Infection: Part One
Title: Infection
Pairing: Gerald Ciolek/Marcus Burghardt
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: This is not real, this never happened. I don't know them and this is all fiction. Made up stuff.
Author's Notes: Beta by metafic. Thanks to loads of others for encouragement. There is some violence, but it's not explicit. This is for apocabigbang.
Art by fangie-yin
Mix, On The Nature of Daylight, also by fangie-yin.
---
Grainy washed out video. The footage is shaky and there's not much light. A single face appears on screen, obscuring any view of the room. The speaker has a thick German accent, but speaks excellent English. He looks thin, almost to the point of being malnourished, but not quite.
"We've been stuck in Avoriaz for almost two months. They said the infection, the disease, wouldn't spread. That it was confined to the Southern hemisphere, but they were wrong. We're dying, we need --"
There's a burst of noise, then silence, followed by muffled voices not in English. The face on the screen goes impossibly pale.
"Marcus?"
The camera moves back and forth as the person holding it shakes his head in response to his name. The camera pans from the speaker's face toward the rest of the room. Though the lighting is dim, people huddled in close groups can just be made out. On the table are piles of weapons.
Another voice, sounding slightly panicky, directed at the face on the camera.
"We're looking, Gerald."
The speaker, Gerald, nods and the camera zooms out a little. Gerald's sitting cross-legged on the floor. He's gripping a shotgun tightly in both hands, eyes focused somewhere to his left. There's another sound and Gerald freezes. Silence descends and the only sound is Marcus' breathing as he tries to hold the camera steady. The camera sweeps across the room again, then returns to Gerald. This time he looks straight at the camera.
"We started the Tour de France the first week of July. We should have finished the race by now. There should have been celebrations in Paris. We should be racing crits for prize money. Training for other races. Instead, we've been holed up here in Avoriaz."
He stops and runs his fingers through his hair and then continues.
"We have power, sometimes, but we're trying to conserve what we have. They ..."
Gerald stops again, takes a long deep breath before speaking again.
"The zombies are attracted to the lights. They're slow, mostly confined to the bottom of the mountain, the valley between the Col de la Ramaz and Avoriaz. For now we're safe, but ..."
He trails off, visibly trying to compose himself. He swallows hard.
"When the race started, there were almost 200 cyclists. Most. Most of them died. We're --"
He stops, gesturing to the others in the room, the camera following the path of his hand.
"We were in the gruppetto, the autobus. The ones up front, they weren't ... they were not as lucky. I ..."
He stops and it's clear he cannot go on. The camera bounces around and changes hands. On screen is Marcus, as thin as Gerald, but with shorter hair. His accent is also German. He sits down next to Gerald, gripping his hand tightly.
"Gerald shot his best friend. I killed a teammate. More than one. We've all ... We just want this to be over. There are only 15 of us left, from the race. 15. There are 30 people here."
The camera pans over the crowd again, this time focusing on some of the smaller groups. There are children, older people, and the cyclists. The camera returns to Gerald and Marcus.
"Some of these people live in Avoriaz, others are fans, stuck here. We've all fought our way here and we want to go home."
There's a long silence when Marcus stops talking, only broken by the whimpering of a child and the shushing of a woman.
"We rode up the Col de la Ramaz and it was fine. It was only ... we got to the valley and the crowds were sparse and then we saw the bodies. We rode up Avoriaz to get away. The ... The roads were slick with blood. It was only the Spanish riders who were truly prepared, they were worried, they had weapons ... They sacrificed themselves for our survival."
Gerald speaks again.
"If anyone's out there. If anyone's still alive. If anyone sees this. We need help. You need help. It's ... It's spread through bites, something in the saliva. We lost ... we didn't know Mark was bitten until it was too late."
He stops, lost in a memory that makes him shiver. He clears his throat.
"It's October second and we've been cut off until this morning. None of the phones in the resort work, there's no reception on the mobile phones, if they even work. If we're lucky, we might get the wireless working. David and Thor found a working car battery and with some luck, we can upload this. If not ... this is our proof that we did not go down without a fight."
Right before the camera cuts out, the sound of a woman sobbing echoes throughout the room. Then everything goes dark.
---
Looking back, Gerald can only remember things in flashes. Not, as the Japanese psychiatrist thinks, flashbacks. Those, Gerald knows, are full memories. What he has cannot even be considered memories. He remembers fragments of scenes. Blood, the sound of the chain on his bike, the way Marcus' breath feels against his neck.
He can remember tastes and smells, but he has no idea what they mean. Why they're so significant. The doctors are baffled; everyone else, including Marcus, remembers. Sometimes he'll ask for stories, to see if anything comes back. But no matter how hard he tries, it never does. Even his dreams are jumbled. Black and white scenes that make no sense when he's asleep and even less when he's awake, if he even remembers them.
The doctors promise it'll wear off, but Gerald isn't so sure it will. And he's pretty much decided that he doesn't want to remember. He's watched it eat away at the people who were rescued with him. He's held Marcus as the nightmares attack him, even when he's awake. But mostly because the last thing Gerald actually remembers is far more than he can handle, and it'll haunt him until the day he dies.
Not that he doesn't have his own nightmares, they plague him as much as they plague Marcus, but he knows they're different. They're of things Gerald doesn't remember, won't remember. Marcus promises that it doesn't matter, that he'll be fine, but sometimes Gerald doesn't believe it. Especially because what he does remember threatens to swallow him up. It's only been a few days since they were rescued and they're in a holding cell, though it's not like any cell Gerald would have imagined.
But it gives him too much time to think, to get lost in the memories he wish he didn't have. He leans heavily against Marcus and tries to picture happier times, but he keeps coming back to the same thing, and his memory always stops at the same place. No matter how hard he tries, there are two and a half months that he just can't find.
---
At first they had no idea what was going on. The crowds were large and it wasn't until the Friday of the first week that they heard the disease had spread into Europe. Maybe they shouldn't have been surprised, but everyone was convinced it was confined to North and South America. Only it wasn't. The race organizers had assured them, though, that they and their fans would be safe. But by the beginning of the second week, it was clear the the disease wasn't stopping.
Gerald asks Marcus why the race doesn't just stop. They're curled up in bed on the eve of the first rest day. Marcus has no answers, but they promise to protect each other.
"I love you." Gerald's mouth moves against Marcus' and they kiss. Gentle and soft at first and then harder, more insistent.
Marcus on his back, Gerald crawling over him. The hotel is quiet around them, the only sound the occasional snatches of conversation from the cafe below. Gerald slides his fingers between them, around Marcus' cock through his boxers. They laugh, soft and gentle sounds. There's no lube, no condoms, so they don't have sex, not really. Just undress and press their bodies together. Marcus' mouth on Gerald's neck, his shoulders. He leaves marks Gerald couldn't explain, even if he'd wanted to.
