Hello everyone! This is a Warm Bodies 'short' (bwahaha) story that percolated after I put up a poll for the first time asking what kind of one-shots folks would like to see. Of course I don't get a lot of traffic, so I had only one response. That person wanted to see what happened when R was hit by a car - something mentioned in my second WB fic (Little Brown Bear) - and I wanted to see what happened in the lecture R mentions in my first fic (Awakening). So I figured, why not combine them?
This is the story I got back. I never intended it to be so long, but then again, I never do. I had a nice neat packaged story on the idea of need, then ALL of the things happened and took my story somewhere fascinating. :) I got more time with R & Julie than I thought I would, so that was awesome, and while it's a little sad, it's also quite beautiful in the end.
You do however, spend about 3/4 of the story with an OC who is, quite simply, an ass. Through him you'll see the beginnings of the zombie apocalypse. Bad Things happen, as you'd expect. I hope you'll bear with it, because R is sprinkled throughout, and the story gives you a little more insight into our favorite character, as I write him.
Enjoy, hopefully? And please leave a review, when you have a moment :D Usual disclaimer of course - R & Julie are Isaac Marion's characters, though I write from Jonathan Levine's movie versions more than anything. :) Read the book if you haven't. Also, read at least my first Warm Bodies story - Warm Bodies: Awakening before reading this.
Alan wasn't a greedy guy. At least, he didn't think so. He did however want his fair share, and if his idea of 'fair' was a little more than the next guy's, that was their problem.
Some folks didn't know how to dream big.
Boy, he did. He had huge plans, that went well beyond the course he'd been half-assedly studying for the bulk of the year. He could see beyond the tests, the grades, the lectures that made him want to scoop his own eyes out. He was in this for his business degree, but he knew business.
He was doing it every day, quiet little transactions in low traffic hallways, toilets, his own dorm room, but only when his roommate was out. He'd been a little wary of that lately, starting to get paranoid that his roommate was in with the cops.
He had a growing customer base, like any good business - one he was carefully cultivating with high-grade product and a lot of reassuring contact. Once he had their confidence, he'd start cutting the product a little, and offering samples of the harder stuff to help them branch out, stop pussy footing with the light shit, get them hooked on a bigger high.
Then they were his.
He had some competition of course, every good business did, but he knew how to undermine them without undercutting and stemming his own profit. He also knew the power of rumor and persuasion, and how to heighten and twist paranoia, till a person's nerves were taunt enough to snap. Then they'd do stupid things, and when he could aim those stupid things, his competition ended up in jail. Or worse.
He knew the local suppliers too, and the silk road wannabes, but steered clear of both. Too easy to track things online, and the locals were shaky and their shit way overpriced. Instead he made it his business to know who supplied the locals, and worked directly with them, giving them exactly what they wanted, and a little more, whenever they asked. He was always ahead of the game when it came to his debts, he knew exactly what was at stake, and what happened to those who weren't careful.
Alan was always careful.
He also grew his own stuff - a little local stash for quick access, with a substantial crop on his Uncle's commune just upstate. They loved him up there, Todd and his third wife Millie, their kids, and his prepper neighbor - the extended family as his Uncle liked to say. Lot of love up on that farm, and they were all smoking it, even the kids. Alan didn't mind, as long as they kept growing it. He kept them even happier with some synthetic stuff he was playing with from his biggest supplier - while the chemistry set crap was beyond him, he was crafting combos with the synthetics that slammed on the high and kept it going for hours longer than the best gold.
Nothing was off limits, but he never sold anything he didn't try a little of himself. Quality control was important - he was always careful what he cut with and how much - it kept the customers happy and coming back for more, and kept accidents to a minimum. He even had a little first timer package for clients moving into new territory - the basic gear they needed, advice for staying safe and getting the most potent return, and goodies to buffer the inevitable fall.
He was there for his customers. He felt their need, their hunger, and gave them exactly what they wanted.
And he was always looking for more. It was an active game for him - no sitting back, waiting for the deadbeats to knock on his door like everybody else. He wanted more. He wanted better. He didn't want unpredictable, unreliable losers who couldn't handle their debts. So he stayed in the halls, stayed off the streets, and everyone he met was a potential customer.
It was all about broadening his base, while avoiding the cops. Luck had been on his side with two raids so far, and his instincts kept him covered otherwise. He was almost positive the short squat guy from his floor - what was his name? Mike? Martin? Something beginning with 'M' - was working with the police. Guy always developed a stammer and a sudden sweat anytime he approached Alan, and asked the outright dumbest shit.
Alan hadn't taken the bait, acted oblivious, and had finally started suggesting rehab centers in a loud voice towards the kids chest, to help Murphy - no, still wasn't right - get over the 'drug problem' he seemed to have, all the while glaring at the kid with eyes that promised some serious hurt.
The kid had stopped bothering him after that, avoiding him awkwardly and obviously, and Alan finally started to relax. Which was good - too much stress over this and he'd start digging heavily into his own shit, and that was something he never let himself do. He was too smart for that.
