chapter VIII

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  The next time Myungsoo looks down at him, a single dewy tear had slid down his temple and evaporated before it hit the pillow.

          They’d left Kai on the bed in early morning before the announcements came.  A white bed sheet had been carefully placed over his body, perhaps in an attempt to offer closure.  

          In the car on the way to the grocery store, neither of the two spoke a word, even when Hero announced Sehun’s name.  Sungjong didn’t feel the anger that had consumed him before when Victoria and Amber were pronounced deceased.  He didn’t know what he felt, and he didn’t know why he felt it.  What he did know was that he didn’t feel alone; Krystal was always by his side.  

          Sungjong cast her a glance.  It began with Krystal, and it ended with Krystal.  She was the one constant in his life that could not be taken out.  She was the one that forced him to challenge himself and the one who taught him life.  Friends are people who make you a better person.  Was he making Krystal a better person?

          As the car rolled down the streets at a slower than normal pace, and as he watched the road disappear under the hood of the car, he felt okay.  Houses with darkened windows, and sidewalks splattered with blood rolled past, and he finally felt the morbidity.  It was a calm morbidity though, an uncomfortable twisting of his stomach.  He didn’t want death anymore.  He wanted an end.

          Even so, in the back of his mind, he knew an end would mean more killing, more blood, more sacrifice.  If he left this town alive, how would he live?  How could he face the world and forget everything he’d seen?  When he looked Dongwoo in the eyes, how would he keep away the poison from his own?  How could he live with the images of mutilated bodies staining the inside of his eyelids?  He could try.  But if he would succeed, that was another question.

          They pulled up at the store they’d been going to for the past five days.  It was the sixth day now, and there was a mutual sense of finallity.  The numbers on the announcements were dwindling; both schools’ student counts were in the teens with Sound at nineteen, and Derium at seventeen.  They'd hardly seen a live soul in the hours they'd been out.  The quiet suffocated him. Every time a gunshot pierced the still, or a scream reverberated through the houses, it was like a pulse, like ripples from a pebble breaking the surface of water.  The noise would erupt from the epicenter, becoming almost tangible - like the heat you could see hovering above the black tar road on a hot summer's day.

          The dead girl from countless days before was still on the parking lot with her arms crossed over her chest.  Her flesh was wrinkling and corroding; it stank.  The boy crushed under the shopping cart attracted flies like a magnet.  They had to hold their breath passing by.  Sungjong remembered the girl that he, Kai, and Sehun shot in the dairy aisle. Her desperate eyes flashed before him, followed by Kai’s face as he put the final bullet through her skull. It was all very real. Kai and Sehun were alive.

          Without any refrigeration or air conditioning, the milk and yogurt were curdling and turning sour.  The raw meat and fish were rotting. The entire store was vile.

          There was no commotion inside, but he caught a whiff of perfume over the decomposing produce.  “Smell that?”  he asked, and Krystal nodded.  It was recent.  No way was perfume going to last more than thirty minutes in a dump like this.  “Is it a girl?”

          Krystal thought for a moment, and shook her head.  “Lavanila Vanilla Fruit Fragrance from Sephora.  It’s Sungyeol’s.  He wears it every Tuesday.”

          Sungjong sent her a look.  “And you don’t like him.”

          Krystal pretended she didn’t hear him. “So if he’s still here…”

          “We should find him.”

          “And.”

          “Join up!”  Sungjong said, smiling.

          Krystal stared at him.  If he was thinking that Sungyeol could possibly replace Kai, he was wrong.  Kai wasn’t replaceable.  It was a bit sad though; she could tell that he was growing and realizing how to let go, but filling an empty hole so quickly like this wasn’t the answer.

          “We’ll see.”

          The two scoured the aisles for any processed food that hadn’t gone bad while keeping alert for any signs of Sungyeol.  If he was still here, he’d gotten really good at being quiet. 

          It was when Sungjong was placing some Poptarts into his bag with Krystal on watch when he was tackled from behind.  The first thing that flashed through his mind was, ‘what the is Krystal doing’.  He dropped his bag and kicked at the person behind him (he was in a choke hold, but like hell was a choke hold going to work on Sungjong).  He’d just managed to wedge the tip of his gun against the person’s stomach when he was released.  The bullet shattered a box of cereal.

          “Yo!”  the person said, and Sungjong pointed his gun at him again.  It was with mild exasperation that he recognized Sungyeol.  Like, what the hell, he could have shot him.

          “I don’t think the proper way to greet someone is to tackle them when said person could possibly have a gun,” he said.

          “Shut up,” replied Sungyeol jokingly.  “You only talk like that when you get flustered.”  He rubbed Sungjong’s back.  “It’s nice to know I fluster you, Sungjong.”

