Evening on the Ground (HnG, PG13)
Evening on the Ground
by sangoire
Written for blind_go round 2.
Genre: AU/Horror(ish)
Summary: When Zombies Attacked.
“What the hell is with this hand, anyway?!” Hikaru yelled.
“You know that zombies don’t always liquefy completely,” Akira called back, looking up from rifling through the possessions of the newly re-dead long enough to roll his eyes.
“Yeah, but I’ve never seen any leftovers bigger than an ear before.” Hikaru squatted down and poked experimentally at the motionless gray appendage with the closed end of his war fan. It sprang open like a trap and skittered at him with a sudden burst of arachnid speed; he yelped and fell backwards onto his ass. The hand paused, index and middle fingers raised like trembling antennae. They swiveled slowly, trying to sense his location.
“Oh, that’s so gross,” Hikaru said, and smashed it flat. A fireball whizzed in from over his shoulder to take care of the cleanup.
“Are you quite finished playing around? We’re still a long way from headquarters,” Akira asked archly, rubbing his smoking fingertips against his coat to ease the sting.
“Can’t you stick them in your mouth like the rest of us?” he sulked, tucking the fan back into its thigh holster. He cast one last look around the darkened street. Car-carcasses yawed open and empty, but nothing moved. “Let’s go.”
On the ninth morning that the sun didn’t rise, Hikaru shakily boosted Akira up over the gate to the Institute.
“Hurry up,” Akira hissed as he reached through the bars to return the favor. “There’s a horde around the front door; we’ll have to go around the back.”
Hikaru landed hard, going down on one knee with a choked-off sound. Akira got his arm under his partners’ and hauled him to his feet. “You okay?”
“Yeah,” Hikaru wheezed, one hand pressed to its side where a zombie had gouged him in Roppongi. “Come on, we can’t get found here.”
Akira grimaced. Shindou Hikaru wasn’t a twelve-year-old wunderkind anymore; at eighteen, Shindou was a hunter in his own right, with broken bones and joints that he could crackle and pop like breakfast cereal. Sometimes, though, he was the same damn bullheaded idiot. The two of them stumbled quickly across the lawn, Akira still supporting a good half of his weight. “God, you’re heavy. Lay off the ramen a little, would you?”
“Like I haven’t seen you eat an entire box of mochi by yourself,” Hikaru retorted breathlessly. “Fuck!” His legs gave out beneath him and Akira dragged him the last few steps to the shielding overhang of the building. “You open the door. I’ll guard your back.” Golden fire pooled in his left hand.
Akira nodded, already punching in the code in black and white on the little 9x9 grid beside the door.
“Faster,” Hikaru muttered urgently. There was a brief whoosh and then the unmistakable sound of several large objects burning, which would have been more reassuring if they hadn’t been shambling closer as they immolated.
“Done,” he announced, reaching down and unholstering his own weapon as the door slid open.
A hand shot out and grabbed him by the throat, easily lifting him off the ground. He kicked uselessly before remembering to do the intelligent thing and smashing in the vampire’s face with the flat end of his ball-peen hatchet. The re-corpse dropped him as it crumbled.
“In, in, in,” his partner chanted, tackling him across the threshold and hitting the door close as he went. The door dented with several impacts behind them. They sprawled half on the re-dead vampire, getting their breath.
“They got inside,” Akira realized belatedly.
“Yeah,” Hikaru replied in the same shellshocked tone. “You think-“
“We should get to the library.” Akira cut him off and heaved himself to his feet. “Come on.”
There was another shock when they finished keying in the code for the archive, this one in the form of Shinoda-sensei brandishing a sawed-off shotgun.
“Put that thing away, we’re still alive,” Hikaru wheezed as he stumbled inside. “Where is everybody?”
“Shindou-kun? Touya-san? Thank god,” Shinoda-sensei gasped. “The other agents are mostly out of the country, thanks to the Korean conference last week. Now, of course, there aren’t any airplanes running.
“What about Ogata-san?” Akira wanted to know, ripping a strip off his wrinkled dress shirt to bandage a new graze on his forearm. “I know he stayed behind.”
“He and Kuwabara-sensei are pinned down in the west stairwell,” Shinoda said wryly. “But Ashiwara’s coordinating from the observation room and he seems more worried about them killing each other than them getting killed by zombies.”
“That old man just won’t fucking die,” Hikaru muttered under his breath. Then, louder, “There’s a book here. An unfinished manuscript, from the era of Honinbou Shuusaku. Where’d it be?”
“All Shuusaku texts are in Subarchive B,” Shinoda informed them. “Why?”
They were already gone.
“Are you sure that’s it?” Akira asked, as Hikaru pulled a shallow wooden box from the shelves.
The blonde brushed the dust off the case, revealing the grid burnt into its cover-no 9x9 lock, this, but a full 19x19 array. Akira sucked in a startled breath. “Shindou, I can crack the small ones, but without knowing the code-“ He stopped. Hikaru’s fingers flew across the board with smooth decisiveness. The battle lines bloomed crisply underneath his hands, no missteps or mislaid pieces.
“Someday, you’re going to tell me everything,” Akira reminded him seriously.
“Less nagging, more casting,” Hikaru informed him, sliding the box open and lifting out two age-cracked scrolls. “Read.”
The spell was written in classical Chinese that curled elegantly in upon itself; beside him he heard Hikaru start the other half in a bright, fluent patter. Akira looked over when he was finished, and caught his breath. The other man was glowing with a thousand firefly sparks swimming under his skin, flushed and wild with magic. He reached out and collected Hikaru to him with a cool hand on the back of his neck.
