Fic: Make Every Second Of It Count (Hockey RPF, AU, FRM)

[kathierif_fic]

Title: Make Every Second Of It Count
Fandom: NHL hockey (Detroit Red Wings)
Current Word Count: 17,996
Type: (slash, gen, het) gen
Rating: FRM for scary images/zombies
Characters/Pairings: It's ensemble fic - Detroit Red Wings.
Warnings: language, zombie!apocalypse
Summary: Nobody knows where they came from, or why, but they want one thing and they don't stop until they are dead or until they have it: brains. It's a fight for survival for a group of hockey players who don't have anything left to lose - or do they?
Beta, handholding, necessary picking at the big and small mistakes and geography lessons: ginny305.
Artist, photos and geography lessons: shades_of_hades. See her gorgeous, wonderful, awesome artwork here.
And thank you to ebi_chan who read it, liked it, and found a typo.
Written for rpf_big_bang





Nobody knew where they had come from.

Or why, so suddenly.

The exact origin of the first one was as much of a mystery as the science behind their existence. By the time the first one had infected hundred and thousands of others and scientists frantically tried to find an answer to all those burning questions and a cure, people either were trying to run or they were already infected and, as far as it seemed, beyond hope and redemption.

There was panic everywhere. People tried to get themselves to safety, away from the centers of outbreaks, and they didn’t pay much attention to anything beyond their own lives.

Prior to the outbreak, before it spread the way it did, there had been computer simulations where an infected person was released into the world. The infected moved slowly, but with deadly intent, and infected everybody they came in contact with. Slowly but certainly, all of mankind in those simulations had become infected, a stumbling, groaning mass of dead bodies.

The reality was at the same time much worse and not that dire at all. It was true that the infected bit everyone they came close enough to. They were moving at a halting pace and it was easy to outrun them at first, but their numbers grew so much that they simply could overwhelm their victims with their numbers.

There was no place to run if the enemy came from all sides.

As long as there was TV and radio and the Internet, scientists and politicians did their best and tried to calm down the desperate population, telling reporters about their attempts to find a cure and heal those infected and to bring families back together. Their words fell on deaf ears.

People hadn’t been willing to listen anymore, not with the number of infected people steadily growing every day; not when children or parents or good friends became infected.

Not when danger was everywhere and there was no end in sight.

Before ways of communications had been lost, before TV and radio and the internet had stopped existing, there had been the hope that the outbreak was localized, but there was no way to find out if other countries were safe. The borders had been closed even before communications had been lost, in an attempt to keep the infected in one place.

The scientists called them infected and kept talking about a cure, about hope, until there was no more hope to be spread.

The people in the streets, scared and confused and in big parts helpless, abandoned by the world and left, locked behind the closed borders of their country, called them something else.

They called them zombies.

After all, it was much easier to aim a shotgun at a zombie’s head and pull the trigger than it was to shoot a sick mother or a sick child.

There were several simple rules to survival in this new world. The first and most important one was to shoot first and ask questions later. As a general rule, it was always safer to shoot twice and make sure the zombie was really dead for good rather than not to and getting bit in the face by a ravenous, stinking, walking corpse.

Homer scrunched up his nose at the thought as he quietly moved across an empty street, past burned-out wrecks of cars . Zombies were attracted to light and noise. They had quickly realized that silence and inconspicuousness were the keys to survival, together with being quick and being well-armed.

His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of a shot ringing out behind him, followed by the gurgle of wetness in a rotting throat.

He whirled around, his fingers clenched tighter around his own weapon, expecting more zombies to show up any second now and swarm him like giant, dead bees, but there was nobody but a slender, black-clad figure silently moving closer, shotgun again casually slung over one shoulder.

To an observer, Nick looked as if there was nothing that could disturb his equilibrium, but Homer knew that the smallest sign would be enough to alarm the other man and bring the gun back into his hands.

Homer flashed him a brief thankful grin while doing his best to ignore the corpse sprawled across the pavement a few feet away from him. The zombies usually made sounds when they moved, but every now and then, one of them managed to sneak up on someone.

Nick nodded and reached over his shoulder for the stick he carried on his back before indicating that Homer should take point. Homer grimaced, but he didn’t protest and reached for his own stick.

The best way to survive was to be quiet, to be quick, to be well-armed and to have a capable back-up.

Gripping his stick tightly, Homer pressed himself against the cool bricks of a wall and took a deep breath before smashing the weapon against the panel of a glass door.

It shattered with a loud noise, glass falling down around him in big and small shards. Homer froze and prepared himself for a horde of lurching zombies coming at him, attracted to the noise and hungry for their brains.

After long minutes, when nothing happened, he dared to breathe again. The street around them remained quiet, deathly silent, and zombie free.

Homer’s eyes flickered to Nick, who nodded once.

Taking a deep breath to calm his nerves, he carefully slipped through the broken door. Glass crunched under his boots and it was darker inside than it had been on the street. He patiently waited for his eyes to adjust before taking a quick sweep of the entire store, taking note of the back room and the staircase leading to a basement and up, as well, probably to the roof.

There were no zombies in here, attracted by the noise of splintering glass and the chance to find living people.

Not yet.

Homer slung his stick back over his shoulder and pulled off the backpack he’d carried. There was a reason for them to be here, after all.

He wasted no time and started to pack bottles of water, cans of food and painkillers into his bag. The zombies had no use for any of those things, and most shops and stores had been ransacked and picked clean of anything even remotely useable for survival. People that had survived so far took what they could find and needed.

