Chapter Text
When Eric woke up, it was the last time he really slept. He was still in his house, where he died a few days ago. It was a strange feeling of emptiness inside, as if Eric was just an imitation of a human.
It seemed that a black hole had formed instead of his soul. And this hole absorbed all the good that a teenager has ever felt.
He managed to get to his feet and go to the mirror. The first thing he noticed was the pupils, which are maximally dilated. The skin and mucous membranes are pale, cold. There is no pulse on the central vessels, there is no breathing. Partial rigor mortis, well expressed in the upper and lower extremities. Cadaverous abrasion in the nose area. Abrasions of the hands, a hematoma in the area of the right thigh. But even with the realization of his terrible situation, Eric didn't care.
He felt neither fear nor terror. Only deadly hunger. In the area of the legs, the dead man felt movement. It was his cat, Mr. Kitty, who was rubbing against his legs. Cartman stretched out a cold hand to his pet, but the cat shuddered and ran behind the broken sofa. Scared?
The teenager decided to find his mother, who was the last person he saw before he died.
To date, Eric would not say that his life has changed much. Or maybe his past life. Technically, he's not alive anymore, right?
He also walked the streets of Denver (which was long enough, since after his death, his usual speed disappeared), sometimes looking at local gas stations, where there were many dead people. Although they lost the opportunity to talk to each other, but sometimes they wanted company. But there were exceptions: if there were remnants of the tongue, lips, teeth, normally functioning lungs and larynx, then zombies who died recently and at the same time retained part of their intelligence are capable of speech. In other cases, zombies are only able to make wheezing, moaning or loud exhalations. There was nowhere to wait for help. Such a deplorable situation was in all countries and cities.
Six months have passed since the Earth collided with the virus, but there were more infected every day. All the residents of the city who lived there either left or died. Or became the walking dead. Food and medicine were delivered from the miraculously remaining storages of the government warehouse. (Eric found out this by accident when he overheard a phone conversation on one side. Most likely, the person who received these phone messages is dead.)
Eric walked along the edge of the highway road, aimlessly leaving Denver. Only now not a single car will pass here. Mr. Kitty was walking beside him, hunting the remaining rats and small birds. She became the most faithful guide of the teenager, wherever he went. Several times he even met other dead people, meeting pale glances with each other.
«What idiots.» he thought.
A sleepy silence reigns around. The weather turned out to be dreary: it was drizzling, the sky was covered with dirty clouds, and a chilly wind was blowing. The cold night that Eric loved the most was approaching. As it turned out, the revived corpse can still go out from the hot sun. His dim heterochromic eyes noticed the ruined building. The teenager went inside the gas station, which was surprisingly completely empty.
«Cool.» – Eric walks into the center of the station, walking on broken glass. The street light illuminated the room a little. However, he was mistaken – he was not alone.
From around the corners, the dead began to come out, moaning in a hoarse voice. Mr. Kitty's fur stood on end and she hid behind her dead master. The teenager started moaning in response. It didn't really make sense, but that's what they could do instead of talking.
«It was definitely an ambush. And someone else from the survivors will dare to call us stupid?»
The corpses dispersed to different corners while Cartman sat down at the bar stool. His cat lies down on the bar and turns over on his back. He looks blankly at the shelves where there were enough food products.
«It's not surprising that they chose this particular place for the trap. There's a lot of food here.»
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw one of the dead men sit down next to him, causing the chair to creak under the weight of the corpse. This man had dirty green skin and severe ruptures of rotten skin.
—....Eeheee....(Are you hungry, kid?) A rough groan sounded, causing Eric to slowly turn his head.
— Eh.... (Yeah, man) – he's not quite sure that this is the right intonation.
A strong wind blew, which penetrated through the gas station because of the broken windows. But Cartman realized this not by the usual cold air, but by his hair, which began to develop in a weak wind. He wanted to feel the cold like before. When the idea of cold was replaced by hot chocolate, terrible Christmas movies and scratchy sweaters, he felt a distant sense of loss. Eric was always cold now. The lack of blood circulation does this to a human.
Now he was thinking about hunger. Of course, it won't kill him (is that possible?), but it's quite excruciating. The last time Eric managed to bite off the hand of a fresh corpse was a couple of weeks ago, but he is sure that the brain would be much tastier. At least that's what they say in horror games.
Suddenly there was a loud groan from one of the dead, announcing the approach of a group. It was unclear whether this was a surviving group of people or the same dead as Eric himself. However, many zombies began to get up from their seats, hiding back in the shadows, as it was before Cartman's arrival.
«Don't tell me they're doing this all day hoping to catch someone alive. Although, I would love to eat.»
