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Post by England on Apr 2, 2013 21:28:21 GMT -5
"Don't remind me, I think I'm going to-" England cut himself off and took a deep breath, nauseated tears pricking his eyes as he forced the mixture of stomach acid and semi-digested chocolate cake pastries back down into his stomach, where they belonged. The internal organs squelched as he removed his arm and then shakily grabbed what looked like a liver, or a stomach, or something of the like. England had never gotten so closely acquainted with the organs in a human body, and truthfully never had the desire to do so again.
Ripping the softened organ right out of the body, he closed his eyes and then smashed it on the ground a few times to crack it. He then began rubbing it over his chest, shivering as all the blood seeped into his clothes and onto his skin. Once the organ was useless, he threw it off to the side and ventured to take a breath before shakily cupping the blood massed in the cavity where the liver-like organ used to rest and splashed it on himself. It was cold and smelled disgusting, and England wasn't sure how much longer he could last.
Painstakingly securing his knife in his bloodied hand, England cut up all of the insides of the corpse, bits and pieces of flesh now floating in shallow pools of blood. He pointedly avoided the large intestine and otherwise brought out the small intestines, cutting up whatever he had to patience to cut up in order to add to the soup of organs.
The mental analogy was the last straw, and England suddenly dropped everything as a burn ran up his throat. Lurching and lightheaded, he stumbled as far as he could before he fell to his knees and loudly vomited everything he'd ingested in the morning. Shameful, disgusted tears dripped down his eyes as he tried to wipe them away, but remembered that both his hands and clothes were already soiled with blood.
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Post by America on Apr 2, 2013 23:57:20 GMT -5
America had stopped looking over at England's actions after a bit, far more intent on focusing on his own zombie. After all, why get double the nasty scenes? His own was bad enough; he didn't want to have to take in everything England was doing, too. He swallowed nervously as he fumbled around the body, wondering what he should grab first.
Of course, he was never one for such disgusting methods, so rather than messing with any of the organs, he began scooping up as much of the blood as possible and rubbing it along his body. He winced as it touched his collarbone and dripped down into his shirt, staining both skin and material dark red. The smell was overwhelming then, and America wished he had a clean hand to plug his nose with.
After a while, he realized he wasn't getting as much blood on himself as he needed. A quick glance at England proved that fact. He squeezed his eyes shut and muttered a quick prayer to whoever was listening, then grabbed the first internal organ he laid his hands on. Without waiting to see which one it was, he held it close to himself and squeezed until it burst, spraying his body with bodily fluids and, of course, blood.
Before he had the chance to grab another one, he suddenly saw England run. "England?" he called out, looking up just in time to notice that his boyfriend was throwing up. "England!" He stood from his kneeling position and quickly ran towards the other, hovering about uselessly when he realized there was no way to comfort him. He did, however, gag once more from the smell, then held his breath and ran his fingers through his hair, willing himself not to do the same thing England did. Not now. He was supposed to be the strong one now.
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Post by England on Apr 3, 2013 17:28:25 GMT -5
"M'fine," England waved America off, leaning his head against the concrete border to wait for the dizziness to pass. "Just got... a bit queasy," he rasped, his heart still rising in his throat. Panting and occasionally letting out tiny whimpers, he just waited for what was coming, and only doubled over for the second wave that brought up the last remnants of breakfast and a lot of bile. "I'm better now," he announced, still panting and doubled over, waiting for the light-headedness to pass. "I'm sorry," he added before pushing himself up. He was always surprised at how good he felt after having thrown up. And, of course, he was surprised that he could walk so straight.
Taking advantage of his newfound clarity of thought, England attempted to smile at America comfortingly (and managed a grimace at his blood-covered figure) and headed right back to his corpse. The open torso was now filled with the bits and pieces of organs that he'd cut and the smell of rot was stronger than ever. Having nothing left to vomit, though, he just knelt down, and lowered himself over his 'work of art', letting his abdomen sink into the squelching mass of bloody tissues.
"Make sure to get your back as well. Everywhere has to be covered up. Be careful about your leg though. I'll ask for shots when we get back, but let's not try and fight the odds. Keep any blood from entering your system, alright?" he grunted, wincing and rolling over in the soft mass to end up on his back, staring at the sky lit by the rising sun. They had to get going soon if they were to stay on schedule.
Wiggling a little bit, he felt the cold chill of rotten blood roll down his spine, lumps of coagulated blood and torn organs clinging to his clothes as he covered his back and turned around, covering everything above his waistband in guts.
