Chapter Text
The park is beautiful at this time of day. The vibrant orange of the sunrise and the serene silence of the area is the perfect environment to enjoy his lunch. Well, lunch in the sense that it was the second meal of his day, just at the end of his shift.
Working in the ER was as tiring as it was rewarding, but saving people was what made Freddy happy. However much his husband may joke he’s married to the job or will leave him a widow, he did truly enjoy the end of the shift, when he could finally slow down. He would only enjoy it more if his husband was there with him, waiting on the park bench with a sack lunch and a ramble about the happenings at his bowling league. But Freddie could live with him away for a week or two, while he was away for a championship. They always had some commitment or other that would drag each other away, but he would always wait for his love, and Freddy knew his husband would do the same.
He is still alone, however, and if the call he just ended is anything to go by, his husband wouldn’t be home for another six hours, barring any flight delays. Which means he had to pack his own sad lunch, sitting on the bench behind him. It is 5:54 AM and he has 6 minutes before lunchtime, so he is enjoying the sunrise. It's the small things in life, he thinks wistfully.
He’s interrupted from his thoughts by sudden movement and shadows cast out of the corner of his eye. When he turns around, the first thing he notices is the glint of the sunrise off a rusted knife, pointed directly at him. The second is the small, grimey hand on his lunch bag.
Freddy takes a good look at the kid– gaunt, dark circles around the eyes, reserved demeanor– and gives a sad smile. “If you wanted a meal, all you have to do is ask.” The kid shrieks as Freddy steps closer to him, gently grabbing the lunch bag out of his hands and rifling through it. A growing boy needs protein. He sits on the bench and offers the kid a sandwich, patting the bench next to him. “Come sit. Meals are better in a calm environment.” The kid’s grip on his knife falters, and he swipes the sandwich out of Freddy’s hand, before sitting at the edge of the bench.
Freddy never knew civilians could eat a sandwich with such voracity. Sure, he’d seen many patients eating for the first time since a surgery, or the time one of his regulars was finally able to eat solids, but this kid is eating like a soldier finally off rations. Hmm. No access to a stable food source. The hospital social worker could likely help him find the right resources to help him, but he’s getting ahead of himself. Baby steps.
“So what’s your name?” The kid pauses mid-bite and stares at Freddy, and he realizes that he is not equipped for this sort of conversation. He has no younger siblings, no kids, no nieces or nephews, and while he deals with kids at work, he has his nurses to help him. It takes him a few seconds– and the uncomfortable hunch of the boy’s posture– to realize he’s staring, and he looks back to his lunch bag. “I’ve been referring to you as ‘kid’ in my head and that feels disrespectful, my apologies”.
“It’s Gregory.” The kid scoots further down the bench. He polishes off the sandwich, and stands, walking away. “Thanks I guess, for the uhh. Sandwich.”
“Wait–,” Freddy starts, and the kid stops, and turns to look at him, curling protectively around the knife.
“What? I said thanks.” Oh and now he’s upset. This did not go as intended. He had a protocol for this exact problem, his inability to read the ‘flow’ of conversation. After years of therapy and work, he learned the hard way how to tell what went wrong in his attempts at conversation. Step One, review the conversation, where could it have gone wrong? Step Two, read body language, what could this person be telling you without words? Finally Step Three, reassess the– what on Earth is that?
A person shambles towards them, just past the boy. They seemed almost normal, perhaps inebriated, but there’s something wrong about the eyes he can’t quite see in the morning sun. He thinks it's dark makeup, maybe mascara streaming down their face, but it's not quite…
He takes a step forward to get a closer look and the person lunges, teeth first–
–the sounds of explosions echo outside the ship, scalpels rattle against their trays next to him. The patient before him screams in pain from being jostled, before devolving into groans–
–groaning loudly, and Freddy is moving before he even has time to think, pulling Gregory behind him and shielding him with his back. The pain barely even registers before Freddy tears the knife from the boy’s hand and whips around, stabbing the person, the creature, the-the thing, in the head. It falls to the ground, limp, oozing dark green from the knife in its brain, and Freddy is suddenly aware of the boy shaking behind him.
“What the fuck was that !?” Gregory screeches, staring at the fallen corpse. “It–you– what the fuck– ” he curls into himself, hyperventilating. Freddy puts a hand on his shoulder and he flinches, staring up at him in horror.
“Gregory. I understand that was very scary, but we need to get going-” Gregory slaps the hand off his shoulder.
“YOU JUST STABBED SOMEONE!!!”
“And they were aiming for you.”
“YOU!!–I–...” Gregory looks down at the corpse again.
Freddy grimaces, then looks out to the rest of the park. A couple having a picnic in the distance is jumped and torn apart by a nearby jogger. A car crashes across the street, and he realizes that the sirens in the distance have never lessened. “Gregory, I think something terrible has happened. I understand I am a stranger, but I care about the safety of every patient of mine, and it's not safe for you right now.”
“... You’ll protect me?” Despite his best efforts, Freddy doesn’t fully understand the look Gregory is giving him. Suspicion? Maybe judgement. It didn’t matter, really.
“Of course I will.”
“Promise me.” The boy holds out his pinky. “Promise me you’ll keep me safe.”
