⋆⁺₊❅ who is definitely the team captain her senior year of high school
⋆⁺₊❅ plays left wing or general defense bc she would get bored if she was goalie
⋆⁺₊❅ got into hockey because Joel made her watch with him and she wanted to make him proud
⋆⁺₊❅ who started hockey at age 7 and has been a competitive little shit since
⋆⁺₊❅ absolutely sees her coach as a maternal figure and cries when she upsets her
⋆⁺₊❅ was absolutely ecstatic when her team added her to the team group chat since she kinda thought they all hated her despite not knowing her
⋆⁺₊❅ hockey made her more social and popular since she gained a bunch of friends :))
⋆⁺₊❅ who bragged to the whole team for a week that you were coming to their game the first time you attended
⋆⁺₊❅ who was also so anxious about playing bad when you came to watch that she cried when she got sent to the penalty box
⋆⁺₊❅ on the first day you started dating, gave you her jersey hoodie with her last name and number on it to stake her claim. it’s like a visible wedding ring in high school.
⋆⁺₊❅ all her teammates know your name by now since she never shuts up about you.
“guys….”
“yes, ellie, we know you miss your girlfriend.”
⋆⁺₊❅ after every game they win she’s like a golden retriever, coming up to you blabbing way too fast for you to understand,
"oh my god, babe did you see us?! we were so cool! the other guy thought i could steal the puck from him-"
despite being nonsense to you, you know it makes her happy so you listen and nod, eventually picking up on a few things
⋆⁺₊❅ who taught you to skate but now every time you guys go to a public skating session she heckles you and the children around
⋆⁺₊❅ draws on her hockey stick and puts stickers on it!!
⋆⁺₊❅ always needs a good luck kiss before every game 🩵
pairing: outbreak day!joel x reader
summary: September 26th, 2003, the day of the cordyceps outbreak. unknowing, you and a friend head to a bar, where she meets the charming and handsome tommy miller. following a barfight, tommy is arrested and you realize you still have his phone when his brother calls to ask where he is. having no family, joel and tommy take you and your friend with them to pick up sarah and get the hell out of austin.
contains: typical blood & gore associated with tlou. reader's friend's ex is a douche, but only mentions of a toxic relationship.
wc: 6k
Chapter 2 here.
ao3 link here.
Chapter 1: everywhere
can you hear me calling
out your name?
you know that I'm falling
and I don't know what to say
i'll speak a little louder
i'll even shout
you know that I'm proud
& I can't get the words out.
September 26th, 2003. 8pm.
The bar scene in Austin wasn’t your favorite. By a lot.
The most popular bars in town were filled with line dances that you didn’t know and cowboys you didn’t want to know.
But it was where Amy had wanted to go prowling, so that was where you’d went.
Matt had been caught cheating (again) and Amy swore she was done with him this time, and that needed to be celebrated at a bar with lots of men buying her shots… not in your apartment downing ice cream and watching rom coms.
So when she’d called all your friends and told them to meet them at the Cowboy Deluxe, you’d at least waited until you were in the other room before you groaned.
Despite being a senior at UT, you’d never once bought a pair of cowboy boots. Texans didn’t wear cowboy boots and hats to work in, you’d noticed… at least, not any of them that frequented college bars in Austin. Sure, there were guys just like that in Kentucky, but they were outnumbered by farm boys who actually worked for a living.
Here, the frat boys and their daddy’s money for the supped up trucks, pristine cowboy hats, and boots that probably had never seen dirt… they were insulting for an actual farm girl. But Amy knew that those idiots were always more than willing to spend their daddy’s money on drinks for a pretty woman.
So you skipped the boots and put on your favorite pair of wedges, thinking they’d be sturdier if you were actually drug to the dance floor. A blue jean skirt, large chunky belt, and a lime green corset-style tank top that left a little of your midriff showing. The last being borrowed from Amy’s closet.
You did your long hair in curls down your back, put on some make up (a smoky eye, Amy insisted). Cell phone, digital camera, lip gloss in your clutch… and were ready to go.
Amy had been right; the boys were falling over themselves to buy your group drinks. A few potentials were hovering over your friends, one over Amy in particular. He’d introduced himself as Tommy and you could immediately tell he was a local, just by the accent alone.
