Archive of Our Own

He remembers when he picked up a gun for the first time. It was four months ago, and just at the start of all this nonsense. His fingers had shook, and the gun felt cold and heavy in his hands. A metaphor as to what it could do to anyone or anything it was aimed at. He hadn't been able to hold it straight, and his shoulders shook from the strain on trying to hold it up for so long. It was not until he was nudged in the back by Harry, that he realised how long he'd been standing there, staring at the empty beer can, as if he could just make it disappear without needing to fire the gun. The knock had frightened him into shooting, the knock back having the gun moving towards his face, luckily turning his head at the last second, and the handle smacked him straight in the jaw, before he dropped it to the floor. He'd flinched back, ears ringing from the sound. He'd shaken his head, and left to head back to his tent. He wasn't made for firing a gun, especially not when it was needed to kill. To kill people. Well, not people, more like the shells of people. Corpses which didn't seem to be able to rest, and came back in intention of eating. Gnawing on skin and organs and intestines. He remembered the first time he saw that happen, too. It was a little girl, or what was left of a little girl. Her stomach clutched between lifeless fingers, while dozens among dozens of lifeless souls came to feed; satisfy their never ending urge to eat. Tears spilled from his eyes as he vomited bile, his stomach too empty to produce anything else, the acid burning his throat and nose. He still thought about it at times, dreamt of it, and would wake in a cold sweat. 

He was pulled away from the endless thoughts to the sound of his name, and a shove to his shoulder. He blinked away the visions, looking up at Louis who was looking at him sceptically. 

“I'm going to bed, you alright to keep watch?”

He nodded, fingers ringing lacing together as he sat forward in the rusted lawn chair he'd been provided. “Yeah. Yeah, sorry. You go to bed, I'll wake you if I need you.” 

He could see the hesitation in Louis' eyes, but he had the decency to pretend it wasn't there, clearly too tired to even pretend he was willing to stay up for another hour. He could see the look of 'don't wake me up, wake someone else'. Zayn didn't blame him, though. Louis had taken the night shift for the last week, and he already looked noticeably thinner. He watched as the lad walked away, heading to the corner of the roof, before climbing down the prongs of the ladder, riffle slung over his back. 

He sighed, turning his attention back to the surroundings in front of him, casting a glance over the intersection, seeing that for now, it was all clear. The lifeless roamed, but they were not alarmed. They hadn't been sparked into hunger, simply dragging their bodies across the roads.

His hands rubbed at his eyes, pressing the heels of his palms into the sockets of his eyes, trying to push away another set of tears and tiredness that would no doubt try and take over, threatening to leave him useless. When he pulled away, he looked at his palms, the creases of his hands stained with blood and dirt, the same going for his fingernails. His nail beds were bitten raw, waking up night after night with blood flowing between his fingers, having bitten them in his sleep. He was filthy, and the smell of his clothes was enough to make him retch. But, after a while, you got used to it. Just like the way you got used to everything. Used to the people you lose along the way, no longer there. Aiden wasn't there to crack jokes anymore, while George was the one you went to when you needed to get drunk, because he always seemed to have an endless supply of beer and whiskey, chasing you away from the misery and into another dimension where the only thing you worried about was sobering up. 

He lent back in the chair, the familiar creaks almost soothing, because they were the least of his problems. They were a continuous occurrence, something he could predict would happen, unlike everything else. He willed himself to close his eyes, head pointed up to the black sky. At times like these, he missed music. Missed the feeling of the bass through his fingers, and the pounding in his ears from wearing his headphones with the music too loud. He missed the ringing in his head from the stupid concerts he went to, where they were all house bands, and the cheap, sugary drinks cost nothing more that £2 with the neon green wristbands. He took things like that for granted. He'd do anything to hear a song play for three minutes. He'd die to hear a song play for three minutes. It wouldn't be a selfish sacrifice. 

He blindly patted his pockets, allowing his eyes to slide back open and focus on the ground below him, vision locked on one of the many. He couldn't bring himself to call them 'zombies'. It just didn't seem fitting, he didn't like branding them something, it was almost disrespectful. It was stupid, but he tried to keep his morals straight. This one in particular was a woman, dressed in what could only be described as a gown, like a formal gown. The red material stood out, despite how faded and tattered it was. He wondered what she might have been doing before the attack. Perhaps she was at a dance with her boyfriend, or on a date with her husband. Maybe she was trying the dress on. You couldn't distinguish anything, anymore. But, it kept him occupied. Imagining what that person could have been doing before they were taken away from this world, left to roam around it without a thought apart from their decaying stomach needing to be fed and filled. 

He'd pulled out a cigarette without even realising, eyes falling away from the woman and down to the creased paper of the roll up. He could see, just from the presentation that he must have been thinking about something soothing, maybe his family. Because it was rolled to perfection, tobacco packed carefully and the filter and paper lining up. Maybe he was thinking about Safaa's laugh, or the way Waliyha smiled without teeth. Perhaps his mother's cooking, or Doniya's excitement for her date. Without another word, he slid it back into the packet, choosing to go for one that was less pristine and recklessly made. One with rips in the paper, and less tobacco in, the top folded down from being shoved in the pack quickly. He slid it between his lips, holding it there, the filter nudging against the front of his teeth, sliding over his tooth in a rough stroke. He slid his palms over the front of his jeans, sweat collecting between the cracks and removing some of the dirt which would only return. He held the zippo lighter in his hand, thumb brushing over the engraved ace of spades. His nose twitched, the muscle spasm causing his eyebrows to furrow, before he relaxed again. It was a reminder of before. Of his eighteenth birthday, when he'd gone into Co-Op to pick up his first, legal packet of cigarettes, and decided he needed a lighter, too. He'd told the guy to pick a random lighter, saying he didn't mind, as long as it was a zippo. He'd always, oddly, had a fascination with them. Ever since he saw his father use one to light a cigar, asking if he could play with it, only to be shot down, and told to leave the room while he had to work. He finally had one of his own, and it was one of the most bitter sweet things he's ever gotten for himself. A small act of rebellion, although he never knew why he considered it rebellious. 

He curled his fingers around the metal, his palm heating it in a few seconds. He lit his cigarette after a moment, eyes closing with the sound of the lid shutting, the click too soothing for his own liking. Even in such a screwed up time, he could find relief in the smallest of things. The toe of his boot nudged against his riffle, a sense of fear bringing him out of his state of calm, which he was thankful for. He didn't need relief, he needed to be alert. He tucked the lighter back into his pocket, hand smoothing over his jeans once again, before bending down to collect his gun, laying it across his lap. He took a deep breath of smoke, feeling it reach every part of his lungs, mixed with the foul scent of flesh and the fresh scent of air. If he didn't smoke for a while, by the time he sparked up, he'd get that light headed feeling. The feeling he got when he stole one of Doniya's cigarettes when he was fifteen, and hung out of his bedroom window to light it. He'd coughed up a storm, but smoked the whole thing, right down to the filter, which made him gag, the smoke having become more stronger, and harder to take down. He then scuffed it out on the ledge of his roof, before tucking it into the gutter and having a shower, scrubbing his fingers until they were red. 

Memories weren't a good thing to relive over and over, but he found himself venturing back, unable to stop himself before he was lost in the blue sheets of his bed, and the taste of his stale breath from sleeping in all day. Harry told him that he should focus more on the present, rather than the future or past. 'It keeps you structured', he had said, before slapping his shoulder and heading to his post across the car park. He was glad he still had Harry, because he kept him grounded. Kept him from thinking back to pigtails and brown hair, or pancakes and syrup. But, at times like these, when he didn't have Harry, he was left to do as he pleased. Harry made a good leader. He, on the other hand, didn't. He wasn't made to lead, he was made to follow. Follow instructions, and live in the life of someone who didn't mind being shoved to the back. It was fine with him, and it worked for everyone else. 

The only thing left to fill his ears after his thoughts had died down, were the sounds of groans from below. It was a brutal sound that made the hair on the back of his neck stand on end, imagining that this was there cry of help. Some part of their instincts must still be intact, because they can still see, smell and chase you, in attempt to feed. They probably don't realising they're killing you, they're just trying to do whatever their dead mind is telling them to.

How can you have instincts with a dead mind?

He chewed on the inside of his cheek, taking one, long, last drag from his roll up, before dropping it to the ground, scuffing it out with his boot. Elbow poised on the rest, he cradled his head in his hand, another endless sigh pulling past his lips. His watch read 3:12AM, which meant he had another two hours of this before he was relieved. Another two hours until they were on the move again. A new place meant new problems.

By the time it was five, Harry was squeezing his shoulder, giving him that warm smile that had him feeling slightly better about the world. 

“We're packing up the cars, I told Red you were riding shotgun so you can get a couple of hours sleep.”

He swallowed thickly, pushing himself up into position, shoulders back, before sagging a moment later. There was no point trying to pretend in front of Harry, it was pointless. 

