Rule #1 of Zombieland: DO NOT FALL IN LOVE! ~ Frank/Gerard ~ NC17

[soulfulfishbowl]

Rule #1 of Zombieland: DO NOT FALL IN LOVE!



Being an only child in a small family made it easier for Frank to get this far, or at least that’s what he tells himself. Watching his parents die was horrific, seeing their insides become outsides as sharp, yellow teeth gnawed away at their flesh like soft fudge. He didn’t have time to grieve, barely had time to register what was happening before he was running, his feet pounding in to the ground so hard it felt as though the pavement were about to crack. He’s never been more glad to be an only child, or to be living thousands of miles away from the rest of his family. The neighbour on the left was always mean to Frank as a child, so watching him get run over by his own car wasn’t so hard to witness. The neighbour on the right, though, old Mrs. Leaverman, was sweet and baked the most amazing Halloween cookies, so hearing her shrill cry one night, and then the unmistakable squelching sound of soft and spongy insides being ripped apart echo through the wall, was heartbreaking. Frank stared at the wall with cold, still eyes, waiting for sunrise. So yes, having little family to lose definitely made the loss easier to bare. That’s what he told himself, though he didn’t really believe it.

There’s one thing he’s glad for, and that’s for Scooby – his chocolate Labrador. He’s almost nine but there’s no messing with him. He’s the reason Frank’s still alive, with his sensitive nose and sharp ears he manages to keep them both one step in front of those half dead bastards. Plus, he’s a really good listener. Frank tells him every thought in his head, keeping him from going completely insane when he feels the edges of cabin fever begin gripping him. He’s been trapped in his family home for almost three weeks now, though it feels more like a year, secluded in the attic above his parent’s bedroom where the pull down ladders can disappear in to the ceiling as though they were never there.

Frank comes down twice a day, twice for toilet breaks and once for supplies, that’s only if there have been no disturbances. And if it’s light for long enough. (Since everything happened, there’s been few hours of daylight. Sometimes, on a good day, there’s maybe seven or eight hours of it. Sometimes there’s no more than five). He pushes down the roll up steel ladders and lets Scooby go down first. If he doesn’t bark, Frank follows quietly, creeping through his own house like he shouldn’t be there. The place looks completely normal, like it’s the middle of a weekday and no one’s home. He creeps across the landing to the bathroom, does his thing and washes his face and brushes his teeth before slowly easing himself down the stairs, stopping at every creak. Scooby pads down before him, oblivious to creaking floorboard as he sticks his nose in the air and sniffs. If the coast’s still clear Frank leads them both in to the kitchen. He presses his face against the back door window and peers outside, heart pounding like it’s the front line of world war three. He unlocks the door with the key in his pocket and nods to the yard. Scooby scuttles out.

When Scooby’s back inside and the door’s locked again, Frank searches through the canned goods for today’s meal. Luckily, his mother was a bit over the top when it came to groceries, so that’s why there’s a pantry full of cans and at least a year’s supply of dog food. Frank might starve before the dog does, which seems really unfair. He takes a reusable shopping bag from the drawer and piles in a few tins of soup. He sighs, bread would go really awesomely with this, but that’s all moulded over and shrivelled up. It’s actually starting to stink pretty bad. His grandma would kick his ass for lacking on chores, but he thinks that maybe she’d forgive him just this once. He grabs a couple bottles of water and a few cans of dog food before he starts the lug the bag back towards the stairs. Scooby’s behind him this time, waiting patiently as Frank drags the heavy bag slowly up the stairs. When he gets to the top he feels terribly out of shape, though he hasn’t really had the chance to get much exercise cooped up in a dingy attic for three weeks. He never thought he’d miss a high school gym class. Not that he’d be getting them even if the zombie apocalypse hadn’t decided to break out just after graduation. He should be enjoying his last summer before college, having one last unforgettable time with his friends before he headed out to the next stage of his life. Now, he was never going to get to that stage. He was never going to do anything but rot away in a fucking attic.

By some miracle he gets the heavy bag back up the attic stairs, and when Scooby runs up them in one go, he pulls the lever and shuts himself back in to seclusion until tomorrow (only if the night’s quiet).

Frank sets the cans by the window and collapses on the thin mattress and his sleeping bag. Scooby plods next to him and flops down, kicking a little before rolling on to his side and spreading his legs out. There’s a small pile of comics and books next to Frank’s make shift bed, and a collection of empty cans and candy wrappers on the other side. He’s marked off his days in a tally chart on one of the beams with his pocket knife (there is a marker up here with him, but the knife seemed way cooler), along with his initials and date of birth, though he’s not entirely sure why he did that. He thinks maybe he should put Scooby up there too and he rolls on to his front to think about it some more, pressing his face in to the thin pillow that’s really starting to stink. Maybe he should get a change of bedding when he next goes down.

It’s cream and mushroom soup for Frank and a tin of Butcher’s for Scooby. The dog seems to be enjoying his far more than Frank is. Maybe it tastes better heated, but Frank doesn’t want to be in ‘zombie reach’ for longer than necessary. Scooby’s got his mussel jammed in the open can and Frank can hear him lapping eagerly at the meaty jelly that makes Frank feel nauseous. Frank downs the rest of the can and grimaces before tossing it aside and reaching for an energy bar. They were on special offer a month or so ago, so his mother stocked up. He breaks it in half and tosses one half in Scooby’s direction. He gobbles it up instantly, burping a meaty stench with a hint of berry. Frank waves a hand in front of his face. “Jesus, Scoobs.” Scooby makes a grumbling sound before flopping down on Frank’s bed and taking up most of the sleeping bag.

Grabbing a ratty comic, Frank manages to push Scooby over just enough to curl up under the covers. With his legs thrown over Scooby’s bulky body he holds the comic up towards the dim light, reading the words he’s read a thousand times and waiting for sleep to take him.


Frank’s woken the next morning by Scooby growling at the attic window. He rubs his closed eyes against his sleeve and crawls up on to his knees. “Scooby,” he yawns. “What’s up?” It’s only when he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand that he hears the screaming. With widened eyes he scrambles over to window, shoving Scooby out of the way so he can peer through the small rectangular slant of glass.

There’s a woman walking quickly down the street, circling round, stumbling, tripping and falling to the ground every few steps. Her long brown hair is matted with the blood that covers the left side of her body. Her skin is dirty and she’s full of scratches, her face tear stained and eyes wide. It’s hard to see how old she is through the clumps of dirt and blood, but with her ripped pencil skirt and soaked white shirt Frank guesses she’s maybe middle aged. She’s only wearing one black high heel, probably the reasons she’s stumbling and falling, but it doesn’t occur to her to take the other one off. She screams again as though gargling for breath and Frank looks from Scooby to the window and then back again. Scooby makes a gruff sort of grunt, and Frank knows what they’ve got to do.

Picking up the baseball bat from the opposite side of the attic, Frank releases the stairs and lets Scooby down first. They walk quickly through the house (though it feels more like running after spending three weeks creeping everywhere), down the stairs and to the front door. Scooby sits patiently by it, looking up at Frank with large trusting eyes. Frank stares back at him for a moment, wondering if this is the right thing to do when he hears the woman let out a guttural cry. Frank nods and Scooby stands as Frank unlocks the front door and flings it open.

Outside, the sunlight is bright and almost stings Frank’s eyes. He can’t even remember the last time he was out here. The fresh air feels strange but welcomed against his skin and in his hair. The woman is just a few houses up from Frank’s. She’s sat in the middle of the road, ankle twisted in an awkward position and crying, dirty hands covering her red face. Frank looks up the street and down again before slapping Scooby’s lower back. “Let’s go.” Scooby barks and runs out on to the porch, Frank following quickly behind. He leaps down the steps and jogs after Scooby, who bounds ahead and approaches the woman in no time. She screams when she sees the large lab, dragging herself further down the road. “Scoobs!” Frank shouts. “Scooby, shut up!” he shouts again, running towards the frightened woman. Scooby shuts up and walks back towards Frank.

The woman’s eyes get wider as she sees Frank, and she opens her mouth to scream again. Frank drops the bat and holds his hands out. “Wait, it’s ok. I’m not going to hurt you, I promise,” he says quickly, bending his knees and lowering himself more to her level. She stares at him long and hard, shaking and whimpering. “Are you ok?” he asks quietly. She shakes her head with a sob. “Is there anyone with you?” She shakes her head again. “Are you injured?” he asks, looking her up and down. There’s a lot of blood, but he can’t tell whether its from her or not. She nods slowly and Frank sucks in a long breath. Ok, he says to himself, running through the location of the several first aid kits stashed around his house. “Where are you hurt?” he asks slowly, as though she’s a child. She wraps her arms around her stomach, sobbing, looking small and fragile. “Your stomach?” she nods. “Ok,” Frank nods. “Ok, well I’m gonna take you in to my house and get you cleaned up. But we gotta move quick, ok?” she nods, still looking distant; like she hasn’t heard a thing he’s said. Scooby jumps forward, sniffing frantically at the ground around her. He barks straight at her, eyes narrowed and snout pointed. She flinches and whimpers. “Scooby!” Frank shouts, but he doesn’t stop, just continues to growl at the woman.

