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Post by America on Apr 9, 2013 19:46:50 GMT -5
They walked for a little while longer, and America got hit by a few more zombies. He flinched for a while, but soon decided to view them as normal humans. Normal humans who couldn't think properly. And they smelled. And they were decaying. He swore he saw some skin fall off whenever he bumped shoulders with one. He wanted to move from their path, but England told him not to. England made it clear that they would have to keep doing as they were doing.
He hated his life.
He didn't know how long they kept walking. He actually lost count of the amount of zombies he ran into. It became normal, and he tried copying whatever he saw them doing. His groans became less exaggerated when he realized that the zombies weren't exactly moaning as much as he was. He wanted to become one of them, without actually becoming one of them. And he still hated it. As much as he liked acting, he didn't want to become his enemy.
He always hated becoming his enemies.
How much longer? he wanted to ask England. Maybe England was telepathic. That would explain why he seemed to know everything. C'mon, England, where are our motorcycles? Can you hear me? Hurry up and get us there.
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Post by England on Apr 9, 2013 22:08:40 GMT -5
England was getting rather tired of this, and was fearing that the steady growling from his stomach would alert the zombies. Already, the blood was drying on them under the morning sun, and the smell on them was a lot less potent. At the slightest sweat, the zombies would start getting suspicious. The intense concentration of the walk was also draining, and England felt somewhat faint under the sun. If this went on, he wouldn't even be able to drive without crashing fifty feet later.
He slowed down as they turned the last corner, letting America catch up. There weren't many zombies in the immediate surrounding, so he hung his head, and once America was sufficiently close, he swayed a little to bump into him and catch his attention.
"Last street. Highway above us. Smell like sweat. Ready to run," he grunted lowly, hoping America had understood because he sure as hell was not risking his life to repeat it. The nearest zombie ambled along and England pointedly avoided it just because he couldn't stand the rotting flesh slapping against his naked skin anymore.
They entered the last crowd of zombies, and England reminded himself that even if he could see the ramp up onto the highway, it was no time for him to lose his composure. His plan had been working so well so far, he couldn't stop now, even if he was getting rather dizzy. Shame they didn't have food anymore. England really needed to get his blood sugar up. Still, he wasn't sure he could stomach anything while the blood still stuck to his skin and crawled into his pores.
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Post by America on Apr 10, 2013 6:04:55 GMT -5
So preoccupied in acting like a zombie was America that he hardly caught what England said. And, even when it processed through his mind, he blinked in confusion, trying to decipher the short sentences. So they were on the last street...and the highway was...above them? And did they smell like sweat, or were they supposed to? At least he was ready to run. He glanced down at his leg, hoping that it didn't open as they were running. His blood was sure to attract the zombies.
As another crowd of zombies came upon them, America kept his eyes ahead, trying not to look for his motorcycle. It was above them, after all, and they would have to climb the ramp first. Wait, but when were they going to run? Nothing made sense, and America guessed his attempts at establishing a telepathic conversation with England was rather useless.
He gritted his teeth as they limped along, keeping close by England, and keeping well alert. Not just for zombies anymore, but for the signal that they needed to run.
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Post by England on Apr 10, 2013 23:23:04 GMT -5
England tried not to pant to catch his breath, even if his heart was beating abnormally fast. The blood had dried completely on his skin, and not only was it falling off in flakes, but it was also clogging his pores and keeping his body heat in. He was like a greenhouse all to himself, absorbing the weak sun's rays and keeping the heat under his skin so that he felt even fainter with every step he took. Coupled with his growling stomach, England knew that he had to do something quickly. He still had a bit of water in his bag, but he couldn't bring it out until they reached their motorcycles, or at least someplace less crowded.
His limping was not even acting anymore since he was teetering with every step. He could feel the sweat roll down his back and could also feel the stares of the zombies on him. Was he the only one who was so weak, weak enough to give into mother nature like this? He was ashamed of himself. America didn't seem to have the same problem.
But he did, and he was sure to faint any other moment if they didn't stop for a rest and water.
They barely made it out of the pack, and were at the lip of the ramp when England noticed the zombies ambling down towards them. If he had to keep the act up one more moment, though, he felt like he would explode. Grunting, England decided not to risk fainting anymore and that getting to their goal was a lot more important than subtlety.
