Posthumously

by darthvair65

On the run from the organization Axel and Roxas begin to pick their way across the country living by their own rules-while Axel writes their ballad of Bonnie and Clyde. sequel to 'Toy Guns & Hershey Kisses' and 'Truly & Horribly.' Happy Valentine's Day!

Title: Posthumously
Pairing: Axel/Roxas, background Riku/Sora

Warnings: carnage, brains, excessive use of the word 'fuck', clichéd premises, overuse of the zombie genre, misplaced fluff, mentions of sex, people who will literally kill for chocolate
Rating: light R for language, violence and brief mentions of sex
Beta: the BetaMistress alovelysilence

Word count: 4600
A/N: Resident Evil made me do it. And, now, The Walking Dead. This follows 'Toy Guns and Hershey Kisses' and 'Truly and Horribly I Love You,' so it makes a lot more sense if you've read those~ this fills in the two years between 'Truly and Horribly' and the Bad Ending, just in time for Valentine's Day (or Zombie Movie Marathon Day for me). I hope you all have a wonderful holiday!
Disclaimer: I don't own Kingdom Hearts, but I do get a kick out of writing for the fandom. The premise of these stories was more or less based on/ripped from zombie movies, books, and video games – all of which I love a great deal. Movies: "Night of the Living Dead," "28 Days Later," "Shaun of the Dead," "Zombieland," and "I Am Legend." TV: "The Walking Dead." Books: The Zombie Survival Guide, World War Z. Games: Resident Evil 4, Resident Evil 5

Summary: On the run after leaving the organization base, Axel and Roxas begin to pick their way across the country in search of something other than zombies. Meanwhile, Axel writes their own ballad of Bonnie and Clyde.

It was an unwritten, hypothetical rule, according to the 'Worst Case Survival Guide: Zombie Apocalypse', that romantic relationships during the zombie apocalypse were generally ill-advised and doomed to end in shotgun shells and grey matter. Of course relationships of such a kind provided a certain amount of mental stability for a person trying to contend with such a volatile, horrific world – but they also inevitably left each person vulnerable. Axel had to agree on a certain level; he'd seen enough headhunting groups to know a detrimental relationship when he saw it. However more importantly, a man on his own in the middle of a continent infested and overrun with the walking, gnawing dead was a dead man himself, living on borrowed time before rotted teeth and the infection claimed him.

Axel wasn't much sure whether he and his petite, trigger-happy blond lover were better or worse off for being together, but he didn't really care all that much; all Axel needed was their armored truck, his Lupara, a bottle of scotch, and Roxas. Everything else came afterwards.

Besides, Roxas had thrown the 'Worst Case Survival Guide' out the window eons ago with a cynical laugh that still startled Axel – what did he care for unwritten rules for surviving something he'd already grown up in?

Day 22

If I was an idiot and I was writing some equally stupid 'worst case scenario' book for the general populous, I'd probably be dead already. Furthermore, the 90% of the population who didn't give a shit before the world went postal aren't going to try to find the nearest Borders when they decide they do care.

Luckily I am neither an idiot nor looking for a publisher – I'm just a guy with a gun (ok, a few) and a boy riding shotgun hoping to outrun the plague long enough to die laughing someday.

If this were a guide to surviving a post-zombie apocalypse world, my first piece of advice would be to steer clear of the deserts – they are NOT your friend. And I mean really, when you think about it, you've got infected, dead bodies running around in the searing heat. What happens to a slab of meat that gets left out in the sun all day? Well first of all, it fucking reeks. There's no other smell quite like decaying flesh, and it makes you want to vomit. More maggots than usual, walking rotting flesh as far as the eye can see.

Disgusting. Not sure how either of us managed to not puke our guts out.

That and, you know, deserts really aren't designed for un-adapted human survival – not sure why folks came here in the first place, at least the people heading North had a bit going for them.

Well, so in summary: deserts are BAD. Stay clear of Death Valley or anything remotely resembling a desert. I suppose as far as general safety goes you're pretty fucked no matter where you go, but at least the air doesn't smell like putrefying flesh.

And now Roxas is laughing. Someone's got to remember this shit, babe.