When Frank tries to step closer to her, Scooby jumps between them, not letting Frank past as he continues to bark and snarl. Frank attempts to pull the dog back by his collar, but he shakes Frank off easily and continues to growl. The woman’s crying now, tears flowing down her face as she screams, “Get away! Get away from me!” Scooby doesn’t listen. There’s far too much noise for Frank’s liking, and he just knows they’re going to attract some unwanted attention soon. When he shouts Scooby’s name in a loud booming voice, the woman flinches and covers her ears with her bloody hands. Frank immediately freezes when she reveals her stomach. Her white shirt is soaked with blood, torn and shredded around a gaping gash, flesh ripped and oozing blackness.

Letting out an ear shattering cry, she launches herself back against the tarmac, sprawled out on the road as she convulses. Frozen with fear, Frank stands and watches with wide eyes, unable to do anything more. Scooby barks out, louder and louder though the sound is becoming more distant to Frank as he watches the woman shake and moan on the road until her eyes roll back in to her head. Her mouth foams and entire body twitches and Scooby growls something fierce and feral. It feels like an hour before the woman finally sits bolt up right, causing Frank to jump back. Her eyes are red and blood shot, her neck twisted and crooked to one side like her head’s too heavy for her body to take. As soon as she croaks that itchy ‘nak’ sound, Frank grabs the bat from the ground and starts to run.

Whistling for Scooby, Frank bolts down the street. It’s pointless going back to his house, they’re quick when they first change and she’d catch up before he got the stairs up. He needs a place to take cover; maybe he can confuse or even bore her. It’s not going to be too hard seen as her brain size has just been reduced to the size of a pea. His feet pound against the sidewalk, and he can hear Scooby’s heavy breathing right next to his. As his own street ends and another begins, Frank chances a look back, even though it’s against his better judgement. She’s still in the distance, stumbling quickly along the road after them. Frank shouts in frustration and takes a sharp left, rounding a corner a jumping a fence until he’s somewhere near the high street. Scooby leaps the fence easily, claws in the wood as he propels himself over and lands on the ground a lot more gracefully than Frank manages to.

There’s a small convenience store on the next corner that looks deserted. Then again, everywhere looks deserted, and so Frank grips his bat tighter as he jogs across the street towards it. The ding of the doorbell makes Frank’s heart jump in to his mouth and he stops instantly, arm holding the door open and Scooby comes skittering through it. The store’s almost empty, only a few things left on the shelves as the lights hang from the ceiling above them, flickering and buzzing. It’s cold inside; though Frank’s sure the fridges haven’t worked in a while. They smell like they haven’t worked in a while. The cash register is popped open, broken and empty, the counter itself littered with papers and a black dripping liquid. There’s a clanging of glass against the tile floor, and Frank leaps at the sound of it. Scooby’s pushing a broken bottle against the floor with his nose and Frank rolls his eyes with a hand on his pounding heart. “Jesus, Scoobs,” he breathes and the dog looks up at him with innocent eyes.

Just as his pulse rate is slowing, the back door behind the counter bursts open, and before Frank can even react an undead stumbles out with out stretched arms and a wide groaning mouth. As it climbs quickly on the counter, Frank resides himself to certain doom and squeezes his eyes shut tight, waiting for the feel of rotting teeth ripping through fresh flesh. But no feeling comes, instead the bell dings and then there’s a shot, loud followed by a bark and sudden and Frank’s sure he’s been hit when he feels a spray of cold liquid against his face. It smells metallic and when he opens his eyes, expecting to see a hole blown through his chest, the creature in front is headless, blood and exploded arteries slipping down its mechanic’s uniform.

“Bulls eye!” a voice shouts excitedly, and as Frank spins round to see his saviour, relief explodes in his chest. “Frank?”

“Mikey!” Frank grins, bounding to the other end of the store to the tall boy with broken glasses, a bandana around his face and holding a rifle. He pulls him in to a tight hug.

“Man, I can’t believe you’re still alive,” says Mikey as he pulls back from the hug. Frank hasn’t seen Mikey since graduation and didn’t think he ever would again, residing himself to the fact that the majority of his friends were probably dead. Mikey was one of the few people at Shit Hole High to not shove Frank in to a near by locker, and for this he was eternally grateful. That and his never ending supply of comic books and complete trust over Frank to lend them for the past four years. “Are you on your own?” Frank nods slowly. Mikey grabs his shoulder and squeezes, smiling sympathetically.

“Are you?” Frank asks. Just as he speaks, the door bell dings again and another two people come stumbling in.

“Mikey, what the hell- Frank!” Its Mikey’s older brother, Gerard. He’s four years older than Frank, in some fancy art college and infinitely cooler than anyone Frank’s ever met. He hasn’t seen him in over a year, though he looks pretty much the same except for shorter hair and more colour in his face. “Oh my god, Frank!” he grins, pulling Frank in to an infamous Way hug. “You’re ok,” he smiles, holding Frank back at arms length. There’s a small gruff and Scooby pushes against Frank’s legs. “Scooby! Shit, you’re so big,” Gerard leans down to scratch at Scooby’s head and the dog presses against the touch. “Is everything ok?”

“Yeah,” Mikey drawls. “Just saving Frank from becoming a zombie snack bar.”

Frank rolls his eyes. “I’m at least a main meal.”

“Where have you been holding up?” asks Gerard with his arms crossed over his chest.

“My house, in the attic,” he replies. “You?”

“Police station.”

With raised eyebrows, Frank repeats, “a police station?”

Gerard nods. “Yeah, it’s totally abandoned and full of weapons. Plus, Toro’s uncle worked there. Oh, this is Ray,” and he gestures to the other boy. He’s taller than Gerard though looks about the same age. Frank thinks he remembers seeing him before, but three weeks of solitary has scrambled Frank’s brain.

“Hey,” Ray nods. “Listen guys, I hate to break up this reunion but we should really be getting back. I’m sure the shots attracted some unwanted undead attention.”

“He’s right,” says Mikey. “Frank, you’re coming back with us.” It’s not a request but Frank’s not going to argue. It’s so good to be talking to humans again, and holding up in a place full of weaponry definitely tips the odds of survival a little more in his favour.

“Ok,” Frank nods before tugging softly on Scooby’s ear. “Come on, Cujo. Let’s get you armed.”


Ray leads the way back to the station, Gerard behind him, then Frank and Scooby and then Mikey taking up the rear. They move quickly, and even though Frank’s a little uncomfortable knowing everyone’s armed but him (and Scooby), he still feels relatively safe. Even though the sun is beating down on them relentlessly, they still cling to the side of buildings as they make their way down the next street. The sounds of their feet against concrete echoes down alleyways, sounding way too loud for the middle of the day. The streets are over littered and they walk over various packets, crunching like fresh autumn leaves beneath their feet. Frank wishes that were the case, autumn’s his favourite season. He loves the sunsets, the smells and colours, and a part of him can’t actually believe that he may never see it again. Autumn may never happen again. He scratches the top of Scooby’s head fondly and remembers to breathe.

The station is smaller than Frank remembers. He’s only ever seen it two or three time despite living in the same place his whole life, but he remembers the large grey building towering over him with an unnerving power. Maybe that’s because he was younger, or maybe because it was when he once had any respect for authority. At the end of the world, they proved pretty useless.

The door is bolted and blocked behind them, with heavy wooden bars and thick tables. Frank stands there, dumbfounded as the other boys settle easily in to the routine. Scooby sits by Frank’s side obediently, head cocked to the side as he watches on. There are only a few tables left in the room when they’ve finished. The floor is littered with paperwork and open files, pens, garbage and bullet cases. There’s a large blood stain against the window on one of the doors leading in to an interview room. It looks dried but there are still clumps of something stuck to the window, which Frank thinks would make him heave if he knew what it was.

“We’re upstairs,” Frank turns towards Mikey, who’s wiping the sweat from his palms against his dirty jeans before pulling the bandana down from his face. “You get a good view of the town from the second floor and the weapon room is up there too.”

Ray slaps a hand against Frank’s shoulder. “We’ve got some camper beds and canned food. It’s not the most amazing thing in the world but it should keep us going for a month or so. We’ve got enough for one more, so you’re welcome to stay with us.” Frank smiles and nods.

“Excellent,” Gerard grins. “We’ve got another one for night watch, which means a longer sleep for the rest of us.”

“Two if you include the dog,” Ray adds.

“Scooby’s had my back through out this whole thing,” says Frank, kneeling by the lab to rest their heads together. “He’s the best zombie apocalypse dog ever.”

Gerard pulls out a dirty red bandana from his back pocket and leans down towards Scooby, tying the bandana around his neck along with his brown leather collar. “Well, Scooby. Welcome to the team.” Scooby’s tail pounds against the floor as he wags it enthusiastically.

