There's a light in the hallway as he falls asleep, pulling at memories he's almost forgotten. A time when someone had tucked him into bed, a gentle voice whispering goodnight, a familiar form lingering at the door before slipping silently through it, leaving only a sliver of light spilling out into the darkness. The memory is so strong he could almost hear the lullabies that used to be sung to him every night when the lights went out, a lullaby he had sung to himself for so long, until he himself forgot the tune, and eventually the words too, became muddled.
The familiar sliver of light slipping across his dozing face nearly leads him into sleep, just like many times before. Then the inherent wrongness of the situation struck and Peter's eyes snap open."There's a light in the hallway",he thinks groggily as he struggles to wake, then the thought hits home. There's a light in the hallway.Peter is awake and crawling under the bed before he makes the conscious thought to move, acting on a terrified instinct that screams at him to hide. His heart is pumping a thousand beats a minute, and he muffles his breath behind his hands. Peter is terrified, and for good reason: There hasn't been a light in the hallway in years.
Then he hears the voices. Whispering, uncertain.
"I dont like this, bro. I dont like this at all."
It's strange to hear a voice after all this time. Peter has almost forgotten what one sounds like. There's something foreign about the whispered words, yet so familiar. But Peter hasnt forgotten the last time he heard a voice, and he stiffens his elbows and knees to quell the shaking in his arms and legs. Hemust notlet them hear him. He cant let them find him. Because Peter knows what the last few years have done to humanity. And the race once known as "humans" has changed.
Peter can hear their footsteps getting closer. A tear prickles at the corner of his eye, but he cant let himself cry. They can taste his fear in the air. A bright light flashes over the room, and someone enters cautiously.
"Im scared!" Whined the voice again, and another, much more callous voice responds.
"Get over yerself mate, I've met toddlers braver than you."
There's two of them. No, he cant assume that. There may be more. He forces himself not to recoil like he wants to when the enter the room. What are they looking for? Surely they've figured out by now that there's nothing left? Even the rats gnawed the bones dry, then even they left. The first voice seems to agree.
"Dude, there's nothing here! Can we please just go?"
"Yes," Peter thinks, "go. Go away and never come back. There's nothing here for you." A pair of feet stops right next to him, so close he could touch them if he reached out his hand. Peter doesnt dare move, or even breathe. If they find him... He refuses to finish the thought, fighting the memory of the smell. Of the sound of the screams. He cant be caught. Its simply not an option.
"I wish Mattie was here." The whiny voice sighs.
"No you dont mate." The second voice is grim.
Peter refuses to register the words they say, the names. He reminds himself that they aren't humans, they aren'tpeople.Not anymore.
"No,I don't." The first voice agrees, suddenly solemn. "This.." he trails off, then when he speaks again, there's a catch in his voice. "this would break him."
Peter almost shrieks -a half bitten gasp- when the bed suddenly sags above him, dipping low enough to graze his back, and tries to flatten himself into the floor.
"We should go." the first voice continues, and there's a tinge of anger in his tone. Peter knows this voice too. The one that comes before a fight.
"Alfred." The voice on the bed suddenly becomes tight, warning, and Peter knows that he senses the brewing fight too. He wonders if he can escape while they're distracted once the fight breaks out. He knows its not safe to stay there.
"No!" The first voice, the one that Peter won't let himself put a name to, snaps back. Peter tenses himself, plotting his path. He'll roll from the bed for that dark corner, and then... What? He can't run for the hall. The light will give away his location. More than that, he cant keep his eyes open long enough to look in that direction. The sudden brightness is blinding after years of pitch black.
"Dont you get it!" Voice one continues to shout, growing angrier with each word. "I'm tired of this! Im tired of seeing all the death, all the skeletons!" The second pair of boots, the ones not tensely planted to Peter's right, start pacing.
"Alfred." The second voice insists, a rising warning in the tone.
Peter gets ready to roll, navigating on mostly a memory.
The first voice is getting louder. "Im tired of seeing them! I'm tired of thechildren!"
The air seems to freeze as the first voice suddenly quiets down, panting with the need for air. Peter hesitates for just a moment. So they have seen the skeletons. All that remained of 200 children and their 50 caretakers. Not nearly enough people, yet way too many. All dead.
"They're children, Jet. Just kids."
The first voice has petered out again, lost and tiny. Like a child. Like how Peter might sound if he remembered how to speak. But Peter isn't falling for that voice, its dangerous. He reminds himself that there are no "people" anymore. He waits for the argument to start back up, waits for his chance to escape. The second voice brings hope with it.
"Alfred!" Its beyond a warning, sharp and commanding.
The pacing feet stop. Peter prepares to move. Then, everything comes down around him like a cage with the next whispered words.
"The bed's still warm."