His dark hair was just long enough to start to curl at the ends and you noticed boots that were nice, but well worn with work and labor. When he reached out to give the bartender money, you could see hands that were rough and weathered, callused. While that smile was charming enough to have every girl there staring daggers into your friend, you knew she’d probably picked an actual gentleman and relaxed a little.
Several men had approached you to buy you drinks. You’d accepted a few, including Tommy’s offer to buy you one as well as Amy, and you were thoroughly drunk. Not as drunk as the rest of your friends, mind, someone had to be the responsible friend and make sure everyone got home, but it was a pleasant feeling.
Amy excused herself to the restroom, pulling you behind her. Once out of earshot, she began to gush about Tommy – more than she ever had about Matt – and it made your heart leap to see her finally breaking away from the toxicity of the relationship.
“What do you think?” she asked, leaning in over the sink so she could reapply her lip gloss.
“He’s very nice,” you answered, smiling at her.
“And handsome,” Amy added.
You giggled, drunk and blushing. “That helps. He’s not a poser like the losers here.”
Making your way from the bathroom back to where Tommy had waited was harder, as the dancefloor had split from line dancing to couples turning in time with the slow music. Tommy met Amy in the middle of the floor. “Can I steal her from you?”
You smiled and nodded, taking Amy’s drink, clutch, and Tommy’s Nokia and heading back to the table you’d been standing around.
You took a deep breath and took in the scene. One more year of college and you’d all be going separate ways… even if Tommy and Amy didn’t work out, she deserved as much fun as she could handle.
Shouting came from the dance floor and your eyes shot open, instantly making your way to where Tommy and Amy had been circling. The crowd cleared and you saw Tommy beating some guy to a pulp.
You reached out for Amy and she folded into your arms, screaming at Tommy to stop.
Tommy wasn’t going to stop.
Sobering up with adrenaline, you removed yourself from Amy and thrust yourself in front of Tommy, screaming, “That’s enough!” over and over again until Tommy met your eyes.
You saw fear there.
“He – he was gonna kill her,” he admitted, softly, looking down at the blood on his knuckles.
You turned and looked at the man on the floor, narrowing your eyes. Sure, the lighting in here was bad but… was his skin gray? His eyes were bloodshot and bleeding. His hair was falling out but the skin of his head had a few lesions on it.
Your look of shock and fear was echoed on Tommy’s face.
The bouncers and police were there in moments and did not care about Tommy’s story that the guy was going to kill Amy. They cuffed him and took him away.
You still had his phone.
Well, shit.
☄. *. ⋆
The phone in question began ringing before you had gotten Amy to your apartment.
ASSHOLE lit up the screen. Despite the evening, it made you chuckle.
Amy had been hysterical at Tommy’s arrest, begging you to take her to the jail and bail him out. Knowing she was too drunk to be in public and you didn’t have enough money for bail anyway, you’d calmed her by producing Tommy’s phone – they’d have to get it back to him.
It hadn’t even been 10 pm yet, the rest of your friends argued as you started calling a cab to take you and Amy back to the apartment, but you’d insisted and offered to split a cab if they wanted to come too.
Something about the man Tommy had damn near killed was bugging you. The gray skin was… concerning by itself.
Amy had stayed in her party clothes, mixing up some ramen noodles and passing you from the kitchen to the living room and planting her ass firmly on the couch.
“What a night.”
“I know,” you called from the kitchen. “Has Matt called?”
“Mhm!” her mouth was full of food. “About a dozen times, but I blocked him.”
“What about Julie and the girls?”
“I think they’re still at the bar, it’s only, what, 10:30?”
“Yeah, I gave them some money for a cab when they said they wanted to stay.”
You leaned against the bar table that your on-campus housing had. Those sores on top of the man’s head…
You walked back into the kitchen.
“Amy, you said that guy attacked you… what happened?”
She dropped her eyes to her ramen. “He just.. grabbed at me and came, like, way too close. Tommy told him to back off but he just.. he wouldn’t. then he opened his mouth,” she looked up at you. “And I swear, his tongue started to, like, extend from his fucking mouth. Toward me.”
She took a deep breath. “Then Tommy punched him.”
“Wow.”
