I know. I know I said I wasn't going to post on Wattpad anymore. But I've gotten a lot of PMs on here asking for my fic, so... here it is. I'll deal with the hate that comes in. If it's not your cup of tea, then don't read.
Warnings: this fic contains major character death, graphic depictions of violence, gore, plenty of death, a shit ton of angst, suicide / suicidal ideation, and eventual smut.
Please read at your own discretion.
I'll update on Fridays; you'll see chapter 10 then. Thank you guys for all the love you give me- I'm truly undeserving of it. Enjoy my loves.
.
The last thing your best friend Sasha told you before she died was that there was a discount at the pizza place for today and that you should get pizzas for dinner tonight.
Nothing unusual.
Nothing that would've indicated that it would be the last conversation you'd ever have with her.
She had made the remark when you were already halfway out the door. She was still in her pajamas, lounging on the couch. Your work place was a farther travel than hers, so this wasn't unusual either.
You'd rolled your eyes, called over your shoulder, "I'll pick them up on my way home!" before you'd grabbed your keys and closed the door behind you.
The world went on like normal for at least another hour. Everything was as it should be.
How were you supposed to know something was off?
Your walk to the bus stop was the same as always. The bus picked you up like it always did. You sat down for the twenty minute bus ride, then hopped off at your stop and made the rest of the walk to the facility you worked at.
Maybe you should've realized it was strange when there was no one at the front gate.
The security guard's name is Daz. You see him every morning and he buzzes you in without issue. You walk along the side of the road up to the building, the occasional car driving by on the driveway next to you, likely containing one of your coworkers.
One of these days, you were going to get a car.
Kind of stupid now, right?
You'd dismissed the lack of the security at the front gate as either Daz having a day off or he was busy doing something else. The gate was open, so you'd slipped through and gone on forward.
When you got to the building was when things started to feel off, because no one was there.
At least, no one alive.
Zombies.
Fucking zombies.
People placed bets on what was going to cause world war three: lack of viable drinking water, something about unnecessary tension between countries with plenty of nuclear weaponry at their disposal. Some kooks online had been convinced that aliens were here, ready to unleash their own devastation- whatever that may be.
No one thought it'd be zombies.
You definitely had no fucking idea.
By the time you've wrapped your head around the situation and managed to escape your workplace, hours have passed. It's at least early in the afternoon, and the trek back into town takes at least an hour, if not more. You're not sure- your phone is badly cracked and shows no signs of turning back on.
All you've got is an axe that you'd taken from the break in case of emergency glass at your work facility. That's it.
What the fuck do you do from here?
No phone, no friends, streets rampant with chaos. Roads backed up from people abandoning their vehicles. Screaming everywhere.
You should find Sasha.
Yes, you should do that. She's the only other person you know in this damn area; you need to make sure she's okay. Once you find her, the two of you can figure out something together.
Navigating the streets stretches the fifteen minute walk to well over an hour. There's too many instances of you ducking into a building, hands tight around your axe as people run by, screaming, being chased by what feels like an army of the undead. It's complete and total madness.
One of the stores you hide in ends up having a shit ton of perfume. You douse yourself in the stuff, hoping to mask your scent the best you can.
You have to kill three zombies on the way there.
The first, you saw coming a long way off. It wasn't necessarily fast, but it was still disgusting and horribly terrifying. You had at least ten seconds to mentally prepare yourself before you embedded your axe in its skull and stopped it cold.
The second took you by surprise. You got lucky; it missed you when it lunged and you manage to crush its skull by smacking it repeatedly with a piece of wood. Unfortunately, you'd screamed when it lunged, which attracted the third zombie. Thankfully, it didn't lumber into view until you'd killed the second one and recovered your axe, which you used to bludgeon the third.
You can't even allow yourself to process that these used to be humans. They're all dead, senseless creatures: there's no saving them now.
When you find Sasha's workplace, the glass of the door is shattered.
"Sasha?" you murmur, stepping through the broken door. Your fingers are shaking around the wooden handle of your axe.
No one replies. But you can hear something in the background.
...Oh my god. Is that... chewing?
Bile builds up in your throat as you carefully step forwards, broken glass crunching under your boots. You're trying to prepare yourself for the worst, but you don't know if you can handle it.
