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August the Infected Boyfriend

Hello, everyone! This is a piece commissioned by @severedreamerbeard, a wonderful person who was so patient and understanding about waiting that I bumped him up to the forefront when The Mad Prince began looking like it was going to take just a bit longer than expected. I hope you all enjoy this little break from the longer story!

Tags: Male Infected, Male Reader, Citrus Rating.

You don’t have an alarm clock, not anymore, not with the rickety old generator that once collected sunlight damaged beyond what you can repair. Without it, though, you manage to rise as the day’s first light begins to peak through the treeline. You aren’t certain how exactly you manage this feat time and time again, but it must have something to do with stress. Or, perhaps, just the adaptability of human nature; you need to be up at this exact time to take care of chores, and so your body listens and complies.

This morning is the exact same as many before. You get up, placing your feet on the rickety wood floor, and internally groan as you stand. God, you’re exhausted, despite the reasonable hour you went to sleep. After a moment, you come to the conclusion that the apocalypse just sucks the life right out of your body, suffocating it slowly if it can’t snuff it out like a candle within its first wave. Grinding your teeth as though it will take the edge off the soreness, you get dressed in the worn work clothes that you are certain won’t last the eternity you plan on staying put in your little haven.

As you creep through the house, doing your best to stay silent as to not disturb your sister, you run through your usual list of chores that needs accomplishing in a kind of morning ritual. The dawn’s air outside is crisp, lively, but there is an underlying panic inside of you as you take a deep, cool breath, the slowness of winter gently clawing its roots into the earth in a mockery of what you and Ruby have survived thus far. You know just from watching tv shows and listening to your history teacher drone on in school that winter always has the highest mortality rate than all wars waged, with exposure doing far more damage than guns and men. The fact that you have to sludge through it without central heating or a nearby grocery store? It’s been done, but not within the last couple of decades.

The binoculars around your neck must have been for bird watching, because there is a surplus of bird related books in the cabin, complete with a little sketch journal of animals native to the area. You don’t use them for that, though, and instead stand at the very edge of the water surrounding the little man-made island, lifting them up to your eyes. Out on the opposite side of the coast, there isn’t any concerning activity. A doe bends over the lake’s surface, drinking its fill of water, and a hawk sits up on the top of the tree, staring down at the ground in search of prey. The doe suddenly startles, dashing back into the safety of the trees, and that’s when you see one of them.

A few months ago, your stomach would have dropped clean to the floor, but you don’t have the nerves left to actually care anymore. None of them have dared to enter the water, and there have been some instances where they’ve looked you directly in the eye, so you know they know you’re out here. The only guess as to why you and Ruby are still alive and uninfected would be that those things have some kind of aversion to water. There isn’t anything else you can think of, unless they have some sort of deep, terrifying fear of the tomatoes that surround the house. Still, you do your patrol as always, perhaps because the habit of doing so has become a comfort in the chaos the world has turned to.

You blink rapidly, your eyes stinging against the breeze as you turn around, heading straight over to where Morticia steadily chews on whatever old food you threw into the yard the night before. The miracle-goat, you wanted to call her, after finding the animal wandering around by herself, muzzle and neck buried inside a bush as she ate. Morticia, Ruby insisted her name be, has been your sister’s lifeline as whatever food you had managed to collect began to dwindle. Again, you are reminded of the harsh reality of winter, because you briefly imagine a world in which Morticia never managed to escape from her farm, and you and Ruby were left without her milk and company. Maybe death wouldn’t be the exact outcome, but you would wager that the prospects would look pretty grim.

Morticia barely reacts to your hands getting all up in her business, which is a definite change to when you first were trying to figure out the finesse of milking goats. At one point, you were almost certain she fractured your jaw with a hard kick to the face, but there are no x-rays and doctors to look over any injuries you sustain anymore. All you could do was hold your breath and hope the swelling would go down, which it did, thankfully, though now your jaw clicks every time you open your mouth. Better than having no jaw at all, you muse, picking up the tin bucket of milk and carrying it back inside to the kitchen.

You begin pondering what magic you can work for an acceptable breakfast. The pantry is sparse. It wasn’t always this terrifying to look over, when you and Ruby had just arrived, it was stocked with different kind of canned goods, dried pasta, and half a bottle of vodka you might have used a fair bit of when your jaw was threatening to fall off your face. Sure, it wasn’t like accidentally stumbling into an untouched superstore with the shelves still full with merchandise, but at the time it certainly felt like it. Even with your careful attempts to make it last as long as possible, it looks like this is where ‘possible’ ends. You shut the door, taking a step back, glancing over to the fresh pile of vegetables in the hopes it might soothe your worries for the oncoming winter.

But fresh vegetables rot.

Still, whatever you have today can be considered a blessing from whatever spirit or deity has decided to grant you their luck. Ruby has taken a liking to the tomatoes, the big, red, juicy fruit growing in droves over the last bit of summer. You pick up one from the bunch left on the counter last night and set it on the cutting board. Paired with basil, at least, and some vinaigrette found in the pantry, it’s almost like a full meal. And every single calorie counts.

