Fallen ~

What do you do when everything has fallen apart? Stranded alone, Natsuki has to wonder if there's anything worth fighting for anymore while trying to survive the zombie apocalypse. AU

Mmm. Zombies. It's come to my attention that this is a bit of a tried and worn topic to throw the MH characters into, but hopefully you will find my story tastefully different.

Chapter One

Alone ~

I used to be able to sleep. It was never something I had to think about in advance. There was never any danger in sleep. Now… I hardly sleep at all.

My eyes open on a snap and I have the urge to bolt upright. It's painful as my body aches, telling me I've been going too hard for too long. I know I need more sleep as my eyes still twinkle with sand and the grogginess makes me sag. But nonetheless, I scan the room out of habit, hurriedly whipping my head behind and around me. I'm relieved to find it's only me, although my hand has already instinctively gone to the gun holstered in my pants.

I see I'm in a dim bathroom. It's a full bathroom with ceramic tile, which I have just awoken from, a long cabinet sink, and a shower. I take a guess that this is an apartment or a hotel. There is debris scattered around the floor, all covered in a chalky tan dust. Vague memories of dark hallways, probably last night, float around my head, but I don't remember entering a bathroom, which should probably scare me more than it currently is. Did I get drunk again? I'm assured that I must have as the hangover starts to hit my stomach.

The room is dark. There are no windows and the power grid for Tokyo has long since fizzled out. These kinds of places, hotels and the like, used to be very unsafe. During the initial outbreak, the government kept people locked up in the hotels and even their own homes to try to prevent spreading of the disease. Instead, the virus was able to sneak its way into every one of those homes and hotels and carefully, surely turn everyone into monsters. But now, they're all mostly empty. Everyone has walked back out. It's the higher floors that are usually safest now.

I'm frustrated as I quickly try to wake my blurriness away. I'm a light sleeper now but I never want to wake up anymore. Though I understand all too well what would happen if I just let myself slide and relax. An internal battle that has me torn, give up or keep going.

In fact, I get so little sleep, I've lost track of time. I'm no longer on any schedule. The sun means nothing anymore. I'm only asleep or awake when I need to be.

I try to move only to find that my arm has fallen asleep because I had been lying on it. I sleepily roll over towards the nearest piece of furniture and sloppily use the counter to pull myself up, my feet stumbling for footing underneath me. I finally stand off the ceramic tile flooring, squinting. Sandy dust and small pieces of the ceiling run off my back.

My stomach groans as I stand up straight. It hurts, stretching, because I've not eaten anything recently but the scraps I manage to find. So I've learned to ignore the hunger pains.

There's a creak just outside the door and I become on edge. Instinctively, I reach for my weapon and hold it tensely. A distinct scratchy sigh follows the creaking, alongside a strained gurgle, as if the sound of choking. I hold my breath, my eyes widen and I let a heavy, exasperated exhale out through my nose.

It always startles me, knowing what they are, knowing that they're here; near me. To live in this fear… it's torture. To always have your chest pounding, adrenaline pumping, jumping at every shadow, takes such a physical toll.

Praying in this filth left by civilization for deliverance; to be left alone. I feel a teardrop, but try to ignore it. It kills to always be running and also have to live on what little bits and pieces this ruined city has to offer. A body can't keep up. But the living alone, firstly the overwhelming fear that comes with the darkness, but also being separate from everything you once knew, except for the demented ghosts of what used to be people, that might just be the worst.

This is life now. Maybe I had something once. I may have had friends, a home, a future, a love… but now… I have nothing. My name is Kuga Natsuki, and for the past six months, I've been wandering the streets of a Tokyo I once knew, alone, waiting for the rescue they said would come.

Why shouldn't I just kill myself? I could do it now. I have the gun. I wouldn't have to put up with this shit any longer. No more pain. No more feeling. No more of this freakish insanity that has become the unfortunate reality. What the hell am I waiting for? Why am I still here? I'm broken and forgotten… I've lost it all. What am I still hanging onto?

It's hard to believe… that out of the world's billions of people… why me? It can't just be me...

I slowly lean against the door, sliding down to sit against it to barricade myself in, which is always a stupid move. It puts you right into checkmate. They don't even have to try to trap you.

I can feel tears that simply overflow and cascade down my face, then drip tenderly off my chin as I sob silently. I bite my tongue, clench my teeth together, and feel all my muscles stiffen as the stress bares down on me. I must be silent. Or they will hear me. I can feel just below my jaw, along the ridge of my throat, how it tenses in a severe grip, as I have to agonizingly hold it all back. To keep just barely from breaking down entirely. I'm not supposed to lose it. Not like this. Not on my own. I can't afford that.

