Here, have an early chapter while I curl up into a ball of general life anxiety.
If Scott had to make a list of the Top Ten Scariest Moments of His Life, then watching John step into the middle of a horde without any armour or weapons would be up there. Every instinct wanted to grab his brother and haul him back into the relative safety of the pharmacy, but logic won out.
Staying put was a certain death sentence. Sometimes in life you had to go against your instincts and put your faith in facts – like knowing when to jump, or leaning into a fall, or accelerating towards the ground when caught in a gravity well. So, he forced himself to remain behind the closed door and tried to remember how to breathe.
The infected didn't react. John stepped off the sidewalk, hands outstretched as if taming a wild animal, cautiously working his way into the middle of the crowd. It was as if he were invisible. The tide of bodies parted to let him through. They paid him no attention. For a moment he stood perfectly still, facing away so that Scott couldn't gauge his expression, body language unreadable through the sea of infected.
"How is he doing that?" Virgil whispered at Scott's shoulder. "This is insane."
"You think that's insane?" Scott shot back. "We're about to do the same thing and we're not even linked into the hivemind."
"Blindly trusting John to keep us safe? It's like old times."
"Don't make me laugh."
John broke into a noiseless jog. All sound was engulfed by ash. Scott felt as though he had lost a sense and it was unnerving. He tapped a blade against the latch of the door, reassured by the metallic chime. Virgil's gaze was heavy, but he didn't say anything.
"Okay," John announced, voice hushed and muffled further by his mask. He inhaled deeply, movements made sharp by anxiety. "Let's try this."
"Do we just…" Scott gestured towards the horde. "Start walking?"
"Let me… Hold on. Come here."
John put out a hand. Scott stepped into range and tried not flinch at the icy touch when John gripped his shoulder, eyes closed, head angled ever-so-slightly as if he were hearing inaudible voices again.
"Hivemind?"
"Sort of." John let him go. "Fuck, if I screw this up…"
Scott ground his heels into the ash. The infected didn't look up. "Seems good enough to me."
It was a surreal experience – not quite the correct phrasing but Scott couldn't think of any other word which could capture the feeling of walking headfirst into a horde of the undead. The stench of rot was overwhelming. He'd thought he'd grown immune to the smell, but now, amongst them, it was all he could do to keep from gagging. He had never been so utterly surrounded by death.
The creatures staggered along without so much as a second glance. He was absorbed into the horde without question. One came so close that it brushed his arm; he could feel the swollen fluid of rotten flesh beneath that mottled skin.
He wasn't sure how to feel. Apprehensive? Afraid? He took a step forward and glimpsed an infected kid – approaching the latter stages of decomposition – still clinging onto the arm of a blue teddy bear, and something in his heart cracked. He was surrounded by monsters, yet all he could feel was grief.
There was no need for weapons. He was utterly invisible. It struck him as funny that once upon a time he could never have walked amongst a crowd on a city street without the paparazzi appearing. Now he was free to go wherever he wanted, whenever he pleased. It had only taken the end of the world.
A colossal thunderclap exploded directly overhead. He tipped his head back to glimpse bruised purple spilling over the sky, smothering that thin line of hopeful blue horizon. Anxiety still spat venom at the back of his mind, dripping into his veins like a poisonous IV, but he suddenly felt overwhelmingly calm. The infected weren't a threat. Not right now, anyway. The plan was working.
Virgil kept a hand clamped firmly around Gordon's bicep. It probably wasn't necessary, because Gordon had yet to react to anything other than the canary and simply followed whatever order anyone gave him, but if he did somehow snap out of the trance they didn't want him bolting or panicking. His silence was unnerving. The stillness was worse. No one had been able to coax even a flicker of emotion out of him – not even Alan, and Scott knew Gordon had the same big brother instincts as the rest of them.
Alan looked terrified. He was ghostly pale to the extent that Scott almost asked for Virgil's medical opinion, only he'd witnessed Alan take his meds and also knew what his brother looked like on the verge of an anxiety attack. He kept Alan barricaded between himself and Virgil, but there was nothing else he could do to help, which was slowly killing him.
John was up ahead. Not too far, but far enough. Scott wanted to haul him back, keep him with reach, but he clamped down on the thought and focussed on putting one foot in front of the other. The infected weren't fast but they didn't stop and so progress was steady.
After a while, he adjusted to their presence and didn't instinctively reach for a gun whenever one of them opened its jaws or lifted an arm too quickly. Flapping strips of skin and muscle were gruesome but he grew desensitized to it. Or perhaps that was simply the exhaustion. He couldn't feel much of anything anymore.
