The Railroad

Chapter 18

The brunet hadn't slept a wink that night. He was in his own secluded corner, away from all the sleeping bodies of the zombies and no one was watching him, but he felt very unsafe. He couldn't let them come with him to Raleigh, something bad would undoubtedly happen.

How was he gonna get away? They had a gun and he didn't; he didn't have any weapon at all. They also had the vial of the cure. How would he get that away from them so he could escape?

He turned over so he was facing the wall, something he hadn't dared do before the others had all fallen asleep. That's when the saw the small shard of glass. Where it came from, he didn't know, but it would work. Carefully, he grabbed it and slid it into his pocket. He found he was finally able to comfortably close his eyes and relax.

~~~

"George," a soft voice whispered in his ear. He didn't stir, not wanting to face the real world. The same voice spoke his name again, and this time it was recognizable. He felt a warm hand gently brush hair out of his eyes.

The brunet smiled softly, opening his tired eyes to see the green ones that belonged to Dream. The blond smiled at him, seeing that he'd finally decided to join the waking world. He moved his hand to cup the others cheek and gingerly stroked it with his thumb. He had the kindest smile George had ever seen, and he felt so happy.

After a moment of this happiness, the hand was ripped away and the smile fell from his lips, becoming a scowl. The next time his name was spoken, it was by a harsh, serious voice.

"George, get up. It's time to go," Donovan commanded.

George opened his eyes - for real, this time - and was faced with the rude realization that he'd been dreaming. Dream wasn't actually here, it was just him and these zombies. He felt his pocket to check that the glass was still there and that it wasn't also a dream, which it was not.

He let out a relieved sigh that was short lived as he begrudgingly got up. All he had to do was get up and put his boots on, seeing as they'd taken his bag and jacket. He waited by the door, keeping his hands in his pocket and firm fingers around the piece of glass, until the others came. There were five of them: the three from yesterday and two other guys that looked like twins. They had black hair and were the tallest of the group, but were fairly skinny.

With this many people going, George had doubts as to if he could get away. But he had to. They wouldn't kill him, they needed him, but even if they did it would be alright because it would mean that they couldn't get their hands on any more of the cure.

No one could get their hands on it without George. Not even if they had the vial of the cure that was already made. They could run tests to find out what the substance was made of, but it would be wrong. Because what George hadn't told anyone that the cure wouldn't work, not as it was.

It was the precaution he'd put in place; he knew deep down that his father would do what he'd always said he wanted to do. He thought back to conversation he'd overheard the day that felt so long ago: "This is the only way to avenge her. George will understand one day; this is what has to be done to be rid of zombies for good." He really was willing to do whatever it took.

George thought of it as an empty threat in the past, because killing all zombies included Wilbur, but the more he thought about it since then, the more he realized that of course he'd want Wilbur dead. Wilbur was the one who actually killed his mom, after all. But Wil was still George's best friend, he couldn't just kill him because George would never forgive him.

So, he put his own plan into action to be sure there wouldn't be any zombies left.

George knew something like this could happen, somewhere in the back of his mind, so he made sure to leave out a vital part of the cure. Without it, it wouldn't do anything. Without George, no one would be able to automatically figure out the missing component and then no one could be cured.

Call it selfishness, but George was trying to protect the one thing that guaranteed a future for civilization. Killing all zombies wasn't right: not all of them had become the monsters dramatized by movies. Even the ones outside the wall could survive somehow, and those that he was with were living, functioning proof of that.

"Hey, let's go," the ginger said to him, immediately turning and following her companions up the basement stairs.

George followed, his anxiety making his hands shake. When they made it out of the musty basement, the brunet took a deep breath. He'd forgotten what fresh air felt like on his lungs; it was so refreshing after spending twelve hours swamped in zombie stench.

No one said anything as they began to go towards the direction George was assumed would lead to Raleigh. He was right behind Donovan, who was leading the line, with everyone else somewhere in the back. They were a fair distance away, but Donovan was only a couple feet ahead. He gauged how much time he would have after stabbing the zombie to retrieve the cure and make a run for it before the others realized what was happening.

Not a lot of time, he concluded, which meant he would have to act quickly and at the perfect time. Nothing to do yet except for biding time, and trying to act as least suspicious as possible.

None of them seemed to catch on, they probably incorrectly assumed that he was scared of them. He wasn't scared at all, actually. He was contemplating. He was going over a plan in his head, trying to figure out the best strategy of how to do this. If he didn't get it perfectly, it could go south very quickly.

Donovan was slightly to his left and the vial was in the front right pocket of his jeans. So, if George was as precise as needed, he could stab him as a distraction and grab the vial and run. He was a scientist, perfection and precision was a necessary skill in his line of work. This would be a piece of cake, a walk in the park, just another job he had to get done so he could move onto the next.

His time came when one of the twins dropped the bottle of water they'd been carrying. The water went all over the blond boy, who began yelling at the man, angry about his white shoes getting even more dirty. Donovan turned back slightly to address the bickering boys, revealing his hip to George and allowing him easy access to the vial which was poking out slightly.

In the blink of an eye, he pulled the glass shard and shoved it into the side of the zombie, using the other hand to take the vial, and took off running.

He heard shouts from behind, ones of pain, surprise, and anger. Footsteps were audible from behind him, but George was a fast runner and he'd had a head start. He ran for a solid five minutes before he started to get tired.

He could hear that his pursuers were gaining on him, but he couldn't let them catch him, so he swerved into an alleyway. It threw them off a little, as they skidded past him before scurrying down the narrow passage after the brunet. His attempt didn't do much, as one of the twins was right on his heels.

Maybe he could've kept up the run for a little longer if he hadn't tripped, but he did and went flying. His arms and legs skidded across the ground, and he was sure he'd have burns all over his forearms.

As soon as he stopped sliding, he felt weight on his back as the breath was knocked out of him. One of them was sitting on him with their knees digging into the spot between his shoulder blades. His arms were pinned behind his back in a second, and he knew it was over. There was no way he could fight his way out of it, he was screwed.

"George George George," Donovan said, squatting down next to the brunet. Very little blood was dripping out of the wound in his side, causing George to curse internally. "Why did you have to run and make this harder on all of us?"

George clenched his jaw. He would've given the man the finger if not for the fact that he could not move his arms. His hands were in tight fists, one of which holding the cure. He wouldn't let it go this time, no matter what happened.

"Well, since you chose the difficult path, I suppose we're going to have to take more certain measures so that you can't attempt escape again. Darcy, can you take care of it, please?"

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the man raise his hand, but before he could bring it down, rendering George unconscious, gunshots smothered every other sound. The next thing George knew, Darcy was completely covering him, and he really couldn't breathe.

~Word count: 1,600~

A/N: i managed to make myself mad when he hallucinated dream because i found it very cute and then it wasn't real. yes, i enjoy my own writing, don't judge me.