Teenage Rot

Chapter 2

Disintegration

Rewind.

Today was supposed to be a normal day. Today was just supposed to be like every day;

Wake Up. Eat breakfast. Pick up some groceries, check. Oh, it's Mr. Popell and Curt, I should say hi.

A sound similar to a sonic boom erupted in the air, a ring expanding through the graying sky and disappeared just like that but the gloomy canvas above stayed.

Flannery's thoughts became scrambled, eyes clouded with white spots. She struggled to keep her balance on wobbly legs.

There was a thud from in front of her. "Pop?" a child, Curt most likely.

Flannery teetered as the world seemed to spin around her in vertigo, a nauseous feeling began brewing in the pit of her stomach. The white floaters around her vision burned black and multiplied until she couldn't see at all. Static fills her ears, in between the hissing are words, whispers, barely even audible.

Before she even notices, she's on her rear. Abruptly, everything stops as if nothing ever happens.

The floaters fade away, static quiets and the nausea subsides only to be replaced by a numb, barely there, headache. Her ears begin to tune in to the noises around her. Curt's puppy, Whistle, was whimpering and yapping. The kid himself, Curt, was tugging at her right hand, the other one was on her forehead, fingers massaging her temples. "Oh-Oh gosh, what was that?" she mumbled to herself. "Flaky." Curt called out. Oh gee, why did they always have to call her that? It was getting embarrassing.

"Flaky." Curt called out again, much more persistent. "Huh, what?..." she trailed off, what was Pop doing on the ground with blo-?, Oh my God. There was blood, just a little bit leaking out of his ears , but it was enough to send in her into panic mode. Whistle was barking loudly. She was stuck frozen, Curt still trying to get her to answer as to why "Pop was sleeping on the parking a lot floor."

Help. They needed to get help and fast.
Flannery scrambled to her feet, a hand digging into her messenger bag.
There it was, her phone! She pressed the on button.

Nothing.
She tried again, pressing the little button a bit longer.
The screen remained black. Not even lighting up just to tell her that the battery was dead even though she sure as hell remembered charging it this morning. She really shouldn't be wasting her time by thinking about something like this. The car, the car's near. She could just drive him to the hospital, simple as that.

Hesitantly, she kneeled in front of the man, dropping her grocery bag beside her and on the cold asphalt. With a hand wrapped around his still warm wrist she checked for a pulse. It was faint and slow. He was still alive, at least.
He yanked his arm away from hers leaving her shocked. What she expected was that he heave himself up and say he probably needed to go home, felt ill or even say; "Surprise!"
she didn't expect him to convulse violently as he pushed himself up. Nor did she even think about him vomiting his breakfast, spewing from his mouth. Amidst the putrid mixture of half-digested food and stomach juices were dark red splotches. When he stopped so did time. Flannery stared, starting to hyperventilate, poor Curt confused in the background looked between the two, his pup finally quieting down it's barks into whimpers.

Shakily, Flannery held her hand out, reaching for Mr. Popell's shoulder. Her thoughts raced in her already crowded mind. Help him! cried one. Stay away. Take Curt and the dog and leave! Cried the other.

"S-sir, are-are y-you ok?" she asked, stuttering as her hand was just an inch or two away from the man, choosing not to run just yet.
Mr. Popell's head shot up to face her when her fingers had only brushed his left shoulder. Flannery jumped in surprise, landing on her rear for the second time.

Whistle began barking furiously but not an aggressive one, it sounded terrified. The one dogs make when you corner them. Flannery noted the blood and vomit caked teeth that seemed to have suddenly have become sharp, the man's eyes were different; entirely black, the whites and iris seemed as if it drowned in the black depths, like polished obsidian. Pop growled with such animosity that she was quickly convinced that this person wasn't the kind neighbor from across the street but simply a belligerent simulacrum of the old fellow. The air grew more oppressive every single minute.

Flannery stood up slowly as if a wrong move would cause the man to rip her throat out.
Pop stood up too. Curt shuffled forward attempting to get closer to the man who was once his father. Instinctively Flannery rose her right arm, blocking the four-year old from getting any further.

