Tyler's Point of View:
A week.
It took a damn week before the first sign of boats appeared. When someone did see a boat, mass excitement and panic ran through the group of survivors. Many of them believed the boats were saviors. The others thought it was ending. Some people actually believed that the people on the boats were coming to put an end to them all, to do a mass cleaning of the island of the U.K. Those who believed that thought it was Americans coming. Those who thought help was finally here believed that it was people from Spain or France, maybe Italy. None of them knew. All they knew was to stand on what the could and wave, praying that they weren't about to be killed.
Tyler and Troye were apart of the groups waving. Phil was trying to get all he could packed in two bags. Tyler didn't notice that there were only two filled bags, one for Tyler and one for Troye, but Phil still had his stuff.
When the boats hit the docks, the only word that could describe what happened was panic. All the people tried to rush onto the boat, but guards were trying to hold them back. Tyler couldn't make out what they were saying, but he was sure that it was in Spanish. Spain had come to help them.
The guards lined up, blocking the ways onto the boats and ordered people to line up in an orderly fashion. Tyler had to cling onto Troye. He didn't want to lose his boyfriend in the crowd of people. Twice he had to look behind him, check if Phil was there, and twice he was there. He was sure that Troye was holding onto Phil's hand.
Shouting continued, forcing the three men to separate to be checked. Tyler watched as Troye and Phil were taken to two other guards men, watching as the men took the other two off somewhere.
At first, the guard started asking Tyler questions in Spanish. When he bee realized that Tyler didn't know Spanish, he started asking questions in English with a heavy accent.
"Sir, were you bitten?"
"No."
"Have you been contaminated with blood or other liquids from the zombies?"
"No."
"Allow me to draw some blood."
"Fine."
Tyler wasn't squeamish over blood drawing, but the excitement of being healthy and taken away from this Hell was... was... exhilarating. He was so close, and so was Troye and Phil! They would be checked and given permission to board the boat. They would be given clean clothes that fit and they would get hot meals. They would be allowed a hot shower and a proper rest room. They would be in beds instead of sleeping bags on the ground. Hope and life right in their grasp.
When his blood was checked (apparently if he was sick, the blood would have turned blood after the man added some kind of clean liquid stuff), he was asked to join another guards man.
The next man asked Tyler to strip down bare. Thankfully, the Spanish men had set up a few tents so that people could be checked in peace. Well, almost peace. There were at least three guards in the tents along with a doctor of a specific gender. Thankfully, again, Tyler got a male doctor. When he was wearing nothing, the doctor asked him to raise his arms, move them in circles, squat, lean side to side, turn around, raise one foot, then the other, and so on. Tyler was really happy when he didn't grab poke at him in any ways and was happy to know he didn't have any hidden scars or marks. All the doctor said was that he was malnourished and that he would be fed soon. At least, that's what he thought the doctor said. His accent was hard to understand.
Before Tyler was allowed to leave, he was given some clothes; a pair of clean socks, clean underwear, a pair of gray swear pants, and a white tee shirt. The smell of fabric cleaner was so strong that Tyler nearly started to cry. It had been so long since he smelled clean clothes, had the smell of lavender detergent surround his whole being. Apparently the guards understood that Tyler needed a minute to take in the fact that he was in clean clothes and would soon have a stomach full of warm food. Everything was going to be okay.
