Entry tags:
VM Fic: And on the shore, our haggard bed
Fandom: Violent Messiahs
Title: And on the shore, our haggard bed
Rating: R
Pairing: Gen
Warning: character death
Summary: You have to make some tough choices when it's you against the world.
Disclaimer: These characters belong to Image and Joshua Dysart. I wish they were mine, but you can't have everything.
Feedback: Please. Any feedback is appreciated.
Author’s notes: This story is my center square entry for![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
hc_bingo. I chose, of all things, zombies. I hate zombies. Of course this would be the first one I finish. Not quite sure if this is what the challenge intended, but there's hurt and there's comfort, so I consider it a win. Thanks to ![[profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
lady_krysis for the beta.
In a normal world, Cheri thought to herself, police had to worry about things like drugs, gang violence, murder, some domestic abuse—bad things, to be sure, but normal, almost comforting. Something like that, awful as it was—it was still understandable.
In Rankor Island, however, every damn day you opened your eyes, there was something new and entirely insane going on in the city.
Cheri slammed the door behind her, panting for air as she shoved the next magazine into her pistol. "I. Fucking. Hate. Rankor. Island," she growled. She gritted her teeth as the door rattled behind her, shaking her bones. "In New York, we got crack heads with handguns. Here—?"
"We get zombies," Ernest finished. He was slumped in the corner, gasping as he chambered another round. He ran a hand through his sweaty blond hair. "The rest of the world will hear about this place and wonder how the hell we didn’t know something was going on until people started rotting. I’m gonna smell this place until the day I die."
"With our luck, that isn’t going to be very long." Cheri’s eyes darted from window to window, not lingering for more than a moment. "We’re sitting ducks here. We need to keep moving." She went to Ernest and grabbed his arm, pulling him forward. "We have to be out there. It’s chaos."
"What? And let them eat us like they did Brimer?" Ernest shook his head and shoved away from the wall. "No. I’m going to get to the docks and swim away if I have to."
"And you’re going to swim the entire channel?" Cheri scoffed. There was a loud, metallic screech, and then the door dented inward, just above Cheri’s head. "Come on. Break’s over."
"Oh god oh god—" Ernest squeezed his eyes shut, holding the gun tightly in his shaking hands. "After you?"
"Dumb ass," Cheri snorted. "On three." She counted silently to herself and then ran over to the door on the other side of the room, kicking it wide open and hurrying through, her gun cocked and ready to shoot.
There was movement on the fire escape above them, and she aimed a shot, taking off the thing’s head with one bullet. Again, movement to her left, but she heard the report of Ernest’s gun going off and didn’t turn to look, trusting that he had her back.
"The roof?" Cheri asked, looking up through the mesh of the fire escape.
"You’re expecting me to jump off a roof?" Ernest yelled as he aimed another shot. "I can barely run across the street!"
"How’d you become a detective with that kind of talk?"
"A serial killer liked me. Sound familiar?"
"Shut the fuck up, Houston." Cheri headed out across the street, each bullet landing with almost perfect accuracy—if this was ever over, she was going to brag about her mad skills until she was blue in the fucking face—and she took aim again, this time at the zombie that popped up right in front of her. Cheri’s breath started coming faster as she pulled the trigger, hearing click after click of her empty chambers, and she released the clip as she hurtled forward, smashing the hilt of her gun into the thing in front of her. They both went down, the dead, hungry thing beneath her scrabbling for a hold, fingers curved into talons to carve into her. She smashed the butt of her gun into its head, over and over, skull and blood and brain flying through the air until it finally—stopped—fucking—moving.
Cheri never liked the Rankor Island Police gear until now, but at least she didn’t have to worry about infection. It fucking covered.
She looked up and then down the dank, grimy city streets and then grabbed Ernest by the collar of his jacket, dragging him into another small room she saw out of the corner of her eye. It felt too long before she had them safely in the room, which was dark and quiet except for the pounding of her heart and their harsh breathing. Cheri eased her hand along the flat wall, searching for the light switch; when she flipped the switch, the room was filled with a weak yellow light, and she was relieved to find that she and Ernest were the only creatures in there, living or dead.
It seemed to be a storage closet, and Cheri kicked aside some pails and brooms before she looked at Ernest. "Hanging in there?"
Ernest was pale, and he gave her a wobbly, weak smile as he shoved his glasses up his nose. "Not so good, Cheri. I think one of them got me."
"You don’t just say shit like that, Houston. Get your ass over here." For now, it looked like no one had followed them to their tiny hide out, so Cheri sat on the cold cement floor and yanked Ernest closer, turning him so his back was against her chest. "Close your eyes and let me take a look."
