-What Jack was like before Statesman / if repeated alpha gel uses fuck you up
-What would make Laredo!Javi laugh
I can’t stop feeling that Jack was like, a teenage sporting star who got a college scholarship but joined the police instead. I feel like that sense of right and wrong has always been strong in him.
hi, yes, is this thing on? hola! i’m mika and i’ve been making masterlists for some characters pedro has played over the years!
the idea behind making these masterlists is that (hopefully!) more people can read old works (some of us are new to the pedro party, alright? be nice to us! #tpwk lmao) and also new works (as i update it!) ✨
i’m gonna be doing a big update these next few days/weeks, so! if you wanna put a smile to my face and be part of the masterlists you can fill aform that’s linked on my tumblr bio or send me a message!
last but not least! if you check the masterlists r e m e m b e r to REBLOG and maybe reply too, ya know? that’s also nice the original posts bc these people are blessing us with their writing for f r e e!!! likes are nice and all but they don’t get writings anywhere really! having a lot of notes is cool and whatnot but actually reblogging something is ✨ so yeah be the real mvp and reblog the author’s works bye!
summary : no plot, straight to the good stuff, just riding whiskeys big ol’ dick into the sunset which we’d all like to do. enjoy!
•
the warmth of his large hand on your back and his kisses on your cheek help you to relax and open up as you slide down onto his throbbing length.
“almost there. there you go, atta girl.” he whispers in your ear as you successfully take every thick inch of him inside you.
he’s brushing against your cervix and g spot causing the most deep, intense pleasure you’ve ever felt.
“fuck! daddy! it’s so deep!” you gasp out, choking on breaths as he hits the most exquisite spots inside you, just from you moving around slowly in his lap.
“yeah? you feelin’ good?” he says in the most mocking tone which makes you clench around him. you can’t even form the words to answer him. “yeah you’re feelin’ good. i can fuckin’ feel it.”
he starts to fuck into you ever so slowly, softly grunting with each thrust. your eyes roll back involuntarily and the whiniest whimper escapes your lips. he hears this and grabs your hair from the crown of your head so you’re face to face with him, the other hand gently wrapping around your throat.
“keep those fuckin’ eyes on me. keep lookin’ at daddy while he pounds this fuckin’ cunt.” his words cause a sharp cry to leave you, followed by another gasp. you can’t help but let your head drop to his chest and he pulls you right back up. “i fuckin’ told you to look at me. don’t you dare take those eyes off me, i wanna see your face when i make this little pussy cream on my fuckin’ dick.”
“fuckkk daddy it feels so good!” you cry out.
“ohhh fuck daddy.” he fucking mocks you, the smug prick. he knows just what he does to you. you start to clench around him uncontrollably and he knows you’re close.
“i can feel that pussy creamin’ around my cock. you’re just about ready to cum, aren’t ya?” he whispers. all you can do is nod as he continues his assault on your poor pussy. “don’t you fuckin’ dare just yet. you be a good girl and wait for daddy. huh? you gonna be my good girl?”
“yes! yes! daddy i’ll be your good girl!” you’re fucking sobbing and he’s not letting you cum and it’s all getting to be too much and finally he spurs you on.
“come on, honey, i know you’re ready. cum on daddy’s big cock. do it. now. i wanna feel it.” he’s growling in your fucking ear.
your coil snaps so suddenly and you find yourself whimpering out for him. “fuck daddy i’m cumming! i’m cumming, i’m cumming!” you repeat over and over and he chuckles darkly before his balls tighten and he spills inside you with a choked groan.
“mmm fuck yes daddy gimme your cum! i can feel it! it’s so warm in my pussy!” you’re still coming down from your high and you just fall into his lap, completely spent from how hard you’ve cum.
i think we can all agree jack definitely cums a LOT so his huge load is dripping out of your hole already. “oh would you look at that. look down at it, honey. you see that? you see daddy’s cum leaking outta you?”
it’s the hottest thing you’ve ever seen. you feel your ego stroked knowing you made him cum that much.
Warnings: talk of infection/disease, descriptions of violence, not really zombies but sorta zombies???, angst, death (not of the main characters)
Notes: This does not take place in the same universe as my Zombie AU fic At the End of the World. That is a separate thing. And the threat here isn’t really… zombies, because when they die, they stay dead. But they also kind of are zombies because of the whole. Eating People thing. I mainly wanted to explore the reactions and psychology of the characters when there are signs of the world ending, but nothing concrete that effects them directly just yet. As well as an apocalyptic story that doesn’t focus too much on what’s causing said apocalypse.
—- November 03, 20XX, 0900 hours —-
He was at work, looking over an updated report you’d given him when he got the news. An oddly calm intercom message with rushed undertones urged all within earshot to turn on their nearest device and head to any available news source. Jack Daniels, better known as Agent Whiskey among his peers, didn’t have to wait for the news site to load for him to know what he’d see when it did.
New York City had fallen.
He’d called it days ago, right when the first reports of an infected patient had started breaking across the nation. Apparently someone had come home from the airport and suddenly turned violent. It hadn’t taken long from there to connect the dots, especially when word spread that the only reason the infection had been spotted was due to the massacre of Patient Zero’s entire family.
He’d heard the whispers from Agent Champagne’s office mere hours later as Jack’s superior agent spoke with various government officials, all of them begging him for agents to stand guard and perform “mitigation measures”, as they’d called it. Meaning they were asking for trained agents to cull infected populations before they got out of control, not trusting civilians or local law enforcement to be able to gun down the infected that wore their loved ones’ faces. But Champagne had refused, saying his primary duty was to his people, and he intended on keeping his people as far away from the budding disaster as he could, until he could no longer. As a matter of fact, Champagne had completely evacuated the entire New York office as soon as word of the infection first leaked.