I know there's a good number of them out there now. There's more consistent shuffling and scrapping outside now. Their footsteps, each leaden and exhausted and their breathing: every breath droning, discomforting and barren as wind itself. I can hear every detail. It's terrifying, to think now possibly more have been drawn here. I am truly frozen with panic, so much so that I can do nothing but sit through it.

I heave my chest tightly to keep quiet, for I must stay quiet or else they may know exactly where I am. But I'm pretty sure they've already smelled me out and that is why there are so many out there.

I try in vain to stall each empty cry that wants to explode out of me, turning them into small coughs. I tap the nozzle of my gun mercilessly against my forehead in a final attempt to think and reason as I hold myself crunched over my knees against the door.

An incoherent curse or two slips every few moments. I can't bear to open my eyes to face this reality. I press my back harder against the door. In this trapped little bathroom, I allow myself to melt this much. Knowing what's outside, meaning just outside this door... they're so close. I don't think within the past half year I have ever been this trapped, hunted and close to them all at once.

Wait… I think slowly. Bathroom. I look up immediately. Why didn't I think of this earlier? In a frenzied crawl, I make it over to the first object. I stare at the toilet absently. I want to punch it for not having water in it.

'It's not fair!' I nearly scream. I pull out the tap of the sink next. Nothing comes out, dashing any of my desperate hopes. I lean against the sink, defeated, I put my head down on the counter. This thirst is incredible. This is not a life at all.

And I have to wonder, in my final efforts of survival, do my last resorts make me just as unhuman as them? If living like this, like an animal: killing and hunting, is no life at all, then is everyone truly gone? Have the very things inside of us that make us human truly departed?

A whirring sound faintly buzzing outside catches my attention. The buzzing is foreign, as in: not created by the sickies. It isn't breathing, nor is it footsteps. It's far away but it definitely sounds new and possibly man-made. At first, I think it's a generator kicking in somewhere. It excites me for a moment and I strain to hear whatever lay beyond the door and beyond the room, whist half-heartedly flickering the light switch, but nothing happens.

Actually, the longer I listen, the stronger the humming gets. I'm confused as I try to guess what it may be. An AC unit somewhere? Nothing that makes sense. But if it's getting closer, it could be important. I cannot stay in this bathroom forever. I'm split between going out to investigate the noise, an opportunity which may pass me by if I don't make an attempt, and staying here and safely waiting it out. Both sides have their pros and cons. There are cannibals outside and I don't know how many, so it could end badly. But going beyond my sanctuary could also be beneficial if it turns out to be other people out there. I touch on the sensitive subject of rescue and other survivors. It is such a long-shot it hurts, and I've generally dubbed this topic taboo in my head now for the false hope that it brings, but it provides so much optimism I cannot help it. And having listened to nothing but heavy breathing for such a long time now, this idea of more survivors sounds more promising than anything.

I click the safety of my handgun off. I decide on leaving. I decide that even though my new lifestyle is inhumane, life is still worth fighting for. The very thing that makes us human is inside of us, it is in our bodies, in our minds, and our courage, and cannot be taken away. And I still have those things.

With energized force, I kick the door open to a decrepit room with five even more decrepit-looking zombies wandering aimlessly in it. My loud clatter makes them all loosely turn their heads. My mouth gapes stupidly and I gawk like I've never seen anything like them. In abrupt times like these there is not much more one can do than be surprised.

But I learned early on in my survival career here, that having the right attitude and focus towards this craziness means everything. You need to stay in the right state of mind. If you hesitate or over-think or panic, you're screwed. Your best chances are when you take things head on. I'm not afraid.

I quickly shoot through this crowd and they fall. USing the gun is a bad idea in itself, but I plan on leaving soon. I only take five shots and waste no more. I make them clean to the head by getting up close to them, but staying agile and not letting their feeble bodies near me.

Thinking strategically, I walk to the next door, which happens to be to my right, and I'm ready to walk out and explore, but then I hear the buzzing behind me.

I turn around to what is an amazing view of the city. A large, tall window missing it's curtains and most of its glass occupies a majority of the opposite wall. A fantastic, expensive view glares at me in the morning daylight. I walk bewildered up to the edge. I realize I'm on a high floor so I get a panoramic view of what used to be a beautiful, modern city. It's overwhelming, but this is where I've been living for some time: in this hellhole. I can see high trails of smoke wafting from many buildings and ruined remains of everything everywhere. Things just keep burning. I'm too high up to see any figures, but I imagine that the streets are still crawling with people. In fact, I'm sure I've drawn some here now with my gunshots. I have the urge to start running. But my attention is hooked here.

