Before I Pull This Trigger...
*Before I Pull This Trigger...
~PG-13
~Brendon/ Spencer
Brendon wakes up to a banging on the door. He scrambles out of bed, pulling up his shorts and checking his watch on the way to the door.
“’M coming,” he mumbles, trying to pull back the latch as the door shakes on its hinges.
It’s 6.30am when Brendon first finds out about the zombies.
He drags Spencer out of bed, flinging a shirt at him and shouting something he himself can’t understand. Spencer gets dressed way too slowly and Brendon’s pushing him out the back door while he’s still pushing his arms through the sleeves. Across the road, two people are leaning over a third and Spencer finally wakes up and grabs Brendon’s arm when they see a woman look up with torn flesh in her mouth, blood all over her dress.
Brendon drives for miles, careful at first, less so after someone rolls across the hood and tries to claw their way through the wind-screen. Spencer, sitting in the passenger seat, has his hand on Brendon’s thigh and acts extremely calm except the parts where he digs his fingernails into Brendon’s leg so hard it draws blood. They drive until they run out of gas and then Brendon pulls over by the side of the road. Almost immediately the door’s yanked open and a man with short brown hair points a gun at his head.
“Don’t fucking shoot!” Spencer yells as Brendon flings his arms over his face. The man lowers his arms slightly and says, “Come with me.”
Once he’s fought off the shock of what is happening, Brendon sees that they’re headed towards a gas station a bit further down the road. The man with the gun, Ryan apparently, is in a police uniform that is way too big for him and looks about as terrified as Brendon feels, and he leads them inside to meet a handful of guys crowded round a small portable TV.
“I found another two,” Ryan says, throwing his jacket down on a chair, but keeping the gun in his hand.
The men look around, a tall Jew who smells of pot, one with long brown hair and a red beard and a really tiny kid who keeps bouncing his leg nervously and biting his lip-ring; Joe, Andy and Frank, respectively. They quickly outline their plan to Brendon and Spencer- they gather together as many live humans as possible, then escape in Andy’s van. There’s supposed to be a mall a few miles away, which will provide re-enforcement in the way of shatter-proof glass and elevators, if nothing else. They leave at 10, Joe tossing Brendon a shotgun.
“That’s the end you point at the bad guys,” he tells him helpfully, pointing at the muzzle. Brendon feels sick.
When Andy drives into town, at 11, Brendon’s first impression is that the place is deserted. Then he sees the mob, all heading towards the large structure of the mall. It is the single largest mass of people Brendon has ever seen, a sea of bodies that Andy ploughs through until even the van can’t get any further. The mall is meters away though, and they could make a run for it, or they could die in this stinking van and Brendon definitely knows which option he’s going for. There are people inside the mall, opening doors and shooting whatever gets too close to the vehicle, making themselves useful.
Even so, by the time Brendon’s clambered out of the van and into the mall the zombies have made short work of his foot. He can’t even stand on it properly and the skinny guy with the glasses drags him over to one of the armchairs in the furniture store. He’s handed a coffee and cradles it silently, watching Ryan and Joe argue with a chubby blond and the rocker he’s holding hands with, who are obviously in charge here. He tries very hard to ignore the numbness spreading up his leg, which is somehow even worse than the pain.
The guy who helped him to the chair comes over again, trailing a dark haired man behind him, saying, “Gerard will look at your leg…”
Gerard kneels down and fingers the bloody mess which used to be Brendon’s ankle with a surprising lack of squeamishness. He flicks his hair behind his ear and pushes and prods until the pain starts coming back and Brendon groans.
“There’s not much we can do about it,” Gerard says finally. “I’ll get Mikey to bandage it for you.”
There’s a sudden scuffling noise and before anyone knows what going on, the rocker spins round and shoots. There’s a horrible screech and Brendon sees a man in a Security Guard uniform fall to his knees a few meters away. He stays there, twitching on the floor with blood and saliva pouring down his chin, while Frank vomits behind them. Brendon stares in morbid fascination as the rocker raises his gun again, and the zombie falls backwards with the top of its head blown of.
Spencer comes over a while later and lets Brendon hold him tightly. They sit together for a long time, both of them very aware that this could end any second now, that this could be the last time either of them touches anyone. They have sex in the bathroom, awkward because Brendon’s foot can’t take any weight, and Spencer cries against Brendon’s neck.
When they come out, Gerard pulls Spencer away and Brendon sees their heads bent low in conversation but can’t hear the words. Spencer looks over his shoulder often, shaking his head violently at one point and waving his hands around. When they come back over Spencer’s face is ashen and he pulls Brendon close again with shaking arms.
“They’re going to kill you,” he whispers.
According to Gerard, the infection which turns people into ravenous, undead cannibals is carried through saliva, and being bitten means it’s only a matter of hours until you turn into one of them.
“Are you sure?” Brendon can’t believe what he’s hearing. He’s twenty, the day before all he was worried about was what he should get Spencer for his birthday, what they should eat for dinner, whether he should wash the car… he’s not ready to die.
Mikey nods sadly. “We’ve seen it,” he says quietly. “That Security Guard,” he nods towards the body, “he’d been bitten before we arrived.”
Brendon feels tears welling in the corners of his eyes.
“How long do I have?”
Gerard and Mikey glance at each other.
“Waiting for the sickness to kill you will be very painful,” Gerard says. “It’s best if you let one of us shoot you, at least it’ll be quick…”
“How long?” Brendon repeats.
“Three hours,” Gerard says eventually. “The last one we’ll have to keep you alone with a guard, in case you go earlier.”
Spencer squeezes Brendon’s hand.
It’s 3.30 when Brendon’s introduced formally to everyone, the blond and his boyfriend are called Patrick and Pete, and the guy in the Security Guard outfit (just like the one the zombie was wearing, Brendon points out to himself) is Bob, not that Brendon bothers to commit it to memory. They bring out a bottle of champagne, popping the cork loudly. Some of them say a few words, although they all agree Pete sums up the gist of it all when he says, “Man, you are the bravest dude I ever met. Seriously.”
They leave Brendon with Spencer after that, making excuses that security has to be maintained. Brendon feels exhausted, his foot throbbing, and Spencer sits him down gently. They talk about normal stuff, things they discuss every day and Brendon’s eyes start to droop when Spencer grabs his hand. The skin is already a pallid, green-ish color, contrasting horribly with Spencer’s smooth white fingers.
“Bren,” he says, leaning down. “Um. I was gonna ask you something. I had it planned…”
Brendon makes the effort to look up.
“I wanted you to marry me, Bren…”
Brendon sits up straight, eyes wide and then pulls Spencer into a kiss. “Of course…of course,” He mumbles, only he won’t, and Bob knocks on the door as they pull apart.
“Spence,” Brendon kisses Spencer’s cheek quickly. “Don’t get eaten, okay?”
Spencer chokes out a laugh.
At 5.30, Brendon sits on one side of the Security Guards’ room, Bob on the other with his shotgun. The plan is that Bob will shoot Brendon as soon as he comes back, so there’s no chance of mistake. For most of this last hour Brendon isn’t even aware of his surroundings.
It’s 6.29 when Brendon’s heart stops beating.
It’s 6.30pm when Brendon becomes a zombie. He is aware of no concept other than EAT. He lunges at Bob…
It’s 6.31 when a gunshot rings out, and Spencer sobs.
A/N: Zombie!fic based (loosely) on Dawn Of The Dead. Beta'd by the
thesleepless84, who forced me to re-write this with more zombies in XD