0o0

Day 45

Finding unspoiled food is also a bitch. Most refugees looted the grocery stores on their way the hell out of dodge, so whatever you can find is like gold. You scavenge for nonperishables and vitamin containers, then hunt for the rest. Sometimes dealers have meat, but you never really know where they got it so most do their own hunting. There may have been a point early on where anyone could just bust in and raid a supermarket for supplies, but those days are long gone – they're cleared out. Some are blackened ruins from more ambitious hunters corralling the less intelligent of the lot and blowing the whole thing up. Suppliers were more likely to meet with us when we were on the base, but now that we're flying solo we usually end up looting them instead. Roxas has killed a few of the suppliers for one reason or another, usually for their chocolate stashes. I swear, dangle a Hershey bar in front of that kid and tease him about it, suddenly he's Rambo.

I personally am more interested in the liquor – scotch whiskey for me and Rambo, cheap shit for my Molotov cocktails. Usually they'll take trades or other goods, since money means absolute shit these days. But if they're being picky, I just sic Roxas on them.

Day 162 … or something

It gets really hard after a while, driving around the clock and constantly being on edge. I guess that's the only thing I really miss about living back in the fortress – the security, the knowledge that it was safe to sleep for more than a few hours, to have sex without wondering how zombie-proof the room was.

I know we left half for the hell of it, half because Roxas had killed Xigbar and the rest of my guys would probably be out for revenge, but I can't account for the rest of these crazy fucks on the road.

0o0

They made it as far as northern Manitoba before Axel put his foot down – he'd reached his limit of cold-adaptability and could take no more without freezing himself. Roxas, who'd lived for several years in Alaska and Yukon Territory and was very comfortable in such frigid conditions, simply laughed at Axel's dramatic teeth-chattering. It was cold, he said, but not cold enough to feel safe out in the open, at least not until winter. They stayed in a small abandoned house for a few days, the car safely tucked in the garage, every window and door securely protected with traps and boards, and wrapped themselves in a big fur blanket Roxas found while they listened to the wind howl instead of the dead for a change.

Day 281

The plague is an exclusively human phenomenon, we think. Roxas and I have not seen a single animal that appears to be infected, even though in the absence of human prey zombies will go for any animal they can find and catch. We've seen carcasses, half-eaten and rotting kills but nothing to suggest that the virus would be passed. There must be something with human DNA or our physiology or something, I'm no biologist or doctor. But even though it appears the animals are safe from infection, that's not going to stop either of us from not daring to eat anything a zombie's teeth might have touched. It's simply not worth the risk. We survive on what we can find.

0o0

Day 366 or so

Somehow we've managed to survive a whole year together on the road. I suppose it could be a testament to the strength of our partnership that we haven't killed each other yet. I'd say maybe I should get him something for our anniversary, but Roxas would probably just stare at me and tell me it was my turn to drive.

Day 400?

We're not the only ones traveling around killing zombies for the hell of it, that's for sure. We've met a couple of different hunting parties along the way, smaller groups of three to five crazies like us. We even met a group of seven once – usually those kinds of numbers get too complicated and are harder to maintain, but these guys made it work. Once in a while we'll even travel with them for a bit here and there. There's really only one condition: that Roxas gives the nod of approval.

I know exactly what you're thinking, but here's the thing: Roxas is damn good at reading people, figuring out if they're trustworthy or not. I'm pretty good myself, but my instincts run more along deciding what exactly we can get from them, whether its gas, food, liquor, or shelter. If they're hiding something, then I move in for the kill. Roxas though, he's distant enough that he can figure more out about them – so he makes the call. It's certainly saved us more than once. One time we came up on a fortress like the one we used to call home, run by another organization. I was ready and waiting for a fight in case these guys were somehow connected to my uncle, but Roxas seemed to think they were ok. And they were; we stayed a couple nights even, stocking up on gas, food, rest, and some personal time – when you're on the road 24/7 it's hard to catch a little more than a nap in the back seat, much less a fuck. After a few weeks of that, it's a little hard to turn down a mostly home-cooked meal, shots of liquor from clean glasses, and an actual mattress.

So we indulged a little, and consequently had some of the other refugees blushing at breakfast the next morning – if we bothered to get out of bed. Which, considering we had a few long, hard, hot nights, was more difficult to accomplish than it sounds; Roxas rarely, if ever, holds back, so trust me when I say I was feeling his fingers and teeth long after we stopped for the night.

I learned something along the way though – that even Roxas, whose discerning eye kept us from getting blown up countless times – has moments of blindness. He'd dice me up with his fucking machete if he found out I talked about it, but who would have thought? Roxas, my pocket-sized Rambo with a killer eye, couldn't see the danger his own flesh and blood was to us.

