Pandemic
Title: Pandemic (Chapter 41)
Time/Location: Still 7th June 1965
Pairing: John/Paul, George/Ringo.
Warnings: Everything. It's all horrible. Don't even read it.
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?
He was mad. Crazed. Insane.
Authors Notes: I just... I hate this fic. It's horrible. And this is probably the most disturbing chapter yet. I'm sorry. I really didn't write this fic to be sick. I wrote it to push them together as far as they could be pushed. But er... it's just nasty now. But I promise things will get less horrific after this chapter. And if that's me spoiling the plot, so be it. Cos I can't take this shit.
“I have keys.” Jacob spoke calmly.
He was across from Ringo, who was practically on his hands and knees in desperation, and claiming to do anything in the world to see his friends. And that’s ALL Jacob had to say in return??
“I don’t need keys!” Ringo gasped, “I need to get upstairs!”
“I have keys to the truck. The Military truck. It’s parked just across the road.”
Ringo blinked. What the fuck was this guy talking about??
“That’s great.” He muttered distractedly, “But please mate, please, please, please…”
Another high pitched scream from upstairs. One distorted through the walls, but unmistakably a screech of pain and craze and hysterical fear.
“PLEASE!!” Ringo cried again, as panic tore through his blood once more. “PLEASE! ALL I need is to get upstairs!!”
“It’s no use.” Jacob sighed. “They’re not gonna stop, whether you’re there or not.”
“Stop WHAT??!”
Jacob sat down. He pulled a packet of cigarettes from his pocket, lighting one casually.
“Jacob, stop WHAT?? What’s going ON!?”
“You’ll never get out of this city alive. But I can give you the keys to the truck.”
And now Ringo was truly stunned. He couldn’t really comprehend what Jacob was saying to him, and nor could he understand WHY he was saying it. Was it a sick game? A sick trick? This guy wasn’t REALLY going to give Ringo the keys out of here, for Gods sake! So why was he saying such things? Was he just trying to distract Ringo? To stall him? Confuse him? It was fucking working.
“Ringo, we’re not gonna leave.” Jacob said darkly. “My families dead, man. I’ve got nothing. They were killed - by my BROTHER! Okay?? I have nothing for me out there and nor do any of the others. Why do you think we’re here? The army can’t do shit! The ones that have family, are WITH THEM.”
“So……… so what are you saying??” Ringo croaked
“I’m saying I can take the fucking truck, but there’s nowhere I can go with it. Nowhere any of us can. We’ve all watched out families die… our kiddies.”
Ringo swallowed. That was awful. That was so, so sick, and he felt his stomach churn. But there was another scream from upstairs. And FUCK THAT if he was gonna fall for this sympathy vote. He didn’t feel any sympathy for these psychos. Only the families that they lost.
“Have you got family, Ringo?” Jacob asked
Ringo frowned, his fingers twisting around each other in near agony. He didn’t want any more tears to come. This was business now.
“I got a wife.” He muttered. “She’s pregnant. Me first kid, you know.”
Jacob nodded. “And you wanna get to her?”
“Yes. I do. More than………” He swallowed. “I wanna get to her.”
“You can have the keys.” Jacob shrugged. “But you’ve gotta do something for me first.”
“Anything.” Ringo nodded. “Anything. Anything. What?”
Jacob stared at him. His eyes were piercing, but not with the same soulless ferocity Ringo had seen in some of the others. It was evaluating Ringos’ trustworthiness. It was resigning to the fact that he had nothing. It was…… sadness, really. And Ringo couldn’t really blame him.
There was a jingle of metal. And Jacob pulled a set of keys from the inside of his pocket. And Ringos’ heart hammered fast. There, morphed into metal, was freedom. In those keys was Ringos’ ticket to his wife and child. It was his opportunity to get away………… his last hope.
Jacob put them down onto the table. Momentarily out of the way until Ringo had done his job to earn them.
“Wha… what are YOU gonna do then?” Ringo croaked. “If I’ve got the truck?”
Jacob smiled. Shrugged his shoulders. “Look at me. I’ve got nought to live for, mate.”
“You’re gonna let the infected get you?!?”
Again Jacob merely smiled. “They’re calming down, aren’t they? For all we know, they could be all better by now. We’ll see, eh?”
Ringo swallowed.
There were still bangs and sound of fast, hard movement creaking through the ceiling, and he knew time was getting short. His heart hammered in impatience, and his fingers twitched nervously. He was running out of time.
“What do you want then?” He hurried. “I’ll do it. What is it?”
In fact, he kind of already knew what it was, before he was submitted to it.
Jacobs’ eyes trailed downwards, and then back up again to reach Ringo’s eyes. After that he kept eye-contact… those piercing, sad pupils. But Ringo followed his hands. Jacob used one finger to undo the button of his own jeans. And slowly, very slowly, he pulled the zipper down.
Ringo glanced upwards, and his eyes met Jacobs’ again.
And that was all the confirmation he needed.
After that, he knew only too well what he had to do.
“Please…” Paul whispered.
He was so weak, so sick, so scared. His body was limp with drugs and exhaustion and hopelessness. Because he was trapped. He had tried to get away…… and he had failed. There was nothing more he could do now, other than these feeble protests. And his body shook inside Keiths’ arms, as the sickly smell continued to parade his nostrils, and Keith soothed him with patronising words.
“Shh, shh now Paulie, it’s okay.”
“Please.”
“Now, I’m just gonna get you out of these clothes for you…”
“No! Please! PLEASE Keith!”
“Just… stop talkin’. I can’t concentrate if you’re goin’ on at me.”
Keith grit his teeth together. One arm wrapped tightly around Pauls’ body, keeping him standing, and the other snaked down, and began loosening the buttons on his jeans.
Wild, hot tears began to pour from Pauls’ eyelids, the returning need to be sick, the shaking limbs, weak body, hopeless mind. Keiths’ torch sat on the floor, shining in their eyes and obscuring them in a bright light……… highlighting this sick escapade.
“Please, please, please.” He chanted. But his voice was so quiet now, even Keith couldn’t be disturbed by it. He didn’t have the energy anymore. He didn’t have the energy to keep trying… to fight the inevitable. Keith had been eying up meat from the beginning. Paul had seen him looking at George. He’d known as early as that that something was wrong. And now Keiths’ breathing was hard in his ear, as he pulled down the zipper on Pauls’ jeans, allowed the garments to drop to the floor.