Night falls as Gerald grinds his hips against Marcus', as they shudder. The room fills with the sounds of sex, the way Marcus' breath hitches right before he comes. The soft moans Gerald makes when Marcus slides his fingers along his ass. The whimper he makes when he comes. They don't know, can't know that this will be the last time they will have anything close to sex for several months.
The rest day is filled with rumors, but nothing concrete. Cyclists train as normal, the press crowds around them, taking pictures and asking questions. No one mentions the disease. Gerald takes a moment, calls home, but there's no answer. He's not overly worried, at least not until the next day. They're preparing for the stage and that's when a German journalist stops him, asks him if he's heard the news.
"What news?" He asks, distracted as he fixes his chain.
"They've closed the border with Germany." When Gerald looks up, the reporter's face is full of conflicting emotions.
"They can do that?" He asks, dumbfounded.
The reporter nods. "Infection's spreading." And then he's gone.
Gerald stands, confused. A Spanish rider, Gerald thinks his name might be José Rojas, rides by during Gerald's conversation with the reporter, then stops and turns back to him.
José's face is impassive. "The disease is crashing through Spain," he says quietly. "And it's heading for France, if it's not here already."
"Then why are we racing?" Gerald asks, confused.
José shrugs. "Why wait around to die?" he asks and Gerald finds he has no answer. Instead, he just watches José ride toward the rest of his team.
He goes to catch up, find the rest of Milram, but even as he lines up next to Linus, he wonders if José's really right. Why don't they just send them home or at least call off the race? He looks at the crowd around the start and he wonders why nothing's been done to protect these people. And then the race starts and the only thing he can focus on is riding.
It's not until the mountain stages that he notices something's really wrong. Usually the mountains are packed with people, but the crowds are spare and thin. The weather's unusually chilly and when he looks at the road, there's little chalk or paint on the roads. And what he does see reflects the fear burning in his gut. Go home and The End is Near peppers the pavement. He's not afraid to admit, one night when he and Marcus get a moment together, that he's scared. Marcus doesn't reply, just kisses him and Gerald knows he's not alone in his fear.
The next day is a gruppetto day. He's tired of worrying and it's clear now that Fabian and Linus are no match for Armstrong and the Schlecks. It's irritating, he thinks, that no one can match them. But he puts it out of his mind as he drifts along with the rest of the autobus. He makes conversation with Cavendish and a few of the other sprinters. Haussler's in the back of the field and they talk. But mostly it's Marcus who Gerald wants to find. And he does.
They ride together, without talking, but Gerald doesn't mind. He can tell Marcus is worried, just the way he's sure Marcus knows that he's worried, too. The trees close in around them and it begins to rain. It's quiet, almost eerily quiet, but then a motorcycle with a cameraman on the back races past them. Then another. He and Marcus exchange looks and imagine that someone must have crashed. Gerald taps his earpiece, but he hears nothing but static. He motions for Marcus to do the same, but there's nothing. And that's when Gerald hears people shouting. No, he thinks, not shouting, screaming. They keep riding and suddenly there are gunshots. Gerald stops, nearly causing a pileup behind him.
"What is it?" Marcus asks, he's stopped next to Gerald.
Gerald turns and sees more cyclists stopped. They're all watching him, waiting for him to say something.
It's eerily silent and then he hears a flurry of gunfire. Marcus meets his gaze and for the first time in his life, Gerald is scared. Truly scared, deep in his gut and when he looks at Marcus, he can see his own fear reflected back at him.
"It sounded like ..." Marcus starts.
Gerald cuts him off. "I know."
And that's when he sees a group of Spanish riders, including José, passing them. They're all carrying guns and Gerald thinks it's the most ridiculous thing he's ever seen. Except they all look determined, as if they're going into battle. José stops next to Gerald, motioning for his compatriots and teammates to go on ahead.
"Not all the rumors were lies," José says quietly and then hands Gerald a pistol. Before Gerald can respond, José's gone, riding up the hill toward his teammates. Toward the screaming.
Gerald looks at Marcus, who looks back, eyes wide. And that's when Gerald realizes that there are no more cars. He looks behind them, past the gruppetto and there are no team cars. No police or reporters and camera crews. The silence is deafening as he turns back to Marcus.
"We could turn back," Marcus half-heartedly whispers and part of Gerald wants to do just that.
But he knows he won't, or can't, he's not sure which. "We should go on." He states and then holds Marcus' gaze. "I'll go first."
Marcus looks like he's going to protest, but Gerald holds up the gun José gave him and Marcus sighs.
"Do you even know how to use that?" he asks.
Gerald shrugs, "I'll learn."
Marches watches him and almost smiles. "If this is nothing, we're going to have a lot of explaining to do."
Gerald opens his mouth to say something, confused, but then Marcus leans in. Mouth against Gerald's as he kisses him hard. He reaches up with the hand not holding the gun and presses it against the back of Marcus' neck as he returns the kiss. It's full of love, fear, and covered in please don't die, I need you, I love you. Then he pulls back and Gerald doesn't have to look back to know that the rest of the autobus is staring.
"Ready?" he asks.
Marcus holds his gaze. "As ready as I'll ever be."
Gerald gets back on his bike, situating the gun as he listens to Marcus explain to the rest of the cyclists what they're going to do. As soon as Marcus is done speaking, Gerald starts riding.
He feels, rather than hears, Marcus ride up to him.
"How many?"
Marcus grits his teeth. "Most decided to wait. Let's go."
Gerald turns back and he sees about 20 cyclists from the original 40. He turns back, it's not his problem anymore. He'll find out later, after they've been in hiding for two months, that all the other cyclists died. Infection spreads fast.
The rain falls harder as the small group of cyclists makes its way toward the screams. Gerald wishes he could hold the gun as he rides, but it's nearly impossible. And it's not just because he's afraid he'll accidentally fire it.
He doesn't notice anything weird at first, at least not weirder than gunshots and screaming. But then Marcus grabs his arm, nearly yanking him off the bike. He turns and Marcus' face is ashen. He points down and that's when Gerald sees the blood.
It's not like it's flowing, like some sort of horror movie, but it's definitely blood. Gerald swears he can smell it, a kind of metallic smell. He glances at Marcus and then they press on. He's careful to look at the ground now, as he rides. The screaming and gunshots get louder as they ride up the mountain. Suddenly Gerald feels the front of his bike start to slip and when he looks down at the ground, he realizes it's covered in blood.
