After much deliberation, i was finally talked into posting my shitty little zombie, story. This somehow stemmed from me watching a season finale episode of Deadliest Warrior (Zombies vs. Vampires. typically, i don't like the fights at the end, but this one was fun) so, instead of wanting to see the overly abused Vampire mythology taking out the countries, i decided to go for the other cliche threat and infect them all BWAHAHA! or maybe not, I don't really know yet, I'm kinda making this up as i go along. also, hey i suck at research, so there will be some inaccuracies (and most likely rewrites to indicate better a lot of the weapons, because my memory sucks, and i don't know what most of them are called WOO) so, without further rambling with idiotic bullshit, enjoy my shitty little story.
PS: I'm a sucker, so this is gonna be very AmericaxCanada centric, but i'm pretty sure there's not going to be any slash in here... unless i feel like it. Cause, as the writer, i have that kind of power... but most likely i won't. Mainly because I'm getting bored with it. That's my right as an American. FUCK YEA!
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America lay sprawled across a maroon bean-bag chair in his den. A chair that could easily seat two and a half people. That is if he wasn't taking up most of it. He had fallen asleep somewhere around the sixth film of his movie night. The tape had hit the end of the reel and rewound some time ago. The whirring of the tape steadily grew louder until it finally clicked. The sudden noise caused America's eyes to snap open. He watched hazily as the screen turned over to snow, eyes slowly fading back into sleep.
A sick feeling that had been pressing on him, as he dozed off, had developed into a stomach cramp. America groaned, clutching an arm to it. He flitted back and forth to sleep, hearing a rustling by his head and threw a hand out towards it, pulling the half sleeping pariah into what must have been an uncomfortable position. Hawaii resisted for a bit, but soon settled in to snuggled with his master. America buried his face in the short brown hairs so he didn't have to face the unstable lighting of the snow.
Alaska lay curled up beside the bean-bag, fast asleep. Her ear started twitching with the sounds of soft moaning. The brown and white husky lifted her head to try and pinpoint where the noises were coming from, soon discovering that this strange noise was coming from her master. The arm not around Hawaii still clamped firmly around his stomach. Sniffing around his head, she licked America's face, ruffing quietly. America rolled onto his back, dragging his hand up to rub his tired eyes. Even though he never liked to be woken up, America smiled warmly to his dog, scratching her ear. "Hey, Girl." Getting sick of being pestered, Hawaii gave a small bark, and wandered to go lay on the couch.
"Yea, I know." America finished rolling off the bean-bag chair, catching himself on his hands and knees, before pushing up to his feet. At least he would have, if he hadn't been tired. As it stands, America found it quite difficult to get up, since he was trying to walk at the same time, and stumbled.
Alaska pushed against his back, assisting him to his feet, and barked in a way that could almost be misconstrued as a laugh. "Quiet you." America laughed, yawning wide. "Come on. Let's go to bed." Alaska yipped, and trotted ahead, towards his room. As he started after her, America heard Hawaii bark. He glanced over, stretching his arms over his head. "What's with you?" Hawaii was propped onto the back of the couch, barking back at him, then turned his attention out the window. America sighed, scratching his head, and yawned again. "Can it wait till morning?" Hawaii didn't like that answer. He ruffed in scolding, to his master, and jumped off the couch. The brown pup bit at the hem of America's pants, pulling him along. America conceited, starting over. "Ok, ok, I'm going." Hawaii butted his head against the back of America's legs, to make sure he was truly going, then ran back to the couch. He jumped up against the back, again, and barked at America, until he looked out the window. His eyes looked around at the street, to see people were running around. This wasn't terribly strange, for this time of night, but an uneasy sickness settle in on him again. "What?"
Suddenly, yells started to echo from the streets below. He set Hawaii down and ran towards the window, when a loud frantic banging came from the front door.
"MR. AMERICA! MR. AMERICA!" What sounded like at least two young boys were yelling in panic. "HELP US!"