          It wasn’t like they talked to each other on a regular basis anyway, so why were they conversing like long time friends?  Anyway, how could Sungyeol know what it meant when Sungjong talked in a more proper manner?

          “So, how’ve you been?”  the tall boy said, and Sungjong made a note to find Krystal wherever she ran off to and drag her back.

          “Fine.  Six of my friends have died, but other than that, I’m pretty okay.”  He tried to keep his face neutral.  When he talked like that, it was like nothing ever happened.  It was a curious thing.

          “Yeah, yeah, same.  Can you believe it though?  It's like ing Armageddon out there.”  

          If Sungjong really looked at Sungyeol, he could see that he was basically unscathed.  No scratch marks, no cuts, no dried blood, no bruises, and that stupid grin was still on his face too.  Compared to himself, Sungyeol was a walking ad for Neutrogena.  

          “By the way, how are you not beaten up?”

          To which Sungyeol replied, “How are you so beaten up?”

          “Because I am participating in the activity,” said Sungjong, watching Sungyeol's face carefully.

          “For once in your life.  We’re all proud of you, Sungjong.” 

          Maybe he wasn’t the only one who knew too much about everyone.

          “By the way, where did Krystal go?”  Sungjong asked as he lowered his gun and brushed his hands off on his pants.

          Sungyeol clicked his tongue, scratching the back of his neck.  “Krystal was here?”

          Sungjong stared at the other boy for a second.  “Okay,” he sighed, and picked up his bag from the floor.  The fact that Krystal actually hightailed out of there the second she saw Sungyeol was hilarious, no doubt, but hey, he kind of needed everyone he could get.  He walked out of the aisle, and Sungyeol followed without a word.  

          They called her name, and at one point Sungjong added ‘coward’, sure that she’d respond to the degrading title.  The notion of staying as quiet as possible dissipated once Sungyeol showed up.  Silence was impossible with that boy.  If there were Derium kids around, then hell, let them be heard.  

          Suddenly, he remembered the dodge ball game last Thursday.  The people left in the final strain would either be the elite, or the weaklings.  He wasn’t sure if he was either.  So his body count wasn’t low, but he hadn’t escaped without injury either.  And Myungsoo.  Bastard.  Sungjong allowed himself a small compressed smile.  Myungsoo was still alive, somewhere, somehow.  And himself.  Which meant they should band up.  They’re on the same team, right?  Sticking together was better than splitting up.  Look at what happened to Vic and Amber.

          A light bulb lit above Sungjong’s head.  If he tried, then maybe he could win.  Maybe he could win with Myungsoo.  Maybe he could win with Sungyeol and Myungsoo.

          Man, what a dream.

          After all, it was just his life he was fighting for, right?  Just his life.  And he couldn’t let Kai down either.  In some creepy, delusional way, he was sure Kai was watching over him and whining about the stock market.  He giggled, not sure if his sanity was still intact.

          Just as he became aware of Sungyeol’s stare, he spotted a flash of silver in the parking lot outside.  Very close to Dongwoo’s Altima.  Very close.

          He sprinted outside, forgetting to hold his breath in the cart room (he almost puked).  It wasn’t an unfamiliar sight, Krystal beating the daylights out of another young girl.  The question was:  Did she leave because she saw a threat?  Or did she leave because she saw Sungyeol? 

          The two watched until Krystal gave the girl a blow to the head that sounded like it cracked her skull inwards.  Once she fell to the concrete, Krystal kneeled down beside her to analyze her condition.  She nodded to herself.  Sungyeol didn’t so much wince.

          “I’m not hungry anymore,” said Sungyeol once Krystal joined them.  She huffed.

          “Where to?”  Sungjong asked.  Truthfully, the only thing he wanted to do was scour the town for Myungsoo and die winning or live winning.  He just wanted to win.  He didn’t want all that effort and sacrifice to be for nothing.  His friends died for a reason: so he could learn to live.

          Grimacing, he remembered Soju. Had he taken it too far?  He didn’t have to wallow about, setting up a refined mask wherever he went.  His friends had accepted his change, but he wished they’d spoken up and helped him back then.  It had been three years since.  Three years too long.

          “Can I drive?” asked Sungyeol.  “Your wheels look slick.”  He smiled at Krystal.  She stared back.

          “No,” she said after a moment’s silence.

          Sungjong looked on amusedly.  

          “Please?”

          “No.”

         Scooting around the two and opening the driver’s side, he slammed the door.  The momentary confusion flitting across Sungyeol’s face made Sungjong snicker.  The elder’s mouth formed an O.  Krystal started for the car, kicking Sungyeol's knees in on the way and swung into the passenger’s seat.  Sungyeol sighed, walking towards the back seat doors.

