Chapter Text
Damon hadn’t seen another living person in two days.
Not one that wasn’t rotting, anyway.
The Interstate stretched endlessly before him, sun-bleached and cracked like the back of some ancient beast. Every mile east pulled him closer to what should be home—closer to something that might still resemble safety, family, or even a memory worth keeping. But right now, it was just him, a worn-out backpack, a blood-smeared hatchet, and the guttural groans that echoed behind every half-wrecked car he passed.
He didn’t stop for much anymore. Not for gas stations. Not for food unless he was starving. Definitely not for sounds. He had learned all of this the hard way these past few weeks.
Which is why he almost kept walking when he heard it: a shrill, human scream. Just one. Sharp and cracking at the edges like it didn’t even believe it deserved to be loud.
His feet paused anyway. Goddammit.
Damon exhaled through his teeth, gripped the hatchet tighter, and stepped off the road toward the noise.
⸻
He found the boy half-collapsed behind a tipped-over vending machine, curled up with both hands around a kitchen knife he clearly had no idea how to use. He had a black pullover on that was torn in several places, dyed pink hair greasy and unkept from over two weeks without shower, and a smear of blood across his cheek that looked like it wasn’t his.
There were two of them—infected, that is. Slow ones. Damon made quick work of the first, shoving it down and splitting its skull with a practiced swing. The second turned toward the sound, but it was already too late. Damon crushed its head against the concrete, grimacing as the axe head stuck for half a second before he yanked it free.
Silence returned in its sickly, oppressive way.
And the boy was still there, breathing like a cornered rabbit.
“You good?” Damon asked, not unkindly but without wasting time on softness. His voice was low, calm, and vaguely annoyed—like he hadn’t just saved someone’s life, like he did this every week.
The other blinked up at him. “I—I—uh—”
Damon raised an eyebrow. “Okay. Not dead. Good enough.”
He started to walk away.
But then came the voice again, small and cracking. “w-Wait!”
Damon turned slightly, catching the full image now as he sat up—gangly limbs, wide terrified eyes, a posh outfit once considered trendy, half-covered in dirt and more dried blood. The name tag still hanging off the lanyard around his neck said Kai Monteago.
“…Please don’t leave me.”
And there it was. The part Damon hated.
Because he remembered what it felt like—the first week. The quiet. The loss. The way every sound made your pulse stutter. He didn’t even know how long this Kai had been alone, but he could see it; this kid wasn’t going to last the night.
Damon sighed, thinking for a moment.
“Can you walk?” he asked, breaking the silence.
Kai nodded too quickly.
“Then keep up. I’m not stopping for you.”
Kai scrambled to his feet, nearly tripping over the knife still clenched in his hand.
⸻
They walked mostly in silence.
Correction: *Damon* walked in silence.
Kai did this thing where he tried to stay quiet, then got nervous about being quiet, then filled the air with the first thing that popped into his head. He’d whisper to himself when Damon didn’t respond, like he could trick his brain into thinking this wasn’t just the worst road trip of all time.
“So, Mr. Mysterious Quiet Guy… what’s your name?”
“Damon.”
“Okaaay, Damon…” A grin tugged at the other boy’s face. “I’m Kai. Maybe you’ve heard of me?”
Silence.
“C-Come on. Kai Monteago? Something of an artist, something of an entrepreneur… he’s an influencer. A really big influencer!”
Damon sighed. “Nope. Doesn’t ring a bell.”
Kai looked hurt. Really offended. His smile dropped, he even started sniffling for god’s sake, mumbling something about how it was possible, apparently, to lose even more faith in humanity after the apocalypse.
Damon stared off somewhere else entirely, already tuning him out.
His sniveling wasn’t too much of a liability, but it irritated him all the same. He decided it then: the first chance he got without it weighing too heavily on his conscience, he would leave this momentary distraction behind.
⸻
On the second day, when he tripped over a branch and squeaked out, “I meant to do that,” Damon nearly ditched him right then and there.
“Look,” Damon said, not stopping, “if you’re trying to get killed, that’s fine. But do it after I’m out of earshot.”
Kai flinched. “I wasn’t trying to—”
“Then shut up.”
It was the longest sentence Damon had spoken since they’d left town. Kai looked down in defeat, rubbing one hand with the other like it had been physically cut by the debater’s words. Damon looked away from the miserable sight.
