Violence In Hi-Def Ultra-Realism [1/3]
Title: Violence In Hi-Def Ultra-Realism [1/3]
Author: meiloslyther
Rating: NC-17
Warning: Character death; graphic depictions of gore and violence
Pairing: Rydon; Joncer and Gabe/Vicky-T if you look for it
POV: 1st, Brendon's
Summary: In 2018, six years after mutated animals began to kill off the human race, Ryan and Brendon finally found what they'd been searching for.
Word Count: 5,583 [this part], 15,731 [total]
Disclaimer: Entirely created from the recesses of my own diseased and fragmented brain case. This is what snorting word dust will do to you. :D Oh, and don't Google yourselves. Ever.
Beta: ezdeeppornkittn
Author Notes: For the prompt "stranded/survival scenario" on my hc_bingo card.
Part 2 | Part 3 | The Mix
Ryan hefted his machine gun over his bare shoulder and wiped the sweat off his forehead with a dirty handkerchief. The little bastard had gotten buff in the past five years, refusing to use anything smaller than a shotgun and he didn't have a shoulder strap to take the load off while traveling. He said that handguns weren't big enough for the shit we were dealing with.
He stopped bitching at me when I saved his ass from one of those... things... with a pair of Berettas.
He had long since discarded the leather jacket he had been wearing at the start of this mess because it no longer fit his arms and shoulders. Nowadays, he was sporting only a sleeveless shirt, that stupid scarf, his riding pants and calf-high boots. I had left the sleeves on my shirt only to block out the sun, not to mention my leather pants had proved useful during this little adventure when one of those little mutated bitches tried to bite me.
"Fuck, it's hot," he muttered, adjusting his goggles and shaking his trigger hand out. We had been walking across the barren landscape for who knew how long, headed for the next city: Vegas.
We were looking for survivors. We weren't very hopeful.
"You said that ten minutes ago," I replied, pulling out my canteen.
"Well, it's still hot."
I nodded, taking a swig of water before moving my goggles out of the way and splashing my face. I didn't want to think about what we must have smelled like after nearly a week without a proper bath, our clothes caked in dirt, sweat, and blood. But hell, if we did find survivors, I was sure they wouldn't mind too much because they probably smelled pretty rank too.
Ryan was holding his hand up to keep the sun out of his eyes as he squinted off into the distance. "Hey, what's that?"
I rolled my eyes at him, pulling my goggles back down. "You and I both know you can't see five feet in front of your face without your glasses on, dumbfuck."
"I may not be able to see it, but I can hear it, shithead. Look for me."
I gazed out in the direction he was facing and, sure enough, I could hear something as a tiny black smudge raced towards us. "Fuck, what is that?"
"I don't know, I can't see it, remember?"
Wary, I pulled my guns out, ready for whatever was coming. Ryan shrugged his gun off his shoulder and put his hand back on the handle, pointing the barrel at the ground with his feet planted firmly in the sand.
As the smudge drew closer, I realized that it was some sort of armored vehicle, and the rumbling, growling sound was its turbo-diesel engine. I relaxed, knowing for damn sure that those creatures didn't have the mental capacity to drive, let alone the anatomy. I shuddered at the thought of those things.
"It's a vehicle of some sort, Ry, relax," I told him, putting my guns back.
He snorted at me and shouldered his gun again.
When it was close enough to tell that it was an old Oshkosh M-ATV with a mounted gun pointed right at us, I waved amiably. The guy in the turret let go of the gun then and waved back, flashing the peace sign. They stopped about ten feet in front of us, the driver stepping out as the gunner climbed down, and walked up to us. The driver looked like a total nerd in his old-school goggles, headband, and tattered thermal shirt, even with the scruffy beard. The gunner looked like he belonged on the front of some biker magazine: long hair, full beard, aviator sunglasses, a dirty white undershirt, and a leather jacket with thumb holes ripped into the fabric cuffs. He was such a badass, he wasn't even wearing his goggles; they hung around his neck instead.
"Looks like we found us a couple of survivors here, Spence," the nerdy guy called to the badass, stepping up to me.
"I was just about to say the same thing," I commented with a smile, holding out my hand. "Brendon."
"Jon," he greeted, waving Spence over. "And this is Spencer."
I shook Spencer's offered hand and shoved Ryan's shoulder. "This is the jerkoff I call Ryan."
Ryan nodded and shook both Jon and Spencer's hands. "Hi."
"He may look like he can kick your ass now, but you should have seen him five years ago. He was a scrawny little shit."
Ryan punched me in the arm, hard. "Fuck you, you're just jealous."
I snorted but still rubbed the spot he punched.
"So, where were you guys headed? If you were trying for Boulder City, good luck. There's nothing left," Spencer informed us, picking his teeth with his fingernail.
"Nah, we just came from there. We're headed for Vegas. All the small towns we've been through have been trashed," I replied, glancing around. "Decided we'd go bigger," I added with a grin at Ryan.
Ryan rolled his eyes at me.
"That's almost twenty miles away. You guys were just walking there?" Jon inquired incredulously.
I scuffed the heel of my boot against the sand, kicking up a small cloud of dust. "Well, yeah. Haven't had a proper vehicle since an incident with a big furry-thing about a year back. Fucker was about the size of a tank."
Jon laughed and clapped me on the shoulder, turning back to the M-ATV. "Well, fuck that. Come on, we'll give you guys a lift. We were headed for Vegas anyway."
I elbowed Ryan slightly and followed them to the vehicle, hopping in the back. Ryan climbed in on the other side and Jon got us moving north-northwest.
"You guys got any food? I'm starving," Ryan muttered, his gun settled in his lap like a favorite puppy. "Fatass over here ate the last of our supply about an hour ago."
"Hey, you told me to take the last can, dickface. And my ass is not that fat," I grumbled defensively, crossing my arms over my chest.
Ryan stuck his tongue out at me childishly.
"Yeah, we got a few cans left," Spencer told him, ignoring our bickering, turning around in his seat. "In the floor there. We're gonna have to scavenge for more in Vegas, though. That's why we're out here."
Ryan nodded and reached down for the closest can, shaking it.
"Sounds like pork 'n' beans. Good choice," Jon called back.
Ryan sat back with the can in hand and pulled out his twelve inch Bowie knife, stabbing a hole in the side near the top and prying the top off. "Shit, Jon, how the hell?"
"After a few years of having to guess because the cheap-ass labels faded? You learn to tell the difference between fruit and vegetables, man."
I laughed. "Yeah, well, Ryan here will eat just about anything. We survived on uninfected rats and bugs for about six months a couple of years back."
"I used to eat scorpions before I found your ass," Ryan retorted, tipping the can up and slurping the beans noisily.
"Point. And would you stop slurping?"
Ryan turned to me and did it louder, trying to annoy me.
"Don't make me have to punch you in the head."
