Baby my heart beats for you (if it could) (7/?)
Title: Baby my heart beats for you (if it could) (6/?)
Characters: SHINee (main), Changmin, Jaebum, Jaejoong, Nicole and Jinwoon in this chapter
Previous Chapters: http://clubotaku.livejournal.com/11828.html#cutid1 http://clubotaku.livejournal.com/12509.html#cutid1 http://clubotaku.livejournal.com/12888.html http://clubotaku.livejournal.com/13454.html http://clubotaku.livejournal.com/14095.html http://clubotaku.livejournal.com/14693.html
Rating: PG-13
Genre: Humour, Horror
Pairing: slight OnewxKey
Summary: AU. Jinki is all alone in a zombie infested world and the end is most certainly nigh
1.
Kibum comes back late, slips in like air into the apartment. Minho is asleep and Jinki is trying to push the bolster further between himself and Jonghyun. As it turned out, Jonghyun was serious about being naked. Every time Jinki felt something- be it a foot, a hand, the bolster pillow-his hands immediately went southwards to cover his crotch. Just a normal reaction, yeah, a totally normal reaction, hahaha….
Jonghyun mumbles something, croons out an old Mary J. Blige song and Jinki sighs-Jonghyun’s sung more than twenty excerpts so far. He stopped counting ten minutes ago. Minho’s breaths are soft puffs, and this feels almost normal to Jinki. The air-con hums, Jonghyun warbles and Minho breathes. Jinki shakes his body, wriggles like a worm out of the bed but his foot gets tangled halfway and he topples, silent and flailing. This makes him sad.
Jonghyun and Minho sleep on, oblivious and happily dreaming (or singing) away. Jinki squints in the near-darkness, tip-toes over to Minho’s bed and gently pushes his foot back onto the bed. Minho mumbles something unintelligible and Jinki freezes, before the younger boy rolls onto his side. Jonghyun’s hands are running up and down the bed, before reaching out for the bolster which Jinki moves next to him. Jonghyun gives a greasy smile as his hands come in contact with the pillow, drags it to his body and wraps his arms and legs around it.
“Noona…You’re so pretty,” he mumbles, nuzzling it. Jinki blinks and edges towards the door. The corner of the bed catches his eye and he hops to the side to avoid it, grabs the door handle and twists as he stumbles out into the living room.
Kibum sits, silent and shadowed beside the window, legs pulled to his chest. His eyes are hidden by his jagged fringe but he turns away when Jinki steps-trips-in. Jinki opens his mouth to say something, words colliding, chaotic in the back of his throat. He backpedals, makes to walk back inside but his socks prevent him from walking backwards and he slides helplessly in a circle, grabs the couch and clings onto it like a lifeline if only to just stop slipping.
“Sorry,” he mumbles, shy.
Kibum doesn’t reply.
“Kibum?” he asks, hesitant. Jinki’s eyes are heavy from lack of sleep and his brain is still a little fuzzy but right now, Kibum is clear in his mind. The other boy’s shoulder seem to sag, ever so slightly and he releases a small breath, a ‘pfft’ sound breaking the silence. A finger is raised, crooked and commanding as it beckons Jinki to come closer. Jinki’s eyes widen-Kibum smells like alcohol.
“Have you been drinking?” he asks, aghast, “How did you even find alcohol-that’s not the point, you’re underage!”
Kibum scoffs against the glass, watches it fog and dissipate.
“I’m legal in England.”
He watches the streetlights flicker, trails them up the empty street. He pretends that he can see lights far away, perhaps where Indonesia lies. Wonders whether the bobbing lights are patrol boats or refugees. Curses Changmin. Jinki sits down, cautious, opposite him.
“The fuck?” says Kibum, swinging his head to regard Jinki from beneath his hair, eyes drowsy, “Come closer fool, what kind of hyung are you anyway?”
He called me hyung, thinks Jinki delightedly, hyung! Beaming, he pushes himself so he’s facing Kibum. The younger one rolls his eyes and pulls him closer, so they’re side by side. His skin is cold against the warmth of Jinki’s arm and the other shivers, notices the leather jacket thrown on the kitchen counter.
“At least you don’t smell like smoke,” says Jinki sincerely, “That would’ve been absolutely terrible.”
Kibum laughs, eyes crinkled as he hits him softly.
“You’d be a crap father,” he decides. Jinki is offended-but he agrees.
“Kids scare me,” he says, nodding his head up and down, “Every time someone passes me a baby I wonder whether they’re wearing a diaper.”
“You have issues,” says Kibum, “Now keep me warm.”
He arranges them so Jinki’s arm is around his shoulders and Kibum’s head is burrowed beneath his neck, their legs stretched out as they lean against the wall (or rather, Kibum is half against the wall, half against Jinki and Jinki is suffering from the awkward position).
“The other two asleep?” Kibum’s voice is becoming slower, softer.
“Tucked Minho in myself,” says Jinki proudly, “Jonghyun won’t stop sleep-singing though but I managed to distract him with a pillow.”
Kibum snorts.
“Weirdo,” then, “But I guess you’d be an ok father if you can look after those two retards.”
As Jinki falls asleep, head lolling onto Kibum’s, he feels something light touch the curve of his jaw that makes him tingle. Fireflies? He thinks, before dropping off.
In the morning Minho finds them like that; Kibum’s arms curled across Jinki’s chest and tucked into the curve of his body whilst their legs are tangled. Jinki’s expression is a mixture of contentment and agony as he snuffs and sniffs in his sleep. Minho grins and removes Kibum’s elbow from his spleen and then collects the leather jacket and arranges it over them. Opening the door quietly, he looks at them one more time before walking out, pack in hand and juice boxes inside.
2.
Reports, reports, reports. All say the same thing and none of it good news. Changmin growls and kicks the table, sends paper flying. From the many screens that adorn the wall he sees agents apprehending boats, scientists in their labs, the deserted streets of the city. Kibum-Key- is talking to one of the last few citizens in one of the halls near the entrance.
“Sir.”
Changmin smoothens his tie, takes a large bite out of his double-decker BLT sandwich complete with extra bacon and smothered in mustard. The agent salutes him, eyes hidden behind glasses.
“More and more refugees are trying to gain access and are skirting around our defense to the other side of the island. Our operatives in Malaysia and Thailand are unable to prevent the spread and are busy working on finding the cause.”
“Double the guard around the island,” says Changmin, eyes flicking to his computer. Damn it, he only needs to beat that asswipe Fuwuyuan aka. one Cho Kyuhyun from South Korea, Seoul University, 1st year, dorm no.324, age 20. Likes: Starcraft, psychology, some tall Chinese guy. Dislikes: The world. I love my job. He smirks.
“Also,” says the agent after a millisecond’s hesitation. Changmin picks up on this and regards him coolly whilst he slices the sandwich in half.
“Yes?”
“A boat may have escaped our notice Sir.”
He raises one eyebrow, stops cutting the sandwich. The two other agents watching the monitors suddenly find them extremely interesting.
“One boat…Or two?”
He stares directly at the man, through the tinted shades. The other stiffens, voice tight.
“We estimate two…At least.”
Changmin laughs, eyes crinkling into mismatched half-moons as he slaps his knee and convulses, hands clutching his sides. The agent stands, stock-still and eyes averted skyward, away from his commander. One of the agents watching the monitor begins to edge his chair away. At last, the commander stops laughing, faces the agent with a crooked smile that’s all teeth and no warmth.
“Why do I pay you? Why did I hire you? Why are you still here?”
The agent clicks his heels smartly and marches out, closes the door gently. Changmin props his head up with one hand, leaning against the table as the sound of the agent’s footsteps fades away as his speed increases.
