Chapter Text
The smell of decomposition calms him. When he breathes in deeply and that thick sour smell, that rotting meat in the humidity fills his nostrils, it makes makes him smile. His father always has something to say about Julian having a better sniffer than most- used to always tell his friends they called him “nostrilla” as a baby because of the way his nostrils flared out when he’d cry as a child. Whether or not that’s true, he’s better than most at catching the scent of decay on the winds and following it. It’s what’s kept him safe since the darkness came.
The Hunters have no use for those already dead.
So Julian follows the scent of the bodies. He remembers watching The Walking Dead, seeing the characters cover themselves in the blood and remains of the dead bodies for disguise. The Hunters aren’t so easily fooled but their beasts are. His duffel bag has been long stained over, and contains only food, a cigarette lighter, and a tennis racquet. It’s a silly affection, but sometimes he likes to take it out at night and gives a few practice swings to the air, eyes closed, like he’s back on the court. He wonders how he’d have placed this year if things hadn’t gone to shit.
Julian has been traveling alone, having learned quickly that the living only attract death. He’s been making his way by tunnels, slowly, carefully, trying to get back to London. He isn’t the only one; so many fled to the old tunnels, the old coal mines especially, trying to escape the Hunters, trying to hide. All the old places reek of death now, some piled half a man high with bodies, chunks of flesh ripped out, bones regurgitated back coated in the digestive fluids of the monsters. It didn’t take them long to realize that the Hunters weren’t seeking to eradicate them for its own sake.
They were hungry.
The Summerhill tunnel is nearing collapse. He remembers Maggie, the lovely woman at the front desk who he could actually understand, telling him if he was of a mind to be adventurous he’d best avoid the temptation. Julian had looked, just a glance, watching the walls caving in, before going for a nice hike elsewhere. The Summerhill tunnel is where he is now. He’s waited long enough that he doesn’t hear or see another living soul. He’s had to make his way past more bodies to do it, but his feet land on the ground steadily and he stands with a smile. He’s sure the smell could turn away the hearties of stomachs. It’s particularly nasty and he can hear the flies buzz buzz behind him as he reaches into his pocket for his lighter.
“Don’t.” he hears right before he flicks it, and Julian drops it with a start. His hearing, he’s been told, is better than most, and he hadn’t heard anything. He also hadn’t expected anyone else to be in here. People are bad, and not just because of the Hunters. People are bad enough in their own right, hunters enough without the monsters’ influence.
“I’m sorry,” Julian says softly, breathing slowly and deeply. “I didn’t realize anyone else was here. It’s just me so I’ll go if it’s alright with you.”
“Go?” The voice asks curious. Julian thinks it’s male but he can’t tell. He’s also not certain of the accent either. He’s sure it would be rude to ask, not like his father who takes every excuse to bang on about “those Paki fellows” completely un-ironically given their own ancestry.
“Now that would be a pity,” the man continues, the hairs on Julian’s arm standing up as he does. “I don’t believe I’ve had the company of such a lovely young man in awhile.” God, he’s mad as a bag of frogs then, wherever he’s from. Figures, Julian, the only other person you can understand since your holiday started and he’s wait… can he see you?
“I’m afraid I’m not very good company. Not much to look at either, twigs and pipe cleaners. I’m sure you can smell me too,” he says carefully. “Really, it’s safer by yourself. Trust me on that one. You’re better off if I go.”
“I assure you my dear, you smell delightful.” Crazy. Crazy, get out, Julian.
“Right, and what a brilliant nose you’ve got, grandma. Better to smell me with and all that.”
“I don’t have a nose,” the man replies sounding amused. Julian picks his lighter back up by feel and puts it into his pocket.
“That’s why you didn’t want me to see you,” he offers taking a step forward in the darkness. It doesn’t matter how well his eyes adjust, there’s nothing but black ahead.
“It’s better this way,” comes the soft response and there’s something about its’ sibilance that makes Julian shiver.
“Alright, that’s fine. Better not to waste it, but I don’t really have food to share. Been going it alone to London and if you’re hurt I don’t have anything except some BenGay and some ace bandage.”
“Oh you have my assurance I’m fine. I’m waiting for someone actually and this seemed an optimal location, wouldn’t you say?”
“It’s a good spot to keep away from the Hunters,” Julian agrees relaxing a little as he sinks to his knees and starts a slow crawl further in. He’s been careful in uncertain terrain not to risk damaging his legs. They’re his most valuable asset.