So he relaxed, he moved through the world like it owed him something, like he had time and the means to collect, and he set his sights on some new prospects.
Tonight, for instance, he was going to hook a kid up with another bag of his special joints, after luring the guy off of straight weed. Laced with just a little blow for now, and the kid was really digging it. Said it helped him play like a freak, and he'd invited Alan to come down to the Cave at the Student Union and see his band. Alan really couldn't give a shit about the music, but musicians were easy clients, so he'd agreed to go along.
Dragging a hand through his dark curly hair as he sized himself up in the mirror, Alan glanced through the reflection at his roommate, sitting on the bed opposite under massive headphones. The ipad in the guy's lap cast shifting patches of color across his blankly focused face. Finally feeling Alan's gaze, Peter glanced up through jagged blonde bangs.
"What?"
Alan shrugged. "Nothing." He nodded at the guy's ipad, "What ya watching?"
Peter glared back for a moment. "A movie."
Alan smirked, and focused on himself again in the mirror. His roommate didn't like him, he knew that. But the guy was quiet and private, and that was priceless.
He flashed his teeth. They looked good. Straight and brilliant white. Respectable. Teeth were important. They could tell you a lot about a person. About their character. Their status. And a bonus - anyone looking to buy the harder shit, like ice, with perfect teeth? That was someone you walked away from quick.
"Your friend dropped by."
Shrugging on a navy sportcoat that matched his eyes, Alan looked back at Peter.
"Who?" he asked.
"The big guy, with the thick face," Peter answered, still staring at the glowing screen against his knees. "Denis?"
Alan grew very still. "What'd he want?"
Peter's eyes flicked to his, and the slightest smirk touched the corner of his mouth. "He said you were supposed to deliver something, but you didn't, and he didn't know why." Those eyes flicked maddeningly back to the screen. "He seemed... unhappy."
Turning away from the mirror, Alan stared down at his roommate. Peter just stared at his ipad, with the slightest smile on his face.
Little shit.
"What else'd he say?" Alan asked, his voice a little rough. Denis was not someone he wanted to see right now. The guy was built like a goddamn bear and had the shortest fuse of anyone Alan had ever met. It was a mistake ever dealing with him, and now that Alan was trying to back off, the guy was getting pushy. Denis had flashed some hardware at him a few days ago, insisting on a 'special discount' and took everything Alan had on him at the time. Thankfully he'd packed light, so it was only double the amount he'd usually give the guy, but he'd figured that was the end of it. Who else would have the balls to hold him up twice?
"That he'd come back later."
Goddammit.
Peter frowned then and looked up at him. "He looked weird though."
"Weird?"
"Yeah, sick. Pale and shaky." The smirk returned. "Wonder why."
Alan's lips grew thin as he glared at the kid on the bed. But he didn't say anything. Denis had grabbed enough coke to keep him happy for a few weeks at least, and it'd been some quality stuff. If Denis had blown through it all already, he wouldn't be sick.
He'd be dead.
"No idea," Alan said finally. Then he started to the door. "I'm going out. If he comes back, tell him I'll find him tomorrow."
Peter leaned back casually against his pillow. "To deliver his stuff?"
Without bothering to answer, Alan stuffed the keys in his pocket and pushed out of the room, turning right towards the stairwell.
Peter was definitely acting funny.
He probably should've moved off-campus by now, but he'd been trying to keep a low profile, to blend in as just another student. Didn't hurt that he was close to his biggest group of customers either. Frowning, he swung the door open to the stairwell and skipped down the stairs. The bigger problem was Denis. The guy wasn't going to call it quits, clearly. Something had to be done.
With a forced breath, Alan pushed out of the dorm into the cool night air and headed down the cracked sidewalk towards the main campus. His thoughts came in staccato bursts, most revolving around what to do with Denis. All of the options were messy.
Reaching the student union, he pushed past two giggling girls as they staggered out of the building into the night, and he turned and watched them laugh and stumble their way towards the center of town. Already high and having a good night.
He smiled, and jogged after them, making a quick sale to the redhead before her friend pushed him away and dragged her down the sidewalk. Throwing a sloppy salute at them both, he heading into the building and was surrounded immediately by a cacophony of sound - flattened guitars through overstrained amps and a voice above it all, clear and strong, weaving around the melody. A couple of guys were making out on the far end of a clutter of tables, and not far from them some heavy set chick was stabbing at a medical textbook with a blunt highlighter. He knew her. What was her name? Amy? Allison? Something beginning with 'A'. Which was funny, because Adderall was the only thing she ever bought.
He followed the noise down the stairs to the left, and shifted through a sudden mass of bodies, bouncing and swinging to the music. The lights turned warm and trippy - pinks, blues and greens bathing sweaty smiling faces and hands weaving through the air like snakes. Beyond them rose the stage, shallow and small, and standing before everyone, a tall, lanky kid, his dark hair hanging in wet strands over his eyes as he roared into the mic, then pulled back, his foot stabbing down in time with the music as he thrashed against the strings of his guitar.