“Let nobody in,” he orders, voice blaring through every agent’s ear-pieces, “I want this island zombie-free.”
Shaking his head he turns his attention back to his sandwich. You are the only good thing I’ve had today. Licking his lips he raises the sandwich to eye level, closes his eyes and inhales the delightful aroma of fresh bread, bacon, lettuce, tomato and mustard. As he is about to take one blissful bite his phone buzzes and he sighs, placing the sandwich back down before flipping it open.
“What now?”
The young Head of Intelligence listens to the person on the other line babbling quickly, rolls his eyes.
“Yes, yes, I know, I am being nice.”
The other person laughs and he sneers at the phone.
“No this is not fun-you think I like defending an island against the undead? I didn’t hack into the CIA for this! You…No, how many times must I say this, I did not get caught, I voluntarily let my profile be seen so they’d hire me!...What?”
His features darken and his eyes focus on the corner of the metal table, sharp and shiny.
“No…No, I didn’t know that. No, we haven’t had a breakthrough here…I see. I’ll pass that to my team.”
He walks over to the monitors and points. The agent increases screen size so the screen showing the lab is now on full. The person on the other line grows quiet, more subdued. Changmin closes his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose.
“…He says he doesn’t know anything. No…He’s not saying anything I don’t already know. Freaking arrogant too with a stupid haircut, tch! Kids these days…I’m not old!”
Onscreen, the girl fights against the leather bindings that strap her to the bed as a scientist tries to inject her arm. Her skin is graying and pus is beginning to ooze from the wound in her leg, a bite-sized hole that is black and festering.
“I see. Yes…That makes sense. Three to four days...Which means this started earlier than previously thought.”
The other line is so soft his well-trained ears strain to catch the words.
“Yeah…I’ll tell him. No, I’m not a babysitter, I’ll tell him my way!”
A sad chuckle that passes over crackling phone lines, sea and land.
“Stay safe and I’ll see you when I see you. This call is international you know, you’re costing me.”
He snaps it shut and slides into an empty chair, legs folding. On one of the many other screens, Kibum is gossiping with the same girl. He whispers something that makes her blush and calls out to another, taller, bulkier boy who looks suspiciously at them before coming over. The girl slaps Kibum on the shoulder which makes the other boy pout and Kibum covers his mouth as he bends over in laughter. Changmin crosses his feet and leans back to stare thoughtfully at the ceiling.
3.
Jinki awakens to Jonghyun singing along to a Michael Jackson song, attempting to moonwalk. Minho is nowhere to be seen and Kibum is long gone, the space beside him cold. He’s left his leather jacket though-Jinki holds it close and inhales.
“That’s kinda creepy you know.” Jonghyun is giving him a weird look. Jinki smiles sheepishly and folds the jacket.
“Where’s Minho?”
Jonghyun shrugs and moves into the kitchen, opens the fridge.
“He was gone when I woke up. Same goes for Perez Hilton.”
“Who?” says Jinki, but Jonghyun is busy pouring orange juice into a glass which he hands to Jinki with a flourish and a grin. If he’d been on TV, Jinki was pretty sure one of those animated sparkles would’ve been edited onto his face.
“Poured with love,” says the younger boy, “Squeezed them myself, the way you squeeze my heart.”
Inwardly, Jinki flails and imagines running far, far away. Imaginary dragon Kibum suddenly appears and barbeques him into fiery bits...Starting with his manhood. He gulps.
“Recycle the carton,” sighs Minho, stepping inside, “Don’t throw it in the bin.” He points to the trashcan in his hand, which has mysteriously been moved from its place in the kitchen to outside.
“Ha,” says Jonghyun, “Ha ha ha…Fine.”
Wordlessly, Minho holds out the trashcan to Jonghyun who pouts, indignant and embarrassed but takes it from him nonetheless and goes outside to presumably, put it in the recycling bin. Jinki wonders when it’ll actually be recycled seeing as most of the island is empty. He wanders back to the TV and begins flicking through channels only to find there are now only two available: the news and a local channel.
“Bad news hyung, all TV, radio and telecommunication lines apart from a few landlines are down.”
“What!” Jonghyun’s head pops around the door, “No radio?! H-How can we live like this?!”
Oh love, naega wa; neon love like this, comes the song in Jinki’s head. He taps himself to make it stop. Minho gives Jonghyun one solemn, pointed look. Jonghyun disappears.
“What happened?” asks Jinki, “Oh God, don’t tell me we’re trapped here!” He starts trembling.
Sensing the oncoming fit, Minho quickly interjects.
“Changmin-hyung said that there are not enough people left to keep them running and that we’re all going to be moved out soon. Oh, and since it’s a Sunday he told us to have fun.” There is the faintest trace of sarcasm as he says the last part.
“Oh,” says Jinki, “And Kibum?”
Minho shrugs and switches off the TV, as if he hadn’t just seen the carnage in Cambodia and Myanmar.
“Don’t wait up for him. Hyung, he’ll be fine.”
The door slams open as Jonghyun runs back in, cheesy smile back in place as he belts out the beginning of Maroon 5’s ‘Sunday morning’. Minho rubs his brow and throws Jinki’s pack at him.
“Let’s go to Sentosa.”
“Sentosa?”
“…A theme park.”
“YAY!” cry Jinki and Jonghyun, jumping up and down. They start hugging each other but the hugging stops when Jonghyun’s hand slips onto Jinki’s butt.
Half an hour later they’re walking past the Marina, coastline dotted with gleaming department stores and high-end houses. The noon-day sun has caused sweat to break out on all their faces-Minho however, had the foresight to bring a cap-and Jinki reaches unconsciously for the bottle of sun-block Kibum had ‘bought’ for him on their shopping trip.
“I think I’m going to melt,” moans Jonghyun, “How much further is this place?”
Minho, jogging and silent up ahead, says something that sounds like twenty minutes. His lack of exhaustion and the grace of his movements annoys Jonghyun, who turns to moaning about how unfit he is. Jinki is reminded of Kibum.
“Once we get to Telok Blangah we can cross over, unless you’d prefer to swim there,” says Minho, over his shoulder. Jonghyun makes faces behind his back and Jinki giggles like a little girl. The pair begin to mimic the taller boy’s movements and gestures; Jonghyun mouths ‘Baywatch’ and starts running in over-exaggerated slow motion, points at Minho and then at his crotch.
“Stop it,” orders Minho, voice flat, “I have eyes at the back of my head.”
“I knew he was an alien,” Jinki hisses. Jonghyun is in shock and can only nod dumbly in response.
Ten minutes later and the heat is radiating ten-fold off the ground and onto them. Jonghyun has rolled his skinny jeans up as far as he can (not far) and Jinki has rolled his sleeves up and made a make-shift fan from some homework he found stuffed at the bottom of his pack. Briefly he wonders whether the teacher is still alive, what happened to his classmates but the imagery freaks him out and he brushes it away. It makes him feel guilty but part of him says he did all he could and besides, everyone ran in different directions and left him behind. I’m lucky Kibum found me.
“I’m so hungry I could die,” wails Jonghyun, “I need water; my vocal cords will suffer without it.”
“You shouldn’t have drunk the water so quickly hyung,” Minho is unsympathetic; “There’ll be water when we get there.”
Jonghyun splutters, “If my voice goes then the world will suffer! How will my musical soul touch people without it?”
Minho snorts though not unkindly, “You’ll still touch people nevertheless.”
Jinki chuckles, Jonghyun giving Minho the evil-eye as he tries to understand the double-meaning (or single, considering the subject) behind his comment. He turns to Jinki, pleading.
“Do you have any spare water or food? If you save me, you’ll save a million other people who need to be inspired.”
