*notices a new chapter* owo what's this?

This was an admittedly hard chapter to get started on cause it's one of those that I had been envisioning since like...2012, and it's taken us this long to get here. And maybe it didn't come out the EXACT way I wanted, but the message I wanted to leave behind here is clear.

One of my biggest themes with this crapshoot of a fic has always been the idea that the infected are humans. That once upon a time, they were real people, who had real lives, and who were equally devastated by the Green Flu as everyone else was.

As such, there's gonna be some discussion and mention of death here, including that of a child and an animal. It might be rough for some of you who weren't expecting it but, trust me, it's going all according to plan.

A section starting with x-X-x-X-x means it's happening in the present.

A section starting with o-O-o-O-o mean it's happening in the past.

x-x-x-x-x-x

"It was kind of a fluke, ya know?" Betha started, gently rocking her mug to make the coffee inside swirl around. "As much of a fluke as basic human kindness can be. I didn't mean to rescue him, and I certainly didn't mean to keep him around but...Well, things happen."

Father Barnes and Maribelle nodded in understanding. She was with them and Harmony around a table, fresh coffee in all their hands. Damon stood away, still listening, but also stealing wary glances at her. And more importantly, at Zachary. The Hunter sat at her feet, head resting gently against her knee, face turned down towards the floor.

With his hood off, everything must have looked much brighter. His face would scrunch up occasionally, a way to "blink" his scarred eye sockets. Betha kept her hands secured around her mug, less she find herself stroking his dirty hair. She was trying to take baby steps around their new acquaintances, holding off on obvious displays of affection for her friends until the former group was more comfortable.

"He really didn't try to hurt you?" Harmony asked. "Even with the injury? I didn't think Jumpers stopped for anything…"

"I can't tell you what he might have been thinking," Betha shrugged. "I mean, you could say I wasn't in the right mind myself, but him? I dunno how long he'd been stuck in that trap, so he must have been grateful eiter way to be free. I'd ask him but I dunno if he remembers or not…"

o-O-o-O-o

Zachary Mattias was already having a bad time when he got infected. A simple "mysterious illness" on the news turned to "rapidly spreading infection" in a matter of hours, and everything was going right to hell.

It was the third day in when he got bit, and he tried to cover that up best he could. Thicker clothes for protection, duct taped up so he wouldn't slow himself down trying to run. He did track in high school for fuck's sake, but even that felt like it didn't remotely prepare him for a zombie apocalypse of all things.

A lot of his survival from the bite on included feverishly sneaking around the best he could for supplies, some sort of shelter. The safe houses appeared pretty quickly, and while they helped a little, the infection only set in worse and worse. No amount of medicine he scrounged up diminished the symptoms.

No amount of food- fresh or otherwise seemed to make him feel better. Sleep was slowly started to become out of the question. His body felt like it was constantly on fire, his skin burning to the touch, and his bones aching something fierce.

And his eyes wouldn't stop leaking. Zachary eventually had to give up on washing his face, there was no point. Especially after he started to rub the skin around his eyes raw. It just never stopped. Then the skin started to itch, and he kept scratching at it.

Scratching with lengthening nails that were creating bleeding gouges. It was the eve of the first week after the bite that he ended up clawing one eye out. It only made sense to just do the same to the other. His face leaked and bled for another day until it finally stopped, crusting over what was once his eyelids, and leaving empty sockets.

Zachary couldn't see anymore, but he could still see. And he could smell, and hear, and even the meager food he found suddenly had a sharper taste. It was debilitating, it was strengthening, it was everything good and bad all at once.

But it devolved him into an animal. He had given up on trying to connect with other survivors, finding solace in being able to walk among the ever growing infected with ease. His skin greyed, his teeth and nails elongated, and his thoughts were scattered.

