Twinkies and Peaches // Wallace & Elias
The longer he went without Connor, without Weston, the worse it got. The feeling became worse without one or the other – stronger, more uncontrollable, just as Weston had predicted. With Connor, Elias had felt like the sensation was unnecessary, easy to ignore, controllable. With Weston, it was under control. He could stop himself, he could hold on to the feeling until Weston gave him another assignment. He didn’t have to kill.
But Weston, for an inexplicable reason, had changed the date until the next time they saw each other, until the next assignment and the next possibility for Elias to release the feelings he had in bloodlust. For now, he was on his own. Simon had been acting distant and strange, and the further he got, it seemed, made Elias feel more and more alone. Coupled with that, his stomach felt awful, heat flashes and cold chills driving worry further into his mind. If he could just ignore it, maybe it would go away. But if he was getting sick, wouldn’t it have been better to tell Simon? Still, the drive had become uncontrollable.
He had to take care of it himself. He had to kill freely.
Most survivors would wander at some time to a grocery store, often times ones who were less than competent in other fields. Shotgun in hand, he had crept slowly into the building, glass crunching underfoot, and silence met him. Hiding behind the counter, he had listened, watching through the glass display case. An older man had entered, and slowly, Elias’s brow furrowed.
He’d never killed anyone over thirty. What was it like, he wondered, to watch the life drain out of an older person? Was there more acceptance? Was there a more vibrant fear?
Silent, watching him, Elias felt a clutch in his chest at the sight of the walker. How dare it take his prey, he thought, how dare it take from him what he needed! And yet, he watched the man take care of the walker just as easily as a younger man. Impressive.
Maybe he’d be a pleasant challenge. Elias wanted to feel the adrenaline again.
Standing slowly, aiming the shotgun at the other’s head, he licked his lips, voice slow and even.
“Turn around. I want to watch your face.”
After the dead one was no longer moving Wallace grabbed the basket again, intending to go about his business before a voice made him halt. The voice told him more than the words did, a younger voice, hungry sounding, a decent distance away, an accent that didn't belong in Kuwait. He didn't know what the other boy was packing, but he'd find out here in a second. No way in fuck was he taking orders from this jackass.
Wallace moved in the blink of an eye, falling to the right on his knees in a sliding motion, the small aisle shelves now blocking him from view. Whether or not Elias was actually shooting at Wallace now, Wallace heard shooting. It was the battlefield all over again, he was stranded out in the middle of fucking nowhere, nothing but old stone ruins to protect him from the bullets, his enemies countless. It was hotter than satan's asscrack. Where the fuck was his backup?
Wallace raised himself just enough to see his target and fired off two shots before going back down and army crawling behind the next aisle over. Checked how many bullets he had, nine, he had two other clips, one in either pocket. A decent amount of bullets but he was outnumbered, how the fuck was he supposed to get out of this? He refused to die in this shithole.
