Capítulo 6: Chapter 6 – Occasionally, We Should Remember the World’s Gone to Hell
Hiro – 1 – Dawn of the Dead (Another Perspective)
Joining the survival club in college had been mostly a joke, maybe a way to have an excuse to go out camping with cute girls rather than just doing it by myself or with—
"Hiro! Behind you!" Toma yells.
I turn as fast as I can, and my ice axe sinks with sickening ease into Sayuri's temple.
My… My almost but not quite crush stops moving, stops groaning, stops…
Everything.
And, affecting a calm I won't ever again be able to feel, I finish my movement, swinging my arm to the side, making her slide off the weapon and fall limply to the floor before her weight can drag me down.
And I stare.
At the spreading pool of blood, at skin that was barely starting to gray, at open eyes that I can almost fool myself into thinking are just surprised, even if the lack of iris gives the lie away.
Toma lies a hand on my shoulder, trying to be as comforting as when I got too drunk in front of Sayuri and missed my chance to ask her out because I was puking my guts out into a stream no one drank from during the rest of the trip.
"Let's go," I say before he can try to tell me something reassuring that makes me break down and cry.
He looks at me and sees something in my eyes that makes him silently nod, and we go back to the club room, where Naomi and Akane have been guarding our supplies while Toma, Sayuri, and I foraged the campus.
They see two of us walk in, and they don't ask anything.
And my fingers clench around my weapon.
***
Mai Komuro – It's in the Blood (A Mother Waiting for Her Son)
I stare at the child in front of me, my hands on his trembling, little shoulders, and I force myself not to think about Takashi as I sink down to my knees so I can whisper soothingly at him.
"You're a brave boy, aren't you, Tachi?"
Quietly sniffling, he wipes his nose with his sleeve and nods.
"Good, that's good. Because you're going to have to be brave just for a bit longer, you know?" I tell him, patting his brown hair as he keeps looking from me to the floor of his classroom.
"What… What does being brave mean?" he asks with that clear, almost punctilious enunciation that always surprised me, that made me think maybe his mother may have been too involved in his education.
"It means…" I look around, trying not to come across as frantic, as desperate, or, Heavens forbid, unsure of myself even as my eyes fall on little Yurika huddled in a corner, nursing a broken arm that was thankfully not bitten. "It means that you are the grown-up in here, beside me, and that the other kids will look up to you. It means that, when I ask you to do something, you need to do it just because the other kids will learn by copying you. So, please, can you…" Yet again, I look at the classroom. The supply closet is too small for both him and Yurika, never mind Naoto, so… "Can you convince them to play hide and seek for a bit? Just hide beneath my table and don't make a sound while I'm out—"
"You are—you are going—" he starts to say, eyes rapidly widening in horror.
So I pull him into a hug, like I did with Takashi so many times, like I consoled my kid when his world was ending because he had broken his favorite toy, or had a fight with Rei, or any number of casual, mundane, little apocalypses all parents learn to deal with.
And desperately wish this time around was just another one of the little apocalypses.
"I'm going to look for food. It's almost time for lunch, isn't it? And you're a growing boy, Tachi, so you need to eat, and I'm the grown-up, so my job is to make sure that you can eat. So, please, make sure you stay quiet and don't say anything. Just… just wait for me to come back?"
He nods, still scared, terrified, but trusting the only adult in here with his life.
Because he has no other choice.
Heavens forgive me.
So, with Tachi's help, I manage to coax the sobbing Yurika into the corner of the teacher's desk, her little back huddled against the wooden skirt that thankfully reaches almost to the classroom's floor, and then Naoto follows, going to the opposite corner without making a single noise, silent as she's been since she saw her best friend's face be torn off in front of her.
And then Tachi joins them, occupying the uncomfortable middle between the two girls, trying to reach to hold their hands before he remembers Yurika's injury, and he flinches away, huddling into himself.
I give him a last, encouraging smile, hoping the most stable of my surviving students will help the other two before I, as silently as I can, start lifting the small green desks meant for the children and make an improvised barricade in front of them that I can only hope won't become a cage when the time comes.