The first time he smelled a survivor, a healthy human, was when his humanity was finally locked away, and the hunt was on. Only instinct drove him- Some animalistic instinct that was foreign, yet extremely similar at the same time. Why did he want to hunt down this person? Why did he feel the need? What did he want to accomplish? Did he want to kill? To satisfy a hunger in his belly? Or to satisfy a sudden bloodlust?

There were too many questions that held no answers. He stalked, he hunted, he leapt and he climbed. His new capabilities put him to the test, and he thought he was unrivaled in sheer power. The Hunter followed the scent to an alley, his sense in overdrive, blinding him from the true danger below.

His target (healthy- fresh- alive- good) had just finished setting up the last of the bear traps when The Hunter leapt down with a mighty roar. It was a quick scuffle, the butt of a gun smashing into his face, him stumbling, and before he knew it, iron jaws were puncturing his right calf.

The Hunter howled, more in anger than pain. His target departed quickly, and he was left there, an unfortunate victim along with all the others who had the same Accident as he. The Hunter had no choice but to remain, vain attempts at freeing himself, but otherwise doomed to sit and wait for death to claim him. He cried and whined, and waited, and waited, and waited-

And instead of death, She came to him instead.

x-X-x-X-x

"I like to think we became a pretty good team, him and I," Betha smiled, leaning back in her chair. "Crossing the street is a lot easier when you basically have an apex predator on your side."

"You weren't ever worried though?" Maribelle asked. "That he might...Well...change his mind?"

"Of course I was," Betha nodded. "But then we started, ya know, becoming friends. Like the old him is still in there."

Harmony's eyes grew wide and she nodded in agreement to that.

"Fascinating," Father Barnes murmured. "Do you believe it's possible that they can be...rehabilitated somehow?"

"I dunno about that," Betha frowned. "I mean, Zachary and he-eck, even Ryan seem pretty "tame", as weird as that is to say about people. Ryan himself has always felt more...Together? But now I don't really know if that was me being able to speak zombie to him or not."

"Your Smoker friend, yes?" Father Barnes asked.

"Yeah, him. I mean, the way I met him too was just so...weird, ahaha!"

o-O-o-O-o

"It's not that bad," Mia pouted. "It's just a scratch."

"It's a whole ass laceration," Ryan said, dabbing a cotton swab into a cup of water. "I can practically see the bone."

"You don't know that," she sniffed, then stifled a cry as he dabbed the swab against the wound.

"We need to get you to a doctor," Ryan stated.

"We were at the doctor's, remember?"

"Yeah, and that went well." he grumbled.

It had been a long day. Get a cancer diagnosis was one thing. Being a part of ground zero for a zombie outbreak was another. They always joked his smoking habit was gonna do him in sooner than anything else, and it was starting to look like they were actually wrong. Goddamn...Zombies...Didn't know what else to call them, really.

Humans turning rabid, snarling and slobbering over each other, people turning with a simple bite or scratch…

And now Mia was hurt. They barely made it back home, her arm dripping blood every step of the way. The wound itself looked so ugly, already black and green on the edges. He tried cleaning it as best he could, but he wasn't a fucking Boy Scout, this was the best he was gonna do. In the end, he wrapped a bunch of gauze around it, and knotted it tight.

"Just lie down, please?" he begged his girlfriend gently. She pouted at him more, but eventually settled into a lying position on the couch. "I'm gonna run downstairs real quick, see what I can bring back up here."

"Take the bat," Mia warned him. "Who knows what's down there."

"I know, I'll be quick. Don't. Move."

"I don't really have anywhere to gooo," her voice echoed after him as he walked to the door, took the bat out from the umbrella stand, and made his way downstairs. He creeped down the flight- As best he could for being already tall man. But when Ryan arrived at the store, he was met with relative silence.

He could hear the sirens wailing through the streets, and the dull echo of distant gunfire. But for right now, the store was silent. The glass of the door and one of the windows had been shattered, the door itself still hanging ajar. He started to run the numbers in his head, trying to estimate repair costs.

Though, money was the least of his concern.