"Children," Spencer warned.
About thirty minutes later we reached the outskirts of what used to be downtown Vegas. There was nothing left of McCarran except for the beaten concrete of the runway, and the deteriorated shells of the Luxor and Excalibur loomed before us. Farther back in the distance, the replica Eiffel Tower leaned casually to the side and only a few pieces of New York New York were left. Even farther north were the remains of the Stratosphere Tower, the top half of it lopped off and lying on its side on the ground.
"What a hell-hole," Spencer muttered from the front seat, leaning forward to get a better look. "Haven't been through here in ages."
I whistled lowly in agreement.
"Fuck," Ryan muttered beside me; he used to live in Vegas.
We drove around until we found a supermarket that was still standing and hopped out. Ryan and I had our guns, but I hadn't seen Jon or Spencer with any kind of weapons.
"How do you kids defend yourselves?" I wondered aloud as Jon stepped around to the back of the M-ATV. I suddenly noticed the small trailer hitched to the back, which was where both Jon and Spencer headed.
"You thought we wouldn't have weapons? You gotta be kidding me," Jon answered skeptically, opening the back of the trailer and pulling out a pump-action shotgun with a detachable magazine. Spencer grabbed a double shoulder holster with what looked like a pair of Uzi Pistols already in it.
Ryan chuckled. "You boys fight dirty."
"Sure do," Spencer replied with a grin, securing his holster before checking his ammo.
"Admirable," I added, following Jon towards the front door, Ryan and Spencer soon behind us.
There had been no electricity on the main grid for what felt like forever, so obviously the automatic sliding doors didn't work. Jon had to pry them open before we could step inside, the stale air almost suffocating, not to mention the repulsive stench of rotten food. Ryan simply covered his mouth and nose with his scarf, but the rest of us had to suffer. A swarm of flies escaped through the open door but hundreds more flocked around us, and we had to bat our way through them.
"Alright, let's split up. Brendon, you go with Spencer and collect food. I'll take Ryan and look for anything we can use," Jon ordered, having to raise his voice over the buzzing of the flies. "Let's be quick about it, the smell is gonna kill me."
I nodded and followed Spencer down an aisle, searching for the canned food. Anything non-perishable. Of course, by now, anything that was perishable had already done so.
"Five years, huh?" Spencer called back to me, swatting flies and turning down another aisle. "That means you two didn't meet until a year after."
"Yeah," I replied, gagging as we came across a partially decomposed body, the bones on the forearms and lower legs picked nearly clean, clothes still hanging off the blackened skin, albeit in pieces.
It had been a woman. Tall, thin, probably no older than twenty-five, guessing by the style of the clothes.
Spencer turned around, eyes closed, and swallowed. "God, no matter how many times you see it..." He opened his eyes again and pushed me back, dragging me down another aisle. "So. Ryan. How did you meet him?"
I took a deep breath through my nose and did my best to ignore the smell, grateful for the change of subject. "Met him in a refugee camp after our families were killed off by mobs of... what do you guys call them?"
"Depends. If they've got fur, they're Furs. Got scales, Lizards. Feathers, Birds. Just skin, Moles."
I raised my eyebrows in surprise, humming thoughtfully. "Well, then, my family was killed off by Birds. Ryan's by Lizards. But anyway, we were in a refugee camp for a while. Then the camp was attacked, by anything and everything, so we grabbed some stuff and jacked an old Jeep. Been on the move ever since."
He nodded to show that he was listening, taking off his jacket suddenly. He started pulling cans off of a nearby shelf and stuffing them into a hole between the liner and the outside of the jacket. "Hey, I think I saw some carts around here. Mind grabbing one?"
"Sure," I called as I jogged down the aisle and glanced around. There was a group of carts near the front door, and I quickly went over to snag one.
I was halfway back to the aisle Spencer was on when I heard Ryan scream from behind me, "Brendon, look out!"
Acting on instinct, I grabbed my guns and spun around on one foot, aiming at at the four foot tall Mole, as Spencer called it, that was standing only a foot away from me. Feeling the adrenaline rush, I took a couple of steps back as I quickly fired off several rounds into its mangled face at point blank range. It made that too familiar gurgling noise and dropped to the ground, a pool of orangey blood spreading around it. I heaved a sigh and holstered my guns again.
"You alright?" Spencer called from the end of the aisle.
I looked up to see Jon and Ryan standing about five aisles down, Ryan's face white as a ghost, eyes wide and hands trembling on his gun. He looked genuinely scared, and I hated that look on him.
I nodded then. "I'm fine."
We finished gathering food and supplies and hightailed it out of the supermarket, throwing our finds in the trailer before getting back in the M-ATV. Jon started the engine back up and headed west.
"Where are we off to now?" Ryan asked, his eyes trained on the view out the window; what was left of the view, at least.
"We've cleared out an old blast shelter," Spencer answered, kicking his heels up on the dashboard, "in California. It's safer to sleep there. More comfortable too."
The shelter was about two hours away, so Jon and I sang songs none of us had heard in years for entertainment. Jon told us they had an old generator there, something just powerful enough to keep the place lit and ventilated, but it was a little flaky. He mentioned a small collection of books, and Ryan perked up a little at that.
The sun hung low in the sky when we reached an isolated area blocked off by a tall, chain-link containment fence. Spencer jumped out and opened the gate, letting Jon drive through before closing it behind us. Jon parked and we all piled out, Ryan and I glancing around curiously. Spencer went over to what looked like the entrance to a basement, unlocking the discus padlock chaining the doors together.
"Over here, guys," he called to Ryan and I, handing each of us a load of supplies before following Jon down the stairs. We went after them quickly, and Spencer chained the doors together from the inside as we stepped through the blast door at the bottom of the stairs.
Jon set down his load of supplies next to the humming generator, flipped on the single overhead light, and spread his arms wide. "Welcome home, boys."
The room was cozy but not too small, maybe twenty by twenty, with a full set of kitchen cabinets in one corner and a pair of queen sized beds in the other. A small living room set was in the third corner with a low coffee table in the middle, an old CB radio set on top of it. There was an ancient copper washtub behind one of the couches, and a folding card table made the space between the cabinets and the beds into a sort of eating area.
Ryan placed his armful of supplies next to Jon's, and Spencer and I did the same. "Damn, I haven't seen a place look this good since the refugee camp," he mumbled, watching Jon set his gun in a cabinet by the washtub and following suit. "Does that sink work?"
"Yeah, the water runs, but the drain must be blocked, that's why there's a plastic tub in there," Spencer explained, holding his hand out for my guns, so I unbuckled my thigh holsters and handed them off. He neatly placed them on a shelf next to his own holster and closed the cabinet. "There's a drain in the washtub though, so we just pour it down that. Unfortunately, there's no faucet on the washtub, so you have to fill a bucket at the sink a few times and bring it over here to fill the tub."