“Do you think…”
You gave her a reassuring smile. “Maybe he was just trying to French you. We were pretty drunk.”
Her answering smile wasn’t reassuring or real. “Yeah, maybe.”
She picked up the remote and clicked on the TV, signaling her end to the conversation.
None of this made sense, you thought as you went back to the kitchen, leaning on the table again. Maybe tomorrow when you got Tommy his phone back, you could get some more details from him and see what was going on.
No, you firmly told yourself as you straightened from the table. It was just a weird, drunk dude at the bar. Nothing more.
You shook your head as the Nokia lit up with another phone call from ASSHOLE.
You hit the call button. “Hello?”
“T-Tommy –“ a pause of recognition that the person on the other end of the line was female, which Tommy was not, then, “who is this?”
You gave him your name. “Who’s this? The caller ID just says ‘Asshole’.”
You could physically feel whoever it was rolling his eyes. “Joel. Tommy is my brother.”
“Oh. My friend and I were at a bar with Tommy tonight and he accidentally left his phone with me.”
“Where is he now?” the voice was short, gruff. The word rugged came to mind and you could feel it sparking and taking fire within your belly. “Do you know?” Joel pressed.
“Jail,” you answered, sighing.
Joel swore. “Sorry, I just… God.”
“Tell me about it,” you reached into your fridge for a water. “It wasn’t completely his fault though. There was a fight –”
“Of course there was.”
You giggled and kept talking, the words making the mirth in your voice fade. “—but it was… weird.”
He paused. You clutched your bottle and closed the fridge.
“Weird how?”
“I didn’t see it, but Tommy was dancing with my friend, he said someone tried to attack her and he beat the guy to a pulp. But the guy… I don’t know.”
“What?”
“He looked … sick, I think. His skin was all gray and weird. There were all kinds of, I don’t know, sores on his head and his hair was falling out.”
Silence.
“So Tommy attacked a chemo patient?”
“No,” you smiled, a small laugh escaping your tight lips. “No, it wasn’t like that –”
“’Bout to say, what on earth!”
That accent… you closed your eyes, picturing the man it belonged to. Even if Amy and Tommy didn’t go out again, his brother Joel might be worth looking into for yourself, just based on voice alone.
“No, no,” you laughed again.
“I – Hang on, got another call, I’ll call you back.”
He hung up before waiting for your reply.
You chugged some of your water, hoping to stave off the oncoming hangover. You felt sober now, but there had been a lot of alcohol in your system.
You picked up your own phone and checked the messages – three from Matt. “Yeah, right,” you whispered.
There was one from Julie too.
Headed home from the bar. Cops all over the place. Be carful if u drive.
Police were common on weekends in a college town, but… more than normal?
Something didn’t feel right to you, but you didn’t know what. Seeing that it was not even 11 pm yet, you went ahead and changed into your pajamas, taking off your makeup as well.
You walked back into the living room, hoping to bum a bite or two off Amy’s ramen, but the two of you were staring at the tv.
An Emergency Alert Broadcast was playing on one of the local stations, urging people to stay inside their homes and to only call 911 in case of an emergency.
The Nokia in your hand began to ring. You answered without even glancing at the caller ID.
“Joel?”
He said your name, almost in relief.
“Tommy just called me from the jail to pick him up. He said the guy was acting crazy. I asked him about how he looked and it was just like you said.”
“Joel,” you said the man’s name with surprising calm, not wanting to panic. “Have you seen the news?”
“Nu-uh,” he answered, and you could hear shuffling around.
“Turn on your TV.”
You could hear him doing as you said, the same Emergency Broadcast playing through the phone speaker. A pause, then it played again. “It’s on every channel,” he said, quietly. “That’s how it was on 9/11 too…”
The TV on his end clicked off and he grunted.
“I’m going to bail him out before… well, I’m going to go right now, can I swing by and get his phone too?”
“Sure, but can you come after you get Tommy? My friend was hysterical over him going to jail for her. I think she’d like to talk.”
Amy reached over and grabbed your hand, not looking away from the TV.
“No problem. Are you okay?”
“What do you mean?”
“Do you live at home with your parents or something?”
“No,” you whispered. “It’s just me and Amy.”
“Okay,” he took a deep breath. “Tommy said you were just little slip of a girl. Shit.”
