They Say I'm Doomed (But I Feel Fine) 1/5
Title They Say I'm Doomed (But I Feel Fine)
Author bonmoustache
Rating R
Genre horror, romance, angst
Pairing Kurtofsky
Warnings horror fic, so there are copious amounts of gore
Wordcount 29,650
Summary Dave Karofsky has set rules for the apocalypse, so when it actually arrives, he's sure he can handle it. His family dead and Lima in ruins, Dave sets out in search of other survivors but finds only CJ, a local college student, and an old skeleton from his closet: Kurt Hummel, back in town for god-knows-what reasons. As they cross the country in search of shelter and other survivors, Dave learns that his rules may not be entirely accurate, and that in order to survive, one must learn to trust; sometimes, even love.
Part One
When the shit hit the fan, Dave Karofsky was ready for it.
The first rule of any apocalypse horror movie is BE PREPARED. As ridiculous as it sounds, Dave had been prepared for The End of Days for years. He had flashlights stashed in places all around his house, in his car, tiny MagLites that he kept tucked in the inside pockets of all of his jackets. He kept a wooden baseball bat next to his bed, in grabbing distance, and there was a crowbar stuffed discreetly under the driver's seat of his car. He kept a fully stocked first aid kit in his glovebox, and he practiced his sacks and tackles every day so he could take down any monster, zombie or infected dick with ease and minimal pain. To say Dave Karofsky was well-prepared was an understatement. Dave Karofsky was indestructible, a force to be reckoned with when the Apocalypse came nigh.
The second rule of these movies is KNOW THE PROTOCOL. Every horror trope has its ground rules. Dave Karofsky knew that, with zombies, you aim for the head and destroy the brain (because mere decapitation doesn't always work). He knew that, in the event of a natural disaster, it's every man for himself, family and friends be damned. (It also helps to know the President in these events, because he will evacuate you much faster. That item was on his list.) Should a dangerous outbreak of a disease occur, if you are not one of the lucky few that is naturally immune to it (and it's bound to happen) then you carry as much fucking hand sanitizer as you can and you stay in safe zones as much as possible. And for the love of all that is good and holy, if someone you know shows signs of infection, you kill them, even if they're your grandmother, your best friend, the love of your life. No sympathy, no mercy. Monsters, beasts, ghosts and their ilk were best handled using spiritual means, but barbaric ones were just as effective depending on the creature's nature. Should Godzilla, Cloverfield or Mothra invade the city, you don't trust the military and you certainly don't run around blindly like everyone else. You stay the fuck put in a basement (not in your penthouse!) and you wait it out. You fight the aliens, because if they're going to kill you, you might as well go down swingin'. The only trope he didn't have a solution for was the sun exploding or a meteorite. In those cases, you're fucked either way; in those cases, he figured he'd just throw caution to the wind and start looting, because hey, he had always wanted that 60" HD plasma screen down at the Best Buy.
The third rule was DON'T TRUST ANYONE. This wasn't a hard one for him to follow, because naturally Dave didn't really trust anyone that wasn't his blood, but it was nevertheless important. You never know who is and isn't possessed by something, or who might be working against you (à la Dead Space), or who is in cahoots with the scientists. Hell, the person you share meals with might be the cause of the whole mess. In an apocalyptic world, you can trust yourself and only yourself, because when faced with immediate and certain death, people change. The mild-mannered kid in your math class might turn into a monster who wouldn't blink twice while he shanked you if it meant he lived. If Dave ever found himself in one of those movies, he'd be the rogue loner, the one no one likes, but the one who winds up living because he's smart, and he doesn't trust anyone but himself with protecting his life.
The final rule, though, in contradiction to Rule 3, was ALWAYS STICK TOGETHER. Moms don't tell their children, "safety in numbers" for nothing. Along with staving off loneliness, being in a group ups the individual's chances of survival because there are more things to distract monsters with. Dave knew this line of thinking made him an asshole, but he didn't really care. It's a dog-eat-dog world out there and he'd be damned if he wasn't going to tough it out and keep self-preservation at the front of his mind. Survival was his top priority; human relationships, in retrospect, were meaningless.
Dave knew all the rules, but that didn't mean he didn't feel a rush of adrenaline-fueled fear when he woke up one morning and saw the thing at the foot of his bed, all red eyes and wide-mouthed with rows upon rows of sharp, pointed teeth. He didn't even think twice. It pounced on the bed and opened wide and he took that bat and he smashed it in the skull. The creature let out a shriek of pain and lunged at him, claws extended and ready, and it got a good scratch on his face before he took the bat and rammed it upwards. There was a sickening crunch sound as he broke the bones, the teeth and the jaws of the beast. It let out a feeble gurgling sound and rolled off the bed and to the ground, where it lay twitching.
He wasn't done. Dave got out of bed and he held that bat high and brought it down like an executioner's axe. Again and again he brought it down, until the creature stopped moving and any semblance of a head was long gone. Panting and covered in black blood, Dave fell to his knees next to the creature's corpse and caught his breath.
His first thought was a disappointed one: "Of all the apocalypses, it had to be a monster apocalypse." He'd always wanted a zombie apocalypse himself. Zombies were easy. He wasn't scared of zombies. But this? This was some Silent Hill shit right here. Even though he knew how to handle it, he couldn't help feeling slightly cheated that of all his favorite tropes, he had to be stuck with the lamest one. Not to mention, those Silent Hill beasts are fucking scary as shit.
After regaining his composure, his second thought was, "Mom. Dad." A glance at the clock showed it was nine in the morning, but it was as dark as midnight outside. If he hadn't just beaten a monster to death, he would have considered it odd. As it was, he shrugged it off as being par for the course (because it's the Apocalypse) and stood up, clutching the bat close to his body as he opened his bedroom door, ready to swing again if need be.
The hall was quiet and pitch dark. Still holding the bat defensively, he fumbled along the wall for the light switch. When he flicked it, the lights flickered once in a sad attempt to come on before they died again, accompanied by that sad "shutting down" noise that comes during a power outage.
"Apocalypse," he reminded himself. He edged along the wall towards a potted fern his mother had put at the corner of the hall (decoration). Two years ago, he'd stuffed a thick, heavy flashlight into the soil of the plant for precisely this occasion. Also, its weight made it a nifty club. At this point he figured he could use all the weapons he could get his hands on. He reached out, fingertips sensing for the fern. When its leaves tickled the pads of his fingers, he slunk forward and plunged his hand into the soil. He almost depotted the plant, and he definitely got soil all over the nice white carpet of the hallway (Mom was going to be so mad) but he held the flashlight firmly in his hand. He pushed the button on the side and the torch illuminated, a beam of light extending down the hall.
Well, if Mom was going to be even the slightest bit mad at the soil on the carpet, she was going to be filled with homicidal rage when she caught sight of all that blood at the end of the hall.
Then his heart stopped. For the briefest of moments, he forgot his own rules and ran towards his parents' room. The door was open, and even in the darkness he could see the carnage. There were disgusting sounds, like lions on the savanna eating a gazelle, chewing and chewing and the wet squelch of blood slipping through teeth. He thought he might vomit from the sound alone, but it was only when he lifted his light and illuminated the creatures on his parents' bed that he could see the damage.
Mom didn't have a head, her torso open and exposed, exploded like a piñata at a birthday party. Dad seemed to have been reduced to a rib cage and a spinal cord, his head lolling on the pillow as if he were merely sleeping, like he wasn't being eaten away by these... these things. Like he still had a body, could still catch a baseball and take Dave to the movies and lie half comatose in front of the TV.
Like any god damned moment, he'd wake up and it would all be just a horrible nightmare.
The creatures looked like the one that had attacked him in his bedroom: quadripedal, long-limbed and thin. Bodily, they resembled emaciated dogs, with long sharp claws for feet, and a head that seemed to split in two because of the wide, gaping mouth that housed all those sharp teeth, rows and rows of them, red with blood and illuminated by the beam of his flashlight. They were huge, perhaps five feet long, and spindly and tall like daddy longlegs. They snarled and chewed on his parents and it filled him with rage.
"HEY," Dave shouted, getting the attention of the creatures. There were two of them, hovering over his parents' corpses and going to town like they were at the early-bird special at Old Country Buffet. He was furious, and he was going to show them.
"COME GET IT, MOTHERFUCKER," Dave said, and the first one turned its entire body and faced him, mouth open and grinning and glistening bright red with his parents' blood. It hunched up, ready to pounce-- it leapt into the air and Dave dropped the flashlight and swung the bat as hard as he could. If the pained whimper was anything to go by, he'd gotten a damn good hit right in the creature's head. With a quickness he didn't even know he had, he picked the flashlight up just in time to see the other one lunging right at him. He brought the flashlight down, hard, on its snout and it fell to the ground. Holding the flashlight and the bat with both hands, he swung the bat down, right into the center of the creature's skull, and was satisfied to hear the crack of bone and feel his bare legs be splashed with brain matter.
The first creature was recovering from the blow, and when he could focus the flashlight on it, he saw that he had almost knocked its bottom jaw clear off. In a moment of temporary insanity, he thought, "God damn, I should be in the MLB with aim like that." It came towards him, royally pissed off if the glint in its eyes was anything to go by.
"Come here, you fucker," he said, low and dangerous, as the animal came closer and closer. It made weak, wet growling sounds as it stalked towards him. When it was close enough, he said, "You fucking ate my parents, you ugly son-of-a-bitch." Then he brought that bat down again, smashing the rest of the creature's jaw off, then brought the bat up again through the upper jaw. There was a snap and a jerk as the creature's neck broke cleanly, and it fell to the ground, limp and lifeless.
Dave took a moment and leaned against the wall, focusing the flashlight on a single spot of untainted carpet in the corner of the room so he wouldn't have to see the sad remains of his parents. He breathed deep and smelled the copper metallic smell of blood, tasted it in the air as if it had vaporized into the oxygen. He smelled something like sulfur or rotten eggs that he assumed came from those creatures (and how fitting that they would smell like Hell, he thought) and, faintly, a hint of clean linen. Mom had done laundry just yesterday and those things had completely destroyed her hard work.
Fuck.
He held the beam up. The bottom jaw of one of the creatures was at his feet. He knelt and surveyed it, counting sixteen rows of sharp, sharp teeth. He touched one lightly and winced, sucking a pained breath through his teeth. Just a bare touch drew blood.