“Thanks, mate,” he nodded, giving a smile of his own, before starting for the edge of the roof, strap of his riffle secured across his chest and back, the leather strap not one of comfort, but one of angst. He hooked his foot on the first prong of the ladder, stopping as Harry called his name to attention. 

“Anything happen at all, last night?”

He shook his head, resting his elbow on the ledge, as he looked out over the scenery once again. For the last time. “No disturbance, at all.” He pushed his fingers into the corner of his eyes, willing him to remain awake for another few minutes. “They found an animal around the back alley at around four, but that was it.” He'd had to cover his ears, because the poor wailing of the animal made his stomach clench. He needed to stop being so weak willed, and grow a backbone. He needed to be like Harry, or Louis, or John or Red. Even Gene was just fifteen as she was braver than him.

Harry's arms were folded across his chest, staring over the intersection, as well. They'd been here for just over a week, and lost two men on the journey. Sam and Morris, both brothers who had sacrificed themselves for one another. It was awful, watching Sam grin at them all, telling them he'd be right back. But, of course he wasn't. Anyone who seemed to say that didn't come back; the irony behind it made his heart ache. He wasn't cut out for this, he wasn't strong willed, and he didn't think he'd ever be. “Go and grab some breakfast,” Harry ordered, enough pain behind his hard eyes that had him wanting to let go of the ledge.

“Eat breakfast with me?” He asked, voice gentle. Harry knew he blamed himself for everything, for every loss the group had, he branded it on himself, dooming himself unfit. No one seemed to take a liking to Harry, and he didn't understand why. He was younger than the majority of the group, but his experience aged him.

He watched as his shoulders sagged slightly, before he gave him a grin, nodding his head so hard, a few curls fell in front of his eyes. It made his heart swell, because it reminded him just how young Harry was. Nineteen and the leader of a group. He'd defend Harry with his life, and he'd take down anyone who tried to take his reign. It may have been a dog eat dog world, but he wouldn't let anyone knock Harry down from his spot. Everyone seemed to think they could do a better job, their pride heavy. It wasn't anything personal to Harry, it would stand the same for anyone who seemed to be at the highest notch. Harry was responsible, and smart. He might not sacrifice himself for anyone in the group, but he'd sure put up a hell of a fight to save them.

“What have we got?” He asked, already knowing the answer.

“Beans and rice,” the younger lad responded, throwing his leg over the ledge as Zayn started to climb down, giving him space to move his long legs.

Beans and rice were ideal for times like this, they were filling enough to satisfy you, and gave you enough protein and carbohydrates that didn't have you looking for more than one serving. But, if they ever got out of this - which he doubted - he'd never eat beans and rice again. 

How could they get out of this, anyway? He didn't know anything about any other countries, if it had even spread as far past England. He hoped it hadn't, and it was just the U.K that had been detained, not allowing anyone else in and out. Maybe they'd just nuke the U.K all together, and eliminate every possible threat. Maybe they'd send in a rescue squad from another country to scout for survivors, but he doubted that. He really, really doubted that. He'd come to terms with death, and he knew that if it so happened to be him that had been infected, he'd shoot himself in the head; he didn't want to infect anyone else, or spend the rest of his endless life to roam the streets, looking to feast on the innocent. He wouldn't wish that on his worst enemy. Speaking of, he wondered how Blake was doing? Maybe he'd be dead, maybe not. He hoped not, because as much of a self righteous fuck that he was, he had a family and a little sister the same age as Safaa. He grunted as he reached the bottom step, because Harry was here, and he wouldn't let his mind wonder to the past. 

He looked at the fence protecting them from the infected, taking a few steps back to give Harry some space, before he was nudged under his arm, and pulled towards their camp site. He hadn't realised how much his legs hurt until about four strides in. Sitting still for seven hours tended to do that to a person. 

“Did I miss anything last night?” He asked as they climbed over another set of steps and up into one of the abandoned buildings, which still had an operating fridge. It was a butcher, so the smell was completely rancid and had him covering his nose with his shirt as they walked through the back; but it kept their food preserved, so he couldn't complain too much.

Harry shook his head, dropping his hand to Zayn's back, and pushing him through first. “There was a fight about a can of Red Bull between Gene and Logan, but other than that, it was a pretty quiet night. Caleb watched across the lot from you, but I found himself asleep up there about half an hour ago. I've let him off, but he has to drive now.”

Zayn laughed, quiet but sincere. It was oddly comforting to hear about how such petty things mattered, it kept a part of reality locked to his chest. Assured him that there were still hope for people, and they weren't all killers looking to survive. Although, he knew one day, that if this didn't get any better, it would be bound to happen. It was inevitable.

At six on the dot, they were all piling out of the back of the butchers, five cars following after each other, in a line. The motorways tended to be empty, which he was thankful for, because the idea of being swarmed while in a car made his body tense up. His eyes instantly fell shut as soon as he heard the purr of the engine, head leant against the glass, fingers wrapped tightly around his gun in case he was in need of using it. He prayed to God he didn't, because he just wanted at least two poxy hours of sleep. 

But.

Of course not. Of course he wouldn't be able to sleep without running into some sort of trouble. The sharp snap of the brakes woke him up, body all but flying into the dashboard, considering the seatbelts had been cut out last week to stop the bleeding in Stan's leg after receiving a gun shot to the shin. He turned, looking at Gene, Logan and Susan, the small family who had been placed in the car with him and Red. 

“You all alright?” He asked, looking between all three of them to see that Logan and Gene were both dazed, their mother's arms locked around them to stop the impact from hitting the seats ahead of them. 

Susan nodded, giving him a small smile. “We're fine. Thank you, Zayn.” 

He gave her a reassuring smile, although he didn't know what was happening, eyes falling on Red, who's hair was pulled back into a tight pony tail, eyes narrowed through her glasses. 

“Scout the area, Malik.”

He nodded without a word, quietly opening his car door, leaving it open just in case they needed to make a quick escape. He pulled his gun out of the front of his jeans, the black, ripped ones that Harry had traded him in favour of his blue ones. He crouched slightly, hearing Harry's voice ahead of them, followed by another that he couldn't identify. Sounds like they'd run into other survivors, but maybe these survivors were scavengers. He ducked down in front of the car, having the worst vantage point, but the most safety due to their position at the back. He leant his back against the boot of John's car, eyes flicking back to the three in the back of the worn Ford he just stepped out of it. He gestured with one hand for them to stay down, before trying for a smile, because there was nothing worse than seeing the panic in a family's eyes.

Zayn watched Red holster her gun, waving to him to stay down behind her back, obviously going to see what the problem was. If anyone had backbone, it was Red. Woman may have been in her forties, but she was the best shot they had, and didn't take shit from anyone. She was Harry's right hand woman, and he knew she shared his feelings towards keeping Harry at the top. He didn't know why, though. Maybe she saw the greatness in him, that he did. But, they had a silent agreement to keep their leader safe at all times, and this was one of those times. He slowly began to move around the cars, seeing that everyone in the back remained in the back. Stan gave him a stern look as he passed, giving him a tight nod, before he continued. When he was close enough, back pressed against Louis' BMW, which he wouldn't let anyone else touch, and he wouldn't let them strip it for parts when he'd stolen it from the garage they'd crashed at in the beginning. It was his pride and joy. Louis wasn't in the car, but Eleanor was. She looked at him from her corner of her eye, but didn't turn her head, because that might have drawn attention. He only had the shelter of Harry's car ahead now, and if he made himself too noticeable, he'd be fucked. 

He took a deep breath, moving backwards around the car, hiding behind another car which had been pushed to the side, before silently hopping over the metal grate which separated one side of the motorway to the next. His jeans snagged at the knee, a spiked edge digging into his knee. His fingers shook, but knew this wasn't the time to panic. If they were in fact scavengers, they were really fucked. They couldn't afford to lose anymore food, or medicine. Supplies were dire, and with such a big group, they were vital. He pushed his sleeves up to his elbows, tattoos bouncing out to him, giving him a slither of his past life back to him. There were a few infected walking along the side of the road, but none seemingly interested in the conversation going on up ahead. He quietly passed them, keeping his body pressed to the back of the truck he was crouched behind. 

“I'm afraid we can't do that. We have more people, we need the resources.”

Harry.

Then a laugh, a warm sound that sounded tired. But, held something harsh. Sinister and reckless, and he knew immediately they were in trouble.

“Ya seem pretty calm considering you've got a gun pointed to ya head.”

It'd been a long time since he'd heard a foreign accent, but that was one, no doubt. Not foreign so much as different. He couldn't distinguish it for a moment, but then it was made apparent that it was Irish, thinking back to the time they had an Irish transfer in his school. Sometimes thinking back helped. But, he didn't know how figuring out an accent would help them here. He moved around the bed of the truck, heart racing because he was right next to the scavengers; the people that intended on killing to get what they wanted. He turned his head slightly, looking under the bed of the truck to see a pile of guns on the floor, kicked towards the other people, rather than their group. He had to be careful here, because if he was seen, they'd no doubt kill him, without hesitation. He crept towards the next car, footsteps muted. He seemed to catch Harry's eye, though. The younger lad barely looked at him for a second, as if his eyes were just fleeting. He took that for his signal, moving further around the road until he was able to creep around to the few cars that the other group seemed to have. The first two were empty, and the people in the back didn't seem to notice him. He pursued forward, seeing this as their weakest advantage point. 