The city was swamped in a desolate quiet. Not silence, but close enough. Rotters' heels drummed against ash-muted streets. Wet drags of flesh over concrete were interspersed by the occasional crunch of bone on broken glass. Old leaflets and bits of paper fluttered in the wind. Some were damp with blood and became stuck to the sides of buildings. Dust stirred in their wake, an eerie rustle, like a final breath.
Then there were the faint rasps and grunts of the infected whenever a howl echoed from the distance, as if they could feel the creature's pain through the hivemind as it succumbed to the radiation storm. Scott kept a close eye on John but if he felt that agony too then he was keeping it well hidden. Then again, this was John, who was unnervingly talented at hiding his own pain, so it wasn't necessarily a reliable indicator of the truth.
The creatures stuck to the main road which ran like a spinal cord directly through the city. The land sloped upwards as they headed north. Some rotters struggled to grip the incline with their rotten feet and feeble flaps of decayed muscle and tumbled to their knees in the ash, crying out in low, mournful howls as they were left to burn in the radiation storm.
They were beyond help. There was no saving them now and Scott knew that so why did it still feel so wrong to just keep walking? He deliberately avoided looking back. His grip on Alan's hand tightened subconsciously and he only realised when his brother shot him a concerned glance.
John's steps faltered. The infected didn't react as he slowed to fall into place on Scott's other side. His face was mostly hidden by his mask, but Scott could still spy the twist of a frown, even underneath the dust.
Another infected let out a long, desolate cry. It tried to drag its way along the sidewalk, leaving a glistening trail of rotten liver over the ash. Nails splintered as it clawed at concrete, unable to walk on its own two feet any further. Scott curled his free hand into a fist and forced himself to exhale slowly until the threat of nausea swirling at the back of his throat eased.
John's gaze flitted to that exhausted infected. Despite the constant mix of fear and fatigue engrained into his features, there was a hint of curiosity and realisation in his eyes.
Scott tilted his head in question. What?
Ash continued to fall. Softly. More like tears than rain, as if the sky were weeping while it bled poison over the world below. He was vaguely aware of Alan holding out a hand to let it filter through his splayed fingers, just as he had done years ago when it had snowed on their family trip to Finland.
John moved close enough that their shoulders could have brushed. Scott made no effort to maintain that impossibly fragile line of distance between them, but John was clearly very conscious of it and deliberately avoided physical contact. The ash absorbed almost all sound and yet Scott heard John's voice as if they were out on rescue all those months ago, when even the smallest of whispers wouldn't have gone unanswered.
"I can feel you."
Scott tried not to startle. Human voices seemed unnatural in this environment. He searched the horde for any reaction, but apparently human speech was invisible too. Or perhaps that was simply John's influence.
"Like right then." John caught his gaze, voice soft with the sort of wonder he would once have dedicated to a scientific question. "I can feel your emotions. Not vividly, but…"
"Background noise?"
"Exactly." John paused, attention drifting back to those inaudible voices in his head. "Must be due to the hivemind. I think that's how you were able to interrupt the connection earlier. The fire weakened the parasite, but before that… There was this overwhelmingly sense of panic and desperation and lo- That was what I clung onto. It guided me back."
Scott deliberately closed the distance so that he could press their shoulders together. There was something incredibly reassuring about the contact.
There was no time to rest. No breaks. Just one foot in front of the other, no matter how exhausted they all were. The world had become a waking nightmare, and Scott had never felt it as keenly as now.
His anxiety was increasing by the second. The rotters' presence made his skin crawl. He wanted to take a hot shower and scrub every trace of the apocalypse from his body, but that was impossible – the evidence would always be present in the form of scars.
The creatures seemed to be crowding closer. He could feel the chill from their lifeless skin through his clothes. Slime smeared his shirt from their rotten flesh. It was oppressive. Suffocating. He could practically feel the weight on his chest.
Paranoia twisted with exhaustion so that everything seemed to pose a threat. The ache in his shoulder was spreading down his arm again, proof that the pain meds had worn off. His vision had grown blurry at the edges. He needed a rest but that wasn't possible.
At this altitude – close enough to the far side of the city that the hills had levelled out to provide ample views of the relatively flat plains they had already crossed – it was easier to see the brutalised horizon behind them. Scott almost wished he hadn't looked. Bruised purples of the radiation storm were bad enough but beyond that lay a wall of pure fire.
Tarnished amber. Deep orange. An angry glow searing his vision so that his eyes welled with tears. He stumbled to a halt before he could trip over his own feet. Once upon a time he'd thought he'd looked the devil in the face, but this was a whole new circle of horror. He was surrounded by the condemned while death snapped at their heels – how could this be anything other than Hell?
