Pandemic
Title: Pandemic (Chapter 18)
Time/Location: June 1965. Ambulance.
Pairing: John/Paul, George/Ringo.
Warnings: Bad language, violence, danger, gore, action. Long chapter.
Previous Parts: HERE!
Summary: It's 1965, and a terrible virus is spreading. Those who get it turn violent, dangerous and even homicidal. Only trouble is, it's impossible to know who has the virus and who doesn't. And nobody is safe from it. So who can you trust?
There was no way - no way on Earth - they were all going to get out of this alive. And the ambulance jolted and skidded and the engine cried out, as reminder of that horrific destiny.
Authors Notes: It's long, I'm sorry.
“Oh My God….” Ringo breathed, with his electric blue eyes wide and piercing with pure terror. “JOHN, REVERSE!! REVERSE!! REVERSE!! REVERSE!!”
They were running from every direction. They’d seen the ambulance. They’d seen their meat, their prey, their victims inside. Their eyes were wild with fiery zeal and terrorism. And they were moving quickly. The ambulance jolted, and soared backwards, reversing. A stray dustbin was slammed backwards, rocketing into the air, and the ambulance swerved violently.
“JOHN!!” Ringo screamed.
“I’M FUCKING TRYING!!” John’s voice cracked, and broke hysterically.
But those people were coming fast, in heavy packs - closer and closer.
And the ambulance reared and swerved and crashed and banged clumsily from left to right, getting nowhere - fast.
“CHRIST!” Ringo cried. A heavy axe came flying as if from nowhere, colliding with the front of the ambulance, smashing underneath the bumper. The ambulance jolted, slammed downwards. The axe had wedged itself inside the front tire, was slowing them down even more.
Ringo felt hot tears and sweat and God knows what else infesting his face as he was overcome by a frenzy of panic and terror. On autopilot, he undid his seatbelt, lunging towards the hatch that separated him and the sleeping young men in the back.
“GEORGE!!” he screamed, “GEORGE! PAUL! FUCKING WAKE UP!”
John was somehow still managing to reverse, even with the punchered tire and collapsing bonnet. He was moving faster and steadier, but their terrorisers were not giving up chase. There were hundreds now, following them down their side of the junction.
“WAKE UP! WAKE UP!” Ringo wailed
He couldn’t fit through the hatch; couldn’t yell any louder than he was doing through turbulent tears.
And suddenly, a loud bang erupted from just outside the ambulance. A cherry bomb had hit menacingly on the mirror next to Ringo’s broken window.
“FUCK!” John screamed, his foot pressing so hard on the accelerator that his whole leg was shaking from the impact. “RITCH, WAKE ‘EM UP! WAKE ‘EM UP NOW!!”
Ringo stared, horror-struck at the two unconscious bandmates. If they could sleep through the screaming, speeding and banging of the ambulance, he had no idea what HE could do further to drag them from comatose.
He pulled backwards from the hatch, came face-to-face once again with the stampede of murderous attackers.
“Reverse faster, John!!!” he wailed
“I’M FUCKING TRYING!”
Ringo looked frantically around the surroundings for something - anything - he could throw at the lifeless bodies in the back that might wake them, but just as he did so, he felt John grip roughly to his hair, and force his head down beneath the dashboard.
He groaned out in pain and frustration, but at that exact second, heard a deafening crack above his head, felt the scorching heat of a fire cracker that would have got him directly in the face.
One hand gripping Ringo’s head in safety, the other seizing the steering wheel, John could only stare with unblinking eyes at the massacring sons-of-bitches tearing after them. While reversing, the ambulance continued to smash and hit any obstacles in their path. And yet John could not turn the vehicle around, because that would leave the back doors vulnerable to those freaks. The back doors that led to Paul and George’s oblivious sleeping figures.
He pulled Ringo back upright, screaming uproariously inside the drummers ear. “GET - THEM - AWAKE - NOW!!”
Ringo turned once again, his head hanging through the stupidly tiny hatch. “PAULLL!” he screamed, “GEORGEEE! PAUL, FOR THE LOVE OF FUCKING GOD!!”
John reversed rapidly around a corner, and the back of the ambulance smashed hazardly into the edge of the building. The whole vehicle rocked dangerously as he continued to reverse. They were lucky not to have tipped completely. Ringo cried out in fright, but the hard slam had done well; Paul jerked awake, his eyes wide and fearful as he started.
“What is it???!” he cried, “What’s goin’ on!?!”
“PAUL!” John screamed. He was still staring straight ahead of him, out of the front window as he fled from their ravenous assailants, who were fast chasing around the corner. But he shouted instructions in a voice that was desperate, and yet determined. “PAUL!” he repeated, “LISTEN! You need to wake up George… you need to watch out the back window… and when we get close to an alley, or a buildin’, you and George need to GET OUT!”
Ringo gasped. “John - NO!”
“YES!” John yelled. “LISTEN TO ME, PAUL! When you see somewhere to hide, you need to GET OUT! Get OUT of here!!”
“Wait…” Paul gasped, shaking George, but staring at Ringo’s fear-stricken face in the hatchet. “Wait… what are YOU gonna do?!”
SMASH!!
Another object - a wrench, or a bat of some sort - slammed into the window shield, cracking it down the middle.
“PAUL, JUST DO IT!!” John wailed.
“John, they’ll be killed!!” Ringo hissed, “NO!”
“They won’t! THEY WON’T! PAUL - YOU NEED TO DO AS I SAY!!”
“John, please!” Ringo cried
“Shut up Ringo!!”
“WE CAN’T SPLIT UP AGAIN!”
“I SAID SHUT UP!!” John raged.
BANG.
Another heavy form of artillery smashed heavily onto the front window, piercing a hole and causing the glass to shatter over their faces and hair. And worse yet - the ambulance was getting slower. The axe wedged between bonnet and tyre was causing the vehicle to scratch against the ground, and no matter how hard John pushed that accelerator… he could not force the van to hasten.
And the infected were coming at them fast. They were running, with seemingly endless amounts of stamina. Bearing knives and hammers and crowbars and wrenches and fuck knows what else. All John had was a measly bat he was too exhausted to swing.
“I NEED TO TURN AROUND!” he yelled in explanation to Ringo’s tearful pleading. “THEY NEED TO GET OUT!!”
Ringo swung around, and looked through the hatch again. Both Paul and George were awake now, their eyes wide with fear and bewilderment.
“Look for a hiding place!” he shouted.