Their formation was weak, he could pick the flaws in it from a mile away. The group were curving away from the Irish one who was still addressing Harry, their bodies angled towards his own group in front of them. Which was made up of more people, but those people had been stripped of their weapons.

“I'm gonna be needin' your cars, too.”

Zayn knew if he hesitated another moment, it could be too late. He raised his gun, taking a deep breath as he cocked it in place, immediately shooting at the tall lad who turned on him, gun aimed for his foot. The sound of his scream had the others raising their guns to him, instantly feeling guilt swell in his stomach. The sounds of the lad's sobs felt like they were tearing a hole into his chest, teeth gritting. He pressed forward, pressing the hot barrel of his gun against the blonde with his back turned from him, watching as his arms came up in surrender, a laugh pulling from his lips.

Why was he laughing? How could he laugh at a time like this. 

He frowned, finger pressed against the trigger. “Put your guns down,” he ordered, forcing the shake from his voice. After another second, he looked around the group, seeing that there were about three guns aimed towards him. He felt hysteria building in his throat, muscles taut. He pulled his shoulders back, squaring them off before pressing the barrel harder against the back of the clear leader's head. “I said put your guns down.” His voice was still quiet, but it was enough for the others to do as he said, placing their guns down. Even the lad in front of him complied, his shotgun clattering to the floor. 

His view was blocked ahead of him from the blonde, but he could see from the gaps in his raised arms, that everyone was collecting their guns. His eyes darted to the way the blonde's muscles rolled in his shoulders, and the first thing he could think of was how big his shoulders were. Wide and broad. He could practically see the power under his skin, knowing if he fucked up, some serious damage could be done to him, even without a gun. 

He prayed the group would hurry up and take the rest of the guns, because his arm was beginning to shake, his teeth squeaking from the power of his jaw. When Harry nodded to him, large hand squeezing his shoulder, he took a step back, gun still trained on the blonde's head. He didn't feel him shake when he had the barrel pressed to his skull, and he looked just as at ease when he stepped back. He remained a few feet back while Louis pointed his gun at the other survivors, while everyone else gathered the remaining group behind them, just in case they had any guns. Once they were all collected and in the middle, one girl crouched over the lad he'd shot in the foot, he was pulled back into a huddle of bodies, taking his place at the far right at the back, arm lowered as his shoulders sagged. 

“We would have let you on your way, but you brought it to this.” Harry sounded furious, but in that quiet way that was more intimidating then when he was yelling. At least when he was yelling, all of his aggression came out there, but when he was quiet and calculated, you didn't know what to expect. 

The blonde finally turned around, arms lowering down to his sides, expression half way between a smirk and a grimace. “You're gonna kill all of us?” He asked. 

Harry shook his head, “Just leave you without resources or weapons. And, cars.” 

That seemed to knock the cocky under tone from the Irish man's face, shoulders rolling once again. His eyes slid along the group of them, before finally settling on him, eyebrow raised, his head cocking to the side as the way you would if you were encountering a scared animal. 

Zayn instantly frowned, dropping his eyes. The loss of eye contact meant submission, but he didn't care. He didn't want to fight, and he felt awful enough for shooting the man in the foot, who was struggling to stand.

The blonde laughed, a throaty sound that made his stomach clench. He must be crazy, he had to be.

“I'm sure we can come to some sort of arrangement, here.”

“You didn't seem to be in the negotiating mood a moment ago when you were trying to take our resources. Why should I show you any sympathy?”

“We 'ave children.”

Harry laughed, riffle still raised. “No, we have children. You have teenagers.” 

Zayn willed his eyes to look up, staring directly across from him, rather than at anyone in particular. His palms were sweaty, and the gun felt heavy in his hands again. He knew it was a necessity to stay alive, but he hated how his hand moulded around the cold metal. He didn't put the guard back on, though. Because, that could be seen as weak, and this group might use that.

God, he needed a cigarette. 

His eyes found the man he shot, seeing the panic on the girl's face, clearly his girlfriend. He swallowed, surprised that no one else seemed to care. Maybe it was that type of group. But he had raised a gun to him, and he had no doubt that he would have shot him. The man seemed to be trying to sooth his girlfriend, who had noticeable tears down his face. Without a word, he handed his gun to Louis and started across the space between them, heading for the lad who stumbled back down to the ground, taking the girl with him. 

A hand reached out for him, but he immediately shrugged it off, before his forearm was grabbed in a vice grip, turning his head to look up at Harry who was giving him half a look of anger, and half of look of confusion. 

“What do you think you're doing?” He spat, fingers pressing into his arm. 

Zayn frowned, pulling his arm away. “If we're going to leave them, I can't let him go knowing it's my fault that he doesn't make it.”

He wasn't dumb, he was far from that. There was a reason he didn't take his gun, in case they'd use it against him. He gave a look to Harry, before starting back towards the fallen male. He unbuckled his belt, tugging it out of the loops, before crouching down. He offered a small smile to the woman who was staring at him in complete fear, clearly scared he'd hurt her boyfriend. 

“I just want to look at his foot,” he said softly, before turning his eyes to the lad, who was half frowning, and half panicked. “I won't if you don't want me to.” He promised, waiting for a nod before moving. When he received that nod, he pulled off the brown, scuffled boot he'd ruined and peeled back the lad's sock. “Mind if I ask your name?” He asked quietly, looking at the bullet wound, guilt pooling in his stomach.

“Liam,” the lad panted, sweat collecting on his forehead. 

He nodded, before wrapping his belt around Liam's ankle and pulling it tight, trying to ignore the desperate and panicked sounds leaving the fallen lad's mouth. 

“What's your name?” He asked the girl, moving to sit on his ankle so he could work more comfortably.

“Sophia,” she whispered, hand tight around Liam's. 

“Do you happen to have a knife, Sophia? Any alcohol?”

She nodded, standing and hurrying towards one of the cars. Red raised her gun to her, before Harry nudged her in the side, telling her to follow, just in case. He sighed, moving to sit down on the side with Liam.

“I'm sorry for shooting you,” he said after a moment, trying to block out the sound of Harry talking with the other group.

Liam nodded, giving a weak wave of his hand. “It was bound to happen.” He forced a laugh, and it instantly made the guilt in his stomach grow. 

“You'll be alright, I promise.”

“Are you a doctor, then?” 

He laughed, before shaking his head. “No, I just read a lot.” 

“Well, that's comforting.”

Zayn shrugged, scratching the side of his arm. “Well, it's either me, or lose your foot.”

Sophia came back with what looked like a pocket knife and a small bottle of shop brand vodka, half drunken. She gave it to him so blindly, that he felt his gut twist at how naïve she was. She was putting all of her trust in him, because he said he could help her boyfriend. But, then again, he could be the naïve one, trusting that she wouldn't stab him straight in the throat. He could even see the twinge of disappointment in Liam's face, but he gave him a pat on the other leg, assuring him. He pulled out his lighter, sterilizing the tip of it.

“This will hurt, Liam. I'm sorry,” he said, tone apologetic.

Liam nodded, taking a deep breath, hand closing around the pole beside him, one that showed that they were well on their way to heading towards the M25. He clearly didn't want to hold Sophia's hand in fear of hurting her, but she was persistent, taking his other hand in both of her much smaller ones. He leant forward, eyeing the bullet wound more carefully, before pushing the tip of the knife into Liam's foot, listening to his groan of pain. He couldn't imagine the agony, but if he thought about it, he'd back out, and he couldn't do that. He dug the knife in, his own teeth gritted as he felt the bullet lodged down beside the fleshiest part of Liam's foot. He took a deep breath, before wiggling the end of his knife to dislodge the bullet, having to drag it upwards, rather than push it downwards. Liam screamed around his gritted teeth, and his stomach turned, but he forced himself to keep going. He finally pulled it out, the bullet falling to the ground with a clack of metal. Without giving the lad time to recover, he opened the vodka bottle. He wiped his foot down with his sock, before slowly pouring the white spirit over the gushing injury. He set everything aside, before pulling off his over shirt and ripping off sleeve, and tying it around the bullet wound, making sure not to tie it too hard, but enough that would stop it from getting flesh rot.

He released a shaky breath, watching Liam collapse down onto his back, grunting loudly. He pat the lad on his knee, before smiling at Sophia. “Do you have any bandages?” He asked, when she nodded. “Good. You should keep checking it every once in a while. If the bleeding doesn't stop, keep the belt wrapped around his ankle and leave it for fifteen minutes, before taking it off and letting it breathe for five minutes. Keep it as clean as you can, using the vodka and make sure to redress it every time it needs to be changed, alright? Stop it from getting infected.” He stood, taking Liam's hand and pulling him up into a sitting position. “Sorry again, friend.” 

Liam nodded, licking his pale lips. “Thank you.” 