The looters that had been in here earlier when they got home were long gone, and there was merchandise strewn across the floor. Notably, the fridges of beer had been ransacked the hardest, go fucking figure. The register was on the floor, some bills still left over. Worst. Robbers. Ever.

Ryan forced himself to focus on the task at hand, picking through the medicine they had in stock. A bunch of allergy pills, some pain killers, more rubbing alcohol. He ran back to get a shopping basket, and filled it up as much as he could. Ryan didn't know how much of this would actually help, but it would be better than doing nothing.

On his way back, he grabbed a pack of cigarettes, a pack that mia was none too pleased to see when he came back upstairs.

"Seriously?" she chided him.

"It's the end of the fucking world, and I already got my death sentence. May as well enjoy what's left of my life," he retorted.

"You're not gonna die," Mia said, suddenly softer. "Neither of us are."

He wanted to believe her. So badly. But Ryan had already decided that if it came between one of them, he'd choose to save her in a heartbeat.

And he did his best, trying to keep them safe. Protected. Try being the keyword. But as the day turned to night, Mia's condition took a turn. Ryan sat by her side, trying to feed her, or attempt to get some sort of pill down her throat. She would just cough and gag, practically vomiting all over him. But Ryan didn't falter, just kept trying.

Eventually Mia tired out, and lay still on the couch, her breathing fast and shallow. Ryan just held her hand, and stroked the back of it. Over, and over, and over again. Even when he started hacking up his own lungs, even when the growths started to boil up from his skin, he sat there with her.

Until finally days later, when the hunger was a dull pain in his stomach, and what was left of his original throat was parched-

Mia died.

She let go of his hand, stood up with a pained groan, and shambled away. He followed her, still able to open the door, and they wandered out of the apartment together. When they got downstairs, she staggered out through the busted glass of the windows, and wandered away. He stood there and watched her go.

When he felt too weak to stand, he stumbled behind the counter to plop down into the chair back there, still watching the door. The growths continued to bulge off his skin, the smoke began to rise out from his pores. He choked on his own tongue, but he didn't stop waiting.

A week passed, and he forgot who he was waiting for. He forgot why he was even there in the first place. But The Smoker knew he had to stay. The cigarette cabinet, he eventually raided, still had the dexterity to rip a packet open and light up a smoke. The infection continued to ravage through him, and he fought to remember his purpose.

To wait...To wait...To wait…

He tapped at the countertop, he occasionally rose from his chair to wander the small store. Every now and then, another infected would stumble in, sit around and cry for a bit, then stumble back out. But they weren't the ones he was waiting for, whoever that was.

The Smoker picked up a newspaper, the action feeling familiar and right, even if the meaning behind it had become lost to him. He opened it up and stared at it, the words on the page looking like scribbling. But he stared at it anyway, just to pass time. To wait.

And his waiting was finally awarded, when a breath of fresh air said hello to him, and when he looked at her, he saw a sight that made his heart ache in a way it hadn't in a long time. A feeling he didn't recognize anymore, but his words came tumbling out, and his actions seemed to help clear the fog.

(But she wasn't Mia, whoever that was.)

x-X-x-X-x

"Are you sure you're gonna be okay out here?" Betha asked him, pulling the blanket extra tight around his shoulders (the best she could around his tumors).

"Yeaaahh, I won't be lonely," Ryan coughed. "Got Growly over there to keep me company."

Jeff was on the opposite side of the yard as them, head pressed against the wall. He didn't pay them any mind.

"Just be nice for tonight, okay?" Betha said. "They've been nice enough already, they don't need a reason to shoot all four of us after all."

"I'll be okaaa-ayy," he coughed back. "Stop worrying."

Betha smiled softly at him, plopping the last blanket into his lap. She leaned in past the smoke to gently press her nose against his forehead, then pulled away and went back inside. The survivor made her way into the back of the church, and was greeted by some whining from inside the living room.

"Just ten more minutes?" Noelle begged her mother. "Pleaaaase?"