But somewhere deep inside of himself, he knew it was useless. He could feel the impending doom, their useless fate, falling down on him like a ton of bricks. If Paul and George did manage to jump out of the vehicle and hide, that still didn’t result in any safety for himself and John. There was no way - no way on Earth - they were all going to get out of this alive. And the ambulance jolted and skidded and the engine cried out, as reminder of that horrific destiny.
BANG.
A gunshot.
The four of them all flinched in horror and fear at the sound. Ringo spun around, and looked into John’s terrified expression.
“Ringo…” John breathed, “Make - them - get - out! NOW!”
“JOHN LOOK OUT!!” Paul suddenly screamed.
Ringo turned to look at the source of the additional commotion.
Out of the back window he saw three people - two men and a woman - running at the reversing vehicle. John pressed harder on the accelerator, and the next second the ambulance had reversed into the attackers bodies, slamming them down.
“FUCK!!” Paul screamed, his eyes shining will terror and alarm.
John kept reversing. He had to; those fuckers were getting closer and closer. They were catching up, and if anything, their expressions were only ANGRIER, at the prospect of an escape route.
“PAUL! GEORGE!” Ringo’s voice cracked and failed, “Look - for - a safe place!”
“We can’t leave!” George croaked
“YOU FUCKING HAVE TO!” John snarled furiously.
Another slam, and half of the front window shattered completely. John was now completely exposed, without any protection of glass.
“YOU HAVE TO!” he screamed again, “AND WE’LL COME FIND YOU!”
“John… I…” Paul stammered hysterically, “I see an alleyway… up there!”
John said nothing. He kept reversing. Just a bit further, a bit further, a bit further, he told himself. The crowd chasing them were shrieking, shouting, wailing and cursing. Their voices pierced their ears with perpetual intimidation. A bit further, a bit further.
“PAUL - Don’t forget the medicine!” Ringo shrieked suddenly.
In the back of the ambulance, Paul surged at the bag of medication, pulling it around himself, before turning so George could climb frantically onto his back. Ringo watched this with wide, tear-filled eyes, his heart trouncing against his stomach and chest with the terror of what they were about to do.
“HERE!” Paul cried. “STOP!”
John hit the brakes fast. The ambulance screeched to a halt, and at that exact second Paul threw open the back doors, lunging from the back with George, and tearing down the alleyway. As soon as they were gone, John started the engine again, trying to rebuild the speed as he began once again reversing.
The infected were still racing at them in heavy packs. They weren’t far away now, only thirty metres or so. But there was no way they could have seen Paul’s escape. The street was so narrow, they couldn’t have known ANYBODY was in the back of the ambulance, and couldn’t have seen the back doors opening, or the flee. As far as the freaks knew, they were pursuing only John and Ringo… and they were STILL pursuing only John and Ringo.
“Faster, John… faster!!” Ringo begged as John continued reversing. The alleyway of escape was now IN FRONT of them rather than BEHIND. A few seconds and the infected would reach it too. A few seconds, and the infected would be able to run down it. John could only hope and pray none of them would think to.
“I need to turn around…” He muttered frantically
“Not here!” Ringo pleaded, “Get further away! John, they’re catching up!!”
John reached another corner, reversed around it. The back of the ambulance once again smashed into the side of the building, and the stretcher came tumbling out of the back doors, landing with a smash on the street.
John recklessly turned the steering wheel, and the ambulance froze, as John madly attempted to turn the vehicle to face forwards round the corner.
At that second, Ringo thought they’d had it.
The infected were getting closer - closer - closer.
The ambulance swerved around, turning, trying to face forwards instead of reversing.
More objects skidded and fell out from the back, where George and Paul had been sleeping just minutes prior.
And Ringo screamed out in terror.
As John turned the ambulance a full 180°, an infected seized hold of the back doors.
John pressed hard once again on the accelerator, and the vehicle soared forwards. But it wasn’t enough. The infected man had pulled himself INSIDE the back of the ambulance, and was clasping onto the doors to keep himself steady, as they tore down the road.
“JOHN, HE’S INSIDE! HE’S INSIDE!”
“GET THE FUCKING BAT!” John screamed through gritted teeth.
Ringo pulled their pathetic excuse for protection from underneath the dashboard. He pushed it through the small hatch, but there wasn’t enough room for manoeuvre. He’d never get a big enough swing to cause any damage.
Their persistent predator was clutching a crowbar.
And the rest of their predators were still racing behind them, all with their own missionary.
And as John drove forwards, amongst all of this terror, Ringo was also alarmingly aware that they were getting further and further from George and Paul’s hideout.
“John!” he cried, his eyes still fixated on their intruder in the back of the van. “You need to go ROUND!” he instructed, “If you follow the road all the way, you GO AROUND in a full circle, and we can get BACK to Piccadilly!”
“Why would I want to do THAT Ringo??? That’s where we FOUND all these freaks!!”
“WELL THEY WON’T BE THERE ANYMORE, WILL THEY?! BECAUSE THEY ARE CHASING US!!”
“WE NEED TO GET SOMEWHERE SAFE!”
“WE NEED TO GET TO PAUL AND GEORGE!!”
The intruder moved closer, holding the crowbar out in front of him with venom and hatred seeping from his red, sleep-deprived eyes.
Ringo swung the bat frantically.
“STAY AWAY!” he warned
The invader swung the crowbar in reply, saying nothing. The weapon hit the side of the ambulance, causing a terrifying hole to pierce itself in the wall. Ringo’s eyes widened at the threat.
“Ringo, get RID of the fucker!!” John growled, “HIT HIM!”
“I CAN’T until he comes closer!!”
“For fuck sake!!”
“Slam on the brakes and he’ll fall out!!”
“RINGO, THIS ISN’T A CARTOON!!!”
“Well, SORRY!”
“How close behind are they?!”
“VERY FUCKING CLOSE!”
“CHRIST!” John moaned in terror, his foot pressing even harder on the accelerator. The ambulance continued to soar forwards - as quickly as possible given all the attacks and blemishes it had endured - back the way they had first came. John soared forwards round another bend, back towards Piccadilly Circus… in a full circle that would lead them back towards George and Paul.
Paul ran down the alleyway, clutching both George and the medicine, and turned in horror as he heard the infected racing past… still pursuing his two friends in the ambulance.
“What do we do???” he croaked
George didn’t reply, but Paul could feel the guitarists’ slender body trembling against his back. For lack of any other purpose, Paul turned to survey the tiny pathway they’d found themselves down. It was sandwiched between two large fences. Every few metres the fence had gateways… and Paul supposed these led to peoples back gardens.
“We could go inside…” he suggested, shakily “And try and get help?”
“Who’s gonna answer the door?!” George whispered. “We should wait ‘ere for John.”
“I don’t know if we’re safe here…”
“Paul, I wanna wait here for John.”
