It's 4:03 and I cant sleep. Without you next to me I toss and turn like the sea.
-Shinedown, If Only You Knew

Dan

I wonder what time it is.

It's quiet under the willow. Phil probably fell asleep hours ago, he's completely dead to the world, lying on his back with his blankets bunched around him as I silently slip my way under the overhanging branches, stepping past him and settling myself onto the grey down comforter a few feet away. He's breathing softly and evenly, and I feel somewhat comforted knowing that he's at ease. That makes one of us.

My mind feels weird and numb after the events of the night. I hadn't meant to cry in front of Phil. I'm so angry at myself about that, even now when it's hours later. I don't cry, ever. Up there with letting all my true feelings be expressed plainly on my face and showing affection, crying makes me feel way too weak and way too vulnerable. Doing any of these things shows that you can't take care of yourself and makes you dependent on that person that you choose to share them with.

I know Phil's worried about me, it's maddening. I don't want him to feel like he needs to take care of me, we're not a married couple. So much that when Marzia called out asking for someone to help with the watch, I'd spoken up immediately. Because as little as I'd wanted to spend the next several hours with one of the strangers that basically abducted us, I just couldn't stand to be around him right then. I didn't want to see the sympathy on his face, it would only upset me again and I might say something that would hurt him.

I'd like to pretend none of it happened. I was just so angry, I felt like this whole mess had been my fault. Why did I do something so stupid in that old farmhouse? If it weren't for me, Cat and Phil wouldn't have nearly been killed by a zombie mob and the group would never have found us. I suppose it's a good thing that they turned out to be all right, my friends are safe now and even relatively happy. But it doesn't cancel out the fact that any trouble that's arisen recently seem directly centered around me. Mark made that clear enough, and I think that's what finally pushed me over the edge.

I started to second guess everything I thought I knew, questioning whether my friends, Phil in particular, actually cared about me, or if they just felt a responsibility to me. We'd been incredibly close back in the normal days, but once the world we knew was gone forever, there was a shift in our relationship, one he may not have noticed but I definitely couldn't ignore. Because it wasn't about just mundane, silly things like late night Skype calls and deep conversations about the meaning of life anymore. Now our relationship with one another was literally life and death, which I always thought would just make us closer but today made me wonder, what if I'm just a burden to him?

And hell if I know why it suddenly mattered so much, but it did. And that's why I found myself actually sobbing, clinging to Phil like a lifeline. I'm embarrassed now, looking back on how unlike me my reaction to the whole situation was. Something about another person confirming your deepest, darkest fears made it seem that much more real, and I craved the validation that this notion was ridiculous. I promised myself I wouldn't let it happen again, shame welling in me even as I accepted his support, taking the first opportunity I could to get away from him.

Which brings me to the hours that just passed with Marzia and I on the watchtower.

I hadn't expected too much out of it. At first, it went just as I'd thought it would, actually. Marzia tried to talk but wasn't persistent when I refused, and so we'd sat in silence and at a distance from each other. I would have been fine to remain this way for the consecutive hours that followed. It's not like we were close, and anyway I was still angry at everyone and at myself. I don't like initiating conversations to begin with, so sitting silently was just fine by me and I didn't worry myself at all. Which is why I was caught completely off guard when it didn't stay that way at all.

She wasn't rude or pushy, she didn't even bring up my conflict with them, specifically Mark. Instead she just talked to me, asking me about little things in my life and talking about herself in return. We'd talked about my trouble with people, and I learned that she too struggles with being able to express her real self to others, partly because people are difficult and partly because, like they do with me, nobody takes her seriously. They only see the surface and don't bother looking deeper, content to be ignorant.

She told me about her friends and I talked about mine. She only ever broke boundaries once, to unknowingly reassure me about the most predominant fear in my life at the moment, the fear that I was a danger to my friends and that they secretly felt they'd be better off without me. She'd gotten really aggressive about it, forcing me to look her right in the eye and insisting she could see so much more between me and Phil than that. There was absolutely no way to see that coming.

You should see the way Phil looks at you! Every time you're stressed or distracted he's looking at you. He doesn't care about anything else. You mean the world to him, even I see it and Felix was telling me that too. He considers you to be like a part of his inseparable team, I'll bet you anything, and if someone like him thinks of you that highly then maybe you should be thinking it too.

