Haywire

Chapter 3: Burn - Hex Cougar

Wednesday

This morning, judging by the sun, he woke up at about the same time as in the hospital. Only this time, when he woke up, he was confronted with the loudest silence he had ever heard. He took a deep breath and buried his face deep into his pillow as despair robbed him of any motivation to get up. His throat hurt and his eyes were red and swollen, for he had begun to cry when his body collapsed last night in the protected shelter of his bed, knowing that his mother was really dead.

The fact that Katsuki was not with him here discouraged him immensely in the quiet morning hours, and he could only hope that he would not be quite as foolish on his own today as he had been yesterday. Still, he would rather check on his mother every time than leave town. He had thought long and hard last night about the moment his mother had become a zombie. He thought about her clothes, the open cellar and the advanced discolouration under her eyes.

And everything pointed to a time shortly after zero hour, sometime the day before yesterday afternoon. He sat up, rubbed his upper arms and finally stood up. There was nothing more he could do. He could no longer find any relevant food here. He knew his next step was to find a weapon that would help him in hand-to-hand combat and then get to the cottage as quickly as possible. So he began to prepare himself until the sun was high enough and the birds outside the windows grew louder.

With a heavy heart, Midoriya had exchanged his small yellow backpack for his mother's trekking backpack that morning. It was bigger, roomier, but also a bit heavier. But it had everything needed for a journey on foot. Eyelets, hooks and carabiners. Countless pockets for small things like nuts and sultanas. Inside there was room for everything, even for all the things Kacchan had apparently supplemented at the hospital. Bandages, plasters and a small blood bag that had given him quite a fright when he had first touched it, wrapped in a towel. Now it rested in an extra bag in a side compartment.

That he was now so well prepared, he owed to pure luck. He had, Kacchan would say, once again been more lucky than good, because the house had been almost completely looted at second glance. Only the attic, accessible through the wardrobe in his mother's bedroom, had not been discovered. Up there she stored valuable things, like her porcelain or Izuku's medal from the fifth grade maths competition, but also her camping equipment, since cellar break-ins were more common in this area.

Izuku had even been able to find his tiny sleeping bag and attach it to the bottom of his backpack. What he still lacked, however, even though everything in him resisted it, was something with which he could defend himself. The slingshot was good, inexplicably useful at a distance, but stones and chestnuts looked like a toddler's weapons next to a pistol. And he didn't need to fool himself, the moment would come when one of these creatures got too close and he had to act fast. But he also had to act quickly without making loud noises.

He walked slowly down the stairs outside his room, listening carefully at every step, but the house was dead silent. So he crept quietly into the kitchen and pulled open the cutlery drawer without vigor. Undeterred, he reached for the two screwdrivers and shoved them into a pocket on his thigh. Should he also pocket a kitchen knife? Or rather a small fruit knife? Roulade needles?

He sighed and casually lifted his gaze out the window, regretting it at the same moment. For his eyes landed on his mother and his eyebrows drew together. She was still standing in the same spot by the fence, her hair clammy from the damp night, swaying in the shallow wind. For the first time he saw her back and the injury her transformation had brought. He hiccupped softly as his eyes once again became unbidden wet and his fingers clawed at the front of his jacket.

On her arm, just above the elbow and just below the hem of her dress, gaped a bite. But not the small one of a human, but long and jagged, like the jaw of a dog. Nothing more. He swallowed convulsively and forced himself to look away. Oh God, a dog, he thought wistfully, why a dog of all things...?