The upper floor is similar to the ground floor, only the windows are taller, letting in more light. Most of the tables have been upturned and pushed to the far ends of the room, making way for several camper beds and scattered rucksacks. There’s a large metallic box with a red cross between two of the beds and a roll of bandages hanging over the lip. There’s a comic on top of one of the beds, Frank thinks it might be X-Men, but he can’t see the cover completely.

“Home, sweet home,” sings Ray, taking off his jacket and throwing it on the furthest bed. He sits himself down and leans back as the rest of the boys scatter themselves around the room. Even Scooby finds himself a stack of crumpled newspapers to collapse on.

“Hey Frank,” Gerard calls, leaning back against a door marked ‘storage’. “Wanna come and help me find another bed?” Frank nods and moves forward on numb legs as Gerard disappears in to the room. Frank pushes open the door, which is heavier than it looks, and peers around a tall filing cabinet to find Gerard rummaging behind some boxes. “I swear I saw another one in this room last week…” Gerard’s mumbling to himself as Frank stands there feeling useless, switching the weight from one foot to the other. “Aha! Oh, shit. Ouch!” Gerard jumps back after a snapping sound, shaking his hand frantically before sucking on his finger.

“You ok?” Frank asks through a smirk, trying not to laugh as Gerard’s cheeks redden.

“Finger,” he says whilst drooling a little. He pulls the abuse finger from his mouth and wipes the string of saliva with the back of his hand. “Trapped it,” he states, holding his hand up to the light and peering at the skin with narrowed eyes. “Fucking camper bed,” he adds and this time, Frank can’t help but let a giggle slip. Gerard hands the bed over to Frank, sucking on his finger again and scowling. “I’m glad my pain amuses you.”

“Sorry,” Frank chuckles, taking the bed in both hands and dragging it towards the door.

“Frank,” Gerard suddenly speaks up, stopping Frank in his tracks. He looks at Gerard expectantly, who spits out his finger and wipes it against his t-shirt. “I’m really glad we found you,” he says before quickly adding, “And Scooby, of course.”

Frank smiles softly and tugs the frame of the folded bed closer to his feet. “Thanks,” he replies, happy and honest. “Me too.”


Fighting with the camper bed seems to be the afternoon’s entertainment for the rest of the boys as Frank struggles with the spring loaded frames and unsteady legs. After a ridiculous amount of time, three trapped fingers and a bruised shin, Ray finally takes pity on their newest recruit. He steadies one half of the folded bed with his boot and pulls. The bed flips open obediently, and he places it in front of Frank with a triumphant nod. Frank grumbles, “I knew that,” before carefully easing himself on to the contraption.

Staring at the high ceilings and low hanging florescent lights, Frank laces his fingers behind his head and takes in a deep breath, pondering the fact that being taken from one world and being propelled in to another, hasn’t really damaged him the way he thought it would have. Maybe it was because he had no choice in that matter. Sure, he could curl himself in to a corner and cry, sob his heart out if he really felt like it, over the loss and pure hopelessness of his life and the world around him, but how was that going to help? It wouldn’t bring anyone back and it wouldn’t change anything. Not one damn thing. He tells himself he’s got to take what he can get, and that’s exactly what he’s doing now.

“Grubs up,” says Ray. Glancing over to the empty bed at the far end, Frank swings his legs around and on to the floor. He hadn’t even heard anyone move. Ray’s pulling tins from a cardboard box and lining them on the floor next to four bottles of water. Scooby’s quicker than them all, getting up from his bed of newspaper to plod quickly in front of Ray. Ray chuckles and pulls out another tin before shaking it and pulling the pull-top lid off. “Mmm pork and beans, lucky you,” he says as he sets it down in front of the dog. Scooby sticks his mussel in instantly and starts lapping.

“Ugh, you just gave my dog beans, man,” winces Frank. “He’s sleeping next to you tonight.” Ray rolls his eyes and throws Frank a tin.

“Cream of mushroom soup,” he states.

Frank nods. “Thanks.” They eat in silence or well, the closest thing you can get to silence with four boys and a dog glugging back tins of beans and soup and fruit and whatever else. Frank enjoys the sound a lot more than he used to.

“Gonna go piss,” announces Gerard after he downs his tin and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand.

“Take Frank,” Ray says. “He hasn’t been introduced to our state of the art restroom facilities,” he adds with a grin.

“Ok…” Frank trails, rolling his almost empty tin over to Scooby and easing himself up from the camper bed, his knees cracking in the process.

Gerard opens the door to the corridor, holding it wide for Frank to pass first. “It’s, uh, just at the end of the hall here,” he says as they walk, pointing to the far left. “It’s the last door, though you’ll smell it before you see it.”

Gerard’s right. Just as he stops talking, a wave of stench rides over them, like stale urine and mud. “Lovely,” Frank grimaces.

“There’s a bucket under the window,” Gerard states. “So just do your thing and then open the window and, y’know, dispose…” Frank scrunches his nose. This is not going to be a pleasant experience. “I’ll wait out here,” says Gerard just as Frank pushes the heavy wooden door open.

On the way out, Frank thinks he’ll pee outside from now on and take his chances with the zombies.

“Hey, do you still draw?” Frank asks when they’re walking back to the main room. Gerard presses his lips together, staring straight ahead for a few moments before looking back at Frank.

“I do,” he nods. “Less than I used to, but you’d be surprised how inspiring an apocalypse can be,” he stops to smile down at Frank, who returns it easily. “I’ll show you when we get back.”

Frank shoves his hands in to his front pockets. “I’d like that.”

Helping Mikey pull foil rescue blankets from a cupboard at the far end of the room, Frank thinks about the last time he saw Gerard, before he went off to college. He was in the dinning room of the Way family home, one suitcase and two gym bags around his feet as he hugged his brother goodbye. Frank remembers Mikey’s eyes welling behind his glasses, the large lenses making his tears more obvious. Frank felt awkward stood by the door, arms folded with an expressionless face as he watched the display of sibling affection before him (something he himself had never experienced). On the way out, Gerard placed a hand on Frank’s shoulder and squeezed it hard.

“I’ll mail you your comic,” Frank said, remembering he had one of Gerard’s issues on Doom Patrol stashed under his bed somewhere. Gerard had smiled and shook his head softly.

“Keep it,” he replied. “Just keep Mikey out of trouble, and yourself for that matter. I don’t want to come back at Christmas to find the pair of you in jail.” Then, he pulled Frank in to a one armed hug, mouth pressed in to Frank’s hair. “See you around, Franklin.”

Frank grinned and cuffed Gerard in the ribs. “You can count on it, Gerald.”

Smiling fondly, Frank folds another blanket and sets it next to the others. Frank got sent to his Aunt’s last Christmas to help her redecorate the house and spend some quality time with his cousins, but his mom forwarded him his cards from his friends. One was from Gerard, handmade of course, painted to look like the face of Frankenstein in a Santa hat. Inside it read ‘At least you’re not in jail. Merry Christmas. Love, Gerard.’ Frank’s still got it at home between the pages of Gerard’s Doom Patrol comic.

When Frank stands and turns back to his bed, Gerard’s up at the same time, walking towards him with a ratty looking black book full of broken pages. “I thought I’d show you those sketches now.” Frank smiles and grabs two blankets, following Gerard to a secluded corner amongst stacks of newspapers and files.

“You’re taking the first watch then,” Mikey calls and Ray throws them a torch which they both scramble to catch.

“It’ll be dark soon,” says Ray as he folds his jacket up in to a pillow. “We’ll switch around four.”

Gerard mumbles a response and slumps down in the corner; legs stretched out and book in his lap. Frank gently pushes at Gerard’s shoulder until he leans forward a little and wraps a rescue blanket around his shoulders. “Thanks,” he smiles. Settling down beside him, Frank pulls the blanket tightly around himself and peers over as Gerard opens the book, flipping past the first few pages.

Deep within the pages of Gerard’s sketchbook, Frank finds himself awed by Gerard’s ever growing talents. The sketches of monsters and heroes and city tops below a bleeding sky have Frank staring with a dropped jaw as each page is turned. Gerard’s not as shy about his artwork anymore, Frank notes. He points at each piece and explains it, the shades and shapes and every character’s expression. “Fuck,” Frank whispers and Gerard turns to him, confused. “You’re so amazing, Gerard.” It’s dark now, and the only light is the torch between them, shining down on to the book, but Frank can still see Gerard blushing.

When they come to the end of the sketches, Gerard closes the book and shines the torch on to the floor. “What do you miss most about our old lives?” asks Gerard just as Frank drops his head on to Gerard’s shoulder and sighs.

They spend the rest of their look out shift talking, about their old lives and new, about the future, it’s darkness and endless possibilities. Gerard seems surprisingly hopeful, squeezing Frank’s elbow when he talks about the end of all this, and the start of something beautiful.

At 4am when Ray’s watch alarm goes off and he stumbles out of bed, Frank and Gerard crawl in to their own. Listening to Ray shuffle around between boxes and blankets, Frank looks over at Gerard, who’s already asleep, and thinks about how much he’s missed him, his random sketches and bullet proof passion. He remembers their talks over late night horror films with Mikey passed out on the armchair, glasses askew, and remembers the way his heart used to pound when Gerard smiled and called him ‘Frankie’. It’s the way his heart is pounding now.