“Why?”
“Are you in a house? With a basement?”
“No… On campus housing, an apartment. Why?”
“Lock the door to your apartment,” he ordered. You heard the sound of a truck firing up on his end. “Make sure your windows are locked too, just in case. And if you hear anything crazy outside your door, pull your couch or something in front of it.”
You gave Joel your address and sat down on the couch to wait.
“I’ll be there soon,” he promised.
☄. *. ⋆
It was more than an hour later when frantic knocks sounded at your apartment door.
The TV hadn’t changed, just the same message. You were hoping for a live look in or news or something, but every channel revealed the same thing. It was rather like 9/11, you remembered, but at least then there had been news coverage, people theorizing and showing different angles.
This, the not knowing, was worse.
You and Amy stayed on the couch, muting the TV but still watching in case it went to something else. It never did.
The sounds from outside were worrisome, but you had done just as Joel said. You ran through the apartment, closed the shades of the window, making sure they were all locked throughout the apartment, even though you were on the second floor. The paranoia was eating at you, but you didn’t want to just people watch, either.
The knocking sounded again, startling you both.
“Amy!” knock, knock, “Amy it’s me!”
“That’s not Matt,” she whispered, relieved.
You bolted up, unlocking the door and swinging it wide to reveal Tommy and another man you assumed was his brother, Joel.
They were sweating, breathing heavy, and Tommy was covered in blood all down his torso.
“What the fuck—”
“Where’s Amy?” Tommy pushed into the apartment, finding her standing behind you. He pulled her to him. “Where’s your room?”
“What’s happening?” You asked Joel.
He was older than Tommy, a few pieces of gray starting to show in the dark curls. Under his eyes were dark, and the lines of his face were pulled tight.
“I don’t know.”
“Why is he covered in – “
“Focus,” Joel interrupted. “Tommy said neither of you were from Texas, you don’t have any family around here.”
You shook your head. “I’m from Kentucky and she’s from Kansas.”
Joel’s mouth was a tight line as he nodded. “Pack a bag – that’s what she’s in there doing. You’re coming with us.”
Through the open door of your apartment, you heard helicopters tearing through the night. Joel saw them too and gently pushed you toward the bedrooms. “Now!” he barked.
“I – I have to change,” Amy was saying, but Tommy had hands on her shoulders, pushing her through the apartment.
“No time!” Joel and Tommy barked at the same time.
“We have to go, now!” Joel’s voice was tight with panic. “Sarah is at home.”
He looked at you, “Where’s your room?”
You led him to it, noting that both men were close to you and Amy, almost as if Tommy refused to let her out of his sight.
What the fuck was happening? You wondered.
“I don’t know,” Joel admitted, running a hand through his curls.
“I didn’t know I said that out loud,” you breathed, busting open your bedroom door.
You threw the first clothes you could find into your school backpack and stuck your feet into your sneakers, not bothering to tie them. You grabbed enough pairs of bras and panties to last for a week and a big UT sweatshirt to hopefully cover the fact that you weren’t wearing one now.
Joel was looking around around your room, rubbing sweaty palms on his pants. When you were ready, he grabbed your backpack and slung it over his shoulder. “Got a gun?”
Your mouth fell open. “No?!” as if it wasn’t the most ridiculous question in the world.
“Got a bat!” Tommy called from Amy’s room.
“Good enough,” Joel called back, grabbing your arm and sliding his hand down to clasp yours. “We have to go, now!”
The scene from the landing of your apartment was one of chaos you had only seen in movies. Fires were everywhere and the helicopters you had seen a few minutes before seemed to have multiplied in the sky. There were students running everywhere, most of them more drunk than not, but everyone was shouting or crying.
Tommy led, holding a terrified Amy’s hand and pulling her toward a truck parked below, the other hand holding the baseball bat at the ready.
You looked to Joel, the panic in your chest matching what was on his face, but he nodded and squeezed your hand. “Come on,” he said, gently. “I’ve got you.”
You followed Tommy and Amy quickly, Joel pushing you ahead so that he could bring up the rear, but never taking a hand off your shoulders or back.