This time it's definitely like something out of a horror movie and when he stops riding to look around, he sees the bodies. It looks, he thinks, like something came through and mowed them down. There are bullet casings scattered along the road and then he sees José's body. He walks over to him and it's clear he's dead, but he doesn't even look like himself.
He feels Marcus standing next to him. Gerald reaches out and grips Marcus' hand tightly.
"This must be what the infection looks like," he says, quietly.
Marcus nods, then bends down and extracts the gun from José's hand. He checks the body for ammunition and just as Marcus is about to stand, there's a noise. Gerald looks over, to their left, and that's when he sees a young man. Maybe about their age, he's a ... The only word Gerald can come up with is zombie. He looks down at José, with the bullet hole in his head and somehow he knows what to do. It takes two bullets, but he gets one right in the brain and that stops the man. The zombie.
He's shaking and he can barely hold the gun. Marcus stands then, wrapping his arm around Gerald and they both stand there. Eventually, Gerald pulls himself free, giving Marcus a kiss because he cannot bear the idea of something happening to him, and then returns to his bike. He turns to face the cyclists who remain with them.
"There are guns scattered throughout the remains. Gather them up." There's no room for argument and much to his surprise, no one actually does argue with him.
They wait, watching the cyclists as well as the people, but no one lurches at them. Marcus turns, looking at Gerald.
"It was ..." he starts, then trails off.
"Like from a zombie movie," Gerald replies and Marcus nods.
One of the other cyclists, a French rider from La Française des Jeux, walks over to them. He's holding a shotgun he found, the pockets of his jersey stuffed with bullets.
"What're we going to do?" he asks, his English fragmented.
Marcus opens his mouth, then shuts it and looks at Gerald.
"What's your name?" Gerald asks, feeling a little stupid that he doesn't know it.
The French cyclist doesn't seem to mind. "Yoann," he says, chewing on his bottom lip.
"We're going to find a way to survive," Gerald replies, holding Yoann's gaze.
A nod and then, "okay." Yoann returns to his bike, holding a conference with another rider, French probably, from Ag2r. He walks back over to Gerald. "We're in."
Surprised, Gerald nods and then, in small groups, the other riders say the same thing. Somehow, Gerald's the one leading this. He's not sure he can handle this, but he knows he doesn't have much of a choice, especially now. He looks at Marcus, who reaches out and squeezes his hand and then they have to start riding again.
Gerald looks over his shoulder, watching as Haussler and Hushovd are there, Cavendish, Boonen and more sprinters he can't be bothered to name. But there are others, too, like Yoann, whose names he doesn't know. Maybe, if they survive this, he'll find out who they are. But for now, they ride.
The devastation that's waiting for them as they approach the top of the first mountain isn't something any of them is prepared for. There's no one alive, but in the trees Gerald can make out shapes lumbering toward them. They don't get far because it turns out that a few of the cyclists are quite good shots. But he can also hear them throwing up afterwards. He wants to do the same, but he doesn't. He's the leader now.
He looks over at Marcus and is grateful he doesn't have to go through it alone. They go over the top and notice that the adverts put up to keep the crowds at bay are spattered with blood and bullet holes. Gerald shudders, zipping his jersey up as they start the descent. He glances at his map as they go down, but it's clear sailing, at least for a while. Then, suddenly out of nowhere, the zombies begin to descend.
They lose a few of their group. Boonen goes down hard, gets bitten, but kills himself before he can turn. Haussler isn't so lucky. He turns fast, almost attacking Hushovd before Gerald can fire a shot. But he manages to shoot him in the head. It's horrible, Gerald thinks, but it's not like he has a choice.
He expects to become numb to the killing. To the weight of the pistol in his hand, the shotgun he'd picked up off a dead ... fan, maybe? He couldn't tell. But instead he just feels like it's dragging him down. He rides aimlessly and it's only when he looks around that he notices the trail of dead has begun to taper off. The summit was completely free of them. He hesitates as they cross the top, glancing at Marcus and then looking around.
They don't stop, but all the same Gerald can see the difference. There are obviously no fans, but it's clear they were there. Abandoned vehicles, campers and cars, line the road. Garbage, from fans who were here before the attack, litters the ground. There are splashes of paint and Gerald wonders how long ago it happened. The first attack. He's so lost in himself that he almost stops paying attention.
He doesn't know what knocks him back into reality, but he realizes something's wrong. He skids his bike to a halt, nearly upending himself. Below them, and he's surprised at how clear his view is, he can see the next valley. He frowns and can almost make out people, milling around. He turns, looking at Marcus, who's ridden up until he's right next to Gerald.
"What is it?" Marcus asks.
Gerald just points.
It's Yoann who speaks, breaking the silence. "Maybe they aren't infected ..." But even as he's speaking, they all hear the screaming.
Instinctively, Gerald grabs Marcus' hand. They watch in horror as people, he can't even tell who they are, are devoured. Gerald thinks he's never been so disgusted in his life, but he can't bring himself to turn away. Behind him, he can hear some of the others being sick. He can't blame them.
It's Cav who makes the observation that will save their lives.
"They're not climbing the mountain," he says quickly. He's standing next to Bernie, far too close, both of them looking slightly green.
Marcus turns. "What?"
Cav points toward the valley. "They're all at the bottom of the mountain."
Gerald follows Cav's gaze and realizes he's right. He turns to Marcus, suddenly sure of their goal.
"We have to get up there," he murmurs, only loud enough for Marcus to hear.
Marcus turns again, leaving Gerald lost in thought. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knows Marcus is explaining to the rest of the cyclists what they'll have to do. But he doesn't have time to listen, he's far more concerned with how they'll get through the crowd of zombies waiting for them when they reach the valley.
He watches as the zombies move in groups, lumbering along. He wonders if maybe they need some sort of distraction. He frowns again, it's making his head hurt and he wishes this was just a dream. Except it's not. He stares hard at the valley, trying to determine if anyone down there isn't a zombie yet. He can't tell and he feels his heart clench as he thinks of his teammates, his friends. His best friend. He doesn't have time to dwell, because Marcus' hand is on his arm.
Gerald turns to look at him. Marcus is biting his lip, looking just as scared as Gerald feels.
"We have to go around," he says softly.
Marcus nods, curling his fingers a bit. "How?"
Gerald shakes his head. "I don't know."
Marcus looks down toward the valley. Gerald follows his gaze as it moves up, past the finish and then suddenly he turns to Marcus.
"We should ..." he starts, but Marcus is nodding, already there.
"Through the forest. We'll have to ditch the bikes." Marcus finishes and Gerald nods.