I glance over at Phil now, glad he's asleep and unaware that I'm allowing myself such a prolonged stare at his slack face. Could what she'd said really be true? Does he really look at me that often, reminding himself over and over again that I'm okay, that I'm there? I simply cannot fathom it, how a person as shitty as me mean that much to anybody. I know I'm his best friend, but for the life of me I can't imagine him doing it. It's not something I can easily wrap my head around, but then again when it comes to people I've never been that good anyway. It makes me feel strange, a funny flutter in my stomach at the possibility. I don't know what it means, and I can't decide if I like it or not and seek a distraction, focusing right on his face now instead of just the general mass of his being.

His black hair is a total mess, skewed left and right in sticking up strands all over his forehead, quite a bit longer than it had been back when we'd been in London but perfectly straight to the point of unnatural,  incredibly annoying for someone like me whose hair is determined to be the polar opposite.

I absently rake my hands through the soft, springy ringlets on top of my own head, my hair having gone full hobbit a long time ago. He lets out a huff of breath in sleep next to me, pulling the comforter more securely around himself while I just watch. He looks so pale in the moonlight, and he's always been pale anyway. He's so relaxed, so fragile and innocent looking when he's like this. I frown a little when I notice dark circles under his eyes. I thought he'd gotten enough sleep recently, but the stress in his face says otherwise. I wonder what kept him up.

Usually it's me who's being jerked unceremoniously from sleep, my mind diseased with vicious nightmares. There's nothing anyone can do about them, I just have to accept that sleeping will always be like this. I think Phil believes it's kind of the same recurring thing every night. I've never gone into detail with him about it, so I can't expect him to know or understand. But it's not. Each dream is always a little different, there's only one thing that stays constant in every single one:

They always end in complete darkness, then falling. No matter how many times it happens, I always feel my heart constrict in fear and my body go limp, suddenly feeling the sensation of a drop and falling through space, unable to see anything and too afraid to scream.

I always wake up with my heart racing, and more than once I've cried out despite myself and woken Phil too. I can't say for sure why I find them so unnerving but I do, and it doesn't help that the dreams tacked on to them, the ones that come before the inevitable fall, are always bad. I don't have to isolate one in my head because there's just too many to recall, and I don't want to do that.

Although, the strangest thing happened last night. I don't really remember what the dream itself was about other than the abstract.

I was in some kind of hospital, and I don't think it was a real one because the interior looked like a cross between the one in Manchester and the hallway leading to Phil's apartment. I was already nervous, searching for something I think, something that was eluding me. I was wandering around a big empty infirmary with several rows of beds, searching for the unknown thing, when all of a sudden darkness began spreading out from all corners of the room and I felt that familiar dread in my stomach, even in sleep fully aware of what was coming.

The darkness took its time, slowly engulfing me and closing me in as I squeezed my eyes shut, willing the feeling to go away. It even had a sound, a low hissing like steam, the sound reverberating as it surrounded me. The dark tendrils were like arms wrapping around me, cold and choking even though I could push my arm straight through it.

Then the floor gave way, and I was falling, down and down, hurtling at terrifying speed. A small sound of terror escaped my lips and I reached out wildly for something, anything to help me, to slow me down. Even though I dream this every night I always flail as I'm falling like somebody else is there. I know it's hopeless, but the anticipation of eventual impact has me filled with desperation.

But this time, the impact never came.

Instead I felt the sensation of a warm, strong hand slipping its way into mine and holding tight, and suddenly the darkness vanished and I wasn't falling anymore. I couldn't see the owner of the hand or anything else for that matter, but my fearful dark world had been replaced by one of color and light, even if it was blurry and cloudy it felt warm and safe. I couldn't see or feel much, all that registered was a kind voice echoing gently, saying "It's okay, hey? It's not real, Dan. Just a nightmare."

And then a deep contentment washed over me. I held back, tethering myself and seeing the light-world slide into clearer focus, my heart rate calming and warmth spreading from the point of contact. Eventually the hand let go, leaving me alone, but I felt okay, like I could stay in that place for a while.

Thinking back on it, it's such a bizarre turn of events for my sleep to take. I slept through the whole night last night, the warm, fuzzy dream lasting the remainder of the morning until the sun started to stream into the barn, opening my eyes and promptly followed by Cat waking me up fully with a series of irritating pokes. I guess one good dream in hundreds isn't exactly out of the ordinary, and I don't linger on it too long now, not when I'll eventually tire and have to face the next nightmare tonight. Whatever happened, I'm not expecting the good to repeat itself.

