The Zombie Apocalypse with MCR (Complete)

Desperate Moves

Perhaps I've ended up in Hell.

Perhaps I deserved punishment, after all.

The fingers wrapped around the gun have tattoos etched into them.

And this must be Hell. Must not be real, at least, if he's willing to hurt me.

"Frank?" My voice rasps out of me so harshly it sounds like my throat has been slashed.

And Frank, who is not really my Frank, stumbles backwards with a cry of shock and fear.

He looks like my Frank, I suppose. The same sharp face and golden eyes. Tattoos bright and colourful on his forearms, his biceps. But this man has had something awful happen to him; he's flushed scarlet with pain. His face is wet from tears. He's panting hard with the force of his sobs.

This man can't be mine.

This man seems to shake himself. Squares his shoulders. Sets his jaw. Takes a firmer grip on the gun.

"You're imagining it." He mutters feverishly. "She's gone."

"Whose gone?" I croak, tilting my head.

Has he lost someone?

My voice seems to hit him like a punch. He drops the gun and stumbles backwards. Bends double like he's been stabbed. Makes a low, mournful, awful sound. Scrubs at his face, pulls at his hair.

Maybe this is a memory.

Maybe it's another world.

Maybe it's a dream.

But this can't be real.

"It's in your head, you fuckin' idiot." The agonised man mutters, and sniffs, and hauls himself upright. "She's gone. Now do what's right. Be brave like her, for fucking once."

He stands, and throws back his shoulders, and scrubs the tears and the snot off his face. Picks up the gun. Thumbs back the hammer.

"You're not her." He tells me, mouth twisting viciously. "She's gone. Gone and not coming back to me. And in a minute you'll snarl and hiss and try to eat me. So... I've got to be brave."

Try to eat him?

I search the inner workings of my body. Consider the accusation.

I'm certain I have no urge to attack him. I wouldn't attack someone who looks so downtrodden already.

"I'm a little hungry." I concede, because my stomach does feel empty and sore. "But not hungry enough for human flesh."

The man shakes himself again, "Wishful thinking." He says decisively. Speaking to himself. "She's not here."

"Frank?!" There is a shout from behind, but he doesn't turn. "Let one of us do it, okay? Don't, man. You'll never get it out of your head if you're the one to pull the trigger."

Weird.

Almost sounds like Ray.

But Ray can't be here.

Because... Because I'm almost certain I left everyone behind.

Why did I do that, again?

"You're not my Frank." I accuse.

His eyes widen a fraction.

"I left him." I tell this man, who seems so full of agony and despair. "I... I didn't mean to, but I left him."

"Frank?" Another frantic call. "Get away from her! What the hell are you doing? She could kill you!"

"I'd never kill my Frank," I tell this man, who isn't mine, "I'd never leave him, either."