And the sick scent of rotting bodies possessed his lungs, and the sick scent of Keiths’ odour make his skin crawl. And he couldn’t. He could feel himself flaking, and he could feel Keiths’ arms tightening in an attempt to keep him upright. And he needed to be sick so badly, and he was gagging. He wasn’t in control of his body anymore, or his mind. He was letting this man tug off his shirt, and kiss the back of his neck, and his ears tensed as he heard Keiths’ zip being tugged downwards.
Oh God.
He couldn’t let this happen.
Not him, not Paul.
He couldn’t let this happen to him………………… because he was Johns’.
He was going to give himself to John. He had decided. Deliberated and decided that he would do it. John was going to be the first, and the only, to take him. And it was going to be perfect. It was going to be EVERYTHING. Then John would know Paul loved him. And it was a big deal. It was. He never thought… never thought he could do that. But he was going to, for John. And now…… now it was all being taken away from him. All those huge choices he’d made, and all his free-will. He was going to give John everything, but now somebody ELSE was taking it. Someone else was ripping it from him, without any care in the world. But it meant so much to Paul. It had meant so much. He couldn’t let this happen.
“Please!!” he cried, desperately.
Keiths’ jeans were on the floor, and he was stepping out of them, and his hands were crawling around Pauls’ flesh on his stomach and thighs. His sick lips smouldered across Pauls’ neck and back. And Paul was so helpless, he couldn’t even move his body. He was exhausted, and losing fight, and limbs so lifeless.
“JOHN!!” He choked. “J-JOHN!!”
The sound echoed uselessly off the garage walls.
And then Keiths’ sweaty palm was slapped to Pauls’ mouth, and his voice was whispering inside the bassists’ ear, “Shh. Stop talking. I need to concentrate.”
They were falling to the floor. Keith couldn’t keep Pauls’ body upright any longer, and allowed them to slump onto the cold concrete ground, with his stomach still pinned against Pauls’ back.
And Paul could feel a growing erection pushing against the back of his leg.
And he couldn’t even make a noise. And with the hand plastered to his lips, he was forced to breathe through his nose, inhaling all the filthy aroma, and the nightmarish odour. It was like he was in a nightmare. It was SO like he was in a nightmare, that he could feel himself succumbing to it. He could feel himself collapsing, and his eyes closing, and the stranger erection pushing against him. And there being NOTHING that he could do to stop this.
The torch blinded him. The sweat covered him. The body plastered to him. The hand suffocated him.
And he was Johns’. Not this mans. Not forced, inside the living hell of the deceased couples hideout. Not torn from him. Not like this… never like this.
His tears streamed from his eyes, and his hand reached back weekly… feebly pushing against the mans stomach. No, no. But it was no good. And pain soared through his body. And his teeth grit together, and he cried out, but no sound came. And his hand was nudging pathetically, trying to move his attacker away.
Keith probably didn’t even feel it.
And so he cried. Small, hopeless whimpers came muffled against the mans hand. And he felt strangeness moving inside of him, pushing in and out in long, deep thrusts. Pain scorching through him - Agony. And he lay on his side, against the ground……… choking on stench and tears…………and waiting for it to all to be over.
The bedroom was now quiet. George had his eyes clenched shut, because he couldn’t bear to look; he couldn’t bear to see the cause of his actions. He couldn’t dare see that man rocking on the ground, with droplets of blood falling between his fingers, as his hands clasped to his wrecked eyeballs.
The whole house was quiet; it was like he was deaf. What had happened to all the screams and shouts? George hadn’t remembered them ever fading……… it was just suddenly still and silent. What had happened to them??? Why were there no protests from Paul and shouting from John?? WHERE WAS RINGO?
“Fuck, fuck, fuck.” The man on the ground whimpered. His voice was so small and pleading. And George wanted to run so badly, but he couldn’t move. And he didn’t know where his friends were. He felt so alone, so scared.
Please somebody come help. He didn’t want to do this anymore. He didn’t want to hurt and be hurt. He couldn’t tolerate that anymore.
And when Derren finally removed his hands from his eyes, and his eyelids were shut. But his teeth were clenched. His fists scrunched into balls.
And George knew he was in big trouble.
Ringo wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. Tasting another mans release… it had been hell. It was degrading, belittling, humiliating. Bending to his knees for another mans pleasure…… the single worst thing he’d had to do.
But now his heart beat in anticipation. Because he’d done what was asked of him. And the keys were just on the table, and they could be his……… his bid for freedom. Just so long as this corrupted army man was true to his word.
“Is that……… Is that it?” Ringo mumbled.
An awkward silence had settled, and Jacob shuffled uncomfortably, pushing himself back into his trousers.
“That’s it.”
Ringos' heart rose a little more, beat a little faster. He’d assumed there was a catch. Surely there was a catch? But he was moving towards the table, and his hand was creeping out, reaching for the keys.
And Jacob did nothing to stop him.
“Don’t look so worried, Ringo.” He muttered. “Take them. They’re yours.”
And so he did. His hand was sliding across the table. And in one, heart-stopping, victorious movement, the keys jangled inside his clutches. The sound of metal chinking against one another was heavenly to his ears… represented his sudden light at the tunnel.
But then he froze.
Why could he hear the clinking of the keys?
Why couldn’t he hear anything else?
The noise upstairs had stopped. And he STILL couldn’t hear any word of Paul… nor John. And in his sweaty palm, he clutched the keys to his chest, and before he could stop himself, more pleads were swimming from his lips.
“Jacob!!” he cried. “You love your family, don’t you!? I know you do, I can see that! And I love my family too. And when you asked… when you asked if I ‘ave a family… I do. But my family… they’re in THIS HOUSE too! And … and I can’t hear them! And I’m scared Jacob, I don’t know what’s going on! I need to get to them, please! I need to get to them; I love them! I love them like you love your family… and I… I dunno where they are or what’s happenin’! And I need to get to them Jacob, PLEASE! PLEASE! Please let me get to them, please!”
“Slow down.” Jacob stated calmly.
Ringo paused, and his breathing was hard and heavy with desperation… his eyes morphed in tears.
“I don’t know where your friends are either.”
“But you can let me go and find them! Please Jacob. Please.”
“You don’t stand a chance, Ringo. They’re armed. They’re not gonna let you……”
“I don’t care. Listen! I can’t hear anything! I have to do something!”
“You’d be foolish.”
“Jacob - think of your family.” Ringo pleaded. “If they were… if you were in my situation… you’d do anything, wouldn’t you?”
