(i wanna love your) brains out (for lilbxtch)
For: lilbxtch
From: tiara_jade
Title: (i wanna love your) brains out
Rating: r
Pairing(s): past!tao/sehun, hinted!xiumin/luhan
Length: 3.4k
Summary: Zombie!AU. The end of the world brings little more than pain and suffering with it. Zitao learns this the hard way,
Warning(s): descriptions of blood and light gore, hinted character death, mentions of sex
Author’s Note: i had so many ideas for this fic and this au and there will definitely be another fic after this because i simply didn’t have time to include everything. but for now, i really, really hope you love this. thank you so much to c for listening to me ramble about this last minute when i had absolutely no idea where to go with it and for providing encouragement.
Shanghai, before.
Movement is what makes Zitao jerk awake, attempting to blink the bleariness from his eyes and break through the sluggish haze that plagued him after every fitful sleep. A glance shows him that the bedroom door is cracked, muffled voices filtering through the gap and reaching Zitao in a senseless jumble of words.
“Morning,” the word is whispered, the bed dipping beside him and a mess of brown hair coming into focus.
Zitao shifts to curl into the warmth offered, squinting up at Sehun with a raised eyebrow. “What’s going on?”
“There’s been more reports,” Sehun and Zitao wrap around each other seamlessly, warm puffs of air tickling Tao’s ear with each breath Sehun takes. “Luhan thinks we should leave.”
Zitao turns his head to press a quiet sigh to the inside of Sehun’s neck, now able to piece together some of the words as the voices outside got louder.
It had been three months since the first reported attack and the numbers of incidents had grown and spread further. Zitao remembered hearing about the first two within Shanghai while curled up with Sehun on the couch, safe from the snowstorm that rattled their windows. The third had come later, enough to cause a stir that left the university temporarily closed and a majority of people holed up in their homes where they felt safest.
Things like this had never felt real until it hit close to home.
“Where does he want us to go? Beijing has had twice the amount of reports and it’s the middle of the semester. Whatever this is, we can’t run from it.”
“You could go home.” Zitao can hear the smile in Sehun’s voice, leaning into the fingers that thread through his hair. “We could go home.”
There’s a weight behind the words that hangs in the air and Zitao grazes his teeth over the skin below the others Adam’s apple to loosen it, the two of them rolling until Zitao’s back is pressed to the bed and Sehun’s thighs frame his hips, noses bumping clumsily. This is what Zitao liked - the two of them absent to the world, blind to the unfolding chaos around them, focused on nothing but the smile, the kisses, reserved for none but him. The warm ache in his chest when Sehun’s lips brush the corner of his mouth, long, beautiful fingers rubbing delicately over the cut of his jaw.
“Home sounds nice.”
For the smile he receives in return, Zitao doesn’t really mind the commitment that comes with the words.
☢
Zhejiang, current day.
Rain hits the steel overhang in an uneven tempo, masking Zitao’s heavy breaths and the quiet whimpering of the German shepherd sprawled beneath, water and blood matting the fur in a way that makes Zitao feel both queasy and determined.
He’s on his knees, water soaked through the material of his jeans, ignoring the way his fingers shake as he soothes them gently through the fur around the dogs neck. “It’s okay,” he whispers, back hunched with the way he curls protectively around the beast. “I’ll get you home.”
The rain drowns out the sound of his voice but not the screams.
It didn’t matter how long it had been, how many months had passed since Zitao had had his first encounter with the Damned, their call still made his stomach drop, plagued the quiet peace of his sleep. They were loud - the animalistic screech of a wounded animal paired with the desperate howl of the person they had once been, releasing the agony of the hunger that plagued them the only way they knew how.
They were close but still far enough away that Zitao knows he needs to move now, while he still has the rain to mask his scent and the advantage of being in front of the hunting horde. There’s a gun hanging over his shoulder and he shifts the strap until it’s digging into his back. The dog is small, Zitao has a feeling he’s still only a few months old and he lifts him easily, tucked carefully into the crook of his arm, using his jacket to block the rain as much as he can.
