping his katana tighter. God knows, those things could have been picking up their scent all this time.
"We don’t know that," Kris says, but he looks worried too, his hand poised above his gun.
They're not far from their destination. Only another block or so and they'll be at the entrance to the building. They could sprint the last few hundred yards if it came down to it, but they walk briskly instead. Adam remembers it’s always the guy who falls down that gets it in the zombie movies. That’s rule number two.
The glass doors of the lobby swing open without protest. It’s a good and bad sign. If they can get in, so can the zombies. It’s empty though. No sign of life or otherwise. Adam looks around for the stairwell. The lights are on, and for all he knows the elevators are still working, but he remembers the third rule of zombie movies: never use the elevators. That’s just asking for trouble.
“What’s that?” Kris says.
“What?” Adam says.
Kris stops still. “I heard something.”
Adam doesn’t hear anything. Kris is getting paranoid. It wouldn’t be unreasonable given their predicament.
Adam turns in a full circle. Nothing except the glass doors, the elevators and the concierge desk. “I don’t hear -“
A uniformed zombie leaps up from behind the concierge desk and throws its head back, moaning. Adam jumps back two feet.
Kris has his gun aimed and firing. The first shot sends the zombie up against the wall. Two more and its head falls off.
“I told you I heard something,” Kris says.
Adam’s heart is pounding in his ears. “I won’t doubt you again.”
Something tells him to turn around. Maybe it’s a sound, maybe it’s Kris’s eyes going wide, fixing on something behind Adam. Whatever the motivation, he turns and - fuck - there’s a herd of zombies behind the glass doors, beating on them with their bloodied fists. The glass pane doesn’t hold long and eventually it falls, spilling zombies into the lobby like cattle let out of a pen.
Adam looks around but there’s nowhere to run. He raises the katana in both hands and plants his feet. He took some sword fighting lessons in theatre class and he figures it’s roughly the same skill. Thrust, parry, advance, try not to fall on your ass. Easy.
“Kris?” he says.
“Let’s do it,” Kris says, and he fires.
Adam swings the katana, brings it around in front of him in a long arch. He beheads a zombie on his first try. Not bad.
The zombies are still coming though, and one head at a time isn’t going to save their asses. He needs to increase his batting average fast. He swings in an arch again and this time swings immediately back, waving the katana in front of him like he’s cutting a path through the jungle.
“Cover me!” Kris says. He takes bullets out of his pocket and reloads.
“Got you,” Adam says, taking up a place in front of Kris and swinging the katana back and forth.
Zombies go down like cut wheat. They might be the living dead but they sure don’t have any reflexes. Maybe it’s survival of the collective? Sacrificing the few at the front doesn’t seem to matter if the rest get through. He swings the katana to the left and pulls back, punching a zombie to the right with the hilt.
They’re piling up on the ground but the remaining group is getting close. Adam backs up a little and finds his leg won’t move. He looks down and there’s a zombie on its knees with its blackened hand around Adam’s leg. He tries to shake it off, but it’s gripping on tight.
Kris appears at his side and gives the arm an almighty kick. The zombie’s teeters backward and Kris shoots it in the head before it hits the ground.
“I’m good now,” Kris says.
“Your timing is perfect,” Adam says. “Don’t change.”
Adam takes out two more with a quick swing. Kris fires a round and sends three more to the floor. The number is reducing but they’re backing Kris and Adam against the wall.
“Adam!” One has a grip on Kris’s gun arm. He can’t shake it.
“Hold on,” Adam says. He’s surrounded. He needs to deal with his own impending zombie attack before coming to Kris’s aid. He glances at Kris and sees him elbow a zombie in the face with the one attached to his arm still hanging on.
Adam drops and rolls past the legs of the zombies surrounding him. Before they can figure out what’s happened, he comes to a crouching position and slices the legs off the zombie on Kris’s arm. It twitches and spasms, still clinging to Kris like a lifeline. He keeps shooting anyway, taking out two for two despite his zombie handicap. Adam’s never been more impressed with him.
Of course, he’d do even better if the zombie would let go. Adam has to admire its tenacity. He swings the katana up and slices the zombie’s arm in half. It falls in a one-armed, legless heap and twitches on the ground.
Kris shakes the zombies disembodied hand off. “Stay down,” he says to Adam, and he fires over Adam’s head. Four shots. Then silence.
Adam stands up. There’s nothing but bodies on the ground. Some still moving, trying to get up despite missing limbs.