Morning comes, fast and swift with its bright rays of sunlight, pouring through the uncovered windows and on to Frank’s face. He wriggles his nose and slings an arm over his eyes, comforted in the tiny slice of time when he forgets where he is and what’s going on. When he blinks away the sleep from his eyes and stares at the tall windows he remembers, and the comfort slips away. But as he sighs and turns his head, seeing Gerard asleep on his front, drooling on to the dark green material of the camper bed, the ache in his chest seems to dull.

When Frank sits up, Mikey’s pulling out boxes and ripping them open, sifting through cans both unopened and empty. Gerard yawns from the bed and kicks his blanket away, grunting and staring blearily at the ceiling. Frank smirks. “Morning, Sunshine.”

“Fuck off,” he grunts back.

“We’re running out of supplies,” says Mikey to the room. “We need to go on a run. You wanna come with me, Frank?”

Nodding, Frank’s just about to reply when Gerard coughs and sits up, clearing the night’s gunk from his throat. “I’ll take him,” he says. “It’s my turn anyway.” Mikey nods.

Frank gets a crash course in guns in the space of about ten seconds. “Point and pull,” is all Gerard really has to say on the matter. Before they get to the door Gerard stops and looks over at a still sleeping Scooby. “You think we should take him?” Scooby grumbles in his sleep, farts and rolls over.

“I think he just answered your question,” Frank laughs.


Outside, they hug the walls of the police station as Gerard steps along first. “There’s a convenience store a block or so away,” he says, flattened cardboard box under his arm. “We’ll take what we can carry.” Frank follows obediently, stopping every time Gerard stops, listening intently and reaching for his gun with a shaky hand. Gerard seems to be a lot more composed, maybe he’s used to this. In the attic back home, Frank never really saw much action.

The convenience store is tall and thin with broken red letters hanging above the double doors. Gerard leads them around the side of the building to the fire escape, which is already open. They stick their guns inside first before gently easing the door open, it creaks until it finally hits the inside wall, revealing the dark and dusty store room. “So, what now?” Frank asks. “Do we ‘clear the scene’.”

Gerard smirks and clicks his tongue against his teeth. “Yeah, something like that. You take the right side and I’ll take the left, we’ll meet in the middle.”

Frank nods. “See you in the middle.”

To both their relief the stock room is zombie free, and when they meet in the middle they smile easily at one and other. Gerard builds up the box quickly. “Ok, so canned foods only.” The large box is filled in no time with tins of the usual, to the point where it’s only just lift able. “I’ll carry it half way and you can carry it the rest,” says Gerard, bending down to scoop up the box in both arms.

There’s a strange sort of dragging sound coming from somewhere behind them. Gerard shoots back up instantly, both of them spinning to face the direction of the noise. “What’s that?” Frank whispers.

“I forgot to check the door in to the store was locked,” Gerard replies, equally as hushed. “Fuck. You stay here, I’ll go check it out. If something goes wrong, get out.”

“What? I can’t-” Gerard holds up a finger to interrupt him.

“I said, if anything goes wrong, get out…” his face is set in grim determination, and all Frank can do is nod, dumbfounded. Gerard holds up his gun and disappears around a stack of boxes.

Frank stands there almost frozen, though his insides are twitching nervously at every sound he hears. He tries to focus on Gerard’s heavy breathing and steady footsteps, mentally following him through the maze of boxes.

Suddenly, there’s a crash of boxes, followed by a shot and then a “Fuck, god damn,” from Gerard. Fuck his instructions, Frank thinks. He’s not going to stand here or runaway whilst someone he cares about gets mauled to ribbons. He pulls his gun from the waistband of his jeans and bolts through the store room.

The next few moments are a blur to Frank, and all he registers is the groan of the undead and slimy green hands reaching out to Gerard as he backs himself against the wall. His gun is on the floor, just out of reach and his eyes are wide and terrified. Frank looks at the stack of can boxes beside him, and before he can think about anything else he pushes the boxes with all of his body weight. “Gerard, move!” he calls, just as the boxes go toppling over. Gerard dives out of the way just in time, landing on top of his gun with a painful thud as Frank fires his own in to the pile of boxes, again and again.

Frank doesn’t stop firing until he feels a hand on his shoulder. “Frank, stop,” Gerard says calmly, and Frank’s vibrating fingers finally ease off the trigger, though he can still hear the exploding sound of gunshots ringing in his ears. “I think you got him.”

“Yeah,” Frank breathes just before Gerard thumps him on the shoulder. Frank turns to find Gerard glaring at him. “What?”

“What the hell did I say to you?” Gerard says, voice raised and eyes narrowed.

“What was I suppose to do? Let you get eaten?” Frank shoots back.

Gerard points and accusing finger at him. “Don’t you ever risk your life again, Frank, not for me.”

Frank just stares at him then, caught between anger and desperation as Gerard pants from his rant and spectacular dive from the boxes. He’s got some angry words bubbling in his throat and up to his mouth, ready to slide off his tongue to prove his point and make Gerard realise what a complete and utter idiot he is if he thinks Frank’s ever going to not help him or have his back. He’s just dying to scream in Gerard’s face with all the anger and anguish from the past few weeks and he even opens his mouth to let the sounds escape – but nothing does. Instead he finds himself surging forward, grabbing hold of Gerard’s shirt and practically throwing them both against the wall. Gerard looks at Frank like maybe he’s going to punch him, and Frank actually thinks he might with that heat that’s coursing through his entire body. But he doesn’t. He looks Gerard up and down and then crushes their mouths together in a sharp and hungry kiss.

For a few moments Frank thinks that maybe Gerard’s going to push him off and ask what the hell he thinks he’s doing, but to his surprise and delight Gerard grabs at Frank’s hair and bites his way in to his mouth. Frank gasps and pushes himself harder against Gerard, moving his hands from his shirt to his face where he holds his chin and digs his blunt nails in to Gerard’s jaw line.

“You’re a stupid fuck,” Gerard pants on to Frank’s face when their lips finally tear apart. Frank laughs and nods, eyes still closed.

“Yeah,” he drawls before pulling Gerard in again.


They don’t say anything to the others when they get back, about the attack or the kiss. They just drop the box in the middle of the room, shed their jackets and guns and collapse on the floor in the corner. Ray and Mikey eye them strangely before looking at each other. Mikey shrugs and turns to the box, tearing it open and sorting through the cans.

Frank slides his back down the wall and then turns until his head is in Gerard’s lap. There’s a scratch on his chin and Frank reaches up to touch it whilst Gerard smiles down at him softly. They don’t move until Mikey announces lunch.

Later on in the day Frank lays himself down next to Scooby, who’s still got his mussel stuck in a can. Frank pulls the can off and dips his finger in the juice of whatever was in there, he doesn’t really want to think about that, and lets Scooby lap it off. He nuzzles against Frank’s palm before licking it. “How you doin’, boy?” he asks, to which the dog pushes his nose against Frank’s cheek. “Yeah, I know, I miss home too,” he whispers. “But we got a new one now, boy,” he tells Scooby. “And a new future,” he scratches behind his ears with both hands. “We’re gonna be fine,” he says, nose pressed between Scooby’s eyes. “Just fine.”

After dinner the four boys sit and talk about movies, about comedies and horror, and which movies they’d rather be in than their lives right now. Frank sits back and lets the last of the day’s sunlight wash over him, closing his eyes until the bright orange colours explode behind his eyelids. While the rest of the boys continue to talk around him, Frank decides that in this horror film – there are no other people he’d rather be with.

Mikey takes the first watch that night with Scooby. Gerard pushes his bed up next to Frank’s, until the metal frames are touching. Frank watches from his back with a lazy smile, fingers laced behind his head. Gerard lays himself down and throws half of his blanket over Frank. “I think it’s going to be cold tonight,” he says like it’s his excuse for getting so close. Frank lets the arm closest to Gerard fall down between the two of them, knocking slightly against Gerard’s before their fingers gradually find each other, locking together. Frank closes his eyes and smiles to himself. He feels safe.

When Frank wakes up the next morning, Gerard’s cheek is on his shoulder with his hand curled in to Frank t-shirt. He strokes Gerard’s hair, running his fingers through the strands as Gerard nuzzles closer. An abrupt cough has Frank looking up quickly to where Mikey towers above them, looking down with his thin lips pressed in to a smirk. “Uh…” Frank begins to trail, but Mikey holds up his hands.

“Nothing to do with me, dude,” he says before walking away.


“Hey, Ray. What you got there?” Gerard asks some two hours later, rubbing his hair and yawning. Ray’s tinkering with a metal box and a screwdriver, fiddling with the knobs and switches.

“It’s a radio,” he says. “I found it in the back of one of the rooms behind some empty fire extinguishers.”

“Looks like it hasn’t worked in ten years,” Mikey comments, sitting on the ground next to Ray, looking at the radio parts that are sitting on top of an upturned box.

“I don’t think it has,” grumbles Ray, squeezing the handle of the screwdriver in his fist. “But it’s something to do.”

