Thread Two: Part One
Ludwig
"Mein Gott, can't we just go already?" Gilbert asked as he leant forward from the backseat of the car.
"Quiet," Ludwig Beilschmidt mumbled, catching their father give Gilbert an annoyed look out of the corner of his eye.
Gilbert fell back with a huff. "There's no one there, dead, alive, zombie or otherwise."
"Are you willing to bet your life on that?" their father asked as he narrowed his eyes at Gilbert in the mirror.
"After waiting this long? Ja, ja I am."
"Just because you can't see them doesn't mean they're not there," Ludwig said hoping to diffuse the tension in the car. His brother and father butted heads enough before the dead came back to life but now that they were stuck together nearly every minute of the day the friction was nearing outright aggressive.
"And how long should we wait?"
Ludwig glanced at their father. His hands clenched the wheel until his knuckles were white, his mouth set in a taut grimace. "Till I say so," he said.
Ludwig knew the answer would only infuriate Gilbert further so he turned in his seat and gave his brother a look.
Gilbert inhaled and exhaled audibly but kept his mouth shut.
"You need to learn patience," their father said and Ludwig wished he hadn't.
Gilbert leant forward and glared at the back of their father's head. "Ja of course. The world's fucking ended and zombies are on the loose and I need to sit back and learn some patience."
Ludwig ran a hand through his hair. "Just a few more minutes, Bruder."
Gilbert continued to scowl but held his tongue. They sat in the car, scouring the area for bodies, dead or living. Unlike their previous crazed stop, this petrol station was on the outskirts of the town and free from dozens of dead snapping at their heels and the living threatening them with bullets. They'd barely escaped with their life and limbs then and their father was determined not to let them end up in the same position again. Now they waited and checked for armed looters and the salivating dead before making a move.
So far it had just been one thin man missing an ear but he had wandered off and left the area clear. Of course that didn't mean there weren't more in the shop or around the back but there was only so much they could see from the confines of a car.
After another minute, their father turned on the engine and inched into the petrol station. They came to a stop and the three of them got out of the car, Gilbert muttering, "Finally," under his breath. Ludwig held his pistol in both hands and was comforted by the second in the holster and a survival knife taken from one of the looters at his hip.
As discussed, their father went about to the petrol pump whilst Ludwig and his brother slipped into the shop. When the door closed behind them, Ludwig and Gilbert paused, ears straining for the faintest sound that might indicate one of the dead hidden in an aisle or looters residing in the back. With nothing forthcoming, Gilbert crept forward, peering around the corner of each aisle before continuing onwards when it was empty. Ludwig followed, body tense and mouth dry. Each clack of their shoes on the linoleum boomed like a bullet in the deafening silence of the shop, each breath like a roar, each heartbeat like a drum.
Memories of their last visit to a supermarket flew through his head; looters shooting into a panicked crowd, strangers using one another as shields, the living trampled underfoot, lost children crying for help and then the dead smashing the windows and devouring the injured who couldn't flee fast enough.
Ludwig had watched with fascinated horror, unable to believe the chaos in front of him. The previous week he had been walking his dogs in the park and then a few days later he was witness to the dead returning to life as hungry monsters, his town falling to shambles as neighbours turned on each other. It had all happened so fast, too fast for Ludwig to properly comprehend how and why this was happening. Instead he had been swept up in the crowd and the fear and only his father's military experience and his brother's quick thinking had got them out of that shop, that town alive.
It took them less than a minute to sweep the shop but it felt much longer. The shop was empty, as was the cluttered backroom with a rotting half eaten bagel and cold cup of coffee on the desk revealing the owner having fled days ago. Wherever he'd gone, Ludwig guessed the owner would not be returning.
Gilbert relaxed his stance and wandered towards the fridge at the back of the shop, Ludwig trailing after him.
"Alright," Gilbert said with a cackle as he opened the door and pulled out a box of twelve beers.
Ludwig opened his mouth to tell Gilbert to focus on necessary items but stopped himself. Keeping with the German stereotype, the Beilschmidt's had a fondness for beer and while it might not have essential for survival it didn't mean they couldn't enjoy a drink every now and then.
The two of them set about filling the bags with bottles of water, food and other basic items like matches, first aid materials and personal hygiene supplies.
They were nearly done when the sound of a door opening came from the backroom.
Gilbert and Ludwig shared a look, both dropping the bags and finding their guns. Ludwig resisted the urge to swear, unable to believe that neither he nor his brother had thought to check whether the backdoor was locked. Perhaps the owner hadn't perished after all.