Alan stayed at the periphery, leaning against the wall, and just watched for a while. The drummer he'd come to see was smashing at the kit against the back of the stage, his whole body slamming away behind the sticks, and Alan could tell he'd taken a few hits for the show - his eyes were wide, his grin ecstatic.
But Alan's gaze kept sliding from him, past the bassist and second guitarist, to the lead singer again, who'd returned to the mic, cradling it as he wrapped up the song with a long clear note that dominated the room and sent the crowd into a frenzy.
Wow.
The guy really had something. Great voice, but more than that - he looked like he belonged up there, in front of everyone.
He was definitely going places.
With the right kind of support.
Alan shifted then, heading towards the stage as the band wrapped up, the lead singer thanking everyone through a rush of applause and whistles before shilling their next gig.
What was the name of the band? Alan didn't think he'd heard it right, something about a League? All-Star something?
Dumb name.
The drummer noticed him then - Eric was the guy's name, same as his dead brother, the only reason Alan remembered it - and waved him up to the stage as the bassist started unhooking the amps and two flushed faced girls accosted the singer.
Alan kept an eye on the guy as Eric met him with a slap on the shoulder, raving about their set, how invincible he'd felt, how on he'd been, and that he could have gone all night. Alan nodded and watched as the singer shrugged his way through the girls' giggled questions. When the brunette nestled her arm around his waist, the kid actually looked embarrassed and shifted away, quickly pulling the mic stand over to block her as he broke it down.
Alan chuckled at the sight, then refocused on Eric as he realized the guy had just asked him something.
"Huh?" he asked.
"Did you bring some for me?" Eric asked, his eyes eager and bloodshot. Sweat was beading on his forehead, and Alan could see his flushed scalp through his spiked black hair.
Alan smiled. "Sure. All wrapped and ready to go."
Eric's expression grew joyous, and he quickly dived into his jean pocket for his wallet, fingering through the bills to pull out a couple of crinkled fifties. Alan took the moment to scan the room, and shifted slightly to obscure the transaction as he plucked the bag from his jacket and swapped it for the cash in Eric's hand.
"Hey," came a voice over his shoulder.
Alan turned, smoothly tucking the cash into his jean pocket as he faced the singer, and found himself looking at the kid's chin. Guy was tall. Out of the corner of his eye he caught Eric fumbling to stuff the bag away.
The man's blue eyes rose from Eric's fumbling to meet Alan's gaze, and the guy frowned, his stare turning glacial.
Something passed through Alan then, something he'd struggle to put a finger on for the rest of the night. A weird jolt down his spine that hit him just as the man's eyes locked with his own. Cold and uncomfortable.
Odd.
The guy had looks to go with the talent though, and that made him even more interesting. Could do with a better wardrobe. The red hoodie and sneakers were a bit grungy for what he was selling with his voice.
Before the singer could say anything, Alan stuck out a hand.
"Hi," he said simply.
The man didn't take the bait. Glaring back at Eric, the singer ducked down to snatch up a mic cable and started to spool it.
Eric slapped Alan irritatingly on the back again, and grasped the singer by the shoulder. "This a friend of mine, man," he said to the kid, the words bending funny as he spoke, "He's cool!"
And the drummer introduced them then, mumbling the singer's name, as he traded it for Alan's. The name slid out of Alan's mind just as quickly as it came in, as most names did.
But it was something starting with 'R'.
Alan dropped his hand, and gave the guy a sincere smile. "You got a hell of a voice."
Muttering a terse thanks, the kid flung the spooled cable down hard into a duffle the bassist had opened on the stage. Glancing back at the drummer, obviously irritated, the guy shook his head as he snatched up another cable.
"It was on fire tonight, yeah?!" Eric raved at the singer, grabbing another cable and flinging it around like a lasso. "Shit was on, right?!"
"Jesus, Eric," the guy breathed, tossing in the coil, before pulling his guitar back from the snaking cable. "Pack your stuff up already."
"Man, we should go play somewhere else," Eric said with flushed excitement, as he headed over to his drums, "Right now! Where could we get a gig?! Let's just play in the middle of the Circle, that'd be sick!" He stopped midway through tearing down his kit, and picked up his sticks to hammer out a quick, frantic rhythm that ended with a thunderous smash against the cymbals.
"Eric!" the singer yelled, snapping the clasps down on his guitar case. "For fuck's sake, wrap it up! The next group's coming on!"
"Shit," the drummer called back, nodding as he jumped up off his seat and started to pack up for real. "Right."
Alan smirked at the exchange, and gazed down at the singer. This kid needed to relax, have some fun. Clearly the guy had an idea of what had passed between Alan and Eric a moment ago, and wasn't too happy about it. Alan had to find some way to turn that around.
He walked over, casual and confident, and flashed his best smile.
"You got a lot of talent, you know that?"
The guy shot him a dark look and got to his feet, pulling the case with him.
