Chapter Text
"Why are we packing?" Gray asked, the innocent whisper of his voice almost distracted his father while he scurried about the house in a panicked frenzy, shoving things in bags he wasn't aware they even had. Unfortunately for Gray, they could'nt afford to waste any moments. Time was crucial.
"It's not safe here... Not anymore." His father spat, a tone of voice that had only been reserved for their mother until the news of chaos in Europe. "People are getting... Sick... And we need to leave."
"But..." Gray tugged on his dad's sleave. "I thought they couldn't get over here."
Zach intervened, pulling his brother away from their father. "Well, they are." Zach put it bluntly, "You need to go upstairs and pack your things."
Gray nodded, jogging lightly as he headed towards the flight of stairs. Before he disappeared up the second floor, he asked, "They're here... Aren't they?"
"Go get your things." Their fathers voice was a growl full malicious intent, something to tell Gray not to ask questions he didn't want to answer.
"What about Mom?" Gray asked
Hours prior, their mother had went out to pick up groceries. All was fine until their father hung up from a call swearing and pacing about the kitchen. It was all too fast for Zach to comprehend anything. So when Zach's father told him to 'pack his shit now.', he felt no need to ask questions in fear of physical repercussions.
"I said, go.get.your.things."
Gray ran up the steps without another word. Against his father's wishes, Zach followed close behind his brother up the flight of stairs. Gray was a sensitive thing... And while Zach had his fair share of flaws and kinks, It was his job to console his brother. Their father could be hard sometimes. Zach could never be the wall Gray needed to protect him from the tyranny of life, but he could always be his counselor.
Zach followed his brother into his room. Gray threw himself on his bed, burring his face in his pillows.
"Hey..." Zach huffed, sitting on the edge of his brothers bed, trying not to andmire the tidiness of the room. "What's wrong?".
In reality, Zach knew exactly what was wrong. He couldn't find the words to express how he shared his brothers fear. So he rubbed small circles on his siblings back, causing Gray to shudder and weep.
"...I'm scared too." Zach admitted. He's seen online what the infected are capable of. He's seen what they do to their victims. He's seen the chaos in London through phone cameras and YouTube videos.
"He- he's gonna le- leave m-om." Gray cried into his pillow, taking large and heaving breaths to compensate for the tears.
"No!" Zach assured, "not at all. After Dad's done packing, I'm sure he's gonna grab mom's stuff too and we're gonna go pick her up at the store."
"I'm not a- a kid." Gray sniffled, "don't lie t- to me."
"I wouldn't." Zach frowned... He wasn't entirely sure he was telling the truth. His father did plan to pack their mothers stuff as well. But he couldn't tell if the things he packed were for keepsakes, or for their mother.
Outside, Zach could hear sirens. Police and ambulances drove down the street at breakneck speed.
"Now, just grab some clothes and-"
*Thunk. Thunk. Thunk.*
"Mrs. Williams, get away from the door now!" Their fathers voice was muffled through the floor boards. Zach could hear the noise of someone smacking their sliding glass door from downstiairs.
"Stay up here and lock the door." Zach's face grew flush as his heart's beat almost became erratic.
Gray looked up from his pillow. "Please don't leave me alone." Gray pleaded, Brown shaggy bangs covering his bloodshot and teary eyes.
Zach pinched himself, not knowing what to do. "...Just stay quiet and lock the door."
He closed the door behind him and waited beside it for a moment. When he heard the click of the lock, he took cautious steps downstairs and through their living room. Rounding the corner into their kitchen, he saw his father, who was physically distrought and wielding a knife. Zach walked closer and peered over his father's shoulders.
Outside the glass door was Mrs. Williams, their neighbor. She wore her work uniform, which was a sleek pansuit. But one of her arms was badly injuried. Her entire sleeve was bloodied and still wet, slathering the glass with her biological graffiti. Her hazelnut skin was yellowed and looked of wax. Her relentless assault on the glass door wouldn't stop.
Zach had seen plenty of what that was on the internet. She was sick...
