Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Day 19

Motoya caught wind of a bus coming around to pick up survivors in our precinct. For a while, I wasn’t sure how he was keeping in touch with others, but I eventually found him hunched over a satellite radio near the window tuning the channels until he heard even a semblance of a voice on the other side. A mother on the other side of the neighborhood had caught his connection and told him that the military was sending an armored bus around to the houses at daybreak on the first of the month, primed to take us to a refugee camp where other survivors were living peacefully.

I didn’t give him a straight answer when he first asked if we would go. There was never an assumption that we would split. Either we went together, or neither of us went. I can only admit here that I was, at times, ready to watch him get on the bus and lock myself back in the house. I knew my home. I lived on the fourth floor. The creatures couldn’t quite climb the fire escape yet. I had food and clean water.

But as the day drew near, Motoya’s energy was undeniable. He tossed and turned at night, still, and I couldn’t help but worry that it was because I wouldn’t give him a straight answer about going to the camp. That same night, I heard clanging against the rails of the fire escape. From my hovel in the corner, I couldn’t see anything, but the image my mind conjured of one of those creatures approaching my window was too much to bear.

So, when the bus came around on the first of the month, I had packed up all my things and set them by the door. Motoya did the same, his body relaxed like he’d let out a long exhale for the first time since he arrived. I’m writing on the bus. It’s bumpy. It smells. The people who have boarded are all out of sorts, some more than others. Most look around with narrowed eyes, all suspicious of one another’s supposed humanness.

When I asked Motoya how we were supposed to trust each other at this new camp, he just shrugged.

What else is there to do?

That’s what he said.

I keep thinking about it.

Kiyoomi awoke from a fledgling nightmare.

It was a larva of the full, terrifying thing. Its limbs were unformed and it wriggled on the floor where it should be crawling. He saw the shapes of the horrors, the contour of his bloodied hands and the blurred noise of creatures snarling after him as he raced through the fragrant pines. But when he reached out, seeking certainty, something he knew was there, the smoke of the illusion would slip between his fingers, leaving only the echo of his cousin’s voice in his ears.

When he opened his eyes to the arguably more terrifying reality of the world, he was drenched in sweat that was quickly going cold against the breeze. He felt a push on his head. He looked and saw Atsumu patting at his forehead with a rag. Kiyoomi reeled back into the trunk of the tree, bracing himself on the sides of the branches.

“You’re sweating like crazy,” said Atsumu, “I thought you might be sick.”

“I’m fine,” Kiyoomi croaked out.

Atsumu lowered his hand, “Sorry.”

“We should get moving.”

Kiyoomi clambered down the tree. He swiped at his wet face with his sleeve then reached for his things. Atsumu shoved the rag in his back pocket, looking sheepish.

“We shouldn’t have stopped anyways.”

“It was nightfall,” said Atsumu.

“We have flashlights,” Kiyoomi grumbled.

Atsumu grabbed his backpack and slung it over his shoulder. It was light. He’d run into the woods with nothing. Kiyoomi lent him a threadbare bag he’d had tucked away for a few months, but there were only some stray packs of dehydrated food and a canteen half-empty inside.

They needed to scavenge for resources, and soon.

“Look, I don’t see all that well during the day,” said Atsumu, “I can’t imagine what night in the woods would be like for me.”

Kiyoomi fiddled with the end of his backpack strap. Atsumu was right, Kiyoomi was just being a pill. The surge of energy after waking up to the gentle press of a rag on his forehead was trickling down into the soles of his feet, leaving space for reason in his brain. They’d stopped at nightfall because Kiyoomi could smell the deads nearby, and Atsumu was complaining that his feet hurt.

“Didn’t you and your brother do a lot of walking to get all the way out here?” Kiyoomi had asked him.

“We’d been on the road for just a few hours when a bus passed by. We chased it down.”

Kiyoomi remembered being on a bus. That was a long time ago. Everyone still smelled decent. Kiyoomi couldn’t imagine the state of things now.

“But you said you grew up near here,” said Kiyoomi.

“We did,” Atsumu replied, “we were in the city for school. Honestly, it’s pure chance we ended up so close to our old house. We’d talk about going back—”

Atsumu’s voice got lost somewhere in his throat. He looked to the floor.

