Author's Note: This chapter's sort of long, but it's important. In case you're wondering by now, no, this story doesn't have only my originals in it. The other characters will show up. Technically, the real story hasn't even begun yet. And by the way, Graymoon, you rock. It's people like you I'm writing stuff for…you know…people who rock. Um, right, okay. The point is, thanks for the words. They mean much. ^^
Tom gripped the underside of the lid on the cooler that sat between them, just now realizing that it had been there the entire time once initial shock had abaded. It was filled with ice, and a few cans of beer. "Hell yes." Tom growled, taking one and tearing it open before he guzzled nearly half the can. "Drink up. It could be your last." He ordered.
"I don't want to." Tyler sighed under his breath.
"Better to die drunk." Tom decided. "Fine. Suit yourself, Jap."
Tyler let a hot breath rush through his nose. "Fine. So die drunk. You don't mind if I live sober, do you?"
"Actually, I'd sort of prefer it if you fell overboard and drowned." Tom licked his cracked lips and drank the rest of his beer.
The notion came to Tyler that perhaps he should respond the way he felt, just this once. For the first time, he really did feel like hitting his companion in the jaw. He wasn't exactly sure why, perhaps just the relentless and outright animousity was so unwarranted that it had finally gotten to him. He had usually just dismissed those comments before, seeing Tom's harsh outbursts as an emotional crutch that allowed him to cope with the situation at hand. As long as he could express his anger, he could remain stable. Yelling at Tyler was an outlet. For his anger, for his fear, for anything. Tyler knew this…and so he let it slide, once again. Underneath a layer of jackass, Tom had to be sensibly normal, he supposed.
"So what did you do? Before." Tom's sudden question brought Tyler snapping back out of his analysis, eyes wide at the instigation of an actual conversation. "Let me guess; burger flipper? Gas pumper? No wait—still lives with his parents, right?"
Tyler gaped for a moment in surprise, fumbling for an answer. "I was…I was a journalist."
"Hm. Sounds boring." He jeered, pulling open another beer. "I flunked out of high school english. All four years. Come to think of it," he paused, chuckling at some past memory. "I pretty much just flunked out of high school. But at least I didn't end up a writer." He paused for a minute. "You wrote in Japanese?" that just seemed to come naturally.
Tyler threw a glance skyward in annoyance and held up one open hand. "No, I didn't. And let's just get a few things right, okay? Number one: I don't speak Japanese, I don't know Japanese. My parents don't even speak it, they moved from Japan when they were four an seven. I don't write it, I don't speak it, I don't know it, okay? Number two, I was born in America. I told you that. And if you ever call me Jap again, I don't care if you are the last man I might ever meet on the face of the planet, I'll drown you." He pointed a finger.
"I'm just trying to make a fucking conversation here, how many hoops do you want me to jump through?" Tom put up a curtain of anger to mask an air of what was likely pleasure at Tyler's irritance. "What did you write? That's all I was fucking asking."
Tyler seriously doubted that Tom cared. But what choice did he have? He couldn't very well ignore him. "I was writing an article for a magazine. I sort of hoped to be making that my career."
"Well that's even more boring than I thought." He nodded.
"Yeah." Tyler snorted, rubbing the back of his neck as he looked away absently.
" 'Yeah'," Tom mocked in a baffoonish voice as he thumped his foot against the cooler.
There was a strange silence settling between them after that, unexpectedly uncomfortable considering that they had been speaking so freely only moments before. These specific feelings were becoming more and more frequent as of late, coming on them without warning and plunging them both into a maddening detatchment. Perhaps it was just one of the moments where another detail of their own personal disaster had caught up with them. The thing that surprised Tyler the most was how easy it was to forget that the world behind you had just come to an abrupt halt. He would have thought (mostly calculated from B-grade post-apocolyptic movies he managed to recall) that everywhere you looked you would find another mangled reminder of what was once something it now was not. He himself had never been a man of great change, and had even been nervously wary about his new settlement so far from his childhood home, let alone the complete abandonment of civilization. Therefore he was shocked that he could remain so segregated from his own anxieties when having received so much difficulty from them before. He supposed that he could at least halfway attribute his apathy to the numb kind of assumption that he would not live much longer. They both had that feeling, he was sure. As far as they new, the population of the city, perhaps even the state, had been reduced to two souls, and men don't live forever.
