Hetalia Zombie!AU Chapter One,
[Tally the Days]
~Groups~
(As of now- they can and will change. Comments on each group's condition are posted underneath their respective group. Status updates on the groups occur every five chapters)
Suspect Group- Kiku, Arthur, Ivan
(Probably the least likely group to get along. They seem to be surviving)
Militia Group- Lovino, Vash, Matthew
(Strict rules and short temper help this group stay safe. They seem to be surviving fairly well)
Underestimated Group- Tino, Emil, Eduard
(Unexpected intellect and weapons knowledge keeps this group on their feet. They seem to be surviving fairly well)
Charter Group- Roderich, Lukas, Raivis
(A grudging agreement to protect one another binds this group. They seem to be surviving)
Disarray Group- Alfred, Lars, Toris
(This group is in relative anarchy from disagreement, but they stay together out of necessity. They seem to be surviving)
(Survivor group(s) of focus during this chapter: Suspect Group)
"We need to keep moving," Kiku muttered to the arguing duo that formed the group with him. His voice was barely audible, more similar to a mouse or a bird's squeak than speech. With a sigh, the Japanese man stared on beyond the bickering two and at the misty dawn over the destroyed wasteland of what used to be a farming village. It had fallen from fire, that Kiku was sure of by the charcoal and fine layer of ash that coated everything. It briefly occurred to him that his white gloves were dark with soot from where he sat quietly on a burnt log, feeling its flaky, flame-crisped bark and letting his mind wander from the enormity of this situation. Kiku bit his lip but showed no visible signs of his frustration at the English and Russian men. At this rate, though, Kiku could blend into the ground with how gray his white clothes had become, just nestled in the ash. It had been nine nights since they had seen the rotting figures on the horizon, and yet they had stopped to rest at the charred farmhouse three nights ago and refused to keep moving, although they knew the undead humans that pursued weren't much far behind.
Sunshine flickered over the land, spelling a brief moment of security, away from the zombies and the hell they brought on this world. But still Kiku was unnerved, even by the most gorgeous sunrise. He realized what was missing with a start. Bird calls. There were no more birds to sing in the trees, and barely any trees to house birds even if there were plentiful. No morning was the same without waking to the song of the avian wonders. How had the apocalypse damaged the world this much, such to the point a dawn without birdcalls was a normal occurrence? Kiku shook his head slowly as if in disdain of some sort and stood stiffly, but with a sense of honor and respect to his movements. Then he repeated at normal volume speech.
"We need to keep moving," Kiku's level tone seemed to startle the others out of their petty debate. At this rate, they likely thought that the Japanese man was mute before he had just spoken up. While this proved not to be true, as they knew that he spoke, it was still rare when he did so at normal volume. When he did, his voice was always level and his face conveyed none of the emotional reason for his words.
"The zombies are still several days off, Kiku. We can still avoid a fight if we leave tomorrow," The British man, Arthur, spoke with an accent distinctly different from Kiku's own. He knew that Arthur was exhausted, though. He had been wounded in their last brawl with the zombies, after they had discovered that many tactics that people use in movies aren't actually effective against real zombies. They had to resort to running, despite Arthur's leg injury. Ivan had resorted to carrying Arthur so that they could keep up the pace, something he wouldn't let Arthur soon forget.
"I know you're injured but it makes more sense to get a lead, or so I believe…" Kiku added softly, his voice becoming hushed once more. The tall Russian man leaned on a faucet pipe he used as a weapon and spoke up with almost child-like innocence, despite his intimidating stature.
"I could carry you, da?" It came nearly as a question, although it was merely an offer. Kiku sat back down on what he had dubbed as his log, as he sensed another fight brewing. What had seemed like an offer or a suggestion was really an order when it came to Ivan, Kiku had noticed. The Japanese man curled on the log and shut his ears to lessen the loudness of the shout he knew was coming.