We this, we that. The more Kiyoomi watched Atsumu amble around under the weight of a nearly-empty backpack, it became more and more apparent that half of him was missing entirely. There were moments of silence where the other was meant to speak, and there were jumps in logic where the other should be filling in. His missing arm had even limited him to using just one hand for every task which made the idea that much more chilling.

Atsumu’s brother hacked up in the woods with a machete—

cut off at the joint and bleeding out at the base of a tree.

Kiyoomi tried not to imagine things like that too much no matter how boring the woods got, day after wretched day.

“You know where we’re going, right?” Kiyoomi called out to Atsumu trailing behind him as the sun rose above the trees.

“Yeah,” Atsumu replied, sounding unsure.

“There’s a general store up here,” said Kiyoomi, “we’ll stop for supplies.”

Atsumu reached for the gun in his back pocket. His hand hovered over the end.

“You sure?” He asked.

“Don’t have much choice,” Kiyoomi replied.

“They’re everywhere.”

“Astute observation.”

Atsumu stopped talking, then. Kiyoomi wanted to weep with thanks. He was the type to struggle with the “shut up and listen” part of the apocalypse.

“We’re going west, right?” Atsumu asked.

Kiyoomi turned.

“West?”
            “That’s the direction we should be going in,” said Atsumu, staring up into the sky, “the shelter was east of our hometown.”

Kiyoomi’s eyes slid closed.

“I asked if we were going in the right direction.”

“I thought we were!” Atsumu said, “It felt right.”

“Hold on,” Kiyoomi mumbled.

He set his backpack down into the dirt and started rooting around. He felt the edge of the compass in one of the pockets which was otherwise stuffed full of clean bandages. Kiyoomi handed it to Atsumu with a scathing look.

“What direction are we going in?” Kiyoomi asked him.

Atsumu squinted at the small device. He held it up to the level of the sun, shook it around, and even tapped on the glass in case it was some sort of interactive screen.

“Give me that,” Kiyoomi hissed, snatching the compass back in one fluid motion.

He held it level in his hand. The needle whirred around for a few seconds before settling a few centimeters left of West.

“You’re lucky, we’re headed west,” said Kiyoomi.

“I knew it felt right,” Atsumu grumbled to himself.

Kiyoomi turned and held his tongue as best he could.

“Store is just up this way,” Kiyoomi said.

“How do you know all this?”

“I came from this direction,” Kiyoomi replied, “just hiking—scavenging—”

“Where are your people?” Atsumu asked.

Kiyoomi tried to wet his drying tongue at the roof of his mouth, but it was equally parched.

“My people?”

“Yeah,” Atsumu caught up to him, “your crew, the people you’ve been hiking and scavenging with.”

“I don’t have any people.”

“Wait, you’re alone?”

Kiyoomi chewed on the inside of his cheek, “Yeah. I am.”

“What happened?” Atsumu asked gently.

“Nothing happened. I’m just alone.”

“So you were always alone?”

No.

“Yes,” Kiyoomi said.

“That’s—” Atsumu calculated silently, “almost a whole year.”

“I know.”

“There’s no way you’ve made it this long all by yourself.”

“But I have.”

“How?”

“Why do you care?”

Atsumu hesitated for a moment. Kiyoomi felt mean, but social niceties were lost on him the day he boarded that bus one long year ago.

“I’m just curious,” said Atsumu quietly.

“Here.”

Kiyoomi looked past the tree line and saw the edge of town. It was a barren, desolate stretch of land that must have previously been some sort of main street. Stores lined each side of the road, each with boarded or shattered windows and darkness shrouding the insides. The first time Kiyoomi stumbled across it, the silence spooked him so bad he couldn’t stay very long. Since, he’s bucked up and gotten over the eerie feeling.

Miya Atsumu had not.

“Fuck,” he hissed, “this place is giving me the creeps.”

“Let’s just get what we need and leave,” said Kiyoomi.

“My brother and I used to break into abandoned places for fun,” said Atsumu, “it’s not so fun anymore.”

Kiyoomi kept an eye out for the creatures as they walked, his fingers trilling over the handle of his machete. There was a slight breeze rustling through some loose garbage, but nothing else of note.

“Stay low,” Kiyoomi whispered, “we’re the loudest thing here.”

Atsumu complied with sweet silence. That was all it took to get him to shut up: mortal terror.

