Chapter 8
They Travel
"Do we have everything?" Ludwig asked, checking over the black SUV everyone had piled into. In the driver's seat, Gilbert grunted.
"For the last time, we have everything we could possibly need, unless you want to go back and get the kitchen sink." The Albino rolled his eyes, and placed his hands on the steering wheel. "Mein gott, you're worse than Roddy!" Ludwig hummed, and climbed into the passenger seat, looking round.
"Put on your seatbelts." He reminded everyone. "As soon as the Zombies hear the engine, they'll swamp us, so we're going to have to exceed the speed limit."
Matthew looked at Alfred, who was almost on top of him in his attempts to sit as far away from Ivan as possible.
"Do speed limits even matter anymore?" He pondered. Alfred grinned.
"This is so cool…" He stated. "It feels like we're going on a road trip!"
"Ve~" Feli murmured from the other side of Ivan. "I've never been on a road trip before… it sounds like fun…"
Ivan smiled childishly.
"Da." He agreed. "It does; it's always fun when we're all together."
In the boot, Yao rolled his eyes.
"Aiyaa! Have your three forgotten what's happening, aru?" He snapped. Kiku frowned.
"I'm a bit worried about how we're going to fit everyone in once we pick up Arthur-san and Francis-san…" He pondered.
In the front, Ludwig groaned. He hadn't thought of that.
"We'll… deal with that when we reach them." He said, tired of making plans and being the reluctant leader. Gilbert grinned.
"That's more like it!" He whooped, and slammed his foot onto the pedal.
Francis could feel sweat beading on his forehead, but didn't dare raise a hand to wipe it away. Around him, zombies stumbled past, grunting as they brushed past each other. Francis winced as one knocked into him, and breathed a silent sigh of relief when it continued its journey away from him.
It was times like these when he was so glad the phone lines were all down. Getting called at a time like this was potentially the worst possible situation he could think of.
Francis slowly ducked under the arm of a particularly large zombie, chewing on his lip as he did. He gagged; the bottom half of the zombies face had decomposed, leaving a gaping hole.
A fist connected with his shoulder, and he gasped in pain. His lower arm throbbed, angrily reminding him of the bite wounds existence, and the urgent need to change the bandages. The last time he had checked the wound, it had been a sickly, unhealthy yellow, and oozed a foul smelling, clear liquid that was sticky to the touch. The only blessing was the blissful numbness that had spread across his shoulder, masking the crippling pain.
Somehow, he guessed that wasn't a good thing.
Francis' face broke into a relieved smile as he passed through the last layer of Zombies. They all appeared to be grouping together, which was a little worrying; however, it left wide open spaces to move in without fear of alerting the zombies.
He was certain he couldn't be that far away from Arthur now. He'd been finding small magic circles etched into the ground; surely they could only be made by Arthur.
Francis took a few cautious steps away from the zombie horde. He didn't want to make any accidental loud noises until he was sure there wouldn't be any repercussions.
As if conducted by a malicious force, his phone chose that moment to ring, and Francis paused, his eyes widening. Through the sudden terror that gripped his mind, he briefly wondered who had set his ring tone to 'Voulez vous cocher avec moi' – he didn't even know he had that song on his phone. Behind him, the gang of zombies all slowly turned their heads.
Arthur stared at his phone, wide eyed.
His phone twinkled back merrily at him, proudly showing off the multitude of texts, missed calls and voicemail that was swamping it. The moment his phone had blared out the opening to "We are the Champions", he had darted to the nearest house, praying that no zombies had heard. He scanned through his voicemails, chewing his lip, before raising the phone to his ear.
"You have fifty four new messages. First Message;
Arthur, it's Ian. Call me when you get this message.
Second message;
It's Ian again, just wondered if you didn't get my last message.
Third message;
Hey, it's Patrick, just checking up on you; Ian was starting to get edgy, so I'm just checking up on you, text me back.
Fourth message.
Oi bastard, call Patrick and Ian, they're being annoying.
Fifth message;
It's Sean, by the way.
Sixth message;
Damnit, Artie, where the fuck are you? There's a load of panic on the news regarding America… just… goddamnit, you're my brother… you can't be… I mean, it's not like you… Fucking… Call me. It's Ian.
Seventh message;
Uncle Arthur, it's Peter… Dad is crying… he said you might be dead, but…
Eighth message;
Arthur, it's Monique. I can't get through to Francis, please tell me he's with you! Please… phone me back… You and my brother have to be alive…"
Arthur stared blankly at the wall in front of him as he continued to listen to the messages from his and Francis' family. A tear slowly slid down his face.
"Fifty fourth message;
Arthur, I'm sorry… I know you can't hear this, and you probably never will… but I should have been a better brother. Me and the others never really made life easy for you… if we'd been better brothers, then maybe you wouldn't have gone to America… Maybe you wouldn't be-
Ian! Ian! I can feel him!
Aled? What do you-
I can feel Arthur's magic! He's still alive!
H- He's alive? Really?
Yes!
… God damnit, why am I leaving such a god damned sappy message then? Get Sean and Patrick, we're going to America!"
Clunk.
Arthur stared at his phone. The last message had been left a couple of days ago, before him and Francis had met the others. Which meant, if Ian had decided to get into America… and he hadn't left a message since to tell Arthur they'd failed…
"Idiots…" Arthur chocked out, feeling his throat unexpectedly tighten. "Fucking idiots…"
Outside, Arthur heard a screech of tyres, and looked out of the window at the black SUV which skidded around the corner, stopping down the road. The car doors opened, and Arthur's eyes widened.