"Follow me if you want to, but..." England rolled his shoulder and rose up to his full height, drawing his knife. "I'm done playing around. I can't."
And he broke into a run towards the half-dozen pack that had spotted him and that were piecing things together.
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Post by America on Apr 11, 2013 9:45:20 GMT -5
America had been so busy on trying to pretend to be a zombie that he didn't notice how England wasn't acting anymore. It was only when his partner started to talk that America blinked in worry. "What?" he whispered. "Wait, we're just-" Before he could get another word in, though, England was running right towards the rest of the zombies.
The younger nation gritted his teeth. He was tired, too, but he had assumed they were going to go through with this all the way. He didn't think they would have to start running. He glanced down at his wounded leg, then up again. Well, since the zombies had already spotted England, America guessed it didn't matter whether running too much would re-open the wound. He groaned (and realized his throat was sore from all the zombie-sounds he had made) and took out his knife, following England into the pack of zombies.
"Warn me a bit sooner next time," America snapped, driving the knife through the head of one of the zombies. Blood squirted out onto his finger, but since he was already covered in zombie blood and guts, it didn't bother him one bit. However, this was rather fresh, and the blood on his skin had dried already, so he got to feel disgusting once more.
It didn't take too long for him to start panting; the lack of meals and water, coupled with the slight fever and exhausted state, made him more tired than usual. He was trying to hurry and kill the zombies before he actually had to stop and rest.
He then realized that the reason he was having trouble fighting was probably the same reason England had been having trouble limping along
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Post by England on Apr 11, 2013 10:57:30 GMT -5
England struggled to run the uphill slope to the top, from there the zombies were ambling down, and it was rather anticlimactic, but the blood rushed back in his ears as soon as he got close enough to stab the closest in the eye, hissing as relatively-fresh blood splattered his hands. Spinning around, he caught another in the throat, effectively pinning it before letting it drop and stomping on its head a few times. He took the next one coming at him, and had to admit that he was relieved when he saw America run ahead and tackle one limping straight at them.
"I did warn you, didn't I?" he grunted, stabbing his zombie through the temple and feeling his head spin as he swung his knife to the next one, thankfully the last of the smaller pack. "It's not like I just ran ahead. I gave you a choice, too, to be alive or dead however you wanted to proceed, and you followed, so I don't want your complaining."
Wiping his knife on his pants, which didn't do much for either of the items, he keep a strong grip on the slippery handle and began trekking up to the top again. He could already see the cars stuck on their side of the hallway and spotted the nearest section of the highway where the two sides joined for a moment before parting again, about a hundred metres from the exit.
"Come on!" he urged, eyes flicking worriedly to the zombies ambling between the cars, and who seemed to notice that the impostors were just that: fake. Grabbing America's hand, not caring how their slick hands slipped, he tugged him along towards the crossing. He could already see their motorcycles on the other side of the highway, the inbound side, which often had the least cars since everybody would have logically been trying to flee. If they could get there, not only would they be relatively safe to take a rest and calm their nerves, but they'd also have an open road all the way back to the warehouse. They just had a hundred more metres to run, and they were homebound free.
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Post by America on Apr 11, 2013 15:25:03 GMT -5
"Sure, you warned me," he grunted out, and wanted to add, "But not fast enough." However, he couldn't, on account he was far too busy kicking zombie ass while feeling quite dehydrated and very hungry. Well, he didn't feel hungry. His stomach wasn't longing for food, and he certainly didn't think he could keep anything down, but from the shaky movements of his hands, he knew he was, in fact, very hungry.
England grabbed at his hand when they took down enough zombies to continue running, and America was quite pleased at that. He would have stayed and continued fighting otherwise; his mind would have been too sluggish to comprehend England's movement. He ran along, trying to intertwine his fingers with England's, just for better support. Both of their hands were slick with blood and what-have-you, and he wanted to be certain that they didn't break away.
"There!" America pointed out when he finally glanced up to catch sight of the motorcycles. He pointed with his knife, even though he knew England had already seen them. "Just gotta get over there! We're almost home!" He was being too happy, too energetic about it, but maybe that was all they needed; some cheery energy. At least until they reached the warehouse and were able to collapse.