As soon as the first pictures of New York loaded, however, Jack knew that the day had come when he could no longer be protected.
The iconic skyline was ablaze, rooftops equally emblazoned with large, painted calls for help that he could barely see through the smoke in the pictures. Several others were hidden behind “graphic content” warnings, namely the closer pictures taken of blood-spattered streets and mangled corpses that littered the former metropolis. These sorts of images had been coming in for days, but rescue efforts still continued nonetheless.
But now? Now they’d been called off, citing overwhelming first responder casualties. The collateral damage simply wasn’t worth the slim chance of finding any more survivors. From here on out, anyone still in New York was on their own, and judging by the tiny silhouettes of large military planes in the distance of one image, Jack figured they were as good as gone anyway. He’d seen that type of equipment back during his time in the Air Force, and they didn’t use it for rescue ops. If he had to put money on it, he’d wager the city would be carpet bombed within the hour, if it hadn’t been already.
“So what’s the news?”
Your voice startled him away from the screen. You’d come bearing more reports for him, though truthfully he was planning on stalling so you’d have more of an excuse to stick around for a little while. Such news was best not absorbed alone.
“New York’s gone,” Jack said, his own tone surprising him. It was… nonchalant, almost. As if he were telling you the weather as opposed to telling you that an entire city and the millions of people in it were considered beyond saving.
You sighed, placing your folders on his desk and pulling up a chair to sit across from him.
“So… what now?” you asked.
“Dunno,” Jack replied, putting his elbows on his desk and running his hands along his face. “Depends on what DC does, I think. If the folks there think their countermeasures in New York have done the job? Then nothin’ll happen here, probably. But if they start movin’ to bunkers? That’s probably what we’ll be doin’ next.”
“Does Statesman even have bunkers to go to?”
“Oh sure. Well, I dunno about bunkers, per se, but I’m sure Champagne’s got somethin’ up his sleeve. This place has got basements and sub-basements and sub-sub-basements. All sorts’a shit. Never seen ‘em myself, but I’m sure we’ve got somethin’ set up for emergencies like this.”
You fell quiet, as did he. Part of him wanted to switch websites; pull up some sort of 24/7 news feed to get a live look at what was going on. Then again… he wasn’t sure if he really wanted to see.
“Feels like something out of a horror movie,” you said quietly, almost as if speaking to yourself. “Like someone will wake up from a coma in a week like they always do in those things and everything will just be… gone.”
Jack only hummed in agreement, not having anything else to add to the conversation but also not wanting you to leave. He wanted you with him for as long as he could keep you there.
The two of you had danced around each other for months, your position as Jack’s administrative assistant serving to put you both near one another quite often. You’d charmed him almost immediately, though it hadn’t been until mere weeks ago that Jack had ponied up the courage to tell you how he really felt and ask if he could take you to dinner, and you’d graciously agreed. What you were now was… he wasn’t sure. It was that strange in-between zone, where neither of you wanted to label your relationship as a relationship for fear of moving too fast, but you also wanted the exclusivity that came with it.
“Why don’t you stay at my place tonight?” he finally managed. It was like pushing air out of his lungs, forcing himself to ask for what he needed. “Y’don’t havet’a, of course, I just… I know you live closer to the city, and I-”
“It’s okay, Jack,” you interjected, a soft smile blooming across your features. “Just let me run home real quick after work and pack a bag. Then I’ll be by.”
He puffed out a sigh, grateful that you hadn’t made him say what his true intentions behind his question were.
Truthfully, he was scared. New York City, and the almost eight and a half million people in it, had been wiped out in days. Who was to say the infection had been eradicated? Who could give honest reassurance that Patient Zero hadn’t infected everyone else on the plane and thus doomed the entire continent (or planet, for that matter)? Or that an errant infected hadn’t sprinted away into the countryside to continue mangling victims and spreading the disease? There were simply too many variables for Jack to feel comfortable having you spend the night alone, much less close to a large city like Louisville.
Before he could get too bogged down in his thoughts, a sharp knock came at his office door. As it swung open, Jack was met with Agent Champagne, his superior and the head agent of the entire Statesman Agency.
“I’m sure you’ve heard the news,” the older man said simply.
“I have,” Jack replied with a curt nod. “What’s our plan, boss?”
Champagne cleared his throat slightly, looking back and forth between you and Jack for a moment in contemplation before continuing.
“Ah, what the hell,” he said, “I was gonna ask for a private meetin’, but I know you’d just tell’er anyway later.”
Jack had to admit, after over a decade and a half with the company, his boss knew him well.
Champagne pulled up the other chair opposite of Jack’s desk, leaning back in it and removing his Stetson to place it on his knee. Jack knew his body language, and he knew what he saw before him did not mean good news.
“DC’s headed for the bunkers.”
“Shit.”
“Mhm,” Champagne hummed. “They’re concerned that this shit’s gonna spread to Pittsburgh next, and they wanna get ahead of the curve. The government is more concerned about not turnin’ this into a mass panic than they are about lettin’ people know what’s goin’ on, so here I am. Lettin’ y’all know what’s goin’ on.”
“So what’s the plan?” Jack asked.
“Right now? Nothin’. Business as usual. But if I get wind of this shit hittin’ Dayton or Cincinnati, it’s down to the basements. For all’a you. We don’t have a designated bunker, per se, but we’ve got five levels of basements that are more than large enough to accomodate everyone here.”
“In other words, pack a go-bag.”
“Yup. And try to keep this as hush-hush as possible to non-Statesman folks. Ain’t nothin’ to worry about on our end just yet, and I’d like to keep it that way as long as possible. For all we know, this shit’ll stop in the northeast.”