Kris lowers his gun slowly.
“Can I just say,” Adam says. “That was really hot.”
“Likewise,” Kris says. “Do you think that’s the last of them?”
“For now,” Adam says. “I say we go upstairs, seal off the fire escapes and hope they don’t know how to use the elevators.”
“Elevators?” Kris says. “Seriously?”
“How should I know?” Adam says. He finds the stair well and holds open the door. “There were no elevators in Evil Dead.”
*
The sun has set by the time they reach the nineteenth floor. They look out of the large paneless windows at Raccoon City and it’s mostly dark, patched with streetlights in some quarters but otherwise blacked out. Adam leans his forehead against the glass and looks down. It’s kind of peaceful. Nothing like an apocalypse.
Despite the electricity they leave the lights off and rely on the emergency lights to keep them from navigating in the dark. The glow is comforting, almost warm. There’s a kitchen on their floor too which means water, stale cookies and a box of mints that looks like it hasn’t seen the light since bellbottoms were fashionable (the first time).
Not that they’re fussy. They eat the cookies and the mints in silence, looking out over the city like they’re waiting for the credits to roll. Afterwards, they barricade the exits, take clean tea-towels from the kitchen to use as headrests and settle in to sleep on the floor. It’s not cold in the building but they lie side by side anyway, shoulders and elbows touching.
“Do you think it’s like this everywhere?” Kris says.
Adam knows what Kris is thinking: is there anyone out there wondering where they are? Their families, their friends, Kris’s wife? What must they be thinking?
“They cut off the exit routes,” Adam says. “Maybe they stopped it?” He doesn’t know if he believes that. The virus acts fast. And the zombies are a very effective means of spreading it.
“I have to tell you something,” Kris says. He turns toward Adam, gets up on one elbow. Kind of close, but they’re like that sometimes, all in each other’s personal space.
“If it’s confession time, I have something to tell you too,” Adam says. “I know all the words to ‘Live Like We’re Dying.’”
“Really?”
“I could sing it if you want.”
“Uh, no.” Kris scratches his ear and coughs. “What I mean is that, well, in the spirit of the song --.”
“If you didn’t vote for me in the final, I’ll understand,” Adam says. “I didn’t vote for you either.” He’s babbling now. It’s nerves. He can sense a loaded moment a mile off and this one is so weighted down he’s surprised it can breathe.
“Could you let me finish?” Kris says.
“Shutting up now,” Adam says.
Kris closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. “I want you to know, I really like you. I mean - I’m not doing this right.” He shakes his head. “I like you. In that way.”
“What way?” Adam doesn’t mean to be obtuse. It’s possible he’s in shock.
“I think it was when you sang ‘Mad World,’” Kris says. “It sort of got me in a weird place.”
“Me too,” Adam says. “Did you see what they did with my hair?”
Kris laughs. “I don’t think I’m very good at this,” he says.
“You’re doing fine,” Adam says. “Really.” Actually, he’s doing fantastic. Adam is feeling tingly all over, like he’s 13 and discovering the diving world championships on ESPN all over again. He has no idea what’s going on but it sure feels good.
“Maybe I should -“ He hesitates, and then he leans over and kisses Adam on the mouth, his hand on Adam’s jaw, all soft and tentative.
So this is what it’s like to be kissing Kris Allen? It’s kind of surreal. Not what he expected at all. He’s thought about it before, of course, but he imagined it differently. Like maybe in a bed with candles and a distinct lack of zombies.
“Um, Kris?” Adam says, pulling away. “This is nice, but I think it’s a little out of character.”
Kris rests a hand on Adam’s chest, two fingers at the neck of Adam’s t-shirt, barely grazing his skin. “You think I’m doing this because we’re going to die?”
“I think you’re doing this because you’re scared,” Adam says. “And hey, who isn’t?”
“I’m not - okay, yeah, I am a little scared,” Kris says. He trails his hand down Adam’s chest. “But that doesn’t mean I don’t want to.”
Kris reaches Adam’s belt and flips the buckle with one hand; a pretty skilled manoeuvre for a straight guy. Is it possible he’s done this before? His fingers edge inside Adam’s jeans and Adam’s hips involuntarily rise to meet them. “Ohhh,” he says, when they make contact. He closes his eyes.
Adam probably should protest a little harder, but Kris is massaging his dick while the zombie apocalypse rages outside. Where’s the moral high ground in this scenario?
