Disclaimer: I do not own Speed Racer or FAKE. They belong to Speed Racer Enterprises and Sanomi Matoh respectively. I don't profit financially from writing this story. Darius Evans is my OC. Please ask first before using him in your works.
Author's Note: My mind goes to strange places sometimes. :) Please read Amazing Fourth Story 1 and Amazing Fourth Story 5 for how this story has been set up. Amazing Fourth Story 1 can be found in the FAKE section and Amazing Fourth Story 5 can be found in the Speed Racer section. Thanks!
Rated M for violence, gore, and zombies

Prologue

He couldn't get the screams out of his head, even after they'd died away. They were blood-curdling and horrific, the sounds of people dying as either they burned to death or something much worse. Speed couldn't be sure, didn't want to believe, but, if he'd had to guess, those who weren't burning alive were screaming because they were being eaten alive. The thought chilled him, frightened him, and he wanted to stay where he was just to be safe. Smoke covered the streets below him so he couldn't say for sure if people truly were being eaten alive or if it was his imagination playing tricks on him. A dab at his cheek and a sting of pain interrupted his thoughts, and Speed turned to scowl at the person trying to tend to his injuries.

"Don't even think about swatting at me or hitting me," Darius growled. "I'll sit on you to get this done."

Speed glared at him, but he didn't say anything. It wasn't an idle threat on Darius's part. He would sit on Speed in order to clean his wounds and patch him up. He glanced at the first aid kit.

"Where was that?" he asked. Darius resumed dabbing at the open wound on his cheek, his expression somber.

"In a storage room at the end of the hall," he replied, his voice quiet. "Not much else, though. No food, nothing to really drink . . . We're not going to survive long on what's in our backpacks, that's for sure."

Speed sighed and stared at his hands. His knuckles and knees were scraped and bruised, his jeans torn in various locations, and soot and dirt covered both of them. He wanted to go home. He wanted to know that his parents and younger brother were safe, that they hadn't befallen the same fate as he and Darius and everyone else in New York. Speed also hoped Darius's dads were safe as well. They were family to him in every sense of the word, the same way Darius had taken to the ones he loved. To think that they were huddled somewhere, frightened and worried for him, well, it sickened Speed, and he wished he was with them instead of in New York. In hindsight, traveling to see the fireworks over the Statue of Liberty no longer seemed like such a wonderful idea.

"We're not going to be able to stay here," Darius said. He finished cleaning the wound on his cheek and then started on the scrapes. Speed looked at him.

Above his left eye, Darius bore a long and ugly-looking scratch. It wasn't as grimy as the rest of his face, a sign that he was trying to think as clearly as possible. Speed reached up to touch it, his heart hurting for his lover.

"I know," he said. "I want to go home."

"Same here," Darius murmured. He paused then discarded the bloodied piece of gauze. "That should do it for now."

"Yeah . . ." He stared at his lover for a moment longer then returned his gaze to the streets below them. "Let's go."

He and Darius slowly clambered to their feet, the other grabbing the first aid kit in the process, and they shouldered their backpacks. Speed's heart hammered and race, his palms were sweaty, and his mouth felt like it had been stuffed with raw cotton. He didn't want to leave the safety of the building they were in, not if the sounds on the streets were any kind of indication. Automatically, he grasped Darius by the hand. It didn't ease his worries about leaving their current safe haven or for their respective families, but the contact allowed for him to relax a fraction. As long as he and Darius stayed together, as long as he had the other by his side always, they'd be all right.

It wouldn't hurt to find some weapons, either. Their eyes locked, and Darius tilted his head.

"Guns?" he asked.

"Yes," Speed replied, nodding. "Guns."

xxX-In-the-Land-of-the-Zombies-Xxx

This just wasn't Dee's day.

Upon regaining consciousness – Bikky had told him he'd been out for hours; the boy's eyes were wide with fear and his hands trembled as he'd returned Dee's Glock to him – he'd discovered that most of his apartment building had turned into a smoldering heap of bricks. Carol and Ryo were close by and alive, but a large goose egg had formed on the back of his partner's head. A quick, cursory examination of Ryo's prone body showed that he had no broken bones, which was a small mercy for Dee. He'd just have the mother monster of all headaches to deal with when he woke. Dee knew. He'd found a similar lump on the back of his head, and it hurt. The only other good point to his day? Regaining consciousness in his apartment, and about half of his apartment remained intact, if one didn't want to count the missing door and hallway that led down. How that had happened, Dee didn't know nor did he care. He was able to locate a bottle of aspirin for his headache and some food for Bikky and Carol.

Of course, until the painkiller kicked in, Dee felt dizzy and nauseated. To make it worse, he heard the screams of people dying in the streets below. Smoke rose through the air, and it drifted in through the broken windows to sting at their eyes and choke them. The screams were enough for him to grit his teeth in anger, frustration, and pain, and he stayed close to Ryo, Carol and Bikky, the latter two clinging to him out of fear. Dee couldn't and didn't blame them. People were dying and horrifically so at that. It frightened him, too, especially when he noted he heard nothing but the screams. There were no sirens, no sounds of gunshots, just the screams, and it had Dee wondering what the hell had happened.

"I don't wanna stay here," Bikky whispered.

"We won't be," Dee promised. "As soon as Ryo wakes up, we'll get the fuck out of here."

"Promise?"

"Promise," Dee said. To himself, he added, 'Wake the fuck up, Ryo. You're scaring the shit out of me, more than hearing those awful, goddamned screams are.'

"And what if he doesn't wake up soon?" Carol asked.

"He will," Dee answered. "He has to . . . I can't carry him and protect the two of you at the same time. I'm sure he can hear what's going on around us. He knows what's going on. We just gotta stay here and wait."

"And where will we go once he wakes up?"

"I don't know yet," Dee said. "We'll figure something out, though."

"Does your head still hurt?"

"Yeah . . ."

The two teens fell silent, huddling even closer to him. Dee glanced at them, noting the dark circles forming under their eyes. He checked his Glock. It was fully loaded.

"Get some sleep, if you can. I'll wake you when it's time to go."

"You'll watch over us? You won't leave? For anything?" Bikky stared at him.

"I'm not going anywhere without either of you and Ryo. Whether you like it or not, you're stuck with me," he said. Bikky nodded then settled against him, Carol following suit. It took them a while – the screams of the dying didn't do anything to ease their minds or their fears, but they eventually fell into a restless slumber.

As he sat there, watching the teens and Ryo and keeping an ear out for anyone who might try to hurt them, Dee decided on their next course of action. The first thing they'd do was head to the orphanage, to check on the kids and Mother, and to get them to safety. If he had to, Dee knew he'd steal a van or a bus to make it happen. After that, he wanted to see the 27th, to be sure his fellow officers were safe. The lack of sirens, fire, police, and otherwise, bothered him, more than the sounds of people dying. There should have something, anything besides the sounds playing out below him.

'We'll need supplies . . . a lot of them . . . Please God, let Ryo wake up soon and let Mother and the kids be all right . . . please . . . I beg of you.'

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