ㄨ SYNOPSIS: Six years after the worldwide collapse, the 141 survives on discipline and trade. Then a routine deal puts you right in front of them—collared, bruised, and eerily composed. They drive away. They try not to think about it. They fail.
.ᐟ CW: 18+ | zombie apocalypse au; dystopia; anarchy; slow burn; found family; eventual romance; violence; mutual pining; military/medical inaccuracies; horror/gore; smut; implied noncon/rape/abuse; hurt/comfort; angst; no use of Y/N; other tags to be added
zombie apocalypse au. - simon riley x pregnant!fem reader. inspired loosely by @drmonstersdungeon ! go check out their work :) zombies based on TLOU infection
The store had certainly been ransacked thoroughly long before you got to it. Coming into town was something you rarely liked to do. The fungus had taken over the cities and towns, crawling between floorboards in houses and weaving between cracks in the asphalt. It's difficult to navigate without triggering the hive of runners you know linger in the streets and decrepit buildings.
It also reeks.
The stench of decaying corpses and pungent fungi permeates the air in a permanent fog. Wet and thick, it sticks in the back of your throat. It used to trigger your nausea much quicker in the first trimester of your pregnancy, but you've learned new tricks in the last several months of apocalyptic living.
The old journalist in you wants to laugh. Apocalyptic Living, sold on shelves next to those catty rags about the royal family or the American HGTV booklets that are strewn haphazardly across the market floor now. It would've been a laugh. A fake doomsday guide that could never be useful, because zombies weren't real. Five months ago, you would've cackled with your boyfriend about it, teased him for purchasing it, had it been real.
It's real, now. As real as the babe in your womb, the fungus veins on the floor, and as real as the memory of Dorian's throat being ripped out by the mangled jaws of a young woman already rotting from the inside out.
Five months ago, you'd been picking out which brand of pickles he wanted, getting pads, and browsing the biscuit selection in this very store. Now it's as desolate and ransacked as the rest of England.
Toeing carefully through the aisles, you manage to find a lone pack of batteries, a couple non-perishables that had somehow missed earlier inspection, and a couple of medications still within date. They weigh your pack down a bit more, but you're used to the weight. Dorian had been a big camper, so the hiking bag on your back has held most of your possessions for months now.
A scarf is wrapped around the lower half of your face, mint leaves from your small stash of herbs shoved into your nostrils to help the stench. Your pack is accompanied by a rifle on your shoulder and a handgun at your thigh. You'd been fortunate that your mother kept your father's things when he died years ago. Your mum had been on holiday in Sicily when the outbreak happened. She hadn't come home, but you'd been able to get to her house out in the country.
One of the things you'd teased Dorian about was how similar he was to your father. Both of the men you'd loved dearly had been doomsday believers. You'd laughed then. You're grateful now. Thanks to them, you weren't left entirely exposed and vulnerable when the world went to shit.
Your father's hunting coat hides most of the bump at your belly. It serves to keep you warm in the December winter. You snag some hand warmers from the shelf and stuff them into your pockets.
An animalistic cry sounds through the shattered windows of the store. It comes from several blocks over, but it's enough to send a terrifying shiver down your spine. It's time to go. You hoist your pack onto your shoulders and make your way out through a hole in the wall. It's difficult to shift around the vehicle that had wrecked into it, your growing bump becoming more of a hindrance each day, but you squeeze out into the frigid street. A quick look both ways gives you a clear view, and you stick close to the wall, boots quiet as you make an efficient path back to your truck.
It's an electric thing Dorian had spent far too much money on, but, saved again by a man who loved you, your father's home had solar panels, and you could get enough charge to the vehicle if you limited your trips to once every two weeks. It was also quieter than the average truck, which made it less of an attraction.
There's a tremor in your limbs from the cold and an unsettling feeling in your stomach. Coming to town was always dangerous. It increased your risk of exposure exponentially, whether to infected or to ravagers. Some trash rustles down the block behind you, and your pace quickens.
The dread increases to a heart-lurching panic when you round the corner to find the truck sitting on the hubcaps. Tires slashed, all four of them. Your feet stop quickly, and you drop behind an old dumpster, pressing your hand to your mouth. Now was not the time to throw up. The truck had been covered up, half tucked behind another wrecked vehicle, and you had even tossed some trash about for good measure. You'd had an odd feeling in your gut this morning before leaving the farmhouse. You'd even considered staying home. You should've.
Focus, you tell yourself, pinching your leg. It has less of an effect with the gloves you're wearing. But you manage to pull it together enough to grab your pistol with shaking fingers. You're no soldier, no hunter. You're just a girl, scared and alone, vulnerable and cold. Slowly, you push yourself into a crouch, gun tucked to your chest like you'd seen in the cop shows. The wind bites. Another shriek sounds, closer now than before. But you know it wasn't the infected who slashed your tires. Their instinct is far more primal and far less sinister.
You think of the baby inside you, your only friend or family left. You think of the chickens at home in the shed and your dog, Alfie, waiting for you to come back. You can't fail them. You can't fail yourself.
You won't.
Your hands tremble as you pad forward, using the dumpster for cover. You could go around, go through another building. It would be better than heading out into the open. Avoiding the fungus veins on the ground and keeping a semi-steady eye on your surroundings, you duck into a nearby building. It used to be an accounting firm, you think. It smells like old paper, and the office looks decently expensive as you crouch through it. The muscles in your thighs begin to ache from moving in such a position. You force yourself through it. Better achy thighs than a bullet in your head.
Or worse. The thought comes unbidden.
As if the thought had been a premonition, you look up to make eye contact with one rotting, yellow. It moves before you can scream, the creature mutated with fungal mushroom caps growing out of its head and neck. You throw yourself backwards, raising your gun, but the creature swipes it out of your hands, shoving you to the ground.
Your voice is caught in your throat. Nothing comes out. Your eyes squeeze shut.
I'm sorry, you think to your baby, to your little Bug. Forgive me.
The impact doesn't come. A boot plants by your head, sounds of impact filling your ears. The creature groans and roars, but the sound cuts off with a quick, sickening squelch.
Forcing your eyes open, you scramble, shaking terribly, to grab your handgun from the floor. The same boot steps on your hand and you yelp.
"Don't," says a deep voice. You look up as a gloved hand swoops down to snatch your gun, freezing in terror at the sheer size of the man. He's huge, decked out in military grade gear, with a skeleton balaclava covering everything but his eyes. He cleans his knife on his pant leg, then holds the gun, your gun, at you.
"Please don't-" You start, but he cuts you off with a shushing motion. Your mouth snaps shut. What else can you do at gunpoint with a man standing on your hand?
You watch as the man checks the gun with an efficiency you've never before seen. He looks down at you for a moment before nudging your shoulder with his boot to make you roll over. You grunt, but the action twists your arm, and you wince.
His eyes catch on your belly, and you instinctively curl around it as best as you can. His eyes are cold, dark beneath that mask and his strong brow. You watch as his eyes search the rest of you.
"Did it get you?" He asks, voice low. It's almost low and quiet enough that it slips past your ears. You shake your head quickly. You don't think so, anyway. Everything just hurts from hitting the ground. He grunts before lifting his boot off your hand. "Get up. Ravagers found your truck. We need to move."
