aomine/kagami, zombie apocalypse au

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[ unbeing dead ]

(isn't being alive)

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| 1 |

—silent city—

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There was a screeching noise coming from outside.

Kuroko, who was closest to the door, and currently hunched over a chair with a tattered book in hand, seemed unaffected by the sound. He turned the page of his book, eyes darting across the falling-apart pages, but made no other motion to move.

"Make it shut up," Aomine growled from his unofficial spot on the sofa, where he was sprawled on now, a blanket draped over but not quite fully covering his long limbs. It was drafty in the room, but not nearly as cold for him to become desperate enough to scrounge for blankets. "I can't fucking sleep."

Momoi, half buried on the loveseat under a slew of papers, threw a throw pillow at him. "If we kill them now, the smell will attract others, Ahomine."

"Don't call me Ahomine," Aomine complained, bringing the pillow near his face to rest his head on it before throwing it back onto the ground in disgust at the smell. "Fuck, it's rancid." He sat up a little, stretching both arms in the air to remove a crick in his neck, and then promptly collapsed back onto the sofa, the springs protesting loudly.

The screeching noise grew louder in volume.

"Don't be so stupid, then," Momoi said, giving him a disparaging stare, and stopped riffling through the pile of paper in front of her. "I'll stop calling you Ahomine when you stop competing with Kise over how many people you can stab to bits."

Aomine sat up again, offended by the accusation. "I told you a million times, they're not people anymore." He pushed the blanket away, where it pooled onto the floor, and swung both legs off the sofa and onto the floor. "For fuck's sake, they try to eat you and you defend them."

"At least show them some leniency," Momoi snapped. She stood up from the loveseat, placing her hands on both hips, a sign that the argument was about to become heated, as it always did when they discussed this topic. A few loose papers in front of her scattered with the action, although it was ignored. "It's not right, what you're doing, desecrating the bodies of children and joking about it later!"

"But they're not human!" Aomine shouted back, standing up to his full height. He was a good foot taller than her, and stockier, built of pure, bulky muscle instead of Momoi's lean frame. The difference in size was almost laughable. "I do what I need to survive, Satsuki. I don't understand why you can't—"

Kuroko stood up abruptly and dropped his book onto the ground with a loud thud, startling them both into silence. He walked into the kitchen while they both stared at him dumbly, grabbing a steak knife from the cupboard as well as a spray bottle of disinfectant and rag. Carefully, with steady hands, he sprayed disinfectant over the entire length of the knife and wiped it thoroughly with the rag.

"Oi, Tetsu," Aomine said slowly, incredulously. "You're not really thinking of killing it?"

Kuroko ignored him, examining the length of the blade and seemingly deciding that it was satisfactory. He turned around, once again bypassing his stunned audience, and made to open the door.

The hinges creaked as the door was pushed out, a blast of cold air from the outside instantly filling the room before the door slammed close. The sound was enough to bring them both to their senses, blinking rapidly in confusion, before sharing a mutual look of alarm.

"Go after him," Momoi said, automatically. This was your fault, her eyes seemed to say.

Aomine didn't bother to stay behind and argue. He grabbed a knife from under the coffee table, wrenched open the door and stepped out onto hard concrete, narrowing his eyes and peering through the haze of dust that seemed to engulf everything in a tint of siena.

The town was deserted, as it had been for the past few months. Most the residents had either fled or been met with a grisly end when the infection broke out, and those that stayed only went out when they needed to scavenge for supplies. Whatever thing that was now terrorizing the town must have been the remnants some idiot survivor that looked in the wrong place for food; most of the infected stayed outside of the town and in the cities instead, where prey was easier to find and the flat terrain more convenient to traverse.

Aomine followed the noise, breaking into a light jog until he reached the nearby town square, where the screeching sound reached an apex. It was easy to find Kuroko in the middle of this desolate wasteland, his back pressed behind the rotting wall of an apartment complex and fingers fiddling with the knife in his hands. He saw Aomine coming toward him and gestured for him to be quiet, pointing in the general direction of where the stores were located.

Aomine ducked behind a pillar in a similar fashion to Kuroko, straining his neck and trying to see what he was going against. In the distance, a figure ambled aimlessly in front of what had once been the convenience store all three of them had frequented back in high school, its mouth opened in a seemingly permanent O shape.

Upon closer inspection, he realized that it was a woman. It was bad shape for what must have been newly infected ago; a gaping, putrid wound was on its neck, surrounded by jagged teeth and claw marks that suggested whoever it was had put up a decent struggle before succumbing to an ultimately painful death. The shoulder had been damaged to the point where the clavicle bone poked out, trails of bloody flesh still grasping onto it as if it were a lifeline. It had stringy blonde hair down to its midsection that must have looked beautiful when it was alive, although now it was clumped together with grime and dust and vaguely resembled natto.

"Shit, that's fucking nasty," Aomine said, making a face at the gore, although he was too accustomed to such sights to be truly disgusted. A sudden thought occurred to him a moment later: "What do you think a foreigner's doing in this area for?"

Kuroko tilted his head, pondering. "It's probably from the city." It wasn't too far from a stretch; Tokyo, the city that had been the epicenter of the infection in Japan, was only about a hundred miles away. Probably a week's walk for an undead that didn't take any breaks, maybe even a few days if he was being generous.

They shared a mutual glance. Aomine rubbed his fingers against his knife, feeling the comforting coolness against his skin.

