A/N: I've returned from the dead! How fitting for this story! I'm not quite sure how this idea grew to be so big, but I've worked incredibly hard on this piece. I've never written horror or suspense before, so I certainly hope I do the genre justice. This fanfiction is a collaboration between myself and two other users, sandaa and Demon Hiei's Girl (known as Striped-Tabby and Melissa, respectively, on Mangabullet), who have volunteered to do fanart for this story as I go.
This story mutated much like a virus, from a simple joke about Matt and Mello as zombie hunters and a few rather tenative ideas, and now it's become something far greater.
This is an AU of course, though I do try and make some parallels to the original Death Note story. Mello is pre-explosion, but post-Mafia (yes, part of my AU is timeline manipulation). At this point, I expect nearly all the canon characters to make an appearance of some sort (except for incredibly minor, nameless characters). Rated M for blood, gore, suspense, bad language, eventual explicit and non-explicit sexual situations, violence, and a general queasy and uneasy feeling in the pit of your stomach.
This fanfiction is dedicated to everyone who's been there for me over the past year in the MxM community, everyone who has ever commented, reviewed, and helped out. To Cat and Melissa, my partners in zombie crime. To Richard Matheson, for his brilliant writing and endless inspiration.
And, as always please read and review!
Disclaimer: Death Note is property of Ohba and Obata. Quote is George Romero. Countless other works of fiction/film are alluded to in this fanfiction.
"When there is no more room in Hell,
the dead will walk the Earth."
- George Romero, Dawn of the Dead (1978)
Prologue - Abomination of Desolation
"Want anything from the shop?"
Mello looked up from his place on the couch, where he was fanning himself with an old magazine, leather vest unzipped and pulled back away from his chest. "Ice cream," was the blond's reply. Leather and flesh ran seamlessly together, moving and stretching as one as his back arched in a tired stretch.
On the television, the Los Angeles area was marked with a smiley face sun. The cheery weather girl reported near record highs for the rest of the week, marking the beginning of an unusually hot spring.
As Matt put on his shoes at the door, Mello leaned over the back of the couch to call back to him.
"Be careful!"
The redhead rolled his eyes, remarking that it was rather doubtful he'd get hurt walking down to the corner.
Before Mello had time to harp at him about being ungrateful, he had already zipped out the door with a quick wave goodbye.
He met the landlady at the entrance, where she was talking with one of the tenants living on the first floor. She smiled and waved at him as he passed, thanking him for paying the rent early this month.
Really, it had been Mello's money paying the rent, but he didn't stop to tell her that. Instead, he picked up a half gallon container of triple fudge ice cream and a carton of cigarettes at the convenience store on the corner. As the woman at the register rang him up, he scanned the rack of newspapers beside the counter.
"New Flu Strain to Blame for Death of Japanese Family", "Virus With Pandemic Potential Strikes First in Tokyo", and "WHO Warning: New Flu Not To Be Taken Lightly" were among the headlines, pictures of grieving family members and scientists in white lab coats plastered above the articles.
"The exact source of the virus has yet to be determined," came a report over the store's speaker system. "Nations all over the world are already taking extra precautions, tightening restrictions on imports and exports and culling herds of chicken, swine, and cattle that have been at risk of infection. Medical experts urge people to be aware of the signs and symptoms and do all they can to prevent infection and discourage the spread of this obviously devastating flu strain."
That was when Matt first noticed it. He suddenly became aware of the sluggish and sickly gloom that hung about the air as he walked back to the apartment. He dodged a man coughing into a handkerchief, determined to make sure he didn't touch him. He passed a woman sitting on a bus bench, slumped, her head lolling back on her shoulders. She seemed to be sleeping like that, face turned skyward, mouth slightly open, dark rings around her eyes. Matt felt his stomach lurch.
When he finally got home, he made sure to give his hands an overly thorough washing before dinner.
The carton of triple fudge was empty by next week, around the same time two more families outside of Tokyo were reported dead within days of being diagnosed with the new, super virulent flu strain. A day later, cases were already popping up along the west coast of the US.
