Pumpkin Pie 8, Pomelo 27: Guilty
Title: Guilty
Main Story: In The Heart
Flavors, Toppings, Extras: Pumpkin pie 8 (a body), pomelo 27 (He who seeks revenge should dig two graves), My Treat (Someone crosses Danny. She does not respond well.), cherry (apocalyptic fiction), chopped nuts (apocalypse), malt (Summer Challenge 399: no-one's going to stop me now), hot fudge (in this AU she very much is).
Word Count: 571
Rating: R
Summary: She knew what she was doing.
Notes: Sequel to Infection, which in many ways was a setup for this story.
WARNING: depiction of viral infection, specifically hemorrhagic fever,, survivor's guilt, depiction of a form of suicide. This is a very dark story; please read with care!
She knew what she was doing. She knew, too, that no one would ever believe that, but she knew what she was doing, and she did it anyway.
The body was easy enough to find. So many dead these days-- it was a little surprising that she hadn't come across one sooner. But here it was, flat on its back, arms and legs spread-eagle, open eyes staring blankly at the sun.
Danny squatted beside it, hands hanging loosely from her wrists, and looked at it for a while. Definitely what she needed-- there were the red patches all over the naked torso, swellings under the arms, bloody froth at the lips.
She sat back on her heels and looked up at the sky, at the clear and flawless blue arching over her head. It was October and the deaths were slowing as the season slid toward winter-- he'd be off guard. Not that he'd be expecting anyone anyway. The cabin was well-hidden and quiet. If he'd stocked up enough...
And she knew he had. It was what she would have done.
He could have saved Michael. He was going to hole up here, with his precious new family, he could have taken his oldest son along with him. He even fucking went into Seattle to get the supplies he needed-- the cabin wasn't far from Seattle and the plague hadn't come there when he'd holed up. The son of a bitch probably walked right past Michael's apartment and never even blinked.
He could have saved Michael. She knew he could have.
So many people dead. So many people who didn't deserve it, coughing out their lives in overcrowded hospital wings. Her friends. Her shipmates. Lars. Nathan.
Michael.
She'd wanted to die when she got the news. She still did, in some ways.
All this while the son of a bitch who called himself their father lived quietly in Aunt Jennifer's cabin, the cabin that belonged to her mother now and not his pretty new wife, the cabin that he had no right to that had saved his life. He stood in the clean air, among the trees, and he lived, and if he thought at all about the millions of innocent people dying not twenty miles from where he stood-- well, he probably didn't.
He would soon. She'd make him.
"You could have saved Michael," she would say to him, when he opened the door. She'd be staggering by then, the red patches evident on her arms and her chest. "I know you're way too much of a bastard to care about anyone else, but you could have saved him. You could have saved Michael, and you didn't, and for that you deserve to die."
He would back away then, she thought. He would try to run, to save himself. But by then it would be a hundred times too late, for both of them.
She wasn't too far from the cabin now-- maybe the plague would get to him in time, but she wasn't going to leave anything to chance, not with something this important at stake. She'd do what she needed to, then she would camp out until the signs appeared. Then she'd go and find him, and give him her message.
Good people died. Why shouldn't you?
She took her mask off, leaned over the body, and inhaled. It was strange how easy it was.
Why shouldn't you?
Main Story: In The Heart
Flavors, Toppings, Extras: Pumpkin pie 8 (a body), pomelo 27 (He who seeks revenge should dig two graves), My Treat (Someone crosses Danny. She does not respond well.), cherry (apocalyptic fiction), chopped nuts (apocalypse), malt (Summer Challenge 399: no-one's going to stop me now), hot fudge (in this AU she very much is).
Word Count: 571
Rating: R
Summary: She knew what she was doing.
Notes: Sequel to Infection, which in many ways was a setup for this story.
WARNING: depiction of viral infection, specifically hemorrhagic fever,, survivor's guilt, depiction of a form of suicide. This is a very dark story; please read with care!
She knew what she was doing. She knew, too, that no one would ever believe that, but she knew what she was doing, and she did it anyway.
The body was easy enough to find. So many dead these days-- it was a little surprising that she hadn't come across one sooner. But here it was, flat on its back, arms and legs spread-eagle, open eyes staring blankly at the sun.
Danny squatted beside it, hands hanging loosely from her wrists, and looked at it for a while. Definitely what she needed-- there were the red patches all over the naked torso, swellings under the arms, bloody froth at the lips.
She sat back on her heels and looked up at the sky, at the clear and flawless blue arching over her head. It was October and the deaths were slowing as the season slid toward winter-- he'd be off guard. Not that he'd be expecting anyone anyway. The cabin was well-hidden and quiet. If he'd stocked up enough...
And she knew he had. It was what she would have done.
He could have saved Michael. He was going to hole up here, with his precious new family, he could have taken his oldest son along with him. He even fucking went into Seattle to get the supplies he needed-- the cabin wasn't far from Seattle and the plague hadn't come there when he'd holed up. The son of a bitch probably walked right past Michael's apartment and never even blinked.
He could have saved Michael. She knew he could have.
So many people dead. So many people who didn't deserve it, coughing out their lives in overcrowded hospital wings. Her friends. Her shipmates. Lars. Nathan.
Michael.
She'd wanted to die when she got the news. She still did, in some ways.
All this while the son of a bitch who called himself their father lived quietly in Aunt Jennifer's cabin, the cabin that belonged to her mother now and not his pretty new wife, the cabin that he had no right to that had saved his life. He stood in the clean air, among the trees, and he lived, and if he thought at all about the millions of innocent people dying not twenty miles from where he stood-- well, he probably didn't.
He would soon. She'd make him.
"You could have saved Michael," she would say to him, when he opened the door. She'd be staggering by then, the red patches evident on her arms and her chest. "I know you're way too much of a bastard to care about anyone else, but you could have saved him. You could have saved Michael, and you didn't, and for that you deserve to die."
He would back away then, she thought. He would try to run, to save himself. But by then it would be a hundred times too late, for both of them.
She wasn't too far from the cabin now-- maybe the plague would get to him in time, but she wasn't going to leave anything to chance, not with something this important at stake. She'd do what she needed to, then she would camp out until the signs appeared. Then she'd go and find him, and give him her message.
Good people died. Why shouldn't you?
She took her mask off, leaned over the body, and inhaled. It was strange how easy it was.
Why shouldn't you?