Chapter Text
Grantaire was a Gryffindor. This was news to him. He wasn't sure he was especially courageous or selfless, and certainly had no affinity for the colour red. He thought cats were OK, but lions were overrated. That didn't add up to a Gryffindor in his book.
Annoyingly, his computer seemed to disagree. Maybe it was being contrary because it wasn't his computer, but one he'd picked up off the street. Clues about the previous owner were all over the desktop. The Harry Potter wallpaper and assorted files of primary school projects indicated that it had been a kid. So far, the laptop's best feature was the Sorting Hat game in the Downloads folder.
He'd only just discovered this quiz, and so far had taken it three times. On the first and third tries Grantaire had been sorted into Gryffindor, during the second he had aggressively chosen all the wrong answers and ended up in Hufflepuff. After marveling at J.K. Rowling's ability to create bullshit words and have them accepted by the rest of the world as gospel, he'd taken the quiz again.
Lacking motivation to do anything else, he lay sprawled on the sofa watching an animated lion roar against a red background. The laptop screen was the only source of light in the room. It illuminated his immediate surroundings with a headache-inducing glow.
Grantaire thought about turning one of the lamps on, but it didn't seem worth it. He'd grown used to a perpetual state of darkness, having done his best to make the flat look uninhabited. Closed the curtains, and when the insubstantial material hadn't proved thick enough, reinforced them with bed sheets. All the curtainless windows he'd boarded up and the door was wedged shut, a bed and a bookcase moved in front of it.
He got up slowly and stretched, enjoying the oddly satisfying cracking noise coming from his bones. Time had been behaving oddly of late; either dragging along at a pace that would have shamed a snail, or racing by so quickly you would have thought it was late for something. Today it had adopted the latter attitude. Grantaire regarded the onscreen lion with renewed distaste, and shut the laptop abruptly. He needed to find some decent games, or he was going to go mad. Given how much the flat's previous owners had spent on speakers alone, you'd think they'd have some form of entertainment that wasn't a sappy romance. Grantaire had watched all of their film collection, or as it could be called, How To Fall In Love When You're Straight And White: A Definitive Guide.
He stretched again, yawned, and made his way over to the kitchen. The fridge was disappointingly empty, as were the cupboards. Nowadays fresh food was hard to come by, but it was nice to keep his Pepsi chilled. Speaking of which, he was nearly out of soft drinks.
Heaving an exaggerated sigh, Grantaire started searching for his coat. He'd put off a supply run for days, surviving on hitherto untested concoctions of tinned fruit and breadsticks. The pasta had disappeared days ago. Grantaire found his coat and put it on, mentally composing a shopping list. Pasta, rice, noodles. There was a Sainsbury's five blocks away. The freezers had still been working when he'd been there last, so he added frozen fish and chips to the list. Some hot food would be nice. He found his left shoe in the bathroom and his right under a footstall. Most of the carbonated drinks would be gone by now; hopefully he could get what remained. Failing that, there was always water.
Grantaire exited the flat the same way he always did, via the fire escape. It required partially dismantling the barricade he'd built against that window. Once outside, the climb down the fire escape was easy. Grantaire had done his best to smash up the metal stairs, so that the unpracticed climber would have a hard time. It wasn't just to keep out the ravaging hordes of the undead, though it did that too. It also guarded against any other people who fancied taking over such a secure spot. Grantaire had lost a hideout to other survivors twice before; he had no intention of letting it happen again.
He reached the bottom of the rickety stairs and jumped the last four feet to the ground. After wall-to-wall carpet, the tarmac felt reassuringly hard under his trainers. Hoisting his bag more securely onto his back, Grantaire set off in the direction of the supermarket.
*
Having remained inside for days, Grantaire felt especially jumpy out in the open. The fresh air was nice. It was a fine March day, clear and bright, though when the wind rose it carried with it a sharp chill. The trees across the road were coming into leaf. It was good to see something green that didn't come out of a tin.