Panic so thick that he could choke on it clogged his throat. He tugged his mask down to spit out ash which had somehow infiltrated the fabric. The same thought rattled around his head on a cursed loop, we can't fix this, there's nothing left to save, what if the entire planet is ruined?
"Scott." Virgil stepped to block the horizon from view. "Hey."
He reluctantly let go of Gordon to grip Scott's shoulders, clearly not expecting his brother to list heavily into his hands.
"Woah, that's not- Shit. I've got you, you're okay." He wrapped his arms around Scott, not-so-secretly searching for injuries, wincing as he felt damp bandages. "John." His tone was sharp amid the dullness of all the ash. "We need a break."
John's reply was muted by the scuffle of feet through ash. The infected were all around. Scott could practically feel them, hear their rasps and the whistle of air through tattered flesh and the distinct squelch of blood. Dizziness flung the world into a tailspin. He folded into Virgil's arms, balance fleeing along with the rotters so that his brother was the only thing keeping him upright.
"Scott?" Virgil whispered, voice pitched with worry. His shirt still smelt faintly of antiseptic from the hospital and it was a sharp contrast against the stench of rot and smoke and iron. His hold tightened protectively as a creature stumbled close by. "Talk to me."
Words were a lost concept. Scott simply buried his face in Virgil's shoulder and breathed in deeply. If he kept his eyes shut, maybe he could trick himself into thinking he was at home. His senses had lied to him in the past - made him believe that he was somewhere else, flung him into danger when in reality he'd been safe - so it wasn't that farfetched.
He tried to block out the sounds of rotters and focussed on the steady pounding of Virgil's heartbeat instead, concentrated on the feeling of fingers in his hair rather than the chill of bandages wet with his own blood.
"Oh, fuck," Virgil whispered in a very small voice. He planted his hands on Scott's shoulders and eased him into taking a step back. "Sorry. I just need to check those bandages."
The creatures were beginning to act erratically. Their steps staggered, nostrils flaring, eyes bleary with hungry, torn between the instinctive urge to feed and the hivemind's orders to flee the radiation.
John's jaw clenched with concentration.
"Fresh blood is really riling them. We need to get away from the main horde." He flung out an arm to shield Gordon from a drooling rotter. "We're almost out of the city, anyway. Take the next left, we can cut across and exit closer to the tracks."
Finch raised her hackles, teeth bared as a low growl rumbled from nose to tail. The fur over her shoulders stood on end. She snarled at an infected that staggered within touching distance of Alan. Alan jolted out of reach, accidentally slamming into Gordon's chest. Finch backed up a pace to continue guarding him, still growling despite Alan's frantic attempts to hush her.
The infected were looking too interested. Gordon didn't seem to register any of these threats, but some deep-set instinct must have recognised the fear stamped across his little brother's shoulders as he wrapped his arms around Alan and pulled him close. Alan didn't protest, flattening himself against Gordon's chest and clutching the baseball bat at the ready to defend them both in case John lost control of the situation.
Scott pressed his hands to the soaked bandages wrapped around his stomach and gritted his teeth against the wave of light-headedness which followed. Blood squelched between his fingers, uncomfortably similar to the sounds of the infected. He tried to tear the hem of his shirt only it was difficult to accomplish single-handedly and the weakness in his muscles from his aching shoulder made it impossible to rip the fabric.
Virgil yanked a strip away from his own shirt. "Ready?"
Scott took a deep breath and nearly choked on ash. "Just get it over with."
Virgil shot him a sympathetic look. "Sorry about this."
Scott didn't black out, but it was a near thing. By the time his vision stopped swimming, Virgil had finished tying the strip of fabric into a makeshift bandage tight enough to stem the bleeding and was now supporting him as his legs felt suspiciously shaky. He rested his forehead against Virgil's shoulder for a moment.
"Okay?" Virgil asked cautiously.
Scott raised his chin to meet his brother's worried stare. "Never better." He let out a bitter laugh. "Fuck, that hurt."
Virgil's gaze flickered to the blood coating his hands. "I might need to redo those stitches. You shouldn't be bleeding this much."
"I can't believe I'm about to say this," John interrupted, looking distinctly pained by both his own words and the effort to keep the horde at bay, "but can we save this conversation for later? We need to leave."
Scott took a cautious step forward, conscious of Virgil hovering at his side in preparation to swoop in and catch him if his legs gave out, but he was able to push through the strange, almost feverlike weakness in his muscles. A few paces away, Gordon reluctantly released Alan but stuck close to his brother's side, keeping between Alan and the horde like a human shield. Finch clung to their heels, unnerved by the sudden thunderclap which seemed to explode directly overhead.