Jinki twitches, head tilting to the side as he gives an uneasy smile. There’s a little water left in his pack that he’s saving just in case the theme park has none (he’s still very disturbed by the recycled toilet water and this is his last bottle of mineral water) so, ignoring the pang of guilt that comes from lying he shakes his head. Jonghyun is distraught-and proceeds to tell Minho just how much.
Finally, they cross over to Sentosa which is barricaded and surrounded by barbed wire along it’s edges, patrol boats and security cameras dotting the coast. Jinki’s heart sinks a little. The entrance is blocked by a few chain-link fences which Minho leaps over, hurdle-style. Jonghyun settles for crawling ungracefully over, yelping as bits of metal poke him. Taking a deep breath, Jinki readies himself and shouts ‘hwaiting!’ as he sprints towards the first gate and pushes his foot firmly on the ground. Air whistles past as he leaps over…And as he falls, legs still spread, onto the fence. Jonghyun winces and Minho gives a small shudder.
“Think of your mother,” advises Jonghyun.
“…There should be ice somewhere,” says Minho.
Jinki doesn’t say anything and tries desperately not to break down and cry. Ouchies.
4.
Kibum bids farewell to Nicole and Jinwoon, waves as they promise to email him once they’re back in Korea (hopefully).
“Do it, do it chu~” he catcalls, making kissy faces at Jinwoon who goes scarlet and shouts something rude back (but Kibum can’t hear it between his laughs). Nicole blinks, confused, and then waves again.
“Get yourself a mister before I do!” cries Kibum and she gives the peace sign; “You bet I will!”
Once they pass around the corner and out the door, he gives a tired smile. When he first met them, a million fucking interrogations ago, he’d quickly discovered that they were the same age and lived in the same area. Nicole had previously lived in the US and they’d bonded over speaking English and reveling in the fact Jinwoon didn’t (ha). Jinwoon had a good voice-though not as good as Jonghyun though he’d never admit that while he was alive and fabulous-and smiled with his eyes a lot. Kibum liked them both. Most importantly, Jinwoon liked Nicole. A lot. Sadly, his attempts at playing matchmaker were futile due to Jinwoon’s lack of courage-“Grow some balls!” “Search me!”-and Nicole’s massive crush on some guy named Yong Hwa.
Two agents accompany him to the interrogation room and Kibum rolls his eyes and shrugs their hands off his shoulders. Changmin waits for him, glasses on the table with a few papers stacked neatly before him. Kibum plonks himself down and crosses his legs, admires the way his boots shine even in the horrible lighting.
“Key,” begins Changmin, “I’m going to ask you one more time and I want you to answer truthfully.”
The younger boy bares his teeth in a sneer, flicks back a strand of crimson hair.
“No, I don’t know what happened, no, I don’t know where the other members are and no, I don’t know what happened to Jaebum. But since you seemed to know where Heechul-hyung is I’m betting that you know exactly where everyone else is.”
He stares straight at the other who smirks. His eyes, mismatched when smiling, are perfectly aligned right now. It irks Kibum.
“You could be put in prison for withholding information.”
“So? What information have I withheld? If anything, you not telling me where my members are is a crime-I could sue you for causing grievous mental stress!”
“Fine.” He opens his hands, palms facing up as he spreads them. Changmin leans forward, ever so confident. “We’ll do it your way.”
“Good, I’ll delay my screaming fit and anguished tears a little longer then.”
“You know about Kim Heechul and I can assure you, Jo Kwon is safe as well. He’s on his way to meet Kim Heechul in Shenzhen, China. You told me you lost Hwang Changsung during the melee at the hotel in Phuket and he’s safe, if a little worn and torn,” he smirks, eyes challenging, “I thought you G.L.E.E members were supposed to be tough but then you’re not exactly Bruce Wayne material.”
Kibum gives him the middle finger, tells him just where he can go. Changmin laughs, like he knows something. Kibum knows he knows something.
“Kim Jaejoong is still in Phuket,” drawls the other, one long finger tracing the tabletop, “Helping find survivors, fighting zombies and most of all, wondering just who killed your leader, Park Jaebum.”
A knot forms in Kibum’s stomach, sits there like a rock. The feeling grows with every second, every glance and smile-no, smirk-the agent sends his way. He says nothing.
“Funny thing too, his gun is missing. I’m sure you’ve seen it-inscribed with his initials, standard issue revolver, always had it with him. I hear only the leader has one and that you all have various weapons you like. Kim Heechul: whip, Jo Kwon: staff, Hwang Changsung: explosives, Kim Jaejoong: sabre, Kim Kibum: knives. I assume-since you refused to be patted down as always-you’re carrying one now?”
He pretends to give Kibum the once-over, doesn’t bother to hide his smile as he focuses on every area that Kibum likes to hide his knives in. He’s right though; Kibum has a knife tucked away beneath his shirt, strapped to his chest. He’d taken and stored the other ones back at the apartment, safe from the other boys’ curiosity. Changmin stretches, cracks his knuckles and neck.
“You had codenames, group-names or aliases…Whatever you liked to call each other during sessions…Practice missions. Key, Hero, Italian boy, Diva, Sohee…Leader (not the most imaginative name I must say). Those might’ve been your agent codenames too; a very small chance but still a chance. Many other G.L.E.E members from other institutions like yours have become agents. Which is why Kibum, I need you to tell me what happened with Park Jaebum the night, or day, you were supposed to leave Bangkok.”
Kibum crosses his arms, hides his clenched fists inside his half-buttoned shirt. Tries to keep his breathing even and not to look to the right-a sure sign of lying.
“I understand it was a difficult time for you, not knowing what was happening and being surrounded by hordes of the undead out for your pulsating heart. I understand that you wanted to leave, that you were desperate to beat the masses also trying to escape. If you feel, guilty for anything that happened its fine but, I want to know what happened.”
“The hell would I feel guilty?” The words barely get out in one piece, let alone managing to keep his tone spiteful and steady. Changmin knows, the sadist has to know but Kibum won’t give in that easy. He has done nothing wrong.
“Where’s the gun Kibum?” The other leans forward, pins him to his seat. No more games.
“I don’t know.”
Changmin shakes his head, looks at him with disappointment. Clicks his fingers. An agent comes in and Kibum doesn’t look, listens to the hard sound of his shoes on the floor. Click, click, click, bang. His pack lands on the table and he inhales deeply, eyes flaring as he struggles to maintain calm. Changmin signals again and the man leaves, the door closing like thunder in his ears.
“Kibum. Key. Kibum,” says Changmin, face dark, “Why do you have his gun?”
His ears are ringing and his mouth is unbearably dry.
“Did you sneak into our apartment?” he rasps, “Look through all our private stuff! What the hell, what else do you want from me?!”
“The apartment isn’t yours Kibum, it was someone else’s. I’m letting you stay there for the time being and”
“Minho!” cries Kibum, “Did he let you in? Has he been spying on us this whole time, calling you-God, you’re both so freaking twisted”
“He has nothing to do with this,” Changmin’s voice is firm, “I ordered a search myself shortly after you-and he-left the apartment. The other two were like the dead-well, the noisy one woke up but he won’t remember a thing; he’ll be fine though.”
Like I care, is what Kibum wants to say but instead he swallows his saliva, digs his fingers deeper into the cotton. Changmin reaches into his pack, removes the gun, places it on the table. Silence fills the room as they both stare at the black item on the table, sitting inside a plastic packet.
“Let me say it for you,” says the agent tonelessly, “You and Park Jaebum made it to the airport and got to Bangkok. You tried to get in touch with the others but none of them- save Jaejoong - picked up. Jaejoong and Jo Kwon said they’d meet you in Bangkok, having missed you by seconds in Phuket. Jaebum checked the two of you into a hotel where you planned to fly off in three days. Bangkok at the time was still safe.”