He glanced behind him at the lumbering zombies, thankful that they were quick now. He was running on adrenaline, and he was pretty sure England was, too. There wasn't much else to run on.
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Post by England on Apr 11, 2013 15:53:12 GMT -5
England knew exactly what he was going to do when he got to the other side, and he could not wait anymore. When they got to the crossing, he counted his blessing and passed over the border, safely making it onto the concrete of the opposite highway lane. He dragged America to the bikes, eyes darting nervously to the zombies growling on the other side, unable to reach them because of the gap between the lanes.
Once they reached the bikes, England lost any semblance of being composed and promptly collapsed to the ground, breathing out in shudders of relief as he let the overwhelming heat course through his veins. The sun blinded him even through his closed eyelids and he wondered if he would actually be able to drive like this.
"Well, we're not dead," he groaned out, not finding the energy to roll over and grab his water bottle. The water would also remind him of the emptiness of his stomach, and he didn't need any kind of nausea plaguing him, not when his low blood sugar already made it hard for him to walk in a straight line.
"Should we get going?" he asked out, cracking one of his eyes open and looking for America. His tongue was dry and his throat burned. He wished he could take a nap right there and then. He couldn't see America too well either. "...'Meri?"
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Post by America on Apr 11, 2013 16:37:31 GMT -5
Once they were able to stop, America flopped to the ground beside England, his breath coming out in harsh pants. So much for being good with physical activity. He knew no one would hold it against him, though, not after the eventful day he had. When England pulled out his water, America took out and drank one gulp before returning it to England's hands.
His lungs seemed to burn even more, if possible.
"Urgh, yeah, we should go. The sooner we get to the warehouse, the better." He wanted to close his eyes and take a short nap, but if he did that, it would turn into a long, well-deserved sleep. "Up we go, England." He pushed himself from the ground with difficulty, cursing as he did so. He never thought the ground would have felt so nice.
Once he was standing, he turned and offered England his hand, glancing over at the zombies across the boundary. "We'll be there in no time," he promised.
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Post by England on Apr 11, 2013 16:57:27 GMT -5
England pushed himself into a sitting position, convincing himself that he'd be back in the warehouse in no time and that once he was inside and safe, he could collapse and take a long, well-deserved nap on the ground. He didn't think he could make it to his bed, or anywhere else past the front porch. Maybe he could convince America to go eat and rest and clean up while he napped, and then come back to pick him up off the ground once he was completely recovered. He'd much rather be carried, just this once. Just this one time.
"If I swerve off the road and crash, don't mind me," England grumbled, getting up and emptying his water bottle before stumbling over to his bike and turning the key in the ignition. It took a while to start the vehicle, seeing as it had been exposed to the elements for days now (they've been stranded for days! How did they even make it this far?), but when it did, he kicked the foot up and got on the motorcycle. His riding goggles were hanging on the handle and he snapped those on as well, his vision going blurry for a second. It would be slightly pathetic if he escaped all of these just to die on his way back.
He had to drive in a straight line. How hard could it get? If America could do it, so could he.
"Let's get going before I topple over right here, right now," he muttered, fixing the straps on his pack to make sure it wouldn't blow in the wind.
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Post by America on Apr 11, 2013 18:02:21 GMT -5
He wasn't completely convinced that England was all right. The warnings England himself gave were enough to make America worry, but as he climbed on top of his own bike, he realized he would have to trust him. Besides, America didn't think there was anyway to carry England and drive home safely. He would if he could, but since it seemed physically impossible (or, at least, physically straining), he would just have to put his faith in England's judgement.
"Got it," he said, speaking loud to be heard over the sound of the two motorcycle engines. America looked around before grabbing both his helmet and his goggles (he normally detested wearing his helmet, but considering how lightheaded he felt, he needed it, just in case he somehow managed to faint and fall completely off his bike.
He kicked the stand on his bike and pressed on the gas, going forward slowly. He had to make sure England was ready, after all. He didn't know whether one should be in front, either, or if they should ride side-by-side. So long as he had contact of the elder, he'd be rest assured that everything was going to be okay.
If England did topple, he wanted it to be somewhere where he could see, where he could jump up and help.