Just two survivors, though he didn't often think of them that way. The word 'survivor' didn't seem to fit their haggard situation, living every day dying a little more than each knew was possible. Those dead creatures lingered on after taking much more damage and would outlive them until their bodies crumbled into the purest nothing, teeth still grinding in their gums. They were the survivors... They were the ones surviving. The only small victory would be in dying without giving those animals the chance to make you one of them, but even that was a hollow sort of triumph. You knew your life was headed in a bad direction when your biggest goal was to die and never get up again. Even so, the depression never quite met up with you. He had somehow, through this, learned to think without the hindrance of emotion. Though every once in a while, he would have to supress a cold shiver when he thought about his close friends or his parents, even with no proof that they had ever had the chance to have been effected. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew. It seemed only common sense, after all. But unlike these people he remembered, tears were a part of his humanity that he didn't miss much.
He looked up for a moment at Tom, who was still drinking and looking over the edge of the boat with his undying scowl. Even through his color blindness, he noticed that he seemed horridly paler than before. "I never even fished before." He muttered suddenly. "Hey, what about you? I thought all your people ate was fish and rice."
"I've fished before." Tyler bent his head down and tried to ruffle the sand out of his hair.
"…Wow, what an interesting story." Tom rolled his eyes and tossed another empty can over his shoulder. It hit the back of the boat and jumped off into the water with a silent splash. "God, isn't there a single fucking thing about you worth knowing?"
Tyler paused for a moment, then shrugged.
Tom became even further exasperated at that. "You ever killed anyone? Shot anyone?"
"No." he answered. "I was robbed once though. By some kid." He offered after a few seconds of deliberation.
"By a kid?" Tom waited for a further explanation, but one was not given. "Yeah. Fascinating."
"And you? I guess you must've done some pretty interesting things." Tyler brought up, considering that Tom seemed so desperate for conversation (i.e. an excuse to hear himself speak).
"Yeah? Why the hell should I tell you about my personal life? You think it's any of your damn business?" he sniffed hard, grimacing as though trying to fight of some kind of muscle cramp in his stomach. "I ain't here to fuckin' entertain you."
Tyler, becoming increasingly disturbed, bit down absently on his thumb to try and stifle his frustration as he looked out into the gray water. "Whatever."
"This look infected?" Tom changed subjects as he pointed to his ankle. "I was clipped by one of those damn crabs the other night. It's practically turning green."
All Tyler could really see was what looked like a bruise. "I…I don't know."
Tom scoffed. "What the hell does that mean? You don't know. Huh? Can't you see?"
"Haven't been able to see in color lately." Tyler divulged, waiting for what was sure to be an calluos chuckle at his plight. "Just woke up and it was black and white."
Tom appeared to be confused, though obviously not concerned. "No shit?"
"Yeah. Freak thing, I guess."
There was another hesitation. "Since when?"
Tyler looked down at his knee, which he now realized had a few deep splinters sticking out of it. "Yesterday."
"Why?"
"I don't know." He threw up one arm, letting it drop back into his lap. "I must've hit my head. I don't remember."
Tom fidgeted in his spot for a second before crossing his arms over his knees and laughing. "Wow. You're really fucked, huh?"
He didn't respond, gingerly plucking three of the slivers of wood from his leg in a brisk motion. It stung badly.
"Not that it matters. Can't imagine a guy like you's gonna live much longer anyway."
Perhaps it was just spurred by the annoyance of the sudden pain in his leg, or the poorness of his mood at the moment, but that comment struck a chord in him. "What the hell is it you have against me, Tom?" he asked quietly.
Tom didn't say anything for a while. "…What?" he grunted, extending his thumbs outward in a lazy shrug.
"What the hell do you have against me?" he repeated, his eyes meeting his companion's.