Shut up, shut up, shut up
“On the first day you both went scouting for supplies, ammunition. You got lost, since Jaebum had no sense of direction and you depend on GPS most of the time. You ended up on the outskirts of town, far away from your hotel. There, you were attacked.”
There was a snarl, a crash, and the shopkeeper ran out, screaming in Thai. The other patrons looked around at each other, some confused and others a little scared, eyes following the lady as she jumped onto a motorbike and sped off.
“What the hell?” said Jaebum, mouth full of tom yam.
They came, crawling and tumbling out of the kitchen and reaching out for people. Jaebum swore and threw his bowl, discus style at one. Kibum grabbed his chopsticks, spearing one through the eyes and out its head.
“You fought, trying to save the other patrons and buy them some time. Jaebum was hurt.”
“Shit!” Jaebum clutched at his arm, kicked away the head into the wall. Its body twitched from where it lay, slime and worms oozing out of the neck. Blood poured down from the wound, mixed black from the zombie’s mouth.
“Hyung!”
“You escaped and returned to your hotel in the evening. Jaebum was starting to feel ill. You found a hospital and they bandaged up the wound for you but they didn’t understand just how he’d been bitten. They didn’t notice the infection inside him. But you did.”
Kibum’s body is shaking, half from fury and half from grief. Changmin continues on, choosing not to comment on how he’s biting his lip, or how his eyes are losing their fighting spark.
“You worked out that a person becomes undead after being bitten or wounded in some way. Jaebum fell very ill, contracted a fever despite all the medicine you gave him. You had a day before you were due to fly and from my research, his skin was turning grey.”
Jaebum groaned, clothes sticking to his body, slick with sweat as he tried to drink some water.
“I’ll be fine for tomorrow; once we’re back I’ll get better. I still need to kick some zombie ass.”
Kibum’s smile was too bright but the leader didn’t notice, busy re-bandaging his arm. If he saw the grey that crept up his feet onto his legs, he didn’t mention it. Didn’t say anything about Kibum drowning the maggots that snuck in from nowhere, or squishing them in tissue paper. Perhaps, thought Kibum bitterly, the fever is too high for anything now. Too late.
“On the day you were supposed to fly, that morning, Park Jaebum was almost completely grey and more maggots were gathering inside your room. No holes in his skin or eyes yet, but they were there, waiting to invade the festering wound. His fever was high and his speech was impaired. You must’ve heard about the zombies closing in on Bangkok, the terrified crowds at the airport or on the roads. You watched as your leader suffered, slowly losing his blood and sanity.”
Jaebum shivered inside his sheets, wrapped up in a protective cocoon. The bowl of water Kibum had set beside his bed was untouched, bottles of medicine half-finished or unopened. Grimacing, he flushed more of the horrid worms down the toilet. He checked his watch-five hours until check-in.
“Hold on hyung,” he whispered, pleadingly, “Just five more hours and I’ll get you out of here.”
On TV, the camera panned over people fleeing for their lives, zombies chasing after them. The shot changed to the police trying to hold the crowd back from the airport, trying to get them to line up and show some documentation. Jaebum mumbled gibberish, rolled over onto his side. The line of grey had almost reached his forehead and the stench of rotting flesh filled the room, choking Kibum. Rolls of bandages lay in the bin, bloody and black.
“Hyung,” said Kibum, louder this time “Hyung, please.”
Jaebum moaned and the sound of it, coupled with the smell, made him want to gag.
“Jaebum wasn’t getting any better and when it was almost two hours before check-in and time to go, you couldn’t move him. Maybe you didn’t want to. You tried; I’ll give you that, but gave up. Scared, tired and on the verge of giving up, watching your leader become one of them, you panicked.”
“I didn’t want him to become one of them! He didn’t want to become one of them either!” says Kibum, voice rolling in crescendo, “Don’t try and be all high and mighty, you would’ve done the same! Wouldn’t you?! Wouldn’t you?!”
He doesn’t realize that he’s standing, shouting out until Changmin gives him a pitying look, gently pushing him back down into his seat. His confession is as good as done, he’s practically screamed it to the world.
“I would,” he says, finally, “I would have done the same thing. But Kibum, what you didn’t know is that Jaebum would have survived the trip back to Korea.”
“What?” Kibum grips the side of the chair, tight. His breaths are short, punctuated.
Changmin sighs, looking like his real age for once under the lighting and without his poker-face.
“I received word today that the infection spreads between three to four days after contact. This was day three of infection…Which meant there was a small possibility that had Jaebum gone back to Korea, had he received better treatment, he may have survived.”
Kibum opens his mouth to speak, stomach contracting as he tries to formulate words, struggles to lock up any emotion. A raw, pained howl escapes and the floodgates open; Kibum kicks the table roughly and pounds the sides of the chair before holding his head, fingers raking through his hair.
Jaebum’s face was contorted, eyes squeezed shut as he lay there, still shivering. Kibum closed his eyes, steadied his shaking heart and shaking hand. Counted to three and said a brief prayer-he’d never believed but Jaebum-hyung did, the foreign words giving him confidence-before he pulled the trigger.
“Kibum, had you not shot Park Jaebum, he might still be with us today.”
That’s when the sirens go off.
5.
Jinki really wishes they’d had a better warning and been in a much safer place before the zombies decided to surprise them. They’d been standing in the mouth of the giant Merlion, admiring the view when Jonghyun had almost shattered everyone’s eardrums, pointing at the dark shapes congregating near the tiki hut on the other side of the park.
“Let’s go.”
Minho led the way, their footsteps pitter-pattering down the spiral staircase as they hurried as fast as they could. On the way, Minho grabbed some rope from a display and Jonghyun a sword, rusty as it was. Jinki was too scared to grab anything.
They’d made it out, skirting around the edges of where they’d last seen the zombies and sprinting like madmen towards the road that connected them to the mainland.
“Security should pick this up soon,” huffed Minho, long legs like a gazelle, “We just need to make distance.”
“Wait!” cried Jinki, “Over there!” He gestured wildly at a small point in the island that jutted out towards the sea. Jonghyun skids to a halt, hair sticking in all directions as he tries to catch his breath.
“What?!”
On a hill on top of the point, a figure is moving. Below, a group of undead edges closer but not moving fast enough to strike. It’s almost as if they’re waiting for something. That something, Jinki realizes, is for the person to either give up trying to escape or jump in the ocean. Either way, time is running out for them. The person’s movements flow like water, smooth and unrestrained and are they dancing? Running closer it becomes apparent that the person-a boy-is dancing and Jinki watches, entranced as he pops and locks, spindly limbs swaying to some invisible beat. The zombies seem mesmerized too, by this lone dancer.
“Crazy bastard,” mutters Jonghyun before looking at Jinki, “Let’s go help.”
He sets off. Jinki closes his eyes and summons up his courage, heart pounding in his chest as he follows Jonghyun with a heavy heart.
“Come on, he needs our help!” he calls back at Minho who is still watching, rooted to his spot. In fact, he’s extremely surprised Minho isn’t the first one to rush in, hero-like, being far more athletic than the other two combined. Jonghyun lets out a battle cry as they near and Jinki laments over the loss of a surprise attack.
Minho’s body has stopped, brain in overload as he watches the boy dance like there aren’t zombies surrounding him, like he hasn’t a care in the world. His heart is painful, throbs as if he’s been punched-he may as well have been. Jinki’s saying something to him but he doesn’t hear it, blood roaring in his ears. Jonghyun yells one word that breaks through the fog in his mind, one desperate, desperate cry.
“Taemin!”
A.N: Hope you all enjoyed this and that the Jaebum situation is all clear now :) Comments are <3, thanks to all who wrote back last time. Happy Chinese New Year/Spring Festival..恭喜发财!