A thunking noise sounds from upstairs, meaning that Ruby is awake. Your immediate instinct is to go investigate, to see if she needs any help, but you stop yourself. If there’s one thing that’s an integral part of her personality for the whole nine years she’s been alive, it’s the fact that she hates being babies. Hates it. So you continue trying to put together a decent looking breakfast, ears wide open to listen for any signs of struggling. She does, at least, call for you if she needs help, though you’re always afraid you might miss her cries if you are too engrossed in whatever you’re doing. Then, out of the corner of your eye, you spot her on the top of the stairs, her arm braced around a cane.

“Are you feeling better today?” You ask, going up the stairs to meet her.

“A lot,” she responds, letting you wrap your arms around her waist, taking most of the weight off her feet. “So I’m going to be gardening today.”

After a moment of pondering over the morning patrol, you offer a quick nod. “It’s a beautiful morning, the fresh air will do you good.”

You help her down the stairs, watching your step just as carefully as you watch hers. As soon as both of you reach the ground floor, you slowly allow your grip to cease, making sure her legs don’t show any signs of weakness against her weight. Nothing today, you observe, which is another small miracle. True to her word, Ruby seems to be able to walk just fine with the cane today, settling herself in the chair with only the slightest bit of difficulty. Her eyes light up when she sees the tomato mess, as though it's a whole chocolate cake for her to eat, and she digs in with an appetite that you haven't seen her use in awhile.

“How’s you sleep, Rhubarb?” You ask, using the nickname you know she hates for just to watch her eyes roll to the back of her head in exasperation.

“Fiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiine,” she says, dragging the syllable out for all its worth, quickly shoveling another spoonful of breakfast into her mouth.

You hold your hands up in mock surrender, picking up another tomato from the pile and taking a good bite of it. While you try to hold up the facade of magical nature of food for Ruby, putting together her meals to resemble the decent cuisine from before, you don’t do yourself the same favor. Food is fuel, and you treat it no differently than adding a log to a fire.

Ruby stares you down as you finish the tomato, and you know she’s daring you to eat just a little bit more, so you pick up a cucumber, breaking it in half and taking a bite out of the smaller piece just to satisfy her.

“Protein,” she says, tilting the bowl to get the last bit of food without diggin her fingers into the mess, “We’re both starving for protein.”

You run your fingers through your scalp, mouth pursed in thought. It’s not the first time she’s brought it up, but it’s certainly not something you can fix in the short term. Instead of saying anything in response, you just offer up a nod to show that you’ve heard her but don’t give her a solid answer. The jar of peanut butter that had served as your protein has been scraped clean, though you keep it in the pantry still, as though it might miraculously fill up and save the both of you.

“I’ve been doing some reading,” Ruby adds, picking up her mug and taking a swig of milk, “there has to be some kind of gardening store on the mainland, something we can grow for the protein itself”

You almost snap, but catch yourself, adding some flavor of logic into the situation to try stifling her hopefulness. “And where would this store be?”

“I don’t know, somewhere,” Ruby frowns, lacing her fingers together, “but winter is coming, and we’d be able to hold off the frost by making a greenhouse. That would at least keep the food coming in a little while longer, you know, people in Alaska do it all the time.”

Again frustration fills you up to the brim. “And what materials do we have to make one?”

“We would need some kind of clear plastic or glass- oh! And a wooden frame, we have some boards out in the shed, though we’d need more, and tools… I could use some new fertilizer, and I bet-”

You let her talk, turning around to place her empty bowl in the sink, barely paying any attention to the various things Ruby checks off on her imaginary list. Letting the water run, you try to think of a scenario in which you humor Ruby’s whim. Swim the exhausting length of water that you had only managed prior because of the copious amounts of adrenaline in your system. Maybe you’d somehow manage to hide from the creatures, you think they sleep, so you probably can go in the middle of the night. What then? You don’t know the area. It’s not like you can pull out your phone and search up garden department stores, and there are no maps in the entire house to speak of.

“... and you aren’t even listening to me, are you?”

“I am,” you lie, “I was just thinking about how impossible this plan is.”

“I was figuring it out!” Ruby whines, “You weren’t listening!”

You shake your head. “Any big store that could have those things is probably at least five miles away, Ruby.” God, five miles just a couple of months ago was barely a significant distance. Maybe a twenty minute bus ride, at worst, but now? Most of the cars are gone, and even if you manage to find one with enough gas to make it… that’s basically like lighting a signal flare to any of those things within a ridiculously large radius. A big, shiny object that makes noise? It probably looks like a tantalizing package of candy.

“Bikes exist,” she says, which is actually a decent point, but you don’t want to give it to her.

“How am I supposed to haul everything back?”

“Bike trailers also exist.”

“It’s too risky,” you say, as you always do when you’ve decided that the conversation is over. “It’s not worth it.”

“Oh,” Ruby flips her hair over her shoulder, “and dying of starvation during the winter isn’t at all risky. I understand now.”

