Archive of Our Own

It was highly unusual for the Young family to be at home on a Sunday morning.

In fact, they were almost never at home on Sundays – bar that time little Clara broke her arm on her swing set. And that time William came down with food poisoning because he insisted on a super rare steak. And the week after that when Bonnie still couldn't conceal the bruise around her eye.

This week, it was because 12 year-old Clara was sick. Nothing more than a fever and the occasional vomit into the bucket next to her bed. Usually, Bonnie wouldn't be worried. But, the recent reports regarding fevers and sickness on the news had taken a toll on her brain.

So, there she was. Alone in their living room, biting her nails down to the quick. Her husband, William, had been called into work urgently a mere hour ago. His deputy sounded panicked on the phone. William left the house swiftly, planting a kiss on Bonnie's cheek as he shrugged on his bulletproof vest and Sheriff's jacket. 

Clara was asleep upstairs, allowing the tinny sound of the TV to engulf Bonnie downstairs. 

It was back to the consistent news stories of sickness. All around the country for the past day or so, they'd flare up, with reporters offering vague information about their cause or effect. The hospitals were overrun, and they were urging people to stay at home if they had a fever – hardly anything from the ordinary. 

A sudden bang on the front door broke Bonnie out of her daze. Her hand flew up to the chain on her neck on instinct, grabbing the gold cross. She lowered the volume on the TV, placing the remote back on the coffee table before making her way to the front door. 

On the other side was her neighbour, an old man called John. He often wore suspenders and a boaters hat, while he tended to his front garden. A member of the Church, Bonnie and William always welcomed him and his wife with open arms. 

John stood on her doorstep, his wrinkled hands folded neatly in front of him. He grinned, "Good mornin', my dear! I-I hope I'm not disturbin' your peace."

Bonnie smiled softly at the man. "G'morning, John. You could never. How can I help?" 

John leaned forward slightly, gently holding on to one of Bonnie's hands as he spoke. She could feel his old-age trembling as he spoke. "My dear, I know how so very hard you work on your garden. I was wondering – please, I-I'll understand if you decline – my dear Mary isn't so well, you see." 

Bonnie's smile faltered at the news. "Gosh, John. I'm sorry –" 

He waved her away gently. Bonnie noticed how clammy his hands were when he brought them back to hers. "The Lord must. Anyway, I can see how she eyes up your lovely Petunias in your garden. Would you be so kind as to allow me to cut a bunch for her?" 

"Oh, 'course, John," Bonnie sighed, gripping onto his hands gently. "Take what you like and what you need. God knows I have more than enough."  

"Bless you, child," John bowed his head slightly. "She hasn't been herself, you see. These will bring her back." He patted her hands before shuffling away from the doorstep. "Give Clara my love."

Bonnie watched with a solemn smile, bowing her head as a 'goodbye'. One hand on the door, her gaze followed John as he turned.

Her heart caught in her throat, scratching its way into a gasp as she caught sight of his back. His blood-stained back. On his shoulder, a torn patch of his striped shirt lay engrossed in dark red. Did he know he had hurt himself?

John crouched, leaning over the flowerbed, his shaky hands pulling out his sheers from his pocket. He was acting normal, cutting the Petunias from their stems, and bunching them in his hands. 

"John," Bonnie called out, stepping out onto the welcome mat. She tucked her hair behind her ear as the breeze blew by. "Do you need help?"

John looked over his shoulder, his paling face bright against the contrast of red on his shoulder, just underneath his nose. "Not at all, dear."

Bonnie shifted her weight from foot to foot. "Are you sure? I have bandages to patch you up." She gestured towards the shirt. 

To her shock, John released a laugh. "Oh, this? It's no bother. My Mary has these dreadfully sharp nails – she gets 'em done at Sheila's in town. Looks worse than it is, darlin'." 

She remained unconvinced, but what was she to do? Drag him inside by his collar? Demand he see a doctor? 

So, Bonnie closed the door. 

She lingered for a few moments, before a sudden, distant cough brought her back into the foyer. Clutching her chain, she quickly made her way upstairs, following the coughs. Past the framed photographs lining the stairwell, Bonnie knocked gently on her daughter's bedroom door. 