Silence filled the room. Blankness. Impassiveness.
“WOULDN’T YOU???” Ringo pressed.
Jacob glanced upwards. And his eyes were no longer sad…… just empty. He had no family. Ringo… he DID have family… for now. And that seemed less and less likely that he would have as the minutes tore on. And Jacob… he understood.
“I would.” He whispered softly.
“Then please.” Ringo croaked.
And then… slowly… so slow it was like time had risen backwards… Jacob nodded his head.
“Oh… THANK YOU!”
“You can have my gun, Ringo.”
“Wha…… What?”
“You can have my gun. You’ll need it.”
“I…… yes. I… thank you!”
Ringo was quite unable to believe this, and yet he NEEDED to believe it. He needed to look ahead, to save his friends. No time for hesitation or untrustworthiness. He needed that gun. And he reached out his hands… ready to clasp the hard, heavy pistol.
“Wait a minute.” Jacob muttered. “When I’M done with it.”
“Wait… what do you mean… what do you mean ‘done with it’??”
And after that, time seemed to slow, and everything seemed to stop moving. Because before his eyes… Jacob was raising the gun to his own head.
“J…Jacob…” Ringo gasped.
His own voice seemed muffled, and far away in some vacuum of reality, while his head swam in fear… and nausea… and realisation.
“JACOB, NO! DON’T!”
The gunshot rang louder, and more piercing, than any noise Ringo had heard before it. It shattered through his ears, cracked in his bloodstream, froze the world, melted his blood. It fired its merciless bullet… into its own owners skull.
And Ringo gagged.
He couldn’t look, he couldn’t even look, he couldn’t see. But he was retching in disgust, and shame, and horror, and sadness, and hysteria……… despair.
Jacobs’ body lay across the ground.
Gone.
Clutching a gun… which in a few minutes, Ringo knew he’d have to prise from the generous fingertips.
Paul was still lay across the hard, concrete ground.
His face was still soaked in his own sweat and tears. His body still shaking, unstopping. His arm was still lay out behind him, where he’d tried to push the body off himself, with no success.
And now he was violated. That was it. Everything was gone. Everything he had to give, was no more. And he hurt all over. And his chest ached in bitter disgust.
Behind him, Keith was stood up.
He was reapplying his own clothing.
He was WHISTLING. He was fucking WHISTLING some … fucking BEATLES tune. Paul couldn’t even remember the title… or the words. He’d never be able to sing or listen to that again anyway.
“Oh stop it!” Keith sighed, listening to the muffled, weak cries that trickled helplessly from the bassists mouth. “Stop it, you sound PITIFUL!”
Paul felt his clothes land on top of his naked, exposed body.
“Get dressed, God. You’re making my heart bleed, here.”
Paul moved his arms… but they felt heavy and rigid. He was dazed, spaced-out, as he pulled his jeans back over himself. His fingers fumbled clumsily as he reapplied the top button. It all felt harsh, as well as numb inside his hands. But he didn’t think it was the drugs fault anymore.
And he tried to ignore it… he tried to shut himself down… as Keith was pacing throughout the garage.
The doctor was moving towards the corpses, and he nudged the woman with his foot, making her swing heavily back and forth. Paul groaned in pain… closing his eyes… unable to look. Somewhere in the black distance, he heard his attacker laugh. A cruel, cold laugh.
“It’s a shame.” He breezed. “She was probably quite a fit bird, n’ all.”
Paul took a deep breath. He opened his eyes… scanning the area for his t-shirt. But he could hardly see; his vision was clouded by wetness, and the harsh bright torch light which he was exploited in.
“Shame for YOU.” Keith continued. “Cos … you know… first choice, it would have been a woman. If she’d been alive, we could have both taken her.”
“Shut up.” Paul heard himself mumble. His insides clenched in loathing. The strongest feeling he’d encountered since swallowing those drugs.
“I’m just saying, you wouldn’t think she’d KILL herself! That’s extreme. And selfish. But I’ve seen loads like it.”
Paul saw his t-shirt, and slowly crawled towards it. All movement made his body scream out in agony… excruciating where Keith had broken into him.
“Is that what happened to your mum?” Keith asked.
Paul froze. His body gave up movement… his bloodstream seemed to clot, and his brain congeal. A wash of sick, sick anger overtook him at the sound of THIS MAN, daring mention his mother.
"What the fuck did you just say?" He hissed
But Keith continued.
“She kill herself, did she? Well, you know. Some parents find it hard, having a queer kiddy. Don’t blame yourself, Paulie. I’m sure it wasn’t your fault.”
“Shut up.” He spat again. “Shut the fuck up.”
“Did you bury her? Or was it cremated? Cos if you buried her, she probably looks like this now. All… maggot-infested. Sexy, eh? Not!”
Paul stood up. His chest heaved heavily in fury. His fists clenched manically. His teeth grit, and a scorching pain emitted his whole body. But it wasn’t the violation………… it was pure, sheer rage. Rage like he’d NEVER EVER experienced before.
“I dunno, though. I mean… we could get used to it. You get diseases from shagging dead bodies, but it’s not like we’ve got anything to loose, is it?? I bet your mother would be good. If she’s anything like you, man! Where did you bury her?”
“SHUT THE FUCK UP!” Paul screamed. “SHUT UP! SHUT UP! SHUT UP!”
And that was it.
He saw red. His hands reached out. Keith was yelling something, but Paul couldn’t hear. He was blind, deaf… rapt inside frenzy. He was mad. Crazed. Insane. And he kicked, and he punched, and he clawed, and he ripped. And he didn’t stop. He couldn’t stop. He screamed and cried and tore… like a maniac. Everything that Paul WASN’T… was pouring out of him, in pure, sick rage. And he fought. On behalf of the bodies, on behalf of his violated insides, on behalf of Johns’ love, on behalf of Georges’ touched ankle, on behalf of Keiths next victims, but mainly, on behalf of his mother. She would NOT be talked about like that. Not by this man, not by anyone.
This man would be sorry. He’d make this man VERY FUCKING SORRY.
“I’M SORRY!” George screamed.
Oh God, and he was! He was sorry! He was scared and sorry. He didn’t want to be hurt for this. He didn’t want to blind anybody. He didn’t mean it, he didn’t want to! But Derren didn’t care. He was sightless… he’d lost the most important thing for any human being. And GEORGE had done that.
“I’m SORRY! I’m sorry! I’m sorry!!” George cried.
