(no subject)
Title: Prison Break: Undead
Rating: R
Warnings: Violence, not for the easily disturbed
Summary: T-Bag finds out a disturbing secret about the zombie virus.
Author's Notes: AU, post-escape, crack!fic. This is meant to be a series of vignettes following the guys on the outside during a zombie attack. Lyrics are from Don McLean's "American Pie". This may be the last installment of the series, but we'll see how it goes.
When a deadly virus turns the citizens of Chicago into the living dead, escaping from prison turns out to be the least of the gang's problems.
June 8, 2005
A long, long time ago
I can still remember
How that music used to make me smile.
And I knew if I had my chance
That I could make those people dance
And, maybe, they’d be happy for a while
His momma was singing.
He could hear her along with the radio, the sound drifting into the living room where he sat playing with his little makeshift soldiers. She was in the kitchen, washing the dishes, or rather, wiping the same dish she had been for the past half hour with a tattered rag.
Deadcolddyingdecayingblankeyesstaring
It was like a sudden jolt, like bad TV reception flickering in front of him, but then, just as quickly as it had come, it was gone. And he was back in his living room, with his momma singing softly in the kitchen and his toys in front of him. His daddy wasn’t due back for another hour and there was the promise of ice cream in the freezer for dessert later.
But February made me shiver
With every paper I’d deliver
Bad news on the doorstep
I couldn’t take one more step
He pitted the army men against each other.
Bang! Bang!
The shots were so loud, they almost sounded real.
He coughed as he tossed the little clothes peg men at each other. It was getting harder to breathe. He coughed again, harder this time, doubling over, wheezing.
“M-momma?” he called uncertainly. It was really starting to hurt now.
He could hear her still singing from the kitchen, not looking up from her task.
I can’t remember if I cried
When I read about his widowed bride
But something touched me deep inside
The day the music died
Something growled next to him, then a terrible shrieking noise, that seemed to sound close and yet somehow far away. He rolled over onto his back, his chest rising and falling rapidly as he tried to breathe.
“Momma…please…” he choked out.
So bye-bye, Miss American pie
Drove my chevy to the levee
But the levee was dry
He could see his skin now, graying and mottled, decaying. He coughed and he tasted blood in his mouth, thick and coppery. It filled his throat, making it even harder to get air through.
“Muh…”
He tried to articulate, but it was too much effort. If his momma would just look behind her, if she just turned around, she would see him. And she would help him.
And them good old boys were drinkin’ whiskey and rye
Singin’, "This’ll be the day that I die"
Please, just turn around. Please.
"This’ll be the day that I die"
The radio kept going with the next verse, but his momma had stopped singing now. She set down the dish she was washing and he felt relief wash over him. She would get help for him, she wouldn’t let her baby die.
She turned around slowly, like something from a horror movie, the radio still playing the sounds of American Pie and suddenly he felt his stomach drop. He didn’t want her to turn around, he didn’t want her help. He didn’t know why, but the overwhelming sense of fear was enough.
And then he saw it.
The top of her head was horribly squashed, her eyes falling out of the sockets, her mouth turned down in a grimace, seeming to half hang off her face.
Her dying moans filled his head, buzzing at him as the image of his daddy beating her head in with a wrench flashed into his mind.
And then suddenly the zombie girl loomed in front of his face, opening her mouth and snarling with all those razor sharp teeth, ready to devour.
T-bag woke up with a start, letting out a strangled cry, trying to sit up and run, but unable to do so with such an advanced stage of illness.
Instead he only moved his head feebly to the side, groaning as the images of his nightmare slowly faded from his mind.
“How ya doin’ there…sweetheart?” he choked out as he looked over at his female companion.
The bound zombie hissed at him in anger as she tried to wriggle free. She was wet with blood, lying in a patch of it from one of her recent victims, sliding around on it. He could see it shining on her teeth as she snapped at him. T-bag had had just enough strength to drag an unsuspecting survivor back to the cabin for her to feed on before collapsing. The man lay in pieces now.
He doubted there would be any feeding in the future. He was done.
He could barely even lift his head to look down at his jeans, the dark patch of blood on the crotch evident even in the dim light. God, it still hadn’t stopped.
