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Was Survival worth it?
Zora brushed away her blonde hair, gazing at Elizabeth's bright, happy smile, as they spun round and round to the music. It was the happiest she'd felt for a long time, the dark, grey months of winter behind them. They had survived. Two hundred or so people filled the hall they were dancing in, all laughing and relieved to have gotten through another year. Music played from a band in the centre - a joyful happy tune that brought hope to Zora's heart. Elizabeth's brown hair whirled around, her chestnut eyes flashing with mischief as she dragged Zora out of the hall.
"Umm. I don't think we should be doing this..." Zora trailed off, looking at her girlfriends elated face and not having the heart to drag her back inside.
"C'mon, don't you want some time just me and you?" Elizabeth replied, her mouth upturned in a cheeky smile.
"Elizabeth…. What about the infected?"
"Oh, it's one night, stop worrying about them! We've survived this long, haven't we?"
"I guess..." Zora murmured, ignoring the worry pooling in her gut. Elizabeth laughed, the sound soft and tinkling, as she grabbed Zora's arm, dragging her up to the roof of the hall. The stars were twinkling above them. Elizabeth looked at Zora, eyes shining, brown, glossy hair tumbling in waves down her back. She looked so beautiful, despite the world they lived in, the conditions that had been forced upon them. Zora snuggled in, letting Elizabeth stroke her hair, allowing herself one peaceful moment and closing her onyx eyes, just for a second...
Shouting. The groan of the infected. Zora shot up, rubbing her sleep crusted eyes, shaking Elizabeth awake next to her. It was dawn - had they really slept that long? They both jumped to their feet, running to the edge of the roof to peer down at the carnage below. Dead eyed, rotting skinned infected wondered about, the people below screaming or shouting. Nobody had expected them.
Drawing her knife, Zora leapt off the roof to help her fellow survivors, slashing at any infected that came near. Elizabeth jumped down behind her, drawing her own sword and standing with her back against Zora. There were too many, she heard Elizabeth grunt in pain behind her and Zora turned to see blood leaking from a wound on her arm. Panic seized her and she gripped Elizabeth's hand, tugging her away. Together, they ran through the fray, weaving through people either fleeing or fighting. Zora knew they had to clean Elizabeth's wound quickly, there was no chance she was losing her partner to the infection too.
Panting, Zora slowed, looking around to get her bearings. It was okay, a safe-point (usually a building with resources and food in case anything happened) was nearby. Zora stopped, ripping a strip from her shirt to wrap around Elizabeth's arm, if only to slow the bleeding. She navigated the streets, coming to a rundown office building and they trooped up the stairs.
Although she was tired, Zora immediately rushed over to the supply chest, rummaging through for clean cloths and bandages. There was no cure for the infected, but someone had told her there was less chance of being infected if she cleaned the wound to start with. And she had to do everything to stop Elizabeth from being infected. Taking Elizabeth's arm, she gently dipped the cloth into water and began rubbing, and cleaning, her arm. Elizabeth sucked in a breath,
"Does that hurt?" Zora asked gently, trying not to let her worry seep into her words.
"A bit," Elizabeth smiled tightly, "but keep going. I'm fine."
Zora went even more carefully this time, brushing off the dirt and grit that had wriggled into the wound. When it looked clean enough, Zora used one of their softer bandages to tie the wound. It had stopped bleeding as much, but Elizabeth looked pale.
"You need rest." Zora told her, voice firm, knowing Elizabeth would argue, insist she was fine, and that she could help.
"OK." Elizabeth's voice was faint, quiet, and she walked to the bed without an argument. Zora stared at her as she threw the scratchy covers over her. She hadn't argued. But, She always argued when Zora told her to rest. Always resolutely declared that she was fine, or that she wasn't tired. Which meant something was very, very wrong.
Wishing for the embrace of sleep - a hard thing to come by these days - Zora began to tidy up, ignoring the stains Elizabeth had left behind on the floor. Blood made her feel sick, made her remember the night her parents died. She was too tired to think anymore, to even worry about Elizabeth. Sinking to the floor, she tried to imagine a world without infected. A world where she didn't have to be ready to pack up and run at the slightest hint of trouble. The world that had once been fifty years ago, before the infected showed up. But she hadn't been born into that world, she had been born into this one.