“Is it really?” the man asks sounding surprised.
“Yeah. They don’t like that death smell. I don’t think they like their food already dead. They’re not carrion feeders. They like it fresh, scared. Think I read some old vampire trope saying scared blood tastes better or something. It also confuses their animals. They’re trained to smell certain pheromones, sweat or something. At least that’s my theory.“ Julian laughs softly and takes an absent swipe of his blood stained thumb to his mouth. “Can’t find you if you smell like everything else. I’ve had to lay amongst the bodies a few times. S’not too bad, though is it stupid to say I’m still afraid I’m going to like… wake up and realize it’s the zombie apocalypse instead or something and those bodies will start moving?”
“My, such an imaginative young man.”
“Not much else to do at the end of the world.” Julian crawls forward a few more feet, sure he’s climbing over another few corpses as he does. He can feel the bones, feel the soft bits of flesh sticking to his fingers. He finds it strange that it’s not as soft as the ones further rotted. He’s about to ask if the man minds him getting much closer, but then he remembers no nose, so likely his smell won’t offend. The man said he smelled delightful? Must’ve been a weird sort of joke.
“Is it really the end of the world?” the man asks.
“Well I don’t know what else you’d call it. Don’t tell me that you don’t have any eyes either,” Julian huffs.
“Ah yes, the extinction level event known as the Hunters,” the man agrees. “But would you really cache the extinction of a single destructive species the ‘end of the world’? I should think the world will continue on without much intervention.”
“Great, you’re one of those,” Julian huffs again, this time with a deep sigh. “What are you, Tom Bombadil?”
“Who?”
“Nothing, don’t mind me just… for those of us who care about our fellow man it’s a nightmare out there. Let me guess? You and this fellow you’re waiting for are gonna hole up in here and watch the world burn writing some self congratulatory manifesto.”
“Perhaps,” the man agrees sounding amused.
“Lovely,” Julian drawls. “Well, Mr. Nietzsche, do you have a name?” Julian stops when his pant leg snags on something sharp. Cuts are bad. Cuts breed infection, and he isn’t going to die of an infection. He sits down, with the lightest touch and starts to work at it.
“I do.”
“I’m Julian. Julian Bashir.”
“Should I know that name?”
“Not if you don’t follow tennis. S’funny though. People know me. More people than I realized. You would think that it’s strange, trusting a total stranger at a time like this. I don’t know if it’s some weird imprinting thing from seeing me on the telly all the time or what, but I’ve been fortunate. People see me and they don’t think I’m dangerous, not threatening. Just like… that friendly looking chap who lost to Federer in ‘16.”
“Trust is a valuable gift,” the man agrees, Julian shaking his head as he continues to work at the snag. It’s odd because it almost seems that something sharp dropped down from the ceiling to pin the denim to the stone.
“I’m not getting a name then, am I?” Julian asks stopping a moment before he gets frustrated. He can’t seem to pull it out.
If he didn’t know better he’s say it was a sharp end like the stinger of a scorpion’s tale.
“You can call me Garak,” the man answers. Julian thinks he’s lying. “That will make it easier for us to pass the time while I wait for my friend.” Julian looks up instinctively, though he isn’t sure why. He still can’t see, and out of respect he won’t use the lighter. The man hasn’t threatened him. He still feels that spike driving through his pant leg and he resolves to pull at the fabric and allow it to tear. Pity, those True Religion jeans aren’t cheap.
“I don’t want to be pessimistic, but if your friend isn’t here by now, I don’t think he’s coming.” Julian absently sucks a finger in his mouth this time. He isn’t sure when he started that habit. Out of nerves from this whole ordeal likely, but the saltiness is nice. Lord, he hopes he doesn’t get some sort of brain infection.
“You think so?” Garak’s voice is louder now. Julian is satisfied as his leg is freed, and he starts moving forward again. He starts to hear respirations loudly, like a furnace without a light. There’s more sibilance and he doesn’t understand what that means. He feels a few rocks under his hand, and he’s about to press on when Garak’s voice stops him. “That’s close enough if you please.”
“I’m not gonna bite you,” Julian says. “I mean whatever you might look like… ah… alright, I understand. You know, it’s funny. You see all these doomsday end of the world things and everyone comes together like Independence Day or Armageddon and everyone cries while a rock ballad plays. But really it’s more like…. Every man for himself. It’s all shit and everyone is shit.”