Characters: SHINee (main), Changmin, Jaebum, Jaejoong, Nicole and Jinwoon in this chapter
Previous Chapters: http://clubotaku.livejournal.com/11828.html#cutid1 http://clubotaku.livejournal.com/12509.html#cutid1 http://clubotaku.livejournal.com/12888.html http://clubotaku.livejournal.com/13454.html http://clubotaku.livejournal.com/14095.html http://clubotaku.livejournal.com/14693.html
Rating: PG-13
Genre: Humour, Horror
Pairing: slight OnewxKey
Summary: AU. Jinki is all alone in a zombie infested world and the end is most certainly nigh
1.
Kibum comes back late, slips in like air into the apartment. Minho is asleep and Jinki is trying to push the bolster further between himself and Jonghyun. As it turned out, Jonghyun was serious about being naked. Every time Jinki felt something- be it a foot, a hand, the bolster pillow-his hands immediately went southwards to cover his crotch. Just a normal reaction, yeah, a totally normal reaction, hahaha….
Jonghyun mumbles something, croons out an old Mary J. Blige song and Jinki sighs-Jonghyun’s sung more than twenty excerpts so far. He stopped counting ten minutes ago. Minho’s breaths are soft puffs, and this feels almost normal to Jinki. The air-con hums, Jonghyun warbles and Minho breathes. Jinki shakes his body, wriggles like a worm out of the bed but his foot gets tangled halfway and he topples, silent and flailing. This makes him sad.
Jonghyun and Minho sleep on, oblivious and happily dreaming (or singing) away. Jinki squints in the near-darkness, tip-toes over to Minho’s bed and gently pushes his foot back onto the bed. Minho mumbles something unintelligible and Jinki freezes, before the younger boy rolls onto his side. Jonghyun’s hands are running up and down the bed, before reaching out for the bolster which Jinki moves next to him. Jonghyun gives a greasy smile as his hands come in contact with the pillow, drags it to his body and wraps his arms and legs around it.
“Noona…You’re so pretty,” he mumbles, nuzzling it. Jinki blinks and edges towards the door. The corner of the bed catches his eye and he hops to the side to avoid it, grabs the door handle and twists as he stumbles out into the living room.
Kibum sits, silent and shadowed beside the window, legs pulled to his chest. His eyes are hidden by his jagged fringe but he turns away when Jinki steps-trips-in. Jinki opens his mouth to say something, words colliding, chaotic in the back of his throat. He backpedals, makes to walk back inside but his socks prevent him from walking backwards and he slides helplessly in a circle, grabs the couch and clings onto it like a lifeline if only to just stop slipping.
“Sorry,” he mumbles, shy.
Kibum doesn’t reply.
“Kibum?” he asks, hesitant. Jinki’s eyes are heavy from lack of sleep and his brain is still a little fuzzy but right now, Kibum is clear in his mind. The other boy’s shoulder seem to sag, ever so slightly and he releases a small breath, a ‘pfft’ sound breaking the silence. A finger is raised, crooked and commanding as it beckons Jinki to come closer. Jinki’s eyes widen-Kibum smells like alcohol.
“Have you been drinking?” he asks, aghast, “How did you even find alcohol-that’s not the point, you’re underage!”
Kibum scoffs against the glass, watches it fog and dissipate.
“I’m legal in England.”
He watches the streetlights flicker, trails them up the empty street. He pretends that he can see lights far away, perhaps where Indonesia lies. Wonders whether the bobbing lights are patrol boats or refugees. Curses Changmin. Jinki sits down, cautious, opposite him.
“The fuck?” says Kibum, swinging his head to regard Jinki from beneath his hair, eyes drowsy, “Come closer fool, what kind of hyung are you anyway?”
He called me hyung, thinks Jinki delightedly, hyung! Beaming, he pushes himself so he’s facing Kibum. The younger one rolls his eyes and pulls him closer, so they’re side by side. His skin is cold against the warmth of Jinki’s arm and the other shivers, notices the leather jacket thrown on the kitchen counter.
“At least you don’t smell like smoke,” says Jinki sincerely, “That would’ve been absolutely terrible.”
Kibum laughs, eyes crinkled as he hits him softly.
“You’d be a crap father,” he decides. Jinki is offended-but he agrees.
“Kids scare me,” he says, nodding his head up and down, “Every time someone passes me a baby I wonder whether they’re wearing a diaper.”
“You have issues,” says Kibum, “Now keep me warm.”
He arranges them so Jinki’s arm is around his shoulders and Kibum’s head is burrowed beneath his neck, their legs stretched out as they lean against the wall (or rather, Kibum is half against the wall, half against Jinki and Jinki is suffering from the awkward position).
“The other two asleep?” Kibum’s voice is becoming slower, softer.
“Tucked Minho in myself,” says Jinki proudly, “Jonghyun won’t stop sleep-singing though but I managed to distract him with a pillow.”
Kibum snorts.
“Weirdo,” then, “But I guess you’d be an ok father if you can look after those two retards.”
As Jinki falls asleep, head lolling onto Kibum’s, he feels something light touch the curve of his jaw that makes him tingle. Fireflies? He thinks, before dropping off.
In the morning Minho finds them like that; Kibum’s arms curled across Jinki’s chest and tucked into the curve of his body whilst their legs are tangled. Jinki’s expression is a mixture of contentment and agony as he snuffs and sniffs in his sleep. Minho grins and removes Kibum’s elbow from his spleen and then collects the leather jacket and arranges it over them. Opening the door quietly, he looks at them one more time before walking out, pack in hand and juice boxes inside.
2.
Reports, reports, reports. All say the same thing and none of it good news. Changmin growls and kicks the table, sends paper flying. From the many screens that adorn the wall he sees agents apprehending boats, scientists in their labs, the deserted streets of the city. Kibum-Key- is talking to one of the last few citizens in one of the halls near the entrance.
“Sir.”
Changmin smoothens his tie, takes a large bite out of his double-decker BLT sandwich complete with extra bacon and smothered in mustard. The agent salutes him, eyes hidden behind glasses.
“More and more refugees are trying to gain access and are skirting around our defense to the other side of the island. Our operatives in Malaysia and Thailand are unable to prevent the spread and are busy working on finding the cause.”
“Double the guard around the island,” says Changmin, eyes flicking to his computer. Damn it, he only needs to beat that asswipe Fuwuyuan aka. one Cho Kyuhyun from South Korea, Seoul University, 1st year, dorm no.324, age 20. Likes: Starcraft, psychology, some tall Chinese guy. Dislikes: The world. I love my job. He smirks.
“Also,” says the agent after a millisecond’s hesitation. Changmin picks up on this and regards him coolly whilst he slices the sandwich in half.
“Yes?”
“A boat may have escaped our notice Sir.”
He raises one eyebrow, stops cutting the sandwich. The two other agents watching the monitors suddenly find them extremely interesting.
“One boat…Or two?”
He stares directly at the man, through the tinted shades. The other stiffens, voice tight.
“We estimate two…At least.”
Changmin laughs, eyes crinkling into mismatched half-moons as he slaps his knee and convulses, hands clutching his sides. The agent stands, stock-still and eyes averted skyward, away from his commander. One of the agents watching the monitor begins to edge his chair away. At last, the commander stops laughing, faces the agent with a crooked smile that’s all teeth and no warmth.
“Why do I pay you? Why did I hire you? Why are you still here?”
The agent clicks his heels smartly and marches out, closes the door gently. Changmin props his head up with one hand, leaning against the table as the sound of the agent’s footsteps fades away as his speed increases.
“Let nobody in,” he orders, voice blaring through every agent’s ear-pieces, “I want this island zombie-free.”