"Mmm, brains." Ernest choked out a weak laugh, and Cheri smacked him upside the head as she looked at his arm. It didn’t look good, blood seeping sluggishly between his fingers, but Cheri held her breath as she peeled away the soaked cloth from his arm.
Fuck, she thought as her heart sped up. Fuck, fuck, fuck. There, neatly imprinted into Ernest’s skin like a stamp were clear bite marks just beneath his elbow. They were already starting to putrefy around the edges. She covered the wound back up and laughed. "Houston, you’re nuts. This is just a flesh wound. Don’t scare me like that, asshole."
"You know me." Ernest said shakily. "I live on the edge."
"This is what we’re going to do, okay? You listening to me?" Ernest nodded, so Cheri continued. "We’re going to rest here for a little while, and then we’re going to fight our way down to the docks, because we’re fucking badass. We’ll take the ferry, swim the fucking channel if we have to, and we’ll let Rankor Island eat itself up. How’s that for a plan?"
"Sounds good, Cheri."
Cheri rested her hand against Ernest’s forehead to sweep back his hair, and she could already feel the fever, the infection beginning to take hold. She picked up her gun and cleaned off the handle before reloading. "Where we going once we hit New York?"
"I was thinking Maui," Ernest said. "They have great beaches."
"You don’t want to see me in a bathing suit." Cheri set her thumb on the hammer and cocked it, drawing it back and rolling the first chamber. "I’ll blind you. I look like a dead fish."
"I know better. You’ll look great. Like a mermaid." Ernest twisted in Cheri’s arms, his brown eyes calm. He knew. And he knew she knew. It should have made it easier. It didn’t. "When we’re out there, back on the street, just remember to—"
"I got it. Just take a nap. We’ve got a long way ahead of us." Ernest nodded and turned back around. Cheri didn’t know if he was trying to sleep or not, but his skin was raging hotter, and Ernest was her best friend. Her only friend.
Cheri bit her lip hard and clenched her eyes shut, tears squeezing out beneath her lashes as she pulled the trigger.
Eventually, she knew, she would have to move. Hunger, her bladder, horror, something would force her to keep moving on.
Cheri was one person against a million, but she knew she wouldn’t give up. She would take them all on.
The last bullet was hers, though. Just in case.
Title: And on the shore, our haggard bed
Rating: R
Pairing: Gen
Warning: character death
Summary: You have to make some tough choices when it's you against the world.
Disclaimer: These characters belong to Image and Joshua Dysart. I wish they were mine, but you can't have everything.
Feedback: Please. Any feedback is appreciated.
Author’s notes: This story is my center square entry for
hc_bingo. I chose, of all things, zombies. I hate zombies. Of course this would be the first one I finish. Not quite sure if this is what the challenge intended, but there's hurt and there's comfort, so I consider it a win. Thanks to lady_krysis for the beta.In a normal world, Cheri thought to herself, police had to worry about things like drugs, gang violence, murder, some domestic abuse—bad things, to be sure, but normal, almost comforting. Something like that, awful as it was—it was still understandable.
In Rankor Island, however, every damn day you opened your eyes, there was something new and entirely insane going on in the city.
Cheri slammed the door behind her, panting for air as she shoved the next magazine into her pistol. "I. Fucking. Hate. Rankor. Island," she growled. She gritted her teeth as the door rattled behind her, shaking her bones. "In New York, we got crack heads with handguns. Here—?"
"We get zombies," Ernest finished. He was slumped in the corner, gasping as he chambered another round. He ran a hand through his sweaty blond hair. "The rest of the world will hear about this place and wonder how the hell we didn’t know something was going on until people started rotting. I’m gonna smell this place until the day I die."
"With our luck, that isn’t going to be very long." Cheri’s eyes darted from window to window, not lingering for more than a moment. "We’re sitting ducks here. We need to keep moving." She went to Ernest and grabbed his arm, pulling him forward. "We have to be out there. It’s chaos."
"What? And let them eat us like they did Brimer?" Ernest shook his head and shoved away from the wall. "No. I’m going to get to the docks and swim away if I have to."
"And you’re going to swim the entire channel?" Cheri scoffed. There was a loud, metallic screech, and then the door dented inward, just above Cheri’s head. "Come on. Break’s over."
"Oh god oh god—" Ernest squeezed his eyes shut, holding the gun tightly in his shaking hands. "After you?"
"Dumb ass," Cheri snorted. "On three." She counted silently to herself and then ran over to the door on the other side of the room, kicking it wide open and hurrying through, her gun cocked and ready to shoot.