Your bones ache as you slowly make your way to your feet. The... infected that had attacked you lies on the ground, throat sliced open enough to see the esophagus and trachea. Some sort of fluid that's no longer sanguine leaks from its cut flesh. The sight of it makes bile rise in your throat, so you clamp your hand over your mouth. You're still shaking, still terrified.
He grabs your chin with rough, gloved fingers, making you focus on him. "You gonna be a good girl if I give this back to you?"
Something tingles under your skin. Fear, maybe a flicker of hope. You nod.
He turns it around and places it in the holster at your thigh. "Gonna shoot your own foot off with how you were holdin' it. Stay behind me. Don't talk."
Your face burns beneath the scarf, and your head tilts in a jerky nod. He wouldn't give you your gun back if he wanted to hurt you, right?He'd saved you from the infected. Surely that meant something. He could've let it kill you, then ransack your pack for supplies.
He gives you one lingering look-over to check you again, then turns on his boot, getting out his own gun. You stick close as he leaves the building, eyes wide and frightened, temporarily blinded by the cold light of the December morning. The veins are mostly what you focus on. You don't want to trip and embarrass yourself further.
He moves with the efficiency of a serpent. Smooth movements, quick, steady, sure. Based on the decisiveness of his mobility, you're sure he was a soldier before the outbreak. The gear, the competence with the firearms, and his execution of the infected. It all adds up. You'd done a few interviews and on-site journalism pieces involving the Met-Police, analysing response teams for your articles and local news pieces. He seems... deadlier. Yet, something about having him with you feels safer, even though he's brutish and off-putting.
The mint and cold air burn in your airways, but it keeps you focused, keeps you here. He leads you through alleys, cuts through buildings, and you follow like a loyal, scared dog. Once or twice, he stops and listens. Your lungs tighten around your held breath.
"What is it?" you whisper.
His cold eyes cut to you, dark and calculating. His gaze could cut in its frigidity if your skin wasn't already so cold. "Bein' watched," he mutters in response.
Your stomach squeezes and you think you lose a bit of color. "Ravagers?"
He nods once. "Stay close."
You do as you're told. He's capable, he's better at this than you are, and you're still fucking scared.
He weaves both of you through town, needle and thread through cloth. The man heads north, toward the countryside, where your home sits about an hour north by dirt road. He brings you to an older cottage on the outskirts of town, one long abandoned. Sure feet head through the door as he clears the small home.
You stay in the living room, transfixed by the sight of what was once the abode of a little family. A mum, dad, and little boy. Baby toys litter the floor, pictures lining the walls. There's a mug of tea on the coffee table, long-dry and slightly molded. You wonder if this would've been your life had the outbreak not happened. Led by seemingly mother’s intuition, your feet lead you. You wonder if you're even allowed to call it that, yet. Being a mother doesn't feel quite real.
The nursery is quaint. Warm browns and gentle greens greet you. It's beautiful, genuinely. An uncomfortable knot forms in the middle of your throat. This could've been yours. It should have been yours. Your gloved hand settles over your rounded belly, and you sink into the rocking chair in the corner, feeling your eyes well and spill. Thick, hot tears roll down your cheeks into your scarf. You bury your face into your gloved hands.
You hadn't known you were pregnant when the outbreak hit. You hadn't known when Dorian died. You didn't even know until two months ago. You'd figured the nausea and difference in your period were due to the stress of the world burning down. It hadn't occurred to you in the slightest that you were with child. You were scared shitless upon finding out. You still are. And if it weren't for the fact that you would need medical assistance now with terminating the pregnancy, you probably would've done it.
Somewhere along the line, the little bug had become a friend instead of a parasitic reminder of everything you lost. The it became your baby, your companion. Bug is who you talk to, who you read, and sing to.
A floorboard creaks, and you look up, startled. It's him, the man who saved you. He stares at you. It's so hard to read him with that mask on, but you're starting to think he might just be expressionless.
"Sorry," you sniffle, pulling your scarf down from your face and taking the mint from your nostrils. His eyes immediately catch on the exposed features.
He doesn't respond to your apologies. His dark eyes move about the nursery, taking it all in in that calculating way that he does. The man goes to the closet and grabs a bag, beginning to stuff some baby clothes, wipes, diaper creams, diapers, and anything else he can grab into it.
"What're you doing?" You ask, sniffling again.
He gives you a look that says What do you think I'm doing? You shrink a little.
"You'll need it," he says shortly. "They don't anymore." It's cold. It's cruel. It's true. This family, whoever they are, is clearly not using this home anymore. Maybe they found somewhere safe, you think. You don't allow yourself to muse over other possibilities.
He straightens, hooking the bag over his shoulder. "Ravagers lost us. Let's get going."
You stand, aching, tired, and upset.
"You got somewhere you're staying?" He asks.
You shouldn't tell him. You don't know him. But you're so tired, and you just want to go home. "It's 32 kilometers north. S'why I used the truck," you say solemnly. It would take anywhere between six to nine hours to walk there, probably closer to nine in your condition.
He seems to calculate the same thing. His eyes narrow, and he sighs. "We'll stay here, then, tonight. Leave at first light when you've got some rest."
You don't fight it like you should. Alfie and the chickens will be fine. They've got automatic feeders. So many things have happened this morning, and you're exhausted despite the hour.
"Stay here. I'll be back by 1300. You got a watch?"
You nod, raising your wrist to show him. He nods, then points at your gun. "Get it out."
Frowning, you do as you're told.
He comes over, towering over you in shadow. You compare him in your mind to the god of death. A spectre, maybe. He fixes your grip. "Two hands, like this. Understood?"
You nod, your throat feeling too raw to speak anymore.
"Hang onto it. I'll announce myself when I get back. Shoot anyone else. Understood?" He repeats, voice low and firm.
You nod once again.
"Good girl," he says before placing the baby bag at your feet and disappearing from the cottage.
He walks with an extra pep in his step on his way back to the truck. There were no ravagers. They were easy to pick off, and he's been keeping this town cleaned up for months. He couldn't have it be unsafe for the little rabbit that comes in to forage. The stalker had been a one-off that he'd missed. He'd barely contained his rage when the infected fucker almost got his prey before he did.
Oh, no, he wouldn't have that.
He goes straight to the stack of new tires he'd stashed earlier today. It was easy to set the snare. The little rabbit always parked her truck in the same spot. He knew she was skittish, knew she needed someone to catch her, pet her, keep her safe.
Slashing the tires had been quick work. Putting the new ones on, just the same.
He caught the rabbit; now it was time to take her home.
Pt. Summary: While taking care of your remaining students, you're unpleasantly surprised by a stranger.
Word Count: 5.5k
Series Masterlist
I would’ve never come to Cambridge had I known the world would be ending less than 2 years into my new position as a teacher for The Handall School. My whole goal for moving countries was to have a fresh start. I guess I got that, just not how I had hoped.
A few months after I began my job as a year 8 public school teacher, scientists in the United States of America began messing with the dead at the request of the ultra rich and government. The hope was that they would be able to successfully bring back the dead, and those who could afford it, would never have to die.