"OPEN THE DOOR!"
America sprinted down the stairs towards the front door. Leaving Hawaii to bark after him. It had to be pretty late. What could possibly be going on? What was this fear, settling in around him?
"PLEASE, MR. AMERICA! THERE'S MONSTERS OUT HERE!"
Monsters? With this new incentive America leaped over the banister, and crossed to the door in two strides, wrenching it open. Two boys, about twelve years old, came rushing in and threw their arms around America's waist. One of them was holding onto a little girl, who was bleeding badly around her shoulder.
America tried to see what kind of monsters were attacking his citizens, but could only make out shadows running through the panicked streets before he closed the door and locked it.
The two boys suddenly broke out into a rushed explanation. "It's ok, it's alright, calm down." America took the little girl, trying to coax the boys down. He clamped the one blonde haired boy on the shoulder. "Everything's gonna be ok, now. I'm here. Nothing is going to hurt you."
"But, Mr. America..." Their eyes were flooded with tears, and they were visibly shaking. What could possibly be out there?
America still smiled fully, ignoring the anxiety settling in on him. "It's alright. I'll protect you. It's what heroes do."
The injured girl moaned, unsteady on her feet, until her head slumped against his shoulder. America took the little girl in his arms, examining the deep gash in her shoulder. "Come with me." He lifted the little girl, carrying her into the kitchen, where he sat her down on the counter.
Wetting some paper towels, he began to clean the wound, finding it seemed much worse when the blood was cleared away. The brunette boy who had been carrying the little girl had sprang into stories about what was going on, though most of the words just seemed to jumble together in his haste.
"Whoa, whoa. Slow down." His attention focused on the little girl sitting on his kitchen counter, he probably wouldn't have caught anything he said, even if he wasn't panicked. Though his eyes now shifted down to the two boys. "Just, calm down, and tell me what's happening."
He started into another torrent of story telling that was still quick paced and panicked, but at least he could make out what he was saying. "We were asleep, and I heard this noise and when I went to check on what was happening there were these monsters with blood all over their faces. They ran at me, so I ran to get my mom and dad, but they were monsters too, and I didn't know what to do." He broke down into hysterics and started crying. "So I just grabbed Carrie and ran, but there were more monsters in the street, and they were everywhere. And there were people running, and screaming and they were eating people."
America's head snapped to him at hearing this, the shock churning more into his stomach. "Eating people?"
"Yea, they were. What's going on, Mr. America? What's wrong with those people? Are they sick?"
America stared off at the adjacent wall, a sense of horror and disbelief settling in on him. "Yea... maybe." The little girl slumped slightly, and he put an arm out to catch her. "Whoa. Easy there, Kid-o." He ran a hand over her sweaty forehead, her eyes staring off in a haze. "What's your name?" He addressed the boy who had been explaining, again.
"Uh, M-Micheal, sir." He answered, tugging at the hem of his shirt. "And this is my friend, Conner"
The other boy, who seemed to have lost his voice, nodded.
"Ok, Micheal." America tried to keep the horror from his voice as he spoke, so as not to frighten the children more, and pointed across the kitchen to a small cabinet in the corner. "Why don't you look in that cabinet there, and get me the first aid kit." He looked back down at the frail child laying against his shoulder. He spoke in a soft whisper, stroking her hair. "I'd like to get her to a hospital, but I don't know how plausible that is, now."
Micheal stalled, looking between America and the cabinet, not truly liking the idea of leaving his nation's side.
"It's alright." America continued to smile down at them. It seemed to be the best way to diffuse the anxiety. "I'm right here."
Still a bit hesitant, he slowly worked his way to the cabinet. Micheal had just pulled out the kit when more screams bounded through the window, and he jumped, running back to America's side, where both boys clung to him, shuddering in terror.