Kiyoomi took in a deep breath, searching for any stench in the nearby air. They were alone for now, but the peace teetered like it was balanced on the end of a sewing needle. Kiyoomi glanced back at Atsumu who was flush-faced and forcing swallows down, one after the other.

“Here,” Kiyoomi whispered.

He reached for the handle of the glass doors. One ring of the bell was all it took for him to take it down, so the opening was silent and swift.

Most of the store was just as Kiyoomi last left it. The floor tiles were half ripped up, exposing the rough earth underneath. Empty boxes littered what was left of the standing shelves.

“Where did everything go?” Atsumu asked lowly.

“We’re not the only hungry people out here,” Kiyoomi replied.

Kiyoomi took his machete from the holster and cozied his fingers around it. He adjusted his shoulders in line with the door ahead and Atsumu.

“What are we gonna do?” Atsumu asked, glancing around to the empty store.

Kiyoomi looked at him from the corner of his eye.

“I thought ahead,” he said.

He turned the doorknob and opened the door slowly. A soft creak broke the silence. In a darkened corner amongst empty boxes and scattered garbage was a tall oak barrel.

“There,” said Kiyoomi.

There was a touch of relief in his voice that he hoped Atsumu wouldn’t catch onto. He kept his machete poised but used his other hand to uncover the top of the barrel and peer at his storehouse inside.

“Open your pack,” he told Atsumu.

He heard shuffling and the hum of a zipper. Kiyoomi reached into the barrel and pulled out a lightweight flashlight. Atsumu took it from him and, briefly, Kiyoomi could feel his clammy palms. He handed him a first-aid kit, an empty canteen, a stack of dehydrated meals, and a small camping knife. He felt around for a box he was sure had to be there.

“Sakusa?” Atsumu said, his voice shaking.

“Hold on,” Kiyoomi whispered back.

The wood was spitting splinters into his fingers, but there was a box of fresh bullets that he could finally use, considering Atsumu’s handgun.

“Sakusa,” Atsumu said more seriously.

“Just a minute!” Kiyoomi hissed.

A hand slapped down onto Kiyoomi’s back. He rose to give Atsumu a withering look, but his eyes grazed past the glass doors at the front of the store.

One.

Two.

Three.

Four.

“Shit.”

Kiyoomi dove into the barrel, nearly half of his body obscured by the curved wood, until he finally found the bullets. They rolled around in their cardboard confines as he rose back up and tossed them to Atsumu.

“Let’s go,” he said.

“They’re at the door!” Atsumu exclaimed.

Kiyoomi peered around the corner, “There has to be a back door.”

“Sakusa!”

One of the dead’s bodies had slammed hard enough into the doors to open them, their scaly, necrotic arm slipping into the momentary gap. Its friends followed closely, limping and falling their way into the building.

“They haven’t seen us yet,” Kiyoomi hummed to himself.

Atsumu raised his gun with untrained arms. All four creatures turned, loose eyes zeroing in on the two fleshy beings alive at the other end of the room. Kiyoomi lifted his machete.

“I saw a door back there, go try and open it,” he whispered to Atsumu, “and don’t you dare shoot that gun. The noise’ll just be a beacon to all the others in the area.”

Shakily, Atsumu lowered the handgun. He walked with his back to the wall, eyes fixed on the slow yet persistent dead advancing on them. They snarled and howled when Kiyoomi took a step towards them rather than away.

One creature was faster than the others. He wasn’t so decomposed so his clothes were only ripped at the ends, but his dead stare on Kiyoomi assured him that the infection had already taken hold. Kiyoomi leapt towards him and slashed at his face. The creature snarled and reeled back, but he reached swiftly for Kiyoomi’s arm.

“Atsumu!” Kiyoomi called out.

He shook the creature’s grip, but saw another limp around to his back. He hacked again at the creature closest to him just enough to make him stumble back into the other. Kiyoomi lifted his machete with both hands and drove it straight through the creature’s forehead with a warm squelch.

“Shit,” he heard Atsumu from the back, “it’s locked!”

“Damnit,” Kiyoomi muttered as he slashed at one of the other creatures, glancing back to the glass doors where a cloud of dead were responding to the commotion in the general store.

He kicked the legs out from another creature whose decomposition was well underway. It clattered through the shelves to the ground where Kiyoomi could mount its legs and drive the end of the machete through its head just like the last. He could hear Atsumu tugging on the back door, rattling the locked handle and cursing to himself.

