The world hadn’t been kind to him for the past three years.  He had almost stopped caring.  He had almost killed himself several times.  He had almost given up.

But three years of hell had given him a get-out-of-jail-free card.  It came in the form of a massive gate, looming over him, daring him to rejoin something bigger than his own survival.

He used that card.  He used it without hesitation, and strode up to the compound with a backpack full of nothing and a heart full of being done with the he’d been dealt.  He had one good card, he’d used it, and he was going to win the draw.

He was going to win because he was smart and he was strong and he’d been waiting for that card for years.

The guards on the tower leveled their guns at him and he raised a single hand.  To wave.

“Can I come in?”

“What's your business here?” they called down to him.

“Don’t be stupid.”  They took a second to compute this before clicking the safeties of their guns off; they didn’t put them away.

“We don’t have the room for you.  Go away.”

“I may be tall, but I don’t take up much space.”

“We don’t have the food.”

“Give me leftovers.”

“We don’t know if you’re bit.”

“Now you’re making excuses.  I’ll strip for you if you need to see, but wouldn’t that be harassment?”  They didn’t know what to say anymore, he could tell, and were mulling over everything he said carefully.  He decided that now was the time to lay it on them, to make them take him in.  “What do you need done?”

“What?”

“I can do anything,” he said, crossing his arms.  “Farm, build, sew.”  He smiled.  “I can even sing for you guys.”

“We don’t need entertainers.”

“Yah, but didn’t you hear me?  Anything.  I’m capable of anything, and I'm not just walking away.”  The shortest guard tucked her pistol into her belt and her male partner followed suit.  She nodded to him and stepped back out of sight.

He waited for something, anything, and the guard in sight looked down at him before focusing on other things.

And in a moment of pure bliss, the gates began to screech open, unoiled and rusty, but he didn’t mind, because as the gap became wider and he peered in, he saw the civilization he was in need of.  He saw a future.

The female guard was waiting for him, gun once again in one hand and the other waving him forward.  He did so and allowed her to take his bag, search through it, and pat him down roughly.  He didn’t mind; she was the first attractive woman he’d seen in a while, clean and brushed and suited in an outfit that wasn’t too unpleasing to the eye.

“Can I pat you down too?” he asked, and she gave him a neutral glare.  “Just asking.”

“Just keep your mouth shut.  Jaebum appreciates overachievers, not over overspeakers.”

“Jaebum runs this place?”

“Yes, he does, and I run the guard.”

“You guys even have a guard.  Sounds cool.”

“It sounds like you’re a lot younger than you look.”

“I probably am.  What’s your name?”  She gave him a suspicious glance and handed back the bag.

“Juanita.  You?”

He grinned.

“Yugyeom.”

“,” Jackson swore, and Mark was too thunderstruck to say anything.  They had only been gone half-an-hour.  A small crowd around the truck he could understand.  Youngjae unconscious he could understand.  Even Youngjae goddamn dead he could understand.

But Youngjae gone.  Without a trace.

It was lunacy.

“,” Jackson hissed again.  He tore hands through his hair.  “, , …”  He approached the vehicle and looked into the front, just to make sure, and after half-waving, half-shaking his hands in the air for a moment, smashed his foot into the front left wheel.  “Goddammit!”

Mark kept quiet, afraid that if he spoke he’d end up swearing too.

“God-ing-dammit.”  Jackson was doing enough of that.

“Why-” He cleared his throat and sped towards the truck as fleshies began to pile out of the building.  “Why would anyone take him?”  His friend wasn’t doing anything to avoid the oncoming threat, and Mark called for him.  “Jackson, get in the car.”

He did so, cursing and swearing and beating every inch of the truck he could reach, and ended up smashing the wheel hard enough to sound the horn.

“.”

“Okay, calm down.”

“Mark.”  Jackson breathed deep and held hands to his temples.  “Mark.  Someone.  Took.  Youngjae.  I’m not going to calm down.”

“At least could we get out of here?” he asked, noting the mass amounts of fleshies that were crowding around them.  “I don’t want to get-”

“Just do whatever,” Jackson hissed, closing his eyes and screwing his mouth up into a sour face, and Mark hated to say it, but had to.

“Jackson, you’re in the driver’s seat.”

“Of course I am,” he said, reaching over to snatch the keys from his friend’s outstretched hand.  “Of course I am.”