"Clara, honey?" She pushed the door open gently, revealing the warm, stuffy room. The white curtains were closed over, making the space seem even smaller and dimmer. 

Little Clara opened her eyes slowly, her red hair stuck to her face with sweat. She groaned, flinching at what little light was brought in from the hallway. "Too bright," She mumbled. 

Bonnie sighed, smiling sadly at the sight. She closed the door behind her gently. "It's warm in here, kid." 

"I'm freezing," Clara furrowed her brows, eyes closed. 

Bonnie frowned, moving to crouch at her bedside, placing the back of her hand on her forehead. "Honey, you're burning up. Let me open a window." 

"Mom –" Clara groaned. 

Ignoring her protests, Bonnie shuffled towards the window, pulling the curtains back gently, revealing daylight. Both hands on the latch, she pulled the old window upwards, allowing fresh air to flow into the room. Although, being the end of August, it wasn't much cooler out there than it was in here. 

Bonnie rested her forearms on the ledge, leaning out of the window, curiosity getting the better of her. Down the small alley between hers and the neighbours house, she could see Old John shuffling up his driveway, returning home. His hands were full of colourful flowers, straight from her garden. He still looked as nonchalant as before. 

Beyond the rustling leaves of nearby trees, Bonnie could hear faint sirens. They were growing louder, and then disappearing all at once. It was hard to tell if it was someone yelling, or if it was a neighbour's dog barking. 

The dull sound of glass being hit broke Bonnie from her trance. Her head snapped up to the window directly across from her – it was John and Mary's bedroom, as far as she knew. 

Were the sirens getting louder?

Squinting in the sunlight, Bonnie raised her hand, forming a shadow across her eyes. The sight in front of her had her blood running cold. It was Mary, alright – if Mary looked as though she had been taken from her grave. Her skin was devoid of colour, and her eyes were bloodshot and distant. As though as she had been eating raw meat, her mouth was bright and bloody. 

In her fear, Bonnie's hand flew up to her chest, feeling the coolness of metal against her fingertips. Mary continued to hit her hand against the window, animalistic snarls leaving her as she seemingly wanted to reach out for Bonnie. Even from where she was stood, Bonnie could see Mary's perfectly manicured nails. 

"Mom?" Clara's small croak brought Bonnie back to reality.

She slammed the window closed, quickly dragging the curtains closed, leaving the room in the same sweaty dimness that engulfed it previously. Bonnie stared at the window for a moment, before another crashing sound brought her back into the room. 

It was the sound of the front door being flung open, its handle hitting the wall. She recognised it all too well, knowing there was even a dent in the wall from how often it happened. 

"Bonnie! Clara!" His voice carried through the house, a different yell from the usual, full of panic. It was William, home from work already.

"Will?" Bonnie called out, rushing towards the bedroom door.

"Honey!" William called out again. "Get your things –" 

His voice drowned out in mumbles as he seemingly went in and out of different rooms on the ground floor. Bonnie rounded the corner after yanking the white door open. At the bottom of the stairs, stood her husband. Her mouth dropped open at the sight of him, covered in blood. His white shirt, stained, and his bulletproof vest barely allowing the word 'Sheriff' to peek through. 

It wasn't uncommon for William to come home, bruised from work. Or even, with a couple of stitches from his run-ins. But to be covered in blood – should Bonnie be grateful that it didn't look like his own?

He stalked up the stairs. Bonnie watched his mouth move, but failed to make out what words he was saying, until he stopped in front of her. He smelled metallic. 

"Bonnie!" He yelled, gripping onto her upper arms. His fingertips filling in the familiar dents he usually left. "We need to go!" 

Bonnie stared into his wide eyes. His face was splattered with blood too. She was sure it was in his hair, under his fingernails  –

William's hands left her arms as he rushed past her, into Clara's room. And then it surrounded her – the sirens were all encompassing, and this time, they were followed by screams. Right outside of her front door, all the way down the street, probably. 

We need to go. We need to go. We need to go. 

Running into the master bedroom, Bonnie yanked a duffel from underneath their bed, launching it onto the bed. There was little hesitation in her movements as she moved towards the bedside table. There was repetition in her bones as she lunged into the bottom drawer which held photo albums, and into the top which held her Bible. Next, she flung some clothes from their hangers, and drawers, messily stuffing them into the bag. 

