Battlefield - Chapter 05 - 4851 words
Note: i collect burnouts like one collects stamps. i've written nothing at all since my last chapter. listened to bad wolves's cover of zombie pretty much on repeat for this.
Beta-reader: Lea Summers.
Chapter title: The Promise
Chapter 05
The Promise
“Sixty-three,” Kuroro counted, “sixty-four. Plus the one in front, that makes sixty-five.”
He looked incredibly pleased, and it made Kurapica want to punch him. “Sixty-four amblers and a screamer,” he repeated, tone flat. “You expect me to defeat all of them?”
He gazed out towards the monsters, eyeing them warily from where he and Kuroro stood on the roof of a three-story building. The undead had not seen or sensed their presence yet, still a little over a block or so away from their precarious perch on the very edge of a gently sloping roof. The man-creature at the front of the group let out a wail again, but its throat must have been damaged, because it was fainter, breathier. Maybe its vocal cords couldn’t sustain the constant screams.
Kuroro turned towards the blond and studied him for a moment. “You’re scared,” he finally observed.
Kurapica scoffed lightly. “What do you expect?” he asked him. “Sixty-five monsters to fight and defeat as they try to bite and eat me?”
The older man hummed softly, his dark eyes fixed on Kurapica for a beat too long for it to be comfortable. “What if there were forty of them?” he wanted to know. “Or twenty?”
“They could still bite me.”
Kuroro cocked his head to the side. He was silent for a few seconds. “What if these monsters were humans, would you then be able to beat them?”
Kurapica marked a slight pause, clenching and unclenching his hands. “Yes.” He grit his teeth in frustration and took a deep breath to keep himself calm before he continued. “Especially if they weren’t trained fighters.”
There was another moment of silence, as if Kuroro were turning over something in his mind, or maybe he was just assessing the Kuruta. “Easily?” he asked when he spoke again.
“Relatively,” Kurapica said with a slight frown. He pursed his lips. Kuroro looked at him, likely waiting for the reason for which Kurapica hadn’t been more affirmative in his answer. “I would have to be fast,” the blond explained, “and hit them before they knew I was there at all.”
“So,” Kuroro said, infuriatingly slow, “what is preventing you from doing the same to these things?”
Kurapica stared at him, making sure the disbelief was plain as day on his face. “One bite, one scratch, and I might become like them!” he pointed out. “Unfeeling, unthinking, just-just ambling around, attacking -whatever. I mean, are they alive? Are they dead? Can they-can they see themselves-see themselves rip the bodies open? Eating them?” He shuddered at the thought. “Are they sort of-just sort of locked somewhere in there, seeing all this? I’d rather die than-than be that.”
Kuroro met his gaze head on. He stared at him for another few beats of silence, and Kurapica couldn’t help thinking that it was creepy, the way the older man just stared, silent and thoughtful. Finally, the Spider Head put a hand on his shoulder, and the blond had to repress another shudder. There was something about him that kept making Kurapica uncomfortable, though he still couldn’t quite explain it. It wasn’t just his demeanour or his words. It was as if the very air around him vibrated at an unnerving frequency that set Kurapica on edge.
“We won’t let it get to that,” the older man said. He slid his hand into the pocket of his bomber jacket (the coat really didn’t fit the rest of his ensemble, Kurapica couldn’t help but notice). “Put it out of your mind. Treat them as if they were human. If you’re too careful of them, of their teeth, you’ll make a mistake. Look at them.”
“I see them!” Kurapica huffed.
“No,” Kuroro countered. His fingers found Kurapica’s chin and he gently but firmly turned his head back towards the group of undead shuffling towards them down the street. “Look at them. You could defeat them as humans, and yet these monsters are perhaps a third of the speed and less than a tenth of the intelligence of their human counterparts. You said you would have to be fast, to hit before they realize you’re even there. Now you have three times the length of time you would have with live subjects. What have you to fear?”
“Humans don’t usually bite,” Kurapica pointed out, “they don’t risk turning you into that.”
“Then don’t let them,” Kuroro said.
Kurapica scoffed lightly, shrugging off one hand and twisting his head away out of the other. He turned from the older man and wrapped his arms around his ribs, squeezing in tight. He eyed the group again, then took a deep breath in and slowly let it go. “Fast,” he said, more to himself than to Kuroro, “hit them before they even know I’m there.”
“Exactly,” Kuroro said. “They’re just slow, ambling fools.”
Kurapica let his arms fall back to his side and took a deep breath again. He loosened his daggers in their sheaths, making sure they’d slide easily out, then rolled his shoulders. He was still anxious, still irritated, still wondering why Kuroro had obviously singled him out from the moment he’d entered the camp. Was it simply because of the scratches that had marred his arms when he’d arrived? There had to be more to this than simple curiosity. Was he as aware of him as Kurapica was of the Spiders? Could he somehow see the trails Kurapica left behind just as the Kuruta could see his? So many questions, ones he could not ask yet.
“Just promise me one thing,” he told the man without looking at him. Kuroro made a soft questioning sound and the blond took another steadying breath. “Whatever happens, don’t let me become one of them.”
He felt the weight of the Spider’s gaze on the side of his face, but didn’t look away from the monsters to return it.
“I promise,” Kuroro said, voice solemn.
Kurapica nodded.
He heard two faint clicks, and Kuroro slid his hand out of the jacket. “Twenty,” he said. “Give or take.”
The blond turned his head slightly towards the older man, but before he could ask what he meant, there was the shrill sound of a whistle somewhere to their right, then again to their left. Kurapica opened his mouth to ask what was happening, when he noticed the throng of undead wavering and turned his head back to observe them. Some took stumbling steps towards the sounds. The creature leading them wailed again, a broken sound. The undead wavered.
The whistles went off again and again, and slowly, stumblingly, the mass of creatures started spreading, walking towards the different sounds. Some were still following the screamer, but they were fewer now. Some of the monsters started heading back and to the sides, to lose themselves into alleyways and dead-ends. Some would likely end up at the feet of the Spiders who had left the camp with them.
