Fragile Hearts [DANGEROUS FELLOWS]

⚠️SEVENTY-SEVEN: STATION 12.8⚠️

"(Y/n), tune the station to 12.8. We need to hear this."

Harry had grown completely serious, arms crossed, his brows slightly furrowed. He watched as you pick up the walkie, turning the dial until the static cleared, signalling a stable connection.

"Hello city survivors," a crackly voice stated. "The Gloryship docked at the city's eastern ports still has ten more slots open for passengers. The Gloryship departs Friday at noon.  Repeat, the Gloryship docked at the city's eastern ports-"

Harry leaned in close to you, holding the button on the front of the walkie to speak.

"Excuse me, survivors from the residential area speaking," he said. "What is the Gloryship, exactly? And where is it heading?"

He released the button, and after a short moment's pause, where all you could hear was the thrumming of your own heartbeat, the radio voice replied.

"The Gloryship is a Marines vessel taking healthy, uninfected survivors to Island-214," he said. "Island-214 is a guarded, protected sanctuary for survivors to stay while the mainland is sweeped of infected matter."

Harry and you exchanged a look. A sanctuary. You both knew better than to grow too excited right away.

"And what is your affiliation?" Harry asked next. "The government? Military?"

"We're a crisis relief group," the man answered. "We're not directly affiliated with any group or government. Many major goverments in the surrounding countries have failed due to this event."

"Countries?" you whispered in disbelief. You'd be naive to hope that the apocalypse had been contained only to your own nation. . . But hearing it said so plainly filled you with dread.

Harry went quiet for a moment, before sighing.

"Thank you," is all he said, before setting down the walkie-talkie once more, and the man began to repeat his routine recital of directions.

"Don't you know what this means?" you asked, growing a bit breathless. "We had a plan. And now, we have a means."

Your chest swelled with hope. Maybe there was a way out of this madness, out of this infected city that had been turned upside-down overnight.

But Harry didn't look too convinced.

"It could be another trap," he said carefully, arms crossed in thought. "Who knows what's really going on at that island."

"But this city isn't going to last much longer," you insisted. "We won't last. We've never been this divided. It's hard for the guys to even look each other in the eye."

Harry didn't argue, instead nodding.

"You're right, (Y/n)," he murmured. "And I agree, too. The infection in the city has only been getting worse. And so has Lawrence's mental state."

He tapped his foot, giving another sigh.

"Travelling isn't exactly an option, either. It'd be too easy to get stranded in the country, to die of starvation or get caught up in a zombie horde," he considered.

"And the infection would have no way of reaching that island," you urged.

Harry gave you a stern look, his gaze hardened with seriousness. In these past few weeks, he was looking more like a young man than you'd ever seen him.

"It'll be a leap of faith, (Y/n)," he warned, before growing softer with a slow breath. "But whatever you decide... I'm on board."

Your heart drummed in your chest as you considered. Stay here, pray for a miracle? Or grab destiny by the horns, and fight for the future?

The answer seemed clear enough to you.

"I'll think about it," you relented. "Let the other guys know. We can make a group decision."

Then you hesitated, the unspoken liability lingering in the air between you two.

"Lawrence will have to know," Harry finally spoke up. "Differences aside, we're a team. We all need to pitch in for a decision like this."

Harry made it sound so easy.

You walked towards the door, peering down at the ring on your finger. Just a little too big, a reminder of how well it had fit its previous owner.

"We'll figure out a way," you said comfortingly. It was more for your own sake than Harry's.

"We have to," Harry replied simply. "Whatever happens. . . We'll find a way to stick together."

You felt him place a hand on your shoulder reassuringly.

"Just let me know whatever you need," he said quietly. "I'll be here for you."

You turned back to face him, offering a weak smile.

"I'll be fine, Harry," you told him. "Don't worry too much. We've dealt with worse."

Harry seemed hesitant, as if he could see through your brave face. After a moment of internal struggle, he finally relented.

"Good luck," was all he said before you stepped out, closing the door.

What you weren't expecting was to step out to the sound of chaos. There were loud voices echoing from the ground floor, and without wasting a moment you flew down the steps, bursting into the main room.

"What's going on?" you demanded, your eyes landing on the source of the scuffle.

Zion... And Ethan. Ethan had his fists full of the front of Zion's top, pinning him to the counter.

"Eugene?! What's the problem?" you asked, turning to the shorter boy for answers.

Eugene shook his head, looking stunned.

"Zion's been gone all day," Eugene sputtered, causing a look of shock to cross your features.

"What do you mean, gone?" you repeated in disbelief.

The sound of an angry growl interrupts you, and you turn just in time to see Zion shove Ethan off of him.

"You touch me again and I promise you no doctor in Hell will be able to fix your arms again," Zion hissed.

"Your empty threats are getting boring, Zion," Ethan retorted. "All you do is cause trouble for everyone else while only having yourself in mind."

"I've got somethin' special for you in mind, baseball bat," Zion warned dangerously, quickly stepping closer to Ethan with a murderous look.

"Zion!" you shouted sharply. "Hey! What the hell's going on?"

Zion paused, his shoulders tensing at your voice. His fists clenched, looking like he might explode with anger for a moment, before he let out a huff, uncurling his fingers.

"I found out Zion's been sneaking out," Ethan said irately, his brows furrowed as he approached you. "He's been going to the city."

"So I haven't been locked up here all day, knitting sweaters for my precious little friends," Zion snarked. "Sue me."

Your ignored Zion's childish rebuttal with a roll of your eyes, walking up to Zion, tilting your head as you gave him a questioning look. He avoided your gaze, something like guilt crossing his face.

"What are you looking for in the city?" you asked him quietly, so that the other two guys couldn't overhear. Eugene pretended to read a magazine awkwardly, while Ethan paced the foyer to cool off.

"(Y/n)..." Zion began protesting, but you cut him off.

"Just tell me," you insisted, making him wince.

He was quiet for one long, stifling moment. But despite his stubbornness, he finally relented.

"It's Jay, (Y/n)," he caved, his voice a whisper, a secret. "I've been looking for Jay."