Since I finished "Three" I've been kind of restless for a good HOA AU. And also, even though I adore Peddie, I was itching for some Jara. Add the fact that angsty horror-tinged stories aren't very common in this archive and this was born. I feel like I should regret this but right now I don't even know what the hell it is, so...
Disclaimer: I don't own House of Anubis; I would've never done that to Jara.
"Get out your guns, battle's begun; are you a saint or a sinner?" Angel With A Shotgun, The Cab.
Yes, the song being quoted is absolutely necessary.
The night is cold and harsh, with strong, biting winds and a heavy threat of rain lingering in the dark, wet air. Against the light of the half-moon and the few stars that dot the sky, four lost souls walk farther and farther into the darkness, hoping to find shelter.
Mara Jaffray wraps her arms around her body, arranging the gun on her shoulder and cautiously continuing her walk, but not before flickering her eyes at Jerome Clarke, who walks beside her. His face is harsh and his jaw set; he keeps his gun poised as he walks. The two young men who walk before them never once break stride either, the two of them looking just as serious as Jerome.
"Looks like it's going to rain," Mara offers quietly.
At first, she recieves no answer. The three young men who walk with her are like bodyguards; they always seem to be set on saving her, even when Mara is the latest addition to their group.
Finally, the one walking before her agrees. "Looks like," Mick Campbell says.
Mara bites her lip and waits a few seconds. "What will happen if it does?"
"You mean when it does," cuts in the other young man in their group, who is Alfie Lewis. He turns to Jerome. "Maybe we should set up some kind of camp here, Jerome."
"No," Jerome says automatically. "Not here."
Alfie and Mick accept this. Mara finds herself reluctant to. She has only been with these three for about two weeks; she doesn't know if she should trust Jerome, who always makes the decisions and makes himself out to be a leader. It's not like she wants to be the leader, but still, she'd like to have some say in all of this.
They keep walking. Mara's feet are exhausted; she just wants to lie down and sleep. But she can't do that. No one can. The three young men beside her keep walking, never speaking, just hurrying to keep moving forward.
Lightning cracks across the sky. Mara flinches at the sight of it; the others beside her all tense up involuntarily, knowing what is to follow. Sure enough, with a few minutes pass, light wet drops of rain begin to fall.
"Do we have anything to hold over our heads?" Alfie asks Jerome.
"No," says Jerome grimly, and he's right. The only things they have are the clothes on their backs, the guns in their hands, a bagful of ammo, and a small medical kit that contains next to nothing useful.
They continue walking. It is a never-ending cycle; they keep moving, time keeps ticking, but they're alive. They're safe. There is no reason they should not keep moving. There is no reason they should not use their time to keep moving. Time is, after all, one of the things that can either save or end their lives in times like these.
The rain falls harder, pattering on the paved streets. Mara winces at the icy sheets of rain that fall. Alfie hikes his gun up and tries to shield his face, but Mick elbows him until he stops, complaining that Alfie is a walking target that way. Mara moves the gun to her chest, where she hugs it against the wet fabric.
Jerome walks stiffly in the rain, but when he sees Mara shivering, he slows down to remove his jacket, which he then holds out to Mara. "Here," he says. "It'll help shield the rain a little." Stripped of his jacket, all he has is a dirty black T-shirt.
"I can't take this," Mara protests.
Jerome doesn't listen; he walks faster, not glancing at Mara once. Eventually Mara gives in and pulls on the wet jacket, finding that the extra layer helps warm her a little bit.
They walk.
Hours pass. It is still dark out, but the group of four has slowed down considerably. Alfie staggers around, trying not to struggle under the weight of his gun as he is rather thin. Mick is half-asleep, Mara can barely move without bumping into Jerome every other second, and even Jerome's brisk pace has reduced to a shuffle.
"Jerome, we have to stop," Mick says against the sound of the heavy rainfall, slicking back his shaggy blond hair as he speaks. He looks weary and tired as he does this simple movement, embodying the spirit of a tired traveler.
Jerome sighs, running a hand through his wet hair too. "I know," he mutters. "The weather is tiring us out; we're too cold and wet to move farther. The problem is that the nearest safe house I know of is still a good half-day of a journey away."
Mara's heart sinks at this information, and she hugs the gun closer to her chest to try to mask the disappointment. However, by the way Mick and Alfie's faces fall, she guesses they feel the same way.
