A/N: Several conversations about zombie Wicked led to this. Basically, The Walking Dead meets Wicked, with the characters fighting for their survival in a zombie-stricken Oz. Anyone who's seen The Walking Dead will probably notice strong parallels to the series in the first chapter.
Stricken
~ A Wicked Fanfiction ~
~ By Heatqueen ~
Chapter 1
You know that feeling, when you wake up in the morning, and no matter how hard you try you cannot remember where you are?
That's how Elphaba felt when she woke. Then she was hit with pain.
Her right arm flew to her left shoulder, on which, through her clothing, she could feel something padded. It stretched from her collarbone across her shoulder and around her back. Pressing on the centre of it caused pain to shoot down her side.
As her fingers played with the cloth covered padding, she saw a flash of a spear coming towards her, and winced.
She could feel as much that she was in a bed, though it was not a familiar one. The blanket was too thick to be hers; normally she slept beneath her cloak. Whatever she was wearing was far more comforting than her usual attire. It was smooth and smelled fresh, a smell that reminded her of a life that was once hers, that was now worlds away.
Whoever had granted her mercy, whoever had not murdered her on the spot, she owed her life to.
She cranked an eye open but could not see much; the lights were out. When her vision adjusted she made out vague, grey shapes. The room was small and simple. There were also wires connected to her veins, which she yanked out, grunting as the needles tugged at her skin. Somehow, whatever had passed through those wires, had not killed her.
But why the silence? If this was some kind of hospital, there ought to be people – or Animals – wandering around. Her experience of hospitals informed her that they were never quiet places, and yet she had yet to hear a peep. No padded footsteps, no hushed conversations, no stretchers wheeling patients to and from their rooms.
She heaved herself upright, acknowledging a strong wave of dizziness, but expertly squashing it down. There was only a door, and a small window. And in the corner – causing Elphaba to exhale in relief – a bundle of the few belongings she possessed, and her broom, standing upright, almost winking. They must have been all of two metres away, but with pain shooting through her body at every slight movement, it might as well have been a mile.
Balancing unsteadily on her feet, she clung onto the edge of the mattress and staggered forward, groaning as her shoulder seized. Almost as soon as she was up, she slipped onto the floor, into a pseudo-sitting position, from where she could about stretch her uninjured arm. Her broom, her old friend, almost seemed to hear her; it was as if it leaned forward to fall into her grasp. She used the broom's length to drag the rest of her things closer.
There were only three: A cloak, a hat and a book. The cloak was tattered and torn, a combination of black and dry mud. The hat, once pointy (It's really sharp, don't you think?), now crooked.
The book, titled in a funny language, with letters that seemed to swirl around, was pristine.
Kill the witch, a faint yell echoed in her head.
Well, she had only two options: Stay here, and hope that no one showed up to finish the job, or get the hell out before anyone realised she was awake.
Not one for lying around, she chose the latter.
The broom was a great help; it almost pulled her to her feet. She leaned against it, panting heavily, biting back tears from the pain in her shoulder. When the pain was just bearable, she staggered towards the door. Giving it a weak shove, she heard and felt it hit something on the other side. It took all the force she could muster to force the door further. Through a narrow gap, she strained her eyes to see what was on the other side. A trolley. At least that was moveable.
Elphaba slipped a hand through, grasped the edge of the trolley and pushed. It wheeled away and crashed into a wall on the other side.
She stepped into an aftermath of war and winced at the overwhelming stench. If there was once order, it no longer existed. A gaping hole in the ceiling allowed moonlight to flood in and ricochet around the scene. Everything was everywhere: trolleys were upside down; random objects were scattered; furniture was broken. There was not a single person anywhere, except perhaps beneath a thin blanket hastily thrown over a stretcher.
Unable to tell if there was a feasible route out of here, Elphaba steadied herself with her broom and started to walk.
She walked past doors that led to abandoned rooms – some contained beds, and others computers that no longer worked. One room contained fallen stacks of shelves containing boxes of which some of the contents have scattered; they appeared to be needles with a vile green liquid inside them. Elphaba ignored them and slammed the door to each room that did not lead to an exit.
She was thankful not to run into any trouble. Her shoulder was sore and she didn't fancy enduring the extra pain should anyone decide to make an attempt on her life. Still, she hoped to find an exit soon. She was weak and losing energy fast. Part of her was tempted to curl up on a stretcher and sleep the rest of the night away, but she knew better than to leave herself exposed.
Eventually she found a room with a tiny gap in the bottom of the window. Luckily she was able to pry it open, but the gap was narrow and would require a lot of manoeuvring to get through. With a lot of grunting, shuffling and twisting, she got halfway through and then held out her broom in front of her.
'Help me out,' she muttered. The broom, though not in any way able to hear her, seemed to heed her intent. It dragged her the rest of her way, and she scraped her knees on the windowsill. The sharp sting distracted her from her throbbing shoulder.
There did not seem to be a single good landing spot. Every bit of ground was covered in rubble of some sort, whether it was an uprooted tree, an overturned carriage or fallen building. Elphaba precariously dangled from the broom, searching for a spot that was flat. She eventually found an unblemished patch of grass, and stretched out her feet to reach the ground. The minute she landed, she stumbled and fell to her knees, panting heavily. The broom landed beside her.
She squinted her eyes shut for just a moment. When she opened them, she found herself face to face with another pair of eyes staring back at her.