You step towards the back kitchen and you have to swallow your scream: there's a bloodied corpse laying in the way. It's a blond man, laying on his back, blood leaking from his head. He doesn't have the red eyes or the sagging skin that you've seen some of the other zombies start to take on; he must've died naturally. Maybe he struck his head on something
Have to find Sasha.
Tightening your grip on your axe, you step around him.
The chewing sound is becoming just a little bit louder, and you're shaking so badly that you're surprised you haven't fallen over yet. You're too scared to try and say Sasha's name, so you move in silence, trying to follow the sound.
You can make out a bit more- another sound above the munching. It sounds... almost like a crackling flame?
You step around a corner and immediately freeze up.
There's movement in front of you. It's a figure with its back to you, head down, hands clawing at... oh, god, clawing at a dead body beneath it. It's a zombie eating someone else, someone with long brown hair and dark, empty eyes and...
"No," you moan, stumbling backwards until you can grab the counter for support. "No, no-"
The zombie turns. There's blood drizzling from its gaping mouth as its bloodshot eyes land on you. It's hideous, not much different in appearance from the other zombies you've seen, but the blood dripping from its jaw and the person it's hovered over and this whole damn situation are making you dizzy-
The zombie that was eating Sasha rises, and it stumbles towards you.
You can't even react properly; you're too overwhelmed. It reaches a hand for you and you yelp, falling backwards. You stick your weapon up between you and the zombie, but its other hand knocks the axe. Your grip is too loose; it goes tumbling out of your hands.
"Get back," you moan, scooting backwards across the floor. "Get- get away-"
Naturally, the zombie doesn't listen. It lunges for you again and you frantically kick your foot up; by some miracle, your boot knocks the zombie over and it stumbles into a cart. The cart and the creature go crashing to the ground.
Tears are forming in your eyes and there's a bell ringing in your ears, but you manage to get yourself to your feet anyways. That's Sasha laying out there, that was Sasha being eaten, that was your best fucking friend-
You dash across the kitchen, trying to figure out where your axe went. Your eyes move to Sasha's dead body and you can feel yourself about to vomit when your eyes land on the stove.
There's a pan on fire.
The pan itself isn't on fire, obviously, but something was left unattended on a stove burner and it ended up catching fire. Grease, maybe? Does it really matter?
There's a groan, and you spin around again. The zombie's coming back.
On the verge of a panic attack, you seize the handle of the pan and whip it at the oncoming zombie.
The contents of the flaming pan splatter over the zombie, and to your surprise, it lights up in flame. Its clothes start to burn, as does its hair, but it seems undeterred: it groans in response, unconcerned by the flames consuming its body.
Zombies can burn, you muse to yourself despite all of the panic in your brain.
The zombie stumbles backwards, tripping over its own feet. Are the flames burning it? Is it finally feeling something? Either way, it's starting to collapse, groaning miserably. You spy your axe and you creep over to it, nearly slipping in some of the blood splattered across the floor as you reach to pick it up.
It's twitching and grunting, but it's not getting up. The fire must be doing a number to it.
"Fuck you," you tell the burning zombie quietly. Then, a bit louder, you repeat it. "Fuck you."
It doesn't even grunt in response.
You look back once to Sasha's body. She's messy, covered in blood, so you can't even tell how she died or anything like that. God, you're going to be sick- Sasha didn't deserve an ending as sick as this. She deserved so much better.
But she's definitely dead- which means she isn't going to return as a zombie. You're not sure you could handle that.
You stumble past the burning undead towards one of the front counters, eyes landing on a bin tucked under the countertop. You reach for it, tugging out one of the tablecloths that's stored there.
Wandering back to Sasha, you unfold the sheet. Then, once you're close enough, you cover her with it. There's not much else you can do, but... maybe this'll be better. Maybe.
"I love you," you say quietly as you pull the edges of the sheet corners. "You were..."
You trail off, your throat feeling painfully thick.
"You were amazing," you choke out. "I- I'll never find a friend like you. The next time that I-" you pause, collecting yourself. "The next time I have cookies," you joke weakly, "I'll think of you."
