Population Two (Kirk/Spock)

Midnight

"Sppooocckkk. Spock honey wake up. Its time to face the day" A distant sing-song voice called to him.

"I do not wish to mother, I speculate in five more minutes I will be fully rested, please come back then to awaken me." Even half asleep, muffled by a thick comforter Spock sounded as Vulcan as ever. But despite his words, the voice of this mother persisted.

"Spoccckkkk......Spock.....SPOCK!!!" Three times his name had been repeated and each time they morphed into something sounding less and less like his mother. No longer was it his mother’s sweet sing-song voice that had once greeted him every morning. Now it was the voice of a teenage boy screaming frantically. His warm bed and comforter had turned into hard, ice cold, putrid smelling ground.

"Spock get up! Come on! Hurry we have to go!"

JIM! Of course, We fell asleep... But then why...?

Spock's thoughts were cut off by Jim shaking his shoulder as his sleep clouded mind formed a question and his dry tongue spoke it. "Jim? What...?"

"Spock, you have to get up, we have to hurry,” Jim’s voice was full of panic and fear.  “We. Have. To. Go. NOW!" Jim's voice kept breaking. His smooth face was flushed and he was sweating. Panicked eyes, those of a caged animal ready to either take flight or attack bore holes into Spock's head.

Confused, Spock inhaled deeply trying to understand what the human was so frantic about. Icy October air filled his lungs and as they filled to their maximum capacity, something more seeped into his body. Not a smell, but an essence; the essence of a million rotting corpses that carried the added stench of their own bile, excrement and puss. The smell was overpowering, heralding the creatures it belonged to though they were far off yet. It was all encompassing and the very real feeling of suffocating overcame him.

His mind rebelled against the thought of having to let go of the breath since it would mean an inhale would follow. His body was beginning to demand he take his next breath, the carbon dioxide building in his body needing to be expelled. It left his body in a rush.

Inhaling again, he tried to draw in an untainted breath but his effort was in vain and he was holding down the bile threatening to rise. Coughing, he finally understood. They were coming. They were coming to peal the flesh from their still vigilant and very much alive bodies. To feast on Jim and Spock as their screams of agony pierced the air as every pair of unnaturally sharp, feral teeth tore junks of muscle and nerves from their bones. They would keep them alive for as long as possible so the meat they would provide stayed fresh and so they could cure their dehydration with Jim and Spock's blood as it spewed from their veins.

Still gagging, Spock rose from Jim's sleeping bag that he had lent him only hours before when their lives had been more assured. As he went to quickly pick the bag up in an effort to escape the impending doom, the nerves in his side burned with an electric shock of pain that seemed to ripple and double in intensity as they traveled to every part of his body.

"Gahh." His voice was filled with pain that he could not hide as he felt stitches slowly pull away from the edge of his wound tearing the skin. His emerald tinted face seemed to bleach itself of all color at the pain. Perspiration rose to create a glistening sheen all over his body. He was forced to stop himself from doubling over, there was no time to let his body succumb the way it wanted to.

"Shit Spock, be careful. Don't worry about the bag, ill get it." Jim's voice had a current of a million volts of fear running through it. Spock could see Jim physically shaking, even though the human was obviously trying to remain calm.

Without a moment of hesitation Jim picked up an old, beat up grey and black hiking backpack that he had been using as a pillow, shoving all the makeshift camp contents into is as fast as he possibly could. When the zip was finally closed Jim looked up at Spock and paled. There a quickly growing stain of green on the Vulcan’s left side where Spock’s wound had reopened.

"Spock are you go-"

Pressing his hand to the wound to apply pressure, Vulcan fingers began to turn green as his blood oozed between regardless of his attempts to the contrary.

Spock's words interrupted Jim's almost hysterical voice. "I theorize that as long as I keep a steady pressure on it I will be able to escape."

Jim opened his mouth as if to ask Spock if he was sure, but he never got the chance as trash cans at the opposite end of the ally crashed and the stench grew stronger. Then they saw them, gleaming in the moonlight...