Chapter Text
"This is a bad move, Steph. You gotta admit this is a bad move," Ruth pleaded.
She shook her head no. Her mind was made up, it had been the second Pete hit the floor.
"You can't just pop in a podcast and strut into the apocalypse."
"You don't get to sh*t on my hot girl walks," Steph snapped.
In front of her was an array of items she'd selected from the shelves of Toy Zone. Tent pitches, which were sharp and strong. Chemistry sets with flammable substances. A lighter she'd borrowed from Emma.
The group had been selected, mostly made up of volunteers. Headed by General MacNamara, Ted, Steph, Paul, Duke, Miss Holloway, and Frank were going to try to make it to the pharmacy and back.
It was only three stores down, as far as Steph could remember, but three stores of no man's land was enough to hold some serious danger. Everyone had seen the way the group had been chased by those creatures on the way to Toy Zone, so the reluctance was understandable.
It was not making anyone's job easier.
"Steph," Grace said. "You really shouldn't do this. It's won't help."
"Oh yeah, Grace? What have you done to help?"
Grace's eyes went wide, dumbfounded. "I've been praying."
"Praying," Steph repeated. "Great. I'll keep that in mind while I shoulder the f*cking sky."
"We have to get going," Paul raised his voice to the group. Or we'll be too late, he didn't say, but the implication was heavy in the air.
"Alright," John said, waving his arm. "Let's head out."
"John, wait," Xander caught him. "There's something I have to bring to your attention."
John knew that look. It was the one he himself stifled down whenever he heard Wilbur's voice ring inside his head. It meant that whatever he was thinking, it was far too much.
John couldn't share that burden. Not when lives were at stake."Will it be beneficial to our objective?"
"No, but–"
Well, that was it, then.
"If it's only going to worry us more," John said. "I'd rather you save it for when we get back."
Xander quieted. Looking haunted somehow, he nodded, and walked away. His footsteps were light on the floor, ghostly.
Lex jangled the keys in her hands before unlocking the door. "I'll be watching for when you get back," she said.
"Thank you, Lex," John nodded in respect. "Alright, let's head out."
Ted lingered for a moment, watching his brother's chest rise and fall. Like it would stop moving the second he looked away. Like he was the difference between Pete's life and death. Keep breathing, kiddo.
Lex opened the door, and out they went.
John and Miss Holloway headed the way, each confident for different reasons, each with a common enemy.
Miss Holloway narrowed her eyes at the soldier, catching his attention.
"I know you're nervous," she whispered at him, when he gave her a strange look.
"It's perfectly understandable to be experience nerves in a survival scenario. What's important is that one remains–"
"Wilbur isn't out here, in case you were wondering," she said. And she said it so simply, so matter-of-fact, that it sent a chill down John's spine. Or maybe it was the mention of his name. it was impossible to tell.
Either way, Miss Holloway flipped up her collar, drawing attention to her jacket. A jacket that John was starting to understand why it looked so familiar. "He can't hurt you anymore, General. Cross my heart."
After that, the only sound—for miles, it seemed—was the repetitive fall of their feet on the floor.
-
"Emma, I need to dip into your stash," Richie said.
Emma's eyes went wide. "Kiddo, I'd love to, but we should probably wait until your uncle gets back–"
"Not your weed. Your other stash."
"Oh. Knock yourself out." Emma reached into her purse, retrieving a handful of Beanie's branded sugar packets Richie knew she stole from work.
She tossed them in his direction, and most of them landed nearby. That was enough. Richie began ripping them open, emptying them into a bottle of water that had been for sale by the register.
"You're making sugar water..." Ruth asked.
"For Pete. When he wakes up."
"Like a butterfly?" Ruth snorted.
"Has anyone seen Xander?" Richie asked, shaking up the water bottle and ignoring her question.
"No, why?" Emma replied.
Every remaining member of the group sat by the Toy Zone registers, with an impossible mix of anxiety and nonchalance.