The steps to your apartment were treacherous at the best of times, even more so with your shoes untied. You slipped once, both on the pipe wrench that lay discarded and your own laces, grabbing both the railing and Joel’s hand to steady yourself and muttering an apology. Joel nodded and reached for the pipe wrench, just in case written all over his features.
Amy screamed at the bottom of the steps, your untied shoes forgotten as you rushed.
Another of the grey-skinned people lay at her feet, head bashed in with the wooden bat. Tommy threw it down and grabbed her, half pulling and half carrying her to the backseat of the truck.
He pushed her in and followed after her as you opened the passenger side and threw yourself in. Joel raced around to the driver’s side as you leaned over and turned the ignition, firing it up.
With no time to waste, he put it in drive and floored it, running down another person with bloodied hands and mouth. Students screaming and running out of the way. Some were toting suitcases to their cars, others were toasting with beer cans on the lawns.
“What is happening?” Amy screeched from the backseat.
“Some virus or somethin’,” Tommy answered. “They were talking about it at the jail.”
“You mean what was going on in Indonesia or whatever?”
“Yeah, I think so. I heard it on the news this morning but – I don’t,” he struggled and took a deep breath. You looked back to see his hands cradling her face and wiping away tears. “Hush now, it’s going to be okay.”
Joel had a two hand, white knuckled grip on the steering wheel as you fled from campus.
You looked at him, Tommy’s instructions to Amy about how to tell if someone was infected becoming blurred in the background. You could tell his nervousness was not just from the situation and the chaos, it was from Sarah being at home… whoever she was.
You doubted someone like Joel would have held your hand if it were a wife, though, so that only left…
“How old is your daughter?”
“14,” was his curt answer, eyes not leaving the wreckage of the road. Cars, wrecked or stuck in traffic, were already being left abandoned on the busy roads. “I left her asleep in her bed. I didn’t – I didn’t know how bad all this was until –”
You nodded and gently reached out for one of his hands, easing it away from the steering wheel. “She’s fine,” you assured him. “Do you live in the city or outskirts?”
“Outskirts,” he mentioned a neighborhood you’d heard of.
“I’m sure she’s still asleep.” You squeezed his hand.
His eyes flicked over to you. His hand squeezed yours back. “Thank you.”
It took the better part of an hour to make the normally twenty minute drive. Joel held your hand, allowing you to make soothing circles on his skin with your thumb and the fingers of your other hand. He only let go when the road was blocked and he needed to go off-road. Thankfully the truck was gassed up and had four wheel drive.
When you pull up to a cute little house with “MILLER” painted on the mailbox, a girl with dark, curly hair is standing out in the yard in her pajamas, holding a dog collar.
An old woman, who probably shouldn’t even be moving has crawled out of the house next door, blood covering her face and hands, tendrils crawling and extending out of her mouth toward the girl.
“SARAH!” Tommy screeched, and the two of them are out of the truck in an instant, running for the girl.
Joel swings the pipe wrench on the old woman’s head, killing her and the tendrils instantly. Sarah screamed, the same wordless shriek as Amy earlier, and Joel runs to her, putting his hands on her face in the same way Tommy had to Amy.
A transformer blew behind them, and you saw more of the infected beginning to run toward Sarah, Tommy, and Joel.
The driver’s and passenger windows were already down, the product of Joel needing to speak with a police officer on the road and just never rolling them back up, preferring to listen to the chaos of the city.
“JOEL! BEHIND YOU!” you screamed. “Get in the truck!”
The three started sprinting toward the passenger side, Joel pulling along his daughter. You threw up the middle console so you could move to the steering wheel, pulling the driver’s seat up closer so you could reach the pedals, there would be no time for Joel to run to the other side of the truck.
Amy caught your line of thinking and opened the backdoor. She moved all the way over to the driver side of the backseat and reaching for Sarah as Tommy shoved her in the seat, throwing himself in at the same time a surprised Joel threw himself in the passenger seat.
You were flooring it before either man had shut the door.
Another woman emerged from the house Sarah had been standing in front of, younger than the old woman, maybe a daughter? But clearly infected.
You hesitated, pulling your foot off the gas for a millisecond before Joel’s voice was in your ear, calling your name, “Run her down!”
And you did, sideswiping another man who had ran outside into the yard.