A glance towards the windows showed their father filling empty cans with petrol, unaware of their new company.
Ludwig listened to muffled voices before the door between the backroom and the shop opened and noisy whispering filled the silence.
Gilbert ducked and crawled towards the left end of the aisle and Ludwig moved to the right.
"Look, look," said an excited voice in an Italian accent. "It's not empty. There's tins and sweets and drinks, and wow, even pasta!"
"Keep quiet," said a second, grumpier Italian.
"But I could boil the water and make us a proper dinner," said the first person. "Wouldn't that be nice for a change?"
"That sounds delicious," said a third, cheerful voice. "And we can have a bottle of wine or two with it."
"Can we have dessert too?" a fourth person chimed in; another Italian but with a younger voice.
"Keep it down," said the second person. "There might be one of them in here."
"You don't have to worry all the time, Lovi," said the third man. "If they were here they would be attacking us already. Why don't you take a break and relax?"
Ludwig glanced down the aisle to his crouching brother. They exchanged incredulous looks. How had these people managed to last this long? They were loud, careless and unobservant in their surroundings; they shouldn't have lasted a day.
Gilbert peered around the aisle and Ludwig did the same.
Humming in front of the pasta stood a young man with auburn hair and a curl flicking to the left. He was a maybe a little below average height with a slight build and Ludwig guessed he was quick at dodging the dead since he seemed to lack the muscles to fight his way through them. Ludwig eyes widened in shocked horror as the man carelessly dropped his gun on the shelf behind him so he could compare two bags of pasta.
How the hell was this guy not dead? It had to be pure luck because there couldn't be any other explanation for it.
Ludwig rose to peer over the top shelf. The other three were two aisles away. They all shared similar hair and features so he guessed they were related, probably the two twenty year olds and the teenager being brothers with the older man as their father or uncle. Both adults were distracted although they, excepting the unarmed teenager, at least had the sense to keep their weapons within reach.
Gilbert covered his mouth but a snort broke through.
Immediately the two men and teenager in the far aisle turned their way, raising guns as they did. Ludwig pointed his own over the shelf and Gilbert did the same.
"Feli, get over here," the elder brother said.
Ludwig trained his gun on Feli, whose eyes widened and the pasta fell from his grip. "Stay where you are," Ludwig said.
"Don't you dare point that at my brother, you bastard," growled the darker haired Italian.
"Then lower the gun pointing at my Bruder," Ludwig said, hoping that Gilbert wouldn't start mouthing off and both families could leave without casualties.
"No fucking chance."
Gilbert grinned. "Then I suggest you start backing the fuck out of here before we start shooting."
Feli made a noise and his eyes clouded with fear.
"Come on now," said the oldest of the three, "there's no need for threats or violence. We're only after some food and then we'll be on our way."
"We were here first," Gilbert said.
"So what?" asked the teenager.
"So everything here is ours and you need to find somewhere else."
"But there is no place else." Feli said, his voice and expression forlorn. "We're starving and this is the first safe place we've been to in days. Why can't we share?"
"Because we were here first."
"Ah, come on now," the elder of the four said with a sincere smile that Ludwig hadn't seen since dead came back to life. "There's more than enough for everyone here. But since you got here before us you can have first pick."
"Of course we will-" Gilbert began when the front door opened.
The six of them spun towards the entrance. Ludwig relaxed when he saw it was only his father.
"What's going on?" he asked as he eyed the four strangers, the rifle ready in his hands.
"Relax, relax," the elder said and held up in hands as a sign of surrender. "We're all here looking for food and there's more than enough to go around. Why don't you let us get what we need and then we'll be on our way."
Their father took the four of them in before nodding. "Fine," he said before adding a, "Hurry up," to Ludwig and Gilbert.
Ludwig lowered his weapon and went back to filling his bag with their father standing guard over them. "So where are you three from?" the eldest man asked their father in a tone that suggested they had met under friendly circumstances rather than during a tense confrontation in the middle of a zombie apocalypse.
There was silence and Ludwig suspected that his father was frowning at the man who seemed oblivious to the hostility.
As Ludwig packed tins into his bag, he became aware of eyes following him. He paused and looked up from his crouched position to catch Feli watching him. The moment their gaze connected, Feli backed away.
Ludwig straightened up and found himself towering over the Italian. He couldn't help feeling a little sorry for the guy. Struggling in this apocalypse was hard enough for himself but for a small, nervous guy like this it must have been hell.
