Another fic brought over from AO3! Huzzah!
This is a zombie apocalypse reincarnation AU, and this universe actually has a few rules that I'm going to explain before the story begins
1. Everybody is reborn with different names
2. People can regain their memories in one of two ways: one, they're born with them; two, a significant event in their life triggers them. Not everybody gets their memories back, though. But don't worry, all our mains will have theirs σ(ﾟｰ^*)
3. The zombie virus works as a bloodborne disease, and can be passed by bites (if it breaks the skin), scratches (if there's blood under the nails and it gets into the wound), injections (injecting blood, saliva, pus, etc.), or intense zombie sex (Don't worry, it's never going to happen. Your sanity is safe).
Enjoy :)
His breaths came quick and short as he stumbled through the woods, crashing through the bushes and branches that whipped at his face, scratching the skin, the cuts stinging with pain as he continued running. He stumbled through the knee-high snow, moving as fast as he could without falling flat on his face. His heartbeat picked up, panicked gasps falling from his lips, throat tightening in fear as the growls and crashes grew louder behind him.
His foot caught on a tree root, buried and hidden beneath the mass of white, and he stumbled, face-planting into the good foot and a half of snow. Soft as it was, he still winced as his chin bumped against the gnarled wood of the offending plant and he coughed as his mouth and nose filled with the ice-cold powder.
A shock sprang through him as the crunch of snow and groans of his pursuers approached and he struggled up, forcing himself to stand and run even faster, lifting his legs ridiculously high to be able to get somewhere, anywhere, without falling, pure adrenaline racing through his veins.
Desperation, however, was not nearly enough to put up with the undying pursuit put up on him. Undying. Harou almost snorted at the irony of the thought – almost. A throbbing leg, burning lungs, and scratched skin, he could handle. What was really getting at him was the complete, utter, unbeatable cold. He had already been chilly that morning when he'd decided to risk a jaunt outside of his hidey-hole, and things had definitely not improved once a group of them had spotted him (Smelled him? Heard him? How did they work, anyways? They would have known) and gave chase. His skin had been freezing by the time he'd made it into the woods, and, now, after his tumble, he was practically numb all over, and they were still freaking chasing him.
And, to put the symbolic cherry on top of his sundae of misfortune, he had dropped his gun. Not that it would have been much use anyways; the last time he'd hit a moving target, he'd been wielding dual blades and flying through the air at speeds high enough to give a pterodactyl whiplash.
He gasped, snarling in frustration as he stumbled again, this time falling to his knees. He stayed. down for a moment, feeling around, cold, stiff fingers fumbling around in the biting snow before emerging with a rock about the size of a pomegranate. He forced himself to his feet again and lifted a leg to run once more –
He shouted in shock as a cold, lifeless hand grabbed onto his ankle. He let out a gurgle of terror as he felt nails dig into the exposed flesh between the hem of his pants and his socks, and frantically reached out, going autopilot as he bashed the wrist of the hand holding him. There was a snap of breaking bones and he hit even harder, black, congealed blood splattering the ground around him. With a final simultaneous smash and jerk, there was a wet, crackly, ripping noise and Harou tore away, prying the detached hand off his ankle and tossing it away.
Too long. The delay had taken too long. His ankle was throbbing – by the grace of some nameless, faceless god, no skin had been broken, but it still twinged from the startlingly strong grip. He was colder than ever, shivering in what he dearly hoped wasn't the beginnings of hypothermia, and his adrenaline high had faded, leaving him with burning lungs, a throbbing foot, and a horde on his tail he had no way of getting away from.
He grit his teeth, turning, raising his bloody rock. "Oh, what the hell," he growled, a rumbling noise building in his ears. What I'd give for some –
"Get down!"
The rumbling grew louder, and Harou was hit with the realization that the rumbling wasn't growing in his ears, but, rather, behind him. He fell on his face just before a snowmobile all but drove over him, landing right in front of him. Harou kept his head down as bangs from a gun rang out, and groans tore from the throats of his pursuers as they fell.
"Get up!" Harou scrambled to his feet, grabbing at the glove-clad hand reaching for him (Lucky bastard – he was pretty sure his fingers had frozen off an hour ago). "We gotta go! There's more coming!"
"It's only a two-seater, John!"
"Just stand, then!" Another shot, another death throe. "Faber'll let him have our asses if we die!"
"That doesn't make any sense!"
"Just stand, Potato Girl!"
Potato Girl? Harou froze, eyes widening as his heartbeat sped up. That's impossible.
"Hey!" The first person, the girl, tugged at him. "Get on! Hurry! Unless you want to get eaten!"
Harou clambered onto the snowmobile, grabbing onto a handle as the driver slammed his foot on the break, wrenching his body to the left as he turned the wheel. They shot off, flying over the snow as they turned through the woods, turning around the trees with practiced ease. Soon, the horde was left behind.