Careful not to illuminate his parents' bed, he shuffled the animals' corpses out into the hall (because they didn't deserve to be in the same room as his parents) with his feet, then closed the door of his parents' room.
He was going to have to go this one alone.
When he had first suggested they start preparing for an Apocalypse several years ago, his parents had laughed and said, "Don't be silly, David. Those are just movies." They'd told him to stop being foolish with his obsession. "Get that crowbar out of the car, David. It's dangerous!"
He'd slid another bat under his parents' bed, but they hadn't found it and then they were devoured by beasts and he wanted to scream at them, "I told you! Why didn't you listen to me? Why didn't you fucking listen?!" Now they were dead, and he was totally alone in his dark house with no power, with who knew how many other animals in the house, God knew how many outside. He didn't know if he was the last person alive in the neighborhood, in Lima, in Ohio, in the US, in the entire world. All he knew was that, right now, he was alone, effectively breaking Rule 4.
The flashlight was pointing at his feet, and for the first time he realized that he was covered head to toe in blood, some of it the creatures' and some of it his own from the gash on his face. Gingerly, he reached up to feel it. His face was drenched with blood and sweat. The gash extended from his forehead clear down to his chin and it was deep. Only now was it starting to hurt, though.
Cautiously, Dave went downstairs to get other lights. He had a camping lantern in the coat closet that would provide sufficient light for him to illuminate his bedroom and the bathroom. He grabbed candles, as many as he could in his arms while still holding onto the bat, the flashlight and the lantern, and he grabbed the jumbo box of kitchen matches from the drawer under the microwave. Slowly, he made his way back up the stairs, all the while keeping his ears wide open in case another creature was lurking in the house. All was quiet, though, and he figured that there were probably only three of them. He'd taken care of them.
In his bedroom, Dave dumped the load from his arms onto his carpet. He turned on the camping lantern and the room was bathed in a soft glow of light. Long, dark shadows stretched from all directions. It wasn't ideal lighting, but it was what he had. Dave went looking for a bag. His plan, though not fully formed, was to leave the house. The way he saw it, he needed to find others and band together, and from the relative quiet, he didn't think there was some colossal-sized monster outside ready to squash him underfoot. He needed to pack, and fast. He pulled his WMHS hockey duffel out from his closet and began to throw things into it: the candles, a few changes of pants and shirts, underwear and socks (because you have to be practical, even when the world is ending; standards and all that. Wearing the same underpants for weeks at a time is kind of rank.), sweatshirts, heavy objects like old hockey trophies to be used as weapons. He found a sleeping bag on the top shelf and silently thanked God or whoever was up there for at least granting him this kind of luck.
After he'd packed some essentials, he picked up the lantern and went into the bathroom. He needed a shower, badly, and the fact that it was the Apocalypse meant he probably wasn't going to get a hot shower, or any kind of shower, for a long time. He set the lantern on the counter and peered into the mirror. In the darkness, he could see that the gash would have to be bandaged soon to avoid infection and promote healing, but it would eventually become a scar. "It's kind of badass," he thought.
When he stripped and stepped into the shower, that's when it hit him. The world was fucking ending. He was completely and totally alone. Two monstrous dog-like creatures had completely devoured his parents and he was all alone, didn't even know if there was another soul left on earth. In the stream of the water, Dave sat down and he stayed there for a long while, holding back all his tears because he wasn't going to cry, not now, not ever, not during this. He was going to be strong and he wasn't going to dwell on losses. Not yet, anyway, not when he had practical business to take care of.
After the shower and after he dressed, Dave slipped into his parents' room. He didn't bring the flashlight. In the darkness, he could almost pretend they weren't destroyed and maimed like they were.
"I'm going," he said. "I don't know when I'll be back... so, don't call, okay?"
He wanted to kiss his mother goodbye, but she had no cheeks on which to press a kiss, so he didn't. Instead he held back the sob that threatened to escape from his lips and picked up the framed picture on the bedside table. It was of the three of them, taken last summer on a beach in California. Happier times. He took the picture out of the frame, folded it up and stuck it into his pocket. Then he turned to gather his things and leave the house and go out into the world, facing the danger as strongly and proudly as he could.
**
Outside, it was dark. Completely. No sun or moon high in the sky to light his path, no street lamps or porch lights to guide him down the cold sidewalk. He tugged his letterman jacket tighter around him, wishing that he'd had the presence of mind to have invested in a more appropriate coat. The biting winter cold stung his eyes and he blinked around tears that threatened to fall. He wasn't sure if he was crying because of what he'd just experienced, or if he was crying because his eyes were drying out. He chose the latter, but if he was crying because of his parents, no one needed to know.
Dave had packed two bags: the duffel and a backpack, which he'd filled with the miscellany in the glovebox of his car. He'd made sure to grab all the bottles of Advil, Ibuprofen and Excedrin he could find in the house, and extra flashlights, batteries, his cellphone and its charger (just in case, he figured, because maybe he could find a backup genny somewhere and maybe he'd have a signal) and stuff them into the backpack. Tied to the duffel was his sleeping bag. He carried the bloodied bat in his right hand and in the left he swung the flashlight around the street to make sure there were no surprises.
The first thing he'd done, when he'd left, was try to start the car. The engine had failed to turn over, and he wasn't sure there would be anyone around who could even think about giving him a jump. He'd sat in the car and listened to the miserable "rrr-rrr-rrr" sound of the engine trying, and failing spectacularly, to turn on. In the end, he'd given up, grabbed the crowbar and emptied the glovebox and he hoofed it.
He didn't know where he was going. He was just moving, and he'd keep moving, until he found people.
In the distance, someone shrieked. Dave froze, waited. His breath came fast and quick, his heart pounded in his ears. Every nerve in his body vibrated with the need to flee but he stood his ground, tightened his grip on his bat, and waited. When another scream sounded far away to the north, he figured there wasn't anything in his immediate vicinity and he kept walking. He wandered aimlessly, moving the beam of his flashlight to and fro in the hopes of finally seeing another face. What he saw were cars, manicured lawns, basketballs, bicycles, doghouses. He even saw a chain on which he was sure a dog had been tied to, at one time. Now, he looked at it. It was cut short and ragged, the grass bloodstained.
Now that he could examine other properties, he noticed broken windows. He noticed bloody prints on the exterior walls of the houses. And he noticed how loud the silence was, just the wind rustling the dry branches of the trees lining the street. Come summer, they'd be bursting green and fresh and lively and it saddened him to think that the people living here, the children and the spouses and their dogs, wouldn't see how beautiful it would be.
When he looked down at his watch, it was almost 10:45am. There was not a single light in the sky.
**
He walked for hours. He'd always thought, in movies and books, that the whole "walking for hours" thing was an exaggeration. "No one can walk for hours," he thought.
Turns out, they can, and they do.
Dave walked for two, three hours and didn't see a single living soul. He didn't even see any creatures. All he could see was darkness, shattered glass, the occasional scrape of blood on the pavement or the siding of a house. He could only hear the breeze and the winter wind, mixed with the occasional terrified shriek somewhere far away as the creatures slaughtered entire families.
Eventually he found himself in the parking lot of a 7-11. He hadn't packed many provisions, mainly because he'd figured he'd have run into someone by now. At this point, it looked like he had a snowball's chance in Hell of finding another person. Using the bat, he smashed the glass of the sliding doors, knocking away shards that stuck to the frames, and ducked into the dark building.
He hadn't noticed there was a smashed window at the back of the store.
Quietly, quickly, he headed for the freezers and fridges, where bottles of water would be. He would pack as many as he could fit in the bags, leaving room for food. 7-11 wasn't exactly the height of class when it came to food, but when it's the Apocalypse, beggars can't be choosers. He would have to make do with a million bags of beef jerky, beef nuggets, SlimJims, chips, candies (to keep his sugar up) until he could find proper food.
It was when he was stuffing the fifth water bottle into the duffel that he heard the noise. It sounded like the inhale of a crying child, hitching up and up and up, and it ended on a high keen that sent shivers through Dave's entire body. He stopped, still bent over the duffel, and waited.
Something shuffled. He hadn't dropped his bat, just his bags, and it was advantageous. His arms had more range of motion; he could swing with much more ease now. Slowly, easily, smoothly he stood up and straightened, his hand clutching the bat so tight his knuckles turned white with the exertion. He could hear it breathing, loud and wheezing and scratchy like an old man, like a sick baby.
As slowly as he could, he turned to face it.
It was a strange creature, almost humanoid, but hunched over. It was completely hairless and stared at him with small, bright eyes. It looked almost innocent at first, until he saw its long, bony fingers with sharp pointed nails, the runner's legs that curled under it, poised to run and attack. For a long moment, the two of them stared at each other.
Then, it moved. It lunged forward, quick as lightning, and pushed Dave hard against the glass of the refrigerator. It pinned him with one long arm across his throat. Again it made that hiccuping inhale, and this time the inhale finished with a sound that made his blood run cold: a girlish giggle of pure glee. It was then that Dave noticed the creature had drawn one hand back, index finger with a nail as long and sharp as a needle pointed at his eye.
"Don't you even fucking dare," Dave growled, struggling in the creature's hold. It cocked its head curiously at him, blinked, and then. Then it smiled. It smiled and it seemed to mock Dave, staring at him with a look that said, What are you going to do about it?
"THIS," Dave said, jerking the bat up in reply. The creature released him, instead swinging its arms up high and snatching the bat out of Dave's hands.
"Shit," he said, and he watched in horror as the creature surveyed his bat with fascination before fixing those beady, evil eyes on him. It gripped the bat with both awful hands and snapped it clean in half. The crack sounded like a heart breaking.
"Shitshitshit," he said, because it was all he could think. They watched each other for a moment, and then he ran. He bolted down one of the aisles and headed for the register, praying the clerks kept a handgun or something down there.
There was a snarling sound, that inhale shaking down the aisles, and he chanced a glance back and saw it was scurrying toward him in the most terrifying version of a crab-walk he'd ever seen. Its head was rotated 180 degrees on its neck and it sped at him on all fours, stomach to the air. All the while it was smiling, as if it enjoyed this game, as if Dave were just a fun hunt, an adventure.