Shaking his head he turns his attention back to his sandwich. You are the only good thing I’ve had today. Licking his lips he raises the sandwich to eye level, closes his eyes and inhales the delightful aroma of fresh bread, bacon, lettuce, tomato and mustard. As he is about to take one blissful bite his phone buzzes and he sighs, placing the sandwich back down before flipping it open.
“What now?”
The young Head of Intelligence listens to the person on the other line babbling quickly, rolls his eyes.
“Yes, yes, I know, I am being nice.”
The other person laughs and he sneers at the phone.
“No this is not fun-you think I like defending an island against the undead? I didn’t hack into the CIA for this! You…No, how many times must I say this, I did not get caught, I voluntarily let my profile be seen so they’d hire me!...What?”
His features darken and his eyes focus on the corner of the metal table, sharp and shiny.
“No…No, I didn’t know that. No, we haven’t had a breakthrough here…I see. I’ll pass that to my team.”
He walks over to the monitors and points. The agent increases screen size so the screen showing the lab is now on full. The person on the other line grows quiet, more subdued. Changmin closes his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose.
“…He says he doesn’t know anything. No…He’s not saying anything I don’t already know. Freaking arrogant too with a stupid haircut, tch! Kids these days…I’m not old!”
Onscreen, the girl fights against the leather bindings that strap her to the bed as a scientist tries to inject her arm. Her skin is graying and pus is beginning to ooze from the wound in her leg, a bite-sized hole that is black and festering.
“I see. Yes…That makes sense. Three to four days...Which means this started earlier than previously thought.”
The other line is so soft his well-trained ears strain to catch the words.
“Yeah…I’ll tell him. No, I’m not a babysitter, I’ll tell him my way!”
A sad chuckle that passes over crackling phone lines, sea and land.
“Stay safe and I’ll see you when I see you. This call is international you know, you’re costing me.”
He snaps it shut and slides into an empty chair, legs folding. On one of the many other screens, Kibum is gossiping with the same girl. He whispers something that makes her blush and calls out to another, taller, bulkier boy who looks suspiciously at them before coming over. The girl slaps Kibum on the shoulder which makes the other boy pout and Kibum covers his mouth as he bends over in laughter. Changmin crosses his feet and leans back to stare thoughtfully at the ceiling.
3.
Jinki awakens to Jonghyun singing along to a Michael Jackson song, attempting to moonwalk. Minho is nowhere to be seen and Kibum is long gone, the space beside him cold. He’s left his leather jacket though-Jinki holds it close and inhales.
“That’s kinda creepy you know.” Jonghyun is giving him a weird look. Jinki smiles sheepishly and folds the jacket.
“Where’s Minho?”
Jonghyun shrugs and moves into the kitchen, opens the fridge.
“He was gone when I woke up. Same goes for Perez Hilton.”
“Who?” says Jinki, but Jonghyun is busy pouring orange juice into a glass which he hands to Jinki with a flourish and a grin. If he’d been on TV, Jinki was pretty sure one of those animated sparkles would’ve been edited onto his face.
“Poured with love,” says the younger boy, “Squeezed them myself, the way you squeeze my heart.”
Inwardly, Jinki flails and imagines running far, far away. Imaginary dragon Kibum suddenly appears and barbeques him into fiery bits...Starting with his manhood. He gulps.
“Recycle the carton,” sighs Minho, stepping inside, “Don’t throw it in the bin.” He points to the trashcan in his hand, which has mysteriously been moved from its place in the kitchen to outside.
“Ha,” says Jonghyun, “Ha ha ha…Fine.”
Wordlessly, Minho holds out the trashcan to Jonghyun who pouts, indignant and embarrassed but takes it from him nonetheless and goes outside to presumably, put it in the recycling bin. Jinki wonders when it’ll actually be recycled seeing as most of the island is empty. He wanders back to the TV and begins flicking through channels only to find there are now only two available: the news and a local channel.
“Bad news hyung, all TV, radio and telecommunication lines apart from a few landlines are down.”
“What!” Jonghyun’s head pops around the door, “No radio?! H-How can we live like this?!”
Oh love, naega wa; neon love like this, comes the song in Jinki’s head. He taps himself to make it stop. Minho gives Jonghyun one solemn, pointed look. Jonghyun disappears.
“What happened?” asks Jinki, “Oh God, don’t tell me we’re trapped here!” He starts trembling.
Sensing the oncoming fit, Minho quickly interjects.
“Changmin-hyung said that there are not enough people left to keep them running and that we’re all going to be moved out soon. Oh, and since it’s a Sunday he told us to have fun.” There is the faintest trace of sarcasm as he says the last part.
“Oh,” says Jinki, “And Kibum?”
Minho shrugs and switches off the TV, as if he hadn’t just seen the carnage in Cambodia and Myanmar.
“Don’t wait up for him. Hyung, he’ll be fine.”
The door slams open as Jonghyun runs back in, cheesy smile back in place as he belts out the beginning of Maroon 5’s ‘Sunday morning’. Minho rubs his brow and throws Jinki’s pack at him.
“Let’s go to Sentosa.”
“Sentosa?”
“…A theme park.”
“YAY!” cry Jinki and Jonghyun, jumping up and down. They start hugging each other but the hugging stops when Jonghyun’s hand slips onto Jinki’s butt.
Half an hour later they’re walking past the Marina, coastline dotted with gleaming department stores and high-end houses. The noon-day sun has caused sweat to break out on all their faces-Minho however, had the foresight to bring a cap-and Jinki reaches unconsciously for the bottle of sun-block Kibum had ‘bought’ for him on their shopping trip.
“I think I’m going to melt,” moans Jonghyun, “How much further is this place?”
Minho, jogging and silent up ahead, says something that sounds like twenty minutes. His lack of exhaustion and the grace of his movements annoys Jonghyun, who turns to moaning about how unfit he is. Jinki is reminded of Kibum.
“Once we get to Telok Blangah we can cross over, unless you’d prefer to swim there,” says Minho, over his shoulder. Jonghyun makes faces behind his back and Jinki giggles like a little girl. The pair begin to mimic the taller boy’s movements and gestures; Jonghyun mouths ‘Baywatch’ and starts running in over-exaggerated slow motion, points at Minho and then at his crotch.
“Stop it,” orders Minho, voice flat, “I have eyes at the back of my head.”
“I knew he was an alien,” Jinki hisses. Jonghyun is in shock and can only nod dumbly in response.
Ten minutes later and the heat is radiating ten-fold off the ground and onto them. Jonghyun has rolled his skinny jeans up as far as he can (not far) and Jinki has rolled his sleeves up and made a make-shift fan from some homework he found stuffed at the bottom of his pack. Briefly he wonders whether the teacher is still alive, what happened to his classmates but the imagery freaks him out and he brushes it away. It makes him feel guilty but part of him says he did all he could and besides, everyone ran in different directions and left him behind. I’m lucky Kibum found me.
“I’m so hungry I could die,” wails Jonghyun, “I need water; my vocal cords will suffer without it.”
“You shouldn’t have drunk the water so quickly hyung,” Minho is unsympathetic; “There’ll be water when we get there.”
Jonghyun splutters, “If my voice goes then the world will suffer! How will my musical soul touch people without it?”
Minho snorts though not unkindly, “You’ll still touch people nevertheless.”
Jinki chuckles, Jonghyun giving Minho the evil-eye as he tries to understand the double-meaning (or single, considering the subject) behind his comment. He turns to Jinki, pleading.
“Do you have any spare water or food? If you save me, you’ll save a million other people who need to be inspired.”