Because Derren was crawling up the bed. And although blind, it was clear his anger was the thing driving him. And George tried to move backwards, tried to scramble away. But his ankle was so heavy… and his fingers couldn’t take any weight, and he was scared stiff… scared rigid.
“RINGOOO!” He screamed, because he couldn’t do anything! He couldn’t do anything on his own! And he didn’t know what this man was gonna do, but he knew he didn’t like it. He was terrified, and his hands reached out, pushing the man away, but Derren was persistent, and knocked Georges arms away.
And then Derrens fierce, vengeful, furious hands were clasped to George’s neck.
And “I’M SORRY!!” George screeched. And he tried to prise the hands off him, but they were strong, and merciless. And George could see spots… he couldn’t breathe. And he was overcome with fear, and his hands clawed, but did nothing. Achieved nothing.
“Ringo!!”
But so little sound came out. His windpipe and voicebox… clasped inside angry hands.
And he knew then. He should have just taken it. Because blinding this man was the last thing he was ever gonna do.
He had the gun.
Ringo had the gun.
And he didn’t have time. He didn’t have time to mourn, or say sorry, of feel sad about the circumstances in which this gun landed in his possession. He didn’t have time for that. He had the keys… he had the protection.
And now he was running.
He was sprinting from the living room, into the spookily deserted hallway.
He’d find the stairs. He’d find George. He’d get to him, he’d help him.
It’d be okay. He’d get George… they’d get in the truck. Then he’d find John and Paul and everything would be okay… they’d get out of here.
Oh fuck! His heart beat manically, and he felt sick, because nobody was ANYWHERE!! Everything was silent, everybody was gone. And that terrified him more than anything. Where was John? Where was Paul?
He reached the stairs. His foot reached the first step.
Until a VERY familiar voice knocked the wind from his stomach.
It was Paul.
And he was crying.
Only not crying……… he was wailing.
He was emitting sounds Ringo had never heard from ANYONE… and LEAST of all Paul. Not Paul. Not dignified, measured Paul McCartney; Ringo’s greatest friend, with the good nature and cheerful smile and friendly disposition. No way.
Before he knew what he was doing, Ringo was sprinting towards the source of the noise.
The kitchen was still upturned, but a lot of the rubbish had been pushed aside… leading a pathway into…………….
The Garage.
Oh SHIT. Oh… fucking shit.
“Paul???” Ringo called manically. “PAUL?? WHERE ARE YOU?!”
“RINGO!”
And then he was there.
Paul raced from the garage, faster than Ringo had ever seen someone move. And his arms were around Ringos’ neck, and the two were knocked backwards, onto a heap on the floor. And Paul was sobbing. He was saying things, but Ringo couldn’t make out what they were. His head was buried in the drummers neck, and his hands clasping frenziedly to the drummers clothes. He wasn’t wearing a top. His arms were covered in……… was that BLOOD??
“Paul… calm down!” Ringo cried, “Calm down, what’s happening?!”
“Ringo!” Paul sobbed. And he was grabbing Ringos’ body, holding him so close.
Ringo pressed a kiss to the younger mans face, hands running through his hair, and he yelled desperately, “Paul! Tell me what’s happened!!”
“I…… I don’t… I think…”
“WHAT PAUL?? SPEAK!”
“I think… I think I KILLED him, Ringo!!” Paul wailed. And his body was trembling so hard, and his tears falling so fast. “I… he’s … HE’S DEAD!”
“WHO IS??”
“The MAN! The doctor!! HIM! I KILLED HIM!”
“Okay………” Ringo breathed. He was kissing Pauls’ body, anywhere he could reach. Holy shit, to have him in his arms again… It was like with every one that was missing, so was a part of Ringo himself. And now, to have Paul back…
Paul was okay. Paul was alright, that was the main thing. As long as Ringo had Paul, he’d still have a part of himself there. So he held him and he kissed him and he grabbed hold of Paul just as hard as Paul grabbed hold of him.
“It’s okay Paul. It’s alright.” He breathed
“N…no! They’re… THEY’RE GONNA KILL ME!”
“No they won’t!”
“Please…”
“I have to find the others.”
“Stay with me… I’m coming…”
“No, no.”
It killed Ringo. He wanted Paul to come, of course he fucking did!! He wanted to hold onto Paul forever, make sure they were always together, because they were all meant to be. And to let go of Paul again would put Ringo back on his own… with the emptiness.
But Paul was a mess. He couldn’t do anything. And so Ringo knew what he had to do.
“You stay here, Paul.” He said shakily. “You stay here… you hide down here. Nobody’s gonna come.”
“THERE’S DEAD BODIES IN THERE! THEY HUNG THEMSELVES!”
“Okay… LISTEN! LISTEN TO ME! You have to stay down here. Hide. I’m gonna get George… I’m gonna get John.”
“Ringo, I’m scared!” Paul sobbed, “I’m fucking scared, okay???!”
“I KNOW!”
Ringo shook. He was shaking all over. Paul……… he was so terrified, and that scared Ringo no end. And those army men… wherever they were… had all been talking about Paul before, like he was a piece of meat… like he was nothing. They’d victimised HIM with their words, and HIM only.
And now Ringo was gonna leave him HERE? Alone??
He couldn’t do that.
Not without protection.
“Paul…” he breathed. “Paul…… take this.”
And before he knew what he was doing, he was pressing the pistol into Pauls’ hands, and pushing it to Pauls’ bare chest.
“You hold that. Keep it. And nobody will come near you Paul, nobody will.”
“You’re gonna leave…?”
“I have to find the others.” Ringo trembled. “And… and here… here…”
He pulled the keys from his jean pocket. And he was pushing them into Pauls lap. Leaving them in his possession. That way Paul would KNOW Ringo was coming back for him.
“You need to keep these. They’re the keys to a truck. That’s how we’re gonna get out of here!”
“A truck? How did you…”
“Just stay there, keep them, and I’ll be back. But STAY THERE!”
“O…okay, yeah.”
“Don’t do anything! Jus’ look after yourself!”
“Ringo hurry up!”
“I will.”
Ringo was moving towards the kitchen door. He was leaving… again. Leaving behind a part of himself… and his protection… and his escape. Leaving behind somebody he loved, who was tearful and broken.
But he had to do it.
“Paul.” He breathed seriously. “We’re gonna get out of here. We are.”
“Yeah.”
“You just stay there. I’ll be back in 10 minutes. With George and John. I promise.”