When his bag was full, he tossed it to Nick and received a second, empty one, in return. He packed that one as well. If they were lucky, the rest of the cans they couldn’t carry off would still be there when they returned later, and if they weren’t, it meant that someone else had survived as well.

There was no room for useless stuff in their bags, but Homer still sneaked a hopeful look in the direction of a certain aisle before he shook his head and zipped the bag shut.

There simply wasn’t time for that, he knew. Even if everything had been quiet so far, he knew perfectly well how quickly that could change.

Glass crunched under otherwise quiet steps. Homer whirled around while bringing up his gun in the same move, his heart racing with adrenaline and beating a sharp rhythm against his ribcage.

“They are closing in,” Nick murmured quietly. “Saw them too late - back exit?”

Homer nodded and nodded toward the back of the store while shouldering his own bag.

“Stairs,” he answered. “Up.”

Nick nodded and went where Homer had pointed at, Homer following just seconds after him.

Quietly and quickly, they went up the stairs. Nick pushed the door open and they stepped out onto the roof.

There were no zombies up here. Zombies, they both had found out quickly, had trouble with stairs.

Big trouble.

The time a zombie needed to get up a staircase could almost be counted in days. Their joints apparently had stiffened up so much during the infection that going up and waiting them out on a roof was usually a safe tactic.

Nick stepped close to the edge of the roof and squinted down. Homer watched him for a moment before he went to the other side of the roof and copied Nick’s actions.

He needed a moment to make out the movements that were so characteristic for zombies, the lurch and hobble, but once he did, he could quickly count them.

“Seven on this side,” he told Nick once they met again in the middle of the roof.

“Nine on my side,” Nick answered calmly and closed the door quietly. “Seems like we’re stuck up here for a while.” His voice wasn’t more than a soft whisper. They had quickly learned that zombies had exceptionally good ears and could hear the sound of voices, or careless footsteps, over great distances.

Homer nodded and dropped his bag before sitting down and trying to find a relatively comfortable spot of gravel. He quickly gave up and sighed before setting the shotgun across his knees.

Nick sat down next to him and gave him a brief smile. Homer returned it and closed his eyes, trusting Nick to keep them safe for now.

There was no way to tell how long they would have to stay up here, and their best option was to conserve as much energy as they could.

If necessary, Homer thought grimly, they could stay up here for days, he and Nick.

There was no place else they needed to go; nobody to look for them. It was just the two of them, surrounded by hundreds of hungry zombies.

“We should keep looking for others,” Nick murmured quietly, his lips almost brushing Homer’s ear. “We can’t be the only ones who survived here. They can’t be all dead or gone.”

It was an old argument, one they had had too often to count since they had found themselves almost alone here.

“Stop reading my mind,” Homer replied jokingly before shifting his shoulders slightly. “For sure, zombies don’t read,” he said after a moment. “If others are out there...”

“...they’re looking for the same things we are,” Nick finished the sentence. “Food, water, medication. Guns and weapons.”

“High places to hide,” Homer added thoughtfully. He didn’t know how much time had passed since he’d seen another human being besides Nick, but it had been a long while.

“The city is big,” Nick said before shrugging. “The country is. It’s completely possible that there are others.” He lifted a hand and dropped it back to the gun in his lap. “We can’t be the only guys who figured out how to stay alive.”

Homer nodded. The thought that he and Nick were the only two survivors in the entire city filled him with indescribable horror, and he quickly forced his thoughts away from that particular scenario.

Nick’s shoulder brushed against his, comfortable, warm and alive, and Homer took a quick breath and held it for a long moment.

“For sure, we really should start leave messages again, like we did in the beginning,” he suggested. “For others, when they are out there...we can tell them where they can find us.”

Nick nodded and turned his head to look at him. The dirty skin at the corners of his blue eyes crinkled slightly as he said, “We should really do that.” He shifted his shoulders. “Why did we stop?”

Homer snorted softly. “For sure, water and painkillers became more important than messages.”

~*+*~

Homer woke from the quick brush of fingers against his wrist.

“Just me,” Nick murmured softly.

Homer ran a shaky hand over his face. “How long was I asleep?” he mumbled, his thoughts still fuzzy.

“Not long,” Nick answered. “They have disappeared. We probably should try to figure out if we want to spend the night or risk leaving now.”

Homer scrunched up his nose. It had been morning when they had broken into the store. He had slept longer than Nick was admitting.

“If we want to leave a message first...” he started, but his words trailed off when he saw the shark-like grin on Nick’s face. “You already did that.”

“Yeah.” Nick shifted his shoulders. “Used pink nail polish and left a message on the wall next to the water. I figured that would be the first place anyone looks.” He shrugged. “Bright pink, there’s no way anyone going for that water could miss it.”

Homer nodded and pushed himself to his feet. There would be enough sunlight, he figured, for them to safely carry their bags back to their base.

The street underneath him seemed to be deserted. If there were any more zombies left, he and Nick would hopefully be able to deal with them.

“Let’s go,” he said and slung the bag over his shoulder.

Nick nodded and handed him his shotgun, and together, they climbed back down to the store.

It was still quiet.

Homer gave Nick a glance that said more than a few words and stepped out into the street, senses stretched out and body prepared for an attack any second. He felt Nick more than heard him move, and together, they moved back home, where they were safe from zombies and could spend the night without having to keep their guard up as much as they did here.