They got more than they bargained for.
They brought people back, yes. But not as themselves. They brought back blood thirsty monsters with a mission to kill any and every living person on the planet. To make things worse, the US adamantly denied anything was going on. They hid the experiment from other countries, denying rumors speculating about what was going on. They kept everything under wraps for a year until one of the people who had been brought back brutally attacked and killed everyone in the government compound it was kept in. Things went downhill very quickly from there.
The virus is slow, depending on which area of your body you’re bitten. The closer to the brain, the faster you’ll turn. People were attacked and got on planes, unknowingly bringing the disease from the US to wherever they landed. What was once a US problem turned into a planet problem and very quickly, at least half of the global population was infected.
That was 4 weeks ago.
“I’m going outside.” Luca’s voice fills the quiet air of the stuffy classroom. It’s a familiar statement, one he makes every day.
One I meet with the same response that I always do. “We can’t go outside, Luca. I’m sorry. It’s not safe.”
“When my dad gets here, I’m gone. I don’t care if it’s safe or not.” His voice is determined but quiet.
I don’t respond because I don’t have the heart to break it to him. His dad is likely not coming back. I’m sure he knows deep down. Luca is not a stupid kid. But denial is a blinding thing.
I continue to sort through our limited supply of food that I managed to snag from the vending machines and cafeteria the day Cambridge was attacked. There’s not much left, maybe enough for another week or two. That’s pushing it.
With a sigh I glance around my former art classroom turned hideout. The windows are covered in construction paper to limit the view of the outside in. The way they’re covered limits the amount of light that can come into the room, creating an almost eerie feel I’ve been forced to get used to. My students' old desks are stacked in front of the windows as an attempted layer of protection.
In the corner of the room are cupboards filled with supplies from my class. Olivia’s backpack rests against them, her coloring pages and crayons sprawled out around it. In the center of the room are a few foam nap mats I managed to steal from the year 1 classes down on the other side of the building. They’re covered in miscellaneous blankets I also found. A few random jackets have been balled up act as pillows.
This room looks nothing like the room I spent so much time and energy decorating at the beginning of the year. What was once vibrant and full of life is now dull and dusty.
But realistically, I know it’s likely some of them aren’t. And that kills me.
My eyes linger on the desks near the wall. A large faint drawing of a bird liters the top of a desk on the bottom. Memories of the day I spent hours scrubbing out the sharpie fill my mind. I was so frustrated when I figured out who doodled on the desk. Now, all I feel is dread and fear. I would give anything to know that Maria, the girl who drew the bird, is okay. I would give anything to know that any of my former students are okay.
I try to focus on what I do know: there are two children alive and I’m responsible for them. I’m the only person they have now, and I can’t protect them if I’m distracted.
I take a seat near Olivia who’s silently stroking the hair of the stuffed dog I found her a few weeks ago. “Hi Livy, how are you feeling today?”
She doesn’t look up at first. She adjusts the dog’s ear to straighten it. “I’m bored.” She says with a soft sigh. “Luca won’t play with me. He says Uno’s stupid.”
Across the room Luca doesn’t react. He just stares out an uncovered sliver of the window at the greenhouse in the distance.
I give her a gentle smile. “Luca just needs some space, alright kiddo? I’ll play uno with you.”
Olivia finally looks up at me. “Properly?” She asks. “Not just letting me win?”
“I would never let you win. I’m too competitive for that.”
She nods, satisfied, and sets the dog on the ground next to her.
Olivia shuffles the cards carefully before setting aside 7 for each of us. “When everything goes back to normal, do you think they’ll make us redo year 3?” She asks casually, slipping my cards to me.
No matter how much I explain to her that life won’t be the same as before, she can’t seem to understand it yet. I don’t blame her. I doubt my kid mind could grasp the concept of a zombie apocalypse.
“I don’t know.” I say instead of trying to re-explain everything to her. “Maybe.”
“Mum won’t like that. She says repetition isn’t productive.” Olivia pauses, studying her cards before placing a red one on the red seven I pulled from the large stack. “Phones are still broken everywhere, aren’t they?” She asks, not looking at me. “It’s not just ours.”
“It’s everywhere.” I tell her gently.
She nods, accepting that. “Because mum would’ve rung.” She says quietly. “If she could.”
I swallow. “Yeah, she would’ve.”
Olivia wins three rounds in a row and beams when I groan dramatically. She hums softly to herself while she re-shuffles the cards.
Across the room, Luca eventually gives up staring out the window and drops onto his makeshift bed, thumbing uselessly at his long-dead phone. Olivia glances at him once.
“He’s cross all the time now.” She whispers to me. “He wasn’t like that before. Some days he’ll want to play uno, others he’ll say it’s stupid. It’s all very confusing, Miss.”
“We all have good and bad days, or days where we need space, Olivia. Today Luca needs space. There’s nothing wrong with feeling different emotions.”
She considers that. “True.”
We finish our fifteenth round before her energy dips again. “Miss?” She says politely.
“Yeah?”
“I need the toilet.”
I glance over at Luca. “Do you need to go too, Luca? It’s been a few hours since our last bathroom break.”
Luca doesn’t look up or answer.
“Don’t move.” I tell him firmly while getting up.
He doesn’t respond to that either.
I push my heavy teacher desk away from the classroom door. I grab a pair of scissors, the only weapon I could find in the building, and a flashlight. Carefully and quietly I crack open the classroom door. The hallway is very dark aside from the tiny bits of light that filter into the hall through the slits of windows on the other classroom doors.
“Stay close.” I tell Olivia. She slips her small hand into mine automatically.
I lead Olivia to the very end of the hall where the bathrooms are.
“Why don’t they fix the lights?” She whispers.
“There’s no one left to fix them.”
She’s quiet at that.
We reach the bathrooms at the end of the hallway. I go in before her, making sure no one and nothing is going to surprise us. Like usual, the multi-stall bathroom is completely empty.
“Alright, all clear.” I set the flashlight on the counter and point it towards the ceiling so Olivia can see.
Olivia slips into one of the stalls, locking it carefully. I keep the door open while I stand guard and wait for her to finish. When she finishes, she exits the stall and walks towards the hand sanitizer I set on the counter weeks ago. I hear her softly count under her breath while she ‘washes’ her hands with sanitizer, something she started doing when the taps ran dry.
“Is it still two minutes?” She asks.
“For what?”
“For washing. Mum says it’s two minutes.”
“Yeah, that was two minutes.” I reassure her although I stopped listening to her count somewhere after 40.
She’s just finishing, carefully placing the sanitizer bottle back exactly where she found it when a should echoes down the hallway.
“Dad?”
Immediately alarm fills me at the sound of Luca’s voice.
“Olivia, let’s go.” I rush her, snatching the flashlight from the counter. I grab her hand and pull her along with me, running as fast as I can towards the classroom. I see Luca bolt out of the classroom with our only other flashlight in hand. He runs towards the stairs at full speed. “Luca wait! Wait for me!” I call after him. He doesn’t listen.
“Olivia, stay in the classroom. I’ll be right back. Remember what I told you? Hide in the cupboard. Practice our plan.” I instruct her while pushing her into the room. “It’ll be okay, sweetie. I promise.” I try to reassure her.