Paul bit down on his lip. He could feel the sweat dripping down his forehead, and feel his stomach aching and churning with the inevitable doubts and inhibitions. What if John didn’t come back? What if he wouldn’t? Christ… what if he COULDN’T???
“Please John…” he whispered, to seemingly nobody. “Please… please…don’t leave me…”
The petrol was running low. John felt sick looking at it, but that’s what the little red light was telling him. It was running low, they were being tailed by over a hundred infected freaks looking for blood and massacre, and they were still a good five or ten minutes away from Piccadilly…. where all this had STARTED in the first place. And still, they had to go back there… because how else would they get back to the two broken and sick people they loved most??
He spun around another corner, and heard Ringo next to him, cursing and warning and shouting at the intruder who had found his way into the back of the van.
“STAY AWAY! GET THE FUCK AWAY FROM ME!”
Another corner.
As the ambulance turned, the invader lunged forwards, swinging the crowbar towards Ringo.
At the same time, Ringo swung the bat ferociously, as best he could given the restrictions of such a tiny hatch.
“Good Ritch, keep that up,” John encouraged, “We’ll be back soon! How close are they??”
“Fallin’ behind!” Ringo breathed, “Keep up this speed!!”
John glanced once again at the petrol-levels, and grasped onto the steering wheel tighter, hoping against all else he would be able to do exactly as Ringo had said.
They turned another corner.
The intruder stumbled at the sharp turn, grasping hold of the disabled bar to keep himself steady.
“Fucking bastards…” he hissed
He lunged the crowbar once again. He raised the weapon high, while at the same time Ringo swung with the bat once more, his self defence kicking in.
But then the drummer screamed out in agony.
“WHAT??? WHAT???” John cried
Ringo stared, horrified, at the fresh blood pouring from the cavernous gash on the back of his hand, where the crowbar had slashed. A mixture of bubbling blood and soggy flesh presented itself in front of Ringo’s revolted eyes, as he held the trembling limb up for inspection. He cried out in disgust. But after that there was no further time for reflection.
With his healthy hand, Ringo swung the bat in an abhorrent display of anger. It caught his attacker on the side of the head, and the infected man stumbled backwards.
“BASTARD!” Ringo spat, once again raising his shaking hand. A mixture of dark blood and yellow pus was erupting from the abscess wound.
The attacker stood, dazed for a moment or two. The knock to the head seemed to have stunned him somewhat. Behind him, his fellow chasers were getting further in the distance. Ringo didn’t know whether THEY were slowing down, or whether the ambulance was speeding up. Either way he didn’t want to encourage them to turn back. If they turned back, they’d be waiting once again at Piccadilly when the boys returned.
“John - slow down!” He moaned through painfully gritted teeth. “We have to make sure they keep chasin’ us!”
“Ringo I am NOT slowing down so those fuckers can catch up!!”
“WE HAVE TO MAKE SURE THEY DON’T HEAD BACK!”
“I can’t keep stoppin’ and startin’!” John gasped, “We’re almost out of fuckin’ gas!”
“WHAT??!”
“If this thing runs out, that’s it Ritch! That’s the end!”
Ringo watched through the hatch as furious-looking eyes returned to their intruder. He was no longer stunned, but angry… very angry.
“Okay…” Ringo breathed to John. His eyes were watering with the pain. “Okay - keep goin’ then!!”
He swung the bat again, and the intruder leant backwards cautiously.
“Don’t touch him Ritch…!” John warned, “Don’t touch his skin!”
“If you’ve any sense you’ll just GET OUT NOW!” Ringo warned his aggressor.
It was all building up inside him. Those mad fucking creatures. They were the ones responsible for that entire massacre at the airport. Responsible for George’s fucked up ankle that stopped him walking or moving by himself. Responsible for taking Brian… maybe for taking Neil and Mal. Responsible for chasing them out of that fucking hospital before they got everything they needed. Responsible for Paul’s terror, his attempted-RAPE, for FUCK sake!! These fuckers had stopped them getting to their wives… his unborn child. They’d chased and threatened and attacked. Those fuckers were the ones responsible for George’s apparent hopelessness and despondency. For John’s fear and resort to violence. For Paul’s breakdown. For Ringo’s hand, and the loss of Ringo’s friends not once - but fucking TWICE now. It was all the fault of those sick, infected fuckers.
And he swung the bat. Hard.
Even with the restrictions of the tiny hatch, and even with Ringo’s shaking, messed-up hand… his anger drove him to strength he didn’t know he had.
And their invader fell backwards, collapsing on the ambulance floor. And there was suddenly blood, though in his daze, Ringo couldn’t work out where the hell it had come from. It was on his hands and on his face - and on his victims face as well, and coming from the victims ear.
“You did it Ringo!!” John praised in a high-pitched anxious tone. “You did it!”
Ringo fell back against his seat, his mind blurred and hazy.
The whole front window had been smashed up now, and there was nothing left of it, though Ringo couldn’t remember when that happened. The bat fell and slipped to rest between his knees. A quick glance in the side-mirror told him they were still being chased… but they were now well ahead.
“Drive Johnny.” he said darkly. “Get us back.”
John turned the corner, again sharply. During the sharp turn, the unconscious man in the back slid, and fell out of the double doors onto the street behind them. Part of Ringo hoped the poor fool hadn’t fallen onto his neck. Another part of him hoped he HAD.
“Your hand alright??” John breathed shakily.
Ringo grunted, cradling the sick, revolting wound to his chest. “I can’t believe you got us out of that, John.” he whispered incredulously.
“Well… not yet.”
“If I was drivin’ we’d have all been dead by now.”
“Yes, well Lennon’s so-called bad-driving has finally come in handy.”
Ringo managed a weak chuckle. “That it has.”
He watched once again in the side mirror. Their terrorists were turning the corner now, still with impressive speed and stamina. But so long as the ambulance kept running, Ringo assumed they’d be safe.
John turned another corner, and another, and another.
It seemed to be taking ages. Thoughts of George and Paul - once again alone - consumed Ringo’s brain.
But eventually John slammed on the brakes.
“That’s it!” he cried, “Dump the ambulance here - lets go!!”
“Wait…” Ringo gasped, as John jumped suddenly from the drivers seat. “WHAT??”
“We dump the ambulance and they won’t know where we’ve gone!!” John groaned, exasperated. “Get the fucking bat, Ritch, and MOVE! They’re coming!”
Ringo didn’t need telling twice. With his healthy hand, he seized hold of the bat, racing after John in the direction he deemed appropriate.
“Hurry… Hurry… Hurry…” John muttered, moving as quickly as possible along the side of the buildings, away from the ambulance that their infected predators would soon catch up with.