I realized Spencer had removed his sunglasses, and I had never seen eyes that blue.
"It's a little insane," Jon added, pulling off his goggles and that awful headband, and he suddenly didn't look so nerdy, in fact, he was kind of adorable. "But what isn't these days?"
"What about a toilet?" I inquired hopefully. I hadn't taken a piss since earlier that morning and I was starting to feel it.
Spencer stepped over to the corner by the door, pulling the lid off the ten gallon bucket sitting there. "Last person to use it tonight has to empty it in the morning." He smirked, setting the lid down on the floor.
I nodded. "Fair enough," I agreed, huddling into the corner and unzipping my pants.
"Who wants a smoke? Jon and I found some earlier," Ryan called from where he was hovering over the mass of cans, plucking out an unopened pack of cigarettes.
"What the fuck kind of question is that?" Spencer replied, and I could hear Ryan opening the pack.
"Give me one, Ry," I whined, hearing matches popping as they were lit.
I heard Ryan's boots clunking against the concrete, and suddenly he was grabbing my face and turning it, pressing a cigarette between my lips. He lit a match, his eyes never leaving mine, and held it in front of my face. I puffed on my cigarette to get it lit and he shook the match out, his eyes trailing down slightly before he caught himself and moved away.
Blinking a little in surprise, I shook off and zipped my pants up again, replacing the lid on the bucket.
"So, how long have you two known each other?" Ryan was asking, perched on the smaller of the two couches, Jon and Spencer on the larger one.
"You guys have us beat by two years," Spencer replied, glancing up as I came around to sit next to Ryan. "I found Jon and a couple of his friends hiding out in an abandoned building. They were in pretty bad shape."
"There was originally a big group of us, nine including me. We had been ambushed by a flock of Birds the size of small fighter jets." Jon took a particularly long drag, as if he were trying to keep his composure. "Only four of us walked away. Butcher crawled away, but he didn't last long. Sisky was gone a few days later." He looked over at Spencer then, looking for help.
"My friend Zack and I found him, Bilvy, and Tom huddled together for warmth, trembling with shock. They had managed to tourniquet or cauterize the worst of their wounds, but they were pretty worse for wear." Spencer placed a comforting hand on Jon's shoulder, taking a quick drag. "Luckily Zack and I had some extra medical supplies in the back of an old ambulance we had been using for transport."
"The five of us traveled together for a while. We found the M-ATV while we were with them, and Spence and I would drive it while Zack and the other two took the ambulance. One day a Bird that could have taken out the Hindenburg swooped down and carried off the ambulance." Jon shook his head, as if he still couldn't believe it. "Never saw them again," he added quietly.
Ryan sunk down a little in his seat, awed. "Shit."
"That sucks, man," I chimed in, a cloud of smoke forming in front of my face.
Jon nodded, leaning forward to put his cigarette out in one of the ashtrays on the coffee table. "Hey, if you guys need a bath, there's a bucket under the sink you can use to fill the tub with. I'm gonna get some sleep."
"Sounds like a plan," Spencer concurred, taking one last drag before putting out his own cigarette and standing up to follow Jon over to the beds. "There's soap and shampoo in the bucket too. Towels are in the top left cabinet. Stopper's already in the drain."
"Are you trying to tell us that we smell bad?" I joked, getting up to find said bucket. Ryan got up then as well, headed for the toilet.
"Well, you boys don't exactly smell like roses," Jon replied from where he sat on the bed in the very corner, tugging off his boots.
I grinned over my shoulder at him as I found the extra ten gallon bucket and grabbed the soap out of it before beginning to fill it with water. "Point taken."
Jon and Spencer stripped down to their underwear and crawled into one bed, pulling a wool blanket over themselves. "Good night," one of them muttered, and it sounded like Jon.
I shut the water off when the bucket was full and lugged it over to the tub, carefully pouring it in so that it wouldn't splash. I estimated that I'd need to do that at least four more times. "Ry, come help." Together we easily filled the tub, and I brought the soap and towels over, setting them on the back of the couch and using the bottom of the upended bucket as a soap tray.
"Ladies first," Ryan told me with a smirk.
"There's room for both of us," I offered, tugging my shirt off. "Besides, we should wash our underwear first."
Ryan shrugged and started stripping, dunking his shorts in the water once he was naked. I did the same, also scrubbing the pit stains off of my shirt. We laid our wet clothes out on the table, hoping they'd dry by morning. Then we got in the tub, Ryan fitting his long legs over mine.
He grinned at me as I dunked my head in the water and started scrubbing my hair.
"What?"
He just shook his head and followed my lead, taking the shampoo from my hands when I was through with it. "Nothing. Just been a while."
I blushed, immediately knowing exactly what he was referring to. I knew for a fact that it had been at least five years since he got laid, the same for me, and after going that long only seeing one other person, you tended to get a little restless. By then, there's no such thing as gay or straight anymore, only release.
"I mean, not that... well, I do, but... If you don't... you know...," he spluttered then, going more red in the face than I felt. "...We're at least safe down here."
I rinsed my hair out and grabbed the soap, beginning to scrub under my arms. "Can we just get clean for now?"
He nodded and ducked down to rinse his hair before sitting up and waiting for the soap. I finished washing and handed the bar over, wiggling out from under his legs so I could stand. I dried off and stepped out of the tub with one of the towels wrapped around my waist, going over to check our clothes. They were still damp, obviously, but I figured I'd hang them over the back of the chairs so that they'd dry faster.
Ryan's hands landed on my waist from out of nowhere and he rested his chin on my shoulder.
"Can you be quiet?" I asked, giving in almost too easily. Not that I was trying to avoid it, I just didn't want to wake up Jon or Spencer.
"I was more worried about you being loud," he answered, slipping my towel off and letting one hand wander dangerously close to my cock.
"I can be quiet if you can."
I felt him smirk against my neck as he grabbed my cock, already half hard. "Deal."
He bent me over the counter next to the sink and fucked me ruthlessly until we both came, and he gently sat me down on the empty bed before wiping off the mess I had made on the cabinets. He joined me on the bed then and molded himself to my back, pulling the wool blanket at the foot of the bed far up enough to cover us. I relaxed in his embrace, and we fell asleep quickly.
***
"Hey, lovebirds. Wake up."
I felt Ryan shift beside me before a wad of fabric hit me in the face. I opened my eyes to find my shirt and underwear, clean and now dry. Beside me, Ryan was already wiggling into his own underwear under the blanket, a blush creeping up his cheeks.
"If you made a mess, I hope you cleaned it up," Spencer added nonchalantly, shaking a can.
Realizing why Ryan had been blushing, I suddenly felt my face get hot too.
Jon was sitting in the recliner in the far corner, tinkering with the CB radio, and Spencer was hunched over the supply box, picking out breakfast. When Ryan was decent, he got up and took the keys to the lock from Spencer, grabbing the toilet bucket and stepping out.