They were moving through Traverseton, just another broken shell of a city blown off the map by the raging, apocalyptic infection. Axel had been there once as a child, toddling along behind his father and trying to match his steps. It had been a little hub, a self-contained world with no need of the outside other than its tourists. What was once a bustling little city, brightly illuminated with festival lights and fountains, was now a ghost town. Paper and broken glass littered the streets, dispersed among the detached and gnawed-on limbs, contorted, now-headless bodies, and improvised (and probably failed) weapons. The feast of tourist flesh had ended years ago and the surviving hoard had moved on, leaving the smell of decay and rot in its wake, and ash from the pyre of bodies – both infected and not – still wafting through the air.

As they meandered through the quiet, desolate town landscape, footsteps carefully avoiding the remaining carnage, Axel found something rather troubling. He called Roxas over, waving silently until the blond appeared at his side. Unlike the rest of the debris and decomposed bodies this kill was fresh, black blood pooling where its head had been. A few minutes later they came across another, this one with its head bashed, skull fragments and brains scattered. Then another, and another. Hunters had been through this part of Traverseton, and probably the rest as well, very recently - and they were probably somewhere nearby.

Axel pulled out his Lupara and fired a shot towards the sky, hollering for anyone alive to make themselves known.

Just as he thought, the moment after the shot rang out one of the hotel doors slammed open and two people raced out, guns aiming right for them. Another tense moment passed, all four staring each other down over the barrels of their guns, until one of the newcomers dropped his with an excited shout. He tossed his gun to the other and hopped down into the courtyard, shouting Roxas' name.

It was Sora – older, taller, and leaner – but Sora.

Holy shit, what kind of luck was that?

It had been several years, but Axel remembered Roxas' brother. He remembered seeing the two of them for the first time, huddled in the back seat of the car and shaking as his soldiers checked them for signs of infection, their identically bright, hard eyes boring holes right through him. Sora had been young then, fourteen years old to Roxas' sixteen and though probably a decent hunter not enough to catch my attention. Even Roxas had to dig and annoy Axel to get his attention at that point though, so Sora was even more invisible.

Roxas was a child of the plague to be sure, but Sora even more so – born on the road and raised with a gun in his hand and zombies snarling just outside the car windows. He'd maintained a pretty cheerful disposition through the years he and Roxas had been separated, but even Axel could see the strain behind his smile, could tell something was horribly wrong. What happened to their parents, to the other couple they were travelling with, who had been replaced by a raw and nervous bunch of teenagers.

One member of Sora's five-person party, a tall, broad-shouldered kid with silvery white hair up in a ponytail named Riku, told them what had happened; that Zack and Cloud had joined up with a caravan on the way to the evacuation point, and somewhere along the way they were attacked. And for all Sora's training he was left frozen and scared shitless as his own father advanced with flesh in his mouth and bloodied eyes, hungry for more. Sora might've died right there, had Riku not taken a fire axe to Cloud's head. They picked up some other survivors, found a car, and hit the ground running. Now Sora's eyes were blank and he was in a constant state of edginess, not that Axel could blame him. If Axel had seen his dad stuffing his face with bloodied ropes of intestines, he'd probably have a few more issues than he already did.

So for a while, they traveled with Sora. Roxas wanted to make the partnership work, which was certainly interesting for Axel to witness a new side to him, but they were too many. Axel and Roxas had worked for too long as an exclusive team to work well with another equally honed group, and Roxas was often at raging odds with his brother – often protesting that he was never like this before, that he'd changed.

Axel could tell that Sora and Riku were close, just like he and Roxas were; but there was a dependence there between them that worried Axel, an enormous emotional attachment that made him wonder what one would do if something happened to the other.

That question was answered fairly quickly, about two weeks after they'd joined up.

Axel had heard stories from some of the suppliers, of mutations occurring in some of the infections that made the afflicted faster and more vicious, more ravenous – but all in all he'd figured it was just talk. In all their months of traveling neither Axel or Roxas had come across a zombie more dangerous than any of the countless others. In any case Axel was fairly confident they could hold their own against any zombie, unnaturally fast or not. But seeing this one, just outside an abandoned amusement park left eerily still and quiet, proved that all the talk was true; he was too quick, blood pouring from his mouth, eyes red and unseeing as he sprinted towards them. Axel, Roxas, and Sora's group fanned out to cover more ground, since the mutated fucker was drawing more in for the kill.

No one counted on Sora's gun jamming, costing him precious moments of concentration as the mutation singled him out.

