Work Text:
23: “ Why did you spare me? ”
33:“ He’s dead because of you. ”
Ralbert
Race stared up at the figure who’d just killed the people next to him. He was afraid, no two ways about it. Whoever it was had just shot and killed the only people aside from the murderer he’d seen in weeks. And if he wasn’t scared he’d be next, he would have cried for them.
But the gun wasn’t aimed at him anymore. It was away, and he was being untied. “C’mon, we gotta get. They’ll be here soon.”
Race stood up, still terrified. “Why did you spare me?!” He panicked as he spoke, but he finished.
“Because you’re human, not like them.” The person, a man, said. “Now c’mon, or we’re dead.”
Race, knowing the truth of that statement, followed the crazy person with the gun. He could hear them now, in all honesty. Moans and shuffling in the distance. He couldn’t do this. This man, he’d just killed two people. What if he was next?
But it was a quick shot to the head, or getting eaten.
He’d take the gun, he guessed. So he followed the person. He couldn’t make anything out about this person. It was all covered by rags and denim and leather. Something about him made Race think, but he didn’t care much. His voice was familiar. Like Race had known him once, long ago, but he’d since forgotten.
They walked until nightfall, when they came to a shelter in the trees. There were no lights on, but high in the towering trees of the Catskills were wooden and metal structures. A whole city above the forest floor. But the person led Race past that. They walked and walked, until they reached the outskirts of the city in the trees. The moaning grew louder around them, but they had reached their destination. A old, wooden shack built on the very edge. Race couldn’t find any features this far below.
The person led him to a gated ladder. It must have been how they kept the city safe. But Race remembered building this. He’d spent so long trying to forget, but he remembered this gate. He had built it with Albert.
His Albert.
Who was dead.
Shaking his head to stop remembering, he climbed up the ladder after shutting the gate behind him. The gate needed three latches, a measure they had used in the early days when most of the corpses were still fresh. Now so many were too rotted to open a gate without a lock.
Climbing the ladder was just as he remembered. The holds were more worn than he remembered, probably from use. Race hadn’t been here in almost five years, this person must use this gateway a lot.
Which meant the shack above must be his now.
Race knew that someone else would have had to move in. Housing was limited, especially somewhere safe like this. But he wondered if Albert’s stuff was still there. Or if it had been thrown away, or re-used. There were only so many things they could do with it.
Once they were on the old, but still well maintained walkway, the person turned to him. Looking Race right in the eyes. One of his was milky white, blind, seemingly from a scar. But his voice still felt familiar. “He’s dead because of you.”
There was only one person he could have been talking about.
Race remembered that day clearer then his own name, no matter how hard he tried to forget.
It had been five years, six months, and a week ago almost to the day. Race and Albert had been on a normal trip into the city, for supplies. It had only been a little while since the end of the world, they were confident and young. They thought they may find something in the city.
“Okay Racer, here’s a easy one. Yankees or Red Sox?” Albert asked, trying to keep the mood light as they walked into a city far too quiet. Queens used to be someplace to be avoided. Now it was a ghost town.
“Cubs.” Race said, just to disrupt Albert’s expectations. He had still believed then, that everything would be okay in the end. That a cure would be found, that the world would recover. Something had to happen, something to set the world right again. Race, then, couldn’t imagine never walking through New York City again. He certainly never imagined living in this new world forever.
“Race, they won once in a hundred years.” Albert pointed out. Race had caught himself admiring Albert, proud to call him his boyfriend. Especially then, neither of them expected humanity to fall the way it had. They were blissful and in love, without care.
Neither of them saw the walker until it was too late.
And Race tried. He tried to kill it, but it wouldn’t die and Albert screamed and screamed. And Race couldn’t bear the thought of killing Albert. So he ran. He ran away from home, he ran far into the mountains. Never to look back to the city again. Never to even consider returning.
He wouldn't be able to take the guilt. He’d nearly broken down, with a gun in his mouth, because of it. Some days he still came close.
He’d killed his best friend, or as good as.
And he’d blocked that memory as best he could for five years, six months and a week, almost to the day.
But then it was fresh in his mind, and he fell to his knees on that old wooden walkway, hands in his lap. “Please just kill me..” He mumbled. He’d never see Albert in the afterlife. His Albie was in heaven, where he belonged. Race would suffer in hell, and he’d be happy, because Albie was okay and safe. He was happy up in the clouds of heaven. “I don’t want to be here anymore.”
But no such mercy came. Instead the person kneeled in front of him. “You know I can’t do that Racer.”
Race looked the person in the eyes. His single brown eye was so familiar, it hurt Race’s heart. He looked too much like Albert. His eyes held too much warmth and love and he said that old nickname that he hadn’t heard in so long.
But it wasn’t Albert. Albert was dead.
“You aren’t him.” Race said numbly. “He died, I let him die. I couldn’t kill him, but I did.” Race felt hot tears run down his face. “I killed him.”
The person lowered the scarf over his face. Race would know that face anywhere. Brown eyes, scattered light freckles, strands of fire red hair.
“Albie?” Race asked in a broken voice. “Oh my god Albie..” Race cried harder. Albert pulled him into a tight hug. It was as warm and comforting as Race remembered. He’d forgotten how stray tufts of Albert’s hair would poke his cheek, how he always had the faintest smell of nutmeg. Little details that rushed back to him as he sat crying in Albert’s arms, clutching him for dear life.
He wouldn’t lose him again, not ever.
It took half an hour to move inside. Albert and Race removed the layers of protective clothing, nothing but humans were up here. Albert’s arms were covered in huge white scars, like someone had gone over him with a lawnmower. Race had scratches and scars of his own. But he had a idea of how Albert got most of them.
It was all Race’s fault.
Albert sat next to him in a tank top. His blind side to Race, which could either mean he trusted Race to keep a lookout on that side or that he didn’t want to see Race. He wanted it to be the former, but knew it had to be the latter.
They sat in silence for a little while before Albert asked a simple question. “But for real, Yankees or Red Sox?” He turned to Race while he said it, eyes twinkling a little.
Race laughed. “Cubs! I will never change my answer Albie.” Albert cracked a smile, and Race did to.
“But now it’s been 10 years since they last won.” Albert pointed out, longish hair moving with him. Race tucked it behind his ear absentmindedly, moving it out of Albert’s eye.
“Yha, and I still love the Cubs. Suck it up buttercup.” He said with his trademark smile. He’d never forget the ease of conversation with Albert. Even when he’d tried to forget he’d always saved that detail even after he forgot his voice.
“It’s been too long since I heard your voice. Or your stupid insults.” Albert said sincerely.
“Shuddup and kiss me.” Race said softly. Albert obliged.
Maybe they would be okay.