Howie sat with the teenagers—somehow, he'd become one of their own—babysitting Pete. Grace was on her knees and off to the side, somewhat by herself as she prayed in silence. Lex lay with her head in Ethan's lap, passing a cigarette back and forth between them, and also occasionally to Emma, who sat nearby.
They were all that was left of Hatchetfield. Or it felt that way, at least.
"He works for the peep, too," Richie explained. "With General MacNamara gone, shouldn't he be in charge?"
"General MacNamara was never in charge," Grace chimes in, unhelpfully. "He just started ordering us around, and we listened. You're all sheep without shepherds. All he had was a commanding presence and a gun."
"Shouldn't I be in charge?" Howie reminded them. "I'm...the president."
Grace glared at him. "At least MacNamara had a gun."
"Stop saying 'had' like he's not coming back," Lex frowned.
"It doesn't matter anyway. The only one with any real authority—" Grace placed a hand on her heart "—is the Lord on high."
"You know, you keep saying that," Lex sat up. "But what the hell has God actually done for us today?"
"I prayed for our safety on the recovery mission, and my group all made it back safe."
Howie interjected. "That's actually true."
Lex pointed toward the door. "Except for the nerdy camp counsellor, right? I watched those angels of yours rip his f*cking neck out."
"He made God angry," Grace said simply. "He broke His commandments. He put Girl Jeri's death above his gratitude, and no one must come before Him."
"Right. So your prayer worked, until it didn't," Lex scoffed. "Makes sense."
"You don't believe me?" Grace pouted. "Is God's power not impressive to you? I offer you this, then...um...here. In the holy name of Jesus, Pete will survive the day. This I command in Jesus' name. Now you just wait."
Lex arched an eyebrow at her, unconvinced. From the way she spoke, it would seem like Pete was about to get up and start walking, but his body remained still.
"Not enough for you?" Grace asked. It was hardly good enough for herself, but she'd thrown herself in so deep, there was no way back to the surface. "I can give you more, but it will cost us all."
She stood up, marching across the room defiantly. Then, from grabbing her by the ankles, Grace dragged Melissa's unconscious body out from behind the register.
"Woah, what are you doing?!" Ruth said, appalled.
"God will take her as a sacrifice," Grace explained. "And in return, our group will come back from the pharmacy."
"Hey kid, this isn't Yellowjackets, okay?" Ethan said. "We don't have to start a weird cult just because we're trapped here."
"Yeah, you can't just kill her to prove your point," Lex agreed.
"If she's been unconscious for this whole time," Emma jumped in. "Then she's probably not going to wake up. Anything that knocks you out for that long caused some serious damage. Not to mention, she probably hit her head on the floor."
"Then she's dead anyway, why keep her here?" Grace argued.
Lex looked at her like she was insane.
"Listen," Grace said. "This woman...she's served a purpose. A metaphor. For giving ourselves over to God. If we put her outside, the group will return, simple as. If nothing else, it might distract the angels and allow while they search for Pete's medicine. Will you please unlock the door?"
-
Flashlights flicked across medicine bottles, like they were raiding an abandoned hospital, wrecked with virus. Hopping the pharmacy counter had been no trouble, particularly for Steph, who had always been a master of getting herself into places she wasn't allowed to be.
The hard part, as it turns out, was actually finding the glucagon. Everyone had their phones out to light the way, save for John, with a small, military-grade flashlight, and Miss Holloway, who squatted, searching the bottom row as she squinted at the small print.
"What's it look like again?" Paul asked.
"Think Epi pen but worse," Ted whispered back.
They'd been whispering the whole time, so as not to alert whatever monster may be lurking nearby. Luckily, so far, they'd had no run-ins.
"I don't know what I'm doing," Frank complained.
"You think I do?" Ted shot back. "Shut up and look."
They rooted through boxes and vials alike. Eventually, Duke started placing the ones that definitely weren't it on the floor, just to rule them out. At some point, the group picked up on it, clearing the shelves at an unprecedented rate.