He got a whole two blocks without seeing a single corpse. Those few moments of pretend normalcy had been nice, Grantaire thought, stepping carefully around a group of alley cats picking at a ribcage. The rest of the body was nowhere in sight.
'Go and find some birds to eat,' Grantaire muttered, in the general direction of the cats. 'That stuff will make you ill.' Though not too ill. So far, the virus hadn't affected any other species. The worst the cats would experience would experience would be a stomachache.
There were more bodies closer to the high street. It was a general rule of thumb that the more resourceful an area, the higher the number of casualties. Last week, Grantaire had had a real job locating a hardware store that hadn't contained any zombies, active or otherwise.
Thankfully, the supermarket seemed to be clean. He dragged the automatic doors open, careful to shut them behind him. The Sainsbury's was a mess, devoid of anything really valuable. Everyone's initial response to the epidemic had been first to panic and then loot every shop they could find.
Grantaire bypassed the messiest aisles without registering them, heading automatically for the one containing packaged food.
Someone else had definitely been here recently, and they hadn't left him a lot to work with. Grantaire found a couple of packets of pasta, and one of noodles. From the crushed nature of the packet, he guessed they'd all be broken up, but shattered noodles were still better than no noodles.
Among the other things he collected were two new toothbrushes, a tube of toothpaste and some rubber gloves. There wasn't any toilet paper left, but kitchen roll would suffice. He was halfway through contemplating a bottle of bleach when a thought struck him.
Leaving the bleach on the shelf, Grantaire hurried back to the electronics section. It was not a cheerful sight. All the TVs and phones were either gone or broken, and somebody had knocked all the headphones off the shelf. Ignoring the mess, Grantaire walked down to the far end of the aisle.
He didn't have much hope, but he wasn't disappointed. One pack of batteries remained on the shelf. Double As. He reached out, grinning to himself, when a sharp voice cut across the silence. 'Hey!'
Grantaire nearly jumped out of his skin. He hadn't heard anyone approach, but then again he hadn't really been listening.
'Those are mine.' The voice belonged to a girl about his own age, glaring at him with undisguised ferocity. She wasn't very tall and she wasn't very big, two facts that were rendered irrelevant by the huge spiked staff she was holding. It was as tall as she was, evidently homemade, and as weapons went it was formidable. Grantaire's knives suddenly seemed very small in comparison.
'What are yours?' he asked innocently, slowly retracting the hand holding the batteries. 'Cause the other day a guy tried to steal my shoes, even though they have my name written on the label. Who'd want those, when there's a shoe shop just down the road?' he shook his head. 'The nerve of some people.'
The girl refused to be distracted. Her eyes were tracking the movement of the hand holding the batteries. She took a step closer. 'Freeze.'
Grantaire froze. Half of his brain was suggesting that he should run, though he wasn't sure that was the best idea. If appearances were anything, the girl looked fast, and while her staff would slow her down, his backpack wasn't going to do him any favours.
'Give me those,' she said, extending her hand slowly.
Once again, Grantaire opted to stall. 'Why?'
'Why?' she frowned, though she refused to be thrown off course. 'Because my little sister's torch is dead and she's afraid of the dark. Because I will totally pound your face in if you don't.'
Flight, Grantaire decided, was not a wholly unreasonable policy. If he ran now, he could duck down the clothing aisle and get to the door from there. Depending on the speed of the girl's reflexes, he might not even break anything on his way out.
This plan made sense until somebody appeared at the other end of the aisle. A lanky bespectacled boy, and behind him… oh great, a whole group of teenagers.
'It's a party,' Grantaire muttered.
'What's going on?' the boy asked, managing to sound both anxious and menacing at the same time. He'd probably be a great actor, Grantaire thought.
'He's got the last pack of batteries,' the girl said, gesturing with her staff. 'We need those.'
'I got here first,' said Grantaire weakly.
The girl ignored him. 'For Azelma,' she said, in a tone of voice that wasn't pleading exactly - more like stating a sensitive fact.
The boy softened. He looked over his shoulder and jerked his head, calling somebody else over.
