Chapter Text
The virus began as a Covid mutation. It caused intense seizures, and then a loss of brain activity until you died about three days later. For a long time, it stayed like this, more and more people developing the disease, more and more dying painfully.
But then, as oil regulations fell, and fracking became more prominent, the water started going bad. It started to have this off-taste to it, no matter where it came from. The smart ones began to buy it bottled, the rest listened to the voices coming from the white house.
Things would’ve stayed that bad, they truly would’ve, but then the infestation came. Little white bugs that you could just barely see, hiding from the tainted water in the crop, still there when families dug in for a big dinner. Scientists called them Efialtiscimex or nightmare bug. It wasn’t that they couldn’t find a repellent that worked, it’s just that they found it far too late.
The first patient is highly debated. Some say China, some say England, some say Florida. No one actually knows. The public was blind to the situation until it was impossible to keep a secret. Government agencies would go in and evacuate people, claiming it was because the poison in the water had reached dangerous levels. The National Guard was sent in to supposedly keep any stragglers moving, and handle anyone who resisted.
Rumors began when people stopped calling back. When worried mothers spoke on TV, wondering why their child in the National Guard wasn’t answering their texts. The government had an excuse for that one too, saying that they had cut cell reception to the evacuated areas. But then others came forward, saying that was impossible because their loved ones were answering their calls and texts.
The government never actually broke the news about the virus. A prepper had hidden in his bunker, some underground swamp hole in Florida, and managed to catch the walkers on a video camera, before posting it to YouTube. He claimed that the water was filled with mind-controlling nanobots, that the government was trying to take control of the people, and doing special experiments. That was what everyone thought for a few months. Later, they would wish that that was the case.
It was a mismanaged patient. The wrong admission date was written, and they were released after three days, not the usual four weeks. It had only started out as two, in the very beginning, but at the time, it was four, to really make sure that people weren’t sick with the virus.
The unfortunate part was the fact that this patient was, and if they had stayed two days more, doctors would’ve known.
Scientists said it started out with an incredible hunger, one like you’ve never felt before. The kind that made you eat until you threw up and then continue eating. The patient that slipped through the cracks, he spent six hours in a Mcdonald's, switching between the table and the toilet.
A worker called the cops, but the guy dashed when he saw the car pull in.
Driving home, the patient had uncontrollable road rage. The police were called four more times by different people, reporting a car that was swerving, leaning on the horn, cursing and screaming, almost hitting other cars.
The patient ended up crashing his car into a light post and dashing on foot.
It was in Chicago where this happened. A big bright city. The night was busy, it was a Friday of course, and everyone was out. In particular, a group of nursing school friends, young and beautiful, were just leaving a club to celebrate their last week of school. So of course, when they spotted a man, laying on his back in an alleyway, foam coming out of his mouth, they immediately thought to call an ambulance and help.
It wasn’t their fault, what happened to them. They were good nurses, they were ready and willing to help save a life. Had there been a God, they would’ve been rewarded for such good deeds, perhaps with a stranger paying for their latte, or finding a cool sticker. God was long dead though, and by the time the ambulance arrived, so were those girls.
It snowballed from there. First, a few people, then a few more. A strict quarantine was put into place, but people didn’t listen. Health officials stated that one should go to a hospital immediately if they had a fever, but people didn’t listen.
Even in countries where they were listening, officials were losing control of the virus. More and more people were dying. And then those people were coming back to life.
Only it wasn’t life, was it?
And oh God, it kept getting worse, and worse. Those safe at the moment could make memes about celebrities and politicians getting the virus, republican congressmen used it as an excuse to pass bills that lowered the gun purchasing age, made them cheaper, and put no limits or restrictions on any sort of weapon.
Many of those people were dead within the next week.
Those who wanted to survive needed to cut all emotional ties to everyone. Teachers, parents, friends, they all needed to be cut, because there was a very real chance one would have to point the barrel of a gun at their loved one, and in a time like that, the balls to pull the trigger were more than necessary.
Luckily, that was easy for Alexander Hamilton, because he loved nothing and no one.
Except for his fiance, John.
And his dog, Ralph.
But Alex justified both. It was smart to love John. He was strong, a good shooter since he was a redneck squirrel hunter most of his life, and he had no family left.
It was also smart to love Ralph because he was a very good boy.
John and Alex had met in Oklahoma City. John was a mechanic with a lengthy build and an intense nicotine addiction. Alex was an environmental activist, trying to raise awareness about the poor water quality. It was two years before the virus would take over.
They met in a hick bar downtown, when John tried to throw a wrench at his friend, a long-running joke that they couldn’t really explain, but ended up hitting Alex square in the face. All it took was a pint and a nervous apology from that southern accent, and Alex had forgiven John right away.
They both were intrigued by the other. Alex was from the city, spoke at seminars and conferences, wore fake leather shoes, and ate sushi. John was the most redneck hick Alex had ever met. The man lived in a barn on a pig farm and pimped out trucks for mudding. They talked until the bar closed that night, Alex telling John about every city up north that he had been to, and John showing Alex a large pig bite scar on his arm and explaining that, while sweet and unique, pigs were also viscous at the smell of blood.