"It has to be here, right?" Paul asked.
"Yes, it's here," Duke replied.
"What if it's not?"
"It better be," Steph huffed, not looking up from her search.
Click.
Something made a noise like glass against glass. John whirled around, gun drawn.
"Sorry," Duke whispered. "I hit a bottle."
"Holy sh*t!"
"It's okay, Steph, it was just–"
"No, I found it. I mean, I think," she tossed the small, cardboard box to Ted. He scanned the print, face brightening as he turned it around in his hands.
"That it! Holy sh*t, grab three."
Steph didn't grab three. Overwhelmed with joy, she pulled Ted in for a hug. Pete's gonna be fine. She wanted to cry out of relief.
Miss Holloway did grab three, ever practical.
"Not to cut the celebrations short," Paul said. "But we should get back."
It hadn't been very long at all; probably not fifteen minutes since Pete had first passed out. They had reacted quickly, but there wasn't time to be proud of that. Just to keep moving, chasing borrowed time. So the group began hopping the counter once more, this time in the other direction.
Duke was glad to leave the eerieness of the pharmacy behind. They had completed their goal. No one had died. Things were going to be fine.
For the first time since the darkness had fallen, they were getting ahead of it. Planning things that actually came to fruition, acting and succeeding. They cut through the stain in the sky like perfect bleach, a beacon of hope.
At least, it felt that way.
Until they came close enough to Toy Zone. And then there was truly no time. To move, or think, or react in any way that might have saved them.
"f*ck..." Steph hissed, eyes wide in fear.
Because a creature which sat just a small ways in front of the store was hunched over, gnawing on a familiar woman's carcass.
"Freeze," Miss Holloway whispered, and it resounded over the whole group.
No one dared to breath, and for a grotesque moment, all they could hear was the sound of the monster chewing.
It was a new one. It looked quite a bit like a hyena, only it was orange in bright yellow—a sickly, acidic yellow; conjuring ideas of warning, panic, and disease. From its head sprouted a pair of horns, and from its back emerged several sets of spiked tentacles, which glistened with some kind of venom.
And it was blocking their entrance.
As quietly as he could, John took aim at the creature.
Bang.
The bullet hit the creature dead-on. It whimpered for a moment, before whirling around, baring its ungodly teeth. When it charged, it ran fast, almost too fast to comprehend.
It reached Frank first. John unloaded his gun into the creature, but it hardly slowed it down. Frank's scream was haunting, ringing out and echoing in the emptiness as the creature tore into his shoulder, ripping him open.
"Miss Holloway!" Duke yelled, pleading with her to do anything.
"I'm already slowing it down," she yelled back, hitting the beast with every spell she could conjure without preparation.
"sh*t!" Paul hissed, trying to dart around it while it was preoccupied.
But its tentacles didn't let them through. In fact, they seemed to have a deranged preference for Ted, snaking and slithering across the floor at his feet. He jumped back, trying to put some distance between himself and the creature, but the tentacles moved like snakes; a deranged little dance.
"Someone help!"
"We're trying!"
Finally gaining her bearings, Steph fumbled with the lighter, praying to anything that would listen. Please work, for the love of God, please...
A tentacle wrapped itself around Ted's stomach, and he screamed as the spikes pierced him through.
Steph's lighter sparked to life. "Yes! Hold on!"
She lit the bag from the chemistry set, forcing herself not to notice as the thing exploded in her hand, charring her palm. With every strength she had, Steph vaulted it at the creature, sending the makeshift molotov soaring through the air like a shooting star before it landed, nestling in the creature's fur.
The animal erupted into flames. With a piercing screech, it dropped Ted, staggering away before it fell to the ground, burning like a pile of leaves.
"Ted, oh my god..." Paul said, hooking Ted's arm around his shoulder just as Lex opened the Toy Zone door.
"Get inside!" She screamed, and they didn't have to be told twice.