Time/Location: Still 7th June 1965
Pairing: John/Paul, George/Ringo.
Warnings: Everything. It's all horrible. Don't even read it.
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?
He was mad. Crazed. Insane.
Authors Notes: I just... I hate this fic. It's horrible. And this is probably the most disturbing chapter yet. I'm sorry. I really didn't write this fic to be sick. I wrote it to push them together as far as they could be pushed. But er... it's just nasty now. But I promise things will get less horrific after this chapter. And if that's me spoiling the plot, so be it. Cos I can't take this shit.
“I have keys.” Jacob spoke calmly.
He was across from Ringo, who was practically on his hands and knees in desperation, and claiming to do anything in the world to see his friends. And that’s ALL Jacob had to say in return??
“I don’t need keys!” Ringo gasped, “I need to get upstairs!”
“I have keys to the truck. The Military truck. It’s parked just across the road.”
Ringo blinked. What the fuck was this guy talking about??
“That’s great.” He muttered distractedly, “But please mate, please, please, please…”
Another high pitched scream from upstairs. One distorted through the walls, but unmistakably a screech of pain and craze and hysterical fear.
“PLEASE!!” Ringo cried again, as panic tore through his blood once more. “PLEASE! ALL I need is to get upstairs!!”
“It’s no use.” Jacob sighed. “They’re not gonna stop, whether you’re there or not.”
“Stop WHAT??!”
Jacob sat down. He pulled a packet of cigarettes from his pocket, lighting one casually.
“Jacob, stop WHAT?? What’s going ON!?”
“You’ll never get out of this city alive. But I can give you the keys to the truck.”
And now Ringo was truly stunned. He couldn’t really comprehend what Jacob was saying to him, and nor could he understand WHY he was saying it. Was it a sick game? A sick trick? This guy wasn’t REALLY going to give Ringo the keys out of here, for Gods sake! So why was he saying such things? Was he just trying to distract Ringo? To stall him? Confuse him? It was fucking working.
“Ringo, we’re not gonna leave.” Jacob said darkly. “My families dead, man. I’ve got nothing. They were killed - by my BROTHER! Okay?? I have nothing for me out there and nor do any of the others. Why do you think we’re here? The army can’t do shit! The ones that have family, are WITH THEM.”
“So……… so what are you saying??” Ringo croaked
“I’m saying I can take the fucking truck, but there’s nowhere I can go with it. Nowhere any of us can. We’ve all watched out families die… our kiddies.”
Ringo swallowed. That was awful. That was so, so sick, and he felt his stomach churn. But there was another scream from upstairs. And FUCK THAT if he was gonna fall for this sympathy vote. He didn’t feel any sympathy for these psychos. Only the families that they lost.
“Have you got family, Ringo?” Jacob asked
Ringo frowned, his fingers twisting around each other in near agony. He didn’t want any more tears to come. This was business now.
“I got a wife.” He muttered. “She’s pregnant. Me first kid, you know.”
Jacob nodded. “And you wanna get to her?”
“Yes. I do. More than………” He swallowed. “I wanna get to her.”
“You can have the keys.” Jacob shrugged. “But you’ve gotta do something for me first.”
“Anything.” Ringo nodded. “Anything. Anything. What?”
Jacob stared at him. His eyes were piercing, but not with the same soulless ferocity Ringo had seen in some of the others. It was evaluating Ringos’ trustworthiness. It was resigning to the fact that he had nothing. It was…… sadness, really. And Ringo couldn’t really blame him.
There was a jingle of metal. And Jacob pulled a set of keys from the inside of his pocket. And Ringos’ heart hammered fast. There, morphed into metal, was freedom. In those keys was Ringos’ ticket to his wife and child. It was his opportunity to get away………… his last hope.
Jacob put them down onto the table. Momentarily out of the way until Ringo had done his job to earn them.
“Wha… what are YOU gonna do then?” Ringo croaked. “If I’ve got the truck?”
Jacob smiled. Shrugged his shoulders. “Look at me. I’ve got nought to live for, mate.”
“You’re gonna let the infected get you?!?”
Again Jacob merely smiled. “They’re calming down, aren’t they? For all we know, they could be all better by now. We’ll see, eh?”
Ringo swallowed.
There were still bangs and sound of fast, hard movement creaking through the ceiling, and he knew time was getting short. His heart hammered in impatience, and his fingers twitched nervously. He was running out of time.
“What do you want then?” He hurried. “I’ll do it. What is it?”
In fact, he kind of already knew what it was, before he was submitted to it.
Jacobs’ eyes trailed downwards, and then back up again to reach Ringo’s eyes. After that he kept eye-contact… those piercing, sad pupils. But Ringo followed his hands. Jacob used one finger to undo the button of his own jeans. And slowly, very slowly, he pulled the zipper down.
Ringo glanced upwards, and his eyes met Jacobs’ again.
And that was all the confirmation he needed.
After that, he knew only too well what he had to do.
“Please…” Paul whispered.
He was so weak, so sick, so scared. His body was limp with drugs and exhaustion and hopelessness. Because he was trapped. He had tried to get away…… and he had failed. There was nothing more he could do now, other than these feeble protests. And his body shook inside Keiths’ arms, as the sickly smell continued to parade his nostrils, and Keith soothed him with patronising words.
“Shh, shh now Paulie, it’s okay.”
“Please.”
“Now, I’m just gonna get you out of these clothes for you…”
“No! Please! PLEASE Keith!”
“Just… stop talkin’. I can’t concentrate if you’re goin’ on at me.”
Keith grit his teeth together. One arm wrapped tightly around Pauls’ body, keeping him standing, and the other snaked down, and began loosening the buttons on his jeans.
Wild, hot tears began to pour from Pauls’ eyelids, the returning need to be sick, the shaking limbs, weak body, hopeless mind. Keiths’ torch sat on the floor, shining in their eyes and obscuring them in a bright light……… highlighting this sick escapade.
“Please, please, please.” He chanted. But his voice was so quiet now, even Keith couldn’t be disturbed by it. He didn’t have the energy anymore. He didn’t have the energy to keep trying… to fight the inevitable. Keith had been eying up meat from the beginning. Paul had seen him looking at George. He’d known as early as that that something was wrong. And now Keiths’ breathing was hard in his ear, as he pulled down the zipper on Pauls’ jeans, allowed the garments to drop to the floor.