Swiftly, he leapt over the counter and ducked as fast as he could. The creature waited almost patiently on the other side of the counter. I've got you now, it was saying. Trapped. You're mine now.
"In your fucking dreams," Dave spat back. There, on the lowest shelf of the counter, was the handgun. Quickly, he checked to see if it was loaded. As quietly as he could manage it, he turned the safety off, cocked the gun, then stood.
The creature purred at him, cooed like a goddamned dove, sweet and innocent. It smelled like acid and smoke, burned Dave's nostrils. It knelt like an ape, its head rotating on its neck so that now the whole body faced him. They stared for a long time. Then the creature opened its mouth and a long, slender tongue darted out.
Dave raised the handgun and fired.
An inhuman scream rose from the creature's mouth as blood exploded out of the back of its head. It stood, stumbling backwards in agony, dragging its horrible needle-hands along the ground. It knocked bags of chips and candies off the shelves, gossip magazines, gum, batteries, and Dave climbed over the counter and he fired. He fired again and again and again and the creature wailed like a child calling for its mother, it shrieked and made such a ruckus that when he incapacitated it, in a moment of pure rage, he stood above it and brought his foot down hard in the center of its face to shut it up, feeling the bones shatter under his shoe.
He'd drenched the bottom of his jeans in blood, but he didn't give two shits about that. He was pissed the fuck off at this thing.
"You asshole," he said to it, moving his foot away. Its eyes had exploded and the top of its head had popped off like a champagne cork, splattering its brains across the linoleum. "You fucking ruined all these bags of chips. Now what the fuck am I supposed to eat?"
With a final kick to the head for good measure, Dave went back to his bags. Calmly, he filled them with water bottles, jerky, chips and candies and even a few sodas (as a treat). He went behind the counter and gathered as much ammo for the gun as he could find, all of it, and packed it carefully into his bag along side the gun (safety on, this time). As he left, he smashed open the case with the scratchcards and stole all of them, wondering if, should he win, he could still collect the money, even as society crumbled around him.
**
By noon, Dave was tired of walking. He found a park and grabbed some snacks and climbed to the top of the jungle gym with his flashlight, a bottle of water and a bag of peppered beef jerky. He sat perched on the top of the jungle gym and moved the flashlight back and forth across the woodchips on the ground. As he'd expected, it was completely deserted, void of human life. As he gnawed on his jerky, he found his thoughts drifting. A profound sense of sadness washed over him. He only knew that he was alive. For all he knew, everyone he'd ever known and loved could be dead. Hell, he'd already lost his parents. It was likely most of his friends were dead. The world as he knew it was being destroyed, bit by bit, by creatures the likes of which he'd never even dreamed of.
Perhaps, he thought, Lima was the only place affected. Perhaps other cities would be safe. If he could just make it out of Lima, get to a neighboring town or make his way to Toledo, he'd be safe. Maybe he could even get help, save the survivors in town.
Just as he was about to descend from the jungle gym, he heard something; a cry, or something like it. At first he wasn't sure he'd heard it correctly because for a minute he thought he could hear someone calling for help, plaintively wailing for company. He jumped down from the jungle gym, drawing the handgun from the waistband of his pants (perhaps not the wisest place to put it, but certainly the most convenient). He waited.
"Someone-- anyone?" the voice said again. Dave inched towards it, pulling back the safety on the gun and aiming it in front of him, in case the voice belonged to a clever creature that could mimic the calls of a frightened human.
The voice was drifting from a bank of bushes bordering the park. Anxiously Dave hauled his bags up higher on his shoulders and quietly made his way to the source of the voice. When he got to a close yet reasonably safe distance from the voice, he said, "Who's there?"
"Oh shit!" the voice said and from the bushes popped a pale dirt-streaked face. The face was quickly followed by the lanky tall body of a boy wearing a denim jacket and pajama pants. "Holy fuck, shit, please tell me you're human, you're not one of them..."
"I'm not," Dave said. "Are you?"
"No!" the boy said. Only then did he notice the gun. He backed up into the bushes as quickly as he'd emerged from them. "Don't shoot, man, I swear to God I'm a human!"
Only the boy's terrified, wide eyes peered out from the bushes. Dave flicked the safety back on and slipped the gun back into his pants. "Alright, alright, Jesus, get the fuck out of the bushes."
The boy once again stepped out of the bushes. He was wearing house slippers and he shivered in the winter cold, wrapping himself up in the denim jacket. "Man, am I glad I found somebody," he said. He stuck out a dirty hand. "Name's CJ."
"Dave," Dave replied. Tentatively he took the boy's hand. It was slender and ice cold. "Holy shit, how long have you been out here?"
"I dunno, maybe an hour and a half?" The boy gestured vaguely behind him. "From... from that way, other side of town. You're the first-- living, intact human I've seen since I ran out of my house this morning." CJ started to tremble and sunk to the ground. "Jesus fuck. I am so glad to see you."
Dave nodded, setting his bags down. He rifled through one of them until he came up with a thicker sweatshirt, one of his dad's old hoodies. "Here, put this on, you look like you're going to die of hypothermia at any second. Do you got any shoes?"
"N-no," CJ said. "I just... they were eating my sister," he said, voice thick. "I was going to-- I was trying-- but they ran, and I couldn't save... They chased me out." He tugged half-heartedly on the sleeve of his jacket. "I grabbed this off the hook, don't know how I did it in my panic, but..."
"Right." Dave scoped the surrounding area. Dark houses surrounded the park. He didn't want to do this, but he figured more supplies couldn't hurt, and this CJ kid needed some proper clothes or he would die of exposure before the creatures could tear his guts out. "Okay, here's the deal," he said as CJ pulled the sweatshirt on over his jacket, "there's no way you're going to survive the way you're dressed, but I only got one sleeping bag. Chances are these houses around here have materials we can use to defend ourselves and keep ourselves healthy. The question is, are you comfortable with a little looting?"
CJ blinked and a cracked a hesitant smile. "What about the...?" he said, trailing off at the end, as if mentioning the things would bring them to him.
"Here." Dave handed CJ the crowbar. "Use it wisely, young padawan," he said with a smile. "Let's go."
The first house they approached was locked at the front door, but a broken window coated with blood faced the street. Dave swallowed, steeled himself and turned to CJ. "We might see some things."
CJ looked at him. Already the color was beginning to return to his face but he was still shaking like a leaf. Even so, he raised his eyebrows and said, "I just marched an hour and a half across this bloodbath of a town, I know what we might see in there."
With a final nod, Dave kicked at the broken shards at the bottom of the window frame and stepped into the house. The window opened into a dark sitting room, lavishly furnished. Were it not for all the blood, it might have been a beautiful room. Perhaps the owner of the house would sit here with a book on a cold Sunday, while winter sun filtered through the broken window shade now hanging limply from the top of the window.
The center of the room housed a luscious carpet, wet still with blood. Dave stared down at the blood--there was a trail leading from the patch out the doorway and into the foyer. Dave took the gun from his pants and cautiously moved forward into the foyer.
Nothing. Nothing but blood.
From the foyer, he could see into the kitchen. Something shuffled in there, and Dave waved to CJ behind him. The other boy came up close, knuckles white and trembling on the crowbar, nodding once to show he was ready. His face was sheet-white and in the dark light it seemed to glow, pale as the moon. Gently, Dave reached out a hand and slowly laid it on CJ's shoulder. I won't let anything happen to you, he was trying to say. CJ stared at him and then cracked a small smile.
Dave entered the kitchen first. The creature was drenched in shadows at the opposite end of the room, feasting on something. Dave could barely see it from that distance, could only hear sickening tears and the snorts and breaths of the animal before them. As he got closer, he could see it was another one of the black dog-like creatures that had started this entire nightmare.
"You son of a bitch," Dave said, lifting the handgun. The creature looked up at him and it almost seemed to smile. Its eyes narrowed and it turned away from its prey, its mouth lined with blood and dripping. "I'll fucking kill all of you."
The creature stepped closer. Behind him, Dave could hear CJ's breath hitching, could practically hear the other boy's heart pound furiously in his chest, loud enough that Dave could hear it through the crazed beating of his own heart, which had mysteriously jumped into his throat and threatened to explode out his mouth.
The creature slinked closer, and Dave lifted the gun and when the creature looked at it, he pulled the trigger. Right between the eyes. It let out a horrendous scream and skittered backwards, dripping from the new hole between its eyes. How the fuck could I miss the brain with that shot?! He thought to himself. No matter, though. The creature was incapacitated, and Dave got right up close to it and fired several more shots into various places on its body. One shot eventually proved fatal, as the creature suddenly jerked and gurgled before going completely still.
"Holy fuck," CJ said from somewhere behind him.
"What?" Dave panted, turning around to face the surprised and awe-stricken face of his new companion.
"Dude," CJ said, voice full of wonder, "do you work for, like, the army or something?"
Dave blinked and tried not to look at the mess of a human being that the creature had been snacking on not five minutes before. "No, why?"
"Because you are fucking bad ass, man," CJ said, clutching the crowbar tight to his chest. "You just. Guns blazin', man, you don't even wait for the threat."
Dave shrugged, checking the gun and then stashing it back in his pants. "Uh, thanks, I guess," he said, "but really, I'm just a survivalist. No room for being scared when you're trying to survive." With that, he went back into the kitchen. "Here. Let's search the pantry; then, we'll go look for some blankets and bags and shit."
They swept and raided the house in just under an hour, combing through every room and collecting bags, blankets, clothes--anything not blood-stained and usable was scavenged. From the remains they stumbled upon, it was clear that a small family had lived in the house; their corpses were all mostly eaten, their flesh picked clean off their bones. Each new body made Dave feel sick, and as he stepped out of the house into the frosty air, laden with three new bags of supplies, he sunk to his knees and vomited into the flower bushes. CJ didn't make it as far, opting instead to collapse in the foyer of the house. From his position on the ground, Dave could hear his companion retching inside.
When he felt finished, he wiped his mouth and spat the taste of vomit from his mouth, getting slowly to his feet. He stretched and hiked his bags up his shoulders, waiting for CJ to finish inside. The boy stumbled out a few seconds later, his face now green and shining with sweat along his brow.
"You good?" Dave asked. His voice sounded like it was being squeezed through a very narrow space, forced and thin. CJ was panting, but he gave a weary thumbs up and headed towards Dave.