Then, with a last waved goodbye as I look at them through the tangled mess of furniture, I set out toward the classroom's exit, grabbing the sharpened, bloodied mop handle on the way out before I slide the door open.
And I step into the school's corridor and set out to either find a living teacher who will help me gather survivors and resources, or to kill as many undead as I can before they take my last kids away.
All the while, I try not to think about Takashi.
And I fail at it.
***
Hiro – 2 – World of the Dead (Another Perspective)
Toma is amazing.
He's always been, since I met him in middle school, and he swore we would be brothers that, despite being born of different mothers, would die on the same day.
He had been on a Romance of the Three Kingdoms kick, and… well, let's just say he grew out of it by the time high school came around. Even if I always reminded him of all the blackmail material I still had on him.
It all seems so petty right now.
I think both Naomi and Akane are thinking pretty much the same thing, because none of them are glaring with jealousy at the other when Toma's back is turned. No, they are focused. Alert.
Like I should be.
My ice axe is still stained with Sayuri's brains, and, every time I look away, I can hear the blood dripping, even if it's perfectly dry.
I've… made sure.
Over. And over.
"Hiro? You all right—sorry, that's a stupid question." Toma's reassuring face becomes a grimace mid-question, and, at least for that much, I'm grateful.
He's always been amazing.
"Don't worry about me. What's the next step?" I ask, hoping to find something to focus on other than the constant dripping of blood that isn't there, other than Sayuri's blank, wide, surprised eyes after I killed her corpse.
"I… I was hoping you'd tell me," he admits, an embarrassed smile on his face as he rubs the back of his neck in a way that's so utterly Toma that I almost laugh.
"I'm not living up to my name, am I?" I tell him, my own smile easily coming to answer his.
"You always have," he tells me, his eyes warm, his hand on my arm.
His hand's also warm.
Are… Are they warm? The dead ones?
Was Sayuri warm when she tried to grab me?
I shake my head, trying to dislodge the awful thought and focus on what's important, what's in front of me.
Our survival.
We're all carrying our backpacks, filled with water purifiers, protein bars, and camping supplies. We could…
"The hike in January," I start in a low voice, then manage to get some confidence from I don't know where. "The trail isn't that far from here, in walking distance, and once there… It will be easy to reach the point where it passes by that brook near it, and then we just follow it upstream, away from the city. We camp there for a few days and come back once we're sure the police and defense forces have… done something."
Toma's head is tilted to the side, his hand still on my arm, and then his expression goes from confused to almost enthusiastic.
"Right… Right! That works! That definitely works, Hiro! See, Naomi? Told you he would know what to do!"
Naomi and Akane both smile, some relief washing over them after learning we know have a direction, a goal. That I know what to do.
I don't.
I really, really don't.
And the blood drips yet again.
***
Ryoko – Faith and Trust (Another Perspective)
This was supposed to be easy. A part-time job. Something to keep busy while I looked for something more permanent.
"Steady your heart, Ryoko. Battle waits for no one," Ichika tells me, her hand warm, almost burning between my shoulder blades.
Ichika, the friend who hooked me up with this gig, the one girl from high school I kept in contact with no matter what.
Ichika, the heiress to this shrine, who told me being a part-time miko was easy money for not a lot of work. Maybe a chance to get some cute pictures with my red hakama to clutter up my Instagram.
Ichika, the one girl among the five of us who has some actual training about how Shinto's supposed to work other than throwing money at a donation box and clapping your hands while you wish for something, like, for instance, being anywhere other than here.
Except it's not Ichika. Because one of the things a miko's supposed to do? Is to let herself be possessed!
"Breathe. Nock your arrow. Draw the string." Her words guide me. Not in the way they usually would. Not because I trust Ichika and I want to do what she thinks is best.
No. My body just… Just finds it natural. Just feels like, when I move to do what Ichika tells me, I'm not moving at all.
Because, among the things a miko's supposed to let herself be possessed by…
There are gods.
"Aim at your foe, at the evil that shall be purged. By your hand, the world becomes brighter with each demon you slay. By your hand, Ryoko, evil is cleansed."