The quickest route he knows is the one he had memorised that morning, made up by back streets that twisted and turned while staying far enough away from the city that Zitao hoped he was safe from anymore hordes. Safety in numbers is something that had always been preached and they weren’t the only ones who knew it, even after death there were leaders and followers, the strong and the weak.
Zitao sometimes wondered if they were the smarter ones.
Modern society had wrung the zombie trope dry, no one no longer believed it would happen. But the Damned had woken again, their humanity gone and nothing left but the basic instinct of survival for them to rely on. They were intelligent, agile, and too much for the world to handle.
One thing they had never gotten wrong was the chaos that followed, it reigned in the streets and tore a society that had been so carefully put together apart, leaving little for the ones left to rely on.
The fall of humanity was evident with each step Zitao took through the abandoned streets of Zhejiang, broken glass littered the pavement, the stains of blood permanently etched into the asphalt of the road. Remnants of the lives of the people before was hidden throughout; a shattered photograph resting on a lawn, a child’s bike fallen on its side.
At the beginning it had hurt, but that had been before. Before Zitao had learnt that holding onto the past got you killed faster than the disease that had begun all of this.
Even now Zitao knew he should have turned his back when he heard the first whimper, walked away until the ache in his legs drowned out the memory of it. Except he hadn’t, and maybe it was evidence of the humanity he liked to forget he had.
Who knew a good deed could be such a cruel reminder.
By the time Zitao eases the door of the apartment he had taken refuge in closed, the dog has fallen quiet, his tongue warm against the back of Zitao’s hand and wide eyes looking up at him through the gap of Zitao’s jacket. It makes a small smile tug on Zitao’s lips and the feeling feels foreign. The rain still drums against the overhead skylight, lulling him into a sense of ease and clearing his thoughts enough to remember the task at hand.
It takes him a good half hour - he had never been the one in charge of injuries - and it’s with a relieved sigh that he finds the majority of the blood dried in the black of the dog’s fur isn’t his own, the only injury he can find a cut along the pup’s front leg that he carefully binds with a makeshift bandage.
“Looks like it’s just me and you now huh?” Zitao murmurs.
The dog is already fast asleep and Zitao’s voice is loud in the quiet.
☢
Shanghai, before.
“We won’t get out this way, the roads are blocked.”
Sehun’s voice may as well be background noise for how it’s ignored, Minseok’s fingers tapping against the steering wheel, his face lit by the orange glow of the dashboard. They’d been idle for more than fifteen minutes, the traffic backed up for as far as Zitao can see in the dim lighting from the streetlights.
Sehun’s sigh is quiet and Zitao tightens the hand he has entwined with the other, their hands resting against the leather of the seats. His gaze wanders to the car beside them, eyes locking with those of a child. Half of his face is concealed by the door, a mess of brown curls and a small hand coming into focus in a small wave, eyes wide. Zitao smiles back as best he can.
“Where are we going ge?” Zitao eventually asks, his voice soft.
“We’re getting out of here.” Minseok answers firmly, and that’s where it begins.
☢
Zhejiang, current day.
Zitao is unable to find the solace of sleep until long after the sun has begun to set, tossing and turning on the mattress he had dragged from a bedroom. It had been so long since Zitao had shared a room with another live being that each time he wakes from his half asleep daze, the steady breathing of the pup curled at his feet makes his pulse jump, an irrational fear curling in his stomach before he manages to lull himself back into a sense of calm.
He wakes with the sun warming his face and a wet nose against his cheek, his vision obscured by a mess of brown and black fur when he finally blinks his eyes open.
“Morning pup.” Zitao murmurs and the excited yip he gets in return makes a laugh bubble in his throat. “Time to get up hm?”
It takes a good half hour, three apartments and the pup trailing at Zitao’s feet before he manages to find an unopened can of dog food, tucked away in the back of a cupboard alongside a bag of biscuits. A look through a laundry cupboard leaves him with a leash and a collar that he ties around the pup’s neck while he chews at Zitao’s wrist.
“I guess you need a name huh?” The pup blinks up at him, tongue lolling out of his mouth and Zitao sighs. “Yeah, me too buddy. Me too.”