John moved around a lot, but so did Alex, so for a few months, it was them meeting in hick bars, sometimes by chance, sometimes because John made the hour drive to where Alex was. Both of them could relate to each other. Alex’s family was dead, John was dead to his family. Both were broke, both didn’t like the shit that the oil companies were pulling, and both pushed the other out of their comfort zone.
Yes, Alex threw up after going truck mudding with John, and yes, John mistook wasabi for guacamole and made a scene in a run-down Japanese restaurant, but they supposed they loved each other. It didn’t take long for John, the free spirit that he was, to just go where Alex was going. He always found work, on a farm, in a shop. Even if no one needed a mechanic, there was always someone who had a pile of pig shit here and wanted it there.
Their love blossomed with liquor from the hotel minibar, with the hysterics they’d go into, realizing their single king had been turned into double queens. But they both supported each other in ways they had never experienced.
Neither of them had proposed to the other, they just agreed to get married. Of course, it was John who came home with Ralph. Ralph was a stray, eating trash out behind a bad Chinese restaurant. He had these big brown hound dog eyes that made him look sad all the time. And just like that night when Alex found himself kissing a wrench at full force, he couldn’t say no to that soft southern accent.
Even though Alex was hard and tough with everyone else, even though he refused to let down his walls, it was different with John. He didn’t know why, but he supposed it was because he loved John, and he had never loved anyone like that before. Ever. Part of John knew that, but he never brought it up, because there was no reason to. It didn’t cause any problems, and it was almost endearing, to watch Alex switch from his hard, calloused self, to loving, and almost vulnerable.
When the virus went into full swing, they were in Tennessee. People had begun looting. John and Alex had thrown their few belongings into their truck, along with Ralph, and began to drive east. Because the radio was saying to go east. When they got to Georgia, the radio was telling them to go west. John found an abandoned REI and the two rummaged for camping gear, hearty clothes, and good boots. There had been rumors that the infected liked to buy bite, so Alex followed John’s lead, buying thick Carhartt pants, big bunny boots, good jackets, and tough clothes.
They drove until they hit rural land, then drove even further. There were a few abandoned homes up in the Appalachians. John hunted and shot squirrels, Alex rationed the cans of vegetables and beans, learned to tell the difference between poisonous and non-poisonous mushrooms.
When the sounds of groaning grew louder, and Ralph began to bark more often, they left.
They drove around the south for three months, finding gas in burnt-out cars, avoiding those infected with the virus as best as possible. The nights were long, the radio no longer played music or anything.
Alex didn’t know where the majority of the infected were, but he also knew that they stuck to rural towns, towns with few living people to begin with. For those first few months, they didn’t talk much. Alex wasn’t a great shot at first, but a quick learner.
They stole a police scanner and every day, began to speak into it, asking if anyone was out there. For eight months, there was no response. For eight months, they wondered if they were the only ones left, at least in the area. For eight months, they lived but didn’t survive.
Then the voice of Eliza Schuyler came in through the radio. It was late when they heard it, they were on their last bit of food, in rural Virginia. Both were tired, and hungry, and just about ready to give up, and then they heard it.
“Breaker breaker-” Her voice sounded exhausted like she had said what she was saying a million times. “Welcome back to radio with Eliza Schuyler. We’re here on channel one, bringing you the best post-apocalypse news since the hallucinations. We got any survivors out there? Anyone. Feel free to call in. The first caller wins tickets to the next Beyonce concert.”
Eliza Schuyler and her group were just a mile away, just down the road. It was her, her sister Peggy, and then their friend Aaron, and his daughter, Theo. Alex and John showed up, tired, and haggard.
From then on, they stuck with the group, traveling around Virginia, heading south in the winter. Eliza was one of the scientists working to stop the virus, and she still was, even if it was difficult. But she’d have John and Alex go out and get her a walker, cut off the arms and bottom jaw, then bring it to her.
And that was how they lived. It had been about twenty months since the virus had taken a full swing, a year since they had joined up with Eliza, Peggy, Aaron, and Theo.
Because Eliza had been so ahead of the curve, she was also more prepared. She had a camper that she had renovated into a garden, she had hooked up solar panels to grow lights in the camper. She even had a bee box.
Overall, life with the group was nice, and peaceful almost. As peaceful as it could be. Sure, they would sometimes pack up in the middle of the night, because Ralph had begun to bark, and the echoing of a hundred groaning bodies grew closer, but they traveled light, and never really unpacked.
It was the beginning of summer when they pulled into a recreational campsite in a hot humid part of Georgia. Ralph led them to a creek almost instantly, more because he was a dog who was hot and thirsty, rather than the fact that he understood why a creek was important. He was still praised, and given a bit of squirrel jerky, which only he and John would eat.
They were unaware that just ten miles away, a young boy sat in an abandoned grocery store, eating a twenty-four ounce can of tangerine oranges and wondering if he was going to live to see the next day, but assuming not.
That young boy was unaware that Alex and John were headed in his direction, in hopes to find a little bit of food for the group, an old IWW CD blasting, even though unions weren’t a thing that existed anymore.
They were both unaware that their paths were about to cross.