I want to laugh. I want to laugh until my sides hurt and my chest feels empty. I want to laugh until I throw up and fall unconscious, asphyxiating on the sheer absurdity of it all.
Except I don't.
Because what I now want… is to kill evil.
"By your grace, Lord Bishamonten," I utter without even realizing it.
I can feel Ichika's approval radiating from behind me. Because… she's still there. It's mostly her; she just carries herself with more aplomb, her speech more precise, as if she doesn't ever need to reach for the right word.
She's Ichika. Except for the very important fact that she's not.
And, so, when the arrow leaves my fingers and my bow cracks like thunder in a summer storm, when the sound is echoed by the other three shrine maidens I'd yet to get to know as their eyes blaze with our shared disgust for the hungry dead, I'm not surprised to see the stumbling high school student with grey skin fall with an arrow sticking out of his destroyed eye as three other monsters fall around him.
Even if it's been three years since I last touched a bow, and even if I'd never aimed at a moving target before.
I'm not surprised. Because she's Ichika, but…
She's also not.
And through a few grueling, bloody hours, I've learned how important it is to trust the part that isn't.
"Well done. Well done, Ryoko; I always knew I could trust you," she says.
And the words make my heart soar in a way they shouldn't under these circumstances, but…
But…
"And so, I shall trust you to protect me until I wake," she whispers as she falls against me, slowly enough that I manage to turn and catch her before she slumps to the desecrated, impure grounds of this shrine where blood has been spilled.
Where her father lies, his throat torn open and his head pierced by a ceremonial sword.
I look at her, at the long, black, shiny hair spilling from my fingers as I cradle the back of her head while I look at the peaceful Ichika looking as regal, beautiful, and dignified as ever.
Slowly, as gently as I can, I lower her to rest beneath the shrined tree we're all gathered around while the other three young girls look at me.
I should shake in fear, throw up. Cry.
I stand, something warm and golden beating in my chest, and I take another arrow from my quiver.
"Protect her. Protect yourselves. Fight and never waver," I tell them, trusting they'll heed my words without even knowing who they are.
Because they are fellow warriors and our cause's righteous.
And, by our hand, evil shall be purged.
The golden feeling in my chest bursts, and I devote myself to killing.
***
Hiro 3 – Blood That Always Flows (Another Perspective)
The plan was simple.
Walk.
That… That was the whole of it. Just walk. One foot in front of another, like we've done a million times before.
We would've set camp before the day was over, as far away from the city as we could manage, and then we would eat a cold dinner and wait for the sun to allow us to move.
Just… We just had to walk.
Naomi's crying disconsolately. Which is weird, because the one who's trying to reassure her is Akane.
The one who's been bitten.
There's… there's a chunk of her forearm missing, and…
I feel like throwing up.
Toma's looking at me like he expects me to know what to do, like he thinks there's anything that can be done.
Maybe there is.
I kneel down next to Akane, looking for her reddened eyes without any of the anxiety the slightly older girl always inspired in me.
She's… A bit brutish, to be honest. The kind of girl who thinks joining the survival club may be the best thing to do in college. I could always tell Naomi and Sayuri were here more or less for the same reason I was: to meet somebody of the opposite sex with which to share a tent.
It never worked out for any of us. Akane may have been the one who got closer to her expectations.
"How far are you willing to go?" I ask her, my voice strangely steady, the cadence of my words mirroring the dripping blood from my ice axe.
It got wet again when I smashed open the skull of the toddler who got Akane from ambush.
I dried it.
It still drips.
Akane looks into my eyes, not quite knowing what I'm asking until she sees my grim look, the spool of paracord in my grip.
And she nods.
"As far as you can," she says, a brief, almost confident grin flitting through her lips.
Then she offers me her arm as she rolls up the sleeve of her blue sports jacket, her open wound catching on the torn fabric through an intense flash of pain that she still manages not to whimper at.
I tie the cord around her biceps, tightly enough to cause… a lot of things. A lot of bad things that won't matter.
I help Akane lie on the floor, the arm with a tourniquet stretched on her side, and I give her a spare shirt to bite into so her teeth don't crack when she clenches her jaw.