John waited until they were all clear of the stream of bodies before following. He braced himself against a graffitied wall for a moment, eyes screwed shut and shoulders rigid with an unhealthy mix of fear and pain. He looked up sharply, sensing he was being watched, and met Scott's gaze with an unimpressed raised eyebrow.
"Stop fretting. It's just a headache."
"I'm not fretting."
"Scott, I can literally sense you freaking out." John pushed himself upright without waiting for a response, slipping into the darkened street beyond. "Come on."
Virgil shot Scott a tiny smile. "Well, that's useful. He can call you out on all your bullshit."
Scott bit back a sigh. "That's gonna get old real quick."
Abandoned cities felt wrong on so many levels. Perhaps it was because they were literally designed around human life. They were built to be lived in. There was no expectation that they would ever outlast their inhabitants and so now, left to decay alongside the people who had once called them home, cities were grand graveyards. Empty streets funnelled wind, turning breezes into roaring gales which tore up precious reminders of humanity and sounded like cries when it whistled through broken windows.
On the upside, the wind was behind them. On the downside, it was really strong, threatening to knock them off their feet in places. It was exhausting. Virgil had to carry Finch and she tucked her nose into the crook of his neck, tail thudding only twice as she tried to keep herself still as if understanding that he was oh-so-tired and that holding her was a strain.
Alan stuck to Virgil's side, occasionally reaching across to pat Finch's back, but mostly just cradling his bat, gaze on the ground rather than the path ahead, which was probably a good thing because some of the sights were gory enough to turn even Scott's stomach and he'd seen some shit over the years.
It was probably approaching late night, but it was impossible to tell given the city had plunged into darkness in the middle of the day thanks to the ash. There was less falling now that they had put some distance between themselves and the storm, but that fiery glow on the horizon was unnerving and Scott felt a chill plunge down his spine whenever he glimpsed it in the reflection on abandoned cars or shuttered windows.
It took longer than it should have done to realise that someone was tracking them.
Scott initially put it down to his own paranoia. The city was a cesspit of strange shadows and if he jumped at every sound they wouldn't have made any progress. But then John came to a halt and Alan whirled around with his bat raised in preparation to strike. Finch wriggled free of Virgil's arms to plant herself in front of their little huddle as if she were a genuine guard dog rather than a very sweet-natured family pet.
Gordon didn't react. Virgil reached over to grab his wrist and hauled him close.
The survivors melted out of the shadows. They seemed to materialise from thin air. Everywhere Scott looked, there were more of them. His heart skipped a beat as he realised that they were entirely surrounded. One look to John had his brother silently moving around to bracket Alan between himself and Virgil.
Silence.
Only the wind howled high up amid the tops of skyscrapers and empty apartment blocks.
Thunder, more distantly this time.
Scott slowly reached for his gun.
A tall figure stepped forwards, hands aloft in the universal surrender gesture.
"There's no need for any of that." Their voice was muffled by their radiation mask. "We're here to help you. It's not safe on the streets."
Scott's paranoia wasn't buying it. He didn't lift his hand away from the gun. "Why would you help us?"
The survivor angled their chin at Alan. "International Rescue saved our lives enough times. It's our chance to return the favour. Were you all part of…?"
Alan was the only one still wearing IR blues, Scott realised.
"Scott," Virgil murmured, reaching over to gently lay a hand on Scott's wrist. "We need help. They seem genuine. Sometimes you just have to put a little faith in humanity."
"That didn't work out so well with the bandits."
Virgil caught his gaze. "Not everyone has good intentions, true, but… Clearly some of us do. Wasn't that the very basis of IR?"
Scott lowered the gun slowly, still unwilling to trust complete strangers. History had shown that people were prepared to compromise their morals for the sake of survival, and he wasn't going to let his brothers get caught in the crossfire.
As more flashlights mixed together, he could finally glimpse features through the radiation masks – albeit tinged orange by the glow. It was reassuring to stare into their eyes and read no ill intentions there. Instincts told him that these people could be trusted, especially when Finch's tail began wagging. Frankly, he held Finch's judgement in higher regard than his own paranoia.
"I'm Marisa." The unofficial leader held out a hand. "It's a pleasure to meet you…?"
Her glove was wrapped in several layers of cellophane. Whether that was an attempt to protect against bites or radiation remained unclear. She had a large blade strapped to her hip and a crossbow hooked over one shoulder.
John shoved his hands into his pockets, away from his weapons, proof that he also approved of these newcomers and Scott felt his final reservations drain away.
"Scott Tracy." He took her hand, slightly taken aback by the strength of her grip. "Thanks for not shooting us on the spot."
It was difficult to tell through the mask, but he suspected Marisa looked rather amused at that. She gestured for the rest of her group to emerge from the shadows. Scott tried to hide his surprise when two more crept out of the darkness thrown by an overhanging shopfront, bringing the total to six, including Marisa.