"Yeah," he said, "'m good." Dave handed him one of the three bags, watched him haul it up onto his back. "That was-- well, that was one of the worst houses I've seen."
"Tell me about it." Dave could still see the untouched heads of the children atop their skeletons, looking like they still slept, but their bodies, all gone--nothing but bones and blood. Dave knew he'd been lucky up until this point. CJ had watched those things eat his little sister. He assumed the same dog-like animals had devoured her just the same. If the look on CJ's face was anything to go by, Dave would say the other boy was thinking the same thing.
"Come on," Dave said quietly. "Don't dwell on it. We need to find others."
CJ nodded, shakily lifting the crowbar to his head in a tired salute. "Yes, Sir."
**
They camped the first night on the football field at the high school, though neither of them slept much. They lay on their backs under the tent, in their sleeping bags and wrapped up head-to-toe in down jackets. The temperature had remained constant all day, a result of the unending night, but it was still cold enough to see one's breath in the air. Not a single star blinked at them from the sky, nothing but inky black.
"Why?" CJ asked into the silence, after they'd been bedded down for an hour. "Why is this happening?"
It was a rhetorical question for sure. No way could CJ expect Dave to know what was happening. The world's top scientists were probably wondering the same thing. Why is this happening? What is going on? Where are these grotesque things coming from and what are they really? If only Dave were a scientist, he might be able to develop a hypothesis. But all he knew was football and survival; to ask him about organic creatures like these would be fruitless.
So, Dave didn't answer.
"I wonder if anyone else is out there," CJ continued, "and if they're searching just like we are?"
"You'd have to be crazy not to," Dave replied. "Safety in numbers. One of the first rules of horror movies."
CJ scoffed. "But, man, you do realize this isn't a horror movie, right? This is real."
"Doesn't mean the rules don't apply, dude," he answered, annoyed. "Tropes exist for a reason, and if you and I wanna survive this thing, we should follow them."
CJ said nothing in response, shifting in his sleeping bag, the fabric rustling loudly in the tent's space. They lay in silence for a moment before CJ said, "How about you, man?"
"Hm?"
CJ turned his head to look at Dave curiously. "What's your story?"
Dave raised a brow, pulling one side of his lips down in confusion. "Uh, well," he said, "I woke up this morning and there was one of 'em at the foot of my bed. I beat the shit out of it, but his comrades had already eaten my parents. So, I figured I should just walk, try to find others. Not much else to tell."
"Okay," CJ said slowly, "but why do you have all these bad-ass skills?"
Dave couldn't keep himself from laughing. "What bad-ass skills? Dude, I told you before, I'm a survivalist. And I watch a shit ton of horror movies."
"How old are you?" CJ asked abruptly.
"Tw... twenty? Why?"
CJ nodded thoughtfully. "I'm nineteen," he said, like it meant something.
"...'kay. Good to know."
"I'm just trying to get to know you, is all," CJ replied, sounding put-out. "Jeez."
Dave suddenly felt like a dick. He rolled over, turning his back to CJ. "Try to get some sleep, man. Tomorrow we set out bright and early."
He doubted the sun would even rise.
**
Somehow, they'd both managed to catch a few hours of sleep. At six in the morning, according to Dave's watch, they packed up camp and set out again, heading out of town. They talked in low voices, sweeping their flashlights to-and-fro across the streets. The silence made Dave's ears ring, put him on edge. He felt like he was walking in the eye of a storm, and soon there would be a swarm of things waiting and ready to chomp him to little bits. Tasty monster breakfast.
Focus, man, he thought. You can't think about that. No time to think about that. Just focus on finding supplies, finding others.
"I hope we find someone else soon," CJ murmured, looking at Dave with his brow furrowed. "I'm starting to think this is more than just a Lima thing."
Before Dave could answer, there was a noise. Immediately, Dave's hand went to the gun in his pants. CJ gripped the crowbar tightly and held it like he was ready to hit a game-winning home run, straight and confident. They waited.
And then, out of nowhere, it came: a human-shaped figure, moving far too fast to not be suspicious. When it got into the light of the flashlights, it was clear that this was another creature, lithe and athletic. It had claws, talons almost, and it pinned the two of them in its sight and began to come closer, slowly at first.
"Get ready," Dave said, pulling back the safety on the gun.
The creature charged before either of them could react, pinning Dave to the asphalt and knocking CJ clear away. The thing was strong, stronger than Dave for sure--no matter how hard he struggled, the creature's grip never wavered, never loosened. It looked down at him, almost curiously. It bent down to sniff Dave. Seemingly satisfied with whatever he smelled, the creature opened its mouth and Dave could only watch as the creature's fangs erupted from its gums. Its breath smelled like garbage, like dead flesh, and Dave gagged, wriggling below the creature.
"CJ, god dammit, help me out over here!" he shouted. No response. "CJ! CJ!"
Shit shit shit. Shit. The creature seemed to almost smile, drawing one sharp nail across Dave's throat. He could feel blood seeping out of the wound, like he'd cut himself shaving, and the creature sighed with satisfaction. It bent down, teeth growing ever larger. Dave fumbled for the gun to his right, hoping, catching his fingers along the butt--
There was a deafening crack and suddenly the pressure was gone. As quickly as the creature had been on him, it was now off, shrieking. Dazed, Dave watched someone raise a blunt instrument and bring it down again and again on the creature. Dave listened to it scream in agony before finally giving up, going limp. He turned his head to the side to stare at it; the teeth retreated into the gums and the light in its eyes went out. It gave a final, valiant gurgling growl and sank its weight to the ground.
"You alright?" came a voice, soft-spoken and scarily familiar. Dave looked back up from his vantage point on the ground. Standing above him was Kurt Hummel in a blood-stained henley, hair tousled, face streaked with dirt. He looked as surprised as Dave felt. "Karofsky?"
"Hummel," Dave said, because he couldn't think of any other greeting. "Um. Thanks for that."
Kurt looked at him suspiciously, backing away a little. He didn't even offer a hand to help Dave up, guard up immediately. He carried a beam of wood, thick enough to damage but still easy to hold on to. The end was covered in blood.
"Yeah, sure," he said warily. "Those ones--yeah, those ones are pretty nasty." He cast a look at the creature's corpse before flicking his gaze across the street and nodding his head. "That your friend?"
Dave sat up, head pounding, and turned to look in the same direction. CJ was slumped against the curb. "Ah shit, yeah," Dave said, pushing himself up and jogging over to his companion. CJ let out a groan.
"Holy fuck," he said, cracking one eye open. "Fuck that thing."
Dave nodded, kneeling down to help CJ.
"Cracked my head on the curb," CJ explained. "I couldn't even fucking move, man. Sorry. I would've helped. It's a good thing someone else was here." He looked up at Kurt. "Hey man, thanks. I'm CJ."
"Kurt," Kurt replied, voice thin and guarded. "I'm glad I found you two. I was beginning to think..." he trailed off. "There's. Well, no one on my block survived, I don't think."
"Dude," Dave said softly. He reached out to lay a reassuring hand on Kurt's shoulder, but the boy flinched away; Dave withdrew his hand quickly. "Um. Sorry, man. That really sucks. Us too."
CJ was watching them silently. The quiet stretched on, and CJ said, "Well, you two seem to be familiar with each other."
"Classmates," Kurt replied quickly, looking to CJ. He didn't elaborate, and for that, Dave was grateful. He wondered if Kurt harbored a grudge against him because of their past; if, next time they were attacked, he'd let Dave get eaten. Dave didn't trust him and he was positive that Kurt didn't trust Dave either. The past lay between them, omnipresent. Kurt looked at Dave with a blank, neutral stare; at least it wasn't fear, or hate, like Dave had remembered back when life was normal--back when life was normal, just a fucking week ago--and he figured that was the best he was gonna get.
"We're gonna go swing by the high school," CJ said. "Gonna check, see if anyone's congregated there."
"Don't bother," Kurt replied with a dismissive sigh. "Been there, done that. Surrounded by creatures, not a single living person in sight. You two are the first people I've seen since yesterday. I was beginning to think I was the only person left."
Dave looked down, unsure of how to ask the question he needed and wanted to ask, but finally he mustered up the courage. "You wanna tag along with us?" At Kurt's uncertain look, he said, "Safety in numbers, man. We'll all be better off if we three have each other's backs."
Slowly, Kurt nodded. "Yeah. Yeah, okay."
Dave didn't miss the flood of warmth that raced through his chest and he could've screamed. Now was not the time to let his stupid pigtail-pulling crush rise again, but Kurt's thin body looked damn good, even in a stained and disheveled henley. Even covered in blood, the other boy was still as attractive as ever.
God. Dammit. He was so fucked.
**
They walked in an awkward silence for what felt like hours, CJ between Dave and Kurt. His shoulders had drawn up around his ears and he kept glancing at Dave and Kurt alternately, as if waiting for an explosion. Dave didn't blame him. The tension surrounding him and Kurt was so thick it was almost tangible, heavy around their shoulders, and he could only imagine how awkward CJ felt standing between the two of them.
"We should find transportation," Dave said. His voice sounded loud and hoarse in the silence.
"Good luck with that," CJ replied. "Unless you know how to hotwire a car."
"Good thing my dad owns an auto shop," Kurt said, heading for a truck parked on the curb. He was halfway there when he stopped in his tracks.
"Owned," he said, quietly. "Owned."
Dave and CJ exchanged glances, unsure of what to say. Kurt's slumped shoulders lasted for all of two seconds before he straightened up and walked towards the truck again. He moved with determination, his posture stiff and gait strong, indicating that, whatever that moment had been, it was over now. He was effectively closed off. Dave pushed his lips into a thin line. Whatever Kurt was thinking or feeling, it wasn't his problem, and, judging by the look of the other boy, it was never going to be.
Kurt disappeared into the cab for all of two seconds before popping his head back out. "We got lucky, boys," he said with a forced smile. "Spare set of keys in the sun visor. Who's first shift?"
CJ raised his hand. "I'll do it," he said, slinging his bag into the truck's bed.
"Okay," Dave said, clapping his hands together as he threw his own belongings in with CJ's. "Let's do a few quick supply runs, stock up, and roll out." He fished into the pocket of one of the duffels and handed Kurt a flashlight. "Arm yourselves," he reminded them. "Let's get the fuck out of here."