He didn’t know you could catch it that way. He didn’t think it would make him sick. Guess it was just karmic retribution. He would’ve laughed if it didn’t hurt so much.
Bang! Bang!
He heard shots fired from outside. Someone was coming. Someone could help him.
Groaning, he turned over onto his belly and began crawling towards the door. His hands slipped over blood and gore as he clawed his way across the wood floor, desperately trying to seek help.
“In here!” someone yelled as more shots were fired.
And then the door to the cabin was thrown open and T-bag couldn’t believe his eyes.
Standing in the doorframe, shooting out at some zombies were Michael, Lincoln and Sucre, all looking a little worse for wear, but not as bad as T-bag.
“I don’t think there’s any more coming,” Michael said as he peered out the door, “Let’s hold up in here.”
He slammed it shut as they all turned around and that’s when they saw it.
“Jesus…” Lincoln whispered as he took in the sight.
A man lying dead on the floor and a zombie girl tied up in the corner, slipping and sliding around on a pile of viscera, snarling at them and trying to break free.
“It’s T-bag,” Michael whispered as Sucre made the sign of the cross.
T-bag could barely even lift his head to look at them and had he not been in so much pain, he would've smiled at the way they jumped when he moved.
“Please…” he wheezed, raising his arm towards them, “H-help…”
“He’s still alive,” Lincoln said, his tone reflecting something crossed between amazement and disgust.
“Dios mio…” Sucre muttered, looking scared.
Michael’s face remained resolute as he stared down at the murderer crawling towards his feet.
“Please…Michael…” T-bag gasped as he reached up towards him.
And Michael raised his gun and fired a single shot into his head.
Sucre gasped, holding his hand over his mouth in horror. He stared at Michael in shock, but his former cellmate didn’t look at him. Instead he turned towards the zombie girl in the corner and fired a shot through her head as well.
Michael just stood there staring at the bodies in the cabin, his eyes blank and emotionless.
“Michael…” Lincoln started, but his brother cut him off.
“Let’s get these bodies out of here,” he said.
And they did just that.
Chapter 1: Living Dead Girl
Chapter 2: I'm Not Driving Anymore
Chapter 3: Lady Venom
Rating: R
Warnings: Violence, not for the easily disturbed
Summary: T-Bag finds out a disturbing secret about the zombie virus.
Author's Notes: AU, post-escape, crack!fic. This is meant to be a series of vignettes following the guys on the outside during a zombie attack. Lyrics are from Don McLean's "American Pie". This may be the last installment of the series, but we'll see how it goes.
When a deadly virus turns the citizens of Chicago into the living dead, escaping from prison turns out to be the least of the gang's problems.
June 8, 2005
A long, long time ago
I can still remember
How that music used to make me smile.
And I knew if I had my chance
That I could make those people dance
And, maybe, they’d be happy for a while
His momma was singing.
He could hear her along with the radio, the sound drifting into the living room where he sat playing with his little makeshift soldiers. She was in the kitchen, washing the dishes, or rather, wiping the same dish she had been for the past half hour with a tattered rag.
Deadcolddyingdecayingblankeyesstaring
It was like a sudden jolt, like bad TV reception flickering in front of him, but then, just as quickly as it had come, it was gone. And he was back in his living room, with his momma singing softly in the kitchen and his toys in front of him. His daddy wasn’t due back for another hour and there was the promise of ice cream in the freezer for dessert later.
But February made me shiver
With every paper I’d deliver
Bad news on the doorstep
I couldn’t take one more step
He pitted the army men against each other.
Bang! Bang!
The shots were so loud, they almost sounded real.
He coughed as he tossed the little clothes peg men at each other. It was getting harder to breathe. He coughed again, harder this time, doubling over, wheezing.
“M-momma?” he called uncertainly. It was really starting to hurt now.
He could hear her still singing from the kitchen, not looking up from her task.
I can’t remember if I cried
When I read about his widowed bride
But something touched me deep inside
The day the music died
Something growled next to him, then a terrible shrieking noise, that seemed to sound close and yet somehow far away. He rolled over onto his back, his chest rising and falling rapidly as he tried to breathe.
“Momma…please…” he choked out.