“I’m scared, miss.” Her eyes are shiny and wide.
“It’ll be okay. I promise. I’ll be right back. Go hide!”
“We don’t know who it is, Luca. You need to wait, please.” My heart pounds from nerves.
I hear the door click as it closes behind me while I bolt after Luca. He’s downstairs by the time I reach the staircase. I follow behind him, pleading with him to wait.
Luca continues running towards a door on the side of the building that he knows isn’t padlocked. He pushes the desks I stacked in front of it out of the way before aggressively pushing on the door. It emits a loud squeak that echoes through the hallway as it flies open. The bright evening sun floods into the hallway, overwhelming my unadjusted eyes. For a moment, I squeeze my eyes shut in surprise.
What the hell is he doing?
I force myself to continue after the 13 year old, my scissors still tightly clenched in my hands.
My heart is pounding as I step outside of the building for the first time in weeks. I can immediately tell a difference in the air. It’s much less stuffy out here. The wind whips my shirt against my chest. I look around, trying to find Luca.
My eyes catch on the familiar boy standing near the school greenhouse. I follow his eyes to what he’s looking at. Everything in the greenhouse is long past dead, including the person standing inside. Somehow the infected person managed to get into the greenhouse and close the door behind them, effectively locking itself inside.
Its eyes are milky white and bleary. Its mouth opens and closes as it slams its shoulder into the glass with a sickening thud, trying to reach for Luca. There’s a large bite on the side of its neck, crusted dark red blood training from the bite and staining the entire left side of its shirt collar. Its body is a sickly greyish white color. Its clothes are nearly ripped to shreds, but still intact enough for me to understand that whoever this was worked at the a nearby gas station. It’s a horrifying sight, one I force myself to look away from to focus on Luca.
Luca doesn’t move when I reach him. He’s staring through the greenhouse glass, shoulders slack, breath shallow.
“Luca.” I step closer.
He doesn’t look at me. “I thought that was him. I thought it was my dad.” His voice is quiet. “He said he’d meet me, that day. He said he’d be here.”
The words hit me like a punch.
The creature inside drags broken fingers down the glass, leaving streaks of crusted blood.
I gently take his shoulders and turn him away from it. “I know.”
His jaw tightens immediately, like he hates that I’m seeing him so upset. “You don’t!” He’s defensive. “You weren’t there.” He steps back, ripping his shoulders from me, wiping his face roughly with his sleeve like he’s angry at himself. “And don’t look at me like that.”
I respect the distance he puts between us.
“My dad’s coming. He said he would.” Luca’s voice is firmer, like he’s trying to convince himself. “ He always shows up in the end.”
The infected slams into the glass again. Luca doesn’t flinch, he just stares past it.
“Let’s go inside.” I say carefully, my anxiety growing as I notice the sun is very close to setting. It wouldn’t be smart to be outside in the dark, especially with no protection. “We can’t stay out here.”
“He’s out there somewhere.” Luca replies, ignoring my comments. “You don’t know he’s not.”
The wind picks up again, rattling loose metal somewhere near the car park. I glance up at the sky. Clouds are beginning to roll in. It might rain tonight.
“We’ll sort this out in the morning.” I promise him. “Yeah? We’ll figure something out, a way to get you back to your dad.”
Luca shakes his head, letting out a bitter half-laugh. “You always say that. We never do. I want to find him now.” He spits stubbornly, turning to walk towards the parking lot. “Enough waiting for tomorrow.”
He’s right, I do. Because I don’t have anything else to give him. His dad is gone, we have no idea where he is or if he’s even alive. It’s been 4 weeks. Luca lives 3 blocks away. How could it be taking him this long to get here?
The more time we spend out here, the more I feel my anxiety growing. I have no idea what to do. I can’t leave Olivia upstairs unprotected. At the same time, I can’t let Luca go out and get himself killed.
“Go back to Olivia. I don’t need you babysitting me. I managed to get here by myself, didn’t I?” He snaps, reminding me of how he came into my care. It was the evening Cambridge got attacked. Somehow he managed to make it back to the school from his house after his dad told him he’d meet him in the parking lot before driving off to supposedly pick up his girlfriend.
I’m about to respond when I hear a scream from inside the school.
Olivia.
My eyes widen and Luca immediately snaps around.
“Shit!” I turn and bolt towards the building, Luca hot on my heels. As we run the hallway I spot the school's front doors completely shattered. Someone or something broke in.
Upstairs my classroom door is flung wide open. Olivia’s sobs get louder the closer I get.
I don’t slow down. I round the corner into the doorway and freeze.
Inside the room, a massive figure stands in the center of the classroom, between the foam mats and the cupboard. Between Olivia and the exit.
Olivia is exactly where I told her to go. She’s curled into the supply cupboard, knees pressed to her chest. Her back is against the wall, her stuffed dog crushed tightly in her arms. Her eyes are huge and shiny, locked on the man in front of her.
He’s enormous. His broad shoulders are swallowed in tactical gear. A heavy black vest is strapped tight across his chest. It’s covered in pouches, holsters, and straps. He’s dressed in a military uniform that’s darkened with what looks like blood. A rifle hangs across his back, secured by a sling that cuts diagonally over his torso. On top of the rifle is a black backpack, the straps pulled over his thick arms. Another weapon rests steady in his hands, lowered but ready. It’s not pointed directly at Olivia, more at the ground next to her.
His boots are planted wide, solid against the classroom floor. Muddy footprints trail from the shattered entrance downstairs all the way here. He didn’t try to hide his arrival.
As soon as he senses our presence, he spins towards us, immediately lifting the gun in his hands. His face is covered by a thick black mask with white lines littered on the front. It takes me a second to realize it’s a skull.
His eyes are dark and narrowed. They flicker between Luca and I, obviously assessing our threat level. His eyes snap towards the scissors in my hand which is pointedtowards him. I protectively push Luca behind me, putting my body in front of the boy.
“Miss…” Olivia’s voice trembles.
“It’s okay, Livy. I’m here.” I try to keep my voice steady. The man’s eyes burn into mine, his gaze firm and clearly not intimidated by my weapon.
“I didn’t know there were people in the school.” His voice is rough and scratchy from lack of use.
“Now you do. You need to step away from her.” My voice sounds small compared to him. I hate that. He’s obviously got the upperhand with guns and his large frame. I have no idea what to do if he decides to attack us.
Surprisingly, he shifts one step away from the cupboard. He’s slow and intentional with his movements. His gun is still pointed towards us but his finger is nowhere near the trigger. “‘M not going to hurt her.”
His words do little to comfort me. I have no idea who this man is. He could be lying for all I know.
“Are you police?” Olivia asks. “Mum says guns are illegal. And you have one.”
The man spares a short glance in her direction. “No.” He doesn’t offer any extra information.
“He’s military.” Luca supplies.
His eyes meet mine again. “You in charge?” His tone isn’t aggressive, just flat.
I straighten my shoulders, trying to make myself appear more intimidating than I am. “Yes.”
His eyes scan across the room, like he’s taking inventory of what we’ve got. “Are you waiting for anyone?”