"Yeah, I do."
Alan blinked, surprised by the guy's response. He'd totally expected a flustered deflection of the compliment, particularly after seeing the kid so awkward around those girls. Guy didn't exactly exude ego.
He pushed on.
"Yeah," he agreed, nodding with the same smile. "You could be big."
Eric was jabbering at the bassist now, a stocky guy with a thick beard and not much on top, and the singer's intense blue eyes darted to the drummer and back, darkening.
"What'd you sell him?" he asked in a low voice.
"Something he wanted," Alan replied, and he scrambled for words that might mean something to the guy. "An edge."
The singer drew nearer, and Alan searched for his name again as the man loomed over him by half a foot. Roger? Roman? Why the hell was it so hard for him to remember names?
"That's not the kind of edge he needs," the man muttered, blue eyes cold. Alan got that weird feeling again, something that unsettled him enough to make him step back. Retreating wasn't his style though, and it confused him - even though he wasn't the tallest man, he had no problems standing his ground against bigger, bulkier guys who made a job out of intimidation. Confidence had never been something he'd lacked.
But there was something about this guy.
"That's his decision, don't you think?" Alan offered casually, resisting the urge to throw something cheap about parenthood into the fray. This guy interested him. The kid's future interested him. It was going to be big. Important. Alan wanted to be a part of that.
He just had to find something the guy wanted.
Something he could turn into a need.
And then the kid would be his.
The singer scowled at him and twisted away, yanking the duffle and guitar case along as he went to talk to the other guitarist, a bookish kid with a blonde crew cut and glasses.
Alan turned back to Eric, and offered a hand with a drum case as the guy fumbled, swearing and sweating, with the stack of gear.
"Easy man," Alan said quietly, "Let me help." Wasn't doing his image any good, this kid struggling so much. As he guided Eric off the stage he leaned in close. "How many you smoke before the gig?"
Eric licked his upper lip and shrugged. His eyes were dilated. "Two.. no, three. I think? That was some sweet shit."
Alan scowled at the drummer, and glanced back at the guy in red following behind as they moved out of the Cave and up the stairs. He leaned in close again. "I told you to stick to one the first few times, remember?"
Eric gave him a fevered grin. "Nobody can eat just one man." Then he burst out laughing, high pitched and skittery, amused by his own stupid joke. Alan kept him moving, and as they reached the exit, the drummer twisted back, pointing to the far corner. "Look at those guys sucking face!"
The shout made everybody turn, and Alan was suddenly shoved aside, his view filling with red. Eric vanished then as the singer grabbed him and pulled him bodily through the doors out into the night.
With a smirk, Alan followed, catching the trail end of an argument between the two.
"..idiot, we need a drummer!"
"I'm not an idiot asshole," Eric shouted back, swatting at the guy's hand on his arm, "m'the best fuckin' drummer you'll ever have!"
The singer let him go, then stabbed a finger back at the building. "Not like this you're not - you raced through half the set!"
Eric gave a quick laugh and looked at the other guy like he was a moron. "I made it better! Was too fuckin' slow!"
"Jesus, Eric," the tall man sighed. "Go home. Don't use that shit before our gigs again, okay?"
The bassist stepped forward then, snatching the drum case out of Alan's hands before joining them both. "C'mon man." He put his arm around Eric's shoulder and started walking down the path with the guy, throwing a quick wave back at the singer in red. "Great gig Ro, see ya tomorrow."
"Yeah Steve," the kid nodded, and glanced back towards Alan and the building entrance, "Percy go already?"
"Yep," Steve called back.
"Cool."
When the guy grabbed his case again and headed down the path around the side of the building, Alan jogged to catch up with him. Salvaging this situation wasn't going to be easy, and a part of him wondered why he was trying so hard. There were plenty of other fish here.
But there was something about this guy.
"Hey," he said, drawing up alongside him. "Ro, right?"
The guy scowled at him. "Go away."
"Hear me out, would ya?" Alan said with a light little laugh, keeping stride with the singer even as the man started to walk faster. "Eric shouldn't have done so much, that was a mistake."
The guy said nothing, just kept his head down as he walked, and Alan smiled, feeling like he could make a connection here, that he could get through to the kid.
"You're going to be big Ro, I can tell," he said quickly. "Everyone's going to know your name one day, you know that?"
The man stopped suddenly, and Alan had to pull up so sharply he almost tripped over his own feet. Seems he really had the guy's attention.
"Everybody's going to know my name, huh?" the singer said, lowering his guitar case to the ground.
"Yeah," Alan said, smiling. "You're going to be huge, but you'll need-"
"What's my name, Alan?" The man asked, tilting his head slightly. His face was stiff, his lips tight with anger.
Alan realized then that he'd completely misjudged this. And what the hell was the guy's name? It started with R... his friend called him Ro... Roger? Rodney? Shit!
Avoiding the question, he pushed on, "Listen, you want to get to the top, and you want to stay there, you need something special, something to keep you on."