“Let’s focus on gardening,” you say, trying to deflect her anger, though you know it’s futile. She’s fuming, you can tell even without turning around, and part of you is afraid that she’s going to try something drastic when you least expect it. If there’s someone you know with enough grit and courage to do something stupid like this, it’s certainly your baby sister. So you make an attempt to clear the tension by saying, “I’ll think it over, Rhubarb, I promise.”

She mutters something under her breath, probably about you being a coward or something similar, and you internally wince. Without asking for help, and in such a way you’re certain that offering would earn you a wack from her cane, she stands, making her way over to the front door. With a frustrated sigh, you follow, keeping a good, cane-length distance from her. After making sure she manages to retrieve her gardening tools with little issue, you go back inside in search of something productive to do.

This day goes by like most, with Ruby and you buried under your respective work. She stays outside for most of the day, while you go over the canning process briefly listed in your only resource of a pocket survivalist book you got off a body in the middle of the street. It only touches on canning briefly, saying that, oh yeah, you definitely need to read a more in-depth book on this, but there are no carefully written recipes about putting sterile food into mason jars laying around the house, and you would know. You’ve already pulled out all the bookshelves away from the walls, open and dug through every single cabinet, moved mattresses, and anything else you could think of doing in the empty months of nothing.

Outside, Ruby chatters about something to herself, though you can’t hear the exact words she says.

After dinner, you manage to scrape together something that Ruby wouldn’t find appalling, though you know she will eat most things either way. She sits at the table, just a little more primly than usual, with an aura of smugness that makes you nervous. With little ceremony, you cut straight to the point. “What are you planning?”

“Who, me?” She looks like the very picture of innocence, her large, doe-like eyes staring up at you like an angel.

“You barely made the swim when we first came out here,” you pinch the bridge of your nose with frustration, “thanks only to regular swim lessons at the Y. But you haven’t been practicing, so you won’t be able to make it again.”

Her legs stop kicking back and forth underneath the table, her gaze darkening ever so slightly. The effect only lasts for a moment, though, because she’s suddenly back to her normal, cheery self. “I’m not going anywhere,” she says, daring you to accuse her of lying, “my friend in the water is.”

That’s… not good, you decide, knowing that Ruby rarely brings up her imaginary friends to anyone but herself. A part of you wants to try to snap her out of it, but Ruby has never reacted kindly to people when they shout. You’re afraid she might pull herself further into whatever bubble she’s making, so you decide to try a far more gentle approach to suit her needs. “And… is your friend in the water going to be looking for some chips, maybe? I could use some junk food right now.”

It looks like your method has worked, at least in the short term, because she looks more perplexed than anything else. Maybe she hadn’t expected you to play along. “No, he’s getting just the important stuff.”

“Oh,” you shrug, turning around to do the dishes, “I see. And what does this friend in the water look like? Are they very nice?”

After a moment of silence, Ruby says, “he is very tall, and his eyes don’t have any color. His teeth are sharp, too, but he says they are for eating food. Oh, I guess he didn’t actually say that, he just mimed eating something when I asked. He can’t talk.”

“Oh,” you say, pretending not to be horrified. This has to be one of her attention-seeking shock tactic tricks, you think, running your tongue over your teeth. You guess that you haven’t been paying her very much attention over the last couple of weeks, it must all be bubbling up into one big mess in her head. “Well, maybe you should invite this friend over for dinner.”

Ruby cocks her head as though she is legitimately considering it, and not as though you just tried calling her bluff. “Maybe once he brings all the stuff for the greenhouse.”

You don’t like the certainty she speaks with, as though this isn’t really an imaginary friend, and someone with razor sharp teeth has been conversing with your little sister while you worked somewhere else, out of sight. “Ruby,” you say carefully, “there hasn’t been any infected activity in the water, right? They’ve all stayed out on the coast?”

She doesn’t answer.

“Ruby,” you say, your hands begin to shake from stress, “the infected haven’t tried coming out into the lake while I was inside, right?”

“No,” she says, tossing her hair over her shoulder with the sassy dismissal only a girl of prebuscense can truly emit.

It doesn’t even occur to you that she could be lying, though it should have. Perhaps even more damning to your fears is that the very next day, there’s an unfamiliar pile of two-by-fours thrown out onto the sandy beach of the island. You run from one end of the coast to the other, rifle in hand, eyes wildly looking around for whoever or whatever it was that crawled up onto the land and left building materials in an easily accessible pile. This doesn’t make any sense, none of this makes any kind of sense, but Ruby’s voice nags in the back of your head while you finish up the search. My friend in the water, she said, and a splash coming from your blind spot almost makes you empty every bullet you have into the water.

When you turn around, though, all you see is the faintest flicker of movement beneath the glassy surface. A fish, you try to say to yourself, wandering away from the shore on your wobbly legs. A fish and nothing more. Mouth pressed together in a firm line, you go back inside the house. Every door needs to be locked, you decide, turning the deadbolt, then checking the windows for good measure. Once all is done, you storm up to Ruby’s room, knocking on the door loud enough to wake her up as you enter.

