Chapter Text
The dimly lit mirror set above his sink reflected his grim face. It's an old mirror, brought and made cheap for him to use. He didn't brought it himself, his father did. But that was not important, what was important was what staring right back at him from inside the mirror. His refection showing every detail of his skin, his eyebags, his crooked nose, his dry mouth and eyes shaded form the light. It was painful to look at himself but knowing the risk, he had to.
First he opened his mouth to look at his teeth. White, not perfect but still white. Under different circumstances he'd be proud of that. If anyone checked him, especially outside at night, they'd mistake him for them. He needs to fix that.
Cigarettes will do, right? He still has one pack left.
His eyes come second. They're constantly twitching, his pupils rapidly shifting it's position. It's probably form the coffee he drank earlier. Maybe drinking that crap was a mistake.
He puts his hands in front of himself. They're dirty. When was the last time he washed them? He does so now.
He pulls himself away from the mirror and backs off into the corridor. So far there's only four different people he let in. The tall lanky guy, the deadbeat mother with her child and the cashier, none of which he bother to get the name of. He checked them all already, so far there's no reason for him to jump to conclusions and stain his hands with blood yet.
It's been... Around two days since it all started. Two days and the third one is coming to an end tonight. Two days of constant lack of sleep and paranoia nagging him in the back of his mind. Saying that he misses when the world didn't go to shit would be just plain lying. He couldn't care less about that, one way or another he'd be in this house, isolating himself from everyone and everything.
The day for him seems to come to an end. Even with how uncomfortable it'll be to sleep in this heat, he walks back into his room hoping to doze off for a few hours before he'll have to wake up again.
He does miss the cold though.
-----
The sudden knocking wakes him up. He rises slowly and without urgency, as if it wasn't the middle of an apocalypse, to make his way to the front door. Quiet whispers could be heard as he passed by, the few people who he let in content to make use of their time by talking among themselves. He glanced outside the window once the dim light made its way to his eyes. The FEMA officers surrounding his neighbours house were moving rapidly, speaking with the few residents left there. Perhaps trying to set up a quarantine zone near? Or taking the soli samples?
He looks away once he sees the burned bodies of teenagers surrounded by more FEMA employees. Clearly no-one bothered to clear them up until now. Pity is not something he has to spare in this times, yet it's something that shows up nonetheless without his prompting. The very same teens that he saw chatting without any care in the world, were now decaying I'm his yard. At least infections won't spread around anymore.
The last window is full of soldiers, marching down the towns road. Perhaps trying to kill the visitors that roam the streets?
He didn't bother to look out long from it, the knocking becoming more obnoxious and annoying as he gets closer. Someone's really ought to piss him off tonight, and he has to admit, it's working. Whatever their plan might be, knocking his doors down won't make him any less harsh in his decision to let them in. If anything it might just make him more inclined to tell them off.
The knocking reminds him of his father, drunkenly stumbling through these very same doors in his childhood. Him being in his teens and having to open these doors late at night when his father would lose keys for the tenth time in a row. Even if those times are long since gone, they still swirl around in his head. Especially since he got this house in his possession, everything reminded him of his deadbeat father. The pissed on carpet, the poorly installed windows, the walls that reek of beer, even his bed is a constant reminder.
The only reason why he hasn't moved out and burned the whole place down, is because he has nowhere else to go. His
The shotgun is placed right below the peephole, and he lowers his head in an angle at which he can see the other side.
"Howdy!" His eyes widened for a split second. The man standing before his door looked exactly how the visitor from the night before that stood outside the window. Not to mention that the radio and TV mentioned the pale one terrorising the city. He looked exactly how they described him, pale skin stretched over it's form, as if it was wearing someone else's over it's own.
"I'm not letting you in," the homeowner spoke, his hands steady held the shotgun despite the urge to just shoot this visitor away. He won't let the the fear guide him though, nor will he let it slip out.
There is only one thing he can describe the man as, dangerous, if he can even call it a man anymore. The creatures that roam this city are all to be feared, but this guy especially needed him to be cautious of. A creature so vile that one can only pray that they survive the encounter of. But he was never a religious person, so why bother praying now?
The TV description is nothing compared to how inhumane it looks in real life, with his own eyes.
"Is your door nice and sturdy? Never know what might happen to it." The man spoke just as cheerfully as he did the first time.
"What do you want?" He spat out.
"Just playing a game," the visitor said.
He tighten his hold on the gun just a little bit, the expression on the pale man's face shifted into a wider grin as if sensing the weapon all along. "Get out, I have a gun," he said while bringing it up a bit. It won't do shit on this guy and he knows it, yet he still feels the need to fight only way he knows.
