Chapter Text
Sam couldn’t remember the last time he’d been able to breathe. Just for a second. Even if his hands where wrapped around a blood covered silver bat, shoulders taut just like Alex Mullner had shown him, at least he could breathe. He could stare out passed their dilapidated sedan, headlight smashed from a late night hit-and-run, passed the gas pumps and buckets of mystery fluid and squeegees, and at the bright blue sky. A couple of clouds, a hawk diving for mice now and then, a sun whose rays burned his eyes despite his western gaze. It almost seemed peaceful. Almost.
Behind him in the convenience mart he heard a loud crash. A metal display shelf had fallen, all the plastic wrapped sugary treats that sat on it crinkling as they fell to the ground. His turn was slow, very much used to Sebastian knocking things over at any minor inconvenience. It’s how he decompressed, kept himself somewhat sane as the world ended.
It’d been exactly six months since they’d fled Pelican Town and twenty-eight days since it’d been just them. Jodi had stayed back in Calico Desert when Vincent got sick. Robin went down in Grampleton taking down ten zombies with an axe. Kent sacrificed himself trying to protect the rest of the group after their shelter was infiltrated down south. Alex died protecting Haley when they got trapped. And Abigail, she made Sebastian shoot her when they had a deadly run-in at an abandoned Joja Mart. Everyone else had stayed back home thinking help would come. They were probably dead too. That is, if they hadn’t died already while they were still in town.
Sam had kind of gotten used to all the death, used to holding his breath even when he didn’t mean to. Because what else was he supposed to do? You couldn’t exactly be happy and carefree when death was literally around the corner.
So of course, of course when he finally felt at ease, Sebastian had to scream. They’d swept the convenient mart so well. Just like Kent had taught them. You keep your weapons drawn, fingers on the trigger, but down turned; adrenaline was one hell of a drug. You kept your feet light, bodies tight against the nearest wall as you cut corners. You took turns opening doors and filing in so no one was left unarmed for more than a second. You swipe under tables, chairs; check behind counters and in large containers. Anywhere a person could hide was fair game. And they’d done it so many times, learned how to sweep a room in mere seconds, that they couldn’t have possibly messed up this time. Not at a fucking gas station they couldn’t.
But they did.
Sam’s feet tied themselves in a knot, his body jerking one way and the next despite knowing exactly where he needed to go: in. He wasn’t checking the perimeter, he wasn’t fleeing, he was meant to run inside, follow the blood curdling screech of his best friend. Maybe if he hadn’t hesitated like that, maybe if he’d slipped passed the leaking slushy machines instead of the hot bar full of dried out hot dogs and taquitos, he’d have made it in time. Maybe he wouldn’t’ve had to watch Sebastian flail, thin fingers that once played the piano strain for his just out of reach gun. Maybe, maybe, fucking maybe then he wouldn’t’ve had to watch his hoodie rise up, his pale midriff become exposed, and one, two, three dirt filled fingernails draw blood.
He’d seen it happen. Seen it with his own two eyes. In this oddly slow, time-gone-gooey, manner. And he knew right then and there it was over. Sebastian was gone. He was now meant to go for both of their heads and watch as their skulls fragmented, as blood and brain matter painted the coffee machine and the plastic wrapped muffins and the candy bars, and his fucking face. But no, he couldn’t do that. Not to Sebastian. Anyone, anything but him.
“Down!” He cried. “Down!” And then he’d watched Sebastian stare at him with wide eyes, pupils more dilated than they got when they used to get high together in his basement bedroom. And he watched his hands pull back, his knees buckle, and his body drop to the ground like the gravity in the room had changed.
Sam now got a clear look at this zombie. They still had a twinkle in their eyes. Someone was still in there. Someone’s baby. Oh, but that didn’t even matter anymore. All of that was in the past tense, just as what remained of their life as he lifted the bat behind his own head, swung with loose fingers to project the force, and hit them right between their jaw and ear.
Now in something of a daze, Sam heaved. Warm, already coagulating blood stuck to his face, painted his hands, and all the product around him. The zombie was gone, dealt with. The person was put to rest.
It took him a second to gather his thoughts, but once he did, he turned his head down to Sebastian. “Are you okay?” The question was moot, but what else was he supposed to say? Are you ready to die? Any last words? I love you? No. Not any of those, and sure as hell not that last one.
Sebastian scrambled back from the body that dropped right in front of him, a bag of chips popping obnoxiously after one of his hands slammed down onto it. He swallowed, voice shaking. “Sam.”
He wanted to tell Sebastian to never say his name ever again. And he loved the way his name slipped off his tongue. How he could clip or elongate the vowel, hum the final consonant, yell and whisper and cry it into his chest. But this had been different. This time it’d been quick, loud, his voice wobbling and cracking. There was so much fear. A beg, a plead, a desire to be saved and he’d fucking failed him.
“No.”
“Sam.”
“No, stop. Just come on Seb, we have to go.” Despite all that had been taught to him, Sam let his guard down. He stuffed the bloody bat in the crook of his arm and held not one but both of his hands out. Even if Sebastian didn’t need the help, if he was more than capable of rising on his own, he really really just wanted to hold him. “Get whatever you wanted to get and let’s go. We’re almost there.”
Sebastian didn’t react, still sitting in his awkward, half propped up position. “I know you saw. I know you fucking saw that, Sam.”
Sam pushed his hands further into Sebastian’s personal space. “I don’t care. Let’s go.”
“You know you have to do it.”
“Fucking fuck Sebastian! I don’t give a shit! Get up!”
Sebastian looked like he wanted to argue, push back for the sake of Sam’s safety, but he didn’t. Instead he pulled up the tote Emily had given him before they’d left (one made of dozens of colorful scrap fabric), and reached for Sam’s hands. Once up, he muttered a quiet “Thank you” and began sifting through the snacks to find any that weren’t covered in blood.
Not wanting to talk about how they could’ve possibly missed a spot or Sebastian’s fate, Sam went about his own business. He scooped up a six-pack of Joja Cola, stuffed his pockets with pain killers and sleeping pills behind the counter, and snatched up the last pack of Sebastian’s favorite cigarettes. It was getting hard to find those damned things and if Sam was sure of anything, it was that Sebastian was to get whatever the fuck he wanted over the next few days. That is, if he made it a few days.
Shaking the thought out of his head, Sam looked back toward where he’d last seen Sebastian. He was still standing there, though his bag was now full. “Hey, man, you good? We—”
Gun shots.
Then Sam was running again. But nothing had actually happened. Sebastian was fine. Well, fine enough. He was just staring down at the very dead zombie in front of him, his handgun pointed at whatever remained of their head.
“Okay.” He looked up at Sam, expression blank. “I’m good. Let’s go.” And then he stepped over the body, black leather boots soaked in blood, and headed for the broken automatic door.