forthedog | (no subject)

Entry tags:

(no subject)

It's gray when he wakes up in the early evening.

That in itself isn't odd. Sometimes it's gray. Sometimes it rains. It happens in a place with weather. But there's something about the quality of the light that's both wrong and familiar, and for a few minutes he lies there staring up at the ceiling, Neil dozing warm against his side, trying to work out what it is.

At last he gets up and moves slowly over to the window, yawning and scratching idly at his bare chest and still only distantly confused--and then he looks out and sees the fog.

The gently falling ash, dusting the empty streets below like snow.

"Shit," he breathes, and then notices the encroaching twilight shade to the gray sky, and he knows exactly what it means. It had been late afternoon when he and Neil had fallen asleep tired and sweaty and tangled around each other, and he has no idea how long they've been asleep, but it doesn't feel like they have a lot of time left.

He practically launches himself back over to the bed, grabbing Neil by the shoulder and shaking him roughly. "Get up. Neil, get up."

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

I'm dead asleep, and then I'm not.

I'm being shaken, consciousness slamming into me, a disorienting clamor of sound and dim, grey light.

"... the fuck," I say, my voice breaking, "Mike, Jesus."

"We gotta get going." He's already turned away, looking around the floor for his clothes. Any minute now, they could hear the siren. Any minute now, everything could change. "We gotta get to one of the churches, it's gonna get dark soon."

The churches...

"Wha--" I mumble dumbly, sitting up and trying to shake the fog from my brain. It's slow going, but the fear in his voice finally trickles through. "Shit," I hiss, tumbling out of bed and onto my feet, scrambling blearily for my clothes.

Edited 2012-10-06 16:31 (UTC)

"Figures this would fucking happen again." His knife and gun are on the dresser and he grabs both the second he's got his holsters on.

"Get your gun." He glances out the window again before dropping back onto the edge of the bed to lace up his boots. "Pack still in the closet?"

"Yeah, in the back," I say, zipping up my jeans and stepping into my boots. I'm a little less quick with the holster than him-- it still feels weird even wearing one, but I fumble the buckle closed on my belt, finally, forcing my eyes open wider as I grab my gun from the bedside table and check it over.

Gun in my holster and knife in my boot, I run a hand through my hair, wishing I had time for some coffee or to brush my teeth or-- Christ, time to take a fuckin' piss, but I know there really isn't.

"Good." He moves to the closet, rummages until he finds the pack and slings it over one shoulder. He turns again and looks from Neil to the light coming in through the window.

They might have enough time. If they hurry.

"Ready?" But instead of making immediately for the door, he steps closer and touches Neil's hand. It's just light, barely a graze, but it's contact and it steadies him.

"Yeah, 'm ready," I say, taking one last look around, to make sure we haven't forgotten anything, then I follow him toward the door, grabbing my cell on the way out, even though I know it'll probably be useless.

There are people I want to check on, people I feel responsible for, but I know he's gonna want to get to the church with no stops.

Bypassing the elevators, knowing how unreliable the power is now, I head for the stairwell, muttering seemingly to myself, "Cas, if you can hear me, get your ass here." But nothing happens.

It's not a good sign.

Edited 2012-10-06 18:39 (UTC)

The fog is thick outside, somehow thicker than he remembers it being, and the buildings are barely visible through the gloom, their tops lost in the gray. He can't see more than about twenty yards in front of them, but he had to find the closest church in this enough times the last time this happened, and he thinks he remembers how now.

"Stick close," he mutters, knowing that Neil won't do anything else.

Their footsteps are weirdly loud in the fog, as if they're echoing off something unseen. Maybe the air itself.

"This feel different to you?"

Edited 2012-10-06 18:59 (UTC)

"I dunno... Yeah," I admit with a frown. I'm quiet for a moment, listening to our footsteps on the stairs, trying to figure out why it doesn't feel the same.

"Where the fuck is everybody?" Last time this happened, there only a few dozen people in the whole city, but these days, we're in the thousands. It's so fuckin' quiet, for all I fuckin' know, Mike and me are the only two left.

"I dunno." He doesn't know anything, not for sure - he feels like he should know the rules here, but even those feel like they might not be reliable.

The buildings look almost... abandoned. Not in ruins, but as though they've been vacant for years. "They all just showed up outta nowhere. Maybe they left the same way."

"We showed up outta nowhere," I remind him, following him out onto the sidewalk. The whole city looks washed in grey, cold and eerily quiet. I have to force down the urge to reach out and take his hand, feeling weirdly untethered and adrift.

"I don't think everybody's here. Not the people who think they belong or whatever, but you know... us. Something's off."