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Post by America on Apr 3, 2013 21:29:17 GMT -5
Still a bit unsure of England's current well-being, America shifted uncomfortably as he left. Maybe he was shifting from the blood, though. Whatever the case, something was making him uncomfortable. He couldn't afford to stand around all day, though. After a few more seconds of watching his boyfriend, he returned to his own zombie, glaring down at it. He didn't think he had ever hated zombies more than he did at that moment.
Everywhere had to be covered up. Right. He tried not to look over at England's current activity, knowing he would have to do the same thing. First, though, he splattered the rest of his front in the blood and guts, taking deep breaths to try and ward off the smell. It wasn't working, obviously. He gasped out and had to stop himself from throwing up, choosing instead to gag once more, tears coming to his eyes.
He'd be fine. He just had to get past this, and then the rest would be easy. So, with a small whimper, he reached his hands back down in the body, trying to move all the frail bones aside. They broke under his grasp, and he ended up just tossing most of them aside. Soon, the front part of the corpse was open enough for him to lay in without causing anything to slice into his own skin.
Unfortunately for him, that meant he actually had to lay down in it.
"God, god, god god," he whispered, copying England's movements. All the organs he hadn't already messed with crushed against him as he lay, and he felt like choking on his own spit. Or was that bile? Whatever it was, he pushed it back down and began rolling in the body parts, feeling very much like a dog.
Everything seemed to keep a tight hold on him, and he felt disgusting. He wanted to shower for hours and days. But, before he could even contemplate that, his breakfast rose once more, and he quickly sat up and scrambled away from the zombie, then did what he had been doing all morning; he copied England's movements and threw everything up, coughing painfully once it was splattered about him.
He wanted to wipe his mouth, but with his hands as bloody as they were, as coated in pieces of skin as they were, he couldn't afford to do that. With shaky movements, he sat straight up again, though he didn't return to his zombie, just in case he needed to be sick again.
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Post by England on Apr 3, 2013 23:10:08 GMT -5
England sat up and took a deep breath, the stench of death stinging his eyes and leaving tears in its wake. He didn't see what happened after America bolted off, but by the sound of it, he'd fallen prey to the same ailment as him: common sense.
"Congratulations, we can both concentrate on our task now," England yelled back to him, smirking at the irony. "Oh sweet mercy, the hours we will spend under the water after this." And he was back in his own world, lost to whatever was happening around him and concentrating on the task at hand. Only the lower body remained, and pulled himself forward a little so that his knees were now resting inside the squishy mess of the zombie's abdomen. His bare leg was covered in goosebumps as he began rolling again, whatever was left of the quickly drying blood and guts seeping into his clothes and boots, running all the way down to his toes. England felt somewhat sorry for his boots, considering that they were very useful, but figured that he'd have to order a whole new wardrobe after this.
If they made it out, of course. It was just a speculation. England was not actually sure if the zombies would fall for their trick, but he definitely was crossing his fingers for some kind of advantage in doing all of this. Every second they had counted towards either their survival or their death, and to be honest with himself, death was not an option. Not when there was so much at stake.
"Don't forget your legs," he grunted, rolling a little longer in the insides of the corpse before shakily pulling himself up and bringing a handful of fresh rotten blood with him. He passed his bloody hand through his hair as to streak the greasy, dirty strands with stinking blood. "There. That should do it." If being literally covered head to toe in blood and pieces of organs was not enough to dissuade the zombies from considering them as a delicious meal, then he had no idea what would.
Bending down, he dipped the tips of his fingers into the zombie's open abdomen and then drew back up, using three fingers on each hand to draw three bloody lines under his eyes, dripping blood over his face, and giving him a much fiercer look as a last touch.
"I'm ready to go when you are."
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Post by America on Apr 7, 2013 9:23:35 GMT -5
America had to give himself an extra few minutes to sit and compose himself. He breathed deeply through his mouth, hands clenching down on his dirty pants, the blood squeezing out from between his fingers. He hated this. He hated everything about this. Still, he couldn't afford to just sit back and hope everything would pass. No, he actually had to continue and work hard in getting home. Once they were back at the warehouse, he could wallow about in self-pity.
Nodding in response, America picked himself back up and slowly walked to his zombie, trying not to breathe through his nose. His stomach still felt rather queasy, and he didn't want to have to throw up once again. He bent down, setting his knees in the corpse and began to cover his legs in the blood. He passed over his wound, knowing that it wouldn't do them any good if he were to get zombie blood mixed in with it. There was still a chance that it was opened, and he wasn't willing to test anything.