Quickly pulling on my boxers, I went over to Jon, tugging my shirt over my head as I settled on the big couch. "Anything?"
He held up the index finger of his free hand, the international symbol for 'wait', as he continued to try to pick up a signal. There was mostly static for a minute or two, then...
"...ears on? I repeat, assistance needed... Two men down... Furs the size of houses... Please, anybody got their ears on?..." The voice was distinctively female, distressed.
Jon grabbed the mic as Ryan returned. "Ten-four, ma'am. This is Jon, what's your twenty?"
"Oh thank god," she replied, and there was some yelling in the background. "This is VT... 'bout a hundred miles east of Bakersfield in an abandoned gas station... pretty severe wounds... How 'bout 'cha, Jon?"
Spencer and Jon shared a look before Jon answered. "We'll be at your twenty ASAP, yeah?"
"...Ten-four."
"Over and out." Jon set the mic back down and stood, going over to help Spencer gather up supplies. "Get dressed, and fast," he directed at Ryan and I.
We practically stumbled over each other, racing to get our clothes and boots on. Jon handed us our guns, and I hopped out after everyone, still trying to buckle my thigh holsters.
"Let's get a move on, B!" Jon called, and I finally got them buckled, racing up the stairs and into the sunlight, jumping into the M-ATV with Ryan and Spencer.
Spencer was driving this time, so Jon was left to lock the doors and open the gate. Spencer hauled ass as soon as Jon was inside, barely waiting for him to get his door closed. What should have probably been a four hour trip only took two and a half, and Jon quickly located the gas station by conversing with VT over the radio in the M-ATV.
There were no signs of any remaining house-sized Furs, however, there were a couple that stood almost six feet tall still looming around the front door, so we took them down before going in. Jon was the first one through the door, so of course, he was the first one to be tackled by a girl almost Spencer's height that I assumed to be VT. She was wearing a black, short sleeved dress that stopped just above mid thigh, a pair of thigh holsters peeking out from underneath, and a tattered pair of black, low top Converse.
"Oh my god, you boys are lifesavers!" she crooned, clutching Jon to her chest. "Come on, the guys are over here." She dragged Jon into the back room, and the rest of us followed.
It was a royal mess. There were blood stains all over the floor, and two of the guys were trying to tend to a third, a scarf tied around his left thigh. In the corner was a tarp covering what I assumed to be a fourth that couldn't wait for us.
"They're here," she said to the three on the ground.
The two hovering over their friend moved so that Spencer could look him over. He shot Jon a glance that almost hurt to look at.
"Jon, get this one in the trailer."
Jon nodded and picked the guy up, carrying him outside. As he passed me at the door, he shook his head at Ryan and I, signaling 'he's not gonna make it.' I had a feeling Jon wasn't taking him to the trailer, but around to the side of the building to bury him when he stopped fighting the inevitable.
"What about you three?" Spencer asked then, looking pointedly at VT and the two guys. One had a fairly short haircut, skinny jeans, running sneakers, and a t-shirt that read, 'Because I'm Gabe Saporta, and I can do that.' The other had longer hair, acid wash jeans and a suit jacket.
"VT and I just had some minor cuts and we patched up Ryland here the best we could," the guy with the shorter hair explained, and by his shirt I guessed his name was probably Gabe, clapping Ryland on the shoulder. "He seems okay to me."
Ryland nodded. "I'm fine."
We could all hear Jon burst through the front door and sprint into the room with us. "We got company, you guys. Lizards. Big ones. Lots of them," he panted, eyes wide.
Sure enough, moments later we heard a thump and a ksssh as the glass up front shattered, and all of us readied our weapons.
"Everyone out, don't let them corner us!" Jon shouted over a deafening shriek, cocking his gun as he darted out of the doorway.
Ryan stepped out before me, immediately firing off a string of shots as he began to circle around the building opposite to Jon. I motioned for VT, who was behind me, to follow Jon as I went after Ryan, catching one of those scaly bastards right in the head with a single well aimed shot. I couldn't tell how many more of them there were, but I was sure there was enough firepower among the seven of us to take most of them out.
Jon, Ryan, VT, Spencer and I had made it outside the building when there was an anguished cry, one of the guys inside yelling, "Shit." There was an excess of gunfire, then another shout. "Fire in the hole!" One of them must have had a grenade, because there was a small explosion, then Gabe was running out of the cloud of smoke and debris, Ryland's rifle slung across his back. "Let's get the fuck out of here!" he yelled, running towards us.
"What about Ryland?" VT asked, although she followed us to the M-ATV anyway.
Gabe just shook his head.
Jon climbed up to the turret before yelling down to us. "Spencer, you drive. Everyone else, pile in the truck. I know there's not enough seats, someone sit in someone's lap. I'll keep 'em off our asses."
We didn't ask questions, just climbed in. VT chose to sit in Gabe's lap, her legs stretched across to mine. Intermittent shots rang out from above as Jon picked off whatever was still following us, Spencer pushing the redline towards the bunker.
"He's dead," I heard Gabe whisper to VT, and she wrapped her arms around his neck, holding his head to her chest.
"At least we made it, right?" she whispered back, kissing his hair and grabbing one of his hands, pressing it to her stomach.
Gabe simply held on to her tighter, shaking a little, and I knew he was either trying not to cry, or was trying to hide the fact that he was.
We got back to the shelter and everyone collapsed on a couch, a chair, or a bed, except for Jon, who was presumably riding on a pretty good adrenaline high still.
"Who's hungry?" he offered, beginning to pull cans out of the supply box. It was more of a rhetorical question than anything, as he passed out something to everyone, urging us to eat.
Spencer finally grabbed Jon's wrist and made him sit down on the couch.
"So, what happened to Nate?" Gabe asked, although his tone made it sound more like, 'He's dead too, isn't he?'
Jon looked forlornly into his can of food. "I'm sorry."
We continued to eat in solemn silence, and I was pondering where everyone would sleep that night. Not that someone couldn't sleep on the couch and the rest of us share the two beds, but it would be a little cramped.
"B?" Ryan muttered, and I looked up, startled out of my thoughts. Everyone else was huddled on the couches by then, conversing easily.
"What?"
"You were staring off into space. Just wondering if you were alright."
I nodded robotically, my standard response to those kinds of questions. None of us had been truly 'alright' since this started, but the term seemed to be fairly relative.
He reached across the table to take my hand. "No, I mean." He looked down at the table before meeting my eyes again, squeezing my hand a little.
I felt myself smile slightly and leaned towards him, pulling him close for a soft, chaste kiss before resting our foreheads together.
"I love you, you know," he whispered, eyes darting from one of mine to the other to keep from going cross-eyed.
I squeezed his hand. "That's all that matters."