I hear what I've been listening for. The buzzing sounds more periodically like a whip now, the sound quickly heightening and fading. It sounds like nothing I can place, and probably not a generator. I can hear it clearly now. Then something new appears in the far background, very tiny, sailing across the sky. I bend closer to the broken window, trying to find out what the thing is.

And before I can think, shooting upwards, right next to the building, a bulky black aircraft rockets by. I fall backwards in sudden alarm. I stare in awe as a black military helicopter zooms by. It rocks the air around it, blowing into the room like a hurricane. Its gigantic frame making it look impressive and elegant yet powerful close up. Its blades beating so fast they look slow, and creating the loudest whipping noise, almost deafening me because I'm so close. It makes my ears pop, in the same way as when you reach high altitudes, so I cover my ears, letting my gun clatter to the floor. I swear in that spilt second I could see the pilot.

After it passes in what maybe was two seconds, but felt longer, I rise and poke my head out the window, not minding the broken glass, to watch it continue away. It only strikes me after a few moments that those were others. Other people... and they may not have even seen me! No!

I lean further out and wave my arms like a desperate moron. No! That was my chance! How am I supposed to get my life back? How am I supposed to see my friends again?

But while I'm doing that, I don't notice the procession of more military choppers behind that one. It isn't until I've given up flagging down the first, now so far away, that I see more. It brightens my spirits monumentally. To see another chance when I think I've lost it completely.

On a whim, I try to wave harder and bigger than ever. What is it, thirty, forty of them? I scream, though I know that it's useless and potentially dangerous. I don't care. I can't care about anything else but rescue now. Maybe it selfish, but I need to get back! I feel my tears hit me again as the cloud of helicopters doesn't see me. I have to get back to her… even though I know she was bitten. I had seen her get bitten right before my eyes. And then we had gotten separated.

I'm overwhelmed by the sudden amount of aircraft. I nearly drop back to the floor. No… they don't see me. What am I supposed to do? What could I possibly do?

But in mid-thought, one of the military copters jumps. I have to blink to make sure I had seen it. It looked like it had dipped a little and the tail had swung slightly. It's too far away to tell completely, but it seemed obvious out of the uniform others. I watch it dumbly as it sways again.

The helicopter I stare at seems that it can now be classified as inexperienced because of what looks like amateur flying skills. It's not long before it's closer. Then that's when it starts to completely lose control. It looked like it was having trouble before, but now a small explosion rocks the shaft of the tail. My mouth hangs open as I am witness to more insane devastation. It spirals in downward circles with a new line of gasoline smoke puffing out of the back arm. In fact, it is close enough now that as it spirals past, I have to duck out of fear that the flaming tail will strike me. Part of it mashes against the building, which causes the floor to shake.

Looking quickly at the bubble of the cockpit, I can see a cold-blooded figure stirring around over the top of a pilot's helmet, who is laying face down on the controls. No one is left unaffected.

I shove my head out the window to watch in gruesome horror as the machine makes it's final landing, a ball of fire with overlapping smoke swells upwards once it hits the ground. I have no idea-

Suddenly, the clawing at the door I hadn't noticed smashes the door open. Groping across the floor uncoordinatedly, walkers file in. They've heard me. They know I'm here. They are not to be taken lightly. If given an opportunity, they can be fast.

Hurriedly reaching for the pistol I had dropped, I lunge onto the floor onto my stomach, bravely closer to the them, mind you, and turn fast on my side to shoot. I manage to bring down one of the leads, nailing them in the head with practiced aim. The thick, disorientating bang of the gun fills my ears.

God, it sucks when they come out of nowhere. They're all so close. Lumbering quickly over to me, faster than I would like them to be moving. I am barricaded in. There is only one door in this room and these things are streaming right through it.

For a good moment I am paralyzed. What do I do? These are the things that go 'bump' in the night. These are the decaying phantoms of what once were people. These are the very creatures that lived under your bed when you were younger. And I have to stare at their faces.

I have to make a decision. Do I want to continue?

I don't have much time to take the deep breath I wanted to, so I gulp in the lungful I can and aim my firearm. It is a lot of gore to have to see all the time. A lot to be faced with, and this time, they are practically hovering over me.

I feel the kickback a second after tugging the trigger back, then a splatter of god-knows-what gushes over me. I frantically crawl backwards still on the floor. I back against the windowsill and keep shooting. Eventually I can pull myself up to a knees-bent standing position, hanging onto the side of the broken glass pane.

When I am able to drop a few more of them, I make my break for it. I push past one I left standing because I didn't want to use up all of my bullets. I form a fist and shove it's chest away from me. I don't have any sort of melee weapon to use so I have to touch it. It comes to my attention how damp it's shirt felt. It makes me shiver to think what I touched. I should wash my hands later if I ever find a decent supply of water.

