(no subject)
We Can Run Away Now They’re All Dead and Gone
McFly, PoynterJudd.
They’ve always stuck together and that’s what made them strong. Made them fighters with sweet little boy smiles and quick comebacks and hugs in front of the cameras, and fag-roughed screams and vodka shots and lost nights in the dark. Harry thinks they should have remembered this, as he runs down the road as hard and as fast as he can, Danny right behind him and a cricket bat clenched tightly in his hand. His backpack clashes painfully against his shoulders but he can’t stop to throw it off, not for a moment, not now. The impact of the hard concrete against his feet reverberates up his legs, through his body, feeling every step right at the back of his teeth, blurring his vision and turning the world into a smear of grey and red and wrong.
There’s a shapes in front of him, things that shouldn’t be there and he slows a half-step, lets his brain catch up to his panicked body and - fuck, fuck, turn off, turn off - grabs at Danny’s wrist, tugs him towards the High Street. He’s been wanting to stay away from there, stay hidden, but they’ve been seen now, doesn’t matter any more and there’s more places to hide this way, more-
-people to sacrifice-
-ways to get away and their breaths are harsh in the cold morning air, misting across their faces, not even barely covering the screams and the snarls following them.
Danny falls, half way up the hill towards the tube station, his wrist wrenched from Harry’s fingers. He falls hard against the road, a wet, hollow sound that makes Harry’s spine tense involuntarily, and he falls to the side, clutching at the hole in the knee of his jeans where blood is already starting to pour out. The hockey stick he’s been carrying goes flying and Harry almost trips over it as he runs back.
“Get up!” Harry grabs at Danny’s arm, tries to haul him to his feet but Danny lets out a scream, falls back against the ground.
“Fuck!”
Harry looks up, sees the running shapes behind them getting closer and tugs at Danny’s arm again. “Mate, come on, we have to go!”
“I can’t!” Danny’s eyes are wide with panic, skin chalky in the grey light. “Oh fuck, oh fuck…” He looks behind them, fingers grabbing automatically at the crucifix around his neck before reaching for the hockey stick. “Jesus! Jesus fucking Christ!” He tries to get up again, manages a half-hopping motion while clinging onto Harry before shoving at his friend’s chest. “Get the fuck out of here!”
Harry takes an involuntary step backwards, staring at Danny in shock. “What…”
“Move it, you fucker! Go!”
“I’m not…” Harry’s breath catches in his throat. “I’m not leaving you.”
“Harry!”
“No!” Harry pulls Danny’s arm over his shoulder, starts pulling him back up the hill and they’re never going to make it, not now. The shops loom up either side of them, boarded up or broken and there’s nowhere to run now without being seen. Danny slows down, tugs at Harry’s shirt.
“Mate…”
Harry stops, one arm around Danny, the other still clutching the bat. They turn to face each other, eyes locked, and the screams and pounding of feet have almost reached them.
“We should have stayed together,” Harry breathes, and he can feel moisture building in his eyes. “Oh god, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry…”
“Mate,” Danny pulls him into a brief hug. “We are together.” He pulls back, hefts the hockey stick in his hands and grins, bright and feral. Harry laughs without humour and gently swings the cricket bat in his hand. They turn as one to face the hoard of zombies swarming up the hill, running and stumbling and wrong, screaming and hungry and Harry smiles and-
“You fuckers. You undead fuckers.”
-and the screams are unbearably loud now and Harry thinks, this is it, this is it, this is-
~*~
They hadn’t noticed anything was wrong at first. They’d been holed up in Danny’s studio for two days, phones off except when they rang out for pizza delivery. Too many ideas wanting to make their way onto the next album, brains crowded with beats and melodies and words and in the end they’d locked themselves away with a few dozen six-packs of Guinness and Corona and enough cigarettes to start their own corner shop. Tom had raided the nearest Marks and Spencers for as much junk food as he could carry and stuck it all on the kitchen counter where it now resembled a small rubbish tip. It was only after the pizza delivery place wouldn’t answer the phone when they tried ringing for the fifth time, and Danny had wandered back from the toilet with a nod to Dougie and a,
“Dog’s crapped in t’bath.”
that they decided they needed a quick break. Tom kicked the piles of empty beer cans until he found his trainers, and nodded at the others.
