Fields. As far as the eye could see. Just empty fields, filled with rows upon rows of decaying crop. Chanyeol swore, throwing his worn duffel bag and nondescript briefcase onto the cracked earth. So it was true then, he was hopelessly lost.

"There isn't anything else we can do for you. You know that, right?" The tone that the man used was cheerfully condescending, meant for a child. He waited until Chanyeol–head bowed and hands clasped together–nodded before going on. "Good. Then I have something I must tell you."

No. He couldn't give up now. Not when he'd come this far. The map had only been in his grasp for a few mere hours but he'd seen the route, planned his escape. This was only a minor setback. As soon as he found a road, a river, some kind of distinguishable landmark, he would be back on track.

"You've done so well in rehabilitation. Exceeded our expectations, even. We believe that this is the next step for us–for you–hell, for humanity." His smile was deceivingly genuine as Chanyeol raised his eyes. He'd seen that smile in the past, moments before he'd be subjected to hours under curious hands, poking and prodding his innards as if he were some failed experiment. And now he was supposed to believe that he was the opposite? A success?

It took a while, an indefinitely long trek over eroded soil, before he found the road. The sun was setting by the time he found it, lighting the patched asphalt until it looked like it was gleaming. Chanyeol could swear he felt a smile pulling at his face.

The man pointed behind him. "Our experts have created these. For you. Here, look at this, contacts that will not dissolve. And inside this container is something between makeup and plaster, it will make you seem more... alive. Of course, there is nothing we can do about the severity of your features, but with the recent famine we’re confident that it won't matter. I mean, before this whole mess I was an XXL!" The man heaved a hearty laugh. Chanyeol didn't join in. The laughing came to an abrupt end, and the man went on. "And, finally, we have these bottles. One drop will sate, a bottle will last you a month. Just one dose a day and you'll be harmless." And despite himself, Chanyeol crooked an eyebrow.

Of course, he should have known that finding a road wouldn't be the end of it. Sure, he wasn't wandering in the wilderness, but he still had no idea where he was, or which way he was heading. And damn it all to hell, he couldn't for the life of him remember if the sun set in the east or west.

"Now, we can't just let you roam free. We have an apartment for you just a few blocks away, a cozy little place with a queen-sized bed and a kitchenette. Now, doesn't that sound nice?" Again, he waited for Chanyeol's reluctant nod. "Good. You are not to leave it, for any reason. We will send people to check up on you daily. After all, we can't just have you wandering through the streets unattended."

Lights, Chanyeol could see lights in the distance. Two pinpricks of light, gradually coming closer. A car, a truck, a something that he could ride. Possibly something with a chatty driver he could talk to, ask whether he was heading in the right direction. Quickly, he scuttled to the side of the road and waved his arms in the air, waiting for the vehicle to come closer. As it did, Chanyeol could make out more details; he could see the chipped paint on the edge of the old pickup, how one light was brighter than the other, and the shotgun propped on the windowsill. Oh no. Eyes still on the glinting metal, Chanyeol dropped to his stomach on the ground just as a shot rang through the air. There was only one more, as the vehicle got closer, but it didn’t land anywhere near him. He waited until the vehicle was out of sight before getting up, dusting himself off. Hitch-hiking was out of the question, then.

The man grinned. “Follow me. We have some clothes for you.” He held out his hand for Chanyeol to take, but there was an obvious reluctance to the gesture, so Chanyeol stood on his own. The man dropped his hand, smile pulling more forcefully at his cheeks. “You’d better behave yourself, don’t let everything we’ve done go to waste–” He broke off, stopping before he could say that string of numbers, the ones Chanyeol had been called as soon as he opened his eyes and saw white walls, and instead finishing with, “Chanyeol. Set a good example for others, they’ll be out of here soon, living just like you.” He pushed open the double doors. “Come, come, I don’t bite.” An then he laughed a loud, obnoxious laugh. Chanyeol cringed.

So the pickup was a bust, but that was fine. This was all fine. Because where there were pickups, there were people. And there had to be people here somewhere. They couldn’t have all been wiped out. Chanyeol had heard stories, listened in when his guards talked about family in the countryside. They had to be out here somewhere. He had to be out here somewhere.

They called it The Rise. No one knows the exact reason–there’s been talk of a malfunction at a nuclear plant but it’s all been hearsay so far–but on that night about a year ago, the dead had broken out of tombs, catacombs, coffins, and clawed their way to the surface. Among them was Park Chanyeol, an unfortunate casualty of a late-night car crash just a few months prior. He, like all the others, had gone straight for the towns and cities, straight to where the living had been sleeping, unaware of what was about to happen.

