Chapter Text
I. Doomsday
It was all a blur; hardly anything comes to mind when he tries to think of it. There were loud noises; sirens maybe, screaming, yelling, crying, wailing, any sound of terror, he supposes. It was bright; lights blinking in and out every second. Everything was so loud.
“Finney…”
“What?”
“Daddy’s- his neck-” She looks like she’s trying to hold in a sob, her eyes are shiny.
Uh-oh.
“What? Gwen- Where is he?” Finney whispers frantically.
“He was in the bathroom. He looked really mad, Finney.” Now she is crying. He grabs her and pulls her to the closet, opening it and getting his bat.
“Was?” he asks, pushing Gwen lightly into the closet.
“He- He saw me and yelled at me so I ran in here.” Snot runs down her nose and she sniffs loudly. “Finney, I don’t want Daddy to die,” she whispers.
“It’ll be fine Gwen. Just- We’ll stay in here for a while and if anything happens…” He closes the closet door and sits down, pulling Gwen with him. She nods and sniffs loudly again. Finney shushes her and gently directs her head onto his shoulder.
After a bit of silence besides Gwen’s insistent sniffle Finney grabs the backpack for emergencies. Gwen starts crying more.
“You said we’d stay in here.”
“For a while,” Finney corrects quietly. “It’s just in-case, Gwen.” She grabs hold of him, hugging him. He wraps an arm around her.
“Gwen!”
When he goes to open the door he growls in frustration. It’s locked. “Finney! Open this door. NOW!” Gwen hugs him tighter and shoves her face into his chest, muffling her cries. The door-knob rattles violently. “FINNEY! GOD DAMN IT! OPEN THE DOOR!” Gwen whimpers and Finney gently pushes her to the side of the closet. He grips his baseball bat. Tears well in his eyes as he opens the closet door. He steadies himself into position in front of the bedroom door.
“I SAID-” The banging stops. “OPEN THE DOOR!” The door busts down and Finney jumps to the side, narrowly avoiding being clipped in the arm. He falls to the ground and lets out a growl, an animalistic sound. Not completely unlike a predator chasing prey. Finney finally gets a good look at him when he turns around.
His eyes are heavily glazed in a white film. His neck is covered in blisters, some oozing a green-yellow pus. Blood is smeared all down the lower-half of his face. He isn’t Terrence Blake anymore, that, he’s certain of.
Finney swings.
It was quiet at first. A few cases here and there.
We’ve been told not to worry, the cure has finally hit its half-way mark on being finished!
Then a new strand came out.
-calling it Bloodfire because it feels like your blood is on fire, right? It’s been described by many as the feeling of your blood being boiled under your skin.
It evolved.
-rash on the back of your neck which spreads across your face.
-blisters covering the back of the neck-
Scientists say that nose-bleeds are the first warning signs-
No one knew what it was, or where it came from. No one even knew how it was being spread.
IS THIS THING AIRBORNE?! THAT’S WHAT WE NEED TO KNOW!
-just thinking. We haven’t been told how people are getting this. If it’s airborne, then, we already have it. Right?
Everyone just knew they needed to get the hell out of dodge before it got to them.
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It’s been days since they last ate.
Gwen was getting slower and Finney didn’t have the strength to carry her anymore. To top it off, it began to rain heavily in under a minute.
“Gwen, this house right here,” Finney says, grabbing Gwen’s shoulders, pushing her towards the empty house.
“Too far, Finney,” she groans.
“No- C’mon, it’ll be fine.” He hopes, he gulps.
The house was empty, though the door was locked. They busted through the kitchen’s window and were now going through the fridge.
“Finney, I don’t think any of this stuff is good,” Gwen whines. Finney groans and pulls out a moldy loaf of bread from the bread box.
“This is probably fine if we just tear the mold off, Gwen.” She makes a noise of distress and Finney feels bad for even suggesting it. He puts the bread back and joins Gwen at the fridge. Nothing looks good—the flashlight hardly works. It was one of Gwen’s old Playskool flashlights, clunky and ineffective—nor does it smell good. Finney almost gags at the smell that comes from a bowl Gwen opens. She does gag and runs to the sink. She doesn’t throw up, so that’s a plus.
A bang of thunder followed by lightning cracks through the night sky and Gwen screams.
“Hey-” She’s looking behind Finney.
“The fuck are you kids doin’!?” a loud, gruff voice yells and Finney instinctively brings his bat up as he swings around to face the voice. “Hey- You ain’t one of them things are ya’?” The man stands stiffly in the door-way. Finney can hardly see given that Gwen dropped the flashlight when she screamed.
“Wha- What do you want?” Finney asks, getting into the perfect position for causing pain. The man slowly reaches for something in his jean pocket and Finney’s brain goes blank, letting his pure instincts take over.
He runs at the man, swinging his bat into the man’s hip. He yells and tries to grab Finney, Gwen screams, distracting the man and Finney swings again, this time the man goes down. Finney brings the bat down on his arm. The man groans and Gwen screams again, Finney makes the mistake of looking over at her.
The man has both his arms around Finney. He flails fruitlessly, trying to bring his bat up, but the man has completely immobilized him. Gwen sobs loudly from a corner she’s backed herself into, she begs the man to let Finney go.
Finney bites down on the man’s hefty arm hard enough that it draws blood, then the man throws Finney to the ground. He lays there for a moment, his chest rattles with every breath he takes. There’s a thin layer of blood covering his tongue, he spits it onto the floor.
“Shut the fuck up!” the man yells at Gwen. Finney stands, gripping his bat. “Listen! If you’re not one those things then calm the fuck down.” Finney will not calm down. This man tried to kill him.
“Jesus- How old are ya’ kid?” he asks. Finney glares at him. He sighs then turns to Gwen. Finney steps in front of her. She isn’t crying anymore, but she’s still sniffling.
“Eight? Is that how old you are?” Finney doesn’t answer. “Well you can’t be older than ten with those pjs, huh?” Finney stiffens and looks down at his star covered pajamas, this is his favorite pair. The man grins. “So you’re ten. How old’s the other one?”
“She needs something to eat. If you don’t let us have what’s in here I’ll do more than bite,” Finney threatens, moving the bat ever so slightly so the man gets the idea.
He doesn’t. “Sure, everything in here is probably expired though.”
“Then get us food she can eat!” Finney yells, bringing the bat up.
“My basement,” the man says. “I was havin’ a can o’ corn ‘fore you kids broke into my home.”
Gwen perks up at the mention of canned goods. She looks at Finney with something pleading in her eyes. Finney relents.
He always does.
“Name’s Tucker, but everybody calls me Tuck,” the man introduces himself.
“Finney. This is Gwendolyn,” Finney says curtly. Gwen nudges him in the ribs lightly.
“It’s Gwen.”