In a way, it was brilliant. “Divide and conquer,” he murmured. He glanced at the older man and found him gazing at him with approval, a slight smile on his face. Kurapica turned away.
It was now or never.
Kurapica had to get down now so he hit the ground before the things could see him and attack him-getting swamped whilst suspended halfway down the side of a brick wall would spell his certain death, after all-so he swallowed down his unease, shoved it down deep. He turned his back to the drop and started climbing down with practised ease, finding purchase with the tip of his runners, then his fingers as he inched down the wall. He only looked back up once, and found Kuroro staring at him from above, then he turned his attention resolutely back to the task at hand. His feet found the pavement without a single misstep.
Carefully, he made his way around a corner, put his back to the wall, listening intently to the shuffling sounds and moans of the approaching amblers. There was that high-pitched but faint wail again from the screamer at the front of the group, then again, closer, breathy and scratchy, barely even a scream anymore.
Kurapica tightened his grip on the hilts of his daggers and forced his heart to calm its erratic beating. He studied the small alley he was hiding in, spotting a few crates and a low wall he could use to jump out of reach or to slow down the amblers if they came after him. When they came after him. Gods, he really was doing this.
“Humans,” he whispered to himself. “Very slow and dumb humans.”
He wet his lips and took a deep breath in. The raspy sound came again, closer, so much closer than Kurapica had expected. He swallowed and finally pulled out his knives.
Only draw your weapons if you’re ready to use them, came his mother’s remonstrance, the memory of the words vivid and sharp, but the beloved voice fainter than he liked.
I intend to use them, mother, he thought to the memory. I’ll survive this, and I’ll find you.
His fingers tightened their grip on his weapons, and he lowered his stance, ready to pounce into action. The screamer appeared at the edge of the building, stumbling on a twisted foot, perhaps a metre from the building against which Kurapica was hiding. It let out another broken wail and Kurapica jumped out of the shadows. He bowled one creature aside as it stumbled between him and his target. The screamer had to go first so it didn’t attract more undead to the area, and even though they would more likely go after the whistles, he wasn’t going to take the chance. He reached the screamer, which had not quite reacted to the attack.
One third of the speed and less than a tenth of the intelligence of their human counterparts.
He shoved the creature’s shoulder, forcing it to turn its back to him and slammed one of his knives into his spine. The creature seized, but Kurapica managed to wrench his dagger free. He turned on himself and flipped the weapon to have a better downward thrust as he stabbed the monster he’d shoved earlier in the back of the neck, then kicked it back to slow a few other zombies that were slowly reaching for him with outstretched arms and crooked fingers.
One came towards his side and reached for his shoulder and Kurapica took a step back. With his left hand, he stabbed at its neck from the front, then slashed the knife hard, decapitating the thing. He closed his lips tight, mindful of potential blood spray, but there was nearly nothing spilling from the wound. The blood he could see was dark and sluggish. Dead. Small favour; they probably were not aware of what they had become.
He managed to down two more of the undead, but they were reacting to him now, reaching for him with hungry moans. He jumped back, then turned and jogged into the alley he’d sprung out from. He faced the road again, watching as three of the creatures stumbled after him. They couldn’t encircle him here. It was a little more difficult to manoeuvre, but he grabbed a broken crate, sent it at a zombie’s head, then jumped on another one and kicked the monster’s head down to expose its spine. A stab later, it went down and Kurapica did the same to the thing next to it.
There was no thinking anymore, he just jumped and kicked and stabbed. Five, six, seven down. One crashed into the crate he was standing on. The rotting wood wobbled and broke enough that it became too unstable to fight on. Kurapica turned and scrambled up the low wall as the things tried to grasp at him. They were too slow. Eight, nine, ten, eleven down. His arms were getting sore. It had been too long since he’d stretched and trained. One managed to grab his ankle and pulled at it, trying to bring it to its mouth. Kurapica wobbled on the narrow wall. He lost his footing and nearly fell off. His body slammed into the building next to him, and he used the facade to right himself up.
He lost his mental footing a little with the close call, and he stabbed and slashed wildly for a minute or two, before he managed to calm himself and start methodically putting the things down once more. Was this fifteen? Thirteen? He didn’t know. He’d lost count. He thought he could hear the whistles coming closer, the others probably slowly making their way towards them, mowing down whatever monsters they encountered.
There were only three more undead in the alley that he could see. One was stuck partly in the broken crate Kurapica had stood on before, but the other two were trying to get over that one to get to the Kuruta. Kurapica jumped down from the wall and went straight for them, then jumped to the side. As they stared blankly at where he’d been, confused, he made quick work of dispatching them both, then finally finished off the one who was stuck in the crate.
He stood, panting, all of the creatures down at his feet, finally no longer hungry. He’d done it. He hadn’t gotten one single scratch on him. He felt his heart swell with pride, with hope, with slightly hysterical joy as his mind screamed, I’m alive, I’m alive, I’m alive!
Giddy, he tilted his head up to where he could see Kuroro’s dark form outlined against the cloudless sky. He stared up at him, eyes wide, adrenaline still buzzing under his skin, making his fingertips all tingly. He wiped his brow with the back of one hand and slid his daggers back into their sheaths. Kuroro wasn’t smiling, but his gaze was intense, making Kurapica feel a little cornered, like he was being stared down by a strange, dark creature, an unknown entity that he couldn’t quite figure out. He felt pinned under that dark gaze, until the older man finally turned away to start his descent from the roof.
Kurapica watched him climb down, slower than the Kuruta had been. Well, Kurapica had had a lot of practice, climbing up and down trees and a few cliffs to the east of his home village. Kuroro was obviously in great shape, but he didn’t seem like he had much practice scaling up and down things. His progress was sure but slow, and Kurapica huffed impatiently. Excitement from the fight was making him restless. He wanted to jump, wanted to run, wanted to laugh, he didn’t know, he felt too many things all at once.