So I have a new goal in mind as I head out of the room and into a tight hallway. Immediately there are more zombies staggering down the hall. It is too narrow for me to scoot past them. I am forced to fire and they fall. They fall without any flailing or self-protection. No arms being thrown in front of them to catch themselves. No, they fall brain-dead. With a distinct lifeless thud. I am quick to jump over them and move the fuck on.

The hallway is dark even though it is day. Most of the room's doors are shut, and there's no power for lights. The walls are painted a maroon red, and so the splatters of blood, new and old marks alike, blend in well.

This hotel has sharp turns and corridors which I do not like. You can never quite tell what will be around the next bend. I like the open spaces better. And you certainly cannot hear anything over the wicked thumping of your own heart and your feet on the floor.

I'm looking for a stairwell to get down. I try to make out what signs I can that have info about exits. I can feel my running is sloppy, and tired. My sneakers are worn and ripped and I slid a little on the wood when I bank a turn, but most of the fault goes to my poor fitness and anxiety.

I realize I am in one hell of a maze. And I do find a couple more individuals that just as lost as me. One case in particular is exactly what I was hoping not to happen: again I have to go around a corner, and as I do so, almost smack face first into one of them. I jump back. Spooked, I don't raise my gun right away. The thing groans and breathes heavily. It takes step towards me then it limps using its other foot.

"No…" I tell it, getting over the usual surprise. I kick it down to make less noise. This one is down very easily. It squirms on the floor and I take a second to watch it. What has happened to humanity? Why...?

From there, it's not long before I find an open elevator shaft. My mind swims with possibilities. I haven't found stairs yet. This could be an option. Dangerous and dark, but it could get me out of here quickly. The doors have been pried open and I have to squint to see inside the tunnel. Sure enough, there are the elevator cords hanging through the middle. I brace myself on the doorframe and lean into the cave. I try to see any obstacles, but it's too dark.

I whip my head behind and around me. No one. I estimate how much time I have left before they find me. Not much. I slip the gun back in my pants and start to untie my laces. I yank them out of my right shoe. Then I take a part of my jacket that has already been ripped and continue the tear.

I take the textile rectangle and string I have and wrap them loosely around my hand. Again, I glance around near me. At the end of the hall to my left, there are more.

"Shit." It's now or never. I need to do this. I make that leap of faith into the abyss. I am in the darkness before my hand can touch the steel cord and grab it for dear life. I hold onto it and wrap my legs around it. It shakes insecurely and floats unfettered. I need to climb down, into the void. But I find myself frozen. My hands are stuff. Once I'm attached to the line, I can't move.

But at the back of mind, I know I must. And survival creates motivation.

Using the fabric to prevent rope-burn and the string to weakly pace myself, I begin to slide down. I can see nothing now. And being in this blackness, I am unsure of my speed. I'm also nervous about where the elevator might be. If it's above me, is it possible that I'm shaking it lose of its brakes by hanging on this cable? I'm suddenly acutely unnerved about falling objects. What if one of the walkers chased me down here and walks right of the edge and into the shaft?

My muscles are tense with unfamiliar fear and blinding blackness. God, I wish I still had that flashlight…

I try to slow to a stop on the cable and start to climb down manually. I start doing that, putting one unseen arm below the other, still grabbing the rope between my shoes. I vaguely remember doing this somewhere. Maybe in a gym class once.

I have to keep going. What else could I do?

Going outside is the worst. Most of the walkers are in very bad condition now, after these long six months. They are a pity to look at and it's unbelievable to watch some of them actually walk. They have just the right amount of 'revived' brain activity to keep their hydraulics working, making them walk. But only so fast and for so long. Therefore, most of them cannot climb up or down anything, so getting to somewhere high, is always a smart idea. That is, unless there are already some of them in that building.

I'm running and take a uncoordinated leap through the hotel's broken front door. I stumble out onto the sidewalk. Morning light blinds my dilated pupils. I squint around me quickly.

In new areas, the most important thing is to establish safety. It's something all police forces, all military and SWAT teams were trained to do. Whether to keep someone in or something out, you must create a perimeter. Scouting these large areas for dead people is an obvious must-do. However something like adjusting to a new climate, something along the lines of being temporality sun-blinded, it's nearly impossible to see and be aware of your surroundings. The best thing to do here is to keep moving. Zig-zag sprinting works nicely.

I must look like an idiot, but I swear this is important. Even for those few seconds where you only see blur, the walkers can and will catch up to you. Quickly, I'm able to see color again and I survey my surroundings.