Zayn smiled at the pair, leaving his shirt between the two of them, walking back to his previous spot beside Louis, listening in on their conversation. He looked at his hands, seeing the blood that would no doubt dry into the creases of his hands. 

“You need to stop feeling so guilty, Zayn. It'll get you killed.” 

He shrugged, taking his gun once again, slipping it into the back of his jeans. He forced himself not to look at Liam and Sophia again, instead focusing on Harry talking to the blonde, clearly trying to bargain.

“We have a lot of ammo,” the blonde said, hands now shoved into his pockets.

Harry nodded, lowering his gun to his side. “Any funny business, and I swear to God, I'll shoot you right between the fucking eyes.”

Blondie nodded, rocking back on his heels. 

Harry paused for a fraction of a second, before he was nodding to the rest of the group, splitting them all up. 

Zayn raised his eyebrows, turning to look at Louis. “What's going on?”

Louis pocketed his gun, starting back for his own car. “We're merging groups.” 

He didn't say anything, just nodded. He trusted Harry's judgement. His name hadn't been called, so he assumed he was to go back with Red. He walked forward, only to be stopped, the blonde's body halting in front of him. He instantly tensed up, muscles going rigid. 

“What's ya name?” He asked, not moving back, forcing Zayn to take the step back. Would he feel the need to kill him now? Kill the guy who held a loaded gun to the back of his head. 

He didn't answer, throat thick and closing in as he tried to swallow. 

The blonde held out his hand, offering him a smirk. “Niall.” 

He looked at the pale, thick hand, hesitating for a moment before slowly extending his own, taking the lad's hand. “Zayn.” 

Niall shook his hand, and he could definitely feel the power there, it almost rattled his teeth.

Harry stepped up beside them, looking between their hands before his eyes flicked up to Niall's face. “Everything good, Zayn?”

He nodded, hand still clamped between long, ashen fingers.

Niall gave him a smile, all teeth, which could have been seen as a snarl. “Just gettin' to know the newbies.” 

Harry's eyes narrowed, before pulling him away from the blonde. “Let's get on the road.”

He looked up at Harry as they walked, already wincing at the 'telling off' he was bound to get, but instead he received a smile. 

“You did a good job, mate.”

He blinked, eyebrows raised in surprise. “Really?” After another nod, he turned his attention back to the other group, which were getting into their cars, while some followed after him and Harry, including Liam and Sophia. “You think this is a good idea?” He asked quietly, leaning closer for the younger lad's benefit.

Harry nodded, squeezing his shoulder before stopping at the front car. “This'll be a good alliance, trust me.” And, of course he did. “So, I need you to drive my car.” 

He pursed his lips for a moment, looking at the muscle car, which frankly scared the shit out of him. “Sorry, what was that?” He questioned, eyes turning back up to Harry. 

The lad laughed, clapping Zayn on the back. “I trust you to keep it in one piece. I need to drive our new friends, make sure they don't try any funny business.” He was already walking away, and he knew that was final. 

He dug his teeth into his bottom lip, looking at the empty car. He looked back up at Harry, spotting his eyes flickering between the other three, before they were pointed back ahead of him. Looks like he had the task of making sure Liam, Sophia and another bloke got there in one piece.

“What's your name?” He asked to the stranger. He was short, but had wide arms and broad shoulders, like a rugby player. 

The guy raised his eyebrows, before giving him a tight smile. “Josh.”

He opened the driver's door, climbing in with a nod. “Nice to meet you, man. I'm Zayn, and I apologise in advance, because I don't have a license.”

He was completely exhausted by the time they'd driven across the fields, taking a short cut which led them up a steep hill, the eight of their cars surprisingly managing to hold their own. They parked up by the side of a bank, tucked behind a group of trees. Harry always aimed for the highest point, because when you had an advantage point, you had to use it to the best of your abilities. He hoped he didn't get put on watch tonight, because it must have been over twenty-four hours since he'd actually slept properly. The half an hour in the car had been useless. He'd gotten the other three there in one piece, which was lucky. He was pretty sure that he was a better driver when he was half asleep. He used to be better at working when he was sleep deprived, so it would make sense if the same stood. 

He climbed out of the car, telling Liam to stay here until they'd set up camp, there was no point on him putting pressure on his foot if he didn't need to. Once again, guilt chewed at his insides. If Liam died, it would be his fault. 

Zayn pushed his fingers through his hair, eyes already beginning to droop. He wiped the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand, glad to be rid of the shirt he'd torn up for Liam's foot. He immediately pulled out his roll ups and lighter, knowing the rules. He wasn't aloud to smoke in Harry's car. Even though he could die at any moment, he was determined to keep his car smoke free. He rolled his eyes at the thought, but he respected the rule, moving a few yards away so it didn't taint the smell of the interior. He didn't leave the keys in the car, though. He wasn't an idiot. He sat down on the edge of the bank, overlooking the field. It was clear, which was understandable. The infected wouldn't be here, because there would be no one here in the first place. Unless they travelled across here, but they were far away from population. He turned his head when another body sat down beside him, seeing the blonde, Niall, also overlooking the field. 

He offered him a cigarette, to which he shook his head to, arms folding over his bent knees. He stared at him for a moment, the light catching the side of his face, highlighting the stubble along his jaw, growing out from his sideburns. They didn't say anything for a little while, and a part of him wondered what Niall was doing. Was he going to take his gun and shoot him? Revenge was something people thrived on now. But, he didn't, much to his surprise, just kept his head turned towards the field.

“Tanks for not shootin' me in the 'ead.” 

Zayn blinked, head turning back to the field. “You're welcome.” He took a drag from his roll up, flicking the ash to the grass. “Sorry for putting a gun to your head.”

He was surprised to hear that he got a laugh, eyes flicking back to Niall who had his head thrown back slightly, the smooth column of his neck on display, before he rocked back forward, turning his head so their eyes met. 

“Can't say I've 'eard that one before.”

Zayn watched him closely for a moment, looking over the way his dark eyes stayed focus, thick eyebrows lowered over his eyes a fraction, jaw prematurely clenched. “I don't think people who point a gun at you have the time to apologise.” 

Niall blinked at him, swallowing, and he couldn't help but watch his Adam's apple slowly rise and drop. “What makes you different, then?” He asked, leaning forward a few inches.

His toes curled in his boots, heat burning under the collar of his shirt, the hair on his arms standing at the rush of goose bumps. “I'm a good shot?” He asked, hearing the tremor in his voice.

The blonde raised an eyebrow, before laughing once again, deep and rough. “How would I know tha'? For all I know, ya meant to aim for Liam's 'ead and got his foot instead.” 

“But, why would I help him, if that were the case?”

Niall pursed his lips, before smoothing them over with his tongue. “Got me there. Why did ya help him?”

Zayn took another drag from his cigarette without taking his eyes off Niall, before throwing it away from him, ember hitting his nail. He found it oddly hard to focus on smoking with this man next to him. He released the breath slowly, brow furrowed. “Why didn't you?”

A shrug. “I'm not as nice.” 

“He's your friend.” 

Niall shook his head, another laugh pulling past his lips. “I don't have friends.”

“Then, why are you bothering to talk to me?” 

“Why d'ya ask so many questions?”

“Why do you?”

Another laugh, and his lips pulled up slightly, a curl of a smile. “Point taken,” the blonde tacked on, sliding his palms over the front of his shorts. 

It got cold at night, and he shivered at the thought of sleeping without his legs covered. “Are you not cold?” He asked, eyebrows raised. 

“There ya go with the questions, again.” Niall smirked, still looking at him.

He dropped his eyes down to his lap, the smile growing an inch. “Sorry.”

Zayn didn't know how many days had gone by, but him and Niall were on watch, sat on top of the hill, while the others slept around the bank. They've gotten on well, much to Harry's discomfort. Telling him that he shouldn't put that much trust into Niall; he was unhinged. He had frowned at the younger lad, but Harry seemed so absorbed in Liam that he hadn't really noticed. It wasn't hard to see what was happening. After asking Liam, he found out that Sophia wasn't in fact his girlfriend, but just a friend from back home. He reported that back to Harry, who gave him a nod, but by the hint of dimples, he knew he was pleased. Harry still remained a great leader despite everything, but, he couldn't really say their leader anymore, because there was Niall, too. Him and Harry butted head's a lot, which occasionally ended in blood smeared under noses and the bruising of a cheekbone.

He was currently watching Niall tongue at the split on his lip, shotgun secured between his hands, a frown on his face. His eyelids drooped, and Zayn could tell he was exhausted.

“You can go to bed if you want? I'm pretty sure I've got it covered for the night.” 

Niall's head turned to him, eyebrow cocked up. “Ya trying to get rid of me?” 

He shook his own, because he definitely wouldn't do that. And, maybe he shook his head a little too hard, because Niall's lips were twitching towards a smirk. 

“Just thought you might be tired. You did a lot of trekking.” 