The first few weeks, it was a bloodbath. The undead were bloodthirsty, merciless, and it didn’t help that they were wearing the bodies of loved ones. It took three weeks for the weak and the defenseless to be weeded out, leaving the cunning behind–those unafraid to shoot as soon as they saw veiny, blue-tinted skin, no matter if the face was a relative or not.

He has vague recollections of the past year, of everything between the horror of seeing bright lights heading straight for him and waking up strapped to a table, but he remembers a little. Chanyeol remembers holing up in a grocery store, surviving on the bodies that had been left there, and then camping out in the aisles. The memories were vague, coated in a sort of dreamlike fuzziness, but real enough to be believable. He remembered looking at the items in the aisle, confused, and watching the massacres outside during the beginning. And then, much later, he remembers bits and pieces of the night when the boy had run in, chased by a hulking man with a shredded tux covering him, drenched in blood (fresh and dried), and Chanyeol had helped the man. He had warded off the attacker, who understood that this was where Chanyeol stayed and fed, and left with little more than a dissatisfied grunt. He had stayed with the terrified man, waited until it was daylight and safe, and then he had watched him go.

He had to find him.

The road was gone, there was only a meager dirt road–Chanyeol knew he should have taken a left at that stop sign instead of a right–and fields for miles. It was getting dark, and he hadn’t made any real progress other than sneaking out of his room in the early hours of this morning and the exhaustion was starting to get to him.

He felt it before he heard or saw it, a searing pain in his arm, and then the ring of a shot in the air and a sizeable hole in his bicep. The perpetrator was out in an instant, apologizing for not having realized that Chanyeol was human earlier (not a monster) and Chanyeol did his best to assure the scruffy man that he was fine while doing the best to cover the wound. The man might not be as sorry once he saw that Chanyeol wasn’t bleeding.

Nevertheless, Chanyeol was invited to the man’s home for dinner as compensation, and was put up in the barn for the night. The man lived at home with his wife, and they had two children who had moved to the city, and hadn’t heard from them since The Rise. They showed Chanyeol their pictures, asked if he had seen them, and Chanyeol was glad to say that he hadn’t. In return, he asked them about the town whose name he had memorized, whose name he had seen every day all around the grocery until he had been found and cured, and was beyond relieved when they told him it was about a day’s walk, just over the horizon.

He slept atop hay, painfully aware of the many murder weapons leaning up against the wall right beside him. In his dreams he saw flashes of a terrified face, tainted with splotches of blood, and he wondered why the man was so scared, vowed to do his best to make him feel better.

He woke up after a fitful sleep before the sun had fully risen, and took a brief moment to take a small sip from the bottle and fix his appearance with the powder, using a shovel as a mirror. Some of the makeup had rubbed off in his sleep, leaving patches of bluish skin that Chanyeol desperately tried to hide.

Chanyeol set off before his hosts could wake up, and this time he stuck to the road, heading back to the fork and taking the left instead of the right, just like the man had said. If he just kept following this road, he'd head right into the small town and his journey would conclude. Just like that.

Chanyeol doesn't think he's ever been so determined to do something in his life. Sure, he worked his off to make the cut on the men's basketball team in his second year of high school, but this wasn't the same. This man's face had been ingrained into his memory, was the only thing he could recall with any ounce of clarity from that mess. And while Chanyeol adored his family, he didn't think he was ready to find out if they had make it or not. No, he needed to see this man first. He needed to know that he was real, and he needed to see the face that had helped him through all those tests (especially the most difficult ones, the ones from those scientists that didn't think he could feel pain–he definitely could), the man with the slightly overgrown hair that looked soft even when caked with blood and dirt–and the soft smile that Chanyeol could almost remember.

He just needed to see him. Just for a moment.

Fields gradually turned into trees, and then Chanyeol was walking through a forest as the sun got higher in the sky, marveling at the height and sheer beauty of the trees–some even had tiny white buds on them, slowly unfurling to reveal a gorgeous flower. It must be spring, then. He regretted not having traveled more, at staying in the city his entire life. He wondered if his parents had ever thought about camping, if maybe they had stayed in the city their entire lives, too. Then, Chanyeol spied a torn and heavily dented road sign lying in the middle of the road and thoughts of what could have been flew out of his mind. Maybe they would have traveled, maybe not, but there was no use in wasting time thinking about it. What's done is done.

He hadn't come across another house since he'd left this morning, and honestly Chanyeol was becoming a little anxious. He wasn't hungry or tired yet, but the feeling that this was all for naught was clawing its way back into his mind. He didn't even know that this man lived in the town he was heading for. This was all one stupid hunch.

But, well, he had the choice of wandering aimlessly or staying in the apartment, eyes on his at all hours.

So he walked.

Chanyeol walked until the sun set, until he was promising himself that he'd stop at the next place, see how far he was away from the city then. He couldn't be too far–all this walking should have done more than just make his limbs stiffen up.