I sigh, really not in the mood to attempt to close my eyes yet. With my luck, some psychoanalysis would probably reveal a deep-set yearn for intimacy, a need for protection and support or something equally mortifying from the plot of that dream, definitely not what I actually need. I don't need anyone's help, I need to stay alive. Which by the way I'm doing just fine.

The comforter beneath me is the tiniest bit damp, the moisture of the night air settling over everything. It's somewhat cold out tonight, the air smells fresh and earthy and I shiver a little as I quickly pull the second comforter around me, feeling it radiate my warmth back at me. I lean my back against the wide trunk of the tree and move closer to Phil, tempted to wake him even if my pride is sitting on the line right now in the aftermath of our exchange earlier just so I don't have to be alone in this strange place.

Funny how earlier that's all I'd really wanted, to be alone, and now that I have the isolation I'm realizing I don't want it at all. It's not like he'd mind, I'm sure he'd be delighted actually to stay up with me and just waffle about whatever topic comes into his head, but then I remember the dark circles and I stiffen, changing my mind. Serves me right for pushing him away I guess. I do this all to myself.

He rolls over onto his side abruptly, his face on the edge of the blanket and his fringe splaying out over his eyes. He's not a very stationary sleeper, I note, seeing him settle back down and hearing him snore softly. It's not an attractive picture by any means, but I feel warm towards him despite my mind ringing with warning bells.

He's still here for me, despite all my mistakes and all the danger I've put him through. He's such a good person, so unlike the typical human that would shy away from one like me without even a second glance. I know I shouldn't care about him like this, it'll just hurt all the more when he leaves me like everyone else did. But maybe he's not like everyone else. I'm certainly not.

I'm really tempted to wake him up now. I want to apologize for leaving him because I just couldn't face my own embarrassment at needing him when he was just doing what best friends do. At the same time, there's no way anyone's gonna catch me swallowing my pride and saying sorry, it's just not who I am. I envy the people who think it's so easy, I don't know how they do it. It's terrible, but I know he's probably already forgiven me and I'm not planning to mention it if he doesn't. The benefits of having a person who won't be upset by your selfishness.

"Goddammit, Philly," I huff quietly, laughing softly as I struggle within myself. "Why do you have to be so insufferably good? It would be so much easier if I wasn't so attached."

Of course he doesn't hear me, I certainly wouldn't want him to. But seriously, I feel so unworthy of a friend like him and I know it's going to go wrong for us somewhere in the future because eventually even he has to have a breaking point, right? There's a reason I've never had another best friend. They all gave up eventually. Each and every one.

I reach out tentatively with one hand and push his hair out of his eyes with my fingertips, feeling the fine, dark strands against my hand. It doesn't mean anything, they were just annoying me with how untidy they were, but my heart starts beating nervously at this small touch. His hair was softer than I'd expected, and never in all the time I've known him have I willingly reached out and touched it, any contact like that has been strictly an accident. I yank my hand back before he can wake up and see me, diving into my blanket and curling up in the middle of the square comforter. He doesn't even stir, just sleeps on, oblivious.

I can't do this to myself. I force my mind to go blank, blocking out thoughts of Phil and Mark and Marzia, ignoring the urge to look up at the moon and trying to also ignore the night's chill. All I think about is sleep. The morning will come soon enough, and slowly but surely I start to feel the fingers of fatigue creeping in. I relax, letting my mind sink into oblivion, and soon I'm not thinking about any of that at all. I'm dreaming again. This isn't some hazy surreal dream either, it's a memory, one I've thought about recently but never thought I'd have to relive.

The side of my face feels cold and I groan, my half-open eyes heavy and my mind groggy. Light hits my vision, a laser beam of brightness making me blink profusely. I stretch and peel my cheek off the car window, hearing the low hum of the engine and feeling my seatbelt digging into my chest. I remember where I am and what happened in London, and my heart sinks like a ton of bricks.

Out the window unfamiliar farmer's fields are rushing by, green pastures full of sheep looking completely ordinary and peaceful, the landscape completely devoid of people. It's still pretty dark, I'd been woken up by the first sunbeam. Was it all a bad dream?