"Mikayla," Zach's father pleaded. "You need to get away from the door."
"Dad!" Zach hissed at his father, trying to get his attention. "She's sick. You need to-"
"Don't you think I already know that!" His father bellowed angrily, causing the woman outside their door to become more agitated. Her languid movements now more aggressive and gurgling voice even louder than before.
Zach's father turned back towards the door. "Okay... You're sick, you can stay out there while I call an ambulance. I'm sure they can still help you."
"That's not going to do any good!" Zach pleaded. He took a look at his neighbors face. Her Brown eyes had clouded over, the whites of her eyes a noxious yellow color. Her face was impossibly bloody, a crimson handprint covered her cheek.
Without warning, another figure had lazily shambled themself next to her.
It was her son, miming his mother's movements. He was no older than Zach, but much taller. The crook of the teens neck was a mangled mess. The teens head layed lopsided without the muscles of his neck to support it. Zach cringed at the horrific wound.
The two, mother and son, reduced to nothing more than croaking biohazards that knew nothing but to smack glass doors.
"Fuck it." Their father mumbled to himself. "I'm getting the gun." And without warning hurried away, leaving Zach by his lonesome.
His neighbors looked nothing like they usually did. Zach wanted to call out to them. But he didnt. He took tentative steps towards a broom that rested beside a kitchen counter.
His timid movements came to no avail, as Mrs. Williams began smashing her face against the glass door, using her forehead to thrash and destroy. After the third hit, the glass cracked. When the fourth came, the glass gave way, shattering into millions of peices as Mrs. Williams came barreling into the room, falling over and hitting the kitchen floor with a loud thud.
Zach's fingers curled around the wooden broom, adrenaline pumping through his blood. He wanted nothing more than to run, run and hide for God knows how long. But he couldn't move, petrafied now that nothing separated him from what was throwing the world into chaos.
He could hear the blood rush in his ears, feel an intense throbbing behind his eyes. A nervous sweet trickled down his brow.
Mrs. Williams was stagnant, nothing but a lump on the floor. She hit the floor hard, and Zach wished she would never get back up. But for her son, that was an entirely different story. Zach could smell the musty iron scent of blood from the teen, his head swayed lazily where muscle and connective tissue should have been.
He was a monster, and he was heading straight for Zach.
Zach backed away from the boy. "Don't come any closer!" Zach tried to sound intimidating, but his voice cracked and quivered.
The teen didn't listen, all Zach received in response was a gurgled attempt at a growl as the boy quickened his awkward limp.
Panicked, Zach took a daring step forward and swung the broom with all the might he could muster. The wood snapped as it cracked over the boys skull, sending the boy spiralling onto the floor.
Zach sighed, still clutching half of a broom. 'is it over?', he thought.
The boy twitched, shuddering on the ground before slowly rising to his feet. His recovery was almost flawless, as if Zach had never struck him upside the head with a broom. Something strained and muffled left the teens throat as he continued towards Zach.
"Zach?!" A small voice calmly cooed, absolutely ignorant of the current situation. "I heard-"
Zach made a mistake... He turned around to meet his brothers eyes, and saw all that was Gray's childhood, memories and all, fade away. Gray paled, the sight of somebody with half a neck inspired a fear so great in him that all he could do watch as his brother met the bloody embrace of the sick.
Zach felt the ice-cold hand wrap around his shoulder. He could do no more than yelp as he waitied oblivion.
*Bang*
___________________
Zach awoke, clutching his chest as he nearly rolled himself into a nightstand. He was freezing, shivering even, but a thin sheen of sweat hung uncomfortably from his skin. He felt dewy, and didn't like it.
As he came to terms with being awake, he tried to wrap his head around the startling dream. Dream, was it? To him, it was more of a memory. Back when it had started... The first time he felt the fridged, dead fingers of the infected was a memory he would never forget. That fatefull day as well would be the first time he'd been drenched in blood.
His father shot the boy before he could sink his teeth into his son's flesh.