Packing a bag to leave wasn't an unfamiliar event for Bonnie. She did it often. And yet, never made it past the bedroom door before she was unpacking everything, putting it back into its place before William returned home.

William stumbled into the doorway, Clara on his hip, her pyjamas stained with blood as she leaned on him.

"Now, Bon!" He yelled, disappearing from the doorway to make his way downstairs. 

A final look around the room filled Bonnie with dread. Her feet tingled as she zipped the duffel close, a swinging feeling in her chest as she tried to take a picture in her head. The coldness in her veins told her she would not be returning here for a very long time. 

Hauling the duffel over her shoulder, she rushed after her family. William bounded straight out of the front door, hurrying to place Clara in the back seat of the car as gently as he could. His hair plastered against his forehead as she slammed the car door shut, looking frantically over his shoulder. 

Bonnie halted as she passed the open living room door, catching sight of the TV. 

It was a breaking news report – Nashville was up in flames. 

Done with wasting time, she fled outside. For a second, her hands wanted to fly to her skirt pockets, checking for her keys to turn around and lock the door. She wanted to turn back and check if she had closed all of the windows and turned the hob off at the plug. Those feelings quickly disappeared once she saw the chaos on the street. Neighbours on neighbours, tearing them apart with their bare hands and stained teeth. It was more than chaos – it was barbaric. 

William snatched the duffel from her hands, launching it into the passenger seat, and likewise, snatching Bonnie back from her thoughts. As he scrambled into the driver's side, Bonnie sped towards the passenger seat, feet pushing down on the bag in the footwell. The car had already been running, and was noticeably askew in the driveway. In the backseat, Clara cried, tears streaming down her flushed face. 

Bonnie turned in her seat, eager to console her daughter. "Shh, baby. Put your seatbelt on, there you go." Her eyes flickered to the disorder happening in the distance through the back window. 

William placed one hand on the back of her headrest, blocking her view and forcing her to face forward as the car reversed out of the drive. It swayed wildly as it rejoined the road.

Immediately, she caught sight of the massacre in front of John and Mary's home. He never even made it to the front door. Old John was flailing on the ground, flowers still gripped tightly in his hand. On top of him, consuming him, were other neighbours – Bonnie recognised them as Joseph, Kate – was that Paul? 

Even William seemed to stutter in his movements, that he was once so sure of. "Clara, keep your head down!" He called out, noticing his daughter gazing wide-eyed at the same scene Bonnie was transfixed on. She didn't listen – she couldn't. 

Bonnie snapped out of it first, the car jolting as they moved forward. She turned around as much as she could in her seat, suitcase digging into her ribs. "Clara, honey –" They locked eyes and Bonnie reached her hand out. "Put your head down. Don't look up." 

She was surprised at the softness of her own voice, and was even more surprised when Clara listened. The little girl forced her forehead to her knees, hands gripping the back of her head as she cried from fear. 

Bonnie looked forward, watching as William swerved throughout the road.

"What on earth is happening?" She asked, voice strained. "Are you okay?"

William clenched his teeth, remembering. "They just started coming at us – i-it was... God."

Bonnie winced, her hair flailing in front of her face as they roughly turned a corner. 

"The whole squad must be dead," William said. "I stayed as long as I could, but I would've died too." 

Bonnie's heart sank as he spoke. "What do you mean, they're all dead?"

William dodged someone throwing themselves at the car, launching Bonnie into the door. She gripped the dashboard.

"They're all dead!" He yelled. "People are sick, they're dropping like flies. It's Armageddon out there." 

As he spoke, Bonnie recognised the road they were on. Her mouth hung open at the sight of her congregation littered across the road. The small chapel, the place they were supposed to be on Sunday, was stained red. It was completely overrun by the sick, crowding each other. Amongst the crowd, Bonnie caught sight of her brother, Arnold. He was backing up, a slab of broken wood in his hand. 

"Stop!" She cried. "Stop, it's Arnie!" 

William didn't stop the car. 

They were approaching the church, too quick to be slowing down. 

Aghast, Bonnie looked between her brother, swinging the wood in his hands, and her husband, who didn't glance sideways. "Will – stop!" Was he really about to continue driving?