The silence reigned once again. Think. Think. Think! screamed her thoughts, The car, where is it? Flannery turned her head slightly to the right. There it was sitting there.
The car seemed to beckon her to run like hell and into its safety and that was what she planned to do. Flannery lowered her arm to grip tightly on Curt's little hand.
Pop, no, that monster shook it's head a wide grin plastered on his face. The once-man laughed as if he read her mind, as if he's seen others do the same and end up dead by his hands.

Flannery turned around. "Run!" she commanded in clenched teeth and with that
that she bolted, dragging Curt and Whistle who both struggled to match her speed. She look back for a short second. Pop simply stood there with a rather amused and mocking grin. He gave her a head start and she knew he'd chase her when enough distance was created just to prove that he was much faster.

While she ran she pulled out her remote car keys, unlocking the doors.
Halfway there she faltered in speed, scooping both the kid and his pup.
Almost there. And that was when the changed man started his chase.
He shambled clumsily and shambling turned into jogging and jogging turned into a full out sprint by the time that Flannery struggled to open the car door not even able to get a grip on the handle while making sure not to drop either of the youngsters in the process.

As soon as she managed to get a good grip on the handle she yanked it the door open, shoving the two in her arms into the passenger's seat. Before she could even dive in herself a tight grip on her hair harshly jerked her backwards. The white pain it induced seared from the roots to the rest of her scalp. Instinctively she tried to put her hands over her scalp in pain only to be kicked down whilst Curt and Whistle stared from inside of the car, unable to do anything but watch.

A harsh kick to the stomach and she was sent backpedalling further from the car, managing to keep her balance this time.

The man catapulted across the parking lot, leading with a fist. He was aiming straight for her face, one punch, a quick side swipe would be enough to trigger a blackout.

Flannery stared eyes wide with shock,
At the last minute broke out of her paralysis stumbling back before the punch could be landed.
She was no good fighter and knew that one wrong move and she'd be dead zombie fodder.

Without much thought she bulleted into the man, left arm bent, the point of the elbow sticking out, she was going to strike him with it. She knew she had to be careful, she knew an improperly conditioned strike would cause temporary or worse, permanent damage to the nerve.

She hit him dead set on the chest just as the changed man was pulling his fist back to launch another punch. Flannery hissed as the impact rattled up her arm and to the tips of her fingers.

The Changed shuffled back with an audible unghf
arms flailing in a horrible attempt to catch his balance. Flannery used this as a chance, uncoiling, she swung her fist in a deadly roundhouse punch. There was a hollow thud as her fist hammered his chin. Popell's head snapped backwards and then he was spinning away. That was one of the things she had to thank a certain young soldier for.

Off-balance, Flannery tried to pivot but the cement was still soaked from the morning rain and was quite slick.

She felt herself slide. Fought to regain her balance but could not achieve it.
The cold October air sliced across her face like razors as she fell.
She screamed as the impact shuddered through her bone and wrenched her right shoulder.
Her right hand was on fire, her fingers were numb and her wrist stung with pain and her elbow bawled.

She took in a frantic sobbing breath.
Is it broken? Did I break it? Oh God no. Please no. Pop, where is he?

Her head swirled in panic and pain to look behind her, she didn't see it just yet but felt an attack. With a blur of red clothing, Pop was up. Lips curled back in a snarl showing off his impossibly sharp teeth as he loomed. That snarl turned into a toothy grin when the man looked down to a large plastic bag a few feet from him conveniently placed there. The plastic grocery bag that belonged to her and she knew that in it was a set of kitchen knives.

Pop knocked over the plastic bag, a few of the contents spilling out, kneeling down to grab whatever he could.
It was a simple kitchen knife, the larger of the set she had bought. It was sharp enough and longer though it didn't have much cutting space.

She watched him bring down the knife.
Flannery snatched her left arm from the blade's line and tried to roll away.
The knife cleaved into the air, whistling, swishing close to her left arm.

She had a second to think close only to scream as pain seeped up her arm. Her head snapped the left, a small meaty flap of flesh dangled lazily a tiny bit of blood oozing out. She screeched again with horror.

Flannery saw the knife coming down again. "No! No!" she rolled onto her back jack hammering her right boot into Pop's chin. There was a crack as the man's head whipped back with a snap. His jaw clamped tight with a thwack. A gurgling shriek erupted from his throat as he stumbled backwards again, but most importantly was that he lost his grip on the knife.

