Deep in Death [Tag Finny & Rory]

[E. T. Evans]

On this particular morning, it was not the creaking moans of walkers barraging against the reinforcements she heard. It was the first sign something was wrong, and the second was the smell. It consumed her nostrils and seized her lungs, and she shot into the waking world with a leap at the hint of danger. It was then she spotted her fatal mistake: the fire she left unattended the previous night. In a library, this was not good.

Not good at all.

Flames ravaged everything caught it its ruthless path, the intensity only mounting from the books that fueled its angry heat. It was a miracle in the very least she wasn’t among its victims—yet. Eve raced to the door, slamming her weight full force into it. Versus burning alive or being forced into a fray of walkers outside, she could easily say the grass still looked greener on the other side—even without a weapon in hand. As she pummeled the door with another grunt of frustration, she pulled back to see her weight made no dent or difference in aiding her escape.

Walkers moaned on the other side, the sway of the undead crowd gleaning to get into the entrance now. Eve couldn't go out that way now, not with one gun she preferred not to use if she could avoid it. As she turned to sprint towards the next closest option, a grotesque group of hands shattered the chance. Adrenaline thudded hard now with every beat of her racing heart, stepping back from the welcoming hands of the undead mob. A ground level exodus was now a slim option--not that it had been a safe consideration to begin with, but now her only hope at not being their next meal was growing dimmer. Time would be counting against her in this case, already able to feel the effects of smoke inhalation weakening her movements. As she turned to the opportunity of a higher window, the old red drapes exploded into a surge of flame.

Eve looked around at her dimming options with desperation, fate quite unkind to her right now. A stray pair of walkers burst through the weakened reinforcements, the rest only kept at bay by the wall of raging fire holding her hostage from escaping. In no time, she wrenched an old pistol out of her back pocket and went to shoot, but another stroke of bad luck caught the survivor when the gun jammed. With a string of curses in tow, she tried it once more with no success. It was useless, and a poor choice in weapon--she'd read up on that somewhere. Next time would be different, if there was a next time.

Eve scrambled for a weapon, hands clutching at the nearest hardcover in a mountain of books. There was no time to debate the idea of even glimpsing around for a more suitable weapon, as if there would even be one. In hindsight, a library really was an awful choice when it came to a hideout. Eve noted it in her mind for further consideration later, if there was going to be a later, but paused at the title emblazoned across the sheen dark cover. "Oh, you have to be kidding me," she pressed with near disbelief at the misfortune. Eve glanced at the ceiling, "Really?" She pushed with irritation. "You couldn't help me out this once, huh? I can't believe I have to trust my life to this crap right now," she settled with hard resolve. "Here's to hoping," she muttered as she raced toward one of the walkers with two hardcovers in hand.

It hardly had time enough to growl in her direction before the corner of the hardcover impaled its forehead, the blunt weapon shoved only further by her boot straight into the fray of nearby fire. "At least the Twilight Saga is good for something," she mused long enough to flash a victorious smile, unaware she had company other than the undead listening.

Eve spun on her heels to meet the other walker in close quarters, meeting the animated corpse with the corner pages that left a long series of scratches across her adversaries face. This hardly stopped the walker from its desire to make a meal of her insides, but as it reached out with a moan of hunger she pummeled it back with one boot from out of reach. She could see more breaking through out of the corner of her eye, but charged to her newest undead friend with revived rage for survival. It was almost insane to get this close to a walker, but Eve was never known for being a quiet, reserved person. Not in this life, not when it concerned her survival.

She dragged the corner of the book down the front of its face as it went in for a bite. More scratches lined its face, but she continued to shove the book down its mouth as she pummeled him against the close wall of fire. "Ooh, paper-cuts, they can really be a bitch sometimes," she felt the need to comment. "Eat shit." The animated corpse flailed while the flames became its unmaker, but she did not stop to watch. Time was treading thin.

Eve was just now realizing these reinforcements were as much protection as they became a trap. No way in, and practically no way out. With such ample fuel at its disposal, it took little time at all until the ceiling was overwhelmed in a thick fog of grey. Eve could feel the need for her lungs to seize for a struggled breath of fresh air, but tried to move on while covering her face. A horde of walkers were closing in on her now, and Eve could barely see which way would lead her out in the thick fog of smoke. A boot smashed the nearest extinguisher, pulling the pin off and wasting no time in confusing her enemies with a taste of the spray. With walkers officially bumping into one another and senses confused, she bought herself a few spare moments to find an exit. Only problem was, her knees cut to the floor as she closed in towards her last exit option. With the doorknob just inches from grasp, Eve felt the weight of her body hit the floor and her world went black.[/size]

[rory]

Rory McKenna hadn’t started the day with any specific plans to become an improvisational fireman. But he hadn’t planned on traveling through several states with his brother, fighting zombies in the process, either. Rory had found a lot of the time, things happened that you couldn’t control. As much as he’d have liked to pretend he had more control over his speech than he actually did, he didn’t have much. He’d learned to handle it. He’d learned to live with it. Once in awhile, he even liked it.

He liked to plan, to have an idea of what they were doing before they headed into it. But more and more often he’d found that, when zombies were in the equation, things didn’t go the way he planned. The world had changed once again, just like it had when he was little, and when his grandparents had died, and when every other major life change had occurred. When those things had happened, he’d always had to learn from experience. Take what life handed them and go with it. Plan after the fact, for the next time.

He was learning to do that again. He was carrying several shards of ceramic bowls in his bag, even though they’d taken a gun – plus ammo – from a girl they’d come across in Texas nearly a week ago. A smile came back at the thought. For once, they hadn’t even needed to steal anything. He was sure that the stores were all looted by now, but that didn’t mean they wouldn’t try if they happened to come across one that didn’t look too dangerous.