"Like bloody hell I'll let that happen!" Arthur screeched, causing the Russian man to give a tiny smile in response. Kiku wondered why in the world Ivan enjoyed angering Arthur, and why in the world Arthur went with it until they both ended up screaming at each other and the 'kol'ing and intimidating aura from Ivan caused them both to abruptly stop. Kiku stood silently and shuffled away. If they weren't coming, so be it. The zombies were only several days off. He'd keep moving without them if he really had to. While a pit formed in Kiku's stomach from anxiety, he couldn't stand waiting around for the undead to find them. As he padded away, Arthur and Ivan stopped their shouting and muttered ashamed apologies- yes, apologies- and set a brisk pace to catch up with Kiku. They did, hauling their supplies over their backs. Kiku took his bag from Arthur, hiding his surprise at the two's actions. Arthur reluctantly passed Kiku his bag, saying he would carry it as an act of apology, but getting shot down when Kiku responded by softly reminding the Brit of his injury. Their walk through the cinder and slag coated wheat stalks took much time, and, uncharacteristically, there was no speech or arguing; there was only the subtle clanking of Ivan's metal faucet pipe tapping against rocks on the ground as he walked.
"…How many people do you figure are still alive?" Arthur asked the other two suddenly, stunned that he had even voiced the thought he had been having. Upon the silence being broken, Kiku and Ivan jumped slightly, but both responded in their own ways, each quiet and solemn. Apocalypses changed people, or so it seemed. At least they held onto as much of their old selves as they could.
"We haven't seen another since the beginning of this hell," While Ivan's voice was its child-like chirp that he sometimes used, there was no morbid humor to it this time- he was serious. Kiku, after deciding that Arthur and Ivan weren't going to fight again, spoke up.
"Ivan is correct. We haven't seen anyone," His voice was barely audible as always, but they understood what he said with resounding clarity. There was almost no one left. Ivan raised his faucet pipe slightly and brought it down lightly against the ground, and leaned down to pick up a palm-sized slab of charcoal he had chipped from the scorched earth. He delicately passed the piece to Arthur, who drew his pocketknife and slashed 16 marks across the crispy material. Tally marks for all the days they had survived since the apocalypse had started. Kiku frowned slightly as Arthur looked to his face, "There's one more," Kiku added, swallowing, "There's 17 days. We've been around for 17 days,"
"Thanks. I'm already forgetting time now, aren't I? Even forgot tea-time yesterday," Arthur muttered as he made the 17th tally. The tallies were tiny so that there was room for more than a hundred more, the back side not included. Kiku wondered if they'd last long enough to fill half of the slab. It was like the bottom half of an hourglass, the amount of sand in the top half entirely unknown. One grain of pearly sand dropping per day. No one could know how much sand was really in the top half- one more grain? Five? A mystery. All they knew was the slab- the bottom half to the metaphorical hourglass. 17 grains in the bottom. Who knows how little or many in the top. The thoughts festered in Kiku's mind like a bleeding, open wound. They chafed his stream of conscious and bore their way in. There was no escape from the thought of the hourglass.
"Tea time? A pleasant luxury that would be, da!" Ivan gave a chirping response, although his humor was half-hearted. The Russian man's tattered scarf waved in the breeze.
"If we ever had tea again. God, what I wouldn't give for some bloody tea right now…" Arthur muttered as they neared the edge of the field.
"Bloody tea doesn't sound all that appetizing," Kiku tried to manage a whisper of a joke. The situation was dark. He tried to lighten it- anything to get the hourglass out of his head. He would go to the extent of cracking jokes if that became necessary, as difficult as it was for him. Humor had never come easily to Kiku. Half-hearted chuckles greeted his weak attempt at cheering everyone up. If they didn't have hope, the hourglass would run out sooner than later.
"You know what I meant, wanker," Despite his chuckling, Arthur sighed heavily. Ivan held his hand out to take the slab with the tallies, which Arthur passed to him with indifference. Kiku took a deep breath. It would be a long time before anything felt normal again- maybe it never would. Ivan looked down at the faces of the shorter men.