I look to my right and see Phil, a sight that would on any other occasion reassure me but not this time. His face is sunken and his eyes are red with dark circles but he looks fiercely determined, gripping the wheel with both hands clenched so tightly the knuckles are white. He has wet trails on his cheeks and I wonder with a tightness in my chest if he's been crying. My breath catches in my throat and I take a deep breath, fiercely rubbing my own eyes before opening my mouth with some composure. This isn't right. This isn't what I'm used to. How has everything in the world gone so wrong?

"Phil," I say tentatively, and I see him glance my way briefly before switching his gaze hurriedly back to the road, watching the way ahead with too much intensity.

"Hey, Dan." he replies roughly, pressing his lips closely together and then exhaling deeply, keeping his voice level, I realize, for my sake. "Go back to sleep for a bit. There's nothing to see out here anyway." I look ahead and see indeed not much of anything, just a lone village off in the distance, tucked in on all sides by trees.

"It's okay. I just had a good long one, I'll be fine." I reply, not wanting to drift off and leave him alone. "How much gas do we have?" I ask him, wondering if he'd been driving all through the night.

Right now it's just past dawn, the sun sitting right on the horizon and illuminating everything despite the morning fog that has everything shrouded in mist. He looks exhausted, and I feel guilty. I don't remember falling asleep. Don't know how I could have. If I'm not hallucinating and I don't think I am- why would Phil and I be alone in car driving through obscure countryside otherwise?- then we just escaped a raging fire in London, only to encounter zombies. Real, rotten-bodied, silver-eyed, flesh-hungry monsters. I wish I was making this up, but even now I can see the dried blood of the zombie we hit last night splattered across one of Phil's mirrors, evidence that this actually happened.

"We're down to a quarter tank" he sighs wearily, pointing at the dashboard display. "I figured I'd get us as far away from the city as possible and then stop at the village up there, to get gas and maybe a hotel room for the night. We can call my mum and find out what's going on, if they have police dealing with the..." he falters, lowering his eyes, apparently unable to say it.

"...The zombies," I finish quietly, and he nods.

The fact that he's just agreeing with me is not reassuring like it would normally be. It makes it uncomfortably real that any of last night actually happened, and Phil seems to be thinking along a similar line of thought.

"You're not hallucinating." He whispers, fully aware of where my mind is at. "I... I saw them too."

We fall silent for a bit, watching the village grow closer and closer over the crest of a hill. It'll be all over the news, like something out of a sci-fi movie. Zombies aren't supposed to be real. My thoughts drift to my family back home. They're pretty close to the city, I wonder if they've heard about the fire.

I wonder if they've seen the zombies.

Don't think about it.

If they've seen the zombies, they're probably not okay. Not my mum, my dad, or my brother.

Don't think about it.

My thoughts are flooding with worry and I desperately try to distract myself, hooking my thumb onto the handle of Phil's glove compartment. He looks at me quizzically but doesn't question my actions, focusing on getting us down the road to where we can refuel. I pop the compartment open and start rummaging through the overpacked contents, the sight of all the colourful possessions of his oddly calming. There's one specific thing I'm looking for, and I know he has it in here somewhere. I push aside a Rubik's cube and a sheet of stickers that I recall him buying one time when we were hanging out, saying they were crucial to stick all over his laptop. Behind them I finally catch a glimpse of what I'm looking for and draw it out gently, scattering objects all over my lap.

It's a CD case, clear with no album art because these artists aren't famous, not yet. In fact, they're not really artists at all. I stuff everything that fell out carefully back where it belongs and snap the compartment shut, my prize held up in my hand for Phil to see. He glances over at it and raises his eyebrows, wondering what exactly I plan on doing here.

"Remember this, Phil?" I ask in a voice that's probably a little too cheerful, tilting the CD so that it flashes in the light. He makes a face, rolling his eyes but finally allowing himself a small smile.

"Yes, Daniel. I remember our  mix CD." he sighs, "Took a bloody long time to put together, especially when you couldn't decide which songs made the perfect album combination. Filled with all of our jams, and a few more for the irony. Good times."