As the creature beneath him succumbed to its fatal wound, Kiyoomi’s eyes darted around the store for anything that could save them, preferably a glinting gold key on the counter. But all he could see was a fire axe tucked behind a hydrant, all encased in thick glass affixed to the wall.

“There’s an axe!” Kiyoomi shouted.

Atsumu appeared with his gun in hand. He tried to use the metal nose to break the glass, then the handle. Kiyoomi watched expectantly until a sour smell wafted from over his shoulder.

Before he could look, the creature had grabbed his neck with bony, flesh-rotted hands and pulled him down onto the ground. Atsumu kept banging on the glass, summoning the creatures from outside.

But Kiyoomi’s arms were fighting off the snarling creature who was desperate to sink its teeth into supple, living skin. The creature grabbed his head, its mouth approaching and dripping foul-smelling spit onto Kiyoomi’s cheeks. Kiyoomi wrapped his hand around the creature’s neck and whacked the side of its head with the handle of his machete.

It tumbled, taking the machete with it. The last of the first group tripped over its own foot and went careening to the ground right where Kiyoomi was laying. He rolled out of the way just in time to catch the creature’s wind and feel a glob of old flesh fly from its arm to Kiyoomi’s leg.

Atsumu was still hacking away at the glass.

“It’s a gun, idiot!” Kiyoomi cried.

Atsumu glanced down at the gun in his hands. Then, he raised it and shot a bullet right into the case, shattering the glass into a million bits. Atsumu threw the hydrant aside while Kiyoomi scrambled for his machete while the creature snarled and gnashed its teeth at him.

The doors rattled. At least twenty creatures were trying to get in, and with enough bodies they would push open the doors and start pouring through.

“Got it!” Atsumu cried.

Just as quickly, he had disappeared into the back. Kiyoomi heard the axe splintering into the wooden door just as he felt the machete comfortably in his hands.

The last creature sat up and reached for his face. Kiyoomi sliced his hand clean off. It thumped and rolled down the shop aisle. The creature leaned its body towards him and Kiyoomi used its momentum to push the machete tip through its forehead.

Atsumu hacked away at the wooden door, but the swings were slower and less powerful. He was getting worn out.

The glass on the front doors shattered. Dead started to flood the store. Kiyoomi stood, pressing the heel of his boot into the dead creature’s head to tug the machete blade out. With a flourish, he sliced a perfect wedge into the side of the other creature’s neck.

Snarls and growls filled the room. Kiyoomi saw even more in the cloud of creatures than he had before, closer to forty now were advancing on him.

“Atsumu?” Kiyoomi called out.

“Almost there!” Atsumu cried.

Another swing, another crackle of wood. When Kiyoomi glanced back at him, he could see Atsumu using his hands to peel back the broken wood in a frenzy.

Kiyoomi widened his stance. He lifted his machete. The horde limped towards him, their mouths hanging open and their eyes rolling helplessly in their sunken sockets. He took a step back.

Atsumu cried out. Another crackle of wood sounded from behind Kiyoomi’s head.

“I got it!” He shouted.

Kiyoomi wouldn’t take his eyes off of the advancing creatures. He took some steps back, hoping his mental mapping of the space would save him. He swung the machete around, it whistled through the air and prompted some ire from the closest creatures.

“Let’s go!” Atsumu shouted to him.

Kiyoomi waited until the very last second, when he felt the sharp wood under his fingers, to turn and climb through the gap Atsumu had created. He tossed his machete through, first, to keep it from making him too wide for the gap. Kiyoomi hoisted himself up and hooked one leg onto the other side. When he lifted the other, a vice grip held him back.

He braced on the side of the gap to keep from falling. Atsumu was already running ahead, but turned when Kiyoomi yelped. He started to run back without another thought, axe glinting in the afternoon sun. He held it outstretched to Kiyoomi, who took the weapon and used it to hack off the creature’s hand. Kiyoomi pulled the rest of his body through the gap and tumbled to the cement below.

Atsumu offered his hand, “Come on!”

Kiyoomi got up all on his own. He handed the axe back to Atsumu and grabbed his machete from the ground. Atsumu started running. Kiyoomi did the same. When he turned back to the wooden door, he saw that the gap Atsumu had carved out was just too high for the creatures to climb through after them.

“Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit!” Atsumu cried.