"We can build a makeshift camp," Alfie offers. "There's plenty of debris around here." It's true; rubble of past buildings and homes are scattered about plentifully.
Jerome wants to consider it, but he shakes his head. "No," he says. "Not here."
Mick groans. "Bloody hell, mate!" he cries. "You say the same damn thing every time we want to rest. When are we ever going to get some sleep?"
Jerome frowns, and Mara sees the anger he feels clearly in the way he tightens his jaw and glares at Mick. She's always sensed some sort of conflict between the two, and now, it seems as though this might break out for the worst.
"Go ahead, Campbell," Jerome snaps. "Go to sleep. I just hope you don't count on bloody waking up." He steps forward, gun heavy and dangerous in his hands. "You want to fucking die? Be my guest."
Mick grips his own gun tighter. "I'm not looking for a fight, mate," he warns, but when he says the usually friendly term that is the word "mate," he lacks any sincere emotion. "But that doesn't mean I won't kick your sorry arse in one."
"Want to test that theory?" asks Jerome darkly, ice blue eyes sparkling in the dark as he steps even closer to Mick, jabbing the barrel of his gun right into his chest.
Mara feels worry climb up her throat, trying to force her mouth open and scream words at these stupid, stupid boys to stop before one of them gets hurt. She was always the voice of reason in her family, and among her friends, but these two young men are neither and she can't bring herself to speak.
Alfie steps forward instead. "C'mon, guys," he says. "It's not worth it."
"Someone tell him that," Jerome growls, and he doesn't move the gun; he just tightens his grip on it. Mick stares at him coolly in return, never even blinking at the sight of Jerome pressing a gun to his chest.
"You going to shoot, Clarke, or just keep firing that mouth of yours?" Mick challenges.
"I swear, Campbell, if you don't shut that mouth-!"
Mara steps forward now. "Stop," she implores softly. "This- this isn't right."
Jerome whips his head to look at Mara, quizzically turning his head to stare, his eyes full of confusion; clearly, he hadn't expected Mara to intervene. Mick, from where he stands, raises an eyebrow in surprise as well.
"She's right," Alfie pipes in, looking somber. "You two are friends. We've got enough enemies around us; the least you two could do would be to stick together."
Jerome slowly moves his gun away, and Mick has the decency to look ashamed. Mara releases a sigh she kept pent up, gripping the gun in her arms tightly and hoping that everything will be okay.
BANG.
Mick looks at Jerome. Jerome whips his head toward Alfie. Alfie looks at Mara. Mara glances fearfully at the gun in her hands, but of course, she was not the one to fire; the gunshot came from farther away, but it was loud. Very loud.
Loud enough to call attention to anyone there.
"Shit," swears Mick before anything begins to happen.
Jerome blanches. "Everybody, move!" he yells, and quickly, the others obey him.
Forget walking; now they're running. They scramble as far as they can, going as fast as possible, but they're exhausted. Their bodies are sore, their stomachs empty, and their guns more burdens than help; the most the four youths can do is stagger about blindly in hope of getting away safely.
The destruction around them only gets in the way. Burned, destroyed debris of buildings that remain around them also block their path, making it hard to maneuver. Jumping and climbing steadily gets them past much of it, but after a while, the sounds begin.
These sounds are ones they recognize instantly. Mara is slower than the rest, having been barely exposed to the hunt, but eventually she too can place the sound. The shuffling of dead, heavy limbs and low, inhumane moaning soon is the only sound that echoes through their ears. Mick swears as he runs. Alfie looks pain stricken. Mara hyperventilates. Jerome stares straight ahead, steely determination in his eyes.
"We're going to be surrounded!" hollers Jerome as the four of them hoist themselves up onto a particularly giant chunk of a building. He's coughing against the heavy scent of ashes still in the air, looking to the other three grimly, sweat pouring down his face.
Mara wipes the sweat on her brow, biting her lip and trying to keep from crying out when she sees the outline of the sluggish, dragging bodies that draw closer.
"What do we do, then?" Alfie asks, the fear thick in his voice.
Jerome looks frantically around, trying to find an escape. He cannot see one; where they stand is the highest point there, and all around, there is flat and decaying debris that would offer no protection. And, sure enough, they will be surrounded if they try to run.
"We fire," he says finally, his voice tight in his throat.