-----------------------------------------
A/N: I'm thinking about a sequel to this. Maybe. ;D
More of my work here.
Author: meiloslyther
Rating: NC-17
Warning: Character death; graphic depictions of gore and violence
Pairing: Rydon; Joncer and Gabe/Vicky-T if you look for it
POV: 1st, Brendon's
Summary: In 2018, six years after mutated animals began to kill off the human race, Ryan and Brendon finally found what they'd been searching for.
Word Count: 5,583 [this part], 15,731 [total]
Disclaimer: Entirely created from the recesses of my own diseased and fragmented brain case. This is what snorting word dust will do to you. :D Oh, and don't Google yourselves. Ever.
Beta: ezdeeppornkittn
Author Notes: For the prompt "stranded/survival scenario" on my hc_bingo card.
Part 2 | Part 3 | The Mix
Ryan hefted his machine gun over his bare shoulder and wiped the sweat off his forehead with a dirty handkerchief. The little bastard had gotten buff in the past five years, refusing to use anything smaller than a shotgun and he didn't have a shoulder strap to take the load off while traveling. He said that handguns weren't big enough for the shit we were dealing with.
He stopped bitching at me when I saved his ass from one of those... things... with a pair of Berettas.
He had long since discarded the leather jacket he had been wearing at the start of this mess because it no longer fit his arms and shoulders. Nowadays, he was sporting only a sleeveless shirt, that stupid scarf, his riding pants and calf-high boots. I had left the sleeves on my shirt only to block out the sun, not to mention my leather pants had proved useful during this little adventure when one of those little mutated bitches tried to bite me.
"Fuck, it's hot," he muttered, adjusting his goggles and shaking his trigger hand out. We had been walking across the barren landscape for who knew how long, headed for the next city: Vegas.
We were looking for survivors. We weren't very hopeful.
"You said that ten minutes ago," I replied, pulling out my canteen.
"Well, it's still hot."
I nodded, taking a swig of water before moving my goggles out of the way and splashing my face. I didn't want to think about what we must have smelled like after nearly a week without a proper bath, our clothes caked in dirt, sweat, and blood. But hell, if we did find survivors, I was sure they wouldn't mind too much because they probably smelled pretty rank too.
Ryan was holding his hand up to keep the sun out of his eyes as he squinted off into the distance. "Hey, what's that?"
I rolled my eyes at him, pulling my goggles back down. "You and I both know you can't see five feet in front of your face without your glasses on, dumbfuck."
"I may not be able to see it, but I can hear it, shithead. Look for me."
I gazed out in the direction he was facing and, sure enough, I could hear something as a tiny black smudge raced towards us. "Fuck, what is that?"
"I don't know, I can't see it, remember?"
Wary, I pulled my guns out, ready for whatever was coming. Ryan shrugged his gun off his shoulder and put his hand back on the handle, pointing the barrel at the ground with his feet planted firmly in the sand.
As the smudge drew closer, I realized that it was some sort of armored vehicle, and the rumbling, growling sound was its turbo-diesel engine. I relaxed, knowing for damn sure that those creatures didn't have the mental capacity to drive, let alone the anatomy. I shuddered at the thought of those things.
"It's a vehicle of some sort, Ry, relax," I told him, putting my guns back.
He snorted at me and shouldered his gun again.
When it was close enough to tell that it was an old Oshkosh M-ATV with a mounted gun pointed right at us, I waved amiably. The guy in the turret let go of the gun then and waved back, flashing the peace sign. They stopped about ten feet in front of us, the driver stepping out as the gunner climbed down, and walked up to us. The driver looked like a total nerd in his old-school goggles, headband, and tattered thermal shirt, even with the scruffy beard. The gunner looked like he belonged on the front of some biker magazine: long hair, full beard, aviator sunglasses, a dirty white undershirt, and a leather jacket with thumb holes ripped into the fabric cuffs. He was such a badass, he wasn't even wearing his goggles; they hung around his neck instead.
"Looks like we found us a couple of survivors here, Spence," the nerdy guy called to the badass, stepping up to me.
"I was just about to say the same thing," I commented with a smile, holding out my hand. "Brendon."
"Jon," he greeted, waving Spence over. "And this is Spencer."
I shook Spencer's offered hand and shoved Ryan's shoulder. "This is the jerkoff I call Ryan."
Ryan nodded and shook both Jon and Spencer's hands. "Hi."
"He may look like he can kick your ass now, but you should have seen him five years ago. He was a scrawny little shit."
Ryan punched me in the arm, hard. "Fuck you, you're just jealous."
I snorted but still rubbed the spot he punched.
"So, where were you guys headed? If you were trying for Boulder City, good luck. There's nothing left," Spencer informed us, picking his teeth with his fingernail.
"Nah, we just came from there. We're headed for Vegas. All the small towns we've been through have been trashed," I replied, glancing around. "Decided we'd go bigger," I added with a grin at Ryan.
Ryan rolled his eyes at me.
"That's almost twenty miles away. You guys were just walking there?" Jon inquired incredulously.
I scuffed the heel of my boot against the sand, kicking up a small cloud of dust. "Well, yeah. Haven't had a proper vehicle since an incident with a big furry-thing about a year back. Fucker was about the size of a tank."
Jon laughed and clapped me on the shoulder, turning back to the M-ATV. "Well, fuck that. Come on, we'll give you guys a lift. We were headed for Vegas anyway."
I elbowed Ryan slightly and followed them to the vehicle, hopping in the back. Ryan climbed in on the other side and Jon got us moving north-northwest.
"You guys got any food? I'm starving," Ryan muttered, his gun settled in his lap like a favorite puppy. "Fatass over here ate the last of our supply about an hour ago."
"Hey, you told me to take the last can, dickface. And my ass is not that fat," I grumbled defensively, crossing my arms over my chest.
Ryan stuck his tongue out at me childishly.
"Yeah, we got a few cans left," Spencer told him, ignoring our bickering, turning around in his seat. "In the floor there. We're gonna have to scavenge for more in Vegas, though. That's why we're out here."
Ryan nodded and reached down for the closest can, shaking it.
"Sounds like pork 'n' beans. Good choice," Jon called back.
Ryan sat back with the can in hand and pulled out his twelve inch Bowie knife, stabbing a hole in the side near the top and prying the top off. "Shit, Jon, how the hell?"
"After a few years of having to guess because the cheap-ass labels faded? You learn to tell the difference between fruit and vegetables, man."
I laughed. "Yeah, well, Ryan here will eat just about anything. We survived on uninfected rats and bugs for about six months a couple of years back."
"I used to eat scorpions before I found your ass," Ryan retorted, tipping the can up and slurping the beans noisily.
"Point. And would you stop slurping?"
Ryan turned to me and did it louder, trying to annoy me.
"Don't make me have to punch you in the head."
"Children," Spencer warned.