Part Two
Author bonmoustache
Rating R
Genre horror, romance, angst
Pairing Kurtofsky
Warnings horror fic, so there are copious amounts of gore
Wordcount 29,650
Summary Dave Karofsky has set rules for the apocalypse, so when it actually arrives, he's sure he can handle it. His family dead and Lima in ruins, Dave sets out in search of other survivors but finds only CJ, a local college student, and an old skeleton from his closet: Kurt Hummel, back in town for god-knows-what reasons. As they cross the country in search of shelter and other survivors, Dave learns that his rules may not be entirely accurate, and that in order to survive, one must learn to trust; sometimes, even love.
Part One
When the shit hit the fan, Dave Karofsky was ready for it.
The first rule of any apocalypse horror movie is BE PREPARED. As ridiculous as it sounds, Dave had been prepared for The End of Days for years. He had flashlights stashed in places all around his house, in his car, tiny MagLites that he kept tucked in the inside pockets of all of his jackets. He kept a wooden baseball bat next to his bed, in grabbing distance, and there was a crowbar stuffed discreetly under the driver's seat of his car. He kept a fully stocked first aid kit in his glovebox, and he practiced his sacks and tackles every day so he could take down any monster, zombie or infected dick with ease and minimal pain. To say Dave Karofsky was well-prepared was an understatement. Dave Karofsky was indestructible, a force to be reckoned with when the Apocalypse came nigh.
The second rule of these movies is KNOW THE PROTOCOL. Every horror trope has its ground rules. Dave Karofsky knew that, with zombies, you aim for the head and destroy the brain (because mere decapitation doesn't always work). He knew that, in the event of a natural disaster, it's every man for himself, family and friends be damned. (It also helps to know the President in these events, because he will evacuate you much faster. That item was on his list.) Should a dangerous outbreak of a disease occur, if you are not one of the lucky few that is naturally immune to it (and it's bound to happen) then you carry as much fucking hand sanitizer as you can and you stay in safe zones as much as possible. And for the love of all that is good and holy, if someone you know shows signs of infection, you kill them, even if they're your grandmother, your best friend, the love of your life. No sympathy, no mercy. Monsters, beasts, ghosts and their ilk were best handled using spiritual means, but barbaric ones were just as effective depending on the creature's nature. Should Godzilla, Cloverfield or Mothra invade the city, you don't trust the military and you certainly don't run around blindly like everyone else. You stay the fuck put in a basement (not in your penthouse!) and you wait it out. You fight the aliens, because if they're going to kill you, you might as well go down swingin'. The only trope he didn't have a solution for was the sun exploding or a meteorite. In those cases, you're fucked either way; in those cases, he figured he'd just throw caution to the wind and start looting, because hey, he had always wanted that 60" HD plasma screen down at the Best Buy.
The third rule was DON'T TRUST ANYONE. This wasn't a hard one for him to follow, because naturally Dave didn't really trust anyone that wasn't his blood, but it was nevertheless important. You never know who is and isn't possessed by something, or who might be working against you (à la Dead Space), or who is in cahoots with the scientists. Hell, the person you share meals with might be the cause of the whole mess. In an apocalyptic world, you can trust yourself and only yourself, because when faced with immediate and certain death, people change. The mild-mannered kid in your math class might turn into a monster who wouldn't blink twice while he shanked you if it meant he lived. If Dave ever found himself in one of those movies, he'd be the rogue loner, the one no one likes, but the one who winds up living because he's smart, and he doesn't trust anyone but himself with protecting his life.
The final rule, though, in contradiction to Rule 3, was ALWAYS STICK TOGETHER. Moms don't tell their children, "safety in numbers" for nothing. Along with staving off loneliness, being in a group ups the individual's chances of survival because there are more things to distract monsters with. Dave knew this line of thinking made him an asshole, but he didn't really care. It's a dog-eat-dog world out there and he'd be damned if he wasn't going to tough it out and keep self-preservation at the front of his mind. Survival was his top priority; human relationships, in retrospect, were meaningless.
Dave knew all the rules, but that didn't mean he didn't feel a rush of adrenaline-fueled fear when he woke up one morning and saw the thing at the foot of his bed, all red eyes and wide-mouthed with rows upon rows of sharp, pointed teeth. He didn't even think twice. It pounced on the bed and opened wide and he took that bat and he smashed it in the skull. The creature let out a shriek of pain and lunged at him, claws extended and ready, and it got a good scratch on his face before he took the bat and rammed it upwards. There was a sickening crunch sound as he broke the bones, the teeth and the jaws of the beast. It let out a feeble gurgling sound and rolled off the bed and to the ground, where it lay twitching.
He wasn't done. Dave got out of bed and he held that bat high and brought it down like an executioner's axe. Again and again he brought it down, until the creature stopped moving and any semblance of a head was long gone. Panting and covered in black blood, Dave fell to his knees next to the creature's corpse and caught his breath.
His first thought was a disappointed one: "Of all the apocalypses, it had to be a monster apocalypse." He'd always wanted a zombie apocalypse himself. Zombies were easy. He wasn't scared of zombies. But this? This was some Silent Hill shit right here. Even though he knew how to handle it, he couldn't help feeling slightly cheated that of all his favorite tropes, he had to be stuck with the lamest one. Not to mention, those Silent Hill beasts are fucking scary as shit.
After regaining his composure, his second thought was, "Mom. Dad." A glance at the clock showed it was nine in the morning, but it was as dark as midnight outside. If he hadn't just beaten a monster to death, he would have considered it odd. As it was, he shrugged it off as being par for the course (because it's the Apocalypse) and stood up, clutching the bat close to his body as he opened his bedroom door, ready to swing again if need be.
The hall was quiet and pitch dark. Still holding the bat defensively, he fumbled along the wall for the light switch. When he flicked it, the lights flickered once in a sad attempt to come on before they died again, accompanied by that sad "shutting down" noise that comes during a power outage.
"Apocalypse," he reminded himself. He edged along the wall towards a potted fern his mother had put at the corner of the hall (decoration). Two years ago, he'd stuffed a thick, heavy flashlight into the soil of the plant for precisely this occasion. Also, its weight made it a nifty club. At this point he figured he could use all the weapons he could get his hands on. He reached out, fingertips sensing for the fern. When its leaves tickled the pads of his fingers, he slunk forward and plunged his hand into the soil. He almost depotted the plant, and he definitely got soil all over the nice white carpet of the hallway (Mom was going to be so mad) but he held the flashlight firmly in his hand. He pushed the button on the side and the torch illuminated, a beam of light extending down the hall.
Well, if Mom was going to be even the slightest bit mad at the soil on the carpet, she was going to be filled with homicidal rage when she caught sight of all that blood at the end of the hall.
Then his heart stopped. For the briefest of moments, he forgot his own rules and ran towards his parents' room. The door was open, and even in the darkness he could see the carnage. There were disgusting sounds, like lions on the savanna eating a gazelle, chewing and chewing and the wet squelch of blood slipping through teeth. He thought he might vomit from the sound alone, but it was only when he lifted his light and illuminated the creatures on his parents' bed that he could see the damage.
Mom didn't have a head, her torso open and exposed, exploded like a piñata at a birthday party. Dad seemed to have been reduced to a rib cage and a spinal cord, his head lolling on the pillow as if he were merely sleeping, like he wasn't being eaten away by these... these things. Like he still had a body, could still catch a baseball and take Dave to the movies and lie half comatose in front of the TV.
Like any god damned moment, he'd wake up and it would all be just a horrible nightmare.
The creatures looked like the one that had attacked him in his bedroom: quadripedal, long-limbed and thin. Bodily, they resembled emaciated dogs, with long sharp claws for feet, and a head that seemed to split in two because of the wide, gaping mouth that housed all those sharp teeth, rows and rows of them, red with blood and illuminated by the beam of his flashlight. They were huge, perhaps five feet long, and spindly and tall like daddy longlegs. They snarled and chewed on his parents and it filled him with rage.
"HEY," Dave shouted, getting the attention of the creatures. There were two of them, hovering over his parents' corpses and going to town like they were at the early-bird special at Old Country Buffet. He was furious, and he was going to show them.
"COME GET IT, MOTHERFUCKER," Dave said, and the first one turned its entire body and faced him, mouth open and grinning and glistening bright red with his parents' blood. It hunched up, ready to pounce-- it leapt into the air and Dave dropped the flashlight and swung the bat as hard as he could. If the pained whimper was anything to go by, he'd gotten a damn good hit right in the creature's head. With a quickness he didn't even know he had, he picked the flashlight up just in time to see the other one lunging right at him. He brought the flashlight down, hard, on its snout and it fell to the ground. Holding the flashlight and the bat with both hands, he swung the bat down, right into the center of the creature's skull, and was satisfied to hear the crack of bone and feel his bare legs be splashed with brain matter.
The first creature was recovering from the blow, and when he could focus the flashlight on it, he saw that he had almost knocked its bottom jaw clear off. In a moment of temporary insanity, he thought, "God damn, I should be in the MLB with aim like that." It came towards him, royally pissed off if the glint in its eyes was anything to go by.
"Come here, you fucker," he said, low and dangerous, as the animal came closer and closer. It made weak, wet growling sounds as it stalked towards him. When it was close enough, he said, "You fucking ate my parents, you ugly son-of-a-bitch." Then he brought that bat down again, smashing the rest of the creature's jaw off, then brought the bat up again through the upper jaw. There was a snap and a jerk as the creature's neck broke cleanly, and it fell to the ground, limp and lifeless.
Dave took a moment and leaned against the wall, focusing the flashlight on a single spot of untainted carpet in the corner of the room so he wouldn't have to see the sad remains of his parents. He breathed deep and smelled the copper metallic smell of blood, tasted it in the air as if it had vaporized into the oxygen. He smelled something like sulfur or rotten eggs that he assumed came from those creatures (and how fitting that they would smell like Hell, he thought) and, faintly, a hint of clean linen. Mom had done laundry just yesterday and those things had completely destroyed her hard work.
Fuck.
He held the beam up. The bottom jaw of one of the creatures was at his feet. He knelt and surveyed it, counting sixteen rows of sharp, sharp teeth. He touched one lightly and winced, sucking a pained breath through his teeth. Just a bare touch drew blood.