They stay in Zhejiang for a week.
Zitao wastes the time away attempting to teach the pup basic commands with little success and ends the week with him lounging on the bed, watching idly as one of the couch cushions gets chewed to pieces. “Hun was always the one who was good with dogs,” he sighs, twisting the blanket between his hands. The pup barks and Zitao glances over at him, cocking his head in thought. “You like that huh?”
The attention is no longer on him but Zitao takes it as it is, nodding to himself. Hun.
“Perfect.”
☢
Nanjing, before.
The silence is mind-numbing.
Sehun is asleep against his shoulder and the only things Zitao sees if he looks out the window is his own reflection, looking unusually pale in the darkness.
There hadn’t been a word spoken for over three hours, the tension in the air almost electrifying in its intensity.
They had made it through the checkpoint. They had all watched as car after car got turned back, inching their way forward a few metres each time. Minseok had made a phone call, hushed and in quick, fluent Korean. Zitao hadn’t been able to keep up but they were waved through, the slamming of the gate behind them reminding Zitao not of a city, but of a prison.
Minseok had refused to answer any questions since.
Now they were half an hour out of Nanjing, no clear direction other than to get as far away from Shanghai as possible.
“This would be a lot easier if you would just talk to us,” Luhan began again, his voice cutting through the air like a knife, “ignoring us isn’t making anyone feel better.”
“You’re going to have to get used to it.” Minseok answers.
There’s headlights coming towards them and Zitao can faintly see the lights of Nanjing in the distance, attempting to keep his attention away from the escalating argument taking place in the front of the car.
“You asked me to trust you and I did. You got us through a military checkpoint with one phone call, not a single question asked. I’ve known you for seven years, from high school to university, there’s something you’re not telling me here and I think I deserve some fucking answers.”
Minseok seems to deflate at the hurt in Luhan’s tone and his face turns soft. “I want to tell you what’s happening, but I can’t. Not yet.”
Luhan opens his mouth to continue his argument the same time Zitao spots something in the glow of the headlights. “Ge-“ his voice is drowned out by Luhan’s voice. “Ge!”
“Zitao-”
“Look out!”
It’s too late to slow down and Minseok yanks the wheel to the right sharply, Sehun waking with a jolt as the rear tyres lose traction and send the back end sideways. They’re brought to a dead stop and Zitao can hear Luhan yelling, the deafening sound of a car horn - and when Zitao looks up, all he sees is light.
☢
Jiangxi, current day.
There’s a shelter in Jiangxi.
Zitao finds it by following the arrows spray-painted throughout the streets, Hun’s leash clasped in one hand and his gun held close in the other. It’s quiet here Zitao finds, navigating his way through an old marketplace. Stalls remain upturned, a horrible stench in the air from the fruits that had long ago began decomposing, money scattered across the ground. Chaos frozen in time.
The buildings tower up around him and Zitao wonders what memories hide within the walls.
The shelter is nondescript from the outside and he finds his way in easily enough. The moment he walks in he knows he’s being sized up, judged on whether he was a threat or not but he’s not surprised. Zitao does the same.
He assumes he passes because within half an hour of his arrival he’s given a bundle of blankets and pointed towards a thin mattress pushed against the far wall. It’s one of at least two dozen and barely a quarter are filled.
“Dinner is served at sun down.” He’s told and he doesn’t know by who but he doesn’t bother. He wasn’t staying for long.
Instead he nods a thank you and retreats to his corner with little complaint.
The first three days are calm. Zitao joins some of the others on runs and leaves Hun in the care of a woman and her daughter. He begins eating with them, laughing with them, and by the end of the third night he’s stolen away from the group with another.
It’s not pretty, it never was. They find a backroom with a door that still locks and they fuck, messy and rushed. She has a pretty smile and Zitao says goodnight before letting her leave first. But the aftermath is messier than the fucking. Zitao is cold from the sweat that’s drying on his skin and the nail marks etched into his back sting.
He can’t find the energy to regret it and he knows it’s time to leave.
