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Long before the apocalypse started, everything was well. But that time isn't called pre-apocalypse for nothing.
Now, zombies are everywhere. It would be only a few years before the rest of the survivors unjustly become one of them. But even so, humans have survival instincts flowing through their blood whenever danger comes their way.
"Where the fuck did you put the spare weapons?" Wilbur stomps into the room.
"I thought you kept them," Techno rolls his eyes.
Wilbur scoffs. "I clearly remember telling you to put it in the back room."
Techno narrows his eyes at him. "You didn't tell me to put it in the back room. You told me to remind you to put it in there."
"Stop putting words in my mouth!" Wilbur yells.
Techno slams a hand on the table. "You know what? Why don't you just take care of everything? That way, you have no one to blame but yourself."
The pinkette stands up, grabbing his book and setting off for a room where he could read in peace.
The anger on Wilbur's face melts off as he watches his brother walk away.
"Techno, I..." he cuts off, the door shutting in front of his face.
It isn't uncommon to have fights at a time like this. Maybe, because of the outbreak, everyone forgot how to be kind and focused on living instead.
“I’m sorry about…earlier,” Wilbur rubs the back of his neck.
Techno sighs. “It’s fine.”
“It’s just that it’s been really stressful these days,” Wilbur explains.
“It always has been stressful,” Techno pouts.
“I know,” Wilbur curls his lip. “Listen, to make it up to you, how about I cook tonight’s dinner?” he offers, leading the pinkette into the kitchen.
“And what, get a stomach ache?” Techno jokes.
“Oh, you fucking bastard,” Wilbur insults light-heartedly.
“What?” Techno shrugs. “It’s the truth.”
“I will smite you,” Wilbur threatens him with a spatula
“Rude,” Techno glares at him before running out of the room with the brunette at his tail, yelling murderous intentions.
It felt like they were children again. Chasing each other, running around the house.
As if they weren’t anything more than children now too. The apocalypse started three years ago. Wilbur was seventeen and Techno was fifteen.
They were young, but not that young. Hell, they’ve seen fucking nine year olds try to fend for themselves, only to be torn to shreds by those horrid creatures. So how could they dare call themselves young or call the world unfair?
“We’ve run out of supplies,” Wilbur grimaces.
Techno exhales like they’ve experienced before again and again. “I’ll look for some.”
”We’ll look for some,” Wilbur says insistently.
“It’s gotten more dangerous out there,” Techno says, pointing outside the window.
“Exactly,” Wilbur grunts, picking up an ax. “That’s why I’m coming with you.”
Techno frowns at the brunette walking in front of him, but gives up knowing that he too, would never let Wilbur go out for supplies alone. So making his brother stay at their run-down hideout would be pretty hypocritical of him, wouldn’t it?
“Wilbur, go back,” Techno mutters.
“What do you mean? We just went out,” Wilbur asks.
“There’s a hoard, Wil,” Techno nudges at the crowd not far away from them.
“Should we just take another route?” Wilbur murmurs.
“Definitely,” Techno agrees.
They both step back, making as little noise as they possibly could.
Well, almost as little noise as they possibly could.
Something cracks behind Wilbur as the brunette realizes he’s stepped on a plastic water bottle.
“Shh,” Techno turns around swiftly to shush him.
Then, a squelching noise is heard from the hoard as a zombie comes charging towards them.
Its hands finding their way onto Wilbur’s shoulder, Techno tosses it to the wall nearby.
This zombie looked much more human than any of the others they’ve encountered for the last few weeks. This zombie was just recently infected.
Nonetheless, if it does more harm than good, you shouldn’t hesitate to strike. Letting your emotions take over you amidst an outbreak would kill you in an instant.
It isn't uncommon to become morally wrong at a time like this. You have to do things you don’t want to do in order to survive. Even in the pre-apocalypse world, that’s how it always was.
So, Techno bashes the ax into the zombie’s head, the sound making a terrible noise.
“That was close,” Wilbur says, huffing on the ground.
“Were you bit?” Techno comes closer to him, grabbing his arms.
There was a slash on his right, bleeding crimson red.
“I wasn’t bit, it’s just a scratch,” Wilbur reassures.
“Are you su-”
A roar echoes from afar, and that led to even more roaring.
“Shit, I think we have to run,” Wilbur suggests, grabbing the pinkette by the wrist and sprinting back to their apartment-turned-hideout.
“They’re just going to follow us here,” Techno whispers.
“They’ll have to find us first,” Wilbur whispers back.
Going up the stairs, the two open the door to a random room in hopes of finding a good spot to hide in until the zombies get bored of searching and leave.
The room was plain and boring except for the splotches of blood on the walls. It was probably used as an office back then. The room had definitely seen better days. Now it was just bathed with blood.
But this wasn’t a good enough hiding space.
They kept opening doors to empty rooms, footsteps getting closer and closer by the second.
Until they found a room that isn’t empty.
But a room not being empty isn’t necessarily a good thing, just like how a quiet house isn’t always a good sign either.
In the room were a dozen of even more infected people.
They’ve just unlocked the doorway to death.
“Wilbur,” Techno says under his breath, squeezing the brunette’s hand.
“We have to run, we have to leave,” Wilbur reiterates.
But then, a force flings the door slightly open.
“We have to push them back inside first!” Techno shouts.
Wilbur helps his brother, pushing the door as he winces in pain because of the zombie’s scratch from earlier.
"I can hold them off, Wil! You-" Techno grunts, leaning onto the door to stop the overflowing zombies on the other side from coming out. "You can go without me."
"I am not fucking going without you!" Wilbur yells, insisting. "Look, I- I'll hold them off with you. Just, don't ask me to leave. Please," he continues, softer this time.
"That wouldn't make a difference. We'll be trying to stop them forever until we eventually give up. Besides, you have an arm injury!" Techno points out.
"Do you think I'll just leave you here?" Wilbur blurts out.
"At least one of us has to survive," Techno responds, whispering.
“Is this all a game to you?” Wilbur derides in disbelief.
“Have faith in me, Wil. Have faith in me like you always do,” Techno says.
Wilbur's lips quiver as he thinks of what to say. "Promise me you'll come out of the building."
"I...I promise." Techno hesitates. That wasn't one bit reassuring.
Wilbur thinks twice before he walks backward, into the hallway leading to the exit. "I'll be waiting."
He runs into the corridor, choking on a sob but not a full cry because he had to hang onto the single thread of hope that his brother would come out alive.
How long would it take for that thread to be cut in half?
Forever, apparently.
Now sitting on the floor amongst other survivors, Wilbur has never felt so alone in his life.