It would be a straight-up lie to say that I don't get scared here. Of course I do. Who the hell wouldn't? I don't like looking at their faces, I don't like hearing them, I don't like being alone. Do you have any idea how much it hurts to have the rest of the world be dead around you? Walking around you. What pain it is? I take out this frustration on a daily basis. My knuckles are always bruised and I'm usually sore because of it. It'd be nicer to have a sole individual to be mad at, but it's just me. Always. Just. Me. However, I think I have purpose. I'm still here because my life was saved. For a reason. And I owe her. But what can I do for her now? It hurts me more than I want to think about. I've found it is easiest to not think about the last times I was with her. But if anything, I think she would want me to help the other survivors… if there are any.

This street looks as every other does. Bashed, beaten and burned cars scatter the roadway. Bent poles lean over as if they're dead too. Broken glass and small items dot the street randomly. Smoke still flows out of open windows. And papers float aimlessly in the breeze. There are a limited number of zeds hobbling around. Eyes open and unblinking. I decide not to spend too much time outside.

There is one particular place of interest in all this mess to me that I need to visit. I walk over cautiously. The black helicopter's exterior is still smoldering. The metal is twisted and melted as if it were a toy. I keep my distance.

I can't stop the thought that comes to mind though: communication. Inside the chopper. These are newly dispatched military type machines. They must have radios. I make these connections all too immediately. It's not a good idea for me to get anywhere near this thing. I could just continue my own search of supplies elsewhere. There's a whole metropolis to piece through.

But no. This helicopter is all too alluring. I inch closer to it. It crashed on the side of the hotel nobody cares about, inside a small fenced-in dumpster area. I try to get behind it to see if there's any entrance, but I can't go completely around it because of the tall fence.

Maybe if I climb up to the fuselage… No, I imagine this heat would burn me. But I screw it all as I glance behind me only to see a group of the undead trailing me. Another now or never situation.

I jump up to grab the landing skids. They're still hot, but I can hold onto it. Straightening my arms out, pushing myself up, I can swing my legs up. Directly in front of me is opening to the fried door. Again, that logical part of me is telling me to leave it alone. But I grab the latch, unthinking.

"Fuck!" It's scalding. Luckily I'm quick enough to slide the heavy door immediately open, using all my weight, before I give up and wave my hand. I'm burnt and my hand is red and stings. But if I want to get this done, I have to be even quicker now. I had slid the door with a loud bang.

Reaching inside, there are two dead bodies of the men who had been flying this contraption. I'd like to squeeze my eyes shut and pretend I'm home more than anything now. It's smells of burning rubber and flesh. An unpleasant smell to say the least.

I gather myself mentally, still only leaning into the cockpit, and find what I want. The radio is screwed into the dashboard and not something I can take with me, so I screw around with the buttons to try to get a signal. It buzzes at me angrily repeatedly as I can't get anything working and that's just about when I'm ready to call it quits on account of it being too badly broken. Then I hear a voice.

"…any …we're… suburb… here… others…" That's all I needed. I scramble to press the button down.

"Yes! Anybody! I'm another survivor! Is there anybody out there? My name is Kuga Natsuki, I'm in Shibuya, Tokyo. Can anyone hear this?! Hello?" I let go of the speaking button, remembering how I can't hear any messages while I am holding it. I wait. Static crackles for a moment. It tunes up and down. Maybe there is a message trying to get through, but I can't get it.

Suddenly, the radio sparks. On instinct I retract myself out of the helicopter. Scrambling backwards in the tiny space, I drop out of the haul and land on cement on my back. I mutter a much deserved, "Oww," from the over-a-meter-fall.

The sparks must've hit leaking gasoline, and I must be the luckiest person on earth because not two seconds later did the whole machine burst into more flames. This startles me, the zombies behind me startle me, and the lightning strike in the distance startles me.

A sharp pain hits my stomach then. I have to double over, with my lower back still aching. This is a new and sudden feeling. This hasn't happened before and it worries me. I still need to get the hell out of here. It's not like a feeling of sickness, nor an exterior wound, more of a stabbing interior pain. I cough weakly. Blood drizzles out of my mouth. I put a hand to my face and find oozing down my chin is blood. What is this… so suddenly…? Is it from the fall? Did I puncture something?

The dark clouds are now hovering over me as a sprinkle begins. It's cold enough, I would expect a snow soon. I totter to my feet without using my burnt hand or my other hand holding my mouth. All I can think of is shelter. I can see all the oncoming problems stagger closer to me.

'I can… still do this…' I think sluggishly.

As the rain starts, I know I've officially hit my lowest point.