America's heart pounded in his chest. This could not be happening. He could feel the two boys trembling at his side, torn between wanting to protect these three, wanting to go out and help the rest of his citizens, and not to mention the fact that he was scared half to death at what he was pretty sure Micheal had just described to him.
"M-Mr. America?" Conner piped up.
His gaze fell down to the three children. The boys were staring up at him expectantly, the horror more pronounced on their young features. America breathed deep, biting his bottom lip. "Come on."
He lifted Carrie from the counter and lead the two boys from the kitchen and on down into an underground bunker, beneath the parlor, he had mainly used as refuge during nuclear war. Letting Micheal and Conner enter first, America sealed the door, and moved to lay Carrie down on one of the beds. The boys were still clinging to him, but that was mainly because he hadn't turn the lights on yet. He pulled the drawstring, illuminating the small room in an uneven light that swung with the tiny bulb.
There were shelves lining the walls, each containing food rations, and water. (Most of which were probably expired.) Some blankets, and other such necessities. A few rifles hung from the walls, as well as hand guns and holsters.
America ran his hands through his hair, taking a deep breath to try and steady his nerves. "Ok. I need to get Carrie taken care of. Micheal, hand me the kit."
Micheal froze, his face turning an off shade of red. "I um, left it upstairs."
America glanced down at him. "You what?"
Micheal backed away a bit. "I-I'm sorry. I was just so scared... and I guess I didn't think about it. I'm sorry, Mr. America."
America hung his head, rubbing at a knot in his forehead. He hissed at himself, reeling back in his annoyance. "No, it's ok." He started, trying not to growl. "I'll have to go get it. You two stay here, with-."
"NO!" They both screamed, running over to throw their arms around him again. "Please, don't leave us Mr. America."
"We don't want to be alone."
"Listen, boys." America knelt down, (partially having to pry them off as he did so) putting his hands on their shoulders. "You're perfectly safe down here. This place was designed to keep any kind of foreign substance out, and this includes zombies."
"ZOMBIES!" The two boys shrieked, clinging to him again. "Those things are zombies!"
America nearly smacked himself in the head. He was only assuming, but given their description, it was a safe bet. "Well."
"Please, don't leave us!"
"We don't want to be eaten by the zombie!"
"You're not going to be-"
"Don't let the zombies get us!"
"Ok, fine." America conceited, nudging the boys back so that they didn't strangle him. Greatly resisting the urge to shake them, for their insolence... even if they were young and scared. "I won't go anywhere. But believe me when I say, 'Nothing can get you, down here.' Now." He stood, indicating that the boys should sit down. "Just relax, and I'll see what I can do for your sister." Micheal and Conner sat down, and considering neither of them protested the 'sister' comment he assumed his assumption was correct.
America passed blankets to the two boys, and rummaged around for something he could use to tend to Carrie's wounds. He was bound to have something in here. A small box on one of the top shelves caught his eyes. He blew off the dust and opened the ancient kit to see medicine and bandages, still in their protective wrapping. "Bingo."
However, when he turned back to take a look at her wound, the sinking feeling returned to his stomach. He was mainly guessing from Micheal's description of what was out there, but the look of Carrie's shoulder made him nervous again. Still, he started to clean it more, using as much antibiotics to try and kill any infection that could be in the wound. "So." He hesitated, not sure he really wanted to know. "How did Carrie get hurt?"
Sure enough, his fear was confirmed. Apparently she had fallen behind, shortly after they ran into Conner, and was bitten by one of the zombies. Carrie was still conscious, but barely. It was clear that she was fading fast, but America was always an optimist and hoped that maybe this wouldn't be as bad as he feared.
Micheal looked from his sister, to America, taking into account the look on his face. "Is she going to be ok?"
America started. He wasn't sure whether it'd be good or not to be honest about what may happen to Carrie. "I don't know."
"She's not doing to die, is she?"