“Yeah, baby, just like that,” Adam purrs, and he reaches down to place his hand over Kris’s so that their hands move together, up and down the shaft. High ground be damned; there’s no way he’s stopping now.
“Wait.” Kris takes his hand away. “I want to -“ And he pushes Adam’s pants down around his thighs, gets Adam naked to the air, and gingerly takes Adam in his mouth, draws him all the way down.
As if Kris kissing him wasn’t crazy enough, now Kris is giving Adam a blow job. A pretty good one at that. It’s all warm and wet and controlled, like he knows what he’s doing. Again, Adam can’t help thinking Kris is pretty skilled in this department for a straight guy. For a gay guy. His hand is around the base of Adam’s cock and he’s sucking on the tip, tongue flicking around the head. Adam’s had pretty wild fantasies that looked a lot like this.
Without warning, Kris stops. “I want you to fuck me,” he says, his voice kind of low.
That, right there, is what nearly sends Adam over the edge. “God,” he says. He breathes in deep, slows his heart beat. “Okay - okay, but we need to do this now because I don’t think I can hold on much longer.”
Kris looks sheepish. “Sorry,” he says. “I guess I got carried away.”
“Don’t apologise,” Adam says. A beautiful man gives him an amazing blow job and apologises for it? It really is the end of the world. “Come here.”
Kris stretches out on top of him and they kiss. Slow this time. With patience. Adam rolls Kris on to his back and they kiss some more, getting heavier as they rearrange positions, shift against each other for more contact.
It’s Adam’s turn to undress Kris and he does so with a kind of awkwardness he hasn’t felt in years. Weird. But then again, the moment is so loaded. They might die tomorrow. Or tonight for all he knows. It puts things in perspective a little.
Adam unbuttons Kris’s shirt, leaves it on but open. A tease. He peels Kris’s jeans off next and bends his knees, spreading them a little. Kris makes it easy for him, shuffling backwards and lifting his hips. He looks nervous too. Not surprising given he’s probably a virgin for all intents and purposes. Any dirty thoughts he’s had about being on the receiving end of a good fucking were probably forgotten after his engagement. Presuming he had such thoughts. It’s not like he talked about any prior inclinations toward bisexuality, and god knows he had plenty of opportunities. It wasn’t like Adam was shy about his exploits.
Adam tries a couple of fingers first, just edges in slowly, testing Kris’s resilience. His ass clenches and his eyes close for a moment but his breathing is steady and controlled. He’s good. He’s better than good. He’s perfect.
“I don’t - um - have anything,” Adam says.
“It’s probably the least of our worries right now,” Kris says.
He’s right about that. Sure, it would suck to survive the zombie apocalypse and die of an STD, but then what are the odds? They should probably have a cigarette afterwards as well. Once in a lifetime opportunity and all.
“This could be kind of rough,” Adam says. He pushes his pants around his thighs and spits into his hand, feeling a little undignified. If only he’d known. He’d have knocked off a drugstore for lube.
It is kind of brutal and Kris tenses, trying to breathe through the pain with his fingers digging into Adam’s arm, but it’s nice too eventually. When Kris breathes in, when he opens his eyes and looks into Adam’s, when Adam finds a rhythm that’s just right; it’s like music.
It doesn’t take long for Kris to relax, to start riding each thrust rather than resisting. He reaches down and grabs his dick, strokes it in time with each movement of his hips. “Oh god, that’s hot,” Adam says, and he works his hips a little faster, feeling kind of crazy. He’s deep inside Kris and Kris is moaning his name, all dishevelled and wanton like he does this all the time. Then again, Kris was always a fast learner.
“I - I think I’m going to -“ Kris reaches for Adam’s hand and he’s holding on tight when he comes.
Adam leans down to kiss him, buries his face into Kris’s neck and fucks him hard until Adam’s coming too.
Afterwards they lie side by side again, clothes half on and off, feeling warm and sweaty.
“Was that okay?” Adam asks, a little nervously.
“Yeah,” Kris says.
“Really?”
“Adam,” Kris says. “You’ve done it before, right? You must know when a guy’s enjoying himself.”
“Yeah,” Adam says. “But I like to be told.”
“You’re such a diva,” Kris says, laughing. He reaches out to touch Adam’s face, fingers splayed across his cheek. “It was perfect.”
For a moment, Adam forgets it’s the end of the world, and he rolls onto his side, kisses Kris again.