“Hmfff- what-”

“Ruby, what did you do?” You ask, voice strained with panic.

She sits up in bed, rubbing her eyes, shaking her head in confusion. “What?”

“The wood, Ruby, what did you do?”

It takes her a moment to process what you say, then look out the window to see the pile outside. Her eyes light up, which is the opposite thing you wanted to happen, because now you think you’re going insane. Or maybe she’s going insane. Or, the worst option, the both of you are going insane. With a shaking, deep breath, you ask, “Ruby. Ruby, baby, my sweet little sister, who is the boy in the water?”

“Him.”

You look down to where she’s pointing and feel your stomach drop. There is definitely… something down there, in the shape of a boy, no doubt, but even from the second floor you can see that something is very, very wrong. You clutch the rifle tighter, wishing that there is a limitless supply of bullets instead of the handful you have to last you until the end of time. With your hands trembling like a leaf in a hurricane, you open the window, trying to take aim with the fear that makes your vision fuzzy.

“Wait- what are you doing?” Ruby tires grabbing the barrel.

The image of accidently blasting her fingers off nearly makes you vomit, and you manage to detangle her hand from the trigger. “Ru-knock it off, I need to take care of it-”

“You can’t shoot him!” She wails, trying to grab the rifle again, but you manage to push her away with your knee. Her breath sucks in, though she looks more enraged than hurt. “Friends don’t shoot friends!”

“That’s not our friend, Ruby!” You grit your teeth, eyeing the creature with a panicked, weary gaze, think that any second now, its going to make a run for the door. Then you’ll both be toast. “It’s one of them.”

Ruby glares even harder. “No, he’s my friend, and he brought stuff to help because you’re too much of a coward to do anything!”

You don’t want to admit that her words manage to deal a bit of damage, and you especially don’t want to admit that it hurts that Ruby when looking for help elsewhere, and found it. Now you glare right back at her, then at the creature hanging out on the lawn. It's just… staring, vacantly, up in your general direction, not making even a breath of movement. You wonder what it’s thinking, it it thinks anything. Maybe it’s worried about its safety? The lack of emotions, though, doesn’t give you much to work with, and that might be the most unsettling part of it all.

But Ruby. Oh, Ruby. She doesn’t understand that those things kill and tear and eat people, especially little girls who can’t even keep up with the rest of the kids in her grade. You’ve tried protecting her from seeing the carnage, always sent her back inside when you saw a stray animal limping along the sand, making sure time and time again that she would never lay witness to the bloodbath only perfect predators can make. It seems, though, you’ve done too good a job, and now she doesn’t realize what they are, that they’re dangerous, terrifying, and always hungry, and she’s the one on the menu.

She’s not going to give up, though, you can see it in her eyes. A determination that you’re well familiar with is there, her mouth in a single line, her brow furrowed with frustration. If you don’t try to get control of the situation, she’s going to take it in her own hands and run with it, and god knows what will happen then. So you relent.

“Alright, fine,” you take a deep breath, shaking breath, trying to figure out just how you’re going to do damage control. “We’ll go down there, but I’m keeping the gun loaded and ready.”

“Bu-”

“No buts,” you close your eyes, trying to sort out your frazzled thoughts, “that’s non negotiable, Ruby, do you understand?”

Her lower lip wobbles for the barest second, before she nods.

“Alright,” another deep breath, “alright, let’s go meet your friend.”

You know that Ruby is beyond pissed off at you, especially since she refuses any help going down the stairs. Her cane makes a firm thunk, thunk, thunk against the wood, her eyes on the ground to look over the terrain and purposely ignore you. Without another word once she’s down the stairs with no incident, she heads straight to the front door, opening it wide open as though inviting that thing in to eat you.

Oh, it’s still there. Just chillin’. Standing over the shore with its hand around one of the wooden two-by-fours. You don’t even know what to think, so the parts of your brain that aren’t actively controlling your body movement shut down, your fingers almost spasming around the rifle. There’s no mistaking it, no accidently thinking it could be anything other than a twisted mutation, its wide smile revealing rows and rows of sharpened teeth. Black eyes stare emptily at you, then Ruby, the harsh facial expression softening slightly in the presence of your sister. Not to you, though, you can see its spine stiffen when it notices the very apparent gun in your hands. An immediate dislike, by the look of its expression as it gives you a once-over, though to be fair, you are aiming a weapon of mass destruction at the center of its torso.

Then Ruby walks over and hugs the damn thing, because of course she would do such a thing. The anxiety from merely that thing within biting distance of your sister feels like a hammer wacking at your chest and throat. It lets her go just before you get trigger happy, taking a generous step back as if obnoxiously signalling that it has no intention of harming her. You still don’t think the reassurance is good enough, and you also wish your damn hands would stop shaking.

“So,” god, you hope your voice isn’t wobbling, but you can’t be sure when your heartbeat is roaring in your ears, “how long have you two known each other?”

Ruby smiles a little too smugly for your liking. “A few days.”

“A few days,” you begrudgingly echo.