Careful not to illuminate his parents' bed, he shuffled the animals' corpses out into the hall (because they didn't deserve to be in the same room as his parents) with his feet, then closed the door of his parents' room.
He was going to have to go this one alone.
When he had first suggested they start preparing for an Apocalypse several years ago, his parents had laughed and said, "Don't be silly, David. Those are just movies." They'd told him to stop being foolish with his obsession. "Get that crowbar out of the car, David. It's dangerous!"
He'd slid another bat under his parents' bed, but they hadn't found it and then they were devoured by beasts and he wanted to scream at them, "I told you! Why didn't you listen to me? Why didn't you fucking listen?!" Now they were dead, and he was totally alone in his dark house with no power, with who knew how many other animals in the house, God knew how many outside. He didn't know if he was the last person alive in the neighborhood, in Lima, in Ohio, in the US, in the entire world. All he knew was that, right now, he was alone, effectively breaking Rule 4.
The flashlight was pointing at his feet, and for the first time he realized that he was covered head to toe in blood, some of it the creatures' and some of it his own from the gash on his face. Gingerly, he reached up to feel it. His face was drenched with blood and sweat. The gash extended from his forehead clear down to his chin and it was deep. Only now was it starting to hurt, though.
Cautiously, Dave went downstairs to get other lights. He had a camping lantern in the coat closet that would provide sufficient light for him to illuminate his bedroom and the bathroom. He grabbed candles, as many as he could in his arms while still holding onto the bat, the flashlight and the lantern, and he grabbed the jumbo box of kitchen matches from the drawer under the microwave. Slowly, he made his way back up the stairs, all the while keeping his ears wide open in case another creature was lurking in the house. All was quiet, though, and he figured that there were probably only three of them. He'd taken care of them.
In his bedroom, Dave dumped the load from his arms onto his carpet. He turned on the camping lantern and the room was bathed in a soft glow of light. Long, dark shadows stretched from all directions. It wasn't ideal lighting, but it was what he had. Dave went looking for a bag. His plan, though not fully formed, was to leave the house. The way he saw it, he needed to find others and band together, and from the relative quiet, he didn't think there was some colossal-sized monster outside ready to squash him underfoot. He needed to pack, and fast. He pulled his WMHS hockey duffel out from his closet and began to throw things into it: the candles, a few changes of pants and shirts, underwear and socks (because you have to be practical, even when the world is ending; standards and all that. Wearing the same underpants for weeks at a time is kind of rank.), sweatshirts, heavy objects like old hockey trophies to be used as weapons. He found a sleeping bag on the top shelf and silently thanked God or whoever was up there for at least granting him this kind of luck.
After he'd packed some essentials, he picked up the lantern and went into the bathroom. He needed a shower, badly, and the fact that it was the Apocalypse meant he probably wasn't going to get a hot shower, or any kind of shower, for a long time. He set the lantern on the counter and peered into the mirror. In the darkness, he could see that the gash would have to be bandaged soon to avoid infection and promote healing, but it would eventually become a scar. "It's kind of badass," he thought.
When he stripped and stepped into the shower, that's when it hit him. The world was fucking ending. He was completely and totally alone. Two monstrous dog-like creatures had completely devoured his parents and he was all alone, didn't even know if there was another soul left on earth. In the stream of the water, Dave sat down and he stayed there for a long while, holding back all his tears because he wasn't going to cry, not now, not ever, not during this. He was going to be strong and he wasn't going to dwell on losses. Not yet, anyway, not when he had practical business to take care of.
After the shower and after he dressed, Dave slipped into his parents' room. He didn't bring the flashlight. In the darkness, he could almost pretend they weren't destroyed and maimed like they were.
"I'm going," he said. "I don't know when I'll be back... so, don't call, okay?"
He wanted to kiss his mother goodbye, but she had no cheeks on which to press a kiss, so he didn't. Instead he held back the sob that threatened to escape from his lips and picked up the framed picture on the bedside table. It was of the three of them, taken last summer on a beach in California. Happier times. He took the picture out of the frame, folded it up and stuck it into his pocket. Then he turned to gather his things and leave the house and go out into the world, facing the danger as strongly and proudly as he could.
**
Outside, it was dark. Completely. No sun or moon high in the sky to light his path, no street lamps or porch lights to guide him down the cold sidewalk. He tugged his letterman jacket tighter around him, wishing that he'd had the presence of mind to have invested in a more appropriate coat. The biting winter cold stung his eyes and he blinked around tears that threatened to fall. He wasn't sure if he was crying because of what he'd just experienced, or if he was crying because his eyes were drying out. He chose the latter, but if he was crying because of his parents, no one needed to know.
Dave had packed two bags: the duffel and a backpack, which he'd filled with the miscellany in the glovebox of his car. He'd made sure to grab all the bottles of Advil, Ibuprofen and Excedrin he could find in the house, and extra flashlights, batteries, his cellphone and its charger (just in case, he figured, because maybe he could find a backup genny somewhere and maybe he'd have a signal) and stuff them into the backpack. Tied to the duffel was his sleeping bag. He carried the bloodied bat in his right hand and in the left he swung the flashlight around the street to make sure there were no surprises.
The first thing he'd done, when he'd left, was try to start the car. The engine had failed to turn over, and he wasn't sure there would be anyone around who could even think about giving him a jump. He'd sat in the car and listened to the miserable "rrr-rrr-rrr" sound of the engine trying, and failing spectacularly, to turn on. In the end, he'd given up, grabbed the crowbar and emptied the glovebox and he hoofed it.
He didn't know where he was going. He was just moving, and he'd keep moving, until he found people.
In the distance, someone shrieked. Dave froze, waited. His breath came fast and quick, his heart pounded in his ears. Every nerve in his body vibrated with the need to flee but he stood his ground, tightened his grip on his bat, and waited. When another scream sounded far away to the north, he figured there wasn't anything in his immediate vicinity and he kept walking. He wandered aimlessly, moving the beam of his flashlight to and fro in the hopes of finally seeing another face. What he saw were cars, manicured lawns, basketballs, bicycles, doghouses. He even saw a chain on which he was sure a dog had been tied to, at one time. Now, he looked at it. It was cut short and ragged, the grass bloodstained.
Now that he could examine other properties, he noticed broken windows. He noticed bloody prints on the exterior walls of the houses. And he noticed how loud the silence was, just the wind rustling the dry branches of the trees lining the street. Come summer, they'd be bursting green and fresh and lively and it saddened him to think that the people living here, the children and the spouses and their dogs, wouldn't see how beautiful it would be.
When he looked down at his watch, it was almost 10:45am. There was not a single light in the sky.
**
He walked for hours. He'd always thought, in movies and books, that the whole "walking for hours" thing was an exaggeration. "No one can walk for hours," he thought.
Turns out, they can, and they do.
Dave walked for two, three hours and didn't see a single living soul. He didn't even see any creatures. All he could see was darkness, shattered glass, the occasional scrape of blood on the pavement or the siding of a house. He could only hear the breeze and the winter wind, mixed with the occasional terrified shriek somewhere far away as the creatures slaughtered entire families.
Eventually he found himself in the parking lot of a 7-11. He hadn't packed many provisions, mainly because he'd figured he'd have run into someone by now. At this point, it looked like he had a snowball's chance in Hell of finding another person. Using the bat, he smashed the glass of the sliding doors, knocking away shards that stuck to the frames, and ducked into the dark building.
He hadn't noticed there was a smashed window at the back of the store.
Quietly, quickly, he headed for the freezers and fridges, where bottles of water would be. He would pack as many as he could fit in the bags, leaving room for food. 7-11 wasn't exactly the height of class when it came to food, but when it's the Apocalypse, beggars can't be choosers. He would have to make do with a million bags of beef jerky, beef nuggets, SlimJims, chips, candies (to keep his sugar up) until he could find proper food.
It was when he was stuffing the fifth water bottle into the duffel that he heard the noise. It sounded like the inhale of a crying child, hitching up and up and up, and it ended on a high keen that sent shivers through Dave's entire body. He stopped, still bent over the duffel, and waited.
Something shuffled. He hadn't dropped his bat, just his bags, and it was advantageous. His arms had more range of motion; he could swing with much more ease now. Slowly, easily, smoothly he stood up and straightened, his hand clutching the bat so tight his knuckles turned white with the exertion. He could hear it breathing, loud and wheezing and scratchy like an old man, like a sick baby.
As slowly as he could, he turned to face it.
It was a strange creature, almost humanoid, but hunched over. It was completely hairless and stared at him with small, bright eyes. It looked almost innocent at first, until he saw its long, bony fingers with sharp pointed nails, the runner's legs that curled under it, poised to run and attack. For a long moment, the two of them stared at each other.
Then, it moved. It lunged forward, quick as lightning, and pushed Dave hard against the glass of the refrigerator. It pinned him with one long arm across his throat. Again it made that hiccuping inhale, and this time the inhale finished with a sound that made his blood run cold: a girlish giggle of pure glee. It was then that Dave noticed the creature had drawn one hand back, index finger with a nail as long and sharp as a needle pointed at his eye.
"Don't you even fucking dare," Dave growled, struggling in the creature's hold. It cocked its head curiously at him, blinked, and then. Then it smiled. It smiled and it seemed to mock Dave, staring at him with a look that said, What are you going to do about it?
"THIS," Dave said, jerking the bat up in reply. The creature released him, instead swinging its arms up high and snatching the bat out of Dave's hands.
"Shit," he said, and he watched in horror as the creature surveyed his bat with fascination before fixing those beady, evil eyes on him. It gripped the bat with both awful hands and snapped it clean in half. The crack sounded like a heart breaking.
"Shitshitshit," he said, because it was all he could think. They watched each other for a moment, and then he ran. He bolted down one of the aisles and headed for the register, praying the clerks kept a handgun or something down there.
There was a snarling sound, that inhale shaking down the aisles, and he chanced a glance back and saw it was scurrying toward him in the most terrifying version of a crab-walk he'd ever seen. Its head was rotated 180 degrees on its neck and it sped at him on all fours, stomach to the air. All the while it was smiling, as if it enjoyed this game, as if Dave were just a fun hunt, an adventure.
Swiftly, he leapt over the counter and ducked as fast as he could. The creature waited almost patiently on the other side of the counter. I've got you now, it was saying. Trapped. You're mine now.