Niall, John, Josh and Stan had all gone out hunting, taking knives and axes, guns holstered, in case it drew attention to them. To both the infected, and other people. They hadn't returned with much: a couple of rabbits and a small deer. To say Red had a field day skinning them all was an understatement; he'd had to walk away, finding it all too disturbing. Which was a strange thing to feel in an apocalypse. It kept him grounded, though. To know that he wasn't that different. 

Blue eyes narrowed on him, before he was shifting further in his direction. “You're so strange, ya know tha'?”

He pursed his lips, fingers linking together as he swallowed. “You're strange, too.”

Niall laughed, a deep and quiet little noise in the back of his throat, tongue sliding over his bottom lip once again. “People seem to tink' that I've gone crazy. Got a screw loose.” 

Zayn stretched his fingers, pushing them upwards to create a skin tight arch, eyes locking on the creases of his hands. “Why?” 

Another laugh, a less humorous one, and more sinister; like on the motorway. “'Cause I'm really good at killin' zombies.”

Niall wasn't wrong when he said he was really good. He was amazing at it. He should have felt that jolt of disgust in his stomach, but he only found himself to be entranced. A few of the infected had entered through the field, and the blonde had been quick on his feet to strike, Josh and Louis in pursuit. It was nerve wrecking, to watch the three of them volunteer, Eleanor clutching at one of his arms as they watched them head down the bank and towards the more secluded area of trees. His eyes were drawn to the golf club that Niall had pulled out from the back of his truck, whistling a tune as he examined each. His face had burned slightly as he'd been shot a wink, before the blonde had slung it over his shoulder. It was almost frightening how easily the infected went down after a blow to the head from Niall's club, hearing the deafening crack of skull across from the bank. Others stood by, in case help was needed, but between the three of them, it wasn't long before they were back up, blood covering their faces and hands, dark with age. He instantly started for Niall, reaching out for his wrist.

“You okay?” He asked, looking over him, reaching up with his other hand to wipe the smear of blood from his temple.

Niall smiled at him, a smile that actually warmed his face as he remained still, allowing him to try and remove the foul smelling blood. The smile didn't last long before it was a smirk, his eyebrows lowered to cover his eyes again. “Told ya I was good.”

Zayn wasn't as graceful when it came to killing the infected, his hands and shoulders shook from the urge to stop crying. He almost wished that he'd break, break and turn into everyone else. Realising that this was essential to stay alive. But, all he could think about was that this person had a family, a job, had dreams, a relationship, goals and fears. And, he had the power to end it all. He sniffed, foot pressed against the man's throat, his lifeless fingers clawing at his jeans, trying to grab onto something. He pressed his foot down harder, pulling the cricket bat over his shoulder, before swinging it back around, the flat side of the bat connecting with the hollow, breakable bone of the man's skull. Blood sprayed up towards him, coating his face, neck and the front of his chest. He didn't enjoy this. He heard – rather than saw – the man's body fall limp beneath him, the bony fingers no longer clasping his ankles or shin, but laid out on the floor. 

He stumbled back, face empty. How was he still alive? How was he still so weak? He raised the back of his hand, swiping the congealed blood from his lips. He looked at the bat in his arms, seeing the splintered wood. It was old, something he'd found in his shed back home when they'd first left. When he'd first left. How many people had he killed with this thing? It was his Dad's, and he could still see the faint initials of Y.M scratched into the top of the handle.

He spun quickly at the sound of footsteps behind him, eyes meeting Niall's. He had three bags of crisps shoved under his arm, a six pack of beer in his hand, his metal baseball bat secured in the other. He didn't look cocky, or smug, or even proud. He looked like he understood, and it made his heart wrench in his chest. How did Niall understand? The guy got a kick out of killing the undead, but here. Here he really looked like he got it. 

The blonde raised his arm, the one with the bat and Zayn slowly twisted, walking to him and sliding under the crook of his arm. 

“I don't like doing it,” he mumbled after a moment, as they started out of the shop, eyes on his shoes, covered in crusted blood.

The tip of the bat bumped into the side of his thigh, and that's all the response he needed. He allowed himself to be willingly led out of the now ransacked store and back towards one of the cars. He slid in first, Niall nudging him into the back seat. He propped his bat up against the car door, not wanting to hold the weight of it in his hand. Niall climbed in beside him after putting the food into the boot with the others, his arm wrapping around his shoulders. He leaned into the side of his body, pinching the front of his shirt to wipe the drying blood from his skin. All he could see was the man's name tag, which read Winston, the letters scratched off from age, but still clear.

He looked down the barrel of his gun, his fingers shaking once again. He wasn't good at target practice, and he'd already wasted a clip on nothing but air. When he felt a hand on his stomach, he flinched, but didn't lose his nerve, his gun still pointed straight. 

“Relax,” that familiar voice breathed against the shell of his ear, feeling Niall's strong chin nudge against the skin on his neck. His body was pulled back against his chest, feeling the dangerous muscles under his thin shirt. “Stand straight, shoulders back.” He did, shoulders squaring off as tried to focus on the trembling in his hand. “Good. Take a deep breath, and as ya exhale, squeeze the trigger.” He took a slow breath, nodding, half expecting the hand to fall from his stomach. But it didn't, it remained splayed across him, holding him in position. “In,” Niall instructed, and he complied, eyes closing as he took a deep breath, all the way from where the large hand started from, eyes slowly opening as he released, squeezing the trigger a little. His eyes widened slightly as his bullet went straight through the can, knocking it to the concrete with a dull thud, before it rolled. His shoulders relaxed, a smile fitting onto his lips as he lowered the gun. “See? Tha' wasn't so bad, was it?”

He shook his head, turning to face the younger lad. Niall was only twenty, just a few months older than Harry. Both too young to lead, but where great leaders. “No,” he answered softly, heart picking up slightly as he realised how close they were; sharing breaths with every inhale and exhale.

Niall's hand slid down to his hip, surprised that he hadn't stepped back. He couldn't prevent his eyes from flicking down to his lips, watching the slack lips turn up into a fraction of a smirk, making his heart race, forcing his eyes back up to Niall's.

“You wanna kiss me,” he said matter of factly, thick, rough fingers sliding beneath the fabric of his shirt, brushing along his hip. 

He couldn't lose his nerve now, but it was hard when his lips were inches from Niall's. He had an inch or two on the younger lad, but Niall was wider. Shoulders thick, arms wide. He swallowed, but nodded; a timid movement of his head. He looked over the bruise under Niall's eye, a blossom of purple and blue, spreading over his cheekbone and under the socket of his eye. He'd gotten into a fight with Louis, which ended with the blade of the blonde's knife against Louis' throat, daring him to make another move. 

Niall pressed his knuckles against his hip, calloused from fighting. He wet his lips, and Zayn found his eyes following the motion, watching as those lips moved closer to his own, until his eyes fluttered shut, feeling the soft pressure against his mouth. He'd never kissed another bloke before, but up until a few months ago, he'd never killed a person, or held a gun, or ran until his legs were numb. But, he'd thought about kissing Niall. Kissing the grin from his face when he fought with Harry and had the younger lad walking away, or kissing the scowl from his face when he was put in charge of watch for the night.

He leaned into the kiss, his free hand wrapping around the crook of Niall's arm, thumb pressing into the crease in front of his elbow, feeling his pulse race under his thumb. This felt dangerous, kissing him. He could taste the manic hint of his personality on his lips, the eagerness to fight, the power behind each swing of his bat, or how he made a table leg lethal. He remembered how Niall had offered to put John out after everyone thought he'd been bitten. He hadn't in the end, he'd got his leg snagged on a bundle of barbed wire. Even after that, Niall was willing to shoot him just for starting up a fuss. He knew the blonde wouldn't hesitate to kill anyone. Dead or not.

Niall's other hand came up to wrap around the nape of his neck, rough fingers pressing into the skin, holding him in place as he pressed closer, Zayn's body curving backwards while Niall's curved inwards; forwards. It was over before it had started, and Zayn found himself chasing the blonde's lips as he pulled away, eyes slowly opening to witness the smirk playing on Niall's darker lips, damp with saliva, despite the kiss remaining closed lipped. 

He found himself trying to catch his breath, unable to even remember the last time he'd kissed someone, let alone been kissed. All too soon, Niall's hands were dropping from his body, walking backwards away from him, shooting him a wink before he was pacing across the car park, hands shoved into those shorts he insisted on wearing all the time, despite the freezing weather. 

Zayn was left to blink in astonishment, fingers reaching up to touch his lips as everyone did in those sickly romantic novels that his mother used to have piled beside her bed and along the wall. He dropped his hand, teeth pressing into the skin of his bottom lip.

How did Niall live so recklessly? He watched him from across the room they'd found, an old shoe store at the corner of a high street, boarded up and barricaded. Someone had been here before them, but they'd obviously moved out. He was sat on one of the upturned shelves, listening to Liam ask him 'subtle' questions about Harry. His eyes were focused on Niall, though. Watching him scratch his temple with the barrel of his gun, confusion on his face as he watched Red talk. The pair seemed to share a love of killing the infected, and golf, much to his surprise. Maybe that was why Niall's arms were so strong, because he played golf in his spare time. 