Cookies were your and Sasha's thing. Hundreds of recipes for chocolate chip cookies exist: Sasha was hell bent on trying each and every one of them, trying to find the perfect recipe. She kept a document somewhere on her laptop with every recipe you two had ever tried and her overall rating. You two were going on recipe twenty-seven.
You force yourself to smile, blinking back tears. "I'm sorry," you muster out.
Then, you pick yourself back up. You brush at your eyes as you stumble out of the kitchen, passing the burning zombie who doesn't look like it's getting up anytime soon.
You head out, leaving a piece of your heart behind.
By the time you start the trek back to the only place you know that you can go to- your apartment- it's pitch dark outside and the streets are crawling with the undead. You can't stop hearing people screaming, things breaking and crashing as those that had tried to hide become discovered. You sneak your way through, trying to avoid confrontation as best you can. It's hard with zombies absolutely fucking everywhere.
Eventually, you stumble into your apartment. It's empty, devoid of abnormalities- thank fuck. The lights and power are still working, but you don't risk turning the lights on- you don't want any unwanted attention.
You move until your back hits a wall. Then, you slump down until you're seated against the ground. Your axe clatters to the floor in front of you.
The events of today are spinning in your head, but you still can't process it.
Was life truly normal only twenty-four hours ago?
You don't know how long you sit there, but it's definitely for a while. You can't bring yourself to move; you can't bring yourself to think. It feels like this is all just some crazy fever dream, and you need to wake yourself up from it.
At one point, the oven beeps quietly. You look up: it's midnight.
And here ends the worst day of your entire life. Hopefully.
"Shit," you mumble, tucking your knees closer into your chest. "Holy shit."
Twenty four hours ago, you'd been watching some stupid reality television show with Sasha. You'd been teasing her about the chef at the restaurant that she had a giant crush on.
And now, here you are.
Sasha's dead, and you're sitting in your apartment with an axe.
"Well," you murmur to yourself, tears slipping down your cheeks. "I guess it can't get much worse than this."
.
You use your laptop to look up the news. You plug in your headphones so that you don't make any noise and listen, squinting at the bright screen.
"No one is exactly sure what started the pandemonium on Paradis Island," the woman on screen is saying, "but one thing's for sure- it's a threat to humanity's very existence. Escapees are claiming that people are attacking each other: gruesome people with incoherent thoughts and a taste for human flesh."
Zombies? appears on the screen in bright red font. You change to a different website.
"...no idea where to go from here," some man is saying, looking to his co-anchor. "Military has moved in. Both bridges off the island have been closed down."
"It looks like the outbreak started in Sina," his co-anchor says, eyes narrowed at the camera. "For those unfamiliar with the island of Paradis, Sina is its largest city and easily its only noteworthy one. There's some smaller towns scattered around the island, and most of them were able to be safely evacuated before any sort of infection arrived."
Well, they're not exactly right. It started in a workplace about ten minutes outside of town- the undead just picked Sina as their first target.
You watch more of the news, but it doesn't help. It only increases the dread building in your stomach.
No one knows what's going on.
You can't believe you know more than the media. "Maybe if I offered an interview, they'd actually put some effort into getting people out of here," you say to yourself bitterly, glaring at the map that someone's pulled up of Paradis Island.
"Is there any hope for the people still trapped within the island?" the news anchor is saying.
It's a damn good question.
You wish you had an answer.
.
You don't know how long it takes the power to go out. But it does.
Same with cell reception. Everything just goes to shit at some point.
You try to remember what sort of apocalypse-type books or movies you've seen. What happens at this point? Aren't survivors supposed to band together, try and survive against the zombies, all that jazz?
Before everything decides to leave- power, service, all that fun shit- you do get a glimpse at how the rest of the world is doing. Apparently, it's all gone to absolute shit. They're trying to contain the "paranormal threat", as the news is calling it, to the island. They're trying to run evacuations, but nothing is working and the zombie population is too high.
The media is "encouraging survivors to seclude themselves as best they can until the authorities can perform countermeasures".
So you do.
But then power leaves. And service. So how are you supposed to check on the outside world? How are your so-called rescuers supposed to find you?