“Yeah,” she picks up one of the wooden beams, her legs slightly wibbling in a way that makes you worry, “I told him all about what winter is going to be like, I think he understands.”

“You think.” To be fair, the thing did show up with building materials that Ruby has been nagging for, so the fact the creature listened isn’t all that farfetched.

“We could use that plastic food wrap as a temporary fix.” Ruby is already strategizing, looking over what she has to work with. She is, unfortunately, the one who holds all the brain cells in the family, so she has the mental capacity to back up her ideas and plans. Her body trembles with the weight as she tries to lift the wood, but before you can rush to her side, the creature is there first. It takes the two-by-four from her hands in a smooth, fluid motion that doesn’t seem to startle her in the slightest.

“Thanks.” Ruby doesn’t huff or puff at the thing’s help, which would be a point in that thing’s favor if you trusted her judgement. Which, right now at least, seems mildly questionable.

“Ruby,” you let out an exasperated sigh, “you still haven’t had breakfast. Maybe you should eat something before we-” you wince at having to include the creature in your speech, “begin building.”

Ruby purses her lips, which means you’ve already taken the first step at convincing her to send that thing away just for another hour while you try to figure out how to handle this.

“After all, you know how you can get dizzy first thing in the morning when you haven’t had any food.”

She puts down one of the smaller boards she had been trying to pick up. “Alright,” she relents, and you try not to show how excited you are, “I’ll go inside and make breakfast while you two start on the greenhouse.”

Oh, ho ho ho, very clever, Ruby. She just checkmated you into a corner, and now you can’t offer to take her inside without taking eyes off the creature outside, neither of which you really want to do.

“Or,” she offers in an alternative, “my friend can come inside for breakfast.”

If she thinks that you’re just going to allow her to invite the creature into the house you have meticulously cared for just because she’s being difficult… she would be absolutely correct, unfortunately. And that’s how you find yourself sitting on the opposite side of a rectangular table from it. From this distance, you’re almost certain that the creature has baby blue scales brushed alongside a pair of gills that drill deep into his neck, much like a fish. This understandably distresses you, deeply, but you really can’t do anything to voice your worries with Ruby sitting right by your side, munching on some of the berries that grow along the house, chattering nonstop about her plans to turn this place into some high-tech paradise.

To the creature’s credit, it is a good listener. Actually, though, like Ruby had said before, you don’t think it can speak at all. The gash-like strikes in its neck are deep, it must affect its speaking somehow. Still, its nodding along to Ruby’s infinite list of demands, as though it somehow has access to a full hardware store stocked with things like solar panels and gas generators. You highly doubt that any of the stores have much left thanks to any looting that came with the announcement, but you don’t open your mouth to burst Ruby’s bubble. This has to be the most fun and interesting thing that has happened to her for the better part of a year, and you’d be loathed to end it.

You take a deep, calming breath, and drink some water. If only the thing had irises… or pupils, really, anything to tell you what it’s looking at, this might be less nerve-wracking. Every slight movement brings your hand back down to the rifle, so that thing has taken to move so very slowly, almost as if to mock your stress. You grit your teeth, though, and deal with it, because you don’t think its going to try gutting you or Ruby here at the dining table. At least, you certainly hope not. Actually, now that you think about it, do these things even eat humans? Sure, you’ve seen a few twisted infected take down whatever meat they can find, but you’ve never actually seen one of them… hurt a person.

It refuses the food that Ruby offers. Just holds its hand up and gives the lightest shake of the head in refusal, its palish blond hair still wet enough to stick to its head. She doesn’t take any offense, instead shoveling whatever is left into her mouth, and you have to resist reminding her not to talk while she’s chewing. After all, she isn’t a baby anymore, even though it’s difficult to remember that at times, so instead of voicing your opinions, you take a large bite out of tomato.

Ruby kicks you from under the table, and you snap out of your thoughts. She must have asked you something, but you can’t for the life of you remember what.

“Any suggestions?” Ruby says in deliberate slowness, you see that she’s resisting the eye-roll.

“I-” you’re trying to take this seriously, you really are, “not that I can think of at the moment.”

Ruby purses her lips, and gives an exasperated look over to her friend. “I’m sorry, he must be a little tired. My brother can be difficult at times.”

You’re the difficult one, Ruby, you want to clap back, but don’t for the sake of maturity.

But the creature laughs, which almost sends your soul crawling out of your skin. The laughter isn’t like… how someone might giggle if they were told a particularly funny joke, the sound is more like a gentle huff of air being forced out of its lungs. Maybe it isn’t actually laughing, and the lack of human contact outside of your little sister is beginning to drive you absolutely mad. The thing is smiling, though, that’s the kicker. It’s looking at your sister and smiling, and while you aren’t one hundred percent sure how you feel about that, shockingly, there isn’t a lot of suspicion on your part.