About thirty minutes later we reached the outskirts of what used to be downtown Vegas. There was nothing left of McCarran except for the beaten concrete of the runway, and the deteriorated shells of the Luxor and Excalibur loomed before us. Farther back in the distance, the replica Eiffel Tower leaned casually to the side and only a few pieces of New York New York were left. Even farther north were the remains of the Stratosphere Tower, the top half of it lopped off and lying on its side on the ground.
"What a hell-hole," Spencer muttered from the front seat, leaning forward to get a better look. "Haven't been through here in ages."
I whistled lowly in agreement.
"Fuck," Ryan muttered beside me; he used to live in Vegas.
We drove around until we found a supermarket that was still standing and hopped out. Ryan and I had our guns, but I hadn't seen Jon or Spencer with any kind of weapons.
"How do you kids defend yourselves?" I wondered aloud as Jon stepped around to the back of the M-ATV. I suddenly noticed the small trailer hitched to the back, which was where both Jon and Spencer headed.
"You thought we wouldn't have weapons? You gotta be kidding me," Jon answered skeptically, opening the back of the trailer and pulling out a pump-action shotgun with a detachable magazine. Spencer grabbed a double shoulder holster with what looked like a pair of Uzi Pistols already in it.
Ryan chuckled. "You boys fight dirty."
"Sure do," Spencer replied with a grin, securing his holster before checking his ammo.
"Admirable," I added, following Jon towards the front door, Ryan and Spencer soon behind us.
There had been no electricity on the main grid for what felt like forever, so obviously the automatic sliding doors didn't work. Jon had to pry them open before we could step inside, the stale air almost suffocating, not to mention the repulsive stench of rotten food. Ryan simply covered his mouth and nose with his scarf, but the rest of us had to suffer. A swarm of flies escaped through the open door but hundreds more flocked around us, and we had to bat our way through them.
"Alright, let's split up. Brendon, you go with Spencer and collect food. I'll take Ryan and look for anything we can use," Jon ordered, having to raise his voice over the buzzing of the flies. "Let's be quick about it, the smell is gonna kill me."
I nodded and followed Spencer down an aisle, searching for the canned food. Anything non-perishable. Of course, by now, anything that was perishable had already done so.
"Five years, huh?" Spencer called back to me, swatting flies and turning down another aisle. "That means you two didn't meet until a year after."
"Yeah," I replied, gagging as we came across a partially decomposed body, the bones on the forearms and lower legs picked nearly clean, clothes still hanging off the blackened skin, albeit in pieces.
It had been a woman. Tall, thin, probably no older than twenty-five, guessing by the style of the clothes.
Spencer turned around, eyes closed, and swallowed. "God, no matter how many times you see it..." He opened his eyes again and pushed me back, dragging me down another aisle. "So. Ryan. How did you meet him?"
I took a deep breath through my nose and did my best to ignore the smell, grateful for the change of subject. "Met him in a refugee camp after our families were killed off by mobs of... what do you guys call them?"
"Depends. If they've got fur, they're Furs. Got scales, Lizards. Feathers, Birds. Just skin, Moles."
I raised my eyebrows in surprise, humming thoughtfully. "Well, then, my family was killed off by Birds. Ryan's by Lizards. But anyway, we were in a refugee camp for a while. Then the camp was attacked, by anything and everything, so we grabbed some stuff and jacked an old Jeep. Been on the move ever since."
He nodded to show that he was listening, taking off his jacket suddenly. He started pulling cans off of a nearby shelf and stuffing them into a hole between the liner and the outside of the jacket. "Hey, I think I saw some carts around here. Mind grabbing one?"
"Sure," I called as I jogged down the aisle and glanced around. There was a group of carts near the front door, and I quickly went over to snag one.
I was halfway back to the aisle Spencer was on when I heard Ryan scream from behind me, "Brendon, look out!"
Acting on instinct, I grabbed my guns and spun around on one foot, aiming at at the four foot tall Mole, as Spencer called it, that was standing only a foot away from me. Feeling the adrenaline rush, I took a couple of steps back as I quickly fired off several rounds into its mangled face at point blank range. It made that too familiar gurgling noise and dropped to the ground, a pool of orangey blood spreading around it. I heaved a sigh and holstered my guns again.
"You alright?" Spencer called from the end of the aisle.
I looked up to see Jon and Ryan standing about five aisles down, Ryan's face white as a ghost, eyes wide and hands trembling on his gun. He looked genuinely scared, and I hated that look on him.
I nodded then. "I'm fine."
We finished gathering food and supplies and hightailed it out of the supermarket, throwing our finds in the trailer before getting back in the M-ATV. Jon started the engine back up and headed west.
"Where are we off to now?" Ryan asked, his eyes trained on the view out the window; what was left of the view, at least.
"We've cleared out an old blast shelter," Spencer answered, kicking his heels up on the dashboard, "in California. It's safer to sleep there. More comfortable too."
The shelter was about two hours away, so Jon and I sang songs none of us had heard in years for entertainment. Jon told us they had an old generator there, something just powerful enough to keep the place lit and ventilated, but it was a little flaky. He mentioned a small collection of books, and Ryan perked up a little at that.
The sun hung low in the sky when we reached an isolated area blocked off by a tall, chain-link containment fence. Spencer jumped out and opened the gate, letting Jon drive through before closing it behind us. Jon parked and we all piled out, Ryan and I glancing around curiously. Spencer went over to what looked like the entrance to a basement, unlocking the discus padlock chaining the doors together.
"Over here, guys," he called to Ryan and I, handing each of us a load of supplies before following Jon down the stairs. We went after them quickly, and Spencer chained the doors together from the inside as we stepped through the blast door at the bottom of the stairs.
Jon set down his load of supplies next to the humming generator, flipped on the single overhead light, and spread his arms wide. "Welcome home, boys."
The room was cozy but not too small, maybe twenty by twenty, with a full set of kitchen cabinets in one corner and a pair of queen sized beds in the other. A small living room set was in the third corner with a low coffee table in the middle, an old CB radio set on top of it. There was an ancient copper washtub behind one of the couches, and a folding card table made the space between the cabinets and the beds into a sort of eating area.
Ryan placed his armful of supplies next to Jon's, and Spencer and I did the same. "Damn, I haven't seen a place look this good since the refugee camp," he mumbled, watching Jon set his gun in a cabinet by the washtub and following suit. "Does that sink work?"
"Yeah, the water runs, but the drain must be blocked, that's why there's a plastic tub in there," Spencer explained, holding his hand out for my guns, so I unbuckled my thigh holsters and handed them off. He neatly placed them on a shelf next to his own holster and closed the cabinet. "There's a drain in the washtub though, so we just pour it down that. Unfortunately, there's no faucet on the washtub, so you have to fill a bucket at the sink a few times and bring it over here to fill the tub."