The next morning he’s packed and ready to go, blankets folded neatly on the bed. No one questions it and he agrees to do one last run before he leaves.
It’s routine; scout out the area, pick your targets, take what you can and mark where you’ve been. It was simple and Zitao preferred going off on his own to do it his way over staying within a group. He had asked about the quiet and had been told about the mass killings that had taken place, the fenced off graves that were now a tomb for hundreds of innocent victims. But they had never prepared together for an attack, had allowed themselves to get too comfortable in their false sense of safety.
Zitao is on his knees when the first shot goes off, pausing in his task of opening the locked door of an apartment block. There’s a pregnant pause that’s broken by a series of shouts and Zitao’s already running by the time the gunfire breaks out.
Zitao assumes it’s instinctive to want to run. The horde is large, spread throughout the street and his steps falter long enough for him to take it all in. He can see the four he had left with that morning on the opposite end of the street, bodies littering the asphalt around them. The constant gunfire is overwhelming in its intensity and it’s not until it stutters to a stop that Zitao hears it.
The animalistic screech that comes from behind him is familiar and terrifying all at once, his fingers fumble for his gun far too late and when he spins on his heel he finds himself face to face with a Damned.
He can’t bring himself to move.
Someone’s yelling for him but all he can see is the face in front of him, the cracked grey skin, the sunken in eyes. It makes his stomach roll and he can’t help but wonder why they deserved this.
His train of thought is stopped by a single shot, it rings in his ears and he doesn’t get to wonder where it came from before a bullet is ripping through the head of the Damned. Blood stains Zitao’s face and he barely manages to stumble back before the body falls forward and to the ground with a sickening thump.
He can feel his hands shaking.
Whether his ears are still ringing or not he can’t tell but he goes willingly when he’s pulled back the way he came, letting his gun hang limply by his side. And he can’t help but glance back, eyes searching over the buildings before his eyes lock with those of another.
They follow him and Zitao is the first to look away.
It’s quiet back at the shelter, no one talks, no one questions. Zitao doesn’t mind.
He leaves that night.
☢
Nanjing, before.
“Where do we go from here?”
It had been on everyone’s mind for days but Sehun was the first willing to ask it, his tone ridden with exhaustion. Zitao doesn’t know what to expect - anger, resentment, hatred maybe. He would understand, he thinks.
There’s a long stretch of silence and he thinks they may not get an answer at all but Luhan shrugs, lips pressed into a firm line.
“We keep going.”
☢
Fujian, current day.
In the beginning it had seemed like something that would pass over, a new sickness that would have a cure within the year. As the days passed and the attacks, the number of diagnosed increased, the world slowly began to fall apart. Different countries had dealt with it in different ways, some locked cities down, others left them to burn.
Zitao had heard rumours but in a world like this they never meant much. Fujian had been one of the first to fall and Zitao wasn’t ready for the devastation that welcomed him. There was little left standing, the charred remains of a city creating a morbid landscape.
And with each minute spent there, Zitao let his guard down that little bit more.
It doesn’t take him long to realise that he’s mistaken. That within this mangled city the ones who burned with it still roamed, eager to sink their claws into anyone ignorant enough to enter.
But Zitao is tired of running.
He holes himself up on the second story of an office. He keeps Hun hidden in a back room, able to hear the scratching on the door. He makes himself ignore it, choosing to focus on fortifying the doors instead.
It wastes away the hours and the sun is high in the sky by the time he’s ready. He has five spare clips left, lined up and in reach, a handgun tucked into the band of his jeans with a single bullet left in it. The Damned walk aimlessly beneath him, reluctant to leave the ruins of their home.
And it’s with a deep breath that he raises his gun, finger smoothing over the trigger.
“This one’s for you Hun.”
☢
Qingdao, before.
“We’re going to make it.”
Sehun is sitting beside him, knees tucked to his chest, the wind sending his hair into disarray. His eyes are on the waves that crash against the shore, his lips tilted in a ghost of a smile.
“How do you know?” Zitao asks.
“Because,” Sehun’s hand finds his, filling up the gaps within Zitao’s fingers, “we always do.”