"You're a fucking stiff." Tom decided.
"That's it?" Tyler took in a breath.
"Uh, yeah? Isn't that what I said?" Tom snarled back, rubbing his head with a pained manner.
"Really Tom, what is it that you hate so much about me?" he insisted, raising his voice.
"You're just one of those boring ass Asian stiffs, okay?" he said again. "Guys like you should go back to your own fucking country, where it's normal to be boring as all hell!"
"That's what it is?" Tyler flung his arms out and laughed loudly. It was a hopeless, desperate laugh like man gives when he's reached his wit's end. "That's what it is? Do you think it matters now, Tom?" he growled as he threw the wooden splinters into the water in a harsh thrust. "Damn it, d-do you really think it fucking matters now?"
Tom had a clearly shocked look on his face at Tyler's jump from quietness.
"The only two fucking living guys in a five hundred mile radius and all you can think about is how different we are? What the hell is that, Tom? Huh?"
"Oh so what now, this is gonna be some racist thing?" Tom fought back, throwing an only half-empty beer onto the floor of the boat and sending its contents spilling out. "You're a God damn joke, Jap!" he spurned. "I don't care what fucking race you are! I mean hey, if you were a woman, I'd probably consider fucking you! I just hate guys like you!"
"What kind of guys, what the fuck am I?" Tyler spat back.
"I already said it, you're one of those God damn meek Asian wusses! It's just fucking irritating!" he kicked the still draining can of beer.
There was a long hesitation on Tyler's part as he let his hands hang out in the air for a minute. "How the hell…is that not racist?!" his voice reached a high-pitch of disbelief. "You know what, Tom, I'm not too fond of guys like you either! People who are just bastards for no reason at all!"
"Yeah?!" Tom stopped for a second to cough, looking like he was about to throw up, but he shook it off. "Fuck you! You woulda been dead if I hadn't found you!"
"Hey, likewise!" Tyler defended.
This time, Tom's coughing fit didn't subside, and he threw up over the edge of the boat.
"God, you drunk jackass." Tyler shook his head and looked down, his anger melting back into frustrated annoyance.
"Sh-shut up, fucker…" he wheezed painfully, still coughing. "Shit…" he leaned his head down on the side of the boat, shuddering.
Tyler felt a small growling sensation vibrate the hollow of his chest as he raised his eyes, but focused them off of his company.
"If I ever fucking become one of 'em…" Tom pulled his lips back from his teeth in an ugly glower. "You're first."
"Shut up, Tom." He sighed, putting his head in his hands.
"You're not outliving me…I'd make…make damn sure!" his voice was becoming decreasingly confident as he leaned his head down into his lap and moaned.
Tyler's nervousness grew as he watched Tom double over. "Whatever, okay, let's just stop fighting. Please?"
"Nnghrn…" was all he managed back, gripping his sides.
"…Tom, knock it off…" Tyler edged back, grimacing.
Tom shivered, his shoulders fell slack, and he was silent, head on his knees and a streamline of mucus trailing from his teeth.
Tyler sat frozen, eyes wide and mouth partway open in shock. Nothing moved. All that could be heard was the small cluck of water against the sides of the boat and the brutal pumping of his nearly beat-out heart beneath a row of ribs. He didn't know what happened, nor what was wrong. Tom couldn't have gotten sick off of four beers, unless of course he had some health problem he had neglected to either mention or adheer to. "…Tom?" he tried.
His limp form did not respond, only offering more of the dreadful suspense. He had to have just passed out…what other explanation was there? Tyler slowly reached out and pushed Tom by the shoulder, horrified when the body rocked backwards and went straight for the floor. Before he hit the ground, however, Tom bolted upright, body seizing.
"Tom!" Tyler cried out, leaping back in his seat. "Wh-what the hell did-"
Tom screamed. But it wasn't the kind of scream Tyler would have expected. It wasn't a scream of pain, or fear, or anger or shock or frustration or sorrow. It was…undescribible.
But entirely recognizable.