There was no point in daydreaming, she thought viciously, making herself stand up. Her legs shook with the effort, threatening to drop her and make her sleep. Slowly, she tided and cleaned up the last of the stuff, then dropped to the ground once again, falling into the deep, bottomless abyss of sleep.
Zora woke up with a pounding in her head, the events of the last day coming back to her in a rush. She glanced over at Elizabeth, who was still deathly pale, but sleeping peacefully. Zora yawned and began to get ready for the day ahead. Elizabeth would need a lot of sleep after that injury, but Zora had to find more food and supplies. Pack ready, she looked once more at Elizabeth, nervous about leaving her, but knowing that it would do them both more good if she went to Salvation to collect more supplies.
She walked slowly through the winding streets, trying to work out how the infected had found Salvation. Salvation was supposed to be safe, a haven from the infected. The only way they could have gotten in… Was if someone let them in. She let the truth sink into her bones, regret darkening her heart. Someone had betrayed them. Someone had betrayed her.
Zora arrived back at their base, Elizabeth still dozing on the bed. She'd been sleeping for a very long time, but maybe she just needed rest. Elizabeth's eyes fluttered open, looking at her surroundings.
"Zora." Her faint voice barely more than a whisper, "Zora, I still don't feel great..." Zora turned, to see her girlfriend deathly white and shaking,
"Elizabeth!" Zora cried, rushing to her side, "Oh, wow, are you OK?"
"I think- I think I-I'm infected." Zora heard the words, yet they were muffled. She couldn't breathe, it felt like she was drowning, freezing cold and burning hot all at once, her senses in overdrive. Every atom in her body was screaming at her, telling her Elizabeth was wrong, she couldn't be infected. She wanted to cry, to scream, but couldn't. All she could do was sit numbly, feeling everything and nothing all at once.
"N-no" Her voice was shaky, so unlike the voice of Zora, the saviour. Elizabeth nodded, raising her eyes to Zora's.
"I love you." Elizabeth whispered. "I love you I love you loveyou Iloveyoulloveyoulloveyoulloveyou." She said it over and over, the words bleeding into one another, in hopes that it could be enough. That it would convey a lifetime of love in a few short seconds. That was then that the tears came. To both of them. Silently, sliding down their cheeks and soaking their clothes and hair.
Zora wrapped her arms around the only person who truly knew her and held on tightly, knowing already what Elizabeth would ask her to do. Her tears mingled with Elizabeth's, both embracing and whispering three words that would never be enough. Would never truly tell the other how much they needed them. Elizabeth grabbed Zora's face and kissed her. and they stayed that way,for a long time - tears leaking from their eyes, stuck in one last embrace, neither wanting to let go.
Finally, Elizabeth drew back, breathing heavily. Zora's tears had long dried up, she'd given, and given, and she didn't think there was much else to give. Elizabeth looked at her, eyes still clear, despite the infection,
"I think you know what I want you to do." She said quietly, "You don't have to, but if you don't, I will do it myself. I just want to give you the choice." Her voice was steady, despite what she was saying, her eyes burning with a fire Zora wished she could stare at forever.
"I-I want to do it. I don"t want you to be alone." The sentence cost her so much, "Elizabeth you are the best thing that's ever happened to me. I love you more than words can say and..." She broke off, a sob catching in her throat, "And I will always be with you, no matter what realm you enter next."
"I know, I will be with you too, always." Elizabeth gazed at her, eyes travelling over every part of Zora's face, "I love you more than words will say. And… don't worry about me, love, I am not afraid." It was true, her face was void of any emotion other than her love for Zora, and a lingering sadness. Not for her, Zora realised, but for who she would leave behind Who would have to mourn her. Zora nodded, admiration welling up inside at how brave this woman sitting before her was. She was so very lucky to have someone like this in her life, because Elizabeth wouldn't leave her. Her spirit would always be watching over Zora, a protection, a shield, and Zora would never forget her either.
"Do it."
Zora took the sword from Elizabeth's back, hands shaking, entire body trembling with horror, and…
Hours later, Zora was still kneeling beside Elizabeth. Her face was sodden, eyes puffy and red. She had thought she had nothing else to give. In reality, she had a whole word that had spilled out through her tears - a world where her and Elizabeth had a happy ending.