I grin as he slows the car and jerks clumsily into the curved drive of a roadside gas station, swerving up to the stand alone pumps and reaching one, finally turning off the ignition. He unbuckles his seatbelt and dives back toward the backseat, digging around in his bag and somewhat squishing my shoulder with his stomach as he does so. I poke him irritably and then pop open the CD case, seeing myself reflected in the disc and smiling at the two different sets of handwriting scribbled across the shiny surface, one distinctly messier than the other and the same one definitely mine.

"Best CD Ever, 2009 Edition. Songs chosen by DJ Howell and Phil Striker. October 20th."

Phil gets out of the car with his found wallet in his hand, slamming the door shut and proceeding to the pump, hooking it up to the car.

His car is old and dumpy enough that it still doesn't have automatic windows and for the first time ever I'm actually grateful for that. I grip the handle on the passenger's side and crank down mine, sticking my head out so Phil can hear me.

"Maybe we should put it in," I suggest, "and play it. It'll relax you a little."

We made the CD together the day after we met in person for the first time. We have so many inside jokes and fun memories attached to all of them, songs from Final Fantasy or our favourite bands or the background music to particularly funny moments over Skype. The mood is so tense and ominous right now, I feel like it's just what we both need. He nods in agreement and even cracks another smile, replying by saying "yup, you're probably right."

I wait patiently as he fills up the tank completely and then unhooks the hose, replacing it back where he got it. He sticks his hands in his pockets and starts to walk his way over to the little store, swinging open the door with a jingle of welcome bells as he goes in to pay. I look over the dashboard and see the first houses of the village ahead, a cluster of modest cottages with lovely flower baskets hanging off the roadside streetlamps. A wooden welcome sign stands on the other side of the road not far from where we're parked now, carved letters announcing our destination. There's a picture of a cornucopia in between two lines of words, overflowing with goods, suggesting this is a farming town.

"Welcome to Little Bremerton, population 10,000."

and below that:

"The friendliest community in the quaintest of places."

I suddenly catch a glimpse of a little girl wandering aimlessly beneath the sign, staring off into space. I can't make out any details from here, she's too far away to get a good look at her. She stops and tilts her head up, and I catch a flash of bouncy blonde pigtails, making me smile a little. I love kids, they're so energetic and easy to talk to, much less complicated than adults. I watch her look around and wonder if she's playing imagination games or something, and how close she is to her house.

She catches sight of the car and looks right at me. I grin and lift my hand in a little wave, but she just stares blankly, her arms flat at her sides. I smile again, more uncomfortably this time,but she still looks impassive. I end up looking away, now just wanting Phil to be back. These sorts of encounters are no help for my social skills or my self esteem, and I'm ready to get into town and touch base with family and friends. I glance impatiently over at the store, wondering why Phil hasn't come out. I look back at the girl and see her now wandering in circles, making me just uncomfortable enough to push open the car door and cross the parking lot. I speedwalk over to the gas station door, pulling it open and hearing the bells ring cheerily, announcing my entrance.

The store is dimly lit and smells like scented candles, shelving displays full of rustic, handcarved wooden knickknacks and what looks like various jars containing penny candies or spices. I quickly catch sight of Phil standing by the overstuffed counter, and he waves at me distractedly.

"What's going on?" I ask him quietly, glancing quizzically around at all the products on sale and wondering vaguely how any of it is gas-related. He frowns, gesturing around at all corners of the shop. "There's nobody in here, I don't know how to pay." he informs me, and I realize with a start that he's right. This is the only room other than what looks like an attached staff-only washroom, and it's completely empty in here except for us. There's a sign in the window that clearly says "OPEN", so it's not like we've arrived too early. I'm totally perplexed.

"Free gas day?" I venture awkwardly, meaning it as a joke but genuinely confused.

"Doubt it." Phil replies, "though that would be great."

I look around one last time, letting myself rotate in a full circle like the weird little girl, but still seeing no one at all.

"Just leave the money on the table," I urge him, wanting to get out of here as soon as possible and into somewhere with food and a bed. I pull out my phone and check the screen (it's 7:40 a.m. by the clock display) and am disappointed to see that there's still no service. I'd always been annoyed by bad reception, but now I'd probably welcome it after being so long without even that.

"I don't have enough cash. I was gonna put the rest on my card." he protests, holding open his near-empty wallet as a visual and glancing at the counter again.

I sigh, thinking the situation through quickly and finding only one solution at hand.