'C'mon, mate,' Grantaire found himself saying. 'They're just batteries.'
'We've got kids with us,' the girl argued. 'Give them here.' She started forwards again, her staff held threateningly.
'Éponine.' A second boy had joined the first. Grantaire couldn't help staring at him. In a world where everyone was prey, that guy practically had a target pinned to his chest. Either he was colourblind or just really vain, because in place of neutral, camouflaged clothes he was wearing a bright red leather jacket. Combined with delicate features, shaggily curly blond hair and a chiseled jaw, and he was definitely the hottest person Grantaire had ever seen. Celebrities included.
'Let him have the batteries,' the god said dismissively, still addressing the girl. 'We're not about to start killing people over supermarket supplies. We've got everything else. Let's go.'
Éponine lowered her staff with some reluctance. She walked past Grantaire to rejoin her group, making sure to give him evils as she passed. He stuffed the batteries quickly into the top of his backpack.
'Heavens' sake, Enjolras,' she said to the blond boy. 'I wasn't going to kill him.'
Grantaire's stomach lurched. Enjolras. For all its weirdness, the name sounded worryingly familiar.
That was why he remained rooted to the spot, when a more sensible person would have run. The group was ignoring him, instead gathered to confer in whispers. Maybe somebody knew where else they could find batteries.
God, why was that name so familiar? Grantaire had definitely heard it before, and when he tried to dredge up the memory it drew with it the sound of a female voice. It wasn't his mother's, and yet he associated it with being young.
He was still frozen in Think Mode when the boy with glasses came up and tapped him on the arm. Grantaire looked up, and the boy began, 'Hey, we were just wondering if you wanted to come with us. I don't know if you're with anyone else - ' he coughed, ' - but it's safest in a team. Grantaire, isn't it? Feuilly reckons he went to your primary school. I'm Courfeyrac, by the way.'
Grantaire did remember Feuilly, though that wasn't the same as knowing him. He had a vague memory of an undersized, overachieving kid who'd worn the same pair of torn up trainers for four years. Not torn up in a cool way, but actually falling apart. One time Grantaire had noticed a gaping hole in one of the soles. Despite this observation, they'd never really spoken.
Yet apparently occupying the same classroom for six years was enough to warrant an invitation to join the Dream Team. Hot guys aside, the prospect didn't hold much appeal.
'Thanks, but no thanks,' Grantaire said to Courfeyrac. 'I'm good by myself.'
For someone who didn't know Grantaire, Courfeyrac seemed disappointed. 'We have Oreos,' he said, in the same way one would say "we have unicorns." 'Got maybe what are the last Oreos in Britain. You sure?'
'Yeah,' Grantaire nodded to emphasize how sure he was. The whole encounter was making him steadily more uncomfortable. Éponine was no longer blocking his escape, so he started backing away. With a mumbled, 'Uh, see you around,' he fled the scene.
*
If he always had to pay for supplies with awkward meetings, then he might run the risk of starvation. It hadn't been too bad, Grantaire told himself, walking as speedily as he could with his heavy backpack. He hadn't actually interacted with anyone he knew - familiarity of Enjolras aside. It could have been a lot worse, like one of his primary school teachers - and wow, now he had a new nightmare. Running into Miss Clarke or Mrs Stephens had the potential to be excruciatingly embarrassing, though he hoped there was a much smaller chance that they'd threaten him with spiked sticks.
Grantaire turned down a suburban street and tried to think about practical things. Like, what was he going to do, entertainment-wise? He'd got enough food to last a few days, so it was unlikely he'd be venturing out of his flat anytime soon.
There was a video shop at the end of the road. Anything popular would be long gone, and it was quite exposed - but, well, what was life without a little risk?
Changing direction, Grantaire decided that if he prepared himself and didn't get his hopes up, he wouldn't be disappointed. He might get there and find My Little Pony DVDs the only thing on offer.