Harou stood on one side of the back of the vehicle, gripping onto the handlebar for dear life. The girl (not her, no way it was her, it had to be a coincidence – crazy, improbable, but that was all it was, a one-in-a-million chance, that's all) was standing with her back to him, a rifle in one hand, holding onto the handlebar with the other.
"John," she said. The driver paid no attention. "John." She repeated. "John, they're gone!"
The driver – John – slammed his foot on the break, and Harou lurched forwards, almost falling off the snowmobile. "Finally," the girl grumbled, nudging him with her rifle. "Jeez, would it kill you to loosen up a little?"
"Sure thing, Alex!" The driver snapped, swinging his leg over the side, standing up. "I'll let you get eaten, next time! Sure you'd love that, it's all just food to you, isn't it?" Harou's heart nearly stopped. That voice, that tone, those words, were all horrifyingly familiar.
"What? Why're you being such an ass? Did Charles turn you down last night?"
"Shut up, Potato Girl!"
"Hey! That's a lifetime ago!"
Harou's throat tightened, and he let out a strangled, choked gasp. The small noise seemed to alert the other two to his presence.
"Oh, sorry," the girl, Alex, said sheepishly. "Forgot about you!" She laughed airily, tugging off her helmet. "Where're you from? The city?" A wall of emotions crashed through Harou as Alex ran a hand through her short brown hair, flopping over the right side of her face in a half-shave. "I'm Alexandra –" she stopped, golden eyes widening as they fell on his face.
"What?" John asked, obviously annoyed, as Alexandra nudged him repeatedly, mouth moving wordlessly, still staring at Harou. He tugged off his own helmet, ruffling his ash-colored hair, scowling. "See a lizard or somethi –" his voice died in his throat as he turned to glance at Harou. His jaw dropped, lengthening his already long, almost horse-like face, as he stared at the other man.
"Jaeger?!"
xxx
John – Jean, it was Jean – stared down at Harou – Eren – a look of utter disbelief on his face. "What –" he put his hands to his head. "You –" Realization settled over his face, and pure, undiluted fury descended over him.
Oh, shit. Eren's breath caught, remembering. "Jean, I –"
He was almost surprised when a fist caught him in the face, sending him falling to the ground.
"John!" Alexandra – Sasha – yelled. "John, what the hell?"
"Move!" He shoved past her and raised his fist again.
"John!" She rammed her shoulder into his chest, raising her rifle across him. "John, calm the hell down!"
"Alex, move –" Sasha grabbed him around the waist, pulling him back. "Alex, let go!"
"What's wrong with you?!" she struggled against him. "What're you doing? That's Eren, damnit!"
"I know it's Eren, Alex!" Jean wrenched his arms free. "Lemme at the bastard already!"
"Look, whatever dick-measuring contest you have left over from back –"
"Get off!" Jean wrenched free, charging forwards.
"John!"
Eren's reflexes kicked in at the last second, and he rolled out of the way, coating himself in more snow as Jean's fist landed right where his face had been a second ago. He stumbled to his feet, now shaking even harder, cheek throbbing (oh, how he missed his healing powers). "Jean, I swear I can explain –"
"Go ahead, Jaeger!" Eren stumbled as Jean swung his fist again, barely dodging it. "I'm sure we'd both like to why the hell you went rogue, you piece of –"
"Stop!" Sasha grabbed him. "John, stop!" Jean finally slowed in his struggling, but continued glaring at Eren.
"You know what he did, Alex!"
"Yes, I do!" Sasha held her rifle out, blocking Jean's path. "And I know you're pissed –" Jean laughed emotionlessly. "But stop trying to kill him!" She raised the rifle a bit more. "John – Jean, stop."
Jean finally stilled, arms dropping to his sides as he panted, still glaring at the shorter man. Abruptly, he turned and swung his leg back over the snowmobile. "Get on," he growled.
Eren stared at him. "What –"
"I said get on, you Suicidal Bastard," Jean snarled as Sasha grabbed a handle and tugged, the engine coming to life with a roar. "It's not like you've got anyone waiting for you, right?"
Eren hesitated. It was true – the last member of his 'group' had died three days ago, one of the undead chomping straight through his skull as if it'd been nothing (something familiar about that. . .). Still, he had more than a few hesitations about getting on the back of a snowmobile with two people, one of whom hated him, and the other whom he'd indirectly killed in the past.
"Fine," Jean snapped, tugging on his helmet. "Stay here and freeze. Or get torn apart. Come on, Alex."
Sasha gave Eren a pleading look. "Come on, Eren," she said.
Eren glanced at Jean, who was still staring moodily ahead. With a resigned sigh, he stepped onto the snowmobile, gripping the handlebars as Jean pressed down on the gas. "Thanks," he said.
"And it's Harou, now."