Jack suddenly found himself grateful that his parents had passed on years ago and that he had no other connections to any civilians. But you? You had people on the outside.
“And if it doesn’t?” you asked softly. “What… what do we tell people?”
“Tell ‘em you’re safe,” Champagne said as he stood and replaced his hat on his head. “But we only got enough space and resources for our own people right now. I’m sorry, kid.”
Jack watched as he gently patted your shoulder. You nodded and cast your gaze down, your demeanor suddenly heavy. He didn’t have to know you as well as he did to ask why; Champagne had essentially just told you that if the worst came to pass, you’d have to leave your loved ones outside of Statesman behind to fend for themselves if you wanted a chance at survival.
“I’m gonna have to make some phone calls after work,” you said quietly after Champagne took his leave.
“Make ‘em now,” Jack said, reaching a hand across his desk for you to take. “Ain’t nothin’ I need doin’ that’s so important it can’t wait. Hell, make those calls as many times as you want. I don’t mind.”
You looked at him, eyes glassy, and nodded as you squeezed his hand in appreciation.
—- November 03, 20XX, 1800 hours —-
You agreeing to stay the night with him had served to abate his anxiety, but only just. As he waited for your arrival after work, Jack turned on the news, only to find it was missing critical information. For one, it made no mention of the top echelons of government heading for their bunkers, instead painting it as though life was business as usual in the DC area. For another, the talking heads spoke as if New York was simply abandoned, that in a few weeks’ time people could move back in and re-settle the area.
As if Jack hadn’t been tapping into Statesman drone footage with you all afternoon only to find that the entire city had been razed to the ground, a smoldering crater where the mighty metropolis used to be.
To their credit, they were careful to outline the illness to their viewers and relay the severity of it. The virus could incubate for days, its future victims never showing a single detectable sign or symptom until it was past the point of no return. Not unlike the rabies virus, where if someone started showing signs it was already too late.
And when symptoms did start presenting, it was fast. Within 48 hours the victim would be dead, most likely having taken a dozen others with them and infecting dozens more. Those final hours though… they were hell on earth if Jack had ever seen it.
A fever so high it induced hallucinations. A fear of water, rendering the infected unable to drink. Blood pressure, breathing rate, and heart rate through the roof, leading to excess energy and anxiety that made the victim helpless in their desire to sprint and run and move as much as possible. And, above all else, a deep, insatiable hunger accompanied by towering, blinding rage.
Put all of it together, and you ended up with someone who was perfectly fine one day, and manically chasing after loved ones the next in an attempt to take them down like a wolf to an injured deer. From the accounts he’d read from those who’d barely managed to escape with their lives, it was like a light switch. One second they were sitting and chatting like nothing was wrong, and within the hour they were being hunted like prey animals by someone hallucinating them to be dangerous and a source of food at the same time. It was no wonder that the virus, transmissible through bites or any contact with infected bodily fluids, had spread so quickly.
He heard your car pull up before he could go too far down the rabbit hole, thanking the sky that you’d made it there safely.
Jack opened his front door for you, kissing your cheek as you walked inside with just a backpack slung over one shoulder.
“Packed light, didn’t’cha?” he teased.
“Yeah,” you reciprocated, “I’ve got more in a suitcase outside though, in case… in case I need it.”
He caught the undertones. You’d packed your essentials and valuables, ready to go should he get that midnight call to evacuate to HQ. He’d heard when you’d made your calls earlier that day, as you hadn’t left his office before doing so. You’d done your best to reassure your loved ones that everything was fine, that you were sure all of this would blow over. More than one of them must have offered to house you in some way, as he’d overheard you gently turning them down and saying you were in a safe place as you’d asked them not to worry.
He’d held you as you’d cried after each call, telling him through your tears that you hadn’t wanted to lie to them but that you’d felt like you hadn’t had a choice.
Once again, he’d felt guiltily grateful that he had no one left outside of Statesman to worry about.
As you placed your backpack down on his sofa, Jack enveloped you in an embrace. He felt you deflate against him as you reciprocated, a quiet sigh leaving your chest as you did.
“Been watching the news?” you asked.
“Mhm.”
“Anything new?”
“Nah,” Jack said, “sounds like they’re coverin’ up the worst of it. No mention of DC headed to the bunkers, and they’re talkin’ as if New York’s still in one piece.”
“Not even mentioning the bombings, huh?”
“Nope,” he said, popping the last syllable. “Not a word.”
Neither of you spoke after that, content to simply be still and hold each other. Neither of you needed to - you both knew that the news would only cover the next city when it was deemed uninhabitable. Couldn’t risk “inciting a panic”, after all.
As if that mattered in the grand scheme of things anymore.
—- November 17, 20XX, 2245 hours —-
It was quiet. Too quiet.
No new developments had broken about the infection for weeks. After a full seven days of staying overnight at his house, you’d gone back home. Jack had willingly let you, not wanting you to feel confined, but something ugly still gnawed at his insides. Something wasn’t right.
He laid in bed, staring at the ceiling. His sleep schedule had suffered these past few days without you next to him, though he never admitted to as much when you asked during the day. Surely some sort of news should have cropped up around Pittsburgh by now, or even DC itself. But there was nothing. The news cycle had broken and revealed that New York was uninhabitable, but beyond that, there was nothing else, and it had since gone back to its usual rotation of politics and world events that had nothing to do with the infection. Even Champagne hadn’t come to offer any more information since the day that New York fell. Part of him tried to assure himself that it was a good thing, that no news meant that the countermeasures in New York worked and that the infection had been properly eradicated.
A bigger part of him knew better.