Knife. Knife. Knife. Knife. Her thoughts screamed.
Ignoring the searing pain she forced herself to get up. It was right in front of her, lying there. She kneeled and clawed her shaky hands on the asphalt trying to get a grip on the knife's handle. Panic was engulfing her and she couldn't function properly.

She jolted up with the knife tightly in her left hand to see the man lying on his back, his head leaning on the tire of a cheap Smart For-two, out cold hopefully.

She knew he would get up at any moment. She had to finish this. Kill him.
Flannery couldn't believe that thought conjured in her mind as she strode over to the infected monster.

Her mind cried protests that this was murder while the other told her to just go ahead and kill him. She felt like a criminal even though she did it or self defense. She felt guilty for killing this man off even though she knew he was a monster. Poor girl couldn't even hurt a fly and here she was with a soon to be twice-dead zombie. The knife felt heavy in her hands, palms sweaty.
The thing that made this ordeal more worse was the fact that she was going to have to execute the man in front of his son.

Her head tipped to the right to look at the aforementioned boy who was out of sight, his dog jumping in the back seat though. She rationalized that he was just sitting down as he was quite short so she wouldn't be able to see him and him with her. That lifted a bit of the weight in her chest.

And though hesitantly she lurched forward with a blast of speed and adrenaline, she rose the knife above her head, both hands gripping onto it and with that she plunged the blade into his forehead as deep in as she could.
Crimson red bubbled around the wound and a starburst of gore erupted from where it could squeeze out, a few droplets splattered onto her cheek and orange sweater, painting it red.
He stopped breathing and it was the end of that.

I can't believe I just did that. There was no pride in the thought, just a sinking feeling in her gut. Her eyes stung as tears threatened to spill. She shook her head, sucking in a breath as her hands continued to shake. She stood up, scrambling over to the driver's seat, making sure to grab the spilt over bag, yanking the door open and crawled in.

"Flaky?" she let the nickname slide, "Why did Pop do that?" the little boy asked. "Is he ok? Are you?"

"I don't—I don't know, Curt. Yes, he is now." She answered hastily.

"Oh, but. Why didn't he come with us?"

"Because he is—"

Sirens, that of a store alarm's, blared somewhere nearby in the town. The town was quite small and if anything like a robbery would ever happen and an alarm would trigger then everyone would hear it and this made it a bad thing because 'everyone' is more or less dead or zombies.

Curt covered his ears with his hand and the dog jumped up in the back seat barking like mad. Flannery twisted her head to face the left, where the dog was barking. Much to her despair a large horde had crept into view.

There were those few that were like Pop, those who looked as if they were still alive, the only thing that ruined their chances of actually fitting in as humans were their eyes and fangs, oh and the classical blood stained clothes.

Behind them were the Changed who looked quite like those classical Hollywood zombies; skin being either gray, a pale white or greenish-gray. Their eyes were just like the Changed though their teeth were quite different, much flatter like a normal human's. Some of them had their arms lifted, pointing forward, in Rigor Mortis as if they've been dead for a while.

In Flannery's view she saw that the smart ones were up on the front, there were five actually two girls and three boys, it seemed quite obvious that they were leading those dumber ones at the back.

They needed to get out of here, and fast. They could be easily killed and outnumbered as she was the only one who could fight back but that sure as hell wasn't happening in this condition.

"Who are they?" Curt asked, looking out the window and up at her, "Why do they look like the monsters on TV?"

She didn't stop to answer this time, sticking the key into the ignition and starting the car. She just wanted to drive out of there. Just get out and stay as far from those thing as possible despite the pain that pulsed through her right arm, her grip tightening on the driver's wheel.

"You're driving too fast!"

The car zipped through the deserted streets at such a speed Flannery never dared to achieve but there was no time to slow down and the fact that nobody else was probably around made it easier to drive around, no accidents, no problem—

Just as soon as they got into the intersection, a zoom cutting through air, at a speed faster than hers, on the left side of the intersection had caught her attention and it seemed to grow closer every second.

Flannery only had a split second to crane her neck to the left , just a split second to catch glimpse of a red mover's truck before the impact.

They jolted around. The sounds of metal crunching and screaming rung in Flannery's ears. She felt the car trip to the right as it skidded sideways, finally rolling over completely lying on its roof. I spoke too soon, didn't I?

Flannery's vision grew dim with a black haze , her consciousness slipped like honey through her fingers.

Don't black out. Not yet.