The guy's mouth twisted in a cold smirk. "Yeah?"
"Yeah. You're naive if you think you can get there without it."
The guy said nothing, just stared at him with the smirk frozen on his face.
Dropping the smile, Alan grew serious. "Look, I've got the highest quality, safest stuff here, and my prices are real good. The cheaper shit's cut with crap that'll wreck you. And I know what'll drive you without burning you out." The smile returned. It was a decent spiel. "I've got what you'll need to give you that edge.. get you where you wanna go."
The singer's eyes grew sharp, darkening in a deep frown, and the man stepped into his space, towering over him again. Alan swallowed and leaned back, and felt like laughing at himself. What the hell was wrong with him? What was it about this guy that bugged him so much?!
Those weirdly intense blue eyes bore into his, and when the guy spoke it was low and full of threat.
"You have nothing I want," he said slowly, evenly, his face set hard. "And nothing I will ever need."
Alan smirked.
"I've heard that before," he said quietly. "And it doesn't mean shit. You'll see what I mean. Your world's going to change so fast, you'll need something to keep up with it. You'll come back to me, hungry for what I've got."
"Jesus Christ," the guy muttered, shaking his head as he turned away and snatched up his guitar case. With a few long strides, he headed down the path, turning back only once. "You keep away from me and my friends, sell your shit elsewhere."
"And what if I don't?" Alan called after him, his mouth twisting in a odd, irritated smirk.
"I'll call the cops," the kid muttered back at him, and disappeared around the corner.
Alan stood for a moment, just staring at the space the kid had occupied. He took in a deep breath, and let it out slow, then took a quick look around, to make sure nobody was lingering, watching the exchange between them.
The kid's threat didn't mean much to him. The cops knew who he was, they just didn't have the evidence to bust him yet. He was careful not to keep anything in the dorms, and had a bunch of places where he stashed his stuff in between deliveries.
But it was irritating. He'd wanted to get on the kid's good side. Get in on what the guy was about to do. Something big was in the guy's future, and Alan wanted to be a part of it. He'd meant what he'd said - guy was naive if he thought he could just step into that lifestyle and not partake. It was going to happen. Alan wanted to be there when he did.
His mouth twisted in a smirk as his mind played with the idea, exaggerating it until the kid was practically clawing at him, eyes wild with need.
I own you. He'd say, and the guy would just nod, hands shaking, fumbling for Franklins.
The fantasy dissolved as he remembered how he'd felt when he'd looked up at the guy. That cold, blue stare. He frowned. He still didn't get why that'd thrown him so much.
Shrugging the feeling off, he crammed his hands into his pockets and started towards the center of town. He'd try a different approach, see if he couldn't reel him in with a sample. Guy wouldn't take it of course, so Alan would just have to find a way to give it. Something strong and fast, a clean buzz that'd leave him wanting more.
That'd work.
Decision made, he smiled and enjoyed the cool night air, until another thought intruded.
Denis. He'd forgotten all about the guy.
He pulled out his phone and tapped out a quick text to his roommate.
Denis come by again?
Took a long while for Peter to answer, and Alan had almost given up on him as he reached main street and blended in with the packs of students spilling over the sidewalks and weaving with the cars on the road.
When Peter finally replied, it was brief.
No
Alan stared at it for a moment. That was weird. Denis followed up on things, unfailingly. He was like a fucking badger - he got his head stuck on an idea, got his teeth into something, he didn't let go.
Looking up through the mass of grinning, glazed eyed humanity, Alan stared down the street snaking off down the hill, lit sparsely and hugged by cramped two-story student housing. The buildings were old, covered in dull paint now cracked and mildew stained, the windows choked by flapping towels and sheets, fronted by porches littered with the detritus of cheap alcohol binges.
Denis lived in the building four doors down on the right, the apartment upstairs, and his lights were shining over the porch roof.
Without really thinking about it, Alan stepped off the curb in front of a cream colored SUV. The vehicle was crawling anyway because of all of the students on the street, but the lady inside still slammed her hand on the horn, and Alan graced her with a finger before crossing to the other side.
The heavy beat of electronica pulsed from a nearby doorway, sprinkled with laughter and an undercurrent of muffled conversation, and he glanced through the house, recognizing the guy who lived there, smoking on a lumpy red couch with a group of stoners.
He knew every one of them.
Moving on, he passed a couple of dark houses, one with its door wide open, which was creepy, once he stopped and had a good look. His eye was drawn into it, despite his attempt to move on, and he blinked a few times trying to make sure he was seeing things right. The silhouette of some guy stood in the living room, listing a little, his head tilted, as if he was staring at something on the floor.
Frowning, Alan watched him a minute more, and the man dropped to the ground, and out of view.
He stopped and stared. Had he really seen that? Couldn't see anything there now... might have just been his brain playing tricks.
Wasn't about to go see either. He didn't like dark spaces. Not since he was a kid, and monsters stared back from every dark corner of his room out of the corner of his eye. Cramped spaces did him in too, but old dark houses gave him the fucking heebie jeebies.