He lunged for Tyler in a split second, hands locked onto his shoulders with a truly painful crunch and pinning him over backwards onto a plank of the boat behind them. "Shit! Tom! Stop! Get off of me!" he yelled, praying beyond all logic that somehow, somewhere, some kind of plea could help him. "Stop it! You—'re hurting me! Ah!!"
He pushed and shoved, unable to gain the right leverage to throw him off and completely helpless to crawl away when his back was bent over a wooden board. Teeth were grinding at his face, scant centimeters seperating those jaws from his neck. In a desperate move, he flung up his left arm to protect his head as he turned away, and Tom sank his teeth into his forearm just below the wrist. It wasn't quite like being bitten by a cat or a dog with sharp fangs that tore the skin open. It was more like having your arm crushed by a cinder block full of teeth, bruising the flesh the full way through and pressurizing blood vessels until they burst under the strain. The bone was a fraction of a second away from shattering, and with it, the hand would easily be severed by those jagged insiscors. Tyler barked out a series of about five short screams, finding the sudden strength to hurl Tom up onto his feet and send him stumbling back on his heels to the other end of the boat with a fountain of blood following his lips. Tyler was pulling himself upright in an instant, eyes finding Tom quickly as he furiously clawed his way back to his feet and snarl at his victim.
"Get away from me!" Tyler bleeted, his voice faltering and his arm spouting gushes of hot red syrup. Tom was leaping at him again, and in a half blind moment of utter panic, Tyler's uninjured hand found the hilt of the long fishing knife still left discarded near his feet and thrusting it out. Tom barrelled down head first, catching the blade with his neck and sending his head splattering off its body and crashing to the floor of the boat. The still charging body clumsily lost direction and slammed into the side of the boat with its knees, almost tossing the boat sideways. The headless corpse toppled helplessly over the edge with a thrashing explosion of water, arms still clawing upward.
In shock, Tyler threw the knife away from him and choked out a cry of disgust—mostly for the sheer idea of having beheaded someone. Blood was everywhere, pain clouded his senses, he partially stood up and looked over the side. But just as he did, his eyes fell back onto the severed head on the floor of the boat, still hissing and spewing geysers of blood. In a moment of horror and the utmost desperation not to see the ghastly thing, he cried out in a choking gag and snatched the head by the hair, tossing it into the cooler and slamming the lid shut. It twitched and rolled over the ice, making the cooler resonate a muffled gurgle. Tyler backed away, thuroughly mortified. He felt extremely dizzy, holding his dripping hand to his head and almost falling overboard himself.
An arm shot from the water, grabbing at Tyler's shin and throwing him down to its level. Tom's decapitated form pulled itself halfway out of the water by means of Tyler's leg, arms aimlessly flailing and scratching at his clothes, trying anything to tear him apart as the living one had so promised earlier. He tried his best to pry himself away, sprawled out on his back and screaming any kind of thing that fell out of his mouth. He was pushing backwards and yet still slipping forward, now realizing that Tom was tipping the boat towards him. So great was his strength that the edge of the boat had already been submerged and the opposite was lifted cleanly off the water. Without warning, Tyler was tumbling and his breath vanished. His vision was blurred by the water, vague shadows and images his only clue as to what to flee from and what to swim to.
Arms grappled around his waist, randomly squeezing and beating at him with a violent force and giving him all kinds of bruises that he would surely never be rid of. He was shaken hard, and had it not been for the resistance of the water, his neck and back could have been broken by it. Not that it didn't hurt immensely all the same. He pushed and fought for all he was worth, kicking his legs and tearing at Tom's shirt and nails grazing over the stump of his neck. His lungs burned like a knife was driven into his chest, biting into his brain with the fervrant demand for breath. His struggle became harder, pulling, pushing, hitting, kicking, jerking his body wildly, and just before the he weakened, he broke free from the hold. He didn't consciously tell himself to pound towards the surface, or to gasp for breath as he burst up out of it and begin swimming laboriously even with his dark hair plastered over his eyes. He didn't even know which direction his body was taking him, but it was away, and fast, and that was all that mattered.