Her eyes shut completely and she found herself drowning in a dark sea.

Her ears picked up a sound, something heavy shuffling on the concrete road.

Though her mind felt groggy it conjured random thoughts. Something was out there for sure. It could be one of those things.

Those things.

The thought alone was enough for her to snap her eyes open. Her chocolate orbs darted around, she was panicking. She found herself upside down, her car wrecked. Everything hit her like a pile of bricks. What she hoped was simply a product of her mind was real.

Popell, The Changed, Driving the hell out of there with Curt and The car crash.

With Curt?

Curt!

She found the little boy hanging beside her. She thought for a moment there that he was dead but the fact that he was breathing calmed her down. She check behind her, oddly enough the dog was awake and dead silent, it's tail swished limply.

She stiffened remembering the sound slowly peeking out her window to, much to her surprise, a pair of black ,excruciatingly familiar , combat boots. She still couldn't trust that this person was exactly who he was, who knows? He might have been affected by the Zap too.

He—It? knelt down in front of the broken, one hand curled into fist, the knuckles on the ground supported his weight as he stared in surprise.

"Flakes? I can't believe you're still alive!" just as she had expected it was Phillip. He wasn't undead though, thank God. "I thought the Chuckies got ya."

Flannery replied with a hasty and quiet "I guess." , fiddling with the seat belt buckle.

"Let me help you with that." There was a click and the car door opened.

She was absolutely terrified when a curved blade had swam into view and she stared at him.

Phillip had knelt forward, his head poking into the car, he seemed quite focused on mercilessly cutting the poor seat belt. Then she realized something; she was still upside down. "W-wait no—"

Flannery rubbed her reddened forehead, a small bump had formed, it still hurt even after they got Curt out who had woken up by then.

She looked at the wreckage from inside his truck. "You ok?" the little boy beside her asked for the second time today. "Y-yeah, I'm fine."

Fine, she was fine, her right arm still hurt but not as much as before, and she needn't worry about the cut getting infected thanks to army boy over there on the Driver's seat.

Flannery had noted the loads of gear in the cargo area with Whistle. Did he expect this to happen? It seemed impossible that he had packed all that during the outbreak especially when those things could just ninja their way in. She couldn't help but ask, "What's-what's with all th-that?" she asked tipping her head slightly to look back.

"I was, uh, I was going to go camping." Phillip added a rather nervous and humorless laugh at the end of his answer, shrugging.

Flannery nodded simply. She scooted further until she was pressed against the door while using Curt needing more space as an excuse as to why she decided to do that when in truth she was still uncomfortable around Phillip.

He was a ticking time bomb with that Post Traumatic Stress Disorder of his. If anything had triggered his little disorder then the person nearest would more or less end up with a broken arm or a big wound.

They used to be close, she remembered organizing his birthday four years before despite his protests. She grew terrified of Phillip after she saw him attacking Ginger, Petunia and D. Barry back in the amusement park because his disorder made him think those plane rides were actual enemy bomber planes.

Hell, she even developed 'Flippy-Phobia', Phillip's nickname Flippy courtesy of Spencer after his 'Flip outs', she had even hurt him because she thought he was going to hurt her and they ended up flat out avoiding each other, well mostly it was Flannery who did. But that was four years ago, roughly two months after his birthday when the whole 'Flippy-Phobia' thing first started, and the fear, phobia, whatever, was fading pretty quickly but she couldn't deny that she wasn't scared even though he's proven to her that he was able to control his disorder more ; he didn't flip out when he saw the wreckage, the open wound on her left arm or the blood.

And out of everyone in the town she—no—they; her, Curt and Whistle had to end up with the most damaged person. But they were both damaged, were they not? Her with her Paranoia and him with his PTSD. How convenient.

The roads past the town were as empty. No Changed creeping about as the trees began to fill up the spaces outside of the roads. It was pretty much quiet, not the good kind of quiet. What do you say to a sort-of-ex best friend after 4 years of barely anything but short eye contact and greetings?

Before this got any more uncomfortable that same sonic-boom like sound had erupted once again in the gray sky. The sound of static fuzzed in her ears. The nauseas feeling and headache was back but not as bad as before. She managed to get a glimpse of Phillip and Curt next to her. Phillip's teeth were clenched and he didn't look too well either; he felt what she had. Curt on the other hand and given them odd looks, he and the dog didn't seem to affected at all.