Jackson drove them out of there wildly, hitting bumps and skimming trees and with each Mark was reminded of why he’d been careful to avoid them when they had Youngjae carefully situated between them.

The old parking lot they found to camp out in proved to be the perfect place for Jackson’s inner rage to pour out, because there was no one around to hear it.

“He was sick; he still is sick.  There’s no way anyone took him to kill him; no, they took him for a reason.  I just can’t think of what!”

“Maybe they want ransom,” Mark suggested, destitute of any other reason.  “Maybe there’s a note.”

“Look,” Jackson commanded, and the pair set out on a hunt for something with a hint of where he could be.  The only thing they found, though, was the list of directions, faintly tinged an old color from being in Mark’s pocket a week.

“Maybe…”  They sat in tense silence for what felt like hours.  The open window kept blowing hot air into Jackson’s face, and Mark was sure it only fanned the flames of his fury higher and to a deeper degree.  The broken glass kept glinting up into their eyes, spitting fire and poking their legs.

After Mark could deal with it no more, he hissed out a mild curse and swept the shards off the seats and onto the floor, cutting his hand and sitting back down with a thump.  His companion glanced over once, before delving back into deep, abysmal thought.  It continued like that for another minute, before someone finally spoke.

“We should search around the hospital for him, check to see if someone took him and dumped him for some reason.  Maybe…”  Jackson suddenly looked up, his mouth opening in realization.  “Maybe they wanted the truck, and we got back before they got back from ditching him.”

“Maybe, but why take him far away; why not just leave him in the road?”

“I don’t know; but it’s worth a shot.”

“Jackson,” Mark started, “remember what Youngjae said?  About getting to Raven’s Nest?  About how important it was to get there soon?  It was important to him, Jackson, and I don’t know…  I don’t know how much time we can use on trying to find him.”  The other didn’t look very happy with this statement, and pinched his mouth shut tightly.  “He really wanted us to make it.  Maybe, after we look around the hospital, if we don’t find him-”

“We will.”  Jackson was angry, Mark could tell, but seemed to be trying to hold it in.  Maybe for Mark, maybe for Youngjae.  “I promised him that he wouldn’t die alone.”

“We also promised him that he wasn’t going to die, and then it got worse.  This is just like that, Jackson.”

“No it isn’t.  He knew he was dying, and he knew we couldn’t promise him that; but dying alone, I could tell he was serious about it.  Couldn’t you?”  Mark had nothing to say, nothing besides:

“Come on.  Drive us a little closer to the hospital.”

When they got near enough to see the crowd outside, and near enough to notice that it was a lot darker than either had thought, they got out of the truck.  Headlights were kept off because it would just create more confusing shadows, and their own flashlights were too big to carry around with a crowbar, or a machete.  Guns were just too loud.

They needed to move quickly, quietly.

“All around?”

“Wait,” Mark suddenly whispered.  “What if they’re still here.  They’ll take the truck.”

“Is that more important right now?”

Mark didn’t want to argue, and didn’t know if he wanted to know his own answer to that question.  So they continued into the sparse shrubbery and asphalt forest, alert and occasionally glancing back to their vehicle.

Besides, Mark reasoned, I have the keys.  They skirted around the corner of the building, the wide-open lot appearing basically empty, and managed to get to the third turn before coming across anything of interest.

Just before they were about to round the last corner (much to Jackson’s evident dismay), Mark spotted a limp body in the middle of a half-ring of cars.  It wasn’t moving, and had the body structure to be Youngjae.  Jackson bolted over, trusting in Mark to get his back and take watch from a few feet away.  The cars appeared empty, and all the doors were closed.

The body didn’t move when Jackson got closer, and Mark knew that it was either dead or unconscious.  A fleshie would’ve shifted or moaned or done something; not lay still.

Before Jackson even reached it, he stopped.  He stood dead still.  And he dropped his crowbar.

“Jackson,” Mark hissed, and stepped closer, nervous.  The area was quiet, but he could hear the crowd out front and it gave him the heebie-jeebies.  “Jackson.”

“Wait,” he replied, quiet.  “Wait.”  Mark took a closer look and saw it wasn’t Youngjae, but a man in military uniform, shot through the temple.  He couldn’t see a gun, keys, or anything that would catch Jackson’s attention.  Nothing besides his face.  Mark had no idea who his friend had known in the past, or what they would look like.