“Can you fix it?” Frank asks from where he sits with Scooby.

“Maybe,” Ray shrugs. “I think I’ll need some more parts,” he finally unscrews the aluminium casing, “but I’m not sure what ones.” And that’s the last anyone gets out of Ray for the rest of the day, apart form the odd curse or slam of tools.

Gerard sits next to Frank and Scooby, taking the dog’s head in his hands and rubbing his palms against the short fur. Scooby snuffles and pushes against the touch.

“So, Scooby. What do you think about Frank, huh?” at the mention of his master’s name, Scooby’s ears prick up. “Yeah, I think he’s pretty great too. I think he likes me,” he whispers the last part. “What do you think?” Frank’s grinning as Scooby yips and licks Gerard’s hand.

Frank presses his nose against Gerard’s neck and lets out a huff of breath. “I think he likes you too,” he says and Gerard laughs, cupping the back of Frank’s head and kissing his forehead.

“Good,” he sighs.

Mikey spends the rest of his day trying to calm Ray with every wrong connection he makes, whilst looking over at Frank and Gerard every so often. He rolls his eyes as the two boys practically fall over each other, sitting a little too close for friends and touching each other softly on the arm, shoulder or face when they think no one’s watching. It’s sort of cute, Mikey thinks, just as long as Frank’s not using his brother to amuse himself with – but with the way they’ve been looking at each other all day, Mikey knows that’s probably not the case.

By the end of yet another day, Ray’s practically exhausted from fighting with the radio. He flops in to bed with an arm slung over his face. “My hands ache,” he complains. “Can someone else take tonight’s shift?”

“I’ll do it,” Frank offers, scratching Scooby’s chin until one of his back legs vibrates.

“I’ll help,” Gerard nods.

Mikey snorts, “Of course you will,” and Gerard thumps him on the arm.

In the corner of the room, Frank moves his shoulders up and down, listening to the rustling of the rescue blanket he and Gerard are currently sharing. “God, these things are fucking noisy,” he says quietly.

“Yeah, but they keep you warm,” Gerard states.

“You keep me warm,” replies Frank, nuzzling his face against Gerard’s. Gerard chuckles and leans forward to kiss Frank’s cheek, but Frank turns until their lips are touching. He gets a little jolt, like the one he felt the other day, and curls his fingers under Gerard’s chin. Gerard’s lips are warm and bitten, and Frank licks at them until they part. Gerard sighs and lets Frank kiss him, fisting his hands in Frank’s t-shirt as he hauls him closer.

Gerard tastes like tinned fruit and Frank sucks the flavour from his tongue, climbing in to Gerard’s lap under the deafening rustle of the rescue blanket. With one hand wrapped around the back of Gerard’s neck, he uses the other to ease under Gerard’s shirt and hoodie, his fingers skittering across soft, pale skin.

“Frank,” Gerard gasps as he feels Frank’s palm press over his nipple. “We can’t-”

“I know,” replies Frank with rushed warm breath. “I just wanted to touch you.” Gerard pecks at Frank’s lips over and over, grabbing both his hands to press soft kisses to those too.

Frank slides off of Gerard’s lap and it’s over as soon as it began. He sighs, defeated, and lets his head knock against Gerard’s. “Hey, maybe next time we’re on a resources run-” Frank shakes his head, picking up the torch and flipping it on.

“I can’t blow you and watch out for zombies at the same time,” he says, shining circles on to the floor and nearby boxes.

Gerard almost chokes on his own breath before he laughs and squeezes Frank’s leg. “No, I guess you can’t.”

“Maybe next time, Mikey and Ray can do the run?” Frank suggests, turning his face up to catch the corner of Gerard’s mouth with his lips.

When Mikey gets up for his turn to watch, Frank’s asleep between Gerard’s legs, back to chest and wrapped tight in each others arms. He yawns and pulls his blanket off his bed, walking over and laying it over them. As he’s picking up the torch, Gerard’s nose twitches and his eyes open. “Hey,” he croaks.

“Hi,” Mikey whispers, ruffling his brother’s hair a little. “Go back to sleep,” he smiles.

“Ok,” Gerard yawns again. “G’night.”

Frank has the most amazing dream. He’s in a college dorm room that is most definitely Gerard’s, if the sketches and half empty coffee mugs are anything to go by. Gerard’s giving him the most amazing head, and Frank’s arching off the bed, squeezing the sheets in his hands. His whole body is on edge, twitching and vibrating as Gerard digs his nails in to Frank’s thighs. He’s almost there, almost right there when suddenly there’s a face, a green groaning face with large black eyes and yellow teeth. It growls and reaches out, opening its mouth to let out a howling scream.

Jolting awake, Frank gasps in to the cold morning air. Gerard’s kneeling over him, stroking his slightly matted hair away from his face. Frank looks up and squints in to the light that surrounds Gerard’s head in an almost halo. “It’s ok,” he says softly. “Just a dream.” Frank holds Gerard’s hand to his cheek and nods.


“We’re going out to look for scrap parts for the radio,” Mikey announces after lunch. Gerard looks up from his book.

“You want me to come too?”

Mikey scoffs. “Hell no. You spend more time making sure I’m ok rather than looking out for zombies or anything of use.” He stops to point at the floor. “You’re staying right here. We’ll take the dog.”

Gerard and Frank sit across from each other on opposite walls, watching as the others leave. When the room is empty and the footsteps are fading, they stare at each other for a few moments, perfectly still and breathing quietly. There’s a buzzing under his skin that Frank can feel vibrating through his body. The dream’s still stuck in the back of his mind, playing over and over to the point where the zombie appears.

Frank’s not sure which one of them moves first, but soon they’re both scrambling to their feet, crawling and stumbling over themselves until they meet in the middle. They grab at each other with hungry hands, lips welded together with hot, held breath. Gerard grabs Frank by the shoulders and hauls him up and over to the beds, pushing him down before climbing on top. Their lips lock together again instantly as Gerard starts pushing Frank’s shirt up. Frank presses his palm against the crotch of Gerard’s jeans, wasting no time and going straight for it – head first. He’s still riled up, strangely on edge from his dream, and he wants to touch every inch of Gerard’s skin, lick it and bite it. He even can’t remember the last time he felt so turned on.

Gerard rakes his nails down the side of Frank’s body and grabs at his thighs. He can feel the energy running through Frank, and he knows he wants this just as bad. Frank makes him feel like he’s 16 again, young and horny and ready for anything. He groans and bites at Frank’s lips, pressing down against his arched body. Frank pulls at the buttons of Gerard’s jeans and jerks his hand inside. “Oh, God,” Gerard breathes when Frank’s finally got a hold of him. Frank pauses like he doesn’t know what to do next, like he only planned this far, and stares up at Gerard with wide and lustful eyes. When Gerard grabs at Frank’s crotch, that seems to get him moving again, jamming in the play button as Frank starts to move his hand slowly. Gerard hangs his head and groans. He’s not sure he’s going to be able to multitask, but damnit he’s going to try. He wants to touch Frank, needs to touch him and make him feel the way he does right now – electrified.

Holding his body weight with one elbow, Gerard tugs the front of Frank’s jeans until they come undone, and Frank raises his hips a little. He’s almost delusional with excitement as he rocks up in to Gerard’s hand, moaning and squeezing Gerard’s cock tighter in his fist. Gerard stutters and yanks the front of Frank’s boxers down until he’s exposed, sensitive skin brushing, twitching, against Gerard’s. Gerard licks his lips and grabs a hold of Frank, pressing his thumb in to the tender flesh until Frank starts to buck again.

Not knowing how much time they have makes Frank want to come now, but another part of him wants this to last forever. He wants to be lazy and slow, pull moans from Gerard’s mouth one by one until his throat is sore. But he really doesn’t know how much time they have, and aside from walking in on them being totally horrific for Mikey, he doesn’t know Ray well enough to let him see his dick. So he jacks Gerard quick and firm, rolling his hips up as Gerard starts to follow his pace. Gerard’s hands are warm and soft, fingers tight and firm as they pull Frank closer and closer towards the edge. Gerard ruts against Frank, adding even more delicious friction and they just know it’s all going to end soon.

Frank keeps one hand on the back of Gerard’s neck and pulls him down for a teeth clattering kiss. He hisses in to Gerard’s mouth as his thumb circles around the head of Frank’s cock, slow and torturous for a few moments before he grips hard again. Frank starts to nod against Gerard’s forehead when he knows he’s going to come. Gerard pants against Frank’s neck, his breath hot and moist. “Yeah, Gerard. Gerard, yeah,” Frank chants, his voice getting higher in pitch as he whines through clenched teeth.

Gerard comes first, catching Frank off guard because he gave no warning he was going to – but Frank keeps stroking him through it, trying to control the stutter of his hips as he tumbles quickly towards his own release. Gerard bites Frank’s neck and sucks the skin in to his mouth, which has Frank pretty much gone. He clings to Gerard with both hands, wiping Gerard’s own spunk on his shirt as he shakes with the weight of his orgasm. Gerard keeps whispering Frank’s name like its some dirty little encouragement, and soon Frank’s spent and deflated.