It wasn't unlike William to completely ignore Bonnie at times, but usually, shouting was his method of being heard. Seeming as though he wasn't ready to stop, she reached for the door handle. William barely caught onto the end of her blouse as she left the car, shoes scraping across the concrete as the threw herself out of the vehicle.

"Bonnie!" William yelled after her as she landed on the ground. 

"Mom!" Clara had finally lifted her head up in the back seat. 

With a huff, Bonnie pushed herself up onto her forearms. She heard the car screech to a halt, the smell of burnt rubber filling the air, William still calling her name. Ahead of her, she watched as Arnie continued to fend off the sick people who lunged themselves at him. Winded and scraped, she hauled herself onto her feet, a small limp in her step as she ran forward. 

"Arnie!" Bonnie yelled, watching as one of the sick landed on the ground with a crunch. 

Young Arnie whipped his head towards the call of his name, relief flooding his face at the sight of his sister. He grunted, turning his attention back to the group in front of him, ramming into them with the bat at full force, causing them to topple over one another. He left the plank on top of them as he reunited with Bonnie. 

As they met on the sidewalk, a red car reversed wildly next to them, halting by their side. The front door was swinging open. William had come back.

"Get in!"

Bonnie grasped Arnie, grabbing his arm probably much tighter than necessary. He rushed into the front seat, while Bonnie reached for the back door. She pulled herself in, upper body landing on the seat next to Clara, when a sudden tug on her foot stopped her from moving any further.

Bonnie turned her head, seeing one of the people Arnie had hit, crawling on the ground. They had grabbed on to her shoe, baring their teeth as they tried to pull her back towards them. Clara screamed, reaching for her mother's arms. Instinctively, Bonnie kicked and thrashed, her foot eventually colliding with the forehead of the person trying to grab her foot. Only when the body fell backwards onto the ground, did she notice the black and white clerical collar around his neck. 

She had just kicked Father Isaac in the head. 

The car lurched forward, the sound of yelling dying down as they fled to safety.

Bonnie caught her breath after a few minutes, finding herself clutching at her neck, with the other arm wrapped around a weeping Clara. There was silence from the front seat. William focused on getting them out of the town, while Arnie sat with his head in his hands, legs intertwined with the battered duffel in the footwell. 

"Where're we going?" Bonnie asked, watching as they left the town behind, passing the exit sign.

She caught sight of William's Adam's apple bopping up and down. "Somewhere safe." He had no idea.

"Not the city," Arnie sighed. "They're bombing the cities." 

"Obviously not the city," William snapped. His eyes shut tightly for a moment, hand gripping the wheel. "We just – we need to go." 

"Where, Will?" She felt as though she was pleading with him for an answer, or some sort of direction. "Those people – are they sick? Are they possessed?" 

"I don't know!" Her husband snapped again, silencing the car. "I don't know." 

Bonnie flinched, feeling herself unwilling to say another word. She instead wrapped her arms around her daughter, watching the world pass by over the top of her red head. It was green and amber trees, one after the other, whipping past as they drove. She pressed her lips to Clara's head, beginning to mumble under her breath, the only solace she could provide. 

"Our Father, who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name," 

"Go past Atlanta," Arnie directed, his voice cutting through the low rumble of the engine. "Greene farm. It'll be untouched." 

"Thy kingdom come, thy will be done, on Earth as it is in heaven –"

"Give us this day, our daily bread, as we forgive those who trespass against us." 

"Look, man, I don't want to go to your family's farm –"

Arnie snapped his head to face him. ""Do you have a better idea?"

"Give us this day, our daily bread, as we forgive those who trespass against us." 

"Atlanta is hours away in this thing, we don't have time –" William rubbed his forehead. 

"Well, thank God, we ain't pushed for time."

"And lead us not into temptation –"

William didn't say a word, merely clenched his jaw.

" – but deliver us from evil, Amen." 

They crossed state lines into Georgia after around an hour or so. Clara had thankfully fallen asleep in the backseat. Arnie spent his time fiddling with the radio, trying to link it to any nearby station. Most were radio-silent, or cut out within seconds. 