There were other neighbors on their lawns, pointing at Joel’s truck with various degrees of disgust, but Joel had leaned over the bench seat, encouraging you to ignore them and keep driving, giving you directions out of the neighborhood.
“Who-who are –”
“Some of my friends,” Tommy answered. You supposed that was true, but she didn’t need to know that you were new friends.
Joel was still in your ear, whispering words of encouragement as you drove through the chaos. “That was smart to move over and start the truck,” he told you, voice low so you could hear him. “Smart girl. I wouldn’t have made it to the driver’s side. Good job.”
He turned around, voice louder and curt. “What the hell happened?” he asked Sarah.
You could hear some of the details but your mind was on the road, trying to serve around downed telephone and electricity poles and avoid other cars and people.
God, there was so much wreckage. How had everything gone to shit in just a few hours? Was it just here? In Austin? Or was it the whole country?
Your heart nearly stopped as you wondered if it was like this all over the world.
In the backseat, Amy had her arms around Sarah, and Sarah had her arms around your friend. It was shocking, the way none of you had even known each other for twelve hours, but here you all were, clinging to each other in the wake of a tragedy.
You could hear the conversation going on in the background, Joel, Tommy, Amy, and Sarah discussing this virus or whatever it was, but you drove on, understanding why Joel’s grip earlier had been white knuckled.
Joel flipped on the radio but every station was the same emergency broadcast encouraging people to stay inside their homes.
You passed cop cars with lights blazing, homes on fire, and people… so many people.
From the middle seat and no longer concerned with driving, Joel’s head was on a swivel, surveying everything around you. While he looked, his left hand toward the backseat to hold Sarah’s hand, right hand on your shoulder, or knee, or arm. He kept up with the conversation in the back, adding comments or suggestions or theories here and there, but he always came back, there in your ear, whispering where to go or what to do.
“Is this the interstate?” you whispered, one finger lifting off the wheel to point.
“Yeah,” Joel answered. “Let off the gas and hop over my lap. Let me drive.”
On his count, you did as he said, making such a smooth transition that someone from the outside would’ve never realized you’d changed drivers.
“North,” Tommy said from the backseat. “Amy’s people are in Kansas.”
Joel nodded and cut his eyes to you. “We’ll get you to yours too, I promise,” he said, low enough for just you.
The highway was blocked, bumper to bumper with people trying to flee, just as you were. Joel throws the truck in reverse and puts a hand behind your shoulders so he can see behind him, cutting around the exit and tearing off into a field.
“Oh my god,” you whispered, seeing the huge blockade.
“Seatbelts,” Joel barked.
You began to scoot toward the passenger seat to buckle up, only for Joel’s hand on your knee to stop you. He reached between your seat and found the lap belt, handing it to you. “I may need you to drive,” he said, loudly enough that the rest of the truck could hear.
That wasn’t why he kept holding your knee, but you didn’t mind. It was comforting.
Nodding, you watched as the truck ate the miles, coming out through the heart of Austin. You saw the bar that you’d been out just hours – a lifetime – earlier, except now it was up in flames, windows busted out of the front and the door hanging off its hinges.
Jets flying overhead, police vehicles blasting, the emergency broadcast on the loud radios left in still-running vehicles… it was too much.
People flooded the streets and Joel finally took a deep breath. He looked back at Sarah, then at you, then to Tommy, who nodded. Joel floored it, mowing people down as he carved a path through the town.
“Oh my god!” Amy screamed, pointing out of her window to a plane overhead. Low. Too low. It was going to –
The crash of the plane sent debris flying, roving, moving. The airbags deployed as the truck came to a violent stop.
“The fuck!” Tommy’s clear curse rang out through the heavy breathing.
“Everyone okay?” Joel’s voice was strained as he looked in the backseat. Thankfully, thankfully, he had told everyone to put on a seat belt.
Mumbles and gasps of “We’re okay” and “we’re good” floated back to the front seat.
Ahead was carnage.
The plane lay 35 yards ahead and in pieces. There were screams coming from all around you. Something was on fire. Multiple somethings.
“What in god’s name…” Amy breathed.
There were people moving around the truck, around the pieces of the plane. You could see one piece that had seats in it. Your stomach heaved.
There were people running away, running towards. You saw several in different colored scrubs, pulling on gloves or tying up their hair as they prepared to do what they could.