And so she won't scream and attract any more of them.
And then I take out my survival knife, gently pat her feverishly hot arm, and try to saw through her elbow.
***
Shidou – Words and Whispers (A Teacher Defeated and Left Behind)
The brats have done it.
I am… here, surrounded by hostile police officers, like I always wished Father would end up.
Father. Not me.
It's… vaguely disgusting to face a fate so below what I should—no. Those are the other thoughts. Not mine.
Because I'm... I'm better than this. Kinder. More compassionate.
Not actually kind, mind. Just… kinder.
Because I tried to flee from Father's influence and legacy, to become a teacher, the kind of teacher who helps guide lost sheep who—no!
Nothing religious. No cult of personality. Just… Just a teacher. A good one. Maybe someone to look up to, but…
Their faces flash once more through my mind. Looking up at me with full devotion, ready to trust their lives to my judgment.
It's… I never felt as powerful, as in control, as distant from Father, as I did at that very moment.
Is that how it works?
Because… Takashi. Takashi, and whatever it was that took his body for a ride. I heard them talk with the others, with what he claimed to have been his group in another life.
I heard them discuss the supernatural.
Preposterous.
Ridiculous.
Deranged.
Except that the dead walk, and that there's something whispering in something other than words in my mind, making me become something that I already am, always was, but… in a different way.
Like Father did.
I shift on the pavement of this cold bridge as a young officer, barely out of the Academy, looks at me with scorn. The handcuffs are digging into my wrists, and the students who trusted me to lead them are long gone. To the other side.
The mob that's not been allowed to cross is unruly, agitated, but maybe not as much as they were moments before my arrival, before Takashi did whatever it is that he did so my followers calmed down.
But… It won't last.
I don't know how I know, but it won't last.
No. I do know.
Because the whispers are more insistent, and I keep thinking about all the little things I could've done differently. Split them up, for instance, never trust that Rei wouldn't look for revenge, divulge my secrets at the most inopportune of moments.
The secrets that are Father's fault, because he couldn't let go. Because he managed to find a way to drag me into his schemes even as a simple, powerless teacher in an unremarkable high school.
I couldn't flee Father. And I'm starting to think I can't flee the whispers.
Because I can feel them getting a tighter grip on me each time I remember something to be bitter about. Each memory of Father slapping me hard enough to throw me to the ground for failing to meet his standards, every memory of—
Stop. Stop; that's how they get me.
So. Think.
The world is chaos. Politicians are useless as society devolves into regional government while communities are cut off from one another. Infrastructure will collapse without maintenance, and, even if it doesn't, supply lines will be devastated. Millions will die of famine as grain rots in hulking, empty ghost ships.
To survive… one needs others.
And I'm a prisoner.
Accused of murdering my own student to save my own skin. A teacher who does that, how valued would he be in a world where millions starve? How long until he was either executed or left to die alone on streets haunted by restless dead?
I ponder the question, think about it, and the whispers win.
I remember the slut. The short-haired girl so eager to lick her lips and flash me her white, creamy thighs as I spoke to my followers gathered at the back of a bus I should've never stepped on. I remember the feeling of their eyes on me, their faces hungry for what words I could spare them.
There's a feeling at the front of my neck, just below my Adam's apple. It's almost like a tingle, but… steadier. A pressure that builds up and up without ever sinking my skin as it starts to spin, as it slowly becomes a wheel of too many spokes for me to count through touch alone, each of them more intense in their pressure than the void between them.
My whole throat is suffused with that pressure, that sensation that seeps into my flesh but was always there, something uncoiling and awakening as I let the whispers sink their hooks in me.
Because they are better than death.
Better than being alone.
Better than letting Father have the last word.
I smile, but it feels wrong, and I let the blue tingling from my throat tug my lips into their proper place as my eyes shift, widening slightly into something franker and more honest.
"Excuse me?" I tell the young policeman, my tone quickly taking on just the right amount of deference, of submissiveness.
I am a man scared for his life, who, nevertheless, tries to put on a serene front because, as a teacher, he's used to showing his best side to insecure students. A man who always tries to reassure others and is still reeling at the terrible, awful accusations levied against him.