Silence was easier for him. He could think clearer. About more important things, like getting back home. What he’d do after he found his family. How proud they’d be to know he made it back to them safe on his own. How they’re not dead.
The morning stretched on, Kai struggling but not quite failing to keep up.
But by midday, Kai was lagging.
Damon noticed it immediately. His uneven steps, the way Kai’s breathing started to hitch when the road sloped upward. He ignored it.
It didn’t matter that someone was walking behind him now. He wasn’t responsible. If Kai tripped or froze or made a bad call on his own, Damon could still leave.
He didn’t slow down.
A few minutes passed. His breaths got heavier.
“Hey,” Kai said, voice strained. “Um—Damon?”
No response. He knew what was coming.
“I—I think we need to slow down. Just a little.”
Damon didn’t turn when he responded.
“No.”
Kai started heaving extra loud now, definitely playing it up. “Pleaseeee…”
“If we walk too slow, the infected are bound to catch up by night,” Damon said flatly. “If you want to take a nap right now, be my guest, but don’t expect me to be here when you wake up.”
“I’m not asking for a nap,” Kai insisted, breath shallow now. “Just like—a short rest! I can’t—I’m not built like you. You walk so fast…”
Damon turned on him then, irritation flashing hot and sudden. “You think this is some kind of leisurely stroll? I’m not doing this because I like it.”
Kai flinched.
“I didn’t say—”
“I just have places to be is all,” Damon continued, voice sharp. “You wanted to come with me. This is what that means.”
Kai looked down at his shoes, chest heaving. “Geez, I’m trying,” he said quietly. “I really am.”
For a second, Damon looked like he might turn and leave anyway.
He stared down the road ahead. The same reason he stopped to help Kai in the first place was the only reason keeping his feet planted here.
Then he exhaled through his nose, jaw tight.
“Twenty minutes,” he said. “Sit down and drink water. Then we move.”
Kai looked up. “R-really?”
Damon had already looked away. “Don’t make it a habit, or I really will leave you.”
Kai sank down onto the highway’s guardrail, hands trembling as he gulped from his bottle. Damon didn’t care to watch, just standing around, eventually making a point of tapping his foot impatiently. But he didn’t walk away.
⸻
After they resumed, Damon found himself scanning the tree line reflexively, hand hovering near the hatchet at his side. No movement. No jittery voices. Just a faint rustle as the wind dragged leaf litter across the road and the distant smell of something that burned into the soil weeks ago and never left.
It was easier when the road stayed familiar. Cracked pavement, dead cars, the occasional smear that meant someone hadn’t been as lucky. All of it fit into a pattern he understood now. Predictable. Manageable.
When he finally put his focus back on the two of them, he noticed the road ahead dipped slightly, then disappeared altogether.
Damon stopped so abruptly Kai nearly walked straight into his back, his mumbled rambling coming to a halt.
“What’s the ma—oh.”
The road didn’t just dip, it ended—leaving a crater in its wake. Torn away like something had scooped the earth out with a careless hand. The heat-hazed air wavered above it, carrying a sharp, metallic smell that made Damon crinkle his nose.
It was deep enough that you couldn’t see the bottom without stepping closer, and wide enough to fit a house. The edges were jagged, blackened, glassy in places where the ground had melted and cooled sharply. Shards of twisted metal and rock jutted up from the center, half-buried, half-exposed. Anything that had been there before—cars, signs, people—was gone. Reduced to scorched fragments and dust pressed deep into the earth.
Damon had seen sites like this before. Everyone had, if they’d survived this long.
That didn’t make it easier.
His chest went tight anyway, breath shallow. He didn't need to look back to know Kai felt it, too. It wasn't panic, but a cold, shared recognition settling between them. They both knew what places like this meant.
Damon stepped closer to the edge, careful where he placed his feet. The ground near the rim sloped steeply inward, unstable. The burnt smell became exponentially worse.
Kai hovered a few steps back, arms wrapped around himself. “We… we can go around it, right?” he asked quietly.
Damon nodded once. “Yeah.”