“Should we help –”
“No,” Joel answered your question. “We have to get the fuck out of Austin.”
“Out of Texas,” Tommy added, panting and hoarse. “Get us the fuck out of this rut, Joel.”
Joel put it in reverse, forward, reverse again, each time almost willing the truck to move. He slammed the truck into park and cussed, hitting the steering wheel.
“The engine’s flooded,” you said, a little too loud, touching his arm gingerly.
He nodded, eyes wide at the blood on your face as he saw it for the first time. His hand shook as it reached out to your face. “Are you – I mean, is it --?”
“I don’t think it’s broken,” you cut him off.
“Okay,” he looked in the back. “We go on foot then.”
Other than your bloody nose and what you were sure was a bruise across your abdomen from the lap belt, you were fine. You wiped away the blood with some fast food napkins in the floorboard of the truck, the lack of further bleeding confirming that your nose wasn’t broken.
Amy had hit her head on the back of the seat and was bleeding, but Tommy said it was superficial and she’d be okay.
Somehow Sarah had twisted or done something to her ankle. “You’re okay, baby girl,” Joel soothed. “I’ll carry you.”
You reached out for the backpack you’d grabbed from your apartment at the same time that he went to hand it to you. Your fingers brushed, your eyes met. The soft determination turning harder in each other’s eyes. You were going to get out of this. He was. Sarah, and Tommy, and Amy.
“Us or them,” he spoke, the lilt of his Texan accent more profound with nerves. He cleared his throat. “It’s us,” he gestured to the small group, “or them,” to the chaos beyond. “Choose us. Okay?”
A sharp nod. “Us.”
As you slung the backpack on, you heard Tommy rustling in the toolbox of the truck.
His mouth was moving, but you couldn’t hear for the screams of people around the truck and the plane. There were screams of jet engines flying low overhead as well.
Amy, now devoid of Sarah, was moving through people. You saw her squat next to a dead body, pulling a rifle off his shoulder and a hand gun out of a holster at his thigh. She paused, thinking for a moment, before unbuckling the thigh holster and taking it too.
She held the rifle out for Tommy. He slung the strap over his shoulder and nodded. Then he took the handgun from her and held it out to you. “Know how to use one of these?”
You nodded. “Kind of.”
He quickly showed you the safety. “Safety off, point, shoot. Anything we need dead will be close enough you can’t miss.”
“But-but –” you started to sputter, but Tommy’s hands were already winding the holster around your thigh, adjusting the buckles and sliding the gun inside. One hand came to your shoulder in a silent squeeze.
When you looked up, his eyes held none of the mirth and laughter you’d seen at the bar, only the same stoic and solid determination you’d seen from Joel.
“Cover his six,” he said, nodding to his brother. “I’ve got her,” a nod to Amy.
He was trusting you to cover his brother and his niece. The two most important people in the world to him.
“Move,” Joel commanded the group.
Tommy, rifle cocked and Amy went in front so Joel could carry Sarah in the middle. You were in the rear, taking the gun out of the holster and clicking off the safety.
There were more infected as they headed out of the town. You watched as they ravaged the others who were moving the same direction, away from the carnage, the chaos.
No time to help. No time for anything beyond self-preservation.
“Us or them,” you repeated to yourself, every single time you had to ignore someone dying in the grasses, or reaching up a hand to you, or even someone who was begging for help as an infected ravaged them.
Twice Tommy stopped to pick up discarded guns or weapons, but that was it, all of you moving in a disjointed line behind him. He gave one of the guns to Amy and clicked off the safety for her as well. When he walked toward you with another rifle, you clicked the safety on yours and put the sling of the rifle around your shoulder, copying Tommy’s movements.
Amy, still bleeding, held the gun in her right hand and had her left hand to her head, trying to stop the bleeding.
It was easier than you would have believed to focus in, to ignore all of the noise and the chaos. Your line of sight was the people in front of you, sweeping wide to the sides to make sure that no one got too close, good or bad intentions be damned.
Sarah, cradled to Joel’s chest, looked back at you frequently, eyes locking with yours before turning to her dad. Her mouth moved, but you didn’t read lips very well. She’d just nod and bury her head into his shoulder again. A few moments later, she would check in again and tell Joel you were still behind them.