I realized Spencer had removed his sunglasses, and I had never seen eyes that blue.
"It's a little insane," Jon added, pulling off his goggles and that awful headband, and he suddenly didn't look so nerdy, in fact, he was kind of adorable. "But what isn't these days?"
"What about a toilet?" I inquired hopefully. I hadn't taken a piss since earlier that morning and I was starting to feel it.
Spencer stepped over to the corner by the door, pulling the lid off the ten gallon bucket sitting there. "Last person to use it tonight has to empty it in the morning." He smirked, setting the lid down on the floor.
I nodded. "Fair enough," I agreed, huddling into the corner and unzipping my pants.
"Who wants a smoke? Jon and I found some earlier," Ryan called from where he was hovering over the mass of cans, plucking out an unopened pack of cigarettes.
"What the fuck kind of question is that?" Spencer replied, and I could hear Ryan opening the pack.
"Give me one, Ry," I whined, hearing matches popping as they were lit.
I heard Ryan's boots clunking against the concrete, and suddenly he was grabbing my face and turning it, pressing a cigarette between my lips. He lit a match, his eyes never leaving mine, and held it in front of my face. I puffed on my cigarette to get it lit and he shook the match out, his eyes trailing down slightly before he caught himself and moved away.
Blinking a little in surprise, I shook off and zipped my pants up again, replacing the lid on the bucket.
"So, how long have you two known each other?" Ryan was asking, perched on the smaller of the two couches, Jon and Spencer on the larger one.
"You guys have us beat by two years," Spencer replied, glancing up as I came around to sit next to Ryan. "I found Jon and a couple of his friends hiding out in an abandoned building. They were in pretty bad shape."
"There was originally a big group of us, nine including me. We had been ambushed by a flock of Birds the size of small fighter jets." Jon took a particularly long drag, as if he were trying to keep his composure. "Only four of us walked away. Butcher crawled away, but he didn't last long. Sisky was gone a few days later." He looked over at Spencer then, looking for help.
"My friend Zack and I found him, Bilvy, and Tom huddled together for warmth, trembling with shock. They had managed to tourniquet or cauterize the worst of their wounds, but they were pretty worse for wear." Spencer placed a comforting hand on Jon's shoulder, taking a quick drag. "Luckily Zack and I had some extra medical supplies in the back of an old ambulance we had been using for transport."
"The five of us traveled together for a while. We found the M-ATV while we were with them, and Spence and I would drive it while Zack and the other two took the ambulance. One day a Bird that could have taken out the Hindenburg swooped down and carried off the ambulance." Jon shook his head, as if he still couldn't believe it. "Never saw them again," he added quietly.
Ryan sunk down a little in his seat, awed. "Shit."
"That sucks, man," I chimed in, a cloud of smoke forming in front of my face.
Jon nodded, leaning forward to put his cigarette out in one of the ashtrays on the coffee table. "Hey, if you guys need a bath, there's a bucket under the sink you can use to fill the tub with. I'm gonna get some sleep."
"Sounds like a plan," Spencer concurred, taking one last drag before putting out his own cigarette and standing up to follow Jon over to the beds. "There's soap and shampoo in the bucket too. Towels are in the top left cabinet. Stopper's already in the drain."
"Are you trying to tell us that we smell bad?" I joked, getting up to find said bucket. Ryan got up then as well, headed for the toilet.
"Well, you boys don't exactly smell like roses," Jon replied from where he sat on the bed in the very corner, tugging off his boots.
I grinned over my shoulder at him as I found the extra ten gallon bucket and grabbed the soap out of it before beginning to fill it with water. "Point taken."
Jon and Spencer stripped down to their underwear and crawled into one bed, pulling a wool blanket over themselves. "Good night," one of them muttered, and it sounded like Jon.
I shut the water off when the bucket was full and lugged it over to the tub, carefully pouring it in so that it wouldn't splash. I estimated that I'd need to do that at least four more times. "Ry, come help." Together we easily filled the tub, and I brought the soap and towels over, setting them on the back of the couch and using the bottom of the upended bucket as a soap tray.
"Ladies first," Ryan told me with a smirk.
"There's room for both of us," I offered, tugging my shirt off. "Besides, we should wash our underwear first."
Ryan shrugged and started stripping, dunking his shorts in the water once he was naked. I did the same, also scrubbing the pit stains off of my shirt. We laid our wet clothes out on the table, hoping they'd dry by morning. Then we got in the tub, Ryan fitting his long legs over mine.
He grinned at me as I dunked my head in the water and started scrubbing my hair.
"What?"
He just shook his head and followed my lead, taking the shampoo from my hands when I was through with it. "Nothing. Just been a while."
I blushed, immediately knowing exactly what he was referring to. I knew for a fact that it had been at least five years since he got laid, the same for me, and after going that long only seeing one other person, you tended to get a little restless. By then, there's no such thing as gay or straight anymore, only release.
"I mean, not that... well, I do, but... If you don't... you know...," he spluttered then, going more red in the face than I felt. "...We're at least safe down here."
I rinsed my hair out and grabbed the soap, beginning to scrub under my arms. "Can we just get clean for now?"
He nodded and ducked down to rinse his hair before sitting up and waiting for the soap. I finished washing and handed the bar over, wiggling out from under his legs so I could stand. I dried off and stepped out of the tub with one of the towels wrapped around my waist, going over to check our clothes. They were still damp, obviously, but I figured I'd hang them over the back of the chairs so that they'd dry faster.
Ryan's hands landed on my waist from out of nowhere and he rested his chin on my shoulder.
"Can you be quiet?" I asked, giving in almost too easily. Not that I was trying to avoid it, I just didn't want to wake up Jon or Spencer.
"I was more worried about you being loud," he answered, slipping my towel off and letting one hand wander dangerously close to my cock.
"I can be quiet if you can."
I felt him smirk against my neck as he grabbed my cock, already half hard. "Deal."
He bent me over the counter next to the sink and fucked me ruthlessly until we both came, and he gently sat me down on the empty bed before wiping off the mess I had made on the cabinets. He joined me on the bed then and molded himself to my back, pulling the wool blanket at the foot of the bed far up enough to cover us. I relaxed in his embrace, and we fell asleep quickly.
***
"Hey, lovebirds. Wake up."
I felt Ryan shift beside me before a wad of fabric hit me in the face. I opened my eyes to find my shirt and underwear, clean and now dry. Beside me, Ryan was already wiggling into his own underwear under the blanket, a blush creeping up his cheeks.
"If you made a mess, I hope you cleaned it up," Spencer added nonchalantly, shaking a can.
Realizing why Ryan had been blushing, I suddenly felt my face get hot too.
Jon was sitting in the recliner in the far corner, tinkering with the CB radio, and Spencer was hunched over the supply box, picking out breakfast. When Ryan was decent, he got up and took the keys to the lock from Spencer, grabbing the toilet bucket and stepping out.