Jinki twitches, head tilting to the side as he gives an uneasy smile. There’s a little water left in his pack that he’s saving just in case the theme park has none (he’s still very disturbed by the recycled toilet water and this is his last bottle of mineral water) so, ignoring the pang of guilt that comes from lying he shakes his head. Jonghyun is distraught-and proceeds to tell Minho just how much.
Finally, they cross over to Sentosa which is barricaded and surrounded by barbed wire along it’s edges, patrol boats and security cameras dotting the coast. Jinki’s heart sinks a little. The entrance is blocked by a few chain-link fences which Minho leaps over, hurdle-style. Jonghyun settles for crawling ungracefully over, yelping as bits of metal poke him. Taking a deep breath, Jinki readies himself and shouts ‘hwaiting!’ as he sprints towards the first gate and pushes his foot firmly on the ground. Air whistles past as he leaps over…And as he falls, legs still spread, onto the fence. Jonghyun winces and Minho gives a small shudder.
“Think of your mother,” advises Jonghyun.
“…There should be ice somewhere,” says Minho.
Jinki doesn’t say anything and tries desperately not to break down and cry. Ouchies.
4.
Kibum bids farewell to Nicole and Jinwoon, waves as they promise to email him once they’re back in Korea (hopefully).
“Do it, do it chu~” he catcalls, making kissy faces at Jinwoon who goes scarlet and shouts something rude back (but Kibum can’t hear it between his laughs). Nicole blinks, confused, and then waves again.
“Get yourself a mister before I do!” cries Kibum and she gives the peace sign; “You bet I will!”
Once they pass around the corner and out the door, he gives a tired smile. When he first met them, a million fucking interrogations ago, he’d quickly discovered that they were the same age and lived in the same area. Nicole had previously lived in the US and they’d bonded over speaking English and reveling in the fact Jinwoon didn’t (ha). Jinwoon had a good voice-though not as good as Jonghyun though he’d never admit that while he was alive and fabulous-and smiled with his eyes a lot. Kibum liked them both. Most importantly, Jinwoon liked Nicole. A lot. Sadly, his attempts at playing matchmaker were futile due to Jinwoon’s lack of courage-“Grow some balls!” “Search me!”-and Nicole’s massive crush on some guy named Yong Hwa.
Two agents accompany him to the interrogation room and Kibum rolls his eyes and shrugs their hands off his shoulders. Changmin waits for him, glasses on the table with a few papers stacked neatly before him. Kibum plonks himself down and crosses his legs, admires the way his boots shine even in the horrible lighting.
“Key,” begins Changmin, “I’m going to ask you one more time and I want you to answer truthfully.”
The younger boy bares his teeth in a sneer, flicks back a strand of crimson hair.
“No, I don’t know what happened, no, I don’t know where the other members are and no, I don’t know what happened to Jaebum. But since you seemed to know where Heechul-hyung is I’m betting that you know exactly where everyone else is.”
He stares straight at the other who smirks. His eyes, mismatched when smiling, are perfectly aligned right now. It irks Kibum.
“You could be put in prison for withholding information.”
“So? What information have I withheld? If anything, you not telling me where my members are is a crime-I could sue you for causing grievous mental stress!”
“Fine.” He opens his hands, palms facing up as he spreads them. Changmin leans forward, ever so confident. “We’ll do it your way.”
“Good, I’ll delay my screaming fit and anguished tears a little longer then.”
“You know about Kim Heechul and I can assure you, Jo Kwon is safe as well. He’s on his way to meet Kim Heechul in Shenzhen, China. You told me you lost Hwang Changsung during the melee at the hotel in Phuket and he’s safe, if a little worn and torn,” he smirks, eyes challenging, “I thought you G.L.E.E members were supposed to be tough but then you’re not exactly Bruce Wayne material.”
Kibum gives him the middle finger, tells him just where he can go. Changmin laughs, like he knows something. Kibum knows he knows something.
“Kim Jaejoong is still in Phuket,” drawls the other, one long finger tracing the tabletop, “Helping find survivors, fighting zombies and most of all, wondering just who killed your leader, Park Jaebum.”
A knot forms in Kibum’s stomach, sits there like a rock. The feeling grows with every second, every glance and smile-no, smirk-the agent sends his way. He says nothing.
“Funny thing too, his gun is missing. I’m sure you’ve seen it-inscribed with his initials, standard issue revolver, always had it with him. I hear only the leader has one and that you all have various weapons you like. Kim Heechul: whip, Jo Kwon: staff, Hwang Changsung: explosives, Kim Jaejoong: sabre, Kim Kibum: knives. I assume-since you refused to be patted down as always-you’re carrying one now?”
He pretends to give Kibum the once-over, doesn’t bother to hide his smile as he focuses on every area that Kibum likes to hide his knives in. He’s right though; Kibum has a knife tucked away beneath his shirt, strapped to his chest. He’d taken and stored the other ones back at the apartment, safe from the other boys’ curiosity. Changmin stretches, cracks his knuckles and neck.
“You had codenames, group-names or aliases…Whatever you liked to call each other during sessions…Practice missions. Key, Hero, Italian boy, Diva, Sohee…Leader (not the most imaginative name I must say). Those might’ve been your agent codenames too; a very small chance but still a chance. Many other G.L.E.E members from other institutions like yours have become agents. Which is why Kibum, I need you to tell me what happened with Park Jaebum the night, or day, you were supposed to leave Bangkok.”
Kibum crosses his arms, hides his clenched fists inside his half-buttoned shirt. Tries to keep his breathing even and not to look to the right-a sure sign of lying.
“I understand it was a difficult time for you, not knowing what was happening and being surrounded by hordes of the undead out for your pulsating heart. I understand that you wanted to leave, that you were desperate to beat the masses also trying to escape. If you feel, guilty for anything that happened its fine but, I want to know what happened.”
“The hell would I feel guilty?” The words barely get out in one piece, let alone managing to keep his tone spiteful and steady. Changmin knows, the sadist has to know but Kibum won’t give in that easy. He has done nothing wrong.
“Where’s the gun Kibum?” The other leans forward, pins him to his seat. No more games.
“I don’t know.”
Changmin shakes his head, looks at him with disappointment. Clicks his fingers. An agent comes in and Kibum doesn’t look, listens to the hard sound of his shoes on the floor. Click, click, click, bang. His pack lands on the table and he inhales deeply, eyes flaring as he struggles to maintain calm. Changmin signals again and the man leaves, the door closing like thunder in his ears.
“Kibum. Key. Kibum,” says Changmin, face dark, “Why do you have his gun?”
His ears are ringing and his mouth is unbearably dry.
“Did you sneak into our apartment?” he rasps, “Look through all our private stuff! What the hell, what else do you want from me?!”
“The apartment isn’t yours Kibum, it was someone else’s. I’m letting you stay there for the time being and”
“Minho!” cries Kibum, “Did he let you in? Has he been spying on us this whole time, calling you-God, you’re both so freaking twisted”
“He has nothing to do with this,” Changmin’s voice is firm, “I ordered a search myself shortly after you-and he-left the apartment. The other two were like the dead-well, the noisy one woke up but he won’t remember a thing; he’ll be fine though.”
Like I care, is what Kibum wants to say but instead he swallows his saliva, digs his fingers deeper into the cotton. Changmin reaches into his pack, removes the gun, places it on the table. Silence fills the room as they both stare at the black item on the table, sitting inside a plastic packet.
“Let me say it for you,” says the agent tonelessly, “You and Park Jaebum made it to the airport and got to Bangkok. You tried to get in touch with the others but none of them- save Jaejoong - picked up. Jaejoong and Jo Kwon said they’d meet you in Bangkok, having missed you by seconds in Phuket. Jaebum checked the two of you into a hotel where you planned to fly off in three days. Bangkok at the time was still safe.”