What a cruel world to give her something so amazing and beautiful, then snatch it away. Was she being punished for something she had no recollection of? She almost laughed, who would believe such a thing in a world like this? There was no god. Nothing to save her now. No one to love her, to hold her, to dry her tears.
In that haze of feverish confusion, she saw the knife lying at Elizabeth's side, coated in blood. Picking it up, Zora turned it round in her hands, running a hand along an edge warm with her lovers blood. Her brain was roaring, filled with the screams of her people. Her mind was throbbing and barely alive. The knife beckoned.
She looked at her bare arms, surface level cuts crossing them, nothing too bad. She knew where her veins were. Knew where she could cut to stay alive, but feel the most pain. Knew how deep was too deep. She'd been saving people for a long time. And yet now, there was no one to save her.
She had made the cut deep. Deep enough to silence the pounding in her head, deep enough for it to throb, Elizabeth's blood mixing with her own. Zora looked at the blood flowing from her wound, a wound no one was there to witness. A wound that came from her. A wound that hurt so so much, but not enough.
Zora knew she couldn't stay much longer, but she wanted to. If she could, she would've laid down by her side and stayed there forever. But that would mean death, and death was too good for her. Death was something she didn't deserve. So she stood up, mind clearer, and heart burning with a hatred so pure it could have been love. But it wasn't love, it was a monster built from her grief, a need for vengeance so strong it was the only thing keeping her alive.
"I will avenge you." Zora told Elizabeth's body, her voice barely more than a whisper of the wind. She said it louder, her voice thick with more un-shed tears,
"I will avenge you!" She wanted everyone to hear, to know she would find the one who had betrayed Salvation. The one that had killed Elizabeth. The sadness was minute now; a different thing had taken over. A writhing, coiling, snapping beast of rage. The deep cut on her arm was on fire, her body growing hot, pushing aside the hurt to make room for this, this, thing. That covered her mind, and her heart until all she could hear was the hunger of revenge. No longer was she a sad broken girl. No. She was a woman, who wanted revenge. Her bones no longer throbbed with tiredness; they burned with a purpose she would never be able to explain.
Driven by the monster inside her, Zora packed up, quicker than she'd ever before. The handle of her knife was familiar in her hand as she walked steadily out of the building, into the world below, and the only thing that hurt now was a wound on her arm, a reminder of who she wept for.
Three months later
Zora wiped her bloody hands on her trousers, her fingers screaming in protest at the sticky substance. She cringed at the blood pooling on the floor - memories of Elizabeth lying on the floor... of her parents in a final embrace... of everyone she hadn't been able to save. But she wasn't Zora, the saviour anymore. That was long behind her. She had become something her past self would've hated, scored. She had become a devil, hunting down any survivors she could find. Someday, somehow, she would find the one that had killed Elizabeth, and even if she didn't know it was them, they would still be dead. She would still have won.
"Doesn't matter if I'm right. As long as I kill enough people.. eventually, I'll get my revenge, right? I won't know - it won't be as fulfilling, but who cares about any of that?" A bitter laugh escaped her, "I'm nothing bu a killing machine." The attempt to make herself feel better hadn't worked very well.
There were more scars crossing her arms, each deep, but none as deep as the first. A new one had been added to her map only a few minutes earlier, just after killing that man. It had become a tradition, of sorts. Every time she killed, every time she drove her knife, or axe, into a heart, she would sit by the body and use the same tool to carve her skin. To keep herself hurting. Now she was just waiting for an infection. For something, anything to kill her. Something other than herself, because she still didn't deserve to die. Even if she wanted to so, so badly.
What about Paradise city? There's a bunch of survivors, your betrayer is sure to be there, please, just spare me. Please!
Then the man had screamed.
Paradise city. She'd heard was over-run with infected, anyone would be a fool to go there. Survival was low. So why had he told her to go? Did he know something she didn't, or was he just trying to get her killed? Either way, she didn't care, if she died, so what? At least then she would be with Elizabeth, and her parents. Zora's mind was made up, it would not be changed, no matter how many qualms crossed her mind. Shouldering her pack, arms moving slowly and clumsily. So, she began to walk.
Streaks of gold and purple shot across the sky as the sun began to sink below the horizon, Zora decided to find a place to sleep and handle the trek in the morning. Ducking into an abandoned garage, she set down her pack and rolled out a sleeping bag. It wasn't the most comfortable, but she was so exhausted that sleep pulled her under almost instantaneously.