“Us or them,” you whispered with every step. A new mantra and you knew you would use it to justify any action you needed to take.
Sweep, watch, check, other side.
And then one broke.
One of the infected raced for your group and you aimed the shot gun, just off your shoulder. You missed, but the gunshot that echoed out from in front of Joel and Sarah thankfully did not. The infected woman fell heavily to the ground with a thud. Tommy reloaded quickly, startling as he swerved to a man in a military uniform with a gun outstretched and a walkie-talkie in the other hand.
“There’s injured,” the soldier said. You looked up to see him speaking into a radio. “One in the ankle, one bleeding from skull.”
“Kill them,” came the radioed message. “Blood from a bite or scratch is an automatic kill.”
“Kill – “
All of you began sputtering at once. You weren’t bitten or scratched, how could they –
The soldier raised his weapon to Sarah first. Time seemed to race in slow motion as you realized what was going to happen. The weapon was some kind of gun, he raised it to his shoulder and took aim for Sarah.
Everyone was screaming, raising their hands and arms, rushing in on the soldier to stop him. You wanted to fire, you raised your gun to fire, but Tommy was in your way, such a bad angle.
You were screaming, “No! She’s not sick, it was a –”
Then the pop of a fired weapon.
You turned back to the soldier, screaming words and pleas that fell on deaf ears as he turned to Amy, gun still raised.
“Please!” it seemed like all you could say, tears streaming down your face, down Joel’s, down Sarah’s. So you screamed, the words blurring and meaningless, futile.
You looked back at the soldier, but there was no sympathy there – to him, you weren’t people. To him, you were threats.
You raised the gun again, close enough that you did exactly what Tommy had said. Safety was off, point, shoot.
You saw the bullet make its mark on the soldier’s chest, saw him crumple to the ground.
“Us or them.”
But it still didn’t fucking matter. He had gotten off his shot first, and rather than hitting in the abdomen, like Sarah, the bullet meant for Amy was between her eyes. The blood flow she had staunched with her sleeve mixed with the blood from the entry wound.
Screaming.
Was that coming from you? You and Joel and Tommy all screamed. It mixed with the noise of the scene.
Amy was gone. Dead. Her eyes were still open.
You turned to Sarah, crying and panicking in her father’s arms.
Everything tuned out. You could feel something wet on your own face. You wiped your cheek, expecting blood – had someone shot you? Oh God, please, let this end – but you only saw the clear liquid of tears.
The sigh you let out wasn’t relief.
Tommy pulled Joel away from Sarah, leaving her body there in the grass, in the ditch, in the chaos. He was talking, pulling Amy to rest near Sarah, to protect her even in death, you guessed. What a waste.
The tears ran so thick that you had trouble seeing, everything was a vague shape and outline and color.
Tommy somehow kept his head, pulling the shotgun from you and thrusting it into Joel’s chest.
“She’s gone,” you saw Tommy mouthing, but you still couldn’t hear the words.
He grabbed at Joel’s shirt and pulled him along, giving you a look, commanding you silently to follow. He couldn’t deal with Joel and you, you knew. One of you needed to be handled, and Joel had just lost his daughter.
Your turn to grieve would be later.
Later, when it was safe.
Pulling Joel along, you followed, sobs heaving as you struggled for air, leaving behind your best friend.
In another lifetime, one where Amy and Tommy would’ve been in a healthy relationship, one where they might have set you up with Tommy’s rugged and handsome older brother, one where you would have fallen in love with the gruff voice on the other end of the phone. A lifetime where you could’ve held Joel’s hand in the truck, listened to the radio for songs to sing along to…
In that lifetime, you wondered if you and Sarah would have been friends.
No one knows for sure, but, best guess, Cordyceps mutated. Some of it got into the food supply. Probably a basic ingredient like flour or sugar. There were certain brands of food that were sold everywhere, all across the country, across the world. Bread, cereal... pancake mix. You eat enough of it, it'll get you infected. So the tainted food all hits the store shelves around the same time Thursday. People bought it, ate some Thursday night, or Friday morning. Day goes on. They started to get sick. Afternoon, evening, they got worse. Then they started bitin'. Friday night, September 26th, 2003. And by Monday, everything was gone.