"I already did," Harmony said sternly. "Now say goodnight."

The young girl rolled her eyes, and turned back to Antonio. The Hunter waited patiently for her.

"Play again in the morning?" Noelle asked him. Antonio stared at her passively for a few moments before finally nodding. Noelle flashed him a big grin as Harmony started to pull her away to their room. "Night night!" she waved before disappearing down the hall.

Betha started after them, beckoning to him. He followed after her into the bedroom that had been graciously offered to them. Zachary was already splayed out on the bed.

"Don't wanna sleeeeep," Zachary grumbled.

"Then don't," Betha said plainly, closing the door. "Just sit there quietly so everyone else can."

"Don't like here," he added.

"Don't like anything," Toni muttered, climbing up on the bed to curl up on the corner of the mattress. Zach blew a raspberry at him.

"Please don't fight right now," Betha sighed as she changed into some pajamas. "You're both already on thin ice. Especially you," and she shot a look at Toni.

"'M never bad," Toni said.

"Sneaking off behind everyone's back and breaking in is pretty bad. You nearly gave Harmony a heart attack."

"But I didn'."

"Damon could have killed you."

"Didn'."

Betha let out a breath of frustration as both Zach and Toni chuffed amusingly. Was it nice that Toni didn't slaughter a seven year old? Yes, it was. But was it a very nasty surprise, especially for poor Harmony, to walk in and find her young daughter playing dolls with what she saw as a monster? Double yes. Betha had just finished recounting how she met Ryan, and the beginnings of meeting Toni when Harmony, who had gotten up to check on her daughter, came running back white as a sheet.

Though, Betha had been pretty surprised herself to see how calmly Toni had been sitting there on the floor, dolls and toys in his hands and lap, playing along with Noelle just fine. The way his eye tracked her- It wasn't out of malice. Instead, Betha recognized it as warmth. And it had taken a minute for her to remember that Toni himself had been a father before all this.

And after she had explained that to Harmony, the other woman had softened up considerably. She told Betha that it was a similar situation with Jeff, being Harmony's long time boyfriend, and the only father that Noelle had.

Had, past tense, being the key there.

o-O-o-O-o

It was time to go. The convoy wasn't going to wait much longer. But Antontio couldn't tear himself away quite yet. She had died in her bed, and there she still was. He didn't have time to bury her, nor was it safe to. So the best he could do was gather up all her toys- Her favorite dolls and teddies, and carefully arranged them around her. It was the best he could do on such short notice.

Underneath her toys, she looked so small and faraway, like she was going to slip away and he'd never see her again. Which was...Exactly what was happening. He was going to have to leave her, possibly forever, with no way of knowing if he'd ever get back here or not.

"I'm sorry, Chiquita," he whispered, a fresh wave of tears already rolling down his face. "I have to go now...I love you. I love you more than anything."

Unable to say more, Toni bent down to kiss her cold, grey cheek. It was like kissing ice. But it would be the last time he'd ever see his little Josefina again.

"Antonio!" his brother's rang out. "We gotta go!"

Toni sniffed loudly, taking one last glance at his daughter, and then finally left her room, to leave her in eternal peace. Miguel was just outside in the hall, lying down on the floor, with his head on his paws. He looked up at his master with sad eyes, and let out a deep whine.

"Antonio!" Jorge's voice came again.

"Come on boy," Toni said quietly. Miguel hopped up to his feet, giving the bedroom door a long look, and then followed Toni away. The house was dark and quiet, the only light flooding in from the front door. Outside, his brother was waiting with a truck, and men in uniform.

"Antonio-" Jorge started.

"I know, I know," Toni growled. "I just needed a moment, I-"

"I know," Jorge interrupted. "I know."

The two brothers shared an anguished look, but they had to shake it away to climb into the truck bed. Miguel jumped in after them. The soldiers also climbed in, and a few moments later, they started to speed away.

"Know how to use one of these?" a soldier asked, hanging out a pistol.