Niall had told him that he used to work at his Dad's car dealership back in Ireland, working at the front of the shop, selling to customers. He tried to imagine it, Niall dressed smartly, approaching people with a friendly smile, comparing gas mileage and horse power. He didn't look like he had the patience for that. But, then again, he didn't know that side of Niall. He knew this side of Niall. Surviving Niall. The one who lived on the edge, toyed with danger at his own free will. Last week he'd gone after an infected with nothing but a switch blade, that he hadn't even used. Instead, he used his feet; crushing skulls with the heel of his shoe, white trainers turning brown and black with dead blood. Which he complained about, because they were his old running shoes. Zayn had helped salvage them, carefully washing them with one of the nail brushes that they had for washing plates. 

He watched him, watching the way the fire had his face glowing, shadows cast across the natural contours of his face. When Niall's eyes flicked up without warning, looking up from the fire to him - like he knew that he was staring - his breath hitched; catching in his throat. He watched the edge of the pink lips twitch at one side, gazing at him through his eyelashes. He looked threatening from this angle: head tilted down, eyes up and the soft glow of fire on his face. He blinked in surprise, only turning away at the nudge to his ribs, gazing across to Liam, who had obviously asked him something, his eyebrows raised, waiting for an answer.

His eyebrows furrowed, an apologetic laugh falling from his lips as he twisted his body to give the lad his full attention. “Sorry, bro. Could you repeat that, I wasn't paying attention.”

“I said do you think Harry would be interested?” He couldn't stop his head turning back to Niall, who was now talking to Red again, completely animated, as if their little exchange of eye contact was just a figment of his imagination. He wondered for a second if it was. “Zayn.” 

He paused, turning back to look at Liam. “Interested in what?”

Liam frowned, pushing his fingers through his hair as he sighed, obviously trying to build his nerve. “In me.”

“Oh,” he answered, giving him a genuine smile. He nodded, patting Liam's knee. “I know he is.”

The younger lad raised a thick eyebrow, rubbing his palms over the front of his worn jeans, Adam's apple bobbing. “How?”

“Because I know Harry.” 

He knew if he told Liam that Harry was interested or half of the stuff he'd said about Liam in his 'tight jeans', or asked him 'how did he manage to get his hair like that?' He knew he'd receive a bullet between the eyes.

Liam seemed to consider this, chewing at his cuticle, before nodding. The concentration fell from his face, eyes becoming lidded as he pushed himself up into a stand. “I'm off to bed. Night, mate.” He slapped Zayn on the shoulder, giving a tight squeeze before starting for his and Sophia's corner of the room.

Zayn watched him limp away, a permanent part of his stride now. He'd feel guilty, but Harry had mentioned how 'sexy' it was, and he couldn't bring himself to correct the younger lad, in fear of starting up a debate. It didn't affect Liam's ability to run, though. He was still the fastest runner of the group, and he'd found out from Harry – of course – that Liam used to run relay at his middle school.

So naïve, the pair of them. But, it was refreshing to see that things like that could still happen. Bringing people together.

His eyes coincidentally looked up back in Niall's direction, watching him load bullets into his pistol as if it were second nature. He was beautiful in a strange, ominous way. His blonde hair – more brown than blonde – held something comforting. He was bright, had a bright upbringing, it was clear. But, he was dark and sinister. His personality radiated danger and menace. 

Niall was feral. 

After a few minutes of watching Niall continue to talk to Red and clean and organise his weapons, he found himself growing tired. Oddly soothed by how easily the blonde's fingers and hands worked, his own eyelids gradually becoming more heavy. He rubbed his hand over the side of his face, finally pushing himself up onto his feet, grabbing his pistol from beside him and heading towards his own small room at in the far back, something that used to be the storage room. It was empty, and looted to the bone, a few shoes scattered across the floor here and there. He'd already taken a couple pairs for himself, a sweet pair of boots and some Nike trainers, still in pristine condition. They'd all had a little, joyous moment as they claimed themselves some new shoes, giving them comfort for the feet, and a small reward for making it this far.

You had to treasure the little things.

Dropping his gun to his sleeping bag, he pulled his shirt over his head, dropping it down on his bag before unlacing his boots and stepping out of them, satisfaction sent straight up his spine as his toes met with the cool flooring, flexing and curling. He closed his eyes, neck rolling back as he tried to relieve some of the tension in his neck and shoulders. His right arm stretched across his chest, squeezing at his left shoulder, fingers pressing into the side of his neck as he rolled his head to loosen the strain. 

He sensed movement from the corner of his eye, his body immediately snapping to attention, taking a step back to reach down for his gun, before he caught sight of what it was. More like who it was. 

Niall.

He sighed, standing straight, releasing the handle of his gun as shook his head, the gun falling back to his bed. Niall laughed, taking a step closer after shutting the door. 

“You won't be laughing when I actually shoot you.”

Another laugh and another step closer. “Ya not that good of a shot, Zayn.” 

His throat tightened, because he could count on his fingers how many times Niall had said his name. So, it always took him by surprise when he got to hear it, sending little waves of something rolling through his stomach.

He rubbed at his temple, feeling the beginning of a headache working its way at his head. “Did you need something?” He asked, voice quiet.

Niall pursed his lips, bulky shoulders shrugging as he looked around. “Nope, not really.”

Zayn nodded, waiting for something and receiving nothing. He was about to ask what he wanted when Niall took another step closer. Then another until they were practically toe to toe.

He heard his breathing spike, his blood running sluggish. His heart raced almost painfully in his chest when Niall's eyes slid over his body, head craning down to look over his chest.

“Didn't realise how many tattoo's you 'ad.”

After a beat, he looked down at himself, forgetting momentarily that he was shirtless, revealing all the ink he'd acquired before the breakout. He eyed his Grandfather's name on his chest, chewing on the inside of his cheek before releasing a slow, unsteady breath.

“Me neither.” 

Niall reached for him, then. His fingers curling around his hip, thumb stretching to press into the filled heart along his skin, close to his stomach.

He swallowed, finding it hard to form any saliva. “Do you have any?” He asked, eyes watching Niall's face, still directed down towards his body. 

“Can't say I have. Tried to get one on me arse, but I got told it was too squishy.”

Zayn couldn't help but laugh, because that was the most human thing he'd ever heard Niall say. He received a frown in turn, which didn't look as menacing when it was apparent that the blonde was fighting off a smile of his own. Niall licked his lips, before tonguing his cheek. Zayn noticed the way his eyes fell down to his lips, and he smiled, feeling a swell of confidence build in his chest.

“You wanna kiss me,” he said, repeating the words Niall had said to him a couple of weeks ago. He couldn't believe it'd actually been two weeks since they kissed. Since Niall helped him fire a gun. Their relationship had remained pretty much the same, except they'd usually be standing together more, or Niall's hand would be pressed flat against his back, or he'd volunteer to take watch with the blonde, or go hunting with the group. Small things that kept them close together. 

The blonde nodded, just how he'd done, before leaning forward to press their lips together once again. Warmth curled in his stomach, his hand reaching forward to rest on the top of Niall's ribs, curved just under his armpit. This time, though, Niall didn't pull away, he parted his lips and slot them over his own, his top lip trapped between both of the younger lad's. He couldn't restrain the soft sigh, clearly surging the blonde on as he compressed their chests together, his other pale, rough hand coming up to rest on the side of his neck, the hand on his hip moving to the small of his back. 

His hand somehow found the hair on the back of Niall's neck, fingers threading upwards, his heart twinging at the groan he received in turn. When Niall licked into his mouth, he felt electricity stab at the small of his back, body pressing closer as if magnetized. 

The kiss wasn't desperate or quick, it was slow and deep, like they had all the time in the world. This time when Niall pulled back, he didn't let him get far until he was pressing their lips together again, fingers gently giving a tug to the long strands at the back of his head. He received another groan, fingers spreading along the small of his back, his spine arching into the touch, the tops of the chests pressed together with the need to fill the space. He allowed his own tongue to slide out and meet Niall's, a soft noise erupting from his throat as the tips met, sliding together and creating the most delicious sound he could ever think of.

After an endless amount of time, they both had to pull away, lungs aching with the need to breathe. Forehead's pressed together, Niall's hand slid up and down over his lower back, slowly and soft. He felt safe wedged between the blonde's body and hand, like nothing could ever touch him, and the world outside of the storage room wasn't as bad as it seemed. He didn't know how long they stayed like that for, but when Niall kissed his forehead, he knew that was it for the night. 

“I'll let ya sleep,” he mumbled quietly, accent slightly thicker and deeper.

Zayn nodded, though he knew he wouldn't sleep for a while now. But, he didn't want the kind hearted words to be for nothing, especially when it was one of the nicest things Niall had said. In another second, Niall was pulling away and walking away, back into the store, no doubt to pick up his conversation with Red. 

He wanted to ask Niall to stay, but he knew he shouldn't. So, he didn't.

