Warning: Character death.
Chapter 2
This whole ordeal wasn't his idea. It wasn't his plan to go to a Wal-Mart - one of the busiest stores before the Infection - nor was it his intent to actually go inside the main store to look for supplies. If anything that was the last thing he wanted. So why he was face to face with what might have once been human, he had no answer.
He wanted to scream. Wanted to run. But his body would have nothing to do with anything lucid. It might be the first time he's ever felt that he was going to die. Not only because he was not an arms length from that snarling thing, but because his lungs don't seem to want to fucking work. It's not like a movie, the slow motion effect is just that. An effect. Fake, fake, fake.
In reality everything sped up. It rushed upon him all at once. To run. To breath. To lash out. To do something. The thing moved. It was the best fucking wake up call he might have ever received. Blood rushed back into every nerve ending, it forced his legs to backpedal away from the gun aisle. To stumble around, hands catching himself on a looted shelf before he hit the ground.
And then he was running. Like a fucking lunatic. If he was lucid enough maybe he would have realized he was screaming, maybe he would have had the damn sense to stop. To consider that maybe they were keen on hearing - like in the movies. But he wasn't lucid. He was running for his fucking life from what used to be a young blonde cashier. It gargled at his heels.
Zombies aren't supposed to be fast. Campbell never thought he'd have to look into that theory, but it seems to be flawed. He also never thought he'd have to learn how to fire a gun. For the first twenty-one years of his life he never bothered to even look at one. They were barbaric. Baseball was enough to give him the upper body strength to take on someone at least a few sizes up than he was. That was sufficient when in a group after hours on campus.
It wasn't now.
By the time he managed to find Levan and Mark - whom decided to stick together - there were three. Their garbled snarls were too close. His two counterparts turned to see the cause of his panic and if he had been coherent enough he might have seen the color drain from both of their expressions. Might have seen Mark fumble for grip on his handgun and take aim. The sound alone nearly stopped his heart.
The loud crack followed by an undeniable 'thump'. The sound of human flesh plodding lifelessly to the hard linoleum. Gargles of something trying to suck breath into fractured lungs before liquid choked it. Oh God, he was going to be sick.
"Get back to the car!" It was Mark. His voice pitched with something akin to terror. His large hand curled itself around Levan's arm as he spun her around, immediately breaking into a sprint. College football had been generous to him, his long legs making quick work.
There were more behind them now.
Campbell told himself not to look back but instinct screamed louder. His heart nearly stopped. Five...six...seven...Oh God. The door was open to the repair shop. Levan and Mark were in before he was, their eyes wide.
Then it got hazy. He knew he had to get the door shut so he turned around and grabbed out for the handle. What he hadn't counted on was to meet face to face with one of those things. There wasn't time to scream.
He swung instinctively, there was a sickening crunch with the impact. If it was his knuckles or the beasts' nose he couldn't tell. It crumpled to the ground. But it wasn't dead. When brutally strong digits curled around his ankle this was made painfully clear. When heated breath kissed the exposed flesh there his heart stopped.
To his credit, he didn't scream.
The bite was enough, however, to break skin. He knew he was fucked. When he slammed the door on the fucker's head. When the crunch of skull being fractured resonated in frantic silence. When gasps of death gurgled in the things' throat. When he kicked it out the door to shut it entirely. When Mark ran up behind him with a chair in his arms to barricade the door with. He knew.
But Mark and Levan didn't. And God, he doesn't want to die - not like Darien with a bullet through the damn chest. He doesn't want to be put down like a fucking dog. Oh God, he wants to live. Wants to stay and comfort Levan. To be with Mark (because roommates don't just fucking leave each other). Not them. They fight, and they're friends. What if this is the last time they see each other?
The question weighs too heavily on his shoulders to ponder upon for too long. When he looks up Mark is exchanging a look with Levan, grinning almost idiotically. He turns to Campbell before a laugh bubbles up - light weighted.
"Oh my fucking God, we're all alive," a soft, almost insane laugh hitches from the small blonde girl. Wound to the breaking point - as if she didn't entirely believe they were all still intact. It barely registers when he's bundled up in a pair of strong arms and spun around. He's hesitant to hug his counterpart back. His leg is still bleeding. God help him. He silently prays that they don't look down.