Kiyoomi ran with him back to the tree line. Slowly, the sound of the snarling horde faded away, and the tall first enveloped their weary bodies. Atsumu leaned against the trunk of a tree and panted. Kiyoomi crouched to the floor and tried to catch his breath a bit more subtly.

“Oh shit,” Atsumu whispered between breaths, “oh shit, oh shit.”

Kiyoomi wanted to do the same but, instead, he looked through the trees and stood tall. He glanced down at his compass and turned a quarter to the left.

He glanced to Atsumu.

“This way’s east.”

And he started walking, whether Atsumu was following or not.

A good thing came from their near-death experience in the general store: Atsumu was quieter than ever. So quiet, in fact, that Kiyoomi started to worry as the afternoon waned into evening.

“Miya,” Kiyoomi said softly as they reached the edge of a river.

Atsumu looked up with glassy eyes.

“Yeah?”

Kiyoomi grimaced, “You alright?”

Atsumu hesitated for a moment, his lips stuttering.

“I’m fine,” he said.

Kiyoomi wasn’t convinced. Neither was Atsumu, either.

“I’ve never seen that many up close,” said Atsumu.

Kiyoomi kept walking ahead, but his pace slowed.

“You haven’t?”

“No,” Atsumu replied, “even when the camp was overrun, they were just telling us to evacuate. I never saw the herd. There were just the two that followed me.”

A bird rustled in the leaves overhead. Kiyoomi’s hand twitched over the machete handle. He wasn’t usually this jumpy, but the earlier events had put him suitably on edge. Distinction between danger and nature was blurring. Kiyoomi couldn’t tell if it was just him that was seeing it that way or if the world itself was to blame.

“I don’t even remember seeing my brother after I started running,” he said.

Kiyoomi glanced down at his feet. There were stains of blood and mud at the tips of his boots. They were his only pair. The right sole had finally started to come undone from the leather.

“Where are you from?” Atsumu asked.

“Tokyo,” Kiyoomi replied.

“Ah, okay,” said Atsumu, “so you were in the middle of it all.”

”Pretty much.”

”You lived out there?”

”Yeah.”

”Left home?”

”Yeah.”

”What about your parents?”

Gone.

They’d been gone for a long time. Kiyoomi doesn’t remember them too well, only their blurred faces in old photographs his grandmother would show him. He was happy she died months before the infection took hold of the nation. Passed in her sleep.

Sometimes, Kiyoomi tried to imagine what it would be like to turn. Would it be like his grandmother’s peaceful passing in the midst of her sweet dreams, or could the dead feel themselves changing.? Did they try to resist, willing every fiber of their being to remain conscious of who they once were? Was it a slow, painful seeping of evil into every inch of skin?

He almost wished he could ask them, just like he always wished he could ask his parents what happened the night they died, hand-in-hand.

“They’ve been gone a long time,” Kiyoomi said.

“Oh,” Atsumu’s voice lowered, “I’m sorry.”

Kiyoomi tried to silently brush off his pity. He’d had enough of it in his lifetime.

”My parents turned,” said Atsumu, “they worked at the airport and were exposed to the first flight of infected passengers. The military bombed the annex they were in.”

For the first time in his life, Kiyoomi wanted to tell Atsumu how sorry he was that everything happened the way it did, the exact sentiment he’d hated all his life. He understood the urge to say something, to seem appropriately sorrowful yet not too weighed down by the facts of someone else’s life.

“Alright,” he said.

He couldn’t think of anything better.

“I guess everyone’s lost someone,” Atsumu chuckled, “not all that special, these days.”

Kiyoomi considered it. Maybe it was nice to have company now, to not be the only one who’d endured such terrible loss in such a short amount of time. It was a morbid sort of comfort he chose to keep to himself.

“So you’ve really been traveling all alone, huh?”

Kiyoomi’s hands felt heavy and cold. He tightened his grip around something that wasn’t there. He looked at the bloodied toes of his boots.

“Yes.”

He knew it was a lie, but it wasn’t worth telling. He’d been traveling with his cousin at one point, that he knew, but when he tried to retrace his steps and remember exactly what went on, there was only him and the muffled form of a companion haunting the expanse of the memory.

“Look, I can’t say I’ll be the best help, and there’s nothing I could do to ever make it up to you,” Atsumu said, “but I’m really grateful you decided to take me along. I’m not sure what compelled you to help me in the first place, but I would’ve died back there, for sure.”