It felt strange, going about his normal business when an entire city lay decimated. He would get up. Go to work. Go to the store. Everything he typically did, except now it was with an unsettling undercurrent coursing through his veins. It felt as though he were standing atop a dam, watching below as the concrete cracked ever so slowly. Knowing it was only a matter of time before it burst and destroyed everything downstream, but being powerless to stop it.
Something had to give.
—- November 20, 20XX, 0815 hours —-
And give it did.
Agent Champagne rushed into his office as soon as he sat down. Well, perhaps “rushed” wasn’t the correct term. To the uninitiated layperson, there wasn’t anything different about Champagne’s mannerisms. But Jack knew better. He could tell the man was rattled, and that alone was enough to set Jack on edge before Champagne could even sit down. His superior was not the type of man to rattle easily.
“New York didn’t work.”
That was all he had to say for Jack’s heart to fall.
“Where’s it at now?”
“The DC area’s got the most reports comin’ in this mornin’,” Champagne said. “But there are some scattered ones in the suburbs of Pittsburgh too.”
“All at once? How could things have been quiet for so long an’ now it’s all goin’ to shit?”
“Your guess is as good as mine, son,” Champagne said, exasperated. “We barely know anythin’ about what this whole infection even is. We don’t know where Patient Zero picked it up from or how. Don’t know really how it spreads beyond infected blood or saliva. Hell, from what I understand we don’t even really know the incubation period yet. Just that it’s less than a week.”
“News picked up on it yet?”
“Hell no. Can’t go incitin’ a panic, remember? Or whatever other stupid shit congress has come up with to keep a lid on it.”
“So we’re just lettin’ people get blindsided instead?”
“You’re actin’ as though I have a say in the matter, Jack.”
He had to admit, Champagne was right. Even an agency as powerful as Statesman was still defenseless against the will of the State. Once more, Champagne asked him to keep the information confidential, then he left, saying something about “needing to inform some other folks”.
As soon as his office door closed, he grabbed his phone to call you to him.
—- November 22, 20XX, 1200 hours —-
Just as he’d expected, news crossed his screen that day that Pittsburgh was infected and any citizens still alive and within it were instructed to remain sheltered in place. “Prevention measures”, they called it. Wanted to make sure no one who was still asymptomatic and carrying the virus got evac’d out.
Unfortunately, that also condemned a few hundred thousand to death, since Jack was fairly sure the city would go the same way as New York within the next day or so, mostly due to the fact that the powers that be kept the entire thing under wraps for so long. If they’d acted sooner, perhaps it could have been quarantined better. In a way, he supposed the country was lucky; it appeared that Patient Zero hadn’t infected anyone else on his flight that fateful day so it hadn’t appeared to spread to other areas separate from the initial zone just yet. Either that, or whoever else had been infected had succumbed alone, unable to spread it to anyone else before their demise.
And they said a single person couldn’t make a difference.
You’d rarely left his side over the past few days, having stayed the night at his place both the previous night and the night before after he divulged the new information to you. He was grateful for that fact; he didn’t want to pressure you to stay near him, but he also didn’t want to spend half the night awake fearing for your safety.
However, as news of Pittsburgh spread, so did the talk. Agent Champagne had only divulged his contingency plan to the top members of the agency and you by extension, which meant the lower-level agents and staff were still in the dark. As such, more and more of them had begun to come to you, knowing you had a direct line to Jack and the knowledge he possessed. None of them knew that you’d been privy to his and Champagne’s conversation, and you never offered them any indication that you knew any more than they did. Still, Jack could tell it rattled you, having to tell your peers that you didn’t know what was coming.
“It’s like I’m taking their chance away to properly say goodbye to their people,” you’d confided in him last night.
He felt for you. Truly, he did. But at the same time, he knew why things had to be kept under wraps until the situation developed more. The more people that knew of the plan and the earlier they knew it, the more Statesman risked having a horde of scared civilians showing up at their doors and overwhelming what little shelter they had available if shit hit the fan.
Talk around the breakroom that day was… polarized. More than once, Jack had to step in and separate people before their “discussions” devolved into screaming matches. Some were convinced the news was telling the whole truth and that there was nothing to worry about, while others were rightfully scared out of their minds and sure the plague was coming for them next. It messed with Jack’s mind, hearing two tales of the same event. A part of him even started to wonder if he’d simply blown the entire thing out of proportion. If the photos he’d seen were of another place, another time, and that New York was actually still standing and congress was still on Capitol Hill. Hell, maybe all of this was one big fever dream and he’d snap awake any minute now and everything will have gone back to normal.
But deep down, as much as he wished it were, Jack knew none of that was true.
Later that night, you softly asked Jack to take you to bed. To let you forget about your friends and family on the outside who were blind to what was coming. To let you focus on something other than the impending dread that was a constant resident in your body now.
And Jack, needing just as much to forget and focus on something outside of himself, wholeheartedly obliged.
—- November 23, 20XX, 1630 hours —-
Agent Champagne had called the agency-wide meeting a full hour ago. Jack had known immediately it was to clue the rest of the staff in on the impending relocation, as word had spread that the infection had been spotted as close as Columbus, Ohio. It was only a matter of time before it hit Cincinnati, and from there Statesman HQ was on borrowed time. It seemed the initial slow period between developments had been a fluke, and now the infection was spreading with a vengeful speed.
However, as soon as Champagne had revealed his contingency plan to the rest of the facility, things had devolved into a cacophony of indignant yelling and fearful murmuring. Not that Jack could blame them, with the way the infection was spreading he assumed Champagne would be sending out the call to retreat within the next 24-36 hours. Not exactly a lot of time to bid farewell to your loved ones and the entire life you’d known up until that moment. Not to mention Champagne had had the unenviable task of telling everyone that they could not bring any… guests with them. Agents and Statesman staff only, by strict order.
That was when the yelling had really started.