When he pushes at Mark's chest he's put down. Grinning sapphire irises meet his somber ones. For the sake of keeping an image he forces a smile, grip instinctively flexing on the gun that's supposed to be there. Somewhere in his mind it registers he dropped their .22 back in the gun aisle. He isn't willing to go back to check for it. There will be other weapons.
But they wouldn't need three for that much longer. What did the transformation feel like? Was it like dying? Painful and heart stopping? Or was it like having the flu, where you begin with a sneeze and end with insanity? His voice is unintentionally sharp when he mentions that it might be best if everyone got back in the car and they drove away that night.
He told them that he would drive.
Of course it's only because he knows he isn't going to get any sleep that night. How long does it take to transform? A day? An hour?
Or did it take minutes?
Would he be a monster in the next twenty minutes? Would he wreck the car, killing Levan and Mark? The thought made the lump in his throat knot over once more. He forced a swallow while making his way silently over to the driver's seat. Maybe offering to stay up wasn't a good idea as he had once thought.
There wasn't much room to back out as nervous fingers plugged the key into the ignition, twisting it into life before tossing the car into reverse. His ankle itched. The blood had began clotting, drying. Oh God. Oh God, oh God, oh God. Please, help him now. He swallowed back a wave of nausea, trying to play off the glossy sheen his eyes had taken on as the overhead lights in the parking lot.
Levan shuffled in the back for blankets to pass up to Mark, who was currently fishing around in the glove box for God knows what. It was all comforting things - things he had become accustomed to over the past few days. Their little makeshift home they'd built in the car. A thin rope hung in the back, a few clips for clothes were clipped onto it. Laundry would hang there, when time came. There were other home-like touches.
It was already almost natural and it was only night three. That thought was sobering. It was night three and he was going to die. Just like Darien. Just like all those poor bastards still in Wal-Mart. And there was nothing he could do to stop it. His grip flexed on the steering wheel as he backpedaled through the dark streets of what was once downtown Auburn. It was sobering to see the aftermath, the burned buildings. The desolation.
And the highway would be no less deserted. No less gut wrenching. No less painful. For the first time in two days he flicked off the radio. There was no need to listen to it anymore. It wasn't as if he couldn't recite it by heart, anyway.
-o-
He could feel questioning eyes on him but it was so easily drown out by the dull throb in his ankle. To this he flexed his grip on the steering wheel, driving on the shoulder. Too many cars were piled up on the main road.
The next morning he was exhausted. But lucid. God, he was sane. Still waiting for some greater force to suddenly leap upon him and shred any coherent thought to bits. It made him nervous. Edgy. Mark woke up more than once during the night asking if he wanted them to switch but after Campbell finally turned to him and told him to kindly 'shut the fuck up, please' he quieted. Rolling over whilst mumbling something about 'beauty sleep' or something.
There might have been a thousand other things on the redhead's mind at the time. What if the bite didn't make him insane? It had been a good four hours since their run in with the Infected. But what if it took longer than four hours.
How long did it take Mrs. Kendrix? Longer than four hours. He wasn't in the clear yet. Was it even possible not to become one of the zombies? If so, why would he be any different? He was just a dumb college student trying to get a degree in computer science.
Question upon question. It made his head hurt, but he was too scared to take any painkiller. Ibuprofen might speed up the process - who fucking knew? He, for one, didn't want to find out the answer. The dashboard read 4 a.m. when Mark finally rolled over in the seat to look at him. It made him nervous. Was his roommate suspicious? Did he know? Oh God, he didn't want to die. He drummed his fingers on the wheel.
"Bren? You ok? You seem a bit...edgy,"
"It's the apocalypse, Mark," it seemed like a good enough excuse. He didn't need to glance over to see the crease of thought that knotted Mark's brow. He knew it was there.
"You weren't like this yesterday,"
"It hadn't set in,"
"What is there to set in?" he wanted to bash his head against the windshield. Why couldn't the brunette just drop it. Instead he flashed his counterpart a brief glance before turning back to the traffic, weaving in and out of open space.
