𝐮𝐧𝐧𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐚𝐥 𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬 // 𝐡𝐚𝐭𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐭𝐟𝐢𝐞𝐥𝐝

19. thorny bushes

a/n; I'M SO SORRY THIS TOOK FOREVER I HAVE BEEN BUSY WITH WORK AND FELL INTO A BIG SAD MOMENT
BUT PEOPLE WERE STILL VOTING ON THIS AND COMMENTING AND I KNEW I COULDN'T ABANDON THIS STORY IT IS MY PRIDE AND JOY
THANK YOU ALL FOR BEING PATIENT I LOVE YOU

tw for needles, guns, syringes

- 

Henry stood in the living room with John, watching as he loaded a gun.

"Sir, you're still recovering, are you sure it's okay for you to go out yet? You need some rest, it's only been a day," Henry spoke up.
John shook his head.

"I've felt worse. I'll be fine."

Henry decided not to push it. But he was still nervous- if he wanted the infected to be cured, he wanted it done right. Not by an exhausted ex-infected that hasn't slept in god knows how long.

But, he thought, he'll have to take what he can get. Besides, he was impatient anyway. Still, in the back of his mind he knew it probably wouldn't be a good idea. He'd have Owen, Curt, and Ted with them though, so even if John was worn out, they had a pretty decent team.

This brought a small sense of comfort to Henry, but not enough.

-

They were back in the minivan now. Henry was driving, Ted had called shotgun, John was in the middle, and in the back was Curt and Owen.

It was a very quiet ride. Nobody wanted to admit that they were nervous. There was a box sat on the seat next to John containing syringes with the cure, at least a dozen of them. The plan was basically to inject them into as many of the infected as possible, knock them out, and bring them back to the lab to see if they react the same way that John had.

The tense ride came to a stop in front of a small suburban neighborhood. The houses that lined the streets had no lights on in them, and everything on the porches were tossed around. Everyone got out, gun in one hand, syringe in the other.

"How are we gonna execute this?" Henry looked over at John.

"Stick together. We'll walk around, find someone, knock them out. Have two of us bring them back to the car, repeat."

Wow, this guy was on top of his game. Henry nodded and started towards the sidewalk. The rest followed.

They walked half a block or so when Curt stopped them.

"Look," He motioned towards a house not far from them where there was someone in the backyard. John was the first to move forward, gun at the ready.

The group moved together to the side of the houses's backyard fence. They looked through the cracks to see who was there but it was covered by bushes.

"Hold this," John said after a moment, dropping his gun into Henry's hand. He was startled but didn't dare protest. Everyone watched as John climbed over the fence and fell into the bushes below.

"Shit, these are thorns," He groaned as he stood up and put his hand over the fence, "my gun, Henry."

Henry gave it to him right away. John took it and turned around to scope out the backyard.

It was a small space, with a kiddie pool in one corner and a jungle gym in the other. It would've looked like your average family home if one of the swings weren't moving back and forth on its own. While John had seen many nightmare inducing things in his career, this still was a bit spooky to him. But did he show it? Hell no.

He heard a creak of the wood and snapped his attention from the swing to the house part of the jungle gym. All he saw was a small set of eyes looking at him through the cracks in the wood. It was dark inside of the house so he couldn't make out anything else. Then he noticed some dirty blonde hair sticking up over the wood.

It was a kid. Couldn't have been older than eight. John lowered his gun, knowing for a fact that even if the infected child attacked him he could easily hold him down for a few seconds. That didn't mean he wanted to, though. The worst part about this musical nightmare was knowing that there were children infected.

He pushed the thoughts aside and refocused his attention on the child in question. The kid was hiding again, and now John couldn't see his hair. Only those wide, neon blue eyes, staring him down. Was he even blinking?

John started to approach the boy, slowly, as not to startle him. As he got closer he could hear a faint humming. He remembered that song. He remembered hearing that song when he was infected. Something about wiggling and a soft toy. That was all he could remember.

"Hello," John said once he was a fair distance away, "I'm John."

"He'll wiggle his way to life," The child responded.

John sighed and reached into his pocket. He pulled something out of it and climbed up the ladder to the house part of the jungle gym.

"I am so, so sorry, kid, I promise this is for the better. I'm so sorry," He sighed as he pushed the needle into the child's neck.