"Just leave what you do have on the counter. It's better than leaving nothing at all."
He nods and begins rifling through the contents of his wallet, relieved to have a solution. It's unsettling to see him so stressed and upset, especially over little things like this. If Phil, ever the optimist can't keep a smile on his face, then how am I supposed to keep us both in an upbeat spirit?

I watch him pull out the wad of bills and coins and set them carefully down, his inner good samaritan making his expression conflicted. "I'm still twenty short!" he mutters, looking like not paying that small price would be a crime against humanity. "I can't just not pay!"

"Yes you bloody can,"I huff, grabbing him by the crook of the elbow and dragging him to the door.

"No, wait!' he cries, jerking out of my grasp and sliding a crumpled sticky note out of his pocket, "I'll write an IOU, that way I'll be able to come back!"

He can't be serious. I watch dumbstruck as he takes a souvenir pencil out of a nearby cup and starts furiously scribbling down his name and cell number, specifying the amount he owes. He slaps the paper down onto the counter with determined finality, then skips his way over back to me, trailing after me as I push out the jingly door one last time.

"I hope you feel like Jesus now," I jab sarcastically, "That was really not necessary."

He rolls his eyes and makes his way over to the car, pulling the door open and then stepping in. "Sure it was." he replies cheekily, smirking at me before shutting the door and settling back in his seat, turning on the engine. I sigh, my eyes flickering over one last time to the sign in the distance, but the girl is now gone. I don't know why, but I feel a chill go down my spine, and I'm quick to dart back into the car with Phil, not wanting be alone out here any longer.

~~~

"All right," Phil prods me as we finally enter the village, making our way down the wide cobbled main street at a somewhat slow pace, due to the stupid 30 km/h speed limit. "Pop in the CD. I'm ready for a bit of energy."

"Absolutely," I answer, opening up the case and extracting the disc, sliding it carefully into the car's CD player. I fiddle with the volume knob as the car processes, taking a moment to read the disc.

"There's nobody on the streets out here. That's so weird." Phil mutters, and I glance around, realizing this is true. "It is only 8 a.m." I remind him, trying to reassure myself as well. "Not everyone was up all night like we were."

The opening notes of the song begin to play. I see Phil's eyebrows shoot up as he realizes what's playing, and I can't hep but laugh at his surprise as the beginning beats and musical strains come to a halt, as that part of the song ends and the vocals begin.

"Baby, can't you see
I'm calling
A guy like you
Should wear a warning
It's dangerous
I'm fallin.."

"I completely forgot that the first song was Toxic!" he exclaims, letting out a surprised laugh as I begin to snap my fingers in time to the music, getting fully into it.

"There's no escape
I can't wait
I need a hit
Baby, give me it
You're dangerous
I'm lovin' it"

I'm still gesturing along with the music, but out of the corner of my eye I notice with some confusion that while it was empty back at the entrance, there's a huge gathering of people blocking the road. They're not standing evenly and they all seem to be moving in different directions. Not just on the main street either, there's a bunch of people cluttering up the side streets too. Phil glances at me uneasily for a second before making a left turn, wanting to avoid the huge mass and not hit anyone.

"Too high
Can't come down
Losing my head
Spinning 'round and 'round
Do you feel me now?"

I feel an ominous feeling sink deep into my stomach, reminded of the last time we'd seen a suspicious gathering of people at odd hours of the day. It was last night, the first time we'd ever seen a zombie. I dart my eyes forward, desperately trying to make out a normal face in the dimness when my heart nearly stops at the sight of what Phil has to swerve around to avoid in the middle of the road, making the tires squeal and causing us both to scream.

It's the little girl.

Now that I've properly seen her face I'm terrified out of my right mind. My heart is pounding horribly and I can scarcely breathe, repulsed by what I'd just seen. Her face was sunken and her skin mottled, glazed silver eyes peering out over a bloody mouth. Her neck was red with a bite mark, indicating she'd already been bitten and turned. She opens her mouth and shrieks inhumanly as we blow by, fear biting at me like a ferocious animal.

"With a taste of your lips
I'm on a ride
You're toxic
I'm slipping under"

"Dan! they're everywhere!" Phil cries hysterically, driving definitely above 30 km now as he's forced to swerve his way around street corners and zombies alike. Many of them are ravenous, lunging at the car and missing by near inches. Where did they all come from?! How did this happen?! It looks like the parasite has taken over the entire village, everyone here became a zombie a long time ago. It's not just limited to London. There's zombies everywhere.