I am an innocent man, and he has to believe me.
"Yes? What do you want?" he asks me with that same hostility he's shown me since he was tasked with guarding me.
Except… it's not quite the same. No, he's also… The way he looks up to the lieutenant, with his dignified head full of grey hair…
This young man is too young, trying to find a purpose, something to fill the void left by an absent figure who…
Got you.
"May I know your name?" I ask him.
He looks to the side, looking for the lieutenant, who's too busy yelling into a radio he's been staring at since I got here.
The young man doesn't find any guidance, any assurance.
"Ryu," he says, slipping up and giving me his first name rather than his surname.
My smile becomes slightly less forced, a bit more gentle as it befits our new level of intimacy, and I look at Ryu with eyes full of understanding for a young man who's been trusted with too much responsibility, put in a position he isn't ready for even as the ones who should be in charge of him neglect their duty.
He, unknowingly, relaxes a tiny bit.
And then I get to work.
***
Hiro – 4 – It Never Stops (Another Perspective)
Akane's dead.
We don't even know if amputation could've saved her, because…
She died of shock, of blood loss.
At least… At least, at the end, she stopped…
"Hiro?" Toma asks, his hand once again reassuring on my shoulder, a weight that's familiar after years and years of the same gesture.
After years of him being my best friend.
And now… maybe my only friend.
I don't know how many are left, how many have already died in this insane thing that…
That…
"Hiro? Talk to me," he says, his voice not so much comforting as on the verge of panic.
I close my eyes and listen to the steady drip of blood falling off the point of my ice axe and the edge of my hunting knife, the twin streams almost singing against one another, soothing in a cadence that's more harmonious than anything I could find in the world beyond my eyelids.
I find a moment of peace, of calm, and I open my eyelids.
"Don't worry. I'm still here," I tell him with the best smile I can manage.
He nods, unsure of how to answer my grim comfort, and then he looks at the backpack hanging off my left shoulder.
Akane's backpack.
"Do you… want me to carry that?"
I look at him. He's always been thin, thinner than I am, but in a way that has nothing to do with being good at sports. He only started getting in shape after I dragged him to our monthly hikes, and that's been enough for him to be up to the challenge of our current circumstances.
More or less.
He can't carry more weight. Neither can Naomi.
"What, this?" I ask, affecting a confident smile I'll never feel again. "Don't worry your pretty little head; I'm more than man enough to carry as many of these as I need to!"
Naomi shoots me a relieved smile, knowing what I'm trying to do, and Toma, yet again, rubs the back of his neck bashfully.
Just… He doesn't. Not like he used to.
But he's going through the motions for my sake, just as I am for his, and maybe that matters more than if he was really able to sincerely behave as the Toma of yesterday.
We exchange some more mindless, boisterous banter and keep walking, keep nearing the edge of the city, until, finally…
We reach it.
The start of the trail.
There's no one around, no sign of the undead, and the underbrush surrounding it is thick enough they'll blindly stumble into, hopefully, breaking an ankle long before they get anywhere near our planned camping spot.
My legs burn, and my chest rises and falls every time my leather shoes loudly impact the pavement and make me wish I'd brought my boots for this. But we are here, at the start of our escape, and I can tell Naomi and Toma are happier than they've been since three of us went out to scout, and only two came back.
So I smile warmly and hopefully at them before I restfully close my eyes.
And the twin, dripping streams soothe my frantic mind.
***
Marikawa – Playfully Serious (Nurse, Teacher, Pervert)
They… The kids are all right.
Bizarrely all right, all things considered.
I lean back on the warm water of the bathtub. They've let me have the first turn, not in deference to my seniority, but because I'm utterly useless in battle, and that's what they are discussing.
Well, that and magic, the supernatural, ki, reincarnation, and whatever else their hyperactive chuuni minds can come up with.
… I wish it was just that.
I wish they weren't… Inhuman.