Sora looked up and panicked; he started scrabbling to find another weapon in the chaos to no avail. Fearing for his brother's life Roxas took out Absalom and with Axel covering him, tried to take a shot at the zombie rearing to attack.

Kairi was screaming, pulling the younger boy Tidus out of the fray while he waved a hockey stick with deadly precision, and firing nonstop as she shouted for everyone to pull back.

No one saw Riku coming from behind the infected attacking Sora; he swung his trusty fire axe, aiming for the creature's head, but its senses must have been heightened too because it dodged, unnaturally fast and more calculating than any other zombie they'd encountered. Roxas, still uncomfortable with the small handgun at longer distances, finally got the shot he was waiting for and watched with satisfaction as it fell to the ground.

But Sora was screaming now, staring up at a blood-covered Riku, who was shaking and doubled over now.

"Fuck," Axel breathed, because one of Sora's last grips on sanity had been bitten, just like his father had. And more were coming, the slow, uneven plod of dozens of dead feet not yards away and closing.

Roxas threw his gun to Sora, screaming "KILL HIM!" at the top of his lungs, the wrenching from his throat

Sora's mouth curved around the word 'no,' fear and disbelief and horror written on his face as he shook his head. He scrabbled away, fingers wrapping around the barrel of the gun as he watched Riku die. The boy with the silver hair choked and screamed, the unnatural shriek of the infected bursting from bloody lips, his eyes blood-red and unseeing, everywhere blood and death and destruction.

Axel took pity and stalked up behind Riku, aimed the barrel of his Lupara at the back of the younger man's head, and pulled the trigger.

All Sora could do was tremble and stare blankly as Riku's body crumpled to the ground, blood and grey matter spattered across his face.

That night, Sora and the rest of his party left. Axel could hear the brothers screaming at each other from several rooms down the hall, and couldn't help but wonder just how sturdy the hotel doors were since their raised voices were probably attracting attention.

What he didn't expect was for Roxas to stalk back into the room, pull the ever-present machete from its sheath on his back, and shove him against the wall. Axel barely had a chance to breathe before the razor-sharp edge of the blade pressed hard into his neck and Roxas was in his face, teeth bared in a fierce snarl, eyes puffy and red. Axel put his hands up carefully. "What's going on?"

Still raging, Roxas attempted to force a promise from him to kill before the infection took root, ranting uncontrollably until Axel grabbed his wrists; Roxas stopped and gasped for breath, struggling half-heartedly against the redhead's grip. Slowly Axel pushed the machete away from his neck, paying no mind to the trickle of blood from the cut.

"You don't even have to ask," Axel said quietly, fingers ruffling Roxas' hair. "I'll do it. And you better too."

0o0

Before the world went to hell – before the plague, when Axel was young and still watching cartoons and procedural law shows – Axel never once gave a thought to the Romeo and Juliet type romances. The girls in his class swooned when it was his turn to read as Romeo, but he could barely stomach the horrible clichés he was forced to say. Twelve years old and jaded, he'd denounced the whole idea of romance.

However now – given the state of the world, the ever looming darkness and death – Axel could kind of understand the draw. Since the outbreak the most romantic thing he'd been told was that Roxas would kill him first if he'd been bitten, before the infection killed him from the inside. And to him the fact that Roxas' idea of affection was the promise of a one-hit mercy killing somehow seemed off-putting, though he knew he shouldn't have expected anything different from his pocket-sized Rambo.

Day 423

We don't talk about our relationship – or whatever it is – at all. At first it might have bothered me because I wanted to know what we were or some shit, but I don't really care now. Roxas told me the other day that he'd only ever turn a gun on me if I was already a dead man (part of our agreement anyway, was that if either of us got infected we'd kill before it got through all the stages, save each other the pain of what basically I can describe as rapidly progressing stage 4 stomach cancer squished into mere moments), and what kept him from doing it anyway on a daily basis was that he 'was kind of attached' to me. So, hell, I figure that's the closest he's probably ever going to get to telling me how he feels and I should count myself pretty damn lucky. I guess he wants to keep me around, and I'm not going to argue or question that.

What's the point in doing it on your own anyway? A man on his own out here will go stir-crazy, alone and without backup, now that is a dead man walking.

"Do I remember what?" Axel asked, not looking away from the road.

Roxas fidgeted minutely in the passenger seat. "That special day. The one you gave me chocolate. Remember?"

Axel paused, frowning as he searched his memory. "Oh yeah. That was Valentine's Day." Talk about a blast from the past, man.