He takes a breath and then steps in close, needing the contact of Marcus. Needing him. "We have to ... We have to go back up the mountain and clear out what we can."
Marcus nods again, then leans in and kisses him. They stay like that for a bit, then Gerald pulls away. He knows he has to take control now. He can't let Marcus do all the work. He turns, finding all the cyclists watching them. He does a rough count in his head. There are maybe 25 with them. He knows them all and he's afraid to think how many will die. That he and Marcus might die.
He clears his throat. "We've got to get to Avoriaz."
Yoann speaks up again and Gerald thinks that this kid won't die. He has to make it. "How? There are zombies in the valley. Both valleys."
"I know," he says and he can feel Marcus' hand on his back. Love, reassurance, a bit of both. "We'll have to go around. Through the forest. We'll need to lose the bikes." He watches the pain cross their faces, but it's Yoann's friend Maxime, from Ag2r who speaks this time.
"Our careers are over. We've ... we've all lost people. Friends," he says and Gerald's not surprised when Yoann reaches out and grabs his hand. If there wasn't something there before, he thinks, there is now.
The other cyclists turn, talking to each other and then it's Thor. His deep voice resonates. "We have to try. If we don't, we might never know if our families are alive."
Quiet and then the others find themselves agreeing. Gerald nods his silent thanks. He hopes Thor makes it. He feels Marcus pull him closer and Gerald's again selfishly grateful he doesn't have to go through this alone. He doesn't think he'd make it if he had to.
"One more thing," he says, watching as the cyclists get off their bikes. They stop and look at him. "We have to go back up." He points to the mountain behind him. "We have to get whatever we can carry. We don't know what's waiting for us." He waits for protests, but no one says anything. Instead, they leave their bikes and start making their way up the mountain.
It breaks his heart, but he knows he can't afford these feelings. He takes a deep breath and then they're all off. They trudge back up the mountain, the only sound is the click of their cycling shoes on the pavement, punctuated by periodic screams from below. Gerald tries to tune them out, but finds it hard.
Finally they reach the summit again and everything descends into an uneasy silence. They start going through people's things. Tents, abandoned campers and cars, even the team cars. They find backpacks and food, cellphones that don't work, TVs with no reception when turned on. Marcus picks up a small radio, Thor finds a laptop. They gather everything together and Gerald tries to come up with a plan.
He looks down the mountain and then back at what remains of the gruppetto. He takes a long, slow deep breath. "We have to go down there." He gestures toward the valley. "We have to find another route or ... create a distraction, or something."
Gerald stops talking and he can feel everyone's eyes on him. This is too hard, he thinks. We can't do this, we're all going to die. But when he looks up, he sees Marcus watching him and he knows he has to be strong. They have to be strong.
Thor looks at him and then speaks. "I was thinking, maybe we could drive one of these cars down, blow it up and then ride through."
They're all silent, but then Marcus replies. "That's brilliant. One of the smaller ones, maybe." He starts looking around, but all Gerald can think is that it's a horrible idea.
He grabs Marcus' arm. Marcus stops and turns, looking at him. "Someone's going to have to sacrifice themselves."
Marcus doesn't reply, just shoves Gerald's hand off. He resumes looking in the cars. Then they hear a shout. Without wanting to, Gerald follows Marcus. Bennati has found a small car with the keys still inside.
The car starts without a hitch and suddenly this is the plan. Gerald still doesn't like it, he doesn't want anyone else to get bitten, to die. Even though he knows it's inevitable, that doesn't mean they have to do things to make it happen faster. And, he grumbles silently, starting a car is a great way of attracting attention.
Even so, they make it halfway down the mountain before anything happens. Thor behind the wheel, driving carefully with the cyclists riding or walking their bikes behind him. In another world, this could be the gruppetto, straggling to catch up with the peloton. But this isn't their world anymore, it isn't their life.
The attack comes out of nowhere and at first, after their guns stop firing, Gerald thinks they've made it through unscathed. Then he notices Baden Cooke, one of the Australian sprinters, holding his arm. Mark Renshaw, one of Baden's former teammates if Gerald recalls correctly, is staring in horror.
"Baden, Baden!" Mark's half-shouting and it's only when Thor stops the car and wraps his arms around Mark that silence descends. It's not the first time they've lost one of their own, but Gerald thinks, for some reason, this is worse. They don't have many people left to lose. But now they're committed and Gerald pulls his gun, but Baden's already there.
He grits his teeth, looking at Mark while he's speaking. "I'll drive. I don't have long, but I think I can make it down there before I become ... One of them." He's holding his arm, blood seeping between his fingers and Mark's sobbing quietly in Thor's arms.
Gerald opens his mouth to protest, but what can he say? He meets Baden's eyes and they both know what'll happen. What has to happen. Baden's speaking again, outlining the plan no one dared speak.
"I'll drive ahead, crash and set the car on fire. I should ... I'm still human, they'll come for me and ..." He doesn't have to finish, everyone knows what'll happen.
Gerald just nods his approval. He lets Yoann, who seems to have the most medical knowledge, wrap up the bite on Baden's arm. And then, with a tight hug for Mark, Baden's off. They watch the car go down the mountain and Gerald wonders how long he'll last.
Without talking, Marcus gets on his bike and the rest follow his lead. The ride down is quiet, far too quiet and then there's a screech of tires, inhuman screams and a huge crash. They're close enough to the valley now that they can see what happened. Smoke billows up between the buildings of the small town in the valley. There are bodies by the side of the road and Gerald can just make out the zombies, lumbering toward them.
They ride slowly, quietly. They're almost through the town, where the majority of the zombies are located, when the attack happens. They're surrounded and Gerald knows their group isn't going to make it through. Marcus looks over at him and Gerald holds his gaze. I love you, he mouths and Marcus returns the words. And then they start firing.
At first Gerald doesn't recognize them. Their faces are different, drawn and pale. Their skin, he notices, barely hangs onto their bodies. And then suddenly he realizes who they're shooting. Compatriots, colleagues, teammates. A zombie surges toward Marcus, Gerald shoots without thinking. The first shot just grazes the zombie, allowing Marcus to shift out of the way. And then Gerald realizes who he's shooting.
"Linus!" He screams. The zombie doesn't even look at him, just lumbers on, running on whatever instinct it has left. Gerald knows he should shoot, he has to shoot. And when the zombie, the person who was Linus, his best friend, turns toward him, Gerald doesn't know if he can do it. He can hear Marcus screaming, hear the yelling of the rest of the gruppetto, but all he sees is Linus. He's crying so hard he can barely breathe and then he's shooting. He kills his best friend.
It's the last thing he remembers.