"In your fucking dreams," Dave spat back. There, on the lowest shelf of the counter, was the handgun. Quickly, he checked to see if it was loaded. As quietly as he could manage it, he turned the safety off, cocked the gun, then stood.
The creature purred at him, cooed like a goddamned dove, sweet and innocent. It smelled like acid and smoke, burned Dave's nostrils. It knelt like an ape, its head rotating on its neck so that now the whole body faced him. They stared for a long time. Then the creature opened its mouth and a long, slender tongue darted out.
Dave raised the handgun and fired.
An inhuman scream rose from the creature's mouth as blood exploded out of the back of its head. It stood, stumbling backwards in agony, dragging its horrible needle-hands along the ground. It knocked bags of chips and candies off the shelves, gossip magazines, gum, batteries, and Dave climbed over the counter and he fired. He fired again and again and again and the creature wailed like a child calling for its mother, it shrieked and made such a ruckus that when he incapacitated it, in a moment of pure rage, he stood above it and brought his foot down hard in the center of its face to shut it up, feeling the bones shatter under his shoe.
He'd drenched the bottom of his jeans in blood, but he didn't give two shits about that. He was pissed the fuck off at this thing.
"You asshole," he said to it, moving his foot away. Its eyes had exploded and the top of its head had popped off like a champagne cork, splattering its brains across the linoleum. "You fucking ruined all these bags of chips. Now what the fuck am I supposed to eat?"
With a final kick to the head for good measure, Dave went back to his bags. Calmly, he filled them with water bottles, jerky, chips and candies and even a few sodas (as a treat). He went behind the counter and gathered as much ammo for the gun as he could find, all of it, and packed it carefully into his bag along side the gun (safety on, this time). As he left, he smashed open the case with the scratchcards and stole all of them, wondering if, should he win, he could still collect the money, even as society crumbled around him.
**
By noon, Dave was tired of walking. He found a park and grabbed some snacks and climbed to the top of the jungle gym with his flashlight, a bottle of water and a bag of peppered beef jerky. He sat perched on the top of the jungle gym and moved the flashlight back and forth across the woodchips on the ground. As he'd expected, it was completely deserted, void of human life. As he gnawed on his jerky, he found his thoughts drifting. A profound sense of sadness washed over him. He only knew that he was alive. For all he knew, everyone he'd ever known and loved could be dead. Hell, he'd already lost his parents. It was likely most of his friends were dead. The world as he knew it was being destroyed, bit by bit, by creatures the likes of which he'd never even dreamed of.
Perhaps, he thought, Lima was the only place affected. Perhaps other cities would be safe. If he could just make it out of Lima, get to a neighboring town or make his way to Toledo, he'd be safe. Maybe he could even get help, save the survivors in town.
Just as he was about to descend from the jungle gym, he heard something; a cry, or something like it. At first he wasn't sure he'd heard it correctly because for a minute he thought he could hear someone calling for help, plaintively wailing for company. He jumped down from the jungle gym, drawing the handgun from the waistband of his pants (perhaps not the wisest place to put it, but certainly the most convenient). He waited.
"Someone-- anyone?" the voice said again. Dave inched towards it, pulling back the safety on the gun and aiming it in front of him, in case the voice belonged to a clever creature that could mimic the calls of a frightened human.
The voice was drifting from a bank of bushes bordering the park. Anxiously Dave hauled his bags up higher on his shoulders and quietly made his way to the source of the voice. When he got to a close yet reasonably safe distance from the voice, he said, "Who's there?"
"Oh shit!" the voice said and from the bushes popped a pale dirt-streaked face. The face was quickly followed by the lanky tall body of a boy wearing a denim jacket and pajama pants. "Holy fuck, shit, please tell me you're human, you're not one of them..."
"I'm not," Dave said. "Are you?"
"No!" the boy said. Only then did he notice the gun. He backed up into the bushes as quickly as he'd emerged from them. "Don't shoot, man, I swear to God I'm a human!"
Only the boy's terrified, wide eyes peered out from the bushes. Dave flicked the safety back on and slipped the gun back into his pants. "Alright, alright, Jesus, get the fuck out of the bushes."
The boy once again stepped out of the bushes. He was wearing house slippers and he shivered in the winter cold, wrapping himself up in the denim jacket. "Man, am I glad I found somebody," he said. He stuck out a dirty hand. "Name's CJ."
"Dave," Dave replied. Tentatively he took the boy's hand. It was slender and ice cold. "Holy shit, how long have you been out here?"
"I dunno, maybe an hour and a half?" The boy gestured vaguely behind him. "From... from that way, other side of town. You're the first-- living, intact human I've seen since I ran out of my house this morning." CJ started to tremble and sunk to the ground. "Jesus fuck. I am so glad to see you."
Dave nodded, setting his bags down. He rifled through one of them until he came up with a thicker sweatshirt, one of his dad's old hoodies. "Here, put this on, you look like you're going to die of hypothermia at any second. Do you got any shoes?"
"N-no," CJ said. "I just... they were eating my sister," he said, voice thick. "I was going to-- I was trying-- but they ran, and I couldn't save... They chased me out." He tugged half-heartedly on the sleeve of his jacket. "I grabbed this off the hook, don't know how I did it in my panic, but..."
"Right." Dave scoped the surrounding area. Dark houses surrounded the park. He didn't want to do this, but he figured more supplies couldn't hurt, and this CJ kid needed some proper clothes or he would die of exposure before the creatures could tear his guts out. "Okay, here's the deal," he said as CJ pulled the sweatshirt on over his jacket, "there's no way you're going to survive the way you're dressed, but I only got one sleeping bag. Chances are these houses around here have materials we can use to defend ourselves and keep ourselves healthy. The question is, are you comfortable with a little looting?"
CJ blinked and a cracked a hesitant smile. "What about the...?" he said, trailing off at the end, as if mentioning the things would bring them to him.
"Here." Dave handed CJ the crowbar. "Use it wisely, young padawan," he said with a smile. "Let's go."
The first house they approached was locked at the front door, but a broken window coated with blood faced the street. Dave swallowed, steeled himself and turned to CJ. "We might see some things."
CJ looked at him. Already the color was beginning to return to his face but he was still shaking like a leaf. Even so, he raised his eyebrows and said, "I just marched an hour and a half across this bloodbath of a town, I know what we might see in there."
With a final nod, Dave kicked at the broken shards at the bottom of the window frame and stepped into the house. The window opened into a dark sitting room, lavishly furnished. Were it not for all the blood, it might have been a beautiful room. Perhaps the owner of the house would sit here with a book on a cold Sunday, while winter sun filtered through the broken window shade now hanging limply from the top of the window.
The center of the room housed a luscious carpet, wet still with blood. Dave stared down at the blood--there was a trail leading from the patch out the doorway and into the foyer. Dave took the gun from his pants and cautiously moved forward into the foyer.
Nothing. Nothing but blood.
From the foyer, he could see into the kitchen. Something shuffled in there, and Dave waved to CJ behind him. The other boy came up close, knuckles white and trembling on the crowbar, nodding once to show he was ready. His face was sheet-white and in the dark light it seemed to glow, pale as the moon. Gently, Dave reached out a hand and slowly laid it on CJ's shoulder. I won't let anything happen to you, he was trying to say. CJ stared at him and then cracked a small smile.
Dave entered the kitchen first. The creature was drenched in shadows at the opposite end of the room, feasting on something. Dave could barely see it from that distance, could only hear sickening tears and the snorts and breaths of the animal before them. As he got closer, he could see it was another one of the black dog-like creatures that had started this entire nightmare.
"You son of a bitch," Dave said, lifting the handgun. The creature looked up at him and it almost seemed to smile. Its eyes narrowed and it turned away from its prey, its mouth lined with blood and dripping. "I'll fucking kill all of you."
The creature stepped closer. Behind him, Dave could hear CJ's breath hitching, could practically hear the other boy's heart pound furiously in his chest, loud enough that Dave could hear it through the crazed beating of his own heart, which had mysteriously jumped into his throat and threatened to explode out his mouth.
The creature slinked closer, and Dave lifted the gun and when the creature looked at it, he pulled the trigger. Right between the eyes. It let out a horrendous scream and skittered backwards, dripping from the new hole between its eyes. How the fuck could I miss the brain with that shot?! He thought to himself. No matter, though. The creature was incapacitated, and Dave got right up close to it and fired several more shots into various places on its body. One shot eventually proved fatal, as the creature suddenly jerked and gurgled before going completely still.
"Holy fuck," CJ said from somewhere behind him.
"What?" Dave panted, turning around to face the surprised and awe-stricken face of his new companion.
"Dude," CJ said, voice full of wonder, "do you work for, like, the army or something?"
Dave blinked and tried not to look at the mess of a human being that the creature had been snacking on not five minutes before. "No, why?"
"Because you are fucking bad ass, man," CJ said, clutching the crowbar tight to his chest. "You just. Guns blazin', man, you don't even wait for the threat."
Dave shrugged, checking the gun and then stashing it back in his pants. "Uh, thanks, I guess," he said, "but really, I'm just a survivalist. No room for being scared when you're trying to survive." With that, he went back into the kitchen. "Here. Let's search the pantry; then, we'll go look for some blankets and bags and shit."
They swept and raided the house in just under an hour, combing through every room and collecting bags, blankets, clothes--anything not blood-stained and usable was scavenged. From the remains they stumbled upon, it was clear that a small family had lived in the house; their corpses were all mostly eaten, their flesh picked clean off their bones. Each new body made Dave feel sick, and as he stepped out of the house into the frosty air, laden with three new bags of supplies, he sunk to his knees and vomited into the flower bushes. CJ didn't make it as far, opting instead to collapse in the foyer of the house. From his position on the ground, Dave could hear his companion retching inside.
When he felt finished, he wiped his mouth and spat the taste of vomit from his mouth, getting slowly to his feet. He stretched and hiked his bags up his shoulders, waiting for CJ to finish inside. The boy stumbled out a few seconds later, his face now green and shining with sweat along his brow.
"You good?" Dave asked. His voice sounded like it was being squeezed through a very narrow space, forced and thin. CJ was panting, but he gave a weary thumbs up and headed towards Dave.