"So, you want to solo it or together?" Aomine asked, although it was a pointless question. Kuroko always worked in teams, unlike Kise, or himself, or hell, even Akashi. All the male machismo that the others waved around never seemed to go to the other boy's head, which was why it had always confounded Aomine that Momoi had grown a crush on Kuroko of all people.

Girls. They were impossible to understand.

Kuroko raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. "This isn't any time for trifling matters."

Aomine huffed at the response. Kuroko was just as hard to understand as Momoi, maybe even harder, which, thinking on it, was probably the reason that they got along so uncommonly well. Aomine sometimes felt a little left out as part of the trio, but it wasn't that bad. Venting his anger out on Kise or aggravating Midorima always made his mood lift.

"On three?" Aomine offered finally. Kuroko nodded back.

"Three."

"Two." He took a deep breath, slowly exhaling.

"One!" Both of them rushed out at the same time. The zombie's attention automatically focused on Aomine, the bigger and flashier target, a vicious expression forming on its face as it slowly ambled towards him.

"Tetsu, from the back!" Aomine shouted, and he saw the other boy give a wave of affirmation. This was how they always killed together: Aomine served as general zombie bait and front-line attacker, and Kuroko stabbed them in the neck when they were too busy drooling after Aomine's flesh.

A rush of adrenaline pumped through him. He yelled loudly, running towards the zombie with the knife raised over his head. His target seemed to be in a starved frenzy, movements erratic as its fingers made futile grabbing motions towards him.

He kicked it in the chest, stabbing it onto the weakened shoulder. The zombie doubled back, screeching in what must have been agony, or maybe rage. As it did, its entire right arm fell onto the ground, giving a few weak twitches before ultimately stilling. An indescript puke brown liquid with a sludge-like consistency began to pool slowly over the concrete.

Aomine stifled the mouthful of bile that threatened to come up his throat; despite months, maybe even years of seeing gore and guts, the sight was unnerving, to say the least. He sharply breathed in, trying to steady himself, before turning his attention back to the zombie. It had recovered from the blow, and was coming back for more with an enraged expression on his face.

Great. Fucking fantastic. He looked around the perimeter for any sign of Kuroko, but his friend was nowhere to be seen.

"Well, it looks like it's just you and me," Aomine smiled, baring his teeth. The zombie snarled back, reaching its remaining hand towards him.

He approached it again, this time aiming higher. The zombie howled as he slammed the butt of his knife into its eye socket, causing a putrid red liquid to drip out onto its face. Another kick, and it was forced back again, looking like a monster from a C-list horror flick. Before it could recover this time, however, Kuroko reappeared, stabbing the zombie in the back of the neck while it was still focused on Aomine.

It dropped faster than his grades in senior high, its limbs splayed awkwardly on the ground.

"Fuck," Aomine said, glancing at the splatters of congealed blood that had gotten on his shirt. "Fuck, fuck, Satsuki's gonna yell at me again."

"It's your fault for being careless," Kuroko said, crossing his arms. He looked unimpressed.

Aomine poked at his shirt, wondering how long it would take for the stain to come off. Three weeks, he guessed, and grimaced, imagining scrubbing at it with the laundry press. The image was too pitiful for him to imagine, and he turned back to his original train of thought. "What took you so long, anyway?"

Kuroko pointed to a spot near the entrance of what had been the old grocery store. Aomine looked in the direction, but could only see an indescribable black shape. Another zombie? "Someone tried to stop me from killing that woman, so I knocked him out before I came to help you." He sounded bored, turning to leave back to the apartment building.

"Fuck, fuck, Tetsu, tell these things to me sooner," Aomine said, making a face. He walked towards the body(?)—was Kuroko's mood bad enough today to murder another human?—with an annoyed sigh; if his friend had killed someone, they would have to bury the body before any zombie came in search of a tasty snack. Great. Absolutely fantastic. He could imagine Momoi's angry face as she gave them another lengthy lecture.

It was a boy, he noticed, as he walked closer; maybe his age, or a little younger, with shocking red hair that was starting to turn back to its natural black at the roots. He looked like the stereotypical punk with a black wifebeater and all, although Aomine couldn't really say anything, considering how often he himself was mistaken for delinquent. There wasn't any blood anywhere on the body, which was always a good sign, but a noticeable bruise over his forehead where Kuroko must have whacked him with the butt of his knife.

"I'll bring the body back," Aomine sighed, lifting the teen—who was a lot heavier than he looked—over his shoulder. Akashi would be displeased at having another mouth to feed, but again, Akashi was never pleased with anything.

"He seemed very insistent that we shouldn't kill the woman," Kuroko said, sounding vaguely interested. Aomine eyed his friend shiftily, feeling a chill come down his spine at the thought. "I wonder what he was to her?"

Aomine thought back to the woman's rotting body, and grimaced. "I dunno, some sweetheart of his?" Unlikely, considering how old the zombie had looked. And, with the way the punk looked, there was no way he had scored a hot blonde lady as his girlfriend. "Or maybe not. He looks like one of those wannabe yakuza members."

"Hmm," Kuroko affirmed, but didn't say anything after that. He had a plotting expression on his face, the kind that Aomine associated with bad, traumatizing memories.

"What are you thinking this time?" Aomine groaned.

"Let's head back before Satsuki-san scolds us," Kuroko said, not answering the question.