America closed his eyes, taking in a sharp breath. The obvious answer was, 'yes', but he couldn't just tell him that. Even if there really was nothing he could do. On the other hand, he couldn't lie to the small child. What kind of hero would he be, if he just lied, because he didn't want to tell the truth? On the other hand, he also had to protect them, but was doing a piss-poor job at that, as well. Instead, he sighed, turning a smile to Micheal. "I'll do everything I can, for her." There... an ambiguous answer that the child could not hold him to. Although, if that were the case, why then did he feel like shit, for saying it?
When he had finished mending her wound, he sat down on the bed, brushing a hand through her hair, and spoke softly, "Hey, Carrie. Can you look at me?"
Her eyes turned hazily towards him. She moaned softly.
America smiled, continuing to stroke his hair. "Hi there, Sweety. How're you feeling?"
Carrie moaned again, moving her lips as if to try and speak. She managed to mumble softly what almost sounded like, 'I feel funny.' but it wasn't too clear.
America almost felt as if he wanted to cry. "I need you to stay with us, ok, Hon?"
She let out a soft, 'meh' and nodded. Though it wasn't clear how much she really understood.
As hard as he tried to keep her awake, the inevitable fact was that she was just too far gone. Carrie's eyes soon closed, and nothing could wake her. Her pulse steadily slowed, and after one last breath it never came back in. America's heart clamped in a vice, staring down at the docile face.
The two boys watched breathlessly, Micheal had started crying again, and ran over. America jumped to his feet, and held him back. "Carrie? CARRIE!" He called, though America refused to let him go, pulling both him and Conner to the other side of the room.
Micheal's eyes flicked between America and his sister. "What's wrong with her? What happened? Is she... is... she..."
America clung tighter onto him. "I'm sorry, Micheal."
"NO!" Micheal bawled harder, throwing his arms around America's waist again, but those blue eyes were too intently fixed upon the small girl laying still in the bed. He squeezed Micheal's arm, and took a deep breath to steel himself for what he had to do. "Stay together." He deposited Micheal to Conner, and headed to the wall where his guns were stored. America located his bullets, and started to load the rifle he'd just taken from it's peg, all the while keeping his gaze fixed on Carrie.
When the ammo clicked into place, Micheal looked up. "What are you doing?"
"Just stay back over there." America raised the gun, still keeping an eye fixed on the small girl. His hands started shaking, out of his control. He really hoped he didn't have to do this.
"What are you doing!" Micheal shrieked again, running over.
"Micheal! I said, stay back!"
"You can't shoot her! She's my sister!"
"Look, Micheal." America raised his gun out of his reach, glaring down at him. "I don't want to, but there's a chance she'll wake up again. And, if she does, she's going to be one of those monsters. Now, listen to what I tell you and GET BACK!" He took his elbow and pushed the boy back towards Conner, who clung to his friend, staring past America, eyes wide in horror. America tried to read his expression, then turned back to Carrie and shrieked, jumping backwards.
The small girl was indeed awake again, staring up at him with eyes like smokey glass. She bit her lip, drawing out blood with her teeth, which contrasted brilliantly against the white-blue tint of her skin. A violet tongue lapped out at the blood.
"Carrie?"
"Micheal, NO!" America reached out to pull him back, where he'd ran around him to get to his sister, but too late. Just as he dragged Micheal back, Carrie jumped forward and bit his outstretched hand. Micheal screamed, pulling back two bloody nubs.
America's hesitation died and he blew the small child's head in half. His attention turned back to Micheal, who was crying harder, screaming, his entire body shaking. "My-my-my-my hand! She-she bit me!" His eyes flew up desperately to America. "It hurts! Why'd she do that? What happened to my sister!"
"She was infected." America knelt down in front of him, using the edge of one of the blankets to try and staunch the bleeding. "When a zombie bites you, they pass on a disease that turns you into one of them." He looked up into Micheal's eyes, seeing the horror spread across his face, briefly wondering if he understood what that meant for him. "I'm so sorry, Micheal. There was no way to save her."