Kiyoomi gave him a curt nod. He wasn’t sure why he helped Atsumu, either. It was a puzzle he was still in the midst of solving.

”Wait,” Kiyoomi said, holding his arm out to the side.

Their footsteps stopped. Kiyoomi peeked around a large tree and saw a clearing in the distance.

“We could set up camp here,” he said.

He looked at the sky. It was slowly going pink as the sun teased the horizon.

“Thank god,” Atsumu sighed.

Kiyoomi slid his machete out of his belt as they neared the clearing. It wasn’t that bizarre of a sight for a forest of this kind. It tended to be a space just large enough for a few tents where the trees hadn’t taken root, but provided a nice covering from the blazing sun.

There was a staggering silence that grew heavier the closer they got. Kiyoomi could feel a change in the air as they reached the tree line, a sense of anticipation vibrating just beneath the stoic silence.

“Sakusa.”

He ignored Atsumu’s whisper, too enraptured with the strange clearing.

“Sakusa!”

Just as the sound reached his ear, Kiyoomi’s foot caught on a taut silver wire. Cans rattled from all corners, followed by a furious rustle in the trees.

Atsumu’s shout was cut off by a muffling hand. Kiyoomi lurched his body backwards only to meet a pair of thick arms wrapping tight around his neck. He brandished his machete, but his hand turned up empty.

The last thing he remembered was a sweet smelling cloth pressed up to his nose and the relieving sensation of an afternoon nap.

Sakusa Kiyoomi awoke to voices.

The first was brash, the kind of guy whose compatriots would always have to remind him to be quiet lest he attract deadly attention.

“Let’s just kill’em,” he said.

The second voice was lower but more authoritative.Kiyoomi could imagine him lounging back into the base of a tree chewing on a toothpick to keep himself occupied.

“Nah, it’s been forever since we had anyone to talk to other than each other,” he said, “and Ken’ll wanna see them.”

The third voice was the quietest of all.

“Maybe we should eat them,” it said.

The second voice let out one short, loud laugh.

“Furukawa wants to resort to cannibalism,” it said.

“If I was gonna eat someone,” said the first voice, “it definitely wouldn’t be these guys.”

Identifying the voices had been a nice distraction from the burning in Kiyoomi’s wrists and the fact that, when he opened his eyes, there was still darkness, and when he tried to speak, his tongue met cloth.

Kiyoomi wailed, muffled against the wet fabric. He flexed his hands until he felt the rope reach its limit against his bones.

“Uh oh,” the first voice said, “we’ve got company.”

Footsteps crunched towards Kiyoomi. He squirmed against the base of the tree, but nothing could keep the warm calloused hands from running down his cheeks as they slipped off the blindfold.

A tall man was crouched in front of Kiyoomi, his face close and his breath heavy. He smiled, his whole face contorting with it. His hair was jet black and standing on every end like he’d been electrocuted.

“Good morning, sunshine,” he said sweetly.

It was far from morning. The sky was pink with dusk. It was dinner time, so Kiyoomi’s stomach was in fits.

“You don’t sit nearly as still as your friend,” said the man with the wild hair.

Once Kiyoomi’s eyes had adjusted to the dark forest around him, he turned his head to see Atsumu bound to the tree beside his. He was gagged and blindfolded, but somehow sleeping through it all. He breathed a hot sigh of relief into the cloth.

“He’s fine, you’re both fine,” said the tall man, rolling his eyes.

Kiyoomi looked into the distance. He saw his pack on someone’s lap, a man with a dirtied face and ill-maintained mohawk on his head. He was elbow deep in it, fishing for something of value that he hadn’t already thrown onto the ground.

A smaller man was paging through Kiyoomi’s leather journal, turning it over and shaking it as though something would fall out.

Kiyoomi whined from behind the gag.

“It’s sad to see a man whimper,” said the tall man to his friends.

They’d built a small fire and huddled around it for the chilling night. Kiyoomi, on the other hand, was drenched in sweat that was weeping salty streams into his eyes.

“Then take the gag off,” said one of the men; it was the first voice that had proposed killing the two of them.

“Nah,” the tall man said lazily, “we’re waiting on Kenma. He’ll make the final deal.”