Homer kept his focus on the street in front of him and the shadows, but from the corner of an eye, he watched Nick move, stealthy and elegant like a dangerous animal, his mouth pressed into a grim line. For a split second, he wondered what Nick saw when looking at him, but the thought disappeared as quickly as it had come.

One thing was for sure. This was not what they had envisioned for their lives when they had left home, all those years ago, but despite everything, Nick had managed to adapt and excel at this new lifestyle.

~*+*~

Someone was moving around downstairs where they kept most of their supplies.

The awareness of someone being there was at the forefront of his mind when he jolted awake, fingers gripping the gun that was always close and feet already carrying him to the mostly blocked staircase. Zombies couldn’t climb stairs that easily, but it never hurt to be extra careful Nick had said and so they had piled furniture on the steps until all that was left was a small corridor.

Nick was nowhere to be seen, but Homer didn’t make the mistake of assuming that it was him who was digging through the piles of tin cans.

Nick was Nick. He knew where everything was. Those cans were sorted by the Nicklas-Lidstrom-system of growing importance, which meant that the most important things were kept closes to the staircase and Nick always knew where stuff was.

His finger slid to the trigger of his gun as he neatly avoided the creaking floorboard and leaned carefully around the corner of the main room downstairs.

Someone was indeed there.

Shorter than Nick, clothes ripped and strained with dirt, the guy had a gun with him. His hair was an indistinguishable color, probably because of all the dirt in it. He was grumbling quietly under his breath.

Homer breathed in slowly and closed his eyes for a split second. He wasn’t quite sure what he should do now - on one hand, he wanted to jump up and hug this guy, simply for living and being there and confirming that he and Nick weren’t the only ones who had made it.

On the other hand, he wasn’t sure if this guy wasn’t going to shot him and take off with as much of their food and ammunition as he could carry. Homer had seen enough zombie movies, Before, to know about the possibilities of that. Maybe he should just shoot him, based on the fact that he was stealing their supplies.

The guy cursed, quiet but still audible, and straightened from his crouch. If Homer didn’t act now, he would leave, and...he didn’t want to think about that. He had become really good at ignoring everything he didn’t want to think about, because worrying about things he couldn’t change for sure was a good way to get killed.

He had to make a decision.

Taking a deep breath, he called out. “Who’s there?”

Tin cans dropped to the ground.

Silence filled the air.

Finally, an answer came. “Me. Who are you?”

“For sure, I could ask the same question.” Homer bit his lip. They weren’t really loud, he knew that, but he was still worried about attracting zombies. “If I come out, promise not to shoot me?”

“Okay.” The answer came quickly - maybe too quickly. Homer bit his lip, pulled all of his courage together, and stepped around the doorjamb and into the room.

The other man stared at him from wide, unblinking eyes. Finally, after what seemed an eternity and Homer started to worry, he stirred.

“Homer? Is that really you?” he croaked.

More tin cans fell when the guy stumbled closer and Homer finally got a good look at the person under all the grime and dirt.

Seconds later, he had an armful of living, breathing human being to deal with.

“Ozzie,” he managed to press out, “Ozzie.”

He didn’t know what he wanted to tell the other man, which words were the right ones to convey his thoughts. They all felt wrong and he couldn’t make them come out in the first place. All he could do was to repeat Ozzie’s name, again and again. Emotions ran together in his mind, mixing and getting confused with each other until they formed a tight black knot at the pit of his stomach and he didn’t feel anything anymore.

“You alone?” he asked when he finally managed to pull back.

Ozzie shook his head. “Right now yes, but generally, no. You?”

Homer shook his head as well. “No. You want to come up, wait until Nick’s back?”

Oz grinned. “For sure,” he said and reached out a hand to squeeze Homer’s arm. “Man, it’s so great to see you.”

Homer nodded and turned, to climb the stairs, carefully avoiding the creaking step. Oz followed him, quiet like a shadow and just as close to him.

~*+*~

“What happened down there?”

Homer grimaced at the words drifting up the stairs. “Hey, Nicky,” he answered, his voice pitched low. He knew that Nick could still hear him perfectly well. “I was looking for the cake - we have a visitor.”

Homer could hear the confusion at the word cake in the rhythm of Nick’s steps. They both knew that they hadn’t brought any cake here and had only taken non-perishable foods.

“Someone survived?” Nick asked and stepped into the room, a smile on his face.

Homer nodded and grinned.

“Hey, Nick.”

“Oz!” Nick shook his head and visibly tried to stay in control of his emotions. “Nice to see you.”

“Nice?” Oz repeated and grinned. “Just nice? Homer at least gave me a real hug.”

Nick gave Homer a quick look, and Homer was fluent enough in Nickese to decipher it without any trouble. His grin widened until his cheeks hurt.

“You know how he is,” Nick said to Chris, but he was smiling when he stepped close and wrapped the other man into a tight hug.

After a while, when it was apparent that neither of them would let go in the foreseeable future, Homer joined their hug, wrapping himself tightly around both Nick and Ozzie, and for a split fraction of a second, it almost was like before, when everything had been okay and right in their world, until reality caught up with them again.

The hardness pressing against their flesh, caught between their bodies, wasn’t the smooth plastic of hockey pads. It was the metal of guns that was imprinting into their skin, their bruises came from the fight to survive and not from the fight for a puck.