Edited 2012-10-11 02:34 (UTC)

He shakes his head, not denying it but denying the use in trying to figure it all out now. They don't have the time, and he doesn't know where they'd start. Maybe tomorrow, after the night's gone, they can look into it. If they're still here.

If they make it through the night.

"Pick up the pace," he mutters, glancing back like he can actually see anything useful through the mist. "We gotta--"

Starting faint, high and thin, a siren starts to warble through the air. He stops dead, hand on his gun. "Shit."

Edited 2012-10-11 02:51 (UTC)

"I'm fuckin' pickin' up the pace," I grumble, fed the fuck up with this entire situation and it hasn't even gotten started. But whatever else I might say gets swallowed up by that slowly building whine, my heart leaping up into my throat.

"What are you stoppin' for? Let's go," I shout, my brisk walk edging toward a run, because in the distance, I can see it. Darkness creeping up on the city like rot.

He should run. Some other time - maybe last time - he would have. But this is all different, all wrong, and he can feel it creeping up on him like the ground rusting out from under his feet.

There are things moving in the dark. Not like before.

He's turning and running with Neil before he has time to see anything, but the feeling doesn't go away as the darkness hisses down all around them. "They're chasing," he pants, no idea how he's so sure.

I look back at him and I know he's right. He's right, and we're probably fucked.

I've got my gun out, safety off, but I save my bullets, for now. I can't see a fuckin' thing, anyway. It's just noise. Whispering, shuffling hisses in the dark.

"It's just a couple more blocks."

Of course they're being chased; that in itself doesn't even feel different. The dark, the smell of rust and burning, the soft heat under their feet, the sound of hungry things in the dark. It's all familiar.

But not.

We'll be okay, he thinks, holding onto the familiar elements, because before, they've always come out of this. Hurt, bleeding maybe, but alive. But then something shuffles out of an alley to his left with horrifying speed, and he sees it clearly.

And he stops dead.

I'm half a block ahead of him before I realize I don't hear his footsteps anymore. Nearly tripping over my own feet, I whirl around, calling out, "Mike, what the fuck are you waitin' for?"

Then I see it. A person standing there in the mouth of the alley. And they're just... looking at each other.

"Mike?"

"Shit, not again." It's breathless, bloodless, the kind of whisper that might come from someone already dead. The jungle flashing by him in a green blur, the ground going away, the sound of his leg snapping, the dead eyes all around him and Lennox's hand in his. When he'd realized that they couldn't hurt him. That all they wanted was for him to stop running and look at what he'd done.

He doesn't think that's all they want now.

Other shapes are coming out of the fog behind it, but all he can see is the first one. Boy. Young. No older than Neil. Rounded up when they took north Philadelphia. Maybe he'd had ties to resistance groups and maybe he hadn't. It hadn't really mattered by the end.

He turns back, gun in his hand. Suddenly furious. He's not even sure who with. "I'm right behind you, you keep fucking running."

The boy opens his mouth too wide and lets out a long, hissing shriek, drowning him out.

"God, you fuckin' asshole," I snarl, because he's not right behind me, he's standing there, and they're swelling up around him, that boy at in lead. They're howling, all of them, a dull roar under that sharp howl coming from the boy's gaping mouth.

I take a step toward Mike, another, raising my gun and aiming for the boy's head when I pull the trigger, hoping it'll jumpstart Mike back into moving his ass.

"You keep fuckin' running, you dumb shit," I shout, taking off toward the church and praying to God he's following.

He doesn't know what he expects - maybe nothing. But the boy goes down. He goes down. They can be killed.

It doesn't comfort him at all. Even less when more of them swarm in to fill the hole made by Neil's shot.

He follows, breathless, firing off a few more useless shots behind him. Every one finds a target, but every one makes no difference. There are so many. So many. An army of ghosts, shrieking for his blood.

"They don't want you," he gasps when he draws up close to Neil, barely able to get the words out. "It's me they're after."

"What's the fuckin' difference?"

It seems like a fucking ludicrous thing to say. Like it makes any difference. Like it should be any fucking comfort to me. This is the perfect fucking time to make my getaway, because I'm not the one they're after? How fuckin' stupid could he be?

Even now that we're married, now that he accepted it -- asked for it -- he still doesn't seem to be able to wrap his head around the most important aspect of this whole thing. There is no him or me anymore. There's no separating us. Protecting my life means absolutely fucking nothing, if I have to risk his to do it.

He doesn't answer that. If he even had the breath for it, he knows Neil wouldn't hear what it means, which is a kind of practical truth, even if Neil won't let himself consider it. But it doesn't matter anyway. He can hear the breathless screaming behind them and he knows what they'll do if they catch up.

Knows because he did it to them. And it's true that if Neil is close by, they might not discriminate all that much.

To the steps. Are the screams fading? They might be. He can't turn around to check.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only