“This isn’t the road they got off at!!” Ringo hissed
“No, THIS one!!”
John pulled Ringo’s arm round the corner, another safety precaution against their pursuers. His eyes darted frenziedly around the mystery road. He knew he recognised it from their escape, but in the mass hysteria, he couldn’t remember WHICH road they’d dumped off his lover.
“Shit…” he muttered, a mixture of sweat and tears consuming him in the panic. They couldn’t afford to stand here dawdling. They needed to HIDE. But they needed to find Paul and George too.
“This isn’t the road either…” Ringo cried
“Are you SURE??” John gasped, pulling Ringo quickly underneath a bus shelter, just in case they could be seen.
“I… I don’t know, I thought YOU knew!!”
“I thought it was this road!!”
“SO WE’VE LOST THEM?!”
“Keep your voice down!!!” John hissed, his eyes darting, terrified, back to the other street. Any minute now, those infected freaks would realise the ambulance was empty, and they’d be coming this way.
“GEEOOOORRREGGE!” Ringo suddenly screamed. His voice was filled with numb hysteria, and a lack of sense. There was no thought process or logic in his actions… just pure emotion - panic and love. “GEEEOOORRRGGEE!”
Horrified, John clasped his hand to Ringo’s mouth, holding the shaking drummer in his arms. They froze like that - both watching the end of the road, expecting the freaks to come running.
“Christ!!” John hissed, tears streaming unknowingly down his cheeks, “You’re gonna get us KILLED!”
“JOHN!”
John started. He looked down at Ringo. His hand was still clasped to the drummers mouth - meaning the sound couldn’t have come from him. With hollow breaths, John turned, surveying the street for the source of the sound.
And the overpowering feeling of pure extreme relief, when he saw Paul’s frantic beckoning from the alleyway at the end of the road. It was like nothing he’d known before. It was like the resuscitation of his heart, like another chance, a gift from heaven. It was Paul. His Paul. And it was safety.
John didn’t even stop to think about how they could POSSIBLY have come out of the ordeal with all four heads still in place, as he darted across the street, pulling Ringo behind him, heading for the alleyway.
He’d been so sure amongst that chaos that they were going to die. He’d been sure of it. It almost felt like trickery… like some sick scam that they could be heading towards some sort of haven. When Paul saw John running, he darted back down the alleyway, probably expecting John to follow.
John felt his heart jolt with mind-blowing relief and elation as he turned the corner into the alleyway, and raced down it.
And sure enough, there they were. Real … alive and beautiful.
George was sat with his back against the fence, while Paul was stood, watching John and Ringo’s running figures with outstretched arms.
“WAIT!” Paul cried as they ran at him. He backed away - his arms held up in front of him. He wasn’t prepared to make any mistakes a second time. “Wait - wait - wait - you’re… you’re not infected are you??”
John grinned.
“Of course I’m not, you DAFT bastard, COME HERE!”
He didn’t even spare Paul’s anxiety another thought as he wrapped his arms around the bassist, fastening his slim figure inside John’s strong hold. He kissed his head and his face. He pressed their foreheads and noses against one another. He held like it was the first time he’d ever held. Because in a way it was. It was John’s blessing, and his second chance.
“I thought you… how did you…?” Paul gasped, as he too laid kisses onto the lover who he’d presumed was doomed.
“Ahh.” John sighed, “With a little help from Ringo, ere. Why? Did you ever doubt me?”
Paul shook his head speedily. And John was both touched and stunned to find tears of relief fall from the youngers soft brown eyes, “I never will again!” he gasped.
John smiled softly into his bandmates cheek. “Couldn’t be leavin’ you alone again, could I? Not after what happened last time. I shoulda known you two can’t take care of yerselves.”
At the same time as this, Ringo had lunged at George on the floor, pulling his injured body forwards into a fierce, immovable embrace. George hadn’t objected; he wrapped his arms around Ringo’s neck, burying his head into Ringo’s chest - the highest he could reach from his sitting position.
“We thought…” George cried. His whole body was trembling as he clasped frightfully strongly to the drummer, his arms folded behind Ringo’s head. “We thought you…”
“Shh,” Ringo sniffed. He kissed George’s forehead, and as he did so his whole body seemed to melt. He had him back. For the second time - the second time, and they’d pulled through, George was his again. He kissed his forehead, and at the side of his eyes, and his cheeks, his nose, and back to his forehead. All the places on the guitarists beautiful face that Ringo could reach. George cried softly, almost confused, as Ringo did so.
“I love you.” Ringo breathed, with his hands clasping to the back of George’s sweat-ridden t-shirt. “I love you, George, I really do.”
George seemed to tense within the hold. His hands wavered hesitantly around Ringo’s neck, and fell uncertainly onto the drummers shoulders - as though he didn’t quite know what to do with himself.
“Don’t!” Ringo cried, “Don’t - I love you.”
“Wh… Why are you saying that?” George moaned weakly.
“Because it’s true!” Ringo kissed him again, and although George’s hands had fallen completely from his shoulders, it only made Ringo grip tighter to the guitarists back. “I love you. You don’t have to be scared of it! I just love you.”
George’s body shook, and the next minute he was crying, the tears falling despairingly and hopelessly, and dampening the shoulder of Ringo’s t-shirt.
“Don’t.” Ringo breathed. His hands radiated calmness as he stroked George’s cheek softly. Suddenly, it didn’t matter to him what had just happened in the ambulance. It was forgotten. He was here, with George, and these feelings were being piled off and it was such a huge release, that he couldn’t bear for it not to be known - not to be understood. “I love you George.” he said again, “I love you, I love you.”
“Ringo…” John muttered warningly.
But they were interrupted. Loud shouts and screams were sounding off from the road at the end of the alley. The noise was drawing closer, nearer to their place of refuge.
“Shit…” Paul breathed.
“Run!” John cried, “In here!”
Immediately, he kicked open one of the gateways into the back garden ahead of him. Ringo put his arms out, as to support George balancing onto his one healthy foot, before turning to pull George into another piggy-back. There was no time for objection, as the voices grew louder and more hysterical, as the infected raged at the loss of their prey.
“Get in!” John hissed to Paul
Paul wavered, hesitantly gazing into the mysterious back garden of the boarded up house.
“John, we don’t know who’s in there!”
“Paul - get - the - fuck - in.” John breathed quietly. “Before I carry you.”
Ringo darted past, George clung tentatively around his neck, and after a moments reflection, Paul followed suit. John was last to enter the garden, pulling the gate shut behind him.
In somebody else’s territory, they were hidden.