Nothing was the same, and yet, they were together again, and for the moment, it was enough.

~*+*~

“Nice touch,” Chris commented and nodded toward Nick’s stick. The NHL would never have allowed anything even vaguely resembling it in a game, he thought when Nick handed it to him for closer inspection.

“Steel enforced,” Nick explained, “to avoid breaks. The razorblades were Homer’s idea, it’s scarily effective.”

“I suspect composite sticks break as soon as you really hit a zombie with them,” Chris said as he turned the stick in his hands.

Nick nodded and took the stick back. He hadn’t just added the razorsharp edge to the blade that made the entire stick look more like a scythe and had enforced it with steel, but he’d also added D-rings and carabiner and a long strip of what looked like a seatbelt clipped to both end to the stick, to allow him to carry it on his back and keep his hands free.

“Most of the people I’ve met preferred the good old bat,” he said. “But, whatever works.”

“Most people don’t have Homer,” Nick replied with faint amusement. “High-sticking raised to an art form.” He brushed a thumb along the frayed tape. “Really, most of the modifications were made by him. I think he needs something to keep himself busy.” He tilted his head to the side. “How many people did you meet?”

Chris shook his head. “Not as many as zombies,” he said darkly. “Most left town - there are rumors about a zombie-free zone in California, and people are trying to get there any way they can.”

“California?”

Chris nodded. “And lately, people are talking about Wyoming, too.” He shook his head. “Can you imagine that, trying to get to Wyoming or California by foot? With zombies everywhere, just waiting to eat you alive?”

Nick shuddered.

It wasn’t a nice mental image.

“Instead of trying to run to California, we probably should better try to create a safe zone here, as well,” he muttered and zipped his bag shut. “How do you even know about Wyoming?”

“Easier said than done,” Chris replied with a shrug. “We’re just a few, most people leave the city because it looks like there are more zombies than in the open country. What can you do, you can’t force them to stay.” He didn’t answer Nick’s second question.

“I know.” Nick shouldered his backpack and stick, grabbed his gun and second bag, and nodded at Chris. “Ready when you are.”

They had decided to go with Chris to meet with the others. Chris had been separated from the group a few days ago and had hid from the zombies when he’d accidentally stumbled over Nick and Homer’s hiding place, but he had promised that their current hiding place was relatively safe.

Nick looked around one last time. They would get most of their supplies later and just take what they could carry now.

Chris shrugged. “You know how it is. The grass is always greener on the other side and California always sounds like a really good place,” he added in a quiet voice.

“You want to go there, too?” Nick asked and held Homer’s gun while the other man grabbed his backpack.

“If there is a safe place left,” Chris replied, “it’s possible that surviving scientists and medical personnel end up there too, and maybe they will find a cure sooner or later. There was already talk about a safe place in California when TV was still working.”

Nick thought about that while they made their way down the stairs.

“If there is a safe place left,” he finally said, “where are they going, and how do they know it’s the right place?”

Chris shrugged. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “But we’re not going to find out by staying here and waiting, do we.”

He gave Homer a smile. Homer glanced at Nick and back before smiling back, but, Chris realized, it wasn’t his usual happy smile. This one was more guarded, more distanced. It was the smile of a man who had seen and done too much. A lot had happened since they had seen each other last, and it had changed them.

All of them.

For a moment, Chris wondered if Nick and Homer had changed so much from the people he used to know that they were barely recognizable anymore, too different to find common ground with, but then, he forcefully shook the thought off.

A lot had happened. A lot had disappeared, including the luxury of picking one’s allies.

In the world they were living in right now, one had to be grateful to have allies against the hordes of zombies that roamed the streets.

And if Nick and Homer were different people now - Chris was sure that he had changed too. They just had to get to know each other again.

One thing was for sure: the two of them wouldn’t be a liability in the fight against zombies. The way they moved, keeping each other’s backs free and almost unconsciously protecting each other while checking the dark shadows for bad surprises while communicating with glances and little gestures and nothing else told him that they were veterans in the fight against the zombies.

Having them with him could only help them.

All of them.

A quick glance upwards told him that they needed to pick up their pace if they wanted to arrive in a safe place before nightfall, and he reached out to brush his fingers against Nick’s arm, the way Homer had done when he had needed to get Nick’s attention.

Nick frowned slightly at him, and Chris flickered his eyes upward, to the sky, and touched his own wrist.

Nick nodded and gesticulated for him to take the lead.

As quickly and as silently as possible they made their way to the warehouse where the other members of Chris’ group were already waiting for him.

It was Chris’ second rule of survival, right after Do everything you can to make sure you don’t get bitten - to help others to make it, by any way possible. It included giving them weapons, food and water and making sure that they knew how to use their weapons.

They had figured out pretty quickly that they were stronger and better protected if they stayed together and that the risk of getting surprised by a zombie attack was considerably lower. Staying together, in a group, only helped them to survive, and survival was the most important task they had right now.

The warehouse they had picked as their headquarters and home had been standing empty even before, but there was enough room for everyone and a roof to flee to if necessary. There was enough room for everyone to sprawl out to sleep, and, most important, it was zombie-free. They had swept it and the surrounding area and were sending out teams regularly to make sure it stayed that way.

Chris grinned as he led them inside, past hastily erected barricades of upturned cars and barbed wire, past armed people in the distance that lifted their hands in greeting and returned to gazing out, looking for zombies getting too close, and they found themselves in front of metal shelves stocked with supplies.