And the sick scent of rotting bodies possessed his lungs, and the sick scent of Keiths’ odour make his skin crawl. And he couldn’t. He could feel himself flaking, and he could feel Keiths’ arms tightening in an attempt to keep him upright. And he needed to be sick so badly, and he was gagging. He wasn’t in control of his body anymore, or his mind. He was letting this man tug off his shirt, and kiss the back of his neck, and his ears tensed as he heard Keiths’ zip being tugged downwards.
Oh God.
He couldn’t let this happen.
Not him, not Paul.
He couldn’t let this happen to him………………… because he was Johns’.
He was going to give himself to John. He had decided. Deliberated and decided that he would do it. John was going to be the first, and the only, to take him. And it was going to be perfect. It was going to be EVERYTHING. Then John would know Paul loved him. And it was a big deal. It was. He never thought… never thought he could do that. But he was going to, for John. And now…… now it was all being taken away from him. All those huge choices he’d made, and all his free-will. He was going to give John everything, but now somebody ELSE was taking it. Someone else was ripping it from him, without any care in the world. But it meant so much to Paul. It had meant so much. He couldn’t let this happen.
“Please!!” he cried, desperately.
Keiths’ jeans were on the floor, and he was stepping out of them, and his hands were crawling around Pauls’ flesh on his stomach and thighs. His sick lips smouldered across Pauls’ neck and back. And Paul was so helpless, he couldn’t even move his body. He was exhausted, and losing fight, and limbs so lifeless.
“JOHN!!” He choked. “J-JOHN!!”
The sound echoed uselessly off the garage walls.
And then Keiths’ sweaty palm was slapped to Pauls’ mouth, and his voice was whispering inside the bassists’ ear, “Shh. Stop talking. I need to concentrate.”
They were falling to the floor. Keith couldn’t keep Pauls’ body upright any longer, and allowed them to slump onto the cold concrete ground, with his stomach still pinned against Pauls’ back.
And Paul could feel a growing erection pushing against the back of his leg.
And he couldn’t even make a noise. And with the hand plastered to his lips, he was forced to breathe through his nose, inhaling all the filthy aroma, and the nightmarish odour. It was like he was in a nightmare. It was SO like he was in a nightmare, that he could feel himself succumbing to it. He could feel himself collapsing, and his eyes closing, and the stranger erection pushing against him. And there being NOTHING that he could do to stop this.
The torch blinded him. The sweat covered him. The body plastered to him. The hand suffocated him.
And he was Johns’. Not this mans. Not forced, inside the living hell of the deceased couples hideout. Not torn from him. Not like this… never like this.
His tears streamed from his eyes, and his hand reached back weekly… feebly pushing against the mans stomach. No, no. But it was no good. And pain soared through his body. And his teeth grit together, and he cried out, but no sound came. And his hand was nudging pathetically, trying to move his attacker away.
Keith probably didn’t even feel it.
And so he cried. Small, hopeless whimpers came muffled against the mans hand. And he felt strangeness moving inside of him, pushing in and out in long, deep thrusts. Pain scorching through him - Agony. And he lay on his side, against the ground……… choking on stench and tears…………and waiting for it to all to be over.
The bedroom was now quiet. George had his eyes clenched shut, because he couldn’t bear to look; he couldn’t bear to see the cause of his actions. He couldn’t dare see that man rocking on the ground, with droplets of blood falling between his fingers, as his hands clasped to his wrecked eyeballs.
The whole house was quiet; it was like he was deaf. What had happened to all the screams and shouts? George hadn’t remembered them ever fading……… it was just suddenly still and silent. What had happened to them??? Why were there no protests from Paul and shouting from John?? WHERE WAS RINGO?
“Fuck, fuck, fuck.” The man on the ground whimpered. His voice was so small and pleading. And George wanted to run so badly, but he couldn’t move. And he didn’t know where his friends were. He felt so alone, so scared.
Please somebody come help. He didn’t want to do this anymore. He didn’t want to hurt and be hurt. He couldn’t tolerate that anymore.
And when Derren finally removed his hands from his eyes, and his eyelids were shut. But his teeth were clenched. His fists scrunched into balls.
And George knew he was in big trouble.
Ringo wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. Tasting another mans release… it had been hell. It was degrading, belittling, humiliating. Bending to his knees for another mans pleasure…… the single worst thing he’d had to do.
But now his heart beat in anticipation. Because he’d done what was asked of him. And the keys were just on the table, and they could be his……… his bid for freedom. Just so long as this corrupted army man was true to his word.
“Is that……… Is that it?” Ringo mumbled.
An awkward silence had settled, and Jacob shuffled uncomfortably, pushing himself back into his trousers.
“That’s it.”
Ringos' heart rose a little more, beat a little faster. He’d assumed there was a catch. Surely there was a catch? But he was moving towards the table, and his hand was creeping out, reaching for the keys.
And Jacob did nothing to stop him.
“Don’t look so worried, Ringo.” He muttered. “Take them. They’re yours.”
And so he did. His hand was sliding across the table. And in one, heart-stopping, victorious movement, the keys jangled inside his clutches. The sound of metal chinking against one another was heavenly to his ears… represented his sudden light at the tunnel.
But then he froze.
Why could he hear the clinking of the keys?
Why couldn’t he hear anything else?
The noise upstairs had stopped. And he STILL couldn’t hear any word of Paul… nor John. And in his sweaty palm, he clutched the keys to his chest, and before he could stop himself, more pleads were swimming from his lips.
“Jacob!!” he cried. “You love your family, don’t you!? I know you do, I can see that! And I love my family too. And when you asked… when you asked if I ‘ave a family… I do. But my family… they’re in THIS HOUSE too! And … and I can’t hear them! And I’m scared Jacob, I don’t know what’s going on! I need to get to them, please! I need to get to them; I love them! I love them like you love your family… and I… I dunno where they are or what’s happenin’! And I need to get to them Jacob, PLEASE! PLEASE! Please let me get to them, please!”
“Slow down.” Jacob stated calmly.
Ringo paused, and his breathing was hard and heavy with desperation… his eyes morphed in tears.
“I don’t know where your friends are either.”
“But you can let me go and find them! Please Jacob. Please.”
“You don’t stand a chance, Ringo. They’re armed. They’re not gonna let you……”
“I don’t care. Listen! I can’t hear anything! I have to do something!”
“You’d be foolish.”
“Jacob - think of your family.” Ringo pleaded. “If they were… if you were in my situation… you’d do anything, wouldn’t you?”