“I’m going home to grab us some food that isn’t pizza. Clear up, yeah?”
“I’m taking Flea for a walk!” Dougie quickly hopped down from the sofa, picking up the puppy that had wandered back into the room.
“Lazy git!” Harry chucked a brown apple core at him and Dougie ducked away with a noise of disgust. “This is a quarter your mess!”
“Puppy priority!” Dougie tugged Flea’s lead out from under a guitar case. “He hasn’t been for a walk today!”
“I haven’t been outside in three days!”
Dougie wrinkled his nose. “And you stink. I guess you’re shit out of luck.”
Harry growled, and Dougie skipped away out the front door. Tom called after him,
“Dougie! Put some shoes on!”
“It’s okay!” Dougie’s voice was muffled from down the corridor. “It’s been raining, it’ll be clean outside!”
“That’s not… how it works,” Tom winced, and followed him out with a vague wave to the other two.
~*~
The street was empty when Tom made his way outside, blinking in the watery winter light. There’s a bit of mist drifting through the streets and Tom rubbed his arms against the creeping cold, tugged his house keys from his pocket with fingers gone numb even from the short walk.
“Gi?”
The house was cold and empty, and there’s a note from Gi stuck on the fridge. Gone to mum’s, turn your fucking phone on. Love you! Tom smiled and opened the freezer compartment, pulling out Tupperware boxes crammed with leftovers that he placed neatly on the kitchen counter to start defrosting before pulling his clothes off and heading upstairs for a quick shower and some clean underwear. He tried ringing Giovanna as he was towelling off his hair, but it went through to her voicemail, and Tom smiled as he sent her a text. Turn your own fucking phone on! Love you!
The street was still deserted when Tom walked back out his house twenty minutes later, pineapple in his hand and backpack full of defrosting food and oat biscuits and fruit. From the other side of the high hedge closing their little road off from the main one running alongside, Tom could hear Flea barking at something and Dougie’s soft voice. Not wanting to go inside just yet, needing a few more minutes of fresh air before holing himself back up in the studio again, Tom crossed the road and headed in the direction of Dougie’s voice.
The was a man standing in the middle of the road a way up from him, staring at him, silhouetted against the low winter sun. Tom raised his hand to shield his eyes, squinting, but he couldn’t make out the man’s face. Further along, Flea was straining against his leash, barking at the stranger while Dougie was looking at the puppy crossly.
“Don’t!” His eyes were on the dog, not on the man. “What is wrong with you?”
The man shuffled slightly towards Dougie, an odd, loping gait that made Tom tense, set off warning bells at the back of his mind. Something, there was something there and he wasn’t remembering it, couldn’t quite grasp the thought that had fluttered into his head and set his heart panicking against his ribs.
The sun went behind a cloud and in that one perfect, silent second, Tom saw too much and not enough. His fingers tightened painfully against the prickly fruit in his hand as his brain registered that there were no other people, no other sounds, the world frozen around him and the man’s face, his face…
“Dougie, run!” Tom screamed, and Dougie looked up, confused. He looked at the man, finally, and his eyes widened, mouth dropping open. He bent down, scooped up the still-struggling puppy, and began to step away, slowly. Away from the man, away from Tom… away from the safety of their homes.
“I said run!” Dougie flinched at Tom’s shout and he took off down the road, bare feet skipping over stones and puddles as the man swung slowly after him. “Hey!” Tom screamed again and flung the pineapple at the man. It bounced off his shoulderblades, falling to the ground with a nauseating splattering noise as the man turned again, empty eyes fixed on Tom. Fuck fuck fuck…
Tom took off back down the road, towards the block of flats. He’d never been athletic, never been that great at sports that didn’t involve game controls and pixels and obnoxious soundtracks, but he pelted along the road faster than anything, legs pumping and arms flailing, breath harsh in his throat as he rounded the corner into his road and raced towards safety. His fingers dug in his pockets for his keys, grasping at empty air and no, oh no, please and he almost slammed into the front door of Danny and Dougie’s apartment block, jabbing desperately at the intercom button.