Marisa caught his shock with an wry remark, "If we thought you were dangerous, we would never have let you get this close to our base."
She turned to catch the eye of a young girl, roughly Alan's age, practically trembling with excitement.
"Oh, for Chrissake, Jasmin." She shot Scott an exasperated look threaded with the same fondness he usually directed at Alan. "My sister is desperate to pet your dog. Is that okay?"
Scott glanced at Alan. "Al?"
Alan offered a thumbs-up.
Jasmin tangled her hands in soft fur, murmuring to the dog. It was such an innocent sight of pure joy that Scott almost wanted to cry for no apparent reason. He caught himself holding his breath as Alan quietly stepped away from his side and knelt next to Jasmin, showing her the spot under Finch's chin which made the dog melt into his arms.
Marisa's smile was audible in her voice even as she switched into management mode.
"We can't stay out here for long. Winds are changing in our favour which should hold off the radiation storm for a little while, but there are still rotters on the prowl. Are any of you hurt?"
Scott was wearing John's leather jacket and it had fallen in such a way that it concealed the soaked bandages. He briefly considered remaining quiet, but one look at Virgil reminded him that it was a stupid plan. They needed help and these survivors were the only people willing to provide it. He uncrossed his arms and reluctantly tugged aside the jacket.
Marisa's intake of breath was sharp.
"Jeezus. That's nasty." She tilted her head. "Get on the wrong side of a rotter?"
"Something like that."
"Immune?"
"Wouldn't be here if I wasn't."
Marisa chuckled. "Valid point. Anyone else?"
"Immune or injured?" Scott jerked a thumb at John. "He's immune. Got hypothermia a few days back though, so he still looks a little like the walking dead."
John's stare was icy, but he went along with the lie. Virgil also appeared willing to follow Scott's lead on this one, thank God, because Scott couldn't think of any other way to explain John's condition without facing the wrong end of that blade.
"As for injuries… A few scrapes, nothing to be concerned about. Alan's got a nasty cough, but we've got it under control."
"And him?" Marisa's gaze fell over Scott's shoulder.
He turned to spy Gordon, head tipped back to stare at the sky, yet to acknowledge their newfound company. Something twisted in his chest.
"We've seen a lot of horrors out here," Virgil explained before Scott could recover his voice. He hesitated, continuing, softer, "Gordon's still processing some of it."
Which wasn't exactly a lie but didn't completely cover the truth either.
"We're staying in an apartment block on the outskirts," Marisa said, eyes still shadowed even through the orange glow of her radiation mask. She dragged her gaze away from Gordon and cleared her throat, squaring her shoulders so that her group recognised they needed to start listening. "You're welcome to come with us. We can't offer you much in the way of supplies, but we have running water and a safe place to sleep for the night."
"Sounds like luxury," Scott quipped, not really joking at all.
He didn't need to check with Virgil to know that his brother was on board with the idea but twisted to spy John just in case he had any further reservations. John's attention was fixed on Gordon. Scott swallowed past the lump in his throat and prayed his voice would remain level.
"Thanks for the offer. We don't have much to repay you with, but-"
"Ever heard of karma, Scott?" Marisa smacked the bicep of his good arm. "You spent years saving the world. You don't need to give us anything. It's our pleasure, truly. We're happy to help you."
She whistled to the pair loitering under the cover of the shopfront.
"Look alive, people! We're leaving."
Out of a set of three apartment blocks, two stood cold and empty, but the third glowed gold at the top like a lighthouse. It was a beacon of warmth despite being partly obscured by low cloud. Marisa led the way through a series of traps which had been set to trigger an alarm system in case a horde got too close. It was an impressive design which Scott would ordinarily have asked more questions about, but he was too tired to care about anything other than finding a place to sleep.
He really should have expected the stairs. Because of course there were stairs. The apartment was on the top floor. Marisa had explained that the feeble generator they'd resurrected was enough to keep the lights on and water running but couldn't sustain the entire apartment block and so the elevator was as dead as most of the planet. And yet somehow Scott still hadn't anticipated several flights of hell. He sorta scowled at them as if they would magically transform into a working elevator in the face of his disdain. No such luck.
Virgil casually looped an arm around him under the guise of affection but secretly taking most of his weight as they began the climb. Alan scrambled underneath John's arm and took the steps three at a time until he could catch up, stealing the space on Scott's other side to offer additional support.
Marisa took the lead while the duo who'd favoured the shopfront shadows remained behind to barricade the exit and reactivate the alarm system. The sound of doors slamming shut sent a slight shockwave through the building. Scott was almost grateful to be so exhausted as it kept his mind from returning to that stairwell in New York, which had been practically a carbon copy of this one, save for the well-trodden path of boot prints through the dust and slashes of vivid green paint which marked each level as clear of danger.
