Hi welcome! This is my first story under this name. Quick facts before you go in! This is an apocalypse au to the DCOM Zombies! All your favorite characters, but thrown in an apocalypse! All the characters are human in this story, everyone is aged up like, ten years (except Zoey, who's about 13).
I hope you enjoy the story!
Addison Wells is a survivor.
She survived through the harsh winter in the middle of Arizona or Utah or Nevada, huddled in an empty motel room eating scraps of food her and Bree could find in the neighboring town before getting driven out by a contaminated hoard. She survived the never ending rain of spring, hiding in empty houses in what looked like Wyoming. She even survived the blazing summer sun, three contamination scares, and two faulty trucks.
Her and Bree get turned around on a good hunt. They knew they passed a little store that looked to be in some good shape, it was just past that bend, over that bridge, just past the water.
The current rips below them, rough ugly water beating against the rocks. The bridge is five, maybe ten feet above the water, it's wood dark, covered in moss, and looking more worn than it should.
"Addy, I'm not too sure about this," Bree tells her. "That bridge can't be safe."
"It'll be fine," Addison assures her. "It's lasted this long."
She offers Bree a smile, hoping to comfort her friend and only companion. Bree's worried look doesn't falter, so Addison just shakes her head and takes a step toward the bridge. "I'll go first," she whispers. She looks back at Bree and smiles again. "Once I'm across, you come along, okay?"
Bree doesn't move but Addison doesn't wait for her answer, taking a shaky step onto the wood. It groans and squeaks under her weight and for a split second, worry bubbles in her gut. She pushes it away, knowing if she overthinks, she'll screw up. The bridge will hold.
Her hands ghost over the baluster. She watches her feet, one foot in front of the other. The wood groans and whines with every step, sometimes giving a little under her weight. She's fine though, it's fine though.
Until she hears the unmistakable groaning of a contaminated hoard, too loud for them to be far. Just as she lifts her head, she hears Bree's frantic cry of her name from behind her. Her eyes widen at the sight—stiff jointed, stumbling, moaning, sickly green people, making their way through the brush and towards her.
For a moment, fear keeps her frozen in place. There's always the moment of hesitation, where she thinks back on them once being people, someone she might have known or met once upon a time. Someone's son or daughter or mother or father. They're that and more, their brains and bodies infected with a disease no one could cure and no one would cure.
It's that last part, the knowing that if they're ever going to find a cure, then they need more survivors to help, that had her turning on her heels and running, the motion too quick and hard. Wood splitters under foot and she wants to ignore the sickening crunch as she runs, her stupid decisions catching up to her too fast.
Addison makes it three steps before the wood gives out completely under her and her left leg falls through the bridge, old wood and metal ripping her pants and into her skin. Then her whole body falls and she barely manages to catch the pier of the bridge in front of her and keep from falling into the river below. She cries out, unable to contain the pain but alerting the Sick behind her that she's there.
In front of her, Bree cries out for her, but it's the sound of the wood being boarded behind her that steals all of Addison's attention. She shouldn't have jumped on the bridge, they could've gone looking for food and supplies someplace else—anywhere else.
She tries to grab onto something, to free herself, to get to Bree and run, save themselves, keep on surviving. The bridge rattles as more bodies climb aboard, more wood splintering and breaking, and Addison manages to give Bree one last fearful look, screaming out, "Run!" before the bridge completely collapses and she's falling, hitting the surface below with a sick crack.
Not even a full year ago, the world was shocked by an outbreak of global proportions.
It wasn't that bad at first. People thought it was just a weird cold hybrid. There were muscle aches and chest pains, and it hurt to breathe, and the headaches—God, the headaches—but most people who had it recovered. It didn't even last a full week, not enough for anyone to give it an official name.
But that was only the beginning. It went from manageable to horrible. Everyone who had recovered was hit with a second, worse wave, with worse headaches and migraines, gastrointestinal troubles—almost a complete shut down, which was completely fascinating in Addison's health science class. After another few weeks of persistence, the disease, commonly referred to as Ictus Remittens, led to muscle cramps where their joints would move stiffly, and then wouldn't move at all.
The strange phenomenon that was IR was the focus of Addison's last few semesters before she would be done with college and know the basics of health science—maybe she would've gone to medical school someday, or pursued professional schooling for pharmaceutics or epidemiology. It didn't matter because before anyone saw it coming, everyone who thought they were fine wasn't, and ended up comatose, the last stage before they were dead.