“We’ll get the rest of your stuff later,” he murmured. “There is an office down here, but there isn’t much room in there. We usually stay on the second floor.”

Nick nodded and climbed up the stairs after Chris, Homer close on his heels. The next thing he knew, he was wrapped into a tight strong hug while the echo of an surprised outcry still sounded in their ears.

Ears that, Chris thought, had grown accustomed to the silence of a world without TV and traffic.

He remembered the deafening roar of a full arena in a playoff game, and his heart clenched almost painfully in his chest.

The only loud sounds in this new world were those of gunfire, a sharp staccato that usually came with a spike of panic and adrenaline as ancient instincts came awake.

“Kronner,” Nick mumbled, his voice muffled by Nik’s shoulder. “Good to see you too.”

“For sure,” Homer added with a grin, and Nik released Nick only to hug Homer just as tightly.

Chris understood. Nick and Homer had been the ones to take in Nik and show him the ropes when he’d gotten here in the first place. They had taken almost parental roles in every Swedish player’s life that had come to Detroit to play hockey for as long as Chris could remember.

And if he was honest, he himself had felt the same relief and elation when he’d realized that he had found Homer.

~*+*~

They settled into a routine. Homer and Nick fit into their group seamlessly, and after a while, it seemed as if they had been together since the beginning. They never complained, did their sentry duties like everybody else, and Chris had to admit that it was a relief to have Nick’s strategic mind help planning raids on grocery stores and gun shops.

“Any idea how long it’s been?” Nick asked one night, when Chris found him on the roof, arms folded over his chest to protect his fingers from the chill in the air.

“Honestly? Too long,” Chris admitted tiredly. He leaned against Nick’s side, soaking up his body heat, and sighed. “Grocery stores around here are pretty much picked clean. We need to venture out further soon.”

Nick nodded. They all knew that this would happen and had expected it, sooner or later.

“Venturing out could be a good thing. Maybe we’ll find other people, too,” he murmured. “Maybe there are more people away from the city.”

Chris just nodded, and they stood in silence until it was time for a change of guards.

~*+*~

They sent teams out, deeper into the silent city. Sometimes, these teams stayed away for days; sometimes they came back empty-handed or with news of groups of zombies.

Sometimes they managed to find other people who had hidden on the higher floors of buildings. Most of these people didn’t want to stay in the city and set out on the long journey to the rumored safe havens of California and Wyoming. They gave these people weapons and food and wished them luck.

Nobody was surprised that it was Homer who found Hank and Pav. He’d always had a knack for finding them on the ice, and it almost seemed logical that this ability extended to this new world.

He was with a team to find supplies to reinforce their barricades and build protective walls around their warehouse. They had found out that smooth walls were as much a roadblock for zombies as stairs and wanted to take advantage of that. As long as there weren’t so many zombies that they could simply run over their defensive lines, a wooden palisade hopefully would stop the zombies for long enough to give the humans enough time to retreat to a safer place.

Homer, who had experience with working with wood, had suggested building these walls, and then, he had, in between sentry duties and patrolling the neighborhood, started to make plans. He’d scratched numbers and sketches into a wall with a stubbly pencil, the tip of his tongue sticking out at the corner of his mouth as he concentrated.

And then he had assembled a team and they had started to build a wall.

On one of the runs to a Home Depot and a close-by grocery store, to get more food, nails and tools, he suddenly thought he’d seen something move at the corner of his eye.

He tensed and reached for his gun. They had swept the store to make sure it was safe to have their hands free of their weapons, but it was always a possibility that a zombie had hidden somewhere and was just waiting for the right moment to attack. They usually didn’t plan things like that, but it had happened in the past and it was never wrong to be careful.

He nodded at Nik and Mule to get their attention and to signal them to get out, just in case, and slowly moved toward the display of stacked toilet bowls, nerves tense and his hands on his gun. He was careful not to make a sound until he circled around the display and the sharp blade of an axe came at him.

If he had been a zombie, he wouldn’t have managed to drop to the ground and would have ended up with his head separated from his shoulders. As it was, his quick reflexes saved his life as the axe split the air just centimeters from his throat as he flinched back, stumbled and fell down on his back.

He expected a second blow any moment now, a blow that would finish him unless he managed to take advantage of the fact that the person swinging the axe was still carried by their momentum.

Reacting on pure instinct alone, Homer kicked out.

His steel-toed boot connected with tissue; a leg, and the axe bearer went down in a messy heap, the axe clattering out of his grasp.

Homer took a deep breath and slowly released it. His pulse was racing in his veins, blood rushed loudly in his ears, and then, he heard the feared shuffle and groaning that indicated the presence of at least one zombie.

He shook his head to clear it and struggled to his knees. The other person looked at him with wide, panicked eyes while clutching at their leg and reaching for the axe again.

Homer knew immediately that he couldn’t leave this person here, alone and almost defenseless.

He had to do something, and he had to do it quick, before the zombie came closer.

Slowly, doing his best to avoid making any noise, he stood and held out a hand to the other one - he still couldn’t tell for sure if it was a man or a woman who had attacked him, even if he had a strong suspicion that it was a guy - to pull him to his feet.

The guy, he now realized, was wearing some sort of mask that hid almost his entire face, save for his eyes; eyes that now focused on him before the guy took Homer’s hand and pulled himself up.

A soft hiss escaped him when he tried to put pressure on the leg Homer had kicked, and Homer tensed, but no other sounds came from the other guy’s mouth.