That’s when he notices the light. “Hey,” he says, pulling away. “What is that?” He nods at the window. A beam of light is searching the windows of the building across the street.
Kris gets to his feet, pulling his jeans up around his waist. “It’s a helicopter.”
They lean up close against the window, trying to get a better view. “It looks like it’s landing on the roof,” Adam says.
Kris finds his boots, throws Adam his shirt. “Hurry,” he says. “They might not stick around long.”
“Do you think they’ll take us with them?” Adam says, fumbling with his jacket.
“We have to try,” Kris says. He reaches for the holster and straps it to his thigh.
It’s another nine floors to the top but it’s unlocked and unimpeded, like someone was there before them. They can hear the chopper blades from the 27th floor and it spurs them on, sends them sprinting up the final two flights.
The roof is like something out of Blade Runner. There’s a round, glassed-in foyer that looks like an observation deck or penthouse, and through the glass, there’s gun fire, flashing lights, and dark figures in helmets running everywhere. The helicopter is stationery on the roof, its blades spinning slowly. It’s a military style chopper with a large open ramp at the back leading up to the hold, like something out of Blackhawk Down or Jarhead. It would be a sight for sore eyes if there wasn’t a large, Hulk-like thing shooting at it.
Adam holds his arm out in front of Kris. “Woah,” he says. “Let’s not rush this.”
“What the fuck is that?” Kris says, staring at the Hulk.
Adam doesn’t have an answer. He nods toward the pylons supporting the foyer. “This way,” he says, and they crouch down behind a pylon, out of sight.
Everything appears to be going crazy. There’s gun shots and people yelling and glass breaking and Adam covers his head with this hands, leaning into Kris who is doing the same. The chaos goes on until something explodes, an almighty boom thundering around them that sounds like the end of everything. And then the shooting stops. Silence.
Adam peers out from behind the pylon. The Hulk is gone. No sign of it anywhere. Three people run for the helicopter, staggering, holding one another up. They don’t look dangerous. They look desperate. Adam can relate to that.
Behind him there’s a dull pounding sound and he turns around to see a sea of zombie beating on the glass doors, a mass of disfigured hands and limbs. So maybe they did figure out the elevators?
“That glass isn’t going to hold much longer,” Kris says.
“It isn’t going to hold at all,” Adam says, and he steps up onto the building ledge and raises the katana.
“What are you doing?” Kris says.
“Look,” Adam says. And the glass comes crashing down, zombies piling through like it was never there in the first place.
Kris jumps up on the ledge too. “We’ll never get through them,” he says. He aims the gun with both hands, looks around like he doesn’t know where to shoot.
“Yes, we will,” Adam says. And he leaps, katana raised, bringing it down in an arc as he falls. When he lands, he notes five zombies on the ground, minus heads. Oh yeah. That’s how it’s done.
No time to stand around admiring his handiwork. He raises the katana again and starts swinging. It’s moulded to his arm now, an extension of him. He thrusts forward, takes out the zombie in front of him, and swings back, takes out one behind, all in one fluid movement.
Kris fires from the ledge, knocking out the zombie to Adam’s left and then quickly changes direction and takes one out to his right.
“Thanks,” Adam yells, swinging the katana low and chopping the legs off three zombies. They thrust about on the ground like turtles on their backs.
“Any time,” Kris says, and he leaps down from the ledge, swings at a zombie with the handle of his gun and knocks him to the ground. He spins the gun until it’s back in firing position and then he shoots once, twice, drops two zombies without blinking.
A body falls out of the back of the helicopter: a person, still alive as far as Adam can tell. The zombies go for it giving Adam and Kris a moment’s respite. They’re left with a manageable crowd, a group of stragglers who’d rather take their chances with the weapons than deal with the crowd around the other body.
“What was that?” Kris says.
“I don’t know,” Adam says. A mistake? A death sentence? There’s no time to think about it. Their last ride out of Raccoon City is about to leave. “Come on,” he says, beckoning Kris toward the helicopter. He makes a downward stroke and slices a zombie in half from shoulder to hip.
Kris follows, gun straight out in front, taking out each zombie as it appears. “Hey!” he says, waving at the helicopter. “Hey, wait for us.”
The helicopter hovers and a woman peeks her head out. “Hurry!” she says.
Adam barely has time to look up. The zombies are coming at them from both sides now and he’s swinging left and right aimlessly, creating a kind of carnage he wouldn’t have dreamed of a week ago as a glam-rock star. Everyone used to say he was such a nice guy too. Now he’s decapitating bodies like they’re sausage meat and only feeling momentarily guilty.