Micheal's breathing hardened, his eyes flicking down to the blood covered sheets. "Th-th-then... wh-what about- about me?"
America's expression fell, finding it suddenly hard to catch his breath. "She was one of them... I'm sorry." He bit his lip, as he said it. Somehow, I'm sorry just didn't seem to cut it.
"NO NO!" Micheal screeched. "I don't want to be one of them. I don't want to be a monster! Isn't there something you can do?"
America wrapped Micheal's hand further, mind reeling on what to do next. This was totally unfair. He shouldn't be forced to deal with this.
"Mr. America! Please!"
"Just hang on, I'm trying to think." America got to his feet, hands raking through his hair. His attention fell down to Carrie, feeling sick again. Come on, now. There had to be something for him to do. He was the hero, God damn it! These were his kids. He had to do something to save them.
It was difficult to focus, between the crying, and the throbbing pulse in his head. All three of their attentions was drawn up towards the stairs, as the sound of banging and screaming, along the side of his house. He knew they couldn't get to them, down there, but it was still very unnerving to have them trying to break into his home. Conner slid closer to Micheal, throwing his arms around his sobbing friend. "It's ok, Micheal. It's gonna be ok."
America felt each word clench into his chest further. No it wasn't. There was no way for him to be ok.
"Mr. America won't let us turn into one of those monsters."
For some reason that statement rang louder than even the crying. Something about his phrasing, and the matter-of-fact tone to his voice. America turned around to see Conner was looking up at him, an odd glint in his tear sparked eyes. Almost like he was urging him to understand something. "Will you, Mr. America?"
"Well." America hesitated, his gaze falling down to the rifle that had landed on the ground beside them.
"You'll protect us, right?" Micheal chimed, drawing his attention back to them.
America had to deal with some hard decisions, in his life, but this had to be the worst thing he'd ever had to face. He knew, very well, what he would want. It seemed the logical decision, but how do you explain something like this to children? Explain the logical decision for this type of deal. Course, as usual, America's logical side was fighting with his optimism. Wracking his brain, that maybe there was some way to save them, but the optimistic side didn't have a leg to stand on. His thoughts swam out of control as he knelt down to pick up his gun. He settled onto his haunches, eyes staring unfocused at the object in his hands.
"Mr. America?"
America raised his head, not fully registering which boy had spoke. "I'm sorry." Agh, he said it again. Why did he have to keep apologizing for something so horrible? I'm sorry was supposed to make things better, but it wouldn't do any good here. Nothing he could say would make this better, or any easier on them. He stood, still holding the rifle, having to clear his throat from where he'd choked on his own voice. "I'm afraid there's nothing else I can do." The screaming was growing louder, though nothing particularly sounded human anymore.
America's eyes flicked up at the door, in panic, hoping it would hold. "If I don't do this, you'll just end up a monster like them." His tongue flicked out, trying to moisten his dry lips.
Understanding dawned on Micheal's face. All colored drained from his features. "No... NO!" He got up and ran to the other side of the room. Away from America. "No, no! You're supposed to protect us! You can't kill me!"
The accusation pierced him straight through the chest. "Micheal... I wish there was another way." He spoke slowly and calmly, mainly trying to keep himself from crying.
"But you're America! There has to be something you can do! Can't you stop it some other way? I don't wanna die! I don't wanna die! I DON'T WANNA DIE!" His sobs were becoming a bit more hysterical.
Conner hung his head, sliding back into the wall, and drawing his knees up to his chest.
America's hands shook, the tight knot growing larger in his gut. He held the gun to his side, kneeling in front of Micheal again. A hand came up to stroke the side of his face. "I truly wish I could, Micheal. Believe me, I would give anything to not have to do this, but once you're-"
"I'M SORRY!"
This sudden burst startled him more than the zombies outside.