They were the eyes of a beheaded corpse.
They were yellow, with dried blood trails coming out of them. The skin was grey. The forehead had a gigantic hole in it, and a bit of brain oozed out.
Squelching her nausea, Elphaba forced herself onto her feet.
Only to be knocked back down again. She rolled painfully on her shoulder and looked up to see a gun at her face.
'What is your wound?' a voice demanded.
A familiar voice.
Fiyero!
She scrambled backwards, and the gun followed her.
'Fiyero, it's me, Elph…'
'What is your wound?' he demanded. 'Tell me now, or I kill you!'
'Uh – er…spear! I got speared!'
'And that's it?'
'That's it.'
'Did you get bitten?'
Elphaba froze in confusion.
'What in Lurline's name do you mean? I got speared!'
'Answer the question, did you get bitten?'
'No! I got bloody stabbed! Now get that gun away from me!'
Fiyero's stance softened. He lowered the gun, a look of apology in his eyes.
Elphaba exhaled sharply.
'I'm sorry. I had to check. You could have been one of them,' said Fiyero, in a low voice. 'Sweet Oz, I cannot believe it's you.'
'One of who?'
Fiyero stared at her. 'How can you not know?'
The house was in tatters; with everything strewn everywhere as if someone had picked it up, shook it and put it back down again. You couldn't tell which room was meant to be the bedroom, living room or kitchen. Boxes of a whole variety of things lined the walls, contents spilling out, ranging from food to clothes to random items Elphaba could not work out the purpose of.
She perched on the corner of a green armchair, wryly comparing the colour of her hand to the fabric of the armrest. Her skin was significantly deeper in hue. She thought that someone must have sat in this armchair, never thinking twice about the colour. It was only when it came to skin that anyone cared that it was green.
Musing over this distracted her from what had happened earlier. She had been half-dragged, half-carried by Fiyero through the front door, only to come face to face with someone she'd not seen in a very long time. She remembered the astonished eyes of Glinda staring at her as Fiyero brought her in. The expression on her face had shifted from shock to relief, and her lips had parted as though she was about to speak. No words came out, however.
She no longer looked like Glinda the Good. The infamous blue ball gown was replaced with ordinary, mismatched clothing. Elphaba was sure that she had never seen Glinda with imperfect hair, yet now her normally tight curls hung limp in barely noticeable waves.
Elphaba blinked and squashed down the image. The last time the two girls had met was at the Emerald Palace, the day Elphaba defied the Wizard. On that day, each girl had made their choices, choices that forced them apart. Elphaba never thought she'd see Glinda again. Now that they were reconciled, she wasn't sure what to say. It was far too much to assume that Glinda would want to be her friend again. Not after Elphaba left her.
The door creaked open. Armed with bandages was Glinda, who approached her slowly, her eyes shining with uncertainty. For a moment, their eyes connected, and a myriad of feelings threatened to overwhelm. Elphaba forced them down. This was no time for tears or emotional reunions. Glinda seemed to understand this as well. She carefully parted the fabric that covered Elphaba's wound, and gently released the padding that protected it. All of a sudden Elphaba felt as though no time had passed.
Glinda still retained the same gentleness of movement from the Shiz days. She peeled at the old bandages with her brow furrowed in concentration, only the slightest bit hesitant of possibly hurting Elphaba further. Elphaba did her best not to wince, but wondered when Glinda had lost the squeamishness of her teenage years. Eyes that would have once fled at the sight of blood stared boldly at the open wound.
'This looks bad.'
They were the first words she uttered, and her voice was as soothing as it had been all those years ago.
Elphaba remained silent as Glinda tended to the wound, instead wallowing in memories of the glorious Shiz days. Though nostalgia changed nothing, it was comforting to remember the better days. They were possibly the only good days of Elphaba's life. She missed the dusty classrooms and Doctor Dillamond's lectures. Strangely, she even missed the things she once despised – the frivolous ignorance of Gillikin's richest; the sneers and taunts of Elphaba's skin; the scandalous ways of the Playboy Prince Fiyero who had, somehow, against all odds, become her friend.
The Charmed Circle; what an odd group they had been. A green girl, a prince, several wealthy lasses, an odd Munchkin boy and a hilarious double act who seemed more interested in each other than their dating prospects. Somehow they all got thrown together and learned to get along. How trivial compared to the present, but how gloriously blissful at the same time.
Elphaba briefly wondered what became of them. But mere wondering wouldn't change anything.
'All done,' said Glinda.
'Glin,' said Elphaba, her voice catching in her throat. I missed you, she wanted to say, but the words got stuck in her throat. 'What…'
'Fiyero will explain everything.'
Elphaba nodded. It was the only conversation they had that night.
She was shown to a room by Fiyero. It was cramped and haphazard. In the place of a bed was a sleeping bag that stretched across the majority of a faded brown carpet. Some stacked up cardboard boxes were turned on their sides and attempted to act like cupboards, though they never quite closed properly. There was a single light dangling precariously from the ceiling.
It was more than Elphaba had had in years.
'A disease has stricken Oz,' said Fiyero. 'Those who fall victim to it die, only to come back again. They feed off those who are alive, and their bite spreads their plague. You must not get bitten by them, that is imperative.'
It was a vague explanation, and Elphaba would not understand until tomorrow, when a wave of the infected struck.
