The ground is littered with shavings from the peeling wall.

 

Day 86

 

Putting down the pin with a sigh, I lean back and examine the wall. It’s almost half-filled with the scratchings that span across it in neat rows. There’s still a good length left, so it’ll definitely last me a while longer. Of course, that is, if I survive for that long. I wonder what would happen if I was to die right now, to be taken as one of them, become just another faceless creature.

Maybe one day people will walk amongst these cracked walls, searching through the rubble. Maybe they’ll see my tallies and wonder why they stopped so suddenly. Or maybe they’ll just wonder how I lasted so long at all.

 

The sun is just starting to set over the crumbling buildings, an orange glow settling over the sky and blanketing the city. A cool breeze runs through the house, whispering through the walls, and I can hear the faint shuffling as it begins. It’s time.

Leaning back on my heels with a sigh and surveying the wall one last time, I push myself to my feet and head into the back room for the huge bucket in the corner. Taking a cupful of baking soda from the gallon bucket before carefully sealing it again, I head to the front of the house and carefully begin to sprinkle it around the door, circling the house neatly. I know now not to miss any spots, to watch carefully and be meticulous, because the last time that I wasn’t, I woke up to a bunch of the creatures staggering into the house, an area of the powder weak enough for them to catch my scent.

I know not to make the same mistake again.

 

By the time I’m finished, the cup is empty and the sun is almost completely engulfed by the horizon. The shuffling has grown louder, and I spare myself one last round of the house, checking my handiwork before I head inside and close the door. I don’t bother locking it because I know the zombies aren’t smart enough to open a door, let alone figure out to unlock one. I can hear the grunting now, low and guttural, accompanied by the growing shuffling.

 

I walk over to the small music player that I had found in a room of my last hideout, turning it up to the loudest volume and playing out the first song on the playlist. The zombies are deaf anyway. I could scream in the face of one of them and they wouldn’t notice me without their eyes or nose. The song is soft, an English song called ‘Lost stars’ by some white artist who I never bothered myself with remembering. English wasn’t my best subject back in high school, managing only basic passing grades. I can only even remember the name of the song from endless nights of singing along, trying to fill the stale air with some life. It doesn’t last long, though, because when the sun comes out, it’s back to searching for food, for supplies, for life.

My English is nowhere near advanced enough to understand half of the words of the song, but the days of practise have given me almost perfect pronunciation anyway.

As I hum along, I riffle through my bag, taking note of my supplies.

I have a small packet of baking powder, just in case I end up being forced to run to a temporary hideout. I don’t plan on it anytime soon, though, looking at the seven gallon buckets that I’ve lined up at the back wall of the laundry room neatly. They’ll last me at least a year.

 

My bag also contains soap, a toothbrush, deodorant, a shaving razor and multiple eyeliner sticks that’ll probably last me for the next five years. I may be alone and lost, living day to day, but that’s no reason to give up personal hygiene. I still scour the cities during the day, for new shops that haven’t been raided during the initial first wave of attacks. I carry two small blades in my bag, along with a loaded gun and cartridges. I also carry a knife and gun on my body at all times, the endless running having given me plenty of time to grow experienced. Having come across a house loaded with cartridges, a whole chest full of them, I spent a full day practising with the gun, aiming at some of the wandering zombies that used to roam the town alone. I knew I wasn’t at much risk, most of the zombies having retreated during the day. Only very rare few would come out when it wasn’t night time. I’m quite handy with the guns now, and can wield a knife pretty well if I’m forced to.

 

I while the night away chewing on some jerky strips that I found in a convenience store, the music player whirring away as the song echoes through the rooms (and probably the street). There’s no one here to hear it anyway, and if there was, they’d be completely welcome.

 

---

please don't see just a boy caught up in dreams and fantasties

please see me reaching out for someone i can't see

---

 

When the sun rises over the horizon again, the town is silent, the zombies having retreated to their dumps and shadowy corners of the city. I head to the porcelain sink against the wall and rinse my face off, patting it dry with the bottom of my shirt and then drawing on some eyeliner.

It’s stupid, now that I think of it. The eyeliner is completely unnecessary, but it’s grown into somewhat of a routine since I was 14, so I can’t bring myself to stop.

I gather my bag and make sure that my gun and knives are strapped in safely against my thigh before I head off with a lollipop I had found in a convenience store jammed between my lips.