He also lost Gray that day. Not in the way he'd lost his friends, parents, you name it. But he had lost him emotionally. The physical Gray slept silently on a matress next to Zach, but the Gray who use to be a spitfire trivia almanac, who loved zoology too much for his own good. Was gone. Every now and then would Gray speak, during 'meals' or the sunsets. But other than that, he was reletivly silent.
Zach shivered, trying to repress the memory of his first day of hell. He had chores to do before his brother woke up.
First, Zach tidied up the nest of blankets he slept in that laid on the floor. He felt uncomfortable sleeping in a bed that never belonged to him (and most likely belonged to someone dead and gone). So he let his younger brother have the luxary of a matress.
Second. He were to climb out the bedroom window and make his way to the roof. It had rained the previous night. And if the various pots, pans, and other water recepticals they left on the roof didn't fall off, the boys wouldn't have to worry about dehydration for a week. Luck was on their side that morning, each reservoir had been filled to the brim with water. Zach fistbumbed the air, hissing a tiny 'yes' to celebrate.
Third, after bringing the water in, he were to check the cabinets downstairs for any remaining food. The two had lived in an abandoned home for nearly four months. Any food they found, they would bring it back and eat it the very next day. With copious amounts of water enough to bathe in, it was almost laughable to compare it to their rations.
Zach opened a cabinet to find a measly can of baked beans.
Taking a can opener, punctered the tin of the can. The can hissed in protest, off-gassing it's foul smell into Zach's face. They had gone bad.
Zach walked back to the bedroom and shook his brother awake.
"Up up," Zach said. "For breakfast we have baked beans, fermented so long they smell like they've already been eaten."
Gray groaned.
"Tough crowd," Zach shook Gray again. "We just need to take a quick look outside and see if we can scrounge anything up."
"...sure." He was hesitant to respond, but with the promise of food, spoke back to his brother.
Zach smiled.
Ten minutes later, the brothers were dressed and ready for the outside world. Their plan was to head to the strip mall by their living space to check if there was anything they had missed previously on their last search.
The walk was long. But it gave the brothers time to observe. Observe what their world had become. Everything had overgrown with nobody to care for things like lawns. And if something had a window, it was smashed. Two years had made everything decrepit. Everything was lonely.
"Zach!" Zach was startled to hear Gray's voice sound chipper... Something he hadn't heard in a long time. "Over there!"
In the distance was a silver truck. A car that had not been there before on their previous search. The driver's door was left ajar, the driver's window was covered opaque with blood. Whoever the car belonged to was long gone, Zach hoped.
The two brothers approached the car with caution. Zach gave Gray a stern look, telling him to hang low as he approached the car first.
"Hello?" Zach called out, not looking for a response.
A moment passed, letting the two believe that they had nobody to worry about... That was, until an elderly voice called back to the Mitchell brothers.
"Shit!" The voice was elderly, charming even. But there was an underlying tone of distress that didn't sit quite right with Zach. "One of 'em bastards took a bite right outta' me." The lady then swung the door open, aiming a revolver at Zach as she left her wounded arm lazily on her lap. " 'nother step closer, 'n you're gonna be lookin' like him." She lowered her weapon to point at a body of an infected man that lie on the pavement. The man had a knife stuck in his skull, and the river of blood that flowed from him was still fresh.
"No ma'am..." Zach put his hand up. He wondered how Gray must of felt, watching helpless as his brother is held by gunpoint a couple yards away. "I'm not here to hurt anyone." Zach eyed the gun. If that thing went off, they would no longer have to worry about the elderly woman. Sound to the infected was like a dinner bell to starving soldiers.
"...Alrighty then." The woman retracted the revolver. "I'm way too old for this bullshit."
Zach laughed. It was genually funny, but he exaggerated it and turned the laugh into a nervous giggle.
"If you're not 'ere to hurt me. Then I don't think you'll mind me doin' this." The lady sighed, relaxing herself into the trucks seat as she brought the revolver back up. This time, to her own head.
"No! Don't-"
By the time he pleaded, it was too late. the gun went off with a spectacular bang, the lady's brain matter paintng the interior of the truck.
That was loud... Really loud.