The shop wasn't far. It had clearly seen its share of visitors; the windows were smashed and dirty, and the door kicked in. Grantaire stepped over a pile of shattered discs and ducked through the doorway.
It was even filthier inside, and the dimness wasn't helping. Up against the posters, murky stains and spiraled cracks in the glass, daylight didn't have much of a chance. He squinted, and then fished in his back pocket for a torch. The thin beam of light didn't help much, but it was something. Grantaire directed it over the empty shelves, hoping to find something worth his time. Right now, he would settle for the first edition of Sims.
He moved further into the shop, playing the light over the places where the plastic cases were supposed to be. The chaos was rather depressing. He reached the end of the aisle, and the light hit something that wasn't a wall.
Grantaire came to an abrupt halt. For a long moment he stared into a pair of dead, sunken eyes just inches from his own. Then he let out a yell and stumbled backwards. In hindsight, he really should have expected this. It was exactly why he avoided most public hotspots.
'Stupid romances,' he muttered, retreating hastily. Other zombies were emerging from the shadows, fixing him with an eerie stare.
When they did move, it was with startling quickness. They should be slow and stupid, the way they are in the movies, Grantaire thought, swiveling around to face the shop exit. For the second time that way, his way was blocked.
'Shit,' said Grantaire. He wasn't sure if he was talking to himself or the undead; either way it helped to swear. 'Seriously. Fuck.'
He pulled the cleaver off his backpack and swept it in a wide arc. His assailants were not at all deterred. He cut a hand off one and gave another a sizeable gash across its forehead, but they didn't seem to notice the wounds. They were pressing in on him now, forcing him back towards the window. It had been a while since Grantaire had needed to fight, and his skills were decidedly rusty. The backpack full of supplies was weighing him down; he shrugged it off and let it fall to the ground.
He took another step backwards and tripped over an empty disk case. Balance lost, he swayed and his back collided painfully with the cracked glass. To his relief, it held. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see out onto the main street. A group of people was walking past. He thought they too were zombies, until he saw a flash of red that could only be Enjolras's jacket.
Help was out there, but there wasn't much he could do to get it. The reanimated corpse of an old woman was reaching for him. Her skin had sloughed off the lower half of her skull, revealing a horrible set of grinning teeth. Grantaire slashed wildly with his knife, but her rotting fingers closed around the blade and held it in a surprisingly strong grip. She twisted it suddenly, and he let go. His other knife was tucked into his sock, but he couldn't reach it. Shit.
The remnants of the door flew inward. Grantaire was vaguely aware of sudden light and shouting, and then the old woman was wrenched away from him. Her body jerked, and her head left her body in one clean blow.
Enjolras's group had burst into the shop, and had set about dispatching the assembled zombies with intimidating speed. Grantaire stood stock-still, unable to register the reality of the situation. The overhead lights evidently still worked, because somebody had turned them on, fully illuminating the chaotic scene. Severed limbs were flying in all directions and undead bodies were dropping like flies.
A hand grabbed Grantaire's arm and he reacted instinctively, shoving it away with all his might. It was only when he heard a high cry of surprise that he realised the hand hadn't belonged to a zombie, but to a living child. The kid was lying on the floor surrounded by broken glass, his face betraying his shock.
'Gavroche!' Éponine whirled around. The end of her staff would have hit Grantaire in the chest if he hadn't moved out of the way. 'Get out of here!'
The boy started to get up, but when he put weight on his right leg he blanched and nearly fell. Éponine left the fray and moved to crouch beside him.
The two were dangerously exposed. Grantaire looked wildly around for a weapon, and to his relief saw that the fight was drawing to a close. Only one boy was still fighting, the others gathered around to spectate. Of all the corpses present, this last was the freshest. It was bleeding from multiple wounds, and every time the boy severed an artery a fresh spray fountained through the air. The boy's entire upper torso was crimson.
'Go Combeferre!' one of the other boys yelled. Combeferre sighed, shifted his weight to the side, and beheaded the zombie with a practiced blow.
'Guys,' Éponine called from across the room. 'Get over here.'