There was movement on the fire escape above them, and she aimed a shot, taking off the thing’s head with one bullet. Again, movement to her left, but she heard the report of Ernest’s gun going off and didn’t turn to look, trusting that he had her back.
"The roof?" Cheri asked, looking up through the mesh of the fire escape.
"You’re expecting me to jump off a roof?" Ernest yelled as he aimed another shot. "I can barely run across the street!"
"How’d you become a detective with that kind of talk?"
"A serial killer liked me. Sound familiar?"
"Shut the fuck up, Houston." Cheri headed out across the street, each bullet landing with almost perfect accuracy—if this was ever over, she was going to brag about her mad skills until she was blue in the fucking face—and she took aim again, this time at the zombie that popped up right in front of her. Cheri’s breath started coming faster as she pulled the trigger, hearing click after click of her empty chambers, and she released the clip as she hurtled forward, smashing the hilt of her gun into the thing in front of her. They both went down, the dead, hungry thing beneath her scrabbling for a hold, fingers curved into talons to carve into her. She smashed the butt of her gun into its head, over and over, skull and blood and brain flying through the air until it finally—stopped—fucking—moving.
Cheri never liked the Rankor Island Police gear until now, but at least she didn’t have to worry about infection. It fucking covered.
She looked up and then down the dank, grimy city streets and then grabbed Ernest by the collar of his jacket, dragging him into another small room she saw out of the corner of her eye. It felt too long before she had them safely in the room, which was dark and quiet except for the pounding of her heart and their harsh breathing. Cheri eased her hand along the flat wall, searching for the light switch; when she flipped the switch, the room was filled with a weak yellow light, and she was relieved to find that she and Ernest were the only creatures in there, living or dead.
It seemed to be a storage closet, and Cheri kicked aside some pails and brooms before she looked at Ernest. "Hanging in there?"
Ernest was pale, and he gave her a wobbly, weak smile as he shoved his glasses up his nose. "Not so good, Cheri. I think one of them got me."
"You don’t just say shit like that, Houston. Get your ass over here." For now, it looked like no one had followed them to their tiny hide out, so Cheri sat on the cold cement floor and yanked Ernest closer, turning him so his back was against her chest. "Close your eyes and let me take a look."
"Mmm, brains." Ernest choked out a weak laugh, and Cheri smacked him upside the head as she looked at his arm. It didn’t look good, blood seeping sluggishly between his fingers, but Cheri held her breath as she peeled away the soaked cloth from his arm.
Fuck, she thought as her heart sped up. Fuck, fuck, fuck. There, neatly imprinted into Ernest’s skin like a stamp were clear bite marks just beneath his elbow. They were already starting to putrefy around the edges. She covered the wound back up and laughed. "Houston, you’re nuts. This is just a flesh wound. Don’t scare me like that, asshole."
"You know me." Ernest said shakily. "I live on the edge."
"This is what we’re going to do, okay? You listening to me?" Ernest nodded, so Cheri continued. "We’re going to rest here for a little while, and then we’re going to fight our way down to the docks, because we’re fucking badass. We’ll take the ferry, swim the fucking channel if we have to, and we’ll let Rankor Island eat itself up. How’s that for a plan?"
"Sounds good, Cheri."
Cheri rested her hand against Ernest’s forehead to sweep back his hair, and she could already feel the fever, the infection beginning to take hold. She picked up her gun and cleaned off the handle before reloading. "Where we going once we hit New York?"
"I was thinking Maui," Ernest said. "They have great beaches."
"You don’t want to see me in a bathing suit." Cheri set her thumb on the hammer and cocked it, drawing it back and rolling the first chamber. "I’ll blind you. I look like a dead fish."
"I know better. You’ll look great. Like a mermaid." Ernest twisted in Cheri’s arms, his brown eyes calm. He knew. And he knew she knew. It should have made it easier. It didn’t. "When we’re out there, back on the street, just remember to—"
"I got it. Just take a nap. We’ve got a long way ahead of us." Ernest nodded and turned back around. Cheri didn’t know if he was trying to sleep or not, but his skin was raging hotter, and Ernest was her best friend. Her only friend.
Cheri bit her lip hard and clenched her eyes shut, tears squeezing out beneath her lashes as she pulled the trigger.
Eventually, she knew, she would have to move. Hunger, her bladder, horror, something would force her to keep moving on.
Cheri was one person against a million, but she knew she wouldn’t give up. She would take them all on.
The last bullet was hers, though. Just in case.
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This is so angsty, but so wonderfully good.
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I'm glad you liked it, at least. :P