"Delicious! Despair gives courage to the coward, yesss?"
"What the hell-"
"Sooo.... Are you alone?"
He feels as though his voice got stuck in his throat. Didn't his neighbour mentioned that? Or was it radio? That someone would come knocking at his door, asking if he'd be alone. He doesn't know anymore, the days seem to melt together just as the sun is melting the earth surface. He's not sure what is a fact and what's just bullshit that someone spew out just because. What was it even that they said? To answer that he's not alone, he's pretty sure.
"No, I'm not alone," was all took to say for the visitors whole to attitude shift.
"Shame," it's face contracted into cold disappointment, "it's your lucky day, I can hear someone whispering inside."
It added with sadistic glee,"but how knows where they'll be in few days?"
Then it took off into the night, it's steps quiet and inhumane.
The homeowner let out a breath and the barrel of his gun lowered. It would be fucking awesome to not have to deal with all of those things at once. He would kill to be left alone, but as it stands he needs to let people in because then freaks like that show up to his doorstep.
Not long passed before he had to pull himself together for the rest of the night. Despite the desperate protest from his own guts, he let more people in. More than he would ever want there to be.
----
The night passes and he's left on the fourth day with a dead body in his office. The deadbeat mother dead and her child nowhere in sight. Despite knowing how messed up she was, he feels bad for her death. She was a human after all, same as him. Unlike at least one of the people he let into his house, he was sure she was a person.
One by one he checked again every guest, until it landed on the girl hiding in his closet. She was suspicious before. The way she seemed confused all the time didn't help, her words catching in her mouth as she spoke. Is it possible that visitors can lose memories? Whatever, it doesn't matter in the face of death that greeted her as he pulled the trigger of his shotgun.
He let in two other people this night, a stoner who's currently occupying his bathroom trying to beatbox from what he can hear. A gravedigger who's been rambling on about seeing creatures coming fork underground. He honestly didn't listen to his talk that much, letting himself space out. He already checked them both.
He slowly walked over to sit and break down in his living room, the only other person there being the bar guy. Curiousity seemed to sit well with him as he looked over the homeowner.
"What was that?" He asked.
"That girl was a visitor," he buried his face in his hands when the brief silence meet him. He can almost see what this guy will say, since he'd been going on about how those sings don't make sense since he was let it. Homeowner agreed... to a certain degree. It's not like there's a better method to recognise these visitors. He's doing everything he can do, even if all he wants to do is to just stay in bed all day and night.
"And that gave you the right to judge?" bar guy leaned in further into the couch, burrowing his eyes into the homeowner.
"No, but she said it herself that she believes she is one."
"And she begged you to shot her?"
"Yes," he snapped.
"Yeah sure," bar guy took a sip of the stolen beer with disinterested.
"Maybe you want to deal with this bullshit yourself?"
"I'm just saying that even if she was a visitor, you should just kick her out."
He snorted, "and risk seeing anyone else dead while we wait for night?"
Bar guy said nothing, just pulled his eyes away from him. Seeing as homeowner himself had nothing to say, he just leaned back into the cushions of his couch. He thinks the seating was brought by his grandma back when USSR was still a country. Coming to think of it, he can't remember when even was that.
That girl was a visitor. She would've killed him without hesitation in his sleep. It's a fight for survival in this world, only the strongest will live. By that logic, either she dies and he can sleep peacefully, or he dies and the murders continue.
Yet he still can't shake the odd feeling off. She wasn't human, so why does he feel so guilty?
"You did good," bar guy adds, despite how uncharacteristic it seems after a disagreement they just had. He raises his eyebrow at him while the guy dosen't even bother to make eye contact.
"I'd never take you for a type to comfort people.
"Fuck off," bar guy send him a middle finger.
The homeowner let out a quick laugh.
----
Fuck, is all he thinks once he sees the flames enveloping his neighbours house. The hopelessness clutches at his heart once he sees it through his window is suffocating.
He just runs a hand through his hair and makes his way back to his front door. There is nothing he can do to help this innocent family, but he whished he could. Going out now and searching through the flames would be pointless, it would only burn him up. He would be reduced to ashes the same way that they are being right now.
What has this world have come to? One day he drinks himself half blind, and the next he sees his closest friend dead. People are dying all around this city, and he can't even tell them apart by this point. Would it kill for there to be at least a day when he doesn't have to worry about this shit?
If he was awake at this hour a week ago, he'd be isolating himself from the whole world, letting himself get buried in the mess that is his life. A cold beer in his hands and a photo of his dead wife to sour the mood, while he lets some mindless movies play on in the background. He'd be letting his depression get better of him, trying to forget all and everything in his life, possibly thinking about suicide.