More than a few people had put their foot down, saying they wouldn’t be coming if that were the case. That they’d rather die with their families than live without them.
“That’s your choice to make,” Champagne had said. “I ain’t gonna force you to come with us.”
Jack had remained quiet, but now the overlapping voices were beginning to grate on him. He removed his earpiece, content to simply watch the holograms through his glasses and watch their mouths move angrily. You were seated next to him, having removed your own earpiece several minutes before. You’d made your decision days ago, you didn’t need to hear others shouting as they struggled to make theirs.
Jack had caught bits and pieces of hushed conversations while you were on the phone the night before. He’d heard you softly tell people that you had a place to go that was safe, but that only you were allowed in. He’d heard your loved ones urge you to go without them; heard them tell you that at least one of your number surviving was a better fate than all of you perishing together. He’d heard you tearfully tell them you loved them, that if anything at all came up as an option for them that they’d be the first to know.
He’d known that, strictly speaking, you were breaking the cardinal sin of not letting outsiders be privy to what was going on. He’d also known that he couldn’t care less at that moment. After your calls, you’d found him, eyes puffy and cheeks stained with tears. He’d held you close, murmuring to you that he’d do everything in his power to keep you safe.
Now, he merely sat and watched you as you in turn observed the others. You were stony-faced, revealing no emotion as you looked upon the sea of agent holograms angrily gesticulating as Champagne’s image remained still and composed. Jack turned his attention to his computer, pulling up Statesman’s company-wide instant messaging service before telling Champagne that you’d both already made your choice and that he saw no reason to keep you both in the quickly-dissolving veneer of a corporate meeting. He saw Champagne’s hologram look to the side and give a slight nod, a signal that he’d received the message.
Jack turned off and removed his glasses, then reached over to take yours.
“Here, honey,” he said softly, reaching for them. “Let me.”
He placed your specialty glasses next to his own, then turned back to you.
“So whaddya wanna do?” he asked. “An’ I don’t mean about the evac situation.”
“I think…” you started, voice lead-lined, “I think I want to visit some people. And then I want to go home and pack. Really pack.”
He nodded, then stood up and grabbed his coat.
“I’ll drive.”
—- November 23, 20XX, 1845 hours —-
Jack pondered as he sat outside in his Bronco, waiting for you. You only had a handful of people close enough to truly visit, and he’d promised to drive you to each one and wait outside as you said your goodbyes without really saying them. No matter how long it took. And then he’d drive you home and help you discern what was worth taking with you as you walked into the apocalypse.
Truthfully, he was worried for your wellbeing and safety, and on more than just the physical level. He was a trained, top-level agent, and had years of experience compartmentalizing and repressing emotions and trauma when the situation called for it. But you? Up until a little under a year ago, you were a normal civilian. You’d never been in the field, never had to wager your life and the lives of those around you. You were coping well so far, but something told him the severity of the situation hadn’t truly set in yet, and likely wouldn’t until you were bolted down in one of HQ’s sub-basements. This was through no fault of your own - he didn’t expect you to fully grasp the situation yet. Not while you were still topside and able to talk to and see your loved ones.
The news over the past few hours had gotten harrowing. Even the national media had stopped pretending the infection was a minor blip on the country’s radar and had turned to reporting actual eyewitness accounts.
People who had survived the initial onslaught, only to be caught on a plane with an infected pilot. That one had ended in 236 lives taken when it had inevitably crashed into a highrise in West Virginia. Busloads of evacuees decimated by one or two infected passengers, leading to a dozen others prowling the countryside after their vehicle ran into a ditch somewhere.
“All we have to do is hold out,” one talking head assured the audience. “We know victims cannot survive more than 48 hours past the first sign of symptoms. All we have to do is quarantine, and the infection will burn itself out.”
That in and of itself would be a lovely sentiment, if the infected didn’t behave like feral animals with superhuman strength and stamina, with a sense of smell and hearing to match. People reported boarding up their homes only to have someone crash through their defenses anyway. Others reported car doors being ripped off their hinges.
Human beings were being turned into the true apex predators they had evolved to be.
Granted, it probably didn’t help that most business owners were content to force their employees to “stay the course”. Jack had lost count of how many horrors he’d read about that involved a pack of infected raiding a fully-staffed supermarket or a factory filled with assembly-line workers. Not to mention those (mostly on the west coast) who were convinced that all of this was a hoax and were hell-bent on living life as normal. Even some of the politicians were spouting such nonsense from the cushy safety of their underground bunkers, no doubt trying to pander to voters that Jack wagered wouldn’t even be alive within a few months.
He shuddered to think about what would happen should someone come sprinting out of the dark, intent on breaking into the house before him to get to you and the people inside. He reassured himself that it wouldn’t happen, that the infection hadn’t spread this far yet, and if it had, he was there. He’d keep you safe.
So he waited. Leaned back in his seat and tapped his fingers along the leather headrest on the passenger side. He was anything but impatient; he’d gladly stay parked outside for the rest of the night if that’s what you needed. He breathed in the fresh air, faintly wondering if he’d have to spend the rest of his days inhaling recycled oxygen instead.
—- November 24, 20XX, 0230 hours —-
Just as Jack had expected, the two of you hadn’t gotten to his home until much, much later than normal. About midnight, once you’d said your goodbyes and he’d helped you pack. You’d come away from your visits with a few trinkets - an old ring, a photo, an antique lighter that still held its flame. Mementos given to you by your loved ones, tangible objects to remember them by. Those had then been housed in a small tin box and packed away gently with your other belongings.
Truthfully, Jack hadn’t wanted to go to sleep. Something had told him that he’d want nothing more than to hold onto these last few moments later. But he’d bedded down anyway, holding you in his arms as you’d both drifted off.