 

The sun is bearing down heavily on my back, and the sweat is already sticking my shirt to my skin. Stopping for a moment, I pop the seal on an unopened water bottle - one of the many that I raided from the stash I found in the back of a restaurant - and guzzle down half the bottle at once, closing the bottle tightly again and stuffing it back in my bag before trudging off again. I check inside all the stores and houses that I walk past, searching for any provisions that I haven’t already taken. I take note of my surroundings as I walk, so that I don’t get lost if I walk too far, and by the time I’ve reached the edge of the part of town that I’m familiar with, the lollipop stick is a chewed mess in my mouth, only faint traces of the artificial candy remaining. I keep it between my lips anyway, choosing to continue to chew on it for lack of better things to do as I walk.

 

Deciding to continue further into the town, towards the more unfamiliar parts of the city, I hitch my backpack further up my shoulders and unsheathe the knife from my thigh strap, opting to scratch marks in the street lamp poles every few meters so that I know which way to head back if I get lost. Somewhere along the way, the lollipop stick is spat out and pressed into the dust under my shoe.

 

I drink through the rest of my water bottle and more than halfway through another before midday. I know it’s a stupid idea to on those lollipops as I trek, because they always leave my mouth drier than normal, but it’s just another one of those bad habits that I can’t shake. I guess the over-concentrated taste of artificial fruit has grown on me. I only have three more water bottles in my bag, and I have to make sure they last me the rest of the day, so I remind myself to watch my water intake for the rest of the day.

 

This part of the town seems more untouched than the other, in terms of more supplies and shops to raid. I can’t carry much back with me today, seeing as I wasn’t intending to go this far so my bag is too full to carry anything back. I do, however, indulge myself in taking a lavender cologne bottle from a chemist shop on the corner of a street, because it’s been too long since I smelled nice.

 

The sky is beginning to grow dark as I decide to head back home (or at least to my temporary place of residence). I can hear the footsteps begin again, faintly this time, so I halt at a peeling park bench to pull out my little container of baking soda, rubbing it on my arms and face, on the bottoms of my shoes. Hopefully I’ll get back before they track my scent, but it’s always a good idea to take precautions. I hum along to the song that I listened to last night – Lost stars – as I rub circles of the white into my neck.

‘Please, don’t see,’ my voice cracks on the last syllable of the foreign sentence, but I couldn’t care less, seeing as there’s no one around to hear it.

‘Just a boy caught up in dreams and fantasies,’ as I pack the container into my bag carefully, making sure it’s sealed, I can hear a muffled crash in the far distance. It’s probably some tree falling down or some building crumbling from the oncoming horde.

 

‘Please, see m- ‘, and then there’s something covering my mouth, pulling me back, and my back hits the wall with a thud that sends fragments of plaster tumbling. I reach for the knife against my thigh, but I’m too slow for the cold metal pressed against the side of my head, and my breath hitches in my throat. There’s warmth against my neck, fanning against the exposed skin, and I close my eyes in defeat. The coolness against my temple sends shivers running down my spine, tingling and- wait. My eyes fly open and my body twists suddenly in an attempt to get a look behind me. Zombies don’t carry guns. There’s a raspy growl from behind me.

“Are you infected?” the voice is rough, low and hoarse. In a normal situation, it may have been the type of voice that girls swooned at. Now, it’s just terrifying. I shake my head frantically, body going limp on instinct.

There’s a moment of anticipation before the hand is taken off my mouth and I heave in a deep breath unsteadily.

“Who are you?” my assailant asks, and I hiccup before stealing a glance up at him. I can’t make out much of his face in the dim light, and there’s a hood over his head.

“Byun Baekhyun, 17 years old, I’m not infected, I swear-”

“Byun Baekhyun?”

I blink at the shadowy figure.

“Y-yes?”

The figure takes the muzzle of the gun off my forehead and I sigh in relief, staring up at him curiously.

“Did you go to Hanlim?”

“Y-yeah.”

He steps away from me, flipping the hood off his head to reveal a pale face and deep red hair, black roots creeping in.

“Park Chanyeol. I was in your year.”

I blink at him awkwardly, mouthing random gibberish.

“Uh-I… I’m sorry. I don’t think I remember you.”

“Yeah, we were on other sides of campus, I don’t blame you. I only really knew of you because you were… famous among my sister and her friends.”