Ludwig picked Feli's forgotten revolver off the counter. Feli twitched and looked as though debating whether to flee. "Here," Ludwig said and handed it to the Italian. Feli stared at it for a few seconds before slowly reaching for it with trembling fingers. "Keep it on you at all times," Ludwig said. "You never know when you'll need it."
Feli eyed the gun in his hand as if unsure what it was. Then he lifted his gaze revealing warm, amber eyes. "Grazie," he said with a soft smile that lit up his face.
Ludwig felt his cheeks heat up, unsure what to do with the revered look he was receiving.
"Feli," the brother shouted. "Stay away from that bastard."
"I'm fine, Lovi," Feli said with a brief wave before he turned back to Ludwig. "I'm Feliciano Vargas and that's my older fratello Lovino, my younger fratello Marcello and my papá Julius."
"Er..." Ludwig began as he tried to comprehend why someone who two minutes ago was on the wrong end of a gun was now freely introducing himself to the one holding said gun. He wondered if maybe Feliciano was shell shocked or trying to hold on to social normality in an attempt to keep his grip on this vastly changed world. Or maybe it was an Italian thing.
Feliciano tilted his head, wearing a questioning look.
Ludwig coughed and held out his hand. "Ludwig Beilschmidt. That's my Bruder Gilbert, and my Vater Alaric."
Feliciano shook his hand enthusiastically. "You're with your family too? That's great. I don't know where I'd be without mine."
The handshake stilled but Feliciano hadn't let go. The smile drifted lower on his face to be replaced with the lost look Ludwig had seen on so many people since everything went to hell.
"Feli!" Lovino shouted again as he marched over. "Don't talk to them."
"But Ludwig's nice."
"You think everyone's nice," Lovino said and tugged Feliciano's hand free from Ludwig's. "And you shouldn't be on a first name basis with these bastards."
"But Ludwig is nice, he gave me my gun back."
"I don't care if he gave you a grenade, you need to stay away from him."
"Let him be, Lovi, it's good to make friends, especially in this climate," Julius said as he filled a box with nothing but bottles of red wine.
"We're not making friends," Ludwig's father said with an affronted expression on his face.
Julius grinned. "Ah but we should. It's the end of the world and the dead are coming to life to snack on the living. When has there been a better time to form an alliance?"
"Yeah!" Feliciano said. "Why don't you stay and I'll make us all a delizioso pasta dish."
"And dessert," Marcello added.
"We're not staying," their father said.
"Why not?" Gilbert asked, likely having perked up at the mention of a hot meal that wasn't baked beans.
"Because we need to get on the road and away from here before more people turn up."
"Then why don't you come with us?" Feliciano asked.
"There's no room in our car," their father said, his tone annoyed.
"Not to worry," Julius said. "We have our own. You can follow behind us."
"I don't think so."
"Why not?" Gilbert asked. "What's the harm in one meal?"
"How do we know they're not going to kill us and steal our belongings when we turn our back."
"Are you kidding me? Look at them."
Lovino glared at Gilbert. "What's that supposed to mean, bastard?"
"Perhaps we should get going," Ludwig said before guns were raised once more.
Feliciano grabbed his arm. "What? Why?"
Ludwig peered down at him and wished he hadn't. Feliciano's eyes watered and he seemed perilously close to tears. He glanced around but found no help in dealing with an emotional Italian.
A meal wouldn't hurt, plus it had been just the three of them for so long that they were starved for fresh social interactions. "I suppose it might be healthy to take a break from only our own company for once," Ludwig said with a shrug. "One meal, Vater?"
Their father's gaze flickered from the Vargas family to his scowling son. "One meal."
"With dessert," Marcello said adamantly.
Feliciano laughed and threw his arms around an uncomfortable Ludwig. He hoped he wouldn't come to regret the decision.
Characters: Alaric = Germania; Julius = Rome; Marcello = Seborga
A/N: So a slightly different tone for this chapter than the first but I didn't want to make it doom and gloom all the time. Also I had to keep toning down Feliciano's cheerful attitude since, you know, zombie apocalypse and all that. Marcello was a last minute edition that I wrote in after I had finished this (which is why he doesn't have many lines) but I wanted to add in loads of characters and it made sense to make him a Vargas (and I don't know much about Seborga's character other than he seems cheerful and likes to flirt so sorry if he seems OC).
Thanks to Kignon and AFleetingPhantom for reviewing and to everyone who followed - you guys are the best!