Part Two
Pairing: Gerald Ciolek/Marcus Burghardt
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: This is not real, this never happened. I don't know them and this is all fiction. Made up stuff.
Author's Notes: Beta by metafic. Thanks to loads of others for encouragement. There is some violence, but it's not explicit. This is for apocabigbang.
Art by fangie-yin
Mix, On The Nature of Daylight, also by fangie-yin.
---
Grainy washed out video. The footage is shaky and there's not much light. A single face appears on screen, obscuring any view of the room. The speaker has a thick German accent, but speaks excellent English. He looks thin, almost to the point of being malnourished, but not quite.
"We've been stuck in Avoriaz for almost two months. They said the infection, the disease, wouldn't spread. That it was confined to the Southern hemisphere, but they were wrong. We're dying, we need --"
There's a burst of noise, then silence, followed by muffled voices not in English. The face on the screen goes impossibly pale.
"Marcus?"
The camera moves back and forth as the person holding it shakes his head in response to his name. The camera pans from the speaker's face toward the rest of the room. Though the lighting is dim, people huddled in close groups can just be made out. On the table are piles of weapons.
Another voice, sounding slightly panicky, directed at the face on the camera.
"We're looking, Gerald."
The speaker, Gerald, nods and the camera zooms out a little. Gerald's sitting cross-legged on the floor. He's gripping a shotgun tightly in both hands, eyes focused somewhere to his left. There's another sound and Gerald freezes. Silence descends and the only sound is Marcus' breathing as he tries to hold the camera steady. The camera sweeps across the room again, then returns to Gerald. This time he looks straight at the camera.
"We started the Tour de France the first week of July. We should have finished the race by now. There should have been celebrations in Paris. We should be racing crits for prize money. Training for other races. Instead, we've been holed up here in Avoriaz."
He stops and runs his fingers through his hair and then continues.
"We have power, sometimes, but we're trying to conserve what we have. They ..."
Gerald stops again, takes a long deep breath before speaking again.
"The zombies are attracted to the lights. They're slow, mostly confined to the bottom of the mountain, the valley between the Col de la Ramaz and Avoriaz. For now we're safe, but ..."
He trails off, visibly trying to compose himself. He swallows hard.
"When the race started, there were almost 200 cyclists. Most. Most of them died. We're --"
He stops, gesturing to the others in the room, the camera following the path of his hand.
"We were in the gruppetto, the autobus. The ones up front, they weren't ... they were not as lucky. I ..."
He stops and it's clear he cannot go on. The camera bounces around and changes hands. On screen is Marcus, as thin as Gerald, but with shorter hair. His accent is also German. He sits down next to Gerald, gripping his hand tightly.
"Gerald shot his best friend. I killed a teammate. More than one. We've all ... We just want this to be over. There are only 15 of us left, from the race. 15. There are 30 people here."
The camera pans over the crowd again, this time focusing on some of the smaller groups. There are children, older people, and the cyclists. The camera returns to Gerald and Marcus.
"Some of these people live in Avoriaz, others are fans, stuck here. We've all fought our way here and we want to go home."
There's a long silence when Marcus stops talking, only broken by the whimpering of a child and the shushing of a woman.
"We rode up the Col de la Ramaz and it was fine. It was only ... we got to the valley and the crowds were sparse and then we saw the bodies. We rode up Avoriaz to get away. The ... The roads were slick with blood. It was only the Spanish riders who were truly prepared, they were worried, they had weapons ... They sacrificed themselves for our survival."
Gerald speaks again.
"If anyone's out there. If anyone's still alive. If anyone sees this. We need help. You need help. It's ... It's spread through bites, something in the saliva. We lost ... we didn't know Mark was bitten until it was too late."
He stops, lost in a memory that makes him shiver. He clears his throat.
"It's October second and we've been cut off until this morning. None of the phones in the resort work, there's no reception on the mobile phones, if they even work. If we're lucky, we might get the wireless working. David and Thor found a working car battery and with some luck, we can upload this. If not ... this is our proof that we did not go down without a fight."
Right before the camera cuts out, the sound of a woman sobbing echoes throughout the room. Then everything goes dark.
---
Looking back, Gerald can only remember things in flashes. Not, as the Japanese psychiatrist thinks, flashbacks. Those, Gerald knows, are full memories. What he has cannot even be considered memories. He remembers fragments of scenes. Blood, the sound of the chain on his bike, the way Marcus' breath feels against his neck.
He can remember tastes and smells, but he has no idea what they mean. Why they're so significant. The doctors are baffled; everyone else, including Marcus, remembers. Sometimes he'll ask for stories, to see if anything comes back. But no matter how hard he tries, it never does. Even his dreams are jumbled. Black and white scenes that make no sense when he's asleep and even less when he's awake, if he even remembers them.
The doctors promise it'll wear off, but Gerald isn't so sure it will. And he's pretty much decided that he doesn't want to remember. He's watched it eat away at the people who were rescued with him. He's held Marcus as the nightmares attack him, even when he's awake. But mostly because the last thing Gerald actually remembers is far more than he can handle, and it'll haunt him until the day he dies.
Not that he doesn't have his own nightmares, they plague him as much as they plague Marcus, but he knows they're different. They're of things Gerald doesn't remember, won't remember. Marcus promises that it doesn't matter, that he'll be fine, but sometimes Gerald doesn't believe it. Especially because what he does remember threatens to swallow him up. It's only been a few days since they were rescued and they're in a holding cell, though it's not like any cell Gerald would have imagined.
But it gives him too much time to think, to get lost in the memories he wish he didn't have. He leans heavily against Marcus and tries to picture happier times, but he keeps coming back to the same thing, and his memory always stops at the same place. No matter how hard he tries, there are two and a half months that he just can't find.
---
At first they had no idea what was going on. The crowds were large and it wasn't until the Friday of the first week that they heard the disease had spread into Europe. Maybe they shouldn't have been surprised, but everyone was convinced it was confined to North and South America. Only it wasn't. The race organizers had assured them, though, that they and their fans would be safe. But by the beginning of the second week, it was clear the the disease wasn't stopping.
Gerald asks Marcus why the race doesn't just stop. They're curled up in bed on the eve of the first rest day. Marcus has no answers, but they promise to protect each other.
"I love you." Gerald's mouth moves against Marcus' and they kiss. Gentle and soft at first and then harder, more insistent.
Marcus on his back, Gerald crawling over him. The hotel is quiet around them, the only sound the occasional snatches of conversation from the cafe below. Gerald slides his fingers between them, around Marcus' cock through his boxers. They laugh, soft and gentle sounds. There's no lube, no condoms, so they don't have sex, not really. Just undress and press their bodies together. Marcus' mouth on Gerald's neck, his shoulders. He leaves marks Gerald couldn't explain, even if he'd wanted to.