The top floor consisted of designated living quarters. One apartment served as a makeshift rec room where everyone could come and go as they pleased, while the remaining three on the same level were split between survivors. It was a larger group than Scott had expected – nearly fifteen in total, he gathered, after mentally tallying the names Marisa read out. The majority of them had already turned in for the night, but three had waited up for their companions to return.
Jasmin stole a red beanie from a fifteen-year-oldish guy who'd been sketching at the kitchen counter.
"Dude. Quit stealing my stuff, we've been over this." She gripped his chin and turned his face in Finch's direction. "Guess what? These guys have a dog."
"Wait. Oh my god." He slid off his perch on a bar stool and padded across the open plan kitchen in socked feet. "Can I pet her? Is that cool?"
Alan let his backpack slip from his shoulder to the floor, delicately sidestepping an umbrella stand of rifles and various weapons. He caught the guy's gaze and nodded with a tired smile.
"Thanks!"
Jasmin rolled her eyes fondly as she shoved her friend aside so that she could ruffle Finch's fur too.
He elbowed her. "You stink. Take a shower before you tread zombie guts through the place."
Jasmin heaved a sigh but wrinkled her nose when she sniffed her shirt. "Ew, grim. Maybe you have a point. But if I come back and you're the dog's favourite, I'm gonna kill you."
"Jazz, I hate to break it to you, but she's not our dog. We've never going to be her favourites." He tipped his head back to direct a dazzling grin up at Alan. "Hey, I'm Theo by the way. Sorry if I came across as kinda rude, I got excited about the dog. Does she have a name?"
Alan opened his mouth, faltered, and scuffed his shoes against the floor awkwardly. He waved a hand, automatically going to sign before recalling that most people weren't fluent.
Theo's expression brightened with understanding. "Oh, wait, hang on a sec."
He reached across the counter to retrieve his sketchpad and pencil.
"Here. You can write it down. Jazz is pretty good with ASL, but I never learnt." He scrubbed a hand through his hair with a sheepish smile. "Sorry."
Alan took a moment to scrawl ink over the page in surprisingly neat writing before handing it back. He struggled out of his boots and hooked his hoodie over his abandoned backpack while Theo read through his answers.
"Finch." Theo grinned as Finch's tail thudded. "Aw. It suits her. Also, not to being an embarrassing fanboy or anything, but I couldn't help but notice your uniform. Do you fly Thunderbird Three? Because Three is my absolute favourite and I'll warn you right now that I'm probably going to annoy you a lot with all my questions. You must have some awesome stories. Am I talking too much? Sorry."
He took a deep breath.
"Let's start over. My name's Theo, Jazz has been my best friend since, like, kindergarten, and somehow I've survived eight months of the zombie apocalypse. It's great to meet you, Alan."
Alan seemed to be preoccupied with Theo and Finch, so Scott was content to let them continue while Marisa gave him the basic rundown of life in the apartment. Virgil was clearly distracted, so after being shown the apartment they'd be sharing with Marisa, Jasmin and Theo, Scott caught his brother's shoulder and hung back until they were left alone in the hallway.
"What's up?"
"A lot," Virgil confessed. He dragged a hand down his face tiredly. "We've lost track of time again. Theo said this started eight months ago. That puts us in April already."
Scott had already known they were towards the end of March – he could still recall suffering through a conversation in which Alan remained painfully obstinate that he didn't want to even acknowledge yet alone celebrate his birthday – but it still shocked him. It was only a difference of roughly two weeks, but for some reason Scott found the realisation chilling.
He propped himself against the wall to consider it. "Shit. Seems like longer and yesterday all at once."
"Tell me about it," Virgil muttered.
"You okay?"
"Not really. But are any of us?"
"Thoughts on this place?"
Virgil lowered his voice as a door opened at the end of the hallway. "They seem genuine. I trust them. Plus, I think Theo and Jasmin might be good for Alan."
Neither of them mentioned Gordon. They had yet to discuss what had happened at the hospital and it hung between them like an ominous storm cloud. Scott was unwilling to broach the subject, particularly when he was still battling dizzy spells. He needed to eat something, hit the shower and then sleep for a solid five hours. Probably let Virgil redress his injuries too. God, he was tired.
"Hey," Virgil murmured in that particular blend of warmth and concern. "C'mon, Marisa said food should be ready in ten minutes. You need as many calories as you can get. Besides… We might have a new problem on our hands."
Scott pushed himself away from the wall and for once didn't protest when Virgil moved to support him. "Gonna elaborate?"