Whether they were safe remained to be seen.
Time/Location: June 1965. Ambulance.
Pairing: John/Paul, George/Ringo.
Warnings: Bad language, violence, danger, gore, action. Long chapter.
Previous Parts: HERE!
Summary: It's 1965, and a terrible virus is spreading. Those who get it turn violent, dangerous and even homicidal. Only trouble is, it's impossible to know who has the virus and who doesn't. And nobody is safe from it. So who can you trust?
There was no way - no way on Earth - they were all going to get out of this alive. And the ambulance jolted and skidded and the engine cried out, as reminder of that horrific destiny.
Authors Notes: It's long, I'm sorry.
“Oh My God….” Ringo breathed, with his electric blue eyes wide and piercing with pure terror. “JOHN, REVERSE!! REVERSE!! REVERSE!! REVERSE!!”
They were running from every direction. They’d seen the ambulance. They’d seen their meat, their prey, their victims inside. Their eyes were wild with fiery zeal and terrorism. And they were moving quickly. The ambulance jolted, and soared backwards, reversing. A stray dustbin was slammed backwards, rocketing into the air, and the ambulance swerved violently.
“JOHN!!” Ringo screamed.
“I’M FUCKING TRYING!!” John’s voice cracked, and broke hysterically.
But those people were coming fast, in heavy packs - closer and closer.
And the ambulance reared and swerved and crashed and banged clumsily from left to right, getting nowhere - fast.
“CHRIST!” Ringo cried. A heavy axe came flying as if from nowhere, colliding with the front of the ambulance, smashing underneath the bumper. The ambulance jolted, slammed downwards. The axe had wedged itself inside the front tire, was slowing them down even more.
Ringo felt hot tears and sweat and God knows what else infesting his face as he was overcome by a frenzy of panic and terror. On autopilot, he undid his seatbelt, lunging towards the hatch that separated him and the sleeping young men in the back.
“GEORGE!!” he screamed, “GEORGE! PAUL! FUCKING WAKE UP!”
John was somehow still managing to reverse, even with the punchered tire and collapsing bonnet. He was moving faster and steadier, but their terrorisers were not giving up chase. There were hundreds now, following them down their side of the junction.
“WAKE UP! WAKE UP!” Ringo wailed
He couldn’t fit through the hatch; couldn’t yell any louder than he was doing through turbulent tears.
And suddenly, a loud bang erupted from just outside the ambulance. A cherry bomb had hit menacingly on the mirror next to Ringo’s broken window.
“FUCK!” John screamed, his foot pressing so hard on the accelerator that his whole leg was shaking from the impact. “RITCH, WAKE ‘EM UP! WAKE ‘EM UP NOW!!”
Ringo stared, horror-struck at the two unconscious bandmates. If they could sleep through the screaming, speeding and banging of the ambulance, he had no idea what HE could do further to drag them from comatose.
He pulled backwards from the hatch, came face-to-face once again with the stampede of murderous attackers.
“Reverse faster, John!!!” he wailed
“I’M FUCKING TRYING!”
Ringo looked frantically around the surroundings for something - anything - he could throw at the lifeless bodies in the back that might wake them, but just as he did so, he felt John grip roughly to his hair, and force his head down beneath the dashboard.
He groaned out in pain and frustration, but at that exact second, heard a deafening crack above his head, felt the scorching heat of a fire cracker that would have got him directly in the face.
One hand gripping Ringo’s head in safety, the other seizing the steering wheel, John could only stare with unblinking eyes at the massacring sons-of-bitches tearing after them. While reversing, the ambulance continued to smash and hit any obstacles in their path. And yet John could not turn the vehicle around, because that would leave the back doors vulnerable to those freaks. The back doors that led to Paul and George’s oblivious sleeping figures.
He pulled Ringo back upright, screaming uproariously inside the drummers ear. “GET - THEM - AWAKE - NOW!!”
Ringo turned once again, his head hanging through the stupidly tiny hatch. “PAULLL!” he screamed, “GEORGEEE! PAUL, FOR THE LOVE OF FUCKING GOD!!”
John reversed rapidly around a corner, and the back of the ambulance smashed hazardly into the edge of the building. The whole vehicle rocked dangerously as he continued to reverse. They were lucky not to have tipped completely. Ringo cried out in fright, but the hard slam had done well; Paul jerked awake, his eyes wide and fearful as he started.
“What is it???!” he cried, “What’s goin’ on!?!”
“PAUL!” John screamed. He was still staring straight ahead of him, out of the front window as he fled from their ravenous assailants, who were fast chasing around the corner. But he shouted instructions in a voice that was desperate, and yet determined. “PAUL!” he repeated, “LISTEN! You need to wake up George… you need to watch out the back window… and when we get close to an alley, or a buildin’, you and George need to GET OUT!”
Ringo gasped. “John - NO!”
“YES!” John yelled. “LISTEN TO ME, PAUL! When you see somewhere to hide, you need to GET OUT! Get OUT of here!!”
“Wait…” Paul gasped, shaking George, but staring at Ringo’s fear-stricken face in the hatchet. “Wait… what are YOU gonna do?!”
SMASH!!
Another object - a wrench, or a bat of some sort - slammed into the window shield, cracking it down the middle.
“PAUL, JUST DO IT!!” John wailed.
“John, they’ll be killed!!” Ringo hissed, “NO!”
“They won’t! THEY WON’T! PAUL - YOU NEED TO DO AS I SAY!!”
“John, please!” Ringo cried
“Shut up Ringo!!”
“WE CAN’T SPLIT UP AGAIN!”
“I SAID SHUT UP!!” John raged.
BANG.
Another heavy form of artillery smashed heavily onto the front window, piercing a hole and causing the glass to shatter over their faces and hair. And worse yet - the ambulance was getting slower. The axe wedged between bonnet and tyre was causing the vehicle to scratch against the ground, and no matter how hard John pushed that accelerator… he could not force the van to hasten.
And the infected were coming at them fast. They were running, with seemingly endless amounts of stamina. Bearing knives and hammers and crowbars and wrenches and fuck knows what else. All John had was a measly bat he was too exhausted to swing.
“I NEED TO TURN AROUND!” he yelled in explanation to Ringo’s tearful pleading. “THEY NEED TO GET OUT!!”
Ringo swung around, and looked through the hatch again. Both Paul and George were awake now, their eyes wide with fear and bewilderment.
“Look for a hiding place!” he shouted.
But somewhere deep inside of himself, he knew it was useless. He could feel the impending doom, their useless fate, falling down on him like a ton of bricks. If Paul and George did manage to jump out of the vehicle and hide, that still didn’t result in any safety for himself and John. There was no way - no way on Earth - they were all going to get out of this alive. And the ambulance jolted and skidded and the engine cried out, as reminder of that horrific destiny.