Homer wrapped his arm around the man and slowly began to move them away from the wet, slurping sounds. Cold sweat broke out all over his body, but he pressed his teeth together and steadily moved toward the exit.

From one of the aisles ahead of them, a zombie appeared.

It was barely recognizable as having ever been a human being. Clumps of hair had fallen out, together with skin and flesh, allowing Homer to catch glimpses of blank bones. It had only one eye left, its jaw seemed unhinged, its teeth rotted black. It was dressed in a dirty, ripped shirt that once had been a pale blue. Its right hand was almost completely gone.

The worst, however, was the smell of decay and rotting flesh.

Homer bit back the sharp wave of nausea as he almost dropped the injured man in his haste to aim his gun at the zombie.

The zombie had noticed them now and was moving toward them with a gurgling moan. It was reaching out with long, splintered fingernails that looked so much like claws and the stump that once had been a hand, reaching for them to infect and turn them into these creatures as well.

This, Homer thought as he brought the gun up and aimed, was not a human being anymore. Whatever it was, it wasn’t human. Killing it was a good thing. It would release it from its burdens and do a big favor to the human this thing had once been.

He didn’t hesitate any longer. Squeezing the trigger and bracing against the force of the gun firing, his eyes weren’t quick enough to watch as the bullet left the barrel and embedded itself into what once had been the skull of a normal human being.

If there were more zombies, they would be attracted to the noise of the shot, he knew. Haste was important now.

Reaching for the other man’s arm again, he just hoped that Nik and Mule had retreated to a safe place.

Another zombie lurched around a corner and came at them with a deep groan. They skidded to a stop, barely out of reach of it, and this time, it was the other guy who killed the zombie with a heavy blow of his axe. His grip slipped from the force he had to use and the axe remained sticking out of the zombie’s skull, but there was no time to retrieve the axe as two more zombies suddenly appeared.

Homer shot one.

Someone else shot the other one.

Homer looked around wildly, expecting to see Nik or Mule or more zombies to come at them, but it was quiet enough again, the echo of the last shot still ringing in his ears.

The man he was still holding up groaned quietly, the sound oddly muffled by his mask, and held up a hand to signal to someone.

Seconds later, another masked man appeared at their side and silently picked up the axe before wrapping himself around Homer in a tight hug.

It was the uneven gait, the way this man walked, that tipped Homer off belatedly. He only knew one person who walked like this.

“Pasha?”

The first man chuckled softly. “Yeah, that’s him,” he said, and even through the mask Homer recognized that voice.

“Hank?”

Hank reached up and pushed his mask up to his forehead, revealing dirt, grime and a wild beard under which he smiled slightly. Fine lines of pain lined his eyes, and Homer felt a pang of remorse at the fact that he had been the one to cause this pain.

“For sure, it’s good to see you two,” he murmured fiercely. “You’re coming with us, right?”

Hank and Pav looked at each other.

“I don’t...” Hank started hesitantly, but Homer shook his head.

“We have food,” he interrupted. “And enough water to wash. Even take a bath.”

Another silent communication took place and then, Hank nodded.

They took him in the middle, between them, and hobbled out of the store. They would come back for the supplies later, but right now, the priority was to get Hank to a safe place and assess how bad the damage to his leg was.

Outside the store, perched on top of a broken-down truck, Mule and Nik were waiting. They didn’t bat an eye at the fact that Homer had picked up two more people, just took their positions so that Hank was surrounded and protected from all sides, and quickly and quietly, they left and retreated to their home base.

~*+*~

Nick found Homer on the roof, huddled against a chimney that was leaning precariously to the side, gun over his knees and shoulders hunched against the cold.

He slid down next to his old friend and leaned against his shoulder.

“You okay?”

Homer nodded slightly. “For sure,” he answered. His voice was rough and scratchy. “How’s Hank?”

“Sleeping.” Nick’s eyes slowly adjusted to the dusk and he could make out more details of Homer’s pale face. “His leg isn’t broken. It’s just a bad bruise. He’ll be okay.”

“Pavs?”

Nick shrugged. “He isn’t speaking to us, but Hank says he’s okay. He’s alive, and if you ask me, for the moment, that’s the best all of us can ask for.” He nudged Homer gently with his elbow. “You want to come inside, clean up a little, and eat something?”

Homer shook his head, but just a few minutes later, he sighed and slowly climbed to his feet, Nick still by his side.

Together they went back inside and Homer handed his weapons to Nick before stripping down. His clothes were dirty and ratty - just like the zombie’s had been. The thought was enough to start the shivers and the nausea he’d been battling all evening again, and he clenched his teeth and tried to hide both.

Of course Nick saw right through him. They had been through so much together, both before and now, in this new world, that they could read each other like an open book. Nick wrapped him into a tight hug and just held him until Homer managed a gruff, “For sure, Nicky, I’m fine.”

Nick knew that he wasn’t.

None of them were.

But they were alive, and that was the best they could ask for at the moment.

He waited until Homer was in the tub and the luke-warm water before he grabbed the pile of dirty clothes on the floor and left.

When he returned five minutes later, he carried a folded bundle and a sandwich he handed over without a comment.

In this new world, they all had learned to get by with few words and to avoid attracting attention. He settled down, his weapons close, to keep an eye on Homer without saying a single word.

If Homer wanted to talk, he would do so at his own pace and as soon as he was ready for it.