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Post by England on Apr 11, 2013 20:36:31 GMT -5
England briefly considered the helmet, but figured that if he crashed, he'd die anyway. That wasn't really a problem. Leaving it as is, he started up the motorcycle and revved the engine just to provoke their crowd, and began driving to catch up with America.
"Well, that was an adventure," he grunted, not exactly in a mood to joke, but unwilling to stay silent while he still could talk. It was one of those odd moments where England felt too lonely to be left in his own bubble. "But... We made it. That was awful, but... we made it."
He was proud of himself, of them and their teamwork. Sure, they had a falling out, but England would never have been able to do it without America. It was at times like these that he was reassured that their relationship was not one of convenience, but of absolute trust.
And if that was true, and it definitely was, once he made it back to the warehouse, he would drag America with him and give this adventure of theirs a proper end. A shower, meal, and sweet sleep, even though the sun would still be at its zenith when they would cuddle up and let their nightmares float away.
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Post by America on Apr 11, 2013 21:36:25 GMT -5
With a snort, America glanced over at him, raising his eyebrows when he didn't see any helmet. Well, he supposed it wouldn't do England much good. America wondered if he looked as awful as England did. Probably. No, definitely. After all, they did both roll around in zombie guts, they did both throw up, and they were both surviving from lack of necessities.
At least they looked shitty together, though.
"No more adventures for a while," America responded, shaking his head and looking back at the road. "I dunno what I wanna do first once we get back. Probably shower. God, I smell to high heaven. If I eat like this, I'll throw up. So, a shower first, then a good meal, and then some sleep."
But he still wasn't sure he'd want to sleep on the top bunk that night. He still wanted to be with England, to hug him throughout their rest, to kiss him from all the nightmares he might have, and to be kissed himself. After surviving that life-or-death situation (mostly due from their trust in each other), America didn't want to let go. He would hold onto all of their experiences, and he'd hold onto England.
"Mind an extra man in your bed?"
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Post by England on Apr 11, 2013 23:55:50 GMT -5
"Not at all," England chuckled, throwing America a grateful look that was blurred by the sun's glare and the dirty goggles. "Is this man an acquaintance of mine? I do enjoy a warm body to hold when I sleep. Will this man hold me back the very same way?" Would that man chase away his nightmares and soothe him from the ones that slipped past his iron defenses? He should hope so. After all, he'd entrusted that very same man with his heart.
"I may or may not fall asleep in the showers, no guarantee. You have the right to let me freeze to death if I do. How unbecoming that would be of me. I don't know if I'll have the energy for food, either. Though I suppose a lot of our lack of energy is due to lack of nutrition..." he sighed and turned his eyes back to the road. "I suppose we could eat something before crashing, if we even make it. Gosh, do you think we'll be able to climb the ladder? I think we should just bother everyone and hijack a couch in the middle of the day."
A thought popped in his head, though, and he realized that it wouldn't be so simple.
"Though... I think it's best if we get checked by a medic and spend the night in quarantine. Just in case something went wrong. That was a nasty cut you had, and a very messy operation, and I'd hate to see your leg get infected."
((Feel free to timeskip at the end of your post o3o))
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Post by America on Apr 12, 2013 6:08:35 GMT -5
America smiled when England agreed to them sleeping together. At least he wouldn't have to face the night alone anymore. He and England might have had their ups and downs (and, being stranded for as long as they were, there were far more downs than there were ups), but at the end of the day, they were still lovers who promised each other their hearts, no matter what might befall them.
"Well..." He sighed, thinking about spending the night in quarantine. Last time it had happened was not a particularly fun time for America, and he wasn't looking forward to the bad memories he knew would await. "I'm at least gonna eat and shower first," he argued. "Then, sure, we can go to quarantine." He was sure his leg would be fine, especially after a medic looked it over.
He smirked at England and gestured over to the bags with a nod of his head before snapping his gaze back to the road. "And, once we're all rested up and feeling better, I wanna try some of those condoms out." Timeskip He didn't know how long they had been riding, but America's eyes continued to droop as the minutes passed. He just wanted sleep, but obviously knew better than to take his desires while riding on a motorcycle. So when his tired gaze caught sight of the warehouse in the distance, he couldn't have been happier. :Look!" he exclaimed. "Almost there, England!"
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