Once Ruby finishes eating, everyone just has to go back outside. You suppose that now, with the materials to build such a life-saving building, it must be constructed with all due haste. And you feel the urgency, too, so it’s not just Ruby who is driving everything by herself. Like an ancient, integral part of human instinct that knows winter is coming, even without an accurate calendar on hand, you have it blooming in your chest. Even though you don’t have any building experience, so long as Ruby watches over the project with her unusual gift in architecture, you have a bit of confidence that everything is going to be alright.

You work tirelessly, with Ruby micromanaging every single thing you do. Though, for whatever reason, it doesn’t bother you as much as it might have just a week ago. She is also doing a share of the work she can management hammering together little squares that will separate out the plants, her eyes glazed over with a feverish concentration whenever she isn’t judging your craftsmanship. She’s enjoying this, you think, letting a tense layer of anxiety slip away, she’s only ever had her garden. Human beings, after all, need change and projects to keep happy, and there hasn’t been much variety in the way of daily routines.

Letting your guard down is probably extraordinarily foolish, but you do so anyway. The thing isn’t so bad, you decide, watching the creature while it shows Ruby how to make sure the square is even and balanced, as though it somehow retained the information from whoever it was before the plague. Building the frame is grueling work, and while you begin to breathe a little heavier from the exhaustion biting through your muscles, that thing seems unbothered by it all. That makes sense, you supposed, since what little was known about the creatures before the blackout was that they are awfully strong. And fast. And relentless.

By the time the sun begins to sink beyond the treeline, not too much has been accomplished. It might be because no one but Ruby is giving out instructions, as she is the only one between you that has any prior building experience on account of that tree house she made over a year ago. Still, the haste that has poured into your veins is still there, thrumming beneath your skin, like your body has suddenly awoken from a deep slumber. Now you’re only ready to go, go, go, until everything is finished. Ruby, however, needs to sleep, and as long as you’re up, she’ll be up. So you watch her say goodbye to the creature by giving it a tight hug, before limping back into the house.

Even though you had let your guard down while you were building, you have it back up in full. The rifle is heavy in your hands as you watch it retreat back into the water, your mouth in a firm, thin line. It simply just… walks into the lake, not even bothering to try to keep its pale head above the surface like a fucking salamander or something. While you are thoroughly horrified by that, Ruby thinks it’s fascinating, and that’s her exact word to describe it as you try to put her to bed.

“The infection must mutate them to adjust to their surroundings!” She’s excitedly drinking her warm milk, courtesy of a late call to Morticia that almost got you a black eye. “Or maybe it tries to regress our DNA back to some kind of primeval source, like that Star Trek episode. Or, like- it could, like, bond your body to the nearest animals, though I don’t know how that would happen, just that it could make sense. Maybe-”

“Drink the rest of your milk, Ruby,” you say, feeling a tad bit sick to your stomach just listening to her talk. Not that listening to your sister speak exactly annoys you, no, it’s what she’s talking about that bothers you. Because if the one infected could somehow breath in both the water and land, how many others are like that?

How much danger have you put Ruby in without even knowing it?

You lock the doors, both of them. Place a wall of furniture in front of the ground floor windows. Ruby looks on with a look of half bemusement, half pity, her lips pursed as she takes another drink from her mug. You ignore her, checking once more to make sure that the rifle has enough bullets to… maybe pop off one or two heads with your god awful aim. It’s nothing near what you would hope for, but then again, nothing has been ideal since the city went dark.

Inevitably, you fall asleep on the living room couch, albei lightly. Every slight creak of the house sends you rocketing up, trying to decide in a split second if that dark, shapeless lump is one of the infected, or a pile of Ruby’s laundry that she has yet to put away. Somehow, through grit, determination, and adrenaline, you manage to make it through the night without accidentally blowing anything out of existence. That’s a plus. A downside is that you are absolutely exhausted, and want nothing more than to take the longest nap known to what’s left of humankind.

“You can totally do that,” Ruby says when you mention it at breakfast, “I’ll work on the greenhouse with my friend while you rest.”

“Not happening.” You don’t even hesitate. “And- look, Ruby, I don’t mean to be an absolute prick or anything-” she snickers at your profanity, and you continue without pausing, “but you can’t go hanging out with it-”

“Him.”

You let out a frustrated breath, but accept the correction just to get the conversation over with. “You can’t go hanging out with him without me.”

“Why not?”

“Because, it- he is dangerous.” You knew she wouldn’t let it go without a fight, but god, you wish she would, just this once. “Ruby, baby-”

“I’m not a baby.”

“Almost teenager.” You resist rolling your eyes, you need to set a good example. “Ruby, the almost teenager, that… that creature isn’t a person anymore. Yeah, he looks kind of human, but you saw him slither down into the water like a snake.”

She just stares at you, unmoving in her stance.

You sigh, the motion filled with frustration. “I just need you to promise me that you aren’t going to visit him without me, alright? That’s all I want. If you see him hanging around outside, get me. If you want to try calling for him or whatever, get me. I promise I’ll say yes every single time, just please, please promise me that you’re going to always remember to tell me that he’s here, alright?”

Her eyes narrow, and for a moment, you think she’s going to put up more of a fuss than she already has, but then she offers up a nod in agreement.