"Everyone is dead, Mark. We could be the last three people alive," he was talking out of his ass - fuck, he could be quoting a movie, for all he knew to care about. It did sound familiar. Maybe it was some movie he'd seen on HBO last week. Who cares. As long as it gets Mark to shut up and sleep. The silence that ensued was pregnant. It knotted his gut.
"I know," the seriousness that painted a once jubilant tone was enough to cause the redhead to glance over again, but Mark wasn't looking at him. He was staring out into the headlight bathed highway.
Nothing moved except the shadows but that didn't mean there was nothing out there. His ankle throbbed at the thought. He was practically itching to look at it, to see the damage with his own eyes. To see what will kill him.
Once more his stomach knots over. He doesn't want to die. Twenty-five years is no life - hell, he's barely started. Forcing back a wave of hysteria he drummed tunelessly on the steering wheel. Calm. He just needed to chill out. Deep breaths. Somewhere in the back of his head it occurred to him that this must be akin to an inmate awaiting death row.
Utterly Helpless. Because what could you do when a mutated virus is slowly eroding away at your innards? The thought sent his stomach aflutter once more. Oh God, he was going to be sick. It was past dawn when Mark finally put his foot down and demanded to take the wheel. Their spat woke Levan whom groggily sided with Mark. In the end Campbell found himself staring, exasperated, out the passengers' window. He was tired.
But this might just be the last morning he ever sees with lucid eyes. The image of buttery sunlight yawning across miles upon miles of abandoned cars made his stomach knot over. He's going to die in desolation and no one is even going to care.
Because who was there to care? What if everyone else in the world was already dead? What was waiting for them down in New Orleans...? Campbell found he almost didn't want to know - somewhere in the coherent part of his mind he noted idly that he probably wouldn't ever find out, anyway.
Their drive into the afternoon gave no leave on the redhead's wound nerves. It almost got to the point in which he would dip into hysteria and oh God his ankle festered. Like an ominous warning. A promise for later. Nothing made him more nervous.
It was like eight grade all over again, when Kevy Brandon would wait outside his last period before lunch and rough him around until he had gotten lunch money - like in every bad cartoon. The wait was always worse than the actual beating.
The next thing he knows is lurching forward, seatbelt half strangling him. A sharp, pained yelp from the back seat signified Levan was having similar problems. Instinct had him turning to jerk around, eyes livid as they sought Mark. Preparing to yell. His roommate beat him to the punch.
"Oh my God." Sapphire irises were comically wide as they gawked out the window. Staring at something. It was silhouetted by the dimming light of evening but it was undeniably human. What set it out was the fact it was sitting, huddled on the hood of what was once probably a truck. Waving almost frantically over towards them. Something else coated in shadow emerged from the cab of the truck. It seemed to stumble sleepily a moment before it, too, began to jolt at their Honda.
"Is that...?" Levan had sat up in the back seat, her head poking through the gap between the drivers and passengers seat. When Mark cracked his window a voice called that was once muffled by the glass. It was muted but there was no room to deny.
"Hello?!"
-o-
Levan was making peanut butter and jam sandwiches while Mark sat everyone down outside the car. Passing a water bottle to the newcomers from their dwindling resources. There were two of them. The woman was tall, brunette. Slim with an athletic build and a sunken expression in her hollow hazel irises. The man was no better off, his strawberry blonde hair matted with grime and God-knows what else. His dark eyes were no different than his company's.
There was a few moments of tense silence as the brunette stared intently at the bottle Mark extended to her before slowly, cautiously, she snatched it from him. Her movements were jerky. Uneasy. When Mark finally sat back on a scrap of heap metal to crack open his own shared bottle of water Campbell simply shook his head when it was offered at him.
What if he was contagious? Would Mark catch whatever he had by sharing water?
"So...do you two have names?" Mark was the first to talk after a pregnant silence. The couple exchanged looks before the girl finally spoke up.
"I'm Kristine and this is Joseph," she nodded at the man briefly, sunken eyes continuing their nervous flick around their circle. Mark had pulled the Honda into park across from their wrecked truck, creating a sort of hollow where they now camped in the lamplight of a spare lantern. The fluorescence cast dark shadows about their faces in the now dying embers of what was once a day. It had gone by too quickly. With its' passing Campbell's nerves only wound themselves further.
It had been 23 hours since it happened.