I hesitate to answer, unsure if I should lie and say yes. Maybe he’ll leave if he thinks there’s more of us?
“My dad.” Luca responds.
The man raises an eyebrow, his eyes flickering to the 3 mat beds on the floor. He’s obviously clocking that there’s only 3 of us currently living here.
“Luca’s dad hasn’t come in 4 weeks.” Olivia supplies, earning a small glare from Luca.
“It doesn’t matter. He’ll be here.”
The man doesn’t pay attention to their comments. “You won’t last here.” He states the obvious.
“What do you want?” I ask. “Our food? Our supplies? You can take it if you leave my kids and I alone.”
“Don’t want your food.” His voice is flatter. He shifts his weight and I notice the way his hand tightens slightly around the grip of his gun. His shoulders draw in for a half a second, like something pulls under his vest. “You need to move. The entrance is shattered. The noise’ll draw them in.” His words are precise but there’s a faint strain in his tone now.
“You don’t get to tell us what to do.” Luca snaps.
The man's gaze flickers to him. I can see his mask ripple slightly as he clenches his jaw. Then I notice the dark patch spreading along the side of his tactical vest. At first it looks the mud on his boots. I quickly realize it’s blood. A single drop hits the classroom floor with a soft ‘plop’.
The man takes a step forward, his balance slightly off in a way it wasn’t minutes before. He steadies himself against one of the stacked desks. I see it now, the way his body faintly sways. His shoulders rise and fall heavier than before. He’s bleeding badly.
“Were you bit?” It’s the first thing that comes to mind. Although his wound looks more like it could potentially be from a stab than a bite.
“No.” He huffs, eyes cold.” ‘S nothing.”
Another drop of blood hits the floor, this one fatter than the last.
“You’re going to pass out.” I take a cautious step towards him.
The man ignores me and tries to straighten again. He large hand briefly into his side under the vest. When he pulls it away, it’s slick with blood. He sways again, just slightly. Then he sways more. His breathing turns uneven. His vision must blur because his head dips once, and he begins to blink quickly.
For a moment I hesitate. This man could be a threat. He could hurt us. What if this is an act? Then again, we’ve been here for five minutes and he hasn’t tried anything. He could’ve easily killed all of us. He hasn’t. Do I trust he won’t?
But I don’t think I could live with myself if I let him bleed out on the floor in front of the kids.
The man is stubborn and shakes his head. This seems to make him even more disoriented. He sways again, this time more violently than before.
“Luca grab the medkit.” I order while rushing towards my desk chair. I quickly push it towards the man. “Sit down.”
I pry the gun from his hands and place it as far away from the man as possible before slipping off his backpack and other gun. He’s too disoriented to fight me. I push him into my chair. His hands grip the chair arms, like he’s trying to stabilize himself. He glares at me. “Don’t touch me.” He grumbles, like he’s afraid I’ll try something.
“You’re bleeding out in my classroom. So unless you’d prefer to die surrounded by art supplies, you need to let me look at your wound.”
For a split second something flashes in his eyes. He’s assessing me again. A strained exhale leaves him and the intimidating illusion he once held is gone. He’s human.
“Luca, close the door and put the desk back in front of it. Olivia, help him.” I order the children, the man's words bouncing around my head. He’s right, the infected definitely heard Olivia scream. We need to be prepared.
Olivia climbs out of the cupboard, following my instructions.
“Is he going to turn?” Luca asks.
“‘M not bit. Knife wound.” The man grumbles. “Not infected.” The man watches as I grab the medkit Luca brought me. “If you try anything-” he starts.
“I won’t.” I cut him off. “If you lied to me about being bitten, I will kill you. Do you understand?” I threaten. My words are stern but inside I really don’t want to have to do that. I’ve never killed anything before.
“‘M not lying.”
“Good then. We shouldn’t have any problems.” I glance over at the kids who have successfully pushed the desk in front of the door. “Olivia, bring me a water bottle.” I return my attention back to the man. “You’re going to have to take that vest off.” I tell him.
He hesitates. Then with visible effort, he reaches up to unclip one of the heavy straps. His hands are shaky from blood loss.
Olivia watches from afar, looking at the man with wide eyes. “Miss?”
“It’s okay, Olivia.” I try to remain calm while unbuttoning the man's shirt. I carefully peel it open, trying not to hurt the man. My eyes immediately find the wound. It’s a stab, just like he said. While it’s bloody, it thankfully doesn’t look deep enough to hit any vital organs. I’m not going to be able to stitch it with the arm of the chair in the way. “Sir, I can’t stitch you up like this. We’re going to need to move you to the floor. Luca come help me get him down.”
I pull my mat bed close to the chair. Luca holds the chair steady while I help the man scoot close enough to the edge of the chair to lower himself to the mat.
I do my best to stitch the man up. Somewhere along the way he passes out. When I finish stitching him, I use a shirt I cut into rags to wipe blood off of his chest. I use a little water to rinse my hands in the classroom sink before wetting a clean rag. I walk back to the man, crouching beside him. I gently pull his balaclava off, revealing the face of man. His light brown hair is overgrown and sticks to his pale forehead from sweat. He has a defined jaw covered in stubble and long lashes that rest peacefully against his cheeks. His lips are slightly open and his brows are gently drawn, most likely from pain. He’s definitely a handsome man.
I softly wipe his face with the wet cloth, trying to cool him down.
“Is he going to die?” Olivia asks while taking a seat on her foam mat bed.
“I hope not.”
“Can we keep his guns?” Luca asks while eyeing the weapons.
“No. None of us knows how to shoot them. We could hurt ourselves.” I frown at the thought of Luca or Olivia using a gun. No kid should be using them.
“We could learn.” Luca protests.
“No, Luca. It’s final.” I say sternly.
Luca mutters something to himself in annoyance while settling down on his own mat. He lays with his back towards Olivia and I, obviously not interested in talking anymore.
I maneuver the man so he can lay down. It’s a difficult task, one that takes multiple attempts, but I eventually succeed.
With the last of the sunlight, I gather the man's weapons and supplies, locking everything but one of the guns up in my cupboard. Although I have no idea how to use the gun, having it near me brings a sense of comfort. I sit in my chair, facing the man lying in my mat, the gun flat across my lap. My gaze flickers between the man and the kids every so often.
“Can you tell me a story?” Olivia’s voice cuts through the heavy silence in the room.
“What kind of story do you want to hear about tonight, Livy?” I ask softly.
She shifts under the blanket, hugging her stuffed dog close. “One where someone finds someone.”
I swallow. “Okay.”
She settles, eyes wide and expectant.
“Once upon a time,” I begin, keeping my voice gentle, “there was a little bird who didn’t have a nest anymore.”
Olivia frowns slightly. “Why?”
“There was a big storm,” I say. “Bigger than any storm the city had ever seen. It shook the trees and knocked branches loose and scattered everyone in different directions.”
Her fingers twist into the fabric of the dog’s ear.
“The bird was very small,” I continue. “And very scared. She didn’t know what was going to happen to her flock.”
Olivia’s voice is small. “Did they come back?”