Night falls as Gerald grinds his hips against Marcus', as they shudder. The room fills with the sounds of sex, the way Marcus' breath hitches right before he comes. The soft moans Gerald makes when Marcus slides his fingers along his ass. The whimper he makes when he comes. They don't know, can't know that this will be the last time they will have anything close to sex for several months.
The rest day is filled with rumors, but nothing concrete. Cyclists train as normal, the press crowds around them, taking pictures and asking questions. No one mentions the disease. Gerald takes a moment, calls home, but there's no answer. He's not overly worried, at least not until the next day. They're preparing for the stage and that's when a German journalist stops him, asks him if he's heard the news.
"What news?" He asks, distracted as he fixes his chain.
"They've closed the border with Germany." When Gerald looks up, the reporter's face is full of conflicting emotions.
"They can do that?" He asks, dumbfounded.
The reporter nods. "Infection's spreading." And then he's gone.
Gerald stands, confused. A Spanish rider, Gerald thinks his name might be José Rojas, rides by during Gerald's conversation with the reporter, then stops and turns back to him.
José's face is impassive. "The disease is crashing through Spain," he says quietly. "And it's heading for France, if it's not here already."
"Then why are we racing?" Gerald asks, confused.
José shrugs. "Why wait around to die?" he asks and Gerald finds he has no answer. Instead, he just watches José ride toward the rest of his team.
He goes to catch up, find the rest of Milram, but even as he lines up next to Linus, he wonders if José's really right. Why don't they just send them home or at least call off the race? He looks at the crowd around the start and he wonders why nothing's been done to protect these people. And then the race starts and the only thing he can focus on is riding.
It's not until the mountain stages that he notices something's really wrong. Usually the mountains are packed with people, but the crowds are spare and thin. The weather's unusually chilly and when he looks at the road, there's little chalk or paint on the roads. And what he does see reflects the fear burning in his gut. Go home and The End is Near peppers the pavement. He's not afraid to admit, one night when he and Marcus get a moment together, that he's scared. Marcus doesn't reply, just kisses him and Gerald knows he's not alone in his fear.
The next day is a gruppetto day. He's tired of worrying and it's clear now that Fabian and Linus are no match for Armstrong and the Schlecks. It's irritating, he thinks, that no one can match them. But he puts it out of his mind as he drifts along with the rest of the autobus. He makes conversation with Cavendish and a few of the other sprinters. Haussler's in the back of the field and they talk. But mostly it's Marcus who Gerald wants to find. And he does.
They ride together, without talking, but Gerald doesn't mind. He can tell Marcus is worried, just the way he's sure Marcus knows that he's worried, too. The trees close in around them and it begins to rain. It's quiet, almost eerily quiet, but then a motorcycle with a cameraman on the back races past them. Then another. He and Marcus exchange looks and imagine that someone must have crashed. Gerald taps his earpiece, but he hears nothing but static. He motions for Marcus to do the same, but there's nothing. And that's when Gerald hears people shouting. No, he thinks, not shouting, screaming. They keep riding and suddenly there are gunshots. Gerald stops, nearly causing a pileup behind him.
"What is it?" Marcus asks, he's stopped next to Gerald.
Gerald turns and sees more cyclists stopped. They're all watching him, waiting for him to say something.
It's eerily silent and then he hears a flurry of gunfire. Marcus meets his gaze and for the first time in his life, Gerald is scared. Truly scared, deep in his gut and when he looks at Marcus, he can see his own fear reflected back at him.
"It sounded like ..." Marcus starts.
Gerald cuts him off. "I know."
And that's when he sees a group of Spanish riders, including José, passing them. They're all carrying guns and Gerald thinks it's the most ridiculous thing he's ever seen. Except they all look determined, as if they're going into battle. José stops next to Gerald, motioning for his compatriots and teammates to go on ahead.
"Not all the rumors were lies," José says quietly and then hands Gerald a pistol. Before Gerald can respond, José's gone, riding up the hill toward his teammates. Toward the screaming.
Gerald looks at Marcus, who looks back, eyes wide. And that's when Gerald realizes that there are no more cars. He looks behind them, past the gruppetto and there are no team cars. No police or reporters and camera crews. The silence is deafening as he turns back to Marcus.
"We could turn back," Marcus half-heartedly whispers and part of Gerald wants to do just that.
But he knows he won't, or can't, he's not sure which. "We should go on." He states and then holds Marcus' gaze. "I'll go first."
Marcus looks like he's going to protest, but Gerald holds up the gun José gave him and Marcus sighs.
"Do you even know how to use that?" he asks.
Gerald shrugs, "I'll learn."
Marches watches him and almost smiles. "If this is nothing, we're going to have a lot of explaining to do."
Gerald opens his mouth to say something, confused, but then Marcus leans in. Mouth against Gerald's as he kisses him hard. He reaches up with the hand not holding the gun and presses it against the back of Marcus' neck as he returns the kiss. It's full of love, fear, and covered in please don't die, I need you, I love you. Then he pulls back and Gerald doesn't have to look back to know that the rest of the autobus is staring.
"Ready?" he asks.
Marcus holds his gaze. "As ready as I'll ever be."
Gerald gets back on his bike, situating the gun as he listens to Marcus explain to the rest of the cyclists what they're going to do. As soon as Marcus is done speaking, Gerald starts riding.
He feels, rather than hears, Marcus ride up to him.
"How many?"
Marcus grits his teeth. "Most decided to wait. Let's go."
Gerald turns back and he sees about 20 cyclists from the original 40. He turns back, it's not his problem anymore. He'll find out later, after they've been in hiding for two months, that all the other cyclists died. Infection spreads fast.
The rain falls harder as the small group of cyclists makes its way toward the screams. Gerald wishes he could hold the gun as he rides, but it's nearly impossible. And it's not just because he's afraid he'll accidentally fire it.
He doesn't notice anything weird at first, at least not weirder than gunshots and screaming. But then Marcus grabs his arm, nearly yanking him off the bike. He turns and Marcus' face is ashen. He points down and that's when Gerald sees the blood.
It's not like it's flowing, like some sort of horror movie, but it's definitely blood. Gerald swears he can smell it, a kind of metallic smell. He glances at Marcus and then they press on. He's careful to look at the ground now, as he rides. The screaming and gunshots get louder as they ride up the mountain. Suddenly Gerald feels the front of his bike start to slip and when he looks down at the ground, he realizes it's covered in blood.