They circled the crater slowly, giving it a wide berth. Every tree they leapt over was knocked flat, flung outwards as if reaching toward the horizon. Damon kept his gaze moving, half-expecting something to crawl out of the pit, even though he knew better. These places were always empty. Whatever happened here left nothing behind that could get back up.
As they walked, Damon felt it again—that old, familiar fear, buried under routine and grit. Not of dying… but of how easily the world erased things. Roads. Cities. People. Futures.
Kai glanced into the crater once and immediately looked away, pinching his nose.
"The sbell is awful... it's burdig my dose… Uuu…"
Damon didn’t blame him. He didn’t look again either.
They eventually found an intact part of road on the other side, narrower now, warped by heat but still pointing east. Damon stepped onto it first, testing the ground, then kept walking like nothing had happened.
After a moment, Kai followed, quietly resuming his mumbling, much to Damon’s dismay.
The crater stayed behind them, silent and patient, waiting for the next traveler who thought the road would always be there.
⸻
That night they found a gas station with the front half burned down. Even though they were in the middle of nowhere, the place had still been mostly cleared out of food and drinks.
Damon let out a dry snort. “Whoever raided this place did a sloppy job.”
He moved with practiced efficiency, slipping a few AA batteries out of the counter’s computer mouse, unhooking the bungee cords that held a long-dead slushee machine together, and pulling the first-aid kit from an untouched defibrillator on the wall. As he worked, there was a glint of quiet satisfaction in his eyes—he was good at this. Making do. Picking scraps from a world that no longer existed.
Meanwhile, Kai had his nose pressed to the glass of an empty hot dog warmer, fogging it slightly with his breath.
“You know, I used to love doing this,” he murmured. “The food always smelled amazing, and the glass was warm… but now it’s just cold. Hahah…”
He paused, then asked, “Did you have a favorite gas station food?”
No answer.
Kai glanced over, but the blonde was busy poking his head around behind the register.
The back still had all its windows in tact and a lockable door, which counted as luxury these days.
“Cmon. We don’t find decent places to sleep often.”
Damon took first watch, sitting cross-legged while he sliced up the cloth of various clothes with tacky tourist slogans that were strewn about. Kai curled up in the corner with his shirt pulled over his face, arms wrapped tight around himself. His pullover was thrown in a heap to the side of him.
He didn’t fall asleep for a long time. Damon noticed. He didn’t say anything.
The hours passed quietly. An occasional voice, hoarse and decayed, could be heard from the outside, but as long as they kept quiet it would pose no threat to them. Damon stayed by the door, back pressed against the wall, a rusted utility knife between his knee and the floor for easy reach. His fingers moved methodically, pulling thread through fabric in clean, neat stitches.
He’d found a usable sewing kit in a janitor’s cart earlier, feeling like he had won the jackpot. First he fixed his own clothes, using the cloth he’d cut up to make patches where the tears were too big to mend. Once he’d done all he could, looking himself over, he noticed Kai’s pullover, the huge claw-shaped gashes visible in the moonlight, which he’d tried to fix with masking tape.
Damon reluctantly reached for it. He peeled the tape off with a grimace and whispered, “*Moron*.”
The needle glinted between his fingers, sliding in and out of the fabric with practiced care.
Kai stirred, grumbling something incomprehensible, before his eyes cracked open. He blinked a few times, disoriented, then pushed himself up on one elbow.
He froze.
“…Are you sewing?”
Damon didn’t look up. “Mhm.”
Kai stared, brow furrowed. “But like—*you* sew?”
That did it.
Damon’s hands paused. Just for a second. Then he gave a small, slow exhale through his nose, like someone trying very hard not to punch drywall. “What is that supposed to mean?”
Kai sat up straighter. “Nothing! I just… I didn’t expect it. I mean, you’re usually so—” He waved vaguely in Damon’s direction. “You know. Broody. Mysterious. Scary guy with an axe. Sewing doesn’t exactly... seem like something you’d do.”
Damon’s eyes flicked up, narrowed and unimpressed. “Well, at least I’m not holding my last defense against infection together with painter’s tape.”
It suddenly became clear to Kai that it was his own sweatshirt that was being sewn.
“I’m only fixing this for you because it’s more of a danger to me if you’re not protected,” The blonde made sure to get in before the other could say anything.
Kai held up both hands, sheepish. “Okay, okay. I’m not judging. I swear. I just—where’d you even learn?”
