Hatchetfield.

And They All Died Happily Ever After

In which Emma and Paul finally get their own happily ever after, and watch the world burn.

In another world, maybe she could've been happy.

Shit, Emma didn't know. In another dimension, maybe her sister could've lived.

Maybe Tom would actually talk to her, let Tim (Jane's son, Jane's son) talk to her like a normal person.

Fuck Clivesdale.

But now? As soon as she got notice she survived the apocalypse, lost everyone, everything, she was going to lose it again.

All she knew was that she loved Paul, sweet, neurotic (really lovable) Paul. And she would've kissed him (but i coughed blood on his face by accident) and she told him to play the hero and save the world.

And now because of her, Paul was dead. Instead of Paul, his dead body was walking towards her. And it was smiling.

The body looked batshit crazy. She'd never actually seen a rabid dog, but this is what it would look like on a human. Mad, rolling blue eyes and an ever present, bared snarl on his face. Literal froth spewing from his mouth.

(oh my god they're fucking feral)

So many other people were there, like Paul's coworkers, some of the nurses, Professor Hidgens (oh god why did you do that professor). The wounds that killed them were still there, stained blue and attempting to mend.

Ted (the asshole, fucking asshole) had a bullet wound to his forehead. She didn't see him die, but she heard the gunshot.

Bill (oh god he only wanted his daughter back) had a bullet wound in his chest, still oozing.

They were singing some shit about how it was futile trying to resist "the ultimate perfection of the hive." (jesus fucking christ haven't heard 'apotheosis' used so many times since high school english) but no matter, she needed to run.

She was running (but I can't run my leg leg hurts). The hive must've gone to town, she could hear screams and song coming from closed rooms. A few were open, and she made the mistake of glancing as she ran. The walls were sprayed with red (oh my fucking god i'm gonna barf holy shit) and limp bodies slumped against the crimson flecked beds.

"EMMA!"

Yeah, she had to run. She would've made it farther if not for her leg, staggering down the bloody halls. She slipped in a puddle of red (oh my god that's someone's blood) and landed with a crack on the floor.

They grabbed her, claws scrabbling at her arms, hauling her up. She screamed, kicking, but it was no use.

She was going to die, and she was going to die in Clivesdale.

"Fuck! Fuck!" she screeched, punching and flailing. Emma liked to think herself strong, years of mountain climbing paid off, but even without the injured knee she still wouldn't've been able to get out. Even the professor's shaking hands (that's not hidgens it isn't him) were gripping tight enough to cut off the circulation to her arms,

They still gripped her arms, and showed her (presenting they're presenting me) to Paul.

And there was Paul, smiling. She knew it wasn't really Paul, it was an alien masquerading in Paul's dead body. Every logical part of her brain screamed for her to run, even though it wouldn't help, but she could try. (but it isn't paul) He had to remember, he had to remember something.