"I'll keep the Znak Rok," Ivan gave a nod as he spoke to them. Kiku wet his lips with his tongue to keep them from drying before agreeing softly. If he kept the lump of charcoal with the slice marks, the hourglass would never leave his head, the sand dropping… dropping… dropping… Arthur seemed okay with the prospect of the Russian man carrying the coal, and so nodded as well. It was also noted that the piece of charcoal now had a name- which had been given to it quite accidently by Ivan. Of course, the name was in Russian, but it meant 'Mark Rock'. While it was technically spelled знак рок, it was pronounced like Znak Rok. So that would be its name. Somehow, naming the strangely cruel object lessened the evil of the hourglass. A wave of sighs echoed down their line as Ivan tucked the Znak Rok into his pocket, the black dust from it coating his gloves, and they stared out at the first paved road they had encountered in 17 days. Ahead of them was a small town. Typically, towns housed people. Living people. Now, they assumed it would be brimmed with corpses. Maybe even some 'living' corpses. Arthur turned to the others.
"Should we enter?" He looked at a nastily rusted street sign that was once intelligible, but now had its words scuffled away and the orange and bronze bubbles of rust welled along its edges like water running down after a fierce storm. Kiku shifted his feet uncomfortably. Ivan stared blankly, tapping the faucet pipe against the ground in thought. They had no real weapons on them- only a pocket knife and a faucet. They wouldn't be able to defend themselves if attacked, whether by armed humans or zombies. Both faucet pipe and pocketknife glistened in the now high sun as midday came. What little weapons they had needed to be out and prepared.
"It would take much too long to go around," Kiku whispered to himself, but in the eerie shroud of quiet that the moment brought, his voice sounded like a scream in volume's terms. The three crouched behind a cement median divider along the road, eyes flickering about for signs of danger.
"So we have no other choice, da?" Ivan responded, equally as quiet in caution. Still, his voice seemed to echo with volume. The dusty and soot covered metal faucet caught the light as if from pride, scraping at the asphalt as they sat. The pocketknife returned the smirking light. It was true. They had no other choice. The Japanese man breathed in a short breath, smelling the scent of decay thick in the air, as well as the scent of ash that was being blown out from the burned farmland behind them. Air seemed thicker than water and breath was hard to catch. Tension was building like a growing wave. Something wasn't quite right here. A pebble slid from a nearby rooftop, letting gravity carry it to the ground. The sound of it seemed enormous in the soundless town and all three swung their eyes towards the small rock as it fell, jumping and clinging to each other from sudden terror. It wasn't the sound or the rock that put them on edge, though. It was the fact that pebbles don't just fall. Kiku held his breath. Arthur breathed, heavily and silently. Ivan watched, unblinking and tense.
"Who's there?" Arthur dared ask after a moment, keeping his voice hushed. An answer came a moment later in the form of a murder of crows bursting into the air, squawking and screaming and they lurched through the air, away from the sheltered rooftop that had been their roost. They had been dining on flesh, Kiku observed, seeing the black birds with their feathers and beaks glistening red from blood- not their own blood. They were the first birds he had seen in a very long time. But they were crows. An ill omen- and they had been feasting on a carcass, most likely that of a dead human. Maybe even a freshly dead carcass. The crow's voices were like horrid bells, loud, clear and ringing as they flocked away through the sky to find their next meal. Of course scavengers would flourish in an apocalypse. They all sucked in a deep breath as one, then let it out in a great sigh, still crouching behind the median divider. A lot had happened in so little time. Basic human instinct was back- the voice in the back of your brain screaming for you to run when that pebble dropped, that feeling of being watched, the tension in the air… The feeling of being prey again, Kiku realized. Humans were prey now. The group huddled, recovering, for a minute before getting unsteadily to their sore feet. Arthur needed helping due to his leg injury, which effected mostly his ankle and swelled from walking. The bruising along the wound was deep black like necrosis, but it was more than certainly a bruise, "Let's keep going. I'm ready to keep going," Arthur huffed out after balancing on his feet, favoring his wounded leg.