With a dismissive shrug he couldn't sell, he walked on, and kept his eye on Denis' place, scanning the upstairs window of the guy's room. Alan couldn't see anybody up there, but it looked like the roommate was downstairs watching TV. Crossing the road quickly, he glanced back into the house to see if Denis had come downstairs, or emerged from the kitchen, but the big guy was nowhere to be seen.
Alan stepped up on the porch, and winced at the groan of the old timbers barely performing their job as stairs, before moving to the door, glancing once more at the living room and the guy watching TV.
The sound of sirens came from the back of the set, and the animated voice of a male reporter followed, "..scattered reports of attacks in Boston and New York. According to police reports, those responsible appear to be under the influence of some kind of narcotic. WCH News' own Madison Leary is on the scene at the Tunnel nightclub in Boston, where an unidentified individual attacked and killed three people earlier this evening."
Alan frowned, his hand frozen over the door.
"Madison, you've talked to some eyewitnesses who were in the club at the time?"
"That's right David, I spoke to Marshall Simpson and Latoya Freely, who were both on the scene and saw the attack, and related something very disturbing to me. Apparently the assailant, a well-known homeless woman in her fifties, was shot multiple times during the attack, but the shots had no noticeable effect. It was only when one of the shots hit her in the head that she stopped."
"Madison, that's incredible. This must be what the police were talking about? The drug that they're supposed to be under? They don't feel pain?"
"I'm not sure David. I was also told, and this is pretty shocking, that the woman appeared to be eating one of the people she attacked."
There was a lengthy pause.
"Madison... did we hear you right? You said that the woman appeared to be eating one of the victims?"
"That's correct David."
Another female voice jumped into the conversation, "Wait wait wait... let me get this straight. The woman attacked and ate someone, was shot multiple times without effect?"
"Yes Darla, that's what they're saying."
"And only a headshot brought her down?" Laughter tinkled from the back of the TV, followed quickly by an apology. "I'm sorry folks, but, I'm sorry. David, you're thinking what I'm thinking right?"
"I'm not saying it on live TV, not until we know more. Madison, can you tell us... Madison?"
There was a gasp, a sharp crack of an expletive, and Madison's voice came again, rushed and breathy. "Oh my god! Oh my god!"
"Madison, what's happening now? We can see the feed, are you running?"
"Yes! Oh my god! The ambulance, Dan, get the ambulance in the shot!"
Alan didn't even bother knocking, he opened the door and stepped into the living room, coming around to stare at the TV. The thin, dark haired guy on the couch looked up at him for only a moment before his gaze returned to the screen. Police sirens grew louder, and the camera showed what looked like an accident - the ambulance, slammed up against a telephone pole, the engine smoking. There was a muffled scream from inside the rear of the vehicle, and the camera slid sloppily from the reporter's shocked face back to the ambulance.
"What the? Did you hear that, David?"
"Yes, Madison! What's happening?! Viewers who may have just joined us, we're live with our own Madison Leary, just outside the Tunnel, a nightclub in Boston where a woman attacked, killed and apparently tried to eat multiple victims early this evening. Madison?"
"David, the ambulance was just leaving with the bodies of two of the victims when it veered suddenly onto the sidewalk and crashed!" The reporter moved forward then, as the scene was lit with bright flashes of blue and red, and another strangled cry came from the cabin. "Dan, we have to do something, help me!"
The view dipped briefly, falling to spotlit pavement, which slid by as the cameraman moved forward.
"Madison, I think you should wait for the police honey," came the other woman's voice.
"We have to help them!" Madison cried, and the camera raised again, focusing on her as she reached out and pulled the door open.
There was a ragged, guttural roar, and something, someone, pale and bloodied, launched from the back of the ambulance at the reporter. Madison screamed once, then disappeared as the camera swung wildly, jittering back and forth across the scene as the cameraman darted forward with a yell.
"STOP! DOWN ON THE GROUND RIGHT NOW!" a deep voice boomed off camera, just as a grey arm slashed out across the view, setting the world through the lens spinning, and the cameraman gave a wild shriek.
"Madison?! Dan?!"
The ground flew into view, and the video transmission cut off to static, but screaming filled the room, punctuated by wet groans.
"SHOOT IT! SHOOT THEM! FUCK!"
"Cut that feed, cut it!" came a woman's strangled voice, just as gunshots rang through the speakers, and the scene cut to a man in the studio, David presumably. The bronze skinned man with perfect hair stared out from the TV with his mouth hanging open and his eyes wide in shock.
"Uh.."
Abruptly, the channel switched to an ad for dog food, with some fluffy canine jumping over a fence in slow motion, its mouth wide and bouncing in a sloppy grin, exposing sharp white teeth.
Alan blinked.
He didn't move for a long moment, as his brain tried to work out what he'd just seen.
"That has to be a joke," he said finally, muttering more to himself than the other guy in the room.
The kid nodded from the couch out of the corner of his eye, and Alan looked down at the guy.
