It was inevitable. I'm writing "Lost" fanfiction. I'm writing extremely AU, zombie-related "Lost" fanfiction. This is going to be so much fun!
OoOoOoOoO
Several hundred yards away from the beach, there was a clearing that had once been rather peaceful. But just that day, two men had entered the clearing with a third man between them, mucked about with the landscaping, dropped their friend off, and left. Now there was an unsightly mound of dirt that the clearing did not much appreciate. The Island had certain standards of attractiveness that had to be met, and the shallow grave didn't even have a crude cross or a few scattered flowers. As it stood, it was little more than a dark blemish on an otherwise lovely stretch of moonlit grass. It was things like this, thought the clearing, that would get one demoted to jungle.
The low mound of dirt quite suddenly shifted into a higher mound. The clearing watched with profound unease as dirt began to trickle off of the grave and into the grass. The pile of earth shuddered and quaked, sending numerous, miniature brown avalanches cascading down towards the ground. Then an exceedingly pale hand emerged from the top of the pile, followed shortly by the arm to which it was attached. The clearing had never seen anything like this before.
For a moment, the arm flailed about in a befuddled fashion, then it began to clumsily scrape away more of the dirt. A minute of this led to the triumphant emergence of Ethan Rom's head.
His face was the ghastly shade of grayish white usually reserved for Minnesotans after a long winter. Dark circles complimented his eyes, which had gone from brown to eerily pale. His stare, however, was as blank and vacant as it had always been. He opened his mouth, releasing a small amount of dirt and a very relieved worm.
"Uuurrrrrrggghhhhh," he announced.
OoOoOoOoO
Charlie woke up for what felt like the twentieth time, but was actually only the eighteenth. He had been trying to sleep, but all he had been able to manage was a series of catnaps. He sat up, rubbed his face wearily, and checked to make sure Claire was still sleeping safely by her fire. She was, making him feel both intense relief and slight envy. If only he could sleep like that, without dreaming of suffocation or seeing Ethan's death replayed over and over like a looped movie clip projected against his eyelids.
Not that he minded seeing Ethan die multiple times; something about it was very satisfying. But at the same time, it made sleeping difficult. So Charlie stood up, stretched, and picked his way around the various slumbering forms and out of the caves.
It was nearly dawn, that time of the morning where it's just bright enough to see and the world seems comprised solely of shades of blue. Without really thinking about his destination, Charlie began to walk. And when his feet took him to the edge of the clearing where they had buried Ethan, he wasn't particularly surprised.
He was surprised, however, that no one seemed to be buried there anymore.
Charlie stared at the grave for several long moments, unable or unwilling to comprehend what he was seeing. There was dirt everywhere, scattered for several feet around the gaping hole that was conspicuously short one corpse. Ethan was gone.
Once that undeniable truth struck him, Charlie was overcome by a boiling wave of rage. He can't be gone! I put him in the bloody ground! It was done, damn it! He stepped into the clearing, walked over to the grave, and glared down at it as if it had spat Ethan out on purpose. The grave, for its part, still failed to be anything but very, very empty.
A rustle from behind him prompted Charlie to whirl around. There, much to his surprise, stood Ethan.
"You're dead!" Charlie cried, his voice rising several octaves above normal as he backed hurriedly away. Unfortunately for Charlie, that meant backing straight into the grave. One foot landed in the hole, there were a few tense moments of frantic, circular arm movements, and then Charlie toppled over backwards, landing unceremoniously on the other side of the shallow depression. He scrambled to his feet as quickly as possible, surprised he hadn't already been hauled up and pinned to a tree.
Ethan was still standing near the edge of the clearing, his head lolling to one side as he regarded Charlie with vacuous eyes. He swayed slightly on his feet, and then took a few slow, crooked steps forward.
"Urrrrrrrgh," he said.
Charlie gaped at this new, much less threatening version of Ethan in confusion. The Ethan he remembered would have been on him inside three seconds and delivering threats and ultimatums inside five. But all this Ethan did was shuffle about, say "urrrggghhh" as if he had a terrible hangover, and drool slightly. It was almost disappointing.
Keeping a wary eye on the other man, Charlie bent over and picked up a rock. Ethan continued to stagger towards Charlie at a sedate pace. Clenching his jaw, Charlie wound up and hurled the rock as hard as he could. The missile hit Ethan's shoulder with a loud thwack.
Ethan staggered back a pace, paused for several long moments, then slowly turned his head and looked down at his shoulder with a baffled "uuuurrrgghh?" It was, without a doubt, the most delayed reaction Charlie had ever seen.
Encouraged by this, he looked around for his weapon of choice: a stick. Ethan was still staring at his shoulder and groaning pensively to himself. Charlie found a stick, gripped it tightly, and edged towards Ethan, who seemed to have forgotten Charlie was there. In fact, the undead man didn't even look up until after Charlie had walloped him three or four times.
"Uuurrgh!" Ethan said, sounding somewhat offended.
"Why - won't - you - die?" Charlie grunted between swings.
"Urgh!" Ethan swiped at Charlie, who dodged the blow easily enough.
The next few minutes consisted of Charlie dancing around Ethan and smacking him repeatedly with the stick while Ethan shuffled in a circle and occasionally made feeble grasps at Charlie. On the upside, Charlie was having a very easy time keeping himself out of harm's way… but on the downside, his best efforts with the stick seemed to be having little effect. After one last frustrated smack, Charlie backed a safe distance away, breathing heavily.
"Urrrgh," Ethan grumbled, taking an unsteady step sideways and looking at Charlie.
Charlie swung the stick thoughtfully as he tried to determine the best course of action. "Wanker," he muttered, more to make himself feel better than to get a reaction. Ethan gave Charlie a blank stare and said nothing.
It was clear to Charlie that he wasn't going to be able to finish Ethan off on his own. He needed help. And he needed help fast, before Ethan caught someone unawares. No one who saw the guy coming would be in danger, but it was early and some people were undoubtedly still asleep.
Having made up his mind, Charlie lifted the stick above his head and waved it back and forth. "Hey, Ethan! See the stick?"
"Urrrgh," Ethan replied, slowly tilting his head up to look at the stick as it swung through the air.
"See it? You want the stick? Huh?" Charlie waved it enticingly as he would to a dog. "You want it? GO GET IT!" He chucked it into the jungle. Ethan stared blankly at Charlie's empty hand for a moment, then laboriously turned toward the jungle and took a few steps in the general direction of where the stick had gone. As soon as he wasn't looking, Charlie bolted for the caves.
OoOoOoOoO
I know it's short, but I'm going to stop it here for now. Don't worry, more shall come. ;) Let me know what you thought! Feedback is always appreciated.
Platy