He felt the hand of the dead man who had been sitting next to Eric earlier put his large palm on his shoulder, calling him with him. The teenager obeyed and together they hid behind the cashier's counter, sitting on the floor. Mr. Kitty jumped from the cash register to the owner's legs. There was a dead silence, much quieter than in the cemetery. Cartman cautiously peeked out from behind the cash register when he heard footsteps on the wet ground from the rain. Dark silhouettes appeared in the moonlight—real people!
It was clear from the movements, gait and muffled conversations.
«Ooooh, fresh meat! A feast on the bones, huh.»
— It seems quiet...Let's go. - said one of the guys who was holding a shotgun in his hand. He was slightly above average, with black hair. Also on his thin jacket was the initial "S". This is all that Eric has singled out for himself.
— Just in case, check that there are enough cartridges for firing. another guy in a blue hat and a nasal voice whispered back. It seems like both of these guys are competing with each other. (It was very noticeable from the look of the first guy.)
«These are teenagers! What idiots...Looks like I'm going to try the brain of one of them after all! So...who should I choose?» He began to examine the others.
Three blond guys: One was wearing an orange jacket hiding his face, the other was in a turquoise sweater with a bag on his shoulder. (Is he carrying their weapons or what?). There was also a nervous guy whose hands were shaking so much that Cartman could see it from a few meters away.
— Do you think there is something edible here?
On the other side was a slightly overweight guy with brown hair who was checking his backpack.
— I don't think anyone was here before us. Alive, I mean.
There was another teenager standing nearby, whose image in the shadows cut into Eric's dead brain. A tall guy who was reloading his weapon while under the rays of the cold moon. Due to the lack of lighting and the long distance, the zombie couldn't get a better look at him. He even tried to squint, but the weight of the deadened eyelids did not allow him to do it.
Cartman was so lost in thought that he did not notice how the rest of the dead began to invade a group of teenagers. Everything happened pretty quickly, even his new acquaintance, the dead man, jumped out from behind the cashier's counter and ran towards his victims.
— Fucking shoot! - The guy with the black hair shouted loudly, aiming his shotgun at the zombies.
— Hamburgers!
— Ugh! Jesus! - The nervous blond exclaimed.
The dead teenager got up from the floor to the sounds of shelling, coming to his senses. There were many-voiced painful moans of the dead, who were wounded by bullets, hitting different parts of the body. They shouldn't have felt pain, most likely it was rage due to prolonged hunger. Various pieces of dead flesh and bones flew in different directions like fireworks.
Surprisingly, the gang of teenagers coped well: most of them used firearms, and the blond man in an orange jacket skillfully used hunting knives. Cartman began pushing the dead, trying to get through the corpses to the appetizing bodies. However, he dodged a bullet in time, which almost hit him in the skull.
«Shit!»
Eric turned his head at the jerk who almost finished him off.
«What a bastard!»
Another bullet shot Cartman in the left chest area, passing through an important organ that has not been beating for a long time. It was him, the teenager who had caught his attention.
Now, from this angle, Eric was able to see him better: A black turtleneck, which was under an orange vest and a green earflap on his head, hiding his hair. He wanted to tear this asshole apart, but the cramped space of rotten corpses did not allow Eric to get closer.
— There are too many of them! Ugh! WE HAVE TO GET OUT OF HERE!
The blond man's hands were shaking so much with fear that he almost killed not only the zombies, but also his team.
The guy with the initial "S" on his jacket was talking loudly, trying to shout over the voices of the dead.
— Listen, on the count of three we run out of the gas station and scatter in different directions! That way we can get rid of them faster. One, two...!
A gang of teenagers on "three" began to run out of the gas station, running separately along an empty highway. A crowd of walking corpses began to move towards the exit, knocking the dead teenager off his numb legs.
«Fuck!»
—...Gaah.........! – A faint emotion of anger even flashed across Eric's face.
Chasing after this crowd was as stupid as it was pointless. Mr. Kitty easily ran up to her master, poking her muzzle into his corpse cheek.
He began to slowly get up from the floor, examining his numb palms in which there were broken glass. There was a disappointment that now Cartman will have to starve for a few more days, and maybe even weeks. He didn't want to go back to Denver, so he went back to the cashier's counter, slowly sitting down on the floor. Rigor mortis of all the muscles of his neck forced him to put his head on his knees.
The cat began to explore the territory, sniffing and examining every corner of the gas station. His pale gaze shifted to his hands, where a putrid venous network began to appear. If Eric had been breathing, he would have sighed.
Suddenly, he heard footsteps, but did not look out and check. That was until Eric heard a spasmodic breathing, as if someone was trying to catch his breath. Cartman pricked up his ears, listening for his possible dinner. Someone sat down near the same cashier counter on the opposite side, apparently unaware of the dead teenager.
— ...Phew....Let's see what's left.