Briefly, I wonder if Rika's also like that. If she's got that ki thing, just because she's trained so much and so extensively. Saeko seemed to think that was basically the only thing that mattered, so, even if she isn't a martial artist…
I remember the last time I was here—last week, so it's not that hard—and Rika came into the bath, wearing nothing but a smile and…
…
Yeah, I can easily believe she's inhuman. Her libido is up to my own challenges, and that's something definitely unusual.
Wait, does that mean I am inhuman? Can I get ki just by… fucking? Like… a lot of fucking?
I consider the idea of having Rika between my thighs, her hair tightly wrapped around my hands as I force her to eat me out, again and again, telling her that I need to be stronger every time she tries to pull away. I remember her tanned, mature face twisted into something slovenly as my juices dripped down her chin before I pushed her back into the tub and shoved my fingers inside of her as she moaned my name in delirium, our breasts soapy and gliding around one another as I licked my lips while she closed her eyes and showed me her throat and—
Huh. Would you look at that: I'm fingering myself.
…
Rika does it better.
Gods, I miss her so much…
Still… the kids looked like they wanted to have a long conversation, and I should be considerate and keep myself out of their business.
Yes. I'm sure they have plenty to discuss. It would be rude to intrude.
So I'll just stay here, remembering Rika screaming in wordless pleasure as she lost her mind, and I suckled on her rigid nipple before I licked down her body and decided to show her what I can really do.
Like a considerate, responsible adult.
Which I am.
As Rika can attest to.
***
Hiro – 5 – Night of the Dead (Another Perspective)
We… did it.
The tents are set up. We are upstream, far enough that no one should look here for us. The… The dead are blind, clumsy. They won't be able to climb out of the trail, even if, for some reason, one of them managed to get so far away from the city.
I'm still not sleeping, though.
Because we've set up a sleeping rotation. We aren't suicidal.
Not yet.
No. No more morbid thoughts. I just… I just have to rest. Process everything that's happened. Everybody would be on edge, frantic like I am. It's… It's not weird.
The dripping is… more distant. Lower. I can hear it if I strain, if I look for it, but it's no longer so… so near. So comforting.
My knife and my ice axe are in front of me, within easy reach. Clean.
It would be awfully stupid of me to let my tools and weapons get rusty.
And they don't drip. No, it's in my head, but I know it is. I no longer have the urge to dry them again and again, I just…
I just lean back on my hands, wrapped up in three extra shirts, and look at the stars.
There's still light in many parts of the city below us, but it's more diffuse, so the stars shine brighter than they usually do. I can see enough of them to fool myself into believing I am back in the countryside, near my grandparents' home, playing with my cousin all those years ago, the damn tomboy obsessed with shoving frogs down the back of my shirt.
I allow myself to drift in the pleasant memories for a moment, not thinking about how unlikely it is that all of them are still alive, just… just remembering the past. The good parts.
And then I see Naomi sneaking out of her tent and into Toma's.
…
It's none of my business.
They… They can find comfort in one another, and I'll just—
How long has this been going on?
Is this the first time? The second? The tenth?
Did… Did Toma hide this from me? From his best friend?
We… We are brothers, not of the same mother, sworn to die on the same day.
That… That was an important promise, even if we were kids, even if I teased Toma about it for years. And he's…
He's in that tent, making Naomi moan and wrap her legs around him and whisper how good they are together, how they don't need anything else in the whole world, how they don't need me—
Blood drips.
Twin streams, falling in harmonious dissonance into a spreading pool of blood. Each drop widens it ever so slightly, but I can tell it's so much fuller than it was this morning after I killed Sayuri and she started feeding it.
Akane sped it up.
And I could've stopped it. A part of me knows.
A part of me knows I could've just… not listened. Let the blood drip without paying it any heed, just surviving one more day without listening to the roaring waves of blood singing in a terrible melody that rises and rises till it drowns the world in death and hunger, until there are no more songs than crimson flowing out of paling flesh.
Toma.
Toma's… with me.
Warm.
Delicious.
Naomi is huddled in the farthest corner of the tent, whimpering as she stares at me, at my gray skin mottled with dripping red.
Don't worry, Toma.
She won't bother us ever again.
We're sworn brothers, fated to die on the same day.
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