“I don’t know,” I say honestly. “Storms make things confusing. But this bird… she kept waiting. Her pigeon friends offered to fly with her to another roof. But she couldn’t leave her little sparrow friends behind. Not when they needed her.”
The room is quiet except for the soft hum of wind against boarded windows. Across the room, Luca shifts but doesn’t interrupt.
“Day after day less and less little sparrows came to the rooftop. On a really stormy day, the bird saw a little sparrow sitting there in the rain. This little bird was the last to come to the rooftop,” I say. “She could’ve flown away. It would’ve been easier. But she didn’t.”
“Why not?”
“Because she realized the sparrow was too little to stay alone on a rooftop forever.”
Olivia’s breathing grows quieter.
“So the bigger bird stayed,” I continue. “She didn’t know how to build the best nest. She didn’t know how to fix storms. But she knew how to keep watch. And she knew how to share crumbs. And after a while,” I say gently, “they found another bird. A slightly grumpy one. He didn’t like sharing crumbs and he pretended he didn’t care about nests at all.”
Luca huffs quietly from his mat.
“But he stayed too,” I add. “Because even grumpy birds don’t like being alone in storms.”
Olivia giggles softly.
“And the three birds built a new nest together,” I say. “Not a perfect one. It had gaps and it wasn’t very pretty. But it was theirs.”
She’s quiet for a moment.
“Did the sparrow still miss her flock?” she asks.
“Yes,” I answer immediately. “Every day.”
“Then why didn’t she fly away to find them?”
I take a slow breath.
“Because sometimes,” I say carefully, “when you’re small and tired and the sky is still stormy… the bravest thing you can do is stay. And trust that the birds who found you are trying their best.”
Olivia’s eyes are glassy now, but she nods.
“The bigger bird didn’t try to replace her flock,” I continue softly. “She just made sure the little sparrow wasn’t alone while she waited.”
Silence settles over us.
“And the storm?” Olivia whispers.
“Storms don’t last forever,” I tell her. “Even when they feel like they do.”
“That’s a good one,” she murmurs with a sleepy yawn.
“Get some sleep, Livy.”
Both Luca and Livy’s breaths even out after a few minutes. I think everyone’s asleep.
Then, from the darker corner of the classroom, the man's low voice cuts through. “You’re not their mother, are you?”
“No.” I reply, a little surprised he's awake. “I’m their art teacher.”
“Why’d you take them in? They’re not your responsibility.”
“They might not be my biological children, but they’re still my kids. My responsibility. When you joined the military, you made a promise to protect and serve your country. When I became a teacher, I made a promise too. I promised to protect my students no matter what the situation. Lockdown, fire drill, apocalypse. It doesn’t matter. They’re my children and I don’t break my promises.” My voice is quiet.
The man is silent for a few minutes. “What happened to their parents?”
“When news of the infection in America broke out, parents started pulling their kids from class here. Unfortunately, not every parent has the luxury to take time off work, even in an apocalypse. Some parents didn’t believe the news and others didn’t care.” My eyes flicker towards Luca’s sleeping form.
“Every day less kids started showing up. Teachers stopped showing up. Admin too.” I pause.”I couldn’t leave the remaining kids behind without knowing what would’ve happened to them. So I stayed. The day the outbreak in London happened, Olivia was the only kid left at school. Her mom never showed up to get her up. I waited with Olivia, we hid in my classroom when things on the street got crazy.”
I swallow before continuing. “A few days after Cambridge was overrun, Luca made it back to the school. He waited in his house for his dad to show up for 2 days. When his dad finally came back, the day everything happened, his dad told him to come back to the school. Said that he’d be back to get Luca after he dropped by his girlfriend's house to pick her and her kids up. Neither Luca’s dad nor Olivia’s mom have shown up.”
Silence hangs heavy. I break it with a question. “How did you get hurt?”
“Classified.”
I roll my eyes. “Come on. I tell you my story and all you have to say is ‘classified’?”
He doesn’t respond. My patience thins. “Can you at least tell me your name?”
There’s another pause of silence. He’s hesitating.
“Ghost. My name’s Ghost.”
“Well Ghost, I have a proposition.” I begin. “You’re right. We can’t stay here in a building with a broken entrance. And the infected nearby likely heard Olivia scream. My priority is to keep these kids safe. They don’t have anyone besides me anymore. But I can’t do this alone. I don’t have any weapons. I don’t have any clue how to make it out there. I need your help.” I pause. “And you need antibiotics so your wound doesn’t get infected. I’ll give you what I have if you get me and the kids someplace safe.”
“Antibiotics.” He says, voice calm. “Then we move. No detours. No talking.”
I feel a wave of relief crash over me at his agreeing. I was worried this would be more of a fight. “Agreed.” I glance at Olivia and Luca.
“Give me a day to heal. We leave at dawn.” He says. A moment later, he speaks again. “Why do you trust me? To get you someplace safe. I could all three of you.”
“I don’t trust you. But my need to keep them safe is greater than my distrust of you. Cambridge is a ghost town aside from the infected. You’re my only chance of us having a shot.”
Simon Ghost Riley x Reader (The Living Kill Too) Ch7
Well guys here is the next chapter and I hate myself for what I have done. WARNINGS: Character Death, Sickness, Close Calls and Suffering.
Ghost was still warring with his thoughts even a week later. He had been watching small herds of dead moving through the town from his vantage point in a bell tower. Thankfully they were all headed away from the base. You invaded his dreams sometimes as he replayed the event of you kissing him, but his mind would sometimes go past just kissing and he would wake up with more problems than when he went to sleep.
If he learned anything it was to find comfort even in the most uncomfortable situations. During the beginning of the week he could go back to sleep, but then he took matters into his own hands literally. He had another week of watching for large herds and as he scanned the area he saw a flicker of light a couple streets over. It was one of the men signaling to him. He signaled back with his own light for the all clear of no herds or other humans in the area.
They signalled back and the light disappeared and he watched the silhouette of the scout making their way back to base. The sun had gone down a few hours ago as he relaxed into the corner where he spread out a sleeping bag. Winter was fast approaching and the wind was rattling through the building. He had been in cold conditions before this was no different as he settled in to sleep.
At the base you were in Ghost’s room as you tried to sleep. The cold seeping into the room wasn’t unbearable, but it reminded you that you were alone. It didn’t help that you had been having nightmares the whole week. It was starting to take its toll as you had dark circles under your eyes, but the leg was healed enough where you could walk and run again. You had been very helpful to doc as people were getting sick with the temperatures outside fluctuating.
He was trying to save as much medication as you did research on medicinal plants. An older woman had a greenhouse full of medicinal herbs and plants. It was becoming useful and she was teaching you what could be used to heal or used as a treatment. You hated to admit, but you missed Ghost. As much as you didn’t want to admit you had grown close to him and he seemed to understand your reluctance to trust some of the men around the base.
Josie had come by when she found out what had happened to you and was so upset that you were willing to forgive Ghost. “It wasn’t like he did it on purpose”, you explain. “I get that it was an episode, but he should have stopped after that first hit”, she huffed. “Sometimes nothing you do can help someone going through an episode. Sometimes interacting with them makes it worse”, you explained. “Well it was a dick move to just up and leave like he did”, Josie countered.
