Title: Yellow
Rating: T
Pairings: Wales/New Zealand
Characters: Wales, New Zealand, others mentioned
Variation: Zombie AU
Warnings: Zombies and acts of violence, both past and present.
xxx
It was quiet.
He hated when it was quiet, ready and waiting behind the corner of a building, the cold of the metal pipe in his hands seeping through the leather gloves he'd looted when he started his search, swinging the pipe a little as he waited for any noise, any sign of movement. Just something to tell him he could move.
That's when he smells it, faint at first but getting ever stronger. There weren't many, either three fresh meats or just one that had been here from the start. The ones with skin that had long since fallen off to reveal decayed muscles and thin sinew barely keeping it all together.
He gags as the lone zombie stumbles past, hands coming to his mouth before he can stop himself and horror sets in to the sound of metal clattering against concrete. It's a split second opportunity, hand reaching for the bar as the monstrous mass of decay and hunger came at him.
xxx
Wes: 13/01/2012, 18:07
I think your trains only run slow when I come to visit you, they always seem to move faster when you come to me.
Owen: 13/01/2012, 18:09
You're only saying that because you never manage to get food done on time
Wes: 13/01/2012, 18:10
That's because you decided to get the earlier train, it would have been done otherwise :I
Owen: 13/01/2012, 18:12
Are you sulking? I bet you look adorable! C:
Wes: 13/01/2012, 18:18
…Shut up
xxx
Wiping the splatter away from his mouth, he grimaces, a shudder going through him at the feel of the bile and blood cling to his skin and shirt. As disgusting as it was it'd tone down the smell of the living, give him chance to run should he hit a pack of them before they realised he had a heartbeat.
Moving from under the bridge, he checks for more of the living dead, letting out a breath in relief as he finds none, moving towards the abandoned train station.
They hadn't been at Central.
Wellesley hadn't been at Cardiff Central.
It was where they always got off, where they'd wait by the stands for the metro for him, bag at their feet and slowly bopping along to whatever was playing on their IPod at that moment. Wes would just be waiting for him, like they always did, smiling sweetly as he would walk up and, as always, silence his apologies with a kiss.
They never arrived though.
The zombies did.
It was carnage, the station staff desperately trying to get through the barriers, passes lost in fumbling fingers before the dead reached them, dragging them back into their packs and feasted upon like a pack of wolves had grabbed them.
Everything was red and everything screamed.
It's only as the barriers broke from the sheer force against them did anyone move, the famished creatures spilling out and reaching for a new victim, stumbling over themselves in the rush for fresh meat.
But where was Wes?
Why wasn't Wellesley there?
He barely remembers the English business woman who was grabbed outside of the outside of the WHSmiths and he barely remembers the father who ran with his daughter into the MS store only to be ambushed as more came down from platform zero.
Owen just remembers shouting for Wellesley, the burning of his throat and then the burning in his libs as he ran from the station, still shouting their name and any possible response had been drowned out by the panic and screaming as hell poured out from the station.
He shakes his head, stepping though the broken barriers in Queen Street and heading for the tracks. They never hung around the platforms anymore, the walking dead, attracted to the noise and lights of the Welsh capitol and the creatures hadn't left since.
At least that's what he thinks; he'd stayed around the train tracks since that first night. He pauses on the platform, looking first at the tracks and then to see if anything was on them – dead or alive. It didn't matter anymore; you were either dead or half dead by this point.
Maybe Wellesley had headed towards the bay, swinging the pipe up onto his other shoulder before jumping down onto the tracks with a soft thud.
xxx
Owen: 13/01/2012, 18:23
Come on, don't frown. You're stunning when you smile c:
Owen: 13/01/2012, 18: 25
I take it from the lack of response you've gone red
Wes: 13/01/2012, 18: 26
Let's just say you're lucky you're cute, okay?
Owen: 13/01/2012, 18:26
C: when do you get in?
Wes: 13/01/2012, 18:29
Around 10 minutes I think, why do you ask?
Owen: 13/01/2012, 18:31
Just wondering
Wes: 13/01/2012, 18:32
Are you planning something?
Owen: 13/01/2012, 18:32
Maybe
xxx
If they weren't in Cardiff Bay, they'd be in Newport. They'd only been 20 minutes away. Wellesley would be in Newport if not Cardiff bay, hiding and waiting for him to show up. But first he had to check the bay; it would kill him to know he'd left the other here.
The tracks are desolate, broken glass crunching under his boots as he moved past abandoned carriages smeared with bodily fluids, the bodies of twice dead bodies either hanging limply from the windows or trapped beneath the wheels.
Was it the second day or week when he became used to all of this? When he got used to beating the heads of people he knew in with something heavy as an act of mercy? When the smell of decay and rotted flesh became a normal thing? When everything became kill or be killed?