After a few minutes, he grabbed a glob of blood and began rubbing it along his cheeks, then used the rest to cover his hair. By the time he was finished, he was completely covered in zombie blood, and he could feel it dripping down his clothes, his shoes, his face. He gritted his teeth and stood on wobbly legs before glancing over at England.
"Ready," he said, not willing to speak more than he had to. He took a few deep breaths before nodding again. His breakfast would hold, luckily, and his leg felt okay enough to run on, so he was ready. Unfortunately. Or, actually, fortunately, depending on how he looked at it. He'd much rather go home then spend an extra minute on this roof.
He made his way to England, giving him a nervous smile. "You look gross," he commented.
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Post by England on Apr 7, 2013 14:22:51 GMT -5
England walked over to the side of the building and noticed with glee that zombies were not patrolling the street they were going to go down on. Of course, they would be spotted by some zombies standing on the other side of the street when they climbed down, but that wouldn't pose a problem, seeing as they'd have to take the uncluttered alley back to the next street, where the real challenge would begin. It was the street facing the front of the clinic they'd escaped into, so England knew, even without having to do a survey round, that there would be a whole lot of zombies around.
"Well then," he sighed, turning his eye to America and smirking. "You look rather charming as well." Grabbing the backpack, he swung it over his shoulders and tightened the straps. "Alright, so let's go over this one last time." He pointed to the street below. "We'll climb down on this side, and even though there are only a few of these bloody bastards watching our every move, it's enough to alert them. That's why we have to take the alley on that side," he pointed to the adjacent side, "to access the main street on the other side."
"That's when we'll have to pretend to be one of them. Limp, and don't go too fast. Let your upper body sag. Always make sure to have a knife within reach, just in case the worst happens. If they get close, perhaps sniffing you because they smell something funny, just keep moving. Also, if one of them comes at you, don't move to avoid them, just bump shoulders or something. Zombies cannot interact, so logically, a zombie would not stop or shift to accommodate another. If we have to enter a big crowd, you should occasionally groan or something. Our motorcycles are parked on the highway leading south from the city, and the exit we've parked on is about half an hour's walk from here. If we're lucky, we can run some of the way once we're out of the larger clogs."
He then gulped down, ready to address less pleasant topics.
"And if by any chance you or I are found out, and, goodness forbid, bitten, whoever is hurt should run, but other should not. It's a lot harder to maneouvre two people, so if I'm bitten, I'll run to our spot and wait for you there. You should just keep ambling along the streets. Perhaps even grab me and subtly shove me, just for show. And I will do the same if you are the one who is bitten. The key here is subtlety, and whoever can make it out being discovered should. If either of us is bitten, don't panic. We have a vaccine, and it'll work, as long as we can both get back to the warehouse." He bit his lip. "Think of it as every man for himself."
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Post by America on Apr 7, 2013 19:30:07 GMT -5
"Every man for himself, huh?" America sighed and glanced around the roof, shaking his head at the mess they were leaving behind. He didn't know what he wanted anymore. Facing the zombies ahead would be tedious and hard, especially if he had to do what England said and think of it as every man for himself, but he couldn't stay here another minute. He wasn't good with staying calm when his lover was wounded. One look over at England's messy and unattractive appearance just made him all the more aware of the danger they would be facing.
But it was mostly the "every man for himself" line that was making him sit back in worry.
However, they did have to go. They really couldn't stay. Even if that meant possibly letting England get in danger, something he promised to never do, he'd have to do it. It would mean their survival. Funny; putting themselves in danger meant surviving. He would have laughed if he didn't feel so ill and terrified.
He finally nodded, then gave England a large grin. "I think I've had a good amount of life-threatening situations to last the rest of the month," he said, moving to stand beside his boyfriend. "Geez, I don't think my zombie games were anything like this, you know? I'm gonna have to make them more realistic once we get out of this mess." And not just this mess, but all the messes that were to come. He already knew just how messy everything would become even after the zombies were completely eradicated.
Quickly pushing all unwanted thoughts out of his head, he grabbed the other bag and pulled it over his shoulders, running his hands over it quickly to wipe some of the blood off. This wasn't just so his hands wouldn't be slippery on the descent down the side of the building, but also so it would smell less human. He didn't want a bag to be the death of them.
"I think I got acting like a zombie down. Have I mentioned that I'm an awesome actor?" He smirked and placed a foot up on the edge of the wall, glancing over and at the street below. "So, we going now?"
