Since It Began, Part 2 (rewritten)
Read part 1 here!
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“Davey, my arm hurts.”
“Shh, I know.” Davey hugged Les a little closer, careful of the blood that stained his brother’s sleeve. “But you have to stay quiet, or they’ll hear us. We’re almost there, okay?”
Les nodded, and Davey sighed before hefting the crowbar he had grabbed from under his parents’ bed the night he and Les managed to escape. Their father had never returned from work that very first evening, and when the news of the outbreak spread, the rest of the Jacobs family had feared the worst. They stayed in their small apartment for days, Esther trying her best to ration out the meager amount of food that had been in the cupboards. But it didn’t last long among four people, and Davey had finally convinced his mother to let him go outside and try to find something, anything for them to eat, and he went down the fire escape and found nothing and there was still so much chaos and when he came back-
Les had hidden inside one of the now-empty kitchen cupboards, and it had saved his life. When Davey came back through the window a hour, maybe two, later, the small apartment was in shambles, the front door had been wrenched open by persons unknown, and his family was nowhere to be found. And then his mother--except it wasn’t his mother, far too bloodied and snarling--had suddenly appeared out of nowhere and tried to grab him, and Davey had barely managed to get away from her foaming mouth and snapping teeth. He stumbled away, diving for his parents’ bed, still unmade from that morning when Esther had still been alive and waking her three children, all of whom had insisted on sleeping near her, and groping desperately underneath, searching and searching and where the fuck was it and then his hand closed around a piece of metal and Davey smashed it into the creature’s (it wasn’t his mother anymore, he knew that) face. It went down with a feral scream, and Davey hit it once more and then scrambled back, too afraid to even stay near it. For the moment, it was out of commission, but it wouldn’t be long before it was back on its feet. He had to hurry.
“Les?” Davey called as loudly as he dared. “Sarah?”
At first there was no answer, but then Davey heard a quiet sound from the corner cupboard that sat, almost concealed, by the broken kitchen table. He pushed the furniture away and opened the door and there was Les, tears streaming down his face. He was clutching his arm close to his chest, and Davey could see blood, but it wasn’t the time to dwell on it. Les didn’t move until Davey gently beckoned to him.
“Mama did it,” the younger Jacobs whispered when he saw Davey cast another worried glance at his arm. “There were big men, but they were screaming and all bloody, and they grabbed Mama, and then she was screaming, too, and they...they got her neck, and I thought she wasn’t breathin’ anymore but then she was again. And she grabbed me, but Sarah yelled at her...”
He trailed off, his reddened eyes glazed. Davey gently shook him.
“Les, where’s Sarah?”
“The men dragged her away.” Les started breathing faster, close to hyperventilating. His lip quivered. “Davey, we gotta find her-”
“We will.” Davey pulled Les into as tight of an embrace as he could without jostling his brother’s arm. “We’ll find her. We just gotta get out of here first. Get somewhere safer.” He tried to tell himself he wasn’t lying to Les.
They left minutes later after Davey had hastily stuffed some supplies--a blanket, their last jug of water, and the sharp knife that his mother had used to chop vegetables for stew--into an old rucksack.
The streets were too dangerous, so they stuck mostly to rooftops and fire escapes. It had been three days, and Davey was worried Les wouldn’t make it much farther. He was young and small and his arm seemed worse every time Davey managed to take a look at it. They had no bandages, and though the wound had stopped bleeding, infection was already setting in.
Davey took his arm from around Les’s shoulders and grabbed his hand instead. “We gotta go.“
Carefully, they climbed down the fire escape of what had once been an apartment building–now an empty husk with broken windows and boarded doors–with Davey in the lead, making sure Les didn’t fall off the ladder. They made it to the bottom without incident, but right as Davey was helping Les off the ladder, he heard exactly what he had been dreading–footsteps.
“Davey-”
“Les, be quiet.” Davey pushed him down behind a pile of old crates. “Stay down.” He stepped out, crowbar in hand, and barely managed to dodge a hand that grabbed for him. The Undead was bloody from head to toe, and Davey shuddered to think of how much was its own. The creature came for him again, but this time he was ready, slamming it in the face with the crowbar. The Undead hit the ground with a solid thud, and Davey hit it again. And again. And again, until it had stopped moving. He stood there for a moment, panting, before a small voice brought him back to reality.
“Davey?” Shit. Les. Davey turned to his brother, who was still half hidden behind the crates. There were tears in his eyes that Davey knew weren’t just because of the pain in his arm.
“It’s okay, Les.” Davey moved forward to hug him but stopped when he raised his hand and saw it was covered in blood. He looked down at his clothes and saw that they were in a similar state. “Oh.”
“There’s some on your face, too,” Les pointed out. “It’s just kind of…everywhere.”
“Good to know. Maybe it’ll keep them away from us.” It was only kind of a joke, but it made Davey happy to see Les smile.
“Are we close to the lodging house, Davey?” Les asked as they walked out of the alley, Davey scanning the streets for any other dangers.
“Yeah, Les.” Davey spotted another Undead barreling toward them, its mouth open wide in a grotesque, greedy fashion. He tightened his grip on his crowbar and prepared to swing. “We’re close.”