Long minutes passed by. Nick’s left foot started to fall asleep, and he shifted slightly, grimacing at the feeling of pins and needles his action brought.

“The smell is the worst, I think,” Homer suddenly said and sat up in the water. “That sweet smell. For sure, it’s in my nose and not coming out again.”

Nick nodded. “I know,” he said and reached into his bag. “Here.”

He gave Homer the small piece of crinkly foil that he had carried around for days now.

Wet fingers brushed against his as Homer took it. “Chocolate?” he asked. “Nick? Where did you...?”

Nick laughed softly.

“I traded shifts for it,” he said. “And got the supplies group to pick it up for me. Well, I asked them to pick up some if they found it.”

“You shouldn’t give it to me, Nicky,” Homer said softly and turned the small package between wet hands. “For sure, you earned it, you eat it.”

Nick shook his head firmly and reached out to squeeze his wrist. “I want you to have it,” he simply said.

Homer blinked slowly, then he smiled. “Share it? We share all things,” he suggested and before Nick could try to decline, he broke the chocolate in half and handed it over.

After all these weeks without any chocolate, it was almost too much, too sweet, the sugar almost hurting his teeth, but it also was the best he had tasted in a long time. He didn’t remember chocolate tasting this good, and he savored it until it was all gone.

~*+*~

Pavel didn’t speak, but he didn’t need to. He and Hank were inseparable and Hank was always willing to translate Pavel’s gestures and facial expressions into actual words. They slept curled together, like puppies, sharing a blanket and a pillow.

Hank said it was because of the nightmares. Everybody understood what he meant - there were only a few among them that didn’t have nightmares often. Nick couldn’t count the number of times he woke up from horrible dreams himself and when he needed the firm touch of Homer’s hand rubbing soothing circles between his shoulder blades to get at least some rest.

The mornings after those dreams were always particularly hard.

Nick was sitting on the edge of his cot with the blanket pooled in his lap and was rubbing his eyes in the attempt to wake at least a little bit up. Sometime during the night, Homer had moved his own cot closer; close enough that he only needed to reach out to touch Nick.

The nightmares had been particularly vivid and they hadn’t quite relinquished their hold on him when Hank stepped into the room.

He had trimmed his beard and had cut his hair and he had also gained a few pounds since Homer had brought him and Pavel here. Dressed in dark clothes, the axe stuck into his belt and the gun slung over his shoulder, he was clearly preparing to head out.

“Hey,” he greeted with a small smile when he saw Nick. “Pavs and I are going to the store, you need anything?”

Nick grimaced slightly. “A bagel, a cup of coffee, some chocolate for Homer,” he replied dryly and glanced over Hank’s shoulder at Pavel. “You guys gonna be okay?”

“For sure, yeah,” Hank answered, and Pavel nodded firmly.

As long as they had each other, Nick supposed, they would find a way to survive. They were a good team and relied heavily on each other, and losing the other one probably would be like losing a vital limb. As long as they both were alive, they were okay.

He yawned again and gave them a brief wave. Hank grinned before turning around and leaving the room.

“Bagels, coffee, chocolate,” he murmured to Pavel once they were out of earshot. “He couldn’t have asked for a shotgun or new boots or nails or anything we might have a chance of finding.”

Pavel gave him a look and half a shrug before tilting his head to the side.

Hank grinned. “Well, one out of three isn’t that bad,” he decided and fiddled with the straps of the protective mask he and Pavel had developed.

They weren’t the only ones who had become inventive to escape from the zombies. Homer had turned hockey sticks into deadly, scythe-like weapon, Ozzie was working on something that looked a little bit like a rocket launcher and Bert and Millzy had survived with the help of home-made flame throwers and something that had the same effects as a nail-gun.

Hank and Pavs had developed masks that protected the wearer’s head from getting bitten by zombies and therefore prevented infection. Most zombies, they had observed, went straight to the head of the victim to get to the brain. Protecting the head was paramount for survival.

Neither of them was really sure if their mask was as protective as they had assumed or if the zombies would simply rip their heads off in an attempt to get to their brains, but they had agreed not to test it unless they couldn’t help it.

“I can’t believe you know where to get chocolate and you didn’t tell me,” Hank muttered with a glance at Pavel. “I thought all the stores had been picked clean of chocolate right in the beginning.”

Pavel grinned and donned his own mask. He had a shotgun and an automatic rifle with him, both weapons he was scarily good with. In addition to that, he carried a stick, modified by Homer.

“Yeah, you’re sneaky. First, we need to get those nails. You know.” Hank grinned and checked his own gun. “The reason why we’re going out in the first place.”

Pavel nodded. He stopped and patted Flip’s shoulder briefly.

The young man looked up from checking his weapon and gave Pavel a nod. “Good luck,” he said.

Pavel nodded and continued on his way. Hank murmured “You too,” before following him.

Valtteri and Johan were scheduled to patrol the area around their home, to find out if a new nest of zombies had moved to the neighboring buildings. It was a dangerous job, but then, Hank thought as he fell in step with Pavel again, all jobs were, and as long as zombies roamed the Earth, that wouldn’t change.

They choose the route past the slowly growing barricades where Homer was busy building walls. That task was made more complicated by the fact that zombies were attracted to noise and no matter how hard they tried to keep silent, the echoes of a hammer driving nails deep into wood had more than once brought out a few zombies they had to shoot. It was a devilish circle, because shooting the zombies was loud enough to bring out even more.

