The Plague {One Direction AU}

11. Niall

San Francisco, CA
December 20

Time no longer existed. Hours, minutes, days...these were concepts that no longer applied. There was only the disintegration of the dead to signify that the world still turned on its axis. That and the rumbling of Niall's stomach. He had no idea how long it had been since he was locked in this cage by the cop now laying dead in front of him, but he knew he hadn't eaten in a very long time. And what he had consumed, was splattered all over the cop's shirt and the lobby of this building.

The emptiness in his belly ached. And the only way to combat that rumbling ache was to sleep. So he did. Eventually, he didn't even feel the hunger pangs any more. He didn't feel the thirst. He just felt calm. He felt at peace. He felt, even, almost euphoric.

And that's when the hallucinations started. Well, Niall wasn't really sure what was happening. Were these things he saw and heard real? He didn't know.

He saw the air. He could see the fucking air floating in front of his face, the molecules expanding into tiny rainbow bubbles. Grains of air, like the pixelations of an old digital photo. He understood now, those pixels weren't digital. It was the air. The camera captured the air floating in front of the people. What a peaceful thought, that there was photographic proof of the oxygen moving gently into his lungs and out into his blood.

He saw water pooling on the cool cement floor, sunlight from the high window glinting off the surface in a rainbow sheen. The ground felt wet. Surely that puddle was real. He crawled shakily across the floor, his muscles protesting at the movement. He didn't even get halfway before the water vanished, the light landing at a different angle now. Niall pulled himself the rest of the way anyhow, just to make sure. He laid his face on the cool, dry cement. He wasn't even upset. His body shook with silent laughter. If it was silent sobbing, no one would know the difference.

He heard footsteps. Ha. Right. As if there was anyone else alive in this fucked up world. Gemma's face flickered in his mind. Niall wondered if she made it home. The footsteps shuffled closer. He opened his eyes and saw a guy rifling through the desk at the end of the hallway, blurry at first, but then Niall's eyes focused and he could make out some detail. Tall. Really tall. Maybe he just seemed so tall because Niall still had his face pressed to the floor. The guy, who Niall could tell was of Asian descent, but not exactly what heritage, had greasy black hair sticking out from a beanie and a lip ring. Niall marveled at his brain's ability to create such a realistic hallucination. Because there was no way this guy was looking at him. Talking to him. Touching him. No. There was no way. There was no way he found the keys by the cop's head. There was no way the door to the cell was open. There was no fucking way.

"Come on. Can you get up?" The guy had his arms under Niall's, lifting. His face came away from the dry cement floor, and Niall thought what an interesting thing his brain was that it could make him feel like he was floating. "Dude. Help me out. Put your feet down." Niall tried to laugh as his body responded almost of its own accord, his sock-covered feet sliding across the floor. "There you go. God. Fuck. How long have you been here?"

Niall's eyes rolled in their sockets, trying to see the man holding him up. He lifted one shaky hand and touched the guy's face. His fingers definitely touched flesh. "Hi," he said. "Hnnnmmgggh" he heard. He smacked his dry, cracked lips. "Not a criminal," he rasped out.

The guy widened his eyes and laughed a little. "That's your biggest concern. Dude. I don't care. We need to get you to a fucking hospital." A hospital. A hospital? Were there still hospitals? Maybe. Fuck maybe the floating grains of rainbow air weren't the hallucination, just like this guy wasn't a hallucination. Maybe the hallucination was the dead cop. The dead customers in his bar. Maybe they weren't real. Maybe the plague wasn't real. "Kay, come on. I still need to get my shit, but I think I'd better get you to the car first." Niall did his best to walk, but his legs could barely hold his weight, which couldn't be much. He weighed maybe 140 pounds before being locked in that cell. He could feel his bones. He had to be down about 20. Maybe more. He rested most of his weight on the tall guy's arm and shoulder, dragging his feet along in stuttering steps.