Silence filled the room. Blankness. Impassiveness.
“WOULDN’T YOU???” Ringo pressed.
Jacob glanced upwards. And his eyes were no longer sad…… just empty. He had no family. Ringo… he DID have family… for now. And that seemed less and less likely that he would have as the minutes tore on. And Jacob… he understood.
“I would.” He whispered softly.
“Then please.” Ringo croaked.
And then… slowly… so slow it was like time had risen backwards… Jacob nodded his head.
“Oh… THANK YOU!”
“You can have my gun, Ringo.”
“Wha…… What?”
“You can have my gun. You’ll need it.”
“I…… yes. I… thank you!”
Ringo was quite unable to believe this, and yet he NEEDED to believe it. He needed to look ahead, to save his friends. No time for hesitation or untrustworthiness. He needed that gun. And he reached out his hands… ready to clasp the hard, heavy pistol.
“Wait a minute.” Jacob muttered. “When I’M done with it.”
“Wait… what do you mean… what do you mean ‘done with it’??”
And after that, time seemed to slow, and everything seemed to stop moving. Because before his eyes… Jacob was raising the gun to his own head.
“J…Jacob…” Ringo gasped.
His own voice seemed muffled, and far away in some vacuum of reality, while his head swam in fear… and nausea… and realisation.
“JACOB, NO! DON’T!”
The gunshot rang louder, and more piercing, than any noise Ringo had heard before it. It shattered through his ears, cracked in his bloodstream, froze the world, melted his blood. It fired its merciless bullet… into its own owners skull.
And Ringo gagged.
He couldn’t look, he couldn’t even look, he couldn’t see. But he was retching in disgust, and shame, and horror, and sadness, and hysteria……… despair.
Jacobs’ body lay across the ground.
Gone.
Clutching a gun… which in a few minutes, Ringo knew he’d have to prise from the generous fingertips.
Paul was still lay across the hard, concrete ground.
His face was still soaked in his own sweat and tears. His body still shaking, unstopping. His arm was still lay out behind him, where he’d tried to push the body off himself, with no success.
And now he was violated. That was it. Everything was gone. Everything he had to give, was no more. And he hurt all over. And his chest ached in bitter disgust.
Behind him, Keith was stood up.
He was reapplying his own clothing.
He was WHISTLING. He was fucking WHISTLING some … fucking BEATLES tune. Paul couldn’t even remember the title… or the words. He’d never be able to sing or listen to that again anyway.
“Oh stop it!” Keith sighed, listening to the muffled, weak cries that trickled helplessly from the bassists mouth. “Stop it, you sound PITIFUL!”
Paul felt his clothes land on top of his naked, exposed body.
“Get dressed, God. You’re making my heart bleed, here.”
Paul moved his arms… but they felt heavy and rigid. He was dazed, spaced-out, as he pulled his jeans back over himself. His fingers fumbled clumsily as he reapplied the top button. It all felt harsh, as well as numb inside his hands. But he didn’t think it was the drugs fault anymore.
And he tried to ignore it… he tried to shut himself down… as Keith was pacing throughout the garage.
The doctor was moving towards the corpses, and he nudged the woman with his foot, making her swing heavily back and forth. Paul groaned in pain… closing his eyes… unable to look. Somewhere in the black distance, he heard his attacker laugh. A cruel, cold laugh.
“It’s a shame.” He breezed. “She was probably quite a fit bird, n’ all.”
Paul took a deep breath. He opened his eyes… scanning the area for his t-shirt. But he could hardly see; his vision was clouded by wetness, and the harsh bright torch light which he was exploited in.
“Shame for YOU.” Keith continued. “Cos … you know… first choice, it would have been a woman. If she’d been alive, we could have both taken her.”
“Shut up.” Paul heard himself mumble. His insides clenched in loathing. The strongest feeling he’d encountered since swallowing those drugs.
“I’m just saying, you wouldn’t think she’d KILL herself! That’s extreme. And selfish. But I’ve seen loads like it.”
Paul saw his t-shirt, and slowly crawled towards it. All movement made his body scream out in agony… excruciating where Keith had broken into him.
“Is that what happened to your mum?” Keith asked.
Paul froze. His body gave up movement… his bloodstream seemed to clot, and his brain congeal. A wash of sick, sick anger overtook him at the sound of THIS MAN, daring mention his mother.
"What the fuck did you just say?" He hissed
But Keith continued.
“She kill herself, did she? Well, you know. Some parents find it hard, having a queer kiddy. Don’t blame yourself, Paulie. I’m sure it wasn’t your fault.”
“Shut up.” He spat again. “Shut the fuck up.”
“Did you bury her? Or was it cremated? Cos if you buried her, she probably looks like this now. All… maggot-infested. Sexy, eh? Not!”
Paul stood up. His chest heaved heavily in fury. His fists clenched manically. His teeth grit, and a scorching pain emitted his whole body. But it wasn’t the violation………… it was pure, sheer rage. Rage like he’d NEVER EVER experienced before.
“I dunno, though. I mean… we could get used to it. You get diseases from shagging dead bodies, but it’s not like we’ve got anything to loose, is it?? I bet your mother would be good. If she’s anything like you, man! Where did you bury her?”
“SHUT THE FUCK UP!” Paul screamed. “SHUT UP! SHUT UP! SHUT UP!”
And that was it.
He saw red. His hands reached out. Keith was yelling something, but Paul couldn’t hear. He was blind, deaf… rapt inside frenzy. He was mad. Crazed. Insane. And he kicked, and he punched, and he clawed, and he ripped. And he didn’t stop. He couldn’t stop. He screamed and cried and tore… like a maniac. Everything that Paul WASN’T… was pouring out of him, in pure, sick rage. And he fought. On behalf of the bodies, on behalf of his violated insides, on behalf of Johns’ love, on behalf of Georges’ touched ankle, on behalf of Keiths next victims, but mainly, on behalf of his mother. She would NOT be talked about like that. Not by this man, not by anyone.
This man would be sorry. He’d make this man VERY FUCKING SORRY.
“I’M SORRY!” George screamed.
Oh God, and he was! He was sorry! He was scared and sorry. He didn’t want to be hurt for this. He didn’t want to blind anybody. He didn’t mean it, he didn’t want to! But Derren didn’t care. He was sightless… he’d lost the most important thing for any human being. And GEORGE had done that.
“I’m SORRY! I’m sorry! I’m sorry!!” George cried.