Virgil exhaled in a rush. "Exactly how easy do you think it's going to be getting Gordon to eat something?"
"That's..."
"Yeah, I know. It might not be an issue, but he's… Well. One problem at a time, right?"
One of the lower levels had been dedicated to growing fresh produce. It was the first time Scott had eaten something which wasn't out of a can or a dehydrated long-life good in nearly a month. There was a cosy, comforting quality about the kitchen too – homely in a manner which soothed the raw wounds in his soul.
Little flames danced on candlewicks along the windowsills. Curtains were drawn to keep out the menace of night. Lamps were dim but determined, glowing gold as the generator purred steadily. Tantalising scents wafted from the kitchen where real food was cooking in the oven. There were even a few potted herbs perched above the sink.
Those who had been on patrol or hadn't eaten earlier were scattered across the sofa and carpet in the living-room. His brothers weren't amongst them.
Scott slipped into the kitchen and glimpsed Jasmin, Theo and Alan sharing a packet of chocolate buttons. The trio were sat on the floor with their backs pressed against the cupboards. Jasmin was in the middle, translating for Alan so that he didn't have to keep writing everything down, and the packet was balanced on her knees where they could all reach it.
There was an easy sense of companionship between them which was clear to see even at first glance, but what struck Scott the most was the fact that Alan was smiling. Truly, genuinely smiling, all sunshine warmth and freckles like the way he used to, the smile which had been missing for months.
John was sat at the counter beside Gordon. He caught Scott's gaze with a knowing look.
Finch flaked across the tiles in front of the oven to soak up the warmth. Alan stretched his legs to bury his socked feet under her flank. Theo was sniggering, tipped sideways to lean against Jasmin, eyes watering with the effort not to laugh too loudly as the walls were thin and some people were already asleep.
Jasmin pushed her hair out of her face so that he could spy her arched brows. "Dude. How much sugar have you had?"
"Not enough," Theo quipped, plucking a button out of the packet and squinting as he tried to aim it at Alan.
Alan grinned, let it bounce off his nose, and caught it mid-air.
Theo went bug-eyed. "Oh my god. How? Teach me."
Alan winked. "A lot of practise."
Marisa glanced up from dicing vegetables. "Where'd you get the chocolate?"
"I've been saving it for a special occasion," Theo replied, stealing another button. "This seems pretty dang special to me."
"Yeah," Jasmin chimed in with an elbow to his ribs, "It's not every day you get to meet your hero."
Theo flushed. "Shut up, Jazz! He's not- I mean- I just think Thunderbird Three is super cool and Alan happens to be, you know, a freaking astronaut and-"
"Wow," Jasmin deadpanned. "Smooth."
Theo slid down the cupboard to sprawl on his back with a pitiful whine. "Why are you like this?"
"No, Theo," Jasmine shot back. There was a teasing gleam in her eyes which Scott missed seeing in Gordon's. "Why are you like this?"
Scott caught Alan's gaze and tilted his head ever-so-slightly in question. Alan narrowed his eyes as if to bounce the query back at him. Are you okay?
The answer, apparently, was yes for both of them, so Scott took a seat on Gordon's other side and tried to repress the swirling worry that was steadily forming a pit in his stomach, because his brother still wasn't responsive. He hadn't acknowledged John's presence at all. The only emotion he had shown was when he'd pulled Alan close in an effort to protect him from the horde and even that hadn't been an open expression of concern.
Scott had no idea what to do. Feeling helpless didn't sit well with him. He was reluctant to touch his brother for fear of triggering him into a headspace they couldn't pull him out of. They were in entirely unknown waters and the threat of drowning was all too great.
"Scott," John murmured, chin propped in one palm so that he appeared to be leaning casually against the counter when in actuality he was keeping his words secret from the rest of the room's occupants. "Have you still got that lighter?"
"Virgil's got it." Scott hesitated, before trying to pry further. "Why? Are you…? Is it getting…?"
"Not yet." John pushed a glass of water towards him. "Drink that. You're dehydrated. I'll let you know if it gets too loud, believe me."
It, of course, being the hivemind. Scott repressed a shudder at the thought. He curled his fingers around the cool glass to ground himself. Jasmin and Theo's laughter mixed behind him and there was something about the innocent sound which eased the tension from his shoulders.
Virgil had his sleeves rolled up and was helping Marisa with the vegetables. Alan allowed Theo to grab his hands and haul him to his feet, stealing spare bar stools on the other side of the counter while Jasmin vanished into an adjourning room to help set the table for dinner.
Scott drained his water and ran a thumb around the rim of the glass to occupy his hands. Alan's gaze flickered from the movement to Gordon – slumped over his folded arms so that his face was hidden – and his smile dimmed a little.