BANG.
A gunshot.
The four of them all flinched in horror and fear at the sound. Ringo spun around, and looked into John’s terrified expression.
“Ringo…” John breathed, “Make - them - get - out! NOW!”
“JOHN LOOK OUT!!” Paul suddenly screamed.
Ringo turned to look at the source of the additional commotion.
Out of the back window he saw three people - two men and a woman - running at the reversing vehicle. John pressed harder on the accelerator, and the next second the ambulance had reversed into the attackers bodies, slamming them down.
“FUCK!!” Paul screamed, his eyes shining will terror and alarm.
John kept reversing. He had to; those fuckers were getting closer and closer. They were catching up, and if anything, their expressions were only ANGRIER, at the prospect of an escape route.
“PAUL! GEORGE!” Ringo’s voice cracked and failed, “Look - for - a safe place!”
“We can’t leave!” George croaked
“YOU FUCKING HAVE TO!” John snarled furiously.
Another slam, and half of the front window shattered completely. John was now completely exposed, without any protection of glass.
“YOU HAVE TO!” he screamed again, “AND WE’LL COME FIND YOU!”
“John… I…” Paul stammered hysterically, “I see an alleyway… up there!”
John said nothing. He kept reversing. Just a bit further, a bit further, a bit further, he told himself. The crowd chasing them were shrieking, shouting, wailing and cursing. Their voices pierced their ears with perpetual intimidation. A bit further, a bit further.
“PAUL - Don’t forget the medicine!” Ringo shrieked suddenly.
In the back of the ambulance, Paul surged at the bag of medication, pulling it around himself, before turning so George could climb frantically onto his back. Ringo watched this with wide, tear-filled eyes, his heart trouncing against his stomach and chest with the terror of what they were about to do.
“HERE!” Paul cried. “STOP!”
John hit the brakes fast. The ambulance screeched to a halt, and at that exact second Paul threw open the back doors, lunging from the back with George, and tearing down the alleyway. As soon as they were gone, John started the engine again, trying to rebuild the speed as he began once again reversing.
The infected were still racing at them in heavy packs. They weren’t far away now, only thirty metres or so. But there was no way they could have seen Paul’s escape. The street was so narrow, they couldn’t have known ANYBODY was in the back of the ambulance, and couldn’t have seen the back doors opening, or the flee. As far as the freaks knew, they were pursuing only John and Ringo… and they were STILL pursuing only John and Ringo.
“Faster, John… faster!!” Ringo begged as John continued reversing. The alleyway of escape was now IN FRONT of them rather than BEHIND. A few seconds and the infected would reach it too. A few seconds, and the infected would be able to run down it. John could only hope and pray none of them would think to.
“I need to turn around…” He muttered frantically
“Not here!” Ringo pleaded, “Get further away! John, they’re catching up!!”
John reached another corner, reversed around it. The back of the ambulance once again smashed into the side of the building, and the stretcher came tumbling out of the back doors, landing with a smash on the street.
John recklessly turned the steering wheel, and the ambulance froze, as John madly attempted to turn the vehicle to face forwards round the corner.
At that second, Ringo thought they’d had it.
The infected were getting closer - closer - closer.
The ambulance swerved around, turning, trying to face forwards instead of reversing.
More objects skidded and fell out from the back, where George and Paul had been sleeping just minutes prior.
And Ringo screamed out in terror.
As John turned the ambulance a full 180°, an infected seized hold of the back doors.
John pressed hard once again on the accelerator, and the vehicle soared forwards. But it wasn’t enough. The infected man had pulled himself INSIDE the back of the ambulance, and was clasping onto the doors to keep himself steady, as they tore down the road.
“JOHN, HE’S INSIDE! HE’S INSIDE!”
“GET THE FUCKING BAT!” John screamed through gritted teeth.
Ringo pulled their pathetic excuse for protection from underneath the dashboard. He pushed it through the small hatch, but there wasn’t enough room for manoeuvre. He’d never get a big enough swing to cause any damage.
Their persistent predator was clutching a crowbar.
And the rest of their predators were still racing behind them, all with their own missionary.
And as John drove forwards, amongst all of this terror, Ringo was also alarmingly aware that they were getting further and further from George and Paul’s hideout.
“John!” he cried, his eyes still fixated on their intruder in the back of the van. “You need to go ROUND!” he instructed, “If you follow the road all the way, you GO AROUND in a full circle, and we can get BACK to Piccadilly!”
“Why would I want to do THAT Ringo??? That’s where we FOUND all these freaks!!”
“WELL THEY WON’T BE THERE ANYMORE, WILL THEY?! BECAUSE THEY ARE CHASING US!!”
“WE NEED TO GET SOMEWHERE SAFE!”
“WE NEED TO GET TO PAUL AND GEORGE!!”
The intruder moved closer, holding the crowbar out in front of him with venom and hatred seeping from his red, sleep-deprived eyes.
Ringo swung the bat frantically.
“STAY AWAY!” he warned
The invader swung the crowbar in reply, saying nothing. The weapon hit the side of the ambulance, causing a terrifying hole to pierce itself in the wall. Ringo’s eyes widened at the threat.
“Ringo, get RID of the fucker!!” John growled, “HIT HIM!”
“I CAN’T until he comes closer!!”
“For fuck sake!!”
“Slam on the brakes and he’ll fall out!!”
“RINGO, THIS ISN’T A CARTOON!!!”
“Well, SORRY!”
“How close behind are they?!”
“VERY FUCKING CLOSE!”
“CHRIST!” John moaned in terror, his foot pressing even harder on the accelerator. The ambulance continued to soar forwards - as quickly as possible given all the attacks and blemishes it had endured - back the way they had first came. John soared forwards round another bend, back towards Piccadilly Circus… in a full circle that would lead them back towards George and Paul.
Paul ran down the alleyway, clutching both George and the medicine, and turned in horror as he heard the infected racing past… still pursuing his two friends in the ambulance.
“What do we do???” he croaked
George didn’t reply, but Paul could feel the guitarists’ slender body trembling against his back. For lack of any other purpose, Paul turned to survey the tiny pathway they’d found themselves down. It was sandwiched between two large fences. Every few metres the fence had gateways… and Paul supposed these led to peoples back gardens.
“We could go inside…” he suggested, shakily “And try and get help?”
“Who’s gonna answer the door?!” George whispered. “We should wait ‘ere for John.”
“I don’t know if we’re safe here…”
“Paul, I wanna wait here for John.”