There’s no answer to that, and Julian continues.
“You know, the other morning I was out too close to dark. It was the closest I’d even been to an attack. It was a family. It was awful. I hid in an alley behind a dumpster. And you know, there was another man catty corner in the same alleyway with a hand up to his mouth to keep from screaming. We both stood there, crouched down, listening to them being eaten. And do you know what I was thinking?”
“Tell me, Julian,” Garak says, sounded enraptured.
“I was thinking… just… just for a mad second if it might not be best if the man were to be killed in case he gave us away. And… and then when the screams stopped and it got real quiet, and I could hear them feeding, I wondered if I shouldn’t use him as a decoy instead.”
Julian swallows, pulling his knees up to his chest, turning, leaning back a bit finding something warm and solid when he does. Ah, perhaps he was closer to Garak then he thought then.
“You see I’m… I’m fast, so fast I might have been an Olympic sprinter if I hadn’t loved tennis so much. See, when you’re out there… outside, you don’t need to outrun the Hunters. You only need to outrun everyone else. That man… He was a sad middle aged fellow. He’d never make it… and he wouldn’t be the first man that I’ve outrun.” He’s outrun them all. He’s left them all to die as they screamed for help. Run and never turn back. He’s seen what happens to the ones that turn back.
“Yesss,” he hears from so close to his ear that he closes his eyes even in the darkness. “You do have those long, beautiful legsss.” Julian is about to ask if Garak has seen him on TV then, when he feels a brush to his pants, feels a ghost over his shin, his calf, up his thigh. He slaps at it, the sensation already gone, but it tingles where it left. Was that Garak? Was that his hand? But it couldn’t have been a human hand because-
“Garak? Was that you?” Julian asks. “I mean I’m flattered but-”
“You underssstand me?” Garak asks again and his voice is deeper, but it… doesn’t seem any different than before. Julian turns towards the sound blindly reaching out.
“Of course I understand you but you just can’t go pawing at people and… Garak?” He calls the name again as he feels… skin that’s not skin. It’s scales. It’s a smooth expanse of scales like his mate’s bearded dragon but like-
“That feelsssss niccccce,” he heards Garak say again and in that nervous habit his fingers are in his mouth again, biting them like this one bloke he went to school with named Jack used to do. He can feel his heart start hammering, and the cool tunnel suddenly feels so very hot. Is it firedamp? If he pulls out the lighter will it cause an explosion? Well not it’s not a coal mine so it- “Don’t.” He hears again, just like when he first entered the tunnel, his lighter in hand. Julian realizes that his hand is still stroking whatever that is and stops. He thinks that he should be terribly afraid right now. “Don’t turn on the light… if you don’t want to run.” His heart skips a beat when he hears those words, and his hand once more strokes the long winding expanse more forcefully, hearing a tssss in return. He knows he should be afraid now as he flicks the top off.
Julian licks his lips, tasting the blood again. He doesn’t understand why he feels so… hot. He doesn’t know why he brings his hand to his mouth and tastes more of it. But then he thinks of the bodies, of the bites, of the pools of blood mixed with their saliva and digestive enzymes, and how he’s tasted more and more here and there. Those who eat the food found in the underworld shall never leave it. That was one of the myths his mother had read to him from an old story book when he was a child. “But what if the food is so good you can’t stop yourself, mummy?” What if you can’t stop yourself, Julian? What if it tastes to good that you can’t… help yourself… that you’re always craving more?
Julian flicks the light on, to the side, the ambient light kicking shadows off the wall and the creature in front of him. Oh, that’s what it was, he realizes distantly. He doesn’t understand why he feels so-
“I’ll run,” He says, standing slowly heart a steady pounding, mouthing at his palm. It really is so very good. “But you won’t catch me.”
“I’ll catch you Julian,” Garak promises drawing up dark, beautiful, undulating and so, so bloody brilliantly. Julian thought the Hunters appeared different than this- smaller, more human in their appearance- but perhaps that was only an illusion. Perhaps they’re shapeshifters? Julian takes a step forward and not back, seeing the sharp spike that had pierced his pant leg earlier. He doesn’t understand why they would hide something so deadly beautiful.
“And what will you do when you catch me?”
“Run, my dear, and you’ll find out.”
Julian smiles.
Julian runs.