Fuck it. They might have been people once but they sure aren’t people now.
Kris has reached the helicopter. “Come on!” he says to Adam.
The zombie behind Kris seems to appear out of nowhere. “Kris!” Adam yells, and he runs forward, crashing into the zombie just as it’s about to sink its teeth into Kris’s shoulder. They land in a heap, Adam on top and the zombie writhing beneath. Adam struggles to find his feet and slips as his boot misses the ground. The zombie bites his arm.
“Motherfucker!” Adam screams.
Kris is there instantly, holding a gun to the zombie’s head, firing repeatedly until it lets go.
“Are you okay?” he says, crouching down next to Adam.
“Hurts like a bitch!” Adam says, cradling his arm. There’s blood everywhere. He’s not even sure it’s his.
A rope falls over the helicopter ramp. “Grab on,” the woman shouts.
Kris winds the rope around his arm. “Come on,” he says.
“I can’t,” Adam says. A zombie took a bite out of him. They both know what that means.
“I’m not going without you,” Kris says, and he puts his arm around Adam waist and pulls Adam toward him.
They’re face to face, pressed up against each other like they were last night. Oh, shit, Adam thinks. At least this way they can say goodbye. He grabs the rope with his good arm and slides the other around Kris’s waist. “Pull us up,” he yells at the helicopter. The ground falls away beneath them as they’re raised into the air. Below, zombies reach for their legs, grasping and missing.
The woman hauling them into the helicopter is slight and clearly a lot stronger than she looks. Her companions are a soldier, a child, and a woman in a bustier with guns strapped to every available limb.
“Who the hell are you?” the slight woman says.
Finally, Adam thinks. Someone who hasn’t seen American Idol.
“Kris,” Kris says, unfazed. “This is Adam.”
“How did you get here?”
The woman in the bustier has one hand on the holster of her gun as she eyes Adam’s katana. He can’t tell if she’s wary or envious.
“We were hiding in the building,” Adam says.
The slight woman takes a closer look at Adam’s arm. “They got you?”
“Yeah,” Adam says. He hasn’t given a lot of thought to how he’d go if he had to choose. Seems like jumping from a helicopter isn’t so bad. “It’s okay. I know what I have to do. I’ll just - let myself out the back.”
“Adam, no,” Kris says, holding on to Adam’s hand.
“It’s okay, Kris,” Adam says. He reaches for Kris’s arm and slides his hand from his shoulder to his elbow. “It’s better than - well, anything’s better than ending up one of them. And we had fun, didn’t we?”
“I won’t let you go,” Kris says. His eyes are wet and he looks like he might cry. Adam’s having trouble seeing through tears himself. As goodbye scenes go, it’s kind of hokey.
He doesn’t care a bit. He takes Kris’s face in his hands. “It will be all right, I promise.” He kisses him, hard and long. If he’s about to die, this is the last thing he wants to remember.
“Oh god,” the woman in the bustier says, rolling her eyes. “Can we can the daytime soap scene, guys? The kid’s got a cure.”
Adam and Kris break apart and the child opens a small box to reveal a row of liquid-filled vials. She smiles at Adam. “I voted for you,” she says.
The weirdest places.
*
Turns out, the soldier has been bitten too. They both roll up their sleeves and get shots in the arm from the slight woman.
“What’s your name?” Adam asks her.
“Alice,” she says, without feeling. She swabs Adam’s arm with a cotton wipe.
“What happened back there?”
“It’s a virus,” she says. “A biological weapon. It was contained in a facility underneath the city but it got out. We threw the guy responsible out the back of the helicopter.”
“I guess he got what he deserved,” Adam says.
“I thought it was a mercy killing,” Alice says.
“What about that thing on the roof?” Adam says. “What was that?”
Alice opens her mouth but before she can speak everything explodes in light. “Brace yourself!” she says and a massive BOOM shakes the helicopter about like it’s a toy. They fly in all directions, trying to grab on to anything that isn’t moving. Adam throws himself against the body of the helicopter as it careens out of control.
“What the fuck was that?” Kris says, from the floor. He’s hanging on to the railing along the bottom of the seats. On the other side of the helicopter, the woman in the bustier and the soldier manage to strap themselves and the girl into their seats.
“Nuke,” Alice says, braced against the back door. “They’re destroying Raccoon City.”