"No," Toni shook his head.

"Point at what you want to kill, and pull the trigger," the soldier explained smartly. He shoved the gun into Toni's hand. For a second, Toni thought about turning it on himself, but the thought was dashed the moment the infected came crawling out of the side streets after them.

The truckbed erupted into gun fire. Orders and signals were being shouted out, but Toni could barely hear them over the ringing in his ears. The gun in his hand felt so foreign, his arm jumping every time he pulled the trigger. He didn't know how many infected he actually killed. For every one that fell, another took its place. It felt endless.

They were never getting out of this city.

The despairing thought was distracting enough for an infected to come at him, lunging over the side and taking a swipe at him. Miguel, being the good, loyal dog he was, lunged back- For the throat. The infected howled in agony as doberman teeth sank into it. But to Toni's horror, the combined weight sent them topping over to the ground, with the truck still moving.

"WAIT!" Toni screamed. "NO WAIT, GO BACK!"

"WE CAN'T!" Jorge screamed back in his ear. "IT'S TOO LATE!"

"NOT FOR MY FUCKING DOG IT IS!" Toni roared, and without another thought, he jumped off the truck himself. He sailed over the heads of zombies, and hit the ground with a hard thump. His brother cried after him, but the truck kept going. Toni picked himself up and broke out into a sprint.

Miguel was covered in a writhing mass of bodies, and with another roar, Toni started firing. When the pistol ran out of bullets, he just started hitting them, wailing and snarling as angrily as they were, until Miguel had a chance to slip out. The poor boy had blood dripping from his mouth, and it covered his paws. But together, they escaped.

They ran until they found cover, not a perfect place to hide, but at least they had given the infected the slip. There, Toni trembled, holding Miguel close to his chest as he was a puppy again, his chest heaving for air.

They were on their own.

When Toni finally had the strength to move again, they did so as quietly as one man and one doberman could. As much as they spoiled him, Miguel was far from being a pampered pooch. Toni made due with whatever sort of blunt object he could find, and the infected were no match for sharp dog teeth.

After a few days, they were battered and bruised, cut and bit, (unknowingly) coming down with the beginnings of their own infections. One of Toni's eyes had started to leak fluid at one point, and Miguel's fur was starting to drop off his body to reveal rotting underneath. But they didn't stop. They had to keep going.

The streets were difficult to navigate, rabid infected at every turn. Supplies were even harder to deal with. They drank whatever source of water they could, ate whatever they managed to salvage. At night they hunkered down in relative safety, Miguel draped over his master's lap in an attempt to stay warm.

The fever struck Toni hard, but he kept moving for the sake of moving. His head would sim and his vision would blur, but he wasn't content to just lay down and die quite yet. Miguel still followed him dutifully, losing more fur and his skin becoming rawer by the hour. They were all they had left in this dying city.

It happened during one of their scavenges. Unfortunately, they found a survivor.

"Hey," Toni had tried to croak out, but it came out all wrong, like his own lips didn't know how to form words right anymore. The survivor, took that as a threat. To the kid's credit, Toni was far too gone, beyond looking like a normal human anymore. The instinct to shoot was natural.

The bullet pinged off the wall as Toni jumped away, and more bullets were fired off in an attempt to kill. It was Miguel who came flying out of nowhere, all teeth and rage, barreling into the survivor with all his might. And as strong as Miguel had become, he was no match for a hail of bullets ripping through his chest.

That was Toni's breaking point. Seeing his dog, his boy, the only family he had left, topple over with blood pooling out- Something inside him snapped. It was like an old TV shutting off, the power whining down, the static cracking. And then it came back on just as fast, with a guttural, inhuman scream that thundered out of his body.

The survivor was smart enough to get up and run. The Hunter gave chase, no other thought in his mind, than to killkillkillkillkill.

Not even a stray Boomer explosion was going to stop him. But another Hunter in a gray hoodie with a "Z" stitched to the side, did.