The first case reported was a Washington accountant who died within 24 hours of exhibiting symptoms. The second was a little girl in northern California whose "heroic struggle" against the disease was aired all over national news channels, allowing the entire country to watch, in sympathy and morbid fascination, as the child slowly died on their television screens.
There was no rhyme or reason to the disease, only the unavoidable fact that the virus, so far, had a 0% survival rate. No one who had gotten ill had gotten better, yet. They all either died, or just hung precariously between life and death, waiting with bloodshot eyes and lifeless, aching limbs, while doctors and scientists tripped over their own feet searching for "how" and "why" and "what".
Fatigue, nausea, bloodshot eyes, aching muscles, and vomiting (specifically the vomiting of blood). They were all grounds for a virtual death sentence.
"A new update in the investigation of the Japanese flu virus from the World Health Organization." Matt peeked his head out of the bathroom at the words coming from the television, mouth full of toothpaste foam and a toothbrush in hand. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Mello sit up straighter, hugging the pillow he had curled his arms around a little tighter to his chest. "Officials explain that the lack of effective vaccinations is due to the the strain's completely unpredicted appearance. They have, however, managed to trace the virus back to infected and improperly handled fish that were sold in Japanese and American markets. National Influenza Centers are scrambling to collect specimens to isolate and analyze." Mello exchanged weary glances with the redhead from his spot on the couch. "Potentially infected seafood is currently being taken off the market and trade of seafood has halted completely. The Department of Health and Human Services urges everyone to thoroughly cook all meat and seafood before consumption and to avoid going out if they feel ill."
Matt scoffed and hurriedly wiped up the bit of foam that dribbled down his chin before spitting into the sink.
"Great detective work," he snapped. "Now lets see them turn all that talk into a vaccine."
He splashed some water on his face and scrubbed roughly at his skin, his heart sinking as he listened to Mello rummaging through their fridge and throwing out any and all fish products they had.
Matt stared at the article on the front page of the paper, perplexed. Mello watched him for a few moments, eyes darting between the paper on the kitchen table and the redhead's far off expression.
"Something interesting?" he asked, scooping up another forkful of hash browns.
Potatoes, potatoes, potatoes. That's all there ever seemed to be anymore. The pickings were already incredibly slim at the supermarket, but now, there was virtually no meat or poultry left. And without meat and poultry, milk and eggs became increasingly difficult to find.
Mello thought he might go mad if he had to eat nothing but potatoes for the rest of his life.
"What do you think could have happened to them?" the man beside him finally asked, looking up.
"Happened to who?"
"Them," Matt repeated, tilting the paper towards Mello and jabbing a finger at the headline.
Two bodies of flu victims missing from morgue; graves of others disturbed.
"Well, I expect they died, Matt," the blond said slowly, eyes straying to another article about a string of violent muggings and homicides occurring around Tokyo.
"Not that!" Matt exclaimed. "I mean...where the hell did they go? Who would want to just take them?"
Mello raised one slim eyebrow. "Who said anyone took them?" he teased.
Matt gave him a tired look and rolled his eyes. "Dead bodies don't just get up and walk away, you know."
Mello smiled a little, the most he had managed in what felt like years. "They do in horror movies."
"This disease is a punishment from God!" The woman on the television screen looked straight into the camera, her face saturated with color, eyes brimming with angry tears. "The Lord has finally decided to pass judgement on our sinful society! If you are faithful, if you repent, He will save you!"
Mello's fingers jerked back from his rosary as if it had burned him. He hadn't even realized he had been fiddling with it.
Matt gave him a sidelong look from the other end of the couch, biting his lip nervously.
"What about my daughter?!" a woman off-screen shrieked. The camera swiveled wildly to zoom in on her, standing up among the talk show audience. In her hands, she clutched a photo and a teddy bear with a bright yellow ribbon around it's neck. "She was only two years old!" she shouted, tears streaming down her cheeks. "What did she do to deserve to die?! Why did your god punish her?!" She choked on a whimper and seemed to waver. And then she leaned forward again, shaking. "She was just a little girl!"