          His image flickered.  In a blink of an eye, Sungyeol was replaced by a boy with piercing gray eyes and mousey ruffled hair.  Sungjong blinked and blinked again, but the boy was still walking towards the car in Sungyeol’s footsteps.  In a jolt, he quickly turned the key in the ignition and stepped on the pedal.  He and Krystal sped forward, Sungyeol’s voice yelling after them.

          After a good amount of yards, he braked the car and watched carefully from the side view mirror.  He wore this golden brown military type uniform and black combat boots. The boy seemed unfazed by the aberration, which figured if he was a hallucination.  The image buzzed, and a slip of Sungyeol sprinting towards the car was revealed before the army boy quivered back into place.

          The boy’s sterling silver eyes were piercing through him from the mirror.  Sungjong shivered.

          “Sungjong,” Krystal said.  “I know Sungyeol’s a douche, but leaving him here is a bit harsh even for me.”

          “That’s why I stopped,” he replied slowly.

          Krystal shook her head and grabbed a gun to polish.

          His attention returned to the approaching figure, whether that be Sungyeol or army boy.  Whatever it was, he’d let it come near and deal with it then.  Besides, what was the worst that could happen?  He laughed.  It was a funny question.

          A cloud moved to cover the sun.  He saw a seagull alight upon the corpse in the parking lot.  It landed a few experimental pecks on the girl’s eye before tearing it out from the socket.  Sungjong turned away.

          A shadow fell over his open window when the sky flashed a blinding white.  A high pitched squeal rung through the air, and it felt like his car was rocking from the blast. The sound pierced through his brain like a spear. It was like lightening across the whole sky, except lacking the thunder.  It left him winded for the next half minute which was definitely enough time for the boy to make it to his window.

          A waft of something foreign drifted to his nose, the smell of dense forest and a hint of smoke.  The person outside leant down to peer at him.  Sungjong stared back.  A hand extended to his face, and he jerked back before the boy smiled and cupped his cheek.

          He would have been trembling.

          The light striked again, and Sungjong squeezed his eyes shut in time for it to only mildly burn him.  The squeal intensified to what seemed like louder than a jet engine. It tossed up the inside of his head.  Sungjong squinted as the light faded. The boy before him knelt by his window, taking a strand of his hair through his fingers. Sungjong could barely see him; everything was pulsating in static. His temples throbbed, and his lungs hurt from the lack of air.  

          Sungjong hung his head, pressing two fingers hard over the area over his ear.  Krystal sat facing forward, seemingly unaffected.  He must be officially going insane.

          The boy outside rose, planting a kiss on the top of Sungjong’s head. It was firm; it felt like Dongwoo.  When Sungjong looked up again, the boy was gone, leaving only a curl of golden smoke.  The pain dissipated. The aching, vaporized.

          “Sungjong?”  Krystal asked, and the world began to rumble.

          He couldn’t tell if it was only him this time.

          “Sungjong!”

          Everything happened too fast for him to panic.  He could only look her in the eyes and pull his knees up against his chest.  Vaguely, he remembered last Thursday, to before any of this took him by the throat.  The Altima shook hard now, the sunlight flickering like a dying light bulb.  Sungyeol was in the backseat, concern spread across his face.  Sehun was by his side on the bleachers, his side pressing warmly into Sungjong.

          Whatever was happening, he hoped it would be quick.

          The absence of light dragged on for longer periods of time, and when it was finally dark, it was completely dark.  It was like seeing the inside of your head, like if your eyes flipped backwards and you couldn’t turn them back.  When the shaking wound down, Sungjong wasn’t sure he still existed.

          He couldn’t feel the car seat anymore, and he for sure couldn’t see a thing.  

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          Sungjong slid his arm against the underside of a cool, plush material, snuggling deeper into the fabric.  It smelled faintly of watermelon.  Birds twittered outside the window, just soft enough to leave him undisturbed.

          “Up, up, Sungjong.”  A  voice broke into his conscience.

          He kept still, a cramp developing in his thigh. The sheets disappeared from his body, and he kicked aimlessly.  It was too late to pretend he was still asleep; he rolled over on his side, hugging the pillow to his chest.  Through his eyelids, he decided it was dim enough to chance a squint.  

          Sungjong fell off the bed, the pillow doing nothing to cushion him. His elbows thudded against the hardwood floor.

          “I’m half ,” he said, mildly perplexed.  

          “That's true,” replied Sungyeol, who was half himself.

          Rubbing his arms as inconspicuously as he could, Sungjong took in his surroundings.  White bed sheets, white pillows, white wallpaper, white curtains; it almost looked like a hospital room.

          “Where am I?” he asked, hoping it wasn’t a stupid question.