That is, until his work phone started ringing at 2:30 in the morning.
He answered with a groggy “hello”, only to be met by Champagne’s steady voice on the other side.
“It’s time, son.”
Jack sighed, looked over at your still-sleeping form as you faced away from him, then whispered back.
“You’re sure?”
“Yup. Shit’s spreadin’ faster than we thought. Just got word of a case in Cincinnati. Woman started showin’ symptoms and wiped out her entire family 15 hours later. Took a few chunks outta the first responders and medical staff too before she kicked it. My guess is that it’ll be in Louisville by this time tomorrow.”
Jack cursed under his breath, then sighed.
“Alright,” he finally said. “How you wanna do this, boss?”
“Just come in like you normally do,” Champagne replied. “We’ll start fillin’ up the fifth sub-basement first then move our way up to the first. They’ve all got plenty of livin’ spaces, big areas, and a decently-sized kitchen and washroom facility. Oughta be enough to let us hold out for a while. Then once we’re full up… we shut it down. Secure our provisions, block off the elevator and the stairs, and just… wait.”
“Understood.”
He hung up, sighed, then turned to you. He placed his hand gently on your shoulder, and leaned close.
Only to find you already awake.
“It’s time to go, isn’t it?” you asked softly.
“Yeah, sweetheart,” he murmured, kissing your cheek. “It’s time to go.”
But still, you didn’t move.
“…I’m scared.”
“I know, darlin’. I know.”
—- November 24, 20XX, 0400 hours —-
It had taken you both some time to truly get up and going. The sky wasn’t on fire yet, so to speak, so neither of you were in any particular rush to say goodbye to the lives you’d known up until that point. Jack had loaded your suitcases into his Bronco, taken one last look around his home, and locked up. He’d felt silly doing so, but a habit was a habit.
The streets were quiet leading into town. The highrises glowed, blissfully unaware of the oncoming storm. Jack held your hand across the center console, neither of you speaking as he winded through the city blocks on his way to headquarters.
As he pulled into the underground parking garage reserved for Statesman employees, he caught sight of several other vehicles already parked and several more following him. He wondered if Agent Champagne had personally called every agent to inform them of the news, or if the senior agent had only made a private call to a select few and had sent out a generic message to everyone else.
He supposed it didn’t matter.
Jack drove to the lowest level of the garage, part of him having some naive hope that the lower he went, the more chance his beloved Bronco had of surviving should the city be wiped off the map. As he parked, he turned to you to try and talk to you about what was coming. How he wanted you to know he’d be there for you when the night terrors came, how he’d hold you when you broke under the weight of the scorched earth above.
But you already had your door open, and were sliding out of his passenger seat.
The two of you silently trekked with the rest of the faculty that had arrived, all of you looking very much like the refugees you currently were. Most were dressed in day clothes, some were not, and all in attendance were carrying some form of suitcase, bag, or backpack. Dozens of lives, reduced dozens of portable knapsacks.
You were welcomed to Statesman’s fifth sub-basement by Champagne himself, who indicated for everyone to gather ‘round in the main open area. He informed the crowd that each floor could house 200 people, maybe a bit more if people wanted to double up like you and Jack were planning to do. Either way, once either every staff member was accounted for or each basement was filled, the lockdown process would begin. The elevator would be taken out of commission, and the staircases out of the basement closest to the surface would be barricaded and blocked, allowing for only transportation between floors. He also announced that accommodations would be created for those who weren’t able to use the stairs for any reason.
Until then, everyone in attendance would be quarantined for a minimum of four weeks. Statesman had a small arsenal of automated robots capable of delivering food and water, administering fever checks daily, and sanitizing the bathrooms after every use. Only one person was allowed to use said facilities at any given time, including the showers, in order to allow for thorough cleaning procedures.
Jack led you to one of the rooms that had been reclaimed as a habitation space, and prepared to hunker down with you for the coming month of isolation. It was sparse, only housing a bed, dresser, and small table, but it would do. Again, he wanted to talk to you about the development, but you softly requested that he wait until you’d gotten more sleep. Naturally, he obliged, and with that he turned the light off and you curled up in bed next to him to return to sleep.
Jack took advantage of the moment of free time to check the news on his phone. He almost wished he hadn’t.
Other continents, as it turned out, had not been spared. Reports were coming in about the disease in multiple other countries. Spain. Switzerland. Australia. Japan. China. India. The middle east and more remote locations like Iceland and Madagascar appeared to be holding their own for the time being, but Jack wagered that they, too, would fall within a few weeks. He assumed it was due to the lengthy incubation period - someone could easily come into contact with infected blood without realizing it through something as simple as a cut on their hand, and before they knew it, their plan to evacuate one country had all but doomed another.
Instead of allowing himself to be pulled even further into the depths of his dread, Jack put his phone aside, pulled you to his chest, and slept as well.
—- November 27, 20XX, 1030 hours —-
Three days. It had only taken three days before the bombings started.
If he didn’t have any means of communication with the agents on the higher floors, Jack wouldn’t have known. Down in the fifth basement, the only evidence that anyone could hear of the armageddon above were dull thuds. Like their upstairs neighbors were dropping weights on the floor.
Apparently, up in other areas, it was much, much more apparent. The ground shook, lights flickered. Explosions rocked the area just above their heads. Some agents talked as if it felt like the ceiling would cave in on them at any moment. It made no sense to Jack, the fact that they continued to destroy entire cities. They had to know that it was hopeless to contain the threat at this point, why bother leveling buildings when they could continue looking for survivors? But alas, that was not his choice to make.
It didn’t take long after reading about the terror on the upper floors for Jack to contact Champagne and thank him for the early heads-up that allowed him and you into the safer fifth basement.