Zayn was helping Susan wash everyone's clothes by the small river when they heard the scream, the scream that undoubtedly meant trouble. They both shared a look, before abandoning the clothes, and climbing up the steep hill, rocks and gravel slipping under their shoes as they made their way back to camp. His heart instantly froze, the scene upon them sending ice into his body, numbing him from the neck down. 

Sophia held a hand to her neck, covered in blood, her face pale and stained with tears. She stumbled, tripping and falling as she lost her footing. It gave him a clear shot of the infected behind her, a handful of them, swarming their camp.

“Sophia!” Liam yelled, storming forward and crouching down beside her. His eyes widened, watching the infected start towards Liam, their slow pace seemingly faster in the intense moment. He gave himself only a second to look around, watching more and more lifeless bodies invade their 'home', coming from every direction. He didn't think about it, he just pulled out his gun, fingers shaking as he cocked it back, taking a deep breath and firing at the exhale, hitting the dead woman scratching out towards Liam, who was still curled over Sophia's body. 

Harry sprinted forward, arms hooking around Liam's arms, trying to yank him away from the fallen girl. 

“No!” He screamed, a sob sharper than the one he gave when he got shot in the foot ripping from his throat, trying to hold onto his friend's body. Harry whispered something to him in a furious tone, before Liam's body ran slack, allowing the younger lad to tug him away, curling Liam under one arm while he fired with the other. His ears perked at the sound of a scream beside him, Susan's body bumping into his while she cried out for Gene and Logan.

He raised his gun to fire, but the blood spurting across his face prevented him from doing do, furiously wiping at his eyes, just in time to see Josh pulling the axe out of one of the infected's head. Josh was suddenly shoved down, another infected piling on top of him. Zayn raised his gun, firing not once, but twice, straight into the brain of the corpse clawing at Josh. He ran over, offering the lad his hand, quickly pulling him up, looking at the fear crossing his face.

“You alright?” He called over the screams, eyes scanning over Josh to look for any bites. 

He nodded, face pale, but he was alright. “Yeah, I'm okay. Thanks,” he said, giving a watery smile before picking his axe back up, and giving him a firm nod, his fear seemingly have vanished. 

A sharp, high-pitched scream cracked through the camp, one of a child's. 

Susan screamed for Gene, stumbling over a dead body, trying to locate where her daughter was. He followed after her, his mind suddenly catching up with him. He looked for one face in particular, unable to stop himself from calling out Niall's name, still hot on Susan's heels.

“Niall!” He yelled, barging into Louis who shoved him in instinct.

“Zayn,” he said fiercely, blood smeared fingers gripping at his bicep. “Are you alright?”

He nodded, pulling away from the older lad's hold. “I'm good.” He looked at Louis' hand, seeing no weapon in hand. “Where's your gun?” He asked urgently.

“Gave it to El.” His strong face looked panicked, looking over his shoulder to his girlfriend who was currently loading a shotgun shell into the barrel. 

He didn't hesitate, handing Louis his gun. “Take it.” 

Louis clutched it tightly, but his face looked panicked. “Zayn, what will you--” 

Zayn shook his head, patting his friend on the shoulder. “I'll be fine, go and stay with Eleanor.” He didn't wait for Louis' next answer, simply running for his tent, grabbing his cricket bat. As stupid as it was, he felt better armed with it. It brought him certainty, and he'd never fucked up with it. 

“Niall!” He tried again, barely managing to get it out before his own name was being yelled back, his head snapping towards the sound.

His heart instantly picked up, Niall was running from the woods, Logan slung over his back and Gene curled up on his shoulder. He had no weapon, and there were two of the infected behind him. He didn't give himself a moment before running straight past Niall, fear thick in his throat, bat already pulled back and aimed towards a decaying face. It met the side of its skull, his muscles tight with the impact. His eyes didn't watch the lifeless body crumble, instead his arms raised for another swing. Before he could even bring it back around, his ears rang with a gun shot, at closer range. Then cold. How was he met with cold? His eyebrows furrowed, lowering his gaze to the left side of his chest. He watched with confusion as blood poured out from his shirt, soaking the grey material with red, spreading slowly over his shoulder and down over his chest. He tried to swallow, but he couldn't.

He'd been shot.

He blinked in a dazed state, his legs giving out under him as his knees crashed to the cold ground, his bat falling limply out of his hands. He looked up, his wide eyes meeting another pair of wide eyes. Apparently, he and Lydia had gone after the same corpse, the one he'd raised his bat for was now laying dead in front of him, a few feet away. Her fingers shook and her gun fell limply from her hands as she covered her face, and mouth.

It was then that he felt the burn. When she screamed, he felt the searing pain rip through his shoulder and chest, felt the blood overflow from his lips as he coughed, trying to catch his breath. 

Was he dying?

Zayn blinked, watching Lydia run away from him, behind him, leaving her gun on the floor. Leaving him alone. There were no more of the infected, at least. No one to eat him while he bled out. He frowned, eyes falling back to his chest, the side of his shirt completely soaked with hot, wet and sticky blood. It felt scolding, or maybe he was just cold. He reached a hand out, trying to steady himself, but it just seemed to cave out from under him, his world losing focus until his back met something hard, something warm. He turned his head up, meeting blue eyes.

He smiled, watching Niall's hand press over the place he was bleeding. If he hadn't saw it, he wouldn't have believed it.

“Jesus Christ,” Niall breathed, eyes looking desperate, his cheeks flushed. 

“I got shot,” he tried to say, coming out as a croak more than anything. He frowned, body beginning to shake as he felt blood force its way up through his throat and over his lips again, spluttering slightly as he tried to breathe.

“You're gonna be alrigh', I promise.” 

He nodded, blinking back the film over his eyes. He released a sob as he was lifted up, trying to help by pushing himself up on his feet. 

He listened to Niall's pants and groans as he tried to steer him back towards the camp, his ears straining to hear more and more. 

Zayn didn't know what happened next, but he saw Harry's face, twisted in shock as his eyes fell on him. As his eyes moved around the camp, he was surprised to see everyone looking shocked. Why were they shocked? Surely they should have expected this. He was the wimp. The guy who belt bad for killing what was already dead. His eyes lowered to the ground, looking over the various bodies on the floor. Most of them were the dead infected, but he could see a few that weren't. The sewn badges on a sleeve, indicating John was the one faced down. Sophia wasn't far away, still clutching at her neck, with Liam curled over her, Harry behind him. Gus was dead next to the fire, body strewn over the burnt logs they'd used last night. He felt his heart sink, his eyes filling with tears. They'd lost people. More people. 

Before he had the chance to say something, his vision was gone and he felt his eyes rolling back into his head.

A voice woke him, a soft call of his name, and a hold on his hand. He groaned, moving to roll over and ask for five more minutes. But, his eyes snapped open at the sudden pain racing through his entire body, his shoulder and chest burning. 

“Hey,” a quiet voice pulled him away from his daze, a gentle, yet rough hand pressed him back down. “Don't move too quickly, or ya'll rip your stitches.”

“Stitches?” He breathed, his eyes slowing opening to focus on a blonde boy. A blonde boy with gentle eyes and a soft smile. His stomach managed to flip at the sound of Niall's laugh, blinking away the haze from his eyes to try and focus on the younger lad again.

“Yeah, ya got shot.”

“Oh,” he mumbled, eyes sliding up to the roof of the tent, remembering what had happened. He'd tried to kill one of the infected, but Lydia had shot him. “Is Lydia alright?” He asked, eyes falling back to Niall's.

The blonde's eyes seemed to harden, his lips pinching into a hard line. “Unfortunately.”

Zayn frowned, giving a little squeeze to Niall's hand. “It wasn't her fault, it was an accident,” he assured, the vision of her horror appearing in front of his eyes. 

“Yeah, well her accident almost got ya killed. I tried to shoot her, but your pal Louis took me gun.” 

He gave a little laugh of his own, although it wasn't funny, because he could see the serious edge to Niall's eyes and hear it when he spoke. But, he half laughed because Niall cared. He really cared about him enough to think about killing a person that he'd travelled with for God knows how long before they linked up with them. It was wrong of him to laugh, it was.

His head turned, watching Red crouch down beside the partially closed tent.

“How you feeling, Malik?” She asked, her thick accent still as strong as ever. He knew instantly that she'd stitched him up. Of course it'd been Red, she was the only one capable enough to do it.

“I'm good,” he assured, “thank you.”

She gave a nod, before casting a glance between the two of them. “If you're ready, we could use the two of you out back.”

Zayn watched her stand and walk away, frowning as he turned to Niall. “Why?”

Niall shrugged, before shaking his head. “C'mon, let's get ya up.” He slid one hand under his good shoulder, carefully helping him to sit. He winced, his shoulder on fire, hurting like hell as his muscles tensed on their own accord. He sat there patiently as Niall helped him into a shirt, watching the bandage disappear out of sight, before pulling himself onto his feet, biting down on the sob that threatened to fall. He leant into Niall as they walked, one arm wrapped around his back to keep him steady. He looked up at the group formed in the middle, unable to hear anything. 