From: tiara_jade
Title: (i wanna love your) brains out
Rating: r
Pairing(s): past!tao/sehun, hinted!xiumin/luhan
Length: 3.4k
Summary: Zombie!AU. The end of the world brings little more than pain and suffering with it. Zitao learns this the hard way,
Warning(s): descriptions of blood and light gore, hinted character death, mentions of sex
Author’s Note: i had so many ideas for this fic and this au and there will definitely be another fic after this because i simply didn’t have time to include everything. but for now, i really, really hope you love this. thank you so much to c for listening to me ramble about this last minute when i had absolutely no idea where to go with it and for providing encouragement.
Shanghai, before.
Movement is what makes Zitao jerk awake, attempting to blink the bleariness from his eyes and break through the sluggish haze that plagued him after every fitful sleep. A glance shows him that the bedroom door is cracked, muffled voices filtering through the gap and reaching Zitao in a senseless jumble of words.
“Morning,” the word is whispered, the bed dipping beside him and a mess of brown hair coming into focus.
Zitao shifts to curl into the warmth offered, squinting up at Sehun with a raised eyebrow. “What’s going on?”
“There’s been more reports,” Sehun and Zitao wrap around each other seamlessly, warm puffs of air tickling Tao’s ear with each breath Sehun takes. “Luhan thinks we should leave.”
Zitao turns his head to press a quiet sigh to the inside of Sehun’s neck, now able to piece together some of the words as the voices outside got louder.
It had been three months since the first reported attack and the numbers of incidents had grown and spread further. Zitao remembered hearing about the first two within Shanghai while curled up with Sehun on the couch, safe from the snowstorm that rattled their windows. The third had come later, enough to cause a stir that left the university temporarily closed and a majority of people holed up in their homes where they felt safest.
Things like this had never felt real until it hit close to home.
“Where does he want us to go? Beijing has had twice the amount of reports and it’s the middle of the semester. Whatever this is, we can’t run from it.”
“You could go home.” Zitao can hear the smile in Sehun’s voice, leaning into the fingers that thread through his hair. “We could go home.”
There’s a weight behind the words that hangs in the air and Zitao grazes his teeth over the skin below the others Adam’s apple to loosen it, the two of them rolling until Zitao’s back is pressed to the bed and Sehun’s thighs frame his hips, noses bumping clumsily. This is what Zitao liked - the two of them absent to the world, blind to the unfolding chaos around them, focused on nothing but the smile, the kisses, reserved for none but him. The warm ache in his chest when Sehun’s lips brush the corner of his mouth, long, beautiful fingers rubbing delicately over the cut of his jaw.
“Home sounds nice.”
For the smile he receives in return, Zitao doesn’t really mind the commitment that comes with the words.
☢
Zhejiang, current day.
Rain hits the steel overhang in an uneven tempo, masking Zitao’s heavy breaths and the quiet whimpering of the German shepherd sprawled beneath, water and blood matting the fur in a way that makes Zitao feel both queasy and determined.
He’s on his knees, water soaked through the material of his jeans, ignoring the way his fingers shake as he soothes them gently through the fur around the dogs neck. “It’s okay,” he whispers, back hunched with the way he curls protectively around the beast. “I’ll get you home.”
The rain drowns out the sound of his voice but not the screams.
It didn’t matter how long it had been, how many months had passed since Zitao had had his first encounter with the Damned, their call still made his stomach drop, plagued the quiet peace of his sleep. They were loud - the animalistic screech of a wounded animal paired with the desperate howl of the person they had once been, releasing the agony of the hunger that plagued them the only way they knew how.
They were close but still far enough away that Zitao knows he needs to move now, while he still has the rain to mask his scent and the advantage of being in front of the hunting horde. There’s a gun hanging over his shoulder and he shifts the strap until it’s digging into his back. The dog is small, Zitao has a feeling he’s still only a few months old and he lifts him easily, tucked carefully into the crook of his arm, using his jacket to block the rain as much as he can.