But now all he can think about is how much shit is going on around the whole world. He doesn't even know if it's happening only in his country, or if every corner of the earth is in the similar situation. The TV doesn't help, half of the time he zones out when anything is said and the other half they don't say anything. What the hell can he do to stop this?
Nothing, there's nothing he can do.
He makes his way to the old chair placed next to his door. He sets his shotgun between his legs and waits for the inevitable knocks that will come. A routine he set up by this point, to wake up just so he can guard his house by himself.
Ever since that visitor showed his face, he'd been more on edge. Tension entered his body when he thought back over to that moment. Obviously everyone, including him, is more paranoid ever since the end started. A natural order of humanity to begin to lose itself once the cataclysm comes, but for him that one pale man made it extra hard to fall asleep.
A quiet, soft knock pulls him out of his thought. He rises up along with his shotgun, and gets into his usual position when answering the door these days. His eyes widen once he sees who's on the other side.
"Are you okay?" He asks the little girl, his hands pull the barrel of his gun downwards and away from the door.
"Can- can you le- let me in?" She's crying, her voice is shaky and her speech barely comprehensive. He intends on opening up the door immediately, reaching for the handle just so that the little girl can get inside already and away from the horrors of the outside. He almost dose so, only stoping himself to think for a moment. What if she's also a visitor?
His mind flashes back to that girl in his closet, she was a visitor despite how much he wanted to believe she was not. Even if he knows the little girl, there's still a possibility...
No no no, he won't start questioning a kid who's currently crying her eyes out. What the hell was that thought about?
"What happened?"
"My d-dad, th-they killed my daddy..." She stared crying more and more while she tried speaking about what happened. Seeing this the homeowner quickly set out to opening the door, right after putting the gun down. He unlocked the chains and pushed the little girl in, awkwardly patting her on the back the whole time before he shut the door.
He took one last look around the outside, his eyes scanning the area. The once overgrown bushes and trees that adored this land, were now all dead and dry from the sun's exposure. A sing of just how horrible the outside world has become. He hurried to close all the locks.
"Who did it...?" He began to lead the girl into his kitchen.
"Th-e visitor's, dad invited them in to sit with us," he looked at him with uncertainty.
"And...?"
"Da-daddy was talking to them about so-something, and then they ki-killed him."
Gosh he's terrible with kids, let alone one's that just witnessed their parents death. It wouldn't be okay for him to not try at all, so he sits her down at his table and brings out her favourite juice to drink. He promised his neighbour today that if something were to happen, that he would take care of his daughter. Guess he didn't have to wait long for that.
"Th-thank you," she said but when her landed on the juice she seemed to break down even more, "I do-dont wa-want jucie."
Right about when he was certain she was calming down, she wasn't. He assumes the juice reminded her of her dad. Her voice echoed around his whole house in a cry while he winced internally, although his face remained static. Just as the sound made it out of her throat, the tall guy walked in.
He looked at the scene with mild annoyance but said nothing, just glanced at the homeowner with his eyebrows raised.
"Do you even know how to take care of kids?" He asked.
"Do you?"
The bar guy sighned, he moved towards the little girl and started to try and calm her down. Quiet shush noises and whispers filled his kitchen with him just standing there awkwardly. Little girl's breath seemed to slow down and her eyes started to dry up as bar guy rubbed circles on her back.
The homeowner thinks it's fair for him to leave, he doesn't do shit and she seems fine with being comforted by an alcoholic. Said alcoholic strangely good with kids, was he a father or something? He'll ask him later. He backs out of the room, guy glancing at him.
"Could you take care of her for now?"
"Sure," bar guy nod.
The homeowner dosen't say anything else and just shuts the door. Not even a second later he hears rapid knocks coming down the hall.
Time to get back to his job, it seems.
His eyes scanned the outside for few seconds while he pulled his feet towards the door. The whole squad of soldiers that were there yesterday was dead, buy that's not what caught his attention. No, it was the pale visitor holding one soldier's head in his hand, and presenting it too him like a trophy. His smile stretched over his skin while the disgusting display was put for the homeowner to watch. It looked proud of this, off massacring whole team of armed men.
When it noticed him glancing at this, it tilted its head I'm acknowledgement. The homeowner quickly shut the blinds back. Why is the visitor showing off that head to him of all people?
He looked through the peephole on his door, the stance the same as the last night with his gun pointed bellow.On the other side of the door stood a FEMA employee, holding a gun of his own.
"Good evening, I'm from FEMA."