There was the humming of an engine and not much else. A few voices, none that he recognised. 'Mm'ing and 'ahh'ing. His name. He heard his name.
And as for what he could see, well, that was a no-brainer. Absolutely fuck-all. There was something over his head, like a black sack or something, he didn't know, he didn't care, he was just concerned with getting out of here alive.
Alive.
Judging by the whole production, with the sack and the murmuring and the hands gripping his biceps, he didn't think that was happening any time soon.
Ray swallowed heavily, his heartbeat spiking with every noise. He was on tenterhooks, listening out for any sort of giveaway that they were stopping. And after what felt like forever, the vehicle began to slow, and they stopped. He was hauled out of the vehicle, and one of the hands that was gripping his bicep was strong and tight and unforgiving, while the other was loose and hesitant. Probably a girl.
He chided himself. Sexist pig.
"Do we really have to do this?" A voice to his right said, the owner of the limp hold, and if Ray wasn't fucking gagged, he'd have cried out.
"Yes." The person to his left replied.
Ray's eyes were wide beneath the sack. He had to get back to Gerard and Bert and Frank, he had to tell them - to tell them - to -
He was thrown onto something hard, a table, and the sack was yanked from his head. He was yelling behind the gag, his wide eyes pointed towards the male, while the female slapped him before advancing with a syringe in her hand. The male held him down as she injected him with some weird bluish fluid, and he was still writhing when he passed out, one thing on his mind:
He had to tell them that Ryan was -
~
Bert hadn't third-wheeled since 2012.
Bert hadn't felt so out of place since 2012.
Bert hadn't wanted to be alone so badly since 2012.
2012 sucked, to say the least.
And as Gerard and Frank gazed lovingly at each other by the small campfire they'd made, he resigned himself to sitting in the front seat of the car, hood pulled up, legs bent awkwardly so he could rest his feet against the dashboard. He'd stolen Frank's knife, and was running the side of the blade over his palm, the metal glinting in the moonlight.
It was quiet tonight. Quieter than he expected, anyway. He was worried that the campfire would attract zombies, but so far, so good. He kept thinking about Ray and where he'd been taken. They'd looked for him for a while but gave up once they realised there was no trace of him anywhere. It was dangerous to go looking for someone these days. He just wished Gerard would realise it.
Dammit! He slashed downwards with the knife, opening up the thigh of his jeans, opening up the skin of his thigh. Blood pooled instantly, startlingly red, and pain spiked through him. He did it a second time, ripping his jeans, ripping his skin, and he bit into his lower lip, screwing his eyes shut. He needed to feel something, to make sure he wasn't going numb all over.
Why couldn't Gerard just fucking learn?
Gerard never fucking learned.
He tossed the knife onto the passenger seat, gritting his teeth together, grinding the heels of his hands into his eyes. He could feel the blood, thick and slick on his thigh, and it stungstungstung with the power of a thousand bees. He'd slashed deeper than he thought, but didn't bother trying to stem the flow; it would do that by itself, soon enough. Or he'd bleed out. He didn't care which.
He found it hard to care about much these days, but he just about despised how much he still cared about Gerard. He could've walked away by now if it weren't for him. He could've found something else - someone else - to keep him going. His misery, his pain, his despair - it was all Gerard's fault.
He considered taking the tent and walking (well, limping) away, but he couldn't. The ache in his chest forbade him from doing it. The ache in his chest forbade him from doing anything of use.
A door opened in the back of the car, and Frank and Gerard slipped in, bringing the cold with them.
"Did you put the fire out?" He asked, not even bothering to glance around.
"Uh. Yeah." Gerard replied, and he sighed.
"Good."
There was a pause, and then Gerard gasped. "What's happened to your leg?"
Bert glanced down and shrugged. "Nothing. It's fine."
"It doesn't look very fine, it looks sore -"
"It's fine, Gerard."