"I'm sorry. I should have listened to you, and stayed back, but I didn't. It's all my fault, and I'm sorry. Just please, don't kill me. Please, I don't wanna die!"
America's eyes started to burn with this confession, and he traced a hand over Micheal's hair, then pulled him into a hug. "No, I'm sorry. I should have been able to protect you from this, but I didn't." He pulled back, still resting a hand on the side of his neck. "It's not your fault, Micheal."
"No. No, Mr. America, please!"
Shaking, America stood, and took a few steps back. The only thought in his head was a quiet voice, 'This is gonna hurt me, a lot more than it is you?' He never understood how true that statement could ring. Micheal's misery was going to be over soon, but he would have to live with this. With his failure, and the price paid for it. The gun raised against the protests of the sobbing child in front of him. Biting his lip, America closed his eyes and pulled the trigger, instantly stopping the pleads for his life.
The shaking in his hands, ruptured through his body, weakening his legs. America collapsed to the ground, breaking down into sobs, punching the concrete floor. This wasn't fair. He felt so helpless. His people were dying, and there was nothing he could do about it.
Crashes ruptured from upstairs, and both his and Conner's eyes flicked up to the door. They had made it into his house. Some of the inhuman muffle of noises became more distinct, and America gasped when he recognized two of them as all too familiar barks.
Instantly, America bolted over to the ladder, and wrenched the door open. His head snapped around to see that no zombies had invaded the immediate room, but their shadows were clear in the distance. America placed his fingers between his lips and whistled loudly for the barking dogs.
The barking stopped, and soon two dogs skidded around the corner, closely followed by at least three zombies. Alaska pulled ahead in order to reach her master, but America's beloved Hawaii yipped as one of the zombies lurched forward and grabbed him around the ankles, his front claws scraping against the wooden floor.
"NO!" America sprinted out of the door, and picked up a boot-rack. He swung full force, breaking through the mass of long blonde hair to crack her skull with the wooden rack, which splintered in his hands. He then picked up his Pariah and ran back for the bunker, yelling for the Husky to proceed him.
Once all three were back inside, America sealed the door, and slumped to the ground to embrace his dogs. "You two ok?" He asked, checking them both over for any injuries. Alaska was uninjured, but there was a bloody gash on Hawaii's back leg. "Oh no." The dog whimpered as he tried to determine what had made the wound.
They both jumped when the Husky barked suddenly. "Alaska, hush. They can't get in-" America trailed off when he saw his dog wasn't barking at the door, but at Conner. He made his way over, stroking her soft fur. "What is it, Girl?" She barked up at him, and sniffed around the cuff of Conner's pants. There was what was unmistakeably blood blooming through the dark fabric.
America seized the cuff of his pants and examined the wound, then looked up at Conner in horror. Tears trailed down the small boy's face. "I'm sorry. I should have said something sooner. My big brother bit me."
America's eyes started to burn again. This was not happening.
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AN: reedited: 07-15- 2012 (I'm mainly sticking that in, so that when you see my comments about rewrites later, you won't necessarily think you missed them) So, to start this off, with the incentive that my Germany was reading these, and would rip me apart, I decided to go back and edit my plotholes, and other such nonsense. Then I reread this chapter and my mind screamed "WHAT THE HELL IS THIS PIECE OF SHITE!" Damn, America was far too nonchalant, it was almost comical. No wonder my Canadia was laughing when America had to kill the little children. I was beginning to wonder why anyone still wanted to read after this introduction into madness, so yea... I fixed. it seems better, but I'm highly paranoid now, cause I thought it was good before.
Also, just for future reference, me and most of my friends have adopted roles of the different nations, so if they seem a bit ooc, then it's mainly because I'm considering what we would do in this situation. OOH OOH One more final note. That bean-bag chair that Al was sleeping on... it actually exists. It belongs to Germany, but it's been dubbed my cat bed, so I've fallen asleep on it most of the time. oh yea... I'm America, bitches.