"I'm Mark, and that's Campbell and Levan," Mark gestured towards each of them respectively, Levan finally slipped out of the back, five sandwiches stacked together on a paper plate. Silently she passed them to the newcomers before turning back to her boys. Campbell faintly noted his hand was shaking when he went to grab the bread. Nerves. "What are you two doing out here?"
There was a long, pregnant silence. Kristine had turned down to her meal, nibbling at it with calculated bites. Joseph was almost done - his face coated in crumbs as if he hadn't eaten in days. And he probably hadn't. The two strangers exchanged a hesitant glance before one finally spoke up. It was Joseph.
"We wrecked," he began slowly, Mark nods encouragingly after another pause, "Coming up from Louisiana two days ago."
"Why?"
"Because Philip wasn't immune," it took a moment for the implications to settle in. As if understanding the confused stares Joseph glanced at the driver's seat in the car. The silhouette of something most definitely human sat brokenly there. Levan gave a quiet gasp.
Oh.
Campbell was going to be sick, his stomach rolled over twice. He forced back yet more hysteria, trying to cover his rising panic with a bite of his sandwich. Their driver had apparently turned as he was driving the car and here they were, stranded and starving. Would it have been like this if he had turned? Oh God.
"…Immune?" Levan's voice was quiet, inquisitive. Both of the strangers snapped their attention nervously to the blonde before Kristine nodded.
"You know, to the virus," Campbell stiffened. Immune? There was such thing? He tried not to appear too interested with another bite of strawberry jam and gummy peanut butter. Rolling it over with his tongue before he swallowed to speak.
"What exactly is immunity?"
"What does it sound like? You get bit and you don't turn into a flesh eating meat bag," his stomach fell out all over again - except this time it was with anticipation. The faintest flicker of hope.
"How do you know if you're immune?" he hoped he didn't sound too forced. A shrug.
"If you're still alive on the third day you're in the clear," the boy confirmed. It was Mark's turn to speak up.
"And you two are immune?"
"I am, we don't know if he is," Mark nodded when Kristine gestured to Joseph. He was rigid all the while. Flickering a glance towards Campbell, scrutiny muted by sunken brown irises as he went in for another, far more controlled bite. Said redhead turned his attention to the two brunettes, forcing back a mouthful of food. Suspicion rising like hysteria in his throat. Calm down. Deep breaths.
"Are you all immune?" It was Joseph. His throat tightened around the sandwich. The swallow was rough as he forced back down coughs at the unexpected question. When he finally opened his mouth to snap at the man for being nosey Mark was already speaking.
"We don't know," he shrugged, biting off another chunk of sandwich. Kristine lifted an eyebrow before she spoke up once more.
"You don't know?" she repeated almost incredulously. Mark shook his head at the inquiry.
"We don't know anything, right now. We just left from a place up in Georgia a few days ago,"
"So you don't know about the infected?" Mark offered a short, barking laugh at the ridicules note painting the woman's tone. He waved defensively in the forced humor, a good natured smile still playing his lips.
"Oh, no. We've had a few run ins - we're headed to New Orleans for some answers," before he could finish his sentence Kristine was laughing. There was no humor in her tone.
"New Orleans? That evac was overran the second week of infection," Mark didn't laugh. There was a pregnant silence as Joseph and Kristine continued to eat the last few bites of their sandwiches. Overran? Mark caught his attention in stunned silence a moment before he turned back to the two strangers.
"Overran? You're sure?" there was just more mirthless laughter on Kristine's behalf. It was edgy, almost maniacal. It sat unwell in the pit of Campbell's stomach. He forced back a few more mouthfuls of bread before he put it down on the plate. His stomach wouldn't settle for any more food. He was too nervous.
"Sure? We were just there. We lost four people," her voice was cold, her hazel irises were dark once more with something akin to cold humor. But there's nothing funny about the situation. The first thought that flicks through his head is how 'Oh God this woman is insane.' Forcing a tight smile he stood from the scrap metal he'd previously been sitting on.
"I'll be back in a minute," All eyes flicked over to him but he needed to get away.
"Where are you going?"
"To piss," Joseph was at his feet in a moment, dusting off the seat of his jeans almost casually. Campbell narrowed his eyes, "What?"