“I don’t take it to heart Josie. He probably needs time to reflect and get back in a good head space besides I’m still indebted to him for what he has been doing for me”, you respond. “Like what? What could make this all okay and you not take it to heart”, she argued. You looked around the room to make sure no one was listening in. “He has been letting me help with the torture of our prisoner”, you calmly whispered. Josie’s eyes went wide as the realization of what you had just said sank in.
“Why are you whispering?”, she asked. “Because everyone around here thinks Ghost is torturing him for information about a gang of raiders. I don’t want it getting out that I… well you know”, you said. You couldn’t bring yourself to say that word not even now lest the images of what happened flash in your head. Josie didn’t say anything after that other than watching you to see if you would say anything else.
The next couple of weeks went well and you continued to help in the medical wing. Your back had been healing and there would certainly be scars from the glass at the hospital that you and Ghost had raided. The days blurred together but eventually Ghost came back. He had a cough that he swore was just from not having enough water, but you knew better than that. You had watched him when traveling and he was always prepared.
He looked so tired and worn out, but kept gruffing at you that he was fine. Later that night when he fell asleep you felt your way to him and felt his head. He was burning up and there was no way that he didn’t have a fever. You quickly made your way to the door and pulled your blindfold off. You ran to get Doc who went in while you waited outside Ghost’s door. “Of all the symptoms he has I would say he has Strep. His fever is very high and I want to start him on IV antibiotics right away. Worst case scenario is his throat starts swelling to where we would have to intubate”, Doc explains.
“He won’t want to be in the hospital wing. Can we set everything up here? Besides I can isolate myself here with him so no one else other than myself risks getting sick in case it’s not strep. Someone can drop supplies off and knock”, you relay. “That would be for the best. I’ll go get all the supplies and be right back”, Doc says. The only problem now was you would have to see his face in order to care for him. Doc made it back and set everything up with your help and not once did you look at his face.
“Alright everything is set up if you need anything I’m going to leave this pen and notepad. Just leave the notepad by the door. I’ll have someone come by every hour to make sure you don’t need anything. I’ll bring meals by and check on him at those times”, Doc explains. “I can do that”, you respond. Doc takes his leave as you turn back to Ghost. You still haven’t looked at his face, but it will be inevitable to continue on like this. You war with yourself about looking, but finally give in.
The first thing you notice is how flushed he looks, then you notice the scar on the top lip near the corner and some scars that went from his jaw to his cheek on his left side and a thin long scar on his right cheek. Another small thin scar across his forehead. His light brown hair sticking up in some spots and his lashes that were very light in color. Sharp jawline and he was very handsome in your opinion. He started to shiver and you knew it was possibly from the IV bag being cool so you pulled it from its stand still keeping it elevated and placed it inside your shirt to warm it a little.
Once sufficient you placed it back on the IV pole but noticed he was still shivering. You made a decision and tried to wake him. “Ghost”, you called softly. It took several more times before his eyes slowly fluttered open. “Sit up just a little” you tell him. He struggles a little but does as you ask without complaint as you slide yourself in to sit up against the headboard. Once you're settled you help him lie back against you. The back of his head rests on your sternum and he is sweaty, but hopefully you can keep him warm like this. His shivering continues for a little while longer until it slowly ebbs.
You absentmindedly start combing your finger through his hair and hear a faint sigh. He coughs every now and again, but his breathing evens out. He sleeps and now that you're stuck you have nothing to keep yourself entertained. You fall asleep after a couple of minutes and don’t wake until you hear the door start to creak open. You snap to attention and cover the view of Ghost’s face from the intruder.
You relax when Doc’s face comes into view. He makes his way over as you try to adjust your aching back to no avail. Doc checked him over as you silently watched, but then as he went to look into his eyes a hand shot up grabbing onto Docs wrist. “Ghost it’s okay you're sick. Just relax and let him finish up his work”, you soothe. It takes a few more moments for him to register and let go. Doc finished up and told you that the fever was down and that he was going to go get some food for the both of you.
Ghost was mumbling something about a shower when Doc left. He started to get up when you pulled him back to you. “I need a shower”, he groused. “Not in the state you’re in. I shouldn’t have been able to pull you back. You’re still weak and only been on antibiotics for a few hours”, you chastise. He huffs then starts to cough as he lurches forward. He starts to heave as you reach for the trash can near the bed. He empties what little he has in his stomach as you rub his back.
He groans as you place the trash can back and reclines back into you. “Ya’ shouldn’t be in ‘ere”, he grouses. “Someone needs to take care of you and I don’t think you would want to be in the hospital wing”, you respond. His fever is picking up again as a shiver takes over his body. “Don’ need ta be looked after”, he coughs. He shivers again as you place your hand against his forehead. “Yeah sure you don’t”, you respond.
He falls back to sleep as you wait for Doc to return, but time starts to fly by as you start hearing panicked screams. Ghost stirs at the sound of the sirens on base going off as he tries to get up. “No you’re sick. What does the siren mean”, you ask getting up from the bed. Before he can answer, Soap pokes his head into the room. “Lass ya’ need to stay ‘ere and barricade yer’ door”, he says. “What is going on?!”, you panic.
“Some git was bitten and went back to the barracks. We ‘ave an outbreak inside the base. Barricade yer door until one of us come back. ‘ere take this”, Soap says, handing you a handgun. You don’t have time to say anything as he takes off in the direction he is needed. You do as he said and take the heavy wooden desk and place it in front of the door. The window is high enough up that the dead can’t reach it so you don’t bother with it.
You grab the chair and set it down beside Ghost’s bed and sit down. You check the gun making sure there is one in the chamber ready to go. You wait for several hours as you hear gunfire every once in a while, but you notice it’s time for another dose of antibiotics. Ghost had been in and out of consciousness asking if the threat had been taken care of yet. Unfortunately it had not as you prepared the syringe with the antibiotic.
He stirred as you checked the IV bag and concluded that it would last until later tonight. “Before you ask no they haven’t come to tell us it’s clear”, you relay. “What the bloody ‘ell is takin’ ‘em so long”, he grouses. “I don’t know but every once in a while I will hear gunfire”, you explain. “Must be sweepin’ n’ clearin’ “, he guessed. The sun continues to go down as the gun shots start getting fewer and fewer.
You must have slipped into a dreamless sleep and when you wake up Ghost is sitting up against his headboard. “IV’s almost out”, he muses. You look and he is right, but nobody came to alert you that it was alright to leave the room. “Do you have any weapons in here?”, you ask him. “Yea’ a rifle and a couple knives in the locker”, he gestures to the locker in the corner. You open it and grab the rifle he had talked about and some knives. You handed the rifle and a knife to him and took the other knife.
“Here I’m going to run to the infirmary across the way to get you what we need”, you tell him. “Ya’ shouldn’t go out there alone. Besides ya’ have ta’ move the barricade”, he explains. “Not if I go out the window”, you explain. He tries to fight you on it, but you are already opening the window and hoisting yourself out with your pack on your back. You slowly make your way across the base to the infirmary using the buildings and crates as cover.