He heard the groan too late.
Whirling on himself, he brought a hand up to fend off whatever was coming, his left hand already grabbing the hilt of a knife. The ghoul grabbed his wrist with both hands and brought it to its mouth. Kurapica froze, choking on a scream as its teeth bit down on the edge of his palm. He brought up his knife and started stabbing at it, getting it multiple times in the shoulder, the wounds deep but ultimately useless.
He heard a thump as Kuroro jumped the rest of the way down, and, nearly too fast to see, he wrenched the thing away. A moment later, it was crumpling to the ground, nearly wrenching Kurapica’s arm from its socket as it was still holding onto his wrist with a literal death grip. Kurapica managed to free himself and brought his palm to his face, the earlier elation and giddiness replaced by absolute terror and panic.
It hurt, it hurt, was the skin okay, the skin had to be okay, right, it would be fine if the skin wasn’t broken, he wasn’t bleeding was he, what if it had broken the skin, he would be cursed to undeath, gods, he couldn’t-he couldn’t become one of those things, he couldn’t, he didn’t want, there was no way that he could, how had he let this happen, he knew better, he knew better, he knew better, he should never have let his guards down, he knew better, damn it, damn it all, was it bleeding, he couldn’t become a thing, he just-
“Kurapica,” Kuroro’s voice was maddeningly calm, “Kurapica, breathe.”
Kurapica took in a large gulp of air. His vision was swimming, he couldn’t see, couldn’t focus, couldn’t-
Red. Red blood. He felt a few drops slide lazily down to his wrists and made a panicked sound. “It bit-there’s blood-I’m-No…. No!”
Both of his shoulders were grabbed in strong hands and a shudder went through him as that intense feeling of wrong, wrong, wrong went through him like a bolt of lightning, made worse by his panic. “Don’t touch me!” he shouted, pulling out of his grasp. From not being able to breathe, he started breathing too fast, too much, too-
“Kurapica you’re hyperventilating.”
“Shut up,” the blond gasped, “I’m not-not yet.” From panic, irritation surged, and in a way, it was helpful. His hand grabbed Kuroro’s stupid jacket and twisted. “I fucking hate you,” he growled, hand shaking a little, but with anger rather than terror.
“I imagine you do,” Kuroro said, his tone still ridiculously kind and gentle. Kurapica wanted to smash his fist in that stupid fucking attractive face, break a few teeth loose and mess up his perfect fucking smile. “Let me see your hand,” the man continued. “I need to bandage it.”
“How will that help?!” Kurapica demanded. “It’s not like I’m going to be needing it! Hell, it might help the living if I’m already injured before I-gods!”
Kuroro held his hand demandingly at him and the urge to hit him was still very much present in Kurapica’s mind, but he made a rude noise, shook him once and let go of his jacket, then put his hand in Kuroro’s waiting one. He was shaking, but he wasn’t sure if it was fear or anger anymore. He just felt-too much, too many things. The older man’s fingers clasped his and he held his hand up, turning it this way and that. He slid his other hand in his pocket and drew out a handkerchief. Kurapica could feel hysterical laughter bubbling under his ribs at the ridiculous uselessness of it all. Kuroro let go of his fingers so he could unfold the piece of black cotton-of course it was black. Kurapica’s attention focused on that detail and it made him want to laugh, want to scream, want to hit something, all because of the stupid colour of a stupid handkerchief. He was losing it. The older man wrapped the soft fabric carefully around Kurapica’s palm and secured it with a knot.
“What’s the point,” Kurapica managed to say. “That’s not going to stop a disease that’s already in my blood from making me-”
“It may not be,” Kuroro interrupted. “And it would be ridiculous to avoid the plague, only to be killed by a simple infection from an untreated wound.”
“I hate you,” Kurapica said again, on the edge of a laugh, of a sob, of a scream.
“Hate me,” Kuroro said, still so fucking gently, “Hate me, but walk with me.”
The request was so ridiculous that it finally wrenched a miserable laugh from the Kuruta. He snatched his hand back. “Walk with you?” he asked, his voice rising in pitch in his disbelief. “Where the fuck would we even go?” Kuroro arched an eyebrow and the curse and it made the blond laugh again, the sound ending on a terrified hiccup. “I was bitten, Kuroro, not mugged. You can’t bring me back to camp! What if-I’m a danger to all of you!”
“You’re of no danger to me,” Kuroro said, his gaze firm and unwavering on Kurapica’s face, “or my Spiders. But since you’re asking, I’m putting you back into quarantine, for everyone’s protection. I am taking you back to camp, however, no matter what you say.” He took Kurapica’s arm and pulled him. “Walk with me.”
Kurapica wrenched his arm out of his hand. “I can walk unaided,” he hissed. “It bit my hand, not my leg.”
“Then walk,” the Spider Head said, his arm motioning forward. Kurapica huffed angrily and stared him down for a moment. There were so many more things he wanted to say, but he couldn’t think, couldn’t put the words together, and the man was just standing there, just waiting and-
He turned and stalked back towards the camp. His anger nearly drowned out the fear, and he cursed the man under his breath. A few blocks down, two of the Spiders joined them, then a little further on, the remaining members of their stupid raiding party fell into step with them. Kurapica ignored their presence, focused on just putting one foot in front of the other, focused on not breaking down, on keeping himself from running, from screaming, from stabbing Kuroro in his stupid fucking face.
“What’s up with him?” one of them asked, Kurapica didn’t care which.
“Bitten,” came Kuroro’s response.
“Ah,” the other man said. “Sure didn’t fix his attitude.”
Kurapica wanted to punch him too. What did they think this bite was? This was a little more than getting your fingers pinched in a door. He wanted to whirl on them and curse them all to hell, but if he started screaming, even in anger, then he would never ever stop. Maybe that’s how screamers were formed. Maybe they’d started screaming when they realized they were infected and then just didn’t ever stop, their brain stuck in a loop as the disease took over their bodies. Maybe he’d become one.