“Who?” Adam says. No one answers.
He edges along the side of the helicopter until he’s reached his seat. The helicopter shakes and drops and then careens sideways so that Adam falls into his chair. He pulls himself into a seated position and helps Kris into the seat next to him. They strap themselves in and hang on, grasping each other’s hands so hard, Adam’s fingers go numb.
“Brace for impact!” the pilot calls from the cockpit.
Alice isn’t strapped in. Adam’s still reaching for her hand when everything goes black.
*
The first thing he’s aware of is pain. He head hurts. Really hurts. What the hell did he do last night?
“Adam?”
He opens his eyes and remembers. He fucked Kris yesterday. It’s probably not how he got the headache but damn, it was good.
“My head is killing me,” Adam says.
“Yeah,” Kris says. “You were out for a moment there.”
Kris has a small cut on his cheek and one on his forehead.
“Oh my god,” Adam says, as the memory hits him. “We crashed!” On the other side of the helicopter he sees the others slowly coming around, fumbling with their safety straps and straggling outside. Everyone seems accounted for except -- “Where’s Alice?”
They find her outside, a shard of debris through her neck, her eyes wide open.
“Is she --?” Kris says.
The girl in the bustier crouches down and checks Alice’s pulse. “Seems like it.” She stands up again. “Although I wouldn’t count her out. I’m not sure she’s human.”
Adam doesn’t ask what that means.
They stand silent, taking a moment to mourn Alice, and then the girl in the bustier takes the Glock out of her thigh holster, locks and loads. “We need to move out,” she says. “They’ll be coming for us soon.”
“Who?” Adam says, a little more emphatically this time. They might just be rock stars but they hacked up real zombies back there and they deserve some answers.
“The Umbrella Corporation,” she says.
Adam’s never heard of it. He looks at Kris but Kris just frowns, clearly as mystified as Adam. That’s what you get for being stuck in a reality show for six months
“What happens now?” Kris says.
“We split up, lay low, don’t get bit.” She looks at Adam. “You’re probably immune now anyway.”
Adam hadn’t thought about the bite since the crash. He looks at it now. Almost gone. Weird. “Do you think any of those things made it out of there?” Adam says.
“Hell, yeah,” she says.
They say halting goodbyes, shakes hands awkwardly and head off in different directions. 10 harrowing minutes in a helicopter together and Adam feels strangely close to them. It’s weird to end it like this.
Kris potters around the wreckage before they leave, picking up an unopened bottle of water and a cigarette lighter. He’s a regular boyscout at times. Maybe that’s where he learned how to give a blow job? Adam’s heard stories.
“Hey,” Kris says, bending down. “Look what I found.” He holds up the katana.
It’s like finding an old friend. “I thought I’d lost it,” Adam says, taking the katana. He leans in toward Kris, puts a hand on his shoulder and kisses him lightly, like it’s habit.
“Um,” Kris says, as they pull apart. He looks at the sky briefly. “We should talk.”
Adam feels like smacking himself upside the head. Everything is different now. They survived. “Hey, it’s okay,” he says. “We thought we were going to die, you’re still married, extenuating circumstances etcetera. I’m not about to be a home wrecker, Kris.”
“That’s not it,” Kris says. “Do you realise what’s happened, Adam? Someone dropped a bomb on that city to prevent people getting out. Have you thought about what that means for us?”
Adam hadn’t thought about that. “Wow,” he says. He stabs at the ground with the katana. “I guess home isn’t an option.”
“It’s probably only temporary,” Kris says.
“Do you believe that?”
“I want to.”
A warm wind blows Adam’s hair into his eyes. He shifts it, noting the sun above the mountains. It’s getting lighter. They should be moving on soon. “What do we do now?”
“Lay low, don’t get bit,” Kris says.
“You mean, go on the lam?” Adam says.
“Yeah,” Kris says. “I guess we are.”
They’re silent for a moment. It sounds a lot more romantic in the movies. “Sorry,” Adam says, eventually.
“Don’t be,” Kris says.
Adam touches Kris’s arm, just lightly below the shoulder. Kris smiles briefly but then it’s gone.
“Come on,” Adam says. He turns Kris around and urges him forward, toward the mountains. He’s no boyscout and the outdoors just muss up his hair, but he knows two things about zombie movies that keep him moving forward:
The fourth rule is that the lovers always survive.
The fifth rule is that it’s never over.
End.