The men—the remaining men—helped Ted walk as he hobbled inside, collapsing on the ground right by Pete. One feeble hand reached over his stomach, trying to keep the blood where it belonged.
"Holy motherf*ck," Ruth said, watching Ted bleed through his shirt with wide eyes. "Are you okay?"
Ted winced, forcing himself to sit up. Working quickly, Lex shoved a baby blanket against him to try and stop the bleeding.
"Give me two damn minutes and I'll be fine," Ted barked.
"Ted..."
"Help Pete, for f*ck's sake."
Two Spankoffski men lay dying, and somewhere, a god of chaos delighted. But Steph wasn't going to let it win that easily.
Diving to Pete's side, she fumbled with the glucagon box. Her hand was already starting to blister, but she could hardly register the pain, because this was just so much more important. Let her hand burn, f*ck, let it fall off, for all she cared.
Suddenly, a gentle pair of hands was by her side, taking the box away from her charred fingers.
"You saved us back there," Miss Holloway cooed, and softly took the medicine from Steph. "Let me."
Miss Holloway was no medic, but she could follow written instructions like no one's business. She administered the injection quickly, professionally. And once it was done, she stood, taking a step back.
"How long before it kicks in?"
Ted coughed. "If he's not up in ten minutes, give him another shot."
Steph's eyes wandered up and down, taking in Ted. His chest rose and fell in shallow breaths as he tied the blanket hard around his abdomen.
He caught Steph's gaze, the questioning look. His response was not as kind as her concern. "I told you, two damn minutes, Lauter."
There was nothing to be done, even if she wanted to. Ted's tourniquet was tied, and now it was just a matter of fingers crossed and a prayer that the bleeding would stop by itself.
"Has anyone seen Emma?" Paul asked no one in particular.
It was only then Richie noticed he didn't, and hadn't for a little while. He looked his uncle in the eye, panic rising slowly behind his expression, and his silence was all the answer Paul needed.
"I don't–"
"Paul!" Emma said, darting out of an aisle. She ran to him, frenzied, and he caught her in his arms.
"Emma!" Paul kissed her forehead, holding her close. "You weren't here when we got back, I thought...I don't know what I thought, but you really...Emma?"
She cried against his chest, something heavier than relief. Deeper than fear.
"I found someone," she sniffled. "In the store-room."
-
Xander Lee hung from the rafters of Toy Zone's store-room, suspended with a jump rope in an expertly tied knot.
Only MacNamara was brave enough to venture in, retrieving a final note that lay beneath the dangling feet of the body. The rest of the mall goers stayed behind, crowded at the door.
With a heavy sigh, John read it aloud.
"𝘐 𝘤𝘢𝘯'𝘵 𝘭𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘮𝘺𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧," he said. "𝘗𝘌𝘐𝘗 𝘩𝘢𝘴 𝘣𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘦𝘹𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘪-𝘣𝘳𝘦𝘦𝘤𝘩 𝘮𝘦𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘥𝘴 𝘶𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘦𝘭𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘤 𝘦𝘯𝘦𝘳𝘨𝘺. 𝘛𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘴 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘮𝘪𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘭𝘢𝘴𝘵 𝘯𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵, 𝘸𝘦 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘧𝘪𝘥𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘦𝘯𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘵𝘰 𝘰𝘱𝘦𝘯 𝘢𝘯 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘳-𝘥𝘪𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘢𝘭 𝘱𝘰𝘳𝘵𝘢𝘭 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘯𝘦𝘸 𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘰𝘧 𝘦𝘭𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘤𝘢𝘭 '𝘭𝘪𝘥'. 𝘞𝘦 𝘥𝘪𝘥𝘯'𝘵 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘮 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘨. 𝘞𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘰𝘸𝘦𝘳 𝘸𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘰𝘶𝘵, 𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘯𝘦𝘸 𝘦𝘭𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘤𝘢𝘭 𝘥𝘦𝘧𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘦𝘴 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘴𝘩𝘶𝘵 𝘥𝘰𝘸𝘯, 𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘰𝘸𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘰𝘳𝘵𝘢𝘭 𝘵𝘰 𝘳𝘦𝘮𝘢𝘪𝘯 𝘶𝘯𝘤𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘥. 𝘛𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘪𝘴 𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘧𝘢𝘶𝘭𝘵, 𝘑𝘰𝘩𝘯. 𝘞𝘦 𝘤𝘢𝘶𝘴𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴. 𝘐 𝘬𝘦𝘦𝘱 𝘪𝘮𝘢𝘨𝘪𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘦𝘭—"
John stopped, folding the note and putting it away. He didn't want to hear about the mad colonel or how they were anything like him.