In the morning, Zora woke to a pounding on the door. Jumping up, she waited impatiently for the infected to break in, sword at the ready. Once the infected was dead, Zora rolled up her sleeping bag, an action done so frequently her muscles moved without command, although that day, the scars criss-crossing her skin stung. It was time to begin her journey to paradise city.
Wearily, she dragged her feet out of the garage, opening the map she drew. Pulling out her compass, Zora found North and began to walk. And walk. And walk. And walk. And walk. She didn't walk quickly, rather keeping a slower, steadier pace. Occasionally stopping, for a break or water or to check her map; the stops, although few and brief, are still a welcome break for her aching fect. Hours passed uneventfully, very few infected slowing her down, but soon the sun was sinking again, and Zora was tired. So very tired. Her eyelids were heavy, steps becoming slower and slower, she couldn't walk through the night as well. Giving up, she found another abandoned building to nest in and soon fell fast asleep.
The next day was exactly the same, and the day after that. Days upon days of walking, wearing down her resilience bit by bit. She walks slower each day, her backpack feeling heavier, eyes half-closed. She needed a horse. Or something, anything, she was so, so exhausted. It had been five days of almost non-stop walking, and she knew if she kept doing this, in her current condition, it would kill her. That was probably why she kept pushing forward.
Midday came, and Zora was trekking up a hill, when she saw a figure in the distance. It was sitting atop something, and Zora quickened her steps in hope to get a better look. It was an elderly woman, grey hair tumbling down her back, riding an… An infected horse? No, that couldn't be right, it was impossible to ride an infected animal.
Curiosity driving her forward, Zora broke into a run, forgetting about her fatigue, her mind clear for the first time in four days. Reaching the woman, Zora stopped, panting as the woman looked down with puzzlement at her.
"Hello?" The woman said, her voice wizened, but strong. Oh. Zora hadn't thought this far..
"Oh, um hello."
"Now what's your name?"
"I-I'm Zora, w-what's yours?"
"My name?" The woman looks at her name tag, "Squiddo!" She says, as though saying it for the first time.
"What. How, how is your horse...?" Zora asked, unsure of what she was even asking
"This my horse hamborghini. He was infected with the other zoo animals, but he still remembers me." Squiddo says happily
"Oh, um, why is he called Hamborghini?"
"Well." Squiddo had a mischievous grin on her face, "Back in the olden days I used to have two loves in my life. I called them hamburgers and Lamborghini's. So, meet my horse: Hamborghini."
"Oh, hi Hamborghini." Zora patted the horse
"Now, you tell me what your business is." The old woman looked at her sternly. Feeling like she was being scrutinised, Zora answered haltingly
"I, um, I'm travelling to Paradise city. For, um, r-research." The lie came unbidden, surprisingly easy
"Aah, I live in paradise city too, would you like to ride with me on Hamborghini?" Relief washed over Zora,
"Oh, yes please." Squiddo smiled warmly at her, reached out her hand, and swung Zora up onto the back of Hamborghini.
The ride was not long; Zora had gotten quite close. On the way, Squiddo chattered cheerfully, telling Zora about London - the zoo she'd worked in, her growing dementia, her journey to Paradise city after the infection came.
As the horse rounded the bend, Paradise came into view. Buildings and skyscrapers rose to meet the clouds, once sparkling glass now splattered with mud and dirt. It had evidently once been grand - people rushing in and out of buildings, cars and taxis stopping here and there for their riders to get out. Now, it was deserted, weeds, grass, and vines coating the roads and buildings that once shone. Squiddo led Zora to where she lived, at Paradise airport. Zora thanked her, and promised to visit, before finding a building to rest in.
The next day, Zora scoured the city, looking for an ideal place to set down her camp, settling on one of the tall buildings - the roof too high for any infected to climb up to. The rest of the day was spent searching for resources, gathering materials. Getting ready to meet the other survivors. Soon the sun is setting once again, and Zora returns to her camp. Standing on top of the building she chose, Zora gazes out, imagining the prospect of her new life here. Of all her lives since Elizabeth died.
Eliminate everyone.
With that thought, she walks to her tent and sleeping bag, falling into a troubled sleep, images of Elizabeth's marred body lying on the floor plaguing her dreams.