Damon went back to stitching, his voice clipped. “My mom. In Japan, I thought it was a basic life skill. Didn’t realize I’d have to justify it to a grown man with holes in his clothes.”
“I didn’t exactly have other options,” Kai protested, hands at his chest. “Wait, your mom taught you? That’s kinda… sweet.”
Damon huffed. He tied off the last knot, bit through the thread with his teeth, and tossed the newly patched sweater at Kai’s chest.
Kai caught it, blinking. The tear was gone. The seam was tight and clean, almost invisible.
“I—wow. This is way better than tape,” he said, clearly awed.
“Revolutionary insight,” Damon deadpanned, already turning away. “Now go back to sleep.”
Kai snorted, but lay back down, pulling the repaired sweater over himself like a blanket.
“…Thanks,” he said quietly.
Damon looked away.
⸻
By the third morning, Kai finally cracked.
“Why are you going east?” he asked suddenly, voice hoarse. “Like—like what’s even over there?”
Damon didn’t answer right away. He finished lacing up his steel-toed boots, methodically adjusting the straps on his backpack, wrapping the thick line of patched-together cloth he called a scarf comfortably around his neck for protection. Only when he was prepared did he respond, flatly:
“Trenton.”
“Ooh. Is he your boyfriend? Or…”
He shot him a glare. “The city. New Jersey. East coast.”
Kai blinked, rubbing the back of his neck. “…You’re risking your life for New Jersey?”
“I have family there.” Damon stood, slinging the hatchet over his shoulder. “They need me.”
Kai was quiet. They walked a few more minutes before he added, “My family’s probably still in Arizona. We—we had a plan. If stuff got bad, we were gonna meet at my uncle’s farm. I just… I didn’t make it.”
Damon didn’t react at all, just kept walking.
“Then why not go back?”
Kai glanced up at him. “What?”
“You’re not that far from Arizona. You could go back. Or find someone heading that way. If they’re still alive, they might be waiting. …Mine would be.”
Kai’s lips pressed together. “I was alone for ten days. I—I don’t think they’re waiting anymore.”
“But surely they’d be looking. I mean, my parents—”
“They’re not.” He snapped, a little more forcefully than Damon had ever heard him before.
“Besides, I couldn’t stay in a town like that forever. Especially not someone like me… hah…” Kai tacked on a forced chuckle.
Damon didn’t respond. Just nodded once, a mechanical gesture, like he’d filed the information away in the same mental drawer as what he had for breakfast. He tried not to care. Odds were, he wouldn’t be seeing the boy for much longer. Eventually Kai would vanish—find someplace to hide, or maybe just lie down one day and stop getting back up—and Damon would keep moving east, alone, just like always.
⸻
They hadn’t gone far when the wind died down, yielding to a different sort of noise.
Damon stopped mid-step, hand tightening around the hatchet handle.
“What—”
“Quiet.”
The sound came again. Gurgling. Dragging. Too close.
Three infected staggered out from between the abandoned cars ahead. One appeared to have its arm burnt off, another with its jaw hanging wrong, blood smeared around its mouth—likely from a previous victim, probably the only reason the group was moving as fast as it was.
“Daaaamonnnn…?” Kai whispered, panic sharp in his voice.
“Stay still,” Damon ordered, already moving.
The first one lunged. Damon ducked, swung low, and felt the impact travel up his arms as bone split. He barely had time to wrench the blade free before the second came at him sideways, fingers scraping his jacket. He swore under his breath and kicked it back, boots skidding on gravel. He tackled it to the ground and went for the neck, kicking its loose head across the pavement in Kai’s direction.
Kai screamed.
Big mistake.
The third one jerked toward both of them, drawn to the sound. Kai was shoved out of the way so hard he fell. Damon spun to meet it, but the thing was faster than he expected. It slammed into him, driving him hard against the rusted shell of a sedan. His hatchet slipped from his grip and clattered underneath the car.
“Shit!” Damon shouted.
For one useless second, Kai froze.
Then his eyes landed on the hatchet.
The infected clawed for Damon’s throat, bloody teeth snapping inches from his face. Damon braced against it, muscles straining, shoes sliding on gasoline-slick pavement.
