Oyah Dears ! I'm French ! Yeah, that means I could, potentially, really suck in your language, forgive me !
More seriously, that's my first fic, please be nice to me ?
Elijah is a sociopath, that doesn't mean that he kills everyone and laughts like a maniac. Nope, it's not this, a psycho.
Well, have fun to read ?
Disclaimer : Everyone knows it's not mine, the principe of fanfiction type isn't it ? Uhu, Elijah is mine dumbass.
Run, bend down, jump, second door, cabinet, gun, safety lock, shoot in the head.
His eyes fluttered open, resting on the star-covered ceiling of his room. He blinked several times before finally pushing back his sheets and leaving his bed. His father had not yet came to wake him up but he did not care much, since the school had closed a few days ago.
The government had announced an epidemic across the country, and advised civilians to stay at home and avoid contact with others. Elijah didn't think much of it, to be honnest, the thought of million of people dying left him perfectly calm. He... Just didn't care.
He pulled a chair from the dining room to the huge cabinet in the living room, climbing on it to grab the cardboard box that was on top. It was all his father's treasures.
He had told him several times that they were not treasures but historical pieces that his grandfather had left him, but in his eyes they were first and foremost treasures. There was an old compass, a golden pocket watch, an old gas mask and handmade gun bullets. He fiddled with the knickknacks and put on the mask, even though it was so big that it slipped on his shoulders.
When he lost interest in the items, he placed the cardboard box back at the top of the cupboard and dragged the chair into the kitchen to grab something to eat. The food was high in the closets and he had to climb to grab it. It was an hour later that his father appeared, groaning, rubbing his eyes, then stumbling to the kitchen where Elijah had left a glass of aspirin dissolved, which he drunk without a thank.
When he went into the living room, his nine-year-old son was still obsessively fiddling with his rubik's cube, making him twirl between his fingers, repetitive clapping invading the room and irritating him more and more until he gave a violent blow on his son's hands to fly the object to the other side of the room.
Elijah inflated his cheeks, annoyed, and went to pick up his Rubik's cube to leave for his room.
"Annoying little shit..." the man growled as he sat on the couch, leaning over to catch a half-empty bottle of Jack Daniel's among the many empty bottles.
Back in his room, Elijah pulled out his sheets to make his bed and lay on it, taking back his Rubik's Cube solving and the time counting. Shortly after he finished gathering all the colors on the last face, he heard a bottle break on the bottom floor, and he sighed from boredom.
His father was really not funny, most of the time. He didn't yell at him often, but he'd push him around and insult him whenever he got close to him. Elijah didn't really know why he was acting that way with him, but he was convinced it was because of the alcohol he drank all the time. Anyway, when his father wasn't drinking, he was at work, so whatever happened when he was actually nice, Elijah didn't see it.
"Adam! Fuck... James!" his father yelled from the bottom of the stairs, his pronunciation already sluggish. "Well Kid, I'm going to the supermarket, don't do anything stupid!"
Elijah rolled his eyes, putting his face in his pillow. His father rarely called him by his actual name, as he believed that there were other children here. But that was not the case. He wasn't sure if it was voluntary or if his father really had no idea what his name was. He arrived two years ago, after his mom died of cancer. He was a little annoyed to know that his mom never introduced him to his father because of his alcoholism without ever telling him. If she'd warned him in advance what it would be like, he could have avoided a lot of beating.
He came down once the front door slammed, and watched with sadden eyes the glass debris at the foot of a wall. Shaking his head, he went to the kitchen to get a broom and a shovel. His father would often throw things across the room when there was no alcohol left, either bottles or anything that fell under his hand at the time. Elijah managed not to be close to his father, he didn't know if he would really throw him against a wall, but he wouldn't be surprised if he did either.
Two minutes later the door slammed again. His father should not have been back by now, he needed seven minutes to go to the store, five minutes to buy his bottles and seven minutes to come back.
"Jeff! Jeff come here! Come help your father!"
What did he do? Elijah was really hoping that he hadn't brought the neighbors' garbage again, he did that when the money ran out and that his need of alcohol managed to control him and all little pride he had, but if he went to the supermarket, he must had remaining money, right?
"FUCK ADAM COME HERE, LITTLE SHIT!"
He hurried towards the entrance, feeling his mouth open with surprise in front of the view that was offered to him. His father held his throat with one hand, dripping with blood, and his shoulder and ankle. And if his shoulder wasn't really discernable because of his small size, it was very obviously a bite on his ankle. It was a human bite.
"Go get some compresses in the bathroom, move! Can't you see I'm bleeding?!"
"Go to the hospital" he said slowly, knowing already that his father did not like when he spoked.
This was verified when he received a violent slap that sent him on his butt, his elbow bumping against the first step of the stairs and sending a wave of pain up his shoulder and down his fingers.
"Shut the fuck up, you think you're smart? Don't fucking answer me!"
He added nothing and quickly climbed the steps that separated him from the bathroom. He went through the closet and ended up finding gauze pads. A crash downstairs informed him that his father had probably fall, and he hastened down.
His father was still in the entrance, limply holding his neck. The loss of blood must have caused unconsciousness. He leaned over his father and pulled out his hand from the bite mark, a slight nausea lifting his stomach when he realized that it was not a bite he had in his neck, but a flagrant lack of flesh. And the blood didn't squirt. It only meant one thing: his heart stopped.
Slowly retreating, he felt his legs weaken upon realization. His father was dead. What was he supposed to do? He went towards the kitchen, leaning on the wall, already knowing that without support he would fall. He grabbed the landline phone and called 911.
There was only one bell until an automated voice announced that the line was currently saturated, and that it would have to be called later. He dropped the phone at his feet, blinking several times.
no tears filled his eyes, no more than he felt sadness. His mother had always told him that he was different from the other children, more calm. And that he did not easily attach to people either. He didn't feel anything for his father, and he didn't really care if he died. But where would he go now? To an orphanage? It sounded pretty boring, he didn't like the other kids.
Coughs from the entrance attracted his attention. Was his father not so dead after all ? He went towards the corridor, seeing him rising slowly, making strange noises with his throat, a bit like when he vomited after drinking too much.
Then his eyes landed on him, and they were glassy, like those of a dead animal. And they were upon him.
Run.
Elijah turned his heels and started running down the hall.
Bend down.
He bent over as his father tried to grab him, making him crash to the ground because of the low movement.
Jump.
He jumped just as his father was trying to grab his legs.
Second door.
He opened the door on his right on the fly, landing in his father's room. His gaze ran quickly through the room.
Cabinet.
He ran to the closet as he heard his father coming, throwing himself inside. He closed the door as best he could from the inside and saw the box where he knew he was keeping his gun.
Gun.
He quickly opened the box, grabbed the weapon and hastened to arm it with a sudden and awkward gesture. The door was suddenly opened on his father, and he pulled the trigger without anything happening.
Safety lock.
He rotated the safety lock, showing a small red dot.
Shoot him in the head.
He pointed his gun at his father's head when he growled and pulled the trigger. The recoil sent him to bang towards the bottom of the cupboard while his father crashed in front of him, permanently dead, the bullet lodged in his skull through his left eye.
Taking a deep breath, he grabbed the box and left the room, closing the door behind him. He knew it had something to do with the virus that had spread, but it seemed extreme to him. How could a dead person suddenly get up and try bite the others?
He rubbed his eyes with fatigue and turned on the television. All channels displayed the same message in a loop: Join Atlanta, a refugee camp is set up there, military units will be there to ensure your protection.
All he had to do was figuring out how to get to Atlanta.