He felt cold dread settle in his guts and started walking faster. The men with him didn’t say another word, but matched his pace. If the walk out of the camp earlier had been uncomfortable, it was nothing compared to now. He wanted to feel safe, to feel home, but he didn’t have a home anymore. The apartment he’d left behind didn’t count. His home had burned down to the ground and he would never see it again. He held his arms close to his chest, hugging himself desperately, trying to walk as fast as he could. He just wanted-needed-
He didn’t even know anymore.
They made it back to camp before the panic managed to overwhelm the blond again, but the wait as the survivors rolled the car holding the barrier up out of the way so they could come in was unbearable.
By the time they walked into the compound, Kurapica’s breathing had become uneven again. Kuroro tugged on the sleeve of his t-shirt and guided him through the streets of the camp. They were a few blocks in when Kurapica realized that the others were no longer following, but he couldn’t tell exactly when their path had diverged. His head felt like it was filled with static, or maybe there was that high-pitched sound some televisions gave now that there were no channels for news anymore anywhere. He barely recognized his surroundings, until Kuroro pulled him into the atrium of the first building he’d been housed it, and the pawn shop that served as quarantine.
One of the others must have alerted Senritsu, because the young woman was waiting by the door to the shop, keys in hand. His eyes showed her concern and worry as she gazed on his face. She didn’t say anything, just turned from him and opened the door. Kurapica walked in.
“What happened?” the woman’s soft voice finally asked. “Kuroro-”
“Not now,” the Spider Head told her, his tone calm, decisive. “I’ll give you the usual rundown, but not now. I’m not leaving him alone. I’ll find you tomorrow.”
She made a soft sound, and Kurapica turned to see Kuroro entering the room and closing the door behind him. He caught a glimpse of Senritsu’s expression before it clanged shut, and it looked sad and worried. A moment later, the key turned in the lock, then her footsteps retreated, nearly silent on the polished floor.
“You shouldn’t be in here with me,” Kurapica said. “It’s too dangerous; you shouldn’t be in here.”
“I’m not leaving,” the older man informed him, taking a step closer.
“I could infect you,” Kurapica warned, hugging himself closer, like he wanted to pull his ribs in to crush his own lungs. He felt so cold, so desperately cold despite the hot summer day. “You should leave, you should go.”
“I’m staying right here,” Kuroro insisted.
He had to have a screw loose or something, because here was definitely not safe. Oh gods, he was going to turn, he was going to turn into a mindless ghoul, all because this idiot had no concept of safety whatsoever, and now he was going to start going raving mad and he’d probably bite the moron, or maybe he’d end up eating him; Kurapica didn’t know how it was all decided, how some people became infected while others were simply cannibalized and oh gods, what if Kurapica ended up eating someone-
“Kurapica,” Kuroro’s voice was calm, soothing, so close to him now, “breathe, you’re going to be fine.”
Kurapica couldn’t answer that stupid statement, couldn’t find the breath to say anything. With jerky motions, he went to one of the beds and sat sideways on the mattress so he could keep his back to the man. He didn’t want him to see him panic. Again. Still. He didn’t know which it was.
“I don’t want to turn,” he choked out, fear gripping his lungs like icy fists. “I don’t want to lose my mind, I don’t want to become-”
He heard the soft but distinct sound of a small blade sliding out of a leather sheath, a sound he was well acquainted with from years of training and using his own knives. He tensed, his entire body starting to shake.
“Don’t let me become one,” he whispered.
He felt the point of a small blade, something extremely thin, like a stiletto knife, pressing just below the base of his skull. “I won’t,” Kuroro murmured, so close behind him now, his deep voice sinking into Kurapica’s very bones, soothing him down to his very core. “I promised. I will not let you become one of your nightmares.”
Kurapica nodded and released a shaky breath. Blindly, he reached back with his hand, presenting it, palm up, over his shoulder. He heard Kuroro shift behind him, then felt his cool fingers slide over his, then lower, over his palm, feather-light and a little ticklish. He curled his own fingers around them, then finally managed to draw in a full breath, trembling as it was. The voice of panic in his head finally fell silent and he could finally stop thinking, stop panicking and just be.
He wasn’t sure how long they stayed like this, Kuroro standing by the bed at his back, a little to the left, one hand clasped in his and the other holding a knife to the back of his neck, but it felt like moments, felt like hours, felt like years. Eventually, the man shifted and sat behind him, one leg curled under the other, left foot on the floor next to the bed.
For how cool his hand felt in Kurapica’s fingers, Kuroro’s body radiated heat and the blond couldn’t help leaning back into it, soaking it up like comfort, like desperate need. Kuroro shifted his hand holding the knife to rest it on his right shoulder, and Kurapica sank back against him until his back was against the man’s chest and his head leaning against the man’s shoulder. Kuroro had to move their hands and ended up with his arm partly around the blond, their fingers still clasped together. Kurapica squeezed, and Kuroro did too. He closed his eyes and listened to the sound of their breathing-his shallow, trembling in his lungs; Kuroro’s deep and even.
The terror was like a living thing, peeking around the corners of his mind, but it was distant now, quiet and watchful. He was probably going to die tonight, but dying was preferable to that, to the undeath of the amblers. Kuroro would keep his promise, would sever his spine at the first sign of disease, and Kurapica would stop, would sleep, would not become a thing.
It was strange, it was wrong, and probably a little fucked up, but Kurapica had never felt calm like this settle under his ribs, warm and comforting. It was like his mind was quiet; not quite at peace perhaps, but at the very least resigned. When he was gone, there would be no one to find his people, no one to bring them home, but he would have to believe that they were somewhere, fighting, taking care of themselves, keeping safe. He, at least, would not become undead, and that was all the assurance that he needed right now.