“Let me in!” Tom screamed, shoving at the button over and over. “Let me in, oh god, please open the fucking door!” It remained stubbornly shut and Tom began hitting at the other buttons, at the buzzer for Danny’s flat, for Dougie’s, shoving at all three. “You fucking bastards, open up!”
There was a scraping, shuffling sound behind Tom and he turned, fingers still pressing desperately against the buzzers. The man was standing there, a few feet away from him, staring at him with blank eyes in his dead, decaying face.
“Oh shit,” Tom whispered, and he felt his legs go weak. “Oh shit.”
“Tom!”
Tom turned his head, saw Dougie running from around the side of the block, Flea tucked under one arm, keys clutched in his hand. He stared at the man, at the thing, swaying slightly as it leaned towards Tom. Dougie stepped sideways slowly, creeping towards Tom, eyes never leaving the man in front of them.
“Dougie, don’t…” Tom moaned as the creature’s head swivelled towards Dougie, sniffing deeply through a ruined nose.
“Take my keys,” Dougie edged closer, stretched his arm out towards Tom. The man’s gaze followed the movement, and Tom saw that there were smears of bright blood on Dougie’s palm. “Tom, please.”
Tom reached out, slowly took the keys from Dougie and turned slightly, trying to fit the keys in the lock. Half blind, not daring to look away completely from the man in front of him, Tom couldn’t get the door to open. Dougie edged closer, shaking, Flea whining in his arms. The key turned in the lock with a loud snap and in that one instant Tom turned, grabbing Dougie and shoving him through the doorway. Unbalanced, Dougie fell over the step, Flea falling from his arms and Tom, unable to stop himself, tripped over Dougie’s legs and sprawled on the floor. The man behind them screamed, lurching forward as Dougie let out a shriek of terror, pushing at Tom, trying to get him to move away from the door.
“Get up! Tom, get up!”
Tom stared, horrified, at the creature leaning in through the doorway, making grabbing motions with crabbed, broken hands at the boys lying on the floor. The man opened his ruined mouth, let out a rattling cry, reaching right for them as Dougie let out a sob of terror, tugging at Tom’s arm.
“It’s coming in!”
The blue object that came hurtling out of the sky crushed the creature’s skull with a dull, moist sound and the man fell to the floor, the bowling ball rolling away into the bushes, the cheerful McFly logo across the centre smeared with dead blood.
“What…”
“Move it!” The voice came from above them as Danny hurtled down the stairs, grabbing Tom’s shoulders and shoving him out the way of the door, slamming it closed.
“The fuck?” Tom breathed, and Danny shoved at him, getting him moving again on shaking legs.
“Fletcher, get upstairs!”
“Is he dead?” Harry appeared at the top of the stairs and peered down at them, white-faced. “Did I kill him?”
“Only for the second time,” and Tom couldn’t help it. He laughed.
~*~
Harry peered out from behind the curtains in Danny’s flat. He could see one of their neighbours shuffling around his front garden, moving in circles as he tried to move in a straight line with a broken leg. Harry would have gone out to help the man if his neck hadn’t been so obviously broken as well. Beyond the garden, vague shapes shuffled through the neighbourhood, soft moans and dragging noises and the occasional scream.
“So,” Harry dropped the curtain as a ragged scream cut through the air, and turned back to the kitchen. “Zombies?”
“Looks like,” Tom pulled open one of Danny’s kitchen cupboards, dragging out a knife-sharpening block. “Zombie apocalypse. I told you it would happen one day.”
"Looks, there's no such thing as zombies," Harry frowned, hands on his hips. "There can't be any fucking zombie apocalypse Tom. They don't fucking exist!"
"Of course they fucking do," Tom muttered, concentrating on sharpening the kitchen knife in his hand. It made little wickedly sharp noises against the whetstone and he gave a grin that gave Harry chills up his spine. "You've seen the movies, Harry. They stumble around all hungry and knocking into walls and stuff, and then they spot you and they chase you and punch you and try to bite your head off."