Gerard’s the first to move, reaching around to wipe his hand on the underside of Frank’s camper bed. He stares down at Frank for a few moments, lips twitching in to a soft, warm smile before he leans down to lick the sweat from Frank’s top lip. Frank feels like he’s been sewn on to the bed, his limbs stuck in their positions, unable to move. “We should clean up,” Gerard says quietly, though his words pound through Frank’s ears. He peppers kisses over Frank’s cheeks as his breathing starts to slow again. “You ok there?” he asks, almost smirking.

“Peachy,” Frank breathes.

They clean off their jeans with bottled water and rags, rubbing at the denim and grinning over at each other until they end up laughing, backs against the wall and full on giggling as they continue to dab the rags over their own crotch. “Oh man,” says Gerard as he scrubs at a spot on his right thigh. “This bit’s not coming out.” He lets his head hit the wall. “I can’t walk around with spunk on me, in front of my brother.”

Frank laughs and rolls himself in front of Gerard, biting on his bottom lip. “You should have thought about that before you decided to seduce me.”

“Me?” Gerard practically squawks. He points a finger at Frank’s nose. “You.”

Frank’s about to reply when they hear footsteps pounding down the hall. He jumps away from Gerard and backs up to the camper bed where he sits down, looking at Gerard through his fringe. Gerard gulps and pushes himself off the wall, tearing his eyes away from Frank and pinning them to the door.

Mikey and Ray push through the door, Scooby plodding behind them. Ray’s carrying a torn, dirty cardboard box in one hand, which he sets on the floor with a huff. “You get what you want?” Frank asks.

Ray shrugs. “We’ll soon see.”

Walking past his brother, Mikey eyes Gerard curiously. He’s got a handful of rags in one hand, and the front of his jeans look wet. Gerard presses his lips together and smiles innocently. Mikey rolls his eyes and keeps on walking, if there’s one thing he does not want to know, it’s why his brother’s cleaning the crotch of his jeans – thank you very much.

Ray’s working on the radio and parts; an upturned box for his work bench and Mikey’s sat across from him, holding the torch over where he’s working. Frank and Gerard did watch for a few moments, just because it was something other to do than pretend to not stare hopelessly at each other. But Ray soon got annoyed and glared up at the two until they backed off. They’re now sat in their corner, facing each other with the tips of their shoes touching and not looking at each other. Scooby plods over some five minutes later and flops down over their legs. Frank kicks at the dog’s underbelly with a laugh before looking up at Gerard. They smile at each other.


For the next week Ray spends the majority of his time banging away at the radio. Mikey helps sometimes, holding the torch and handing over what few tools they’ve found like a surgeon’s helper. Frank takes over the job of handing out food and sorting through the week’s cans – with a little help from Gerard of course. Through out the week, Frank and Gerard feel easier about sitting closer in front of the others, looking longingly at each other and even the odd hand holding. Mostly, Ray and Mikey don’t notice and what they do notice they don’t comment on – just look at each other with a knowing smile.

It’s the middle of the week just after lunch, and Frank’s got his head in Gerard’s lap with his legs up against a box of cans. He’s got his arms crossed over his chest, looking up at Gerard who’s looking out of the window. He’s thinking about if he and Gerard went on a date, if they went out for a veggie burger or maybe to the movies. He thinks about the taste of buttered popcorn on Gerard’s tongue and making out on the back row. Suddenly, the radio crackles and whizzes, a high pitch screech pouring out of the speaker. Everyone looks over; even Ray looks down at the radio bewildered. But, as soon as it’s there it’s gone, and even as Ray bangs on the top of it, they’re back to silence. Frank and Gerard look at each other with pressed lips for a few moments before sinking back in to their thoughts.

“Hey, Gerard,” Frank whispers that night. Mikey’s on first watch with Scooby, though he’s sat at the other end of the room. Gerard barely hears Frank’s whisper over Ray’s snoring – even though they’re so close together. Gerard moves his face closer and rubs his nose against Frank’s with an Mmm sound. “Would you go on a date with me?”

Gerard smiles. “What, to the abandoned corner store or the zombie riddled gas station?” He opens his eyes to see Frank gnawing on his lip – barely visible as his eyes continue to adjust to the darkness.

“No, I mean – if this wasn’t the world. If we could just, I don’t know, go to the movies or something.” Gerard kisses Frank’s nose and slides his fingers under the hem on his hoodie and shirt.

“I’d take you for pizza,” Gerard starts, “and then maybe to the comic store to buy you your own copy of Doom Patrol.” Frank laughs, his forehead brushing against Gerard’s. “Then I’d take you to the movies to watch Spiderman – so I could hear you bitch about Peter Parker and piss off the people sitting in front of us.” He stops to peck Frank’s lips quickly. “And then I’d park a few blocks from your house and blow you in the car.”

Frank sighs, moving his hand from under his chest to Gerard’s face where he strokes his cheek with his fingertips. “That sounds nice,” he says with a smile. “I’d like that.”


For the rest of the week, every now and again they get the odd spark of sound – but as soon as they hear it, it’s gone again. Strangely, they all find themselves attaching hope the odd crackle of sound waves. It’s like their call out to civilisation, their SOS, and each time it stops, their call is dead along with today’s batch of hope. It drains them all a little day by day – though effects Ray the most; who seems to have become so obsessed with the idea of fixing this radio completely. He barely eats, only sleeps and tinkers.

And then finally, it comes. The week’s worth of sweat and sometimes tears pays off, because as Ray slaps the lid back down and flips the switch with giddy excitement, the speakers crackle to life, producing high pitched tuning sounds as Ray fiddles with the dials. Mikey almost falls off his bed as he stumbles over to where Ray’s sitting, grinning manically as he whispers “No way, no way,” over and over again.

Ray continues to search through the channels, ear close to the speaker, listening for the slightest whisper of voices. The speakers crackle and spit and suddenly, a voice booms out. All four boys jump before leaning closer, curiously to the radio.

“Calling all survivors. We are a small rescue center based in the south - east of New York City – on the eighth avenue behind St Peter’s hospital. We’re taking in the lost, supplying food, water, medical attention and rescue. Calling all survivors. We are a small -” Ray turns the volume down and looks back to the rest of the boys. They stare at each other in silence for what feels like the longest time, letting the words of the broadcast sink in.

“What do we do…?” Gerard finally breaks the silence to ask.

Mikey presses his fingers to his lips. “We don’t know how old the broadcast is. They could all be gone.”

“They could all be dead,” Frank adds.

Ray sighs and rubs at his temples. “Well we’re not doing much here are we? I’m sick of sitting here waiting for something to happen.” He stops to look at each of the boys. “There’s only so long we can stay here before they find us.”

“He’s right,” Mikey says quietly. “We have to at least try.”

Gerard pulls his knees to his chest from his position on the floor. “So we’ll try,” he says – looking over at Frank. Frank sucks on his bottom lip and nods.

“Ok,” says Ray, looking back to the now silent radio. “That settles it then.”


Deciding how much of everything to take is proving to be more difficult than any of them originally thought, and Mikey and Gerard are already bickering about the amount of blankets to take. The stress of venturing outside of the safety of their station is starting to bare down on all of them, heavy and crushing.

“We don’t need to take so many,” says Mikey with a blanket in each hand.

Gerard shakes his head and shoves another blanket in the backpack. “We don’t know where we’ll be sleeping, what the weather’s going to be like, if we’re going to find someone else…” he rattles off. “Use your head, Mikey.”

“Use my head?” Mikey shouts, throwing the blankets to the floor. “My head?” he repeats. “I’m the one who’s been helping out with the radio while you’ve been snuggling up to your fucking boyfriend all week,” he shouts again, pointing wildly at them both before storming away, throwing the door open and leaving for the hallway.

Ray stands to go after him, but Gerard shakes his head. “No, I’ll go.” Frank keeps his eyes on the floor, not sure if Gerard’s looking at him but not wanting to take the chance. He chews his lips, cheeks flushing with embarrassment.

When Gerard gets to the hallway, Mikey’s leaning against the wall and staring out of the far window. His arms are folded tightly across his chest and he doesn’t even flinch when the door swings closed again. Gerard sighs and moves to lean next to him, looking in the opposite direction for a few moments. “If I thought you’d have a problem-”

“I don’t,” Mikey interrupts quickly, “have a problem with it,” he adds. “I’m sorry,” he breathes, rolling his head against the wall until he’s facing his brother. “I don’t have a problem with you and Frank. Really. I’m happy for you, Frank’s great. I’m just scared – fucking terrified.”

Gerard slips his arm around Mikey’s shoulders and pulls him in for a side hug. “I know, bro,” he says, resting his head against Mikey’s. “But just because I have Frank, doesn’t mean I’m there for you any less – or that I’m not going to watch your back like a hawk,” he says, cuffing his brother softly on the ear.

Mikey smiles a little.


“So, we're leaving tomorrow,” Ray announces once they’re all back in the room. The others nod – there’s nothing they can really say.

