"Iceland," Finland says. "Wake up."
Iceland blinks his eyes open. He wasn't completely asleep; somewhere between the alertness of wakefulness and the blurriness of sleep.
"What time is it?" he asks, yawning a little.
"Eight in the morning," Denmark. responds.
"We're going to go back to the streets. It's far too dangerous down here, and we've been lucky that nothing's attacked us already," Norway says.
Iceland nods, and he takes some water out of his backpack and drinks a few sips. He's thirstier than he realized, and the water tastes good. Placing it back in the bag, he stands up, and stretches.
"Let's go," Denmark says.
They don't have to walk far before they find a suitable manhole, and Denmark pries it open with the end of his rifle again.
Sunlight comes streaming in, a welcome sight to ward off the darkness. They climb up the ladder beneath it, and Denmark puts the cover back on once they've all reached the top.
"Where to from here?" Iceland asks.
"We need to get out of the city." Finland's voice has become short and clipped, not like the sloppy and emotionless drawl that he had been speaking with in the previous days.
Denmark nods. Since none of them know where they really are, they just pick a direction and go with it. It's nice to be back in the sunlight. The darkness was starting to get to them all, and Iceland is more afraid of the undead than he is of the gang.
They are all apprehensive, but no one truly expects the sight that they see when they round a corner.
It's Prussia.
Or rather, it's what's left of Prussia hanging from a building.
Prussia's corpse is the epitome of gore. Blood is still seeping out of the slashes on his arms and face and the macabre, slashed-up mess that has used to be his chest. His arms and legs are all broken, from the look of them; they jut out at irregular angles and one can see the bone showing.
Iceland has to look away.
"So that's what that sound was yesterday," Finland says. He doesn't sound particularly sad, which Iceland finds surprisingly out of character for him.
"He never got the chance to save Germany," Norway says, his voice softer than Finland's.
Iceland looks at him. "Germany was dead when we left him. The gang leader was lying. I could tell it in his body language and the way he delivered what he had to say."
"How?" Norway asks.
"I'm a good liar myself," Iceland says. "Unlike him."
"Should we do something about Prussia's body? It feels kinda wrong to just leave him hanging here," Denmark says.
"No," Finland says. "There's nothing that we can do at this point. He's dead, and he doesn't care. So let's not waste our time."
Iceland looks at the remains again. He can't believe that this bloodstained corpse, silent with death, used to be Prussia, the loud and rambunctious ex-nation who would always cause trouble. The ex-nation who would constantly brag about how great he was. The ex-nation who would be there to listen when someone really needed him because he knew what it felt like to be hurt and ignored.
A sound startles Iceland out of his reverie.
A sound that haunts his nightmares.
A sound that sends shivers crawling down his spine.
A sound that makes him want to run and hide and try not to cry.
The sound of pounding feet and raspy voices.
The sound of the horde.
"Shit!" Denmark yells. "Let's go!"
He starts running in the the other direction, Norway, Iceland and Finland following him. This part of the city is starting to look familiar, and Iceland realizes that this is where they were the first time the horde found them, back when Sweden and Denmark were arguing. Back when Sweden was alive.
Norway's limping badly, but his face is set in a look of grim determination and he runs through the pain.
Denmark ducks into the alley that they used to escape last time, and picks Iceland up so that the Icelander can scramble up on top of the wall. Denmark does the same for Norway.
"Finland! Get the hell over here!" Denmark yells at Finland, who's standing a little way down the alley with his assault rifle fully loaded.
The horde runs into the alley.
There's something remarkably different about the situation that Iceland is in now and the situation that he was in with Denmark and Sweden. And it's not the fact that Finland and Norway are there too.
It's the fact that instead of trying to escape the zombies, Sweden has become one.
And he's running at the forefront of the pack.
Finland turns his head slightly to look at Denmark, and says, "Go on ahead without me. I'm going to join the man who I love."
"No!" Iceland yells. "Finland, no!"
There's a smile on Finland's face. Not one of the hollow, empty ones, but a real, legitimate smile. It's soft and warm, and it reminds Iceland of the old times. The times where they were all together as a family. The times before the apocalypse.
Finland turns back to face the horde, and he drops his gun.
"Denmark!" Norway says. "Get onto the wall!"
A combined effort of Norway pulling him and Denmark scrabbling against the wall with his feet gets Denmark to safety.
They get a prime view of Finland's death.
It seems to happen in slow motion. Finland's arms are open, and he leans forward as if to embrace the mess that Sweden has become. Sweden, when he's near enough, jumps forward and lands on Finland, knocking him to the ground.
He bites him over and over again, and before Finland is completely overwhelmed by the horde, Iceland never sees the smile on his falter. Finland tilts his head back toward the end of the alley, where the rest of his family is standing on the wall. He mouths the words I love you, and a zombie blocks out their view of him as it adds to the shivering pile of zombies already atop him.
Happy. Finland was happy at the end of his life, the end of his long life. Sure, he'd gone through many, many hardships, but he'd always come out the other side.
Not so now.
He's gone.