“Thank you,” he whispered, and stopped thinking, stopped fearing.
He slept.
Beta-reader: Lea Summers.
Chapter title: The Promise
Chapter 05
The Promise
“Sixty-three,” Kuroro counted, “sixty-four. Plus the one in front, that makes sixty-five.”
He looked incredibly pleased, and it made Kurapica want to punch him. “Sixty-four amblers and a screamer,” he repeated, tone flat. “You expect me to defeat all of them?”
He gazed out towards the monsters, eyeing them warily from where he and Kuroro stood on the roof of a three-story building. The undead had not seen or sensed their presence yet, still a little over a block or so away from their precarious perch on the very edge of a gently sloping roof. The man-creature at the front of the group let out a wail again, but its throat must have been damaged, because it was fainter, breathier. Maybe its vocal cords couldn’t sustain the constant screams.
Kuroro turned towards the blond and studied him for a moment. “You’re scared,” he finally observed.
Kurapica scoffed lightly. “What do you expect?” he asked him. “Sixty-five monsters to fight and defeat as they try to bite and eat me?”
The older man hummed softly, his dark eyes fixed on Kurapica for a beat too long for it to be comfortable. “What if there were forty of them?” he wanted to know. “Or twenty?”
“They could still bite me.”
Kuroro cocked his head to the side. He was silent for a few seconds. “What if these monsters were humans, would you then be able to beat them?”
Kurapica marked a slight pause, clenching and unclenching his hands. “Yes.” He grit his teeth in frustration and took a deep breath to keep himself calm before he continued. “Especially if they weren’t trained fighters.”
There was another moment of silence, as if Kuroro were turning over something in his mind, or maybe he was just assessing the Kuruta. “Easily?” he asked when he spoke again.
“Relatively,” Kurapica said with a slight frown. He pursed his lips. Kuroro looked at him, likely waiting for the reason for which Kurapica hadn’t been more affirmative in his answer. “I would have to be fast,” the blond explained, “and hit them before they knew I was there at all.”
“So,” Kuroro said, infuriatingly slow, “what is preventing you from doing the same to these things?”
Kurapica stared at him, making sure the disbelief was plain as day on his face. “One bite, one scratch, and I might become like them!” he pointed out. “Unfeeling, unthinking, just-just ambling around, attacking -whatever. I mean, are they alive? Are they dead? Can they-can they see themselves-see themselves rip the bodies open? Eating them?” He shuddered at the thought. “Are they sort of-just sort of locked somewhere in there, seeing all this? I’d rather die than-than be that.”
Kuroro met his gaze head on. He stared at him for another few beats of silence, and Kurapica couldn’t help thinking that it was creepy, the way the older man just stared, silent and thoughtful. Finally, the Spider Head put a hand on his shoulder, and the blond had to repress another shudder. There was something about him that kept making Kurapica uncomfortable, though he still couldn’t quite explain it. It wasn’t just his demeanour or his words. It was as if the very air around him vibrated at an unnerving frequency that set Kurapica on edge.
“We won’t let it get to that,” the older man said. He slid his hand into the pocket of his bomber jacket (the coat really didn’t fit the rest of his ensemble, Kurapica couldn’t help but notice). “Put it out of your mind. Treat them as if they were human. If you’re too careful of them, of their teeth, you’ll make a mistake. Look at them.”
“I see them!” Kurapica huffed.
“No,” Kuroro countered. His fingers found Kurapica’s chin and he gently but firmly turned his head back towards the group of undead shuffling towards them down the street. “Look at them. You could defeat them as humans, and yet these monsters are perhaps a third of the speed and less than a tenth of the intelligence of their human counterparts. You said you would have to be fast, to hit before they realize you’re even there. Now you have three times the length of time you would have with live subjects. What have you to fear?”
“Humans don’t usually bite,” Kurapica pointed out, “they don’t risk turning you into that.”
“Then don’t let them,” Kuroro said.
Kurapica scoffed lightly, shrugging off one hand and twisting his head away out of the other. He turned from the older man and wrapped his arms around his ribs, squeezing in tight. He eyed the group again, then took a deep breath in and slowly let it go. “Fast,” he said, more to himself than to Kuroro, “hit them before they even know I’m there.”
“Exactly,” Kuroro said. “They’re just slow, ambling fools.”
Kurapica let his arms fall back to his side and took a deep breath again. He loosened his daggers in their sheaths, making sure they’d slide easily out, then rolled his shoulders. He was still anxious, still irritated, still wondering why Kuroro had obviously singled him out from the moment he’d entered the camp. Was it simply because of the scratches that had marred his arms when he’d arrived? There had to be more to this than simple curiosity. Was he as aware of him as Kurapica was of the Spiders? Could he somehow see the trails Kurapica left behind just as the Kuruta could see his? So many questions, ones he could not ask yet.
“Just promise me one thing,” he told the man without looking at him. Kuroro made a soft questioning sound and the blond took another steadying breath. “Whatever happens, don’t let me become one of them.”
He felt the weight of the Spider’s gaze on the side of his face, but didn’t look away from the monsters to return it.
“I promise,” Kuroro said, voice solemn.
Kurapica nodded.
He heard two faint clicks, and Kuroro slid his hand out of the jacket. “Twenty,” he said. “Give or take.”
The blond turned his head slightly towards the older man, but before he could ask what he meant, there was the shrill sound of a whistle somewhere to their right, then again to their left. Kurapica opened his mouth to ask what was happening, when he noticed the throng of undead wavering and turned his head back to observe them. Some took stumbling steps towards the sounds. The creature leading them wailed again, a broken sound. The undead wavered.
The whistles went off again and again, and slowly, stumblingly, the mass of creatures started spreading, walking towards the different sounds. Some were still following the screamer, but they were fewer now. Some of the monsters started heading back and to the sides, to lose themselves into alleyways and dead-ends. Some would likely end up at the feet of the Spiders who had left the camp with them.