He thought it best to keep watch silently.

It was him.

He had no idea why or how he had ended up so close, but it was him.

The man that killed them.

He was responsible for his parents’ death, and possible everything after that.

Jackson looked down on him in fiery, bubbling hate, lessened only by the thought that he’d also led him to Mark.

“You’re lucky you’re already dead,” he breathed, and glanced to his friend, who was looking jittery and extra jumpy.  “You’re lucky I have someone to hold composure around.”  His dead eyes stared back, and Jackson was mildly miffed to notice they were bloody.

Crying blood.

Youngjae; that was why they were out there, and Jackson turned back to Mark.  “Maybe he’s around the corner.”  They both knew he wasn’t.

Mark stared back, concerned, and Jackson loved that; especially now, especially just after seeing his parent’s murderer, he loved that someone cared.  He relaxed on the spot and suddenly the turmoil in his gut wasn’t so twisted.  His companion spoke.

“Are you okay?”  He loved it.  So much.

“Kind of.”  The other bit his lip in thought, never looking away, and eventually waved him closer.

“Come here.”  Jackson did, and Mark hugged him, close and warm and smelling like… well, smelling like Mark.  Like musty clothes and a bit of old cologne.  It was familiar, and comforting, and Jackson hugged him back.  “Are you okay now?”  Jackson snorted.

“Think so highly of yourself and you’re gonna fall off you high horse one day.”  Mark chuckled and gestured for them to keep going, but Jackson wasn’t done.  He wanted him to know.  “Yes.  I’m usually better around you.”  The other had nothing to say, but Jackson caught glimpse of another grin.  In the current situation, it made him contemplate what else could happen to them, what else could threaten them.

What if Mark got sick?  What if Jackson got sick?  What if they got separated?

What if they couldn't see the end of the apocalypse through together?  Jackson didn't even know what he thought about that anymore, whether he thought there was an end or not.  Perhaps, he said to himself, there could be an end if I make it with Mark.  With Mark, anything could be done.

With that thought fresh in his head, he promised himself that Mark would make it far enough to sleep in a bed and wake up in a bed and eat breakfast like a normal person, like someone would've before the end of the world.  Wouldn't that be like an end in itself?

“We should check the last side,” Mark whispered, and his companion nodded, but knew they wouldn’t find him.  He knew they weren’t gonna find him.  Ever.  Youngjae was gone and the guilt was eating him like a disease of his own.

“Yah, we should.”

It was empty, as expected, and Jackson sighed, tempted to make another round; but that would just make the truth more evident, and more real.  It was better to just follow Mark and do as he’d said in the beginning.

Head to Raven’s Nest and prove they were worth the time.

His friend looked back for what to do and Jackson told him, hesitantly, before ducking his head.  It felt cowardly to leave things like this, to leave Youngjae like this.  But when Mark offered to drive, and when he gave Jackson’s knee a pat before pulling away, Jackson felt a little better.

Mark always made him feel better.

And he loved that.

Driving straight through the night, they had managed to stay awake.  It was probably the thought of Youngjae, lying somewhere.  Dead.  Or worse.  Dying.  Mark knew that was what had kept them awake.

That and the last dregs of water they had in their personal backpacks.  Mark finished his bottle and wanted more, feeling light-headed from driving for so long.  He slowed the truck and looked over, searching for the third backpack.  It wasn’t under his seat, and when he saw that it wasn’t under Jackson’s, a kernel of discomfort popped in his gut.

“Jackson; where’s the third pack?”  The other looked over the same places the former had and paused.  And let out a shaky, hissed breath.  And swore.  Again.

“.”  Mark felt that kernel pop again, and again, and a wave of antsy popcorn seemed to bubble in his stomach.

“What?”  Jackson wasn’t looking at him, and he wasn’t talking.  “Jackson?”

“I-” And he stopped again, dropping his head into his hand, closing his eyes.  “I-I dropped it.  Back in the city.  When-” Mark was trying to wrap his head around that.  “When they grabbed me, or when, when we were overrun.  I don’t remember.”

Jackson looked out over the slowly brightening environment.  He pursed his lips and beat a fist into the seat beneath him.  Mark calculated what this meant, and swore.

“Goddammit.”