Paul bit down on his lip. He could feel the sweat dripping down his forehead, and feel his stomach aching and churning with the inevitable doubts and inhibitions. What if John didn’t come back? What if he wouldn’t? Christ… what if he COULDN’T???
“Please John…” he whispered, to seemingly nobody. “Please… please…don’t leave me…”
The petrol was running low. John felt sick looking at it, but that’s what the little red light was telling him. It was running low, they were being tailed by over a hundred infected freaks looking for blood and massacre, and they were still a good five or ten minutes away from Piccadilly…. where all this had STARTED in the first place. And still, they had to go back there… because how else would they get back to the two broken and sick people they loved most??
He spun around another corner, and heard Ringo next to him, cursing and warning and shouting at the intruder who had found his way into the back of the van.
“STAY AWAY! GET THE FUCK AWAY FROM ME!”
Another corner.
As the ambulance turned, the invader lunged forwards, swinging the crowbar towards Ringo.
At the same time, Ringo swung the bat ferociously, as best he could given the restrictions of such a tiny hatch.
“Good Ritch, keep that up,” John encouraged, “We’ll be back soon! How close are they??”
“Fallin’ behind!” Ringo breathed, “Keep up this speed!!”
John glanced once again at the petrol-levels, and grasped onto the steering wheel tighter, hoping against all else he would be able to do exactly as Ringo had said.
They turned another corner.
The intruder stumbled at the sharp turn, grasping hold of the disabled bar to keep himself steady.
“Fucking bastards…” he hissed
He lunged the crowbar once again. He raised the weapon high, while at the same time Ringo swung with the bat once more, his self defence kicking in.
But then the drummer screamed out in agony.
“WHAT??? WHAT???” John cried
Ringo stared, horrified, at the fresh blood pouring from the cavernous gash on the back of his hand, where the crowbar had slashed. A mixture of bubbling blood and soggy flesh presented itself in front of Ringo’s revolted eyes, as he held the trembling limb up for inspection. He cried out in disgust. But after that there was no further time for reflection.
With his healthy hand, Ringo swung the bat in an abhorrent display of anger. It caught his attacker on the side of the head, and the infected man stumbled backwards.
“BASTARD!” Ringo spat, once again raising his shaking hand. A mixture of dark blood and yellow pus was erupting from the abscess wound.
The attacker stood, dazed for a moment or two. The knock to the head seemed to have stunned him somewhat. Behind him, his fellow chasers were getting further in the distance. Ringo didn’t know whether THEY were slowing down, or whether the ambulance was speeding up. Either way he didn’t want to encourage them to turn back. If they turned back, they’d be waiting once again at Piccadilly when the boys returned.
“John - slow down!” He moaned through painfully gritted teeth. “We have to make sure they keep chasin’ us!”
“Ringo I am NOT slowing down so those fuckers can catch up!!”
“WE HAVE TO MAKE SURE THEY DON’T HEAD BACK!”
“I can’t keep stoppin’ and startin’!” John gasped, “We’re almost out of fuckin’ gas!”
“WHAT??!”
“If this thing runs out, that’s it Ritch! That’s the end!”
Ringo watched through the hatch as furious-looking eyes returned to their intruder. He was no longer stunned, but angry… very angry.
“Okay…” Ringo breathed to John. His eyes were watering with the pain. “Okay - keep goin’ then!!”
He swung the bat again, and the intruder leant backwards cautiously.
“Don’t touch him Ritch…!” John warned, “Don’t touch his skin!”
“If you’ve any sense you’ll just GET OUT NOW!” Ringo warned his aggressor.
It was all building up inside him. Those mad fucking creatures. They were the ones responsible for that entire massacre at the airport. Responsible for George’s fucked up ankle that stopped him walking or moving by himself. Responsible for taking Brian… maybe for taking Neil and Mal. Responsible for chasing them out of that fucking hospital before they got everything they needed. Responsible for Paul’s terror, his attempted-RAPE, for FUCK sake!! These fuckers had stopped them getting to their wives… his unborn child. They’d chased and threatened and attacked. Those fuckers were the ones responsible for George’s apparent hopelessness and despondency. For John’s fear and resort to violence. For Paul’s breakdown. For Ringo’s hand, and the loss of Ringo’s friends not once - but fucking TWICE now. It was all the fault of those sick, infected fuckers.
And he swung the bat. Hard.
Even with the restrictions of the tiny hatch, and even with Ringo’s shaking, messed-up hand… his anger drove him to strength he didn’t know he had.
And their invader fell backwards, collapsing on the ambulance floor. And there was suddenly blood, though in his daze, Ringo couldn’t work out where the hell it had come from. It was on his hands and on his face - and on his victims face as well, and coming from the victims ear.
“You did it Ringo!!” John praised in a high-pitched anxious tone. “You did it!”
Ringo fell back against his seat, his mind blurred and hazy.
The whole front window had been smashed up now, and there was nothing left of it, though Ringo couldn’t remember when that happened. The bat fell and slipped to rest between his knees. A quick glance in the side-mirror told him they were still being chased… but they were now well ahead.
“Drive Johnny.” he said darkly. “Get us back.”
John turned the corner, again sharply. During the sharp turn, the unconscious man in the back slid, and fell out of the double doors onto the street behind them. Part of Ringo hoped the poor fool hadn’t fallen onto his neck. Another part of him hoped he HAD.
“Your hand alright??” John breathed shakily.
Ringo grunted, cradling the sick, revolting wound to his chest. “I can’t believe you got us out of that, John.” he whispered incredulously.
“Well… not yet.”
“If I was drivin’ we’d have all been dead by now.”
“Yes, well Lennon’s so-called bad-driving has finally come in handy.”
Ringo managed a weak chuckle. “That it has.”
He watched once again in the side mirror. Their terrorists were turning the corner now, still with impressive speed and stamina. But so long as the ambulance kept running, Ringo assumed they’d be safe.
John turned another corner, and another, and another.
It seemed to be taking ages. Thoughts of George and Paul - once again alone - consumed Ringo’s brain.
But eventually John slammed on the brakes.
“That’s it!” he cried, “Dump the ambulance here - lets go!!”
“Wait…” Ringo gasped, as John jumped suddenly from the drivers seat. “WHAT??”
“We dump the ambulance and they won’t know where we’ve gone!!” John groaned, exasperated. “Get the fucking bat, Ritch, and MOVE! They’re coming!”
Ringo didn’t need telling twice. With his healthy hand, he seized hold of the bat, racing after John in the direction he deemed appropriate.
“Hurry… Hurry… Hurry…” John muttered, moving as quickly as possible along the side of the buildings, away from the ambulance that their infected predators would soon catch up with.