Homer didn’t look up from his work as they walked by. He had dark circles under his eyes and was frowning deeply as he leaned over a long piece of wood and scribbled something down with a stubby end of a pencil he’d started to carry around everywhere.

Hank gave Pavel a brief look. It said more than an hour-long conversation could do, and Pavel reached out in reply and squeezed his arm briefly.

Now wasn’t the time to feel sorry for themselves and their fellow humans. Distractions were dangerous and could easily get them killed.

They both had to focus.

Their steps carried them deeper into the city, past silent cars and empty and steadily declining houses and buildings. A bird was chirping somewhere, something that, before, wouldn’t have been audible over the roar of city life.

After several hours of walking, they climbed onto the roof of a building for a break and sat down on the edge. Feet dangling, they shared a bottle of water and a granola bar before they continued.

They objective wasn’t to find food. Not this time, although they were to keep their eyes open for anything edible. What they needed were nails and other building material to finish another part of the walls, and Pavel said that he knew a place where they could get them.

Hank glanced down at the cracked pavement under his dusty boots. He missed cars and the easy luxury of driving everywhere almost as much as long hot showers and muffins for breakfast.

Pavel glanced at him briefly and Hank brought his thoughts back under control and focused on the present.

He could daydream later, when they were back to the relative safety of the warehouse.

The sun was high in the sky when they finally arrived at the store Pavel had picked out. The doors had been kicked in, glass was littering the floor, but everything seemed to be quiet.

Hank didn’t trust the silence. One glance at Pavel’s tense shoulders confirmed that Pavel felt the same.

They completed a quick sweep of the immediate area before localizing the aisle with the nails, and then they fell into another old routine where Hank put as much as they could carry into their backpacks and Pavel kept his gun ready to shoot at everything that as much as looked suspicious.

Hank gave Pavel a look to remind him to stick close and began to pack boxes into their bags. The last time Pavel had left him for a split second to investigate a suspicious sound, Hank had ended up with a huge bruise on his leg from a kick that had almost taken out his knee.

He’d also almost killed Homer with his axe.

As much as he was glad that they had found Homer and the others, Hank didn’t really want to repeat that experience.

More supplies were quickly and efficiently packed, and when he was done, their bags full and zipped shut, Hank grabbed one last object and put it into the inner pocket of his jacket.

Pavel only gave him a smile behind his mask, visible only by the small, fine lines around his eyes, and shouldered one bag, leaving Hank with the other one, and without saying a single word, they left the store and continued on their tour.

~*+*~

“Hey, what’s this?” Hank dropped his heavy bag and shouldered Bert slightly aside, to take a look at the small heap of fruit in the middle of the table.

“They’re called apples,” Nik joked and held one up. “It hasn’t been that long that you’ve forgotten them, right?”

Hank nudged him slightly. “But where did you find apples?”

“On an apple tree,” Jimmy answered. “Oz, Drapes and I went and picked them today.”

Hank took the apple Nik was still offering him and turned it in his hand. It was red and it looked delicious.

Sweet taste exploded across his tongue when he took a bite, and he closed his eyes in bliss as a quiet moan of satisfaction escaped him.

Without thinking twice, he handed his apple to Pavel, who didn’t even blink before taking a bite and handing it back, and nobody acted as if it was anything out of the ordinary because it wasn’t. Hank and Pav shared food the same way they shared a cot and a blanket, without wasting a thought on the fact that they did it.

“Best apple I’ve eaten in a while,” Hank admitted and licked sticky juice off his lips. Next to him, Pavel nodded and sucked the last bit of taste off of his thumb.

“Did you get everything?” Jimmy asked Hank after a moment.

Hank shrugged slightly. “Nails and stuff,” he replied. “Hopefully enough for the next section of the wall.”

“If this goes on, we probably should think about a real wall. Stones, or concrete, or something.” Bert grimaced slightly. “The zombies are getting restless - I don’t know what’s up with them, if they’re hungry or what, but they are banding together in bigger groups.”

Hank exchanged a look with Pavel.

“Mule and Val found a big nest not far from here,” Bert added gruffly.

“It makes sense,” Hank said. “It’s been seven months since the end of the panic - the city is pretty much empty, besides us. There is nobody else to eat. And it’s getting colder, too.”

“Seven months,” Jimmy echoed.

Hank shrugged. “Seven months, two weeks, and a few days.” He grinned slightly. “It’s October and we’re not playing hockey.”

“Yeah, maybe we should think about winter, soon.” Nick stepped up to them and ran a hand through his hair. “Does anyone have any ideas about preserving fruit for months?”

Nobody answered.

“It should be pretty easy,” Jimmy said after a moment. “Just...get into a bookstore, get a guide or something.”

“Pretty easy, huh?” Bert chuckled. “Looks like we’ve got a volunteer, Nick.”

“He’s not going alone,” Nick said and clapped Jimmy on the shoulder. “Two more for Team Squirrel.”

This time, Bert laughed. “Team Squirrel? Count me in.”

“Me too,” Millzy called out. “I think I know the area pretty well, and I know where some of those bookshops are.”

“It’s settled, then.” Nick nodded and turned to leave. “Oh, one more thing,” he added as an afterthought. “It’s October, you say?”

“Pavs does.” Hank nodded. “Beginning of October.”

Nick grinned. “Happy birthday, Hank.”

Link to Part 2.