Kai lunged, dropping to his knees, reaching beneath the car as the infected shoved Damon harder into the metal. His fingers scraped uselessly against asphalt, once, twice—
Then closed around the handle.
He scrambled up, gripping the hatchet with both hands, copying the memory of how the other had held it a moment ago.
“Damon, watch out!”
Damon twisted sideways at the last second.
Kai swung.
The blade buried deep into the infected’s shoulder, enough to make it shriek and stagger off balance.
It wasn’t a clean hit, but it was enough.
Damon groaned from the pain but didn’t hesitate, surging forward instantly, driving his utility knife into its temple. Then again. And again—until the thing stopped moving. The silence afterward rang louder than the fight.
Damon stood there breathing hard, shoulders tense, waiting to see if more would come.
Nothing.
He turned slowly.
Kai was sitting on the ground, hands shaking so badly the hatchet clattered out of his grip.
“…You okay?” Damon asked.
Kai nodded too fast. “Y-yeah. I think. I—I didn’t—”
Damon snatched his weapon back. “Don’t scream, unless you’re trying to die.”
Kai swallowed. “Okay.”
Damon grabbed his arm, attempting to lift him to his feet. Kai was heavier than him, so it was a struggle. The pink-haired boy stumbled, his shoes catching on the uneven ground as he found his footing. He didn't look at the body behind them; he only looked at Damon’s hand, grip tight yet somehow gentle all the same.
The blonde nodded back, restraining himself from criticizing the other any further, as if it was enough to thank him for saving his life.
Without another word, he pushed him toward the tree line of the highway, Kai tailing, leaving the silence of the woods to swallow the mess they’d made.
⸻
Later that afternoon, Kai was scrubbing at a dried bloodstain on his undershirt with the heel of his palm. It wasn’t his blood, which somehow made it worse. He looked pale, jittery, and more exhausted than usual—like his nerves were fraying at the edges and unraveling fast.
He wasn’t the best fighter, that was clear. Now that he had Damon, he should’ve been grateful… But it only made him more anxious. Damon was so much better at this surviving thing, so much steadier, like he was built for this kind of world. Kai was just… extra weight. Dead weight. Why couldn’t he get it together? Why did he always fall apart at the worst times? If he could just shut up, stop crying, stop acting like a helpless kid, he’d be less of a bother. It’s not like it’s the end of the world… figuratively speaking… but still. He should just grow up already. Being clumsy may have worked for him in the past, but with his fans gone—his friends—gone... there was no room left for someone like him in this world.
Kai looked like he was going to rub a hole into his shirt. After a few fruitless minutes, he gave up with a soft groan and tried to distract himself.
“So, uh…” he started, voice forced into something vaguely cheerful, “what did you do before all this? I mean, I know your family’s in Jersey, but that’s pretty far from here, you know? We’re not exactly around the corner. I guess I was just kinda wondering what brings someone like you out here walking down an interstate in Utah. Hahah…”
Damon figured an answer might shut him up.
“University,” he muttered. “Eden’s Garden Academy, maybe you’ve heard of it. I’m a student there.
…
*Was* a student there.” He corrected himself with a finality that only the end of the world could bring about.
Kai perked up slightly at the name. “Whoa, seriously? That school for really talented students, right? You got an invite too?” He sat up a little straighter, momentarily forgetting the stain.
Hearing that ‘too’ actually piqued Damon’s interest. His school was the kind you didn’t just apply to; You had to be invited. He looked the boy up and down again. Nervous wreck, no sense of when to stop talking. How could he be on the same level as him?
…not that it mattered anymore. It was a comparison made on a system of measurement that no longer existed.
Kai enthusiastically kept going. “What were you going for? I was—well, I hadn’t declared yet, but I was scouted for my social media work. I like being an influencer. Marketing, digital stuff. I used to run a few Picstagram accounts, actually, before I got this really big deal with StellaDolla. It was—well, it doesn’t matter.”
“It doesn’t,” Damon agreed.
Kai deflated. “…Cool.”
Damon decidedly didn’t mention that he’d been a top debater. That it was the one thing he’d been truly proud of—how sharp he was, how he could dismantle an argument with precision, how professors said he had the makings of a great politician.
Didn’t say that now, in a world without structure or rules, knowing how to win an argument meant exactly jack shit.
He just kept walking.