The quickest route he knows is the one he had memorised that morning, made up by back streets that twisted and turned while staying far enough away from the city that Zitao hoped he was safe from anymore hordes. Safety in numbers is something that had always been preached and they weren’t the only ones who knew it, even after death there were leaders and followers, the strong and the weak.
Zitao sometimes wondered if they were the smarter ones.
Modern society had wrung the zombie trope dry, no one no longer believed it would happen. But the Damned had woken again, their humanity gone and nothing left but the basic instinct of survival for them to rely on. They were intelligent, agile, and too much for the world to handle.
One thing they had never gotten wrong was the chaos that followed, it reigned in the streets and tore a society that had been so carefully put together apart, leaving little for the ones left to rely on.
The fall of humanity was evident with each step Zitao took through the abandoned streets of Zhejiang, broken glass littered the pavement, the stains of blood permanently etched into the asphalt of the road. Remnants of the lives of the people before was hidden throughout; a shattered photograph resting on a lawn, a child’s bike fallen on its side.
At the beginning it had hurt, but that had been before. Before Zitao had learnt that holding onto the past got you killed faster than the disease that had begun all of this.
Even now Zitao knew he should have turned his back when he heard the first whimper, walked away until the ache in his legs drowned out the memory of it. Except he hadn’t, and maybe it was evidence of the humanity he liked to forget he had.
Who knew a good deed could be such a cruel reminder.
By the time Zitao eases the door of the apartment he had taken refuge in closed, the dog has fallen quiet, his tongue warm against the back of Zitao’s hand and wide eyes looking up at him through the gap of Zitao’s jacket. It makes a small smile tug on Zitao’s lips and the feeling feels foreign. The rain still drums against the overhead skylight, lulling him into a sense of ease and clearing his thoughts enough to remember the task at hand.
It takes him a good half hour - he had never been the one in charge of injuries - and it’s with a relieved sigh that he finds the majority of the blood dried in the black of the dog’s fur isn’t his own, the only injury he can find a cut along the pup’s front leg that he carefully binds with a makeshift bandage.
“Looks like it’s just me and you now huh?” Zitao murmurs.
The dog is already fast asleep and Zitao’s voice is loud in the quiet.
☢
Shanghai, before.
“We won’t get out this way, the roads are blocked.”
Sehun’s voice may as well be background noise for how it’s ignored, Minseok’s fingers tapping against the steering wheel, his face lit by the orange glow of the dashboard. They’d been idle for more than fifteen minutes, the traffic backed up for as far as Zitao can see in the dim lighting from the streetlights.
Sehun’s sigh is quiet and Zitao tightens the hand he has entwined with the other, their hands resting against the leather of the seats. His gaze wanders to the car beside them, eyes locking with those of a child. Half of his face is concealed by the door, a mess of brown curls and a small hand coming into focus in a small wave, eyes wide. Zitao smiles back as best he can.
“Where are we going ge?” Zitao eventually asks, his voice soft.
“We’re getting out of here.” Minseok answers firmly, and that’s where it begins.
☢
Zhejiang, current day.
Zitao is unable to find the solace of sleep until long after the sun has begun to set, tossing and turning on the mattress he had dragged from a bedroom. It had been so long since Zitao had shared a room with another live being that each time he wakes from his half asleep daze, the steady breathing of the pup curled at his feet makes his pulse jump, an irrational fear curling in his stomach before he manages to lull himself back into a sense of calm.
He wakes with the sun warming his face and a wet nose against his cheek, his vision obscured by a mess of brown and black fur when he finally blinks his eyes open.
“Morning pup.” Zitao murmurs and the excited yip he gets in return makes a laugh bubble in his throat. “Time to get up hm?”
It takes a good half hour, three apartments and the pup trailing at Zitao’s feet before he manages to find an unopened can of dog food, tucked away in the back of a cupboard alongside a bag of biscuits. A look through a laundry cupboard leaves him with a leash and a collar that he ties around the pup’s neck while he chews at Zitao’s wrist.
“I guess you need a name huh?” The pup blinks up at him, tongue lolling out of his mouth and Zitao sighs. “Yeah, me too buddy. Me too.”