"Are you sure you don't want me to -"
"I said," he hissed. "it's fine. Just leave me the fuck alone."
In a flash, Frank had leaned over, and with his knife suddenly in his hand, he held it to Bert's throat. "Don't talk to him like that."
The elder's eyebrows rose, as Gerard muttered a pathetic, "Frank," in an attempt to stop him from doing something he might regret. "You think I'm scared of you?" Bert said, smirking a little. "I've seen marshmallows with more bite than you, pirate boy."
Frank snarled. "I mean it, McCrackhead. Don't talk to him like that."
"I'm sure if he has a problem with it, he'll tell me." He turned to look at Gerard, whose eyes were downcast. "Right, Gee?" Gerard shrugged, and Bert reached around Frank to take his hand, giving it a squeeze. "Okay?"
"Yeah." He mumbled. "Frank, sit down."
"Not until this asshole apologises."
"Frank."
"Fucking apologise."
"Frank, don't -"
"Okay, okay, cut the shit, Shortass." Bert sighed. "I'm sorry, Gee."
"S'okay." He smiled tiredly. "Can we just...drive for a bit? I wanna get out of here."
~
Everything was so clear. Better than 20/20 vision - 200/200 vision. It was as if he'd been walking around with his eyes closed for most of his life.
And the smells, he could smell so much, especially blood. He swore his stomach rumbled as the rich metallic smell reached his nose, and he licked his lips. They were chapped, feeling like a country road that hadn't been resurfaced since it was laid. Everything was advanced. He could hear voices from across the building, he could read their thoughts, he knew what they feared the most. There was a man who feared seeing his boyfriend again. There was a woman who feared herself.
He raised his hands and looked at them, palm first, and then the back. His skin was pale, paler than he remembered, somewhat blue. The palest blue he'd ever seen, but still blue. He sat up, his head spinning, and he found that his legs dangled over the end of the operating table. He didn't remember being this tall.
He stood up, stumbled a little, finding himself to be not only taller, but broader, and he looked up to see two people in the doorway. They smelled good - he could hear their pulses thudding, his faster than hers, and he could smell their blood. The man who feared his boyfriend and the woman who feared herself.
"Ray." She said, her voice level.
He frowned. "Who's Ray?"
The man's eyes widened. "He can still speak."
"Of course I can still speak. I can still think. I know what you think. I know what you fear."
He turned to the woman with panicked eyes, but she pushed him away. "Stop it, Ryan." She looked to at Ray. "Tell me, are you thirsty?"
A slow smile spread on his face. "Yeah. Why? What have you got?"
"Follow me."
She led him down several corridors, Ryan scuttling behind, arms wrapped around himself. He didn't like this. He really didn't like this. They ended up in a room that held a large refrigerator, and she opened it, handing Ray two bottles of scarlet liquid.
"Drink up, Sugar. I'm gonna need you in an hour, don't want you wilting like a pansy." She smiled sweetly, and then left, beckoning for Ryan to follow. "Now," she said, walking quickly down yet more corridors, her high heels clicking on the pristine white tiles. "seeing as you've been so good, Ry, I've got you a present." She smiled again, but there was something different about this one, and it made Ryan uneasy.
"What is it?" He asked, his voice wobbling.
"You'll see."
She stopped outside a room that had several large locks bolted onto it. She unlocked every single one quicker than Ryan had ever seen anyone unlock something, tossing her long, dark hair over her shoulder, and then she smiled that sinister smile once more before leading him inside.
She flicked the lights on and started shushing at something, a low growling coming from the corner of the room. Ryan's eyes fell on a cage that she was approaching, a cage that held a zombie, but with a heart-wrenching jolt he realised that it wasn't just any zombie.
It was one thing to see your boyfriend's lifeless corpse get devoured. It was another to see it reanimated and growling hungrily at you as if it didn't even recognise the love in your eyes.
And with a grin that split her face, Lindsey left Ryan in the room, his horrified screams echoing down the corridors.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------