With a smirk, he continued their conversation. ”All that lives must die, and pass into eternity. Unless you’re disgusting, rotting, and very much alive.” He’d been doing this for the better part of a half hour – whenever it got too silent, spouting off some of Shakespeare’s Hamlet turned Finny’s wisdom and completely messing with it. What was a brotherly relationship if not making each other long to jump off a cliff?

They weren’t walking for more than twenty minutes longer before he smelled something in the air, something that turned his stomach over unpleasantly. A look passed between the brothers, silent conversation even when words were being used. That wasn’t a natural smell – or as natural as you could call a hoard of walkers – but rather something else. Much like a campfire with rotting bodies inside. Smoke rose on the horizon.

And it was absolutely disgusting.

They hadn’t walked for more than another ten minutes before they came across the source of the fire.

”Something is rotten in the state of Georgia,” He informed, a jest too good not to use. There was more than the burning of wood in the air – he sensed undead flesh, as well. The Irishman met eyes with his younger brother, raising a brow in question. Even when Rory was speaking, he was still top of the class in terms of silent expressions. ”The walkers didn’t start that fire, Finny.” He closed his fingers on the gun in his hand, shifting the backpack on his shoulder. ”Do you want to risk it? I’ve always wanted to be a fireman.”

That wasn’t true in the least, but it surely felt like an appropriate comment.
He knew it could be dangerous – and look how their last rescue attempt had turned out! – but though for the most part of his life humanity had screwed Rory McKenna over royally, he couldn’t help but feel that they should help, if necessary. Humanity wasn’t faring too well as it was. If they could lend a hand …

”To fight or not to fight, Finny.” Oh, of the quotes he had learned from his brother, that was by far his favorite to screw around with. ”That is the question.”

[agni]

"All that lives must die, and pass on into eternity. Unless you're disgusting, rotting and very much alive."

Finny tried not to let it get to him, but he felt his eyebrow twitch in annoyance as his brother continued to skew the lines of his favourite play. It was times like these when Finny mourned the fact that his brother's selective mutism wasn't permanant. I’ll pass you onto eternity, he thought in Rory’s direction. It was nothing more than a jest though, and even that Finny was hard-pressed to find the amusement in. Anything that was killed nowadays seemed to come back to life. And hell if he would ever have to kill his brother. He’d kill himself first. Though, in all fairness he’d probably just come back to life and then try to kill his brother anyway.

It really wasn’t something that bared thinking about. Unless he was in a particularly foul mood. It wasn’t quite close to that point now, but another one of those misquotes and he’d see about getting there.

"Something is rotten in the state of Georgia."

Finny grit his teeth and turned to glare at Rory, before he smelled it. Misquote or not, that was the truth. Something was rotten in the state of Georgia. Finny breathed in the air and felt his mouth twist into a grimace. Something was burning. And it wasn’t just a fireplace. If you had asked Finny McKenna ten years ago if he was well acquainted with the smell of burning flesh, he’d have looked at you like you were crazy. Now, the smell was almost becoming common.

"It is not, nor it cannot come to good.” he murmured, standing shoulder to shoulder with Rory as they stared at the library being consumed by flames.

"The walkers didn't start that fire, Finny.” The Irishman turned to give his brother a look that clearly said: Oh, really? but his brother continued. Do you want to risk it? I've always wanted to be a fireman."

Finny looked between the burning building and his brother’s face, the joke a light cover up for a deeper truth. He knew his brother had probably already made up his mind or he wouldn’t have bothered mentioning it aloud. Even just around Finny Rory only ever spoke what was important. The younger brother sighed, knowing full well his brother had never mentioned any ambitions of becoming a fire fighter, but knowing that if Rory thought there were people inside that could be saved, they might as well try and do something about it.

Personally Finny thought that whoever was trapped inside was probably barbeque by now, and why should they risk their lives for a walker?

To fight or not to fight, Finny. That is the question."

In the end, he shrugged and touched the pistol tucked into the back of his jeans to gain some confidence. A fire wasn’t something they could fight with guns, but if there were any corpses in there, they’d need them.

”You’d just better hope it doesn’t turn into ‘To Be or not To Be’,” he said grimly. “Though when it comes right down to it, I’d much rather To Be.”

”But why not,” he concluded, heading for the closest entrance before he could lose his cool. ”Maybe we’ll even find a “how to survive the zombie apocalypse, for dummies.” He directed that jibe at Rory, flashing a quick grin.

He glanced over his shoulder at Rory before wrapping a hand on the door. ”Anybody in?” he called, before pushing on the handle. The metal stung and Finny regretted not thinking of that before hand. Clenching his teeth, he pulled the door open a crack, stumbling back when the smoke hit him full in the face.

Coughing and hacking, he ducked down low, bringing a hand up to shield his face as he squinted into the darkness illuminated by flames. He took in the scope of the building, and caught sight of the shelves upon shelves of books, and the large pile of books on the floor, blackened and burning as the flames reached hungrily towards the fresh air.

He followed the trail of books down to the body of a woman collapsed by the entrance and glanced at Rory in alarm, wary and checking for signs of bites or scratches and decaying flesh. Seeing neither, he took a tentative step forward. He chuckled softly and shook his head.

”This lass has seen The Day After Tomorrow one too many times,” Finny murmured in disblief. ”Who starts a fire in a library?”

Looking closer, he noticed the woman’s chest rising and falling. ”Oy, Rory!” He waved his brother closer. ”Looks like Laura is still alive!” Silently instructing his brother to grab hold of her, Finny pushed past the doorway and into the crumbling library to grab hold of her feet so they could haul her out.