In a way, it was brilliant. “Divide and conquer,” he murmured. He glanced at the older man and found him gazing at him with approval, a slight smile on his face. Kurapica turned away.
It was now or never.
Kurapica had to get down now so he hit the ground before the things could see him and attack him-getting swamped whilst suspended halfway down the side of a brick wall would spell his certain death, after all-so he swallowed down his unease, shoved it down deep. He turned his back to the drop and started climbing down with practised ease, finding purchase with the tip of his runners, then his fingers as he inched down the wall. He only looked back up once, and found Kuroro staring at him from above, then he turned his attention resolutely back to the task at hand. His feet found the pavement without a single misstep.
Carefully, he made his way around a corner, put his back to the wall, listening intently to the shuffling sounds and moans of the approaching amblers. There was that high-pitched but faint wail again from the screamer at the front of the group, then again, closer, breathy and scratchy, barely even a scream anymore.
Kurapica tightened his grip on the hilts of his daggers and forced his heart to calm its erratic beating. He studied the small alley he was hiding in, spotting a few crates and a low wall he could use to jump out of reach or to slow down the amblers if they came after him. When they came after him. Gods, he really was doing this.
“Humans,” he whispered to himself. “Very slow and dumb humans.”
He wet his lips and took a deep breath in. The raspy sound came again, closer, so much closer than Kurapica had expected. He swallowed and finally pulled out his knives.
Only draw your weapons if you’re ready to use them, came his mother’s remonstrance, the memory of the words vivid and sharp, but the beloved voice fainter than he liked.
I intend to use them, mother, he thought to the memory. I’ll survive this, and I’ll find you.
His fingers tightened their grip on his weapons, and he lowered his stance, ready to pounce into action. The screamer appeared at the edge of the building, stumbling on a twisted foot, perhaps a metre from the building against which Kurapica was hiding. It let out another broken wail and Kurapica jumped out of the shadows. He bowled one creature aside as it stumbled between him and his target. The screamer had to go first so it didn’t attract more undead to the area, and even though they would more likely go after the whistles, he wasn’t going to take the chance. He reached the screamer, which had not quite reacted to the attack.
One third of the speed and less than a tenth of the intelligence of their human counterparts.
He shoved the creature’s shoulder, forcing it to turn its back to him and slammed one of his knives into his spine. The creature seized, but Kurapica managed to wrench his dagger free. He turned on himself and flipped the weapon to have a better downward thrust as he stabbed the monster he’d shoved earlier in the back of the neck, then kicked it back to slow a few other zombies that were slowly reaching for him with outstretched arms and crooked fingers.
One came towards his side and reached for his shoulder and Kurapica took a step back. With his left hand, he stabbed at its neck from the front, then slashed the knife hard, decapitating the thing. He closed his lips tight, mindful of potential blood spray, but there was nearly nothing spilling from the wound. The blood he could see was dark and sluggish. Dead. Small favour; they probably were not aware of what they had become.
He managed to down two more of the undead, but they were reacting to him now, reaching for him with hungry moans. He jumped back, then turned and jogged into the alley he’d sprung out from. He faced the road again, watching as three of the creatures stumbled after him. They couldn’t encircle him here. It was a little more difficult to manoeuvre, but he grabbed a broken crate, sent it at a zombie’s head, then jumped on another one and kicked the monster’s head down to expose its spine. A stab later, it went down and Kurapica did the same to the thing next to it.
There was no thinking anymore, he just jumped and kicked and stabbed. Five, six, seven down. One crashed into the crate he was standing on. The rotting wood wobbled and broke enough that it became too unstable to fight on. Kurapica turned and scrambled up the low wall as the things tried to grasp at him. They were too slow. Eight, nine, ten, eleven down. His arms were getting sore. It had been too long since he’d stretched and trained. One managed to grab his ankle and pulled at it, trying to bring it to its mouth. Kurapica wobbled on the narrow wall. He lost his footing and nearly fell off. His body slammed into the building next to him, and he used the facade to right himself up.
He lost his mental footing a little with the close call, and he stabbed and slashed wildly for a minute or two, before he managed to calm himself and start methodically putting the things down once more. Was this fifteen? Thirteen? He didn’t know. He’d lost count. He thought he could hear the whistles coming closer, the others probably slowly making their way towards them, mowing down whatever monsters they encountered.
There were only three more undead in the alley that he could see. One was stuck partly in the broken crate Kurapica had stood on before, but the other two were trying to get over that one to get to the Kuruta. Kurapica jumped down from the wall and went straight for them, then jumped to the side. As they stared blankly at where he’d been, confused, he made quick work of dispatching them both, then finally finished off the one who was stuck in the crate.
He stood, panting, all of the creatures down at his feet, finally no longer hungry. He’d done it. He hadn’t gotten one single scratch on him. He felt his heart swell with pride, with hope, with slightly hysterical joy as his mind screamed, I’m alive, I’m alive, I’m alive!
Giddy, he tilted his head up to where he could see Kuroro’s dark form outlined against the cloudless sky. He stared up at him, eyes wide, adrenaline still buzzing under his skin, making his fingertips all tingly. He wiped his brow with the back of one hand and slid his daggers back into their sheaths. Kuroro wasn’t smiling, but his gaze was intense, making Kurapica feel a little cornered, like he was being stared down by a strange, dark creature, an unknown entity that he couldn’t quite figure out. He felt pinned under that dark gaze, until the older man finally turned away to start his descent from the roof.
Kurapica watched him climb down, slower than the Kuruta had been. Well, Kurapica had had a lot of practice, climbing up and down trees and a few cliffs to the east of his home village. Kuroro was obviously in great shape, but he didn’t seem like he had much practice scaling up and down things. His progress was sure but slow, and Kurapica huffed impatiently. Excitement from the fight was making him restless. He wanted to jump, wanted to run, wanted to laugh, he didn’t know, he felt too many things all at once.