There wasn't any one drug that would guarantee a cure and for a while, the only option was to lessen the risk of the spread.
Then it happened.
The dead weren't so dead after all. They were still sick, their brains nothing but mush. It wasn't too bad at first, a few walking bodies, previously thought to be dead, stumbling through the streets. The police and government turned a blind eye to it.
It wasn't until that day—a warm October day when Addison had finally finished getting her things together and was traveling halfway across the country with her best friend and half her life stuffed in a truck—that all hell broke loose. Hundreds of thousands of IR victims—whose bodies hadn't even been buried because they had died in such great numbers, too fast to be buried and too sick to be in a morgue around the well—stumbled and walked the earth, not quite dead and not quite alive.
With the armed forces flailing to gain control of the Contaminated, the well were left unattended, free to do as they pleased. First the world closed, afraid that if they kept their doors open, the previously 'contaminated' patients would stumble in and spread the disease to the well. If you didn't have a shelter, you were screwed.
Those who hid barely lasted a month.
Those who took advantage of their newfound freedom barely made it to the spring.
That left the survivors—regular people who fought for their lives, running from place to place, trying to make it out of the woods and into some semblance of safety—and the hunters—ex-militia or brave souls who hunted down the Walking Stiffs, trying to contain the uncontainable. Some even went as far as wiping out survivors who didn't serve much of a purpose, injured or weak, anyone they deemed unworthy of living through the apocalypse.
Those men judged who was worthy and who was not, but the apocalypse didn't.
Her head pounds, body aching from the fall and shivering from the water seeping through her soaked clothes and into her skin. She's sure she hit her head multiple times under the water, enough that she barely remembers the struggle to even stay surfaced. But she did, and, just her luck, she got stuck between a rock and log, managing to drag her body out of the river and into the dirt.
I'm gonna die.
It's the only coherent thought running through her brain. If she doesn't bleed out first, some Contaminated would find her and kill her. Or even worse, a hunter would find her and kill her in cold blood. It's a lose-lose either way, a fact that reminds her that she can moan and whine as loud as she wants because she's going to die no matter what. She lays there, unable to keep from whimpering in pain and agony, wishing something would kill her already.
The bridge wreckage isn't even visible and she's sure she spent too long trying to get air and survive and not enough time trying to gauge her surroundings. Whatever the case may be, she's far from where she had left Bree. There's nothing around for miles, save the trees and the river.
It makes her sad, knowing that the past ten months of survival were basically a waste. Ten months of running from place to place, squatting in abandoned homes or buildings, trying to survive in the post-apocalyptic hell that the world had become. All of it down the drain because of a stupid bridge and her heavy boots and a goddamn rip current.
She groans, a shiver ripping through her body. She's cold and wet and can't find it within herself to move or care. The throbbing in her leg overtakes her brain, stabbing at the back of her head. Everything weighs foggy and heavy and she's sure she'll pass out from pain, from exhaustion, from pure lack of will.
Bitterly, she can't help but wonder what life would've been like if she had done things different. If, ten months ago, she had gone home when her parents had asked, instead of staying an extra few days to help her best friend pack her last few belongings. She probably would've caught the last flight out of California and wouldn't have had to drive across the country. She wouldn't have needed to beg her boyfriend for his truck—who actually was smart enough to go back to New Hampshire on an airplane weeks before she had.
She could've been at home with her family, with food and clothes and some semblance of security, rather than in the middle of nowhere with nothing but her one suitcase and her best friend when the world ended.
Her body aches and she rolls on her back, staring up at the rays of sunlight peaking in and blinding her through the canopy of trees. It's almost beautiful. A nice final view.
Her eyes drift close, and she hears the distinct crunch of leaves and breaking twigs, a clear sign of danger approaching. She lays there, in pain, fading in and out of consciousness, as the sick twist of fate lodges itself in her gut.
It hurts to stay conscious, but the sounds of someone approaching from above are enough to force her to fight off the headache, fight through the pain and try to protect herself. Even though she can't move, let alone stand on her own two feet and defend her life.
Dark spots cloud her vision and she fights hard to stay awake and aware, but every second it feels as if the approaching danger is getting louder, closer. A large shadow blocks her glimpses of the sky and she thinks, 'This is it. This is how I die.' Finally, she gives into her exhaustion. She'd rather be killed while she was already unconscious than have to suffer a million times over.