At some point, you hear a helicopter. Maybe it's just surveillance, or maybe it's an attempted rescue. Either or, it fails miserably; the noise attracts literally all of the zombies in the area and it makes any attempts at landing impossible.
So you stay hidden. In your stupid apartment above the clothing store.
The worst part isn't even the groaning that you can hear at night. Or the shuffling and grunting that keeps you awake.
It's the damn smell. It's the smell of rotting, decomposing flesh. At first, it's only prominent in areas where the zombies are. But after a while, it feels like it's everywhere.
Isn't this the part where you're supposed to team up with people?
The only other person you've seen was one man that you were way too late to save. You'd watched as he crawled across the floor, crying out for help, only to convulse and try to attack you. A zombie had bitten his ankle, consequently turning him into one of the undead.
It's kind of lonely. Just you and your apartment.
What can you do from here? You need to survive- you need to get out of here. But you're horribly inexperienced, unequipped, and have no fucking clue what's going on.
Well... maybe you can start by dealing with the unequipped part.
"Why not?" you muse to yourself. "May as well."
So you loot the entire street.
Obviously, you're careful. You're quiet in your steps and you stake out a store or apartment before you break in. You steal everything that can be considered useful: food, tools, batteries, weapons. Medication. You have no idea what half of these medications do, but you steal as much as you can anyways. Better to have it and not need it, right?
You don't run into survivors. You avoid zombies the best you can, but when they're unavoidable, you kill them. You're getting pretty good at that.
You change your attire so that you're always wearing long pants, a jacket, boots, and gloves. Less exposed skin means less available opportunity for the undead. You've got your pick of wardrobe: there's the clothes store right underneath your apartment whose belongings you normally wouldn't be able to afford.
You make do. That's all you can do, right?
Using what you know of zombies helps. You pour a canister of gasoline around the apartment, soaking the walls and doorway. The smell is strong, sure, but it'll hide your scent and it could make for a good trap against zombies if they ever got the drop on you.
What else can you do? What else is there that can be done?
So you repeat.
You loot. You store it all. You hide. You sleep.
You repeat.
Just an endless cycle. Is this how you're going to live the rest of your life?
.
A month.
That's how long has passed from the initial outbreak. That's how long you've been surviving on your own. It's been a month of stocking up your apartment, killing zombies, and talking to your photographs to avoid going completely insane.
Well... you're just surprised you've made it this far.
You consider trying to find a way out of here. Maybe if you got to the bridges, you could get out. But one of the bridges is normally a four hour drive- it'll be at least a week's worth of walking and camping out- and the other is a six hour drive. Cars are out of the question: the streets are completely clogged up with abandoned vehicles, the noise would attract too much attention, and there's no telling how far you'd be able to get on what limited fuel the vehicles have.
Getting out would be nice. But for now, you're just going to have to survive.
You expand your looting area. You search a little bit further every day, stealing a little bit more, clearing a few more zombies.
And one day, you find apples.
Fruit was one of the things that went bad quite quickly. Once the power went off and fridges stopped working, plenty of fruits, vegetables, and meats spoiled. You ate like a king for the first week or so of the outbreak; the last few weeks have been fairly dismal.
So it's quite the surprise when you find one house and there's an apple tree in their backyard. "No way," you say in awe, reaching up to the tree and pinching the fruit between your fingers. "Apples."
It doesn't really feel real, not until you've got the fruit in your hands and you can feel the textured skin in your palm. It's a damn apple.
Grinning, you sink your teeth into it, and your knees nearly buckle. "God, that's good," you mumble to yourself, relishing in the taste of the first bite. They always say the first bite of an apple is the best, and now, you believe it.
You pick the rest of the apples on the tree- maybe another dozen in total- before you make your way back towards your apartment. You're in a good mood the entire way back, munching happily on your apple with your bag heavy on your shoulders. Your guard is down, but it's probably fine- you've killed everything dangerous in this area.
When you get back to your apartment, you put all of the apples into one of your spare grocery bags and tie it off before putting them in one of your higher cupboards. You smile to yourself as you bite away at your apple, savoring the taste.
"Dinner?" you ask the stone pit in the center of your kitchen that you've been using to make fires. It's nothing more than a heap of ashes and charcoal with some firewood overtop, ringed by rocks, but it does the trick.