"It's not safe going alone and I've got to go too," You fucking liar. Instead of saying this, however, Campbell simply pursed his lips into a tight smile as he nodded curtly. It wouldn't look good for him if he refused the other man. Raise suspicions. This was not something he'd like to do. He meandered away from the soft hum of the lantern as Mark tried to awkwardly patch up the conversation.
It was weird. Feeling those scrutinizing chocolate irises trained to his back as he walked, rigid around an abandoned SUV. When he glanced back Joseph was turned around, glancing over the cars as if checking for something. The redhead mocked a swallow, his dry throat clenching at the lack of saliva. He unzipped quickly, stifling the urge to glimpse back around to his unwanted counterpart. It made him nervous. Stripped. He was zipping back up when it hit him.
The force powerful enough to shove the breath from his lungs, to stumble him till he was shoved against the SUV. A lanky hand pinched over his mouth to stifle the noise that threatened to bubble out. Emerald irises widened almost comically before it registered that he should struggle. So he did, jerking forward just enough to free himself from a stronghold. Joseph.
"Wh-what the fuck man?!" Dark, chocolaty eyes were trained on his own. Narrow. Calculating once more. Then the blonde had a grip on his arm, rolling it around forcefully before dropping it and grabbing for the other - repeating the process. It was only when the man was on a knee, digits threatening the hem of his left leg did it register what was going on.
He's looking for the bite. He fucking knows. Campbell yipped before jumping back, kicking out with the leg. Trying to dispel offending digits. Joseph was quicker, yanking a healthy grip on the stained denim before shoving away the fabric. It scuffed against the wound; instinct told him to hiss out in startled pain before he began struggling once more. But the damage was done. He saw it in the man's eyes.
Footsteps running towards them brought him back to reality, Mark.
"What the hell is going on?!" Joseph was at his feet in seconds, pointing an accusing finger in Campbell's direction.
"The bastard is infected!" It was about that time Levan and Kristine rounded the bend to see what was going on. It made his skin crawl, all eyes turned to him. Self-consciously he shoved down the leg of his jeans. Not that it did much to help the situation. Oh God. Sapphire irises sought his own, they were wide. Confused. His stomach flipped over for the umpteenth time.
Guilt. It washed through him, spread like wildfire through his veins. Hurt shone in his roommates' eyes face. He forced his gaze away, turning to Levan. Her eyes were equally wide, a sense of deja-vu brimmed him. It started with Darien and now another of her group is going to die. She looked on the edge of tears.
"Bren...?" He cast his gaze to his feet. Dirty converse that might have once been black. Now, however, they were so coated with grime and filth the color was almost indiscernible. Uncomfortably he shifted his weight from one foot to the other. Four sets of accusing eyes staring at his flesh. "Why?"
Almost desperately he turned back to Mark. Why what? Then it occurred to him. Why didn't you tell me? His brow creased a moment before silently he sent a plea at Mark not to take it like that. Didn't he know how fucking scared he was? What torture he's endured the past day? Knowing he was going to die while utterly powerless to stop it?
Of course not. He couldn't know that terror. That knowledge. His voice was almost indecipherable when he spoke. Emerald irises never breaking contact with their counterpart.
"I don't want to die." The crack in his voice made his nerves rattle uneasily. He turned away once more, unable to hold that gaze any longer. It was too much. A snort from his side startled him slightly. The fucking blonde; who's dark brown irises were narrowed, arms folded. And then the anger came - like a rush. Campbell wouldn't be backed in this corner if the motherfucker had just kept to his own business.
Olive fabric of the stranger's shirt was bundled in his fist a moment later, his face but mere inches from the bastard's. Dark irises that were once blasé and unamused were now wide. Shocked. At one point in time, Campbell noted in the lucid part of his brain, he might have been offended at his own actions. Three days of running for his life must have screwed with him. Or it could be the infection. Not that it mattered much anymore.
What did matter was beating the fucker to a pulp for doing this. Exposing him. The more he thought about hurting his roommate the more his anger grew. The more it hurt. They had been friends since high school. They stuck it out through till college - hell, they roomed together because of it.
Eight years. Four years of beating eachother up in high school and four more of sitting in the dorm drinking Monsters and cramming studies before the next mornings' test. Of playing PS3 and eating Twizzlers while discussing that hot chick in their Biology class. Of sharing an awkward bed together trying to figure out what the hell what was going on through inexperienced touches. It never went any further than that.