"Arthur, that might not be the best idea," Kiku admitted, brushing a tangled knot of black hair out of his eyes. The headstrong Brit wasn't nearly as proud as some, but he was proud enough that he would want to continue walking just to prove his injury wasn't as bad as they all thought it was. Kiku startled when the hourglass cut back into his mind, shredding his train of thought to ribbons. It was now early afternoon, and they had been walking since dawn. The British man couldn't go much further, although he'd insist he could. The desperately needed somewhere to rest. Food and water was also a high priority, Kiku noted as he was forced to wet his chapped lips once more. His stomach groaned softly in a plea for food. Ivan pointed across the street, and the two followed his gaze and direction.
"There's an alley over there. Get out of the open and let your wound breathe for a bit- rest. You have no option. I'll go get some lunch and water for us, even if I have to scavenge. Deal?" Kiku knew that the Russian wasn't offering them a choice, but he would've agreed either way. Whatever protest Arthur could've managed was silenced by a sudden jolt of pain that came when he stepped over the median barrier. He was only just able to silence a shout. His ankle looked horrible, though- it had started bleeding again. Kiku cursed himself. This was his fault- he had insisted on making the trek out of the burnt, barren countryside and into the dangerous, tense town that may as well have been a very tiny city. Despite his distaste for physical contact, Kiku took Arthur's arm and wrapped it over his shoulder so that he could support the other man in walking towards the nearest alley where they could rest out of sight. Arthur muttered a thanks, finally accepting the help. As they stumbled towards the alley, Ivan waved a good-bye as he headed off in search of food and water, slipping into the shadowy doorway of a run-down shop on the other side of the street, though he didn't necessarily have to go through the door, as the front window was entirely shattered. Ivan didn't particularly wish to pick glass out of his shoes for the rest of the afternoon and evening, however, so he chose to enter through the door.
"Lay down," Kiku helped the Brit to sit down and prop his head up on a rugged brick wall. Arthur bit his lip to keep from hissing in pain as Kiku took off the other man's shoe and sock as gently as possible. Despite being gentle, anything touching the injury made it burn like fire had been ignited underneath his skin, sizzling its way up his leg and towards his brain. Spots and black stars clouded Arthur's vision briefly, and he attempted to shake his head to rid himself of them. Worse. That only made it worse. Kiku had to hold a hand over the Brit's mouth as he wailed softly from the headache that blossomed within his skull- if he didn't muffle the sound they'd surely be discovered. Kiku shifted out of the only patch of sun within the alley and nestled into the shade to get closer to Arthur's leg to examine the wound. Some sort of awful twist or sprain. His entire foot swelled from blood and maybe even some pus. Dark purples, blues, and greens covered the surface of his skin. Kiku shifted once more into the sunshine, deciding that although he'd like to help, there was nothing he could do but wait for Ivan to return. He settled down on the grimy, mossy ground with slight hesitation, sitting next to Arthur, who had chosen a seat in the shade. By now, Arthur's eyes had closed peacefully and he lightly dozed. Kiku startled when a shadow blotted out his little square of sunlight that had been bringing him warmth. It was only Ivan. Kiku let out his breath from relief. Ivan was intimidating and scary to both Arthur and Kiku, but he was much better than some random rogue. Kiku put one gloved hand over his own mouth in a 'shh' in order to signal to Ivan that while he could talk, he should be quiet.
"He is asleep?" Ivan asked softly as he lowered himself onto the ground beside the Japanese man, the sunlight returning now that he had moved. Kiku gave a tiny nod. Ivan passed Kiku a small cardboard box, and he opened it. Inside there were three flasks filled with crushed ice that would later become water. Also within the box was several cans of preserved fruit. It would only last them all one meal, but it was much better than nothing, especially after a full day without eating thus far. Kiku quietly woke Arthur with several hesitant taps to his shoulder. The Japanese man put a finger over his own lips once again to motion for quiet.
"This might sting a bit," Kiku's voice was cracked, dry, and tiny. Arthur furrowed his bushy eyebrows briefly before seeing the man fill his hand with crushed ice from the flask that had been meant for him. Kiku was using his own water to help Arthur. Arthur couldn't help but pout.