So far it has been clear, but that doesn’t mean anything as you slip into the infirmary. You had just made your way down the familiar hallway when the power flickered. The generators must be going if that’s the case and you would have a small window to get what you needed and get out. You saw movement at the end of the hallway and recognized the back of one of the nurses. You were about to call out to her when you noticed the twitching in her limbs and the jerky way she moved.
You ducked behind the small nurses station as you tried to pull yourself together. You could shoot her in the head, but guns were loud and she may not be the only new dead head in here. You hoped she would move and kept peeking around the desk to see if she would move, but no such luck. The power flickered again and you panicked a little as you made your decision. You crept up behind her with your knife in hand and without hesitation sunk the blade into the base of her skull.
She shuddered and collapsed as you pulled the knife out. You slinked closer to the room you needed and rushed to the cabinet, but it was locked and you cursed to yourself. You could break into it but that would be loud and you had no idea if there were anymore deadheads in the building. Ghost was in need of the fluids and more antibiotics so you made your decision. You grabbed an old fire extinguisher off the wall and hit the lock.
The sound was deafening and you cringed as you listened, but didn’t hear anything. You decided it was safe and hit it several more times until the lock gave way. You pulled the pack from your shoulders and filled it with as much as the pack would allow you to shove in it. You turned towards the door when you heard crying. Not just any crying a small child's cry and then the shrieks of the dead. You went running to find the source knowing the only child here was Jack.
When you got there five recently turned deadheads were at the door. You raised your gun as the crying inside the room got louder. You fired into their heads with precision and made it to the door where you knocked. More shrieks were coming from down this hallway and when the door opened Josie was there holding a wailing Jack to her chest. “Come on we don’t have time”, you told her.
You both started running as the lights shut off completely. You both had just burst through the doors when a deadhead launched itself at Josie. She fell to the ground as Jack rolled out of her arms. You fired at its head and in a spatter of blood another knocked into you. The gun was knocked from your hand as Jack wailed. You pulled the knife and sunk the blade in its temple and scrambled towards the gun and aimed at the one getting too close to Jack.
It fell as you turned and fired at the other one on top of Josie. Josie picked Jack up and was running behind you. You looked for the open window and spotted it. “We are almost there. You will have to put Jack down so I can help you up. There is a chair on the other side to stand on and I will hand Jack to you when you’re ready”, you called out. She nodded and did as you said as soon as you hit the side of the building.
The deadheads were gaining as Josie shimmied into the window. She called for Jack as you lifted him up and he disappeared into the small window. You turned and they were too close so you fired into them. You killed the ones closest to you and then you backed up enough for a running jump and pulled yourself into the window as gunfire erupted outside. You pulled yourself back up to see Soap, Gaz, Price and some other men take down the rest that had been chasing you.
You closed the window and breathed a sigh of relief going over to check on Ghost who was still holding onto the rifle. Josie was checking over Jack as you piggybacked the original IV bag and pulled some antibiotics for him to take. The lights were still on in this building as Josie took Jack into the bathroom to check him and clean him up. “What’s happinin’ out there?”, Ghost questioned. You told him what happened and that Soap, Gaz and Price seemed to be handling it with some other men you didn’t recognize.
He nodded and you were about to say something else when a scream followed by wailing sobs met your ears from the bathroom. You ran to the bathroom and Josie was sobbing as she clung to Jack and kissed his head. Jack was crying too when you felt a presence behind you. Ghost was watching, holding onto his IV pole. “What’s wrong, is he hurt?”, you ask frantically. Josie shakes her head and that’s when you see it and it feels like a bucket of ice water was dumped on you.
There is a bite wound on Josie’s arm as she hugs her son to her chest. Ghost freezes as he spots it too and you know what this means. “What do we do”, you say more to yourself. “You know what has ta’ be done”, Ghost says. “We don’t know that she will turn”, you try. “We can’t take that chance”, Ghost replies.
“No… you have to..to..k..k.kill me”, Josie sobs. “You can’t give up. Jack needs you”, you panic. “I could..hurt him..I don’t want to turn..please”, she cries. “What if we wait and see if you start with the symptoms”, you try to bargain. Ghost shakes his head as you are trying to buy time. Josie takes some time mulling over what you said and agrees. The fever usually sets in within three hours so you take Jack from her arms and take him back to the room.
Ghost sits on his bed watching through the open bathroom door to keep an eye on Josie. You keep Jack occupied as the time ticks by and soon you hear Josie groaning in pain. The fever starts setting in and she looks horrible as sweat clings to her pale body. “I want..to say goodbye”, she tells you. You go get Jack and let her hug him and kiss his head. “You have to be strong now baby”, she said, petting his hair.
They hugged for what felt like ever and then Josie looked at you. “If Maria and her husband are still alive I want them to take care of Jack. They wanted kids but she can’t have kids and she loves Jack. I also want you to be… the one to… take me out”, she whispers. You nod as you make your way back into the bedroom. You move the barricade and peek to see the hallway empty. You go back into the bathroom to help Josie up and out into the hallway.
You help her sit down on the ground as you go back inside the room to grab the handgun. Ghost stops you by grabbing your hand wrapped around the gun. “You’re shakin’ luv. Want me to do it?”, he asks. “No, she wanted me to do it. Just keep Jack busy”, you state. You walk back out into the hallway to Josie who looks even worse than before. “Ready”, you say. She nods as you raise the gun level with her head. “It’s okay”, she rasps. “I’m sorry”, you whisper as your finger pulls the trigger. Her body falls limp and you slowly make your way back into the bedroom.
I desperately need a COD zombie apocalypse au where the reader is an unhinged horse girl™️ living their best life, and all the cod dudes are just like, "whatcha got there?" and reader is on like, a super badass retired rodeo horse/mule, and they're just like, "have u never seen a horse?" And the horse is just like attacking zombies unprovoked cause ex bronc horses are just like that.
Like, i just need a reader fic where the reader isn't helpless, and theres no like "we must have sex or DIE" plot. Everyone is in awe. Why do you have tannerite? Stop blowing things up please.
I know this probably doesn't make sense, but its a NEED. horse people would absolutely FLOURISH in this type of setting.
If anyone knows of any fics like this please tag me.
I saw Primis Val's timeline, now I want to draw a timeline for Xiu
Primis Xiu timeline
1907 (7 years old)
Xiu lives in Nanking, China during his childhood. born to an upper-middle class family, he got everything a child wanted during the time. But his parents wasn't there to give him the attention he needed.
1909 (9 years old)
He followed his parents to a business trip at Japan, where he met Takeo and his sister. He stayed with Tak's family during post autumn and winter every year, learns fighting from Tak's dad. He sees them as family more than his own.
1916 (16 years old)
He met his girlfriend during this time before being one of the few unlucky individuals that got kidnapped to be slaves for the West. He was transported to the UK to fight for the British army in Northern France at the last month of 1917. He met his team and became friends with two of them. (I’ll draw them next time)
1918 (18 years old)
(Alternate timeline to Ultimis)
After hell he been through, he doesn't receive any reward or compensation for his work. He then was diagnosed with ptsd and withdrawn from the army. Soon at 1922, Taeko immigrated to the UK and bought Xiu out of his captors. She gave him a one way ticket home to see his family.