Shut up, shut up, shut up
“On the first day you both went scouting for supplies, ammunition. You got lost, since Jaebum had no sense of direction and you depend on GPS most of the time. You ended up on the outskirts of town, far away from your hotel. There, you were attacked.”
There was a snarl, a crash, and the shopkeeper ran out, screaming in Thai. The other patrons looked around at each other, some confused and others a little scared, eyes following the lady as she jumped onto a motorbike and sped off.
“What the hell?” said Jaebum, mouth full of tom yam.
They came, crawling and tumbling out of the kitchen and reaching out for people. Jaebum swore and threw his bowl, discus style at one. Kibum grabbed his chopsticks, spearing one through the eyes and out its head.
“You fought, trying to save the other patrons and buy them some time. Jaebum was hurt.”
“Shit!” Jaebum clutched at his arm, kicked away the head into the wall. Its body twitched from where it lay, slime and worms oozing out of the neck. Blood poured down from the wound, mixed black from the zombie’s mouth.
“Hyung!”
“You escaped and returned to your hotel in the evening. Jaebum was starting to feel ill. You found a hospital and they bandaged up the wound for you but they didn’t understand just how he’d been bitten. They didn’t notice the infection inside him. But you did.”
Kibum’s body is shaking, half from fury and half from grief. Changmin continues on, choosing not to comment on how he’s biting his lip, or how his eyes are losing their fighting spark.
“You worked out that a person becomes undead after being bitten or wounded in some way. Jaebum fell very ill, contracted a fever despite all the medicine you gave him. You had a day before you were due to fly and from my research, his skin was turning grey.”
Jaebum groaned, clothes sticking to his body, slick with sweat as he tried to drink some water.
“I’ll be fine for tomorrow; once we’re back I’ll get better. I still need to kick some zombie ass.”
Kibum’s smile was too bright but the leader didn’t notice, busy re-bandaging his arm. If he saw the grey that crept up his feet onto his legs, he didn’t mention it. Didn’t say anything about Kibum drowning the maggots that snuck in from nowhere, or squishing them in tissue paper. Perhaps, thought Kibum bitterly, the fever is too high for anything now. Too late.
“On the day you were supposed to fly, that morning, Park Jaebum was almost completely grey and more maggots were gathering inside your room. No holes in his skin or eyes yet, but they were there, waiting to invade the festering wound. His fever was high and his speech was impaired. You must’ve heard about the zombies closing in on Bangkok, the terrified crowds at the airport or on the roads. You watched as your leader suffered, slowly losing his blood and sanity.”
Jaebum shivered inside his sheets, wrapped up in a protective cocoon. The bowl of water Kibum had set beside his bed was untouched, bottles of medicine half-finished or unopened. Grimacing, he flushed more of the horrid worms down the toilet. He checked his watch-five hours until check-in.
“Hold on hyung,” he whispered, pleadingly, “Just five more hours and I’ll get you out of here.”
On TV, the camera panned over people fleeing for their lives, zombies chasing after them. The shot changed to the police trying to hold the crowd back from the airport, trying to get them to line up and show some documentation. Jaebum mumbled gibberish, rolled over onto his side. The line of grey had almost reached his forehead and the stench of rotting flesh filled the room, choking Kibum. Rolls of bandages lay in the bin, bloody and black.
“Hyung,” said Kibum, louder this time “Hyung, please.”
Jaebum moaned and the sound of it, coupled with the smell, made him want to gag.
“Jaebum wasn’t getting any better and when it was almost two hours before check-in and time to go, you couldn’t move him. Maybe you didn’t want to. You tried; I’ll give you that, but gave up. Scared, tired and on the verge of giving up, watching your leader become one of them, you panicked.”
“I didn’t want him to become one of them! He didn’t want to become one of them either!” says Kibum, voice rolling in crescendo, “Don’t try and be all high and mighty, you would’ve done the same! Wouldn’t you?! Wouldn’t you?!”
He doesn’t realize that he’s standing, shouting out until Changmin gives him a pitying look, gently pushing him back down into his seat. His confession is as good as done, he’s practically screamed it to the world.
“I would,” he says, finally, “I would have done the same thing. But Kibum, what you didn’t know is that Jaebum would have survived the trip back to Korea.”
“What?” Kibum grips the side of the chair, tight. His breaths are short, punctuated.
Changmin sighs, looking like his real age for once under the lighting and without his poker-face.
“I received word today that the infection spreads between three to four days after contact. This was day three of infection…Which meant there was a small possibility that had Jaebum gone back to Korea, had he received better treatment, he may have survived.”
Kibum opens his mouth to speak, stomach contracting as he tries to formulate words, struggles to lock up any emotion. A raw, pained howl escapes and the floodgates open; Kibum kicks the table roughly and pounds the sides of the chair before holding his head, fingers raking through his hair.
Jaebum’s face was contorted, eyes squeezed shut as he lay there, still shivering. Kibum closed his eyes, steadied his shaking heart and shaking hand. Counted to three and said a brief prayer-he’d never believed but Jaebum-hyung did, the foreign words giving him confidence-before he pulled the trigger.
“Kibum, had you not shot Park Jaebum, he might still be with us today.”
That’s when the sirens go off.
5.
Jinki really wishes they’d had a better warning and been in a much safer place before the zombies decided to surprise them. They’d been standing in the mouth of the giant Merlion, admiring the view when Jonghyun had almost shattered everyone’s eardrums, pointing at the dark shapes congregating near the tiki hut on the other side of the park.
“Let’s go.”
Minho led the way, their footsteps pitter-pattering down the spiral staircase as they hurried as fast as they could. On the way, Minho grabbed some rope from a display and Jonghyun a sword, rusty as it was. Jinki was too scared to grab anything.
They’d made it out, skirting around the edges of where they’d last seen the zombies and sprinting like madmen towards the road that connected them to the mainland.
“Security should pick this up soon,” huffed Minho, long legs like a gazelle, “We just need to make distance.”
“Wait!” cried Jinki, “Over there!” He gestured wildly at a small point in the island that jutted out towards the sea. Jonghyun skids to a halt, hair sticking in all directions as he tries to catch his breath.
“What?!”
On a hill on top of the point, a figure is moving. Below, a group of undead edges closer but not moving fast enough to strike. It’s almost as if they’re waiting for something. That something, Jinki realizes, is for the person to either give up trying to escape or jump in the ocean. Either way, time is running out for them. The person’s movements flow like water, smooth and unrestrained and are they dancing? Running closer it becomes apparent that the person-a boy-is dancing and Jinki watches, entranced as he pops and locks, spindly limbs swaying to some invisible beat. The zombies seem mesmerized too, by this lone dancer.
“Crazy bastard,” mutters Jonghyun before looking at Jinki, “Let’s go help.”
He sets off. Jinki closes his eyes and summons up his courage, heart pounding in his chest as he follows Jonghyun with a heavy heart.
“Come on, he needs our help!” he calls back at Minho who is still watching, rooted to his spot. In fact, he’s extremely surprised Minho isn’t the first one to rush in, hero-like, being far more athletic than the other two combined. Jonghyun lets out a battle cry as they near and Jinki laments over the loss of a surprise attack.
Minho’s body has stopped, brain in overload as he watches the boy dance like there aren’t zombies surrounding him, like he hasn’t a care in the world. His heart is painful, throbs as if he’s been punched-he may as well have been. Jinki’s saying something to him but he doesn’t hear it, blood roaring in his ears. Jonghyun yells one word that breaks through the fog in his mind, one desperate, desperate cry.
“Taemin!”
A.N: Hope you all enjoyed this and that the Jaebum situation is all clear now :) Comments are <3, thanks to all who wrote back last time. Happy Chinese New Year/Spring Festival..恭喜发财!