The rocks don't reply to you. The day they do is the day you'll know you've got crazy.
"We'll see what we have in the kitchen," you say, moving around to your cupboards. Today's a good day, with the apples and whatnot- maybe you should treat yourself.
Wait.
You can hear something.
You're not sure what it was, but it almost sounded like... like someone dropped something, or pushed a door closed.
What was that?
There's a creaking sound, like the door downstairs is shifting. You'd kept the door at the top of the stairs, the one separating your apartment from the stairway, but the one separating the stairs from the street got knocked askew at some point. You left it open; it's insanely creaky and you didn't want to attract any attention.
There's footsteps.
Holy shit, there's footsteps.
Immediately, you drop what's left of your apple onto the counter and grab your axe. Your hands scramble at the things on your counter: batteries, a pen, steel wool. You jam it all into your pockets and back away from the door, nearly slipping in the gasoline lining the edges of the room as you scramble to the back hallway.
You step around one of the walls and freeze, holding your breath.
The gasoline should mask your scent. You were quiet (mostly); hopefully they didn't hear anything. If they did, and by some stupid chance they come up the stairs, maybe they'll head back down.
Can zombies climb stairs? Well, they'd probably just crawl, honestly.
You squeeze your eyes shut. You really don't want to know the answer to that question.
You hear the footsteps again. They sound like they're coming up the stairs. You try to listen as best you can: it sounds like two separate sets. Alright, two zombies.
It's fine. You've handled worse.
You just wish it didn't have to be in your own apartment.
The steps pause, and then you hear your doorknob turn. The door pushes open.
You frown. Don't zombies normally just groan and try to shove doors down? Since when do they turn door handles?
There's footsteps on the main floor. Your grip tightens on your axe.
"What the fuck?" someone murmurs.
You blink.
That's not zombies- zombies don't say anything past incomprehensible grunts and groans.
There's more footsteps. "What is it, Levi?" someone calls.
"Someone's living here."
"Seriously?"
"Yeah, come look at this. An apple core- fresh."
Shit. This wasn't the plan.
You squeeze your eyes shut. What now? How the hell do you handle this? You can hear the footsteps as the two figures search your apartment. You don't want them taking your stuff, but what if they're hostile?
Shit. Shit, shit-
"Hey, Levi," the second voice murmurs. "They're well stocked up."
Fucking hell. What do you do?
"We should grab what we can before they come back," the voice continues, and you hear the sound of one of your kitchen cupboards closing. "Levi, look at all the meds here. Holy shit- this could keep us stocked up for weeks."
"They're still here," the first voice- Levi- says.
You straighten up, grip tightening on your axe.
"Seriously?" the second voice whispers, their voice hushed.
"Show yourself," the man named Levi demands.
Fuck.
Fuck, fuck, fuck-
Your options are painfully limited.
"You going to shoot me?" you call out dryly from behind the wall.
There's a clatter- someone dropped something, maybe in surprise. You're betting it was voice number two. "Depends," Levi says.
"On?"
"You planning on shooting us?"
"Are you planning on stealing my stuff?"
"Yes."
"No," the second voice interrupts immediately, and your fingers loosen around the handle of your axe. "No, we won't steal anything, but we'd love to work with you! We've got a base, you can come back and join us-"
There's a smack. "What the fuck, Hange," the voice named Levi demands. "You can't just go offering shelter to every single person we meet."
"Everyone's worked out fine! Everyone is super nice and helpful-"
"We can do without Gelgar."
"Aw, Levi, that's mean!"
What the hell are you supposed to make of this conversation? Is it a ruse, or are they genuinely arguing? You pause to yourself, thinking of the materials in your pocket. Could you bluff your way out of this?
The second voice speaks up again. "Are you still there? Sir? Ma'am? Captain?"
"For fuck's sake," Levi groans.
You switch your axe to one hand and reach into your pocket for the battery. "I'd recommend not taking my stuff," you call. "I can blow this place up."
There's a pause from the other two.
"You probably smelled the gasoline," you continue, fumbling to reach into your other pocket while keeping your axe in hand. "Zombie prevention measure- hides my scent. It also means that I can send this place up in flames if I have to."
"And destroy all of your own shit?" Levi sneers.