The trees were starting to thin out, and Chanyeol's hopes lifted just a little. And, at last, he walked over one more hill and was staring down at a quaint little town. It was spotless, free of the wreckage Chanyeol had seen plaguing the city, and seemed to have been untouched by The Rise. But Chanyeol knew better.

The first house he passed was a small building, like a little cottage set away from the rest of the town. The sign out front said 'B&B', and Chanyeol figured that he'd need to stay somewhere while he conducted his search, and this seemed as good a place as any. So he veered off the road, walked across the cute stepping stone pathway, and knocked twice on the front door.

The door opened, and Chanyeol's voice died in his throat, eyes widening and eyebrows disappearing under his hair. The man in the doorway was holding a pistol aimed at him, but that wasn't the reason for his surprise–he was staring at the man's face, at his chiseled features and slightly longer hair, much softer minus the caked blood and dirt.

This had to be a cosmic joke.

"No way," the man breathed, hands falling to his side, expression stupefied. A moment later, he was forcefully ushering Chanyeol in, pulling him in by the front of his shirt and navigating them into the kitchen, where he left Chanyeol to lock both doors and lower the blinds on every since window. He placed the pistol on the counter and did an about-face to Chanyeol. "What are you doing here?"

"Well," Chanyeol starts, looking anywhere but at the man (it's funny, he's walked days to find him and now he can't seem to meet his eyes), wringing his hands. "I was looking for you."

The man raises an eyebrow and leans against the sink. He's right in front of Chanyeol and yet he still doesn't seem real–height just above that of Chanyeol, physique just a little on the skinny side, and face schooled into impassiveness. If not for the pistol on the counter and the fact that he's dead, Chanyeol could pretend that they were friends having some sort of spat. But Chanyeol was very much a reanimated corpse and they were not having a friendly dispute. The man taps his fingers on the counter. "Oh, were you now?"

Chanyeol fiddles with the straps on his backpack, debates picking up the briefcase lying at his feet. "Yeah." He casts a longing look at the front door. "I, um, don't know if you remember but we were in a store together–at least, I think we were. I might have mistaken you for someone–"

"No, I remember."

Chanyeol jumps and looks up. The man is right in front of him, barely a hair's breadth away.

"How could I forget you? You saved my life." And then the man smiles and Chanyeol's body immediately eases, tension bleeding out of him. "Except... you were very much a zombie at that point. What happened to you?"

"Well..."

"Kris."

Chanyeol brightens. "Kris! Well, um, Kris, you see–the city has a cure. They used it on me and now I'm better! See, no people." He points at his teeth, feeling foolish, but Kris smiles, coming a little bit closer.

"A cure, huh? This is the first I've heard about it." Then he raises a hand and swipes his fingers over Chanyeol's cheek. Chanyeol startles a little, eyebrows furrowing at the cream-colored powder on Kris' fingers. "What's your name?"

"Chanyeol."

"Chanyeol. I never stopped thinking about you. Not once." And then Kris leans forward, lips grazing the patch of skin free of makeup, and Chanyeol doesn't feel the warmth of the man's lips but he can feel the skin on skin contact and it makes him shiver. Kris leans in, close to his ear. "I never got to thank you."

They settle after that, Kris insisting that Chanyeol take a seat at the small circular table in the corner of the kitchen while he makes some coffee. And while Chanyeol can't ingest anything–he learned that the hard way–he appreciates the gesture.

They talk about the incident in the grocery store, and then about their experiences after The Rise. It's grim and depressing, and Chanyeol is grateful when Kris changes the subject to before The Rise. He learns that Kris was on his high school's basketball team around the same time as Chanyeol, and they might have even played against each other. Kris makes him promise that they'll have a one-on-one soon, and Chanyeol can hardly decline an offer like that. They talk for hours, until Kris' eyes are half-glazed and Chanyeol's thoughts become fuzzy.

"So," Kris starts, words just starting to slur together. "What's your plan, now?"

Chanyeol could tell him about the experiments, about he can never go back to the city for fear they'd put him into a test tube and keep him there for the rest of his miserable life. He could tell him about the bottles and various jars in the briefcase that can help him pass as alive. He could even tell Kris about the thousands of others being injected with the cure as they speak, receiving briefcases just like his own and being ushered into apartments before they are integrated into society. Instead, he smiles at Kris and subtly knocks their ankles together under the table. "I was thinking about spending some time in this town. And, if you have any open rooms, I'd love to stay here. With you." And talk with you. And learn more about you. And find out why, after all this time, you remember me, and why I remember you the most.

Kris smiles, and it's a warm, encouraging smile; like he can hear everything that Chanyeol's not sending. It sends a phantom shiver running all the way down to the corpse's cold feet.

"Okay."