This time it's definitely like something out of a horror movie and when he stops riding to look around, he sees the bodies. It looks, he thinks, like something came through and mowed them down. There are bullet casings scattered along the road and then he sees José's body. He walks over to him and it's clear he's dead, but he doesn't even look like himself.
He feels Marcus standing next to him. Gerald reaches out and grips Marcus' hand tightly.
"This must be what the infection looks like," he says, quietly.
Marcus nods, then bends down and extracts the gun from José's hand. He checks the body for ammunition and just as Marcus is about to stand, there's a noise. Gerald looks over, to their left, and that's when he sees a young man. Maybe about their age, he's a ... The only word Gerald can come up with is zombie. He looks down at José, with the bullet hole in his head and somehow he knows what to do. It takes two bullets, but he gets one right in the brain and that stops the man. The zombie.
He's shaking and he can barely hold the gun. Marcus stands then, wrapping his arm around Gerald and they both stand there. Eventually, Gerald pulls himself free, giving Marcus a kiss because he cannot bear the idea of something happening to him, and then returns to his bike. He turns to face the cyclists who remain with them.
"There are guns scattered throughout the remains. Gather them up." There's no room for argument and much to his surprise, no one actually does argue with him.
They wait, watching the cyclists as well as the people, but no one lurches at them. Marcus turns, looking at Gerald.
"It was ..." he starts, then trails off.
"Like from a zombie movie," Gerald replies and Marcus nods.
One of the other cyclists, a French rider from La Française des Jeux, walks over to them. He's holding a shotgun he found, the pockets of his jersey stuffed with bullets.
"What're we going to do?" he asks, his English fragmented.
Marcus opens his mouth, then shuts it and looks at Gerald.
"What's your name?" Gerald asks, feeling a little stupid that he doesn't know it.
The French cyclist doesn't seem to mind. "Yoann," he says, chewing on his bottom lip.
"We're going to find a way to survive," Gerald replies, holding Yoann's gaze.
A nod and then, "okay." Yoann returns to his bike, holding a conference with another rider, French probably, from Ag2r. He walks back over to Gerald. "We're in."
Surprised, Gerald nods and then, in small groups, the other riders say the same thing. Somehow, Gerald's the one leading this. He's not sure he can handle this, but he knows he doesn't have much of a choice, especially now. He looks at Marcus, who reaches out and squeezes his hand and then they have to start riding again.
Gerald looks over his shoulder, watching as Haussler and Hushovd are there, Cavendish, Boonen and more sprinters he can't be bothered to name. But there are others, too, like Yoann, whose names he doesn't know. Maybe, if they survive this, he'll find out who they are. But for now, they ride.
The devastation that's waiting for them as they approach the top of the first mountain isn't something any of them is prepared for. There's no one alive, but in the trees Gerald can make out shapes lumbering toward them. They don't get far because it turns out that a few of the cyclists are quite good shots. But he can also hear them throwing up afterwards. He wants to do the same, but he doesn't. He's the leader now.
He looks over at Marcus and is grateful he doesn't have to go through it alone. They go over the top and notice that the adverts put up to keep the crowds at bay are spattered with blood and bullet holes. Gerald shudders, zipping his jersey up as they start the descent. He glances at his map as they go down, but it's clear sailing, at least for a while. Then, suddenly out of nowhere, the zombies begin to descend.
They lose a few of their group. Boonen goes down hard, gets bitten, but kills himself before he can turn. Haussler isn't so lucky. He turns fast, almost attacking Hushovd before Gerald can fire a shot. But he manages to shoot him in the head. It's horrible, Gerald thinks, but it's not like he has a choice.
He expects to become numb to the killing. To the weight of the pistol in his hand, the shotgun he'd picked up off a dead ... fan, maybe? He couldn't tell. But instead he just feels like it's dragging him down. He rides aimlessly and it's only when he looks around that he notices the trail of dead has begun to taper off. The summit was completely free of them. He hesitates as they cross the top, glancing at Marcus and then looking around.
They don't stop, but all the same Gerald can see the difference. There are obviously no fans, but it's clear they were there. Abandoned vehicles, campers and cars, line the road. Garbage, from fans who were here before the attack, litters the ground. There are splashes of paint and Gerald wonders how long ago it happened. The first attack. He's so lost in himself that he almost stops paying attention.
He doesn't know what knocks him back into reality, but he realizes something's wrong. He skids his bike to a halt, nearly upending himself. Below them, and he's surprised at how clear his view is, he can see the next valley. He frowns and can almost make out people, milling around. He turns, looking at Marcus, who's ridden up until he's right next to Gerald.
"What is it?" Marcus asks.
Gerald just points.
It's Yoann who speaks, breaking the silence. "Maybe they aren't infected ..." But even as he's speaking, they all hear the screaming.
Instinctively, Gerald grabs Marcus' hand. They watch in horror as people, he can't even tell who they are, are devoured. Gerald thinks he's never been so disgusted in his life, but he can't bring himself to turn away. Behind him, he can hear some of the others being sick. He can't blame them.
It's Cav who makes the observation that will save their lives.
"They're not climbing the mountain," he says quickly. He's standing next to Bernie, far too close, both of them looking slightly green.
Marcus turns. "What?"
Cav points toward the valley. "They're all at the bottom of the mountain."
Gerald follows Cav's gaze and realizes he's right. He turns to Marcus, suddenly sure of their goal.
"We have to get up there," he murmurs, only loud enough for Marcus to hear.
Marcus turns again, leaving Gerald lost in thought. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knows Marcus is explaining to the rest of the cyclists what they'll have to do. But he doesn't have time to listen, he's far more concerned with how they'll get through the crowd of zombies waiting for them when they reach the valley.
He watches as the zombies move in groups, lumbering along. He wonders if maybe they need some sort of distraction. He frowns again, it's making his head hurt and he wishes this was just a dream. Except it's not. He stares hard at the valley, trying to determine if anyone down there isn't a zombie yet. He can't tell and he feels his heart clench as he thinks of his teammates, his friends. His best friend. He doesn't have time to dwell, because Marcus' hand is on his arm.
Gerald turns to look at him. Marcus is biting his lip, looking just as scared as Gerald feels.
"We have to go around," he says softly.
Marcus nods, curling his fingers a bit. "How?"
Gerald shakes his head. "I don't know."
Marcus looks down toward the valley. Gerald follows his gaze as it moves up, past the finish and then suddenly he turns to Marcus.
"We should ..." he starts, but Marcus is nodding, already there.
"Through the forest. We'll have to ditch the bikes." Marcus finishes and Gerald nods.