"I have reserves," you lie.
Your fingers close around the steel wool in your other pocket.
"You'd need a lighter for that," the man counters.
You bite back your grin. Not necessarily.
Summoning your courage, you step around the wall. Your eyes scan your apartment and land on the two figures. You're quick to match the second voice to someone with shaggy brown hair pulled back in a messy ponytail with crooked glasses. They're staring at you with wide eyes, one of their hands on the handle of a cupboard.
The voice matched to the man named Levi makes you raise your eyebrows.
Your first thought is shit, he's short.
It's quickly followed by shit, he's hot.
The depth of his voice and the overall snark had you picturing someone at least six feet tall. He carries himself like he's taller, though: shoulders pushed back, chin raised, eyes narrowed. His fingers are wrapped around the handle of a metal baseball bat, the end of which is resting on the counter. He's got dark hair styled in an undercut and his entire outfit is black: his jacket, his pants, his gloves.
The two of you lock eyes.
Levi's eyes widen, but only slightly.
For a second, the two of you just stare at each other.
Then, you remember what you stepped around the wall for. You raise the battery in your hand to the steel wool pinched between your fingers, pressing the battery terminals to the steel wool.
Immediately, sparks fly. Smaller strands of the wool burn.
"Sparks!" the second person yelps, eyes going wide behind their glasses. "Oh, holy shit, that's cool."
"I'd rather not burn the place down," you say, "but I can."
Your eyes flicker sideways to the trail of gasoline that lines the edge of the room, then back to the man glaring at you from across the room.
Levi stares at you for a second before he speaks. "Where'd you get all this shit?"
You shrug. "Raided a few drug stores. This street was hit pretty bad, so most places were..." you trail off. "Empty. Easy to raid."
"Empty, or had those damn undead?" Levi counters.
Judging by the weaponry- Levi's baseball bat, the other person is holding some sort of metal pole- they're used to fighting zombies. So are you, for that matter.
You sigh to yourself. Can you let your guard down? It doesn't seem like they're going to attack you. Slowly, you lower the hand holding the battery. "You're, uh..." you trail off. "The first survivors I've seen."
The brown-haired person straightens up. "No way! We're it? Well, this is our first time in this area- we've been canvasing nearby, you see-"
"Hange," Levi warns.
Canvasing? They've been scouting out the area?
If that's the case, then they're experienced, and they're clearly skilled. There's always new zombies roaming around, and every time you'd leave to loot through another store or house, there'd be new zombies just waiting to get their hands on anything that moved.
"So you're the reason there's next to nothing on this street," the person whose name must be Hange says. "You've killed all the zombies and looted everything already. Is this your place?"
You shrug. "More or less."
"We've got a headquarters-"
"Hange," Levi repeats.
Hange sighs. "C'mon, Levi. We should combine forces-"
"We're leaving."
You straighten up. "Fine by me."
Levi scoffs. "Of course it is."
"You're invading my house- did you seriously expect me to be happy about it?" you challenge. Your gesture widely with one arm towards the couch, the battery nearly slipping out of your fingers. "Please, have a seat, and I'll put on some tea."
"You know, it's a miracle you've lived this long," he replies dryly.
"Why? Because I have damn apples?"
"No, because there's clearly no brain in your skull."
You laugh. "Oh, please. Says the one who came straight into my apartment without checking for traps first."
Levi looks annoyed. "There weren't."
"That you know of-"
"Wait!" Hange interrupts, cutting you off. Levi turns to leave. "No, no, wait!" Hange springs their arm out and seizes Levi's sleeve. He tugs himself out of their grip almost immediately. "Come on, guys. You should join us!" they add, turning back to you. "There's, like, a dozen of us all together. We do patrols and stuff."
"I can see," you say dryly, noticing how their other hand is still on the handle to your cupboard.
"We've been picking up survivors where we can," Hange continues. "We're all in this together, right?"
Your eyes flicker to Levi. He's no longer protesting, but you still don't like the look in his eyes. "And what are the odds of me getting killed in my sleep?"
"Slim to none," Hange says helpfully.
"High," Levi objects.
"Wow, the recruitment speech is really convincing," you say sarcastically. "Your enthusiasm rivals some drunk sorority girls."