"Use my water," He half-croaked, still weary from his doze. Kiku shook his head 'no' and placed the ice gently upon the swollen skin. Arthur grit his teeth and clenched his fists at first in agony before relaxing as the ice melted, letting out a sigh. The relief the ice brought after the initial sting was incredible. They all sat there quietly the rest of the evening, trying to create conversation but all words were spoken in a hushed manner and conversations never lasted long. Sickly sweet and yet welcomingly wet canned fruit was downed, as was the rest of the water. The sun was beginning to set when Ivan headed off to get more crushed ice. He returned after moonrise with several more flasks of crushed ice than he'd begun with, now carrying five of the containers in the pitiful box, which was discarded a moment later.
"One for each of us, one for Arthur's wound, and the last to share evenly," The Russian explained, causing the other two to bob their heads in agreement, although Arthur was noticeably reluctant to admit that he needed extra care due to his leg. At last, they all reclined against the brick wall, looking up at the tiny square of sky they could see from within the alleyway. Stars danced across the blanket of darkness as if the apocalypse had never happened. As if they hadn't seen the terror and morbid death that occurred beneath them every dusk. Their light reflected over the hollow shell of a town, bathing it in a cold wash of starlight. Even bright colors became muted. Kiku wondered for many nights in a row now how such glory still existed. Even Ivan's glistening eyes were fixed on the bright specks in the sky. One by one, they all dozed off to the swirling starlight and what miniscule bit of a dancing, frolicking breeze reached the alley.
Like always, they woke only a bit after dawn. They were all alive. Kiku woke to fresh ice-water brought by Ivan and another tally in the Znak Rok. 18 days. One more grain closer to the hourglass running out. The pitter-patter of falling sand was ingrained in Kiku's mind from his dream. In the dream, all he could do was watch and wait. Watch and weight sand falling from the top of the hourglass to the bottom- whenever it seemed it would run out, the hourglass was refilled or flipped over. It was horrifying, watching days as sand slide past his eyes- closer and closer to no more days. Pitter-patter. Pitter-patter. The Japanese man pinched himself to rid the thoughts and the sickening sound of falling sand. But the sound didn't leave. It occurred to him that it wasn't from his dream, but the waking world. He sat up uneasily, ashamed that he had slept in and on edge from the sound as Ivan shoved breakfast towards him. Kiku waved him off, saying that Arthur could have it, despite his stomach protesting. Ivan claimed that Arthur had already eaten- a true statement, actually. Kiku took the box of stale crackers and began to munch on them, eating with a sort of slow politeness despite everything. Old habits die hard. His eyes didn't rest on much as they scanned the alley for the source of the sound like the one from his dream. Arthur seemed oblivious to the sound, reorganizing their small packs with what little supplies they owned, his foot back within its sock and boot. Ivan was also oblivious, polishing his faucet pipe with the sleeve of his shirt, which, to be honest, creeped Kiku out a little. But now wasn't the time for that. The sound. So repetitive it was torturing.
"Do you hear that?" He questioned, biting his lip from frustration after taking a sip of freezing water. The cold soothed his throat, but not his brain. His entire mind was flustered, dedicating everything it had to the sound like spilling sand. Both of the others shook their heads with frowns.
"What do you hear, da?" Ivan inquired, resting his faucet pipe down on the ground. It glimmered in the tiny brand of light he had placed it in. He suspected that the Russian had gone through quite a bit of effort to clean the makeshift weapon to the point where it nearly sparkled. Arthur paused his organizing to listen for whatever strange noise that Kiku heard, but detected nothing much other than the sound of a muted wind.
"It's… like the sound sand makes when it flows," Kiku responded absentmindedly, concentrating for the sound. He found it, the thing that tortured his ears and mind, and immediately wished he hadn't searched the air for the sound again. Maybe it was all in his head. Perhaps he was going entirely irrational and crazy from a variety of factors not limited to but including: sleep deprivation, thirst, hunger, and lack of social interaction with sane people. No. Kiku reasoned that he couldn't be going insane- insane people tended to have no concept of the fact that they weren't okay. Ivan looked around as if he could find the answer by sight. Suddenly, Arthur whispered, his voice filled with dread.