Gerard eats his dinner with Mikey, and Frank doesn’t mind. Not really. He sits with Ray, looking over the radio and copying down the message on several different bits of paper or cardboard, just in case they lose one. “Do you think we’ll find others?” Frank asks, looking up from the slice of cardboard he’s currently jotting on in marker.

Ray presses his lips together and shrugs. “I dunno, but it’s worth a shot I guess.”

As the daylight begins to fade and sunset bursts over the town, Frank watches the colours from the window. He doesn’t move when Gerard sits down beside him, he doesn’t have to. He knows who it is. Leaning back, he rests his head on Gerard’s shoulder. “I need you to do something for me,” Gerard says softly. Frank turns around and crosses his legs, folding his hands in his lap. He nods – Gerard’s got his full attention. “Tomorrow, when we leave, if anything happens - I don’t want you to try and save me.” Frank raises an eyebrow, moving his lips as if to speak but he doesn’t. “What happened back in that store room, you can’t do that again. You can’t put yourself in danger, not for me.”

“We’re already in danger…” Frank says, face expressionless.

“I know,” Gerard nods. “But I don’t want you in anymore. No heroics this time, I mean it, Frank. If they find us you run and you don’t look back. You run until you’re safe.” Frank shakes his head. “Please, Frank,” Gerard sighs. “For me, do it for me. Just promise.”

Frank can’t stop looking hurt. Leave Gerard? How could he ever do that? He picks at his thumb nail for a few moments before looking up at Gerard’s wide and pleading eyes. Finally, he nods slowly. “Ok,” he whispers.

Gerard smiles, small, and pulls Frank in to kiss his forehead. “Thank you.”

Both Frank and Gerard don’t get much sleep that night, because they simply can’t stop kissing. Frank can’t stop touching Gerard’s face and neck, and can’t tear his mouth from there either. He knows the others can probably hear their little sighs and soft moans, but he really just can’t stop. God knows what’s going to happen tomorrow, or the day after that. Frank just wants to pull Gerard close and mark him, because he feels like as quickly as this thing between them began – that pretty soon it’s going to end. Of all the fucked up ways to break up, death by zombie apocalypse has got to be at the top of the list. So he pulls Gerard’s face in again by the collar of his shirt and sucks on his bottom lip. Gerard’s eyelashes flutter against Frank’s cheeks and he decides that this, right now, is the most perfect moment in his life.


When morning comes, Frank scrunches his eyes closed tighter and refuses to accept it. He feels Gerard’s arms tighten around his waist and wishes they could stay just like this. Scooby’s snoring softly from underneath his bed, and the lull of it makes Frank feel oddly calm and at ease.

Gerard softly butts their heads together. “Hey, sleepy head,” he whispers. “Time to face the day.” Frank frowns and Gerard kisses up the bridge of his nose with warm lips before he moves to brush them against Frank’s ear. “Rise and shine, oh boy of mine…” he murmurs. Frank smiles and finally opens his eyes.


Standing by the door, the four boys look out across the room they used to call home. The camper beds have been pushed to the far end of the room with boxes stacked next to them on either side. All their little personal belongings and places of comfort are gone, packed away as if never to be seen again. They look at each other and back to the room again. Frank’s got Scooby on a make shift leash consisting of torn and tied up material parts. Scooby’s sat next to him, looking up with those trusting eyes. Frank kind of feels bad that Scooby never had a say in this, though he knows he’d follow Frank anywhere.

“Right,” says Ray, loud and final. “Lets get going.”

Mikey’s got the radio and he fiddles with the dials as they walk, trying to pick up anything else – but the waves are empty. The plan is to walk to the NYC bridge by nightfall, take cover until morning and then walk the bridge and the rest of the way. They’re carrying two days worth of food, a blanket each, a first aid box, two guns each with extra ammo and whatever other personal possessions they have. Their bags are heavy but not too slowing and they walk in the shadows of the surrounding buildings. Ray’s carrying the rifle, much better for long distance shooting should they come across a brain sucker in the distance. Frank’s got Scooby’s leash in one hand and Gerard’s hand in the other, fingers entwined tightly as he leads Frank onwards. Scooby’s got his nose to the floor, their own little zombie detector.

They’ve been walking about fifteen minutes when Ray stops at a corner and holds his hand up quickly. They rest of them hug the wall, Mikey almost walking in to Frank when he looks up from the radio.

“What is it?” Gerard whispers. Ray turns to him and points over to the other side of the street. Gerard peers cautiously over his shoulder. “A car?” It’s an old looking Skoda, dark green with rust around the open passenger door. It looks to be empty, but in the zombie apocalypse you never can be too sure.

“If we can get it started we could be at the rescue center by night fall,” Ray says. “What do you think the chances are that the keys are still in the ignition?”

Gerard shrugs. “In any other situation I’d say slim to none, but I’m thinking fifty/fifty…”

“Only one way to find out,” Ray replies, handing Gerard the rifle and taking out his hand gun. “Cover me.” Gerard nods, holding the rifle in a slightly shaky hand as he drops Frank’s hand to steady himself. Ray scuttles quickly across the street and practically dives behind the car. The rest of them wait with held breath for the signal, any sign that the car is or is not zombie free. Finally, he waves them over.

“Are they in there?” Gerard asks as he pulls Frank to his side, checking over his shoulder for Mikey. Ray shakes his head. “Shit.”

“Well, what are we going to do now?” says Mikey, leaning against the bonnet.

Frank’s been worrying his bottom lip through his teeth ever since Ray mentioned the car. He looks from Gerard to Ray and back again before sighing. “What’s the matter?” Gerard asks, leaning closer to Frank. Frank says nothing, just hands Gerard Scooby’s leash and hops inside the car. The others look at each other, confused, before curiously rounding the sides of the vehicle to peer in at Frank.

Frank’s got the underside of the compartment below the steering wheel pulled off, and he’s fiddling with red and yellow wires, stripping away the colours until the bare silver wires are more visible. He twists them together, touches them against another wire and the engine rumbles to life. The three boys jump back, startled.

“Where the hell do you learn to do that?” asks Mikey, though leaves no time for Frank to reply. “I can’t believe I’ve known you all these years and I never knew you could do that.”

Frank pulls himself out of the car, shrugging. “Just, y’know…around?” He looks up at Gerard nervously, who smiles back at him uneasily.

“Ok,” Ray nods. “Thanks, Frank. Everyone in.” Ray elects himself as driver, and no one argues. Mikey climbs in to the passenger seat as Frank, Gerard and Scooby take up the back.

Scooby lays himself in Frank’s foot well with his head resting on the edge of Frank’s seat. Frank scratches behind his ear before ruffling it. Ray pushes the automatic lock button, and all four doors lock instantly. Frank barely registers the sound, he’s too busy avoiding Gerard’s gaze.

Gerard only puts up with the silence for another few minutes before he finally grabs Frank by the waist and slides him closer. He rests his arm around Frank’s shoulders and leans in. “Do you think I’m mad at you or something?” he says quietly.

Frank shrugs. “Are you?”

Gerard sighs and shakes his head. “You honestly thought I’d be mad because you know how to hot wire a car? Jesus, Frank. Half the people in Jersey know how to do that.”

Frank shifts uncomfortably under Gerard’s arm. “So, you’re not mad?” Gerard smiles and it’s for real this time, bright and from ear to ear. He butts his forehead softly against Frank’s.

“You’re cute,” he says before pecking Frank’s lips quickly.

“I can see you two, y’know?” Mikey’s voice calls from the front. Frank flips him off and Gerard laughs, pulling Frank closer until he’s almost on his lap.

If Frank closes his eyes for long enough, he thinks that maybe he could forget about where they are right now and what they’re doing. He could maybe even kid himself in to thinking it’s just him and his friends driving to a show on a lazy Saturday. Is it Saturday? Fuck, Frank’s lost all concept of date and time. He suddenly thinks about Christmas and Halloween. His birthday. He might never carve another birthday pumpkin again. He frowns and presses his face in to Gerard’s neck, in hailing the scent of sweat and skin.

It feels strange to be in a car again, for all of them. Ray’s not going above the residential speed limit, but it feels almost like they’re flying by, leaving the town in blurry lines behind them. Ray’s surprised he even remembers how to drive, but thankfully its one of those things that once you learn how, you’ll always know. Just like swimming, riding a bike or battling the zombie apocalypse. They keep the windows rolled up and doors locked. Zombies seem to go for anything that’s moving, even if its much faster than them. Thankfully, though, they haven’t seen any. They’re a lot less likely to come out during the day.

Gerard lets the sensation of Frank’s breath on his skin sooth him as he looks out of the front window, past Mikey’s head and on to the streets that approach them. He wonders if there are other people in the buildings they pass, hiding out in basements or attics, praying for the end. A part of him wants to stop and check every last room, fill up the car with other survivors and drive off in search of a brave new world. But shit like that only ever happened in movies and as the rain clouds began to roll over the beat up car Gerard knows that this, his life, is definitely no movie.