"You're pleasant," he rebukes dryly.
You smile bitterly. "Aw."
There's a bang that sounds an awful lot like a door, and you immediately raise your axe. Both Levi and Hange turn their attention to the doorway they came in through, down the stairs towards the first floor store. "Levi?" you hear another voice call, and your chest tightens. "Hange?"
There's three of them now? You're not really going to be able to fight your way out, if it comes to that.
"Up here," Levi calls.
"We found a survivor!" Hange says.
There's a set of footsteps moving up the stairs. You hold out your axe, narrowing your eyes at the figure as they move up the stairs. By the heaviness of the footsteps, especially compared to Levi and Hange's, you're betting this third person is tall.
Sure enough, he is. The man that comes through your doorway is blond with piercing eyes and he's easily six feet tall- if not more. He carries himself well, and it's not hard to realize that he's the leader of this little team. Both Levi and Hange are looking to him as he surveys the room and his eyes finally land on you.
Christ, he's hot too. And Hange's ridiculously good-looking as well. What's in the water that this survivor group is drinking?
"Hello," he greets, and you raise your eyebrows. "My name is Erwin Smith. I see you've met Levi and Hange."
He's... weirdly pleasant. Is he trying to get you to drop your guard? "Hi," you say cautiously. "You going to steal my stuff?"
"I'd rather you join us so that no stealing is required."
Levi grumbles something incomprehensible, then mutters, "you and Hange both, Erwin. Way too fucking trusting."
"Trusting?" you say in surprise. "I'm the one that can't be trusted here?"
"You're the one threatening to blow the place," Levi snaps.
"Threatened, past tense," you object. You tuck the battery into one pocket, and then slide the steel wool into another. "There. I put it away."
"So? You can just pull it back out."
"You're definitely tempting me."
"Gasoline," the blond man- Erwin- says thoughtfully, glancing around your apartment, and you purse your lips. "Smart. And you've got a stone pit," he remarks, looking to your makeshift campfire spot that you'd set up in the middle of your kitchen. "Interesting."
Interesting makes it sound weird. "We're all survivors here," you say. "We do what we need to."
Erwin straightens up. He seems pleased with your answer. "Exactly," he says. "We're all survivors. I don't see any sense in pitting ourselves against each other when we all have such a common enemy."
You don't reply to that. Levi still looks skeptical, but Hange's grinning.
"Is this your plan?" Erwin asks, and you turn your attention back to him. "You're going to live out the rest of your days fighting off zombies and living in your own secluded apartment? Is this the rest of your life?"
"Well, I was hoping for a vacation," you say, lips twitching.
Erwin smirks. "Where to?"
"I heard Paris is nice this time of year."
"Paris is awesome," Hange supplies helpfully. "The architecture is fascinating! And-"
"Hange, shut up," Levi grumbles.
"You're such a spoilsport, Levi."
You can't help the tiny grin that appears on your face, but you squash it quickly. "We're not planning on sitting around," Erwin says firmly. "We have plans. We're getting out of this place."
"Oh, yeah?" you challenge. "And how do you plan to do that?"
"We've found an old radio," he says, eyes glittering with excitement. "Phones obviously don't work, but this radio will, once we fix it. We're going to learn more about how the public views this situation and what our best shot of getting off the island is. We're gathering as many survivors as we can and preparing ourselves for when we figure out the situation."
That's actually... smart. You hadn't made any plans to really get off the island; you've been more focused on surviving day by day. You've dismissed leaving as impossible.
"We're also trying to learn as much about the zombies as we can," Erwin adds. "The more of us we have, the more we understand. Everyone's experiences are unique."
"You look like you know a lot," Levi mutters, his eyes narrowed at you.
Something curls up in your stomach. If only you knew. "I know some stuff," you agree tentatively.
The blond man tightens one of his hands into a fist, holding it up in front of him. "There are no downsides to working together," he says convincingly. "Humanity's hope lies in its people. As long as we don't let our spark of hope go out, then we have a chance."
This damn recruitment speech is awfully convincing.
"Anyone ever told you that you could be a motivational speaker?" you ask.
"We tell him all the time," Hange says helpfully.