"Right?" he said, looking for any kind of reassurance he could get, "Some stupid Halloween promo?"
As the kid looked up at him slowly, Alan realized how strung out he was. Bloodshot, glazed eyes peered up at him, heavily lidded, the pupils tight little dots. A latex tourniquet lay discarded at his side, with an empty syringe.
Sean, that was the guy's name, wasn't it? Why the hell did that one stick?
"Yeah," Sean breathed, and nodded again. "Yeah."
Alan's gaze took in the rest of the clutter - a burnt spoon and lighter lay on the nearby card table, next to a can of Red Bull, and behind it, a small plastic wrapped bag of powder, the color of burnt clay.
With a scowl, Alan snatched up the bag and squeezed the contents, shifting them around as he held it next to the light.
"Hey," Sean sighed, reaching out for the bag. "That's mine.."
"Sean, this is shit," Alan snapped back at him, dumping it down on the card table. "Did Bobby sell you this?!"
With a small, limp shrug, Sean reached for the bag, closing his hand around it completely before pulling it to his lap.
"It's junk, Sean, cheap because it's shit. Ten percent pure, at best - you hear me?"
Sean gave another half-shrug, and leaned forward over the card table. His thin fingers closed languidly over the spoon.
Alan snatched up the lighter. "Nod so I know you hear me."
"Hey," the kid said, reaching for it. "That's-"
"You don't buy from Bobby, or Billy, or whatever his name is, you buy from me. Nod so I know you hear me."
Sean scowled. "Give me my lighter Al-OW!"
Alan grabbed the kid's hand and flicked the lighter into life under his palm. Not too close, but just enough to feel it.
"Nod, Sean. You buy from me, right?"
Squirming on the couch, Sean nodded fervently and yanked his hand to his chest as Alan released him.
"Ow... wasn't cool..."
Alan reached into his jacket and pulled out a tiny, tightly wrapped bundle of white powder. He held it out in front of Sean's face, and the guy stopped whining and reached for it.
Alan pulled it back. "Something for your hand. Think it'll help?"
Sean nodded again, much more alert, and even managed a lopsided smile. "Yeah.."
"Buy from me next time, yeah?" At the kid's nod, he dropped the bag into Sean's hand and glanced upstairs. "Denis sleeping it off?"
The guy shook his head as he fumbled to open the bag on the table. "He's out."
"Where'd he go?"
Sean looked up at him with a frown. "Frat party, down the street. Went to steal their booze." The frown deepened. "He looked bad. Real shaky. Pale as shit."
Alan sighed. "He take something?"
The guy shrugged, and reached for his lighter. "He did a couple of lines. Said they didn't help. Left."
Alan handed the lighter over, and glanced up the stairs again. "Going up to look."
Sean shook his head. "Don't man, that's not your space. Gotta respect other people's space."
With a smirk, Alan hovered over the card table for a moment, then handed Sean the spoon, loaded and ready to go. The guy's focus zeroed in on it immediately, and Alan sat next to him, plucking the syringe off the couch and placing it on the table. "Here."
He grabbed the tourniquet and helpfully tied it around the guy's upper arm, then watched as Sean flicked the lighter to life under the spoon, liquefying the heroin. "China white, Sean, enjoy."
It wasn't, but it was better shit than the tar Buddy sold.
Sean drew it up eagerly, and quickly injected it as Alan flicked off the band around the kids arm. The kid's features eased into blankness and he nestled back into the couch.
"There ya go," Alan said, nodding as Sean's eyelids grew thick and heavy. Smirking, he slowly rose from the couch and headed to the stairwell.
The search of Denis' room revealed two things - one of his stolen bags of coke that he happily reclaimed, and that the guy lived in complete filth. There were discarded food wrappers everywhere, ramen bowls with dessicated noodles still inside, a pile of crushed beer cans scattered with quart-sized vodka bottles, hand sanitizer and mouthwash. The carpet was decorated in a fascinating pattern of cigarette burns and vomit. As he headed back out of the room in disgust, he found a spray of puke across the wall next to the door, dripping down to a puddle of the same.
But it was weird. Almost black, like the guy'd been drinking ink.
Idiot's taking some fucked up shit.
When he got back downstairs, Sean had folded in on himself, and Alan had to check on him real quick to make sure he hadn't overdone it. His breathing was slow, but deep and steady. He'd be fine.
The TV broadcast had returned to the studio, and the talking heads had replaced their shaken astonishment with well-practiced, polished concern. They were recapping the story so far, with replays of the footage from the ambulance, freezing one of the frames at the moment someone jumped out of the back of the ambulance at the reporter.
Alan stared at that frame, and felt an echo of the weird chill he'd felt around that singer.
It was blurred, and half the face was cropped, but it showed someone ghastly white, their mouth and neck smeared in deep, dark red.
A moment ticked by, then Alan let out a laugh.
"Yeah, right."