Kiyoomi huffed and knocked his head back into the tree. He shook his leg impatiently. The only thing worse than traveling with a group was traveling with one where you had no say.

“He’s boring,” said the smaller man, decidedly the voice that had wanted a taste of Kiyoomi and Atsumu.

With that, he tossed Kiyoomi’s journal onto the ground. The tall man retrieved it and started flicking through the pages with a flat expression. Though their configuration was haphazard, it was obvious these men had been in the wilderness for a while. They were wearing light clothing, easy to run and climb in unnoticed by limping hordes. But Kiyoomi could see weapons in their holsters and knives in their pockets accessible enough to threaten these strangers tied to the trees between two breaths.

Also, knowing how to build a fire was one thing. Knowing how to build a small, unnoticeable fire was another thing entirely.

Pro: These men knew exactly what they were doing.

Con: They had an overlord who couldn’t even be bothered to show up.

Kiyoomi tried to imagine him. He saw hulking muscles and a square jaw. Maybe his back was broad enough to carry two rifles crossed over each other. He probably had a knife in every pocket and a handgun kept close to his chest. His hair was likely cropped short for that last iota of aerodynamic efficiency. Mean, surly, and ready to kill. It was the only leader Kiyoomi could imagine so many men who looked perfectly capable of making it on their own would follow so diligently.

“Oh,” the tall man said, “looks like your friend’s awake.”

Kiyoomi looked back over his shoulder and saw Atsumu wiggling against the tree, his head on a swivel trying to see in the darkness of his blindfold. The tall man went over to him and slipped it off just like he had for Kiyoomi.

“Welcome to the party,” he teased.

Atsumu’s eyes were wide with panic. They were teary, too, enough to see from Kiyoomi’s place. Sweat was beading on his brow, and it glinted when he turned and saw Kiyoomi, his chest falling slowly.

“Awh, come on, take out the gags,” a friend whined, “I’m getting bored over here.”

“Fine! Fine,” said the tall man, “but when Kenma asks, I’m telling him it was your idea.”

He untied Atsumu’s gag first. Once he was free, Atsumu panted and wheezed into his own lap.

“Thanks,” Atsumu mumbled.

“No problem,” said the tall man, seemingly caught off guard by the nicety.

The tall man moved to Kiyoomi and untied his gag. Kiyoomi was tempted to regain his breath, too, but he kept his cool and just tried to stretch out the aching in his lips.

He just couldn’t help the spit that collected in his mouth in that very moment. And it’s unexplainable how that spit ended up on the tall man’s cheek.

Instantly, the man brandished his dagger and held the cold tip onto Kiyoomi’s neck right where his throat bobbed. He got close enough for Kiyoomi to smell his sour breath as fury rippled through him.

“Wanna try that again?” The man teased lowly.

Kiyoomi didn’t move. He kept his eyes fixed on the man’s, desperate to ignore the sharp tool held to his vital organs. The tall man dragged the dagger up Kiyoomi’s face and drew a small picture of sorts on his cheek. He wasn’t pressing hard enough to make Kiyoomi bleed, but it was enough to feel every stroke as though it were splitting the softness of his flesh, giving him something far worse than a bloody cut.

“Consider yourself lucky,” the man hissed, “I’m not the one in charge here.”

The tall man smiled, baring a long row of small, sharp teeth.

“Or, maybe,” he shrugged, “consider yourself unlucky.”

The man stood and shoved the dagger back into his pocket. Kiyoomi chewed on the inside of his mouth where things had gone numb and swallowed what was left of his fear. He glanced back to Atsumu.

“You okay?” Atsumu whispered.

Kiyoomi breathed in. He thought for a moment.

Then, he nodded.

“Kenma, incoming!”

The troops quickly fell into line. They clambered for the prisoners’ things on the floor.A shadow trailed in slowly from between the trees. Kiyoomi braced himself for the leader to appear.

But he was small. Too small. His hair was long and fell stringy into his face. He had on a big cargo jacket that, on his frame, had to be slowing him down. Kiyoomi looked at his pockets but didn’t see a knife. He looked at his hips and didn’t see a holster nor a firearm anywhere.

Still, the crunch of his boots on the ground was menacing. He approached like a wave, ebbing and flowing with the rhythm of nature, easy to catch but difficult to trap.

So this was Kenma.