They didn't need telling twice. Combeferre's victory was fleeting as they gathered around Éponine and Gavroche, passing Grantaire without so much as a glance.
'I'm fine,' Gavroche insisted, holding up his hands in what was probably meant to be a placating gesture. As his palms were cut and bleeding, it had the opposite effect.
'We told you to wait outside,' Enjolras frowned, and at the same time Combeferre said, 'What happened?'
Grantaire's heart sank.
'That guy,' said Gavroche, pointing. 'The dude in distress you were so anxious to rescue. Shoved me.'
'You did what?' Éponine glanced up at Grantaire, fresh hostility in her eyes.
'I thought he was a zombie,' he said defensively. 'He grabbed me.'
'I was getting you out of there,' said Gavroche. 'You were standing still like an idiot. Number one way to get yourself killed.'
Half a dozen cutting retorts sprang to Grantaire's mind, but he remembered in time that he was talking to a kid and bit them back. 'Is he all right?'
'Stop staring y'all,' Gavroche said, in an appalling Southern accent. 'Dude's an arsehole and I'm fine.'
'Joly?' Éponine addressed another member of the group.
'Looks like a sprained ankle,' Joly shrugged. 'Should be OK.'
Grantaire exhaled in relief. He hadn't been keen to add "physically assaults children" to his CV. Assuming he'd ever have to write a CV again.
'We better go,' said Courfeyrac, glancing around. 'Another mob will be along in a minute, you know what they're like.'
'We can't go back to the station,' Combeferre said. 'Any of you guys know a place?'
'Ask him,'' said Éponine, jerking her head towards Grantaire. 'He got us into this mess.'
'Where are you based?' Enjolras asked. Up close, his eyes were a vivid blue.
'Uh,' said Grantaire intelligently. When that answer did not prove satisfactory, he added, 'It's a flat. Too small for,' he did a quick count, 'thirteen people.'
'Fourteen,' Éponine corrected. 'Azelma's waiting outside.' She glared pointedly at Gavroche, who shrugged.
'So, what?' Courfeyrac was looking at Enjolras in an expectant way. 'The station's not an option, and where else is gonna be big enough? 'Cause I love you guys, but there is no way I'm sharing one house with you.'
Joly spoke up. 'We passed a school a little while ago. Something Park?'
'Corinth Park,' Courfeyrac offered. 'I think it was a sixth form.'
'Screw it, then,' said Éponine. 'I am not going back to college.'
'Hold on,' someone else interjected. With a start, Grantaire recognised Feuilly. He looked more or less like he'd done in primary school, only bigger. He'd filled out a bit too, grown into his tall frame. Only his hair was different. Before, it had always been buzzed short, and now it was a fully-fledged afro.
He was frowning, as though trying to remember something. 'Grantaire, you went to Corinth Park, didn't you?'
Any liking Grantaire had felt towards him fizzled out in that moment. 'Yeah,' he said slowly. 'Went, past tense. As in, not planning on returning any time soon. How d'you even know?'
'Facebook,' Feuilly muttered. 'I was going through my friends; deleting people I didn't know anymore. I sort of came across your profile.'
And you couldn't delete me without looking? Grantaire thought. 'Oh.'
'What's it like?' Enjolras asked, steering the conversation back to the point in hand. 'The college. Would it make a good stronghold?'
'Maybe?' Grantaire shrugged. 'Depends whether the power's still on, what kind of shape it's in, you know?'
'Then you can take us there,' said Enjolras. 'Show us around, the fire exits and weak points.'
'It's not that complicated,' Grantaire backtracked. 'Pretty standard school layout. I've already said I don't wanna join your little team, so…'
'You owe us,' said Éponine. 'We saved your arse. Plus you hurt my brother.'
Grantaire sighed. He wasn't getting out of this one. 'All right. I'll give you the Grand Tour.'
They seemed satisfied. As he followed them out of the shop, he reflected that it was funny that for a Gryffindor, he was very attached to the path of least resistance.