"Campbell!" It was Levan, her tone painted with concern - fear. But he wasn't ready to stop, his fist cocked back. Ready to fight…and then there was the sound. A sputtering whirr. The three were frozen - Joseph struggled away and made to rush back to the cars. The car. There wasn't much thought before the three turned tail and rushed after the strawberry blonde to their car. It was running, Kristine in the front seat turned to the passenger's side where Joseph was trying to get in. Then things began to blur together - like a movie.
One moment Mark was behind him, the next he was at the car door. One of their revolvers at hand. Where had that come from? Wide eyes flicked over to Levan, her focus remained on the chaos. Mark was yelling something. It took him a moment before it clicked that he was screaming for the brunette woman to get the hell out of their car.
Her dark irises were narrow as she made to unlock the door, eyes not leaving the barrel of Mark's gun. His fingers played dangerously on the trigger. Promising nothing good. The tension was thick enough to choke. Campbell almost found himself jumping when his roommate put a trembling hand on the door latch, jerking it open with an uncalculated yank. He could practically see the heated nervousness painted on that tan face.
Pursing his lips he forced himself to focus on the much taller woman slowly dipping out of their car. Her motions were almost feline - the only indication of her anxiousness was the slightly off rise and fall of her chest. That and the way her maniacal hazel irises flicked around as if she were planning to take flight. Like an animal. And maybe she was. What if this was what the infection did to all the survivors? The thought alone made him nauseous.
"What the fuck do you think you're fucking doing?!" The sharp tone that painted normally such a mellow tone made him flinch. It was terrifying. His attention turned back to the woman, her focus, however, was fully upon Mark. Specifically, the gun. Maybe if he had been more coherent he would have seen her rock back - would have seen the glint that painted her dark irises.
But he didn't. And when she sprang it was like watching a horror movie. The loud crack familiar only to gunfire split tense air. He couldn't suppress the visceral jolt backwards that sprang upon him.
With horror he watched as the brunette's body toppled to the ground, an expression of utmost shock painted her sunken face. Oh God. Oh God what have they done...? Wide eyed he turned to look up at Mark. He was shaking, eyes locked to the other side of the car.
Campbell followed his vision and watched tentatively as Joseph - eyes equally large - slowly backed away from the car. Those dark irises flicked immediately to the ground once he made his way around the front bend of the Honda. He visibly stiffened as he was met with the form of his partner. Dropping every semblance of caution as he dropped to her side. The pool of scarlet was gathering on the concrete.
"Get Levan to the car," it took him a moment to realize Mark was talking to him. The look veiling his brunette friend was indecipherable as he stared down at Joseph, whom was pulling the body that was once Kristine's into his lap.
Pursing his lips the redhead forced his gaze around to where Levan stood. Her attention was at her feet. Face unreadable before he reached out to nudge her arm. She flinched before it registered that it was just him.
Without speaking he nodded towards her car, pointedly taking her around to the passengers side. Keeping his attention ahead of him rather than at the ground. At the body. His hand was shaking on the latch as he pulled at it. Jumping when he felt a hand clasp over his own. Levan pulled gently at the door, opening it and then her own. Slipping silently into the back to rifle in the cooler. Gingerly he shut the door behind her and slipped into his own seat. Afraid to speak.
When the cool wetness of a water bottle nudged his bare arm he flinched once more, flushing when he realized what it was. His nerves were wound to the breaking point. Unscrewing the cap suddenly seemed like an unfeasible task. In the end he settled on passing it back to Levan when she prodded him. Watching intently as she cracked into the plastic and passed it back up. He nodded a thanks before swallowing down two mouthfuls.
Mark was silent as he slipped into the car, tossing the gun down into the empty cup holders in between the two seats before churning the keys - already in the ignition. The engine sputtering to life sliced through the discomfort. As if it shouldn't be there. The air was stifling enough. It wasn't until they were turning off onto the shoulder when Campbell allowed himself to look back at the scene they left.
Joseph stood now, face solemn and defeated. Solely silhouetted by the thin strips of morning light. The heap that was once human lie motionless at his feet.
