This idea came to me in the middle of the night, after reading the fourth book in the "Gone" series, written by Michael Grant. (If you haven't read them, do it.) The idea of a plague seemed interesting enough for me to at least attempt to write about it. Some scenes may look familiar, others may not.
Anywho, this fic is not for the faint of heart. There will be death, cursing, mentions of drug use and some suggestive content. Read at your own risk, and if you do, don't forget to leave a review.
Sam Witwicky had seen everything.
He had seen aliens. Not the slimy, bulging green kind that pissed green goo or whatever, not the suave, handsome kind that looked like humans but for some bizarre reason were able to move things with their mind or summon fire from their fingertips.
Those were stories.
Look up in the sky, Sam would tell people. Look up past the stars and the planets and then sun, past Saturn and Jupiter and Pluto, and even though it was impossible to see, know that the planet Cybertron was out there.
Know that it was dead and gone and its residents were here on Earth, in disguise. That part was pure truth.
And sometimes, the truth would scare the crap out of you.
Like today, for instance. He was just a not-so-normal kid visiting a relatively normal town. Synapsis, Florida, the lowest of the low. Not that the place was any different from where he had grown up, but its desolate coffee shops and banks and stores provided somewhat of a change.
Visiting, though, was an understatement. Mikaela had made that clear. Held against their will was more like it, due to the surprising amount of human protest taking place throughout the country, all in favor for the Autobots to leave Earth.
Yeah, right. Like that would ever happen. He could never seen Optimus – or any other Autobot supporter, for that matter – bending to the will of a bunch of imbeciles.
Though Sam had survived countless Decepticon attacks, there was no telling what a crowd of angry humans would do if they found him. Sam was too well-known throughout the country.
So what better place to hide him out than in Synapsis? The place was ancient and barely stood out on a map.
But at least its practically deserted coffee shops could cook up one hell of a latte.
Mikaela Banes sat across from him, jacket wrapped tightly around her body. She was barely drinking, glancing up at the ceiling every once and a while.
He loved Mikaela to death, and though she was gorgeous, smart, and mechanical-savvy, starting up conversations wasn't one of her strongpoints. She would rather be behind a wielder or a motorcycle than chatting.
And that was what Sam loved about her.
But today was different. Today, an eerie silence was creeping between them. Around the shop, a few civilians were sitting alone at their seats and flipping through the newspaper. And in one case, a girl having gone a little more high tech and chosen a laptop instead.
Finally, Sam broke the silence.
"Whatcha' thinking about?"
Mikaela took a sip of her latte, wiping whipped cream off her lips before saying, "Stuff."
"What kind of stuff?"
"Work stuff," Mikaela paused, and then said, "Dad, back at the shop. He has this new bike he wants to sell and…well, customers come and go, but no one seems to buy. It's a nice peace of work, one of those old Ducati's…took him almost a year to fix it up."
"You helped him?" Sam asked.
"A little. Did the pain job, but that was all," Mikaela shrugged and sipped her drink, almost as if trying to cut off the conversation. "He misses me."
"You can always go back."
"And leave you?" Mikaela laughed aloud, black hair falling around her shoulders as she leaned forward. She said, "Even if N.E.S.T gave me permission, I wouldn't do it. Not for the world."
Sam smiled, beamed broadly. It was like someone had filled him full of helium and he was ready to fly, to fly and get lost in her beautiful eyes….
Being in love felt great.
"So, do you know what job you want yet?" Mikaela asked. "Obviously you don't want to end up like me, wallowing in grease. It's your call."
Sam waved a hand dismissively. "Something to do with N.E.S.T. I want to work with the Autobots. No doubt about it."
Mikaela studied him, her eyes seeming to take in his features. She nodded, pushed her drink to the side, pulling her jacket tightly around her as a sudden gust of wind blew through the shop from an open door, an elderly couple making their way inside.
"What about you?"
"Autobots," she said immediately. "I sure as hell wouldn't be able to get a job anywhere else."
"What about your dad?" Sam asked.
"Oh, he can make it on his own," Mikaela said. "N.E.S.T would have to pay good for me to send him some cash, but even then…." She rubbed her temple. "I'd send him on a vacation. Somewhere nice. He's always wanted to go to Egypt…"
"I'd pass on that one," Sam mumbled, taking a swig of his own drink. He began to look back at the counter, eyeing the assortment of pastries and other sweets. He licked his lips, but Mikaela beat him to it.
"No," she waggled a finger and Sam whipped his head back around. "And what do you mean you'd pass?"
"I've already been to Egypt. Broke my hand there. And then died."
Mikaela was silent after that.
The only noise in the room was the sound of the woman sitting in the corner typing away. The man reading the newspaper had left, taking his coffee with him. Sam looked at Mikaela, who was staring down at her lap, probably trying to form some type of question to ask.
Sam looked down at his empty cup. He said, "I'm done."
"So am I," Mikaela slid her empty cup towards him. "Can you throw them away?"
Sam did as she asked, standing and making his way over to the trash can. The woman was there, the one with the laptop, sliding an empty plate into the trash can. She looked up as Sam approached, and their eyes met.
"Don't I know you from somewhere?" She suddenly said.
Sam gulped.
"Yeah, yeah," she nodded apprehensively. "I know you. Sam….Witwitty…Witwinny…"
"Witwicky," Sam mumbled.
"Yeah," The woman nodded, and then reeled back, as if she had been struck. Then, her cheeks reddened and she began to sweat. She held out a hand. "T-Thanks for all you've done….you know, in Egypt and everything."