He went to Kiyoomi first. His boots stopped right at the soles of Kiyoomi’s own shoes. He crouched down. When his hair flitted out of his face briefly, Kiyoomi saw that he was chewing on a toothpick.

Kenma tilted his head to the left. Then to the right. His eyes parsed out every inch of Kiyoomi’s body. Kiyoomi kept his lips still and his eyes locked onto the leader’s.

“Name?” The leader asked.

His voice was husky and half-formed. It was like he was speaking into a wall, the sound catching in the cracks between the bricks.

“Sakusa Kiyoomi.”

“How long have you been out here?”

“A year.”

“On your own?”

“Yes.”

Kenma’s eyes flickered to Atsumu.

“We met yesterday.”

He held out his hand. One of the loyal squires placed Kiyoomi’s pack into it. Kenma dug around in it, but didn’t seem too interested.

“Looks like my friends didn’t find much of value in here,” said Kenma, “though we did have to take some of your water as payment for your safe return. I know you understand.”

Kiyoomi swallowed. He knotted his fingers together between the ropes. He tried not to think about everything he’d just done for that water.

“So you’re pirates?” Kiyoomi asked lowly.

“Something like that,” Kenma said, taking out the toothpick and peering at it, “have to make our way somehow.”

“Then what’ll it take for you to let us go?”

Kenma put the toothpick back into his mouth. His brow furrowed.

“Nothin’. Didn’t these guys tell you? We’re looking for medicine. We’ve got enough food to feed ourselves hundreds of times over. They should’ve untied you ages ago.”

Kenma looked back at three sheepish men standing in a neat line.

“I bet you losers didn’t even bother to introduce yourselves,” said Kenma.

No one replied.

As the fearless leader started to untie their binds, Kiyoomi started to understand why this group was so loyal to Kenma. It wasn’t for his towering form or his rippling strength or his arsenal of weapons. Kenma was less of a military general and more of a mother bird, going out during the day to gather the sustenance his babies needed back in the nest. He wasn’t just keeping them safe, he was keeping them alive.

“Have you been doing this the whole time?” Kiyoomi asked him.

“Basically,” Kenma replied.

“But what about them?” Atsumu asked, “The other survivors? What if they died because of what you took from them?”

Kenma’s eyes narrowed. He finished untying Atsumu’s hand binds and stood up tall.

“It’s the end of the fucking world,” he said, “and I worry about me and mine. You should do the same.”

Atsumu pulled his lips between his teeth. Kenma adjusted his jacket and walked over to the troops still standing steady. He glared up at the tall man. Then, he grabbed his shirt, pulling him close and hissing in his ear:

“Don’t let this happen again, Tetsurou.”

The tall man nodded violently. Once Kenma let him go, he glanced at the others in fear.

Kenma looked back once more to Atsumu and Kiyoomi.

“Sorry, my friends are one for theatrics. Has to be something to do out here to pass the time.”

As their leader disappeared into the darkening forest, the three got to work gathering Kiyoomi and Atsumu’s things and brushing the dirt from their clothes. Kenma’s words echoed in Kiyoomi’s ears.

The end of the fucking world.

Me and mine.

Something to do to pass the time.

It seemed obvious. The ones who had made it this far were bound to be calloused and trained in their own ways. The ones who made it were the ones who kept themselves walled off, unbound from others but in a death pact with one another.

Kiyoomi wondered if there was anyone he would die for.

Before? Perhaps.

Now? Unlikely.

As they ventured off, Kiyoomi heard his name. He turned and saw the tall man named Tetsurou running towards him with his journal in hand.

“Here,” he said, “almost left this.”

The leather binding was familiar in his hands. Kiyoomi muttered a quick thanks.

“Don’t mention it,” said Tetsurou.

But he was still holding onto the other end of the journal. He leaned in close to Kiyoomi. His lips dragged over the shell of his ear.

“You lied,” he said.

Tetsurou let go of the journal. Kiyoomi pulled it against his chest. With a smile, Tetsurou turned and left them in the shadows.

“Everything okay?” Atsumu asked.

Kiyoomi pressed his lips together. Then, he nodded.

The air was stale that night. Atsumu kept rubbing at his wrists where the ropes had left bright red reminders. Kiyoomi tried to hold the compass steady, but his hands wouldn’t stop shaking.

You lied.

All Kiyoomi could do to pass the time was try to imagine the end of the fucking world.