Your body relaxes slightly. “Alright, eat your breakfast, then we can keep working on the greenhouse.”

Ruby’s friend waits out on the porch, almost giving you a panic attack when you notice its slim form sitting on the cement. You don’t say anything, though, hoping that Ruby hadn’t just seen you jump into the ceiling like a startled rabbit, and continue about your morning like everything is one hundred percent normal. After all, it doesn’t look like you can regain control of the situation without allowing the creature too much power. You hope, though, as you cut up tiny pieces of tomatoes, that a creature with some kind of cognitive ability to remember how to properly level a building’s base might also hold the self-restraint required not to eat a family of two. Or, alternatively, it’s just not hungry enough.

Once Ruby finishes eating, she manages to stand with a wobble, wincing as her weight gets set on her legs even with the aid of her cane. That’s not a good sign, not at all, and your worry grows tenfold as you see her eye twitch in a silent admittance of pain.

“Is it bad today?” You ask, glancing down at her twig-like legs as though they could tell you that something is wrong.

“I’m going outside,” Ruby says, her voice hard as iron.

“That isn’t what I asked,” you respond, wishing that she wouldn’t act so stubborn when it came to her health. “Is the pain bad today?”

She shrugs non committedly. “It’s not as bad as it could be.”

Also not an answer, but, you suppose, it’s enough to figure out that her pain is just enough of a bother for her to dodge the question, yet not enough to put her in bed for the rest of the day. “You can come outside to be with your friend while we continue on the greenhouse,” you say, feeling just a tad generous, “but you have to sit the entire time and do nothing strenuous.”

“Fine,” she agrees, maybe a little too quickly, but it’s enough for you. Instead of simply opening the door for her, you pick her up, like a small baby, and carry her out into the yard to avoid straining her weak muscles further. Since she doesn’t offer up any word of protest, the pain must really be bothering her, which is awful. All you have are a few pills of a generic painkiller, but you’re trying to save them for the inevitability that one of you will be getting sick during the winter, so you have to seriously consider giving her a single pill.

Ruby’s little friend shows concern when you pass by him, still carrying her slim frame in your arms. With a tired, defeated voice, Ruby lets out a word in greeting, but doesn’t try explaining why exactly she’s not walking today. When you set her down on the little, cushioned bench overlooking the greenhouse project, she lets out a slight sigh of frustration.

“Rhubarb,” you say, and you hear her groan in exaggerated anger, “you know, when you were doing swim lessons at the Y twice a week, everything seemed better.”

She perks up slightly.

“Maybe,” god, you hate that you’re even suggesting this, especially after meeting with that thing only once before, “maybe your friend can take you out into the shallows for a little bit. The weather is still warm enough for a swim, maybe you’ll improve after a week or two.”

She seems a little too pleased with your idea, and you immediately regret it.

“Not now,” you amend, “only when your friend has earned my trust. That hasn’t happened yet.” Saying all of this while said friend is standing right beside you is a little awkward, but something you still manage to do with a straight face nonetheless.

Then you start working. Today seems a little more grueling than usual, the sun unabashed by clouds, the heavier frames of the greenhouse’s walls just a tad bit more than what you’re used to. Sure, you’re carrying Ruby around whenever her body gives out, but she’s as light as a feather, and the still-damp wood weighs as much as you’d expect hunks of building material would. You carry on, though, working through the fatigue that takes hold of your muscles, letting the creature help out without too much tension on your part. The day’s progress is far more visible than yesterday’s, with two of the walls ready to be placed onto the base.

Ruby had stated sometime before that plastic food wrap stuff might be acceptable in the short term, but you know that glass might be the only thing between you and death in the coming months. The plastic might break with the heavy snowfall, then an entire batch of food would be gone like a snap. Again, you think of canning, but you aren’t sure the progress you made in your first attempt is anywhere near acceptable. Or even food, anymore. So, even though it pains you to do so, you turn to Ruby’s buddy.

“You wouldn’t know how to get books over here without getting them too wet, do you?” You ask, trying to keep your voice from wavering too much, trying to look at him in those cold, empty eyes.

He turns to Ruby, who seems completely overwhelmed by the prospect of more books. “Oh! Oh, do you know Harry Potter? Artemis Fowl? What about Star Wars, the New-”

“Maybe we should focus on getting things like canning books first, Ruby,” you say, interrupting her excited list of all the books she never got to read. “Or construction books, and maybe some gardening books and maybe some more medicine.”

“Oh,” she deflates somewhat, but there’s still that spark in her eye that means this is not the end of the conversation, “I guess that’s a better idea, yeah. Can you get some gardening and canning books, August?”

It takes you a second to realize that she’s talking to the creature. “August?”

“It’s the month of August,” she says as though her reasoning is super obvious, “and he doesn’t remember his name.”

You purse your lips, but don’t argue. The creature doesn’t seem to mind, anyway, not even batting an eye at Ruby’s audaciousness in the slightest. Does he even care? “Alright,” you amend, slowly, “August, would you mind terribly making a brief run to a drugstore?”