He thinks, no he knows, it's the hope that Wellesley is waiting for him somewhere that keeps him going, a small smile coming to his lips as he imagines the little kiwi stood there with a glare on their face, hair slightly matted with blood and looking like they'd been dragged through a couple of hundred hedges backwards.
But Wes would be there. Alive and well, frown melting away into that grin Wellesley always wore when they got reunited.
Safe and sound.
He'd find them safe and sound.
There's a chill in the air, hold the pipe with his elbow and he blew and rubbed his gloved hands together. His hands weren't even cold, it was everything else, but it helped. In his head it helped. It was the little things like this that reminded him he was human.
xxx
Wes: 13/01/2012, 18:34
Maybe isn't an answer and I think I might be delayed, some guy appears to be having a fit
Owen: 13/01/2012, 18:35
That doesn't sound good, is he okay?
Wes: 13/01/2012, 18:37
I dunno, he's in another carriage. The announcer just announced it.
Owen: 13/01/2012, 18:39
You'll be here soon right?
Wes: 13/01/2012, 18:41
If I press my face up against the glass I can see the platforms, I'm guessing the barriers are in working order?
Owen: 13/01/2012, 18:42
You guessed right. You brought your coat right?
Wes: 13/01/2012, 18:43
Of course I did, silly.
Wes: 13/01/2012, 18:44
Somethings not right…I think I just heard screaming
xxx
The station is empty, he's not sure why he expected any different but he did. A zombie of two would distract him from his thoughts at least for a little while, until he had at least checked the area. Leaving the station, an uneasy feeling creeps up his spine, like he's being watched, eyes flicking up to the buildings he passed and pausing slightly as he sees a curtain move.
Was Wellesley…?
He freezes as he hears a growl, not even thinking about who it could be as he turns and swings the bar around, catching one of them in the head and sending it flying, ignoring it for the moment as the other charged at him, canines bared like a rabid dog and bloodied saliva dripping from the crooked and broken teeth.
The adrenaline gives him a buzz, an almost wicked grin tugging at his lips as he brings the pipe down again, that anger he'd been supressing for so long, that aggravation at not being able to find Wellesley for so long just bursting free, consuming him as he brought the pipe down again and again.
Its red. Everything was red. His fury, the bodies, his vision, the blood and the splatter clinging to his clothes, skin and hair.
Why is it always red?
His breathing is laboured as he eventually stops, throwing the now bent and twisted pipe to the side and moving past the corpses he doubted would be moving ever again. Owen wagers they were tourists, here to see the torchwood tower and memorial, if the tarnished doctor who shirt was anything to go by.
He'd have pitied them if he still knew how to do that.
xxx
Owen: 13/01/2012, 18:45
Screaming? What do you mean screaming?
Wes: 13/01/2012, 18:47
I don't know but I'm worried. Leave the station and I'll find you.
Owen: 13/01/2012, 18:49
I'm not leaving you on a train if there's screaming, I'll wait
Owen: 13/01/2012, 18:54
Wes?
Owen: 13/01/2012, 18:55
Wes, please answer. This isn't funny, I'm starting to worry.
Owen: 13/01/2012, 20:15
Hiding in the stadium for now, let me know where you are and I'll come get you.
Owen: 17/01/2012, 13:29
I hope you're okay, no longer in the stadium though I haven't gone far. Please let me know where you are.
Owen: 18/01/2012, 09:30
Happy anniversary sweetheart
Owen: 19/01/2012, 21:16
Phone has just about died. I'll come and find you, don't worry. I love you and I miss you.
xxx
Barren streets, that's new by him, staring at the water front before turning his head as something moves in the corner of his eye. He had nothing to attack with, a silent prayer to whatever gods hadn't yet abandoned them as he turns and freezes. That coat, was it…could it be…?
He swallows thickly, the name caught in the back of his throat as he finds himself moving towards the figure, slowly at first before he's running. The fountains, of course they'd be at the fountains. Their first date their first kiss involved them, why did he ever think Wellesley wouldn't be here?
"WELLESLEY!"
He couldn't care less if zombies appeared now, if he was dragged down and devoured. He'd found them, he'd found Wes. Safe and sound, they were…no. Oh no.
His heart sinks and bile bubbles in his throat as the figure turns at the shout of a name. They weren't human. Wes…Wellesley wasn't human. They…they were…
Bile is choked back as the walking dead, no Wellesley, looks at him confused, mouth opening and closing as if it was trying to speak. To say something that would just prove this was all make up, that Wellesley was just pretending. That Wellesley wasn't dead, that he hadn't managed to find them in time to stop this.
"Ow…Ow…Ow…"
"Yeah, that's right. Owen, say it with me Wes. Owen."
"Ow…en…"
It's gone then, that curious little bemusement the other had had in his eyes vanishing and revealing something that could only be hunger. And then he knows it's too late, not sure of if he should move as the creature ambled towards him, a hiss leaving its mouth and the stomach acid burning the back of his throat.
There was only a crack and a shout before the water of the fountain turned red.