The Storm [DISCONTINUED]

Chapter Seven:

Max's "genius" plans failed miserably.

The bunker was incredibly hot because of the ventilation not being fixed, and water ran out quickly after the storages dried up. Everyone was in a state of panic by then, but the worst was yet to come.

People grew weak, mentally and physically. The elderly started to die in numbers and had to be carried out by Mexico's original team for burial.

Then, the very young began to join them. Hunger and dehydration was too much, and the children started dying at alarming rates. Even little Cass grew weak, but America made sure he survived.

The oppressing heat and still air was now strewn with the stench of death and sweat. Some people began feeling possessive of their rations of food and water.

One teenage boy pulled a pocket knife on another for "stealing" his canned corn. America managed to break it up before violence erupted. Meanwhile, Max sat alone on his cot holding his head in his hands and mumbling madly.

With each passing day, the expedition groups who went out in search of resources found less and less due to the lack of distance able to be traveled. The bunker was an chaos.

Due to lack of water and cleaning supplies, the once spotless steel floors were now covered in dirt, mud, sand, and dust. Whenever someone walked where no one slept, clouds of dust and other debris would be kicked up. And then, due to lack of ventilation, would be breathed in by someone. Then, small rodents like mice, voles, and rats found ways into the once fortified walls. Feces and bites spread disease even quicker. Fear and anxiety began building on America as he remembered stories England told him as a child about the Black Plague.

Germs and viruses spread rapidly. The common cold and fevers were no longer uncommon. Medications began to run out at startling paces.

Then, infection set in.

Diseases like the flu, pneumonia, and rat-bite Fever spread from person to person. Then, when someone was bitten or scratched by something and blood was drawn, it meant almost certain death. A new illness was spreading through blood, as it seemed. If someone got whatever the disease was in their bloodstream, they would slowly go crazy, bruise easily, and then just die. Just like that.

A terrible way to die. America thought to himself one day, shuddering.

One night, when it was very late and most people were sleeping, America stirred to soft scuttling noises across the hard floors, then a piercing screech awoke everyone. Well, everyone who didn't die in their sleep.

America jumped out of his cot and immediately, almost instinctively, got to Cass' little bundle of blankets in the corner. He knew the way so well, he didn't even need the ceiling lights anymore. He could walk with his eyes closed and find the small boy exactly where he was supposed to be.

America knelt down and spoke the boy. "Did you hear that?

"Yeah," Cass replied.

"Was it you? Are you hurt?" America asked, worried.

"No, I'm fine," replied Cass.

"Then who was it?" A sleepy sounding Mexico asked behind America. The two shrugged and America stood up, Cass followed his example, hugging Khione the Bunny close to his chest.

America and Mexico had assumed a child or something had been bitten by a rodent while trying to pet it. They weren't entirely wrong.

Max stumbled away from his cot, rubbing his hands over his face madly, his eyes wide. Dark purple bruises dotted his arms and, on his wrist, was a red infected looking bite. Max and America locked eyes. The bunker was dead silent and nothing moved, even the rats seemed to stop and stare. How long had he had that bite? The question hung in the air like a death sentence.

Max stopped rubbing his veiny hands all over his face and pointed a shaky finger at the trio. He kept whispering words to himself, like a scared child. America didn't hear what he said, but thought he caught a glimpse of the word "scary".

Tears started forming at the edges of Max's mad eyes and began spilling over. He continued pointing and shaking and just acting insane. Finally, the moment everyone had anticipated in silent fear, something snapped in the poor boy. His eyes glazed over and a piercing scream tore through his throat, probably ripping his vocal cords. Max threw his hands behind his head and started clawing at his neck, trying to relieve some kind of pressure.

Children began to cry in fear, but their guardians quickly shushed them, trying not to get the crazed boy's attention. America protectively pushed a frightened Cass behind his leg and cleared his throat.

"Max—"

And then the red haired boy lunged. He threw himself at America and started desperately trying to claw at his eyes or throat, anything that could kill him. Cass began crying and backing up. Mexico stepped in front of him and tried to pull Max off of America.

Max however, then turned on him and managed to get his hands around his throat. Mexico gagged and cursed in Spanish. Up close, Max was even more terrifying. He was paler then usual, his face was hallow and empty, eyes sunken. He looked like some kind of vampire. The shell of a human.

America had stood up and managed to put the deranged Max in a headlock, trying to dodge Max's furious swipes. Mexico grabbed an old bandana from his bag and together, they managed to get Max's hands behind him and tie him up.

Max had seemingly tired himself out and resorted to just weeping hysterically.

People sat in a shocked silence. Their closest thing to real authority was going to die, and maybe kill some of them before he does.

Mexico's most fearless companions dragged him out through the latch into the cold barren darkness. Mexico closed the door behind them and closed his eyes in anticipation. Then, the sound everyone had waited for, a single gunshot rang out across the quiet empty landscape. Everyone was silenced one more, in respect, fear, or relief, no one knew.

America shook himself out of his daze and went back to Cass who had backed up against a wall.

Tears had spilled out of his bright blue eyes and left clean stains on his dirty cheeks. His threadbare toy was being held unusually tight as it's head hung from Cass' arm, limp.

"Cassie, come here little guy," America knelt down on his knees so he was eye level with the boy and opened his arms, inviting a hug. As was his new custom, Cass approached and wrapped his arms around America's neck, waiting to be picked up and comforted.

America lifted him off his feet, sitting the boy on one of his arms and holding Cass' head close to his chest with the other.

"Alfred?"

"Yeah, buddy?"

"Is Max gonna hurt someone?"

America was silent. He knew Max was dead, but his irrational fear of ghosts and spirits started buzzing in the back of his mind.

Finally, he took a deep breath and decided, No more being afraid of stuff that's not real. You need to be brave, for Cass.

"No, buddy, Max's isn't gonna hurt you, or me, or anybody."

"Promise?"

"Yeah, yeah I promise. Now try and go back to sleep. You can lay with me and Mexico."