You skim over Erwin and Hange so that you can meet Levi's eyes. He's not as guarded as he was before, but that could easily just be because of Erwin's presence- the man radiates confidence and protection. Levi looks like your biggest obstacle: the other two seem much more accepting.
Well... you've stocked up enough for you to last at least two months if you ration properly. Sharing your resources wouldn't be the worst thing in the world. You've got more medication than you need, so sharing that wouldn't be too bad. Clearly, they've got supplies as well.
Although...
What happens when they find out what you know? What happens when they realize you know way more about zombies than the average person, way more than someone could find out just by fighting them? What happens when they make the connection or when you finally let something slip?
Well... you have gotten pretty lonely, being all by yourself for so long. It would be nice to be around some people...
You sigh, dropping your axe. "You guys are serious about this? Getting out of here?"
"Deadly," Erwin promises.
"And is the rest of your group as welcoming as Levi here?" you ask, nodding to the dark-haired man. He scowls at you.
"He's the exception," Hange assures you. "Don't take it personally, he's like this with everyone."
You pinch your lips together and exhale. "Alright."
"You'll join us?" Erwin clarifies.
You nod.
His smirk grows. "Excellent. Can we help you pack up your supplies?"
"Yeah. I guess so."
Immediately, Hange turns back to one of your cupboards and starts pulling out every tiny bottle of pills that you'd stolen from the pharmacy down the road. Levi turns back to one of the drawers and starts pulling out canned food that you'd stored. Erwin steps around the both of them, eyes surveying your apartment.
Are you stupid for trusting these people? Is it going to come back to bite you in the ass?
Maybe. Only one way to know for sure.
You inhale slowly, trying to keep yourself calm, and you move towards where you'd dropped your main gear bag. It's got a miniature survival kit inside, and enough food for you to survive for at least a week. You don't mind sharing the things you've got too much of, but there's no way in hell you're going to a brand new place without a back up plan. You pick up the bag, pulling it over your back; you're keeping your reserves.
"I'm just going to grab a few of my personal things," you say cautiously, looking up to Erwin.
He nods. "Of course. Anything we should know to grab here?"
You purse your lips, eyes skimming your kitchen. "There's more apples, if you want them," you suggest. "Top cupboard on the left. I just grabbed them an hour ago, so they're pretty fresh."
"Fruit," Hange says dreamily. "Wow."
"That's my medical supply cabinet," you say, pointing to the cupboard that Hange's already at. "And most of the cupboards are non-perishables. In that bottom drawer," you add, pointing to one near Erwin, "there should be knives and shit. And there's a bin with things like batteries, flashlights, ropes, stuff like that."
Erwin nods. He looks pleased; it sets you on edge. "You're prepared."
You shrug. "I guess."
He moves to the cupboard, and neither Levi nor Hange look back to you, so you take it as your cue to move to your bedroom. You thought that you might be upset that you'd have to leave, but honestly? Being alone here was kind of painful. This might be a whole lot better.
You grab your pillow, tucking it under one arm, and reach for your framed photograph of you and Sasha. You tuck it into your bag. You grab the knife that you keep at your bedside and slide it into your boot. You debate grabbing your blanket- you should ask Erwin what the living conditions are like at this headquarters of theirs.
You pull open the drawer on your nightstand. You grab your set of sharpies, tucking one into your pocket and the others into your bag. Your fingers hover over the ID card in the drawer.
Should you?
You might need it.
Swallowing hard, you stand yourself up straight. You uncap the sharpie and raise it to the wall. In large letters, you print your name, clear enough for anyone to see.
There. You've made your mark here. This is the end for the apartment you shared with Sasha; you've got a funny feeling that you're never coming back here.
Alright. Good. You look back down to the keycard in the drawer.
It's an ID card for your workplace. You used to carry it everywhere with you, because you needed it to get into work and access most areas in the facility. You don't really want to go back there, but maybe you'll need to, and the card will come in handy.
But...
No.
It's not your fault that the zombies were created at your damn workplace.
You swallow hard and stuff the keycard into the back pocket of your jeans. Better to have it and not need it than need it and not have it, right?
With your throat tight, you turn and head out of your old bedroom, ready for whatever dangerous chapter of your life this is.