Mick and Alfie wordlessly poise their guns, their faces gone grim. Mara swallows thickly and poises her own; she's never been much of a good shot. For a while, they stand like this in the pouring rain, watching quietly as the undead bodies come closer and closer, decaying arms reaching and broken jaws open and gaping.
BANG.
BANG.
BANG.
Mara grips her gun and doesn't fire as the others beside her do. Jerome shoots her a quick look before he fires again, but Mara closes her eyes and swallows the urge to throw up. They're so close, so dead, so horrifying...
BANG.
BANG. BANG. BANG.
"Jaffray!" calls Jerome. "Open your fucking eyes!"
Mara's eyes fly open. "W-what?" she gasps, and on a whim, she shoots. The gun recoils, kicking back and nearly yanking her arm out of her socket; she's fired it wrong. At the same time, however, a bullet has lodged itself in the chest of one of the several undead, making Mara feel slightly relieved she's fired it at all.
Jerome glares at Mara, giving her a dangerous, almost angry look before he resumes firing. Mara fights the urge to flush red with embarrassment as she nervously rearranges the gun and starts to fire too.
"I'm out!" yells Alfie, and he dives for the ammo bag, prompting Mick to do the same.
Mara checks hers- she's still got a few rounds- and then tries to focus on shooting, but it's hard. Even when these humans are dead, even when they're no longer human, Mara can't help but feel a sick feeling bloom in her stomach every time a bullet pierces the decaying flesh of each creature.
"They're closing in, Jerome!" Mick yells desperately as he clicks his gun into place, and he's right; the undead creatures, sensing the warm heat of the live youths, are closing in around the raised platform they stand on, their bony hands reaching and trying to climb up the debris.
"Fend them off!" Jerome calls, grunting in exasperation as he fires another round at the creatures around him. "Why are there so fucking many?!" he explodes angrily.
Mara has been asking herself the same question. Nervously, she backs up, trying to get close to the three young men, but in just an instant, one of her steps is right onto a piece of crumbling brick and she goes sliding. Her heart wedges itself in her throat when this happens, but that doesn't mean Mara doesn't scream as he begins to fall. Her hands scrape at the wet brick, trying to find a grip and bloodying her palms in the process.
"Mara!" Mick yells, and he starts to barrel towards her, but all of a sudden, Jerome shoves past both him and Alfie and dives forward, grabbing onto Mara's wrists just in time.
"Grab on to me," he says, his voice raspy and low. Mara gasps, staring up into those ice blue eyes and nodding, using her bloodied palms to grip the cold skin of his arms. Mara's gun plummets to the floor as Jerome slides his hands off of her wrist and onto her upper arms, hoisting her up carefully as to not slip off with her.
Alfie and Mick continue to fire, their faces ashen when they see how close Mara is to the dead creatures below. They can't fire without a chance of hitting Mara, so they have to turn away from where she is, biting back the urges to go over there as well.
Jerome grunts, moving Mara up once more so she is high enough as to where he can encircle her waist and drag her upwards and into his arms. Mara collapses, gasping, and Jerome patiently keeps her upright, his cold arms wrapping around her shaking body.
"I'm- I'm sorry," Mara gasps out, feeling tears prick her eyes.
Jerome just watches her with those icy blue eyes quietly. "Can you stand if I let you go?" he asks, not acknowledging her stammered apology.
"Yes," Mara answers. "I- I'm fine."
Jerome doesn't seem to believe her, but he lets go of her anyway. Mara's knees buckle, but she manages to keep herself upright, hugging her arms around her cold, wet body and trying to keep from crying as the rain seems to come down harsher.
"We're down one gun," Jerome tells the other two as he roughly picks up his gun again, checking the rounds and setting to shooting once more. "And Mara's now defenseless. We have to get to that safe house."
"How?" Mick demands. "There's no escape!"
"The numbers are dwindling," argues Jerome. "We'll get rid of them first-"
"With what ammo?" Mick demands. "We're out. The only ammo we have left is in our guns, and that's going to run out too. Then what happens when it does?"
"We fight," Jerome snaps. "That's what we do."
Mick laughs bitterly. "That's what you do," he corrects. "I happen to like living."
"You call this living?" Jerome snaps. "Get your meaty head screwed on before you speak, Campbell, and get to shooting before we all die."
Mick clenches a fist before he turns and does exactly that.
BANG.
BANG. BANG.
BANG.
