We Can Run, Or We Can Die [Frerard]

Three|Vampires Don't Even Exist

"What do you mean, it's not politically correct?"

Gerard rolled his eyes, hitching his backpack higher on his shoulders. "It's not politically correct to call them zombies."

"What are we supposed to call them then, flesh-eating monsters?"

"Call them, like, the undead or something?"

Frank laughed, kicking at what used to be a possum. "The undead? I swear that's what vampires are supposed to be."

"Vampires don't even exist." Gerard grabbed his arm, pulling him along. "And leave the fucking possum alone. It's been traumatised enough without you prodding it."

Frank whined, scuffing his shoes in the dirt as the reached the edge of a forest. "Are we -"

Gerard whirled around, stopping them in their tracks. "I swear, if you ask me if we're there yet, I'm going to decapitate you and leave your head for the possums to find."

Frank rose a cynical eyebrow. "With a spoon?"

"With your own knife." He patted the waistband of his jeans, and consequently, his gun. "And don't forget what I have in here."

"A dick?"

Gerard's fist swung and hit Frank in the face, only this time it actually knocked him out, leaving the teenager sprawled on the forest floor. He blinked, flexing his fingers, and he swallowed heavily.

"Whoops." He muttered, before bending down and throwing Frank over his shoulder in a fireman's lift.

He wasn't particularly heavy, but it wasn't as if he was feather-light either. Gerard, not being all that strong, groaned and grunted as he made his way through the forest, the unconscious teenager over his shoulder.

It was like a scene from a movie, only Gerard wasn't covered in blood and Frank wasn't a hot girl with a zombie bite (he shuddered). He wasn't rescuing the damsel in distress, and he wasn't taking them both to safety. He'd accidentally knocked Frank out and was leading them through a forest - hardly chivalrous or daring, if he was perfectly honest.

He hoped that the irritating teenager would wake soon - if he had killed him (with a punch in the face?), he'd feel more than guilty. He was terrible with dead bodies, which had been proved in the past, and Mikey had mocked him more than once for it.

It took almost an hour, but Gerard eventually reached the other end of the forest, which opened out onto a long stretch of road. Frank was still unconscious, the trickle of blood that had run from his nose dried up, and Gerard was beginning to get hungry. He continued to walk, however, following the road to the right and seeing nothing but trees and a few birds.

Truthfully, he didn't really know where he was going; he'd had a GPS but it had broke a long time ago, so for all he knew he could've been going around in circles and getting further and further away from his brother. The thought made him stop, his stomach churning, and he bit his lower lip, looking around. He didn't know where Mikey could be, and he could've been getting further and further away from him every day. He didn't even know if Mikey was alive. Seeing if Mikey was alive was the only thing he was living for.

He set Frank down on the floor, and he sat beside him. He could've used water to wake him, but he needed that water, it was getting hot, and his mouth was dry, and water was hard to come by. So he waited. Because Frank might just have some answers.

~

He looked down, and saw that he was Gerard but not quite Gerard, and he couldn't smell his own decay but others could. And someone was screaming his name but it wasn't really registering, the voice muffled as if he was underwater.