Sam, stared at her hand.
"I don't bite," she said under her breath.
Sam shook her head, tentative, at first, and then he smiled.
"What are you doing way down here?" she asked. "Don't you live in California?"
Sam shrugged. "Somewhere out there. How about you? You don't look tan enough to be a resident of the sunshine state, so…."
"Seattle," the woman said. "Way up in the corner, but I guess that makes us semi-neighbors."
Sam studied her features, unable to spot any sign of alien. She didn't feel like a Decepticon, didn't make the hairs on the back of his neck rise. She was just a middle-aged computer know-how who respected Sam for what he had done.
Normal, right?
Then why did he feel so….strange?
It was on the way home that they heard the scream.
It would have been easier, Sam would decide later. Easier to just have called Bumblebee to pick them up. The base was only a mile away, but Mikaela had suggested they walk to burn off all the calories.
Their feet pattered against the sidewalk, Mikaela ahead, her jacket wrapped around her waist. Her sleeves were rolled up due to the fact that it was humid, even at night. But she was used to sweat. Running through battle-torn towns and cities had toughened her even more than a life of solitude, and underprivileged.
"The hell was that?" She said, spinning around.
"What?"
Then, he heard it. A low, ghostly moan this time, coming from a dim alleyway to their right. It wafted through the air, and instinctively Sam listened for the sound of metal against metal, rumbles, or overly-heavy footsteps.
None.
"C'mon," Mikaela dashed away, down the alley. She disappeared from view before Sam could even move.
"Wait, Kaela….are you out of your mind?" Sam hissed. He shook his head and followed.
The alley was dark, trash cans spilled over, rats skittering back and forth. Cockroaches crawled up the brick walls, and he could hear something else, now, something low…
Like a person. The high-pitches whines of a person. He came to a stop beside Mikaela, almost running smack into her, staring into the alley. Old lights from vacant apartment windows flickered on and off, casting an eerie glow on everything around Sam and Mikaela.
But that wasn't what had gotten Mikaela's attention.
"Look," She pointed to a strange colored blob on the alley floor.
Something red was on the ground. Something wet, and Sam knew because when he took a step, it stuck to his shoe.
Tomato sauce?
No. Tomato sauce didn't smell like that.
Mikaela was kneeling suddenly, picking up an object that glittered in the moonlight. It was a knife, a long kitchen knife, with a sharp tip and a wicked blade.
It, too, was coated in a sickly red substance that Sam had seen many times, but didn't want his mind to identify.
"Someone's hurt…" Mikaela breathed. "Oh, shit, Sam, someone –"
A scream. In the dark, a shadow leaped from the toppled barrels of trash and slammed into Mikaela with the strength of a pro linebacker.
Mikaela went down and the knife flew from her hand, clattering across the ground, little specks of blood flying.
Sam shouted, but Mikaela was pinned under a woman, the same woman.
The one from Seattle. The one who had thanked him for saving the world.
"Kill me!" She roared. "Kill me! Kill me kill me kill me!"
"What the fuck is going on?" Mikaela shrieked. Her strength easily outmatched the woman's, and she was able to shove her off, rolling around onto her back and scrambling to her feet, just missing the puddle of blood. She stumbled into Sam, who gabbed her, steadied her.
"Kill me!" The woman raged, and Sam picked up the knife. "If you've saved the world so many damn times you should know when to..."
"Sam!" Mikaela cried out. "Sam, look, I felt something…something's wrong with –"
"Of course something is wrong!"
"No! Her stomach!" Mikaela grabbed Sam and yanked him away, jabbing a finger. "Look! Look!"
Sam saw what she meant in a split second.
Something was bulging, pulsating under the woman's shirt. Like drumbeats, over and over and over and….
Impossible.
The bug was huge. A wasp, from the looks of it, shoving its massive head out from under her stomach, blood in its teeth and face and puss dripping from two massive, ruby red eyes. It whipped its head back and forth as if trying to shake off the blood, but it did no good, and Sam found himself shrieking in pure terror.
"Oh my God!" Mikaela screamed. "The hell is that! Sam!"
Sam looked down at the bloody knife.
"Kill me…." The woman begged, tears brimming around her eyes. "Please…"
"Please…"
The wasp sprang free and the woman fell. Her body hit the ground with a thud and the wasp bolted, but Sam stabbed it with the knife, the tip piercing through its bloody wings. The thing squirmed around and kicked its barbed legs, but even though it was the size of a rat - a rat with flaring wings and glowing eyes - it was still strong enough to wriggle out of Sam's grip.
Insane.
Impossible.
But Sam had come to realize that the impossible was always possible. The creature, the bug, bolted. Sam scrambled after it, past the dead woman, catching it again before it could dart under a dumpster.
"Kill it, kill it," Mikaela was sobbing, staring at the woman, and Sam was unable to speak or think clearly. He stabbed the bug again, and it shuddered, dying. And then again. Again.
Finally, it gave a sigh, puss spewing from its lips, and died.
Silence.
"Give me your jacket," Sam said softly.
"W-What?"
"Your jacket. Now."
Mikaela shoved the article of clothing his way. He took it, and gingerly used his foot to wrap the wasp in it. He held it by the sleeved and held it up, blood dripping past the fabric and onto the ground.
The woman from Seattle was not moving.
Dead.
"Leave her…leave her for N.E.S.T…they'll come for her," Mikaela breathed. "We need to get this back to Ratchet…Oh, God, please get it back to Ratchet…."
So they ran, and did not look back.