He chuckles lowly, gravelly voice echoing through the alley, and I blush slightly at the implication. I was in fact quite well known around the school, but I didn’t think it would stretch this far. His expression hardens almost immediately again though, a set frown pinching his lips.

“How are you still alive? Where have you been staying for the last months?”

I shrug at him, stretching out my shoulders, which are slightly still aching from the impact of the wall.

“I move quite often, but I’ve been staying in an empty house downtown for the last two weeks or so.”

He nods at me, brows furrowed.

“Wow. I didn’t… I didn’t pin you as the survivor type. No offense.”

I nod in understanding, because it’s kind of true to be honest. For god’s sake, I’m still wearing my eyeliner during a zombie apocalypse.

“Well… um. Wow. I’m sorry, I didn’t know there were any other survivors. It’s just. Wow. Give me a minute, please,” I breathe, and he smiles slightly, nodding.

“Yeah, sure.”

I crouch down for a moment, dropping my head into my hands and taking deep breaths.

I’m not alone. I’m not alone. I’m not alone.

When I stand up again, Chanyeol is staring at me dubiously, eyebrow arched, and I smile at him brightly.

“All good now! So, um, where have you been staying, then?” I ask him curiously, and he hums.

“There’s not a… particular place.”

“What do you mean? What do you do all night, then?”

He shrugs, straightening to tuck the gun back into his bag with a grunt.

“I wander a lot. I sleep during the day. At night…” a smirk flickers across his face. “At night I go out to have some fun.”

I gape at him, stumbling backwards instinctively.

“W-wait, you go out when the- the zombies are out?”

He nods nonchalantly, grinning at my dumbfounded expression.

I can only recall the one night I spent outdoors. It had been one of the most terrifying times of my life. It was the first night after the zombie wave had hit. I had just seen my family die, witnessed the light leaving their eyes. I had watched buildings fall, cars crash, houses burst into flames. I was cold, hungry, tired, traumatised and alone. At the time there had been a few survivors, but they had either run away or hidden. I had almost died that night, standing there, frozen by shock as the first wave came. There were so many, a huge horde stumbling through the streets at once. I managed to escape somehow that night, but to this day, I still get nightmares about it.

“How do you- how are you even still alive?”

He snickers at me, and I whimper. “Oh my god, the last person alive is a psycho. You’re a psycho, Park Chanyeol.”

Chanyeol laughs outright at that, and I shake my head in disbelief.

“When was the last time you ate?” I ask him expectantly, and he pauses to think for a moment, contemplating before answering.

“Two… days ago? I dunno, I wasn’t really counting.”

I whine at his stupidity and he just continues to laugh in that irritating way. I grab his wrist, tugging him out of the alley.

“Come home with me.” I mutter, and he darts out of my grip.

“Whoa, man, take me to dinner first.” he teases, and I fight back the blush that threatens to take over my face, yanking him back with a groan.

“You know that’s not what I meant, you . But essentially, yes. I am taking you to dinner. At my house. So you do not starve. You absolute idiot.”

I drag him down the street in the direction of the house that I stay in, offering him the last remaining bottle of water I’m carrying, which he empties in one shot. I stare at him in disapproval, tutting under my breath, and he grins at me.

The walk back takes a half hour, because I’ve been delayed so we need to walk briskly.

When we get back to the house, he whistles lowly, eyes on the neatly stacked supplies in the back room.

“Damn, this could easily keep you running for a year…” he mutters under his breath, giving me an impressed look.

“What happens if you’ve gotta move, though?” he asks me curiously, and I shrug, setting the bag down in a corner and shrugging my jacket off.

“Then I ditch it and find more.”

He whistles again, wandering down to inspect all the boxes and packages.

“Damn, Byun. Didn’t know you had it in you.”

I don’t bother glancing at him, rolling out my shoulders and sighing in relief as they stretch and crack satisfyingly.

“Yeah, well, neither did I. Surprise. Sink’s over there, you can clean yourself up if you want.”

I gesture over to the corner, and he ambles over to it, picking up one of the bottles and examining it.

“Soap? Dude, you actually have soap?” he asks, and I nod, busying myself with digging through my drawer to find the pin I use for my wall tally.

He’s silent again for a few moments, and I glance over to check on him, to find with a start that he’s staring at me with a disbelieving expression.

“Dude, do you actually use this cologne and ?”