«That voice....you're a fucking idiot, huh?»
Although the teenager was laughing in his thoughts, outwardly his face remained the same cold and impassive. He was about to look out from behind the cash register, when suddenly he saw someone else's feet in front of him, passing almost in front of his face.
"Dinner" took out a huge insulated bag from his backpack, heading to the shelves with food. Eric carefully stood on the palm of his hand, approaching the backpack. He looked inside, where there were weapons, a pair of bandages, an antiseptic and a walkie-talkie. The owner's name and home address were also embroidered on the fabric of the backpack.
«Kyle Broflovski.»
Kyle deftly collected canned food from the shelves, which contained baked beans, spaghetti, spam and fish. (Cartman knew this for sure, since he had been staring at cans for the rest of the day before.) It was difficult to move with frozen limbs, but he still managed to get up.
Honestly, Kyle smelled delicious. Something he had never smelled before. The smell of fire and sweat combined in a strong aroma. However, there was a problem that did not arise before. Eric has never attacked a person. Previously, he had managed to gnaw off his piece of flesh from a fresh corpse, but he had never killed on his own.
Out of the corner of his eye, the dead teenager noticed Mr. Kitty, who was slowly jumping on the shelves on the walls, approaching Kyle.
«No, Mr. Kitty! Bad cat, don't scare him off!»
Cartman began to approach the pet cautiously, avoiding broken glass and stretching out his hands to the naughty cat. Cold, numb fingers grabbed her torso, which caused Mr. Kitty to meow long. He started shaking the cat a little.
«Bad, bad, bad!»
Suddenly, Eric heard a click announcing the removal of the fuse. He slowly turned his head towards the teenager, who was now aiming the gun directly at his head. The fixed pastel-green gaze held Cartman in a vise. The trembling of the jaw and the convulsive breathing betrayed the fear of Kyle, who did not expect to see someone else from the dead here.
«Awesome.....fuck.»
They stood opposite each other, not moving and holding their breath. (Although to be fair, Eric wasn't breathing.) The human probably expected the zombie to pounce on him at the first opportunity, but nothing happened. Mr. Kitty broke free from the dead teenager's arms and landed on her paws. She began to run up to Kyle with interest, sniffing his shoes.
— Aghhhh! - Cartman groaned, starting to get angry at his cat.
Kyle looked down convulsively at the animal, and then at his backpack, which was still at a dangerous distance next to the young dead. Eric did not look away heterochromic gaze, covered with a corpse film. He wondered why this guy hadn't killed him yet. (In fact, he was also terrified of the prospect of dying forever, he just couldn't physically express it. Both teenagers shared a common feeling, regardless of whether alive or dead.)
— What?! The teenager exclaimed, unable to stand the tension. Kyle decided to get out of the abandoned gas station as soon as possible before the rest of the dead returned. He began to take slow steps, still holding the gun in front of him. The whole situation bored Eric quite a bit and he slowly folded his arms over his chest, showing that he was not going to do anything. Cartman wheezed heavily and moved his dead tongue. These were quiet, spoken words.
—....go....go...
Red eyebrows are raised high, as a result of which longitudinal wrinkles appear on the forehead, and the eyes widen. Kyle's face shows disbelief, but he had no other option to retreat. He got the groceries that the gang of teenagers came for initially, so he just decided to leave this place as soon as possible.
The dead teenager watched as he almost ran out of the gas station, grinning in his thoughts, finding in this the evil irony of life. Usually Eric never thought about the layer between the living and the dead in this world, but death has significantly changed his views.
Mr. Kitty meowed, attracting his master's attention. Cartman looked at her, where she was sitting next to a forgotten backpack.
Suddenly, to the zombie's surprise, Kyle stopped. He was standing on an empty highway while Eric was still in the building. They looked at each other again, still in silence.
The head in the green earflaps tilted to the side in a silent question, to which Cartman responded with the same gesture. Kyle's expression changed from uncertain interest to nervous irritation, so he still ran away in the direction where his friends had run earlier.
«What a fucking freak.»
Meanwhile, Mr. Kitty got into Kyle's backpack, which caused things to fall out of the bag.
The dropped walkie-talkie gave out a hissing noise of interference, after which a familiar voice rang out.
— Kyle? Kyle, are you okay? We're all here, but we can't track your location! Answer me!
A hollow grin broke from the blue lips of the dead teenager. An evil joke had matured in his head, which could brighten up his hunger. He picks up the walkie-talkie from the floor and presses the tangent. After the tone signal starts growling and screaming as hard as he could. If Eric could feel pain, then his vocal cords would definitely get sick.
«Let them think that their strange friend is dead.»
He threw the radio aside and picked up his cat, stroking her dirty fur.
A strange premonition arises inside.