So bye-bye, Miss American pie
Drove my chevy to the levee
But the levee was dry
He could see his skin now, graying and mottled, decaying. He coughed and he tasted blood in his mouth, thick and coppery. It filled his throat, making it even harder to get air through.
“Muh…”
He tried to articulate, but it was too much effort. If his momma would just look behind her, if she just turned around, she would see him. And she would help him.
And them good old boys were drinkin’ whiskey and rye
Singin’, "This’ll be the day that I die"
Please, just turn around. Please.
"This’ll be the day that I die"
The radio kept going with the next verse, but his momma had stopped singing now. She set down the dish she was washing and he felt relief wash over him. She would get help for him, she wouldn’t let her baby die.
She turned around slowly, like something from a horror movie, the radio still playing the sounds of American Pie and suddenly he felt his stomach drop. He didn’t want her to turn around, he didn’t want her help. He didn’t know why, but the overwhelming sense of fear was enough.
And then he saw it.
The top of her head was horribly squashed, her eyes falling out of the sockets, her mouth turned down in a grimace, seeming to half hang off her face.
Her dying moans filled his head, buzzing at him as the image of his daddy beating her head in with a wrench flashed into his mind.
And then suddenly the zombie girl loomed in front of his face, opening her mouth and snarling with all those razor sharp teeth, ready to devour.
T-bag woke up with a start, letting out a strangled cry, trying to sit up and run, but unable to do so with such an advanced stage of illness.
Instead he only moved his head feebly to the side, groaning as the images of his nightmare slowly faded from his mind.
“How ya doin’ there…sweetheart?” he choked out as he looked over at his female companion.
The bound zombie hissed at him in anger as she tried to wriggle free. She was wet with blood, lying in a patch of it from one of her recent victims, sliding around on it. He could see it shining on her teeth as she snapped at him. T-bag had had just enough strength to drag an unsuspecting survivor back to the cabin for her to feed on before collapsing. The man lay in pieces now.
He doubted there would be any feeding in the future. He was done.
He could barely even lift his head to look down at his jeans, the dark patch of blood on the crotch evident even in the dim light. God, it still hadn’t stopped.
He didn’t know you could catch it that way. He didn’t think it would make him sick. Guess it was just karmic retribution. He would’ve laughed if it didn’t hurt so much.
Bang! Bang!
He heard shots fired from outside. Someone was coming. Someone could help him.
Groaning, he turned over onto his belly and began crawling towards the door. His hands slipped over blood and gore as he clawed his way across the wood floor, desperately trying to seek help.
“In here!” someone yelled as more shots were fired.
And then the door to the cabin was thrown open and T-bag couldn’t believe his eyes.
Standing in the doorframe, shooting out at some zombies were Michael, Lincoln and Sucre, all looking a little worse for wear, but not as bad as T-bag.
“I don’t think there’s any more coming,” Michael said as he peered out the door, “Let’s hold up in here.”
He slammed it shut as they all turned around and that’s when they saw it.
“Jesus…” Lincoln whispered as he took in the sight.
A man lying dead on the floor and a zombie girl tied up in the corner, slipping and sliding around on a pile of viscera, snarling at them and trying to break free.
“It’s T-bag,” Michael whispered as Sucre made the sign of the cross.
T-bag could barely even lift his head to look at them and had he not been in so much pain, he would've smiled at the way they jumped when he moved.
“Please…” he wheezed, raising his arm towards them, “H-help…”
“He’s still alive,” Lincoln said, his tone reflecting something crossed between amazement and disgust.
“Dios mio…” Sucre muttered, looking scared.
Michael’s face remained resolute as he stared down at the murderer crawling towards his feet.
“Please…Michael…” T-bag gasped as he reached up towards him.
And Michael raised his gun and fired a single shot into his head.
Sucre gasped, holding his hand over his mouth in horror. He stared at Michael in shock, but his former cellmate didn’t look at him. Instead he turned towards the zombie girl in the corner and fired a shot through her head as well.
Michael just stood there staring at the bodies in the cabin, his eyes blank and emotionless.
“Michael…” Lincoln started, but his brother cut him off.
“Let’s get these bodies out of here,” he said.
And they did just that.
Chapter 1: Living Dead Girl
Chapter 2: I'm Not Driving Anymore
Chapter 3: Lady Venom