Mara counts the gunshots in her head as she stands there awkwardly, defenseless and feeling ashamed to be just that. She's never felt so useless in her life before; she was always the one to take charge for her peers, to get the top marks in class, to be the leader and the one destined for great things. Then this all happened, and she became as useless as she always feared she would be.
"Joy! There are people there!"
Mara looks at the her three companions questioningly when she hears the unfamiliar male voice, but they begin to look around with the same expression on their faces; it's not them.
BANG.
BANG. BANG. BANG. BANG.
BANG.
BANG. BANG.
All at once, guns begin to fire, but they're not Jerome's, Mick's, or Alfie's. A spray of bullets begin to take out zombies from the back, easily ridding the place of them once a few rounds are done.
Mara sees them first. Four other youths come closer, gingerly overstepping decaying bodies as they walk through the rain, illuminated by what scarce moonlight shines. Three of them are female; only one is male. They look tired, the four of them, and perhaps just as worse for wear as Mara, Jerome, Mick, and Alfie are.
"H-hello," the male stammers, looking at them fearfully. He's pale and thin, with dark hair and a nervous expression on his face. Beside him are the three females; one, a thin brunette with tan skin, and the other two seemingly a set of twins, both of them pale with auburn hair.
Jerome and Alfie exchange glances, but it's Jerome who speaks. "Hello," he replies. He nods to each and every person standing there and coolly adds, "Thank you."
One of the twins snorts and huffs, "You'd better thank us. We risked ourselves to save your bloody sorry arses." This she says while crossing her arms, frowning distastefully.
The brunette girl elbows her. "Patricia," she hisses, "be nice." She turns to the others. "Are you four travelers, or are you hunters?" She asks this without a second thought; that is the first question everyone asks each other during these times.
"Hunters," Jerome answers automatically. "You?"
"Ditto," the brunette says grimly. "You four on your way to a safe house?"
"Yeah," Mick answers.
The brunette looks to her companions before turning back to the four standing atop the debris of the building. "We've got a safe house nearby," she says. "After what you just went through, you'd better come with us."
The auburn haired girl's- rather, Patricia's- mouth falls open. "Now hold on a minute, Joy," she says. "We don't know these people. The last thing we need are four mouths to feed and shelter on a night like this."
"The last thing we need is to let people die," the brunette- Joy- retorts. She turns back to Jerome, Mick, Alfie and Mara. "What do you say?" she asks them, eyes lingering on each one of them in turn.
Jerome is the one to answer. "That would be very helpful," he admits.
"So what's your story?"
Mara looks up at Joy in surprise, as she is seated on the floor by the fire and Joy stands above her, offering a mug that emanates a warm steam. Mara takes the mug hesitantly, pondering Joy's words for a while.
"I'm sorry?"
"Your story," repeats Joy as she sits down beside Mara, eyes falling on Jerome, Mick, and Alfie, all of whom sit on the floor as well, mugs in their own hands. "Names would be nice, as a start."
Jerome is the one who speaks up. "I'm Jerome. My companions are Mick, Alfie, and Mara," he introduces, gesturing to each person in turn. "What about all of you?"
"I'm Joy. Great name for a time like this, huh?" Joy says, shaking her head to herself. "My friends are Fabian"- the stammering male- "Patricia"- the doubtful auburn haired girl- "and Piper."- the silent twin.
"Nice to meet you," Mara supplies politely.
Patricia rolls her eyes from her spot on a broken couch, where she sits with Piper and Fabian. "So how'd you all get over here?" she asks bluntly. "No one ever strays by here."
"We were walking to our safe house," Jerome answers curtly.
Mara focuses on her warm cup, barely listening as Jerome explains that their journey has lasted for at least two days' worth of walking. She's dying of thirst, and her stomach growls in anticipation. When she puts her cold mouth on the hot cup, her body eagerly anticipates the warmth to come sliding down her throat. The drink, which is a watered down version of hot chocolate, suits Mara perfectly as it goes down her cold throat.
"So you're all friends?" asks Piper, speaking up for once curiously.
Mick's eyes flit to Mara surreptitiously before they fall on Jerome. "Not quite," he says, and he chuckles dryly. "We were kind of thrown together; Jerome and Alfie went to school with me, and we found Mara alone when we invaded her house a few weeks ago."
Joy looks at Mara curiously. "A few weeks ago?"
Mara tries to keep focusing on the drink in her hand, but she can't. "Yes," she affirms quietly.
"Oh. I'm...sorry," Joy offers.