Freddy didn’t make promises lightly. When one’s livelihood is on the line, false promises only hurt in the long run. The promise to walk again, to be cured of pain, that a loved one will finally wake up, to live to see another day. He knows well the promises he can’t keep, so he doesn’t make them. There is one, though. One promise he’s kept for the past 30 years.
He crouches down to the boy’s level and links his pinky around Gregory’s much smaller one. He looks Gregory in the eye, and says, “I promise. I will keep you safe.”
Suddenly, a car swerves towards them, the driver frothing at the mouth and seizing at the wheel. Freddy grabs Gregory’s hand and pulls them both out of the way, and away from the park. They’re never going to make it out of the city on foot, they need to find somewhere to hide and hopefully get a car. His own home is much too far, but with the way things are going, most people aren’t going to have homes anymore.
The suburbs are their best bet, away from the heart of the city. Luckily, Freddy’s lived here most of his life, and knows the shortcuts. Over someone’s lawn, down some side-streets, passing people running to their cars, from loved ones-turned monsters. Freddy doesn’t have the time to question the circumstances. The boy begins to slow, so he stops and picks him up, much to Gregory’s displeasure.
“I can walk on my own, y’know!” Freddy doesn’t acknowledge him, picking up speed as a group of ‘people’ crash through a bay window of a nearby house, chasing after a young woman. A gunshot rings out behind them and Gregory screams, clinging onto Freddy. “Okay, maybe you do the walking!”
They make it a few blocks before something nearly breaks down a door behind them. Freddy looks back briefly, and makes direct eye contact with a person, desperately trying to kick the person who's gnawing on their leg. She–they–it?– must have been a family member, a sister or mother. The thing’s eyes seem cloudy and unfocused, and a green glow lines its spine. The person stumbles and falls to the ground, screaming in pain as the creature crawls on top of the person and bites a chunk into their neck.
Gregory flinches in his arms and Freddy turns him away from the gore. He shouldn’t have to see that. Freddy can’t help but stare though, as the creature gets up and looks in their general direction, before it breaks out into a sprint, awkward and gangly, towards the chaos of downtown.
The person’s screams devolve into gurgles, as the wound festers, moving, crawling. They begin to seize, and spew stomach acid violently. It’s when their eyes cloud over and they begin to stand again that Freddy decides he’s seen enough. Important information aside, they need to keep moving. He continues down the street, dodging out of the way of oncoming cars with panicked drivers and hoards of the creatures ambling towards occupied houses.
He looks to Gregory, the poor kid scruffed up before this mess even started. He’ll protect the kid. He promised.
A familiar groaning trails behind him and immediately Freddy darts towards the nearest house. He is pleasantly surprised to find it unlocked, and closes it with a little more force than necessary, locking the five separate deadbolts– must’ve been a paranoid homeowner– before setting Gregory down, who immediately scrambles away from the man.
“You got bit!”
“Ah, it seems I did. Do not worry Gregory, it should heal–”
“It’s infected!”
“Well, it’s certainly possible. Humans aren’t the most sanitary, especially the mouth.” Gregory huffs, tucking himself behind a nearby cabinet and leering at him.
“They’re zombies! Creepy and look like they’re dead, and you got bit! You’re gonna turn into one!” He shrieks, pushing himself against the wall, trying to make himself appear smaller.
Freddy isn’t sure what to do here. He knows that something fundamentally is wrong, but zombies ? It’s absurd, improbable, unlikely. Unimportant, compared to the state of the boy. He needs reassurance. “It’s going to be ok, Gregory. I understand this is scary–”
“NO! You don't understand!! You could die, or hurt somebody or-or–” Man, Freddy is really bad at this. He needs to approach him differently. He obviously wouldn’t fit ‘frightened child’. He needs more practical support.
“Gregory, how about this. We’ll find you some sort of weapon, and if you think I’m about to ‘turn’ so-to-speak, you can kill me.”
…
“WHAT?!”
“I promised I would keep you safe, Gregory, even if that means from myself.”
“BUT– but I…” The poor kid looks like he’s about to cry, but Freddy pushes on.
“I cannot begin to understand what is going on out there. Whether it is the start of some zombie apocalypse or not, I want to keep you safe. That means giving you the ability to protect yourself.” He crouches down to get eye-to-eye with the boy, which has seemed to ease him so far, and smiles at him, looking him in the eyes. The boy immediately looks away– does he not like eye contact? “Perhaps we can find something here.” He stands, leaving the entryway and heading towards the living room, Gregory following behind.
The house is rather quaint, all things considered. A hunter, perhaps? There are many animal carcasses taxidermied in the hall, and a collection of framed pictures sit atop a shelf, depicting a tall, dark-skinned man with many felled deer or large fish, often with a young boy beside him. A hunter would be good, Gregory would be most safe with a gun. While he does not wish the man is dead, this would be much easier were he not home at the moment. Though, Freddy supposes, the door would not be unlocked were the owner home.
The living room is fairly warm-toned, with a tacky rug in the center, a low coffee table, a dark leather sofa-armchair combo, and a man, gunshot wound in his shoulder, blood soaking the carpet, and pointing a gun directly at Freddy.