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Post by England on Apr 7, 2013 22:01:45 GMT -5
"Yes, let's go. I don't want to stay another moment around here." England glanced over at the zombies still going crazy with their stubs hitting the door and smothering blood everywhere. He wouldn't ruin his chance now that he had a window of opportunity to escape. This was their break, and they were definitely going to take it.
"I'll go first," he offered, mimicking his movement, and surveying the street below them before sitting down on the edge, legs hanging off. "Good luck, then, I guess." He licked his lips, carefully avoiding where he could feel the blood running down his cheeks, and flipped around, weakened arms shaking as he eased himself down the side of the building until he found a foothold on a protruding brick. Letting out a deep breath, he looked around him and spotted a brick for his right hand, and one for his left hand. His muscles were already beginning to tremble, and he let out a sigh of relief when he found a hold for his left hand, and so let go of the roof edge completely.
His nails dug painfully into the brick and he pushed himself closer to the wall to keep gravity operating in his favour. His right foot, the one without a foothold at the moment, fumbled blindly along the wall to find something to hold onto, and he quickly found another brick, lower. He always moved his feet before his hands and slowly but painfully made his way down the wall. The sun had not entirely come up yet, and their side was on the west, so the early-morning shadows were still on their side. He always had the lingering fear of missing a hold, though, and falling to his death. It would be rather anticlimactic if he did that now.
Thankfully, he touched down on the sidewalk of the main street uninjured except for a couple of scratches on the forearm, and mentally made a note to definitely get a vaccine. It didn't feel like the scratches had gone deeper than a few layers of skin, not enough to draw blood, but he was better safe than sorry.
Ducking against a car parked on the side of the road, England looked up and motioned for America to come down, unsure if he could see him, but ready to move if anything happened at all.
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Post by America on Apr 8, 2013 6:04:55 GMT -5
America watched as England climbed down, his nerves going just slightly haywire. They were both tired, after all, and one wrong move could lead to a great fall, and America wasn't so sure if they would survive that fall, not with the state they were in. Exhaustion and lack of nutrition never helped anyone on the road to recovery. That, and America already knew that if he had to carry England's unconscious body around, they would be figured out immediately.
He gave a mental cheer when England ducked behind the car. So he was safe, at least. With one glance behind him at the mess they were leaving, America swung himself over the edge of the building, shaky hands instantly grabbing at the sides. He knew he could be quicker than England going down; he was far more used to extensive physical activity, after all.
He wasn't so used to being hungry, but he was sure he could overlook that for now.
The climb, as he figured, wasn't too difficult. There were a few times where he nearly lost his footing, but he recovered quite easily, and once he was halfway to the sidewalk, he didn't have anymore incidents. His feet hit the ground and he copied England's movements, sitting beside the elder nation and giving him a smile. He wanted to say something, probably something comforting, but he didn't want to talk and possibly give the zombies a wind of their position.
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Post by England on Apr 8, 2013 18:18:12 GMT -5
England smiled as America touched down on the ground and let him rest by his side for exactly thirty-seven seconds before carefully moving to peek at the street. The zombies had not seemed to spot them, but England did not want to risk it. They'd take the other street anyway.
Nudging his head in the direction of the alley between their building and the next building, he lifted his hand and counted off to three to give America a cue before bolting at three. Leaving the shadow of the building left him out completely in the open, but England did not wait to find out if he'd be spotted and immediately ducked into the alley, catching his breath. It was more out of adrenaline, though, and not physical exertion since sweating now would be like a death sentence when they mingled with the crowds of undead.
Once his breath had returned to normal, he began walking again, even if his heart wouldn't stop hammering in his chest. He wondered if the zombies could hear beating hearts, and followed the sound of rushing blood more than anything else. If that was the case, then England was surprised that all the zombies in the world were not on his trail right now.
He made a few regular steps into the alley, but just before exiting it, he stopped and took a deep breath the first one in a long while, and let his muscles go slack. He was ready, and he wouldn't lose. Mentally bracing himself, England took a first limping step forward into the zombie-riddled street.
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Post by America on Apr 8, 2013 21:28:04 GMT -5
The younger nation followed behind England at a quick pace, keeping his eyes alert for any stray zombies. His bloody hand rested atop of his equally bloody knife, and he mentally refused to remove it until they were out in the open. If a zombie saw them now, he'd have to be ready for anything. Luckily, as they ducked into the alley, America realized they wouldn't be attacked. Not yet, at least. So far, so good.
He gave England about half a minute of limping forward before following behind, trying to keep as close as possible without making it look suspicious. He didn't think these zombies were too intelligent, but he wasn't willing to take any chances by speeding up. Besides, he had the means to protect himself, and he knew the plan should anything bad happen.