          “What a stupid question, Sungjong,” Sungyeol huffed.  “I’m surprised you don’t remember.  It was you who wanted to be here, after all.  You were all like, Myungsoo!  Myungsoo!  We’re all gonna die!  Take me to my prin-”

          Sungyeol waved his arms around him dramatically. So deep into his yelling he was, he didn’t notice Sungjong crawling across the floor.  With a yell, his knees buckled and he fell to the floor beside Sungjong.

          “Shut up,” he said.

          “God, someone’s grouchy,” grumbled Sungyeol as he sat up and crossed his legs.  “Are you self conscious or something?  Quit hugging that pillow.”

          “I’m not self conscious.”

          Sungyeol smiled.  “Then this won’t be a problem.”  He reached over, giving the corner of the pillow a good pull.  “Hand it over.”

          He twisted away, casting a glance to the underside of the bed.  It was a bit dusty, but maybe if he could squeeze under there…

          Then Sungyeol would follow him.  

          “There’s another pillow on the bed!”  he yelled desperately.

          “But I don’t care about that pillow, Sungjong,” whispered the other.

          Sungjong’s stomach twisted as Sungyeol grabbed his shoulder and leaned in.  He buried his face into the pillow, tightening his arms around it.  He froze, Sungyeol’s breath warm against his ear.  Sungjong was not blushing, nope, nope.  He was half not-gay for a reason.  Sungyeol his lips.  He chuckled.

          “Cute.”

          Sungjong groaned, shoving him away hard with a foot to his chest.  He rose to his feet, and for extra measure, he whacked Sungyeol’s face with the pillow a good number of times.  The victim on the floor began to guffaw loudly, writhing and clutching his stomach.

          “Hilarious, Sungjong.  Hilarious .  Jesus, you’re so sensitive.”

          “ you.”

          “You wanna?”  Sungyeol cackled, ing his hips upward.

          Sungjong groaned and raised his arm up high.  The pillow came slamming down on Sungyeol’s face.  It might have broken his nose if he wasn’t so thick headed.  He was glowing in the reward of hearing the other’s muffled sounds of pain when another voice interrupted.

          “I heard my name?”

          And before he could fully process it, Myungsoo appeared in the doorway (clothed, thank God), his eyes searching for the person who’d called him.

          Quickly, Sungjong turned his attention to Sungyeol, very aware that his hands were placed boldly on his hips, and that he was right smack in the middle of the room without a shirt.

          “Am I intruding…?”

          Sungjong didn’t answer, staring intensely at the pillow on Sungyeol’s face.  When it was clear he wasn’t going to talk, he said in a rush, “No, not particularly, by the way, where can I find a shirt?”

          He couldn’t bring himself to look at Myungsoo.   It could just be him, but the air between the three was getting thicker.  Sungyeol could at least stop pretending he was asleep.  Maybe Sungjong should call for Krystal.  

          Sungyeol’s stomach constricted from withheld laughter, and from the corner of his vision, he saw Myungsoo's eyes raking him up and down.  Sungjong began to sweat.  Like, , why couldn’t he move?  Think of Myungsoo as Kai.  He tried.  Okay, no bad idea, very bad idea.

          If Myungsoo noticed him tearing up, he didn’t say anything.

          “A shirt would be a good idea,” he said quietly, and disappeared from the doorway.

          Sungjong waited until he heard him go down the stairs (because apparently there were stairs, and apparently shirts were down there).  He let go of his breath.  A shirt would be a good idea?  What was that supposed to mean?  He frowned, looking down at his chest.  He wasn't flabby, for sure...so what?  Tracing a hand along his stomach, he winced as he happened upon a bruise.  The bruises.  He wouldn't say there were dozens, but it was hard to tell.  They all kind of melded together into a huge, winding, gross blue and purple blob.   His arms were littered with scabs and red hashes, something he hadn't thought about in a long time.

          But Myungsoo knew they were from Antietam, right?  He wouldn't think he had abusive parents or something...like that.

          What a stupid idea.  They hadn't seen their parents in almost a week, and the bruises and cuts were fresh.  No misconceptions.

          Silence settled, and Krystal floated to the top of his thoughts.  He'd been driving, and Sungyeol was in the car, so Krystal would definitely be here too.  

          Sungyeol giggled.

          “Your face-”

          “You didn’t see my face.”

          “And yet I know exactly what you looked like.”

          Sungjong sighed, mentally preparing himself for the next time Myungsoo came up those stairs.  His heart had only slowed down a tad.

          "Sungyeol, you never answered my question.  Where are we?"  

          The boy only giggled more.

          "Is this... Myungsoo's house?"

          Giggles.

          "Where's Krystal?"

          "God Sungjong, if you have so many questions then go find out yourself!"

          "Fine.  Whatever.  Why can't you answer them?"  muttered Sungjong as he reluctantly ducked into the hallway.

          Cream-colored walls, carpeted floor, bath