He heard the groan too late.
Whirling on himself, he brought a hand up to fend off whatever was coming, his left hand already grabbing the hilt of a knife. The ghoul grabbed his wrist with both hands and brought it to its mouth. Kurapica froze, choking on a scream as its teeth bit down on the edge of his palm. He brought up his knife and started stabbing at it, getting it multiple times in the shoulder, the wounds deep but ultimately useless.
He heard a thump as Kuroro jumped the rest of the way down, and, nearly too fast to see, he wrenched the thing away. A moment later, it was crumpling to the ground, nearly wrenching Kurapica’s arm from its socket as it was still holding onto his wrist with a literal death grip. Kurapica managed to free himself and brought his palm to his face, the earlier elation and giddiness replaced by absolute terror and panic.
It hurt, it hurt, was the skin okay, the skin had to be okay, right, it would be fine if the skin wasn’t broken, he wasn’t bleeding was he, what if it had broken the skin, he would be cursed to undeath, gods, he couldn’t-he couldn’t become one of those things, he couldn’t, he didn’t want, there was no way that he could, how had he let this happen, he knew better, he knew better, he knew better, he should never have let his guards down, he knew better, damn it, damn it all, was it bleeding, he couldn’t become a thing, he just-
“Kurapica,” Kuroro’s voice was maddeningly calm, “Kurapica, breathe.”
Kurapica took in a large gulp of air. His vision was swimming, he couldn’t see, couldn’t focus, couldn’t-
Red. Red blood. He felt a few drops slide lazily down to his wrists and made a panicked sound. “It bit-there’s blood-I’m-No…. No!”
Both of his shoulders were grabbed in strong hands and a shudder went through him as that intense feeling of wrong, wrong, wrong went through him like a bolt of lightning, made worse by his panic. “Don’t touch me!” he shouted, pulling out of his grasp. From not being able to breathe, he started breathing too fast, too much, too-
“Kurapica you’re hyperventilating.”
“Shut up,” the blond gasped, “I’m not-not yet.” From panic, irritation surged, and in a way, it was helpful. His hand grabbed Kuroro’s stupid jacket and twisted. “I fucking hate you,” he growled, hand shaking a little, but with anger rather than terror.
“I imagine you do,” Kuroro said, his tone still ridiculously kind and gentle. Kurapica wanted to smash his fist in that stupid fucking attractive face, break a few teeth loose and mess up his perfect fucking smile. “Let me see your hand,” the man continued. “I need to bandage it.”
“How will that help?!” Kurapica demanded. “It’s not like I’m going to be needing it! Hell, it might help the living if I’m already injured before I-gods!”
Kuroro held his hand demandingly at him and the urge to hit him was still very much present in Kurapica’s mind, but he made a rude noise, shook him once and let go of his jacket, then put his hand in Kuroro’s waiting one. He was shaking, but he wasn’t sure if it was fear or anger anymore. He just felt-too much, too many things. The older man’s fingers clasped his and he held his hand up, turning it this way and that. He slid his other hand in his pocket and drew out a handkerchief. Kurapica could feel hysterical laughter bubbling under his ribs at the ridiculous uselessness of it all. Kuroro let go of his fingers so he could unfold the piece of black cotton-of course it was black. Kurapica’s attention focused on that detail and it made him want to laugh, want to scream, want to hit something, all because of the stupid colour of a stupid handkerchief. He was losing it. The older man wrapped the soft fabric carefully around Kurapica’s palm and secured it with a knot.
“What’s the point,” Kurapica managed to say. “That’s not going to stop a disease that’s already in my blood from making me-”
“It may not be,” Kuroro interrupted. “And it would be ridiculous to avoid the plague, only to be killed by a simple infection from an untreated wound.”
“I hate you,” Kurapica said again, on the edge of a laugh, of a sob, of a scream.
“Hate me,” Kuroro said, still so fucking gently, “Hate me, but walk with me.”
The request was so ridiculous that it finally wrenched a miserable laugh from the Kuruta. He snatched his hand back. “Walk with you?” he asked, his voice rising in pitch in his disbelief. “Where the fuck would we even go?” Kuroro arched an eyebrow and the curse and it made the blond laugh again, the sound ending on a terrified hiccup. “I was bitten, Kuroro, not mugged. You can’t bring me back to camp! What if-I’m a danger to all of you!”
“You’re of no danger to me,” Kuroro said, his gaze firm and unwavering on Kurapica’s face, “or my Spiders. But since you’re asking, I’m putting you back into quarantine, for everyone’s protection. I am taking you back to camp, however, no matter what you say.” He took Kurapica’s arm and pulled him. “Walk with me.”
Kurapica wrenched his arm out of his hand. “I can walk unaided,” he hissed. “It bit my hand, not my leg.”
“Then walk,” the Spider Head said, his arm motioning forward. Kurapica huffed angrily and stared him down for a moment. There were so many more things he wanted to say, but he couldn’t think, couldn’t put the words together, and the man was just standing there, just waiting and-
He turned and stalked back towards the camp. His anger nearly drowned out the fear, and he cursed the man under his breath. A few blocks down, two of the Spiders joined them, then a little further on, the remaining members of their stupid raiding party fell into step with them. Kurapica ignored their presence, focused on just putting one foot in front of the other, focused on not breaking down, on keeping himself from running, from screaming, from stabbing Kuroro in his stupid fucking face.
“What’s up with him?” one of them asked, Kurapica didn’t care which.
“Bitten,” came Kuroro’s response.
“Ah,” the other man said. “Sure didn’t fix his attitude.”
Kurapica wanted to punch him too. What did they think this bite was? This was a little more than getting your fingers pinched in a door. He wanted to whirl on them and curse them all to hell, but if he started screaming, even in anger, then he would never ever stop. Maybe that’s how screamers were formed. Maybe they’d started screaming when they realized they were infected and then just didn’t ever stop, their brain stuck in a loop as the disease took over their bodies. Maybe he’d become one.