Jack never did get the chance to talk to you before your trauma began to settle into your bones. So he settled for allowing his actions to speak for him instead.
He held you through the bombings, allowing you to dry your tears on his shirt as you sobbed about the people you cared about up above. You’d stopped hearing from them 2 days after you arrived in the basements, and that was when the reality of the situation had truly hit. Jack had no words of reassurance to give, so he did the only things he could think to do - he held you, let you cry, and kissed the crown of your head. He could only hope it was enough. Deep down, he knew it wasn’t.
—- December 03, 20XX, 1200 hours —-
You thanked the little automated food delivery robot as you took two plates from it and refilled yours and Jack’s water bottles. Jack remembered you smiling once when you’d told him that humans would pack-bond with just about anything, and though he was doubtful then, he believed you now. Between the little robotic butlers, the mementos you received, and being able to video call with your former-coworkers-turned-friends, they were all you had.
—- December 10, 20XX, 1330 hours —-
“Do you think we’ll ever leave this place?”
Your voice was small and ragged. Most of the time these days, you slept, and the rest of the time you either read, wrote in a little journal, or had discussions like this with Jack or your friends. Much the same routine that he himself had, if he were to be honest.
“Sure,” Jack said. “We’ll be home free in a couple’a months, tops. Just you watch.”
He felt guilty, lying to you. But if that was what it took to instill even the smallest grain of hope, then he’d do it a million times over.
—- December 24, 20XX, 1545 hours —-
The end of the collective quarantine couldn’t have come at a better time. Everyone was on edge, the stress of missing and grieving for their friends and family piling up with the desperate need to see any change of scenery.
News of the outside world had dwindled in the last two weeks, not only because of the lack of internet service in most places, but also because people were more concerned with trying to survive than they were about posting to online forums. The rate of spread among the infection had increased, and it seemed that in the later days of the quarantine, Agent Champagne had come over the intercom to announce the fall of another major city or country every day. The US as a whole had yet to be declared dead, though Jack suspected that was only because the upper echelons of the government were still alive. Instead, Champagne had continued to relay news of other places that were declared total losses. Chicago. Denver. Dallas. Los Angeles. Spain. Egypt. Japan. The list went on for morbid miles. And that was only because he possessed a satellite connection to the heads of each Statesman regional office - who had also gone down into their respective underground areas - and various government and military officials, making information easier to come by. HQ itself was powered by various renewable energy generators and had its own water treatment area somewhere just off of basement three, so at least electricity and clean water weren’t an issue.
As you and Jack made your way to the main communal area, he noticed how haggard his peers were. Those who had shacked up with someone else fared only slightly better.
The numbers had dwindled ever so slightly in very conspicuous ways throughout the lockdown, and it was very evident now that people who had been cut off without a means of communication were allowed out and about to speak to others. As you went around hugging the friends you’d only spoken to over the phone for the past number of weeks, Jack caught wind of a few hushed comments.
“What happened to Rum?”
“Didn’t you hear?”
“He was infected. I could hear him screaming and pounding on the steel door to his room for hours, about five days after we locked in. A team of people dressed in hazmat suits went by after the noise stopped and brought him out in a bag.”
“I’m surprised the door didn’t come off the hinges.”
“These doors? Nah. Statesman brand steel, those are. No infected’s gettin’ through ‘em.”
“Thank god.”
“Just be grateful we have an incinerator and a damn good cleanup crew.” Jack bowed his head in purposeful silence for a moment. He’d known Rum, gone through basic Statesman training with him. He was a good man.
News continued to filter down as the day progressed, with more losses being reported. A tech here, a receptionist there. Most were people Jack had never met. Some were people he only vaguely knew by name. All of them made him thank whoever was listening up above that it hadn’t been him or you.
—- January 01, 20XX, 0030 hours —-
The new year was brought in with solemn reverence. There was only a small gathering of survivors, the rest choosing to tuck themselves away in their rooms. Jack couldn’t say he blamed them; after all, what was New Year’s Eve but another reminder of passing time and what had been lost as it marched mercilessly along?
A single bottle of Statesman bourbon was brought out for the occasion and shared between the attending members. You only had one shot, an amount that was wildly on the low end of what others consumed.
Jack included.
In his drunken haze, he became… contemplative. Quiet. He sat next to you, an arm around you as he pulled you to his side and rested his forehead on your shoulder.
The two of you had long since properly labeled your relationship. Had long since moved past the apprehension that was characteristic of all new entanglements. He was yours, and you were his. And now, aside from a small scattering of friends here in Basement Five with you… you were all each other had left.
Some had begun to tease the two of you, asking when they’d be hearing wedding bells. Neither of you gave the questions much stock, choosing instead to simply brush them off. You had better things to worry about at the moment. Others began asking about children, as if you or Jack would even begin to consider bringing another life into a world like this in good conscience.
No, for now the two of you were content to only have each other. Far less worries and concerns that way, as far as Jack was concerned. He didn’t need anything more than you by his side, anyway.
He woke the following morning to a pitch black room with a throbbing headache. Upon making the painful decision to turn the light on to find his way around, he found a glass of water and a single tablet of ibuprofen on the bedside table.
The quiet gestures of love always did speak the loudest.
—- March 03, 20XX, 1145 hours —-
Whispers had begun to cascade down from the upper basements. People were becoming restless, not that anyone could blame them.
“It’s been four months. Surely the infection must have run its course by now.”
“We’ve got the equipment, we could easily lift off whatever debris was blocking the entrance.”
“Do you think they’re keeping us here on purpose? Like some kind of experiment in captivity?”