I stare at him, nodding slowly, and he lets out a guffaw.

“Oh my god, we’re in a ing zombie apocalypse and you still give a about smelling pretty. Why am I not surprised?”

I take offense in his tone, sniffing and turning back to the drawer irritably.

“Hygiene is important to me.” I mumble, and when I glance back again, he’s holding up a stick of eyeliner with an incredulous look.

“No way…” he mutters, before taking long strides toward me and staring me right in the eye. I edge away awkwardly, unused to the close proximity, but he shrieks with laughter instead of doing anything else.

“Oh my- oh my god! You wear eyeliner!” the tall boy leans back, shaking with laughter. “Everyone in the town is dead, we’re overrun by zombies, and- and you still wear ing eyeliner!”

Chanyeol wipes a tear away from his eye, doubling over and clutching his stomach.

“, this is- wow, this is gold. Sorry, give me a minute.”

I blush, averting my gaze as my ears heat. It’s not that weird, is it? I take the opportunity to head over to the other wall where my tally is, while he’s still preoccupied with laughing at my expense.

I begin to scratch the next count into the peeling plaster, leaning back with satisfaction as I eye the finished scrawl.

 

Day 87

 

I’m getting to my feet and turning when I bump into a broad chest, stumbling backwards with a squeak. Chanyeol is grinning at me, still clutching the stick of eyeliner with a cheeky glint in his eye, and I harrumph, pushing past him to put the pin back in the drawer and scoop a cupful of baking soda. He follows me aimlessly, eyeing the cup dubiously as I take it outside wordlessly.

“What’s in the box?” he asks curiously, and I scrunch up my nose.

“What does it look like?” I mutter, and he snorts. “Honestly? It looks like , but I didn’t really pin you as the type to-” I let out a choked gurgle, turning around to shove him with an horrified expression. “Oh my god. It’s baking soda, you . I’m not a ing druggie!”

Chanyeol just chuckles again, rocking back on his toes and heels.

“Sure. So you’re baking a cake?”

I groan, turning back again to head outside. I dip a hand into it and sprinkle it around the doorstep, spreading it widely and evenly as I start a trail around the house.

“Baking soda neutralises scent. The zombies rely on purely smell and vision alone, so by blocking off my scent from them, I’m pretty much invisible.”

He hums, kicking a rock and sending baking soda flying.

“Wow. That’s really smart. Didn’t expect much less from the so-called resident flower boy of Hanlim.” I blush, simply opting to glare at him for disrupting the baking soda trail instead of acknowledging his comment. I fill in the messy area again before going around the rest of the house to complete the trail, Chanyeol tagging behind me like an oversized puppy. When we’re done, I head back inside, closing the door behind me. Chanyeol stops, raising and eyebrow.

“Aren’t gonna lock that?” he asks doubtfully, and I shake my head resolutely.

“If they’re gonna get in here, it’s not by opening the door. It’d be by climbing through a window or some because the baking soda wasn’t distributed properly. In that case, the locked door would be more of a hindrance than a help.” he nods again, following me into the back room.

“Sit.” I order, and he plops himself down like an obedient puppy. It’s cute, in a way, but I’m still getting used to having company.

 

I bustle my way around the large room, multiple packets in my hand. I decide to use the old gas stove that I found as a special occasion, heating it up and setting a pan down. I fill it with water, emptying two of the many bottles I have stored, and letting it heat before breaking six packets of ramyun into it. It’s a bit excessive, but I have a feeling it’ll be gone in no time. Chanyeol watches me from the floor, knees pulled to his chest and tucked under his chin, and it reminds me a lot of how I used to sit, watching my mother cook when I was a child. It washes a wave of nostalgia over me that I push away stubbornly. I don’t have the time nor the energy for such emotion.

 

By the time the ramyun is finished, bubbling enticingly in the pan, it’s been almost ten minutes. I’m hungry just looking at it, so I can’t imagine how Chanyeol must feel after not having eaten for so long. When I finally turn the stove off, sprinkling some dried seaweed in from a packet I found in some empty restaurant, the marching is audible. I frown, heading over to the music player to block out the eerie noises. Chanyeol raises an eyebrow at the loud music, and I shrug.

“I told you, they depend on scent and vision. You could blast an air horn in their ear and they couldn’t tell.”