Quickly pulling on my boxers, I went over to Jon, tugging my shirt over my head as I settled on the big couch. "Anything?"
He held up the index finger of his free hand, the international symbol for 'wait', as he continued to try to pick up a signal. There was mostly static for a minute or two, then...
"...ears on? I repeat, assistance needed... Two men down... Furs the size of houses... Please, anybody got their ears on?..." The voice was distinctively female, distressed.
Jon grabbed the mic as Ryan returned. "Ten-four, ma'am. This is Jon, what's your twenty?"
"Oh thank god," she replied, and there was some yelling in the background. "This is VT... 'bout a hundred miles east of Bakersfield in an abandoned gas station... pretty severe wounds... How 'bout 'cha, Jon?"
Spencer and Jon shared a look before Jon answered. "We'll be at your twenty ASAP, yeah?"
"...Ten-four."
"Over and out." Jon set the mic back down and stood, going over to help Spencer gather up supplies. "Get dressed, and fast," he directed at Ryan and I.
We practically stumbled over each other, racing to get our clothes and boots on. Jon handed us our guns, and I hopped out after everyone, still trying to buckle my thigh holsters.
"Let's get a move on, B!" Jon called, and I finally got them buckled, racing up the stairs and into the sunlight, jumping into the M-ATV with Ryan and Spencer.
Spencer was driving this time, so Jon was left to lock the doors and open the gate. Spencer hauled ass as soon as Jon was inside, barely waiting for him to get his door closed. What should have probably been a four hour trip only took two and a half, and Jon quickly located the gas station by conversing with VT over the radio in the M-ATV.
There were no signs of any remaining house-sized Furs, however, there were a couple that stood almost six feet tall still looming around the front door, so we took them down before going in. Jon was the first one through the door, so of course, he was the first one to be tackled by a girl almost Spencer's height that I assumed to be VT. She was wearing a black, short sleeved dress that stopped just above mid thigh, a pair of thigh holsters peeking out from underneath, and a tattered pair of black, low top Converse.
"Oh my god, you boys are lifesavers!" she crooned, clutching Jon to her chest. "Come on, the guys are over here." She dragged Jon into the back room, and the rest of us followed.
It was a royal mess. There were blood stains all over the floor, and two of the guys were trying to tend to a third, a scarf tied around his left thigh. In the corner was a tarp covering what I assumed to be a fourth that couldn't wait for us.
"They're here," she said to the three on the ground.
The two hovering over their friend moved so that Spencer could look him over. He shot Jon a glance that almost hurt to look at.
"Jon, get this one in the trailer."
Jon nodded and picked the guy up, carrying him outside. As he passed me at the door, he shook his head at Ryan and I, signaling 'he's not gonna make it.' I had a feeling Jon wasn't taking him to the trailer, but around to the side of the building to bury him when he stopped fighting the inevitable.
"What about you three?" Spencer asked then, looking pointedly at VT and the two guys. One had a fairly short haircut, skinny jeans, running sneakers, and a t-shirt that read, 'Because I'm Gabe Saporta, and I can do that.' The other had longer hair, acid wash jeans and a suit jacket.
"VT and I just had some minor cuts and we patched up Ryland here the best we could," the guy with the shorter hair explained, and by his shirt I guessed his name was probably Gabe, clapping Ryland on the shoulder. "He seems okay to me."
Ryland nodded. "I'm fine."
We could all hear Jon burst through the front door and sprint into the room with us. "We got company, you guys. Lizards. Big ones. Lots of them," he panted, eyes wide.
Sure enough, moments later we heard a thump and a ksssh as the glass up front shattered, and all of us readied our weapons.
"Everyone out, don't let them corner us!" Jon shouted over a deafening shriek, cocking his gun as he darted out of the doorway.
Ryan stepped out before me, immediately firing off a string of shots as he began to circle around the building opposite to Jon. I motioned for VT, who was behind me, to follow Jon as I went after Ryan, catching one of those scaly bastards right in the head with a single well aimed shot. I couldn't tell how many more of them there were, but I was sure there was enough firepower among the seven of us to take most of them out.
Jon, Ryan, VT, Spencer and I had made it outside the building when there was an anguished cry, one of the guys inside yelling, "Shit." There was an excess of gunfire, then another shout. "Fire in the hole!" One of them must have had a grenade, because there was a small explosion, then Gabe was running out of the cloud of smoke and debris, Ryland's rifle slung across his back. "Let's get the fuck out of here!" he yelled, running towards us.
"What about Ryland?" VT asked, although she followed us to the M-ATV anyway.
Gabe just shook his head.
Jon climbed up to the turret before yelling down to us. "Spencer, you drive. Everyone else, pile in the truck. I know there's not enough seats, someone sit in someone's lap. I'll keep 'em off our asses."
We didn't ask questions, just climbed in. VT chose to sit in Gabe's lap, her legs stretched across to mine. Intermittent shots rang out from above as Jon picked off whatever was still following us, Spencer pushing the redline towards the bunker.
"He's dead," I heard Gabe whisper to VT, and she wrapped her arms around his neck, holding his head to her chest.
"At least we made it, right?" she whispered back, kissing his hair and grabbing one of his hands, pressing it to her stomach.
Gabe simply held on to her tighter, shaking a little, and I knew he was either trying not to cry, or was trying to hide the fact that he was.
We got back to the shelter and everyone collapsed on a couch, a chair, or a bed, except for Jon, who was presumably riding on a pretty good adrenaline high still.
"Who's hungry?" he offered, beginning to pull cans out of the supply box. It was more of a rhetorical question than anything, as he passed out something to everyone, urging us to eat.
Spencer finally grabbed Jon's wrist and made him sit down on the couch.
"So, what happened to Nate?" Gabe asked, although his tone made it sound more like, 'He's dead too, isn't he?'
Jon looked forlornly into his can of food. "I'm sorry."
We continued to eat in solemn silence, and I was pondering where everyone would sleep that night. Not that someone couldn't sleep on the couch and the rest of us share the two beds, but it would be a little cramped.
"B?" Ryan muttered, and I looked up, startled out of my thoughts. Everyone else was huddled on the couches by then, conversing easily.
"What?"
"You were staring off into space. Just wondering if you were alright."
I nodded robotically, my standard response to those kinds of questions. None of us had been truly 'alright' since this started, but the term seemed to be fairly relative.
He reached across the table to take my hand. "No, I mean." He looked down at the table before meeting my eyes again, squeezing my hand a little.
I felt myself smile slightly and leaned towards him, pulling him close for a soft, chaste kiss before resting our foreheads together.
"I love you, you know," he whispered, eyes darting from one of mine to the other to keep from going cross-eyed.
I squeezed his hand. "That's all that matters."
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A/N: I'm thinking about a sequel to this. Maybe. ;D
More of my work here.