The world around her fades to background noise as she gets lost, swimming in the darkness that consumes her mind. Distantly there's the sound of someone climbing down the ravine. It's not a Contaminated. They don't have the motor skills to climb into the deep hole, they would've stumbled in, sliding downward, walking aimlessly around until they found someone else to spread the illness to.
Dirt kicks up near her face, almost enough to stir a reaction out of her. If she didn't feel like a pile of death already.
Above her, a deep, rough voice mutters a curse. "Hey, girl," he says. "Are you alive?" His foot nudges her head and she groans at the forced movement.
"Hey, girl." he says again. His foot kicks her side and she cries out, pain flaring through her ribs and spreading across her chest.
And suddenly, she doesn't want to die. No, she refuses to die, her will to live stronger than ever. Pain courses through her every nerve but she won't go down like this, not yet. She was going to survive, even if it killed her.
Her eyes fly open, panic and adrenaline pumping through her veins. Her blood thunders in her ears but she can just make out the shocked curse from the stranger who was going to kill her. She grits her teeth and rolls onto her stomach. Her head spins and her vision momentarily goes black, but she gets to her feet. She can barely even feel her legs but she knows she's standing, something she didn't think she'd be able to do, and she blows her hair out of her face, glaring at the stranger.
He's tall and pointing a gun at her, and she stumbles back, dragging her right leg behind her. "Stay the hell away from me," she growls.
Her head swims. She tastes blood in her mouth and her nose stings. But the man in front of her hardens his own glare, cocking his gun. "Have you been bitten?" he barks at her.
Addison can't find it in her to actually scoff. Her body shivers despite the intense heat that's suffocating her, stinging her skin and only making her feel worse.
"No," she spits out.
"Don't lie to me, I'm not afraid to shoot."
"I fell in the river," she says. "And I didn't drown. I don't plan on dying anytime soon either."
They stand there in silence. He watches her with such an intensity that, if she wasn't on the verge of passing out, would be uncomfortable. She's sure that if he doesn't kill her now, she'll collapse on the spot. And she wasn't quite sure if she preferred a long and drawn out death or to get shot point blank by this stranger.
But he lowers his gun, tucking it away in the back of his jeans, and holds his hands up in surrender. "Okay," he says slowly. "Look, Blondie, you look…you're covered in blood and dirt, and you're shivering. You look terrible and you probably feel even worse."
She frowns, despite the fact that he has a point. Something warm and thick drips from her nose and she sniffs, mostly to defy the man.
"I saw a convenience store like a mile back, pretty much untouched," he says. "I can show you the way, I'm sure there are some medical supplies."
"I'm fine," she protests. But her voice wavers and her vision momentarily goes dark.
When she comes to, cold mud digs into the heels of her hand and deep through her jeans. Her eyes fly open and she's staring at the ground, only a foot away from her face. Whatever it is that overcame her just minutes ago is gone, long gone. Everything in her body screams at her, Every slight movement sends ripples of pain throughout her body until she wants to scream. She tries to breathe but chokes and hunches over, coughing and spluttering, struggling for breath.
The man has an arm wrapped around her chest and pounds at her back, forcing her to cough so hard her eyes water. He does so twice, until she grabs his arm and squeezes. Then he rests his hand on her back, rubbing gentle circles into her skin. She takes ragged breaths. It looks strangely like she had coughed up blood, but she refuses to believe it was that bad.
"You're okay," he soothes. "Can you stand up?" She shakes her head, not ready to even try. "Climb on my back, I'll carry you."
Slowly, she lifts her head, blinking. She can feel him next to her, his body heat engulfing her in the worst way possible. "Wh…what?"
"If you're as determined to live as you say you are, then I'm gonna have to get you to that store ASAP."
He moves in front of her and puts her arms around his neck. She grabs one wrist with the other and he grabs her thighs, pulling a wince from her throat. The pain quickly fades to a tingly numbness, like most of the pain she's feeling, and he lifts her off the ground with a huff.
"So, strange girl who I met in the woods," He pauses, then slowly climbs out of the ravine, then continues, "do you have a name? Or may I kindly refer to you as River Girl?"
Addison scoffs. "No you may not," she grumbles. "My name is Addison."
He whistles lowly. "Fancy name," he says. "Addison. It's pretty." Addison manages a tired giggle. She's pretty sure he's weird, though her brain is too foggy to properly distinguish his behavior. "I'm Zed. Three letters, easy to remember. Z-E-D."