“This isn’t the road they got off at!!” Ringo hissed
“No, THIS one!!”
John pulled Ringo’s arm round the corner, another safety precaution against their pursuers. His eyes darted frenziedly around the mystery road. He knew he recognised it from their escape, but in the mass hysteria, he couldn’t remember WHICH road they’d dumped off his lover.
“Shit…” he muttered, a mixture of sweat and tears consuming him in the panic. They couldn’t afford to stand here dawdling. They needed to HIDE. But they needed to find Paul and George too.
“This isn’t the road either…” Ringo cried
“Are you SURE??” John gasped, pulling Ringo quickly underneath a bus shelter, just in case they could be seen.
“I… I don’t know, I thought YOU knew!!”
“I thought it was this road!!”
“SO WE’VE LOST THEM?!”
“Keep your voice down!!!” John hissed, his eyes darting, terrified, back to the other street. Any minute now, those infected freaks would realise the ambulance was empty, and they’d be coming this way.
“GEEOOOORRREGGE!” Ringo suddenly screamed. His voice was filled with numb hysteria, and a lack of sense. There was no thought process or logic in his actions… just pure emotion - panic and love. “GEEEOOORRRGGEE!”
Horrified, John clasped his hand to Ringo’s mouth, holding the shaking drummer in his arms. They froze like that - both watching the end of the road, expecting the freaks to come running.
“Christ!!” John hissed, tears streaming unknowingly down his cheeks, “You’re gonna get us KILLED!”
“JOHN!”
John started. He looked down at Ringo. His hand was still clasped to the drummers mouth - meaning the sound couldn’t have come from him. With hollow breaths, John turned, surveying the street for the source of the sound.
And the overpowering feeling of pure extreme relief, when he saw Paul’s frantic beckoning from the alleyway at the end of the road. It was like nothing he’d known before. It was like the resuscitation of his heart, like another chance, a gift from heaven. It was Paul. His Paul. And it was safety.
John didn’t even stop to think about how they could POSSIBLY have come out of the ordeal with all four heads still in place, as he darted across the street, pulling Ringo behind him, heading for the alleyway.
He’d been so sure amongst that chaos that they were going to die. He’d been sure of it. It almost felt like trickery… like some sick scam that they could be heading towards some sort of haven. When Paul saw John running, he darted back down the alleyway, probably expecting John to follow.
John felt his heart jolt with mind-blowing relief and elation as he turned the corner into the alleyway, and raced down it.
And sure enough, there they were. Real … alive and beautiful.
George was sat with his back against the fence, while Paul was stood, watching John and Ringo’s running figures with outstretched arms.
“WAIT!” Paul cried as they ran at him. He backed away - his arms held up in front of him. He wasn’t prepared to make any mistakes a second time. “Wait - wait - wait - you’re… you’re not infected are you??”
John grinned.
“Of course I’m not, you DAFT bastard, COME HERE!”
He didn’t even spare Paul’s anxiety another thought as he wrapped his arms around the bassist, fastening his slim figure inside John’s strong hold. He kissed his head and his face. He pressed their foreheads and noses against one another. He held like it was the first time he’d ever held. Because in a way it was. It was John’s blessing, and his second chance.
“I thought you… how did you…?” Paul gasped, as he too laid kisses onto the lover who he’d presumed was doomed.
“Ahh.” John sighed, “With a little help from Ringo, ere. Why? Did you ever doubt me?”
Paul shook his head speedily. And John was both touched and stunned to find tears of relief fall from the youngers soft brown eyes, “I never will again!” he gasped.
John smiled softly into his bandmates cheek. “Couldn’t be leavin’ you alone again, could I? Not after what happened last time. I shoulda known you two can’t take care of yerselves.”
At the same time as this, Ringo had lunged at George on the floor, pulling his injured body forwards into a fierce, immovable embrace. George hadn’t objected; he wrapped his arms around Ringo’s neck, burying his head into Ringo’s chest - the highest he could reach from his sitting position.
“We thought…” George cried. His whole body was trembling as he clasped frightfully strongly to the drummer, his arms folded behind Ringo’s head. “We thought you…”
“Shh,” Ringo sniffed. He kissed George’s forehead, and as he did so his whole body seemed to melt. He had him back. For the second time - the second time, and they’d pulled through, George was his again. He kissed his forehead, and at the side of his eyes, and his cheeks, his nose, and back to his forehead. All the places on the guitarists beautiful face that Ringo could reach. George cried softly, almost confused, as Ringo did so.
“I love you.” Ringo breathed, with his hands clasping to the back of George’s sweat-ridden t-shirt. “I love you, George, I really do.”
George seemed to tense within the hold. His hands wavered hesitantly around Ringo’s neck, and fell uncertainly onto the drummers shoulders - as though he didn’t quite know what to do with himself.
“Don’t!” Ringo cried, “Don’t - I love you.”
“Wh… Why are you saying that?” George moaned weakly.
“Because it’s true!” Ringo kissed him again, and although George’s hands had fallen completely from his shoulders, it only made Ringo grip tighter to the guitarists back. “I love you. You don’t have to be scared of it! I just love you.”
George’s body shook, and the next minute he was crying, the tears falling despairingly and hopelessly, and dampening the shoulder of Ringo’s t-shirt.
“Don’t.” Ringo breathed. His hands radiated calmness as he stroked George’s cheek softly. Suddenly, it didn’t matter to him what had just happened in the ambulance. It was forgotten. He was here, with George, and these feelings were being piled off and it was such a huge release, that he couldn’t bear for it not to be known - not to be understood. “I love you George.” he said again, “I love you, I love you.”
“Ringo…” John muttered warningly.
But they were interrupted. Loud shouts and screams were sounding off from the road at the end of the alley. The noise was drawing closer, nearer to their place of refuge.
“Shit…” Paul breathed.
“Run!” John cried, “In here!”
Immediately, he kicked open one of the gateways into the back garden ahead of him. Ringo put his arms out, as to support George balancing onto his one healthy foot, before turning to pull George into another piggy-back. There was no time for objection, as the voices grew louder and more hysterical, as the infected raged at the loss of their prey.
“Get in!” John hissed to Paul
Paul wavered, hesitantly gazing into the mysterious back garden of the boarded up house.
“John, we don’t know who’s in there!”
“Paul - get - the - fuck - in.” John breathed quietly. “Before I carry you.”
Ringo darted past, George clung tentatively around his neck, and after a moments reflection, Paul followed suit. John was last to enter the garden, pulling the gate shut behind him.
In somebody else’s territory, they were hidden.
Whether they were safe remained to be seen.