They roll on to the bridge some fifteen or so minutes later, and the bump causes Frank’s head to knock against Gerard’s chin. Frank blinks up at him, not even realising he’d dosed off, though it was only for a few minutes. Gerard smiles down and cups Frank’s face, sliding his thumb over one of Frank’s high cheekbones. He leans forward to kiss his nose, above and below it before pecking Frank’s lips a few times. The sound may be small but its loud in the silent car and Mikey casts a disapproving look back at them in the rear-view mirror. Now is not the time, he thinks. But then again, when is?

Ray coughs and Mikey shifts uncomfortably in his seat. Frank wonders if he’s the only one who feels strangely at ease right now with the hum of the engine below him and the feel of Gerard’s skin beneath his hands. He’d maybe go as far to say that he’s feeling quite content, though he knows enough to know that feeling never lasts, not in this world. And it doesn’t.

Halfway across the bridge, something in the engine sounds like it’s snapping. There’s a loud cracking sound and then a distant ping. Ray pulls the car over and it slowly rolls to a gradual stop. He slams a hand on the steering wheel. “Fuck,” he shouts. Mikey sighs and thumps his head lightly back against the headrest. They all knew it was too good to be true when they found the empty car, and now they’re stranded in the middle of the bridge and it’s starting get dark.

“Should we go back and look for shelter?” Frank asks, detangling himself from Gerard’s arms and sitting back up against his seat.

“There’s no point, we’re already half way across.” Ray replies. “We may as well just move forward and look for shelter at the other end.”

Piling back out of the car they pull on their rucksacks. Ray fiddles with the rifle for a few moments, popping it open and closed again, checking his pockets for ammo. He nods and juts his chin towards the rest of the bridge. They walk on, leaving the doors of their abandoned car open.

Scooby pulls on his leash. He wants to run, he wants to bark and pee against everything in sight. Frank pulls him back and squeezes his ears. “Calm down, Scooby.” The dog grunts and pulls again.

“You want me to take him for a bit?” Mikey asks, turning around to where Frank’s arm is constantly being yanked forward.

Frank sighs and hands the leash over. “I think he’s just restless.”

Mikey smiles sympathetically and takes the material, fussing over the dog until he jumps and barks and trots off to the front of the line. Gerard slips his hand in to Frank’s and squeezes it. “You ok?”

Frank nods. “I’ll be fine. Just had too much time to think.” Gerard rubs his thumb against Frank’s pulse.

“Don’t think then,” he whispers. “Just concentrate on holding my hand.” Frank smiles and leans up to kiss Gerard quickly.

“Yeah,” he replies. “We’re just going for a romantic walk…” Gerard laughs and pulls Frank right in to his side.

Frank can feel the road through his sneakers, which are worn down to the soles. Gerard’s hand is warm and slightly sweaty, so he tries to concentrate on that instead of what they’re walking towards. What they could be walking towards. He can feel the wind pick up from behind them and he shivers in his ratty hoodie. He glances back over his shoulder every minute or so like a nervous twitch, but there’s nothing there. The world is just as deserted behind them as it is in front, Frank feels.

A few minutes later and the end of the bridge is in sight. Scooby is a lot less insistent than previously, and plods along obediently next to Mikey. Frank and Gerard’s entwined fingers swing lazily between them as if this really were just a romantic walk to New York City. It’s getting a lot darker and the last of the sun is spilling in orange and pink beams over the horizon. It’s nice, sort of calming even.

Frank’s just about to open his mouth and say something ridiculously romantic about sunsets when there’s that all too familiar groaning sound.

All five of them freeze instantly, staring at the darkness. Ray and Mikey back up a little, moving closer to Frank and Gerard as the groaning turns in to multiple groans that are getting closer. Scooby barks and growls, baring his teeth. From behind the concrete slabs, a group of them appear, four maybe five, and drag themselves towards the boys. They’re not newly turned, which is something. Their eyes are sunken and drawn, their faces long and skin stretched. They haven’t eaten in a while, which must make four boys and one dog look like a feast. Frank’s sure their mouths would be watering if they weren’t busy foaming with their own blood. One of them vomits something red and yellow on to the side of the bridge, and the smell of it hits Frank hard.

When they’re all in a line, Ray cocks the revolver and aims it towards the zombies. “Fuck, shoot - now!” he shouts, and Frank scrambles for his gun. He’s barely got it out of his pocket when the shots from everyone else ring out around him. Scooby barks and leaps up, causing Mikey to drop his leash, but he barely notices.

Two of the zombies are down but still crawling when Frank fires his first shot. It’s only then that he notices Scooby running towards them, leash trailing on the ground. “Scooby, no!” Frank shouts, and he doesn’t have time to do much else before Gerard sprints after the dog. “Gerard!” Frank shouts, but he either ignores him or doesn’t hear.

“Fuck, Gerard!” Mikey’s shouting, aiming his shots a lot more carefully. “Get back here!”

Frank feels like everything’s suddenly been thrown underwater. The world is slow and he can barely hear the shots or the shouts over the rushing in his ears. As Gerard gets slowly closer to them, Frank feels like he’s drowning. For a split second, he thinks about Gerard’s words and his own promise. For another second he thinks about keeping it, but as the world comes spinning back to him, he runs forward without a second thought.

“Gerard!” he calls, though he doesn’t know why. He pelts his feet against the concrete as hard as possible and he’s sure he feels a bullet go whizzing past his head.

One of the zombies turns around just as Gerard gets a hold of Scooby’s collar. Gerard stops and pulls the dog back with a harsh tug, and the zombie gargles and reaches out for them both. Before Frank even knows what he’s doing he pushes himself to run faster, past Gerard and Scooby until he barrels in to the monster, sending them both crashing in to the side of the bridge.

The concrete thwacks against Frank’s skull as boiling white pain shoots in front of his eyes. He doesn’t know if they’re open, if he’s blacked out or just gone blind from the pain but he can’t see anything. He can barely hear anything, like he’s been held under water again as the muffled gunshots and voices seep in to each other until they’re just one blur of noise.

And then it’s quiet.


When Frank comes to he’s very aware of his head. It’s heavy and sore, like it’s the only thing keeping his body on the ground. He vaguely remembers the attack and quickly moves to get up. As soon as he does, his head feels it’s exploding from the inside out. There’s a hand on his chest and he groans as it pushes him back down. He hears his name, or at least he thinks he hears it, and struggles to open his eyes.

Gerard’s towering over him, stroking his cheek and looking relieved as Frank’s eyes finally do open fully. “Fuck, Frankie. Are you alright?” he says.

“Nurgh,” Frank replies. Gerard laughs and grabs Frank’s shoulders, slowly helping him to sit up and slump back against a wall. Frank looks around the dark room, barely able to see anything more than close walls and an upturned chair. “Where are we?” he croaks.

“In a toll booth at the end of the bridge,” Gerard answers.

“The zombies?”

“Sinking to their watery graves, and then we dragged you in here.” Frank’s about to ask about the others, but before he can the booth door is pulled open, letting pale moonlight spill across the floor.

Mikey pulls his bandana away from his mouth and smiles, slow and crooked. It makes him look a lot like Gerard, Frank notes. “You’re awake,” he says. Frank nods, but soon regrets it as he brain thuds against his skull. He winces. “Ok, well me and Ray and your disaster magnet mutt are in the other booth. We’ll set off to the camp in the morning.”

“Goodnight,” Gerard says and Mikey smiles before closing the door again. Gerard shuffles around on his knees, grabbing the upturned chair and righting it before jamming it under the door handle. He turns around and sits on the floor opposite Frank, his knees touching Frank’s toes. He frowns at Frank.

“What?” is all Frank has to say before Gerard’s tumbling himself forward and in to Frank’s lap. He crushes their mouths together, taking advantage of Frank’s surprised gasp and sliding his tongue between his lips. He fists Frank’s shirt between his numb fingers as they kiss, moaning as Frank sighs in to his mouth. “I thought – I-” Frank struggles to get out when Gerard moves his lips to Frank’s neck. “I thought you’d be pissed at me.”

“I am,” Gerard replies, tearing his mouth away, much to Frank’s disappointment. “You’re such a fucking idiot,” he says, staring at Frank’s slick, red lips. Frank’s about to protests, about to argue that Gerard’s the idiot if he thinks Frank’s just going to stand there and watch him get mauled – but he never gets the chance. Gerard presses their foreheads together. “A complete fucking idiot,” he repeats before smirking at Frank’s wide eyes. “But I love you,” he whispers. “So fucking much…”

Frank grins. He buries his fingers in to Gerard’s hair and brings their mouths together again. “In case you hadn’t noticed,” he says against Gerard’s mouth, “I fucking love you too.”

The booth’s barely big enough for both of them to lie down in, but somehow they manage it, chests pressed together and legs entwined. They’re kissing like nothing matters, groping and clinging to each other like there’s nothing else. And in a way, there isn’t – but in another way there’s so much more.

Whether they’re going to find it or not is a completely different question, one that they’ll answer tomorrow. But for now, Frank thinks as he scratches his nails through the dried blood on Gerard’s jacket, this will do just fine.


-END!



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