Unfortunately, the answer as to whether or not there was any infection left on the surface was woefully out of reach. The energy grids across the world had failed months ago; the basements were powered through geothermal generators courtesy of Statesman technicians. The internet was out of the question; it had collapsed long ago with no one to maintain it or electricity to power the servers around the world. Some of the more knowledgeable technicians lightly convernsed amongst themselves about the possibility that any of the nuclear power plants were still standing and hadn’t melted down. If so, entire swaths of land would be uninhabitable for centuries to come. Overall, no one, not even Champagne, could give anyone even a glimpse into the outside world and whether or not it was safe to venture out to.
Overall, the world inside was much more mundane. Some areas of the underground had been repurposed to growing fresh food from seeds that Statesman had packed away, with a large number of people taking on the task of tending to the new crops. You and Jack often worked together in this area, as Jack had previous experience with it from his childhood on his parents’ farm.
He found it ironic, in a way. Back when he was an agent, he would’ve given anything to settle down and simply tend to plants all day. Now, it seemed suffocating.
—- May 25, 20XX, 1430 hours —-
The past six months in the basements had begun to blend together, a consequence of the routine that had developed. Wake up, tend to the crops, find a few times per day to eat, then go to bed. It was a simple existence. Perhaps a little too simple.
Jack still frequently awoke to you tossing and turning in your sleep. Of all your trauma responses, it appeared that the nightmares were proving to be the most persistent. They tended to be the same few subjects each time - Jack leaving for the basements without you, you watching your loved ones become infected with no means of escape from them, and you waking one day to find yourself alone in the tiny concrete room you lived in, just to name a few.
Most mornings were spent with Jack holding you close to him as you properly came to and processed the horrors you’d endured in your sleep yet again. You mentioned to him several times that you were jealous of his ability to push down such emotions, but he neglected to tell you about his own brand of nightmares.
The ones where he tried to find you to bring you to safety, only to be unsuccessful. The ones where he would wake only to find you suffering from a fever and hallucinations and him having to make the decision to put you down or go down with you.
The ones where you were violently yanked away from him by a hungry, manic mob full of gnashing teeth.
Deep down, he knew he should tell you. You were always telling him not to suffer on his own, that you were there for him whenever he needed you and that no one needed to process the events of the end alone, especially not when he was doing all he could to comfort you. But that was the exact problem - how could he, in good faith, burden you with such atrocities, when you were struggling to cope with what you experienced already?
In time, he promised himself, he would tell you.
—- July 08, 20XX, 1700 hours —-
The word had come not a moment too soon.
All five sub-basements had become a powder keg, with emotions running high and stress levels unbearable. Being secluded underground without sun, fresh air, and socialization with more than the same group of people for the past eight months had done terrible things to the collective psyche of the remaining survivors.
But blessedly, at 10am that day, Champagne had relented.
He’d agreed to open the entrance and allow people back into the outside world again.
“What do you think?” you asked Jack, sitting next to him on your bed with his hands in yours. “Do you think we should go?”
His mind flashed with his nightmares. He’d shared the contents of them last month, as he’d promised he would, when your own appeared to be lessening slightly. Naturally, you’d scolded him for not telling you sooner, but you’d begun helping him through his own trauma nonetheless. More than once he’d thanked you for having the patience of a saint. And every time you’d answered with a soft “you’ll always be worth it, Jack”.
But now, with the prospect of the sunlight being just within your grasp again, along with every potential danger that went with it, Jack was hesitant.
“I… I don’t know,” he answered quietly, looking down at your intertwined hands. “I really don’t know.”
“I don’t either,” you admitted. “It just… I want to be there. To see what it’s like now. But on the other hand…”
“It’s safe here,” Jack finished.
“Yeah. It’s safe here.”
Both of you were silent for a moment, contemplating the various options, scenarios, and outcomes before you spoke again.
“What do you miss the most?” you asked softly. “About the outside?”
“Sunshine,” Jack replied. “Fresh air. Animals. You?”
“…I miss the stars.”
Silence fell again. More consideration. More thought. Until Jack realized that the decision was likely already made, and was simply waiting to be spoken aloud before being cemented.
“We’re goin’ topside when they open it up, ain’t we, darlin’?”
“Yeah… I think we are.”
—- July 10, 20XX, 1030 hours —-
You and Jack stood side by side as the last few bits of rubble were set to be removed from the last staircase to the surface. He held your hand in his, reassuringly running his thumb along your skin every so often when he would notice you start to fidget. Others talked amongst themselves, excitedly listing off all the things they’d missed from the outside.
Jack’s heart raced, the possibility of everything going horribly, horribly wrong not at all lost on him. For all anyone knew, a mob of hungry infected could be waiting just outside the stairwell, having somehow survived for the past eight months. But he simply shook his head, struggling to put the thought out of his mind and focus on the handful of non-fatal possible outcomes.
And then, all at once, the last large boulder slipped free, and light poured in on the group.
The sun blinded him, depositing spots in his vision as he tried desperately to blink them away so he could properly focus on the green at the edges of his line of sight.
Green… so much green. Of course, the concrete rubble was still very clearly visible, but it was now covered with a spattering of roots, weeds, and grass. It seemed that the large amount of dirt kicked up by the carpet bombings had settled in and sped along the process of nature’s reclamation.
Grass, concrete, a few infant trees, and not a single human being, infected or not, in sight.
Jack turned to the side and stole a look at your awestruck face, smiling as you did at the breeze that cascaded over you. You did not move, as if glued to the spot at the overwhelming sensations bombarding you all at once.
He heard others murmuring excitedly and saw a few begin to run towards the fresh landscape. Now it was your turn to come back to yourself and find his loving gaze, returning it as you did so.
“Time to go?” he asked.
“Time to go.” This time, you were not afraid. And neither was he.
With that, you both took your first steps into the brave new world.