Bonnie sat with her forehead against the window, trees whipping past her vision as they winded down the quiet road. Her hand clasped onto her necklace, rubbing the indentations through her fingers. Clara's head rested against her lap as she snoozed softly. Arnie and William muttered quietly to each other in the front seat. 

"D'ya remember the way to the farm from here?" William asked, his eyes never straying from the road. 

Arnie paused, licking his lips. "Y'all don't have a GPS?" He glanced between William and the dash. 

"Do ya see a GPS knocking about?" William snapped. His hand flickered to the classic dash. "We barely have a radio." 

"And no A - Z in the trunk?" Arnie snapped back. 

"I don't know why you're arguing with me, brother," William drawled. "You're the one who lived there most y'life. Both y'all." He locked eyes with Bonnie in the rearview mirror. "Bon, you know the way?"

Bonnie chewed on the inside of her cheek, shaking her head silently. "I don't remember." 

William scoffed and shook his head. "Great." 

A beat of silence passed in the car.

It couldn't be her fault that she didn't remember the way to her childhood home. She hadn't been back in what was it, ten years? Give or take?

"Stop at the next gas station," Arnie spoke up, leaning his arm against the passenger door, gazing out of the window. 

William breathed deeply and opened his mouth to rebuke, before Arnie cut him off, barely looking at the man. "We're low on gas." 

The Sheriff glanced between the gas meter on the dashboard and the man in the passenger seat. Bonnie couldn't see the level from where she was, but given how William clenched his jaw and remained silent, she could only assume that they were low on gas. 

The next gas station was a couple more miles up the road, as they found. The car grew even more tense as the building came into view. William sat up properly in his seat and ran a hand through his hair. He turned to glance briefly at the back seat. 

"Bon," He started. Bonnie straightened her back, at attention. "Under Arn's seat, there's a case. There's a pistol in it – can y'grab it?"

Bonnie nodded her head softly. She leaned forward gently, avoiding squashing Clara, who had started to stir awake. Just as William said, there was a black case under the seat in front of her. It was heavy and cold in her hands as she rested it on her lap. 

"Load it," William said. Bonnie looked up from staring at the box in front of her to lock eyes with her husband in the rearview mirror. She glanced between her husband and her brother, the latter who stared at her with wide eyes. "C'mon, Bon." 

Grinding her teeth together, Bonnie unclasped the latch on the case, revealing the silver pistol sat in its foam encasing. The magazine lay beside in its own slot. She took the unloaded gun into her hands, the coldness of the metal seemingly bringing her back into the car. 

Arnie watched, gawking in the front seat, as his little sister clipped the loaded magazine into the gun. He definitely didn't teach her that, and given how much their father emphasised not giving Bonnie a gun, he was sure that he didn't either. Arnie's gaze lingered for too long, he knew. Bonnie was long done with loading the gun when he looked away, and found the car pulling into the gas station. 

Clara was sleepy in the seat next to her mother, rubbing her eyes as the car came to a stop next to a free gas pump. The place was eerily quiet, with only one other car in sight. The group sat in silence for a moment, pondering their next move. 

William silently reached his hand out to Bonnie, his eyes on the gun she held in her hand. Wordlessly, she handed it over. He inspected her work, double checking the clip. 

"Y'always forget to take the safety off," He muttered. "Stay in the car with Clara. Let's go, Arn." 

The two men left the car, the slamming of the door leaving Bonnie and Clara in a muffled silence. She watched as they carefully walked into the building, their figures disappearing behind the door. 

"Mom?" Clara's small voice broke Bonnie's gaze, and she turned to look at her daughter. Her eyes softened.

"Yes, baby?" Bonnie reached out to rest her hand on Clara's head, tucking her hair behind her ear. She discreetly checked her temperature, which had certainly cooled down by now.

"Are we going to see uncle Hershel?" 

Bonnie smiled gently, despite herself. "We are. Your grand-daddy too, you ain't ever met 'im. Uncle Hershel ain't seen you since you were a baby."

Clara's eyebrows furrowed. "For how long?" 

Bonnie opened her mouth, but no words came out. She had no idea how long they could be at the farm. Before she could half-ass an answer, the recognisable crack of a gunshot echoed through the air.