Because Derren was crawling up the bed. And although blind, it was clear his anger was the thing driving him. And George tried to move backwards, tried to scramble away. But his ankle was so heavy… and his fingers couldn’t take any weight, and he was scared stiff… scared rigid.
“RINGOOO!” He screamed, because he couldn’t do anything! He couldn’t do anything on his own! And he didn’t know what this man was gonna do, but he knew he didn’t like it. He was terrified, and his hands reached out, pushing the man away, but Derren was persistent, and knocked Georges arms away.
And then Derrens fierce, vengeful, furious hands were clasped to George’s neck.
And “I’M SORRY!!” George screeched. And he tried to prise the hands off him, but they were strong, and merciless. And George could see spots… he couldn’t breathe. And he was overcome with fear, and his hands clawed, but did nothing. Achieved nothing.
“Ringo!!”
But so little sound came out. His windpipe and voicebox… clasped inside angry hands.
And he knew then. He should have just taken it. Because blinding this man was the last thing he was ever gonna do.
He had the gun.
Ringo had the gun.
And he didn’t have time. He didn’t have time to mourn, or say sorry, of feel sad about the circumstances in which this gun landed in his possession. He didn’t have time for that. He had the keys… he had the protection.
And now he was running.
He was sprinting from the living room, into the spookily deserted hallway.
He’d find the stairs. He’d find George. He’d get to him, he’d help him.
It’d be okay. He’d get George… they’d get in the truck. Then he’d find John and Paul and everything would be okay… they’d get out of here.
Oh fuck! His heart beat manically, and he felt sick, because nobody was ANYWHERE!! Everything was silent, everybody was gone. And that terrified him more than anything. Where was John? Where was Paul?
He reached the stairs. His foot reached the first step.
Until a VERY familiar voice knocked the wind from his stomach.
It was Paul.
And he was crying.
Only not crying……… he was wailing.
He was emitting sounds Ringo had never heard from ANYONE… and LEAST of all Paul. Not Paul. Not dignified, measured Paul McCartney; Ringo’s greatest friend, with the good nature and cheerful smile and friendly disposition. No way.
Before he knew what he was doing, Ringo was sprinting towards the source of the noise.
The kitchen was still upturned, but a lot of the rubbish had been pushed aside… leading a pathway into…………….
The Garage.
Oh SHIT. Oh… fucking shit.
“Paul???” Ringo called manically. “PAUL?? WHERE ARE YOU?!”
“RINGO!”
And then he was there.
Paul raced from the garage, faster than Ringo had ever seen someone move. And his arms were around Ringos’ neck, and the two were knocked backwards, onto a heap on the floor. And Paul was sobbing. He was saying things, but Ringo couldn’t make out what they were. His head was buried in the drummers neck, and his hands clasping frenziedly to the drummers clothes. He wasn’t wearing a top. His arms were covered in……… was that BLOOD??
“Paul… calm down!” Ringo cried, “Calm down, what’s happening?!”
“Ringo!” Paul sobbed. And he was grabbing Ringos’ body, holding him so close.
Ringo pressed a kiss to the younger mans face, hands running through his hair, and he yelled desperately, “Paul! Tell me what’s happened!!”
“I…… I don’t… I think…”
“WHAT PAUL?? SPEAK!”
“I think… I think I KILLED him, Ringo!!” Paul wailed. And his body was trembling so hard, and his tears falling so fast. “I… he’s … HE’S DEAD!”
“WHO IS??”
“The MAN! The doctor!! HIM! I KILLED HIM!”
“Okay………” Ringo breathed. He was kissing Pauls’ body, anywhere he could reach. Holy shit, to have him in his arms again… It was like with every one that was missing, so was a part of Ringo himself. And now, to have Paul back…
Paul was okay. Paul was alright, that was the main thing. As long as Ringo had Paul, he’d still have a part of himself there. So he held him and he kissed him and he grabbed hold of Paul just as hard as Paul grabbed hold of him.
“It’s okay Paul. It’s alright.” He breathed
“N…no! They’re… THEY’RE GONNA KILL ME!”
“No they won’t!”
“Please…”
“I have to find the others.”
“Stay with me… I’m coming…”
“No, no.”
It killed Ringo. He wanted Paul to come, of course he fucking did!! He wanted to hold onto Paul forever, make sure they were always together, because they were all meant to be. And to let go of Paul again would put Ringo back on his own… with the emptiness.
But Paul was a mess. He couldn’t do anything. And so Ringo knew what he had to do.
“You stay here, Paul.” He said shakily. “You stay here… you hide down here. Nobody’s gonna come.”
“THERE’S DEAD BODIES IN THERE! THEY HUNG THEMSELVES!”
“Okay… LISTEN! LISTEN TO ME! You have to stay down here. Hide. I’m gonna get George… I’m gonna get John.”
“Ringo, I’m scared!” Paul sobbed, “I’m fucking scared, okay???!”
“I KNOW!”
Ringo shook. He was shaking all over. Paul……… he was so terrified, and that scared Ringo no end. And those army men… wherever they were… had all been talking about Paul before, like he was a piece of meat… like he was nothing. They’d victimised HIM with their words, and HIM only.
And now Ringo was gonna leave him HERE? Alone??
He couldn’t do that.
Not without protection.
“Paul…” he breathed. “Paul…… take this.”
And before he knew what he was doing, he was pressing the pistol into Pauls’ hands, and pushing it to Pauls’ bare chest.
“You hold that. Keep it. And nobody will come near you Paul, nobody will.”
“You’re gonna leave…?”
“I have to find the others.” Ringo trembled. “And… and here… here…”
He pulled the keys from his jean pocket. And he was pushing them into Pauls lap. Leaving them in his possession. That way Paul would KNOW Ringo was coming back for him.
“You need to keep these. They’re the keys to a truck. That’s how we’re gonna get out of here!”
“A truck? How did you…”
“Just stay there, keep them, and I’ll be back. But STAY THERE!”
“O…okay, yeah.”
“Don’t do anything! Jus’ look after yourself!”
“Ringo hurry up!”
“I will.”
Ringo was moving towards the kitchen door. He was leaving… again. Leaving behind a part of himself… and his protection… and his escape. Leaving behind somebody he loved, who was tearful and broken.
But he had to do it.
“Paul.” He breathed seriously. “We’re gonna get out of here. We are.”
“Yeah.”
“You just stay there. I’ll be back in 10 minutes. With George and John. I promise.”