He continued to limp along, making small moaning noises every so often, just for an extra effect. He slumped over just slightly, relaxing his muscles and trying to make his eyes as dull as possible. If this worked flawlessly, he would have to remember to praise the very ground England walked upon. It wasn't too shabby of an idea.
Of course, it would be the worst plan ever if it failed.
He tried to think of other things than fear. Zombies probably had a good sense of smell, and if they were anything like the animals America typically referred to them as, they would be able to smell the fear that could come off of him. He had learned a few things while exploring the untamed lands of his young nation, and it was time to put those things into action.
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Post by England on Apr 8, 2013 22:18:40 GMT -5
England was glad to hear the steady clip-clop of America's shoes behind him and was comforted to know that they were off to a good start. He tried to keep his gaze on the ground so that his eyes, so bright and full of life and adrenaline wouldn't give it away. The zombies he limped by all turned their heads to him, as if sensing something peculiar, and he gulped down nervously, trying not to change his pace and look as natural as he could look when he was trying to pretend he was dead.
Thankfully, even after some sniffing and groaning, the zombies left him alone and kept walking. He just hoped that America would get the same treatment, as he couldn't turn back to see how he was doing. He could just concentrate really hard to hear him and try to contain his laughter at the low groaning he was making once in a while. Of course, this helped in dispelling the fear for a moment before a zombie passed by too close, the scent of death invading his nostrils and almost making him cough.
He dragged his foot and limped on, trying to keep the fear out of his system so that he could keep a clear mind. Panic would do nothing in his situation. Of course, when a zombie bumped into his shoulder with a groan, England couldn't help but let out a tiny whimper, to which the zombie immediately responded by turning around and sniffing him. England kept limping, his heart beating right out of his throat, and let out a low, shaky moan to convince the zombie that he was dead.
As the zombie seemed satisfied and left, he made sure that he was not surrounded and let out a breath of relief. This little game of theirs was already getting tiring and frustrating and oh-so stressful.
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Post by America on Apr 9, 2013 5:31:30 GMT -5
When a zombie bumped shoulders with him, America instantly decided that this was the most frightening thing he had ever done. All those wars he had partook in hadn't fully prepared him for this. His video games, his movies, his shows, none of them had done a good job in showing him what was to come. He never realized he'd be out on the streets trying to act just like a zombie. He had always done it for fun before, but this wasn't fun. This was frightening.
He kept a straight face, even as the zombie started to sniff, and he continued to walk. He didn't stop for a moment. If he was going to prove to the zombie that he was one of them, he was going to act like one of them. Even if he wanted to stop acting, curl up in a ball, and stay there until the zombies were completely eradicated.
Luckily, the zombie left him alone after a few more seconds of investigation, but America didn't give himself any time to celebrate the fact that he got out okay. He was far too focused on keeping his eyes ahead, staring at England's back. If he could just follow him, they would be out of there in no time. If America could just keep up his act, they would be out of there with no injuries.
He moaned again, trying not to look too alarmed when several heads turned his way. Maybe he was overdoing it. He cut the moan off and let his jaw go slack, and really did hope that the zombies staring at him couldn't see or smell the sweat that was rolling down his neck, or the fear that he knew was coming off of him. He wanted to take out his gun and shoot them. He had always hated doing stuff like this, because he knew it was easy to be caught. He shuffled forward, still limping, and continued to stare at England, the only beacon of hope he had sight of.
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Post by England on Apr 9, 2013 11:07:18 GMT -5
England had to keep himself from rubbing his forehead in exasperation when he heard America groan a tad too eagerly. And the kid always boasted about being such a good actor. He reminded himself never to cast America as a zombie in possible future re-creations of the zombie apocalypse. He wouldn't cast him as the main character, either, for fear of inflating his head a lot more than it already had. Perhaps he'd cast him as the sidekick. And someone like Canada as the main character.
That sounded good.
Caught up in his thoughts drifting far away from their situation, England blankly gazed in front of him, not even really seeing anymore, but letting his subconscious thoughts guide him through the streets. In a way, he was extremely alike to a zombie, letting his instincts drive him forward as the most conscious and terrified part of his mind receded. He was well-protected now, and as long as he didn't let his humanity resurface, he would make it out alive.
Still, it was scary how quickly he could go from being so alive to being so... dead.
England led them in a messy J-walk into the adjacent street and braced himself for the next segment of their trek: the sea of cars infested with zombies zig-zagging between them.
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