"A day where people give things to special people."

"Yeah, Rox."

The blond nodded, turned his attention back out the window, and that was that.

The days marched on and winter storms hurled themselves across the country; Axel managed to skirt most of them, driving along the southern parts of the states and holing up in hotels and houses when they could. It didn't really matter to him where they went, but it was nice to chill out every once in a while holed up in secure house, sitting up on the second floor with Roxas curled at his side snoring softly, rifle clutched in his hands.

After the brutal winter began winding down they started to head out west; they ended up parking and staying somewhere in Arizona. There was even some snow on the ground outside the house they decided to stay in, and Axel was pretty optimistic due to the lack of bodies and zombie in the vicinity. He was even looking forward to getting off the road; Roxas had been mysteriously antsy and agitated for the last few weeks and his short temper was starting to grate on Axel's nerves. They silently brought their scant belongings into the house, giving each other a wide berth; Axel watched the blond out of the corner of his eye, watching him fidget with something in his duffel.

Axel was putting some of his clothes in the empty drawers when he saw Roxas' shadow fall on him. He looked up blithely. "What's up?"

"I," Roxas started, holding up a plain brown paper bag. Axel stared, his jaw dropping slightly as he watched the blond swallow nervously and readjust his grip on whatever was in the bag. "I, uh. Happy Valentine's Day."

Axel's world came to a complete halt. He blinked; Roxas …. had done something for Valentine's Day? Was he living in the Twilight Zone?

Roxas handed Axel the heavy package apprehensively, putting the bag more or less in his face. "I hope you like it. The dealer I got it from said it was the best still available in the underground markets."

Axel chuckled a little at his nervousness, hefting the package in his hands and deducing it was probably alcohol. He pulled back the paper and opened his mouth to give his thanks, but no ordinary sound came out. Instead Axel continued to stare at the bright blue label, uttering a small, helpless whimper.

"Is it bad?" Roxas asked, the dangerous edge already in his voice – another dealer's life was at stake, which would make Rambo's total twenty-one.

"No," Axel choked, swallowed thickly. He was in the Twilight Zone again. "Where . . . where did you get this?"

Roxas shifted, the tension leaving his body. "A dealer out in Tallahassee. So is it as good as he said?"

Axel turned his stunned but discerning eyes towards the sealed bottle of Johnny Walker Blue. "If the stuff in the bottle is what the label says, then yeah. This is real good whiskey. I don't know what to say," he muttered.

Roxas twiddled his fingers. "Thank you?"

"Yeah, thanks," he said, smiling broadly. "Thank you, babe."

"Not your babe," Roxas grumbled, pushing him away weakly when Axel moved in to kiss him.

Axel maneuvered around his protests and planted a kiss on his cheek. "I don't have anything for you though."

"Then we're even," the blond snickered, pushing him again. "Stop it."

Suddenly Axel had an idea. "What do you say we do something really crazy," Axel grinned dangerously, "and go to Vegas."

Roxas stared at him with a blond quirked eyebrow. "You hate the desert – and furthermore, so do I. Why do you suddenly want to go to Vegas?"

Axel shrugged. "I think it'd be fun. Sin City, our very own playground. Why the fuck not?" When Roxas snorted he continued blandly, "That wasn't very sexy."

"I suppose since I made you take us to Manitoba, I can indulge in one of your whims."

"Only one of my crazy whims? What about a second when we get there?" he asked, wiggling his eyebrows at the blond.

"Ask me later. One whim at a time," Roxas answered, leaning in and nipping at his ear.

"What about a bet?" Axel countered.

"Let's hear it first."

Axel thought the terms over. "Every day we're in Vegas, the first one to shoot an Elvis or a showgirl zombie … tops for the night."

"One – who the fuck is Elvis? And two – don't push your luck."

Day 600 and something

Well, we've been all across this God-forsaken country – driven from coast to coast, and as far north or south as either of us could get without having a minor personal revolt – and it has been pretty good. We don't take any day for granted, and we just keep looking forward to the next day and the next crazy, fucked-up adventure it brings. Two years now, and I would go another round without a second guess. I don't care if this is the diary of a walking dead man or if Roxas keeps chuckling at this little book, but if Bonnie and Clyde got to have a song written about them, why can't we? Personally I think we're a little more daring and a whole lot hotter together anyway.

Helllloooooo Vegas! Give me a penthouse suite at the Mirage and an Elvis or a showgirl (I'm not picky) to kill and everything will be awesome.