He nods again, not bothering to say anything, and I set down the pot on the floor, bustling over to grab two bowls and some chopsticks from the supply stack. I’m quick to pour the ramyun into the bowls, handing a full one to Chanyeol and only filling mine halfway. I’m not feeling too hungry anyway. My day of exploring was cut short so I still have a lot of energy left. The second the bowl touches Chanyeol’s hand, he basically inhales half of his food at once, not paying any attention to the steam rising off it. I watch, bemused and chopsticks raised halfway to my mouth as he finishes his entire bowl in less than a minute. After he finishes, he looks up at me innocently, having the nerve to look sheepish, and I gesture to the pot with a shrug. He fills his bowl again, eating a little more slowly this time and pausing between mouthfuls to swallow properly.

“So-” he says after a long silence (but for the music droning in the background) which consists of him trying to slow his eating and me picking at my food listlessly.

“So, how exactly did you survive? Like, no offense and all, but you were always that… the pretty boy of the campus. I didn’t really think you’d be the ‘survivor of a zombie apocalypse’ type…”

I sigh, setting my chopsticks down and wrapping my hands around the warm bowl calmly.

“I thought I was going to die, too, to be honest. The only reason I survived is because I was small and fast. I ran and hid for the first day, and then after everyone was dead, I hid some more. I spent the first week hiding, and I almost died of dehydration. But after a while, I picked myself up. I formed a routine, and it became a lot easier. I’m a big believer in routine.”

Chanyeol pouts, swallowing a large mouthful of ramyun.

“That’s so boring. How do you even have a will to live if there’s no change?”

I arch an eyebrow at him. “How do you sleep at night with no feeling of security?” I challenge, and he smirks.

“I don’t sleep, Byun. I live.”

 

We sleep huddled under thick blankets, with a wide space between us and Lost Stars echoing through the night air.

 

---

take my hand

lets see where we wake up tomorrow

---

 

When I wake in the morning, at the crack of dawn, Chanyeol is still fast asleep on the ground, mouth fallen open in a silent snore.

Snorting at the sight, I pack up my blankets, folding them neatly and placing them in the corner of the room. I’m not all that sweaty or dirty from yesterday and I’m not taking off my clothes in front of Chanyeol (he may be nice but he’s still a hormonal teenager so I refuse to take chances) so I decide to just wash my face again, lining my eyes and emptying my bags. I plan on spending the majority of today’s walk gathering more provisions, since there’s two of us now. It’s definitely lucky that I discovered considerably untouched shops and building in the newer areas I discovered yesterday, because the town I’m in is all but bare. I make sure to take only bare necessities, seeing as I’ll need as much room as possible in my bags to bring back the supplies. I strap a gun to my leg, and drop another in my bag just in case. I also pack cartridges, lots, because I’m less protected now with such an empty bag. I also carry a knife, and this time no lollipops. I’m just sharpening the knife calmly when Chanyeol finally wakes and sits up, eyes falling on me and tensing quickly before he relaxes almost immediately.

“Geez, it’s gonna take a while to get used to not being the only one alive,” he mutters, running a hand through his hair.

I don’t bother responding, turning the blade and running it across the back of my hand to test its sharpness before shrugging to myself and picking up the sharpener again, deciding to sharpen it a bit more.

He eyes the blade warily, leaning away from me slightly.

“You good with knives?” he asks, not taking his gaze off the back and forth movement of the knife against steel.

“I know enough,” I shrug, sliding it back into the strap smoothly and leaning back onto my heels, rolling my neck.

“Anyway, I’m heading out. You should probably stay here, I’ll be back in a few hours.”

He sits up abruptly, jumping to his feet.

“No way I’m staying here. I’ll come with you.”

I shrug, heading to the door.

“Fine, if you want.”

 

Two hours later, I’m very much regretting letting Chanyeol come, as all he does is complain and I’m left at my wits’ end, not even halfway through the day. When we finally get back home, I collapse onto the ground, more exhausted from Chanyeol’s energy than the actual walking. We gathered a good amount of food today, along with a backpack just like mine, for Chanyeol.

 

Despite my protests, he follows me out the next day, and the one after that too. On the fourth day, after we get back to the house, I whine, burying my face in my jacket.

“You’re never coming with me again.” I mutter, the sound muffled by the fabric.

Chanyeol snorts, heading over to the music player to fiddle with the knobs.

“Th