"I hear it…" His face went slightly stricken with something between unease and horror. Ivan, picking up his pipe as he got to his feet and tucking the Znak Rok into his pocket once more, listened more closely. Then he heard it as well. A quiet sound. Not quite anything fit the sound, but the closest guess was as Kiku had said- flowing sand. The horrendous repetition in it was maddening.
"There," Ivan pointed, at last pinpointing the location of the sound, "It's coming from there," he pointed out of the alleyway the clustered in and across the street to an old parking garage that had broken vehicles scattered about its entrance like dead insects. Hearts in their throats, they inched across the road in the morning shadows, anxious and curious. All of their items were packed up and on their backs. They prepared to run as they neared the garage, tension grasping at their throats as their mouths ran dry. Another sound joined the first. Something like a heavy object being dragged across the concrete of the floor. Nervousness pumped through their veins instead of blood in that moment. Cautious, quaking steps left light footprints in the dust of the parking garage's floor. It was as if they could hear one another's racing hearts, which served to only amplify the terror and dread that fed on their insides. The hourglass pattered in each of their minds. 18th day. 18 tallies on the Znak Rok. It couldn't end now. It couldn't. Next they heard another sound. Breath. Human or zombie? The latter would certainly be aggressive. The former was more difficult to pinpoint. But there wasn't any going back- a zombie would smell them soon and a human would follow the footprints if they ran. The grimy cement wall was cold beneath their touch- more frigid and glacial than ice.
At last, they huddled close to the ramp to the second floor, their progression painfully slow due to Arthur's injury and all of their fear. The aura around them right then must have reeked of terror. They were ashamed to be afraid, really they were, but this situation could mean their death. Kiku cursed himself once more for deciding to mention the sound. Closer, closer. The dragging got louder. The sand noise grew into an almost steady hiss. The labored breath from before was near. Footsteps caught their attention as well. Clad in thick boots. Most likely human. Not to say that zombies didn't wear boots- sometimes they were intelligent and wore things such as helmets and shoes- but a human was more likely. Thumping, the footsteps. They were closer. There was no speech that they heard, however. Little morning light entered the parking garage through the second floor windows and dappled at their feet in dazzling spots. No time to concentrate on the light. Full instinct. Only instinct. Ivan glided silently further through the shadows, tucking himself behind a car on the second floor. Kiku followed, graceful and noiseless. Arthur quietly limped to their location. Pressed behind the car wheel, they took heavy, ragged breaths from apprehension. Trepidation was closing in. They fought it away. Their curiosity was more powerful than their fear. Curiosity killed the cat. No- curiosity was framed. Ignorance killed the cat. But did that make curiosity safe? Hell no.
A single poke or shift in movement would've startled the hyperaware trio into having heart attacks. All systems were on high alert. What came next made it incredibly difficult to muffle their screams. A sound of a gun cocking- being loaded. Zombies didn't use guns. This was a human. And they couldn't run anymore. If a human had a gun, he or she most likely intended to use it. If they intended to use it, it would be for self-defense, right? A minute seemed like a century. Seconds were hours. Cold sweat stuck their clothing fast to their bodies.
"Welcome, intruders," A voice that was level and resounding echoed throughout the parking garage, shattering the silence. Kiku, Arthur, and Ivan were fairly brave, respectable people. But they were terrified. Peering out from behind the car, they saw no one there. But they did see the causes of all of the sounds. The sound like sand was from a carton of gunpowder that had been used to fill several firearms that lay across the ground a short ways away. The dragging was weighty sandbags that were piled near the other objects. Breath and footsteps both came from a human- the same human who prepared by cocking the rifle, no doubt, "Come out," the voice thundered even though it was only medium volume. Echoes of the voice carried for seconds afterward. Seconds became days.
"We'll find you if you don't come," Another voice added harshly, without the clarity of the first voice. The three had no option. They stood and walked on shaking legs from behind the car. And were faced with three more people. One of them had a rifle. Another grasped two pistols. The last was unarmed. They didn't stand a chance if these people wanted a fight. All they could do was pray that they didn't.
To be continued…