"With a taste of poison paradise
I'm addicted to you
Don't you know that you're toxic"

Phil's actually sobbing now, too scared to speak and hyperventilating as the amount of zombies in our way only gets bigger. I shout out something incomprehensible, pointing desperately at a fork in the straight road we're on, leading out of town and into the countryside. It's got a guardrail on one side protecting vehicles from a drop into a gully, a hill covered in houses on the other side. There's zombies clustered everywhere but there's a bit of a gap in the middle. We might have to hit one, but we'll also make it out alive.

"And I love what you do, Don't you know that you're toxic?"

There's nothing else to do. Phil jerks the wheel sharply, causing me to swing over the side and smack my head against the door frame, pain exploding in my skull. I let out a strangled moan as my head pounds, and we dive straight into the crowd of monsters that start pounding and pouncing on the car. I hear the one of the back windows shatter and Phil curses, something he never, ever does. It provides me with an ability to see how suddenly warped our reality has become, as he slams his foot on the gas pedal and somewhat breaks away.

"It's getting late
To give you up
I took a sip
From my devil cup"

We make it out of the main thick of the mob and start racing towards the road along the gully. There's more monsters ahead and I brace myself for impact as we get closer and closer, seeing different degrees of gore and rotted faces. The zombies lunge forward at the car as Phil tries to get out of the way, driving way too far left to be legal but no one's thinking about laws right now.

"Slowly,
It's taking over me.."

They're jumping on the car from all sides. The mechanism groans in protest at the weight of the monsters weighing it down. Phil starts driving in a zig zag, trying to shake them off and indeed losing quite a few, but there's still more coming.

"With a taste of your lips
I'm on a ride.." 

A female zombie intercepts him right in the middle of one of his swerves, and there's no way he can get around her. He tries to dart desperately to the left but she lunges sideways, hitting the front so hard we're thrown backwards in our seats.

"You're toxic
I'm slipping under.."

The wheels go over her and then lock, catching her underneath the tire as Phil's hand-me-down car experiences brake failure, the machine strained and overworked. We smash into the guardrail and it tips forward dangerously.

"With a taste of poison paradise.."

"PHIL!" I scream as he slams his feet over and over again on the brakes, but the car won't stop moving, the barrier tips and gives way, spilling us over the steep side and sending us lurching down into the drop below. I hear zombies roaring behind us, but I don't hear it for long.

The car loses footing and rolls, glass smashing and metal crunching as we're tossed around like ragdolls, rolling over multiple times. We're still falling and my vision is blurred, we hit a log or a stump or something and I'm snapped forward, I taste blood in my mouth and I know I must have bitten my cheek.

"I'm addicted to you
Don't you know that you're toxic" 

The car rolls a few more times before we finally hit the bottom, crashing with finality on my side of the car before slowing to a stop and resting with Phil and I hung sideways, our seatbelts still strapping us in.

My head is swimming and I can feel my vision going dark. I look frantically at Phil and see him laying limp and unconscious, blood oozing from a wound in his head. "Ph-il..." I choke weakly, my consciousness fading fast. My whole body is throbbing horribly and I wonder vaguely if we're about to die. I can't keep my eyes open and they unobediently fall shut. As I sink into oblivion I'm only vaguely aware of one thing; The CD is somehow still playing, the soundtrack to the end of me and my best friend still playing at the volume I left it at, taking energy from the battery of the ruined car:

"And I love what you do
Don't you know that you're toxic?"

The music rises and falls with echoey, distant strains, until even that begins to fade, the world goes black and static, and suddenly, I'm falling again. Down and down in the pitch black.

A/N hey guys! would you believe I had to go and look up the lyrics for Toxic just for the sake of this chapter? I didn't want to incorrectly write it, and I learned today that I do not in fact know it word for word. Smh what a fake fan.

Anyways, I can't believe you've stuck around long enough to read this chapter! That's honestly so awesome! Please leave a vote if you liked it, it's free to you and will help me out a lot. Also, I'm thinking about writing other, smaller Phanfictions in a collection of short stories, ones with all sorts of themes and genres. Maybe! We'll see how that goes.

P e a c e ✌🏻

~Aly🌙