"Mello," Matt said quietly beside him. "Hey, Mello? Mind if play Halo for awhile?"
"Yeah," the blond said, unsteadily, trying to shake the horrible feeling building in his stomach. "Yeah, go ahead."
A riot was building up in the audience before Matt stole the remote away and pressed the input button, switching the display to the start-up screen from Matt's Xbox.
"What did you do? Buy up every box in the store?" Mello joked when Matt came through the front door, his arms loaded up with plastic bags full of chocolate and cigarettes.
Matt tried to close the door with his foot, panting from heat and exertion. "Could you help me here? Your damn chocolate is fucking heavy."
The blond closed the door for him and took a couple of the bags from his arms. "Seriously, though, why do we have enough chocolate here to put me in a diabetic coma?"
"They're closing the shop."
Mello blinked and paused as Matt breezed past him towards the bedroom to try and store his cigarettes anywhere they would fit. "What? Why?"
An irritated sigh came from inside the bedroom closet. "I don't know, Mello," he said sarcastically. "Probably because the governor called in the National Guard and now the health department has actual guns to back their fucking quarantines up?"
"And you only thought to get fucking cigarettes?!" Mello said, feeling how Matt's tone helped to fuel his own frustration. "Fuck, Matt, why didn't you go out and actually get us some real food?!"
Matt cursed, kicking the closet door sharply as he wheeled around. "For Christ's sake, Mello!" he shouted, eyes bright with anger. "If you want to go out there and try and fight through all the rest of the people grabbing and snatching at everything they can, be my guest!" He gave him the finger before storming past him and out into the living room.
Mello stood, rooted to the spot, eyes wide, hands tight around plastic handles.
When he finally dared to approach him again, he found the redhead curled up stiffly on the couch, eyes locked on his PSP.
"Matt, I'm-"
"There's no more food left, anyway." Matt looked up at him, and there was real regret in his gaze. "There's nothing left. People are rioting on the streets. All the stores are closing up." He swallowed and his face twitched as if it was too difficult to look his friend in the eye, so he turned them back down to his game. "They're delivering rations now. Every week. No meat, no fish."
Mello stood, silent, blinking. He shuffled forward a few steps and dropped the bag in his hands. It hit the floor with a soft crinkle. When Matt spoke again, it seemed to come from somewhere far away, some place where he would have been able to fully handle what Matt was telling him, some place where he wouldn't have felt so completely alone.
"They're instituting a curfew. Everyone off the street by dusk. We'll be cooped up in here all the time..."
He was vaguely aware of Matt trailing off as the redhead seemed to realize where it was Mello was staring off into, that he wasn't actually watching the television.
He gasped, startled, as Matt was suddenly all around him, arms wrapped tightly around his waist and shoulders, hugging him with a near crushing (and somehow comforting) grip. "We can do this, Mello," he said, voice cracking. "Together, we'll make it. We always have."
The blond touched the hand at his hip, light at first, then squeezing tightly, and refused to let go.
Everything came to a screeching halt the next morning, when an urgent news report cut in during the normal weather report, showing grainy, unsteady footage of a female news anchor, eyes wide and her face completely drained of color.
"...it seems that the bodies of the deceased have..." The woman swallowed and mouthed like a beached fish for a moment. Behind her was a dilapidated house, with broken windows and resting crooked on it's hinges. "Have...have...have started to move and walk...on their own!" Her voice raised in pitch as she went on, ending in a frantic squeak. Behind her, they could see something lumbering clumsily in the doorway of the house, like the sort of slow, stumbling undead creatures that Hollywood adored.
And then it sprang forward, quick and calculated and unnaturally strong, and the camera spun through the air. It landed with a heavy clunk to the ground, catching the struggling shadows of the journalist as she screamed and shrieked before the transmission abruptly cut off.
The disappearing bodies suddenly made sense, and all the city quarantines went unchallenged after that. All bodies were cremated, schools were closed, people stopped going to work and just watched.
Mello found himself crying silently as the news reporters hastily tried to keep their composure.
This was life now.
This was Hell.