Harry's head turned, catching his eye as he stepped towards him. “Hey,” he said softly. “How you hanging, mate?”

He smiled, before focusing on everyone again. “What's happening?”

Harry's face dropped, head turning back, clearly looking over everyone's heads. “It's Liam, he won't...” He stopped, releasing a sigh before pushing his fingers through his hair. “He won't let anyone near Sophia.” Zayn could hear how broken his friend sounded, and immediately felt his stomach knot, remembering Sophia's hand clamped to her neck, before collapsing. She'd clearly been bitten.

The crowd parted a little, making way for him and Niall as they gathered around. He felt pain stab at his heart at the sight of Liam sat beside Sophia's body, holding her limp hand between both of his. 

“Liam, we need to act soon, before she...” Josh trailed off, rubbing the back of his neck.

He didn't need to finish, though. Everyone knew what he meant. 

Before she came back.

Stan sighed, taking a step forward. “Let's just get it over and done with. Add her to the pile.” Zayn's eyes darted over to Stan's, glaring at him. He'd never gotten on with Louis' friend, he was a self righteous piece of shit.

“No,” Liam replied coldly, voice almost as lifeless as Sophia looked. 

Zayn swallowed, taking his own step forward. Niall tugged him back, but he kept moving forward, taking slow steps until he was behind Liam. He leant down, resting his hand on the younger lad's shoulder. “Liam,” he said softly, giving a gentle squeeze. “She wouldn't want you to do this. If you can't do it, maybe one of us could--”

Liam turned then, raising his gun and standing, pressing it harshly into his forehead, pulling the guard switch. “No one is touching her.” He said sharply, eyes focused on him, but not really. Zayn raised one arm, other arm unable to lift. He saw a few people step forward, but he gestured them to stop with his other hand, eyes still focused on his friend. 

“I understand that, mate.” He swallowed, eyes closing as he tried not to focus on the barrel pressed to his skin, feeling his heart beat under the cold metal. “But, think about what Sophia would want. She wouldn't want to come back as one of those things.” He opened his eyes again, focusing on Liam's tensed, but broken expression. “We won't touch her, but you can't do this to her.” 

Liam continued to press the barrel into his skull, feeling the indentation burn into his skin like it was branding it there. After another long, endless moment, he lowered the gun, his eyes turning to Sophia who had a chunk of her neck missing, revealing veins and tendons.

He nodded to himself, taking a step back, then a few more until Niall's arm was wrapping around him and pulling him against his body. They all stood there, locked together as a community. When they needed each other, it was vital to be there, or you'd crack. It must have been a good twenty minutes until they watched Liam raise his gun again, tears falling from his cheeks.

Zayn could feel the tears gather in his own eyes, body turning into Niall's body, looking at the background behind them, temple leaning against temple. The blonde's arm wrapped tightly around him. He flinched at the sound of the gun shot through the empty space, Niall's fingers pressing more firmly into his side. He felt a tear slide down his cheek, the pain in his chest and shoulder a mere inconvenience compared to the pain that Liam was feeling. 

Time was the only real healer left.

Travelling further down South was their plan for now, although they didn't know what was down there, or what would be there to greet them. But, a plan kept stability, kept you grounded when you were lost. Red had made him a makeshift sling for his arm, telling him that he was lucky to be alive, before slapping his injured shoulder. He didn't mention how heavy handed she was, because she'd done a lot for him. Instead, he bit back the wince and gave a smile. Apparently, the bullet was a few inches away from his heart, and it couldn't have been more perfect if Lydia tried. It may have been an accident, but she had a lethal shot. It was a good thing he was right handed, or he'd really struggle to use his gun. He had to lay off the melee weapons for a while, which bothered him, because he was in better control with something sturdy in his hands, rather than his gun.

They weren't planning on heading to London, considering that would be crawling with the infected. They'd decided to stay on the out skirts of London, the quieter parts. They were passing through Norfolk, heading by a sign that read 'Welcome to Great Yarmouth'. Empty cars lined the streets, some black and charred, other stripped, while others looked in perfect condition. He was leant against the window, looking at an old building, surrounded by the infected. Groups of them were huddled over bodies; piles of meat to them. It made his stomach turn, twist violently at the thought of his family and friends in that position. He closed his eyes, allowing his mind to wander. 

His first encounter with the virus had been on the way home from the shop, having received a text message from Ant while he was on the phone to his Mum, telling her that he'd picked up the milk. After the call had ended, he'd looked at the text: Ant was telling him that something had happened to Danny, and he was trying to bite him. He'd immediately dropped everything and ran to Ant and Danny's, the door having been open when he got there. He entered without knowing, only to find Danny literally eating his little brother's stomach. He'd dropped the milk, gaining Danny's attention. Well, what was left of Danny. He thought it was some sort of sick joke at first, but there was no way the pair were that creative. Danny's eyes were red and yellow, glassed over and bloodshot. His face looked filthy, as if he'd face planted a pile of dirt and soil. It was the blood that got him, though. The continuous stream of blood pouring from his mouth, trickling down his nose. 

Zayn had acted on instinct, he'd turned and ran for the door, Ant's lifeless face and Danny's decaying face imprinted into his skull. But, Danny had chased him. Chased him down the street, down his road where they'd grown up together. Growling and grunting at him, screaming nothing but anger and hunger. Zayn had ran and ran until his feet almost failed him. He'd ran across a street, hearing the sound of a body hitting a car; the sharp screech of brakes. When he turned, Danny's body was disjointed along the floor, bones and limbs broke and bent awkwardly along the tarmac. He kept running. Running, running and running until he was back at home. He stopped there, eyes squeezing shut to stop any further memory. 

He sat straight, rubbing at the side of his face, touching the stubble he was desperate to shave. Touching it made him think of Safaa, and how she used to giggle when he nuzzled against her cheek, giving her stubble burn. He frowned, pinching the inside of his palm to stop himself.

Sighing, he pushed himself up to sit straight, Niall's pump shotgun laying over his knees with his own pistol. You didn't need two hands for a pistol. He looked over at the blonde, a hat on his head, resting just on his hair. It must have been around November, and he was still wearing shorts. It made him smile, how lightly he dressed. The lad was like a walking radiator. 

His ears pricked at the sound of music as Niall leaned back in his chair, fingers moving from the console to the wheel. It was the first time he'd actually heard music in months, and his fingers thrummed with excitement. None of the others seemed to care for it, but it was important to him; clearly Niall, too. He watched him drum his fingers along the steering wheel, in time with the tune playing on the radio. The CD player, because the radio hadn't been on-air in months. It was a nice sight to see, an even nicer smile as Niall allowed himself to sing along with the song. It was an old song, straight rock back from the 80's. It was Niall's CD, one that he always carried around in his backpack. 

He leant his head back against the rest, rolled in the direction of the blonde, watching the way his head started to go with the beat of the song. It made him smile, for the first time all week, he was smiling. And, once again, it was because of the feral maniac. He couldn't prevent his own fingers drumming along the cool metal of the shotgun. It was a classic song, one that you'd always hear when you turned onto MTV Rock, it would play once a day at the very least.

By the time he was mouthing along to Bon Jovi, Niall was full on going for it, body moving as best it could in his seat, hands drumming in time with the song perfectly. His smile grew at the chorus, the blonde sharply turning his head to him, singing the lyrics directly to him. He listened to the lyrics while he laughed, his heart thumping. Was Niall actually singing this to him?

She says we've got hold on, to what we've got.

It doesn't make a difference if we make it, or not.

We've got each other, and that's a lot, for love.

We'll give a shot. 

It may have been stupid how quickly his heart was racing, but the way Niall continuously seemed to look at him while singing it, had to mean something.

He was pulled away from his impending thoughts when Niall really belted out the next part, singing loudly with the song as if it was just a regular road trip, as if they weren't trying to survive for nothing. He looked so free and at ease with life, his loud laugh and grin tearing at the edges of his stomach. He didn't think about it, allowing himself to enjoy another little thing. He sang along, still laughing the entire time, his elbow resting out of the window as he slapped the roof of the car in time with the beat. 

They were being loud, and reckless. The rest of the group would probably scold them for it, but right now, he couldn't care. It felt good to smile and laugh until he had to blink tears out of his eyes. And, the way Niall stared at him had his head swimming.

“What?” He asked through a bubble of laughter, using his shirt to wipe at the corners of his eyes.

The blonde shrugged, a smile on his lips. “Nothin', you just 'ave a really nice laugh.”

If his cheeks could burn, they would. Heat pricked all over his skin, but before he had time to feel self conscious, Niall was singing again, louder than ever, hands patting along in time on the steering wheel. He joined in, wheezing as Niall threw his hat out of the opened window, giving a loud yell as he did it.

But, after half a minute, Niall was reversing and braking carefully. 

“What are you doing?” He asked through a breathless laugh. 

“I got to into it.” 

He joined the younger lad to find his hat, his sides aching from laughing so much as he tried to stop himself keeling over.

They still had a long way to go, but with Niall... With Niall it didn't seem so bad.