He felt cold dread settle in his guts and started walking faster. The men with him didn’t say another word, but matched his pace. If the walk out of the camp earlier had been uncomfortable, it was nothing compared to now. He wanted to feel safe, to feel home, but he didn’t have a home anymore. The apartment he’d left behind didn’t count. His home had burned down to the ground and he would never see it again. He held his arms close to his chest, hugging himself desperately, trying to walk as fast as he could. He just wanted-needed-
He didn’t even know anymore.
They made it back to camp before the panic managed to overwhelm the blond again, but the wait as the survivors rolled the car holding the barrier up out of the way so they could come in was unbearable.
By the time they walked into the compound, Kurapica’s breathing had become uneven again. Kuroro tugged on the sleeve of his t-shirt and guided him through the streets of the camp. They were a few blocks in when Kurapica realized that the others were no longer following, but he couldn’t tell exactly when their path had diverged. His head felt like it was filled with static, or maybe there was that high-pitched sound some televisions gave now that there were no channels for news anymore anywhere. He barely recognized his surroundings, until Kuroro pulled him into the atrium of the first building he’d been housed it, and the pawn shop that served as quarantine.
One of the others must have alerted Senritsu, because the young woman was waiting by the door to the shop, keys in hand. His eyes showed her concern and worry as she gazed on his face. She didn’t say anything, just turned from him and opened the door. Kurapica walked in.
“What happened?” the woman’s soft voice finally asked. “Kuroro-”
“Not now,” the Spider Head told her, his tone calm, decisive. “I’ll give you the usual rundown, but not now. I’m not leaving him alone. I’ll find you tomorrow.”
She made a soft sound, and Kurapica turned to see Kuroro entering the room and closing the door behind him. He caught a glimpse of Senritsu’s expression before it clanged shut, and it looked sad and worried. A moment later, the key turned in the lock, then her footsteps retreated, nearly silent on the polished floor.
“You shouldn’t be in here with me,” Kurapica said. “It’s too dangerous; you shouldn’t be in here.”
“I’m not leaving,” the older man informed him, taking a step closer.
“I could infect you,” Kurapica warned, hugging himself closer, like he wanted to pull his ribs in to crush his own lungs. He felt so cold, so desperately cold despite the hot summer day. “You should leave, you should go.”
“I’m staying right here,” Kuroro insisted.
He had to have a screw loose or something, because here was definitely not safe. Oh gods, he was going to turn, he was going to turn into a mindless ghoul, all because this idiot had no concept of safety whatsoever, and now he was going to start going raving mad and he’d probably bite the moron, or maybe he’d end up eating him; Kurapica didn’t know how it was all decided, how some people became infected while others were simply cannibalized and oh gods, what if Kurapica ended up eating someone-
“Kurapica,” Kuroro’s voice was calm, soothing, so close to him now, “breathe, you’re going to be fine.”
Kurapica couldn’t answer that stupid statement, couldn’t find the breath to say anything. With jerky motions, he went to one of the beds and sat sideways on the mattress so he could keep his back to the man. He didn’t want him to see him panic. Again. Still. He didn’t know which it was.
“I don’t want to turn,” he choked out, fear gripping his lungs like icy fists. “I don’t want to lose my mind, I don’t want to become-”
He heard the soft but distinct sound of a small blade sliding out of a leather sheath, a sound he was well acquainted with from years of training and using his own knives. He tensed, his entire body starting to shake.
“Don’t let me become one,” he whispered.
He felt the point of a small blade, something extremely thin, like a stiletto knife, pressing just below the base of his skull. “I won’t,” Kuroro murmured, so close behind him now, his deep voice sinking into Kurapica’s very bones, soothing him down to his very core. “I promised. I will not let you become one of your nightmares.”
Kurapica nodded and released a shaky breath. Blindly, he reached back with his hand, presenting it, palm up, over his shoulder. He heard Kuroro shift behind him, then felt his cool fingers slide over his, then lower, over his palm, feather-light and a little ticklish. He curled his own fingers around them, then finally managed to draw in a full breath, trembling as it was. The voice of panic in his head finally fell silent and he could finally stop thinking, stop panicking and just be.
He wasn’t sure how long they stayed like this, Kuroro standing by the bed at his back, a little to the left, one hand clasped in his and the other holding a knife to the back of his neck, but it felt like moments, felt like hours, felt like years. Eventually, the man shifted and sat behind him, one leg curled under the other, left foot on the floor next to the bed.
For how cool his hand felt in Kurapica’s fingers, Kuroro’s body radiated heat and the blond couldn’t help leaning back into it, soaking it up like comfort, like desperate need. Kuroro shifted his hand holding the knife to rest it on his right shoulder, and Kurapica sank back against him until his back was against the man’s chest and his head leaning against the man’s shoulder. Kuroro had to move their hands and ended up with his arm partly around the blond, their fingers still clasped together. Kurapica squeezed, and Kuroro did too. He closed his eyes and listened to the sound of their breathing-his shallow, trembling in his lungs; Kuroro’s deep and even.
The terror was like a living thing, peeking around the corners of his mind, but it was distant now, quiet and watchful. He was probably going to die tonight, but dying was preferable to that, to the undeath of the amblers. Kuroro would keep his promise, would sever his spine at the first sign of disease, and Kurapica would stop, would sleep, would not become a thing.
It was strange, it was wrong, and probably a little fucked up, but Kurapica had never felt calm like this settle under his ribs, warm and comforting. It was like his mind was quiet; not quite at peace perhaps, but at the very least resigned. When he was gone, there would be no one to find his people, no one to bring them home, but he would have to believe that they were somewhere, fighting, taking care of themselves, keeping safe. He, at least, would not become undead, and that was all the assurance that he needed right now.
“Thank you,” he whispered, and stopped thinking, stopped fearing.
He slept.