He takes a breath and then steps in close, needing the contact of Marcus. Needing him. "We have to ... We have to go back up the mountain and clear out what we can."
Marcus nods again, then leans in and kisses him. They stay like that for a bit, then Gerald pulls away. He knows he has to take control now. He can't let Marcus do all the work. He turns, finding all the cyclists watching them. He does a rough count in his head. There are maybe 25 with them. He knows them all and he's afraid to think how many will die. That he and Marcus might die.
He clears his throat. "We've got to get to Avoriaz."
Yoann speaks up again and Gerald thinks that this kid won't die. He has to make it. "How? There are zombies in the valley. Both valleys."
"I know," he says and he can feel Marcus' hand on his back. Love, reassurance, a bit of both. "We'll have to go around. Through the forest. We'll need to lose the bikes." He watches the pain cross their faces, but it's Yoann's friend Maxime, from Ag2r who speaks this time.
"Our careers are over. We've ... we've all lost people. Friends," he says and Gerald's not surprised when Yoann reaches out and grabs his hand. If there wasn't something there before, he thinks, there is now.
The other cyclists turn, talking to each other and then it's Thor. His deep voice resonates. "We have to try. If we don't, we might never know if our families are alive."
Quiet and then the others find themselves agreeing. Gerald nods his silent thanks. He hopes Thor makes it. He feels Marcus pull him closer and Gerald's again selfishly grateful he doesn't have to go through this alone. He doesn't think he'd make it if he had to.
"One more thing," he says, watching as the cyclists get off their bikes. They stop and look at him. "We have to go back up." He points to the mountain behind him. "We have to get whatever we can carry. We don't know what's waiting for us." He waits for protests, but no one says anything. Instead, they leave their bikes and start making their way up the mountain.
It breaks his heart, but he knows he can't afford these feelings. He takes a deep breath and then they're all off. They trudge back up the mountain, the only sound is the click of their cycling shoes on the pavement, punctuated by periodic screams from below. Gerald tries to tune them out, but finds it hard.
Finally they reach the summit again and everything descends into an uneasy silence. They start going through people's things. Tents, abandoned campers and cars, even the team cars. They find backpacks and food, cellphones that don't work, TVs with no reception when turned on. Marcus picks up a small radio, Thor finds a laptop. They gather everything together and Gerald tries to come up with a plan.
He looks down the mountain and then back at what remains of the gruppetto. He takes a long, slow deep breath. "We have to go down there." He gestures toward the valley. "We have to find another route or ... create a distraction, or something."
Gerald stops talking and he can feel everyone's eyes on him. This is too hard, he thinks. We can't do this, we're all going to die. But when he looks up, he sees Marcus watching him and he knows he has to be strong. They have to be strong.
Thor looks at him and then speaks. "I was thinking, maybe we could drive one of these cars down, blow it up and then ride through."
They're all silent, but then Marcus replies. "That's brilliant. One of the smaller ones, maybe." He starts looking around, but all Gerald can think is that it's a horrible idea.
He grabs Marcus' arm. Marcus stops and turns, looking at him. "Someone's going to have to sacrifice themselves."
Marcus doesn't reply, just shoves Gerald's hand off. He resumes looking in the cars. Then they hear a shout. Without wanting to, Gerald follows Marcus. Bennati has found a small car with the keys still inside.
The car starts without a hitch and suddenly this is the plan. Gerald still doesn't like it, he doesn't want anyone else to get bitten, to die. Even though he knows it's inevitable, that doesn't mean they have to do things to make it happen faster. And, he grumbles silently, starting a car is a great way of attracting attention.
Even so, they make it halfway down the mountain before anything happens. Thor behind the wheel, driving carefully with the cyclists riding or walking their bikes behind him. In another world, this could be the gruppetto, straggling to catch up with the peloton. But this isn't their world anymore, it isn't their life.
The attack comes out of nowhere and at first, after their guns stop firing, Gerald thinks they've made it through unscathed. Then he notices Baden Cooke, one of the Australian sprinters, holding his arm. Mark Renshaw, one of Baden's former teammates if Gerald recalls correctly, is staring in horror.
"Baden, Baden!" Mark's half-shouting and it's only when Thor stops the car and wraps his arms around Mark that silence descends. It's not the first time they've lost one of their own, but Gerald thinks, for some reason, this is worse. They don't have many people left to lose. But now they're committed and Gerald pulls his gun, but Baden's already there.
He grits his teeth, looking at Mark while he's speaking. "I'll drive. I don't have long, but I think I can make it down there before I become ... One of them." He's holding his arm, blood seeping between his fingers and Mark's sobbing quietly in Thor's arms.
Gerald opens his mouth to protest, but what can he say? He meets Baden's eyes and they both know what'll happen. What has to happen. Baden's speaking again, outlining the plan no one dared speak.
"I'll drive ahead, crash and set the car on fire. I should ... I'm still human, they'll come for me and ..." He doesn't have to finish, everyone knows what'll happen.
Gerald just nods his approval. He lets Yoann, who seems to have the most medical knowledge, wrap up the bite on Baden's arm. And then, with a tight hug for Mark, Baden's off. They watch the car go down the mountain and Gerald wonders how long he'll last.
Without talking, Marcus gets on his bike and the rest follow his lead. The ride down is quiet, far too quiet and then there's a screech of tires, inhuman screams and a huge crash. They're close enough to the valley now that they can see what happened. Smoke billows up between the buildings of the small town in the valley. There are bodies by the side of the road and Gerald can just make out the zombies, lumbering toward them.
They ride slowly, quietly. They're almost through the town, where the majority of the zombies are located, when the attack happens. They're surrounded and Gerald knows their group isn't going to make it through. Marcus looks over at him and Gerald holds his gaze. I love you, he mouths and Marcus returns the words. And then they start firing.
At first Gerald doesn't recognize them. Their faces are different, drawn and pale. Their skin, he notices, barely hangs onto their bodies. And then suddenly he realizes who they're shooting. Compatriots, colleagues, teammates. A zombie surges toward Marcus, Gerald shoots without thinking. The first shot just grazes the zombie, allowing Marcus to shift out of the way. And then Gerald realizes who he's shooting.
"Linus!" He screams. The zombie doesn't even look at him, just lumbers on, running on whatever instinct it has left. Gerald knows he should shoot, he has to shoot. And when the zombie, the person who was Linus, his best friend, turns toward him, Gerald doesn't know if he can do it. He can hear Marcus screaming, hear the yelling of the rest of the gruppetto, but all he sees is Linus. He's crying so hard he can barely breathe and then he's shooting. He kills his best friend.
It's the last thing he remembers.
Part Two