"So," Theo piped up, clearly sensing the tension and trying to break it. He stuck out a hand. "Hi, I'm Theo. Sorry for stealing your brother."
Scott accepted the handshake, slightly bemused by the action. "I'm Scott. This is John, Virgil's currently helping Marisa, and Gordon… seems to be asleep right now."
Gordon didn't react. Scott really hoped that sleep was the cause.
"It's really cool to meet you guys."
Theo didn't even try to keep the obvious admiration out of his voice. His eyes were wide and bright. He reminded Scott of a golden retriever puppy.
"I can't believe it. International Rescue. Wow."
"Not anymore," Scott said before he could help himself.
John sent him a sour look.
"Seems like you're the ones rescuing us," he amended in an attempt to soften the words.
Theo shrugged. "Maybe. You're still heroes though."
He propped his elbow on Alan's shoulder and then, when he wasn't rebuffed, looped his arm around Alan.
"Can I ask how you guys got here?" He held up his hands in surrender. "I mean, not to pry, I'm just curious. Is that a rude question? You can tell me to shut up and I won't take offence."
"Can I tell him?" Alan asked, searching Scott's expression. "Is that okay? Not now, obviously, but later, when Jazz is around."
"I think Alan's planning to fill you in on the details later," John translated before Scott could say anything.
Theo nodded eagerly. "Cool, cool, cool. Sounds good." He sat up as someone called his name. "Aw, crap. I'll be back in a minute." He swatted Alan's bicep teasingly. "Don't give my seat to someone else while I'm gone."
"No promises," Alan signed, frowning as he recalled Theo couldn't understand.
Theo gave an exaggerated gasp. "I have no idea what that means, but I'm convinced it was something sassy. You have the same evil light in your eyes that Jazz gets when she's insulting me." He slid off his seat. "'Kay, back in a mo."
Scott watched him slip-n-slide across the living-room floorboards. "You two seem to be getting along well."
"Three," John corrected wryly. "Jasmin's also part of the trio."
Alan ducked his head to hide his blush as if his ears weren't steadily turning red.
"They're nice. And I..." He hesitated. "All my friends are dead, aren't they? Other than Conrad. Everyone we knew is gone. Including Brandon."
John floundered for words. What was there to say? What could be said? Alan had never been afraid to love despite having so many people torn from him too soon, but this time seemed different. He very clearly longed for that connection but now he dreaded it too, expecting to lose his newfound friends before he ever got the chance to love them.
"Alan," Scott whispered, hating the way his voice broke. "Allie."
Alan summoned a tiny smile, a mere ghost of the beam he'd been wearing earlier. Scott stared at him, struck by a wave of utter hopelessness. At his side Gordon was trying to hide from the world and in front of him Alan was scared to live in it. John was struggling to hold onto his humanity and Virgil had lost almost everything he had ever held dear. And Scott didn't know how to help any of them.
"Alan," he repeated, reaching across the table to hold his brother's wrist, but the call of food's served rang loudly around the room and his words died in his throat before he ever got chance to vocalise them.
Nothing in life is free - losing someone is always the price to pay for loving them.
Nothing more was said as they crowded into the room where the table was covered in plates of various dishes – still limited rations but practically gourmet compared to the partial cans Scott had grown used to.
He kept a close eye on Gordon and was relieved to see his brother eat everything Virgil put on his plate. Admittedly, he didn't appear to taste any of it, but at least he was eating. Scott would take the small wins. He had to, given all the big losses.
He wasn't aware of movement in the doorway until a woman at the far end of the table acknowledged the newcomer. It was a kid – a little girl in a band tee which swamped her, ginger hair coaxed into pigtails. She was roughly eight, according to Scott's best estimations, with amber eyes which seemed too large for her face.
"Birdy," Marisa asked, kneeling in front of the child. "What are you doing up, sweetheart? Bad dreams again?"
Birdy shook her head. "No. I wanted a drink. But…" Her voice trembled. "He's here. The Dead Man. He's here."
"The Dead Man?" Virgil echoed, voice laced with confusion.
Theo leant across the table to whisper, "Birdy likes to look out the window a lot. She claims she saw some guy walking amongst the zombies freely, as if he was invisible to them. This was… what, five, six days ago, something like that? Just this lone dude in the middle of all those zombies." He waggled his brows. "Pretty freaky, right?"
No one laughed.
Birdy's voice grew louder, more frantic despite Marisa's attempts to quieten her.
"You were seeing things, sweetie, I promise you," Marisa continued to protest. "There's no such thing as The Dead Man."
"Yes there is," Birdy wailed. "He's sitting right there!"
And she pointed directly at John.