"So," Harry dug into his pockets for his fags, cos this was all way too fucking weird. "What you're saying is, the country has been overrun by thousands of Dannys?"
“Ha ha,” Tom dead-panned. He waved the knife at Harry, who jumped back, clutching his fags.
“Oi, watch it!”
“Where did you get the bowling ball from, anyway?”
“Bunch of promo crap for the album, Fletch sent it over,” Harry shrugged. “It was sitting in the corner of the studio.”
Tom frowned. “How long’s that been there?”
“Few days.”
“And you didn’t bother to tell me?” Tom glared at him. “You didn’t think it was a bit important?”
“Mate,” Harry stuck a cigarette in his mouth. “Not like that really matters right now.”
“That’s beside the point!”
“Phone’s dead,” Danny wandered into the kitchen. “And the telly.”
Tom looked up. “What about the internet? There’s always the internet.”
“Nah,” Danny shook his head. “Gone, mate.”
“Fuck,” Tom looked deflated. “Radio?”
“Oh yeah,” Danny scratched the back of his neck. “Forgot about that.”
“Muppet,” Harry rolled his eyes. “Go check. Where’s Dougie?”
“Freaking out in the living room, you might want to go check on him.” Danny leaned over and tugged the cigarette from Harry’s lips. “Thanks.”
Harry pulled it back. “Get your own!”
“Oh, I’ll just nip down the corner shop, shall I?”
“Maybe you could find another fucking bowling ball at the same time,” Tom ground out, sharpening the knife furiously again.
“I can hear you arguing!” Dougie shouted from the next room. “And if I can hear you, then the zombies can hear you, so shut the fuck up!”
“Dougie,” Harry sighed and went into the living room. “There’s really no such thing as- wait, where are you?”
“Here,” Dougie waved his hand from the corner of the room, wedged behind the sofa.
“What are you doing there?”
“Hiding from the zombies,” Dougie’s voice held a note of disbelief. “Why did you think I was here?”
“I don’t…” Harry shook his head and got on his knees, crawling behind the sofa. Dougie was wedged right into the corner, Flea curled up by his feet, pale and shaking. “You okay?”
“No,” Dougie shook his head. “I don’t understand, Harry! What the hell’s going on?”
“Nothing we can’t handle,” Harry said softly. He looked at Dougie’s palms, covered in dried blood, and gently took them in his own rough hands. “What did you do?”
“I went into someone’s garden,” Dougie winced as Harry poked gently at the deep cuts. “I went over the fences so I could get back to the flat. I was hurrying a bit.”
“You got over the fences with a dog? I’m impressed.”
“I couldn’t leave him,” Dougie looked at Harry, indignant. “He’d get eaten!”
“Course he would,” Harry smiled. Dougie’s hands were warm and small in his own, tiny and alive and Harry could feel a faint pulse against his own fingertips. “Let me go get something to clean you up, okay?”
Dougie gave him a faint smile. “Thank you. And thank you for saving my life.”
“Oh, I really didn’t do anything,” Harry reluctantly let go of Dougie’s hands and felt suddenly cold. “Zombies eat brains, right? Nothing to munch on with you. Would have left you right alone”
“Wanker,” Dougie’s smile grew, and Harry felt warm again.
~*~
The power went off sometime later that night, and they closed all the curtains and huddled together under duvets in Danny’s living room, a wind-up radio on the floor between them, their cheerful band logo sprayed across the front in blue glitter.
“Another promo item?” Tom had noted, sourly, and Harry had rolled his eyes.
“Suck it up, Fletcher.”
They had let Dougie twist the frequency dial listlessly for hours, the white bandages on his hands standing out starkly in the gloom. Tom had found a small camping stove in Danny’s kitchen and was warming the defrosted leftovers he had brought from his house.
Gi…
Tom had shaken his head, swallowed back the tears, and turned roughly on Danny.
“If I’d have known you had one of these, I’d have taken it off you ages ago! Bloody miracle you haven’t burned the place down yet.”
Dougie had his head on Harry’s knee and was half-asleep when the next flick of his wrist brought something more than static and he shot up, startling the others who had been equally as sleepy.