They stay in Zhejiang for a week.
Zitao wastes the time away attempting to teach the pup basic commands with little success and ends the week with him lounging on the bed, watching idly as one of the couch cushions gets chewed to pieces. “Hun was always the one who was good with dogs,” he sighs, twisting the blanket between his hands. The pup barks and Zitao glances over at him, cocking his head in thought. “You like that huh?”
The attention is no longer on him but Zitao takes it as it is, nodding to himself. Hun.
“Perfect.”
☢
Nanjing, before.
The silence is mind-numbing.
Sehun is asleep against his shoulder and the only things Zitao sees if he looks out the window is his own reflection, looking unusually pale in the darkness.
There hadn’t been a word spoken for over three hours, the tension in the air almost electrifying in its intensity.
They had made it through the checkpoint. They had all watched as car after car got turned back, inching their way forward a few metres each time. Minseok had made a phone call, hushed and in quick, fluent Korean. Zitao hadn’t been able to keep up but they were waved through, the slamming of the gate behind them reminding Zitao not of a city, but of a prison.
Minseok had refused to answer any questions since.
Now they were half an hour out of Nanjing, no clear direction other than to get as far away from Shanghai as possible.
“This would be a lot easier if you would just talk to us,” Luhan began again, his voice cutting through the air like a knife, “ignoring us isn’t making anyone feel better.”
“You’re going to have to get used to it.” Minseok answers.
There’s headlights coming towards them and Zitao can faintly see the lights of Nanjing in the distance, attempting to keep his attention away from the escalating argument taking place in the front of the car.
“You asked me to trust you and I did. You got us through a military checkpoint with one phone call, not a single question asked. I’ve known you for seven years, from high school to university, there’s something you’re not telling me here and I think I deserve some fucking answers.”
Minseok seems to deflate at the hurt in Luhan’s tone and his face turns soft. “I want to tell you what’s happening, but I can’t. Not yet.”
Luhan opens his mouth to continue his argument the same time Zitao spots something in the glow of the headlights. “Ge-“ his voice is drowned out by Luhan’s voice. “Ge!”
“Zitao-”
“Look out!”
It’s too late to slow down and Minseok yanks the wheel to the right sharply, Sehun waking with a jolt as the rear tyres lose traction and send the back end sideways. They’re brought to a dead stop and Zitao can hear Luhan yelling, the deafening sound of a car horn - and when Zitao looks up, all he sees is light.
☢
Jiangxi, current day.
There’s a shelter in Jiangxi.
Zitao finds it by following the arrows spray-painted throughout the streets, Hun’s leash clasped in one hand and his gun held close in the other. It’s quiet here Zitao finds, navigating his way through an old marketplace. Stalls remain upturned, a horrible stench in the air from the fruits that had long ago began decomposing, money scattered across the ground. Chaos frozen in time.
The buildings tower up around him and Zitao wonders what memories hide within the walls.
The shelter is nondescript from the outside and he finds his way in easily enough. The moment he walks in he knows he’s being sized up, judged on whether he was a threat or not but he’s not surprised. Zitao does the same.
He assumes he passes because within half an hour of his arrival he’s given a bundle of blankets and pointed towards a thin mattress pushed against the far wall. It’s one of at least two dozen and barely a quarter are filled.
“Dinner is served at sun down.” He’s told and he doesn’t know by who but he doesn’t bother. He wasn’t staying for long.
Instead he nods a thank you and retreats to his corner with little complaint.
The first three days are calm. Zitao joins some of the others on runs and leaves Hun in the care of a woman and her daughter. He begins eating with them, laughing with them, and by the end of the third night he’s stolen away from the group with another.
It’s not pretty, it never was. They find a backroom with a door that still locks and they fuck, messy and rushed. She has a pretty smile and Zitao says goodnight before letting her leave first. But the aftermath is messier than the fucking. Zitao is cold from the sweat that’s drying on his skin and the nail marks etched into his back sting.
He can’t find the energy to regret it and he knows it’s time to leave.