He shrugs, the gesture so human that it takes you for a loop.

“That means yes,” Ruby translates.

You take a deep breath. “Alright, then, I suppose we have a lot of stuff to do tomorrow, then.”

A list begins to form in your head, a long one, of all the things you might be able to do now that you have the means. Canning, more extravagant gardening, maybe you can brew some alcohol for disinfecting and cleaning purposes. You don’t even have to worry about the validity of the creature’s supposed promises, because the next morning, he has a backpack full of books that had been sealed away by plastic bags. Which… that means that he’s clever, and that’s literally the exact opposite of what those news announcers had reported before the city went dark. That the infected are predators, sick mutations that have been reduced to the barest form of life, fueled by nothing but bloodlust. Maybe, just maybe, not all of the infected are like that. Maybe August isn’t completely infected, either, maybe the disease only partially spread through his body, twisting his physical form into something else but keeping his mental fortitude as strong as ever. Whatever the case is, you don’t think you can hate him anymore, especially since you might have to attribute you and Ruby’s survival to his help.

The canning books are going to save Ruby’s life, very literally, you think, because there’s a section on how to make sweetened condensed milk, and you are one thousand percent ready to try stocking up Morticia’s milk before she begins to decline in health. August has taken it upon himself to help you with the canning when it’s too dark to continue working on the greenhouse, and Ruby very politely informs you that you don’t get a choice in accepting his aid. So the two of you chug along, using the coal grill outside as a stovetop, boiling what little vegetables you have in order to sterilize them for long-term storage.

The schedule is a strange one over the next couple of days. You build the greenhouse during the day, and when you are either too exhausted to pull any more hours or the light is too dark to see, you begin the canning. August and Ruby both help with the daily tasks, and soon enough you find yourself getting used to the creature’s presence, enough so that you occasionally forget bringing out the rifle when you work. Not that it bothers you when you realize you’ve forgotten it, because August doesn’t at all seem to hold any of the same aggressions as his kindred. Also, with every visit, he brings something else with him that can be used to boost your lifespan. More books, like Ruby asked for, a box of dried pasta that only got marginally wet from the swim, and a fish that you think is probably edible that still wriggles in August’s hands as he holds it out in and offering.

Ruby usually falls asleep during the tailends of the canning sessions, and you honestly don’t blame her. The work as of recently has been rather grueling, and even though you know that exercise is good for her condition, everything has been a little over the moderate suggestion the doctor made at her last appointment, almost a year ago. But it is kind of awkward to have to deal with August on your own, without Ruby’s unending chatter to break his strange silence. You don’t mind, though, you guess that company is rather nice after not having it for as long as you have, even if he is rather stoic in conversation and barely offers up a shrug or nod in response to any questions you might have.

Once you pick your sister up and carry her to her room, August goes ahead and silently excuses himself by walking into the lake. You wonder if he has some kind of home or nest down there, or if he sleeps on the slimy rocks the same way you and Ruby slept on the cold forest floor when the evacuation had first begun. It makes you feel a bit bad for him, even though August seems wholly unbothered by it. Still, after all his help, you decide that you’re going to at least play the part of grateful host and give him another option just as a suggestion.

“So,” you say, once Ruby is tucked away in her bed upstairs, “I know that you, um, live in the water. Or maybe you don’t, and I just making some baseless assumptions here.”

August blinks at you, two clear eyelids sliding sideways.

“Anyways, um, Ruby really likes you a lot.” You feel your face heating up just a bit. “And I’ve come to appreciate your help as well. I’m sorry about waving a gun around in your face.”

He shrugs his shoulders, as if brushing off the apology with understanding. You suppose that’s a sign of forgiveness, or at least, you hope so, and continue on.

“Anyways, I don’t know where exactly you go at night, but I just want you to know that you don’t have to. Go, that is.” You try to wrack your brain for some better wording you can use, because right now everything seems light and fuzzy. “There’s another bedroom you can have, it’s right upstairs next to mine. Or, if you’re an outside person, you can take some blankets and chill out in the yard. Whatever you feel like doing.”

You realize then that August is smiling, his shark-like teeth shining in the moonlight.

“And you don’t have to say yes now, you can decide later if you would rather not go back if we are especially late with the work, so the invitation is open.” You don’t want to maintain eye contact, but you decide to offer up one last reason for him to stay. “And I’d like it if you spend the night, so.”

August places a single hand on your shoulder. Still smiling, he offers up a nod.

“Oh,” you feel a bit of relief bubble up through your body, as well as a different kind of anxiety filling up your veins, “Good. Great. I’ll get your room ready, then.”

He arches his eyebrows.

“Or,” you say, “I guess the alternative is that you share my room. That guest room is kind of drafty, after all, I wouldn’t want to put any guests at risk of… um, a cold-”

August kisses you, and you think your world is about to go black. Or explode. Or something, because this is the best thing that has ever happened to you ever, and the apocalypse can go fuck itself because everything is fine.

“My bedroom it is, then.”

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