Chapter Text
When people think of a zombie apocalypse, they think of a sudden fast spreading disease. They think of an illness so brutal it destroys communities and countries within weeks. It’s something that no one could have foreseen coming and couldn’t possibly prepare unless you were paranoid enough to. People look away for two seconds only to see the world in chaos the moment they look back.
And in a way, that’s what happened. That is if you fucked off into the woods for four years and never interacted with civilization.
For every normal member of the global community, the apocalypse was fairly inevitable. It wasn’t anything special when it began, just a few disturbing news stories about children falling ill and seemingly losing all sense of consciousness. The disease didn’t pick up traction until about a year into its introduction.
At first this was a disease of the poor countries. One of those “oh if only they had white people to help them, oh dear” situations. The disease was just one of those things, just another problem that could never affect the rest of the world, no.
The first few cases found in the rest of the world changed the narrative. Then it was blaming the parents, saying that if only they paid more attention, took their babies to better doctors, or cared more. There was still that detachment, the feeling that it couldn’t possibly happen to them.
Wilbur remembers when the disease became a much more pressing issue. He was 17 at the time, his biggest worry being graduating and getting out of the house, hopefully taking his little brother with him. When the disease spread to the UK is when people started getting more cautious. Soon he was sent assignments by mail, told coming to school was too dangerous. The assumed target population was children from the ages of birth to 15. So arguably Wilbur and his friends were perfectly safe. Still, they all stayed home and completed school from there.
It didn’t get better with people staying home. Children continued to get infected at an alarming rate. No one knew how it was contracted or where it truly came from. Eventually the infected toll was so high, “experts” predicted a severe decline in the general population.
Everyone kind of went berserk after that came out. It wasn’t the whole children turning into violent, carnivorous monsters that got the people in a panic, of course not.
Governments didn’t seem to know what to do. There was an outcry when police began executing the infected, grieving parents and communities were appalled. Protests were planned but never actually done as everyone was too terrified of bringing the disease home.
Maybe it was that fear that got the few thousand remaining parents to allow their children to be tested and poked at. The outrage dimmed over time and governments continued their odd measures to try and save the dying population. Wilbur was 19 when they started suggesting having kids spend time at “camps” to reduce the risk.
Most people were hesitant until they found no other option available. Phil was among that list with Tommy. Their dad had decided it might be best to send Tommy away, alone, to stay at a government facility for the foreseen future. Needless to say, Wilbur was a bit pissed when Phil mentioned it over dinner.
He had expressed his vehement hatred at the idea pretty early on. Tommy, understandable, also despised the concept. At first it seemed like both of their collective efforts were enough to get Phil to sway away from it. Then the camps became mandatory.
News stories documented sobbing parents watching their children be carried or dragged into a black van. Videos of a kid’s room being ransacked and picked clean circulated the internet. There were viral pictures of a house being burned, the caption detailing how an infected child was found hidden away in their house, the parents too scared of parting with their child they hid them away to die. All alongside public service announcements claiming the actions were for the greater good. This was the only way it could be. All uninfected children would be under government care.
Wilbur was 20 when he ran away from home with his little brother.
He wasn’t a total asshole about it, he left Phil a note and everything. Wilbur just wasn’t waiting around for some hardass government officer to come break down their front door and take his 14-year-old brother away. Other parents had resisted too, everyone saw what happened to them. No matter how hard people fought, the remaining children of the modern world were going to be under government surveillance.
So Wilbur took the coward's way out and ran. The day before he withdrew pretty much all of the cash from his account, told Tommy to pack a small bag with everything he felt he needed, and bought as many non-perishable foods from the store as he could. Then he woke Tommy up at 6:00 am sharp and they left. Wilbur wasn’t stupid enough to drive around in his or Phil’s car so they walked to Niki’s and borrowed hers. Niki hadn’t even asked what they needed it for. She took one look at their bags and the tight grip Wilbur had around Tommy’s shoulders and offered her keys. He liked Niki for that, she always came in clutch.
Now Wilbur was driving through abandoned streets with his brother, who was probably the last remaining kid under the age of 16 not in a camp. The only kid not being dragged from their family and shoved into a completely new environment. Wilbur was driving the only kid who was left on the continent.
He supposed he should feel bad, should feel like he’s being selfish, should feel any sense of remorse or regret. And he did, on one hand, Wilbur might have just taken Tommy away from the safest option all because he refused to part with his brother. Yet, seeing Tommy’s relief when Wilbur told him they wouldn’t be separated, he didn’t care.
So here they were, two brothers on the run from the government. Who was probably being informed about their absence right about now.
Wilbur glanced out the window, grimacing at the eerie silence of the empty neighborhood. Most towns were completely empty because of local outbreaks.
They had yet to see any infected children since they started driving. Which meant they were already “taken care of”. Which, fuck that.
“It’s fuckin’ creepy here,” Tommy said, speaking for the first time since they left.
“Probably worse in the city.”
Tommy glanced over.
“So we’re not going there, right?”
“Nope,” Wilbur took a sharp turn, “we’re going through the city but we’ll stop in one of the towns along the border.”
Satisfied, Tommy nodded and leaned back against the seat. He wordlessly reached over, turning on and flipping through the radio. A random pop song seemed to catch his attention and he leaned back again.
They sat listening to the radio as Wilbur drove. Eventually they were out of the suburbs and into the country.
The sky glistened bright pinks and yellows as the sun set. It reflected off the clouds beautifully, creating an almost picturesque scene.
Wilbur could see Tommy bouncing along to the song beside him and smiled. If he closed his eyes, he could just pretend they were on a normal road trip. They could just be driving down to the coast or to see some estranged family member. No apocalypse, no disease, no crippling fear of losing Tommy, no paranoia that someone would be waiting around the corner for them. Wilbur could be driving, just like normal. Tommy could just be a rambunctious loving kid.
Maybe if they just pretend, it could be normal.