He was nothing like Colonel Cross. Even if they were living in his domain.
With a huff, John passed through the crowd, making his way back to the front of the store.
"Wait, John," Howie yelled after him, running up behind. "What the f*ck did that mean? I mean, this can't really be our fault, right?"
John froze, staring directly forward, as though a button had been clicked to reset him. For that moment, he looked quite like a toy soldier—cold, hard plastic—yet his words cut deep and personal.
"Are you bored yet, Mr. President?"
Howie shook his head, jaw slack. "No. You said, dangerous and dutiful..."
"Dutiful to what?" John asked. His face contorted then, as the emotion he'd held back began to show through weakened defenses. "Dear God, what have we done?"
"You ended the world," Grace said, stepping forward.
This was it. Another opportunity to prove herself, to prove the integrity of all God had planned. She could feel the horrible excitement buzz through her like a drug.
"And my Dear God needs to punish you for it," Grace said. Then, like a demented preacher, she turned to the crowd. "You heard him, he said it himself. It's PEIP's fault we're in this situation. How can we trust any of them?"
"How can we trust you?" Ethan said, stepping forward. "You made us put that girl outside."
"And the group made it back, just like she said," Richie pointed out.
"Richie!" Paul hissed, but his nephew only shrugged.
"I prayed for the redhead," Grace said, pointing at Miss Holloway. "You all saw her bite mark. Roll up your sleeve! Show them!"
Miss Holloway stood in a stunned silence.
Don't do it, Duke thought. And mercifully, she didn't.
That didn't stop Grace from marching over and ripping up her sleeve herself. She held Miss Holloway's arm above her head, for all the room to see. Even Grace was a bit shocked. She'd expected the wound to have scabbed over, but it had disappeared almost completely, just a thin pink outline of where it once was.
Miss Holloway ripped her arm back down, but the damage was done.
"You see!" Grace said. "God heals, but not for free. He demands sacrifice, and I say we get rid of our biggest liability."
All eyes fell on John.
He drew his weapon. Suddenly, they were locked in a deadly standoff. The cult could overpower him, sure, but not before he could get at least a few shots in.
It was in this state of mental chess that Ted began coughing again.
Violently.
Blood dribbled down his mouth, staining his chin all crimson and splattered, a poppy field of war.
All the while they argued, he'd been bleeding. Now, he was running out of life. A silent truce broke out among them, something in their eyes. John lowered his gun.
"Ted..." Steph said again, and this time, he didn't deny. There was no denying what was to come.
Ted was running out of time, and he knew it.
He glanced at Pete, who stirred slightly. He looked down at his hands, drenched and dyed with his own blood. He smiled.
"I was a sh*t brother, anyway."
"No, Ted," Paul said. "You were a sh*t person."
"You were the best brother Pete ever had," Ruth cried quietly. How long had she known the Spankoffski's, how many nights spent at their house? She corrected herself. "That any of us ever had."
Ted had been an asshole. He'd done things wrong and hurt people he cared about. But he'd also made a lopsided birthday cake when Pete turned eighteen. He'd picked Richie up from school when Paul had to work late. He'd went to watch Ruth act at the Starlight and he'd let Steph stay over when she broke curfew and her dad wouldn't let her inside.
He didn't know what he was doing. But his family didn't expect him to.
The last thing Ted Spankoffski ever saw was his brother's eyes flutter open.