The car had stopped abruptly. "What the—?" Phillip hissed, fiddling around with the keys and stomping the acceleration pad as if he had never drove a car before.

Whistle began growling and growling became barking as he ran around the tight cargo area. The ground shook under a heavy weight that seemed to have been caused from behind the trees.

The thing that squeezed out of the cluster of trees seemed as if it had extreme hypertrophy; abnormally increased muscle mass in the upper half of its body, in the arms mostly. It's lower half was less pronounced but despite that its legs could carry its enormous weight it's distorted anatomy forced it to knuckle walk on one hand. One hand? The rest of its right arm, starting a bit above its elbow was a giant red blade looking limb. The limb probably dyed red with blood.

It's jaw at first glance seemed to have been missing but as Flannery squinted her eyes it seemed to have just been enveloped by the thick muscles around its neck.

They were forced to watch, frozen; nobody made a move, as it rose the blade-like appendage above its head, bringing it down with a woosh as the weaponized limb cut through air. It slammed into the car's roof and—

She woke up sweaty and gasping for air. Her back hurt from the rocky floor beneath the paper-thin green tent. What was it? Today was—today was October sixteen, two days from the outbreak in town which was on the fourteenth. Though it was useless and unnecessary she still continued to keep track of the days, counting seconds and checking the time, the only thing she could occupy her mind with.

She rubbed her eyes and sat up. Curt was still sandwiched between her and Phillip with Whistle by the little boy's feet—Well, Phillip wasn't there, he was probably outside.

It was 7:30 as Curt's Garfield watch, oddly enough the only electronic that worked, informed her.

The dream was what had exactly happened two days prior. Well, not so exact with the Reaper part, Reaper, yeah, that's what she'll call it. The car did break down after the Zap, or what Phillip theorized to be an EMF. She was a bit skeptical of it; weren't EMFs usually harmless? The Reaper wasn't just what her mind had conjured, they'd seen that thing on the way to where they were now, lucky as hell that it didn't spot them.

She found him fiddling with a radio, twisting the knob several times, static blasting from the speakers.

"What're you doing?" Flannery asked though the answer was quite obvious. If they were stuck together, might as well try to get reacquainted. He shrugged, "What, are you suddenly as blind as Moe?" he laughed.

Flannery huffed, "W-well. I couldn't think of anything else to say."

Phillip shook his head with that dopey grin on his face before returning his full attention to the radio without another word. Same old Phillip; once something grabs his attention there's no way you could pull him out.

She hesitated before skipping over to sit beside him on a log in front of the dead campfire.

She noted that the radio was pretty old, like one of those retro or 80s radios. Retro just like Curt's watch, that of which she suspected used to be Pop's. She wondered where he got it or why he even brought it with him.

"I can't believe that still works!" she exclaimed though it was pretty useless to get him to talk, "It looks pretty old too." He simply shrugged, twisting one of the knobs, waiting for at least something.

Flannery pursed her lips, crouching a bit to pick up a random stick, poking the ashes around with it.

She ultimately froze when she heard a voice, barely there, coming from the speakers.

"Anyone—t here?" static engulfed the voice for a second, "If—is—Wo—Berry."
"—Safe—ty—Su—ppli—Securi—"
"I re—peat; If—out—th—eeere—….." The static blared again, the voice now completely drowned in it.

A/N: Hey peeps. Sorry for the late update, school's started and I might only be able to update during the weekends so here have a long ass chapter.

I doubt the rest would be as long as this.
I bet you're feels spazzing. I'm such a sucker for these pairings sooo..sorry not sorry. ^^

This chapter was much longer than I anticipated while writing, oh God. XD Oh and who is who might be pretty obvious so I doubt I'd need to tell you who they are. Some of the things mentioned here are pretty much based off of the canon events..

But I just want to let you guys know in advanced that "Evil" doesn't exist. PTSD doesn't work that way.

Gosh I really hate how the fight scene and car crash turned out and alot of parts here are pretty rushed so if you have anything like critics or suggestions go ahead and add it to your reviews, it's really appreciated!

Yeah, I don't know if you noticed but some parts are referenced from different zombies games/shows, if you can tell. XD

I'm going to kill someone soon...because I can. (ʘ‿ʘ)

That's all for now, see ya!