“Come here,” Akira said gently, and called the sun down.
by sangoire
Written for blind_go round 2.
Genre: AU/Horror(ish)
Summary: When Zombies Attacked.
“What the hell is with this hand, anyway?!” Hikaru yelled.
“You know that zombies don’t always liquefy completely,” Akira called back, looking up from rifling through the possessions of the newly re-dead long enough to roll his eyes.
“Yeah, but I’ve never seen any leftovers bigger than an ear before.” Hikaru squatted down and poked experimentally at the motionless gray appendage with the closed end of his war fan. It sprang open like a trap and skittered at him with a sudden burst of arachnid speed; he yelped and fell backwards onto his ass. The hand paused, index and middle fingers raised like trembling antennae. They swiveled slowly, trying to sense his location.
“Oh, that’s so gross,” Hikaru said, and smashed it flat. A fireball whizzed in from over his shoulder to take care of the cleanup.
“Are you quite finished playing around? We’re still a long way from headquarters,” Akira asked archly, rubbing his smoking fingertips against his coat to ease the sting.
“Can’t you stick them in your mouth like the rest of us?” he sulked, tucking the fan back into its thigh holster. He cast one last look around the darkened street. Car-carcasses yawed open and empty, but nothing moved. “Let’s go.”
On the ninth morning that the sun didn’t rise, Hikaru shakily boosted Akira up over the gate to the Institute.
“Hurry up,” Akira hissed as he reached through the bars to return the favor. “There’s a horde around the front door; we’ll have to go around the back.”
Hikaru landed hard, going down on one knee with a choked-off sound. Akira got his arm under his partners’ and hauled him to his feet. “You okay?”
“Yeah,” Hikaru wheezed, one hand pressed to its side where a zombie had gouged him in Roppongi. “Come on, we can’t get found here.”
Akira grimaced. Shindou Hikaru wasn’t a twelve-year-old wunderkind anymore; at eighteen, Shindou was a hunter in his own right, with broken bones and joints that he could crackle and pop like breakfast cereal. Sometimes, though, he was the same damn bullheaded idiot. The two of them stumbled quickly across the lawn, Akira still supporting a good half of his weight. “God, you’re heavy. Lay off the ramen a little, would you?”
“Like I haven’t seen you eat an entire box of mochi by yourself,” Hikaru retorted breathlessly. “Fuck!” His legs gave out beneath him and Akira dragged him the last few steps to the shielding overhang of the building. “You open the door. I’ll guard your back.” Golden fire pooled in his left hand.
Akira nodded, already punching in the code in black and white on the little 9x9 grid beside the door.
“Faster,” Hikaru muttered urgently. There was a brief whoosh and then the unmistakable sound of several large objects burning, which would have been more reassuring if they hadn’t been shambling closer as they immolated.
“Done,” he announced, reaching down and unholstering his own weapon as the door slid open.
A hand shot out and grabbed him by the throat, easily lifting him off the ground. He kicked uselessly before remembering to do the intelligent thing and smashing in the vampire’s face with the flat end of his ball-peen hatchet. The re-corpse dropped him as it crumbled.
“In, in, in,” his partner chanted, tackling him across the threshold and hitting the door close as he went. The door dented with several impacts behind them. They sprawled half on the re-dead vampire, getting their breath.
“They got inside,” Akira realized belatedly.
“Yeah,” Hikaru replied in the same shellshocked tone. “You think-“
“We should get to the library.” Akira cut him off and heaved himself to his feet. “Come on.”
There was another shock when they finished keying in the code for the archive, this one in the form of Shinoda-sensei brandishing a sawed-off shotgun.
“Put that thing away, we’re still alive,” Hikaru wheezed as he stumbled inside. “Where is everybody?”
“Shindou-kun? Touya-san? Thank god,” Shinoda-sensei gasped. “The other agents are mostly out of the country, thanks to the Korean conference last week. Now, of course, there aren’t any airplanes running.
“What about Ogata-san?” Akira wanted to know, ripping a strip off his wrinkled dress shirt to bandage a new graze on his forearm. “I know he stayed behind.”
“He and Kuwabara-sensei are pinned down in the west stairwell,” Shinoda said wryly. “But Ashiwara’s coordinating from the observation room and he seems more worried about them killing each other than them getting killed by zombies.”
“That old man just won’t fucking die,” Hikaru muttered under his breath. Then, louder, “There’s a book here. An unfinished manuscript, from the era of Honinbou Shuusaku. Where’d it be?”
“All Shuusaku texts are in Subarchive B,” Shinoda informed them. “Why?”
They were already gone.
“Are you sure that’s it?” Akira asked, as Hikaru pulled a shallow wooden box from the shelves.
The blonde brushed the dust off the case, revealing the grid burnt into its cover-no 9x9 lock, this, but a full 19x19 array. Akira sucked in a startled breath. “Shindou, I can crack the small ones, but without knowing the code-“ He stopped. Hikaru’s fingers flew across the board with smooth decisiveness. The battle lines bloomed crisply underneath his hands, no missteps or mislaid pieces.
“Someday, you’re going to tell me everything,” Akira reminded him seriously.
“Less nagging, more casting,” Hikaru informed him, sliding the box open and lifting out two age-cracked scrolls. “Read.”
The spell was written in classical Chinese that curled elegantly in upon itself; beside him he heard Hikaru start the other half in a bright, fluent patter. Akira looked over when he was finished, and caught his breath. The other man was glowing with a thousand firefly sparks swimming under his skin, flushed and wild with magic. He reached out and collected Hikaru to him with a cool hand on the back of his neck.
“Come here,” Akira said gently, and called the sun down.