The next morning he’s packed and ready to go, blankets folded neatly on the bed. No one questions it and he agrees to do one last run before he leaves.
It’s routine; scout out the area, pick your targets, take what you can and mark where you’ve been. It was simple and Zitao preferred going off on his own to do it his way over staying within a group. He had asked about the quiet and had been told about the mass killings that had taken place, the fenced off graves that were now a tomb for hundreds of innocent victims. But they had never prepared together for an attack, had allowed themselves to get too comfortable in their false sense of safety.
Zitao is on his knees when the first shot goes off, pausing in his task of opening the locked door of an apartment block. There’s a pregnant pause that’s broken by a series of shouts and Zitao’s already running by the time the gunfire breaks out.
Zitao assumes it’s instinctive to want to run. The horde is large, spread throughout the street and his steps falter long enough for him to take it all in. He can see the four he had left with that morning on the opposite end of the street, bodies littering the asphalt around them. The constant gunfire is overwhelming in its intensity and it’s not until it stutters to a stop that Zitao hears it.
The animalistic screech that comes from behind him is familiar and terrifying all at once, his fingers fumble for his gun far too late and when he spins on his heel he finds himself face to face with a Damned.
He can’t bring himself to move.
Someone’s yelling for him but all he can see is the face in front of him, the cracked grey skin, the sunken in eyes. It makes his stomach roll and he can’t help but wonder why they deserved this.
His train of thought is stopped by a single shot, it rings in his ears and he doesn’t get to wonder where it came from before a bullet is ripping through the head of the Damned. Blood stains Zitao’s face and he barely manages to stumble back before the body falls forward and to the ground with a sickening thump.
He can feel his hands shaking.
Whether his ears are still ringing or not he can’t tell but he goes willingly when he’s pulled back the way he came, letting his gun hang limply by his side. And he can’t help but glance back, eyes searching over the buildings before his eyes lock with those of another.
They follow him and Zitao is the first to look away.
It’s quiet back at the shelter, no one talks, no one questions. Zitao doesn’t mind.
He leaves that night.
☢
Nanjing, before.
“Where do we go from here?”
It had been on everyone’s mind for days but Sehun was the first willing to ask it, his tone ridden with exhaustion. Zitao doesn’t know what to expect - anger, resentment, hatred maybe. He would understand, he thinks.
There’s a long stretch of silence and he thinks they may not get an answer at all but Luhan shrugs, lips pressed into a firm line.
“We keep going.”
☢
Fujian, current day.
In the beginning it had seemed like something that would pass over, a new sickness that would have a cure within the year. As the days passed and the attacks, the number of diagnosed increased, the world slowly began to fall apart. Different countries had dealt with it in different ways, some locked cities down, others left them to burn.
Zitao had heard rumours but in a world like this they never meant much. Fujian had been one of the first to fall and Zitao wasn’t ready for the devastation that welcomed him. There was little left standing, the charred remains of a city creating a morbid landscape.
And with each minute spent there, Zitao let his guard down that little bit more.
It doesn’t take him long to realise that he’s mistaken. That within this mangled city the ones who burned with it still roamed, eager to sink their claws into anyone ignorant enough to enter.
But Zitao is tired of running.
He holes himself up on the second story of an office. He keeps Hun hidden in a back room, able to hear the scratching on the door. He makes himself ignore it, choosing to focus on fortifying the doors instead.
It wastes away the hours and the sun is high in the sky by the time he’s ready. He has five spare clips left, lined up and in reach, a handgun tucked into the band of his jeans with a single bullet left in it. The Damned walk aimlessly beneath him, reluctant to leave the ruins of their home.
And it’s with a deep breath that he raises his gun, finger smoothing over the trigger.
“This one’s for you Hun.”
☢
Qingdao, before.
“We’re going to make it.”
Sehun is sitting beside him, knees tucked to his chest, the wind sending his hair into disarray. His eyes are on the waves that crash against the shore, his lips tilted in a ghost of a smile.
“How do you know?” Zitao asks.
“Because,” Sehun’s hand finds his, filling up the gaps within Zitao’s fingers, “we always do.”