“What was that?” Tom sat forward, grabbing at the radio. “Bring it back!”
“I am!” Dougie snatched the radio back, balancing it on his knees and carefully twisting the knob back the way it had been.
“Portsmouth, Dover, Roseland, Anglesey…”
“It’s the fucking shipping forecast,” Harry groaned at the soft voice, rubbing his eyes.
“No it’s not, shut up!” Danny hissed, leaning forward. “Listen!”
“Grimsby, Sunderland, Edinburgh. Head north. Fishguard is gone. Head north. Evacuation at Portsmouth, Dover…”
“I told you!” Tom threw back his duvet, gesturing wildly with his arms. “Zombie apocalypse, I told you!”
“Fuck off, Tom,” Harry muttered. “The radio said nothing about-“
“It doesn’t have to!”
“Look, it could be anything, terrorists or a virus or something-“
“Zombie virus.”
“Seriously Tom,” Harry growled. “Shut up.”
“I’m just telling you-“
“I’m fucking sick of you just telling me!” Harry exploded, glaring at Tom. “Why the fuck do you have this insane need to turn everything into one of your fucking geek films?!”
“Don’t talk to him like that!” Danny snapped, shoving at Harry’s shoulder. “At least he’s done more than just bitch every fucking second!”
Harry bit out a vicious smile. “You want some of this, Jones?”
“Bet you say that to all the boys, you fucking poof!”
“Fucking knob end-“ Harry tensed, ready to throw himself at Danny. Panic inside them, bleeding out, needing release before it consumed them and they’re not friends right then, they’re targets, and the air around them is dark and hot and hopeless.
“Do you think my mum’s okay?”
Dougie’s quiet voice cut through the room and the others stared at him, uncertain and lost again and Harry reached forward, tugged Dougie into a hug.
“She’ll be fine, Pugs. She’ll be at Portsmouth or something, heading for France. Everyone will.” He squeezed Dougie tighter. “We should go too.”
“No!” Dougie pulled away from him. “I’m not going back out there!”
“I don’t mean now,” Harry said, soothingly. “I mean when it’s light outside. Not in the dark.”
“I don’t care when you mean!” Dougie snapped. “I am not fucking stepping foot out this flat!”
“Dougie,” Tom said softly, “We can’t stay here. They’ll find us eventually.”
“No they won’t,” Dougie shook his head, burying himself back down under his duvet. “They won’t! We’re safe here. I’m not leaving!”
~*~
“I’m not going,” Dougie huddled on the sofa, watching the others carefully packing rucksacks full of supplies. Tom had finished sharpening the kitchen knives and had given them each one, wickedly sharp butcher blades that glinted in the early morning light. Harry had found one of his cricket bats in Danny’s spare room in a box with various pieces of abandoned sporting equipment, and he had emerged with a hockey stick, a lacrosse stick and a rounders bat. Tom had looked at the lacrosse stick, unimpressed.
“What am I meant to do with this?”
Harry took his knife and sliced off the stick’s netting before snapping the wide strut from its base and handing the stick back to Tom. “Here. Stab something.” He tried not to notice Tom’s look of gleeful determination and turned back to Dougie.
“You ready?”
“I’m staying here.”
“Dougie,” Danny groaned, pulling his rucksack onto his back. “You can’t stay here.”
“Why not?”
“Cos… cos it’s my flat and I say you can’t!” Danny frowned. “So move it!”
“Fuck you.”
“Oh, whatever,” Danny stormed off in the direction of his bedroom. “Do what the fuck you want!”
“Dougie,” Harry knelt down in front of his friend, gave a sideways glance to Tom who nodded, following Danny. “Look, babes, we can’t stay here. It’s not safe.”
“We could barricade the door!” Dougie said, hopefully. “They can’t get in that way! We could stay up here until the army comes and shoots them all!”
“I don’t think it works that way,” Harry smiled sadly and slipped his hand to Dougie’s neck, thumb rubbing against the soft skin there. “We don’t have any power, and we’ve no idea how long the water will last for. We’ll run out of food soon. We need to go.”