"Yeah," he said, "'m good." Dave handed him one of the three bags, watched him haul it up onto his back. "That was-- well, that was one of the worst houses I've seen."
"Tell me about it." Dave could still see the untouched heads of the children atop their skeletons, looking like they still slept, but their bodies, all gone--nothing but bones and blood. Dave knew he'd been lucky up until this point. CJ had watched those things eat his little sister. He assumed the same dog-like animals had devoured her just the same. If the look on CJ's face was anything to go by, Dave would say the other boy was thinking the same thing.
"Come on," Dave said quietly. "Don't dwell on it. We need to find others."
CJ nodded, shakily lifting the crowbar to his head in a tired salute. "Yes, Sir."
**
They camped the first night on the football field at the high school, though neither of them slept much. They lay on their backs under the tent, in their sleeping bags and wrapped up head-to-toe in down jackets. The temperature had remained constant all day, a result of the unending night, but it was still cold enough to see one's breath in the air. Not a single star blinked at them from the sky, nothing but inky black.
"Why?" CJ asked into the silence, after they'd been bedded down for an hour. "Why is this happening?"
It was a rhetorical question for sure. No way could CJ expect Dave to know what was happening. The world's top scientists were probably wondering the same thing. Why is this happening? What is going on? Where are these grotesque things coming from and what are they really? If only Dave were a scientist, he might be able to develop a hypothesis. But all he knew was football and survival; to ask him about organic creatures like these would be fruitless.
So, Dave didn't answer.
"I wonder if anyone else is out there," CJ continued, "and if they're searching just like we are?"
"You'd have to be crazy not to," Dave replied. "Safety in numbers. One of the first rules of horror movies."
CJ scoffed. "But, man, you do realize this isn't a horror movie, right? This is real."
"Doesn't mean the rules don't apply, dude," he answered, annoyed. "Tropes exist for a reason, and if you and I wanna survive this thing, we should follow them."
CJ said nothing in response, shifting in his sleeping bag, the fabric rustling loudly in the tent's space. They lay in silence for a moment before CJ said, "How about you, man?"
"Hm?"
CJ turned his head to look at Dave curiously. "What's your story?"
Dave raised a brow, pulling one side of his lips down in confusion. "Uh, well," he said, "I woke up this morning and there was one of 'em at the foot of my bed. I beat the shit out of it, but his comrades had already eaten my parents. So, I figured I should just walk, try to find others. Not much else to tell."
"Okay," CJ said slowly, "but why do you have all these bad-ass skills?"
Dave couldn't keep himself from laughing. "What bad-ass skills? Dude, I told you before, I'm a survivalist. And I watch a shit ton of horror movies."
"How old are you?" CJ asked abruptly.
"Tw... twenty? Why?"
CJ nodded thoughtfully. "I'm nineteen," he said, like it meant something.
"...'kay. Good to know."
"I'm just trying to get to know you, is all," CJ replied, sounding put-out. "Jeez."
Dave suddenly felt like a dick. He rolled over, turning his back to CJ. "Try to get some sleep, man. Tomorrow we set out bright and early."
He doubted the sun would even rise.
**
Somehow, they'd both managed to catch a few hours of sleep. At six in the morning, according to Dave's watch, they packed up camp and set out again, heading out of town. They talked in low voices, sweeping their flashlights to-and-fro across the streets. The silence made Dave's ears ring, put him on edge. He felt like he was walking in the eye of a storm, and soon there would be a swarm of things waiting and ready to chomp him to little bits. Tasty monster breakfast.
Focus, man, he thought. You can't think about that. No time to think about that. Just focus on finding supplies, finding others.
"I hope we find someone else soon," CJ murmured, looking at Dave with his brow furrowed. "I'm starting to think this is more than just a Lima thing."
Before Dave could answer, there was a noise. Immediately, Dave's hand went to the gun in his pants. CJ gripped the crowbar tightly and held it like he was ready to hit a game-winning home run, straight and confident. They waited.
And then, out of nowhere, it came: a human-shaped figure, moving far too fast to not be suspicious. When it got into the light of the flashlights, it was clear that this was another creature, lithe and athletic. It had claws, talons almost, and it pinned the two of them in its sight and began to come closer, slowly at first.
"Get ready," Dave said, pulling back the safety on the gun.
The creature charged before either of them could react, pinning Dave to the asphalt and knocking CJ clear away. The thing was strong, stronger than Dave for sure--no matter how hard he struggled, the creature's grip never wavered, never loosened. It looked down at him, almost curiously. It bent down to sniff Dave. Seemingly satisfied with whatever he smelled, the creature opened its mouth and Dave could only watch as the creature's fangs erupted from its gums. Its breath smelled like garbage, like dead flesh, and Dave gagged, wriggling below the creature.
"CJ, god dammit, help me out over here!" he shouted. No response. "CJ! CJ!"
Shit shit shit. Shit. The creature seemed to almost smile, drawing one sharp nail across Dave's throat. He could feel blood seeping out of the wound, like he'd cut himself shaving, and the creature sighed with satisfaction. It bent down, teeth growing ever larger. Dave fumbled for the gun to his right, hoping, catching his fingers along the butt--
There was a deafening crack and suddenly the pressure was gone. As quickly as the creature had been on him, it was now off, shrieking. Dazed, Dave watched someone raise a blunt instrument and bring it down again and again on the creature. Dave listened to it scream in agony before finally giving up, going limp. He turned his head to the side to stare at it; the teeth retreated into the gums and the light in its eyes went out. It gave a final, valiant gurgling growl and sank its weight to the ground.
"You alright?" came a voice, soft-spoken and scarily familiar. Dave looked back up from his vantage point on the ground. Standing above him was Kurt Hummel in a blood-stained henley, hair tousled, face streaked with dirt. He looked as surprised as Dave felt. "Karofsky?"
"Hummel," Dave said, because he couldn't think of any other greeting. "Um. Thanks for that."
Kurt looked at him suspiciously, backing away a little. He didn't even offer a hand to help Dave up, guard up immediately. He carried a beam of wood, thick enough to damage but still easy to hold on to. The end was covered in blood.
"Yeah, sure," he said warily. "Those ones--yeah, those ones are pretty nasty." He cast a look at the creature's corpse before flicking his gaze across the street and nodding his head. "That your friend?"
Dave sat up, head pounding, and turned to look in the same direction. CJ was slumped against the curb. "Ah shit, yeah," Dave said, pushing himself up and jogging over to his companion. CJ let out a groan.
"Holy fuck," he said, cracking one eye open. "Fuck that thing."
Dave nodded, kneeling down to help CJ.
"Cracked my head on the curb," CJ explained. "I couldn't even fucking move, man. Sorry. I would've helped. It's a good thing someone else was here." He looked up at Kurt. "Hey man, thanks. I'm CJ."
"Kurt," Kurt replied, voice thin and guarded. "I'm glad I found you two. I was beginning to think..." he trailed off. "There's. Well, no one on my block survived, I don't think."
"Dude," Dave said softly. He reached out to lay a reassuring hand on Kurt's shoulder, but the boy flinched away; Dave withdrew his hand quickly. "Um. Sorry, man. That really sucks. Us too."
CJ was watching them silently. The quiet stretched on, and CJ said, "Well, you two seem to be familiar with each other."
"Classmates," Kurt replied quickly, looking to CJ. He didn't elaborate, and for that, Dave was grateful. He wondered if Kurt harbored a grudge against him because of their past; if, next time they were attacked, he'd let Dave get eaten. Dave didn't trust him and he was positive that Kurt didn't trust Dave either. The past lay between them, omnipresent. Kurt looked at Dave with a blank, neutral stare; at least it wasn't fear, or hate, like Dave had remembered back when life was normal--back when life was normal, just a fucking week ago--and he figured that was the best he was gonna get.
"We're gonna go swing by the high school," CJ said. "Gonna check, see if anyone's congregated there."
"Don't bother," Kurt replied with a dismissive sigh. "Been there, done that. Surrounded by creatures, not a single living person in sight. You two are the first people I've seen since yesterday. I was beginning to think I was the only person left."
Dave looked down, unsure of how to ask the question he needed and wanted to ask, but finally he mustered up the courage. "You wanna tag along with us?" At Kurt's uncertain look, he said, "Safety in numbers, man. We'll all be better off if we three have each other's backs."
Slowly, Kurt nodded. "Yeah. Yeah, okay."
Dave didn't miss the flood of warmth that raced through his chest and he could've screamed. Now was not the time to let his stupid pigtail-pulling crush rise again, but Kurt's thin body looked damn good, even in a stained and disheveled henley. Even covered in blood, the other boy was still as attractive as ever.
God. Dammit. He was so fucked.
**
They walked in an awkward silence for what felt like hours, CJ between Dave and Kurt. His shoulders had drawn up around his ears and he kept glancing at Dave and Kurt alternately, as if waiting for an explosion. Dave didn't blame him. The tension surrounding him and Kurt was so thick it was almost tangible, heavy around their shoulders, and he could only imagine how awkward CJ felt standing between the two of them.
"We should find transportation," Dave said. His voice sounded loud and hoarse in the silence.
"Good luck with that," CJ replied. "Unless you know how to hotwire a car."
"Good thing my dad owns an auto shop," Kurt said, heading for a truck parked on the curb. He was halfway there when he stopped in his tracks.
"Owned," he said, quietly. "Owned."
Dave and CJ exchanged glances, unsure of what to say. Kurt's slumped shoulders lasted for all of two seconds before he straightened up and walked towards the truck again. He moved with determination, his posture stiff and gait strong, indicating that, whatever that moment had been, it was over now. He was effectively closed off. Dave pushed his lips into a thin line. Whatever Kurt was thinking or feeling, it wasn't his problem, and, judging by the look of the other boy, it was never going to be.
Kurt disappeared into the cab for all of two seconds before popping his head back out. "We got lucky, boys," he said with a forced smile. "Spare set of keys in the sun visor. Who's first shift?"
CJ raised his hand. "I'll do it," he said, slinging his bag into the truck's bed.
"Okay," Dave said, clapping his hands together as he threw his own belongings in with CJ's. "Let's do a few quick supply runs, stock up, and roll out." He fished into the pocket of one of the duffels and handed Kurt a flashlight. "Arm yourselves," he reminded them. "Let's get the fuck out of here."
Part Two