the front lines ♛ lashton

prologue

luke wraps his the bandage around his ankle, making sure it's as tight as possible before moving on. it's crooked, not perfect, and maybe five months before that would have bothered him, but he doesn't think he has time to worry about that as much anymore. he's glad to be able to have found it, it's a blessing, even. he won't be getting much more of those, so luke cherishes it.

he cranes his neck to look around the bin he's crouching behind, the smell of blood filling his lungs all too normal to him. he's gotten used to it, the smell. in fact, he's learned to realize that if he doesn't smell blood, it usually means that the area wasn't infected yet. but it doesn't stay like that for long.

looking in all directions, he breathes a sigh of relief when he notices that there's nobody here but him. the blonde, which has now become matted down to his forehead due to the grease and copious amounts of dried blood, makes a break for it, running as fast as he can at the moment. he's gotten used to the constant running, the fear. his lungs hurt, constantly even, but he can't stop to take a breath. luke doesn't think he ever will.

two streets ahead and he finally spots the first one. holding his tongue, his heart and head pounding, he ducks down behind a wrecked car (all he really seems to see anymore), and listens to the clashing sounds made by it. them. he doesn't know what to call them, really. it's rummaging through the garbage.

he reaches into his back pocket, flicking off the volume on his walkie talkie. he doesn't need to attract attention to himself. his hand finds his tool belt, and wishes desperately for something to use in this situation. it catches something round, and he silently cheers himself on. ashton said it would be useless, but he was wrong.

luke trains his eyes on the thing, it, and reaches his hand out from underneath the rusted car, pushing all of his available strength into throwing it, quickly retracting his arm before he's noticed.

he watches as it shuffles away in the direction he had thrown the ball, hearing the grunting sounds emitting from its mouth.

luke manages to pull himself out from under the car easily enough, he's used to doing that kind of stuff for the past ten months, but he knows that running from it will be harder than the process of getting out.

he hobbles away from the car, holding his breath. he's scared out of his mind, despite the knowledge that he's been okay for the past ten months. but he doesn't think about back then. he never does. it's too painful, he thinks, and shakes his head, wincing when he steps too hard.

"suck it up, luke." he says to himself, shutting his eyes forcefully and praying that he could make it to the safe house without any more trouble.

luke doesn't know why he's praying, but he is. he doesn't believe in any god, not anymore, not after this. never after this.

as he arrives at the end of the street, he notices the glow of the dimly lit candle in the window of an abandoned home. this is the sign, the safe house, and he runs, despite his burning ankle, runs with everything and all his weight and makes it to the safe house in time he can't count.

knocking on the door (one slow, two fast, that was their code), luke looks at his surroundings again, biting his lip.

michael opens the door, and luke just about collapses into his arms. michael is confused, to say the least, as he locks the door as best as he can and drags luke up the old stairs.