"I could've guessed how to spell it," she mumbles. Still, she turns her face into his shoulder to hide her smile. He was definitely weird, but it was a nice change of pace.
"Are you out here by yourself, Addison?" Zed asks.
She almost says "No," but Bree's face flashes across her mind. Bree, who she hadn't seen in god knows how long. She could be anywhere—Addison could be anywhere. Who knew how long she had been drifting in that river. Oh god, what if Bree thought she was dead.
Bree could be dead.
"Addison? Are you still awake?"
"Yeah I just—" She stops herself, barely registering the tears threatening to fall. "I was with my friend and we got separated and—shit, what if she's dead?"
Zed's fingers dig into her thighs, and she stops talking. It hurts, but he's not pushing hard enough that she wants to scream again. It's more dull and barely even noticeable at this point, like most of the pain she's been feeling recently.
"Do you remember when you last saw your friend?"
Addison shakes her head. She doesn't even know what time it is—it's hard to see through the canopy hanging over their heads, and the sunlight burns her retinas, so she keeps her head tucked in his shoulder.
"I don't—I don't know how long I was out," she mumbles. "We were at a bridge, uh, up river? Or is it down stream?" She mumbles a curse. How could she forget the only person she's been with for the past ten months? She was an awful person, and awful best friend.
Zed taps her knees, pulling her out of her thoughts and back to reality. "Addy, calm down, okay?" he tells her. "Once you're all patched up we can retrace your steps to find her."
She wants to go back now, but the aches and chills that wrack her body are enough to keep her in place. Plus, it's not like she could leave him if she wanted to.
Still, she asks, "You promise?" She needs to be sure.
"Promise," he says, "We'll find your friend, don't worry."
Addison sighs softly. Her head slumps on his shoulder and her eyes flutter closed. She was so tired. She'd only been conscious for a few minutes but, from the standoff to the never ending pain pounding against her nerves, she's exhausted.
But Zed bonks his head against hers. "Stay awake for me," he tells her. "You've definitely been through hell, but it's never good to fall asleep. Especially if you might have a head injury."
She hums softly. "And what makes you think I have a head injury?" she asks, her voice light, almost playful.
"Um, instinct? I don't know," he says, chuckling. "I mean, you fell in the river. I'm sure you hit your head at some point. Plus your forehead is bleeding." He pauses, then adds, "And your nose. And who knows where else."
Addison lifts her head and frowns. She didn't know her nose was bleeding. But she looks down at her arm and his shoulder and sure enough, there are a lot of drips of red covering his coat and her arm. "Oh."
Her head gets foggy and heavy and drops onto his shoulder again. She blinks, slow and groggy, every movement taking every drop of energy she has left in her.
Zed talks to her, asks her easy questions that she can only barely manage to answer. But he's nice, insanely, amazingly nice, nicer than most people are in the apocalypse.
Zed slows to a stop but Addison doesn't have the strength to lift her head to figure out why. He taps his head against hers and she blinks wearily, realizing that she was close to drifting off again. Her head was killing her.
"Addison," Zed whispers. "I'm going to check out the store. Make sure there aren't any walking stiffs roaming around."
Zed bends down, setting Addison on the ground. Her butt hits the grass and she winces, pulling her arms from around his neck to stabilize herself. The strain on her arms and her back and just about everywhere shocks her system, almost enough for her to be wide awake again.
Zed turns around, still crouched. "I'll be right back, okay? Don't move, just stay awake for me, Adds."
Nodding would only worsen her headache so instead she lets out a quiet, barely heard, "Okay." Zed smiles, then stands, pulling his gun from his jeans.
He cocks his gun and goes inside, though the click of a bullet dropping into the chamber rings in her ears. And they don't stop. Her head spins, her ears ring. Time feels like nothing. She feels like she's going to throw up, like all her internal organs are throbbing, ready to be violently expelled from her body.
Addison whimpers. Everything blurs, her vision going double. Her whole body aches and her nose burns, every breath sends fire through her chest. She knows she shouldn't, that giving up was a death sentence, but keeping her eyes open makes her headache worse.
Just for a few seconds.
Her eyes slip closed, and she slumps over in the dirt, everything around her fading to nothing.
A/N: You've made it this far! If you wanna stick around make sure you click the follow button, leave a review, whatever! Chapter 2 is coming soon. Check me out on tumblr for story updates or random posts or whatever. My username is eeieeiohno
Until next time, peace!