"It's alright." Mara wraps her fingers around her mug tightly, even when her palms are still bloodied from earlier. She does not trust herself to make eye contact with Joy, so she looks down at the cup instead, trying hard not to let her eyes tear up at the memory.
Jerome clears his throat. "And all of you?" he asks, changing the subject. "Friends?"
"Oh, yes," Joy says quickly. "Best friends. We've known each other our whole lives."
"And hunting appealed to all of you?" Alfie pipes up, looking curiously at the odd quartet of best friends: a meek boy, a hostile girl, a quiet girl, and a curiously kind girl. "Or is there something else to it?"
Fabian is the one to speak. "We- we, um, thought it would be for the best," he says quietly. "There are so few hunters as it is, and since we had the resources, we figured that we ought to try."
Jerome nods wordlessly.
Joy looks at Mara, but then just turns to Jerome. "Seen any others?" she asks.
"None. Not even travelers," Jerome says. "The last person we found was Mara."
Patricia, who has kept quiet (though has been scornful the whole time as well), leans forward and makes the couch squeak. "That isn't out of the ordinary," she notes. "Few people choose to come here; it's crawling with zombies. Not to mention the whole place was bombed recently and it looks like the depths of hell."
"But it makes good hunting grounds, at least," jokes Joy before she turns to Mick. "Did you guys come through here for the hunting, or just because it was easy to get to your safe house?"
Jerome beats Mick (much to Mick's annoyance) to an answer. "We came through here because we'd never been here," he says. "We tried to pick through for supplies, but when we saw the dangers here, we tried to get out as fast as we could."
"Story of every place, isn't it?" says Patricia dryly. "It's all bloody dangerous. The world, I mean. One second you've think you've got a good thing, and that you're safe and it's all swell, but really it's only a matter of time before it becomes a fucking bad thing and you're running for your life."
For a minute everyone falls silent, each of them nursing their respective mugs and pondering the situation at hand. The windows of the small safe house begin to rattle as harsh winds begin to blow; the cracked roof begins to groan under the weight of pattering raindrops, even letting a few slide in.
"Sounds bad out there," Mick notes.
"Yeah." Joy looks at the windows and sighs. "Well, there's no use in talking through that. We should get some sleep; there are a few rooms here that won't leak as much as this room is going to."
"Thank you for your hospitality," Jerome says, rising to his feet. "We're sorry to impose."
"Oh, no, it's fine," Joy says, waving away the matter. "What's a shared home between hunters? Come on, I'll show you the rooms." She stands and motions for Mara, Alfie, and Mick to do the same. Fabian and Patricia linger back and set to putting out the fire, while Piper begins to gether the mugs.
Joy leads the four strangers down the hall of the small home. She shows them two rooms, one where she and Fabian stay and the other where Patricia and Piper stay. There's only one other room in the house, which Joy explains they don't use because they believe one person in one room alone wouldn't be safe. She laments the lack of giving them another room, but Jerome waves the matter away.
"One room will suit us. It's large enough," he says.
"Well, in that case, just let me get some blankets," Joy says.
When she's gone, the four youths enter the room. There is a small window, which thankfully is shut and intact. The room must have been the master bedroom of the house, because the space is large. The room is also very dusty, despite the only piece of furniture in the room only being a small bed.
"They're very prepared," Alfie says in a hushed voice as they stand, taking in the sight of it all. "Blankets, food, water...it seems like they've been staying in this safe house for a while."
"More prepared than us by a long shot," Mick agrees.
Jerome frowns, but doesn't mention that. "We'd better go to sleep," he interjects. "We have to get moving tomorrow morning as soon as we can; the last thing we need is for our trip to our safe house to be delayed any further."
Once Joy brings back a few blankets, they agree to do just that. They line themselves up across the floor after pushing the dusty bed farther away from them, and making sure to arrange their supplies nearby as well.
Mara moves to place her blanket at the edge of the group and a good deal of space away from them, but Jerome places a hand on her arm, stilling her movements effectively.
"Place yours between mine and Mick's," he orders, looking at Mara with those blue eyes that Mara has always known to be cold. "I'm going to have my gun nearby, and so will he; you'd be defenseless if you slept there."
"Alright," Mara says slowly, and Jerome gives her a brisk nod before beginning to set up his blanket as well. It isn't until Mara, lying on her blanket and quietly staring at Jerome's back, begins to drift off to sleep that she realizes she is still wearing his jacket.