Clara's hands shot up to cover her ears, sitting up as her face dropped in shock. Bonnie's head whipped around to face the gas station once again. A couple of beats passed before the door opened, revealing William, pacing it out of the store. He avoided looking at the car, rubbing his nose with his thumb as he stared at the ground, then at the trees surrounding the main road ahead. The pistol was still in his hand as it swung back and forth, in time with his rapid steps. 

William walked around the car, moving to the fuel cap. Bonnie watched, eyes stern as he began to fill the car with gas, his head frantically looking over his shoulder consistently. With an unmoving gaze, Bonnie opened her car door, stepping out of the car. She turned to face William, closing the door in the process. 

"What happened?" She asked. William didn't answer. "Will?" 

"The guy was sick," He muttered. 

A wave of realisation immediately hit Bonnie. The gunshot – she gulped. "Where's Arnie?"

The sound of a bell ringing met her ears, and she turned to see Arnie walking out of the store, two plastic bags full to the brim. A crease formed between her eyebrows. "We're just taking it?" It wasn't right.

William sighed, and the gas pump clicked, indicating the tank was full. "D'you want me to pay a corpse?" Their eyes met. 

"You're stealin'," Bonnie stressed. 

Footsteps grew louder behind her as Arnie approached. "There's no one to pay in there, Bon." 

She looked between the two of them incredulously. "So, we're scavengers now?"

Arnie stepped around Bonnie, laying his bags on the ground before opening the trunk. He didn't look at his sister as he lifted the bags inside. "Pass us the suitcase, Will." 

After placing the gas pump back into its holder, William opened the passenger door, removing the suitcase that Arnie had been uncomfortably sitting with for the past hour.

"Get back in the car, Bon," William huffed, passing the suitcase to Arnie. 

As they made eye contact, Bonnie bit her cheek. It wasn't unlike William to dismiss her concerns, but this... this seemed irredeemable.

She grasped onto her chain as she moved to open the car door once more, praying for forgiveness. 

Luckily, within the supplies Arnie found, there was a road map. Unfortunately, it was outdated, and most of the roads shown were either closed off or simply just printed wrong. 

"Where'd you even pick this damn thing up anyway?" William snapped, the back of his hand hitting the open page. 

"The guy had it on the counter. It must've been his," Arnie snapped back. "'t's not my fault he's been holdin' on to this thing since the eighties." 

"We've been drivin' in circles." 

"I'm tryin' my best."

"Try harder."

"Boys –" 

"Quiet, Bon." 

The car fell silent. Arnie didn't look up from the map, and William's hands gripped the wheel tightly. Apprehensively, Bonnie leaned forward, positioning herself between their seats. 

"It's getting too dark," She said. "Maybe we should pull over." 

"Y'all wanna sleep in the car?" William scoffed. He damn near rolled his eyes at the thought. "May as well be sleepin' on the road."

"She's right." Arnie lifted his head. "We can't follow the map in the light, let alone in pure darkness. These roads aren't exactly lit up."

"We ain't stopping," William said, stressing his tone. 

"I'm hungry." The sound of a small voice from the backseat seemed to lessen the tension held in the space. Little Clara lifted her head from the window, eyes sad, directed at her father. 

William's eyes flickered back and forth between the road and the rearview mirror. 

He sighed, "We'll pull over." 

The four spent the night on the side of the road, car huddled in with the trees and bushes. The cicadas chirped through the quiet, acting as white noise, similar to the ocean sounds Bonnie liked to fall asleep to. It reminded her of being a child, listening to the sounds of the farm as she dozed off at night.

She stirred awake for a while, unable to not relive the events from the day. Just mere hours ago, John was in her front garden, asking for flowers for his wife. Clara was tucked safely in her bed with a fever, and William was at work. Bonnie couldn't help but think about the scene from the Church. Members of her own congregation, tearing each other apart. Father Isaac, pawing at her shoes. 

Could these be the end times? The Apocalypse? Naivety was sour on her tongue as she thought of Christ rising, amongst the bloody and dead – amongst the damned.

As she felt herself drift away, Bonnie lazily reached up to the chain around her neck.

Our Father, who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name, thy kingdom come, thy will be done, on Earth as it is in heaven. Give us this day, our daily bread, as we forgive those who trespass against us. And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil.

Amen.