Dougie leaned forward, and Harry could feel the heat from his body, creeping under his shirt and across his skin. He closed his eyes, felt the slip of it across his body, and when he looked again Dougie was staring into his eyes, not even inches away, and they were breathing the same space.
“We should stay together,” and Dougie pressed his lips against Harry’s, gentle and warm and yes, Harry thought, yes, and he pushed forward, tugged Dougie closer. Hands on hips and fisting through hair and breath and heat and love, and when Dougie pulled back he looks at Harry sadly.
“We should stay together.”
Harry thought he might be about to make the worst mistake of his life, but he leaned up, pressed a kiss against Dougie’s forehead. “We should go.”
Dougie turned away, and they should have stayed together.
~*~
“We can’t leave him.”
“But he won’t come with!”
Tom looked at Danny. “He can’t stay here by himself.”
“What, so you’re going to stay and get eaten with him?”
“We might be okay,” Tom said weakly, and Danny shook his head.
“Bullshit.”
Harry joined them, shrugging his bag into his shoulder. “He’s not coming.”
“Neither’s Tom, apparently.”
“What?” Harry looked at Tom. “Why?”
“Dougie stays, I stay. Simple as.” Tom made little shoo-ing motions towards the front door. “Get going, okay? We’ll be fine.”
“No, you won’t,” Harry frowned.
“I’ll barricade the door.”
“Tom…”
“Go!” Tom smiled. “And send help back. We’ve got an album to finish.”
“Jesus Christ, Fletcher,” Harry shook his head. “Look, I’ll stay-“
“Like fuck am I running again,” Tom snorted. “Go with Danny. Seriously.”
They don’t say goodbye, and it’s easier that way.
~*~
Danny’s car was parked around the corner and they crept out of the flats, down the driveway and past Dougie’s truck. Danny had his keys in his hand, ready to run and open the doors but there’s a small band of undead creatures between them and the car, glazed eyes swivelling to face them, decaying mouths yawning open to taste life on the wind. Danny looked at Harry.
“Fuck.”
“Run!”
~*~
“We should have stayed together,” Harry breathes, and he can feel moisture building in his eyes. “Oh god, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry…”
“Mate,” Danny pulls him into a brief hug. “We are together.” He pulls back, hefts the hockey stick in his hands and grins, bright and feral. Harry laughs without humour and gently swings the cricket bat in his hand. They turn as one to face the hoard of zombies swarming up the hill, running and stumbling and wrong, screaming and hungry and Harry smiles and-
“You fuckers. You undead fuckers.”
-and the screams are unbearably loud now and Harry thinks, this is it, this is it, this is-
There’s a flash of green, a deep growl that overwhelms the snarls and screams and there’s a truck screeching to a stop between Danny and Harry and the zombies. Tinted windows, scales painted down the sides and the back door is flung open and Tom leans out.
“Get in!” He screams, waves his arm. “Get the fuck in!”
Danny throws himself into the truck and Harry wrenches open the front passenger door, barely having time to close it before the truck moves off again, roaring up the High Street like some mythical beast. In the driver’s seat, Dougie stares straight ahead, fingers clenched tightly on the wheel and Harry swallows, looks at the grim set of the boy’s jaw.
“I told you,” Dougie grits out, and in the back seat Tom is helping Danny buckle himself in, gently soothing shaking fingers and pulling his rucksack off to lie in the footwell next to Flea. “I told you, we should stay together.”
“Whatever,” Harry lets out a laugh and watches the creatures diminishing in the side view mirrors.
“Just read the fucking map,” Dougie reaches into the glove compartment, pulls out an A-Z and tosses it into Harry’s lap. “Get me to Grimsby.”
“Portsmouth is closer.”
“Portsmouth is gone.”
Harry can’t think of anything to say, so he opens the map book, starts tracing the roads up north. In the back, Danny leans against Tom, still shaking, and Tom gently smoothes the curls away from his friend’s face, soft and warm and not dead. Harry squints at the map and gently, hesitantly, reaches out and places his fingers on Dougie’s leg. Dougie smiles, and they’re together and they’re strong, racing through a dead winter world and nothing can touch them now.
Yeah, idk. This was going to be a tiny little Halloween fic. Ha!