And he was out the door, and pondering his next move as he walked down the street, towards the old mansion district where most of the frat houses stood. A streetlight blinked off as he passed under it, and at the exact same moment he heard a strange cry from a lane stretching off to his right.
It cut off suddenly, and Alan stopped and stared into that dark stretch, framed by high hedgerows and grey, graffitied wooden fences.
Had he really just heard that?
A gasp, and a soft moan made him realize that he had. But he didn't move. He didn't understand what was happening, and he never acted without knowing what the fuck was going on.
Something crawled into the deep shadows of a driveway about half way down the lane. Something that wasn't a cat. Or a dog. Or a big ass raccoon.
Something that crawled like a human.
"What the fuck..." he whispered.
Something that started tugging at a dark shape on the ground.
With its.. face?
The dark shape was jerking, kicking. Gurgling?
Christ!
Alan started running, and his brain checked in half way across the street to alert him to the fact that he was running towards whatever was down that alley, and not away, which he'd intended to do.
But he kept running, and for some fucking reason, he opened his mouth.
"Hey!"
The sound actually scared him, because it was loud, so loud, that the crawling, tugging eating thing couldn't help but hear. He felt afraid and exposed and raw, like a kid who'd just scraped his knee and realized the world was sharp and hard and could hurt you.
And he stopped.
And forgot how to breathe at the sight that spread out before him.
A man was torn open on the driveway, eyes blank, creased in shock and pain. The man's throat was gone, just a torn mass of red on the asphalt.
And another man's face was buried in the dead man's stomach, head shifting and jerking as he pressed in deeper.
Eating.
"Oh..g-god.." Alan managed, in a strangled, awful voice, and he backed away from them both, not stopping until the rough wooden slats of an old, broken fence pressed against his back. A boundary to his fear.
And the crawling, eating thing pulled up from the man's stomach...
...and turned.
Sucking in a loud breath, Alan pressed up hard against the fence, his eyes bulging in horror, his mouth frozen open.
That's... that's...
The face twisting towards him, coated in blood and gore, mouth open and dripping, belonged to Denis.
A sound emerged from the bloodied face, a wet gurgle, almost questioning in tone, and he cried out as the thing wearing Denis' face started to crawl towards him across the narrow lane.
"N-no NO NO!" the words shot from him, wild and frantic, and he slid along the fence, his body in full, desperate flight. But his feet tangled in bags of trash dumped carelessly against the wooden slats, bringing him down.
Thrashing against the lumpy plastic, he struggled to get up, but kept slipping, his fingers sliding through the thin film of the bags into the garbage beneath. A deep moan sounded behind him, and as he cried out, wrestling anew in stinking trash, he felt iron fingers clamp over his ankle.
"NO!" he roared, and spun, his body's instincts switching instantly from flight to fight.
Groping desperately, his hand found the edge of a broken slat of the fence, listing towards the ground, and he kicked, struggling to free his foot. Tugging frantically, he freed the old wood and swung it awkwardly, as hard as he could towards the dark shape at his feet.
There was a crunch, but it wasn't the head of the thing breaking, it was the wood slat, snapping with rot against the thing's shoulder.
"FUCK!" he roared, and kicked out again, catching Denis hard in the face. The guy's head snapped back with an awful crack, and the hand jerked away from his ankle. Scrambling madly, Alan skittered from the pile of garbage and got to his feet, and watched in horror as Denis matched the movement.
Jerkily, slowly, the man rose, his head hanging oddly now from a broken neck.
With a mangled cry, Alan grabbed the closest thing he could use as a weapon, a bent piece of rebar poking out from under the pile of trash. It was unwieldy, and spun in his hands as he brought it around, but as he made contact with Denis' bloodied head, the guy's skull caved in with a satisfying crunch and he fell to the ground.
Alan slammed the rebar down on the man's head, again and again, his eyes manic, his breath coming in heavy gasps on the leading edge of madness, until finally the sound of a car passing at the mouth of the lane made him stop and pull back into the shadows.
With every nerve singing in fear, Alan stared down at Denis' body. The man's head was a pulped spray of black across the asphalt, his red fingers curled tightly to either side. Shaking, Alan stared at the dripping piece of metal in his hand.
Someone gasped.
For one moment, Alan thought it was Denis, and his mind started to rabbit as he swung the rebar up again.
But it wasn't Denis, and a quick motion out of the corner of his eye made him turn. In the shadows of the driveway a few feet away, the legs belonging to the man Denis had been feasting on jerked against the blacktop.
"No!" Alan shouted. "NO!"
Without thought, he burst from the hedgerow and crossed to the body that was just now starting to rise, and slammed the rebar across the guy's face...
...stripping it from the skull.
The man's faceless head twisted, the meat underneath dripping black, and the fractured jaw opened.
And it gurgled, and tried to rise to its feet as its intestines spilled over its lap.
Something snatched at Alan's mind, something that chewed up his thoughts and replaced them with static, and the world went away to a soundtrack of screaming.
Hey! Congrats! You made it through the chapter :D Here's hoping you keep going. ;)